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“Can you get up?”
“The men—”
“They’re gone. Come on—stand up.”
“Gone?” he said as she helped him to his feet. He groaned, clutching his ribs.
“They left. I called 9-1-1 and told them I was at Scooter’s Pancake House in Cedar River.”
“What about...the little boy?”
“He’s in the car.”
He blinked to clear the stars from his vision, but it didn’t help much. Safe to say the chief’s thugs had gifted him with a doozy of a concussion. When he reached his truck, Jenna led him to the passenger side.
“I’ll drive,” he said.
“You can barely stand. Get in.” She glanced nervously over her shoulder. A few people inside the truck stop were watching from the window.
As he started to argue, he realized how right she was. Matt was in no shape to drive and they needed to get out of here, quick. The concussion was messing with his judgment. He’d have to rely on Jenna’s acumen for the time being.
Once inside the truck, he closed his eyes. He heard her get behind the wheel, but she didn’t start the vehicle.
He cracked open his eyes. “What...what’s happening?”
“I need to take my contacts out.” She dug through her bag.
“Do it when we’re safe.”
“I’ll do it now, thank you very much,” she snapped.
He’d made her angry. Why? He was trying to protect her, get her away from danger.
She pulled out a small container, and before he could say Miranda rights, she’d removed her contacts and was transformed with the help of large, dark-rimmed glasses. Her auburn hair had been tucked into a ski cap.
“Okay, let’s take care of you. Where’s the first aid kit?” she said.
“I’m fine.” As he said the words, he found himself drifting into that dark place—the place between consciousness and sleep, the place where time didn’t exist. Distant memories flooded his brain, memories of laughter, then anger...
A casket being lowered into the ground.
Sarah.
A gentle hand pressed a gauze pad against the side of his head. “Shh, hold still.”
It was a firm voice, tinged with sweetness and concern. Who was it again? He’d distanced himself from relationships because of his work, his dedication to the job.
He’d attempted commitment with Sarah. And she was dead.
His fault.
There wasn’t a day that went by when he didn’t pray for forgiveness.
Shutting down the romantic part of his life was what had made him a good agent, an agent willing to devote all his energy into nailing criminals, men who pretended to be heroes, when they were actually...
He was falling again, floating like a leaf dropping from a tree. Where would he land? Back at her funeral? His remorse strangling him as he pleaded with God for forgiveness?
“It’s okay. You’re okay.”
“Sarah?” he said.
“Almost done.”
“I’m sorry.”
* * *
An hour later, Jenna glanced at her passenger and wondered if she should take him to a hospital. His skin was pale and he groaned in his sleep every few minutes. Plus, he’d been having delusions back at the truck stop when she’d bandaged his head wound.
He’d whispered the name Sarah. His girlfriend? Wife?
“Stay focused,” she said softly. She couldn’t afford to be distracted by her passenger’s nightmares. She needed to strategize what to do next, other than to distance herself from Cedar River.
“Stay back,” Matthew muttered in his sleep.
Jenna suspected he had a concussion and knew the best treatment for that was sleep. She’d learned as much when she’d ended up in the hospital after one of her “falls.”
She clenched her jaw. This was not the time, nor the place, to be thinking about the past. She had two people to protect—Little Eli and...an FBI agent. Which begged the question, why was he working undercover as a janitor at the community center?
“Medic,” he said. He jerked awake, eyes wide, breathing heavily.
“Hey, you’re okay,” she said.
He glanced at her with a dazed expression.
“Just a bad dream,” she said.
He snapped his attention away, as if embarrassed, and directed his gaze to the road ahead.
“Best thing for a concussion is sleep,” she offered.
A moment later he closed his eyes. Wow, that surprised her. She thought she’d get more of an argument, or a lecture about how she should have left him back at the truck stop.
Why didn’t you abandon him, Jenna?
Because of the vulnerability in his dulled blue eyes. She couldn’t leave a semiconscious man lying on the cold, wet ground. After all, once the thugs figured out Jenna had diverted them from her true location, they would have returned to the truck stop and done even more damage to Matthew. He was in no position to defend himself.
She’d been in survival mode back at the office, driven by the trauma of her past. The chief’s actions solidified her opinion of law enforcement, and her cautious nature had made her draw the conclusion that Matthew was a serial criminal, not a cop. Even if he was a cop, she knew they had their own code, and the normal rules of civility didn’t apply to them.
Which left her in that same, familiar spot: alone and afraid.
And she couldn’t afford to be afraid, not while Eli was in her care.
If only she had a burner phone to call Marcus again, get Eli safely to his cousin. Deep down, Jenna feared she was the absolute worst choice to protect Eli. She’d failed miserably before. What made her think this time would be different?
Her brain started clicking off options. What about... She glanced at her passenger. Could she risk getting help from the FBI? No, they’d force her to return Eli to his father, a man Chloe had called a monster. She shook off the thought.
The word monster taunted her, reminding her that although she was legally free of him, there were days she still felt like she was under Anthony’s thumb, especially when she’d come home to her Cedar River apartment and find things out of place. She’d be yanked back into the past, experiencing Anthony’s wrath over her unacceptable housekeeping skills. She’d try to shake it off, reminding herself she’d been in a hurry to get to work in the morning and had forgotten to put things where they belonged.
But the fear of punishment was quite real.
Move on, she coached herself.
She needed to think her way out of this current crisis, not be paralyzed by the past. Who could she go to for help? Jenna had been estranged from her family ever since she’d married Anthony, and had never reunited with them after she’d escaped his abuse. Distancing herself from everyone, past and present, had been the best way to put the horror behind her and live a safe life. She was willing to do whatever was necessary to achieve that goal, and starting a new life where no one knew her seemed like the only way.
A new life where she could be a different person. A stronger person.
She reconsidered calling Patrice. The middle-aged woman was devoted to helping victims flee dangerous situations. No, she had already put herself in enough danger for Jenna, although maybe Patrice could offer some advice.
The flash of blue and red lights sparked through the truck’s rearview mirror. Jenna’s heart leaped into her throat.
They’d found her.
THREE (#ua053ccce-31ec-58c3-83da-dc2bf9428d41)
“License and registration, please,” a deep male voice said.
Matt forced his eyes open. He was in the passenger seat, and a uniformed officer stood at the driver’s window.
“I’m sorry, Officer, was I speeding?” Jenna asked from behind the wheel of Matt’s truck.
Jenna North was driving his truck?
“No, ma’am, but your left taillight is out,” the cop said.
“Oh, thank you for letting us know.”
“You’re welcome. I’d still like to see your license and registration.”
Jenna nodded at Matt, who read fear in her green eyes.
“Honey, can you get the registration?” she said.
Honey? Why was she calling him honey? And why did his head feel like someone had used it as a soccer ball?
“Sir, are you all right?” The cop aimed his flashlight into the vehicle.
Matt put up his hand to block the piercing beam. “My head,” is all that came out.
“We’re on the way to the hospital,” Jenna said. “He was mugged and has a head injury.”
The cop nodded, speculative. He started to aim the beam into the back seat.
“Please don’t wake the baby,” she said.
The baby? What have you gotten yourself into, Matt?
“I still need to see your license and registration,” the cop said.
She pulled her license out of her wallet. Matt dug the registration out of the glove box and passed it, and his license, to the officer.
“Did you file a police report about the mugging?” the officer asked, scanning the registration.
“We will, Officer, but I wanted to get him checked out first,” she said in a frantic tone.
Jenna North, development manager of the Broadlake Foundation, was worried about Matt.
What had happened to him?
His mind drew a blank. He’d obviously lost the past few, what, hours? Days? The amnesia had to be related to the headache clawing its way across his skull. He was suffering from a concussion. But how had it happened?
Bigger question—why did he have an urgent need to protect Miss North and...a baby?
He looked over his shoulder. There was a sleeping child in the back seat. Whose? Jenna’s? No, she wasn’t married, didn’t have a boyfriend or even date, if you believed the locals. She was a transplant from Tulsa with a generous heart, a woman who used her social and financial talents to raise money for the Broadlake Foundation.
“Please wait here,” the cop said and left them alone.
Jenna turned to Matt. “They’re going to find us. What do we do?”
She could tell him what was going on, for starters.
“Matthew?”
The way she spoke his name made it sound like they were close, like they knew each other outside of working in the same building. Sure, he might have imagined dating someone like Jenna, a lovely woman determined to help people. Only he didn’t remember ever grabbing coffee with her or chatting outside of work. He was on the job and, even if he weren’t, he’d made a promise to himself to avoid romantic entanglements.
“What’s he doing?” she said, eyeing the rearview mirror.
“Patience,” he said. “He’s running the registration. It’s procedure.”
He closed his eyes, fighting back the anxiety taunting him. He’d have to confess his condition because he needed her help to navigate through the temporary amnesia. Matt sensed she needed his help as well.
“Aren’t you worried?” she asked.
He opened his eyes, but couldn’t admit the truth: that he was terrified because he’d lost a chunk of time.
“No, of course you’re not worried, you’re FBI,” she muttered and studied the rearview.
She knew the truth? Which meant what—that she was helping with the investigation? Was that possible? Because he didn’t remember her being ruled out as a suspect.
