by Ellie Danes
Why wouldn't he leave?
I'd seen the fat rolls of cash he stuffed into the shoebox. And there was something inside the battered box that he very carefully hid from me.
He paused at the corner, considering whether to head to my car or take off. My hand tensed on his arm, gripping tighter, and he glanced down at me. It was ridiculous, but I was attached. To him, to the whole mystery we were trying to solve, and now to the shady business with the safety deposit box.
"Almost there," Nathan said. "Just act casual."
"I'm not the one who needs acting lessons," I said.
Nathan shot me a quick smile. "My limp wasn't that bad."
I shrugged. "It's as good as your diplomacy, I suppose."
"So, I was a little hard on the bank manager. I just want this to be all over," Nathan said.
I let go of his arm as he looked around the corner. My car was less than 100 yards away but so was a busy thoroughfare. He could disappear in the crowd of commuters forming near the bus station. I held my breath.
Nathan started toward my car but I still couldn't breathe. Fear stopped my lungs. One of the men who had so disturbed me in the bank was striding right toward us. It was a public sidewalk, but the look on his face was so determined.
"Nathan," I squeaked.
"Can I help you?" Nathan asked the well-dressed man.
"You're both coming with me," the man said.
I ran up to Nathan. "Bank security?" I asked him.
"No ID, no badge. This is bad." Nathan shoved the surprisingly heavy shoebox into my hands. "Get to your car."
The man was on top of us so fast I had no chance to get out of the way. Nathan stepped in front of me and blocked the man in the suit.
"We're not going anywhere with you. I suggest you step aside," Nathan said.
His arms were loose, his hands relaxed, but there was no doubt that Nathan was serious. He kept his eyes locked on the well-dressed man and clocked his every move, sizing him up. I could feel the strength and barely restrained violence surging through Nathan.
The man in the suit noticed and stopped with a scant three feet between him and Nathan. He then leaned slightly and gave me a leer over Nathan's shoulder.
"Wouldn't want your pretty little accessory to get hurt." He licked his lips at me.
"You're going to turn around and leave us alone right now or things are going to get very ugly," Nathan said.
I didn't know what to do. Nathan was waving me toward my car but the man in the suit looked ready to pounce.
"All right, then, let's do this the hard way," the man said. He pulled out a gun and held it at hip level.
There were other people on the street, and for a second I considered screaming. Then the man pointed the gun directly at Nathan and all the breath in my body squeezed out. I couldn't believe I was going to be the woman who fainted.
I caught myself just as my knees started to buckle, but Nathan caught me up and we ran toward my car.
There was a loud crack and it took me three more steps before I realized it was a gunshot. I stumbled, and Nathan pulled me behind the nearest car. Another shot rang out, and the window of the blue sedan shattered above us.
"That way. Crawl!" Nathan pushed me in the opposite direction of my car. "Who knows how long they've been following me. They probably know your car."
Nathan reached up and broke the side mirror off the already damaged car. He waited, took a deep breath, and then stood up. He winged the mirror at the gunman as hard as he could, and I heard a satisfying grunt from the man in the suit.
"Go!" Nathan cried.
It was as if the air solidified around me. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't move, and everything took seconds longer than it should have.
Nathan lunged toward the disoriented gun man. He was bent over from where the side-view mirror had cracked him in the ribs, but now he was swinging his arm upward.
The gun barked, and I saw the smoke from the barrel. Nathan dodged but kept right on charging the armed man. I crawled to the bumper of the next car and watched as the two men fought in the middle of the street.
Screams and sirens finally reached my ears. It would be over soon, and I stood up. Just in time to see the other two men in suits come running out of the bank. They reached in their pockets as they ran, and I smothered a scream.
Then I realized what I was doing and peeled my hands off my mouth. "Nathan! Look out!" I screamed.
He swung the first gunman around and shoved him at his friends. Then Nathan dove toward me. I flung myself behind the next car as he scrambled beside me.
More glass rained down on us as the gunmen opened fire. The chunks of safety glass caught in my hair and clawed down my shirt. I didn't know what to do or if I could even move.
"They don't want to hurt us," Nathan said.
"Are you kidding?" I screamed as bullets plugged into the car and whizzed over our heads.
"He wanted us to come with him. Those are his orders, not to kill us. Otherwise, he would have shot first." Nathan stood up for a quick glimpse through the shattered car windows. "We gotta move now."
"But they're going to shoot us," I said.
"No, they are going to shoot at us, but not hit us. They're trying to scare us into giving in. I'm not going with them, and I'm not going to let them take you. Now go!" Nathan shoved me hard toward the corner.
I started crawling but the shouts of the men were getting closer. I scrambled to my feet and ran, bent over as low as I could.
Chunks of cement rained down from the wall over me as I ran, and in the dust and confusion, I couldn't see if Nathan was right behind me.
"My car," I cried. "We need to get to my car."
Nathan grabbed my arm and pulled me in the opposite direction. "They already made your car. We have to get out of here."
Nathan shoved me in between cars as one of the gunmen sprinted ahead, trying to cut us off. My face was hard up against a muddy bumper when everything fell silent. In the distance, sirens were blaring but the gunshots had stopped. The men were waiting for us, zeroing in on where we were hiding.
How in the hell did I get myself into this?
It was one thing to flirt with a mysterious man at the diner. It was even okay to bring him home for a sexy one-night stand. But, my desire for something new, for a little adventure, had gotten wildly out-of-hand. Maybe my sister was right, and I didn't know my head from my ass.
Tears blurred my vision as I thought about never seeing my sister again. Not that she wanted to see me, but I wondered if she would feel differently when she found out I'd been gunned down in the street.
"Bree, you gotta get up. We have to move. Now!" Nathan whispered but his words were sharp.
He grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet. One of the well-dressed men was only fifteen feet away, and his head whipped around as we appeared. His arm was quick to follow, and I almost fell as I flinched.
A burning hot sting flashed across my arm, and I cried out. My scream caught the attention of the other two men, and they came sprinting up the street.
"Get behind me, Bree." Nathan blocked me with his body and pushed me back toward the corner.
I clung to my bleeding arm and stumbled toward the corner of the building, but the men were moving too fast. We weren't going to make it. They were going to shoot Nathan, and the bullets would rip right through him and kill me, too.
Then I realized Nathan was right. Three guns were aimed dead-center on his heart but no shots were fired. The men were yelling, a jumble of English and other words I didn't recognize. They kept advancing, moving together to encircle us.
The only thing that stopped them was the screeching of tires as a police squad car turned sharply around the corner. Its brakes squealed as it narrowly avoided hitting the first gunman.
Nathan and I dropped to the ground as our assailants scattered. Police were suddenly everywhere, but they were not looking for us. Radios blared about three armed suspects and a foot chase past the bus stop
.
Nathan nodded toward the corner again.
"What about my car?" I whispered.
"Just leave it," Nathan said.
I didn't find that comforting, and Nathan had to grab me firmly by the hand and drag me toward the corner. When we finally slipped around it, shaking off safety glass and cement dust, it was shocking to find a little peace.
It felt like the eye of a storm.
We waited, pressed against the wall of the alley, assuming someone would notice us. Police were still swarming everywhere but they ran right past without seeing us.
Nathan wrapped his arm around me, covering up my bleeding arm, and walked us another two blocks without stopping. When he finally paused in another narrow alley, I shoved him away from me.
"It's just a scratch. I know it hurts like hell but you'll be all right." Nathan tried to catch my hand. "There won't even be a scar."
"Stop. Just stop," I cried. "I can't breathe."
I pried the now bent shoebox out from under my arm and tossed it at Nathan. Then I slid down and sat on the ground, not caring how damp or dirty the alley was. My legs simply would not hold me anymore.
Nathan knelt in front of me. "Bree, you're all right. Just take a deep breath."
I did and then I stuck one foot up and kicked Nathan back as hard as I could. "I know how to breathe," I snapped.
He stumbled back and stood up with a rueful smile on his face. "There you are. I was starting to worry you were going to go into shock on me."
"I might still. You don't know," I grumbled.
Nathan's smile softened as he looked down at me from a safe distance. "You're not even crying. You're a lot tougher than you look. And you held on to the shoebox the entire time. That's impressive, Bree."
I glared up at him. "Oh, good, because I was just saying to myself how much I wanted to impress you by surviving a storm of bullets and glass."
He held out a hand. "The point is, we did survive. And, thanks to you, I still have a few clues about what happened to me."
I let Nathan help me up, careful not to move my bleeding arm. A street over, someone banged a dumpster lid and I jumped into Nathan's arms.
He waited to see if I would shove him away again, but this time all I could do was lay my head on his chest. His heart was pounding harder than race-car pistons, but his breath was slow and steady. I matched it until I no longer felt faint.
Then I leaned back and looked up into Nathan's face. "Who were those men?"
He buried his face in my hair and hugged me tight. "I have no idea."
Chapter Eleven
Nathan
"We can't stay here." I tugged on Bree's arm again but she wouldn't move. She was slumped against the wall of the alley within sight of a busy thoroughfare.
All I had to do was get her to her feet and we'd be back to the motel in no time. The police had chased off the armed men, but my sense of urgency was growing by the second. Bree's behavior and bloodied arm would be noticed soon enough, and I couldn't let us get tied to the scene of the shootout. If the bank manager and security guard hadn't mentioned us already.
"Don't make me carry you," I said.
Bree's eyelashes fluttered, and she flashed an irritated look up at me. "I got shot in the arm. I can still walk."
I hauled her to her feet. "You caught a ricochet. Trust me. An actual gunshot would have been a lot cleaner."
Bree shook off my hand. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
She spun around and marched toward the mouth of the alley. I caught her steps before the police squad car that marked where the shootout happened.
"We have to keep out of sight." I pulled her back, and she blinked as if she didn't recognize me. "Let's get you back to the motel. ASAP."
Bree walked with me but her breath escaped in little whimpers. "I don't want to go to the motel," she said. "I want to go home."
"Topeka?" I asked.
"No. Really home." Bree raised her sore arm to wipe her face on her sleeve but winced at the pain. "Home where my sister is always playing the perfect music for the mood. Where she's stashed something silly like a snail kite or a pack of dog poker cards. Something to make me laugh when it's all too much."
She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and swayed. I caught her just before she dropped to the ground again.
"Fine. We'll get you to your sister." I would have told her anything to keep her moving. A squad car was cruising down the street behind us.
Bree shook her head. "I forgot. I can't go home. She won't talk to me. She doesn't want to see me."
I pulled her along. "Sounds like some fight. Maybe you should call her first."
"Where am I going to go?" Bree's voice took on a high, brittle edge. "What am I going to do?"
"You're going to calm down." I pulled her close to me and tucked my arm around her. My hand almost covered the bloodied section of her shirt, but I was afraid another passing squad car would notice.
Bree was silent the rest of the walk, and I wasn't sure what was worse, her panicked tears or her defeated silence. She walked like a zombie, and I could have led her anywhere.
I should have pointed her in the direction of the nearest police precinct. She would have been safer there. Bree could have told the police I kidnapped her. Then she would be free to return to Topeka, or find her sister, or start over somewhere completely new.
"Almost there," I said. My grip on her was too tight but she didn't complain.
I could see the motel at the end of the block. We only had a few hundred more feet and she could collapse. We both could.
"My car." Bree snapped out of her daze and fought against me, trying to turn around.
"A few bullet holes but no broken windows," I said. "It'll be fine where we left it until things cool off."
"Cool off?" Bree's eyes had a distant look. "I'm freezing."
"We're almost to the motel. Think blankets, sweatshirts, a hot bath." I said anything I could think of to push her along the last few feet to safety.
With the motel room door shut behind us, I was finally able to take a deep breath. It didn't help. All it did was make me realize I was more worried about Bree than I was about getting shot at. Those men knew me, knew that I had been at the bank before.
Thank god, I had been right about them not wanting to kill us. But where did they want to take me? How did I know them?
It felt like a huge, heavy curtain covered up my last few days. I wanted to tear at it with my bare hands, but there was nothing I could do.
Bree was shivering despite the sweatshirt she had pulled out of her small suitcase. I wrapped her in a blanket and tried to tempt her with the selection of snacks I had grabbed from the vending machine the night before.
"Not hungry," Bree said.
"How about I run you a bath?" I sat down next to her on the bed and moved to put my arm around her shivering shoulders.
Bree inched away from me with wide eyes. "No, thanks."
I fought the urge to groan and growl. I could feel Bree pulling away from me, and that was the last thing I could handle at that point. She was my only ally. The only one who knew as much about where I had been and what I had done as I did. Without her, I knew I would quickly lose hope.
"It's just shock," I told Bree. "Your body is trying to preserve itself. Try to think about something besides what happened. Maybe something that happened just before everything went south."
Bree nodded and stood up. I had to lunge across the motel room to block her from grabbing the shoebox.
"What?" she snapped. "I'm doing what you said. I'm concentrating on what we were doing before the guns… I mean, all the rest."
I tried to catch her hands. "Yes. It would be really helpful to go over what we already know. What was the name of the street the little girl's postcard mentioned?"
Bree narrowed her eyes at me. "Ginger Road Park. I think it's a place, not a street name."
"In El Paso," I said. Bree reached for the shoebox again but
I stepped in the way. "And the postcard was addressed funny. 'Dear Someone,' right?"
"Nathan, we know all this, and it's not helping." Bree shoved me aside and picked up the shoebox.
It was heavy enough that she had to catch it with her other hand. She clutched it to her stomach and moved to sit down on the motel bed again. I wanted to knock it out of her hands, but that would have only made things worse.
Instead, I sank down to sit beside her on the sagging mattress. "I really don't remember, Bree. You believe me, right?"
Bree nodded but didn't say a word. She couldn't speak. Underneath the ragged shoebox lid, she spied the flash of the gun. Then her wide, terrified eyes lifted to mine.
"It's a Glock 49," I told her. "I have no idea why it's in there."
"It's yours?" Bree asked.
I shook my head. "I didn't own a gun before. I don't know. I told you I can't remember."
I stood up to pace off my agitation, and I accidentally knocked the shoebox from Bree's hands. The Glock rattled to the floor next to two bricks of white powder.
"Is that cocaine?" Bree asked.
"I wouldn't know, and I'm not going to open those up," I said. "You believe me, right?"
"Nathan, I…" Bree swallowed hard and wrapped her arms tight over her stomach. "I believe that you can't remember, but I don't know who you are. I don't have any idea who you were."
I started to rattle off my credentials, my schooling, even my old addresses, but my voice gave out. How could I pretend she wasn't right? I remembered who I used to be, but whatever I had done could have changed everything. I could have transformed into a completely different person and just not realized it yet.
"I've never done cocaine." It was the only honest thing I could tell Bree. The doctors at the clinic said my tox screen was clear of everything but alcohol.
"And the gun?" Bree asked.
I leaned against the dresser in front of her. "I probably needed it. We need it. Now that I know armed men are trying to grab me."
"But not kill you," Bree said.
"Right. They only wanted me to come with them," I remembered. It was small comfort but I was willing to take what I could get.