Silent Night Suspect

by Sharee Stover

  “Where’s the card?” he growled, baring his yellowed teeth.

  “I...I...don’t—” Her jaw chattered as adrenaline flooded her system. She surveyed the car. Doubtful it was drivable.

  The man advanced in a slow, measured maneuver. She took a grapevine step to the side—the two moving in a strange waltz of avoidance—until she ran out of the car and stumbled backward. She gripped the car’s bumper and righted herself, catching movement in her peripheral.

  “Wait! Let Slade go. Then I’ll tell you,” Asia negotiated.

  “No can do, sweetheart,” the man guarding Slade said.

  “Then kill us both, and you’ll have nothing.” Asia lifted her chin and squared her shoulders.

  “Get out,” the other man said.

  She glanced over, feeling a hint of relief at the sight of the driver’s door opening with a loud screeching complaint. Slade edged from the car. Her heart ached at the way he held his arm—likely dislocated or broken—against his side, and his head wound continued to bleed.

  Slade’s assailant shoved him around to the front of the vehicle. The men separated them. Divide and conquer.

  If she didn’t fight back, they’d both be dead.

  Every self-defense skill she’d ever learned escaped her memory. What should she do?

  The mountain of a man covering her closed the short distance between them. Asia turned so that the car bumper touched her left leg and she faced her attacker. The shift blocked her view of Slade.

  “There, you’ve seen he’s still alive. Now tell me.” The man reached to grab her.

  Asia ducked, dodging his mammoth grip and groping fingers.

  “If I do as you say, will you leave us alone?” she asked, again backing away from him.

  “Remember, Asia, where the head goes, the body follows,” Slade hollered.

  “Shut up,” the other man barked.

  Slade’s words trickled into her brain. He knew she didn’t have a clue where the card was, so what did he mean?

  “Sometimes you have to get personal,” Slade said.

  She caught a glimpse as his guardian drove a fist into Slade’s stomach, the appalling thud traveling to her ears. “Keep your mouth shut, or I’ll put a bullet in your empty head,” he barked.

  Asia studied Slade, hoping for something more.

  “Where’s the card?” the man standing inches from her demanded again.

  She jerked to look at him and Slade’s instructions connected, illuminating her memory like Christmas lights. Where the head goes, the body follows. Get personal. Her self-defense training returned, and Asia studied the redwood of a man hovering over her.

  “Okay.” She softened her voice, drawing him in. “I’ll tell you,” she whispered and averted her eyes, glancing down.

  He leaned closer and grasped her hair, his sour breath wafting into her face, and yanked up her head. “Speak!”

  When their eyes met, Asia thrust her knee upward, landing squarely on target. The man groaned and doubled over. Threading her fingers through his scraggly hair, she slammed her thigh into his nose. He slumped to the ground.

  She pivoted and saw Slade jab the elbow of his good arm into his guard’s nose. The man’s hands rushed to his face. Slade delivered a strike to his neck, dropping him like a sack of flour. He snatched the man’s pistol and Asia mimicked his gesture, grabbing the gun from the man still splayed out at her feet. Together they ran to the criminals’ truck and climbed in.

  Slade accelerated, spinning the tires and throwing dirt behind them as they sped back onto the highway.

  Asia snapped her seat belt into place, then groaned.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “We forgot to pick up your phone.”

  “That’s okay. We’ll grab another in town.”

  Asia groped around inside the vehicle and found fast-food napkins. She pressed them into Slade’s hand.

  “I’m sure it looks worse than it is. Head wounds bleed a lot.” He applied pressure to the injury while his tone remained calm.

  “What about your arm?”

  Slade gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Dislocated. I’ll take care of that when we stop too. Is there any chance you recognized either of them?”

  “Not at all.”

  Did she read disbelief or frustration in Slade’s expression?

  Twenty minutes later, they pulled up to a truck stop and hurried inside.

  Slade excused himself and Asia stood close to the men’s restroom door, despite the curious looks from passersby. A loud slam on the opposite wall of the bathroom preceded Slade’s return. His arm looked normal.

  “I’m scared to ask what you did to fix your arm.”

  “Let’s just say I might consider chiropractic school when I retire.”

  She winced. “Maybe I’d have been better off not knowing.”

  “It’s all good. The wall was very helpful in the relocation process.” He shrugged and moved past her.

  Who was this guy?

  They navigated through the small store with its sparsely spaced aisles until they found the burner phones.

  Slade snatched a cell from the display and a package of cinnamon gum. Asia grabbed a box of Band-Aids.

  A single cashier worked the counter. With the speed of a sloth walking through molasses, she rang up the items. Slade slapped cash down. “Keep the change,” he said, clearly as anxious to get out of the store as Asia.

  Once they were in the truck again, Slade swiveled to face her. The depth in his caramel eyes consumed and enveloped her in a powerful grasp. “I want you to know something.”

  “Okay.” She searched his face, placing a Band-Aid over the wound.

  “You’re not alone in this. I’m all in, whatever it takes. I’ll fight for you.”

  I’ll fight for you. Four words that probed the secret longing of her heart with a promise she’d longed to hear her entire life. Tears threatened, and Asia blinked them away, forcing a smile. “I don’t remember if I said thank you for the clothes,” she said, smoothing down the black hoodie, desperate to change the subject.

  “I can’t take credit. Trey did the actual purchasing. A benefit of having sisters is the ability to shop for women.”

  Images of the boisterous Jackson sisters embracing Asia into their family, and the night of her and Slade’s senior prom, brought a bittersweet flashback. The girls had doted on her, fixing her hair and makeup. It was a wonderful evening. Sadly, it was also the last time she and Slade had been a couple. Regret slammed into her for that one pivotal moment where she wished to reverse time and choose differently.

  Slade’s familiar presence gave her a strange sense of comfort. Maybe she’d give him a chance to regain her trust, because at this point, who else did she have to turn to? Yet the voice in her heart shouted, Don’t trust him!

  Slade offered her a piece of gum, but she refused. He called Trey and gave him a quick recap of their adventure. “Pick us up at the deserted Mayer farm off of Highway 20.” Next, he contacted Oliver. “Sarge, there’ve been some developments.”

  Asia half-heartedly listened while scouring her mind. Something familiar clawed at the back of her brain. A sound? A smell? It was as if someone had drawn a thick black curtain declaring the end of a play and eliminating her memories. She was being hunted, and her survival depended on remembering. Yet someone had injected her with an amnesiac drug. What had that person wanted her to forget?

  SIX

  Relief coursed through Slade as the county road opened onto Main Street’s thoroughfare. Asia remained quiet after they’d ditched the criminals’ truck and Trey had picked them up. The familiar wooden sign boasting Meadow Hills, Population 100 brought a smile to his lips, and he absorbed the holiday ambience exhibited in the quaint stores that paralleled the street. The display in Jack’s Country Shoppe promised the best so
da fountain around. Bright green-and-red garland draped the light poles, and an inflatable snowman brightened the picturesque town. The residents of Meadow Hills existed in nostalgia.

  “Wow, it’s like taking a step back in time,” Asia whispered. “This place is adorable.”

  “Reminds me of an old 1950s’ television show.” Trey turned onto the street leading to the house. Tall trees bordered the sidewalk, heavy with snow.

  “Definitely,” Asia replied.

  “Our great-aunt Velma lived here. When we were little, all of us kids would visit her in the summer. Good times,” Slade said.

  “What? How did I not know this about you and your family?” Asia asked.

  “I’m an enigma, Stratton,” he quipped.

  Within minutes, Trey parked in front of the small bungalow Aunt Velma had bequeathed to Slade. “Here we are.”

  The place held no outstanding curb appeal, but it contained many fond childhood memories for Slade. More important, he prayed Aunt Velma’s would be a safe place to hide and protect Asia.

  “Give us five.” Trey and Magnum exited the vehicle.

  “He’ll clear the house and check for gas leaks.” Slade’s cheeky comment fell flat. He was anxious to get inside.

  “What did Trey bring for breakfast?” Asia pointed to the paper bag beside him on the seat.

  His mouth watered with expectation as he recalled the town’s famous Muffin Man Bakery’s delectable treats. “The biggest and best cinnamon rolls in Nebraska. I promise I won’t judge you for eating a whole one by yourself.”

  Asia grinned. “Wow, the way you make it sound, I haven’t lived until I’ve eaten this mysterious, amazing pastry.”

  “They’re as good as falling in love.” Heat flushed his face. Where on earth had that come from?

  The burner phone vibrated with Trey’s well-timed text confirming the house was clear. The hundred-pound weight resting on Slade’s shoulders lessened, but situational awareness kept him on high alert.

  He thrust open the driver’s door and scooted out, avoiding her response or eyes. He circled the hood and assisted Asia from the vehicle.

  “I see you’re ever the chivalrous escort.”

  Good, she hadn’t heard his comment. Or she’d ignored him. Either was fine. “My father would slap me all the way from Iowa if he found out I’d behaved any less than a gallant gentleman.” Slade grinned at the memories of his father’s strong expectations on how to treat a woman.

  “He would do no such thing. Pops is the sweetest man I know, next to my daddy, of course. He’d be proud you’re following in his footsteps.” Asia smiled and released his hand.

  The absence of her touch immediately registered.

  Slade led Asia up the three cement steps braced by a black iron railing and tugged open the heavy wooden door as they entered the unassuming brick home. Trey and Magnum sat in the dining room facing the entry.

  “Thought I’d have to send a search party out for you.” Trey ruffled Magnum’s fur.

  Slade dropped the bakery bag on the table and moved to the kitchen for plates and utensils. “Patience never has been a virtue of yours, baby brother.”

  “Hey, I demonstrated great restraint by not eating them on the way to pick you up,” Trey defended.

  “I’m impressed,” Asia said. “Slade says I haven’t lived until I’ve had one of these cinnamon rolls.”

  “So true.” Trey dug out one of the individual serving boxes and pried it open.

  “Don’t mind us,” Slade teased.

  “Sorry,” Trey said over a mouthful of roll.

  With a chuckle, Slade served the two remaining desserts on plates, passing one to Asia. He gestured toward the last plate, but Trey held up his fingers covered in cream-cheese frosting. “I’m good with the cardboard container.”

  Slade gave him his best act-like-a-gentleman glower.

  “What?” Trey tilted his head, and Magnum mimicked his master.

  Slade and Asia exchanged a glance and burst out laughing.

  “Whatever.” Trey stuffed another chunk into his mouth. “Mags and I are going to the other side of the house to keep watch.” The duo disappeared down the hallway.

  Slade dropped onto the seat beside Asia. “Please excuse my brother. He forgets his manners when confronted with food.”

  The burner cell phone rang from his pocket. Only two people had the number, Oliver and Trey.

  He stood and answered the call.

  “Jackson, everything okay?” Sergeant Oliver’s voice boomed through the line.

  Asia glanced up, no doubt able to hear the man.

  Slade mouthed “Be right back” and walked to the living room, keeping his sights on her. “Yes, sir, we’re at the house.”

  “Trey with you?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “The fire inspector is working the scene.”

  “Has he found proof of an ignition source?”

  “Not yet. The damage is extensive. I’ll keep you posted. I called because the lab discovered a partial print on Zander’s gun.”

  Slade’s pulse increased, and he spun to look at Asia. “That’s good news, right?”

  Her dark eyes begged for answers.

  “Might’ve been, except the print’s too smudged to put it through AFIS without a comparable.”

  The federal Automated Fingerprint Identification System housed thousands of fingerprints, and obtaining information would take an eternity without another sample to compare against the smudged print. Slade shifted and lowered his voice. “That proves a third person was there that night.”

  “Not necessarily. Could be left over from when Zander possessed the gun.”

  Hope deflated like a week-old helium balloon. Slade rubbed the back of his neck, the heaviness of Asia’s intense stare weighing on him. He suppressed a groan. How was he supposed to tell her any of this? “Thanks for the update. I’ll be in touch soon.” Slade disconnected before Oliver responded. He’d pay for that later.

  He returned to the dining table, where Asia sat with her untouched cinnamon roll. Her leg bounced, and she bit her lip in an unspoken demand for data he didn’t want to share.

  “Let’s eat.” He slid into the chair next to her.

  “What’d he say?”

  “They’re still looking for the ignition source of the fire. When we’re done feasting on these, we’ll brainstorm about the mysterious card and anyone else who could’ve been with you at that trailer. A full stomach might help you remember.”

  Asia frowned, and guilt washed over him for withholding information. Bad news wouldn’t help. Stress would derail her more and block any new details. In reality, the scopolamine likely erased most if not all of her memory, yet a seed of optimism prevented Slade from surrendering. “Mind if I give thanks for our food?”

  “Sure.”

  “Lord, please bless this food and give us the wisdom we need today. In Christ’s name we pray.”

  “Amen.” Asia lifted the plate, inhaling deeply. “I think the smell alone caused me to gain ten pounds.”

  “Get comfortable and dig in.”

  She gasped, one hand on her throat, the other still holding the plate.

  “What’s wrong?” Slade leaned forward.

  Her skin paled, and her eyes widened. Though certain there wasn’t anything behind him, he turned. His pulse increased at the concern etched on her beautiful face and her lack of verbal response.

  Slade touched her arm and took the plate before she dropped it. “Asia? Talk to me.”

  She snapped her head in his direction and clutched his arm. “I remember something! We have to go to my apartment now!”

  Panic rose in his chest as his gaze darted around. Had she seen someone?

  “It’s not safe—” He tried to ease her concern as her fingernails dug
into his forearm.

  “Now! I have to see something for myself.”

  “I think it’s better if you stay here with Trey. Tell me what it is, and I’ll go. We can’t risk you getting hurt...or worse.”

  Asia stood, determination and stubbornness merged in her eyes. “No way. Whatever Zander was into, he dragged me in with him. I’ve earned the right to know what’s going on. I want to know.”

  Did she? Because at that moment, Slade wasn’t sure she understood the depth of her demand.

  * * *

  “Slade, it’s the cinnamon!” Asia gripped the table, grounding herself against the flood of memories bursting through her mind.

  His quizzical expression said the word didn’t suffice as an explanation.

  She sighed. “The cinnamon reminded me of the last time I talked to Zander.”

  “That’s it?” Slade exhaled.

  She glared.

  “I’m sorry—continue.”

  “Right before you arrested Zander, he showed up late on my doorstep, begging for a second chance. He did that occasionally, but this time was different.”

  “How?”

  “He wasn’t under the influence.”

  Slade nodded, compassion written on his face.

  Asia fidgeted with her fork. “He gave me a beautiful wooden whale figurine.” She glanced down. The release of Zander’s memories softened her heart with an ancient ache.

  Slade placed a hand gently over hers. “Sometimes sharing the good frees you to live beyond the bad.”

  She met his eyes and blinked to clear the annoying tears. “When did you become such a philosopher?”

  He grinned. “What can I say? I’m wise. And I say you need to eat.”

  Asia cut into her roll. “He said the gift was his promise to overcome his issues and make things right.”

  “Okay, but I’m lost on how cinnamon fits into this.”

  “We went for a long walk and talked into the morning. Then I baked some of those instant cinnamon rolls. I have no idea why the smell awakened that recollection, and it seems kind of insignificant. But doesn’t it stand to reason that being in my home around familiar things might trigger something more?”