Killer Amnesia

by Sherri Shackelford

  “We don’t even know what we’re looking for.”

  “No. But we might as well try.”

  They returned to the dining room and stood in confused silence, neither of them knowing quite where to begin.

  Liam tilted his head to the side and studied the spines of the books at his eye level. “I’ll give him one thing. As messy as this place looks, I think he must have had some sort of organization. These books are alphabetized.”

  Emma stepped closer, her breath whispering against his neck. “You’re right. He must have had some sort of system.”

  Her floral scent drifted over him, and his breathing grew uneven.

  “Still doesn’t help us.” His gaze scuttled across her lips, and he searched for a diversion. “You said he was digitizing the old newspapers. He must have a computer. Something he uses for scanning. I didn’t see anything on my first search of the house.”

  “Well, let’s try to think like Artie. There was something he wanted to show me. Something he’d dug up in the archives when he was digitizing the newspapers.”

  “Check around. I’ll do another search for a computer or a scanner.”

  Liam was drifting into another one of those gray areas. This wasn’t, technically, a legal search.

  Emma turned in a slow circle. “All right. If I was Artie, where would I put something that I was working on? Something important.”

  They spent an hour searching the stacks of books and newspapers downstairs. Liam opened all the cupboards and even dug through the dog bed. His fingertips turned gray, and dusty patches showed on his knees.

  Emma sneezed and swiped at her nose. “I’m going to check upstairs.”

  “Bless you.” He pressed the back of his hand against the sting in his own nose. “I might as well join you. I’ve made no progress here.”

  Emma took the stairs and maneuvered through the hallway, and Liam kept close on her heels. Artie’s bedroom was overflowing with clothing. Faded, patterned wallpaper peeled from the corners, and the blinds were dusty and uneven. Liam doubted the man had ever thrown anything away in his life.

  Artie’s bedside table was stacked with books, and he caught sight of a familiar title.

  He displayed the cover with a grin. “He’s got good taste in books.”

  A delightful wash of color spread across Emma’s cheeks, and she ripped the book away. “No teasing.”

  The pages fanned, and a newspaper clipping fluttered to the stained carpet.

  Grimacing, he retrieved the article. “It’s an announcement for Ruth Garner’s sixtieth birthday party.” He flipped over the paper. “And an advertisement for hamburger night at the Eagle’s Club.”

  “Ruth must be related to the sheriff.”

  “I’ll ask him about it.”

  “I doubt it’s important,” she said. “Looks like Artie was using it as a bookmark. Probably just picked up the nearest thing. That’s what I usually do.”

  He automatically reached to tuck the clipping into the breast pocket of his jacket before catching Emma’s gaze. He wasn’t wearing his jacket. Reading his intention, she laughed and took the paper from his fingers, then tucked it into the pocket.

  She patted the spot. “There. Safe and sound.”

  An aching tightness squeezed his throat. He’d never asked for much in his life. Given how he’d grown up, he was grateful for a steady paycheck and a roof over his head. Everything else was God’s bounty. The one time he’d prayed, for Jenny, his prayers had gone unanswered.

  His needs were simple, but in that moment, he’d never wanted anything more in his life than to be the man he saw reflected in Emma’s topaz eyes. Except he’d already told her too much. She was smart and curious. How much longer until she knew the whole truth about him? Before she turned away in disgust?

  “What are you thinking?” she asked with a smile. “When you look at me like that.”

  He stood frozen by that smile, radiant and warm, the flash of brilliance that illuminated her vivid features. “I—”

  Something whipped her attention toward the door. “Do you smell that?”

  “Yes.” Somehow managing to tear his gaze from her, he focused on the room once more. “That’s smoke.”

  A seeping dread spread through his bloodstream.

  “Something downstairs is burning,” she gasped.

  NINE

  Emma clutched the back of Liam’s shirt as he tested the knob before cracking open the door to the hallway. An aggressive plume of smoke billowed from the narrow opening. Slamming it shut, they stumbled away in unison.

  Liam reached for the microphone attached to his collar, then paused and jabbed his finger toward a second door. “Wet some towels from the bathroom and shove them against heating vents.”

  She gave a brisk nod, attempting to project an air of unruffled confidence she didn’t feel.

  He rattled off the address into the microphone then said, “We’ve got a fire at the Druckerman place.”

  Alarm tangled inside her. She turned the spigots of Artie’s rust-streaked porcelain sink and ran water over a pair of threadbare towels before stuffing them against the heating vents.

  “Ten-four,” came Rose’s familiar voice. “Someone already called it in. Fire and rescue en route.”

  “Who? Who called it in?” Liam demanded.

  “Bishop. He was swinging around again to see if Artie had shown up.”

  “Did he happen to mention that two people are trapped upstairs?”

  “That’s new information.” Always the professional, Rose repeated the details before asking, “Who’s trapped?”

  “Emma and I.”

  “Fire and rescue en r-route,” she repeated unsteadily. “I’m praying for you.”

  “Don’t worry, Rose, I’ve been in worse jams.”

  Emma wanted to hijack his confidence for the coming ordeal. The muted roar and crackle of the fire rattled the windowpanes. The house was nothing but dry tinder, and the room was heating. As she stuffed more towels beneath the door, Liam struggled with the window.

  “Stay back,” he shouted. “It’s painted shut.”

  He grasped a heavy lamp from the bedside table and shattered the glass, then leaned over the sill. Emma rushed to his side. There was at least a ten-foot drop to the sloped porch overhang, then another ten or more feet to the ground.

  “It’s too far,” she groaned. “I can’t jump that far.”

  Liam grasped her shoulders and turned her to face him. “We’re not going to make it out through the front door. Redbird only has a volunteer fire department, and response time is too slow for this kind of aggressive fire.”

  The noises from the first floor were growing louder, and smoke seeped through the towels at the heating vents and billowed from the door hinges.

  She coughed and nodded. “I understand.”

  Her pulse surged. He had enough to worry about without her panic. She wasn’t exactly afraid of heights, but she didn’t want to break an ankle, either.

  He wrestled the mattress from the bed, and Emma took the other side without being told. He folded the unwieldy square in two and managed to shove it through the broken window. The edges stuck, and he grasped the window frame, leaning back as he kicked the bulky material. When the mattress broke free, he stumbled backward.

  Emma stooped and measured the progress. It landed mostly on point, sliding a little to the left.

  Liam blanched, and she followed his gaze. The wallpaper over the door to the hallway was peeling and drooping. Beads of sweat dripped from her temples, and Liam swiped the moisture covering his forehead. The space had turned into an oven in only a few minutes.

  A crack sounded and she jumped, instinctively covering her ears.

  Liam gently tugged her fingers free. “It’s a ten-foot drop,” he said, leaning forward, his voice calm
. “I’ll lower you as far as I can to mitigate the distance.”

  He draped a doubled-folded blanket over the broken window and beckoned for her. She shivered. Despite the rising temperature, her hands were slick with cold sweat and she rubbed them together.

  As she threw one leg over the sill, she studied the distant horizon, hopelessly searching for help, her ears attuned for the comforting screech of sirens. Nothing. Which meant she had a choice. Stay or go. Deciding she’d much rather break a leg than burn to death, she took a shuddering breath.

  She gave a hesitant nod. “Ready.”

  The room was blurring, the open window suctioning the suffocating clouds toward them. Liam pressed his watering eyes into the crook of his elbow and coughed.

  She tipped farther over the ledge, and he grasped her arms.

  “I’m going to lower you as far as I can,” he said. “But you’ll have to drop the rest of the distance.”

  Possibly she was more afraid of heights than she’d previously acknowledged. Numb with horror, she clutched his forearms and unfurled her legs from the safety of the windowsill. She’d read about people being petrified with fear, and now she understood the phrase. Her sneakers dangled, and she frantically scuffed at the siding. A sudden, overwhelming panic seized her.

  “Emma!”

  Liam was breathing rapidly from his exertions, and his face was set in grim lines. “You’re going to have to let go.”

  The drop wasn’t far with the deputy stretched as far as his arms would let him, but her fingers weren’t cooperating.

  “What about you?” she called.

  “I’m right behind you.”

  He grimaced, and she recalled he’d been shot in the shoulder. The pain of supporting her must be excruciating.

  She let go and her heart stopped dead. For a crystal moment time slowed, and the next instant she crashed to the mattress. Pain shot up her legs and her teeth clattered together so hard she was certain she’d chipped a molar. Collapsing to the side, she reached for the edge of the mattress and groped over the expanse of the porch roof. Liam was behind her, and she had to get out of his way.

  She flashed him the thumbs up sign.

  His back was barely visible as he crawled through the open window, his hands on the sill, his feet braced against the siding. His hold slipped, and he plummeted, landing hard. His left foot caught the mattress, but his right foot missed and slipped, yanking him over.

  Clutching his shoulder, he staggered upright. “Ready to go again?”

  Unable to force her legs to hold her upright, Emma crawled to the edge. An excruciating mix of alarm and fear rose through her limbs in hot panic. The drop was about the same distance as before. As she eyed the landing, Liam tossed the mattress to the ground below them.

  Favoring his arm, he knelt beside her. “You got this. We’ll do the same thing we did before.”

  He must have strained his shoulder lowering her, and he’d landed on the same side. There was no way she was letting him dangle her over the side and risk further injury. He needed that strength to save himself.

  She grasped his cheeks and planted a hard kiss on his lips. “Be careful.”

  Without giving him a chance to react, she grasped the downspout and flipped herself over the side. The flimsy metal held for a glorious second before giving out beneath her weight. The break must have been enough to slow her fall, because the second landing wasn’t as bad as the first.

  She pushed herself upright and winced at the scrapes on her fingers.

  Tenting her hand against the glare of the sun, she staggered backward, searching for Liam. He should have been right behind her.

  She limped to the side, her arms outstretched as though she might somehow conjure him.

  The next instant, her world exploded around her.

  * * *

  Liam stared at the vast expanse of the sky. There were clouds but no rain. Thunder but no lightning. His ears rang, but he couldn’t remember where he was or how he’d gotten there. His whole body ached, though he didn’t think anything was broken. Or maybe it was. He really didn’t care right then.

  He kept staring at the sky, hoping something would make sense soon.

  Then his view went dim.

  Someone was yelling at him, the words muffled against the ringing in his ears. The man’s lips moved as he gestured frantically.

  Liam flapped his good arm to keep the distraction at bay. Maybe if he got a better look at the sky, he’d know what was going on.

  He rolled his head to the side and studied the storm clouds. Only they weren’t clouds at all. It was smoke. And the lightning wasn’t lightning. Flames engulfed a white clapboard house, licking at the sky. Heat billowed over him in waves. The unmistakable scent of singed hair burned his nostrils.

  The last few minutes came rushing back. The heat. The pain. The explosion.

  “Emma!” he shouted, the word filtering through the ringing in his ears as a warbled mess. “Where is Emma?”

  A hand looped beneath his shoulder, and he howled in pain, straining away. The man waved to someone out of Liam’s vision.

  Chad.

  The man yelling at him was Chad. One of the volunteer firemen. Good. That was good. Someone had called dispatch. He’d called dispatch.

  Chad switched sides. His mouth moved but no sounds reached Liam’s ears. His world started to spin, and he closed his eyes against the throbbing agony in his shoulder.

  He forced them open. Emma. He had to get to Emma.

  A second man came into view. Bishop. The deputy hooked his arm beneath Liam’s good shoulder and hauled him upright. The ground tilted and swayed. Bishop staggered. The deputy’s spindly legs were barely enough to support his own weight, let alone Liam’s.

  There were flashing lights and sirens. The whole street was full of them. Every rescue vehicle in Redbird must be here.

  Liam caught sight of Emma sitting on the tail end of the ambulance door with a silver blanket draped around her shoulders. He switched directions. Bishop seemed to be fighting the change of plans. Even disabled, Liam was stronger and more determined.

  Bishop shouted something Liam couldn’t hear.

  His ears might be incapacitated, but there was nothing wrong with his eyes. She didn’t appear injured. Her hair was tangled and disheveled, and there was a dark streak of soot across her face.

  The silver blanket masked any other injuries she might have. She was sitting upright. That had to be a good sign.

  Chad was hollering at him again, and the ringing had lessened enough Liam was able to make out a few words.

  “The water heater blew,” the young fireman yelled. “We thought we lost you. Must have knocked you back ten feet. I had to dig you out of the garden.”

  “Emma,” he croaked.

  “She’s all right. You’re not looking so good, though. You’re gonna have to regrow that beard.”

  As Liam touched the singed remnants of his facial hair, the fireman chortled.

  Liam’s knees gave out. Emma tossed off the blanket and rushed toward him. His stomach heaved, and his vision collapsed around the edges until the light was only a pinprick.

  Jenny’s eyes swam before him.

  Her hand was stretched toward him, palm up, and she touched his fingers. “Let them help you.”

  He frowned at her words. Let who help him?

  Then she was gone, and Emma was in her place, her stunning topaz eyes shimmering with concern. “You’re hurt. Let them help you.”

  “Are you all right?” he asked in a voice that didn’t seem to belong to him.

  “You’ve got a dislocated shoulder.” Her breath puffed against his ear as she spoke. “Fortunately for you, I have some recent experience in this area. Unfortunately for you, I know what happens next. The fireman has to put it back in place.”

 
Chad leaned over him, anchoring his helmet with one hand, the visor kicked back. “You’re gonna be all right, but we gotta get this shoulder back in place.” The young fireman grasped his wrist and braced his other hand against Liam’s upper arm. “This is gonna hurt.”

  And just like that, the world went black.

  * * *

  Emma was immediately enchanted by the owner of the bed-and-breakfast where Liam was staying.

  The older woman met them on the porch and ushered them inside. “I’m so glad the sheriff called. You poor things. I’m going to take care of you now. Don’t you worry. We’re gonna manage just fine.”

  Following the fire, Emma and Liam had spent the rest of the afternoon in the hospital emergency room. Both of them had refused to be admitted overnight. Since the doctor had seen no signs of a concussion, and the ringing in Liam’s ears had abated, the medical staff had reluctantly agreed to release the deputy.

  The sheriff had brought him a fresh uniform but otherwise he looked rather worse for wear. His beard and hair had been singed by the fire, though his eyebrows had mostly survived. Emma had fared far better. Her clothing smelled like smoke and she had a few scrapes and bruises along with a sore ankle, but that was the extent of her injuries.

  Liam hung his hat on a peg by the door. “Blanche Slattery, meet Emma Lyons.”

  Blanche was slightly taller than Emma and reed thin. She wore a flowing tunic in muted shades of violet over deep purple leggings. Her hair was gunmetal gray with lighter streaks. She’d pulled the wavy mass from her temples and secured the strands with a beaded flower clip that matched her shirt.

  “It’s a pleasure,” the older woman said. “Here’s what we’re going to do. The two of you are going to get cleaned up and have a rest. Are either of you hungry?”

  They both groaned and shook off the idea of food. Emma touched her roiling stomach. She might have refused the hospital stay, but she wasn’t fully recovered.

  “All right,” Blanche said with a frown. “But you’re going to wake up famished, mark my words.”