Colton's Amnesia Target (The Coltons of Kansas)

by Kimberly van Meter - A Sinclair Homecoming (The Sinclairs of Alaska)

  “Sure thing, sugar. Doc has cleared you for light pain meds if you should need them. Be right back.”

  The nurse left him and he eased back on the pillow, staring up at the ceiling. He had no idea who he was or how he’d gotten here.

  But someone had tried to kill him. What if they tried to come back and finish the job?

  Yeah, sleep? Not gonna happen.

  He lifted his arms to stare at his hands. Smooth, strong and capable but not callused. Something told him manual labor wasn’t in his wheelhouse. So, a desk guy of some sort? Did he push paper all day? Had he discovered some shady dealings and someone thought to clip loose ends?

  The throb in his head intensified when he tried to push too hard on the memory button.

  Ah, hell. He wasn’t going to find the answers tonight.

  Hopefully, tomorrow brought more clarity—or at the very least an end to this vicious stabbing pain in his brain.

  One could hope.

  Because that was all he had right about now.

  Chapter 2

  The next morning Jordana received word from Dr. Cervantes that Mr. Broderick was awake and she hustled back to Braxville General. True to his word, the doctor had sequestered her victim in a private section of the hospital with a security guard at the door. She flashed her badge and entered the room.

  The man who’d been knocked out cold the last time she saw him glanced up at her entrance and she was hit with a pair of stormy blue eyes that complemented his brown hair and revealed an intensity she could feel with a glance.

  That presence she’d sensed about him bloomed when he was fully aware. This man could probably command a boardroom or lead an army without breaking a sweat. Her military training recognized authority when she saw it, even if he couldn’t remember who he was yet.

  “Mr. Broderick, I’m Detective Jordana Colton.” She extended her hand and he accepted with a perfunctory shake. “How are you feeling?”

  “Confused.”

  Damn. She’d been hoping perhaps his memory had returned by morning, but she kept her disappointment from her voice, explaining, “The doctor says you have some short-term memory loss caused by your head injury. It should pass with a little more rest.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. Gotta say, not sure how to think about this situation. I may not know my name but I remember that my mother’s name was Daisy. How can I remember that?”

  “Long-term memory is stored in a different section of the brain,” she answered. “You should be able to remember the parts of your life that are stored in long-term memory, such as your childhood, but anything in the short term will be affected.”

  Her explanation seemed to make sense as he nodded. “Yeah, I remember the house I grew up in, the street even, but not being able to remember my name? It’s messing with me.”

  “I can only imagine,” she murmured in support, but got right to the point. “Mr. Broderick, I was able to identify you through your prints, but actually, you and I had a conversation two weeks ago with plans to meet up.”

  He furrowed his brow, regarding her in question. “I’m sorry...were we...supposed to meet for a date?”

  The awkwardness of his question only made Jordana blush. “No, it wasn’t a personal call,” she assured him. “I’m afraid I was calling with unfortunate news.”

  “Yeah? Like what?”

  It was some kind of karmic kick in the ass that she was having to deliver this crappy news twice to the same person. “A body was found in the walls of a warehouse scheduled for demolition and I’m sad to be the bearer of bad news but the victim turned out to be a man named Fenton Crane, a relative of yours.”

  He digested that information for a minute, but in the end he shook his head, saying, “Sorry, doesn’t ring a bell. Was he a close relative?”

  “Well, an estranged uncle but you came up as his only living relative.”

  “So, was I coming to talk to you about this dead uncle when someone waylaid me?”

  “It would seem that way.”

  “Do you know who might’ve done this?”

  She shook her head. “No. The investigation is still early. We don’t have much information to go on. I was hoping that you could give us some additional insight when I contacted you. You were planning to meet up with me but then I never heard back.”

  “I guess I must’ve had some kind of information worth sharing if I was willing to drive here.” He paused a second to ask, “Wait a minute...where’s my car? The nurse said I was found on the road?”

  “Yeah, dumped along Range Road. Sorry, no car, though. Do you remember what you were driving?”

  He thought for a minute, then shook his head. “No, sorry. Another big blank.” Frustration laced his tone. “How long is this amnesia supposed to last?”

  “I don’t know. I think it varies. You’ll have to ask Dr. Cervantes about the specifics.” She wished she could be more helpful but they were both hitting cement walls. Finding Fenton Crane’s body in the walls of a warehouse her family’s company was scheduled to demo had planted a frenzy of suspicion on her family’s doorstep and she’d hoped that maybe Clint Broderick could shed some light into why Fenton Crane was in Braxville in the first place. “It’s possible you might regain your memory within a few days,” she said, trying to be helpful.

  An awkward silence followed. She should leave. There wasn’t much more that could be said until he regained his memory but she wanted to hang around.

  Her gaze strayed to his ring finger. No wedding band. At least no one was waiting and worrying about him at home. Some men didn’t wear their rings. She shifted against the inner dialog in her head. “You don’t remember anything? Nothing at all?”

  “I remember that I hated strawberries as a kid. Does that help?”

  “Not really.”

  “Yeah, then I don’t have much more to share. Sorry.”

  He had arresting blue eyes, like two vibrant blue paint chips with flecks of variegated color blended in a creative swirl. Or a turbulent ocean reacting to a summer storm, churning the seabed with its violent motion.

  Someone had to be waiting for him at home. There was no way a man like him was unattached.

  Get a grip, unnecessary personal information. Stop wasting energy on something immaterial to your case.

  The realization that she was hanging around for a less than professional reason made her stiffen and refocus. “All right, then. Well, I suppose until you regain your memory...there’s not much we can do to help each other.”

  “I wish I was of more use to you.”

  The genuine timbre of his voice tugged at her in a disconcerting way. He had no one here and he had no one to help him. Where was he supposed to go? Presumably, he’d come to Braxville to help her and then someone had tried to kill him.

  Not your problem.

  But he could be an important key to the puzzle. In the interest of the case, shouldn’t she keep him as close as possible?

  Don’t say it, just turn around, keep walking. Don’t be stupid and reckless.

  But the words fell from her mouth, anyway.

  “Look, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea or anything, but seeing as you don’t know anyone here in Braxville and you don’t even know who you are, if you need a place to crash, I have a spare bedroom you can use for the time being. Until we figure something else out.”

  Had she just invited a stranger to come bunk up with her?

  Had she lost her mind?

  She could practically hear the incredulous protests of her five siblings when they found out. It was brash. Dangerous, even. And yet she didn’t regret offering. It was about the case, nothing else. Besides, it was just for a few days and maybe it could provide a break in the case.

  This went against protocol, another voice argued—a voice that sounded a lot like her partner’s. No one
in their right mind would, or should, volunteer to house a stranger, but her gut was pushing her to do exactly that. She’d learned to trust her instincts even when all signs pointed the other direction. So, here’s putting those instincts to the test...

  “Yeah, so...if you’re not allergic to cat dander...my door is open.”

  * * *

  The cute cop had just offered him room and board.

  His first impulse was to answer with an enthusiastic yes but was that wise? He didn’t even know who he was or who she was for that matter.

  What if she was a dirty cop who knew who’d done this to him? What if she was keeping him close to protect his attacker?

  What if she planned to finish the job and cover up his murder with her cop connections?

  Likely? Probably not but he’d never been attacked and left for dead before, either.

  Or at least he didn’t think this had ever happened to him before.

  Damn, paranoia was an ugly thing. But given the fact that he’d nearly died and he didn’t even remember how it’d happened, a little paranoia seemed understandable.

  The long pause caused her to fluster, saying, “Forget it, I was just—”

  He quickly jumped in. “No, I appreciate the offer. I was just thinking, I have no idea if I’m allergic to cat dander. I guess there’s only one way to find out, right?”

  A short smile and a sudden flush in her cheeks only made her more appealing but he didn’t need to be thinking like that about Jordana Colton. Detective Colton, that is. Gotta keep the facts of the situation front and center. “Oh, right,” she acknowledged. “Well, yeah, you’ll know right away whether or not you’re allergic because either you’ll start sneezing like your head is going to pop off or you’ll be fine. I also have Benadryl on hand in case things go from bad to worse.”

  “Yeah, I’d hate to survive a blow to the head only to die choking on cat fuzz.”

  Her smile widened, almost reluctantly, and he realized he might not know who he was but he did know what he liked—and he liked Jordana Colton.

  “So, the doc should spring me today... It’s embarrassing to ask but could you pick me up later this afternoon?”

  She answered with a professional nod. “Of course.”

  “Cool. Yeah, that’d be great. I appreciate your offer. Very kind of you.”

  She nodded, clasping her hands in front of her as if conducting a very proper business transaction with heads of state. “Um, so, of course, there is nothing romantic offered or expected or solicited. Just to keep things as clear as possible to avoid any awkward moments.”

  “Got it. I don’t think you’re my type,” he said with a slight tease to his voice. When her brow arched ever so slightly, he added, “Or at least I don’t think you are.”

  “Good.” She scribbled her name and number on a piece of paper, pausing before handing it to him, a small wry chuckle escaping, murmuring something about the irony, which was not lost on him, then said, “Call me when you’re ready to leave.”

  He nodded. “Thank you for doing this. I appreciate your kindness to a stranger. I promise I don’t think I’m a bad guy or anything.”

  Her quick smile revealed a nice set of white, straight teeth as she quipped, “If you are, I’ll just shoot you and that will be the end of that.”

  A private thrill chased his thoughts as he watched her leave. She had a trim, athletic figure, strong and agile. She could probably disable a bad guy in seconds. That was a little bit hot.

  He probably shouldn’t have taken her offer.

  The smart thing to do would’ve been to find where he lived and then get his ass home. But the unexpected benefit of not knowing who he was relieved him of the burden of expectation or obligation.

  Hell, he could be the president of the United States and it wouldn’t matter because the slate was blissfully empty. Kinda like when he was a kid. No one looking to him to keep their bills paid. No one expecting him to solve their problems. No one badgering him for signatures or payroll.

  He was just like a kid again, floating through life, looking forward to the next day or adventure. He liked that idea. He liked it a lot.

  Also, maybe it wasn’t right or appropriate but Jordana Colton...he wanted to know her better.

  Hopefully, with any luck, he wasn’t allergic to cats.

  Chapter 3

  “Any luck with your John Doe?” Reese asked when Jordana returned to the station.

  “No, his memory is still shot,” she answered, going to her desk. “But the doctor thinks it should only be a few days before he recovers fully. Just gotta be patient, I suppose. Head injuries are tricky.”

  Reese grunted in agreement. “Back in high school, I took a nasty blow to the head during a football game. My brain was fuzzy for weeks, but I never lost my memory. Kinda wished I had. Would’ve made my dating history a lot easier to stomach.”

  She smiled, privately happy that Reese was returning to some semblance of himself. Not that he’d ever be that happy-go-lucky guy again after losing his last partner, but maybe he’d find his smile again.

  He was a damn good cop, though, and Jordana liked working with him.

  “So, what’s the guy going to do in the meantime? Stay at the hospital?”

  She swiveled in her chair to face Reese, knowing he was going to hate what she was about to say. “Actually, in the interest of the case, I offered up my spare bedroom for a few days until he got his memory back.”

  Reese’s expression turned into a scowl. “You did what?”

  “Calm down, it’s just for a few days and he seems harmless. Besides, the guy doesn’t have anywhere to go and he doesn’t even remember his name.”

  “You know this is stupid,” he growled. “This guy could be a murderer for all you know.”

  “He’s not a murderer,” she disagreed, but she could see how her decision might seem brash. “Look, I get it. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t dream of doing something like this but my gut says the guy isn’t dangerous and what he knows about Fenton Crane might be the key to cracking how the hell he ended up dead in that warehouse.”

  “Your connection to this case is blurring your judgment,” he said. “I understand that you’re willing to do whatever it takes to clear your family but that’s exactly why you shouldn’t be running this investigation.”

  She was well aware of the conflict of interest, but the saving grace was that they were in a small department and there weren’t many backups. She’d assured the captain that she could handle the investigation without losing her objectivity, but granted, this decision seemed to fly in the face of that assurance.

  “Okay, yeah, on the surface it looks stupid but whatever happened to just being nice to a stranger who got the short end of the stick in a situation? I mean, he’s here because of me. He was coming to Braxville to talk to me about this case and then something happened to him.”

  “You’re not responsible for his bad luck,” Reese argued, still not on board. “I’m not trying to be an ass but I’m not going to see your side on this. It’s reckless and foolhardy—two things I never thought I’d have to worry about from you.”

  Ouch. “I appreciate your concern but I got this. Don’t worry. Besides, if he gets out of line or I get a bad vibe, I’ll just kick his ass into the ground.”

  “So there’s no way I can talk you out of this?”

  “Not really.”

  He shook his head. “I guess there’s nothing more to say, right? You’re going to do what you want to do no matter what I say.”

  “Pretty much.”

  Reese exhaled a long breath but knew it was pointless to keep arguing. “If you’re hell-bent on ignoring any common sense, at least let me look into his background so you’re not walking blind into this situation.”

  “Fine. If that helps you relax, run a detailed backgrou
nd on him and text me anything alarming.”

  “More alarming than the fact someone tried to kill him and left him for dead for unknown reasons?”

  “Yeah, more than that.”

  Jordana chuckled and returned to the report on her desk. Yeah, she knew it wasn’t protocol to let a stranger into her home who may or may not have information related to the dead body.

  What they knew about Fenton Crane was frustratingly little. They knew he’d been hired by Rita Harrison to search for her missing daughter, Olivia.

  Olivia Harrison turned out to be Body Number Two walled up in the warehouse.

  In a town with a relatively low crime rate, finding not one but two dead bodies in an old warehouse was downright jarring.

  They were keeping the details, such as they were, as quiet as possible. They didn’t need the crackpots to crawl out of the woodwork with their own theories, but then they also needed leads, and sometimes the most unlikely source turned out to be the key that busted a case wide open.

  People were easy to rile up and hard to control, something she learned in the Navy, which was why she kept those “in the know” within a very small circle.

  “Forensics come back on Oliva Harrison yet?” she asked.

  “Yeah, best guess midtwenties, cause of death likely a blow to the head. Skull fracture shows blunt force trauma. Been dead a long time, though.”

  “Man, that’s rough. So, the vic turned out to be the mother of someone here in town, Gwen Harrison, an elementary school teacher?”

  She nodded, chewing on her pen. And then her brother Brooks got involved and, in true Colton fashion, couldn’t stay in his damn lane. Like the situation wasn’t complicated enough with their dad owning the warehouse where the bodies were found, Brooks had to go and get involved with the dead woman’s daughter.

  What twisted webs we weave, right?

  “I can’t imagine how horrible it must’ve been for her family when she went missing without a trace, only to be found by accident twenty years later,” she murmured.