Fatal Memories

by Tanya Stowe

  She was letting the deep dark holes overwhelm her again. She tried to slow the raging questions exploding in her mind.

  If Dylan would just come back. He was so strong and vital. His presence filled a room...drove out the dark holes. She could wrap his vitality around her like a warm, safe blanket and she needed that...needed something or she might tip over the edge.

  As if on cue, the door opened and he returned. A slight smile tilted his lips. “Holmquist is staying. He wants to be here when you check out.” He seemed relieved.

  She said nothing. Her supervisor’s concern was nice but she really wanted Dylan there. “You’re coming with me, right?”

  “Of course. Wouldn’t miss your return home.”

  An undertone of intensity laced his lightly stated words and gave her pause. “Why?”

  He frowned. “Because we need to answer the all-important question. Do you throw clothes in a corner or hang them neatly in the closet?”

  Caught off guard, she let another small chortle slip out. “Owww. I told you not to make me laugh.”

  “Can’t help it. I’m dying to find out your dark secrets.” His words held an undertone of...something. A sincerity that took her by surprise. She stared at him.

  He lifted his gaze upward, clearly striving for a deep-in-thought expression “I’m pretty sure you are a ‘hang it very neatly’ type.”

  He meant to make her laugh, but she sensed something behind his words. What was it? Was she an unpleasant, uptight woman he didn’t like?

  “You make me sound like a prude. Am I?”

  He stopped to consider. “No. Thorough. By the book. Sincere. Passionate about your work. But easy to be around. Energetic and full of questions. Fun. You’re surrounded by friends all of the time. You told me once you don’t like to be alone...ever.” He started to say more but halted and clammed up. A strange look came over his features...a look she couldn’t define. Was he holding something back? Picking and choosing what to tell her about herself?

  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 re
leased 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.”