by Rita Herron
She had to get rid of Halls’s car. If he had reported it stolen, the police would be looking for it. Worse, they’d add auto theft to her murder charge.
Heart racing, she drove another thirty miles until she ventured into the farmland and countryside between Asheville and Whistler. Mountains rose, the snowcapped ridges gleaming in the light, a reminder that she’d almost died on the trail.
She would have if not for Fletch.
Making a snap decision, she scanned the exit signs for a place to get off. Then she could ditch this car and figure out what to do.
She steered Halls’s Cadillac onto a dirt road not far from the next little town. Fear pulsed through her along with guilt.
She wasn’t a criminal...she felt that in her bones. But she had to do what she had to do. Halls was dangerous. She just needed to prove it.
Desperate for answers, she rummaged through his car. Except for an overcoat and gloves, the back seat was empty. She searched his console and found some loose change and cash. Next she looked inside the dashboard.
Insurance, registration. A pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Mints. A photograph. She pulled it out and looked at it. Halls’s face stared back, but he wasn’t alone. He was posed with a brunette about his age, his arm around her shoulders. The woman was attractive but looked stiff in the picture, as if she was unhappy about something.
Hmm. Must be his wife. She flipped the photograph and searched for a name. If she could talk to the wife, maybe she’d tell her if Halls was legit.
Or maybe she’d turn you in.
Hoping to find something helpful, she tugged her jacket around her and slid from the vehicle, then unlocked the trunk. She held her breath, half expecting to find a dead body inside. Maybe she’d watched too many horror movies.
No body, but she found a briefcase. She jimmied the lock and peered inside it. A couple of file folders containing papers and notes about divorce cases he was working on. Business cards.
She stuffed one of his cards in her pocket. Then she checked the side compartment and found another photo.
A picture of her and the man with the wolf tattoo on his arm. Her husband...
The world blurred, her legs buckling as emotions swirled inside her. Nausea rose to her throat, and she leaned against the car and bowed her head to stem the sick feeling. The ground seemed to open, and she felt as if she was falling into it, sliding deeper and deeper into a dark hole.
She pounded the car. Dammit, she wanted to see what was in that dark void.
Forcing air through her mouth, she fought through the nausea until the world finally righted again. Angry at her loss of control but more determined than ever to unearth her memories, she stuck the photograph in her jacket pocket, then shoved the briefcase back into the trunk and closed it.
Traffic noises from the highway echoed in the distance. She slipped past several boulders and walked along the shoulder of the narrow side road to the little town, ducking behind rocks and bushes as cars passed.
A sign for a coffee and pastry shop named The Bean caught her eye as she entered the town, and she walked up to the gas station beside it and asked if they had a pay phone.
An older man in overalls gestured toward an ancient-looking landline on the counter. “Long as it’s not long distance, you’re welcome to use it.”
She thanked him then removed Halls’s business card from her pocket and punched the number.
A minute later, a receptionist answered. “Andrea Horton, Halls Attorney at Law. How may I help you?”
“I’m trying to reach Mr. Halls’s wife—”
“I’m sorry, but Mr. and Mrs. Halls are divorced. I couldn’t divulge her personal contact information even if they were together.”
Jane wondered exactly what had happened between them, but she didn’t have a chance to ask. The line went dead in her hands.
* * *
FLETCH PACED JACOB’S OFFICE. “If Halls lied about Jane being Bianca Renard, what else did he lie about?”
Jacob pulled a hand down his chin. “Good question.”
Liam phoned the lab and asked them to put a rush on Jane’s fingerprints and DNA. “Do you have some results?” A pause, then Liam switched the caller to speakerphone.
“Yeah,” Chad, the FBI analyst, said, “some info on the body of the man found on the rocks at Crow’s Point.”
“Go on.”
“His name was Neil Akryn. PI out of a small town near Asheville.”
Fletch, Jacob and Liam exchanged looks. “Did he work alone?” Liam asked.
“No, had a partner named Wiley Farmer. I put in a call to him but haven’t heard back.”
Liam’s expression turned dark. “Have an officer check his office and home. See if they can locate him ASAP.”
Fletch gritted his teeth as he waited.
“Ballistics from the bullet we removed from Akryn match the gun from your other dead man,” Chad continued.
Liam made a clicking sound with his teeth. “So the man our Jane Doe shot killed Akryn?”
“Appears to be that way,” Chad answered.
“Who is the man our Jane Doe shot?” Liam asked.
“Still working on his ID.”
Liam snapped his fingers. “Officer Clemmens fabricated the evidence against Jane. But she recalls seeing a man she believes was her husband shot. Check morgues in and around Asheville and neighboring cities. See if any bodies turn up under the name of Victor Renard. And alert me as soon as the results of Jane Doe’s prints and DNA are in.”
“Will do.”
Jacob furrowed his brows as Liam ended the call. “So what was a PI doing out on the trail? Looking for Jane Doe?”
Fletch shrugged. “Or Bianca? But we know Jane isn’t Bianca.” Fletch ran a hand through his hair. “And what’s happening with Clemmens?”
“He disappeared, but our people are looking for him.” Liam pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fletch, I need to know everything Jane told you while you were in those woods. Even the smallest detail might help solve this case.”
Fletch sighed. “Let me grab some more coffee.”
His brothers followed him for refills, and they carried their mugs back to Jacob’s office.
Fletch sighed. “Before I found Jane, I saw blood in the snow. I followed it, then spotted a wedding ring in some bushes, then I found her. After I carried Jane to the shelter, it took her a while to regain consciousness. When she did, we finally talked. She recognized the ring, said she had a flashback of a man putting it on her finger, but she didn’t remember a wedding or her husband’s name.” He touched the underside of his arm. “The husband had a tattoo of a wolf on his underarm near his wrist.”
“Good detail. I’ll have someone research that type of tattoo,” Liam said. “What else?”
“When Jane was sleeping, she had nightmares about her parents’ murder,” Fletch said. “She was in her bedroom when she heard a noise. It sounded like someone breaking in. Then she heard gunshots. She hid in her closet for hours after the noise stopped and found her parents’ bodies the next morning.” He paused, disturbed by the image of a little girl discovering her parents’ bloody corpses. “She was only twelve.”
Jacob cursed. “That must have been traumatizing.”
“A home invasion,” Liam commented. “The question is was it random or was the couple targeted for a reason?”
Fletch cleared his throat. “She didn’t remember, but she did say she thought her father was either a lawyer or a judge.”
Liam worked his mouth from side to side. “Was the killer caught?”
Fletch shook his head. “That’s all she told me about them.”
“So we can’t totally discount a connection to Jane’s current situation?” Jacob muttered.
Liam folded his hands. “What would you estimate Jane’s age to be now?”
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“Early thirties. Maybe thirty-two, thirty-three?”
“That murder was bound to make the news. It’s a long shot that it’s related to Jane’s current problems, but it will help narrow down her ID. I’ll get someone on it right away.”
“What else did she remember?” Jacob asked.
Fletch debated on how much to say. But they couldn’t find the truth if he wasn’t honest. His brothers were here to help. “She remembered seeing her husband’s body flying backward and blood spewing, but she insists she didn’t see the shooter’s face.”
A strained silence for a minute, then Liam shifted. “Tell us about the shooting with the bearded gunman. How exactly did Jane obtain your gun?”
Fletch hardened his jaw. “We were hiking and came upon the shelter at Stone’s Ledge. I saw rope inside, and Jane recalled being tied and gagged and left there. She managed to untie herself and escape, but her attacker caught her. That’s when he knocked her over the head and left her out in the storm to die.”
“What a bastard,” Jacob said.
Fletch gritted his teeth. “I collected the rope and bagged it, then we set off on the trail again. A little while later, we were ambushed. I grabbed Jane and we darted toward a boulder to take cover, but I took a bullet to the leg. As I fell, my gun slipped from my hand.”
“Dammit, Fletch,” Liam said. “You could have been killed.”
“But I wasn’t,” Fletch said. “Then the man jumped Jane. She fought him off, grabbed my gun and shot him.”
“She fought him off?” Jacob asked.
Fletch nodded. “I know it’s hard to believe, but she had serious skills. Maybe from self-defense classes.”
“And the shooting?” Liam asked. “She shot the man right between the eyes.”
Fletch wiped sweat from the back of his neck. “It was impressive.”
“She had experience, Fletch,” Liam said. “Coupled with her fighting skills and marksmanship, it sounds like she had training in the military or...law enforcement.”
Liam clenched his phone. “Let me text Chad and have him check military and police databases. If she had training either place, her prints will be in the system.”
Fletch’s phone buzzed on his hip, and he checked the number. Unknown. “I need to take this call. Work.”
Fletch stepped from the room and quickly connected the call. “Hello.”
“Fletch...” Jane’s voice sounded breathless. “I’m in trouble. Please help me.”
His blood turned to ice. “Where are you?”
She gave him an address somewhere between Whistler and Asheville. “Is Halls still with you?”
“No,” Jane rasped. “He’s not who he says he is. I...took his car and ran.”
Relief momentarily filled him. “Good. Stay put. I’ll be right there.”
He didn’t bother to tell his brothers where he was going, for fear they’d try to stop him. Instead he rushed past Jacob’s receptionist and through the door. Outside, he jogged to his car, jumped in and peeled away.
He had to find Jane before Halls did.
* * *
JANE SAT HOLED up in the back of the tiny coffee shop, every nerve cell in her body on edge. She’d used the money in the console of Halls’s car and bought one of the souvenir ball caps sporting the name of the town to wear as a disguise.
The waitress, a sweet young girl named Trish, approached, a pencil and order pad in her hand. Trish’s smile was big and wide, her lipstick a little too pink, with matching blush on her cheeks. Jane ordered plain coffee.
Trish insisted The Bean also served the best apple pie in the state. “Add a scoop of homemade vanilla ice cream on it and you’ll think you died and went to heaven, honey.”
Jane thanked her but politely declined. Her stomach was rolling too much to think about food.
Instead she noted the decor on the walls. Local artists’ paintings depicted beautiful mountain scenes, fishing camps, hiking trails, white water rafting excursions, animals and the natural wonders of the forest.
A mixture of country and gospel music wafted through the room, and CDs by a local singer/songwriter was displayed by the cash register for sale. Trish and the owner, an older woman with wiry pink hair and a flour-dusted apron, greeted everyone who entered by name.
Except for her. She was the stranger. Alone. Trish had asked her what she was doing in Beaver Ridge, and she relayed the story she’d fabricated as a cover. She and her boyfriend were meeting for a romantic getaway at some cabins three miles north of Beaver Ridge. She’d noted the sign advertising the rental units on her way into town.
She’d left Halls’s Cadillac parked a couple of miles outside of the city limits on what appeared to be a deserted graveled road, and walked the rest of the way in.
Trish brought her a refill, and she was grateful she’d ordered decaf. Any more caffeine and her hands would be shaking like a leaf in the wind.
The wooden door opened, and two men in police uniforms loped in, both brawny and ominous-looking. Jane held her breath as one of them glanced around the café, then they scooted onto the barstools at the coffee counter.
Jane tugged the ball cap lower on her head and angled herself so she could watch them without looking conspicuous. They ordered coffee and, no surprise, the pie with ice cream, then chatted with Trish while they waited on their orders.
Jane felt like a criminal on the run. She didn’t like it, but she had to lay low until she could prove her innocence.
While she sipped her coffee, she jotted down the details she knew so far about herself on a napkin. Bianca and Victor Renard’s name went next, then Woodruff Halls. She wished she had a computer so she could do some digging on her own.
A loud static sound cut through the silence, and she realized the officer was receiving a call. The taller one snagged his piece and responded.
Jane strained to overhear the conversation.
“Stolen vehicle belonging to Attorney Woodruff Halls, 2019 Black Cadillac, License LW2FU, found on Old Salter Road outside of Beaver Ridge. Party responsible thought to be wanted...”
The words faded and the officer glanced across the room again. Fear seizing her, Jane left a ten on the table, then slid from the booth, hunched low and darted toward the rear exit.
Voices echoed behind her, but she didn’t look back. She dashed around the corner of the building into the alley and started to run.
Chapter Seventeen
Fletch’s pulse pounded as he rolled into Beaver Ridge. He immediately spotted The Bean, where Jane was supposed to be waiting on him, and exhaled in relief.
Although relief vanished when he noticed the police car parked in front. Damn, had Halls reported that Jane had jumped bail? If the man was involved in the crime Jane was accused of committing, why would he tip off the police?
Halls had also met Jacob at his station and appeared in front of a judge.
Pretty audacious to put his face in front of law enforcement if he was trying to hurt Jane.
Praying the cops hadn’t found Jane and arrested her, he cruised into the parking lot and swerved into a spot. He quickly surveyed the area. Several cars were in the lot, patrons coming and going.
No Jane.
Willing himself to remain calm, he remembered the cover story Jane had invented and climbed from his vehicle. He kept his senses honed as he crossed the parking lot to the entrance.
By the time he reached it, two cops loped outside, one on his radio, the other jangling his keys.
“We’ll canvass the area,” the officer informed Dispatch.
They both jumped in the squad car, and the driver started the engine and backed from their parking spot. Fletch pretended he was deep in conversation on his phone as he passed them.
Before he went inside the café, though, he once again surveyed the parking lot. No Halls. No Jane,
either.
The scent of cinnamon, apple pie and strong coffee engulfed him as he entered. The coffee shop was full of mountain charm, a testament to the local artists and an invitation to visitors to explore the area.
People gathered in booths with red checked tablecloths; a seating area near the front boasted a couch and several lounging chairs, and the bar provided seating for individuals and takeout orders.
He scanned the room for Jane but didn’t see her at a table or booth. A young waitress sauntered over and smiled up at him. “Hi, I’m Trish. You can sit anywhere, sir. I’ll take your order when you’re ready.”
“Actually I was supposed to meet a young woman here,” Fletch said, returning the girl’s friendly manner.
Trish’s eyes brightened. “Your girlfriend?”
Either she was fishing or she’d spoken with Jane. “That’s right. A pretty brunette. We’re planning a romantic getaway in the mountains—”
“In those cabins,” the girl finished with a grin. “She told me about it. How nice.”
Fletch shifted and looked across the room again. “I guess I might be too early?”
“No. She was right back here.” Trish walked toward the rear of the shop and paused at the last booth where a half-full coffee mug still sat. “Well, darn, this was her booth.”
Fletch pressed his hand over his phone, willing Jane to call. “Would you mind checking the ladies’ room for me?”
“Of course not.” Trish turned at the end of the hall and ducked inside the ladies’. A second later, she came out, her brows furrowed. “No, not in there. Maybe she stepped out for some fresh air or to grab some souvenirs.”
“Probably. I’ll give her a call.” He squeezed her arm. “Thanks, Trish.”
Fletch noticed the back exit. If Jane saw the police officers inside, she might have gotten nervous and left out the back.
He waited until Trish moved to the next booth to take an order, then he hurried through the exit and began to search the alley.