An undercover investigation means deadly danger.

Will an agent’s missing memories save her?

Attacked and left for dead, undercover FBI agent Ashley Thompson has forgotten almost everything about her current assignment. Now she’s working with park ranger Logan Everett to expose a crime ring—even as she secretly investigates the rangers to root out a mole. But since Logan doesn’t know Ashley’s real identity, is blowing her cover the only way to catch a killer?

KELLIE VANHORN is an award-winning author of inspirational romance and romantic suspense. She has college degrees in biology and nautical archaeology, but her sense of adventure is most satisfied by a great story. When not writing, Kellie can be found homeschooling her four children, camping, baking and gardening. She lives with her family in west Michigan.

Also By Kellie VanHorn

Fatal Flashback

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Fatal Flashback

Kellie VanHorn

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90081-6

FATAL FLASHBACK

© 2019 Kellie VanHorn

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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“How can I help you when you won’t tell me anything?”

Logan’s green eyes seemed to read her soul. “You’ve remembered more than you’re telling me.”

Ashley swallowed. “I don’t remember asking for your help.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t seem to mind last night, when you leaped into my arms.”

Of all the nerve. Her cheeks flamed instantly. “Your job, Ranger Everett, is to train me as a Big Bend ranger. Not pry into my personal life.”

The clouds rolled closer, intermittently blotting out the sun, and the scent of impending rain danced in the air.

Suddenly, a sharp, deafening crack split the air, and a spray of rocks pelted the side of his face.

Too close for thunder. Too brief for a rock slide.

The crack came again, along with another burst of rocks between them, but this time he heard the telltale whizzing sound, too.

“Down!” Logan yelled, jumping toward Ashley as another bullet zinged over their heads. “Someone’s shooting at us!”

O God, thou art my God; early will I seek thee: my soul thirsteth for thee, my flesh longeth for thee in a dry and thirsty land, where no water is.

—Psalms 63:1

Dear Reader,

Thank you for sharing Ashley and Logan’s journey with me. We don’t all experience the life-threatening situations they faced, but we do wrestle with our own pain, grief and loss. These things are an inevitable part of life in a fallen world. My prayer is that, like Ashley, you’ll remember at those times how great God’s love is for you. No matter how hard the circumstances, we never have to face them alone.

When I was in graduate school several years ago, I had the privilege of camping in Big Bend National Park. The majestic and rugged beauty of this remote and rarely visited place stuck with me, making it a natural choice for the setting of this novel. If you ever have the chance to visit, you will realize I’ve taken the liberty of rearranging park trails, altering the operations of the National Park Service, and reviving an old city across the border in Mexico. But hopefully you’ll also find it to be as beautiful and awe-inspiring as I’ve attempted to portray.

I love hearing from readers, so please connect with me at www.kellievanhorn.com, where you can also learn more about my work.

Warm regards,

Kellie VanHorn

For my family

Acknowledgments

My heartfelt gratitude goes to all who’ve helped make this book possible: my fantastic critique partner, Michelle Keener, for her thoughtful feedback; Kerry Johnson, for her critique of the beginning; Margie Reid, who shared her words of wisdom on an early version.

Thanks to my wonderful editor, Dina Davis, and the rest of the Love Inspired Suspense team for bringing this story to life.

To my parents, Gary and Denise Parker, and my brother Matt—thank you for letting me read during all those family dinners.

To my husband, Jason—thank you for your boundless encouragement. I couldn’t have done it without you. To our kids, Isaiah, Nate, Ella and Luke—thank you for enduring long typing sessions in which you had to get your own snacks.

Last of all, thanks to my Savior, who gifted me with the desire to share my faith through stories.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Introduction

Bible Verse

Dear Reader

Dedication

Acknowledgments

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

ONE

Cold water roared through her clothes, swirling over her head and through her hair, dragging her back into consciousness. Instinctively she struggled for the surface and as soon as her head cleared the water, she coughed and gasped in a few precious breaths, wiping at her stinging eyes.

In the fading daylight the banks of the narrow river filled the horizon, impossibly high to her right but leveling out on the left. Sparse brush and skinny cottonwood trees lined the sandy river’s edge.

Not a soul in sight.

Something sharp—a submerged log, maybe—jammed into her ribs. She cried out in pain but was rewarded with a mouthful of dark river water. Coughing it out, she turned against the current and kicked for the bank.

She crawled out onto the sand, tiny rocks biting into her palms, and pushed through the reeds growing at the water’s edge. Collapsing onto a clear patch of ground, she struggled to catch her breath. What on earth had happened? Where was she?

The back of her head throbbed like she’d smashed it into a rock. Worse, though, was the way her brain felt like cotton fluff, disoriented and unfocused.

She squinted into the last fading rays of light, one cheek pressed down on the cool sand. As the initial blackness receded, her senses clicked slowly into place. The tall reeds stood like sentinels between her and the flat, glossy stretch of dark river water, barely visible in the dying sunlight. She shivered as a light breeze drifted over her drenched clothes.

Sitting up slowly, she pressed a hand to the throbbing place on the back of her head. When she pulled it away, a red, sticky film coated her fingers.

Her heart jumped in her chest. If only this horrible groggy feeling would go away, she could figure out where she was. What to do now.

Some distance to her right, the river disappeared into a deep canyon with jagged cliff walls rising on both sides. From the way the current ran, she must’ve fallen in back there, before the cliffs became impassably steep.

That way was west—the last bit of sun was still visible dipping down behind the rim of the canyon, sending streaks of pink and orange through the distant clouds.

In the other direction, to the east, the landscape flattened out and groves of cottonwood trees grew along the riverbank. No sign of civilization for as far as she could see.

How did she end up here, in the middle of nowhere?

“Ashley,” she said softly, more to reassure herself than anything else. “My name is Ashley. Thompson?”

She rolled the last name around on her tongue. Sounded right.

Somewhere through the haze in her brain, she remembered that something terrible had happened—something related to why she was here, wherever here was. But she couldn’t remember for the life of her what it was—only that it hurt, so badly her stomach clenched into a tight, aching knot.

She pressed her hands to her temples, her forehead, her eyes, trying to calm her pounding heart. Panicking wouldn’t solve anything or help her remember.

Something hard dug into her hip as she sat with her legs to one side. Fumbling in her pocket, her hand closed around the smooth, cold and heavy object, then dropped it onto the sand.

A gun.

She slid backward, staring at the dark weapon lying there like a rattlesnake ready to bite.

Law enforcement. That had to be it. She stared down at her clothing, as if her soggy black pants and white blouse could explain everything. Even though it’d been in her pocket, she had a holster. The gun had to be hers. Legally, she hoped.

And the clothes seemed familiar enough. At least they fit. She struggled to remember anything—her last meal or her last ride in a car or her last day at work—but there was nothing. Just a vast, blank space in her mind, as if someone had siphoned away her entire identity beyond her first name. How was it possible she had no idea where she was or how she had gotten there?

And what on earth was she supposed to do now?

Her lips parted to utter a prayer, but she checked herself almost instantly because, along with that certainty about her name and the sense that something terrible had happened, came the knowledge she wasn’t on speaking terms with God.

She shivered. Night was coming and she had no idea where to go. The thought of wandering around looking for help in the dark was horribly unappealing.

She crawled back toward the gun and picked it up, tentatively at first, but as her hand closed around it, a familiar sense of security washed over her. She clung to that tiny bit of comfort and clasped her knees to her chest, staring out across the desert. Hoping against reason that help would come.

Logan Everett walked across the parking lot to his Jeep. The meeting with the river ranger and the border patrol agents had taken longer than he’d expected, and the sun had begun its final descent behind the Mesa de Anguila to the west.

He could still get in a good chunk of the drive back to Panther Junction before the onset of total darkness, but he had a nagging feeling something was wrong.

That black sedan that had turned around in front of the general store—he had seen it from the window during their meeting—had headed down toward Santa Elena Canyon a good hour ago, and it hadn’t returned. Granted, it was hard to tell from his vantage point inside the Castolon ranger office, but it had looked like the driver, a woman, was alone.

Now that it was almost dark, she shouldn’t still be there. She couldn’t drive that sedan on the dirt road up to Big Bend National Park’s west entrance at Terlingua and, as far as pavement went, the canyon was the end of the line.

Logan exhaled a long breath that matched his never-ending day. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to check. He had learned that the hard way. He trusted his instincts—they hadn’t failed him yet—and if it turned out she was fine, or not there anymore, at least he’d be able to sleep tonight knowing he’d made sure.

An image flashed into his mind—a man’s body in a ranger uniform, half a mile off the trail. Vultures circling above in the 110-degree heat. More than circling.

Logan shuddered. No, he was not going to think about Sam. Not now.

Please, Lord, he prayed, keep this woman safe.

The Santa Elena Canyon parking lot lay in deep shadow by the time he pulled in. The lot was empty except for the black car, its driver conspicuously absent. Logan parked and got out, pulling a flashlight from the Jeep’s glove compartment.

He walked toward the trailhead, scanning his light across the sand for footprints. There were plenty, since the canyon trail was one of the most popular in the park. He frowned. It was also short enough that the woman should have returned by now.

He stopped when the arcing sweep of his light caught a set of footprints off to one side, leading toward the river. Annoying hikers. It was like they couldn’t read the signs plastered all over the place.

Stay on the trails. Not only did it preserve the environment, there were enough ways to get injured without needing to wander off looking for more trouble.

Picking his way carefully, Logan followed the tracks until they ended at the river. Here the sand was wet and the marks were much clearer. Too large for a woman. The same single pair of tracks circled back to the parking lot.

Nothing. As he turned to leave, his flashlight glinted off something lying in the brush a short distance downstream.

He snatched it off the damp sand. A woman’s silver wristwatch. His breath caught in his chest. Judging by its near flawless condition, it hadn’t been there long.

Hastening his pace, he walked downstream along the bank, sweeping the light ahead. He hadn’t gone far when he froze. Movement—there, to the left. A woman. And she was clearly alive, because she was lying on her stomach, arms out in front of her, pointing a handgun at his chest.

He slowly lifted both hands, the law-enforcement side of him sizing her up within seconds—midtwenties, maybe five feet, eight inches in height, thin yet muscular build. She had the same long, dark hair of the driver he had seen earlier.

Only now it was wet and hung in clumps around her pale face and her sandy, soaked shirt clung to her shoulders and arms.

“Whoa, it’s okay. I’m here to help you. You don’t need the gun.” He angled the flashlight to one side and inched toward her, hands up. “Put the gun down, okay? There’s no reason for anyone to get hurt.”

“Who are you?” Her voice was high-pitched and trembling.

“Logan Everett. I’m a law-enforcement ranger.” He pointed at the brown arrowhead badge on his shirt. “National Park Service.”

The woman sat up, keeping the gun steady. Clearly she was no stranger to handling weapons.

Law enforcement?

Or criminal? Crime was rare in Big Bend, but it did happen.

“Don’t come any closer.” Her brown eyes grew wide, the whites glistening in the fading light.

Logan stopped, crouching down ten feet away from her and holding the silver wristwatch out for her to inspect. “Is this your watch?”

“I...I don’t know,” she stammered. “Stay back.”

There was a definite edge of panic in her voice. Something had happened to her and she was still terrified.

“Hey—” he reached toward her “—we’re on the same side. How did you get out here?” The wary, frightened look in her large, dark eyes reminded him of a cornered animal.

Her forehead wrinkled and her eyes slipped out of focus as she shook her head. “I...I fell into the river.”

He nodded reassuringly, even as he tried to calculate how she could have fallen in. He couldn’t see her feet clearly from his present position, but he didn’t think it was likely the tracks by the river had been hers. Odd.

When she didn’t say anything else, he asked, “From the trail?”

“I...” She bit her lip, brows furrowed, and lowered the gun slightly. He straightened and inched forward, taking advantage of her distraction. “I don’t remember.”

Her eyes were still out of focus and her hands shook as she held the gun.

“Are you injured?”

She took one hand off the gun, reaching for the back of her head. When she pulled her hand away, red smeared her fingertips. She stared at the blood, the gun drooping in her other hand.

That explained it—well, at least her obvious confusion. Poor woman. She probably had a concussion.

He stepped forward, holding his hands up, inching closer and closer. Like approaching an injured mountain lion, only without the tranquilizer darts.

When he was a few feet away he dropped down onto his knees. He was directly in front of her by the time she looked at him again and, before she could react, Logan had the gun out of her hand and safely tucked into his waistband.

The woman stared at him, her expression torn between fear and confusion.

“There.” He offered her a grin. “Now that you’re not going to kill me, maybe I can help you.”

He peered at the back of her head. Her long, brown hair was matted into a knot by the blood and there was a large bump. Had she fallen? Or was it foul play?

“Where am I?” She turned wide, dark eyes up to him.

“You must’ve taken quite a blow to the head. This is Big Bend National Park, in west Texas. And we’re right outside Santa Elena Canyon on the Rio Grande.”

“Texas?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She winced as she pulled back onto her knees.

“Easy.” Logan held out his hand. She glanced up at him warily. “You might have other injuries.”

She rubbed a hand slowly over her lower ribs. “I hit something in the water,” she mumbled.

“We need to get you checked out. Do you think you can walk?”

When she nodded, he gently helped her to her feet. She swayed unsteadily for a moment, clinging to his arm.

“Do you remember your name?” He picked a path for them around the low brush back toward the trailhead parking lot.

“Ashley.” She gripped his arm a little tighter as she stumbled over something in the growing darkness, and Logan swung his light to the ground. Despite her little dunk in the Rio Grande, a light scent of something sweet, like berries, emanated from her hair.

“What’s the last thing you remember, Ashley?”

“I...I remember...” She grew thoughtful for a moment, chewing on her lip. When she spoke again, her voice held a note of hope. “Taking a cab. Yes, that was it.”

“I think we can rule out that being today. So, you have no idea why you’re here in Big Bend?”

She shook her head but a brief flicker of some emotion passed over her face. Grief? Or anger? He wasn’t sure, but clearly something lurked under the surface and she didn’t want to share or couldn’t remember.

Either way, pretty women dressed in tailored slacks didn’t turn up in the Rio Grande for no reason.

When they reached the parking lot, Ashley stared blankly at the two vehicles in the lot—the rental car Logan suspected was hers and his NPS Jeep.

“Recognize it?”

She dug into one of her pockets. “No. But I do have a set of keys that survived the river. I may as well try them.”

The river had wrecked the electric key fob, but she was able to open the driver’s door using the key. As she searched the interior for personal items, he called in the plates to a park dispatcher.

A quick search confirmed it was a rental, from an Enterprise in El Paso, Texas—she must’ve flown in to the airport there.

“The name?” he asked the dispatcher.

The radio crackled. “Watson. Ashley Watson.”

Ashley climbed back out of the car, holding the black blazer that completed her suit—absolutely the wrong clothing for the desert—as well as a small handbag.

“Ms. Watson?” Logan gestured at the purse. “Did you find some identification?”

She frowned, rubbing her forehead with a knuckle as she stared at the closed purse.

“Everything okay?”

“Sure.” Her expression cleared but the air of confusion still lingered—must be from the head injury. She fumbled with the purse’s zipper and dug out a wallet, staring at the driver’s license inside for a long moment before handing it to him. Her forehead creased again.

Logan took the license from her clammy fingers. Ashley Watson. Issued in the District of Columbia. His brows pulled together. “No idea what brings you to Texas, Ms. Watson? You’re a long way from home.”

She leaned against the car. Her face was pale but she held his gaze. “No, but it’ll come back to me. Otherwise, I know where to go home. Now, if you want to point me in the right direction to a medical facility, I can drive myself. I’m sure you have other places to be.”

Was she trying to get rid of him? Did she remember more than she was letting on?

“Really?” He raised an eyebrow. “You think I’d let you drive in your condition?”

“I’m feeling better. Besides—” she nodded toward his Jeep “—you probably have a cold pack in there for my head, right?”

“For starters, the road to the nearest medical facility is that way.” He pointed across the parking lot toward a nearly invisible dirt road leading into the desert to the north. “And second, you’ll be coming with me to park headquarters in Panther Junction after we go to the clinic.”

“Why?” Somehow she managed to look both helplessly lost and irritated at the same time.

“Because it’s illegal to carry a firearm in this park without a permit unless you’re in law enforcement.”

“So, what? You’re going to arrest me after I almost drowned?” Sparks flared in her brown eyes.

“No.” Logan sucked in a slow breath, searching for the tattered shreds of his patience. “I’m going to bring you in for questioning. Unless you’ve got a Texas-approved license to carry somewhere in there, too.”

She inhaled sharply, eyes widening. Nervous? But why? “I’m sure there’s a good reason for the gun.” She dug inside her blazer pocket, her brow furrowing when her fingers came away empty. “I have a holster.”

“Maybe. But we’ll let the chief ranger decide.”

She closed and locked her car door and then took the arm he offered, cold fingers clutching his elbow, and he escorted her to the Jeep.

He helped her into the passenger seat and handed her a thick gauze pad from a first-aid kit. “Press this to the wound, and here’s an ice pack for the swelling.”

Ashley took the gauze, wincing as she touched it to the injury. A wave of pity washed through him. The ride to Terlingua over that washboard dirt road was going to hurt.

She sat silently in the passenger seat, a hand pressed to her eyes, as he did his best to steer around the lumpiest sections of the road.

They’d been driving for maybe thirty minutes when headlights appeared in the rearview mirror, two tiny orbs bouncing in the distance.

Ashley craned her head over her shoulder. “Somebody else uses this road?”

“Yeah...once in a while.” He frowned. The lights were growing bigger much faster than they should be. Usually only Terlingua locals and lost tourists used this road, and neither was foolish enough to go that fast.

Only a few minutes passed before the other vehicle was nearly on their tail, its headlights glaring off the dashboard and mirrors so brightly he had to squint. A truck, judging by the height of the lights.

Better to let them pass than get into an accident out here. He slowed the Jeep, driving closer to the side to allow the truck space to pass. “Impatient driver. Going to break an axle at this rate.”

Impatient and reckless—couldn’t they see this was an NPS vehicle? He’d be sure to get the plate number and call it in.

But the truck didn’t pass. Instead it veered to the right with them and accelerated.

“What...?” Logan muttered. “Hold on!”

The driver was going to ram them.

TWO

Ashley scrabbled to find the handle inside the door as Logan jerked the steering wheel to the left. The Jeep swerved, its tires slipping on the loose dirt. Behind them, the truck eased off the gas long enough to follow them into the center of the road.

Could it be whoever had attacked her at the river coming back to finish the job? She shivered, clutching the door handle hard enough her fingers hurt.

The truck shot forward again, bumping the rear of the Jeep as Logan accelerated. Not hard enough to release the air bags, but enough to whip her forward and lock her seat belt. She grimaced as her head smacked back into the seat.

Logan’s jaw clenched as he cranked the steering wheel to the left, trying to move the Jeep out of the way. He yanked a handheld radio out from its holder and tossed it onto her lap. “Call the dispatcher.”

She fumbled for the call button, holding the radio to her mouth, but it slipped out of her fingers as the Jeep jostled and bounced over the rough edge of the road.

“Hold on,” Logan said again as he slammed down the gas pedal.

Headlights filled the cabin as the truck pummeled into their bumper again. Logan grunted as he struggled to keep control of the steering wheel and Ashley clung to her seat as the Jeep careened toward cactuses and brush growing on the side of the road.

They rolled to a stop in a sea of prickly pears and spiky grasses. She let out a little sigh of relief as the truck swerved past them.

Until it stopped fifty feet ahead. Both doors opened. Whoever was getting out wasn’t coming to lend them a hand.

Logan gestured at the Jeep’s floorboard as he drew his gun. “Get down.”

She swallowed, sliding a hand toward her seat belt to unbuckle it, but at that moment more headlights appeared in the distance. This time, from the opposite direction.

Ahead of them, the truck’s doors slammed shut and its engine roared back to life. A second later it barreled away toward Terlingua in a cloud of dirt stained red by its taillights.

Logan flipped on the interior cab light. “You okay?” His brows pulled together in concern.

She took a couple of deep breaths, trying to slow her pounding heart, and nodded. “But I didn’t get the plates.” She retrieved the radio from her feet and handed it to him.

“It’s okay,” he said after calling in the incident. “Still a few miles to Terlingua. Maybe local police can get there in time.”

He coaxed the Jeep out of the loose sand and back onto the packed road. When they passed the oncoming car a few minutes later, Logan flagged down the driver, but the man, a Terlingua resident, hadn’t caught the truck’s plates, either.

The vast Texas sky was full of stars by the time they reached the medical clinic. Ashley’s head was swimming. A memory had come back as they’d jostled along on the road—the bumps had reminded her of tractor rides and apple-picking with her parents and brother. More childhood memories had seeped in after that one, filling her with relief.

Then that truck had showed up to ram them.

After what had just happened, it was a good thing Logan wanted to take her back to park headquarters. Plus, she hadn’t found anything in her car other than a suit jacket and her purse. Big Bend National Park was remote—it seemed unlikely she would travel all the way out here without any luggage. But where was she staying?

And, more pressing, who was after her?

After a nurse took her to a private room, she rummaged through her handbag to see what else it contained besides the wallet. There wasn’t much. A tube of lipstick. Hand sanitizer. A couple of pens. She pulled out the wallet and stared at the driver’s license.

Washington, DC. Was that where she lived? The city name felt right. Comfortable.

But the license hadn’t been issued to Ashley Thompson... Why? Were all her hunches and instincts wrong? She shivered, tucking the license back into its slot and pulling out the piece of paper sticking out of the next one.

A photograph.

She stared for several long minutes at the picture. It was a man, maybe college-aged, with short, dark hair and hazel eyes. A relative? Maybe her brother? The photo was well worn around the edges, as if she had handled it and carried it with her for some time.

Why did looking at him make her stomach clench into a tight knot?

Logan was pacing back and forth in the lobby when the clinic’s only doctor escorted her back out. The ranger’s dark green eyes locked onto her as she stepped into the room, and Ashley’s breath unaccountably hitched. She hadn’t seen him clearly before, what with the setting sun and her throbbing head, but in this lighting, it was obvious the man was in his element as a park ranger. Clean-shaven, tanned, sandy-brown hair. Just over six feet tall, she guessed, and at peak fitness. Every movement came with easy confidence.

She turned away from his speculative gaze. Maybe he didn’t believe her about the memory loss. Maybe he thought she was trying to cover something up.

Thankfully he turned to the doctor, giving Ashley the chance to get her thoughts back under better regulation before she had to speak.

“How is she?” Logan asked.

“Her skull’s intact and the wound itself should heal up nicely. Based on the symptoms she’s described, I’d say she’s sustained a level two, possibly level three, concussion. The good news is the CT scan is clean—no internal hemorrhaging. She needs to take it easy for several days until her symptoms are gone, and more specifically, she’ll need to be monitored closely for the next twenty-four hours.”

Several days? Ashley resisted the urge to frown. She had no idea why she was in Texas—how, exactly, was she supposed to lie around and relax?

Logan nodded, eyeing her thoughtfully. “And her memory loss?”

“Retrograde amnesia—limited to events prior to the injury. But given her lucidity now and her other test results, I’d say the prognosis for a full recovery is good. I expect she’ll start getting her memories back anytime now, the older ones first. Childhood through adolescence typically come back first, followed by more recent events. You may be able to help the recovery with exposure to memory triggers. But,” he said to Ashley, “whatever happened right before the trauma might not come back at all if your brain lost it from short-term memory.”

She nodded. “Well, hopefully that won’t be the case. I’d like to know what happened to me.”

“Of course. At least you’ve found yourself in good hands with Ranger Everett.”

Ashley thanked him and followed Logan outside, hoping he hadn’t noticed the heat creeping into her cheeks at the doctor’s comment. Especially since he couldn’t be the only attractive man she’d ever been around in her life.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

She climbed up into the passenger seat, avoiding the hand he offered. “Better. My head isn’t pounding anymore and things aren’t quite so fuzzy.”

“Do you remember anything about coming to Big Bend?”

She shook her head. “It’s like there’s a blank spot in my mind and, beyond that, a lot of vague impressions rather than certainties.”

“That’s to be expected, I guess.” He steered the Jeep toward the main road into the park. “It’ll take us an hour to get back to Panther Junction. Try to get some rest and we’ll find a place for you to sleep once we’re finished.”

Sleep seemed out of the question, but Ashley was glad for an excuse to stop talking. He hadn’t asked her any more personal questions, but she could almost hear them on the tip of his tongue. What else did you find in the purse? Why did you come to Texas? What secrets are you keeping?

Thinking about it made her brain hurt. Logan hadn’t said anything more about what had happened to her, either, but given the incident with the truck, it seemed obvious someone was after her. Probably the same someone who had hit her in the head. But who? And why? There had to be some reason she was carrying a gun. Hopefully her memories would come back before whoever it was returned to finish the job.

Ashley was out cold by the time Logan pulled into park headquarters in Panther Junction. She didn’t even stir as he turned off the engine. He sat watching her for a moment under one of the few motion-activated lights in the parking lot.

Something about her seemed familiar... Maybe her mannerisms. Or the shape of her eyes. Or the way she spoke. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, or how he could possibly have met her before.

How had she ended up in the Rio Grande Wild and Scenic River? Wearing a business suit, no less. She had been barefoot all night, so he could only guess she’d lost her shoes in the river. Judging by the outfit, he assumed they would have been heels, the worst possible choice for a trip to the desert.

And the gun. Why the gun? The way Ashley had pulled it out and trained it on him was evidence enough she knew about weapons. Those actions came from physical memory, created by years of experience.

What worried him most was that incident with the truck. Her head injury and the fall into the river could have been an accident. The unidentified set of tracks along the river’s edge might have been coincidence. But the truck? No doubts there. The driver had intended to run them off the road. If that other vehicle hadn’t scared them off, he hated to think what might’ve happened. And since Terlingua police hadn’t been able to find anything, there were no suspects to question.

What kind of trouble was Ashley in?

Even though Big Bend shared several hundred miles of border with Mexico, its vast, empty deserts and rugged mountains prevented far more criminal activity than the rangers could. More visitors got into trouble from dehydration than anything else. In fact, Logan couldn’t even remember the last attempted homicide.

He frowned. The answers appeared to be locked away in that woman’s mind, inaccessible. Maybe the chief ranger and the park superintendent would have better success.

“Ashley—” he nudged her shoulder “—we’re here.”

She sat up, rubbing her eyes, and then stumbled blearily beside him to the park office, waiting as he unlocked the door. By now it was after ten o’clock at night and the place was dark and empty inside. Logan flipped on a light and left Ashley in a chair near the receptionist’s desk while he telephoned Chief Ranger Ed Chambers and Superintendent Dick Barclay.

Housing for the staff assigned to Panther Junction was a short walk from headquarters, so they only waited a few minutes before the others arrived.

Ed Chambers stepped in first. Tall, with graying hair and a face lined from years working outside, the chief looked like a quintessential career ranger. And he was exceptionally good at what he did—Logan could only hope that one day his career record would be half as accomplished as Ed’s. Until then, he was grateful to have his mentorship, friendship and guidance.

The superintendent, on the other hand, stuck out like a sore thumb. He had only been stationed at Big Bend for the past six months and Logan expected him to throw in the towel any day now. But Dr. Barclay—as he insisted on being called—still kept showing up every day to make Logan’s life a little more difficult.

“Dr. Barclay. Ed,” Logan greeted them. “Here’s the woman I told you about.”

To Logan’s surprise the superintendent strode over to Ashley and extended his hand. “Ms. Watson, I’m so sorry to hear you were involved in an accident.”

Ashley blinked up at him like a pale-faced snowy owl. “You...you’ve met me?” she stammered.

Barclay turned surprised eyes on Logan, as if all the confusion was his fault. “Excuse us, Ms. Watson. We’ll be right back.”

Logan and Ed followed him across the room, where the superintendent dropped his voice to a whisper. “Everett, what happened to her?”

He shrugged. “Head trauma, concussion, memory loss. We’re not sure of the full extent.” He went on to explain how he had found her beside the river. “I brought her here because she was armed without a permit. And obviously I couldn’t drop her off at a motel somewhere.”

Ed clapped him on the shoulder, a glint in his eyes. “You did the right thing, bringing her here.”

Logan couldn’t shake the feeling that Ed was laughing at his expense. He pressed his lips together, waiting for the punchline. “What? What is it?”

“She’s a new ranger, Everett,” Barclay snapped. “She arrived from El Paso this afternoon.”

“A new r-ranger?” he spluttered. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“Unique case. This hire didn’t go through the normal channels—ordered by someone at the Department of the Interior. You don’t need to know all the details.”

“So, what about the gun?” He looked from Ed to Barclay. “No permit. She wasn’t in uniform—”

“It’s not important.” Barclay cut him off with a shake of his head. He held out his hand expectantly toward Logan, who pulled Ashley’s gun from his belt and gave it to the superintendent. “I’ll talk to her about it. Everett, see to it she gets some rest and, when she’s recovered, you can begin her training.”

A pit opened in his stomach. “But surely I’m not the right one for that job. What about Rogers or Evanston?”

“You’re the only one for the job right now, because you’re the one she knows. Now quit arguing.”

“Of course, sir.” He bit his tongue as the superintendent walked back to Ashley.

Why him? He turned to Ed for help. Of all people, Ed knew what he’d gone through. How he wasn’t ready to train anyone yet, not after the way he had failed the last ranger he’d trained. It had only been three months.

And Sam Thompson had been a natural outdoorsman in top physical condition. He had absorbed everything Logan had taught him like a sponge taking in water. Or so Logan had thought until the day the search-and-rescue team had found what was left of Sam’s body baking in the June sun, a half mile off the Dodson Trail. Cause of death?

Dehydration.

So much for being a good instructor.

The worst part? That place in his gut, where intuition lived, had told him something wasn’t right, that Sam was taking too long on his patrol. It was Sam’s first time on the high Chisos trails alone, and Logan had almost called in a search team that afternoon when it grew late.

But he had talked himself out of it. Sam is a good ranger. He can take care of himself. He’ll be back anytime now.

By the time the SAR team was mobilized the next day, it was too late.

Somehow, Sam had gotten lost and ended up down Juniper Canyon and onto the Outer Rim in the open desert. Death by dehydration had probably come within a matter of hours. The fine line between life and death was even thinner when summer arrived in the desert.

Ed clapped him on the shoulder in his annoyingly brisk and cheerful way. “It’s time to get back out there, Logan. You’re good at this job and you’ve been blaming yourself way too long. Sam’s death wasn’t your fault.”

“Ed...” He ran a hand through his hair. “If I couldn’t keep him alive, with all his experience, how am I going to protect her?” He gestured to Ashley, her disheveled business suit glaringly out of place in the bright lights of headquarters.

“Protect her?” Ed’s brows pinched together. “She’s a law-enforcement ranger. You don’t have to protect her.”

Wrong word. Why had he said that? Probably because she looked so vulnerable, helpless even, sitting over there talking to the superintendent.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean ‘protect.’ Of course she can take care of herself. I meant... It’s the desert here and...” His voice trailed away as he struggled to decide exactly what he did mean.

“It’s okay, Logan. I think I understand.” Ed’s expression was far too perceptive.

“Stop looking at me like that.” Logan tugged at his suddenly uncomfortable shirt collar. “Whatever you’re thinking, it isn’t true.”

“I’m thinking you’d better show her to her quarters. And I’m thinking maybe you’re finally ready to forget Erin Doyle.”

“I let her go a long time ago.”

Ed’s smirk showed he wasn’t convinced. “Right.” He clapped Logan on the shoulder again. “Let me know if you need anything.”

THREE

Ashley’s head clouded over again as she waited for Logan to finish talking to the chief ranger. She wanted to get into bed, sleep for the next fifty years and wake up when everything was back to normal. Whatever “normal” was.

Ms. Watson, the superintendent had called her. It matched her driver’s license, but not that vague impression she’d had earlier that her last name was Thompson. Was she keeping her real last name a secret for some reason?

But how on earth did she get a job here as a ranger without her real name? And why would she even want to work here in the first place? She couldn’t remember any details about her old job, or life for that matter, but she was pretty sure it didn’t have anything to do with roughing it out in the desert.

She rubbed absently at one of her arms, realizing her sleeve was still full of sand. Her clothes were dry now, but her hair was a tangled mess and nothing sounded better than a hot shower and a bed.

Logan glanced at her from across the room, his expression a mixture of confusion and concern. Finally the chief ranger clapped him on the shoulder and the flicker of emotion was replaced by a smile as he approached.

“I guess I should call you Ranger Watson now.”

“Apparently so.” She ignored the way her stomach curdled. The whole thing felt like a lie and she hated hiding the truth, whatever the truth was. Especially when she had no idea why. But the superintendent had asked to talk to her when she was ready to return to duty. Maybe he had some answers. “It’s okay if you want to keep calling me Ashley instead.”

He smiled. “Ashley, it is. And please call me Logan. Only people who don’t like me use my last name.”

“I doubt there’s anyone who doesn’t like you.” She would have to add warm, considerate and easygoing to her mental description of him.

“You might be surprised.” He held out his hand to help her up. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

She hesitated for a fraction of a second but, deciding it would be better not to embarrass him, took his hand. The sudden warmth of his skin on hers sent an electric jolt through her stomach and she swayed ever so slightly.

“Steady?” He still held her hand.

Her cheeks burned. “Yes.” She pulled away the second he let go.

“Sure you don’t want to take my arm?”

She swallowed. “No, thank you. I’ll be fine.” She had to be fine, because she wasn’t going to let herself keep clinging to him, not when he affected her so unreasonably.

Logan opened the door and she followed him out into the dark, starlit night. They walked around to the back of the building and along a path toward a cluster of homes.

“It’s all government housing,” Logan said. “I’m sure you’ve heard all this before, but residence in the park is mandatory for rangers. Apparently you already checked in at Panther Junction earlier today and you were given a housing assignment.”

Something Ashley had no recollection of... Yet another memory lost in the black swirl of her mind. To fend off the panic, she asked, “Do all the rangers live here?”

“No. There are residences at Castolon and Rio Grande Village, too, down by the river.”

She followed him into a section of single homes at the west end of the complex. The Chisos Mountains loomed like jagged black teeth over the rooftops. Warm light issued from a few of the houses they passed, but the rest of the street was dark. “Aren’t there any streetlights?”

“No. The park is trying to eliminate light pollution, and this street is being renovated.” He waved at the dark houses beyond hers. “Those are mostly empty—that’s why they’re so dark.”

“Sounds cozy.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get neighbors soon enough.”

She fished the key ring out of her pocket, happy to find she had a key that turned in the lock. Finding the light switch inside the door, she flipped it and stepped over the threshold. Nothing looked familiar, but at least the collection of luggage was promising. Maybe she’d find some clues as to why she was there.

“Recognize anything?” Logan leaned against the inside of the door frame, arms folded casually across his chest, watching her with those pensive green eyes.

She shook her head.

“Well, I’ll leave you to get settled. You should have some groceries in the fridge, compliments of Sandy, the receptionist. Sure you don’t need anything else right now?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll be back to check on you in an hour. Doctor’s orders.”

She grimaced. “Guess sleep isn’t on the schedule for tonight.”

“Not with a head injury.” His lips curved into a crooked smile.

He turned to leave, but Ashley called after him. “Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.” Her toes curled in embarrassment. Apparently being rescued wasn’t a typical experience. “For helping me tonight.”

He grinned. The light from the front porch danced in his eyes. “It was my pleasure.”

Logan walked down the dark street toward his own home, trying to quell the smile that kept popping onto his face.

Business. This was all about business. Part of his job was helping anyone in distress, and just because that someone was living in Panther Junction, and he had to train her, was no reason to keep thinking about her. Beyond having to check on her every hour, of course—doctor’s orders.

In fact, their work relationship was an excellent reason not to think about her, whatever Ed Chambers might say to the contrary. Seven years out here had taught him a number of painful lessons and one of them was never to fall for a fellow ranger. Because sooner or later they all left when they got the chance.

He could almost hear Erin’s voice ringing in his head, as if she were still standing there arguing with him, even after all these years. She had been so beautiful, with her blond hair and green eyes a few shades lighter than his own. A perfect match, his family had said.

But she had hated living in Big Bend. Eight hundred thousand acres of desert, mountains and river—some of the most beautiful, remote country in the lower 48—and she had hated it. The place he never wanted to leave, because it had gotten into his blood, into his very soul.

He’d been ready to propose, sure that Erin was the one and convinced she would stay here for his sake—no, for their sake, at least until they could talk about asking for a reassignment. But love wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough.

She had left, without ever looking back.

That was five years ago and no woman had caught his attention since. Probably a self-defense mechanism. Apparently it had decided to fail today. That was both unfortunate and unacceptable, because something about Ashley—maybe it was the suit, or her pale skin, or the fact she had no idea why she was here—screamed, I don’t belong in the desert.

Keeping her alive until she could be reassigned was going to be enough trouble. He didn’t need to add personal feelings. And the last thing he wanted, after the long years waiting for God to heal his broken heart after Erin, was to risk anything like it again. No, the newest ranger would be his trainee and his colleague, and nothing more.

He returned dutifully to her house an hour later, glad to find her condition appeared stable. Pupils weren’t abnormally dilated, responses all coherent. Four repeat visits over the course of the night showed similar promise of no regression. She greeted him with a groggy smile each time before stumbling back to the sofa where she’d decided to crash for the night. By 7:00 a.m. he advised her to go to sleep in her bed. He’d come back and check on her later in the day, after getting some work done in the office.

He nearly collided with someone on his way into headquarters. Will Sykes, one of the newer rangers, who had started just prior to Sam Thompson. “Will, a little distracted this morning?”

“What?” The dark-haired younger man glanced up, his thoughts obviously elsewhere. He was probably heading out to one of the campgrounds on patrol. “Oh, sorry. I guess so.”

Logan moved aside to let him out the door, but Will stopped, lowering his voice enough that Sandy Barnes at her receptionist desk wouldn’t overhear. “Hey, I heard you pulled somebody out of the Rio Grande last night. What happened?”

Word certainly got around fast in this park. “Actually, I found her on the riverbank. We’re not sure how it happened.”

“Good thing you showed up.” His Adam’s apple bobbed and he tapped his thumb against his clipboard. “Was she all right?”

“Bit of memory loss, but she’ll be okay. You’ll meet her soon—turns out she’s the newest ranger.” Logan glanced at his watch. Only fifteen minutes until his first meeting of the day. “Listen, Sykes, I—”

The clipboard clattered to the ground and Will stooped to retrieve it.

“—need to get going.”

“Of course.” Will’s face had gone uncharacteristically pale.

Must be thinking about Sam, too. They’d been friends and Sam’s death had affected Will almost as much as Logan. Ashley was their first new law-enforcement ranger since the accident. It wasn’t a surprise Will would be shaken up.

Logan squeezed the younger man’s shoulder, trying to mimic Ed’s natural gift of encouragement. “Nobody can replace him, but it’ll be good to have someone new on the team.”

“Yeah.” Will left through the front door, waving on his way out.

A file for Ashley Watson lay on Logan’s desk, as Ed had promised. It didn’t contain anything exceptional. Twenty-seven years old, hometown of New Haven, Connecticut—that might explain why picturing her in the desert seemed like such a stretch. She had passed NPS training school with flying colors. Before going into law enforcement, she had worked for the Department of the Interior in Washington, DC—a desk job—but maybe those connections had got her the position out here.

Nothing to explain why she’d been down at the canyon yesterday, in a suit, with a gun. A gun she handled so well it looked like years of instinct, he might add—not just six months of park service training.

No word had come back on the truck, either. Whoever had attacked them had managed to vanish into the desert. Barclay had looked concerned but could only tell him to file a report. What else could they do? Nobody could explain how the newest ranger had become a target in a park where violent attacks by anything other than mountain lions were almost unheard of.

Maybe Logan would have to make his afternoon visit to her a bit longer, see if he could ask any questions that might jog her memory. Purely for the sake of investigation, of course.

By the time Ashley woke up, the sun was shooting fiery streaks onto her covers as it seared in through the cracks in the blinds. Thank You, God, for air-conditioning. Wait—she wasn’t speaking to God.

Why was that, exactly? The only answer was that same feeling of oppressive loss she’d experienced last night. But her head didn’t hurt and—

She sat up, her mind racing. She remembered.

Her parents—Ned and Rita. Her brother’s name was Sam. Fumbling for her wallet, she dug out the picture again. Warmth flooded her chest as the memories filled her mind.

Sam and her at a theme park as kids—he’d been nearly two heads shorter than Ashley back then... Snowball fights—they’d grown up in Connecticut. Sandcastles at the beach... Sibling squabbles...

She grinned. Such good times.

But her heart twinged as she looked at his picture. Something had happened. But what? Sam was still in school, wasn’t he? Or maybe he’d graduated before she’d moved to Washington.

When she’d gotten her dream job.

Ah, the irony of it all. She clapped a hand over her mouth, nearly giggling.

The call had come in the middle of dinner with her parents.

Congratulations, you’ve passed the background check. Your basic field training course starts in three weeks. Welcome to Quantico.

That was why she had the gun. She was an FBI special agent.

And she’d managed to finagle an assignment to the coveted Washington field office. Years of work and effort finally paying off.

Yet none of it explained why she was here. And did the fake name mean it was an undercover assignment? Had she ever even gone undercover before?

Maybe her luggage held more clues.

She found a pair of yoga pants and a cotton T-shirt in one of her bags. After dressing, she pulled her long hair into a loose ponytail. She’d been so exhausted last night, what with all the wake-up calls, that she’d stumbled through a quick shower and fallen asleep on the couch without much thought. But now, looking in the mirror, she traced the lines of her face in the glass.

It was the face she had seen for a lifetime, familiar and yet not. Older. Because Ashley knew there was still a gaping blank spot—more like a chasm—behind that face. Places in her mind where the memories were gone, or maybe squished by swelling. Everything past the age of about twenty-six was blurry, faded into nothingness as she tried to recall anything more recent. But going by her birth date on the driver’s license, she was twenty-seven.

That meant more than a year of her life was incomplete or missing.

After returning her wallet to the handbag, she walked out to the living room to dig through the luggage. The suitcase was full of clothing and toiletries—each item new, yet familiar, like muscle memory recalled the feel of each thing but her eyes were seeing them for the first time.

The other bag, a small satchel, was far more interesting. It held a laptop, a cell phone and an item that at first glance appeared to be a man’s leather wallet. Upon flipping it open, it turned out to be her badge.

Special Agent Ashley Thompson, Federal Bureau of Investigation.

That was what she had tried to pull out of her pocket to show Logan yesterday as her proof for the gun.

But she had left the badge in her luggage.

Only one reason an agent wouldn’t carry her badge. She must be working undercover. As a park ranger? Why here, in Big Bend?

Did any of them know she was an agent? Not Logan, obviously.

The laptop might tell her...

After three failed attempts at the password, the computer locked her out for the next hour. So much for that idea.

Plugging in the cell phone to recharge, she rummaged in the kitchen for anything edible. She found an apple and a bagel. Making a mental note to thank the receptionist, she scrolled through the contacts in the phone. Her finger hovered over her mom’s cell phone number. One push and Ashley would hear a familiar voice.

No. She closed the contacts file. Calling anyone would be a great way to blow her cover. Plus, she had no reception out here anyway.

Instead she opened the phone’s gallery. She scrolled through one image after another, watching a blur of faces fly past until one caught her eye. Sam, standing beside her, his arm slung around her shoulders.

The picture was time-stamped from last fall—just over a year ago. His wide grin made her want to smile but... Ashley furrowed her brows. Why did seeing him make her stomach twist?

She set the phone down and carried the cold, uneaten bagel to the kitchen before tackling the large suitcase. No point in dwelling on what she couldn’t remember. Better to focus on what she did know—that she was a federal agent and she was in west Texas for a reason.

A reason that might have something to do with what had happened to her last night.

Wheeling the suitcase into her bedroom, Ashley slowly unpacked all the neatly folded clothing. Beneath the clothes, shoes and toiletries, she found a layer of books. A Bible, a couple of novels and a guide to desert animals and vegetation.

She thumbed through each one, placing them, in turn, on top of the dresser. When she got to the guidebook, as she flipped through pages of snakes and spiders and scorpions, a piece of paper fluttered out onto the floor.

She picked it up, noting the darkened, worn edges—as if someone had held it with dirty hands—and opened it carefully to reveal a full page of hand-drawn markings and tiny words.

A map. It was a map! A long, twisting river ran along the lower section with labeled towns on both sides. Strings of upside-down V’s looked like mountain ranges and they were labeled, too. She almost needed a magnifying glass to read the letters. Or a lamp might help. She glanced up, suddenly noticing how dark it was—she’d been so absorbed with unpacking she hadn’t looked at a clock in hours.

It must be getting late. Logan would be here soon to check on her.

She took the map into the living room, pausing to feel for a light switch, but in the momentary silence she heard a sound that made her blood run cold. A low scraping noise coming from the bedroom window, like someone was running a chisel between the casement and the wood frame. And it was far too rhythmic to be an animal or the wind.

Someone was trying to break into her house.

FOUR

Ashley’s breath echoed loudly in her ears, her heart hammering, as she hastily folded up the map and tucked it inside the waistband of her pants. The sound persisted—scratch, scratch, scratch—and she tried to slow her breathing as she glanced around the room for a weapon.

She wanted her gun, but Logan had given it to the superintendent and he wouldn’t return it until she was ready for duty. There—in the kitchen—the knife block. She crept through the dark living room and around the peninsula into the kitchen, pulling out one of the long knives at the top of the block.

The casement was moving now. The intruder struggled with the window, trying to pull it up as quietly as possible. With all the lights off, the trespasser probably thought she wasn’t home. Her eyes darted to the front door. If she slipped outside now, whoever it was might never know she’d been in here.

But what if someone was waiting out there, too? Whoever had hit her in the head? And if the person at the window was working alone, she didn’t want to miss her chance to identify the intruder.

Taking one slow, deliberate breath after another, she crept to the doorway leading into the bedroom. She pressed her back against the living room wall and stole a glance around the doorjamb into the room. It was too dark to see who was outside the window, but gloved fingers worked underneath the inch-wide crack. If she had to pick, she’d guess they belonged to a man.

Her heart lurched. Breathe. FBI agents don’t panic. They could wish for backup though, couldn’t they?

Ashley’s palms went slick with sweat. She tightened her grip on the knife handle as the window moved up another inch. She couldn’t let him get all the way into the room or he might overpower her. But she wanted to see his face before she made a move.

Waiting was agony. Another inch and two hands appeared under the casement, now pushing together.

Almost time.

Somebody banged on the front door and Ashley was so startled she let out a cry. The hands disappeared from the window. That low, gritty brushing noise had to be retreating footsteps across the desert sand.

“Ashley?” Logan called, knocking again.

She dashed across the living room, throwing the door open. “Quick, around back. He’s getting away.”

Logan stared, his head cocked to one side. “What?”

She dropped the knife to the floor with a clatter and shoved past him, forgetting about her bare feet until she was already running around the back of the house. Even though the intruder might be long gone already, maybe she could still catch a glimpse of him. Anything that might give her a clue as to his identity.

“Where are you going?” he called, running after her. “You’re supposed to be resting!”

Breathless, she stopped at the back corner of the building. Nobody. Nothing but an endless stretch of dirt, rocks and cactuses rolling toward the dark mass of the Chisos Mountains, barely visible against the sea of stars above.

He stopped next to her. “What’s going on?”

Without a flashlight, it was pointless trying to run after the intruder. “A man was trying to break into my room, but you scared him off when you knocked.”

“Are you all right?” Logan’s resonant voice was full of concern.

“Yes, but I didn’t get a description.”

“Here.” He pulled a flashlight from his pocket and flipped it on. “We can at least check for prints.”

Of course he had a flashlight. Hers was sitting uselessly inside on the nightstand. Irritation sizzled through her veins but she forced herself to smile. “Glad you have a light.”

“It’s not very smart to wander around out here unprepared.” The beam of light traveled across her feet, blindingly white against her black pants. “Or barefoot, for that matter. Don’t you ever wear shoes?”

“It’s not like I had time to lace up a pair of boots. And the river claimed the last pair. Let’s look for footprints.”

Logan held up his hand as she stepped toward the window. “No, you stay right there. You’ll end up with your feet full of cactus spines, if they aren’t already. Or worse, a rattlesnake bite.”

Ashley opened her mouth to retort but then closed it, because now that he mentioned it, one of her feet did sting rather badly. But she wasn’t about to tell him, so she watched silently as he waved the beam of light across the ground near the back of her house.

“Do you see anything?” she asked after a minute.

“Some crushed vegetation, but the dirt is bare and hard here. The window has been raised about two inches, though. We can dust for prints.”

“He was wearing gloves.”

“How do you know it was a man?” The beam of the flashlight obscured Logan’s face.

“A hunch. The hands looked too large for a woman.”

“Well, let’s get you back inside.” He shone the light on her feet again. “Can you walk?”

Ashley glared at him, even though he couldn’t see her expression. “Of course. How do you think I got out here?”

“Oh, I saw it all. Just trying to be thoughtful.”

“Well, you could at least light the path back for me.”

He held out the light and Ashley picked her way carefully around to the front. Now that her body wasn’t full of adrenaline anymore, her gaze snagged on the low-lying spiny plants and rocks. It was a wonder she hadn’t tripped on them before. “Do you think there are rattlesnakes under any of those rocks?” she asked, trying to keep her voice even.

“Nah, not now. They come out at night to hunt, so they’re more likely to be lying out in the open.”

“You’re just trying to scare me,” she said hopefully.

“No, I’m not. But don’t worry about the snakes. You’re much more likely to step on a tarantula or a scorpion.”

All those creepy pictures she had seen in the guidebook flooded into her mind. “I am?” She stopped, pulling up onto her tiptoes, as if that would help keep the spiders away.

“Sure. In fact, I think I see one right...there.” He aimed the flashlight a little off to the left, and there, scuttling out from under a bush, was the largest, hairiest black spider she had ever seen.

Every muscle froze. Except her heart, which escaped into her throat along with a tiny scream. She’d rather face down a man breaking into her house any day. The tarantula crossed out of the beam of light, scuttling straight toward them. Whether out of self-preservation or sheer terror, Ashley flung her arm around Logan’s neck and jumped.

He laughed, a rich, rolling sound, and easily caught her legs under the knees, until he was holding her against his chest. “You could’ve asked me to carry you.”

“I...I,” she stammered, her cheeks burning. “I hate spiders.”

“Why exactly did you come to Big Bend, then?”

“That is the question, isn’t it?”

The scent of pine trees and flannel emanated from his shirt, making her want to burrow into his arms for safety. She swallowed. What was wrong with her?

“I take it you haven’t gotten back more of your memories yet?” Logan carried her around to the front of the house.

Why, yes, she had.

But until she learned why she was here and whom to trust, she had to keep things to herself. It would also help to know what her file here contained—surely the Bureau had invented some history for Ashley Watson. Whatever she told Logan had to match.

“Not really. Just some vague impressions. Maybe when I remember my laptop password, I’ll figure out more.” She hated lying to him, especially since he was the closest thing to a friend she had in the world right now.

They reached the front porch and the idea of letting the handsome ranger carry her across the threshold was more than she could take. She pushed against his chest and he released her gently onto her feet. “Thanks for the lift.”

“Anytime. But—” he pointed down at her feet “—I don’t want to see those bare feet again.”

“Yes, Ranger Everett.” She gave him a mock salute.

Logan stopped in the doorway, grinning at Ashley as she flipped on a light, picked up the knife she had dropped, and walked back into her house. She had a lot of nerve—he had to give her that. But he hated to think what might’ve happened if he hadn’t come to her house when he had.

“What, exactly, were you going to do with that knife?” he asked casually.

She scowled. “Someone was breaking into my house, and you took away my gun. I needed some way to defend myself.”

“You could’ve called for help.”

“Like opened up the door and yelled?”

He shrugged. “It probably would’ve been enough.”

“Probably?” Ashley dropped the knife into the kitchen sink and then walked—no, more like hobbled—into the living room. She must have stepped on something, after all.

“You can come in.” She plopped onto her sofa and waved him into the living room. “Unless you think we’ll be giving our neighbors the wrong impression.”

He pulled away from the door and stepped inside, shutting it behind him. “No, someone tried to break in tonight. I think that warrants my being in here for now.” He sat on a chair next to the sofa. “Do you have any idea what they wanted?”

Ashley’s eyebrows pulled together for a moment but then she shook her head. “I’m not sure.”

She was keeping something from him, no question. Was it something she’d found today? Or remembered? And how to get it out of her? He ran a hand across his chin.

“It bothers me to think about you staying here alone,” he said finally. “Maybe we should see about getting you into an apartment or staying with one of the families for tonight.”

“No, I want to stay here. If he’s stupid enough to come back, I want to see who it is.”

He hadn’t expected anything else. So much for worrying about giving the neighbors the wrong impression. Logan wasn’t going to let her stay here alone. “Then I’m going to sleep on your sofa.”

She leveled her dark brown eyes at him, as if weighing whether it was worth a battle. “Fine,” she relented. “Suit yourself. But only for tonight, until I get my gun back.”

“Agreed, on one condition.”

“What?”

He pointed to her feet. “You let me check those for cactus spines.”

Ashley frowned, pulling one foot up onto the opposite knee and leaning over to examine it. “I can do it myself.”

Logan ran his hands through his hair. This woman was going to be a whole lot of trouble. “Is there a reason you can’t accept my help?”

Maybe he was imagining things, but he could swear a pink tinge crept into those pale cheeks.

“You don’t have to keep rescuing me.” She stared at her foot. “I can pull my own weight.”

“Ah.” He waited until she looked up again. “You’re afraid I’ll think less of you.”

She didn’t say anything, but her cheeks turned a shade darker and she averted her eyes. She seemed so down-to-earth, so natural, sitting there with no makeup and her hair loosely pulled back. Unaware of how pretty she was.

“Ashley, I don’t know why you’re here, or how qualified or experienced you are, but I do know this—accepting help in a place like this is not a sign of weakness. The rangers here work as a team and we support each other. You and I are going to be spending a lot of time together, so you’d better get used to the idea.”

She picked at her foot in silence for another minute before giving him a hesitant smile. “All right. I guess a pair of tweezers would help.”

By the time she had retreated to her bedroom and Logan lay on the couch staring up at the dark ceiling, he could scarcely believe two hours had flown past. No more signs of the intruder, but he wasn’t about to leave her alone.

Some mystery surrounded Ashley, lurking beneath the surface. Her file hadn’t revealed anything insightful. But why would they assign her to Big Bend with no apparent experience in a similar environment? No ranger experience at all, in fact. Something wasn’t adding up.

She had agreed to go with him to Santa Elena Canyon the next day, both to pick up her car and to see if anything jogged her memory. Until then, he had to find some way to fall asleep without thinking about the way Ashley had felt in his arms as he’d carried her back to the house. Even Erin, for all her inexperience as a new ranger, hadn’t stirred such a strong protective instinct.

Maybe it was because five years had passed since Erin had left and Logan had changed during that time. He’d grown wiser. He’d seen more rangers come and go. He’d seen more loss and death.

Sam. That was who Ashley reminded him of. She didn’t have quite the same youthful optimism and enthusiasm, but he could imagine she used to be that way. She certainly had the same energy, the same air of competence. Even some of their facial expressions were similar.

He rolled over on the couch for the twentieth time, wishing the government could afford better furniture. It made sense that Ashley would bring back all his memories of Sam—she was the first new law-enforcement ranger since his death.

But the thought of Ashley ending up with the same fate... He shuddered. He wouldn’t let that happen, no matter how much she objected to his help.

It took another hour of prayer before he finally fell asleep.

FIVE

Ashley was relieved to find a note rather than a ranger in her living room the next morning. The events of last night had been awkward enough without waking up to share a cup of coffee and breakfast. She had felt horribly vulnerable in the last few days and now that her head was healing, it was time to reclaim some control over her life.

Logan’s note indicated he wanted to get some things done before their drive to the canyon and that she could find him in his park office after her meeting with the superintendent.

She showered and dressed in one of the NPS uniforms in her closet; apparently they had been given to her when she’d arrived. More memories had solidified in her mind in the night, her past clicking back into place, giving her a reassuring sense of who she was and where she had come from.

But why she was here? Nothing. The previous months, except for that memory of a cab ride, were like staring at a blank wall.

She glanced at the time on the microwave. She had to meet with Dr. Barclay soon, but no harm in squeezing in another attempt at that laptop password. The last one she remembered hadn’t worked yesterday. What else to try? Names of pets? Bobo the parakeet? Too short.

How about JackyBoy, after their chocolate lab?

Strike one.

College roommate? KristaReed.

Strike two.

She crinkled her nose. Only one chance left.

She closed her eyes, setting her fingers against the keyboard. Maybe muscle memory could pull out the password her conscious mind couldn’t remember. It hovered right there, on the tips of her fingers. How about a hashtag first, for extra security?

Then... P-r-o-v—She stopped, rubbing her forehead.

Favorite Bible verse. Proverbs 3:5-6. But she would’ve abbreviated it. #Prov3:5-6.

Trust in the Lord with all thine heart, and lean not unto thine own understanding...

So painful to type, with the way the words seared her heart.

But it worked.

Ashley let out a little squeal of delight before sifting through the documents stored on the hard drive. Most of it seemed irrelevant, until she came across a file labeled “Big Bend.” It contained several documents related to the park, including multiple maps and, better yet, several scanned pages of her own hand-written notes.

One name kept coming up over and over: Rico Jimenez. She shuddered. Somebody bad. But who was he?

She glanced again at the clock. Time to go. The superintendent was waiting. Tension crept into her shoulders as she hurriedly scanned the last few pages of notes. No doubt about it, she was here because of Jimenez. Now she had to figure out why.

Her gaze snagged on the message at the bottom of the last page, written in her own hand, as if her past self had left a warning. Don’t trust anyone.

Anyone? Even the rangers? Logan? She shook her head, closing the laptop. Someone had tried to break into her house last night, and there were only two possible items she could think of that they might have wanted. This laptop or the map she’d found in the guidebook.

The map she would carry with her, but the laptop needed to be hidden. She left the case out in clear view but took the laptop itself and wedged it between the mattress and box spring in her bedroom, covering the gap with the sheets. It didn’t seem likely anyone would try to break in during broad daylight, but better safe than sorry.

Ashley wanted to look at the map now, too, but she was out of time. Tucking it inside her shirt pocket, she walked the short distance to park headquarters.

The receptionist took her directly to the superintendent’s office. Dick Barclay rose from his desk as she entered, shaking her hand.

“Good morning, Ranger Watson.” He turned to the receptionist. “Sandy, please shut the door on your way out and see we’re not disturbed.”

Ashley took the seat opposite him. Wherever this conversation went, she’d have to be careful how much she revealed—at least until she knew whom to trust. One thing was sure: she’d have to downplay the extent of her memory loss if she didn’t want to be sent packing.

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better,” Barclay said. “Have you remembered yet what happened?”

“No, but I’m hopeful it will come back when we drive down to Santa Elena this afternoon. My older memories have almost fully returned.” Only a slight stretch.

Barclay nodded, eyeing her thoughtfully. “Do you remember why you’re here, Agent Thompson?”

Thompson. He knew she was undercover. That meant he must know about Jimenez, too. “Of course,” she answered smoothly. “To catch Rico Jimenez.”

Whoever he was.

Barclay sighed, pulling off his eyeglasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “This operation is a fool’s errand. I tried telling Morton that two months ago.”

The name clicked into place. Special Agent in Charge Donald Morton, her superior at the Bureau. She wiped her sweaty palms against her pants.

“I assure you, Dr. Barclay,” she said, injecting her voice with as much confidence as she could, “that I’m quite capable of doing my job. It won’t take long to apprehend Jimenez and bring him to justice.”

Barclay leaned forward, elbows braced on his desk. “Agent Thompson, I don’t know what happened to you yesterday, but this park has an incredibly low crime rate. I’m not going to let that change on my watch.”

Her brow furrowed. A threat? Clearly, he didn’t want her here. She forced a smile. “We’re on the same side, Dr. Barclay.”

His mouth pressed into a thin line. “Let me be blunt. There’s no way Rico Jimenez or any other cartel leader is operating in this park under our noses. I didn’t want you here before, and now that you’ve managed to injure yourself in your first twelve hours, I still don’t want you here. My rangers are top-notch. We don’t need FBI intervention.”

She swallowed but held his gaze. “It would seem the Bureau doesn’t agree. But I’ll do my best to stay out of your way.”

“You’ll do more than that, Agent Thompson.” Barclay’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll give me solid proof of Jimenez’s activity, or else I’ll call Morton and tell him about your memory loss.”

“He’ll send someone else.”

He shrugged, one eyebrow rising over his wire-rimmed glasses. “But it won’t be you.” After a pause, he leaned forward in his seat. “Here’s the thing. I agreed to this scheme as a favor to Morton, but I don’t want any of you agents in my park. The sooner you get out of here, the better.”

“Of course.” She smiled, trying to exude the confidence she didn’t feel. “I’ll get you something soon.”

“Three days.” Barclay drummed his fingers on the desk. “I’ll give you three days.”

Not long, especially given the true extent of her memory loss. But Barclay didn’t need to know that. She extended her hand. “No problem.”

Barclay shook it firmly and rose. She stood, also. The interview certainly hadn’t gone the way she’d hoped—putting her in the hot seat rather than revealing the crucial information she needed.

But as she turned to go, the superintendent held out a file. “Here’s everything we’ve got on Jimenez. I hope it helps.”

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