Buried Memories

by Carol J. Post

  “Tyler’s right. I won’t abandon you, and I’m sure if we talked to our other friends, they’d say the same thing. And I know for a fact that the Cedar Key police are working on all this.” Meagan looped the last bag over her arm so she could take both of Nicki’s hands. “Promise me you’ll stay.” When Nicki didn’t respond, Meagan spoke with more force. “Promise me you’ll stay. Give Hunter and Amber and the others a chance to solve this. Okay?”

  Nicki nodded. Her face was still pale, her eyes wide and filled with fear. “I don’t want anyone getting hurt. If anything happened to any of you guys, I’d never forgive myself.” She hesitated, eyeing him with raised brows. “You carry a gun, right?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Do you have one?”

  “Not here.”

  She studied him, brows raised in question at his clipped answer. But he didn’t talk about his experiences in Afghanistan with anyone. And he certainly didn’t discuss the mental and emotional issues that had followed him home.

  He dropped his arm from her shoulder to take her hand. “Come on. Let’s get our shopping done.”

  Whoever was tormenting her meant business. By spending so much time with her, Tyler was putting himself in the line of fire, especially if her tormentor was a jealous ex.

  That was a chance he was willing to take.

  All through their friendship, he’d been there for her. And she’d been there for him. He wasn’t about to let her face this alone.

  FIVE

  A man knelt in the semidarkness, straddling the figure beneath him. He raised his arm, and a shaft of light caught the blade of a knife. For one tense moment, he held it suspended. Then he plunged it downward. The figure on the floor jerked, and a high-pitched scream pierced the night.

  The arm rose and swung down a second time. The head lifted from the floor, and stringy hair fell over the side of the woman’s face as another scream was wrenched from her throat. Again and again, the knife plunged into her back. The screams became gurgles, then faded to silence.

  Nicki came awake with a start, her own scream dying on her lips. The remnants of the dream held on, chilling her all the way to her core.

  This was the second time she’d dreamed of a woman being killed. Twice in less than a week. The other time, she didn’t witness it, just saw the aftermath. The woman’s final breath. And the blood. Lots of blood.

  Callie nudged her hand and released a small whimper. The dog had gotten into bed with her sometime during the night. Nicki pushed herself to a seated position and patted Callie’s head. “It’s okay, girl. It was only a nightmare.”

  Where were the dreams coming from? And why now?

  She was under a lot of stress. The constant uneasiness, the sense of being watched. The threats against friends. Maybe she hadn’t been able to turn it all off when she crawled into bed at night. And the detectives reopening her mother’s murder case gave her mind the fodder it needed to congeal all the fear and anxiety into one terrifying scenario.

  She glanced at the clock on the nightstand, its red numerals glowing in the darkness: 4:45. She didn’t have to get up for another hour. But trying to go back to sleep would be pointless. Her heart pounded in her chest, and tension still threaded through her muscles.

  She swung her feet over the edge of the bed, trying to shake off the final tendrils of the dream. Callie jumped to the floor with a thud, then trotted to the open door, tail wagging. For Callie, morning meant two things, both equally exciting—a walk and food. It wasn’t time yet for breakfast. And since Nicki didn’t know who was lurking in the darkness, taking her for an early run alone was out of the question. Callie would have to wait.

  Nicki stood and padded from the room. She’d work on one of her stained glass projects before starting her day. She always found the work therapeutic. Anything creative calmed her. Over the years, she’d spent many hours hunched over her sketch pad.

  Sometime later, she sat back in her chair and stretched her arms skyward. She’d gotten a lot accomplished. While she worked, the nightmare had gradually released its grip. It wasn’t daylight yet, but it was time to quit.

  She rolled the chair back from her work table, and Callie perked up. For the past hour, she’d lain with her head resting on her front paws, eyes closed. Now that she knew a walk was imminent, she pranced from the room and down the hall, casting backward glances as she went.

  The doorbell rang, and Nicki smiled. All week long, Tyler had been there at 6:00 a.m., like clockwork. After finding someone at her window, he’d insisted they time their walks together. She hadn’t argued. The dogs hadn’t objected, either.

  She swung open the door and greeted Tyler with a smile and Sasha with a firm scratch behind the ears.

  He lifted a brow. “You look perky this morning.”

  “I probably look perkier than I feel. I’ve been awake since shortly after four-thirty.”

  “Trouble sleeping?”

  “Nightmare.”

  He grimaced. “I can relate.”

  Yeah, he probably could. Though he’d never mentioned it, he’d probably had more than his share of bad dreams.

  At the end of her drive, she scanned Hodges in both directions. Tyler was doing the same thing. But the street was deserted. They turned left and headed down the road.

  “Any new news?”

  “Since ten o’clock last night?” She grinned.

  He returned her smile. “Patience has never been one of my virtues.”

  “I think I remember that.” She kicked a piece of gravel along the asphalt. “Since the Peter lead was a dead end, I’m guessing there won’t be any opportunity for breaks until whoever is harassing me tries something again.”

  His smile faded. “You might be right.”

  When they’d once again reached her drive, he hesitated. “How about letting me take you to work?”

  “Thanks, but I think I’ll be safe driving in broad daylight. Besides, I don’t want to be without my truck. I’d be stranded until you came to get me.”

  “Let me at least see you from your house to your truck.”

  She gave a sharp nod. “That I can do. I’ll call you when I’m ready to leave.”

  She stepped onto her porch and bade him farewell, but he still seemed hesitant. She rested a hand on his forearm. “I’ll be fine.”

  When she slipped out the side door forty-five minutes later, he was waiting next to her truck, this time without Sasha.

  “I wish I could be here when you get home every night.”

  “I’ll be all right. I’ll keep my eyes open and won’t get out of the truck until I’m sure I’m alone. Then it’s only a few feet to the kitchen door.” She pressed the fob and strolled toward the Ram. “And if all goes as planned, when I get home tonight, I’ll be armed.”

  He raised his brows. “You bought a gun?”

  “No. I don’t know how to use a gun.” She didn’t like them, either. One of the men her mother brought home had one. Used to get it out regularly, too, wave it around and make threats with it. Several times he aimed it at her mother, explaining that with a twitch of his index finger, her brains would be all over the wall behind her. He’d even pointed it at Jenny once.

  “When I got home from the Blue Desert Café Tuesday night, I went online and ordered some mace. I had it shipped to the office and paid for two-day delivery. According to the email confirmation, it went out Wednesday and will arrive today.”

  Relief flashed across his features. “That makes me feel a little better. Not as good as being here myself, but better than the thought of you walking in unprotected.”

  She climbed into the truck and fastened her seat belt. “I don’t know how to use a gun, but I can handle a tube of mace. And if I ever feel threatened, I won’t hesitate.” She grinned at him. “So make
sure you never sneak up on me.”

  “Thanks for the warning.”

  She held up a hand in farewell. “Later.”

  He closed the door, patted the roof twice, then watched her back from the carport. By the time she reached the end of the drive, he was halfway through his trek back to Andy’s. The two men would be leaving shortly and wouldn’t return until after seven. At least, that had been their usual schedule.

  She backed onto Hodges, then headed toward town. She wasn’t in a hurry. She had fifteen minutes to make the four-minute drive. Her to-do list waited on her desk, completed the afternoon before. No matter how crazy things got, she never left work without outlining her tasks for the next day. She wouldn’t hold to it—her plans would change a hundred times. But starting with everything laid out in black and white gave her a sense of control.

  And control was important. Maybe because the first nine years of her life, she’d had none.

  She turned onto D Street and stepped on the gas. Some distance ahead, a group of six or eight people stood beside the road, waiting to cross. Tourists, more than likely.

  As she approached, the man standing at the head of the group stepped into the road, and the others followed. None of them looked to be in a hurry, another indication she’d been right in labeling them tourists.

  Nicki depressed the brake pedal, then, with a gasp, released it to jam it down again. Both times, it went all the way to the floor. Panic stabbed through her as the distance between her and those ambling across the road decreased. Hand on the horn, she grabbed the lever beside her and jerked it upward, but the emergency brake was as useless as the other.

  A half-dozen faces turned in her direction, then registered the same panic spiraling through her. She jerked the wheel to the right and bounced up over the curb and onto the sidewalk. Not twenty feet away, a telephone pole stood framed in her front windshield. Before she could react, a deafening crash mingled with her own scream, and the truck jerked to an abrupt halt.

  For several moments, she sat motionless, drawing in calming breaths and trying to still her racing heart. She’d almost hit those people. When she shifted her gaze to the side mirror, one of the men in the group stalked toward her, face red and arms flailing.

  She groaned. She’d just had one of the biggest scares of her life and now had to face some stranger’s wrath. As soon as she opened the door, the words assaulted her.

  “What were you doing, lady? You could have killed us.”

  She stepped from the truck, and for a brief moment, her legs threatened to collapse under her. Steadying herself against the door, she lifted a hand. “I’m so sorry. It was my brakes.” She drew in another shaky breath. “I pressed the pedal and didn’t have any.”

  Her words apparently didn’t soothe his anger. “Brakes don’t just go out like that.” He snapped his fingers on the word that.

  She squared her shoulders, her own patience growing thin. She didn’t need this. “Well, mine did. I had new pads put on six months ago, and the brakes were working fine until just now.”

  He dropped to his hands and knees in front of her door. After inspecting the underside of the truck for a half minute, he rose, then went to the back. His head and shoulders again disappeared under the truck. When he stood a minute later, he was rubbing his right thumb and fingers together.

  “Lady, you got a problem.”

  His tone was somber, all traces of anger gone. A cold block of fear moved through her, leaving a frozen trail. She preferred the anger. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve been working on cars since I was sixteen, and it looks to me like somebody punctured your brake lines.”

  Her chest clenched. “They’re cut?”

  “Not cut. Judging from the way brake fluid is sprayed all over the undercarriage, someone poked holes in them, front and back. If we went around to the passenger side, we’d probably find the same thing. This way, instead of the fluid all leaking out in your driveway, your brakes wouldn’t fail until after you’d depressed them a time or two.” He pulled a tissue from his pocket and wiped the oily substance from his fingers. “The mess under there was intentional, because whoever did this also cut the cable to the emergency brake.” He shook his head.

  “Somebody wants you dead.”

  * * *

  Tyler’s tennis shoes pounded the pavement, and his breath came in heavy pants. The moon rested low on the horizon, a swollen crescent, waiting to be pushed aside by the morning. But even at that early hour, a solid sheet of moisture hung in the air, promising another hot and humid day.

  Andy and Joan were still asleep. At 4:30 a.m., so was Sasha. He had been, too, until about twenty minutes ago, when the whoosh of incoming RPGs had invaded his dreams. After a series of brilliant flashes and earth-rocking explosions, he’d sprung from the bed and slammed into the wall, a scream clawing its way up his throat.

  So he’d thrown on some clothes and shoes and headed outside. Exercise helped. Movement of any kind helped. It almost gave him the illusion that he could outrun the memories tormenting him.

  He slowed to a stop, then stood bent at the waist, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. Two years ago, a run like he’d just done wouldn’t even have left him winded. Now, with the slightest exertion, his damaged lungs worked overtime, never quite able to keep up with what his body demanded.

  He moved again, this time at a more reasonable pace. No sense sapping all his strength before getting the day started.

  Today would be a shorter workday. Saturdays always were. But first, he’d check on Nicki. She’d been pretty shaken yesterday after her accident. Actually, he’d been pretty shaken. She’d again resisted his pleas to move into Andy’s place, but she was at least going along with his demand that she not go anywhere alone. In another hour, he’d be on her doorstep with Sasha. This afternoon, they’d take another walk, then make a trip to Enterprise in Chiefland to get her a rental car. The Ram was repairable, but it was going to be out of commission for some time.

  The hum of an engine sounded in the distance, and he cast a glance over his shoulder. There was no sign of headlights. In fact, the closest street lamp was some distance away. And the dim glow of the porch light on the nearest house wasn’t much more help than the sliver of moon barely visible over the treetops.

  He shrugged it off and continued walking. Sometime between those morning and afternoon walks, he needed to talk to Bridgett. His sister hadn’t called in almost two weeks, which was unheard of. Of course, she probably had some level of comfort knowing he was staying with Andy. At least she knew he wasn’t dying under a bridge somewhere.

  The hum grew louder and closer, and he cast another glance over his shoulder. Still nothing. What was he hearing? It was too close to be someone’s air conditioner kicking on. And if a car were approaching, there would be headlights, especially on such a dark night.

  Moments later, the hum raised in pitch and volume, building to a roar in the span of a second. Now he had no doubt. It was a car. And it was close.

  His heart beat out a jagged rhythm, sending blood roaring through his ears. He shot sideways toward the woods a few feet away. Blinding light engulfed him, and he swiveled his head. The car was right on him. In a split-second reaction, he threw himself onto the hood and rolled up the windshield, then landed in the grass with a thud. The car careened back onto the road, and the taillights brightened. The driver was hitting the brakes.

  When he tried to sit up, his battered body protested. His right leg and hip were bruised, maybe even broken. Already his back muscles were drawing up, and pain shot through his left shoulder and wrist with the slightest movement.

  He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, and his heart fell. A strange pattern of psychedelic colors shone from behind the shattered screen. Twenty yards away, the car made a U-turn. The headlights again went black and the engin
e roared.

  It was coming back.

  With a groan, he rolled onto his hands and knees and scrambled into the woods. The car raced past. He plopped onto his side and lay motionless in the underbrush. If the driver got out to finish what he’d started, Tyler would be doomed. He was in no shape to fight.

  He pushed himself to a seated position and clenched his fists. He didn’t survive three tours in Afghanistan to be taken out by some driver with an ax to grind. Or a jealous ex-fiancé.

  The car made one more pass to head toward town and probably off Cedar Key. And for several minutes, Tyler sat there, testing joints and taking inventory. By the time he crawled from the woods, the promise of dawn touched the eastern sky, now a pale charcoal.

  With the help of the nearest tree, he pulled himself to his feet, then took a small step. Everything still worked. Apparently nothing was broken.

  He put a shaking hand to his chest, trying to calm his pounding pulse. That was no accident. The extinguished lights, the racing engine, the erratic path off the road—it left no doubt. Someone had tried to kill him.

  But this wasn’t about him. He didn’t have any enemies. Not on this side of the Atlantic, anyway. This was about Nicki. And the note. He’d been warned to stay away from her or else. Tough. No way was he letting her face this creep alone.

  He stepped away from the tree that had been supporting him for the past couple of minutes and limped toward the road. He was a good mile from Andy’s. Stumbling back with every joint and muscle screaming at him was going to be pure agony.

  By the time Nicki’s driveway came into view, the eastern sky had faded from black to gray, the first hint of approaching dawn. He’d call the police from Nicki’s house. Already he was probably ten or fifteen minutes late for their morning walk, and he didn’t want her heading out alone.

  He’d made it three quarters of the way up the drive when the door swung open and Nicki called his name. She eyed him with concern. “What happened? Where’s Sasha?”