by Cate Noble
Would Gena welcome her ex-husband home with a chance at a do-over?
Probably not. The water under that particular bridge was tainted. Which didn’t stop Rocco from wondering if Gena could ever forgive him.
God, maybe his last girlfriend was right…men were assholes.
Travis’s phone started to ring just as their waitress came over and introduced herself as Kimmie. She pointed playfully at Travis’s phone. “It’s after two a.m. Technically, you can ignore that.”
“They’ll just keep calling. I’ll have the special. Eggs over easy. Be right back,” Travis said before moving away to take the call.
Kimmie leaned in close to Rocco. “And what can I get you, sugar?”
He eyed the swells of her breasts as she openly flirted. She was wearing one of those bustier things that made men go stupid in less than sixty seconds. The process was relative to cup size. The fact that Kimmie had dusted her generous curves with body glitter didn’t help.
Neither did the memory of his last phone conversation with his girlfriend, Maddy. Or ex-girlfriend, as Maddy had harshly reminded him. I’m tired of being forgotten at the drop of a hat.
Damn it. He didn’t mean to forget. Maddy deserved better. It was just…men were assholes.
He shifted his gaze away from Kimmie. Through the plate glass window behind her, Rocco caught sight of Travis pacing outside the restaurant. Whatever the call, it wasn’t good. As he watched, a cab pulled up to the curb, discharging Cat and Dante.
Dante had his sleeping son cradled in his arms. Travis quit his call and motioned for them to follow him into the restaurant.
Travis’s fierce scowl telegraphed bad news.
Rocco sighed. Looking at Kimmie, he released the dream of waking up from a good night’s sleep with glitter all over his face.
“Better make it two coffees. Black.”
“To go,” Travis amended.
Rocco stood and hugged Cat, before turning back to Travis. “Don’t tell me. There was another John Doe spotting. Why don’t you let me handle this one? You go grab some sleep.”
“None of us will be sleeping after this.” Travis held up his phone. “That was hospital security. Dr. Winchette is dead. His body was found in the bathroom of Max’s room. Looks like his neck was snapped.”
“Jesus!” Rocco ran a hand through his hair. “What happened? Is Max okay?”
“Max has disappeared. A nurse was making rounds and found his bed empty. She checked the bathroom and found Winchette’s body. They think Max must have awakened disoriented like John Doe did. And he wouldn’t have known Winchette from the man in the moon.”
Cat drew a sharp breath. “We have to find him.”
“Yeah, well, there’s more,” Travis said. “It appears Dr. Houston is missing now, too. She was last seen going into Max’s room. One of the security films from a stairwell caught an image of her with Max just before he disabled the camera. They’re checking other cameras around the grounds.”
“When do they think it happened?” Dante asked.
“Less than an hour ago. Around shift change, when everyone was busy,” Travis said. “The police have been called in but it will take them a while to piece together what happened. That gives us a chance to find them first.”
“Erin mentioned having a rental car,” Rocco said. “If they’re in it, we can trace it with LoJack.”
“I’ll get her credit card and cell phone records,” Travis said. “ATM, too. If he’s coherent, Max would know to use cash.”
“Shit.” Dante looked at Rocco then Travis. “I left a bag with clothes, a cell phone, and some cash.”
“How much?”
“A thousand.”
“Ouch. You have the cell phone number, though, right?” Travis asked.
“Of course.”
“Okay, let Cat start calling that number.” Travis turned to Cat. “I think he’ll feel safer talking to you.”
“I’m on it,” she said.
“Dante, I want you to pull his last known addresses. Find what’s familiar. Friends. Family,” Travis continued. “Cat, you’ve known Max longer. Didn’t he have an uncle who lived on one of the reservations out here?”
“Arizona,” she said. “Max lived with him off and on during grade school. He died, though, when Max was in the Army.”
They grew quiet as Kimmie drew close again. Rocco handed her enough cash to cover the coffee and a generous tip.
“Listen up. This isn’t going to be easy to hear,” Travis went on as soon as they were alone again. “Max is one of us, but he’s been held two years, under extremely questionable circumstances. With Winchette dead, I’ve got to assume Dr. Houston’s life is at risk as well.”
Cat shook her head. “I know this sounds crazy, but Max won’t harm her. I guarantee it.”
“Guarantee?” Travis repeated. “Look, at the risk of sounding insensitive, if there is something in particular you know about Max that would help us locate him, I need to know it.”
Rocco knew Travis was referring to the rumored involvement between Cat and Max.
But if Cat felt awkward having an old love affair mentioned in front of her fiancé, Dante, she didn’t show it.
“It is a private matter,” she acknowledged. “And it’s not what you’re thinking.” She moved closer to Dante as she spoke and pressed a kiss to her sleeping son’s forehead. “What I’m referring to will shed no light on where Max is. Still, I’ll give you a full explanation after I tell Dante about it.”
“Fair enough,” Travis said. “Dante, you and Cat stay here; start tracing Max and Dr. Houston’s records. Rocco and I will head back to the hospital and work that end.”
Outside, the sky was masked by heavy clouds that promised rain. A lone siren pierced the night. Rocco drove back to the hospital as Travis fielded phone calls.
The tiredness Rocco had felt earlier was replaced by a heavy tension. A woman was missing and a man was dead. Both were last seen in Max’s room. And while they lacked witnesses to Winchette’s murder, the circumstances didn’t bode well for Max.
“Goddamnit! When did that happen?” Travis said into his phone. “Find out and call me back!”
Rocco glanced sideways. “Word on Max?” he asked when Travis disconnected.
Travis released a long sigh. “No. But Dr. Rufin may have surfaced in Bangkok. One of his e-mail accounts was accessed.”
Rocco could guess what was bugging Travis. “How many people besides us know?”
“Supposedly none. But we both know how fast that can change.” Travis hammered his knee with his fist. “Damn it. I want Rufin! My gut says he’s the missing link. Whoever gets to him first will have Max, Taz, and maybe Harry’s future in their hands. I just hope to God it’s us.”
“Can we throw out a false trail, then send someone in to grab him?”
“Perhaps. The question is who can I bank on?” Travis grew quiet but only for a moment. “How fast could you reach one of your contacts over there? It would need to be someone you’d trust with your life.”
Rocco weighed the request before nodding. “I think I know just the guy.”
Chapter 12
The route Max took to the San Diego Airport was eerily familiar. Exit 5 onto Sassafras. First right to remote parking. Even the swirling patches of fog prodded his memory. Like he’d just driven here last week.
Except he had no freakin’ clue what he’d really done last week. Or last month. Or last year. This ability to read and influence others obviously didn’t apply to himself.
His concept of linear time was skewed. He kept getting little flashes of recall, but they made no sense, felt out of sequence. Some even felt fabricated.
Wasn’t that perfect?
He’d been gone two years. But it felt like more. Like his entire past was gone. Was that the amnesia Erin had mentioned? Or the lingering effects of the sedatives? Hopefully both were short term. Because he wanted and needed answers—fast.
Where he’d been wasn
’t nearly as pressing as the question of what had been done to him. And even that question paled in the face of the near panic he felt over forgetting what he was supposed to do next.
The feeling of something undone, something incomplete, ate at him. What was it?
Without warning, the dull ache that had lumbered in the back of his head since awakening spiked. His vision tunneled. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, squeezing the hard plastic.
Concentrating on the tactile helped. He noticed he was panting—which also helped. A voice inside his head automatically began counting. One thousand one, one thousand two.
Okay, voices in the head weren’t good. But neither was the alternative: passing out while driving. He needed a better distraction. Thoughts of Erin crept in. Naked Erin. His mind began to wander in ways it hadn’t in a long time. Yeah, that was a hell of a lot nicer than counting.
And almost immediately his field of vision expanded, pushing back the headache.
Okay, he’d just learned something valuable. As long as he kept his thoughts on a present-moment task—say counting, or more preferably, a hot fantasy—he could control the pain. Brief thoughts, little hit-andrun wonderings, small conjectures, were tolerable.
Effort was relative. The longer and harder he tried to remember, the worse it hurt. And trying to recall anything about his imprisonment made his skull feel like it was being pried off his neck.
For now, the simpler he kept things, the better. Erin could help him sift through the messy details later.
He glanced over at her. She looked to be asleep. He had reclined the passenger seat and buckled her in to add to the illusion.
He didn’t feel guilty for drugging her. She would have doped him up without hesitation if he’d displayed any instability.
And later on, when she woke up pissed—no psychic power needed to predict that one—he felt confident in his ability to soothe her. Not that that would be unpleasant. Erin had the kind of good looks that hit a man in the midsection. When was the last time he’d felt anything other than a fist there?
Slowing the car, Max pulled into the remote parking lot. Yeah, he’d definitely been here before.
He lowered his window as a lot attendant materialized out of the fog. The lanky kid wore headphones and rocked his head to the beat of music so loud Max could hear it.
“We’re pretty full,” the kid practically shouted. “There are a few open spots at the back, by the fence. If that doesn’t work, the cashier will let you out, no charge.”
“Thanks.” The rear spots were considered the least desirable to anyone overly concerned with potential theft. Which made them perfect tonight.
“If you hurry, I can flag down the shuttle driver and send him back around,” the kid went on. “Otherwise it’ll be another fifteen, twenty minutes before the next one.”
“Actually we’d prefer to wait.” Max nodded toward Erin. “It’ll give my wife a chance to wake up.”
Taking the ticket, Max drove toward the last row, checking out cars and pole-mounted security cameras as he went.
While there were better ways to obtain a vehicle, theft was expeditious. A car parked in a remote lot meant the owner was more likely to be gone a longer period, buying time before the vehicle was reported stolen.
And cheap parking also attracted older, easier-to-break-into cars that were less likely to have theft recovery devices like this rental car certainly had. He’d spotted a dozen cars he could easily hotwire, a skill the simmering headache warned him not to question.
Ultimately he felt drawn to an older Ford pickup. The truck had four-wheel drive and a slide-in camper in the bed. On some level the rig looked familiar, making him wonder if he had owned one in the past.
Shifting the car into REVERSE, he backed into the spot beside the truck, which was also backed in. Climbing out, he moved to the rear of the truck. The bulky cab-over camper blocked one of the security cameras and he hoped the thickening fog would camouflage the rest.
The camper’s rear door had a cheap lock. Twisting the knob while lifting the door and pushing against the frame popped it open without damage.
Max flicked a switch near the door on, then off. A dim yellow light briefly illumined the shabby but clean interior. In addition to the sleeping space over the cab, the camper had a table fitted above bench seats that converted into a second sleeping space. It also had a tiny galley with stove, fridge, sink.
The cabinet closest to the door held a dented metal tool box. He grabbed a screwdriver and flashlight, and then found an unexpected bonus: a black magnetic box with a spare ignition key.
Moving quickly, Max started the engine, then transferred their bags from the rental car’s trunk. Gathering the still unconscious Erin in his arms, he carefully moved her to the front seat of the truck and again posed her as if asleep.
Across the lot, headlights illumined the fog as another vehicle approached. Max climbed in behind the wheel. Tucked behind the visor was the parking ticket. He put on the camo baseball cap that had been left sitting on the front seat. As disguises went, it sucked. But it helped hide his head wound.
He pulled out and followed another car to the exit. The cashier was talking on his cell phone while making change and didn’t give Max more than a cursory glance. Twenty-five dollars later, he was headed back to the interstate.
His primary goal was freedom. No way was he going back to the hospital. What little he’d gleaned from Dr. Winchette’s thoughts had been sobering. Winchette wanted to keep Max and Taz imprisoned and incapacitated with the use of heavy sedatives. Just like Rufin had.
Why was another issue to address with Erin. Same with the fact that she seemed to distrust Winchette. Or at least that was the impression Max gleaned from her thoughts.
He drove fifty miles south then east before taking an exit and pulling into an all-night gas station with a convenience store.
The truck was below a quarter-tank and he could no longer ignore the fact he was hungry—starving. He was also growing tired. When was the last time he’d slept? Really slept versus being drugged?
“Don’t ask questions,” he muttered, rubbing his temple. Erin was still out cold. Even though he’d given her only part of the drug, he wasn’t worried about her waking anytime soon. But he didn’t want anyone bothering her while he went inside to prepay for gas so he eased her down on the bench seat and then locked her in.
The store, obviously popular with truckers, was busy. Max filled the counter with premade sandwiches, donuts, cookies, candy, milk, coffee, and orange juice. He grabbed peanuts from the counter display just before the clerk totaled his purchase.
She flirted, teasing him about his grocery selections. “Going camping with an army?”
“Yeah. Old friends.”
“The lake’s pretty this time of year,” she said. “Less crowded now that school’s back in.”
“The lake?”
“Baldwin Park?” She paused while bagging his purchases. “I figured you were camping there.”
“Right.” Max remembered seeing the directional sign with camping icons as he exited the interstate. “How much farther is it?”
“Two, three miles. Just turn left when you pull out of here. Which campground are you looking for?”
“Good question,” he ad-libbed. “I need to check the note my buddy sent. Guess I figured there’d only be one.”
The girl smiled and shoved his bags forward. “Actually, there are two. You’ll come to Haverhills first; it’ll be on the right. But it’s rather, um, old-fashioned; I bet your friends are at the county park. Just keep going to the dead end. Off season, the spots are first come, first serve. If your friends didn’t get you a spot, there’s an honor system box by the office. If you use cash, be sure it’s exact. The sign says someone comes by daily to make change, but I know that doesn’t always happen during the week.”
“Thanks for your help.”
Gathering his bags, Max returned to the truck. Erin hadn’t moved.
He tucked the bags on the floorboard before pumping fuel.
The gas fumes made his headache worse and made him nauseous. By the time he’d finished, he wondered if he could drive. Fatigue was bearing down fast. He needed to focus: Food—sleep—Erin.
She was still stretched out across the front seat. Max lifted her shoulders and slid in behind the wheel before letting her head rest on his thigh.
Peeling the lid off the coffee, he gulped half of it down and then devoured two of the sandwiches. The food helped more than the coffee, but not enough. He needed to find a secure place to pull over.
Following the clerk’s directions, he headed for the county campground. Worse case, he’d park in the woods and grab a few hours’ sleep.
As it turned out, the campground had two spots open. He studied the park map, then grabbed one envelope and crammed money into it.
It was after 4 a.m. now and the tiny solar lights marking the rutted gravel road were practically invisible in the dark and fog.
Lot number seven was small. Farthest from the lake, it was the least scenic, but most private. Grabbing the flashlight, Max climbed out of the cab. A short distance away a dog barked. A muffled voice yelled, “Shut up!”
Inside the camper he lowered the dining table and rearranged the cushions, converting it to a bed. Once again he had the sense that this was familiar, that he’d camped like this before. Often. Grabbing the blankets and pillows from the claustrophobic space above the cab, he finished making the bed.
Back outside, he gathered Erin up and locked the truck’s cab. She fit comfortably in his arms, no big feat considering she was unconscious. He laid her on the makeshift bed, and tugged off her shoes.
Yeah, he was definitely attracted to her. The black pants, black top, and blazer she wore didn’t look comfortable to sleep in, but he wasn’t about to undress her. Tonight wasn’t about comfort. It was about sleep. Just enough to take the edge off.
He snagged some of the rope he’d spotted in one of the cabinets and tied her hands loosely. The idea was more to slow her down than to confine her. There was a small part of him that questioned whether he would ever wake up. And if that were the case, well, he didn’t want her to feel trapped.