Memory Reload

by Rosemary Heim

  She had to continue the charade until they arrived and hope that, somewhere, a tape still ran. Her nails dug into her palm as she tightened her grip on the camera bag. She forced her features into a calm mask.

  “I am sorry, Lexa, but it looks like I hold the more valuable item.”

  She looked up, a bitter smile twisting her lips. “He was nothing more than a means to an end.” Inside, she died a little. “He’s a fed.”

  “Yes, so Pela mentioned.”

  “Did Pela also mention that Special Agent Williams is from the OPR? Do you know what they specialize in?”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “The Office of Professional Responsibility investigates FBI agents suspected of, oh, let’s call it straying from the straight and narrow. His assignment—” she nudged Ryan with her toe and his eyelids flickered again “—is to investigate David’s disappearance. I figured I could use him to get to you.”

  “It doesn’t seem to have worked very well.”

  “You’re here. This guy disappearing is going to really muddy up your operation. One agent, you might be able to cover up. Two in as many weeks, even for you…”

  “Will be a bit more difficult to explain.”

  “Right. Not to mention the pictures I have of Pela and David’s last meeting.” She caught Pela’s startled glance. “Do you think the legion of agents descending on Honolulu to investigate would be interested in those?”

  “You seem to have given this some thought.” Sullivan turned his back on all of them.

  A whole Polaroid minute.

  Silence descended upon the surreal tableau. Sullivan appeared to study another set of photographs. Alex studied Walker and Pela, trying to gauge their states of mind.

  Pela presented the easiest face to read. He had the most to lose in an FBI investigation. Which made him the easiest to pit against Sullivan.

  Walker, for his part, wore the mask of a stoic, giving away nothing. Except the very absence of expression hinted that he hid something—most likely fear, provided he had any sense.

  If the two men hadn’t already learned, they were about to discover that Sullivan considered everyone expendable, regardless of how far up the organizational food chain he may have climbed.

  Alex forced herself to maintain a calm façade all the while her thoughts zoomed from fear of Sullivan to fear for Ryan.

  Where was the rest of the team? How much time had elapsed since Ryan had been taken? They must have had enough time to regroup by now.

  Ryan’s eyelids flickered. She held her breath as he opened his eyes just enough to make eye contact with her. She lost herself in his gaze in the seconds before he closed his eyes and seemed to sink back into unconsciousness.

  “Tell me, Lexa,” Sullivan turned to face her. “What do you want to do with Mr. Williams?”

  She composed her features into an expression of disinterest. What she wanted had little bearing on the situation. All she could do was play out the role assigned. “Reinforce the direction of his investigation.”

  “How do you figure on doing that?” Walker asked. “He’s lying right in front of you.”

  She ignored the snide comment.

  “He does have a point.” Sullivan strolled to the next display wall.

  “True, it might pose some challenges. If he saw either of these goons, then we’re sunk.” We. The subtle hint that she considered herself a part of this scheme nearly choked her.

  Sullivan’s gaze lingered on her face as he turned to Pela and Walker. “Did he?”

  Pela shook his head.

  Sullivan turned back to her. “Well, Lexa. Do go on.”

  Alex thumbed her triple-band ring, rolling it along her ring finger. Trust your instincts. Please be right because if this doesn’t work, Ryan will be dead. “Then you get Williams out of here before he wakes up. Pela can ‘find’ him someplace. That gives him some credibility as being one of the good guys.”

  “And you?”

  “My materials remain out of sight, unless something happens to me. In which case the book and pictures find their way to the OPR.” She held her breath, hoping Sullivan would agree.

  “Interesting.” Sullivan stared her down. “In return, what do you get?”

  “Just what we talked about. A nice income and you stay out of the rest of my life.”

  He seemed to consider the plan. She shifted the camera bag, hitching it a little higher on her shoulder as she slipped her right hand into the front pocket. The handle of the Glock nestled into her palm.

  “There is one condition.” Sullivan held his hand out to Pela, palm up, fingers flicking in a “give-me” gesture.

  Pela stuck his hand inside his suit jacket.

  Her fingers convulsed around the gun. She forced herself to relax, stay calm, don’t overreact.

  Pela pulled out a tiny gun and handed it to her at Sullivan’s prompting.

  She looked at Sullivan. “What’s that for?”

  “Let’s call it my insurance policy. Take the gun, Lexa.”

  She released her hold on the Glock, wiping her sweaty palm on the camera case as she withdrew her hand from the pocket. The gun had looked tiny in Pela’s hand. In her hand, it still appeared small and had a decidedly feminine look to it.

  “It’s a derringer,” Sullivan explained. “A handy thing for a lady to tuck in her purse for protection.”

  “What am I supposed to do with it?”

  Sullivan pursed his lips in thought. “Now that I have your fingerprints on it, I suppose we could let it go at that. But I think a little more ‘insurance’ wouldn’t hurt.”

  A sickening knot of dread settled in her stomach. She looked from the gun to Sullivan.

  “You’re going to have to shoot him, my dear.”

  The knot leapfrogged its way to the back of her throat. “What if I refuse?”

  “One of them will take the gun and shoot him for you. The end result will be the same—a bullet in his body that can be traced to a gun bearing your fingerprints.”

  “You want to risk a second dead agent?”

  “Oh, don’t worry. The gun is loaded with special ammunition—effective, but not too powerful. It should be nonlethal, depending on the target area. I’ll even leave that choice to you.”

  Sullivan’s goons dragged Ryan to his feet.

  “You seem confident that I won’t shoot you.” She forced the words out, prayed she sounded calm. “Or one of them.” She raised the small gun toward Walker and Pela.

  The two men pulled their guns. Walker aimed his at Ryan. Pela’s gun trained on her.

  She focused on Ryan, fighting nausea with every breath.

  Shoot Ryan. Stomach acid burned at the back of her throat. She couldn’t do it.

  “Whenever you’re ready.” Sullivan turned his back on her, for all the world appearing to not care when, or whom, she shot.

  For two seconds, she considered pulling out the Glock and shooting him in the back. It was no better than he deserved. Then she looked back at the trio in front of her. Ryan’s head lolled back, his eyes open.

  Time stopped.

  He was conscious and watching her.

  She wanted to go to him, feel his arms around her, hear his reassuring whisper that everything was going to be okay.

  But if she did that, they’d both be killed.

  The small gun weighed down her hand. She couldn’t do it, she couldn’t shoot Ryan. She loved him too much.

  “Lexa.” Sullivan’s voice broke into the thoughts raging through her brain. “I consider myself a patient man, but I do have other business today. Please get on with it.”

  Ryan opened his mouth and her eyes widened. If Sullivan discovered Ryan was conscious, Sullivan would order him killed.

  She had to stop him. Her eyes filled with tears. She blinked them back, furious. Not now.

  Her hand swung up and she pointed the gun at Ryan’s shoulder. She risked another glance at his face. His expression said everything. He believed she’d betr
ayed him.

  Alex squinted through her tears and squeezed the trigger.

  The gun barely jerked in her hand, nothing like the Glock had. Even so, a bloom of red darkened Ryan’s shirt.

  Sullivan appeared at her side. “Very good.” He turned to Pela. “Get rid of him. Dump him someplace he won’t be found.”

  She stared at Sullivan as Pela and Walker dragged Ryan away.

  His impassive look mocked her. “You didn’t really think I would allow you to direct me, did you?” He took the gun from her slack grip, slipped it into a small paper bag and tucked it into his suit jacket. “Do behave yourself, now. You never know when or where this—” he patted his pocket “—might turn up.”

  Her throat closed around a scream. This couldn’t be happening. “You’re forgetting something. I have the notebook.”

  He shrugged. “I doubt it exists.”

  Her stomach cramped into a tight knot.

  Sullivan turned and walked away from her.

  She sank to her knees. Her hands fumbled as she dug into her camera bag. She finally pulled out the notebook. “Let me ease your doubt, Sullivan. I have the notebook, right here.”

  He stopped and slowly pivoted to face her.

  She held the notebook up in her left hand. In her right, she held the Glock. “And I have this.” She got to her feet and leveled the gun at his chest.

  “Lexa. You were barely able to pull the trigger on the derringer. Do you really expect me to worry that you might try to shoot me with that?”

  “You’re forgetting a very important factor.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest, impatience developing in his narrowed eyes. “I can’t imagine what that might be.”

  “You killed my best friends. Now, because of you, I’ve destroyed the man I love.” She dropped the notebook to the floor, gripped the gun with both hands as Ryan had taught her. “I have nothing to lose.” Taking a deep breath, she slipped her finger onto the trigger and squeezed.

  The Glock roared in her hand, filling the air with an acrid stench.

  Sullivan stumbled back and collapsed.

  Alex fell to her knees and bent over, heaving, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other braced against the floor. Her ears rang from the gunshot report. It almost sounded like footsteps bouncing off the gallery walls.

  “Get the EMTs in here, fast,” a vaguely familiar voice shouted.

  She looked up and realized people were swarming into the gallery. Two figures huddled over Sullivan’s body. Someone grabbed her and pulled her to her feet.

  “I’m okay.” She tried to pull away from the hands patting over her body. “Where’s Ryan?”

  Her right arm was pulled behind her back. “I’ve got the shooter.” Cool metal pressed around her wrist. Her left arm was pulled back and the handcuffs ratcheted closed.

  “What—” She twisted, trying to see who held her. Her hair fell in her face and she shook her head, blinking away tears, trying to make sense of the chaos surrounding her.

  John Danse appeared in front of her.

  Relief robbed her strength. The hands holding her arms from behind tightened as she sagged. “Is he going to be okay?”

  “You’re zero for two, sugar.” John spat the word at her. “They’re both going to live.”

  His icy glare stabbed at her before he looked over her shoulder at the person holding her. “Read her her rights.” He turned his back to her and addressed the room at large. “I want everything done strictly by the book. No one’s getting off on any technicalities, is that clear?”

  Bitter understanding registered, along with the words being recited behind her.

  “You have the right to remain silent….”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ryan fought through the fog wrapped around his brain. His tongue felt thick as a cotton boll. Just as dry, too. He tried to raise his arm and a bolt of pain nearly sent him back to unconsciousness.

  Cool hands wrapped around his hand and squeezed.

  Tension eased. “What happened, baby?”

  “Ryan, it’s me, Casey.”

  He pried his eyes open, squinting in the glare of light bouncing off white walls. “Where’s Alex?”

  “Everything’s under control.” Casey squeezed his hand again.

  Like hell. He needed Alex beside him and she wasn’t there. He frowned, searching the room. “What happened? Where is she?”

  “Ryan.” Casey forced him to look at her. “Alex shot you. And she shot Sullivan. She’s in jail.”

  “No.” For an instant he had a taste of how Alex must have felt when the amnesia held her memories hostage. Nothing made sense.

  Then memory flooded over him. A single image formed. Alex, standing in front of him, a tiny gun clutched in her hand, tears in her eyes.

  Pain sent him sinking back to dark oblivion.

  RYAN PUSHED HIS WAY into the police station. The combined FBI and HPD task force had set up there. His team had been going at it almost nonstop for two days and that’s where he belonged. Not lying in the hospital, driving himself and the nursing staff crazy.

  A uniformed officer led him to the conference room that served as the hub for the task force.

  John looked him over as he sank into the nearest chair. “You look like hell.”

  “Thanks. Tell me something I don’t know, like where are we on the investigation.”

  Casey entered the room with three tall paper cups in a carrier. She set one cup on the table in front of Ryan. “I thought I saw you crashing through the doors. The coffee here is pretty bad, you’ll want to drink this.”

  A sling immobilized his right arm so he pried the lid off the cup with his left hand and inhaled the rich aroma. The caffeine would do him a world of good. He took a cautious sip and grimaced. “Sugar?”

  Casey froze, glanced at John then looked at him. She thinks I mean… He rushed to clarify, “For my coffee.”

  Casey tossed a few packets to him. “I’m surprised the doctors let you out of the hospital already.”

  “There wasn’t much ‘let’ about it.” His right shoulder hurt like the devil and he had to do everything left-handed but he managed to empty four sugars into the cup before he tried another sip. “I wasn’t doing anybody any good lying around there. Now, why don’t y’all fill me in on the sit rep here.”

  “I’ve gotta check on a…thing.” Casey made a beeline for the door.

  Ryan turned to John. “A ‘thing,’ huh? What am I going to hear that she didn’t want to be around when I heard it?”

  “We’re having a difference of opinion. She’s not happy with the direction the investigation is taking.”

  “Which is?”

  “A downward spiral, according to her.” He ticked the pieces off on his fingers. “We’ve got a missing and presumed dead agent, a notebook written in code, three suspects who aren’t talking, two gunshot victims and two guns with a single set of fingerprints. Everything traces back to one person.”

  “What about the tape backup?”

  John shook his head. “Whoever clocked you over the head also took a couple whacks at the equipment. Matt’s salvaging as much of the tape as possible.” He walked over to a bulletin board that filled one wall of the room. Index cards with names had been arranged across the top. Running down from those a few more cards had been pinned. Most of the cards fell under Alex’s name.

  Ryan started to shrug and thought better of it. “We’ve worked with less to go on. Sooner or later someone’s going to roll and the case will break.”

  John unpinned a few cards from the board. “Until then, we work the evidence.” He pushed the cards across the table to Ryan. “These are what’s been transcribed so far.”

  He turned the cards facedown without looking at them. Time enough for that later. “What else do you have?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Walker and Pela?”

  “They lawyered up fast and aren’t giving us much.”

  “Sullivan?” />
  “In critical condition. He won’t be talking anytime soon, either. The Glock did a lot more damage to him than that peashooter she used on you.”

  Ryan pushed at the cards, but didn’t turn them over. “Did Casey get anything from L.A.?”

  “She’s still working that angle. Mostly she’s just got confirmation of what we already knew.”

  Ryan took another sip of coffee. The wall clock ticked off the lengthening silence. His mouth was still cotton dry. From the painkillers the doctors had given him, no doubt. It didn’t have anything to do with the one person neither of them had named.

  He was tired of dancing around the topic. He needed to know. “What about Alex?”

  “She’s not talking, either.” John crossed his arms and scowled.

  “What does her lawyer say?”

  “She refused getting one. All she does is huddle in a corner of her cell.”

  Ryan’s throat tightened at the image of her caged. “I never should have involved her. She shouldn’t be sitting in jail.” Nothing had gone down as they’d planned.

  She was supposed to be safe at home with that cat of hers. Or out wandering around the island, taking pictures. He should have protected her.

  “Her involvement began long before you found her.” John broke into his thoughts. “She’s right where she deserves to be.”

  Ryan shook his head. Gut instinct disagreed and it had never let him down.

  Of course, he’d never been in love before. That thought derailed him every time. The image of her aiming the gun at his chest mocked him.

  He flipped over the first card, then the next and the next. Every phrase twisted around his heart, contradicting what he wanted to believe, damning her with each neatly typed word.

  …I get what I want

  …work out an agreement?

  You pay me.

  He was nothing…

  He turned the cards back over, shuffled them together in a pile and pushed the pile across the table to John. “What about the videotape?”

  “What video?”

  “From the gallery security system.” He stared at John, stunned. “You mean to tell me that no one has checked that?”