Amnesia

by Beverly Barton

  “Tobias is dead,” Griffin said. “Shot at close range, right between the eyes.”

  Quinn felt as if all the air had been knocked out of him.

  “Annabelle?”

  “She’s gone. Some of the people in the other rooms got a glimpse of a young guy dragging a woman down the hall. Their descriptions of the guy all vary too much to do us any good. Young. Tall. Brown hair. Wearing a white jacket and dark slacks.”

  “Young, tall and brown-haired could be either of your employees,” Judd said.

  “Yeah, it could be either Aaron or Jace,” Quinn agreed, despite his need to believe neither was involved. Two young men he had saved from lives of crime. He had befriended them, given them jobs, trusted them, thought of them as surrogate sons.

  “The police are on their way,” Griffin said. “I think we should call Lieutenant Norton. Annabelle’s been kidnapped and is in the hands of a serial killer. We’re going to need all the help we can get.”

  Annabelle didn’t know how long she had been in the back of the truck. All she knew was that she’d rolled into a dead body and screamed inside her mind for a long, long time. Whether an hour or two or more had passed, she wasn’t sure. Time had ceased to be of any importance to her. Not when she was at the mercy of a madman.

  Sunlight hurt her eyes when the door opened and a big hand reached inside and yanked her forward. She hadn’t realized she’d been lying so close to the door. He grabbed her legs and hurriedly undid the rope binding her ankles together. He pulled her out of the truck and onto the ground. Wobbly on her feet, she fell into her captor, who all but dragged her along with him as he sneaked around the side of a building she recognized as a motel. Surely someone would notice them and realize she’d been kidnapped by this man.

  Your feet are free, even if your hands are tied and you’re still gagged. Don’t just go passively with him. Do something. Anything. Kick him and run.

  Annabelle did just that. Her kick missed its mark, striking him in the thigh, but it stunned him just enough for her to get away from him. She made it a good ten feet before he tackled her, shoving her down onto the concrete walkway in front of the motel. She lay beneath him, the breath knocked out of her and her body screaming in pain.

  He jerked his gun from the back of his pants and pressed the muzzle against her temple. “Try something like that again and I’ll have to shoot you. I don’t want to shoot you, Annabelle. I’m not a cruel, unkind person. Not to the women we love. I kill them softly, tenderly and put them out of their misery. I’ll do the same for you.”

  What was he talking about? What misery? What did he mean by we? And he couldn’t possibly love her. He didn’t know her, had only seen her—what—once?

  When he hauled her onto her feet and marched her toward Room Ten, she looked right and left, hoping and praying she would see someone—that someone would see her. Not a soul in sight. That’s when she noticed there were no vehicles in the parking slots and the one-story motel looked shabby and rundown. The place was abandoned, probably on the brink of being demolished.

  He shoved open the unlocked door to Room Ten and pushed her inside. The stale air reeked with various unpleasant odors. The interior lay in semidarkness.

  He forced her toward the bed. “Sit down.”

  She sat.

  “I’m going to take the gag out of your mouth,” he told her. “Scream if you want to waste your breath. Nobody will hear you.”

  When he untied the rag and pulled the handkerchief out of her mouth, she gasped, then sucked in a deep breath.

  “I’m going to tie your hands to the headboard, just so you won’t try to run.”

  When he loosened the rope, she head-butted him. Damn, but that hurt. Hurt her as much as it did him. But she took advantage of his surprise, leaped to her feet and ran to the door. He caught her just as her hand touched the doorknob.

  Something hard hit her in the back of the head.

  Quinn’s cell phone rang. He started not to answer it, considering he, Judd and Griffin were in the middle of a discussion with Jim Norton.

  “You’d better get that,” Griffin said.

  Quinn moved away from the others to take the call. “Cortez here.”

  “Hi, Quinn.”

  He recognized the voice instantly. Fear clutched his gut. “Where are you?”

  “In a little out-of-the-way motel.”

  “Are you alone?”

  “Of course not, silly. Annabelle is with me.”

  “Don’t hurt her.” The roar of his heartbeat thundered in his ears. “Whatever you want, you’ve got it. Just don’t hurt her.”

  “Quinn Cortez begging. Hmm…I like that. Have you ever begged before, Quinn? I have. She used to make me beg and plead. She’d point that damn finger at me and laugh when I cried in pain.”

  “Who did that to you?”

  “Who do you think? Kelley. My mother. The woman you used and forgot about, the woman you destroyed.”

  “Kelley Fleming?”

  “Fleming wasn’t her real name. She used lots of different last names. She changed our name every time we moved. I think her real last name was Ford. After you dumped her, she finally married some loser named Tony Ford, but he didn’t hang around for long.” He chuckled. “But at least he married her, that was more than you did. You don’t remember her, do you, Quinn? That tall, skinny girl who tutored you in English your first semester in college. You screwed her a couple of times and she thought you loved her.”

  “Kelley…” Oh, my God!

  He did vaguely remember an odd young woman who had tutored him that first difficult semester. But he’d forgotten her name was Kelley. Back then, he’d hump just about any willing female and Kelley had been no exception. When he’d broken things off with her, she’d stalked him for months, then she disappeared and he never saw her again. And to be honest, not once in all these years had he given her a second thought.

  “Did you kill her, your mother?”

  “Yes, I did. And I killed the others, too, just like I’m going to kill Annabelle. I’m going to put her out of her misery. She’s in love with you, just the way the others were and you’ll only break her heart and she’ll never be able to get over you and she’ll make others suffer because—”

  “Annabelle isn’t like any of the others. I love her. Do you hear me—I love Annabelle and I want to marry her. I’ll never break her heart. I promise you.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s true. I swear it’s true. I can prove it to you if you’ll let me. Just tell me how I can prove that I love Annabelle.”

  Silence.

  “Answer me, damn you!” Quinn said.

  “All right. If—if you love her then you can save her. But you’ll have to die in her place. Are you willing to do that? Are you willing to sacrifice your life, to pay for all your sins, in order to save Annabelle?”

  “Yes. Just tell me where you are and I’ll come to you. You let Annabelle go and you can kill me in her place. Do we have a deal?”

  “We have a deal.” Pause. “But you come alone and unarmed. If anyone comes with you, I’ll kill her. Or if I find out you have a weapon. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  Chapter 31

  Annabelle came to groggily, her head pounding. For a couple of minutes she felt completely disoriented, wasn’t sure where she was or what was going on. Then she began to remember the details of her morning, starting with when Mr. Tobias opened the door and a waiter had shot him right between the eyes. No, not a waiter…

  “I’m glad you’re finally awake,” a voice said. An oddly familiar voice.

  “Quinn?”

  “Yes, honey, it’s me. Bad boy Quinn.”

  She tried to sit up, but when her head started swimming, she lay back, resting her head against the dingy pillow. Then she turned to search for the voice and saw a shadowy figure on the far side of the semidark room, his shape outlined by a glimmer of sunlight peeking through the
window where the curtains didn’t quite meet.

  He was the same height and had a similar build as Quinn. And his voice sounded a great deal like Quinn’s. But Quinn didn’t call her honey and only the two of them knew that to him she was his darling, his querida.

  “I can’t see you,” she said as she once again tried to sit up. Still she couldn’t manage to lift herself, but this time she realized why. Not because of her headache and slight nausea, but because both of her wrists were bound to the rickety headboard.

  The shadow moved toward her. The closer he came, the faster her heart beat. He paused about three feet from the bed. She shut her eyes for a few seconds, then reopened them, hoping what she thought she’d seen would disappear. But no, he was still standing there. Curly black hair. Cocky smile. Quinn, and yet not Quinn.

  What’s wrong with this picture? she asked herself. How can he look so much like Quinn and yet not be Quinn?

  “Please, come closer,” she said. “I can barely see you.”

  He moved to the side of the bed, then leaned over and looked right at her. His black eyes were identical to Quinn’s, too. The similarity between the two men was amazing.

  “You look a great deal like him,” she said.

  He laughed. “I had you fooled there for a few minutes, didn’t I? You actually thought I was Quinn Cortez.”

  “At a distance, the resemblance is remarkable.”

  “Yeah, I know, especially with the black wig and the dark brown contacts.” When he spoke, his voice was his own again and not an excellent imitation of Quinn’s.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Why what? Why do I choose to look like Quinn when I perform my acts of kindness for his victims?”

  Was that how he saw the women who loved Quinn—as victims?

  “You killed those six women, didn’t you?”

  “It was the right thing to do, the only humane thing.”

  “I don’t understand,” she told him. “What do you mean it was the only humane thing to do?”

  “They were suffering. I put them out of their misery. And I’ll do the same for you.”

  Annabelle felt a rush of pure panic flood her senses. There had to be a way to stop him. She had too much to live for to give up without a fight. She tugged on her bound wrists.

  He laughed again, then grinned at her, and she thought how eerily unbelievable it was that with only a few minor changes in his appearance, this man could easily pass for Quinn’s brother. His younger brother.

  “You’re curious as to why I look so much like Quinn, aren’t you?” he asked.

  “Yes, of course. The resemblance isn’t obvious at all when you aren’t wearing the wig and contacts,” Annabelle said. “And you’re not wearing your glasses, so that changes your appearance, too.”

  “I have my mother’s hair and eye color,” Jace Morgan said. “But my features are a great deal like his. I’m the same height and the same size he was when he was a teenager. That’s what my mother told me a couple of years ago.”

  “Who is your mother?”

  “You mean you haven’t figured that out? My mother was Kelley Fleming, one of Quinn’s first victims. Kelley, the poor besotted fool who fell in love with Quinn when he was nineteen, the same age I am now. He got her pregnant, left her and never looked back. She loved him and hated him, all at the same time. And she never let me forget that I was his son, that I looked like him, that I had his cursed good looks and charm. When she punished me, she called me Bad Quinn.”

  “Quinn is your father?” Oh, my God!

  “Yeah. Ain’t that a kick in the head. The great Quinn Cortez is my old man. Only I didn’t know his full name until two years ago. Whenever she got angry with me, which was almost every day, she’d call me bad Quinn. So I figured Quinn was his name. But not until I got old enough and big enough to stop her from terrorizing me did she tell me who my father really was. She told me his name was Quinn Cortez and he was a rich, hotshot lawyer in Houston. I knew then I had to make him pay for what he’d done to her—to us. He needed to suffer the way she’d suffered…the way I had.”

  “Quinn didn’t even know you existed,” Annabelle said.

  “He knew. She told me he knew and that he didn’t give a damn. And she told me she still loved him and she’d kept me only because she hoped that someday he’d come back to her. That’s when I undertsood what I had to do. I had to put her out of her misery. It was the only way to give either of us any peace. Don’t you see—she had suffered all those years and she’d made me suffer.”

  “So you killed her.” His own mother! And he’s going to kill me, unless I can find a way to stop him.

  “While she was sleeping, I put a pillow over her head and held it there until she stopped breathing. I didn’t hurt her. Not the way she’d hurt me so many times. I killed her humanely.”

  “Why did you cut off her finger?” Keep him talking. Buy yourself some time.

  “So she could never point it at me again when she punished me for being bad. Bad Quinn. That’s what she called me. But I told you that already, didn’t I?”

  “Oh, Jace, I’m so sorry. And if Quinn knew you were his son—”

  “He’ll know soon enough. He’s coming here. He thinks he’s coming to rescue you. I was going to let him hang for those murders, but this way is even better. He’s exchanging his life for yours. But without him, you’d rather be dead, wouldn’t you?”

  Quinn knew where she was? He was coming to rescue her? No, please, God, no. He’ll be walking into a trap. Jace plans to kill us both.

  “He tried to make me believe he actually loved you, so I told him that the only way to save you was to swap his life for yours. Do you think he loves you enough to sacrifice himself for you?”

  Yes, yes he does. There was no doubt in her mind that Quinn would lay down his life and die for her.

  * * *

  Quinn parked his silver Porsche in the back of the motel, directly behind the delivery truck, exactly where Jace had instructed him to park. On the drive here, to this ratty motel on the outskirts of Memphis, he had thought of nothing but saving Annabelle. She was his first priority. His only priority. He had no intention of dying today, but if that’s what it took to save Annabelle, then so be it. It was his fault that she was in this deadly situation. When he’d been a teenager, he had messed around with an odd girl named Kelley Morgan and probably broken her heart and that woman’s son had come into his life to destroy him. But why? Why would an old girlfriend’s son hate him so much? Enough to have wormed his way into Quinn’s life, pretending to be a troubled teen who needed rescuing.

  Quinn felt inside the pocket of his leather jacket, reassuring himself that the Glock 30 Griffin had provided for him was still there, ready to draw and use at a moment’s notice. If he could get one clear shot…just one. That’s all he’d need.

  Griffin had promised him five minutes to go in alone to rescue Annabelle. “If you can’t take charge of the situation in five minutes, you can’t do it in five hours,” Griffin had said. “I’ll make sure Jim keeps his partner out of the loop, so he won’t be there to act like some cocky cowboy and get you and Annabelle and God knows who else killed.”

  “Just make sure Norton understands that if Jace even suspects that I’m not alone, he’ll kill Annabelle before I can get in there to her.”

  As Quinn walked around the corner of the motel, his accelerated heartbeat hummed inside his head and a rush of adrenaline pumped through his body. He had never been so damn scared in his whole life. Nothing had ever been more important than the task ahead of him—saving the woman he loved.

  A loud, repetitive knocking at the door brought all of Annabelle’s senses to full alert. Jace jumped as if he’d been shot, then raced over to her and sat down on the bed beside her.

  “Yeah?” he called.

  “Jace, it’s Quinn. I’m here. Ready to exchange myself for Annabelle.”

  “You’re really going to do it?” Jace asked.

 
; “Yes, I’m here, aren’t I?”

  Jace pointed the gun directly at Annabelle’s head. “If you try to trick me, I’ll kill her. And it won’t be a kind, gentle death. I’ll blow her brains out.”

  “I understand,” Quinn replied. “No tricks.”

  “Okay. Come on in, but keep your hands where I can see them.”

  “No, Quinn, don’t!” Annabelle yelled. “He’ll kill you.”

  “She’s right,” Jace said. “I am going to kill you.”

  “But not before you let Annabelle go.”

  The door burst open. Jace jumped, the action shaking his gun hand. Annabelle swallowed hard. Quinn stood in the open doorway, the sunlight behind him outlining his powerful body. The light partially blinded her, so she knew it must be having the same effect on Jace. She wriggled, longing to be free so she could attack Jace, to stop him from harming Quinn. But all her squirming accomplished was to agitate a nervous Jace. He pressed the gun against her temple.

  “I’m not coming inside until you take your gun away from Annabelle’s head and untie her,” Quinn said.

  “Hold your hands over your head,” Jace told him.

  “Take the gun away from her head and move away from her, then I’ll do as you asked.”

  Jace lowered his weapon. “Now, come on in.”

  The events of the next ninety seconds occurred so rapidly that it was as if the world had gone into supersonic speed. Quinn stepped through the doorway, drew his gun as agilely as an Old West gunslinger and aimed at Jace. Annabelle screamed, “No, don’t! He’s your son.” Quinn hesitated for a split second, long enough for Jace to fire his weapon. The bullet hit Quinn in the shoulder. Screeching, Annabelle fought the bonds that held her. Another shot rang out. Jace, who’d had his gun pointed at Annabelle, dropped to the floor before he’d been able to fire his weapon again. A single shot from directly behind Quinn had put an end to Jace’s killing spree. The bullet had gone in one side of his head and out the other. Blood and brain matter spattered across the floor, the bed and the wall.