“I know.”

  They pulled to the shoulder. Three feet ahead, the middle of the road was submerged in water. “Guess she thought she could make it.”

  “Guessed wrong,” Grace muttered and hopped out of the truck. Hollis grabbed the chains and trudged over.

  Kali poked her head out the window. “I thought I had it. Sorry!”

  “When in doubt, back out.” Hollis sighed and went to work securing the chains from her car to his truck. Kali hopped in the back seat of his truck.

  He pulled her vehicle from the waters. “Let’s get the car to Trevor’s then we can drop you at work.”

  “I owe you both free coffees,” Kali said.

  “I won’t forget that,” Grace said and Kali snickered. “Do you have a ride home after your shift?”

  “Yeah, my mom can pick me up. Hopefully, I can drive my car by then.”

  He drove straight to Trevor’s and dropped off Kali’s car. They made small talk on their way to the Muddy Brewhaha. “River is rising so expect more flooded streets and be careful,” Hollis said as he pulled to the front door.

  “Will do.” She waved and ran inside.

  “All in a day’s work,” Hollis muttered. “So...”

  “I need to get to Tish’s.”

  Hollis grimaced but kept his cool. No point arguing. Tish’s inn was just off Main Street and not far from the Brewhaha. He parked behind Grace’s car. “What was so important, Grace? Please talk to me.”

  Not for leads or to have some sense of control. To be a support for her. The more she kept from him, the greater the chasm that developed between them and quite frankly, he hated the distance, but it might be for the best.

  His heart was getting too tangled up and his head fuzzy. Lines that should be straight and clear were blurring.

  She reached for the door handle and paused, but then opened the door and hopped out into the rain. “Gotta grab my other pair of rain boots if we plan to sandbag again later,” she said and approached her car. The wind picked up and Hollis caught a whiff of something familiar.

  Like tar.

  Where had he smelled that before?

  No!

  He sprang from his truck and was already sprinting for her. “Grace, don’t unlock—”

  She clicked her fob.

  Beep-beep.

  He dove on top of her.

  Boom!

  Her car exploded into flames and smoke billowed into heavy pillars. Ringing pierced his ears and a rush of heat enveloped them, the impact blowing them several feet away. Car alarms were set off all along the street.

  Police sirens squawked.

  Hollis shielded Grace as debris fell with the rain, littering them and the surrounding area. The smell of iron, smoke and burning metal smacked his senses and produced a metallic taste on his tongue. “Grace, you okay?”

  Her face was smudged with soot and mud, her hair covered in bits of ash. She only nodded. The bomb must have accidentally delayed. Otherwise, she’d have been toast. He thanked God and laid his forehead on hers. “I need to know where you went, Grace.”

  Someone was not playing around. It was possible by now the bad guys knew she had amnesia making her useless to them, and were simply ending her to tie up loose threads. But who were the bad guys?

  He helped her to her feet and steadied them both. Cord strode over. The fire department had already worked to put out the fire—the rain not enough to do the trick. First responders met them with a dozen questions and prompts to go to the hospital. Both Grace and Hollis declined.

  His head split in two from the impact and every voice and noise sounded like it was underwater, but that would last only a day, maybe two. He coughed and put his arm around Grace who was also hacking but trying not to make a big deal out of it.

  “Get cleaned up and let’s talk,” Cord said. “It’s not only Grace’s life at stake. That could have taken out the whole street.”

  Grace rubbed her temples. “No, it couldn’t have. It was concentrated to the radius of the car and went straight up.”

  Hollis stared, stunned. He needed to get used to this Grace—the one who knew things like radiuses of bomb explosions. “She’s right.”

  Grace’s eyes went wide. “Where’s Tish?” She bolted across the street, weaving between onlookers, guests at the inn, news crews who’d already arrived and firefighters.

  “Grace!” Hollis took off after her. When he reached the kitchen, Tish was inside at the table crying, Grace soothing her.

  “Tish, how you faring?”

  “Shaken up is all. Worried about you and Grace.”

  Grace hugged her tightly and sniffed, coughed. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

  “It’s no one’s fault but whoever set that bomb on your car,” Tish said and scowled.

  “Did you see anyone suspicious outside today? Since Grace returned from her mystery adventure?” Hollis met Grace’s glare with a withering look of his own. Seems like someone might have followed her and not liked where she went or what happened when she got there, then set the bomb once she returned—when she and Hollis were arguing or when they left to help Kali.

  “I haven’t noticed anyone around who shouldn’t be. Cord has driven by regularly. Deputy Jordan has driven by and walked the property every hour. Guests who belong here.” Tish wrapped her hands around a dainty cup of tea. “Grace, don’t blame yourself.”

  Grace kissed Tish’s head. “No one to blame but me.”

  “Not true.” She sighed. “I put some of your clothes from the dryer in Room C.”

  Hollis would have to get some from his truck. He followed Grace into the dining area. “When we get cleaned up, after we talk to Cord, you and I are having a conversation.”

  Grace worked her jaw and met his stare. “Okay. Okay, Hollis, you win. But you won’t like it. I certainly don’t.”

  How bad could it be?

  Hollis glanced out the window. Explosive. It could be explosive.

  * * *

  Grace sat on the edge of the bed. She’d cleaned up and dressed twenty minutes ago, but she struggled to leave the room. To face Hollis and probably Cord. She rubbed her cheek—tender from the scrape of the sidewalk when she landed. She’d taken three naproxen. Her ears still hummed and sounded muffled. Based on all the scars she possessed and the former broken bones, she chalked this up to child’s play. Nothing broken. Nothing lacerated. A blessing to be sure.

  Well, time to take some more medicine, swallow the pill as she told Hollis the truth about her past. What she’d probably done. Grace worked hard to be brave, courageous. To channel that warrior—even if she’d been fighting for the wrong team—who lived dormant inside her. But right now, she was just Grace Thackery. SAR volunteer, employee of the Muddy River Inn, friend, neighbor and terrified lonely woman. Lurking beyond these walls were cold-blooded killers and they wanted her dead if she couldn’t produce Dr. Sayer—someone wanted her dead regardless.

  She needed to find that woman. It had been over two years. What was she doing to survive, to stay off the grid? A gentle knock came.

  “Grace?” Hollis asked. “You aren’t asleep, are you? In a coma?” The teasing banter was back. She adored the playful Hollis. Loved that he didn’t give her pitiful looks like some of the Cottonwood locals. He’d pushed her to move forward with this new normal—her new life—in many ways.

  She’d been wrong to charge him earlier. It had all happened so fast.

  He’d pushed her—no, demanded answers—treating her as a child. And that was it. A switch had flipped.

  But he didn’t understand her humiliation, guilt or shame. How could he? He’d no doubt been a good son, a great brother, a soldier, and now a man who dedicated his life to helping search for and rescue people. How could he possibly comprehend the darkness that seemed to lurk inside Grace—that boiling rage waiting to flare up at any moment?

  She could have hurt him earlier. But then his compassion and tender words brought a psalm to her heart that she’d memorized only recently, giving her the inner strength to hold back. To be still. She had imagined lying in green pastures by quiet waters.

  And it had worked. Truth had fought the anger, and it had won.

  Today.

  “Grace?”

  “Coming.” She’d almost forgotten Hollis was at her door. She opened it, and he stepped inside.

  “Thought we’d have more privacy up here.”

  “Where’s Cord?”

  Hollis eased into the wingback chair by the fireplace. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. His fingers locked together and rested under his chin. “I told him we needed to talk first and if what you tell me is pertinent to your case, we would fill him in. As far as the logistics of what happened, I already gave a statement. But you’ll have to give yours.”

  “Protocol.”

  “Yes.” He waited. Watched.

  Her stomach spasmed. Blood whooshed in her ears, her heart beat against her chest. She swallowed. “I had a memory...” When she finished telling him about Hector Salvador, meeting Holt and Blair McKnight and their grave news, she dropped onto the edge of the loveseat adjacent to Hollis, but refused to look him in the eye for fear of what she might see—what she would see. Disgust. Disappointment. For the first time, possibly even pity.

  “You want to go see him, don’t you?” Hollis asked.

  “Yes. He’s my only link...even if it is a nefarious one.” Nefarious. That word she could recall. Who her parents were? Nada. “You don’t seem surprised.”

  Hollis stood and raked a hand through his hair. “Have I ever invaded your privacy? Acted like I didn’t trust you?”

  Where was this headed? “No.”

  “And I wouldn’t. But...” He kneeled in front of her, placed his hands on her knees. Tiny flecks of amber dotted his espresso irises. Torment was mixed in there too.

  “But what?”

  “Please don’t hate me. Don’t drop-kick me or anything.”

  Now wasn’t the time to lighten the mood...only he wasn’t attempting that. He was serious. “I could never hate you, Hollis. If anyone should hate someone it’s you hating me.”

  He framed her face. “Never,” he whispered. “I need you to know that we are in dire straits and I’m desperate to stop whoever is trying to kill you. So...after you left the computer, I checked the browser history.”

  She frowned. That must have been gone with other memories. “No joking, I don’t recall anything about browser histories.”

  “I can see where you went on the internet. I know you searched for Hector Salvador. I researched him. Saw the articles. Know how dangerous he is. I’ve been unsure why you were searching him. I’m sorry.”

  Grace wasn’t angry with him. She probably would have done the same thing if the roles were reversed. “I understand.” Hollis would never check up on her simply out of paranoia or some possessive need to control her. He was at his wits’ end. Join the club.

  He eased onto the sofa with her, his thigh touching hers. “If you want to see him, I’ll go with you. I won’t go in, if you don’t want me to. I trust you, Grace. With my life. I know you’ll tell me important information.”

  This man. She’d just revealed she had been Hector’s mistress for at least eight months. A drug lord! A murderer. Gunrunner. Who knew what else he was responsible for? And he was trying to make sure she could trust him with her privacy.

  “I don’t deserve a friend like you, Hollis.”

  He laced his hand in hers, then brought it to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “I’ll call the prison, find out when we can go. If we can.”

  “Can I be alone awhile?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “And then...then later would you mind bunking on the love seat in here? I don’t want to be alone when night comes.” So what? She was admitting to fear.

  He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I would do anything for you, Grace. I’m not afraid of your past. Don’t you be.” He shut her door with a quiet click and she curled up in a ball and wept until she was almost asleep. As she drifted off another memory forced its way into the forefront of her mind. So real. So vivid.

  Grace stood over two graves. Dressed in a black dress. Eyes red and swollen. Heart shattered into a million pieces. She felt every single stab. She was younger. Much younger—in her teens. Hair a little shorter.

  A man approached her. Only a little taller than her. He had thinning brown hair, a pointed nose and skinny lips. He wore dark-rimmed glasses that accentuated his ice-blue eyes. The rims were as red as hers. He put his arm around her and squeezed.

  She felt admiration and fatherly love for this man. Was it her father? No.

  “It’s just the two of us, kid. They loved you more than anything.”

  “I know,” she said. “What will I do now?”

  The man led her away from the fresh graves. Grace turned back. No names came. But she knew those graves had belonged to her parents. At some point in her late teens she’d lost them. She was orphaned. No family. If her memories returned, she’d still be alone.

  At the edge of the road, he paused and retrieved a black box from his pocket. “I found this in your father’s things. I suppose he meant to give it to you on your birthday in a few weeks. Your eighteenth...” They continued a conversation that felt blurred, fuzzy. Muffled.

  Grace opened the box.

  The locket! Her locket that she wore now. Given to her by her father. But he’d apparently died before then. He and her mother.

  Grace looked up at the man wearing glasses and fell into his arms weeping.

  When she opened her eyes, she wondered if she had dreamed it. No, it had been a memory.

  Where was that man now? Who was he? An uncle? A family friend perhaps. He might be searching for her. They’d estimated her age to be late twenties to early thirties. This memory must have happened ten to fifteen years ago—if they estimated her age correctly. Surely, this man was looking for her.

  Grace touched the locket, tried to open it. As usual, it was hopeless. It might be time to have it pried open, even if it did ruin it. Time to see if photos were inside and would force a memory.

  She went into the bathroom and washed her face, looked at her reflection in the mirror. Before long, she would be seeing Hector Salvador face-to-face. Talking to him might bring a memory. There were some concerning him she didn’t want to ever remember.

  She splashed more cold water on her cheeks as another memory surfaced.

  Grace stood in a luxurious spa bathroom, washing her face. A woman knocked on the door frame with a cheery smile, bright blue eyes and hair so blond it was almost white. Cut short at her chin. “Be careful, Max. If Hector finds out...he’ll try to kill you.”

  Grace grinned, cocky and sure of herself.

  “Don’t you worry about me.”

  “Well, I do,” she said and fluffed her hair. “That’s what best friends are for. Worry about one another and watch each other’s back.”

  Then the memory was gone.

  There had been a best friend. One who worried and warned her. Watched her back. Like Hollis.

  “Grace?” he called as if on cue. “Can I come in?”

  She entered the bedroom. “Of course.”

  He held a blanket and pillow. Dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt. Going to sleep on a cramped love seat for her. To keep her safe in the night.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  He plopped his pillow on the end of the love seat and spread out his blanket. “I’ve slept in worse places.”

  “I probably have too.”

  The room grew silent. She hadn’t meant at the compound, but there it was. In the air between them. Her past.

  “I’ll stay awake until you sleep,” he murmured.

  She slid into her covers and pulled them up to her chin. This man was entirely too good for her. Memories or not.

  When she opened her eyes, sunlight worked hard to stream through the dappled sky. The room was dim, only slivers of sunshine. Hollis sat on the love seat drinking a cup of coffee. What time was it? She checked her cell phone. Almost nine. She’d slept way past her normal time.

  “I wondered if I should wake you. Concussion. Coma.” He winked. The wall of tension that had been built last night was gone.

  She giggled. “I guess I was exhausted.”

  “I guess. Feeling reenergized?”

  She nodded.

  “Good. We’re seeing Hector Salvador today.”

  SEVEN

  Grace hadn’t been sure what to expect. A hardened criminal. Dead eyes. Maybe even prison tattoos like she’d seen on that one show. She hadn’t expected this.

  Hector Salvador sat comfortably in a plastic chair, pulling off an orange jumpsuit. How was that possible? While he was an evil man, he was striking. Charcoal-colored luxurious hair, cut short but not enough to do away with some natural curl. No hints of gray for a man in his late forties. He’d made sure to keep fit in prison.

  Grace swallowed and slowly approached him. Alone. Hollis had remained outside per her request. In this room, prisoners had open access to guests. Unchained. Armed guards stood in every nook and cranny.

  Her eyes met his. Black as night canopied by even darker lashes. For a brief moment, she caught his surprise at seeing her.

  She reached the table and he stood, graciously gesturing for her to have a seat. Might as well be entertaining a guest in his home. Guess he kind of was. “Valentina,” he said in heavy Hispanic accent. “Have you been missing me?”

  Grace eased into a chair, every nerve jumping. “I suppose you know by now that I don’t know where Dr. Sayer is.”

  A thick eyebrow rose. “You come to visit and offer no pleasantries?” He tsked her and smirked. “You can do better than that.”

 

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