Memories Of You

by Bobbie Cole

  Didn’t matter to Charlie. She was glad to finally have a father and to see a side of him her mother had either ignored or failed to mention, that of a dad who gave a damn. And whenever Charlie had a particularly hard case or needed advice, she went to Sam, who was a good listener.

  In typical Sam fashion, he had a pot of cheese dip simmering in a Crock-Pot and a batch of her favorite cookies, chocolate chip, cooling on the stove when she walked in the door carrying the beer.

  “Set it in the refrigerator, kid. I cleared a space,” he instructed, stirring his cheese dip. “I’ll give you a kiss in a sec. Oh, and turn down the television. I’ve seen that episode before, and it sucks. Besides, you sounded depressed. What’s up?”

  She hauled the beer out of the sack and popped open two cans, taking one over to him and tilting her cheek for the kiss.

  “Remember that guy I was seeing last year, the one who disappeared?”

  “Yep. This has something to do with him?” Sam asked, quirking an eyebrow. “I thought you said you were over him.”

  “I lied. And I think he’s back, but I’m not sure.” She explained the situation.

  Sam whistled and sat across the small kitchen island from her. “Pass me the salsa. So what do you think? Is it him?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged.

  “Bullshit. You been to bed with him yet?”

  “Daddy!” Charlie lapsed from adult cop to that of shocked child.

  “What? An old man can’t ask his daughter if she’s getting any?”

  “No, you may not. And the answer is no, not that it’s any of your business.”

  “Hey, a father has rights.” He munched the chips and swigged his beer. “You know, there was something funny about the way you said he left, so maybe this guy’s the real deal, and maybe there’s nothing more to it than he got a bad bump on the head—okay, and a facelift—in Mexico.” Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “Bring him around here. Let me have a look at him.”

  “I will not. Not yet, anyway.”

  “Ah, so there is something going on between the two of you.”

  “He kissed me, okay?” Charlie felt herself blush. “It was just a kiss, but…it… It felt like him, you know? There was something there besides hormones and testosterone and all that icky, touchy-feely stuff.”

  “God, you sound like me now. Careful. I’m already in enough trouble with your mother. You cheat her out of a church wedding, should this man be the one, and she’ll put out a contract on me.”

  “If Mom planned a wedding, not that there is anything remotely like that going on between us, it’d be held in a bingo parlor, and you know it.” Charlie sipped her beer. “Tell her I said so, though, and you die for sure.”

  “Okay, Charlene, what’s this really about?” Sam indicated the beer. “You bring a six-pack when you just want to say hi and a twelve-pack when you’re troubled, and there’s at least a case in my refrigerator, thanks to you. So what’s the problem? He’s back—so what? He doesn’t remember you, or you don’t remember him, or what?”

  “I think it’s him, but we can’t prove it. I’ve run AFIS, you name it, and the man either doesn’t exist except in my imagination, or he’s a Fed.”

  “Or he’s more than that,” Sam said. “Maybe he’s not even American.”

  “No, he’s ours.”

  “How do you know? What are the facts, not the feelings? Time for that later.” Sam propped his head in his palms, rubbing his lower lip with a thumb. Ready to brainstorm.

  “He has no distinguishing marks, scars or features—he’s just a nice-looking man who could be anybody. He doesn’t have an accent.”

  “Again, that could be a cover.”

  Charlie nodded. “He doesn’t have a driver’s license, which raises a red flag.”

  “Big one if he’s Texan,” Sam said. “So maybe he’s from the East Coast and is used to walking everywhere, or maybe the friggin’ cab drivers in this town make him as nuts as they do the rest of us.”

  Charlie shook her head. “It’s more than that. He’s familiar with Houston. He’s just not familiar with himself, who he is, and I get the feeling he’s afraid of driving for some reason, now that I think back. Maybe it’s because of the accident now, but…weird, isn’t it, that he didn’t drive before then?”

  Sam shrugged. “Hell, lots of people don’t get their driver’s licenses, but most of those folks are from a big city. Houston is huge, has been for over a decade, but it’s too spread out for a walker unless he sticks to one particular neighborhood, so he’s either not from here, or he has a girlfriend.” He seemed to catch himself. “Sorry. Or somebody.”

  “Thanks, Sam.” Charlie knew her voice dripped sarcasm.

  “Welcome. It’s what I do best. Stick my foot in my mouth.”

  “No, maybe you’re right. Maybe he has a girlfriend.” She hated to admit it, but at this point, truth was more important than ego.

  Her father pushed himself away from the island. “Grab a bowl of chips, fill another with dip and grab a notebook and pen. We’ll come up with something. We’re two smart people.” He chuckled. “Can’t say the same for the Aldridge woman and her husband. Who in their right mind tries convincing someone they are somebody else?”

  “Folks who don’t have to worry about anyone contradicting them.” Charlie chewed her bottom lip a moment. “If Mason Aldridge was a bit of a hermit, rarely went into his office, didn’t socialize, it’d be conceivable.”

  While he hauled out utensils and dishes, he hummed, and Charlie felt more at ease than she had all day. Then again, she argued with herself, maybe she was just tired and hungry.

  Then Sam turned, holding the dipper for the cheese as if he were directing an orchestra, punctuating his sentences with every syllable. “You know. Maybe we’re looking at this all wrong. Think back to when he first entered your life. What were you working on?”

  “I don’t get what that has to do with anything.” Charlie frowned.

  “Maybe his accident had nothing to do with him and more to do with you. That’s all.” He paused, waiting for her to comment again.

  Charlie considered what he’d said but shook her head. “Don’t think so. I was working on the Martin case, man who’d been dead for six weeks or so, and one of his old girlfriends came by to say she thought he’d been murdered.”

  “Where did Martin live?”

  “Downtown. Some hotel.”

  “Must be nice. What’d he do to earn his money?”

  “He worked at an escort service. We never could pin them down. They had a massive operation with several hundred employees, but none of the execs were ever in town, and…” She stopped, staring straight ahead. “Last time Martin was seen was before he boarded a plane for Mexico.”

  She looked at her dad then cocked her head, her frown deepening. “Seth, an escort? I don’t see it.”

  “Hey, I’m only askin’ you to consider it. Dig back and see what you were doing. An escort wouldn’t be required to drive. A courier would, just about anyone else would, but an escort would go where he was taken.”

  Charlie suddenly felt as if she was the one who’d been taken. By a gigolo or a charlatan or just a snake who might have been between girlfriends when he’d romanced her. “I really hate it when you do that.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Play devil’s advocate and wind up making me doubt what I feel is a solid lead.”

  Sam chuckled. “I wasn’t aware you had any.”

  “You know what really ticks me off?” Charlie stifled the gall she felt growing, the bitter taste in her mouth. “I can’t even get angry with him. He doesn’t remember a damn thing.”

  “Kinda steals your thunder, doesn’t it?” Sam smiled ruefully.

  Charlie had a thought. “Okay if I borrow your laptop? Heather was supposed to send me a photo or two of a car, maybe of the men watching us at the restaurant today.”

  “Sure—help yourself. You know where it is. Bring it in here
, though,” her dad said. “Not that I don’t trust you and me, what with our savvy and quick minds and all, but doesn’t hurt to have a good search engine when you’re brainstorming.”

  Charlie’s cell phone rang before she could retrieve the laptop, and she looked at the number. Last time he’d called, she’d plugged in one word. Seth. She pressed the button, answering his call. “Yes?”

  She saw her dad watching her and turned her back, more out of fear she’d blush than concern he’d overhear her conversation.

  “Would you be willing to fly south with me tomorrow?”

  “We talking birds, geese-type flying to South America, or what?” she asked, looking for a lighter avenue in tone so she could calm her jangled nerves.

  “Mexico. Guadalajara is where the accident occurred. I’d like to speak with the doctors who treated me—face to face this time instead of over the phone.”

  Charlie was surprised. “Sure. I’d have to clear it with my captain tomorrow.”

  “I’ll ring you around eight. That too soon?”

  “No, it’s fine. I’ll talk to you then and let you know what he says.”

  Charlie turned back to face her father after she hung up. “You’ll never guess…”

  “Yes, I would,” he cut in. “It was him. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have turned away like that.”

  She set her jaw and smirked. “Could you stop being a cop for just five seconds?”

  “Could you?”

  “Probably not. Yes, it was Seth. He wants me to fly to Mexico with him tomorrow.”

  “Pack an umbrella,” Sam said nonchalantly, as if she’d just suggested they go to lunch. “They’ve got some storms moving in from the Caribbean. Saw that on the news yesterday. Wouldn’t want anything to put a damper on things for you.”

  When she remained where she was, Sam cleared his throat. “Forget something?”

  “Hmm?”

  Her dad smiled indulgently. “Now I know some of what I must’ve missed when you were a starry-eyed teenager with her first crush.” He cocked his head toward the back of his house. “You were supposed to get my laptop and bring it in here so we could do some searching online.”

  “Oh. Yeah.” Jeez. She’d all but forgotten that she also needed to look for Heather’s email containing snapshots of the men who were following her and Seth.

  Chapter Four

  Charlie and Sam had stayed up so late going over what little evidence she had that indicated Seth was possibly a Fed that she’d decided to spend the night on her dad’s couch. Not like she hadn’t done so before, but she had to scurry home the next morning for a shower and change of clothes.

  Seth’s plan had made sense—fly to Mexico and interview the sources. Perhaps the doctors who had given him his new face would have information regarding his condition when he’d come in, specifics on circumstances when the paperwork for the surgeries had been signed, all of the details he hadn’t been able to secure on his own once he was back in Houston. With Charlie flashing a badge, maybe they’d get somewhere.

  When she agreed, Seth booked them on the quickest flight out of Houston for late morning. All Charlie had to do was square things with her boss, let her captain know she was trying to tie Seth’s disappearance to a cold case that had crossed her desk earlier and reiterate the fact that the department wouldn’t need to pick up the tab, not even her lunch, considering “Mason Aldridge” was paying for everything.

  “Might as well let the old boy foot the bill, considering we’ll be investigating his disappearance as well while we’re there,” Seth had said.

  Captain Bemo told Charlie to let her new partner know and to take the rest of the day off. “It’s Wednesday,” he said. “Think you can find out what you need to know and be back here by Monday?”

  Charlie had jumped at the chance.

  She requested George Martin’s file be copied and put on a thumb drive so she could study it on the plane, but before she left, the clerk who’d taken the information called her back into the room.

  “What’s wrong, Julie?” Charlie asked.

  “Just thought you’d like to know. Lots of activity on this file,” Julie said. She looked over the top of her glasses at Charlie and blinked. “Three days ago, your new partner. Last month, the CIA, no less.”

  “You sure?” Concerned, Charlie rounded the corner to peer over Julie’s shoulder. “Wonder why?”

  Julie wrote down a code and handed it to her. “Whoever it was must think Martin links to one of their cases. Who knows?”

  Charlie glanced at the note. The date Julie had written beside the agent’s inquiry code was only two weeks prior. First the Feds were tailing Seth—now this. “What the devil?” she mused, sticking the note into her jacket pocket. She’d have to ask Bemo about it when she got back from Mexico.

  Mexico. She stopped midway up a flight of steps, thinking. She’d never been as far south as Guadalajara, but she’d bet it was beautiful and that with the right swimsuit and any luck, even in March she could get a tan.

  Silly, she chided herself. You’re not going there to swim or sunbathe. Besides, Sam told you to expect storms. She continued up the steps, irked that she’d even thought of such a thing. She knew she looked pretty good. Better than average. The thought of dressing in a skimpy bikini and possibly rattling Seth’s memory cells a bit was tantalizing, but her appearance was probably the farthest thing from the man’s mind.

  She felt one corner of her lips lift as she continued the sparring match her femininity had going with her logic. Just because they weren’t going to the beach didn’t mean she couldn’t dress differently than she did at work. Pack a sundress or two, some strappy sandals and a light, cashmere sweater for the March nights. The area’s rainy season would be starting within a few weeks, but reports were that storms in the Caribbean were already causing inland problems.

  “You look like la gata, the proverbial cat that swallowed the bird.”

  She lifted her head as she heard Rodríguez coming down the steps to halt beside her. She smiled in greeting. “Hey. I was just coming to see you.”

  “Bemo phoned me to tell me. Said you looked like your head was in the clouds, so he wasn’t sure if you’d get hold of me or not.” Rodríguez grinned and pulled down the shades that he wore even inside the building. “Hot date?”

  “If you talked to Bemo, then you know the answer.”

  “Yah, but it was the quickest way I could think of to break the ice. You’re always so reserved.” He winked. “Can I come?”

  “I don’t think there’s room for you in my luggage, Rodríguez, but nice try.”

  He dropped into step beside her as she turned to return to the floor she’d just left. “Hey, you might need an interpreter.”

  She stopped and looked at him. “Now that is not a bad idea.”

  “Just sayin’, call me if you get into trouble. I still speak the lingo.” He was suddenly serious, the smooth naturally tanned face no longer smiling. “I opened George Martin’s file. Nasty way to die. The guy carved him up like a Thanksgiving turkey.”

  “Yeah.” Just thinking of the gruesome murder gave Charlie chills. “Why are you poking around in there?”

  “You’re my partner, it’s one of the cases you’ve worked on for several months and it’s one of the few you haven’t solved. Thought perhaps you could use some fresh eyes on it.”

  She chucked him on the arm with a light tap of her fist. “Thanks. We’ll do that together when I get back. Deal?” She held out her hand for him to shake.

  She hid a smile as his face broke into a wide, warm grin. She could tell he was thrilled she’d finally accepted that he might be the guy who had her back in a fight.

  “You got it,” he said.

  “Oh, and Julio?”

  “Yeah?”

  “A friend is supposed to send me some candid shots she took with her camera phone. A couple of guys were following me yesterday. Well, maybe not just me. Anyway, when I get them, okay if I forward them t
o you if she got the tag so you can run it for me?”

  Now his chest swelled. She chuckled. The guy was growing on her. Maybe he wouldn’t make such a bad partner after all.

  Seth was waiting for her at the airport, cups of coffee from a specialty shop in each hand. It was his attire that intrigued her, though, and the sight of him in the jeans and a nice pullover sweater made her heart skip a beat.

  He waited for her to clear the checkpoint and sat beside her while she slipped her shoes back on.

  Charlie was glad she’d taken a tip from Rodríguez and worn dark glasses. The shades hid her expression, so she knew Seth couldn’t see that she watched him assess her figure. She knew she looked good in the outfit she’d chosen, a soft pink bolero tee paired with heather-gray slacks and matching jacket. The only flair items she added were a pair of black pumps with coordinating shoulder bag and trench coat, should she need it.

  “You look nice,” he said, giving a brief nod of his head.

  Charlie hoped she wasn’t beaming as she thanked him. “I was going for a look that said ‘I’m not really a cop but don’t mess with me.’”

  “Don’t think you’ll have to worry about that,” he said, his voice hinting of laughter. When she puckered her forehead with a perplexed frown, he indicated the holster and Glock 30 strapped across her chest beneath the jacket she’d put back on once she was out of the line.

  Charlie laughed. “Well, I suppose that helps boost my tough-chick meter up a notch or two. Can’t get on the plane without showing it, and I’m not getting off the plane without having it on my person.”