Unraveling Jane Doe (Holding The Line Book 3)

by Carol Ericson

  “Stay, please, Luna.” Libby flicked her fingers at the older woman. “I may need your help.”

  Rob poked at the screen. “There’s your conversation with Troy.”

  “But I don’t see anything that adds to that story.” She tapped through the messages. “Wait.”

  Rob leaned forward, squinting at the lit display. “What do you see?”

  “Text messages to and from a Charlie.” She drummed her fingers against her chin. “Charlie.”

  Her phone dinged. “Hey, look. It’s a text from Troy asking if I retrieved my phone.”

  Rob said, “You don’t need to answer him now.”

  “Too late. I just responded Yes.”

  “Check your photos, Libby. You told Troy you’d have something to show him. You left your phone here to protect it when you knew someone was following you. It has to contain the info you were going to show Troy.”

  She tapped the photo icon. Gasping, she drew back from the phone. “I-it’s Charlie. This is Charlie, Rob. The dead man. I took a picture of him before I left.”

  Rob’s heart rate picked up as he made a grab for Libby’s phone. Cupping it in his hand, he focused on the silver-haired man sprawled on the grass, blood soaking his shirt. “Charlie? This is the man you knew as Charlie?”

  “Yes. He was my mother’s friend or boyfriend. I went to see the man Troy suspected of being April’s father about a purchase from the gallery and found Charlie dead on the lawn. That’s when I ran.”

  “Libby, April’s father isn’t El Gringo Viejo.”

  “How do you know that? How can you be so sure?”

  Rob tapped the photo on the phone. “Because your Charlie is C. J. Hart, and he’s April’s father.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “What?” Libby whipped her head around. “How do you know that?”

  “I’ve seen pictures of C. J. Hart. He’s still a wanted man. Even though his son may have confessed to murdering his mother, C.J. is still a fugitive. I know what C. J. Hart looks like, and this man is C.J.”

  “Oh, my God.” Libby’s hand dropped to her stomach, her fingers clutching the material of April’s T-shirt. “I don’t know what’s worse, telling April her father is El Gringo Viejo and very much alive or telling her that he’s Charlie Harper and very much dead.”

  “The latter—definitely the latter. So, he was living life as Charlie Harper.”

  Luna stretched her hands to the fire, wiggling her fingers. “Are you telling me Tandy was involved with a man, a wanted fugitive, who was involved with a drug dealer?”

  “It seems so, Luna.” Libby’s lips trembled. “And he’s probably the one who convinced her to go into that tunnel.”

  Rob slipped the phone back into Libby’s hand. “Maybe not. He obviously helped you get onto the compound. He had to know what that would mean.”

  “It cost him his life. EGV must’ve found out what he’d done.”

  “Maybe he wanted his own revenge against him for Tandy’s death.” Rob placed a hand on top of Libby’s head, her silky hair warm from the fire.

  “But where’s our proof?” She swept her fingertip from one picture on her phone to the next. “Was I just going to show Troy the picture of a dead Charlie? Was it to prove C.J. wasn’t EGV? I don’t think I ever heard of C. J. Hart.”

  “Why would EGV send his goons after you if that’s all it was?” Rob sank to the RV steps. “Unless he knew the rumor about C. J. Hart being El Gringo Viejo. He may have even encouraged that rumor to keep the heat off of himself.”

  “There has to be something here, Rob. A picture of him. I must be able to ID him, and that’s why he’s so worried. That’s why he’s after me.”

  “Do you really think that man would allow you to take his picture? After all these years of staying under the radar? But you have seen him. You can identify him, and worse for him?” Rob extended his hands and flexed his fingers. “You’re an artist. You don’t need a photo of him. Once you remember everything about him, you can draw him.”

  “That notepad at the house—maybe I’ve already drawn him, just as I sketched my mother. I drew her as a beautiful fairy, how I wanted to remember her before disappointment and drugs stole her looks.”

  “I found that notebook.” Rob shook his head. “You didn’t draw any men, except for me and some faceless devil. Believe me, I looked...for other reasons. Our best move now is to somehow convince EGV that you’ve regained your memory—all of it. And you’ve ID’d him to the authorities. They’d have no reason to want to see you dead once you turn that information over to the cops.”

  “Except revenge.” Luna spread her hands. “I’m sorry, but that’s the way those guys are.”

  “The sketch must be somewhere. I probably had it with me in the car on my way to meeting Troy.” Libby’s heart flip-flopped in her chest. “Rob, I think I know where it is.”

  “A drawing of El Gringo Viejo?”

  “Stupid, stupid me.” She banged her fists against the arms of the chair. “It survived the car fire, and I just threw it away.”

  “What are you talking about? You had a drawing at the crash site?”

  She balled up her fists against her eyes. “While I was sitting out there behind the tree waiting for...you, a piece of paper skittered past me. I snatched it up and smoothed it out. It was a drawing of a man—longish hair, glasses... I don’t know. I thought it was trash. I never dreamed it came from the car... But it did. It must’ve been my drawing of EGV. I was bringing it to my meeting with Troy.”

  “What did you do with it?”

  “I crumpled it up and tossed it.” She hunched forward, gripping her knees. “It could still be there, Rob. It might be faster than waiting for my memory to return.”

  Luna coughed. “Not tonight you’re not. Sun’s already going down.”

  Rob rubbed his hands together. “Let’s go back to Paradiso. We can head out to the crash site tomorrow morning. If we take some of Luna’s magical tea with us, maybe we won’t need to go out there. Maybe you’ll get your memory back and you can draw it again. We can get it, and his name or alias, into the system and let him and his associates know we’re on to him. It’ll be too late for them then, Libby. They’ll leave you alone.”

  “Except for that revenge thing.” Luna pushed out of her camp chair. “Zeke’s back. I hear his bike.”

  Tilting her head, Libby picked up the sound of a high whine in the distance of the still night. “If Rob was joking, I’m not. Can I take some of that tea with me?”

  “Of course.” Luna climbed the steps into the RV and returned with a plastic baggie of loose tea leaves just as a motorcycle pulled into the campsite.

  The biker cut the engine and rolled his Harley to the RV. An old Native American climbed off the bike, throwing his long gray braid over his shoulder. “Libby’s back.”

  Luna planted a kiss on the man’s brown weathered cheek and turned to Libby. “Do you remember Zeke, Libby?”

  Libby rose on unsteady legs, unsure what to do. Should she pretend she remembered him? Shake his hand? Hug him?

  “Remember me? Have I aged that much in a week?”

  “Zeke.” Luna rested her hand on Zeke’s shoulder. “Libby’s had a rough time since she left us. She had an accident and lost her memory.”

  “That’s crazy. How’d you make it back to Luna, Libby?”

  “It’s a long story, Zeke. I’ll tell you about it later. These two have to get back to Paradiso.” She thrust the bag of tea at Libby. “Take this. Relax, clear your mind, think.”

  Zeke stepped forward and wrapped an arm around Libby, squeezing her close. “Be careful out there, Libby. These desert roads at night... Just saw another car veer off the road, not far from here.”

  Luna’s brow wrinkled. “Did you stop, Zeke?”

  “There was another car behind him, and
it pulled over. Didn’t think an old guy like me without a phone would be much help.”

  “This is Rob Valdez.” Luna waved her arm in Rob’s direction. “He’s Border Patrol... But he’s helping Libby.”

  Zeke shook Rob’s hand. “As long as you’re helping our Libby, you’re okay with me. She’s had enough trouble rolling her way lately.”

  “She knows about Tandy.” Luna stood on her tiptoes and kissed Libby’s cheek. “Take care and let us know if we can do anything to help. You know, I don’t like the direction this camp has been moving—too much riffraff, too many rough types. But those same rough types are not going to let anyone in here who’s not on the guest list.”

  Rob jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “We noticed.”

  “We’re going to hit the road, Luna.” Libby rubbed her stinging nose. “Thanks for all your help. I’ll be back—when I remember everything.”

  “When you do, and this man is caught—” her gaze flicked to Rob “—you can go back to your beautiful life. Because you do have a beautiful life waiting for you, Libby.”

  Zeke escorted them to the truck, and as he shook Rob’s hand again, he said, “Watch yourself out there, but I suppose I don’t have to warn a BP agent.”

  Zeke gave Libby another hug and stood at the entrance of the compound, watching them drive off.

  Libby patted the baggie. “Maybe I should drink this at my next appointment with Jennifer. I can sort of see how this is going to work.”

  “How what’s going to work?” Rob had started the truck and maneuvered back onto the access road with the truck shaking and rattling with every mile.

  “This memory thing.” Libby tapped the side of her head. “I thought everything would come back to me in a flash, but it’s more like bits and pieces—conversations, scenes, faces, even feelings.”

  “As if we needed any more proof that the mind is strange and mysterious.” He brushed her cheek with his knuckle. “I’m sorry about your mother. I don’t care what she was doing—nobody deserves that. Maybe she was trying to protect Elena, the other woman.”

  “I’ll hold on to that thought.” She propped her elbow on the armrest and cupped her chin in her palm. “Now we have to tell April her father is dead.”

  “But we can also tell her he’s not EGV.” Rob accelerated when he hit the dark highway, his high beams creating a cone of light on the road.

  “He was still involved with him in some way.”

  “She already knew C.J. was no angel. True, it turned out he didn’t murder April’s mother, but the reason his son was able to manipulate him into running was because of his association with the drug trade. When will people learn?”

  “It must seem like easy money to them. Look at your own family. Is that what drove them? The money?”

  “I’m sure that was part of it—power, control... There are a lot of moving pieces.”

  “But it never got you.”

  “It never got you, either.”

  They drove in silence for a while, maybe both of them pondering how they’d escaped the shared curses of their families.

  Libby grabbed Rob’s hand and kissed the back of it, savoring the feel of his flesh against her lips and the scent of the fire that lingered on his skin. “I’m so glad you found me that night.”

  “I am, too.” His gaze flew back to the road and he jerked the steering wheel. “Whoa. That must be the wreck Zeke mentioned, but it’s still there. The car that pulled over didn’t call 911?”

  She jabbed him in the ribs. “Maybe someone else lost their memory and didn’t want to notify authorities.”

  Rob’s truck crawled up the road, and he swung into a gravel turnout. “I’m gonna check it out. Stay in the truck.”

  Rob dragged his weapon from beneath his seat and holstered it as he got out of the vehicle.

  He’d pulled up behind the wrecked car at a crazy angle off the road, so Libby released her seat belt and scooted up in her seat to peer over the dashboard. A feather of fear whispered across the back of her neck as she watched him cautiously approach the damaged vehicle.

  He’d left his headlights on to illuminate the scene, and Libby’s gaze traveled from Rob to the car—an old white sedan, Wildcats sticker on the back window. Just like Troy’s car.

  Gasping, she braced her hands against the dashboard. It was Troy’s car. She grabbed the door handle and scrambled out of the truck, her feet slipping on the gravel below.

  She stalked toward Rob, now leaning forward, his face at the window—the shattered window. Her heart pounded, the blood ringing in her ears. “Rob!”

  He spun around, his face white against the black backdrop of the desert night. “Stay back, Libby.”

  Her adrenaline spurred her forward, her feet barely able to keep pace with her intent. She rushed to the car and loomed over Rob’s shoulder, gawking at the sight of Troy Paulsen—dead in the front seat, a bullet wound in his head.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Libby choked behind him, and Rob turned and grabbed her by the shoulders. “You don’t need to see this, Libby. Go back to the truck. Hurry.”

  He looked around the scene, the desert floor cloaked in darkness. They could still be here. They could be anywhere.

  He shook Libby’s rigid frame. “Wait in the truck. I’m gonna check things out, and then I’m going to call it in. If the highway patrol can’t get here fast enough, we’re not going to wait. We’re getting out of here.”

  Her head snapped up. “It was them, wasn’t it? The same people who are after me, the people trying to protect EGV, killed Troy.”

  “Probably. That’s why you have to get out of here. Duck down and lock the doors. The keys are still in the ignition. If anything happens out here, take off.”

  “And leave you? I’ll mow them over with the truck first.”

  He landed a kiss on her forehead. “Not if they’re shooting at you. Go.”

  She shuffled her feet and then turned and ran back to the truck.

  Troy’s door had been left ajar, so Rob nudged it open with his foot. They probably didn’t want to make the same mistake they’d made with Libby. They wanted to make sure they killed their target this time.

  He leaned into the car across Troy’s body and studied the center console. A coffee cup occupied one of the cup holders and some loose change the other. Rob snatched up some receipts and scraps of paper. He didn’t want to dismiss anything and possibly ignore any potential evidence.

  He eased the door back into position and went around to the passenger side, shading his eyes and glancing back at the truck. No silhouette of Libby in the window, so she’d taken his advice and slumped in the seat.

  Using his T-shirt to cover his hand, he opened the passenger door and ducked his head inside the car, his nose wrinkling at the smell of blood and death. He couldn’t say he’d gotten accustomed to the smell, but at least he no longer puked like he had the first time he’d seen a headless body at the border. That body had been Libby’s mother.

  His gut knotted but he continued his search of the car. It wasn’t here. They’d taken Troy’s phone.

  He dug his own phone from his pocket and called 911, the only call he could make out here. “I want to report a single-car accident about a mile and a half north of mile marker nine. The driver is dead.”

  After making the call, Rob stalked back to the truck and slid behind the wheel. He handed Libby the papers he’d retrieved from Troy’s console. “Can you make any sense out of these?”

  “Let me see.” She hit the dome light button with her knuckle and dropped the slips of paper in her lap. “Did you find out anything?”

  “I found out they took Troy’s phone.”

  Libby’s hands froze and one of Troy’s receipts floated to the floor. “Then they know he texted me, and they saw my response that I picked up my phone. You were right. I should
’ve never answered him.”

  “If Troy’s even the one who texted you. It could’ve been one of them, testing the waters.” He picked up her phone in the cup holder and handed it to her. “What time did you get that text from Troy’s phone?”

  She grabbed her phone and tapped the display. “At seven thirty.”

  He glanced at the time glowing on his dashboard. “It’s almost nine o’clock now. We’ve been on the road for about forty-five minutes, which means we left the campsite around eight fifteen.”

  “It could’ve been Troy.” Libby held out her hand and ticked off each finger. “Troy texts me at seven thirty, gets killed ten minutes later, and then Zeke sees the accident at seven forty and hits the campsite thirty minutes later?”

  “He must’ve been driving awfully fast.”

  “He was on a motorcycle. He knows the lay of the land.”

  Rob placed a hand on Libby’s bouncing knee. “Who are you trying to convince? It doesn’t matter whether they sent the text or not. Even if Troy had sent it, they have his phone and they’ve seen the text exchange.”

  She held the phone in her lap. “Should I text him again? Play along like I haven’t seen the accident, don’t know Troy’s dead?”

  He didn’t like the idea of Libby texting with a bunch of killers. “What would you text?”

  “I would text him that the phone contains no information, no pictures, no names, no nothing. That it’s useless and I remember nothing.”

  Rob expelled a ragged breath. “Do it.”

  Libby held the phone close to her face and tapped the display, reading aloud as she typed. “‘Got the phone. Nothing on it. Can’t help you. Can’t remember.’”

  Rob held his breath as he watched the phone glowing in Libby’s hands. When it dinged, he practically jumped out of his seat. “Response?”

  “‘Okay.’” She snorted. “Just ‘okay.’ Definitely not Troy Paulsen. I don’t think the guy ever gave a one-word response in his life.”

  “At least your message is out there. They can believe it or not.” He cocked his head. “Hear that?”