Kitabı oku: «Fatal Memories», sayfa 3
When he said no more, she released a sigh. “Maybe I’m someone I’d like if I knew me.” Her tone sounded more forlorn than she’d intended.
“Everyone likes you, Joss. You’re a good agent and a great person.”
Shaking her head, she met his gaze. “If I’m such a good agent, what was I doing in that tunnel with a payload of illegal drugs?”
* * *
Dylan was saved from answering when Holmquist walked in. Surprised at how relieved he was, he stepped away and turned to stare out the window.
Finding out why Joss was in that tunnel was the reason he was here, spending every free moment with her rather than pounding the street, searching for answers. Yes, his team of agents was on the job, and they were making breakthroughs. But he should be with them. Yet when she posed the question...gave him the perfect opportunity to start probing for answers...he backed off. Hesitated. What was wrong with him?
Holmquist reviewed the details of Joss’s release with her. She asked a few questions, a thread of fear running behind every word. She was scared and barely hanging on. That was the reason he’d stopped probing. Because he hadn’t wanted to push her into that dark hole.
But why was he hesitating now...almost feeling guilty? He glanced at Joss. In some ways she reminded him of Beth. Not so much in looks, even though they both had dark hair. But more in personality. Beth had been bright, outgoing and fun, but a thread of insecurity had run deep, pushed her in the wrong directions. She’d hungered for approval...for support from others, including Rusty. That need had led to her death.
Dylan sensed the same longing in Joss. She’d always seemed competent, sure of her work, but he’d sensed an underlying need to belong, not to be alone. And now that underlying need had come to the surface. She was completely vulnerable. Now was the time to push for answers, not to ease up.
He needed to get on course, to break those fears loose so they could get to the truth...for both their sakes. “While we wait, let me bring you up to speed.” He addressed his comments to Holmquist. “We have an initial report about those traces of chemicals we found on the support post in the mine. They definitely come from some sort of explosive. They don’t know the type yet.”
“Explosives.” Joss shook her head. “In the mine? What does that mean?”
Holmquist shot a puzzled glance in Dylan’s direction, obviously wondering why he was discussing details of the investigation in front of Joss while she was in her fragile state. But Dylan ignored him.
“It means the cave-in was deliberately set.”
Her features brightened. “Does that prove they were trying to kill me? That I’m innocent?”
Dylan shook his head. “Unfortunately no. The explosion could have been a cover-up. You could have set the explosion and been trapped.”
Now Holmquist gave him an angry frown. But Dylan ignored it. Joss was almost as passionate about her work as he was. Or at least she had seemed to be...and that was what he needed to determine. Now that she was vulnerable, the truth might come out. Had her loyalty been an act? Was she good at making them all like her? Was that her true motivation—the need to be liked, not the desire to stop crime? If that was true, she was just like his sister, and that weakness could have turned Joss away from a righteous path. She might care more about the people she loved than the law, and that love could have led her into that tunnel.
Now, with no recollection of her past, the real woman beneath the facade would come to light. With no memory to protect her, the next days would reveal Joss’s guilt...or innocence.
With his resolve renewed, he faced Holmquist. “Also, my home office can find nothing on Vibora. Nothing.”
“Vibora?”
Both men turned to Joss as her brow furrowed.
Dylan paused. “What? Do you remember something?”
Her frown deepened, almost as if it hurt to think. After a long while she shook her head. “No. Nothing. But I know what it means. Viper. Do I speak Spanish?”
She looked at Holmquist, and her expression was so full of hope, it almost hurt to see it.
He shook his head. “Just enough to get by.”
The beginnings of a smile flitted over her lips. “Then I remember it. The name means something to me.”
She looked happy that she had one memory. She didn’t realize that already knowing the leader’s gang name, when all of them had just discovered it, implicated her.
Holmquist looked at Dylan, his features grim and angry. Dylan looked away. The truth was the ultimate goal...no matter how much Holmquist didn’t want to hear it.
The captain’s radio crackled to life.
“We’ve got an intruder matching the description of the attacker. He’s on the fourth floor, headed toward the stairs.”
Joss’s room was on the fifth floor. Holmquist’s gaze darted to Dylan. Dylan was younger, faster and probably stronger. Holmquist gave Dylan a sharp nod and he dashed out the door.
As it closed behind him, Joss cried out. “Wait! Don’t go!”
Her desperate tone sent a sharp pain through him, but he pushed it aside and turned to the guard outside. “You heard the report?”
The man nodded.
“Holmquist is inside. Whatever happens, don’t leave this door unguarded.”
Another nod. Dylan strode down the hall and raised his voice. “Everyone clear this hall.”
He shut the door of the room closest to him and went on to the next. A nurse pushing a cart full of medications paused.
He gestured to the nearest room. “Go on. Step inside and close the door.”
A man in a hospital gown pushed an IV stand on its wheels. He turned and headed to his room. “That’s too far. Go in here.”
Dylan guided the patient to the nearest room and closed the door.
The hall was empty. He unlatched his gun from its holster and released the lock. Directly in front of him, the elevator lay at the junction of the T-shaped hall. The door to the stairwell was around the corner...out of his vision. He moved forward, settled against the wall and peeked around the corner. The hall was empty. The intruder had not yet reached this floor.
Dylan waited, gun drawn. Hands bracing the gun, wrists taut. Nothing happened.
Should he move closer to the storage room on the right? Wait inside, then pop out and get behind the intruder?
No. Better to keep himself between the man and Joss.
He heard a noise in the stairwell. Heavy footfalls echoed from behind the door. The intruder was close. Dylan gripped the gun. At that moment the elevator dinged. The doors slid open. A man, his wife and two laughing children prepared to step out.
“Get back! Stay inside!”
The frightened father pulled the children to him and pushed his wife inside. The mother frantically jabbed at the elevator buttons. Dylan turned to see the stairway door slowly closing.
Groaning his frustration, he ran toward it. Carefully he pulled it open and waited for gunfire. Nothing happened, so he peeked out. The man was gone. Stepping inside the echoing stairwell, he could hear footsteps—so many, it was hard to distinguish where they were coming from. He paused, listening, and heard the low instructions of the police as they systematically moved up the stairwell together.
Then he heard steps above him. He shouted, “This is Agent Murphy. He’s headed to the sixth floor.”
No men were stationed on the sixth floor. Three officers were stationed below him, plus the guard at Joss’s door. Dylan was ahead of everyone. If the intruder were to be caught, he’d have to do it himself.
He took the steps two at a time, reaching the sixth floor just as the door shut. He flung it open and waited. No shots were fired. He moved into the hall in time to see another set of elevator doors close and the lights above flash on. This was the surgery level and, the elevator was strictly for service. It didn’t open onto the other floors, but went straight to the basement.
Spinning, Dylan took the stairs two at a time, shouting again. “He’s on the service elevator, headed for the basement. I don’t have a radio. Call security and have them send someone there.” He met the three policemen coming up and they all headed down.
One of the policemen’s radios crackled, but no one responded. “I’m not getting any reception in the stairwell.”
Dylan stifled his frustration and they descended to the bottom, coming out in the brightly lit, wide-open basement. The entrance to the laundry room on the right. On the left, a massive generator. Other doors led to other rooms. Too many rooms. Too many nooks and crannies in which to hide.
One of the policemen gestured across the room. “Look.”
Yet another door at the far end was closing. A bright shaft of sunlight slashed across metal steps before it closed. Dylan raced across the room, with the other men close behind. They lunged out the door in time to see a gray Toyota truck screech away through the alley.
The guard had seen the same truck speeding away the first time the gang had tried to reach Joss. This time Dylan was close enough to see the license plate, but a coating of strategically placed mud made it indecipherable.
Clever. No traffic cop would stop them for a blob of mud, but at the same time, no one could track them. The Serpientes were cunning, deceptive and incredibly bold to attack Joss twice while she was under protection.
What did they want from her? What did Joss know that they were so desperate to silence?
THREE
Joss shifted in the hospital chair. It squeaked, a sound that grated against her nerves. She’d sat here for almost forty minutes. Dressed and ready to go. Waiting. And waiting. Holmquist had demanded a thorough search of each floor of the hospital before he would agree to let her leave.
After the latest scare and Dylan’s recognition of the familiar Toyota truck, Holmquist had insisted she stay one more night at the hospital. In all honesty, Joss hadn’t minded the extra night of service in bed. The staff had stopped monitoring her vitals, so it had been a relatively peaceful night...probably the last for a few nights to come. Because frankly, going home wouldn’t be the relief everyone thought. Holmquist said it would be nice to be in her own bed again, right? Dylan commented on how she would feel better surrounded by her own things.
They were both wrong. Going home had taken on the epic proportions of a nightmare because she couldn’t remember a thing about it...not her bed, nor a single solitary possession. She didn’t even recognize the sweats Dylan had brought for her. Were they from her closet or the store?
She didn’t know and the whole idea of going home frightened her. What if this long-awaited moment came and nothing jogged her memory? What if nothing looked familiar? Worse...what if she opened her closet and didn’t like anything she saw inside?
The thick gray wall in her mind, the one she’d encountered when she first opened her eyes, remained in place—thicker than ever. As the time passed and the person on the other side of the gray mist—the pre-explosion Jocelyn—moved farther and farther away. Dr. Hull had told her to focus on what she knew, and she had diligently worked at that. The problem was, the harder she tried, the less she liked the woman Dylan described.
Easygoing. Ummm...not. She was wound about as tightly, and just about as fearfully, as a person could get.
Fun. Well, she might crack a smile if she could find something to smile about. No. That wasn’t true. Dylan made her happy. He was the only bright spot in all of this.
He said she was a good agent. Right. So, why had she been alone, out of uniform, in a tunnel full of thousands of dollars’ worth of heroin?
No matter how many different questions she asked herself, she always circled back to that one. And that was where she hit the blank wall of gray mist with nothing behind it. Nothing.
She sighed. The chair creaked and she cringed. Her head ached. Soon it would be pounding. She was weak. Her legs felt like wet noodles. If they didn’t hurry up with this inspection, someone might have to carry her into her apartment.
A vision of Dylan lifting her in his arms popped into her mind. He gave off a sense of whipcord strength. He wouldn’t have trouble lifting her. How would he smell? Aftershave or not?
Wait. How much did a bulletproof vest weigh? The bulky apparel wrapped around her torso felt pretty heavy to her. Coupled with her own weight...
How much did she weigh? How tall was she? She’d glanced in the mirror during one of her trips to the bathroom, and the woman staring at her didn’t look familiar, just tall and gangly and too heavy to carry.
Okay. So being carried into her place was not a good idea. She groaned and covered her face with her hands.
People were trying to kill her. Guards stood outside her room and throughout the building to protect her. She had a ticking time bomb in her head, warning of some impending danger, and here she sat, worrying about her weight.
Some kind of agent she was.
The more she knew about herself, the more nothing fit together. She wasn’t the person she had been...the good and sturdy agent everyone liked. Would she ever be that person again?
The door flew open and she jerked.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Dylan’s voice rolled across her jangled nerves. That voice. Deep and smooth. Coming out of the darkness. The only thing that still felt familiar and safe. She released a small sigh of relief.
“Are you all right? You look a little pale. Do you need some help?”
Absolutely not. No lifting or carrying. No contact. “No. I’m fine.” She lunged to her feet.
Too fast. Too soon. The world spun in a dangerous whirlwind and she tilted. Before she knew it, an arm snaked around her waist and held her still.
Whipcord strong. Stable. Safe. Silly or not, she leaned into his shoulder and rested, waiting for the world to right itself again.
* * *
Dylan only meant to catch her, to keep her from falling, but the minute his arm went around her waist, something happened. She felt slender and so fragile. He could wrap his arm completely around her even with the bulky bulletproof vest. He already knew how fragile her mental state was, but to feel her slight, wispy frame sent a wave of protectiveness washing over him.
She was terrified and trying so hard to be brave and strong. He grasped her tighter and turned her body slightly inward. Her head slipped perfectly into the crook of his neck and he held her there. Safe. Protected.
I won’t let them get to you, Joss. Not like they got to Beth...at least not until you remember.
That was what he was here for, right? To keep her calm and stable so she could remember. That was all. With that thought, he placed his other hand on the curve of her waist and gently pulled her away. Her head was wobbly and her gaze a bit unfocused. He ducked to look into her eyes. The sight of those gray eyes, so wide and lost, almost undid him. He wanted to pull her into his arms and keep her there.
Resisting the urge, he guided her toward the chair. “Maybe you better sit.”
She shook her head and clung to him. “If I go down again, I might not get up. Just give me a minute.” She tucked her head into the crook of his neck. A jolt of pure, white-hot need to protect shot through him.
Holding her safe in his arms felt so right. It wouldn’t hurt to let her stay there a little longer.
The door burst open and Holmquist stepped inside. “We’re ready—”
His gaze hardened as he stared at Joss.
Dylan gritted his teeth and tried not to look guilty. “Can you get the wheelchair? I think she’s going to pass out.” Did his words sound as lame as he thought?
Thankfully Joss lifted her head from his shoulder. “No...no. I’m all right. I just felt a little woozy. Really, I’m fine now.”
“You’re going to sit in the wheelchair. The hospital won’t let you leave without it.” Dylan tried to sound firm, not to let a twinge of regret echo in his tone. Was he really that sorry she was leaving his arms? If that were true, he was in dangerous territory. Joss was suspect in his mind. He couldn’t afford to be swayed by his attraction...or her need. Finding the truth was all that mattered.
The aide came in the door with the chair. Dylan eased Joss into it and the young woman adjusted the footrests. As she took the handles and pushed toward the door, Holmquist grasped Dylan’s arm and held him back.
As soon as Joss was out the door, Dylan turned to face the older man. “Look, I’m not comfortable with the fact that she’s becoming so attached to me. But what can I do about it? She needs something familiar to hang onto and that seems to be me.”
Holmquist’s gaze narrowed. “She can hang onto you for now. I’m just making sure you don’t do the same. I know you think she’s guilty. What kind of a mess will you be creating if this—” he circled his finger around the room “—thing between you two continues?”
“What do you want me to do? Tell her I think she was involved with the gang? She already doubts herself and questions why she was in that tunnel. I need to push, but I’m not going to shove her over the edge.”
Holmquist hooked his thumbs in his gun belt. “Somehow that doesn’t make me feel better. You want her to convict herself.”
“I want the truth, Holmquist. You should too.”
The man looked away and shook his head. “Oh, I do. And I’m convinced the truth will prove Joss innocent. What I’m concerned about is getting my agent back when all this is said and done. I don’t want her broken so badly she can’t return.”
“And you think I’ll be responsible for ‘breaking’ her?”
“You tell me, Murphy. Her brother’s missing...maybe dead. Some kind of spark obviously exists between you two. It was there before the cave-in.”
Dylan was surprised. He wouldn’t have called it a spark. He didn’t allow “sparks” in his life. Only level-headed relationships where they both knew his work came first. He and Joss had a connection, sure, that was obvious. He was attracted to her. But he’d stomped on those feelings when he had begun to suspect she was covering up something.
“You’re the only person in the world she trusts right now. She doesn’t even trust herself, and you’re determined to prove she’s guilty. What should I think?”
He opened his mouth to reassure Holmquist...and then paused. His reaction to Joss moments ago had shaken his conviction. To deny something unusual had happened would be a lie. He had overstepped his own line. Had he already gone too far? Was he on a path of no return?
He released a slow breath. “Let’s hope going home will trigger her memory so we can find the answers we all need.”
* * *
Joss’s head was beginning to throb. Even with the vehicle’s air-conditioning blasting, she was hot and sweaty. Moving fifty miles an hour down the street, in a police car, caused the sights to blur when she tried to focus.
Small, beige pueblo-style houses with dirt yards looked like they’d been built in the fifties. Miracle Mile with its fifties-style motor hotels, wide-open courts and old-fashioned fluorescent signs. Slowly they gave way to strip malls. Nicer restaurants. Tall palm trees waved in the air, and squat ones grew in pointy clumps. Saguaros with their lifelike arms pointing up in the air. Oleanders bloomed with white, red and purple flowers. Five lanes of black asphalt wound straight ahead, far into the cloud-filled skies. Dark gray, the puffy billows tumbled over each other, threatening rain.
August in Tucson. Monsoon season. Storms rumbled up from the Gulf of California. She could remember the historical district of Miracle Mile and monsoons, but not one single thing about herself. She couldn’t recall the most important aspects of her own life. They’d disappeared into the gray mist.
Thunder boomed and she jumped.
“You okay?” Dylan sat beside her.
“I don’t like storms.”
“Do you know why?”
She shook her head. Another thing she didn’t remember.
Thunder rumbled again and she gripped Dylan’s hand.
He lowered his voice. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
The sky emptied. Rain poured down in buckets and fell on the street so hard, it bounced. Great sheets of blinding water slid off the windshield.
“Whoa.” The driver of the cruiser slowed almost to a crawl. Up ahead, a streetlight turned from red to green. The driver accelerated ever so slowly. Out of the corner of her eye, Joss caught movement and looked up. A car was speeding toward them, so close all she could see was the license plate. She screamed.
The driver yelled something and hit the gas. The car leaped forward but not far enough. The oncoming car hit the left fender of the cruiser.
The car went into a spin in the middle of the intersection. The driver whipped the steering wheel in the direction of the turn, struggling to keep them from overturning. That was the last thing she saw.
The spinning was too much for her. She closed her eyes. Dylan’s arm painfully pressed against her waist, pushing her into the seat.
At long last the spinning began to slow. They came to a stop in the middle of the intersection. No one made a sound for a full minute. Joss opened her eyes.
The driver looked around in stunned amazement. “Everyone all right?”
Dylan leaned toward her. “Joss?”
She nodded. “I will be when my head stops spinning.”
“I can’t believe another vehicle didn’t hit us. We’re smack dab in the middle of the busiest street in Tucson.” The driver was stunned.
“That’s thanks to you, Officer. You saved our lives.” Dylan’s gaze jumped around. “Do you see the other car?”
“I saw it bounce off us, onto the curb and drive off. A hit-and-run. The rain must have blurred the driver’s vision and he couldn’t stop in time.”
Dylan gave a shake of his head. “I’m not so sure.”
“You think it wasn’t an accident?” His words frightened Joss.
Dylan started to answer. He was turned her way as he spoke, and suddenly he grabbed for his gun holster and flipped up the cover. The gun was out and pointed toward someone running up to the car.
The driver lifted his hand. “It’s okay. It’s the officer from the car behind us.”
Joss turned. She could see his vehicle parked not far from theirs, with its blue lights flashing. He ran to the window.
“Everybody okay?”
The driver rolled down their window. “Yeah. Just shaken up. I can’t believe no one hit us.”
Rain dripped off the lip of the man’s cap. “I was able to get into the intersection and turn on my lights. I think that caught everyone’s attention and gave them time to stop. But it was close.”
“Did you get a good look at the car?” Dylan’s tone was tense.
The officer looked at them. “Yes. I did. Older white Camry. The driver was a male with a baseball cap pulled low. I didn’t get a good look at his face or the license plate. It happened too fast. I almost gave chase but this is a transport and it’s more important to get our person delivered safely. I did report it before I came to check on you.”
Even as he spoke, a siren echoed in the distance.
The driver turned to Dylan. “What do you want us to do? Return to the hospital or get to our destination?”
Dylan glanced at Joss. “Let’s get her home safely. Hopefully another patrol car can catch our hit-and-run driver.”
The officer jogged to his car, splashing through puddles in the middle of the intersection. Their driver rolled up his window and put the car in gear. Thankfully the vehicle moved into motion without a hitch.
Dylan squeezed her arm. Joss closed her eyes, willing the vertigo to ease. But it didn’t. They were less than five minutes away from her apartment complex. They pulled into the parking lot. Beyond grass-covered hills, three-story buildings rose into the sky. As soon as the car came to a stop, Dylan helped her out. The vertigo had her spinning so much, he practically carried her across the grass, with the rain pounding on them.
By the time they climbed the two stories of stairs, her breath came in short, difficult gasps. A deputy pointed to the left. She turned a corner, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other and leaned into Dylan. A dark brown door loomed in front of her. Holmquist opened it.
He frowned. “I heard about the hit-and-run. How are you?”
Joss didn’t answer. Dylan squeezed her arm. “She’s shaken up. Any sign of the car that hit us?”
Holmquist shook his head. “Not one, and we’ve got police cruisers on every street.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.” Dylan gripped her arm tighter.
“Me neither. If it was a normal hit-and-run and the police units were that close, someone would have seen something. Since it just disappeared...”
“Sounds like another setup.”
The men continued to talk, but Joss lost the thread of their conversation. Her eyes adjusted to the dark interior. A smell wafted over her. What was it? Dusty. Stuffy from being closed? Not a smell she recognized.
The apartment opened to a small kitchenette on the right. Four stools under a bar/counter. Black marble countertop. To the left a large bathroom. She peeked inside and glimpsed a connecting closet that opened into a bedroom. In front of her, a patio. Brightly colored pots with leafless branches sticking straight up. Obviously she killed living things.
Beside the couch, labeled boxes sat stacked on top of each other. One was labeled High School, the other Documents. She chewed her lip, then finally turned to Holmquist. “How long have I lived here?”
The men stopped talking and turned to her.
“About six months.”
“But I still have boxes?”
Holmquist paused. “You work a lot. Devote yourself to the job.”
“Obviously.” Why was she disappointed? Because nothing jogged her memories? Because this place held no traces of home...of a life well lived? Or because that ticking clock, warning her of danger, continued its constant clanging in her head?
Her discomfort must have shown, because Holmquist said, “You’re a good agent.”
Now her smile was rueful. “So they tell me.”
Dylan gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. Not even that helped.
Holmquist cleared his throat. “Jenny sent over some soup and stocked the fridge.”
Jenny. Who was she? Obviously Joss’s features looked as blank as her mind, because he added, “Jenny. Your friend.”
Still blank.
Holmquist looked away. “She’s the blonde agent. She came to see you in the hospital that first day. You two went to the academy together. You were roommates until she got married about six months ago and you moved here.”
No image came to her. She didn’t remember much of the first days. Only Dylan’s voice.
Men were still trying to kill her...but now they were putting their own lives in danger to accomplish their goal. She couldn’t imagine someone risking his own safety to ram the vehicle she traveled in. It was crazy or desperate. She didn’t know which, because what she feared had happened. She’d returned to her apartment, and nothing, not a single thing, looked familiar.
She couldn’t remember her past and the clock was still ticking. Something terrible was coming.
She closed her eyes and almost fell. “I need to lie down.”
Dylan hurried to her side and wrapped his arm around her waist. Even that didn’t help. “You need to sleep. That’s what the doctor recommended.”
Fear jumped in her stomach. “You’ll be here when I wake up, right?”
“I’ll be right here.”
The vertigo was overwhelming and now her head began to pound viciously. Life...her life would have to wait one more day. She walked into the bedroom, rubbing her temples. Dylan pulled down a silky, dark brown comforter covered with beige paisley swirls. Was that her choice or standard for the apartment? She didn’t like it much. Like everything else, it didn’t fit.
She winced at the pain in her head, eased onto the pillows Dylan had puffed for her and closed her eyes. Just as he moved away, she grasped his hand and squeezed.
“Thank you. Don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here.”
If he answered, she didn’t hear. The pounding took over.
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