Amnesia stole her memory—

a killer wants her dead

When Paige Tatem loses her memory, she knows just two things: she has a target on her back, and police officer Tanner Brody is the only man she trusts to protect her. As they piece together her past, Tanner wonders what lies hidden in Paige’s mind. And as the truth begins to emerge, it becomes clear that a ruthless enemy wants certain secrets to stay buried.

CAROL J. POST writes fun and fast-paced inspirational romantic suspense stories and lives in sunshiny central Florida. She sings and plays the piano for her church and also enjoys sailing, hiking and camping—almost anything outdoors. Her daughters and grandkids live too far away for her liking, so she now pours all that nurturing into taking care of two fat and sassy cats and one highly spoiled dachshund.

Also By Carol J. Post

Love Inspired Suspense

Midnight Shadows

Motive for Murder

Out for Justice

Shattered Haven

Hidden Identity

Mistletoe Justice

Buried Memories

Reunited by Danger

Fatal Recall

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Fatal Recall

Carol J. Post

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08456-7

FATAL RECALL

© 2018 Carol J. Post

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 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.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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“What are we waiting for?” Paige looked at Tanner.

“The eighth round.”

A shot hit the water near them.

“Now.” When she hesitated, he gave her a push. “Go, go, go.”

She sprang from the water and scrambled up the bank, back itching for the bullet she expected. By the time the gunfire resumed, she’d left the river behind and entered the safety of the trees. But she didn’t slow down. Tanner was somewhere behind her. She could hear him crashing through the forest.

Finally, he closed the distance between them. “I think we’ve lost him.”

She bent over and sucked in several gulps of air. Tanner seemed as winded as she was.

He looked over at her. “So, who are these guys?”

“I don’t know.”

He lifted one brow, the gesture filled with doubt. “What are you doing out here? Who are you?”

She searched for an answer. It was there somewhere, but her head hurt too badly to pull it out.

“I…I can’t remember.”

Dear Reader,

I hope you’ve enjoyed reading Paige and Tanner’s story. This is the first book in a new series set in Murphy, North Carolina. I love the area, and it’s been fun moving to a new setting.

Paige and Tanner both had very dysfunctional pasts. Paige’s path to healing began when she heard about Christ’s love from an unlikely source. But she still had to learn to view herself the way God sees her, as cherished and forgiven.

Tanner’s only exposure to Christianity was through rules-oriented religion, and he believed he could never measure up. My church has a new mission statement, one that is very simple and to the point—Love God, Love Others. God demands holiness, but that message apart from love and forgiveness paints an incomplete picture of what the gospel is all about.

I hope you will be on the lookout for the second book in this series, where Bryce reconnects with his first love and they both find their happily-ever-after.

Love in Christ,

Carol J. Post

For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

—Romans 8:38–39

Acknowledgments

Thank you to all the people who support me in this career I love:

My wonderful critique partners, Karen Fleming and Sabrina Jarema, my eagle-eyed beta reader, Martha “Mom” Post, my awesome editor, Giselle Regus, my lovely agent, Nalini Akolekar, my sister, Kim, for all her help on research, my sweet, supportive family, and my loving husband, Chris.

You all are the best!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Reader

Bible Verse

Acknowledgments

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

Extract

About the Publisher

ONE

The sharp crack of gunfire split the silence.

Tanner Brody froze, his paddle hovering a few inches above the water. A second crack came right after the first.

He released a pent-up breath and shook off the tension. This wasn’t one of the scariest areas of Louisville, where he’d grown up. Or even the rough neighborhood there where he’d spent the past eight years as a beat cop. He was on the Nantahala River, at the edge of the Smokies. Someone was hunting—shooting at whatever happened to be in season in North Carolina in early April.

He resumed paddling, adjusting course in time to avoid careening into a rock protruding from the center of the river. Water surged around him, gentle swells tipped in white.

Another shot rang out, and tension spiked through him again. He rolled his shoulders. It would be a while before the pop of a rifle didn’t send him into action mode.

Eight weeks ago, when his life in Louisville imploded, his friend Colton talked him into moving to Murphy, North Carolina. Six weeks ago, he drained his savings account and made a down payment on a house on two wooded acres. A few days ago, he stuffed everything he owned into a U-Haul and rolled into the drive at almost midnight. He had three weeks to enjoy his freedom. Then he’d start the job he’d landed with Murphy PD.

He wasn’t regretting his spur-of-the-moment decision. If there was anyone he trusted, it was Colton. They’d been friends since age thirteen, three of them—him and Kevin and Colton. They’d all shared the same nightmare. Except Colton had gotten out sooner than he and Kevin had.

Tanner reached a calmer section of the river and stopped paddling to take a swig of water. It was still early in the season. Other than a couple sitting at a riverside picnic table some distance back, he hadn’t seen another human being.

But rather than feeling lonely, he found the solitude therapeutic. The river flowed around him with a steady shh that drowned out all but the calls of the loudest birds and the occasional rumble of a truck moving down the highway a short distance to his right. The firearms had even fallen silent.

He dipped the paddle into the river with smooth, alternating strokes. A roar reached him from somewhere beyond the next bend, warning of an upcoming patch of rapids. Anticipation surged through him. He was ready for whatever the river dished out.

The next moment, a shriek rent the air, short and shrill, as if cut off midstream. He stiffened, the sound like glass across his nerve endings. That was no bird. That was a woman’s scream. It came from somewhere to his left, deep in the woods. The internal alarms he’d silenced sounded again. A scream meant trouble, regardless of setting.

He cut a diagonal path toward the river’s edge. Once he’d pulled the kayak onto the bank, he checked his supplies. Nothing in the way of first aid. And he’d finished his lunch. He stuffed a granola bar and napkins into his back pockets and grabbed a bottle of water. As he climbed the slope at a stumbling jog, rocks and roots threatened to trip him. Had someone lost their footing and fallen? Or was the scream related to the shots?

He drew in a breath, ready to bellow a loud “Hello,” then snapped his mouth closed. Three years in foster care, six in a group home and eight on the force had honed his instincts to a fine point. Right now, something warned him not to give away his position.

For several minutes, he scaled one steep slope, skidded down its opposite side and tackled the next. Briars and other thorny vines grabbed at his clothing and scraped his arms. More than once, his foot found a rock and he caught himself before landing facedown on the hard ground. If he found someone injured, carrying the person over the rugged terrain wouldn’t be easy. His best bet would be to call 911.

He stopped and listened for any sign of movement, a moan or whimper. But there was only the whisper of the wind through the trees and the occasional call of a bird. Even the sound of the river had faded and disappeared.

He set out again at the same hurried pace and crested another ridge. Contrast snagged his gaze—faded denim blue against the greens of early spring. He half ran, half slid down the steep grade. As he drew closer, his pulse kicked into overdrive. Trees and underbrush concealed the rest of the body, but what he’d seen were jeans-clad legs ending in well-worn hiking boots.

He dropped to his knees and placed the water bottle on the ground. A woman lay on her right side, eyes closed, lips parted. Her black hair was woven into a thick braid, and her left hand rested near her face. She held remnants of a tan, a band around her ring finger one shade lighter than the rest of her hand. A lightweight jacket was tied around her waist. Judging from the scrapes on her arms, she’d run or rolled through some nasty thorns.

Was she simply unconscious or... No, she didn’t have that pallidness of death. He’d seen it on enough occasions to know. The first time was up close and personal at eight years old.

Just to be sure, he placed two fingers against her neck, where her pulse beat strong. He released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. She was alive but needed help. She could have head trauma or internal injuries.

He pulled his phone from his pocket. No service. Not surprising, so far from civilization. His gaze dipped to the woman again, and his jaw tightened. Were the people he’d assumed hunters shooting at her? Had any of the bullets found their mark?

He leaned over her to check her back. There were no patches of moisture on the black tank she wore. She wasn’t bleeding from her left side, either.

Maybe the right or front. Twenty minutes had passed since he’d heard her scream. He needed to turn her over. She could have spinal injuries, but if blood was pouring from a bullet wound, she wouldn’t last long enough to worry about possible paralysis.

Decision made, he gently rolled her onto her back. She released a small moan but didn’t open her eyes. Her chest rose and fell with a steady rhythm. There were no signs of blood.

He expelled a breath. No one had shot her. Maybe no one had tried. Maybe the shots really had come from hunters.

He looked beyond her to where the ground rose sharply. Had she been hiking and lost her footing, emitting a brief scream of panic as she’d tumbled downward?

It was possible. The Appalachian Trail crossed Highway 19 at the Nantahala Outdoor Center some distance northeast of where they were. He’d seen it when he’d left his truck there, before Colton had taken him to the launch site several miles upstream. Maybe the woman had ventured off the trail.

He gave her a gentle shake. “Can you hear me?”

No response.

Another shake. “Ma’am?”

Her eyes snapped open, the dark brown of their irises almost disappearing into the pupils. She sat up and tried to scramble away. But a boulder at her back stopped her. If someone had been after her, that boulder had likely saved her, shielding her from the view of anyone above.

He held up a hand. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Her fear-filled eyes widened further, and she released a blood-chilling scream. The next moment she was on her feet, running away from him. She apparently didn’t have any of those spinal injuries he’d worried about.

“Hold up.” He took off after her. No way was he leaving her to fend for herself. He’d thought she might be a hiker who’d wandered off the trail and fallen. Now his gut told him it was a lot more. And he always listened to his gut.

He closed the distance between them. It wasn’t difficult. Her balance was off, her gait faltering. He wrapped both arms around her from behind, clamping a hand over her mouth to cut off a second scream. Though she was a good head shorter than him, she was firm and athletic. He could tell she was an outdoor kind of woman, based on the build and the tan.

An elbow came back to jab him in the ribs at the same time a boot caught him in the shin. He released a grunt, thankful she wasn’t functioning at 100 percent. When he tightened his hold, she struggled harder. The other elbow shot back, but this time he avoided it.

“Stop fighting me.” He hissed the words in her ear. “I won’t hurt you. I came to help you. I’m...” He hesitated. “A nice guy.”

He’d almost said cop. But if it was her own bad deeds that had gotten her into trouble, gaining her trust as law enforcement wasn’t going to happen.

“We need to get you out of here. But no more screaming. We don’t want to give whoever you’re running from any more hints of your whereabouts.” He paused, letting his words penetrate her panic. “I’m taking my hand away now.”

He loosened his hold but didn’t relax his vigilance. If she tried to scream or run, he’d have her back in his embrace before she could draw another breath.

She turned to face him. Her eyes still held wildness, and she looked ready to bolt. But she nodded agreement.

“I’m going to get you to safety.”

He retrieved the water, and when he offered it to her, she drank almost all of it without stopping to breathe. While she finished, he looked around them. He needed to get her medical aid as soon as possible. Since he’d found her unconscious, she obviously had a head injury. Without cell service, he had no option but to walk her out of the woods. Once they made it to the highway, they could flag someone down and catch a ride to the Nantahala Outdoor Center. After an ambulance arrived, he’d ask a Good Samaritan to give him a ride back to where he’d left Colton’s kayak.

Of course, that was all contingent on someone stopping. Actually, there was a more serious problem. If someone was after the woman, he’d expect her to hike toward the highway. They could walk into a trap. Maybe the kayak was their best option.

After he took her empty bottle, he waited while she untied her jacket and slipped her arms into the sleeves. Then he extended his arm, palm up. “Let me help you.”

Her gaze dipped to his hand, and indecision filled her eyes. She’d apparently experienced something traumatic. Otherwise she wouldn’t have been so terrified of him.

As they walked, she kept her hand in his. Her grip was firm. Strength had to be a good sign. Or maybe the firm grip meant she felt unsteady. Whatever the case, she wasn’t much of a conversationalist.

He offered her a friendly smile. “I’m Tanner.” His tone was just above a whisper.

One side of her mouth lifted a sliver. “Hi, Tanner.”

She didn’t give him her name. Maybe his hunch she might be running from crimes of her own was dead-on.

Right now, that didn’t matter. His responsibility was to get her to safety, which meant a hospital so she could be checked out. It would be up to local authorities to decide what to do with her after release.

As they walked, he kept scanning the woods. He’d left his pistol in the glove box of his Silverado, never dreaming he’d need it kayaking. What he wouldn’t give to have a weapon now. The three-inch blade on his multi-tool didn’t count.

When they reached the river, he heaved a sigh of relief. They’d made it. Almost. He still had to get her to a working phone. Fortunately, whoever was after her likely wouldn’t look for her on the river.

After lowering the kayak into the water, he helped her into the front and took the seat at the rear. Colton had bought the small boat with his wife in mind, so it was a two-seater.

“Keep an eye out.” The command was probably unnecessary. He couldn’t see the woman’s face, but her head slowly pivoted side to side.

A half minute later, they rounded the bend, and a long stretch of white water lay ahead. Theirs was the only boat in either direction. In another month or two, activity would pick up, but April was early. Though the sun was shining, the air still held some bite.

Over the next several minutes, he split his attention between navigating the rapids and scanning the trees that bordered both sides of the river. A gasp drew his attention to the front. The woman had twisted and sat looking over her right shoulder.

He followed her gaze. “Did you see something?”

“I thought I did. Now I don’t.”

He didn’t, either. Without slowing his pace, he gave hard looks in that direction. Pines, firs and other evergreens stood interspersed among trees budding with new spring growth.

Then there was movement. Something dark, out of place with the greens of nature. He continued his powerful strokes, casting repeated glances over his right shoulder.

Something shifted, and the dark area became a black shirt or jacket. There was more movement. Then a flash. A glint.

Like the sun reflecting off something metallic.

Someone had a gun. It was likely aimed at them.

And he had about one second to react.

* * *

Three cracks split the air in rapid succession. A second later, she hit the water face-first, driving it into her mouth and up her nose. Its icy chill engulfed her, and the current dragged her downstream, slamming her body into submerged rocks. When she surfaced, she gasped for air between fits of coughing. Tanner was nearby, being carried downstream at the same speed as her, one arm looped over the side of the kayak.

“Get to the edge.” He gained his footing, then turned to roll the kayak onto its side.

“What are you trying to do, drown me?” Even as the words spilled out, she knew better. Gunfire had reverberated around them as he’d tackled her and pulled her overboard.

He ignored her outburst. “Keep down and stay out of sight.”

The worst of the rapids was behind them; the current at the river’s edge was more manageable. More shots rang out, none of them finding their mark. Which was good. A bullet would sail through plastic as easily as a hot knife through butter.

As they approached the bank, everything fell eerily silent. Moments later, gunfire again rent the air. A hole appeared near the back of the boat. Of the next four shots, two hit their target. One narrowly missed Tanner.

He tilted his head toward the bank. “We’re going to use that for protection.”

She cast a glance over her shoulder. An old hardwood had lost its grip at the edge of the river and toppled over, its roots a vertical tangled mass six feet in diameter.

The assailant fired two more shots. Tanner stared at her, eyes intense. “When I give the word, scramble up the bank, staying as close to the downed tree as you can. Then run into the woods without looking back.”

When the water wasn’t much more than a foot deep, she dropped from a crouch to her hands and knees. The bank was within arm’s reach.

She looked at Tanner. “What are we waiting for?”

“The eighth round.”

“Huh?”

Before he could respond, a shot hit the water near them.

“Now.”

When she hesitated, he gave her a push. “Go, go, go.”

She sprang from the water and scrambled up the bank, back itching for the bullet she expected. By the time the gunfire resumed, she’d left the river behind and entered the safety of the trees on its opposite slope.

But she didn’t slow down. Tanner was somewhere behind her. She could hear him crashing through the forest.

Finally, he closed the distance between them. “I think we’ve lost him.”

She bent over and sucked in several gulps of air. Tanner looked to be in great shape, definitely a man who frequented the gym. But he was as winded as she was.

He leaned against a tree and pulled his phone from his pocket. “No service. But thanks to the waterproof case, it looks like it survived our impromptu swim.” He slid it back into his pocket. “So, who are these guys?”

“I don’t know.”

He lifted one brow, the gesture filled with doubt. “What are you doing out here?”

She searched for an answer. It was there somewhere, but her head hurt too badly to pull it out. “I can’t remember.”

Tanner frowned. “You forget where you put your car keys, not why you’re alone in the woods with men shooting at you.”

“I said I don’t know. Okay? Just leave me alone.” She stalked off in a different direction. Her head was killing her and focusing was pretty much impossible. She didn’t need some stranger giving her a hard time.

He fell into step beside her. “I’m trying to help you. Do you have a name?”

She studied his face, as if the answer would somehow be there. What she found were piercing green eyes under a head of soft brown hair and a square jaw covered by a day’s worth of stubble. Not a single hint as to her identity.

She shook her head. “I’m sure I do. I just can’t remember what it is right now.”

He stopped to stare at her. “You’re serious.” Whatever doubt she’d seen had turned to concern. “What about ID?”

She patted her pockets. Nothing in her jeans pockets, front or back. One jacket pocket was empty. The other... She pulled out a small wooden box, rectangular in shape. It looked handmade, with perfectly cut pieces of wood joined together, a polished patchwork of varying shades.

She turned it over. A minuscule crack circled the longer sides, close to the end. A seam between pieces of wood? Or the edges of a drawer? She tugged at it, then frowned. If it was a drawer, it wasn’t budging.

Tanner held out a hand. “Let me try. It’s probably swollen from getting wet.”

She handed him the box, then stood next to him while he pried and pulled. Finally, he’d worked it open enough to look inside. It was empty, except for some bits of dried leaves. Tobacco?

Tanner brought it to his nose, and his brows knit. When she gave it her own test, a knot formed in her stomach. It wasn’t tobacco. It was pot.

She shook her head. “This isn’t mine.”

Tanner cocked a brow. He didn’t believe her.

Of course not. How could she know she didn’t smoke pot when every memory had been wiped clean? She didn’t have an answer for how she knew, just that she did. “I don’t know why I have this, but I can guarantee you if this box held joints, they weren’t mine.” She frowned. “I have some pretty strong emotions right now, and they’re not good.”

She took what he held and closed the drawer. “Whoever the box belonged to, I’m keeping it.” She slid her hand over the varnished surface, then slipped the item back into her pocket. “This is all I’ve got. Nothing that offers any hint about who I am.”

A chill ripped through her, and a shudder shook her shoulders. He stepped closer to run his hands briskly up and down her arms. “I hope it’s just the wet clothes and you’re not going into shock. We need to get you to a doctor, pronto.”

He took her hand and resumed walking, his gait stiff but fast. “We’ll veer to the left, then double back. We should be able to avoid whoever is after you but still reach the highway.”

She nodded. She had no idea where they were. Ever since her panic subsided enough to think straight, she’d tried to recall the last thing that had happened. An hour later, she still couldn’t remember. And her head felt as if someone had clamped it into a vise.

Whether or not she was in shock, she was freezing. Her drenched jeans leached warmth from her body with every step, and her wet jacket flopped against her torso, pounding the chill deeper.

It wasn’t going to get better. The sun was resting too low to dry clothes or warm bodies. They probably had less than an hour of daylight left. If they didn’t make it out soon, they’d be spending the night in the woods. Another shiver passed through her.

He squeezed her hand, and she gave him a shaky smile. “Thank you for everything. I hate to think what would’ve happened if you hadn’t come along.”

“I’m glad I was there.”

She cast him another glance. “What did you mean by ‘the eighth round’?”

“I was counting the shots. There was a gap after the first eight, then another gap after the next eight. Whoever is after you is using a pistol with a magazine that holds eight cartridges. After the eighth shot, he’d have to refill cartridges or at least change magazines.”

Another shot sounded, and bark exploded from a tree not six feet away. She bit off the scream that leaped up her throat.

Tanner broke into a run, pulling her with him. If their original path took them farther from civilization, so did this one, because they were headed in roughly the same direction. Her hopes of making it out before dark died a quick and sure death.

They crested a ridge and made a diagonal path down the other side. Without slowing, they climbed another slope, then descended, adjusting direction again. The sun sank lower and the shadows lengthened.

Tanner stopped and pulled her down behind a fallen tree. “I think we lost him again.”

She sucked in several gulps of air. “I hope you’re right.”

Their pursuer had firepower, but she and Tanner had agility and stamina. At least Tanner did. Whatever stamina she had was fading fast.

She looked over his shoulder, where the sun had dipped behind the trees sometime ago. Overhead, the sky had darkened to gray blue. Soon it would turn to navy, then black.

He followed her gaze. “We shouldn’t wander around in the dark. There are thousands of acres of forest out here.”

Her chest tightened. Spending the night alone in the woods with a strange man couldn’t be smart, no matter how nice he seemed. Besides, now that the sun was going down, the temperature was dropping, and she was already cold. But Tanner was right.

He pulled a flattened granola bar from his pocket. “Dinner. I’ll share it with you.” He removed it from the wrapper, and when he’d split it, he gave her the larger piece.

Her stomach rumbled. “I’m sure it’ll be the best granola bar I’ve ever eaten.” She hesitated. Did she actually remember eating a granola bar? Could she recall any sensory experiences? No, she couldn’t. She heaved a sigh. How would she ever function as an independent adult if she couldn’t call up something as simple as having a snack?

She shook off the concerns. Only a few hours had passed since she’d hit her head. She needed to give it time. She broke off a small piece of the bar and put it in her mouth, savoring it before swallowing. If she spread it out, maybe it would fill her up.

A few seconds later, Tanner brushed his empty hands together. His portion was gone in two bites. She shouldn’t have accepted the larger half.

“Have some of this.”

“I’m fine.” He patted his stomach. “That totally hit the spot.”

“You’re lying.” She split what she had left and held out her hand. “Take it.”

“You need to keep up your strength.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Rest while I try to find a semiprotected place to spend the night.”

After watching him walk away, she took another bite. Even breaking it into small pieces, the bar went too fast and came nowhere near filling the empty hole in her stomach. She’d eaten almost twice what Tanner had. He must be starving.

Gratitude welled up inside her, thankfulness toward Tanner and whatever force had sent him to her. The chance of anyone finding her before her attempted killer was slim to none. The odds of someone like Tanner finding her were closer to the “none” side. She was really lucky.

Not lucky, blessed.

Where had that thought come from? She apparently had some kind of religious background. She searched her mind, trying to pull out some snatch of memory.

Nothing. If the index cards were there, they were all blank.

She rubbed her arms through the damp fabric of the jacket. The temperature seemed to be dropping by the minute. What she wouldn’t give for a set of dry clothes.

Leaving her arms crossed in front of her, she rested her head against an upward-jutting branch and closed her eyes. Now that the immediate danger was over, fatigue was setting in. She could use a nap almost as much as a change of clothes.

The rhythmic crunch of footsteps in dried leaves brought her fully alert. Tanner was twenty feet in front of her, closing the distance. Relief flitted across his features. “You looked like you’d fallen asleep.”

She matched his soft tone. “Almost. I only needed another couple of minutes. Along with a warm blanket.”

“I wish I could help with the blanket. But you probably shouldn’t sleep. I’m no doctor, but I know when someone has a head injury, you’re supposed to keep them awake.”

She frowned. “For how long?”

“Since I don’t know, we’ll go with ‘as long as possible.’”

“Great.”

“The good news is, I think I know how to keep us somewhat warm for the night.”

He held out a hand, and she let him pull her to her feet. After leading her a short distance away, he pointed. The ground sloped upward on each side, with a trough between. A good-size tree had fallen and lay across it at a sharp angle.

“We can burrow in under that dead hemlock. There’s already a thick bed of leaves. Since it hasn’t rained, it’s nice and dry. I’ll gather branches to block us in the rest of the way and keep out any unwanted guests.”

She almost asked him what he meant by “unwanted guests,” then decided she’d rather not know.

“We’ve also got water. Listen.”

She lifted her chin. Behind the rustle of leaves and buzz of insects, a trickle reached her from somewhere in the distance.

When they arrived at the little creek, she dropped to her knees. The water was cold and tasted so good. Too many hours had passed since she’d finished the bottle Tanner had given her.

After drinking their fill, they headed back. She helped him gather limbs, then watched as he positioned them, leaving a single opening protected by one of the hemlock’s branches. He completed the last of the work by moonlight. When he finished, her teeth were chattering.

“Let’s get you out of this night air.”

She dropped to her hands and knees, then crawled downhill to the trough. It was narrow, just wide enough for a single body. But it was plenty long enough to allow a respectable distance between them.

After choosing the space to the left, she stretched out on her back and nestled into the leaves. Moonlight shone through the branches overhead in tiny geometric shapes. It wasn’t any warmer inside than outside, but getting out of the nighttime breeze helped. Even the hard ground wasn’t that uncomfortable. Knowing Tanner, he’d probably added some extra cushion. But it was still going to be a long damp night. She crossed her arms over her torso, trying to ward off the chill.

As Tanner maneuvered his body into the shelter, alarms went off. She struggled to silence them. If any man deserved trust, Tanner did. But trust didn’t come easily in her current state. Maybe it didn’t come easily in her normal state, either.

“Are you warm enough?” His voice sounded close.

“Better.”

Still in a crawling position, he gathered some smaller hemlock branches he’d cut previously and reached over her head to lay them across her torso.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. If there’s anything else I can do, let me know.”

“Other than the blanket.”

“Other than the blanket.” His tone held a smile. Leaves crinkled and dried twigs cracked as he positioned himself a few feet away. There was nothing solid between them, but he was giving her space. A true gentleman.

She smiled into the darkness. “You did good today. What are you anyway? Ex-military? Survivalist? Former Boy Scout?”

He laughed. “None of the above. Why?”

“The way you’ve handled everything. Evading the bad guy. Getting us to safety. Putting this together. I’m impressed.” She shook her head. “I mean, who thinks to count rounds when they’re being shot at?”

He gave another soft chuckle. “I’m a cop, and I have a lot of outdoor hobbies.”

She lifted her brows, her interest piqued. “What kind of hobbies?”

“Camping, hiking, canoeing, kayaking. And some other activities that aren’t so tame.”

“Like what?”

“Rock climbing, sandboarding, parasailing, white-water rafting. Class five, of course. There’s a group of four of us—three of us that do adventures together once or twice a year.”

“Three of you now?” She grinned. “Did you lose one?”

“We’ve got a backpacking trip planned for Colorado this summer, probably just Bryce and me. Colton’s occupied these days with a wife and kid.”

She frowned. He’d continued without acknowledging her question. Maybe something terrible really had happened to the fourth guy.

He proceeded to relay some of his experiences. Finally, he stopped. “I’m sorry, I’m monopolizing the conversation.”

“That’s okay. What consists of my life story right now, you’ve witnessed. So talk on.”

She enjoyed listening to him. His tales were interesting, his voice soothing, with a liquid smoothness and rich timbre. As he talked, her thoughts grew more random, and she drifted on the fringes of oblivion.

Tanner paused. “Hey, you’re not falling asleep, are you?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She didn’t open her eyes.

“Seriously. Wake up.”

She forced her eyes open. “Are you going to keep me awake all night?”

“I’m going to try.”

That probably wasn’t a bad idea. She needed to stay alert. For all she knew Tanner could be an ax murderer.

That’s not what she felt, though. The vibes she got from him were all positive.

But who was she to make that determination?

How could she trust her gut when she couldn’t even remember who she was?

TWO

The air was cold and damp. No matter what she did, she couldn’t get warm.

She drew her legs up, curling into a fetal position. It didn’t help. The damp chill had permeated every cell. When she reached for her comforter, her fingers wrapped around a stick.

She came awake with a gasp. A hand clamped down hard on her mouth, pinching off her nose at the same time. Her heart stopped, then kick-started in triple time.

Her eyes adjusted to the semidarkness of the room. Someone leaned over her, his head silhouetted against the speckled backdrop of the ceiling.

Tanner. His lips were compressed as if to shush her, but no sound came out.

Footfalls sounded a short distance away. The events of the prior day slammed into her with the force of a tidal wave. If not for the hand clamped over her mouth, she’d have sucked in another gasp.

Tanner apparently recognized awareness in her eyes, because he slowly removed his hand.

The footsteps crunched closer, the tread heavy. “I know you’re here somewhere. I heard you.”

A heavy silence fell. The guy had stopped, probably studying his surroundings. Had she and Tanner left evidence of their presence? Broken limbs? Trampled underbrush?

God, please don’t let him find us.

The spontaneous prayer brought her up short. Did she have that kind of relationship with God, where she could send up a silent plea and expect to get an answer?

Maybe not. A panicked prayer in a moment of duress didn’t mean anything.

The man started moving again. “You might as well give up. I’m gonna find you.” He walked away and circled back, approaching on the other side. Then the footsteps retreated.

She lay stock-still for what seemed like forever, scarcely daring to breathe. Finally, Tanner crept from their bunker. When she crawled out behind him, he was looking around, eyes alert. A shiver shook her shoulders. What she could see of the sky to her right looked a little lighter than the rest, but it would be some time before the sun traveled high enough to warm the air.

Tanner looked down at her. “He’s gone.”

She expelled a breath. Thank You. Wherever the answer had come from, someone deserved the recognition.

“It sounded like he headed toward the river.” Tanner was still whispering. “I’m hoping he’s given up looking for us. When we get back to civilization, we’ll figure out our next step.”

She nodded. He’d said “we.” Maybe he didn’t plan to dump her at the nearest hospital or police department.

“Are you thirsty?”

“And hungry.” She gave him a weak smile. “I don’t suppose you have another squished granola bar hiding anywhere.”

“’Fraid not.”

As she followed him toward the creek, she cast repeated glances over her shoulder. As long as the shooter didn’t double back, they should be all right.

“I’d promise you a steak dinner tonight but I’m afraid the fare is going to be hospital cuisine. They’re going to want to run tests, probably keep you overnight.”

Though she didn’t look forward to a hospital stay, having her memory wiped out was disconcerting enough to go along with whatever Tanner suggested.

He stepped to the side to walk next to her. “Have you remembered anything since yesterday?”

“Nothing. But I woke up this morning.” Tanner’s concerns about her falling into a concussion-induced coma were for naught. Until that final stretch before dawn, her sleep had been too fitful. Besides being cold, she couldn’t find a good position. The ground had seemed harder with every passing hour.

He picked up a stick and broke a piece off its end. “You need a name.”

“Any ideas?”

He walked in silence, his expression thoughtful. “You don’t look like a Sarah or a Millie or a Priscilla.”

“Why not?”

“Those names are too...” His voice trailed off as he struggled to come up with the right adjective.

“Soft and feminine?”

He winced.

“It’s okay. I’m wearing jeans, hiking boots and a messy braid. I don’t look like a Priscilla.”

“So no soft names.” He broke off another piece of the stick he held and tossed it. “You need something strong—something implying athleticism, competence, self-sufficiency.”

She quirked a brow, not sure how he came up with the last two descriptors. She’d have been in a pickle without him. But since she’d eluded her assailant until knocking herself unconscious, she had to have some level of competence.

They reached the creek, and she knelt next to it. “How about Katrina?”

He loomed over her, wiggling his brows. It didn’t matter what he called her. Anything they came up with would be temporary until someone identified her or she regained her memory.

“You don’t look like a Katrina.” He dropped down next to her. “Or maybe you do. Kat for short.”

“Alrighty, then. I guess I’m Kat.” She didn’t feel any connection to the name. Of course, she didn’t expect to.

After sipping several scoops of water, they straightened. Her stomach growled, and she pressed a hand to her waistline. Judging from the condition of the trees, it was early spring. Not the time of year to find edible berries.

She stood and let her gaze follow the meandering creek. A short way down on the opposite bank, spots of yellow stood out against patches of green.

She moved that direction, picking up speed as she got closer. She’d been right. A patch of dandelions grew alongside the water.

“Kat?” Tanner’s footsteps sounded behind her.

She stepped onto a rock in the middle of the creek. A second step put her on the opposite bank. “Breakfast.”

“What?”

She indicated the plants with a wave of her arm. “It’s not bacon and scrambled eggs, but it should help to curb the hunger.”

After plucking several blooms and a handful of leaves, she tried one of each. The slight crunch and sweetness of the flower blended with the earthy, bitter taste of the greens.

Tanner watched her with his eyebrows drawn together, his lips in a straight line. “Are you sure that’s safe?”

“Positive. Ever heard of dandelion tea?”

“Yeah, but parts of some plants are poisonous.”

“Not dandelion.” She wasn’t sure how she knew that, but she did. “Come and get some.”

Tanner continued to watch her, doubt radiating from him. She understood. She couldn’t expect him to trust his life to her ability to identify edible wild plants when she couldn’t remember her own name. She couldn’t explain it herself. Some knowledge was still accessible, but her experiences were exiled to a remote island in her brain, the bridge to access it blown to smithereens.

Finally, Tanner crossed the creek to pick some dandelions for himself. He chewed and swallowed his first bite. “Hmm, like salad for breakfast.”

When they’d had their fill, Tanner knelt for another drink, then straightened. “I think the bad guy’s way ahead of us, but we’ll keep our eyes and ears open.”

She stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets, still slightly damp from yesterday’s swim. Her right hand found the box, and she pulled it out. It didn’t stir her memory any better than it had before.

“Other than the clothes I’m wearing, this is the only thing connecting me to my past, as shaky as that connection is.” The box probably didn’t even belong to her.

Tanner nodded. “It’s good you’re keeping it. It might help trigger your memory.”

“I agree.” She slid the box back into her pocket and looked beyond Tanner, where the sun worked its way upward in a hazy sky.

“We’re north of Highway 19. If we head south, we should reach it eventually.”

She set out walking beside him. “What about your kayak?”

“It’s actually my friend’s. The shooter might be waiting for us, so I’ll get it later with a police escort.”

“That’s a good—” Her sentence ended in a squeak as her ankle twisted with a sharp crack. Pain shot halfway up her leg.

Tanner’s quick reflexes kept her from falling. “Are you okay?”

She tested her weight. It was painful, but nothing she couldn’t handle.

Tanner led her to a downed tree. “Sit here while I look for a walking stick.”

“That’ll delay us. I’ll be fine.”

“Since the guy with the gun is somewhere ahead of us, this’ll put more distance between us and him.”

She lowered herself to the rough bark and watched Tanner circle the area, picking up and discarding sticks. Finally, he found one that suited his purposes.

He pulled something from his pocket, too thick to be a pocketknife. Instead, the metal case held an array of gadgets. He selected a blade and spent several minutes slicing off small limbs and whittling a smooth grip area. Finally, he stood and tested it.

“Here you go.”

She pulled herself to her feet. “This is awesome. Thank you.”

“It was a piece of cake with my handy little multi-tool.” He raised the mentioned item, blade still extended.

As she stared at the object, a memory stirred. A man flew backward, cracking his head on the concrete sidewalk. His assailant leaped on top of him, one hand splayed on his chest, the other holding a switchblade at his throat. Blood beaded along the razor-sharp edge, and the man’s eyes held the terror of someone looking death in the face.

“Kat? Are you okay?” Tanner’s voice sounded far away.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the image to disappear.

“Tell me what you see.”

She swallowed the bile pushing its way up her throat. “A knife. Someone being attacked.”

“Do you know who?”

She tried to focus. The man was thin and wiry, clad in a tank-style undershirt, tattoos marking his arms, neck and chest. If he was someone she knew, memories of him were buried with the rest of her past.

“All I saw was a brief flash—the man, the knife.” And the hand holding it.

“Is it possible you witnessed a murder and that’s why someone is after you?”

She gave a jerky nod. “Maybe.”

What Tanner said was possible. Even logical.

But that wasn’t what happened. She was sure of it.

Because the hand holding the knife had been her own.

* * *

Tanner put the multi-tool away and slipped a palm under her left elbow. Her face had lost three shades of color.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

The quick bob of her head wasn’t convincing. The fact that she was already recovering her memory was good. The shock it gave her wasn’t.

She set out walking, favoring her right ankle, and he fell into step beside her.

“If you need to stop, let me know.”

“Thanks, but the stick helps. I’m anxious to get out of these woods.” Her eyes held hesitation. “Where will you be taking me?”

“Bryson City. The police department, then the hospital.” He’d studied a map of the area, and it was the nearest town. In fact, the Nantahala Outdoor Center had a Bryson City address.

Her jaw tightened, and her brows drew together. Did she have a fear of hospitals? Or was it going to the police that worried her?

“We need to file a report.” The moment someone shot at them, he’d scratched his plans for putting her in an ambulance and letting the EMTs haul her away. “There’s a chance the police can help us figure out who you are, especially if your prints are in the system.”

“You think I might be a criminal?” She smiled, but there was tension behind it.

He shrugged. “Lots of people get fingerprinted for their jobs. It doesn’t mean they’re criminals.”

She stared straight ahead, apparently not convinced. He understood her reservations. It was a scary proposition. She could learn she’s a fugitive and be led away in handcuffs. With all she’d been through, he hoped that wasn’t the case.

She heaved a sigh. “However it turns out, it’ll be a relief to find out who I am.”

“Someone’s probably reported you missing by now.”

“Maybe.” She held out her left hand, palm down. “Looks like I wore a ring long enough to tan around it. I don’t know if it was a wedding or an engagement ring. Or why I no longer have it on.”

As they walked, the sun climbed higher, burning off the haze and warming the air. Finally, she shrugged out of the jacket. As she tied it around her waist, muscles worked beneath a pale gray design, a tattoo that looked about two laser treatments away from removal.

He touched her upper arm. “Does this trigger any memories?”

She turned her head to see what he’d indicated. “Not at all.”

He’d noticed the tattoo yesterday, before she’d put her jacket on. It was a fairly elaborate crown, a common gang symbol. That connection would help the police identify her. Chances were good she had a record.

Whatever affiliations she’d had, she’d likely gotten out, a feat in itself. Otherwise she wouldn’t have borne the pain and expense of trying to have the symbol removed.

“How about this?” He traced a three-inch scar on her forearm.

“It looks like an old cut, but I don’t remember where I got it.”

“It’ll come to you eventually. You’ve already regained one memory.”

She sat and unlaced her right boot. As she removed it, she winced. When she peeled off her sock, he frowned. A discolored area wrapped the bottom of her ankle and spread across her foot toward her toes. Tissue had tried to swell against the tightly laced boot, leaving reddened grooves.

“Too bad we don’t have some ice for that.”

“It’ll be all right. I’m sure I’ve experienced worse.” She indicated her upper arm with her other hand. “This, for example.”

“I agree.” As he and Kevin had aged out of the system, they’d talked about having an eagle tattooed over their right pecs, signifying freedom. Kevin had followed through. Tanner hadn’t. He really didn’t like needles. From everything he’d heard, he wouldn’t like lasers any better.

Kat was one tough lady. She’d sustained a head injury, slept on the ground in damp clothes, gone hungry and walked the past three hours on a sprained ankle. All without complaint. She was more resilient than a lot of men he knew.

After a brief rest, she put her sock and shoe back on, then stood. But instead of resuming the hike, she uprooted some nearby plants. Onion-like greens grew from small, light-colored bulbs. She brought them to her nose. “Wild garlic.”

When she handed him one, he sniffed it. Though not as strong as expected, it still held that distinctive scent.

She munched on the green stems, then peeled the outer layer to expose the clean bulb. After removing the roots with her thumbnail, she popped the bulb into her mouth.

He did the same. The dandelions were long digested, and he was starved. He’d never been a dainty eater. Even before his postadolescent growth spurt, when he’d weighed one hundred pounds soaking wet, it hadn’t been for lack of nutrition. His small size had made him a target for bullies in the foster and group homes, so he’d always eaten like a horse. It eventually paid off.

Kat picked up her walking stick and resumed their trek. Soon, the sound of moving water reached them. Rather than the trickle of a creek, it was a constant barrage of sound, a steady shh that grew louder as they walked.

“Hear that?”

“I do.” She gave him a cautious smile. “I’m just not looking forward to wading across. I don’t feel like getting wet again or fighting that current.”

“We may not have to. If we come out a mile or so upstream from where we left the kayak, we’ll miss it. Where I launched, the river flows on the other side of the road, then crosses under a bridge.”

A truck engine rumbled in the distance, increasing in volume, then fading. When they headed down the last slope, the river lay in front them. To the right, it curved to disappear under a bridge.

They covered the final yards, then stopped at the shoulder to look both directions. Traffic was nonexistent. To the left, Highway 19 stretched toward Bryson City. The Nantahala Outdoor Center was about five miles away. If someone would give them a ride, they’d save an hour and a half of walking. For Kat’s sake, he hoped some Good Samaritans were traveling on 19.

As they crossed the two-lane highway, a white pickup truck moved toward them. Kat held out a thumb, and the truck barreled past. Five other vehicles did the same. He didn’t blame the drivers. Picking up hitchhikers was a good way to get oneself killed.

When a low rumble sounded behind them, he turned to watch a box truck approach. He held up a hand to flag down the driver. The truck slowed and the right-turn signal came on. Tanner’s pulse kicked up.

The vehicle eased to a stop, an auto parts delivery truck. Tanner opened the passenger door and helped Kat in, then slid in behind her.

“Where you headed?” Reflective sunglasses hid the driver’s eyes.

“Nantahala Outdoor Center. It’s not far, but five miles on a sprained ankle can feel like forty.” He tilted his head toward Kat.

“Not fun.” His straight salt-and-pepper hair was pulled into a ponytail beneath a New York Jets ball cap, and he exuded a relaxed friendliness.

Tanner checked his phone again. Still no service. He’d rather have the police there, or at least en route, when he and Kat arrived. Since they’d been in a kayak, the Nantahala Outdoor Center was the most logical place to end up. The shooter could be waiting for them.

But he wouldn’t expect them to arrive in an auto parts delivery truck. By the time he figured it out, Tanner would have his pistol in hand.

The driver slowed for a curve. “How’d you guys get so far from your truck anyway? There aren’t any hiking trails out this way.”

Tanner looked past Kat to study the man, debating how much to tell him. It didn’t take him long. If the driver was a threat, they’d already know it. He was sticking his neck out for them. He needed to know the situation.

“We were kayaking, then wound up running from a guy with a gun.”

His mouth went slack. “Have you called the police?”

“We will as soon as we get service.”

As they approached the Outdoor Center, the driver reached into a pocket on his door and laid a pistol in his lap. “Just in case.”

Tanner scanned the roadside. No one seemed to be lurking. Two cars sat in the parking lot, both empty, the occupants likely inside the building. His Silverado waited at the far end. He pointed it out, and the driver stopped in the next space.

“I’ll make sure you get away okay.”

“Thanks, man.” Tanner slipped a soggy bill into the guy’s hand, then climbed from the truck.

Kat cast a glance over her shoulder as she slid across the seat. “God bless you.”

The driver smiled. “He already has.”

Tanner raised his brows at the semireligious conversation between two unlikely candidates—Kat, with the remains of her gang tattoo, and the truck driver, with his shades and ponytail.

Two of the foster homes he’d landed in had been religious, with a list of dos and don’ts that would stretch from Louisville to Nashville. He couldn’t quote it from memory, but he was pretty sure ponytails and tattoos were on the “don’t” side.

While the delivery guy waited, Tanner let Kat into the passenger seat of the Silverado and removed his Glock from the glove box. Now the playing field was a little more level.

As he circled around to the driver’s side, he continued to scan the area. Even when he pulled onto Highway 19, with the delivery truck behind him, he still didn’t relax. He probably wouldn’t until he and Kat were seated inside the police station at some officer’s desk.

He glanced in his rearview mirror. The truck was still behind him, keeping up in spite of the seemingly endless series of S curves. Finally, the highway straightened out and widened to four lanes. Tanner chose the right one. The truck driver did, too. A red van behind them moved into the left. Within moments, it overtook him and sped past.

Another vehicle traveled in that lane, also, too far back to identify the make. Instead of accelerating, the driver matched the speed of those in the slower lane, forcing others to go around him.

Tension crept across Tanner’s shoulders. Was someone intentionally keeping them in sight while remaining far enough away to avoid identification?

“So, we’re headed to Bryson City.” Kat’s words broke into his thoughts. “To the police department.”

“Yeah.” The other direction would have taken them to Andrews, then Murphy. Murphy had a hospital. He’d seen it—Murphy Medical Center. He didn’t want to risk leading anyone to his new hometown. But unless Kat made an amazing recovery over the next twenty-four hours, she’d need someone to keep an eye on her.

She wasn’t his responsibility. But until she figured out where she belonged, she wasn’t anybody’s responsibility. He couldn’t just dump her. The role of protector was too deeply ingrained.

He shifted position to pull his phone from his pocket, then handed it to Kat. “See if we have service yet.”

“Two bars.”

“Can you pull up directions to the Bryson City Police Department?”

Her thumbs flew over the screen. A half minute later, a computerized voice informed him that he was on the fastest route.

When he looked at her again, she was chewing her lower lip.

“You okay?”

She sighed. “What if I’ve done something terrible and they arrest me?”

“You look more like a victim than a criminal.”

She gave him a weak smile. “Thanks.”

As they approached town, he took a brush from the console and ran it through his hair. When he started to put it back, she stopped him.

“Do you mind?”

“Go right ahead.”

She removed the elastic band from the end of the braid and slipped it around her wrist. “If I’m going to jail, I at least want to look halfway decent.”

After working the tresses loose, she shook them out, then went to work with the brush. Soon her hair flowed over both shoulders in shiny black waves, falling all the way to her waist. Even after spending the last two days in the woods, she was beautiful.

Not that it mattered to him. Those were the ones to worry about. The beautiful ones. Especially around deceitful best friends.

Up ahead, Highway 74 broke from 19, veering off to the right. As Tanner took the exit, remaining on 74, he checked his mirrors. The auto parts truck followed him. So did the car he’d been watching. That didn’t mean anything. Highway 74 was well traveled.

At the instruction of the GPS, he moved into the left lane. The truck driver flew past with a wave and two toots of his horn. The car followed him and Kat. He forced himself to relax. Maybe the driver had business in Bryson City, too.

“Is everything okay?”

He glanced in the rearview mirror again. “We might have a tail.” At her gasp, he continued, “Don’t turn around. Just be ready to call 911.”

“According to the GPS, we’re less than a mile from the police department.”

Tanner turned on his signal and made a right.

“Academy Street?”

“I’m taking the scenic route.” He moved down the street, frequently checking his mirror. A half minute later, the car followed. After two more turns, it was still behind him.

“Call 911, then hand me the phone.”

He wouldn’t head to the station. Otherwise the assailant would take off. Instead, he’d let the police come to them.

Kat did as he asked, then slid down in the seat as much as the belt would allow. Creases of concern marked the bridge of her nose, and her hands were curled into fists.

When the dispatcher came on, Tanner explained the situation and relayed what he knew about the vehicle, which wasn’t much. Boxy, older model, lighter color. It was still too far back to identify the driver or even tell if someone occupied the passenger seat.

Before Tanner could finish his report, the car made a sudden left turn. He blew out a frustrated breath and jammed on his brakes. “He knows we’re onto him.”

After turning around in the parking lot of a local business, he went in pursuit. For the next ten minutes, he combed the streets of Bryson City. So did the officer who was dispatched. Neither had any success. The car had vanished.

He braked at a stop sign. “I’m sorry. I’d really hoped we’d catch him.”

“Me, too.”

“Let’s get that police report made.”

With her wide eyes and creases of worry lining her face, she looked like a lamb being led to slaughter.

His heart twisted. He couldn’t help her. He didn’t know any more than she did about what they would find.

And though he’d love to say something that would take away the desperation he sensed, he wouldn’t lie to her.

Or give her reassurances he couldn’t back up.

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