FALSELY ACCUSED

After six months undercover with the meth dealers plaguing her town, deputy Joanna Graham’s cover is blown—and someone’s framing her for corruption and drug trafficking. She turns to her boss, Sheriff Tyler Beck, for help, but in coming to her aid he’s knocked unconscious...and loses his memory of the past seven years. Now Joanna must convince Tyler to trust her as they go on the run to figure out who set her up and who’s at the top of the meth gang. But as their lives are in danger, so is Joanna’s heart. This new Tyler has no recollection of their brief relationship. Could this be a second chance for them? Or will the fragile connection they’ve made be shattered when Tyler’s memory returns?

“Who gave you authorization to be here?”

She didn’t slow down. “You did, sir.”

“Me? That’s highly unlikely.” He again willed his memory to return. He hated this feeling of weakness, not knowing the mission brief or objectives. This woman could be leading him into a trap. He stopped on the stairs and barked an order at her. “What is the name of your superior officer?”

She turned. “His name is Sheriff Tyler Beck of Godspeed, Missouri.”

He held on to the peeling handrail for support as her words hit him in the gut. He was Tyler Beck, and his hometown was Godspeed, Missouri. But he wasn’t a sheriff. He was an officer in the navy SEALs. She was trying to dupe him, capitalizing on his loss of memory to lead him straight into enemy hands.

“Nice try, young lady,” he said. “But there’s no way I’m a small-town sheriff.”

She stood three steps down from him, her eyes running up and down the entire length of his body. “So why are you wearing his uniform?”

ELISABETH REES was raised in the Welsh town of Hay-on-Wye, where her father was the parish vicar. She attended Cardiff University and gained a degree in politics. After meeting her husband, they moved to the wild, rolling hills of Carmarthenshire, and Elisabeth took up writing. She is now a full-time wife, mother and author. Find out more about Elisabeth at elisabethrees.com.

Unraveling the Past

Elisabeth Rees

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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But He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you,

for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

—2 Corinthians 12:9

For my longtime friend and ally, Lisa Nicholls,

whose beautiful spirit lights up all the dark places.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

ONE

Tyler woke on the floor: cold, hard, damp concrete, strewed with the kind of trash left by vagrants and junkies. Turning his head, he saw empty bottles and cigarette packs lying among half-eaten, moldy snacks and syringes. The smell in the air was almost as unbearable as the excruciating pounding of his head. A bare bulb hung overhead but was not lit, and water had collected inside the glass casing, murky and brown, in which tiny insects had crawled and drowned.

The sound of distant gunfire echoed through the building, and he willed his limbs to move, trying to overcome the pain surging through his body. Danger was close by.

He sat up, speaking his jumbled thoughts out loud. “Where am I?” He put a hand on his pulsating head. “What happened?”

He automatically reached for his weapon, holstered around his waist. He had no memory of the event that had led him here. Where was the rest of his SEAL unit? He figured that he must be on a military mission, but where? His last memories were of dark and dusty hillsides in Afghanistan, of deep and winding caves teeming with enemy forces, of five men fighting alongside him like a band of brothers. This derelict building could be anywhere, but judging by the numerous American brand beer bottles scattered around, he was on home soil. He shook his head, willing the memories to reveal themselves. The temperature was bitterly cold, and he took deep gulps of air to stop his muscles from shivering. It must be winter, wherever he was.

The gunfire increased in intensity, and he hauled himself to his feet with a huge groan to rest an outstretched hand on a nearby wall and steady his shaky legs. Then he staggered out of the room where he had lain and walked a few paces down a long corridor. He looked at the floor. Beside his boot lay a large rock, a sliver of blood snaking down its craggy edge. He gingerly rubbed a finger along a gash on his temple as he realized what had felled him. This rock had not only knocked him out cold, but it had stolen his recollection of events.

“Sheriff Beck! Where are you?” a female voice called out.

He turned his head sharply toward the sound. Beck was his surname, but he was Petty Officer Tyler Beck of SEAL Team Four, based in Little Creek, Virginia. He certainly wasn’t a sheriff.

The voice shouted even louder. “Sheriff Beck, we gotta get out of here, now!”

He tried to gauge the location of the woman. Above his head were the metal walkways of another story, and feet were pounding on it, heading in his direction. Inside this huge atrium were small rooms, adjacent to one another along the corridor, and all had rusted bars alongside. It was then that he realized he was in an abandoned prison. But how? And why?

He checked his gun: empty. Ignoring the throbbing of his head, he began to search the ground for a potential weapon, something he could arm himself with. Without a loaded gun, he was defenseless, and worse than that, he had no idea who the enemy was. He was flying blind.

He picked up the same rock that had been used to floor him and lifted it high as he walked confidently toward a doorway that he hoped would lead to a stairwell or an exit. Once he was out in the open air, he was sure that his location would become clear and prompt the memories to flood back. The sound of gunfire bounced and echoed above his head, rattling around the high ceiling. A fierce battle was raging, and he didn’t even know whose side he was on.

Then, a woman appeared out of the darkness, rushing toward him, her face etched with anxiety. She was petite and slight, with large eyes and delicate features. When she saw him, her shoulders visibly relaxed.

“Oh I’m so glad you’re okay,” she said, reaching out and grasping his arm. Her warm breath sent a white vapor into the air, which suddenly evaporated like mist. “Let’s go.”

She tried to pull him along the corridor, back in the direction from which he had come, but he shook his arm free and looked her up and down. She was petite and pretty, wearing yellow jeans and baseball sneakers. Her hooded sweatshirt was oversize, and the tiny braids she wore in her dark hair made her appear younger than he suspected she was. The woman was a civilian. Or at least that was his initial assessment.

“Who are you?” he asked, still clutching the rock high in his right hand. “And what are you doing here?”

She stepped back, clearly shocked. “You don’t recognize me?”

He shook his head. “I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

She flinched as a shot ricocheted off a steel beam overhead.

She took his arm again. “You’re concussed, sir. Just trust me. We’re on the same team.”

He had to make a split-second decision. Should he trust her? “You’re assisting a Navy SEAL mission here?”

She looked confused for a moment before saluting and speaking rapidly. “That’s right, sir. The enemy is closing in. Follow me.”

He made a quick judgment call and gave a sharp nod, telling her to lead the way.

“What’s your name and rank?” he asked, keeping close to the wall and watching her sneakered feet avoid the abandoned junk on the floor. Old mattresses, chairs and papers lay among spent bullet casings. She moved fast.

“My name is Joanna Graham,” she replied. “And I’m a sheriff’s deputy.”

They reached a foul-smelling stairwell and began to descend. The gunfire was now distant, but still audible, popping like firecrackers in a cavern.

“A sheriff’s deputy?” he asked incredulously. What on Earth was a small time law-enforcement officer doing assisting a SEAL mission? He had assumed she was CIA or FBI, but never a sheriff’s deputy. “You’re seriously out of your depth, Deputy. Who gave you authorization to be here?”

She didn’t slow down. “You did, sir.”

“Me? That’s highly unlikely.” He again willed his memory to return. He hated this feeling of weakness, not knowing the mission brief or objectives. This woman could be leading him into a trap. He stopped on the stairs and barked an order at her. “What is the name of your superior officer?”

She turned. “His name is Sheriff Tyler Beck of Godspeed, Missouri.”

He held on to the peeling handrail for support as her words hit him in the gut. He was Tyler Beck and his hometown was Godspeed, Missouri. But he wasn’t a sheriff. He was an officer in the Navy SEALs. She was trying to dupe him, capitalizing on his loss of memory to lead him straight into enemy hands.

“Nice try, young lady,” he said. “But there’s no way I’m a small-town sheriff.”

She stood three steps down from him, her eyes running up and down the length of his body. “So why are you wearing his uniform?”

* * *

Deputy Joanna Graham yanked her confused and ashen-faced sheriff outside, taking a huge lungful of the cold evening air. Sheriff Beck was staring down at his clothes as if he couldn’t quite believe the story she was telling him. Something had snatched away years of his memories. Tyler had responded to her panicked and desperate call for help after she discovered that she’d been ratted out on her undercover assignment. From a cell window, she had watched his cruiser speed down the old prison road, but she had no idea what happened to him once he got inside. What could have occurred to cause this memory loss? The dark, sticky blood in his sandy hair gave her a good clue.

Joanna had spent many months infiltrating a notorious meth gang, The Scorpions, so called because of the distinctive scorpion logo placed on all their merchandise. She’d worked hard to learn their customs and codes, and earn their trust, only for all her hard work to be wiped away in the blink of an eye when she was confronted with the barrel of a gun. Her first venture into undercover police work had led to her almost being killed. And she still wasn’t out of danger. Right after her identity had been challenged by one of the gang’s leaders, a rival gang had burst into the makeshift meth lab and started shooting. That had bought her enough time to escape, and the turf war was still raging inside. But somebody would be sure to pursue her.

She started running for Tyler’s patrol car, feeling the scrubby grass crunch beneath her sneakers. The air temperature had recently plummeted below zero, and the forecasters had predicted a white Christmas, which was now just four days away. Christmas always used to be her favorite time of year, but the season no longer held any joy for her. Nothing did.

“Where are the keys?” she called as she reached the car, parked under a bare tree. Her heart was thumping. There was no time to lose. “Check every pocket if you don’t remember.”

The gunfire inside the old prison was now sporadic, coming in rapid bursts, some machine-gun fire and some single shots.

“Wait,” called Tyler, seeming confused. “You told me this was a SEAL mission. Is that correct?”

She was breathless and anxious to leave, but Tyler had the keys, and the look on his face told her that he needed some answers.

“No. I told you what you wanted to hear in order to get you out of there right away. This is an undercover police operation organized by the Southern Missouri Drug Task Force.” She glanced back to the abandoned prison, huge and decaying in the wasteland, miles from anywhere and a perfect location for a secret meth lab. “I know you find it hard to believe that you’re now a sheriff, but you left the SEALs five years ago. You came back to Godspeed to train as a police officer and help us fight the war on meth.” She watched him concentrate hard on her words. “It’ll all come back soon enough, but until it does, we need to go.”

Tyler’s eyes searched the ground, as if he might find the answers among the mud and leaves. Joanna had never seen his face so troubled and uncertain. His strength and confidence were usually his best assets, and the people of Yardley County had elected him as their sheriff with a resounding endorsement two years previously. But now he remembered none of it.

A bullet zinged through the air, popping against a nearby tree. It seemed to spur Tyler into action, and he grabbed Joanna by the arm, yanking her to the ground behind the cruiser.

“Where do I keep my ammo?” he asked.

“The glove box,” she said breathlessly. “Ammo is there.”

Tyler opened the driver’s door, scrambled inside and grabbed the ammo. Joanna felt the frost seep through the seat of her neon yellow jeans. She was wearing clothes that she would usually shun, but in order to pass as an anti-government, pro-drug, potential meth cook she needed to look the part.

Tyler reappeared at her side, loading his weapon. He patted down his pockets, finding the cruiser keys in his jacket.

He handed them to her. “You drive. I’ll provide cover from the passenger window as we leave.”

He seemed more like his old self, cool and collected, and she thanked God for his presence there. She’d initially placed a 9-1-1 call and was told that the SWAT team would take quite a while to mobilize. That’s when she’d called Tyler. If he hadn’t responded so quickly, she’d most likely be dead by now.

He jerked up his head to look back at the prison. “We got company,” he said, a note of urgency in his voice. “Let’s hustle.”

Tyler crawled back into the car just as more shots from their pursuer rang out, shattering the back window and bringing their dangerous situation into sharper focus.

The sheriff’s strong hand reached down and dragged her up onto the driver’s seat. “Drive,” he ordered. “And make it fast.”

Joanna started the car, checking her rearview mirror to see a bald man walking toward them, gun in hand, his face creased in anger. He was known as Crusher within the gang because of his love of fistfighting. And she would now be on the top of his hit list.

She floored the gas pedal, realizing in one agonizing moment that the back tires were embedded in soft earth, not yet frozen by the cool weather. The wheels spun wildly, sending chunks of mud flicking into the air.

Adrenaline rocketed through her. “No! No! We’re not moving.”

Tyler took aim out the window and fired a series of shots in quick succession. This sent Crusher retreating to the cover of the prison, and the sheriff began bouncing heavily up and down in the passenger seat.

“This should give you some traction,” he yelled. “Try again.”

She pressed the gas pedal, yanking the steering wheel sharply left and right. The tires slowly turned and managed to grip onto some hard ground. With a huge surge, they began moving and made it onto the cracked asphalt of the old prison road.

Joanna let out a holler of relief. “We made it!”

Sheriff Beck looked over at her as they raced from the prison. “Nice driving. What did you say your name was?”

She still found it hard to believe he didn’t even know her name. They had almost kissed once, and now she was a stranger to him. “Joanna Graham, sir.”

He turned and reached into the backseat, picking up his hat. “Is this mine?”

“Yes, sir. You’ve been the sheriff of Yardley County for two years now.”

He ran his finger over the gold badge mounted on the front of the hat. “Well, if everything you say is true, Deputy Graham, I’m going to need a lot of help filling in some serious gaps in my memory.”

“Don’t worry, sir,” she said, taking a turn onto the freeway, which would lead them straight to the hospital. “I got your back.”

He smiled. “I can see why I chose you as my deputy. You’re tough.”

“I was already the deputy when you took over the sheriff’s job,” she said. “So technically speaking, I chose you.”

* * *

Tyler studied his reflection in the mirror in his hospital room. Signs of the last few years were evident on his face: a few more lines and wrinkles where none had been before. His sandy-colored hair was beginning to gray a little, still cut in his usual, closely cropped style. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, frustration bubbling up inside. Why could he remember nothing of the last seven years? Why was his last memory of the Dark Skies mission he had served in Afghanistan? What had happened since? He glanced down at his left hand. No ring. At least he hadn’t gotten married. Although maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. He knew that he was approaching forty years of age by now. And yet he still remained a single man.

After a CAT scan on his arrival at the hospital, Tyler had been given strong painkillers while his head wound had been stitched by a nurse, who spoke to him like she knew him well, although he didn’t recognize her at all. Since she had left him alone, the silence gave Tyler time to think. The effects of the drug were still at work, making him light-headed and woozy, and he wished that Deputy Graham were in the room with him, giving him answers to some burning questions.

The door opened and a young doctor entered, carrying a medical chart.

“Please sit down, Sheriff,” he said, signaling to the bed. “You look a little pale.”

Tyler sat, leaning forward, hands clasped together in an automatic position of prayer. He found it comforting that one thing he most certainly hadn’t forgotten was his unwavering faith in God. This particular memory must be tucked away nice and deep where no amount of injury could reach.

Tyler looked at the doctor and laughed. “Either I’m getting older or doctors are getting younger. You can’t be more than twenty years old.”

The doctor smiled. “I’m twenty-five years old, Sheriff Beck. My name is Dr. Wayne Sinclair.”

Tyler widened his eyes in shock. “No way! You’re Bob Sinclair’s boy from Addenbrook Farm? The last time I saw you, you were just out of high school. You look all grown up.”

Dr. Sinclair sat on a chair and wheeled it with his feet across the floor. He positioned himself close to Tyler and took a tiny flashlight from his top pocket.

“I left school a good few years ago, sir. I’m a newly qualified doctor now. The hospital’s attending physician thought that I should be the one to treat you because you’ve known me my whole life.” He shone the light into Tyler’s eyes. “We hoped it might trigger some recent memories. You came to my wedding last year. Do you remember?”

Tyler shook his head. “I’m trying hard, but nothing’s coming back.”

The doctor leaned away from his patient. “While we couldn’t detect any obvious damage on your brain scan, it would seem that your temporal lobe has suffered an impairment that can’t be seen. This would account for the loss of memory. I understand that the last thing you remember is being on a Navy SEAL mission in Afghanistan, right?”

“That’s right, but I’ve been told this was almost seven years ago.” He gave a groan of frustration. “I just can’t get my head around it.”

The doctor touched his arm in a calming gesture. “I understand. The brain is a highly complex piece of machinery, and we simply don’t know why or where your recent memories have gone. But the good news is that most memory loss of this type is recovered spontaneously. It’s just a question of time.”

Tyler rubbed his forehead with the tips of his fingers. The painkillers had dulled the throbbing of his temples, but he still felt them pulsating, like hammer blows through cotton balls. “How much time?”

“That’s the million-dollar question,” the doctor replied. “Let’s give it a week or two, and if nothing seems to be coming back, we’ll start you on a program of rehabilitation.” He stood. “In the meantime, there’s somebody who’s been waiting anxiously in the corridor to see you.”

“Who?”

“Deputy Joanna Graham. I think it’s a good idea for you to speak with her. She might be able to help you recall some of the last few years you’ve been in Godspeed. It’s worth a try.”

Dr. Sinclair opened the door to reveal Joanna leaning against the wall, hands shoved deep in her pockets, staring solemnly at the floor. Festive gold tinsel hung limply along the wall behind her, looking as sad and tired as she did. When she looked up and saw Tyler sitting in his hospital room, she gave him a broad smile, triggering a sensation of warmth in his chest. He began to wonder if they had ever been romantically linked. Would he know if they were dating?

The doctor stepped out. “I’ll leave you two to talk. I’ll come back later.”

Now was Tyler’s perfect opportunity to fill in some of those gaps.

“Come on in, Deputy,” he said. “It’s nice to see a familiar face.”

* * *

Joanna wasn’t sure how to treat Sheriff Beck. He was still her superior, yet he was somehow vulnerable and brought out a feeling of tenderness in her. It was an instinct she had fought long and hard to suppress, since she was always living on borrowed time, never knowing if she had fifty years left to live or fifty days.

She decided to keep it professional. That’s what Tyler would want.

“The SWAT team arrived at the prison just a little too late to catch any of the gang members alive,” she said. “They recovered seven bodies, and the lab equipment had been destroyed by gunfire. The police are sifting through it all for evidence.”

Tyler approached her. He was tall and wide, and often reminded her of a pro wrestler, despite his boyish face. Since his election in Godspeed, he’d become known as the baby-faced sheriff and was popular with everyone, particularly the ladies, whom Tyler could charm to the moon and back.

“Before we continue this conversation,” he said, “there’s something I need to ask.”

“Shoot.”

He shifted on his feet. “It’s a little awkward.”

She guessed what he was getting at. “You want to know if we’re...um...you know.”

“Yes,” he said quickly. “Are we dating?” He looked uncomfortable. “Or have we dated in the past? It’s just that I get this feeling around you...” He broke off and laughed. “I feel stupid having to ask.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “We did go on a few dates about a year back, but it never worked out. It wasn’t serious. We never even kissed.”

“I see. So we still manage to work together and get along?”

“Sort of,” she replied diplomatically. “We have disagreements occasionally, but who doesn’t?” In truth she and Sheriff Beck made sparks fly but for all the wrong reasons. “You’re a man who prefers to play things by the book, and I play a little too fast and loose for your liking.” She bumped her clenched fists lightly together. “We kinda clash sometimes.”

At first their differences had been exciting, but after a while it had become obvious that they were fundamentally incompatible and mutually decided to end their fledgling romance. But their attraction to each other had never waned, and oftentimes she felt electricity crackle between them. Sheriff Beck regarded her as a risk taker, too reckless, too willing to put herself in the line of fire. But she didn’t care.

After an aggressive form of breast cancer had almost ended her life, she had quit her job as a biochemist in Boston and returned to her hometown of Godspeed to train as a local law-enforcement officer. Her parents couldn’t quite believe she was throwing away her Ivy League education to become a sheriff’s deputy, but she needed to feel more alive, more exhilarated. She needed to mask the dread she felt inside, knowing that her cancer could return to snatch her away at any moment. So she had jumped at the opportunity to go undercover in one of the most notorious criminal gangs in the Midwest. Tyler hadn’t wanted her to take the assignment. He’d said that she wasn’t ready, but she relished the chance to put herself at the heart of danger. She wanted to live every day as though it were her last.

Tyler’s face creased in thought. “I guess if we dated, you must know a lot about me. Why did I leave the SEALs to come back to Godspeed?” He looked down at his uniform. “Why did I swap black ops for writing traffic tickets?”

“Actually,” she said, “you do way more than write traffic tickets. Missouri has one of the worst meth problems in the US, and Godspeed has lost way too many residents to addiction. You came home to make a difference, to give us the benefit of your expertise and training. You’re a great sheriff, Tyler, you should know that. The whole of Yardley County is united behind you.”

“And when I came to the prison today, you were on an undercover assignment in a meth gang?”

“Yes,” she replied. “My background in biochemistry made me an ideal candidate to infiltrate the gang and learn their cook methods and means of distribution. I’ve been undercover for over six months now, and I was really close to meeting the kingpin of the whole operation.” She dropped her voice. “But somebody sold me out. When I arrived at the prison this evening, the gang members knew exactly who I was—my name, my rank, everything.”

Tyler listened closely. “Were you wired?”

“No. Until you truly earn their trust, the gang leaders check everybody for wires, cell phones and weapons. I agreed to go undercover, knowing that backup wouldn’t be an option if ever I got into trouble.”

“So how did you call for help?”

“Right after one of The Scorpions confronted me, a rival gang busted in and started shooting. It gave me enough time to make a run for it and grab somebody’s cell phone from a table as I passed. I called 9-1-1 first, and then I called you. I saw you arrive within ten minutes, but it was another five before I managed to find you.”

“Where is that cell phone now?” Tyler’s voice was so commanding, she almost forgot about his memory loss. “We should be trawling through its contacts.”

She held it up. “I have it right here. I switched it off just in case the gang can track it. I was going to discuss the matter with Chief Crenshaw when he arrived at the hospital. A nurse told me that he called to check if I was here. The SWAT team told him I’d vanished, so he tracked me down. He’s on his way over.”

Not a flinch of recognition passed over Tyler’s face when she mentioned Chief Crenshaw, despite him and the chief being well acquainted.

“George Crenshaw is Godspeed’s chief of police,” she continued. “He’s heavily involved in the Southern Missouri Drug Task Force, so I figured he’d know what to do with the cell phone.”

Tyler’s impassive eyes betrayed his lack of understanding. “You mentioned that back at the old prison. What is the Southern Missouri Drug Task Force?”

Joanna shook her head, admonishing herself. “I’m sorry. I’ve been really selfish. I shouldn’t be discussing this case with you when you should be concentrating on your own health.”

“Hey,” he said in his usual unhurried way. “No apology necessary. If I want to jog my memory, I need somebody reminding me what’s happening.”

The sudden sound of raised voices in the hallway caught Joanna’s attention. She recognized them as those of Chief George Crenshaw and the mayor of Godspeed, Harley Landon. And they were calling her name.

When the door to the room swung open, she knew instantly that something was wrong. Both men looked at her with angry eyes.

“Deputy Joanna Graham,” Chief Crenshaw said, pulling cuffs from his pocket. “I am placing you under arrest.”

* * *

Tyler automatically positioned himself between the two men and Joanna. “What’s the charge?”

“Police corruption and drug trafficking,” the bearded man said. “And that’s just for starters.”

Judging by his uniform, Tyler knew that this man must be Godspeed’s chief of police.

“Evidence recovered from the meth lab, located in the old Southern Missouri State Prison, shows that Deputy Graham is on the gang’s payroll,” the chief said. He stared directly at Joanna. “You sold out didn’t you, Deputy?”

Joanna pushed her palms forward as if trying to physically shun the accusation. “No!” she protested. “That’s not true. If I’d sold out, why would I leave evidence behind?”

“I’m guessing you got sloppy,” he replied. “For someone with a Harvard education, you sure can be dumb sometimes.”

Tyler saw a flash of resentment in the police chief’s eyes, and he didn’t like it. This vendetta seemed personal. He knew that he should recognize these men, particularly the ruddy faced, uniformed police chief. But he didn’t. And it put him at a disadvantage.

“Back off,” Tyler said, becoming defensive. “Let’s leave personal insults out of this. What exactly did you find to incriminate Deputy Graham?”

The chief slid his eyes over to Tyler. “The SWAT team recovered handwritten instructions, detailing exactly how many payments this deputy was due to receive in return for safe passage of meth out of Missouri. It gave me enough probable cause to obtain a search warrant for her home.” He eyeballed Joanna. “I found approximately two hundred thousand dollars in cash hidden in your closet. Now where do you suppose that came from, Deputy?”

Joanna’s face was stricken with horror. “No, no, no,” she repeated. “Somebody must have planted that there.”

Tyler’s mind began to work overtime. Leaving two hundred grand lying around your home didn’t seem like the smart thing to do, especially for someone with a Harvard degree.

“Chief,” he said. “Have you considered that Deputy Graham might be the victim of a setup? Handwritten notes don’t really prove anything. Somebody could’ve deliberately left them behind before going to her home and leaving the cash.”

The police chief softened his expression. “I’m sorry, Tyler. Young Dr. Sinclair told me that you took a blow to the head today and tried to insist that I shouldn’t bother you this evening, but I have a job to do. I’ve been led to understand that you might not remember me.” He exchanged glances with the other man in the room, who was a few years older and chubbier than the chief. “I’m Police Chief George Crenshaw, and this is the mayor of Godspeed, Harley Landon.”

Tyler knew that these men currently saw him as weak, so he had to change their perception.

“Yes, I know who you are,” he lied. “My memory loss was only temporary. I’m fully recovered.”

A slow smile spread across the chief’s face. “Well, I’m mighty pleased to hear it. You had us worried for a while there.” His smile faded. “I wish I didn’t have to do this to one of your deputies, but I have no choice. She needs to be remanded into custody until the Feds arrive to take over. I’d rather investigate the case myself, but you know how it is. Small-town chiefs like me get pushed aside when it suits the FBI.”

Tyler noticed Joanna rest her forehead in her palm. “This can’t be happening,” she muttered.

“Why don’t you let me run her in?” Tyler said. “I’d like to be the one to do that.”

At this point, the mayor intervened. “Thanks for the offer, Sheriff Beck, but that won’t be necessary. Chief Crenshaw and I will do all the paperwork.”

Tyler narrowed his eyes. “Since when did the mayor of Godspeed assist the police with arrests and paperwork? I know I forgot a few things, but I’m pretty sure that small-town mayors don’t have that kind of authority.”

The paunchy, middle-aged mayor reddened and cast his eyes downward. “Ah...well...sometimes I just like to go along for the ride.” He put his hands in the air. “But you’re right, Sheriff. Chief Crenshaw will handle all the paperwork.”

Tyler addressed the chief. “Where will Joanna be held?”

“She’ll be in the cell at the Godspeed police station for the night.” He hooked his thumbs through his belt loops. “It’s my station, so I should take her in.”

Tyler had to think on his feet. “Come on, George,” he said with what he hoped was a note of familiarity. “Joanna’s my responsibility. At least let me take her to the cell and hand her over to you officially. Whatever she’s done, she’s under my jurisdiction.”

“Well, that’s not strictly true now, is it, Sheriff?” answered George, rubbing his neck. “The undercover operation at the old prison comes under my leadership, not yours.”

“But she’s my deputy,” Tyler said. “I’d like to deliver her to the cell myself. Why don’t you meet us at Godspeed station? Let’s not fight over jurisdiction. Not today.”

Chief Crenshaw thought for a moment, smiled, stepped toward Tyler and patted him on the back. “If you’re sure you’re feeling better, then I guess I can allow you to run her in. Has the hospital cleared you to leave?”

Tyler nodded firmly. “One of the docs gave me a clean bill of health,” he said, taking his cuffs and securing them around Joanna’s wrists. She flinched under his touch, but she didn’t put up a fight. “My cruiser is right outside. I’ll have Deputy Graham at the station in no time.”

Chief Crenshaw opened the door. “I’ll see you there,” he said walking purposely down the corridor with the mayor, seemingly anxious to start the process. “Don’t dawdle now.”

“I won’t,” Tyler said, pretending to adjust Joanna’s cuffs while watching the men enter the elevator. “I’m right behind you.”

He then checked the vicinity for Dr. Sinclair, spotting him intently studying brain scan images in a small adjacent room. Creeping along the hallway, Tyler approached the elevator and pressed the button, desperately hoping that the doctor wouldn’t see him leave.

His outward demeanor was cool and calm, but inwardly, he was battling some pretty intense emotions. His life had been turned upside down. Whether he liked it or not, he was the sheriff of a county he thought he’d left behind long ago. He’d swapped clandestine missions in far-off lands for local law enforcement in Yardley County, nestled in the boot heel of Missouri. He had been raised in Godspeed by his grandmother after his parents died in a traffic accident when he was just eight years old. His old-fashioned grandmother had taught him to be honest and upstanding and to always trust his gut. He wished she were still alive, able to reassure him that he was doing the right thing, that he wasn’t about to make the biggest mistake of his life. But in the absence of both his grandmother and his memory, his gut was the only thing he could trust.

He steered Joanna into the elevator. “Is your memory really back?” she asked. He saw the desperate hope written on her face.

He shook his head. “I lied.”

“Even if you don’t remember me, Tyler, you know me,” she said, facing him with wide eyes, the color of warm dark caramel. “I would never betray you or the sheriff’s department.”

“I think I believe you.”

“But you’re taking me in anyway.”

He leaned in close. “I’m taking you someplace where we can figure this out together.” He reached around and took the cell phone that she still held in one hand behind her back. “And I’m hoping that this will give us some clues about who’s behind the setup.”

Her face broke into a huge, grateful smile. “You really mean it? You’ll help me?”

“We’ll help each other,” he replied. “With my memory shot to pieces, it looks like I need you as much as you need me.”

He silently prayed that Joanna was as trustworthy as he thought, because if she was lying to him, he was in a whole heap of trouble. If he was caught helping her evade arrest, there was more than a good chance that both he and his deputy would be spending Christmas Day behind bars.

TWO

Joanna walked toward the exit of Godspeed General Hospital, past the huge twinkling tree in the foyer and out into the frigid evening air. The festive lights of Godspeed lay before them, reminding her that everyone else in town was preparing for happy days ahead.

“We don’t have much time,” Tyler said, removing her cuffs and sitting her in the back of the cruiser. “In about twenty minutes, the chief will start to get suspicious that we haven’t arrived at the station. Can you direct me to my house? I’m hoping that I keep spare weapons there.” He scratched his head. “It’s really hard to keep second-guessing myself. This is kinda crazy.”

“Head for the courthouse,” she said. “Your house isn’t far from there.”

Tyler slid into the driver’s seat, took off his hat and slung it on the seat next to him. He then pulled onto the road, all the while rubbing a hand over his forehead. He looked tense and uneasy, and Joanna’s conscience was pricked.

“Listen, Tyler,” she said, leaning forward. “You don’t have to do this for me. You could lose your job. Or worse. You’re committing a felony by helping me to escape.”

“I’m well aware of the implications of what I’m doing,” Tyler said. “But I don’t think you’d be safe in police custody, especially as we don’t know who set you up. You’re fortunate that the rival gang chose today to launch an attack, because otherwise I don’t think you’d be sitting here now.”

Joanna shivered, remembering staring down the barrel of a gun. “I guess I was blessed today.” She closed her eyes and tried to give silent thanks to God, but the words refused to come, so she gave up.

“I think The Scorpions intended to kill you and then leave a false trail of evidence to implicate you in their criminal activities,” Tyler said. “A corrupt deputy would really undermine the undercover operation. But now that you’re still alive, the gang will be looking for you in police custody.”

The car wound through the streets of Godspeed, and she noticed the look on Tyler’s face change as he passed the familiar sights: the library, the veterans’ memorial, the grocery stores, the high school, all lit by the soft glow of Christmas lights. A heavy sense of history always lay thickly in the air in Godspeed. The town had hardly changed since she was a girl, and she guessed that Tyler was seeing it as if for the first time in years.

“This must be weird for you, huh?” she said.

He didn’t answer for a few moments. He continued to drive, heading for the courthouse, stopping briefly outside the church where she knew the funerals of his parents had taken place over thirty years ago. After Tyler’s grandmother died, he left Godspeed to join the military. When he returned, most of the town folks who knew him were shocked. They had assumed there was nothing left for him to come back to. “I feel like I’m in no-man’s-land,” he said. “I can’t move forward and I can’t go back.” He cruised toward the courthouse. “Everything looks the same, but I don’t fit in. I don’t belong in Godspeed anymore.”

“Yes, you do,” she said strongly. “You gotta trust me on this. Yardley County is a much better place since you became our sheriff.” She pointed to a side street, dark and quiet. “Turn here. Your house is at the end. The one with the motorcycle in the driveway.”

Tyler’s eyebrows shot up. “I ride a motorcycle?”

“On your days off, yeah,” she said. “I guess you’re a lot cooler than you thought.”

He rolled to a stop along the curb and checked the street both ways. Then he settled his gaze on her, and she fought to suppress a tug somewhere deep inside. Tyler’s crystal-clear eyes, neither gray nor blue but somewhere in between, had taken her breath away the very first time she’d seen them. And they had never lost their ability to draw her in. The sheriff was beyond handsome, with his sandy-brown hair, matching stubble and olive skin. She could scarcely believe it when he had shown an interest in her. She had so wanted him to be her Mr. Right, but it wasn’t meant to be, and she had never dropped her guard long enough for him to get close. She infuriated him with her sometimes reckless attitude. Yet Tyler had no true idea why she liked to feel adrenaline course through her veins. He knew of her cancer history, but she had never divulged its profound effect on her. She didn’t want his pity. She didn’t want anyone’s pity. She just wanted to feel normal.

“Come inside with me,” he said, searching through his keys to find the one that would fit the lock.

“Take the car around back,” she said. “You keep a key underneath a stone in the backyard. I know where it is.”

“You seem to know a lot about me, Joanna. An awful lot.”

“I guess that’s a good thing right now.”

“I guess so. Stay alert and let’s keep quiet. We’ll take some essentials and hit the road.”

“Where will we go?”

“I haven’t figured out that part yet,” he said, starting up the car again and navigating around his motorcycle in the driveway, heading to the back of the house. “I can only take this one step at a time.”

* * *

Tyler was disappointed at the décor in his home. The living room was filled with hand painted, vintage-style wooden furniture, the kind he’d grown up with in his grandmother’s house, and the chairs around the fireplace were high backed and upholstered in floral fabric. It was a home that oozed simple Southern charm, yet the style seemed so unlike anything he would choose.

Joanna must have noted the look of surprise on his face. “Laura from the furniture store picked out most of these pieces for you,” she said. “You told her you wanted a home just like the one you grew up in.”

“I did?” he said, looking around, noticing familiar items from his past dotted here and there. One item in particular caught his eye: a photograph of six smiling men, his buddies on the last mission he recalled—Dark Skies. That was where he belonged. He was a SEAL. This home was all wrong for him. There was even a Christmas tree in the corner of the room, decorated with silver stars. He never normally bothered with festive decorations. He gave thanks for the gift of God’s son each year, but the adornments of the season had never held sway over him.

“What do you want me to do?” Joanna asked, snapping him out of his daze. “We have to be quick.”

He headed for the stairs. “I’m going to change out of this uniform. Do you know if I have a gun cabinet?”

“Yes. You keep the key on a chain in the closet.”

“Good. Get the key, find a bag and take everything in that cabinet. Then pack some food. We might need it.”

He took the stairs two at a time and walked in through the first door he saw. It was the bathroom.

“How can I not remember my own house?” he muttered, taking the next doorway along, leading into a bedroom that he knew must be his. A large picture hung above the bed showing the insignia of the SEALs: an eagle holding a navy anchor, a trident and a flintlock-style pistol. Underneath the insignia were the words The Only Easy Day Was Yesterday, one of the many mottos of the SEALs. Yes, this was his private space.

He found some jeans and a sweatshirt in the closet and discarded his uniform, instantly feeling better for having freed himself of the sheriff’s clothes. They didn’t seem to fit right. He spied a safe in the corner of the room and stopped dead in his tracks. What code would he use? Bending to one knee, he punched in the ID number of his old SEAL unit and smiled as the door beeped open. Inside the safe was a handgun, a cell phone, his passport and an envelope full of cash. His smile grew even wider. It was just like him to be prepared for anything. He placed the items in a large black bag, along with some spare clothes and stood to consider if he had forgotten anything.

He instantly froze when he caught sight of a shadow though the window. A man was attempting to hide behind a tree in his backyard. Tyler broke into a run, dashing down the stairs to check on Joanna. She was waiting in the living room for him, a zipped bag at her feet.

“I packed the things you asked for, but there’s not much food—”

He cut her off. “Somebody’s outside in the yard. We gotta go.”

“Were we followed?”

“It looks that way.” He scanned the room, snatching the motorcycle key from a hook by the front door. He then picked up his bag and slipped his arms through the straps like a backpack. Joanna fastened her bag in the same way, tightening the straps around her slender frame.

“We’ll take the motorcycle,” he said. “If this guy’s got a car, we should be able to outrun him.”

“You want me to drive?” she asked, reaching for the key.

“No.”

“You remember how to ride?”

He flashed a grin. “There are some things you never forget.”

He recalled seeing two helmets on the enclosed porch and retrieved them, handing the smaller one to Joanna and slipping the other over his head. While steering her to the door, he remembered something vital. He quickly doubled back and picked up a framed photo from the bureau. Smashing the glass on the wood, he quickly flicked the picture of his SEAL buddies out of its frame and slipped it into his pocket. If he had to accept that he was no longer a SEAL, he would carry his past around with him.

The air outside had chilled even further, and Tyler felt his heartbeat pick up pace. The helmet he wore fit snugly, and he could hear the sound of his own blood whooshing around his temples. The remains of his headache still pulsed, and he imagined his brain struggling to repair its damaged temporal lobe. How could a chunk of his life be plunged into darkness, while other memories remained as clear as day? His instinct told him that he could trust this beautiful woman by his side, and his heart told him that he cared about her. But he couldn’t be sure. He would need to stay on his guard, just in case he had gotten it badly wrong.

He closed the front door with a soft click and started across the lawn, hoping that the intruder would remain around back until the motorcycle roared to life. A creaking noise caused him to spin quickly. The intruder was at the side of the house, opening the gate that Tyler had bolted behind his cruiser. The pair locked eyes, neither blinking, neither moving for a second or two. He recognized the man’s face. The pockmarked skin and deep-set eyes were familiar, and he knew that under the woolen hat was a bald head.

Joanna grabbed the back of his sweatshirt. “It’s Crusher,” she gasped. “He chased us at the prison.”

Tyler pulled his gun from its holster and raised it. Joanna did the same. With two guns trained on him, Crusher’s eyes widened, and he raised his own weapon in response.

“Wait,” he yelled. “Don’t shoot.” He lowered his gun. “I’m not here to hurt you. Let’s talk.”

Tyler rolled his eyes. As if he was going to fall for that.

“Stay right there!” Tyler ordered, as he positioned himself on his motorcycle and waited for Joanna to settle on the pillion.

“If you try to follow us, we’ll have no choice but to shoot,” he shouted before starting up the engine and drowning out Crusher’s reply.

“Keep your gun trained on him,” he yelled to Joanna, holstering his own weapon. “And hold on to me tight.”

With that, he roared down the street and headed for the open road.

* * *

Joanna leaned against the wall of the gas station while Tyler filled up the motorcycle. It was after midnight, and they had crossed the state line into Arkansas, traveling on clear roads like a bullet. But she was frozen to the core. Tyler had given her his padded jacket, yet her teeth still chattered.

Tyler walked over to her, the visor of his helmet threaded through his forearm and resting in the crook of his elbow. He handed her a cup of coffee, purchased from a machine, and she took it gratefully. The warmth of the cardboard cup in her hands was exquisite.

“The cashier says there’s a twenty-four-hour motel about two miles down this road. I think we should check in for the night and get some rest before we make a plan.”

Joanna glanced anxiously down the dark highway, straight and deserted, stretching into the starry horizon. The gas station was lit up like a beacon in the blackness, with just one lonely male cashier sitting behind bars, reading a sports magazine.

“Do you think somebody followed us?” she asked.

“I doubt it. There’s no way anyone could hide away on these roads.” He stared into the distance. The sky was free of clouds and as black as oil, lit by millions of stars. “I forgot how special Missouri skies can be.”

“I hate to remind you,” she said, giving him a gentle nudge. “But we’re in Arkansas.”

He nudged her back. “Same difference. It’s the same sky.”

They both stood in silence for a few moments, gazing at the stars, mentally preparing themselves for the task ahead: the job of proving her innocence. She thought of how her life had become a disaster in just a matter of hours. She had woken up that morning as an undercover officer assisting a drug task force. Now she assumed there was a warrant out for her arrest.

She felt Tyler’s arm curl around her, and she let her head drop onto his shoulder. If she could, she would fall asleep right there on her feet like a horse.

“However long it takes,” he said, “we’ll get to the truth.”

His words comforted her but also reminded her of her lack of preparedness. She looked down at the bag by her feet. “All I have in my possession are a couple of guns and a lot of ammo.” She tried to raise a smile. “And that isn’t even mine. I don’t have any money at all.”

He left his fingers splayed on her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of expenses. Since I joined the SEALs, I’ve always kept cash, a passport, a weapon and a cell phone in a locked safe just in case I need them.”

“Wow,” she said. “I guess you like to be ready for every eventuality.”

“The SEALs taught me to always be prepared. Life has a funny way of throwing you a curveball when you least expect it.”

“And life just threw you the biggest curveball of all,” she said, stealing a glance at his pensive face. “How are you holding up? I know this must be really hard for you, like learning to walk again.”

He turned his head and looked down at her. “To tell you the truth, I still can’t make much sense of it. I keep closing my eyes and concentrating really hard, but all I see are the hillsides of Afghanistan.” He pulled the photograph from his pocket. “I keep seeing these five men.” He sighed. “In my mind, this is where I still am. I just wish I knew how and why I ended up back in Godspeed. How could I turn my back on my unit, on my life in Virginia, on everything that I hold sacred?”

“You didn’t turn your back on any of those things,” she said, positioning her body to face him. “You just took a different path. From what you told me, you thought that God was guiding you back home to Yardley County.”

He knit his eyebrows. “I said that?”

“Yes.”

Joanna had always found Tyler’s strong trust in God uplifting, bolstering her own waning faith. She couldn’t see how God would lead her down such a cruel path. She had assumed she had done something wrong and was now being punished. But Tyler’s faith was unshakable, and she frequently took solace in it, wrapping herself in his conviction that God listened to all prayers.

He smiled broadly. “Well, if God guided me back home, then it must be for a good reason. I appreciate you telling me that.”

He slipped his hand into hers. Tyler was very tactile, and showing affection came easy to him, but she was different.

“You look beat,” he said, leading her toward the motorcycle, its blue paint polished to a gleaming shine. “Let’s get some sleep and make a plan in the morning.”

“Thank you, Tyler,” she said. “Even though you’re dealing with some pretty intense emotions right now, you’re still committed to helping me, and I’m grateful.”

He looked skyward, clearly troubled. “The word intense doesn’t even come close to describing how I’m feeling right now. I’m used to being in control, knowing how to identify the enemy, knowing who I can trust.”

“You can trust me,” she said. “I promise.”

He brought his face down to meet hers. “I’m taking a big chance on you, Deputy, so I hope you don’t mind if I ask you some tough questions later on. It’s not easy to trust a stranger.”

This comment stung. “We’re not strangers,” she said. “Not by a long shot.”

“We’re as good as strangers to me,” he said. “That’s the way I see it right now, at least until my memories start to return. So I’m asking you to be totally open and honest with me, no matter what. Can you do that?”

She imagined Tyler prying into her past, her battle with cancer and the toll it had taken on her. She hated talking about it and usually downplayed her feelings to hide the pain.

“Sure,” she replied. “You can ask me anything.”

She hoped he didn’t hear the hesitancy in her voice. He could ask her whatever he wanted, but she might not tell the whole truth.

* * *

Tyler woke early, just on the cusp of dawn. He sat bolt upright, taking in his surroundings. He saw a clean, functional room with well-worn furniture and peeling wallpaper, slightly nicotine stained at the top. That was when he remembered he was in a low grade motel, and Joanna was in an adjoining room, connected by an inner door.

He checked his watch: 7:15 a.m. He usually didn’t sleep so late, but he was glad of the unbroken rest. He rose, straightened out his wrinkled sweatpants and shirt and then rubbed his grumbling stomach. He obviously hadn’t eaten in a long while, and he was famished.

A loud knock sounded through the room, and Joanna’s voice could be heard on the other side of the door, panicked and insistent.

“Tyler, can I come in? There’s something you should see urgently.”

He opened the door, and Joanna stood before him, wearing the same clothes she had yesterday: neon yellow jeans, white sneakers and a purple hooded sweatshirt. She would stand out like a sore thumb in any crowd. They would need to buy her some new clothes today.

“What is it?” he asked as she came rushing into the room, picking up the remote control for the television from the nightstand.

“This,” she said, flicking on the TV and turning to a local news station.

On the screen he saw his own face next to Joanna’s, above the words fugitive cops on the run. He took the remote from her hands and turned up the sound, listening in horror to the newscaster’s report: “The sheriff of Yardley County, Missouri, Tyler Beck, is believed to be harboring a wanted felon somewhere in the region, and citizens are being asked to remain vigilant. Deputy Joanna Graham, a former biochemist and Harvard graduate, is wanted by the Federal Bureau of Investigation for alleged drug offenses committed while working undercover for the Southern Missouri Drug Task Force. Both Deputy Graham and Sheriff Beck vanished last night and are now on the run, possibly crossing a state border to evade detection. The Godspeed police chief, George Crenshaw, made this statement about the matter late last night...”

The picture then cut to Chief Crenshaw, standing outside his station, surrounded by reporters shining lights on his face. By his side was the mayor, his lips pinched into a thin smile.

The chief read from a piece of paper in his hand: “‘Sheriff Beck suffered a severe blow to the head yesterday while responding to an emergency call, and doctors believe that this injury has seriously affected his memory. The sheriff’s actions are entirely out of character, and it’s likely that his head injury is to blame. Tyler Beck and I are friends and equals, and I’m not judging him for trying to help his deputy. But I’m appealing to him directly to contact the nearest law-enforcement unit and turn himself in.’” Chief Crenshaw looked straight into the camera, his dark eyes narrowing in seriousness. “Tyler, if you’re watching this, please do the right thing. You know it makes sense.”

As the clip ended, the anchor shook her coiffured head in disapproval and said, “What is the world coming to when you can’t trust your local sheriff’s department to uphold the law? These two could possibly be somewhere in the state of Arkansas, so keep a lookout, folks, and if you spot them, do not approach them. Instead call 9-1-1 right away. But don’t let this news stop you from enjoying the Christmas holidays. Go out and continue your shopping, but be vigilant. Stay safe.”

Tyler let out a long breath, as if he had been winded. He never expected this amount of publicity. He knew that Chief Crenshaw would be annoyed at being duped, but to place Joanna in further danger like this was just plain irresponsible. Crenshaw had now totally exposed her as an undercover officer. If any members of The Scorpions didn’t already know her status as a sheriff’s deputy, they would now, and they might decide to exact their own vengeance.

“Do you think the guy who checked us into the motel last night will call the police?” Joanna asked.

“It was late, dark and he was only a teenager, more interested in playing his computer game than looking at our faces.” Tyler wasn’t totally convinced of this, but he hoped it was true. “We should hit the road anyway, just in case.”

Joanna raked her hands through her long, dark hair. She had removed the tiny braids she had worn the previous day, and the strands were now slightly crinkled yet still lustrous and shiny, falling like silk over her shoulders. Something stirred in his memory: a flicker of recollection. He knew how her hair smelled and how it felt beneath his touch.

“Where can we go?” she asked. “Our faces are splashed all over the news.”

Tyler pulled the photograph from his pocket. The five other men in this picture were as good as family to him, and he would trust each of them with his life. With one of them now dead, this left four people to whom he could reach out for help. He knew each of their cell phone numbers by heart, but he had lost seven years. Would they have moved on without his knowing? Would they still have the bonds of friendship they once did?

He took out his cell phone. “I’m gonna make a call. Don’t go anywhere,” he said walking into the bathroom, closing the door and sitting on the edge of the tub. He didn’t feel entirely comfortable making this call in front of Joanna. He figured he could almost certainly trust her, but there was still a tiny seed of suspicion, a niggling doubt that she was holding back somehow. When he had asked her to be completely honest with him, he had sensed her reticence and suspected that she was holding something back. Despite her apparent openness, there was something aloof about her, a part that she kept hidden. He pondered whether this was the reason for their breakup. One character trait he would not tolerate was an inclination to lie. Joanna had not fully passed his test. Not yet.

He punched in the number of Dillon Randall, a close friend and colleague who had served alongside him on at least three missions that he could remember. A recorded message told him that the number had been disconnected. He tried the other three numbers and got the same result. The data in his head must be old and out of date.

He clicked his tongue in exasperation, feeling the time ticking by. He should take Joanna away from this place and get her somewhere safer, but without a plan, he could simply make things worse by moving her out in the open.

He turned over the photograph in his hands, thinking hard, and caught sight of a scrawled number on the back. His heart lifted. It was his own writing, and above the number was one single word: Blade. What did this mean? Whose number was it? Given that his options were limited, he decided to give it a try.

When the phone was answered Tyler recognized his old friend Edward Harding’s voice instantly, his laid back, relaxed style of talking making his hello sound like the word yellow.

“Hi,” he said quickly. “It’s Tyler.”

Ed’s tone instantly changed to a sociable one. “Hey, Sheriff. How is everything in Yardley County?”

“Listen, Ed,” Tyler began. “I need help.”

Ed remained silent for a few seconds before answering. “Everything okay, Tyler? Nobody’s called me by the name Ed in a long time.”

“What do you mean?” Tyler asked, confused. “Did you change your name?”

“Um, not exactly,” Ed replied with a note of concern. “But since I lost my leg, my buddies all call me Blade, remember?”

“What!” Tyler exclaimed. How could he have forgotten something like this? “You lost a leg?”

“Yeah, right after Dark Skies. What’s going on, Tyler? What happened to you?”

Tyler stared down at the photograph, now understanding why he had written the word Blade above the number. “I somehow lost the last seven years of my life,” he said. “And now I’m on the run from the police, trying to protect a deputy who’s been wrongly accused of a crime, and my face is all over the local news.”

Ed obviously took a little while to let this information sink in. “I’m not even gonna ask how this happened,” he said finally. “Because I’m guessing you don’t have a lot of time. You need somewhere to hole up, right?”

“Right.”

“Where are you?”

“Northern Arkansas.”

“Are you close to Millington, Tennessee?”

Tyler pictured a map of the area in his mind. “Yeah, it’s only a couple of hours away. There’s a naval base there.”

“That’s right. The navy sometimes uses the base for top-secret training, and they own a log cabin in the Meeman-Shelby Forest State Park for secret personnel to stay away from prying eyes. I went there once before I was medically discharged—”

Tyler cut him off. “You’re not a SEAL anymore?”

“Tyler,” Ed replied with a low laugh, “I just told you that I only have one leg.”

In spite of his situation, Tyler laughed, too. “I’m sorry, Ed, this is a lot to take in.”

“I might need to call in a favor or two to gain access to the cabin. I’ll contact Dillon. He transferred into the coast guard a little while back, but he’s a lieutenant now, and he’ll be able to pull a few strings.”

Tyler felt a swell of gratitude in his chest. “I realize I’m asking you to take a big risk.”

Ed came back quickly with the words of a SEAL motto. “He who is not courageous enough to take risks...”

Tyler finished the sentence: “Will accomplish nothing in life.”

“Exactly, my friend. Go to the state park and keep your cell phone on. I’m in North Carolina, so it’ll take me nine or ten hours to reach you by car, but I’ll get there.”

The faint sounds of a police siren drifted into the bathroom. Tyler inhaled sharply. Had the sullen teenager at the reception desk recognized them after all?

“I gotta go,” he said. “I hear sirens.”

If any gang members listened to police scanners, it could mean that Crusher might not be far behind.

“Go,” Ed said firmly. “But remember—Audentes Fortuna Iuvat.”

Tyler translated the Latin phrase that his SEAL team would often recite before missions: “Fortune favors the brave.”

He ended the call, flung open the bathroom door and picked up his motorcycle key from the dresser, ready to jump into action. Tyler may have lost a significant portion of his life, but he most definitely remembered how to be brave.

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