Forget Me Not: A Novel (Crossroads Crisis Center)

by Vicki Hinze

  The glare and that bitterness warned this wasn’t going to be pleasant, and right now she just didn’t need the added stress of being subjected to another hostile man. As it was, she felt half a beat from jumping out of her skin.

  Be patient with him.

  She stilled. Digested. Yes, Lord. She whispered that response in her mind. When what she’d done dawned on her, she inwardly gasped. God?

  No response. And yet she knew it had been. Here, now, God was with her.

  Her heart beat fast, hard in her chest. Be patient with him, He’d said. Determined to try, she rubbed her gold cross necklace for comfort.

  Dressed in olive green Dockers and a golf shirt, Dr. Talbot leaned forward and folded his hands on the conference table. His gold watch glinted in the strong overhead light and reflected in the table’s sheen. “Ben, thank you for joining us. Shall I brief you?”

  So Mystery Man’s name was Ben. She sat up a little straighter. Did he work here too?

  “No, thanks, Harvey.” On the screen Ben kept his gaze fixated on Susan. “You brief me.”

  Definitely not pleasant. Why? “Excuse me?” She hiked her chin. “Not to be rude, but I don’t even know you.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Peggy said. “Totally my fault, Susan. Benjamin Brandt owns Crossroads Crisis Center. He used to be a counselor here.”

  Susan Brandt’s relative? He didn’t look at her like a husband or a brother, and she wasn’t sure what to make of that.

  Peggy swiped her bobbed hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear, and looked from Susan to her boss. “Ben, Dr. Talbot—”

  “Can relax a moment.” Ben tipped his chin toward Susan. “Go ahead.”

  His arrogance wasn’t at all becoming. “I’m the victim, Mr. Brandt. I don’t believe I work for you, and from my lack of familiarity with your processes, I’m guessing I’m not a psychiatrist either. So I have no idea what you want to know.”

  Unless he was chiseled from stone, the man had to know her nerves were ready to snap, and aggression wouldn’t help. She didn’t deserve it any more than she’d deserved to be carjacked. “I don’t know how to brief you.”

  Dr. Talbot seemed disturbed by her response. He cleared his throat. “Perhaps it would be better—”

  Ben lifted a hand and Dr. Talbot fell silent.

  Ben looked straight at her. “Since you arrived, everyone at my table has been trying to help you. I’m not asking for a medical briefing. I just want to hear what you have to say.” His voice went tight. “I’d appreciate your answering me because I asked.”

  Be patient with him.

  Help from his staff didn’t absolve him from offering others common courtesy and respect. The urge to tell him so burned in her throat, but he had eased up a bit, so he was making an attempt not to be obnoxious. Still, she didn’t want to be patient; she wanted to blister his ears.

  But she couldn’t do it. She trusted God more than herself. He had His reasons … and so must the people at the table. Not one of them had challenged Ben Brandt. Odd, because they all had been protective of her. When she’d talked to that police detective, Peggy insisted on being in the room, and both Dr. Talbot and Dr. Harper asked if she was sure she was up to talking with him.

  So if God was telling her to be patient with Ben and these people weren’t challenging the man, more had to be going on here than met the eye. She didn’t understand it, and she didn’t much like it. Reading Ben the riot act would alleviate a lot of her stress, but rolling it all together left her with a choice to make.

  Whom did she follow? Her will or His?

  Swallowing a groan of dissent, she made her call. She’d walk in faith. God understood all of this, and He’d make His reasons clear to her in His own time.

  Shifting on her seat, she hoped that clarity would come sooner rather than later, though she’d rather not relive last night’s events for the fourth time this morning.

  Without the massive doses of adrenaline surging through her now as they had been then, this retelling proved the most difficult. Someone wanted her dead. Dead. And seeing skepticism written all over Benjamin Brandt’s face didn’t help a thing. Oh, he tried to hide it, but it was there, and it took its toll. Why did he have to fight himself not to be confrontational with her? She’d done nothing to him.

  The back of her nose burned, her eyes stung, and her voice repeatedly cracked, grating and ragged and as raw as she felt inside. The effort was draining, but she kept pushing, relaying everything she remembered from before arriving at his center.

  She finished, rubbed her arms, and willed herself to calm down. “I assume you know what’s happened since I’ve been here and I don’t have to repeat that too.”

  “Thank you, I do. I’ve been briefed on all that.”

  His expression had grown more sober as she’d spoken, yet something subtle she couldn’t pinpoint shifted in him. Maybe he realized his attitude was unfair, or that he’d come across hard, though she doubted it. And, gauging by his grim expression, it would take reaching for the stars to think she’d touched his compassion and his anger was directed at her attackers. So what was that shift in him? What did it mean?

  No sense in speculating on it. Yet she couldn’t seem to help herself. Whatever it was, it chiseled away her resentment until it nearly disappeared. That made no sense whatsoever—at least, not to her.

  “You’ve been very open, and I appreciate it,” Ben said. “I have only one question—curiosity, really.” His tone sounded as stiff as his broad shoulders looked. “Why didn’t you go to the police?”

  Oh, she’d really rather not answer that. How could she make him understand something she didn’t understand herself? “I was afraid to go to the police.” She slid her gaze down to the table and focused on its sheen.

  “Why? Are they looking for you for something? What did you do?”

  She worried her lip with her teeth, wrung her hands in her lap. “That’s an absurd question to ask someone who has swiss cheese for memory.”

  Be patient with him.

  I’m trying. Could You make him a little less suspicious of me?

  No answer.

  She squeezed her eyes closed and sighed. “I’m sorry. That was rude, Mr. Brandt, and I shouldn’t have said it.” She wished she could have said she shouldn’t have even thought it, but she was a mere mortal, and that would be asking too much.

  “I don’t want an apology.” He frowned. “I want an answer to my question.”

  Her resentment returned with a vengeance. She worked to leash it before she said or did something else she would have to apologize for—in her current state, she doubted she could do it twice. The words hung up in her throat. She had to force them out.

  “I would if I could, but I can’t tell you why I didn’t go to the police because I don’t know why. That’s the truth. When Clyde Parker told me where I was, it scared me. It-it shook me down to my shoes.” That worried her more than she let him or anyone else see.

  “Then I found that business card for Crossroads in my pants pocket and saw ‘Susan’ written on it. That’s when I remembered the abductor calling me ‘Susan.’ I thought maybe someone here would know me.”

  “You’re sure you have no idea why being in Seagrove Village frightens you?”

  “Swiss cheese, remember?” She tapped her temple. “I don’t know a better way to describe it. Some memories are there, and some just are not. Why I’m afraid of this place is not. So, no,” she said, feeling foolish, “I don’t know why.”

  “He’s not trying to be a jerk,” Peggy whispered from behind her hand. “He was married to Susan.”

  Well, that handy bit of information explained a lot. He hadn’t looked at her like a husband or brother because he wasn’t her husband or brother. Yet with her looking so much like his dead wife, this interview had to be tough on him too.

  When she’d come into the conference room, she believed she was this Susan—the one who belonged here. But after meeting Ben, she knew for
fact she didn’t belong, and she certainly wasn’t the Susan who had been married to him. She might not know who she was, but she could never be married to a man who had practiced being hard and bitter and angry long enough to perfect it.

  I don’t belong here.

  Where did she belong? Did she have a family? Was she married?

  Am I married? Instinctively she looked to her left hand. No ring. No telltale white band of skin. But that wasn’t proof of anything—there were a thousand reasons people didn’t wear wedding bands anymore—but disappointment pressed down on her. Seeing a ring or even a thin strip of white skin would have made her feel less isolated and alone. Not knowing herself felt awful. No one else knowing her felt even worse. What kind of woman was she? Wasn’t she worth somebody at least knowing?

  She had to stop this. Right now. Looking at herself through such a jaundiced eye was self-defeating and destructive. Of course she was worth knowing. She was a child of God. He knew her and she knew Him. She couldn’t be so awful that the entire human race had shunned her.

  She wasn’t Benjamin Brandt’s Susan, but she could still be a Susan.

  She could be someone’s wife or mother or sister.

  Or not.

  But she was definitely someone’s daughter.

  But whose?

  Not a hint. She shivered. Who wants me dead? Why? She shifted on her seat. What is my life? Where do I belong? What’s my place in the world? Lost and lacking answers, she rubbed her cross.

  Dr. Harper covered her free hand on the tabletop. “Are you all right, Susan?”

  She was anything but all right. “I’m fine, thank you.” Swallowing hard, she looked back to Ben’s computer image. “Mr. Brandt.” She freed her hand and placed it in her lap. “I’m sure, being involved here, you see strange things all the time. From the way my insides are shaking, I’d be surprised if I’ve ever experienced anything strange.” She tingled all over, tense and prickly. “I think I must live a pretty dull life. And I think I must like it that way.”

  “I know this is difficult,” Ben said, “but I do have another question, if you don’t mind.”

  It was a rhetorical permission request, and everyone at the conference table knew it. Steeling for another barrage, she said, “Go ahead.”

  “You have a head injury, and yet you didn’t go to the hospital. I don’t understand why not. When injured, even someone who believes they live a dull life would go to the hospital.” Ben hiked a broad shoulder. “It’s the logical thing to do.”

  So now she was illogical too? Acid churned inside her and her resentment burned deeper. She had enough to worry about without him being deliberately antagonistic. His doctors had vouched for her—and, frankly, she was frazzled. Who wouldn’t be? “Excuse me?”

  “Why didn’t you go to the hospital? Your head was bleeding—it had to have been to warrant the bandage on it now.”

  Resisting the urge to touch the white bandage above her temple, she frowned. The tape stuck to her forehead tugged at her skin, and her patience shrank, razor-thin. “I agree. When injured, going to the hospital is logical. But when you’ve been dragged out of your car and into the woods and beaten to a pulp, you don’t always react logically.” In her own defense, she couldn’t resist a little jab. “Not if you’re human, anyway.”

  Dr. Talbot cleared his throat. “Immense amounts of adrenaline can mask symptoms like pain, Ben. Susan probably didn’t feel the head injury—though she needed four stitches, and I expect she’s feeling it now.”

  The anesthetic had worn off; the wound burned and, thanks to this conversation, now her temples throbbed too. But his was a reminder to Ben to take it easy on her, and grateful for that, she slid Dr. Talbot a silent thank-you.

  “I suppose.” That subtle shift’s hiatus ended, and the hard lines alongside Ben’s mouth softened. He swiveled his gaze to the director. “Peggy, what do we have in the way of a background check on our mystery woman?”

  “We’re a bit hampered, Ben, considering she doesn’t know who she is.”

  Ben. Susan studied him. It didn’t suit him. It just wasn’t hard enough for someone so distant. So … removed.

  “What about a fingerprint check?”

  “Nothing yet.” Peggy shot Susan an apologetic look that was mirrored on Dr. Talbot and Dr. Harper’s faces.

  Being discussed as though she weren’t in the room irked Susan. She shifted on her chair, feeling a lot like a goldfish stuck in a bowl. The man was definitely on the warpath, looking for any reason to dispute or debunk her.

  Still, she had an unshakable sense that his motive, while insulting, was more like a self-preservation tactic than meanness. And in fairness, she was probably a little hypersensitive right now. Still, he should know that. He was a former counselor who owns a crisis center. Maybe he did know …

  How could she know that the root of his attitude was in self-preservation? How could she feel so sure of it? He’d been nothing but unreceptive, intentionally attempting to intimidate her, but—Wait a minute. That couldn’t have anything to do with her. The man didn’t know her any more than she knew him.

  Susan.

  Of course. It had to be about his Susan. She shifted positions mentally, put herself in his place, and looked at her showing up here and the surrounding circumstances. The picture looked very different from his side of the table—or from his side of the computer screen.

  This was an awful ordeal for her, but it might even be a worse one for Ben. He’d lost his son and wife—a wife who looked like her and used the same name. Naturally he was rattled. He looked at her and saw someone trying to portray herself as his wife—or, considering the visual similarities, worse. He saw his wife returned from the dead …

  Susan stroked the little gold cross.

  “Peggy?” Ben’s gaze riveted to the cross, and his expression turned to granite. “What is that jewelry at her neck?”

  Susan stilled her fingers. The sharp edge in his tone terrified her.

  Peggy glanced over. “Susan, may I see your necklace?”

  “Of course.” She lowered her hand to her lap.

  “It’s a cross.” Peggy shrugged and looked from the necklace to the computer screen. “A gold cross.”

  Ben’s face paled, as if every drop of blood instantly drained out of his head. He paused a long moment. Peggy shot Harvey a curious glance. He shrugged. Lisa Harper mimicked him, though the pen she wiggled between her fingertips stilled.

  “Ben, is something wrong?” Harvey asked.

  “The cross.” He blinked, then blinked again. “Check the back of it. See if there’s an inscription engraved on it.”

  Peggy turned to Susan, silently begging her indulgence. “Do you mind?”

  “No, not at all.” Any insight into her life would be welcome. Susan leaned toward Peggy to ease her reach.

  “There is one!” Peggy’s gaze danced with excitement. But as she began to read, her smile faded, then quickly morphed to horror. Without a single utterance, she fell silent.

  “What does it say?” Susan and Ben asked at the same time. Did the inscription reveal her identity?

  Peggy winced, darted a worried glance at Harvey and Lisa, and then finally looked back at Ben. “It says, ‘Susan, Love forever, Ben.’”

  Shock rippled over his face and his jaw tightened. He glared at Susan, clearly struggling not to erupt. “Lady, I don’t know who you are or why you’re doing this, but you’d better have a good reason for wearing my wife’s cross.”

  She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She couldn’t think of a single reassuring thing to say.

  He swerved his gaze to Peggy. “No one leaves. No one moves.” He shoved back away from the computer and then stood. “I’ll be right there.”

  Peggy’s jaw dropped. Clearly she was beyond shocked.

  “What’s going on?” Susan asked. “I don’t understand.”

  Peggy stammered and stuttered half-formed thoughts Susan couldn’t decipher. She touched Peggy’s
arm. “Slow down and just tell me why you’re upset.”

  “I’m stunned.” Her wide eyes echoed her words. “Since Susan died, Ben hasn’t once stepped inside Crossroads. We’ve tried and tried to get him down here and involved, but he wouldn’t have any part of it.”

  “So what does his coming here now mean?” Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good for Susan. Not as angry as he’d been on hearing that inscription.

  Peggy looked to Dr. Talbot, who shrugged. To Dr. Harper, who didn’t move but whose face went pink.

  Peggy grunted and looked back at Susan. “I’m not sure what to make of it.”

  “It’s a good sign.” Dr. Talbot nodded, lending weight to his deduction. “For three years, I’ve believed nothing short of a miracle could ever get Ben back through these doors.” He cast a speculative glance at the cross necklace around her neck, then back into Susan’s eyes. “Maybe nothing has.”

  Susan didn’t feel like a miracle. She felt afraid. An icy chill settled deep in her bones. How had she gotten his dead wife’s necklace?

  Gregory Chessman sat at his desk in his home office, debating whether or not to phone his secret partner and inform him that their problem had resurfaced. He hated to do it. His partner was invaluable at paving the way and keeping law enforcement out of his way during crucial times. And his connections provided the transport needed to get the right people to their right positions to perform their designated duties. Those connections alone were critical and not apt to be found elsewhere in such a protected position. But beyond all that, Gregory never wanted to relive what he’d experienced three years ago. That text message still haunted him.

  YOU KILLED THE WRONG WOMAN. DISCUSSION OVERHEARD, BUT THE VICTIM WAS NOT AT THE PARTY. CORRECT SUBJECT IS BETHANY’S NIECE.

  He’d stared at the text message in utter horror. Remembering it now, he broke into a cold sweat. Their sensitive bioterrorism discussion had been overheard, but not by the woman he had identified as hearing it.

  No. No, he could not—would not—bear the humiliation of admitting such a mistake again. But if his partner discovered the truth, this time Gregory could be putting far more than discovery of this incident in jeopardy. He could end up on the wrong side of NINA.