Fatal Memories

Second, she had to go, safe or not. She needed to trigger her memory, because something bad was going to happen if she didn’t stop it. Time was slipping away and she had to do something!

Groaning, she covered her face with her hands.

“Did the doctor give you bad news?”

The sound of Dylan’s voice, deep and resonant, somewhat eased the tight ball of fear in her stomach. His voice was the only thing she remembered...that and his singing. He had a habit of humming old hymns. She’d fallen asleep and woken many times to the sound of his low-key tones. She remembered some of the lyrics clearly. They came through strong, piercing the haze of pain. They were about the only things she did remember from the past few days. Those songs and his voice brought her comfort. With all the anxiety flowing through her, she needed that comfort more than anything right now.

A small smile slipped out... She couldn’t stop it. She was that relieved to see him.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On how you and Holmquist feel. Dr. Hull says he’ll be releasing me today.”

“That’s good news. Why does that make you unhappy?”

She hesitated. “You’ll have to make special arrangements, send more personnel to watch over me and...”

“Stop right there. You are not to think about those details. Let us do the worrying.”

Easier said than done. But with him, it worked. That calm reassurance went deep. How did he do it? What was it about him that eased the terror threatening to eat her alive?

That sense of safety with Dylan helped her go a step further and admit the truth. “I—I don’t know what I’m going home to.”

His eyebrows rose in a quizzical gesture. “You’re right. That is something to worry about. I don’t know how I’d feel either. Am I a neat freak? Do I hang my clothes or drop them? Am I a toilet paper up or down fellow?”

Joss giggled and a sharp pain shot through her temples. She stilled instantly, but couldn’t stop a little chuckle. “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”

“Okay. But seriously. I can’t help you there. I don’t know what your place looks like.”

“No? I thought you said we were friends.”

“Not that kind. We’re friends and we got along well. We’ve only known each other since I was transferred here to be the special agent on this case. About a month. We hadn’t graduated to visiting each other’s places, but we have common beliefs. We’re both Christians. You understood when I said my work was more of a calling...a God-given mission.”

That’s why the words to his songs comforted her so much. She was a Christian. She knew the songs. They meant something to her. It made sense. But what made more sense was the voice singing them. Dylan was reliable, strong in his faith but most of all safe. She sensed that now, even when she couldn’t remember anything else about her life.

Oblivious to where her thoughts had led her, Dylan continued. “We work well together.”

That gave her pause. “How?”

Her interruption threw him off. “What do you mean?”

“How do we work well together? Holmquist tells me you’re called the ‘gang buster.’ What do I do that helps you?”

He hesitated. “I think... I think we have the same goal...to protect people. That’s very important to me.”

“Why?”

Again he let the question lie while he thought about it. Was he trying to decide how much to tell her, or was he hesitating because he was going to tell her something personal about his own life? She hoped it was personal. She wanted to know more about him. Wanted to understand her deep-seated attraction to him.

He’d been her near-constant companion since she had awakened. He made her feel safe and protected. But she sensed her feelings went deeper. Had she been attracted to him before her accident? She needed to know, to understand something about her past and especially about him.

“I had a sister. Her name was Beth.” His voice dropped when he said her name. Almost as if he couldn’t speak the name out loud. Joss tensed. Whatever he was about to tell her pained him a great deal.

“She was my little sister, two years younger than me. She was beautiful and bright. Long dark hair...like yours. Only, hers was curly like mine.” A smile flashed across his lips. Gone in a moment. “She followed me everywhere...even in high school. That’s why I should have seen it. I should have realized.”

He shook his head. The pain in his expression went so deep, it hurt to see it. Reaching out, she grasped his hand. His touch was familiar. It had been like an anchor these past few days, keeping her from flying into empty space, from losing herself in darkness. She hoped she could do the same for him.

“Don’t. Don’t say more. I’m sorry I asked.”

He shook his head and gripped her hand, met her gaze. “It’s important, Joss. I want you to know.”

There was more...so much more behind the words. Something he wasn’t saying. But his hand was warm and strong. She wanted to bring it to her lips and kiss it, to thank him for trusting her.

But that would make him uncomfortable. Her emotions were too strong and overwhelming for the casual relationship he’d described. He’d told her they were friends. They clicked and worked well together. His words exactly. But Joss had the feeling “clicked” had meant a lot more to her, something Dylan didn’t want to acknowledge or discuss. Every time she’d tried to express her gratitude, to explain the unusual bond she felt with him, he grew uncomfortable and changed the subject. So she held her feelings and the words back.

“All right.” If she couldn’t comfort him in the way she wanted to, she could at least give him permission to share his heartache. “Tell me.”

He swallowed. “I went off to college and left Beth behind. Two years later she was dead from an overdose. She was seventeen.”

Joss was silent for a long while, as she searched for words. “I’m sorry. So sorry. But it wasn’t your fault...you were young.”

He gripped her hand with both of his and looked deep into her eyes. “But that’s the problem, Joss. It was my fault. I could have stopped it. She had a crush on my best friend, Rusty. He got her involved in the drug scene. I knew he was hooked on painkillers long before Beth started hanging out with him. I turned a blind eye to his usage, Joss. I covered up for him. I could have told his parents...told mine. They would never have trusted him with Beth. But they knew he was my best friend, thought he’d never let anything happen to her...”

His words trailed off into excruciating silence. Anger twisted his features. Anger and frustration...pain so strong, Joss could barely stand it.

She didn’t know what to say, didn’t understand the significance of why it was important for her to know. She only understood how it had impacted his life. “That’s why you say your work is a God-given mission.”

He nodded, never loosening his grip on her hand. “I stood over her coffin, stared at her emaciated body—I barely recognized my beautiful, vibrant little sister. My parents told me she was having problems. They thought it was an eating disorder, maybe depression. They didn’t suspect drugs and I didn’t want to believe Rusty would betray me like that...not until the evidence lay in front of me. I promised God right there and then that I would devote my life to stopping drug traffickers.”

She gripped his hand. “You’ve done it, Dylan. Holmquist tells me you have one of the best records of success in the DEA. That’s why they sent you here. You can be at ease. You’ve honored your promise.”

“More than a promise, Joss. A vow, and it was my duty.” He lifted her hand, squeezing tighter. “My sister died because I covered for my friend Rusty. I was responsible.”

His intense gaze made her uncomfortable. “What are you trying to tell me, Dylan? Is there something I should know?”

The tension in his body eased and he released her hand. “No. No. I’m just... I don’t talk about Beth much. Not ever, really. I guess I got carried away.”

She smiled. “Thank you...for sharing. It means a lot to me.”

He looked away and shifted. “You need to stop thanking me so much. I’m only doing what needs to be done. And besides.” He gave her a sheepish grin. “We don’t usually talk about serious stuff. I call you ‘hot shot.’ You call me ‘special.’ We argue over football teams. Mine, of course, is better.”

So they did share football! She’d gotten something right. They also had common beliefs, as well as faith and confidence in the justice system. Maybe Dr. Hull knew what he was talking about. All she needed to do was to concentrate on what she did know. That was easier to do around Dylan, because for her, he was special.

Swallowing her fear, she said, “Which is my team?”

A sly twist slipped over his lips. “Well...how will you know I’m telling the truth? Maybe I’ll make you a Wildcat so when your memory comes back, you’ll remember the Sun Devils and know I got you.”

The attempted joke didn’t work, mainly because it reminded her that she might not ever remember. That made her future a big black hole, just like her past. She turned to him, all humor gone. “I trust you. You’re the only one I can trust right now.”

The wry twist faded and he looked away. “You know, I’m going to try to catch Holmquist before he leaves.”

The door closed behind him and the room seemed empty. In spite of what he had said, her release from the hospital was going to be a tactical nightmare. The city police would have to schedule someone to watch over her 24/7. Maybe her friends—the friends she couldn’t remember—would have to volunteer their time to guard her. The extra expense and stress would be ridiculous. Who would pay for it? How long could it last?

And...those men were still out there...trying to kill her. Why? Was that the terrible thing she needed to prevent? Her own murder? That was a horrifying thought.

She was letting the deep dark holes overwhelm her again. She tried to slow the raging questions exploding in her mind.

If Dylan would just come back. He was so strong and vital. His presence filled a room...drove out the dark holes. She could wrap his vitality around her like a warm, safe blanket and she needed that...needed something or she might tip over the edge.

As if on cue, the door opened and he returned. A slight smile tilted his lips. “Holmquist is staying. He wants to be here when you check out.” He seemed relieved.

She said nothing. Her supervisor’s concern was nice but she really wanted Dylan there. “You’re coming with me, right?”

“Of course. Wouldn’t miss your return home.”

An undertone of intensity laced his lightly stated words and gave her pause. “Why?”

He frowned. “Because we need to answer the all-important question. Do you throw clothes in a corner or hang them neatly in the closet?”

Caught off guard, she let another small chortle slip out. “Owww. I told you not to make me laugh.”

“Can’t help it. I’m dying to find out your dark secrets.” His words held an undertone of...something. A sincerity that took her by surprise. She stared at him.

He lifted his gaze upward, clearly striving for a deep-in-thought expression “I’m pretty sure you are a ‘hang it very neatly’ type.”

He meant to make her laugh, but she sensed something behind his words. What was it? Was she an unpleasant, uptight woman he didn’t like?

“You make me sound like a prude. Am I?”

He stopped to consider. “No. Thorough. By the book. Sincere. Passionate about your work. But easy to be around. Energetic and full of questions. Fun. You’re surrounded by friends all of the time. You told me once you don’t like to be alone...ever.” He started to say more but halted and clammed up. A strange look came over his features...a look she couldn’t define. Was he holding something back? Picking and choosing what to tell her about herself?

When he said no more, she released a sigh. “Maybe I’m someone I’d like if I knew me.” Her tone sounded more forlorn than she’d intended.

“Everyone likes you, Joss. You’re a good agent and a great person.”

Shaking her head, she met his gaze. “If I’m such a good agent, what was I doing in that tunnel with a payload of illegal drugs?”

* * *

Dylan was saved from answering when Holmquist walked in. Surprised at how relieved he was, he stepped away and turned to stare out the window.

Finding out why Joss was in that tunnel was the reason he was here, spending every free moment with her rather than pounding the street, searching for answers. Yes, his team of agents was on the job, and they were making breakthroughs. But he should be with them. Yet when she posed the question...gave him the perfect opportunity to start probing for answers...he backed off. Hesitated. What was wrong with him?

Holmquist reviewed the details of Joss’s release with her. She asked a few questions, a thread of fear running behind every word. She was scared and barely hanging on. That was the reason he’d stopped probing. Because he hadn’t wanted to push her into that dark hole.

But why was he hesitating now...almost feeling guilty? He glanced at Joss. In some ways she reminded him of Beth. Not so much in looks, even though they both had dark hair. But more in personality. Beth had been bright, outgoing and fun, but a thread of insecurity had run deep, pushed her in the wrong directions. She’d hungered for approval...for support from others, including Rusty. That need had led to her death.

Dylan sensed the same longing in Joss. She’d always seemed competent, sure of her work, but he’d sensed an underlying need to belong, not to be alone. And now that underlying need had come to the surface. She was completely vulnerable. Now was the time to push for answers, not to ease up.

He needed to get on course, to break those fears loose so they could get to the truth...for both their sakes. “While we wait, let me bring you up to speed.” He addressed his comments to Holmquist. “We have an initial report about those traces of chemicals we found on the support post in the mine. They definitely come from some sort of explosive. They don’t know the type yet.”

“Explosives.” Joss shook her head. “In the mine? What does that mean?”

Holmquist shot a puzzled glance in Dylan’s direction, obviously wondering why he was discussing details of the investigation in front of Joss while she was in her fragile state. But Dylan ignored him.

“It means the cave-in was deliberately set.”

Her features brightened. “Does that prove they were trying to kill me? That I’m innocent?”

Dylan shook his head. “Unfortunately no. The explosion could have been a cover-up. You could have set the explosion and been trapped.”

Now Holmquist gave him an angry frown. But Dylan ignored it. Joss was almost as passionate about her work as he was. Or at least she had seemed to be...and that was what he needed to determine. Now that she was vulnerable, the truth might come out. Had her loyalty been an act? Was she good at making them all like her? Was that her true motivation—the need to be liked, not the desire to stop crime? If that was true, she was just like his sister, and that weakness could have turned Joss away from a righteous path. She might care more about the people she loved than the law, and that love could have led her into that tunnel.

Now, with no recollection of her past, the real woman beneath the facade would come to light. With no memory to protect her, the next days would reveal Joss’s guilt...or innocence.

With his resolve renewed, he faced Holmquist. “Also, my home office can find nothing on Vibora. Nothing.”

“Vibora?”

Both men turned to Joss as her brow furrowed.

Dylan paused. “What? Do you remember something?”

Her frown deepened, almost as if it hurt to think. After a long while she shook her head. “No. Nothing. But I know what it means. Viper. Do I speak Spanish?”

She looked at Holmquist, and her expression was so full of hope, it almost hurt to see it.

He shook his head. “Just enough to get by.”

The beginnings of a smile flitted over her lips. “Then I remember it. The name means something to me.”

She looked happy that she had one memory. She didn’t realize that already knowing the leader’s gang name, when all of them had just discovered it, implicated her.

Holmquist looked at Dylan, his features grim and angry. Dylan looked away. The truth was the ultimate goal...no matter how much Holmquist didn’t want to hear it.

The captain’s radio crackled to life.

“We’ve got an intruder matching the description of the attacker. He’s on the fourth floor, headed toward the stairs.”

Joss’s room was on the fifth floor. Holmquist’s gaze darted to Dylan. Dylan was younger, faster and probably stronger. Holmquist gave Dylan a sharp nod and he dashed out the door.

As it closed behind him, Joss cried out. “Wait! Don’t go!”

Her desperate tone sent a sharp pain through him, but he pushed it aside and turned to the guard outside. “You heard the report?”

The man nodded.

“Holmquist is inside. Whatever happens, don’t leave this door unguarded.”

Another nod. Dylan strode down the hall and raised his voice. “Everyone clear this hall.”

He shut the door of the room closest to him and went on to the next. A nurse pushing a cart full of medications paused.

He gestured to the nearest room. “Go on. Step inside and close the door.”

A man in a hospital gown pushed an IV stand on its wheels. He turned and headed to his room. “That’s too far. Go in here.”

Dylan guided the patient to the nearest room and closed the door.

The hall was empty. He unlatched his gun from its holster and released the lock. Directly in front of him, the elevator lay at the junction of the T-shaped hall. The door to the stairwell was around the corner...out of his vision. He moved forward, settled against the wall and peeked around the corner. The hall was empty. The intruder had not yet reached this floor.

Dylan waited, gun drawn. Hands bracing the gun, wrists taut. Nothing happened.

Should he move closer to the storage room on the right? Wait inside, then pop out and get behind the intruder?

No. Better to keep himself between the man and Joss.

He heard a noise in the stairwell. Heavy footfalls echoed from behind the door. The intruder was close. Dylan gripped the gun. At that moment the elevator dinged. The doors slid open. A man, his wife and two laughing children prepared to step out.

“Get back! Stay inside!”

The frightened father pulled the children to him and pushed his wife inside. The mother frantically jabbed at the elevator buttons. Dylan turned to see the stairway door slowly closing.

Groaning his frustration, he ran toward it. Carefully he pulled it open and waited for gunfire. Nothing happened, so he peeked out. The man was gone. Stepping inside the echoing stairwell, he could hear footsteps—so many, it was hard to distinguish where they were coming from. He paused, listening, and heard the low instructions of the police as they systematically moved up the stairwell together.

Then he heard steps above him. He shouted, “This is Agent Murphy. He’s headed to the sixth floor.”

No men were stationed on the sixth floor. Three officers were stationed below him, plus the guard at Joss’s door. Dylan was ahead of everyone. If the intruder were to be caught, he’d have to do it himself.

He took the steps two at a time, reaching the sixth floor just as the door shut. He flung it open and waited. No shots were fired. He moved into the hall in time to see another set of elevator doors close and the lights above flash on. This was the surgery level and, the elevator was strictly for service. It didn’t open onto the other floors, but went straight to the basement.

Spinning, Dylan took the stairs two at a time, shouting again. “He’s on the service elevator, headed for the basement. I don’t have a radio. Call security and have them send someone there.” He met the three policemen coming up and they all headed down.

One of the policemen’s radios crackled, but no one responded. “I’m not getting any reception in the stairwell.”

Dylan stifled his frustration and they descended to the bottom, coming out in the brightly lit, wide-open basement. The entrance to the laundry room on the right. On the left, a massive generator. Other doors led to other rooms. Too many rooms. Too many nooks and crannies in which to hide.

One of the policemen gestured across the room. “Look.”

Yet another door at the far end was closing. A bright shaft of sunlight slashed across metal steps before it closed. Dylan raced across the room, with the other men close behind. They lunged out the door in time to see a gray Toyota truck screech away through the alley.

The guard had seen the same truck speeding away the first time the gang had tried to reach Joss. This time Dylan was close enough to see the license plate, but a coating of strategically placed mud made it indecipherable.

Clever. No traffic cop would stop them for a blob of mud, but at the same time, no one could track them. The Serpientes were cunning, deceptive and incredibly bold to attack Joss twice while she was under protection.

What did they want from her? What did Joss know that they were so desperate to silence?

THREE

Joss shifted in the hospital chair. It squeaked, a sound that grated against her nerves. She’d sat here for almost forty minutes. Dressed and ready to go. Waiting. And waiting. Holmquist had demanded a thorough search of each floor of the hospital before he would agree to let her leave.

After the latest scare and Dylan’s recognition of the familiar Toyota truck, Holmquist had insisted she stay one more night at the hospital. In all honesty, Joss hadn’t minded the extra night of service in bed. The staff had stopped monitoring her vitals, so it had been a relatively peaceful night...probably the last for a few nights to come. Because frankly, going home wouldn’t be the relief everyone thought. Holmquist said it would be nice to be in her own bed again, right? Dylan commented on how she would feel better surrounded by her own things.

They were both wrong. Going home had taken on the epic proportions of a nightmare because she couldn’t remember a thing about it...not her bed, nor a single solitary possession. She didn’t even recognize the sweats Dylan had brought for her. Were they from her closet or the store?

She didn’t know and the whole idea of going home frightened her. What if this long-awaited moment came and nothing jogged her memory? What if nothing looked familiar? Worse...what if she opened her closet and didn’t like anything she saw inside?

The thick gray wall in her mind, the one she’d encountered when she first opened her eyes, remained in place—thicker than ever. As the time passed and the person on the other side of the gray mist—the pre-explosion Jocelyn—moved farther and farther away. Dr. Hull had told her to focus on what she knew, and she had diligently worked at that. The problem was, the harder she tried, the less she liked the woman Dylan described.

Easygoing. Ummm...not. She was wound about as tightly, and just about as fearfully, as a person could get.

Fun. Well, she might crack a smile if she could find something to smile about. No. That wasn’t true. Dylan made her happy. He was the only bright spot in all of this.

He said she was a good agent. Right. So, why had she been alone, out of uniform, in a tunnel full of thousands of dollars’ worth of heroin?

No matter how many different questions she asked herself, she always circled back to that one. And that was where she hit the blank wall of gray mist with nothing behind it. Nothing.

She sighed. The chair creaked and she cringed. Her head ached. Soon it would be pounding. She was weak. Her legs felt like wet noodles. If they didn’t hurry up with this inspection, someone might have to carry her into her apartment.