Читать книгу With the Material Witness in the Safehouse - Carla Cassidy - Страница 8

Chapter Three

“I don’t understand how I can know that my parents immigrated to New England when I was thirteen years old, that my first-grade teacher’s name was Mrs. Zoller and that I wore a navy blue dress to my high school prom, but I can’t remember what’s happened over the past seven months of my life.” Britta released a sigh of frustration and twisted a strand of her hair around her index finger.

“You heard what the doctor told you—don’t try to push it, and hopefully your memory will eventually return,” Ryan said as he turned the steering wheel to make a left-hand turn.

She released her hair and cast him a surreptitious glance. He’d shown up this morning at the clinic with newspaper articles, clippings and official documents to substantiate everything he’d told her the day before.

She’d read about the shooting in Boston, about testifying at the trial and had finally agreed to go with him to the safehouse. She really had no other choice. She wasn’t sure whom she could trust, but Ryan Burton had the right credentials and she felt as if she had little other choice.

“Where is this place you’re taking me?” she asked.

“A little bungalow down by the docks.”

She frowned and turned her attention out the window. The skies were overcast and the streets were still fairly deserted due to the early morning hour. The shops they passed looked quaint and inviting, but an unexpected shiver whispered up her spine. “Wouldn’t it be better if we just left this place altogether?”

She didn’t know whether the chill came from the knowledge that she had no memory, that she was in the company of a man she didn’t know if she could trust or if it came from the gray-shrouded little fishing village itself. All she knew was she had an overwhelming desire to escape, but escape where?

Ryan shot her a quick glance, his intense green eyes giving nothing away of his inner thoughts. “We can’t leave here until I know for sure where you’ve been and what happened to you in those missing four days.”

“You’re worried about the last four days of my life and I’m missing months,” she replied dryly.

He pulled into the driveway of a tiny pale blue cottage with yellow trim. He parked in front of the detached garage, then unfastened his seat belt and turned to look at her once again.

“I’m not particularly worried about the months you can’t remember because I know where you were and what you were doing for most of that time. But you came here and promptly disappeared. Somebody gave you a drug that has a hypnotic effect and we don’t know who or, more important, why. The answers to those questions are here and we’re not leaving until we have them.”

She could drown in his eyes, the green depths pulling her in. She broke eye contact with him and rubbed a hand across her forehead where a headache pounded with unrelenting madness.

“Let’s get settled in,” he said.

Together they got out of the car and he led her to a side door. He unlocked the door and they entered into a small kitchen. The blue and yellow colors of the exterior continued here with yellow curtains at the window and blue-and-yellow tiles on the floor.

It was a cheerful room, but the cheerfulness couldn’t ease the edge of disquiet that fluttered through her. She was putting her trust in a man she couldn’t remember, staying in a town where something had happened to her that she knew in her soul hadn’t been good.

What’s more, even though she didn’t remember Ryan, just looking at him evoked an edge of something she couldn’t quite identify…a tension of sorts that had nothing to do with the situation but everything to do with the man.

Wanting to explore the place she would call home for at least the next couple of days, she left the kitchen and entered into the small living room.

Once again the floor was tiled, probably because of the close proximity to the ocean and the sandy beaches. The furniture was simple, a sofa and love seat in dark beige, wooden coffee table and an entertainment unit holding a television and several ragged paperback novels.

The hallway led to a bathroom and one small bedroom with a double bed and a dresser. The walls were a cool summer green, complemented by the green-and-white spread on the bed.

“You can have this room and I’ll bunk on the sofa,” Ryan said from behind her.

She turned to face him. “Who owns this place?”

“A young couple who comes here for a month in the summer and rents it out the rest of the year. For the next three months the FBI has rented it.”

“Three months? Surely we won’t be here that long.” She felt as if she’d already lost so much of her life. She didn’t want to lose another three months. But when this was all over, where would she begin her new life? She raised a hand to her head once again where her headache had intensified.

“Headache?” he asked. She gave him a small nod and thought she saw a flash of sympathy darken his eyes. “Why don’t you lie down for a little while? I’ve got phone calls to make, and once you feel better, we’ll talk about how things are going to go here.”

At the moment lying down sounded like a wonderful idea. She hadn’t realized how weak she still was until this moment. The bed looked inviting, and at least if she took a little nap, she wouldn’t have to worry about the fact that she couldn’t remember her immediate past and had no idea what her future held.

As Ryan left the bedroom, Britta stretched out on the bed. She lay on her back and stared up at the ceiling, trying to process everything she knew, but finding it impossible not to dwell on all the things she didn’t know.

She wasn’t even wearing her own clothes. Ryan had arrived at the clinic that morning with a bag of clothing from a nearby discount store. Although the underclothes had been the right size, the sweatpants and sweatshirt were far too big and an ugly color, not quite yellow and not quite green.

With a sigh she closed her eyes. The dream began before she realized she’d fallen asleep. She saw herself in a long white gown. An intricate necklace of seashells lay heavy around her neck.

The sand was warm beneath her feet as she walked the shore. The moon overhead was full, illuminating the tumultuous waves with a ghostly light.

The sea called to her, wanting her to come home. She walked toward the water, unable to fight the siren song that sang in her head, urging her forward.

She barely felt the salty water that embraced first her feet, then her legs, although she gasped slightly as it reached her waist and then her chest. She continued to walk until the water was up to her neck, then her chin, then finally over her head.

There was no panic, nothing except a strange calm acceptance that this was where she was supposed to be. The sea was her destiny.

It wasn’t until she was deep beneath the surface where the moon no longer shone that panic first stirred in her. Her heart pounded as she realized she couldn’t breathe. Her lungs began to burn and she tried to swim up, but anemones in various shapes and colors wrapped around her and held her in place. She fought, thrashing her arms and legs in an attempt to escape.

“Britta!”

The deep voice pulled her from the dream, and her eyes snapped open to see Ryan sitting on the edge of the bed. For just a moment it seemed completely natural for him to be on the bed with her, and that only added to her confusion.

He stood, every muscle in his body rigid as he shoved his hands into his pocket. “You must have been having a nightmare. You were crying out.”

She sat up and tried to remember her dream, but it slipped away as full consciousness returned. “I’m sorry.” She worried a hand through her hair. “How long was I asleep?”

“About an hour. How’s the headache?”

“Better.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood.

“I fixed lunch. Are you hungry?” he asked as they left the bedroom.

She nodded, surprised to discover that she was hungry. The catered clinic food had been abysmal, so she didn’t know when the last time was that she’d had a good meal.

He pointed her to a chair at the table where he’d already set plates and silverware, then went to the refrigerator and pulled out a bowl of pasta salad. He set it in the middle of the table, then returned to the fridge for a platter of cold cuts. “It’s nothing elaborate.”

“It looks good.”

He handed her a bottle of diet soda, then poured himself a glass of milk. It was disconcerting that he knew her well enough to know what she’d want to drink, and yet she couldn’t remember a darn thing about him.

“We need to go by the inn and get my things,” she said once he was settled in the chair opposite her. “I’m assuming I arrived here in town with at least a suitcase.”

“I don’t want to do that,” he replied. “I bought you some extra clothes and I’ll get you whatever else you need.”

She frowned. “I don’t understand. Why can’t I just get my own things?” Maybe the familiarity of her own clothes would jog something in her memory.

“Right now the only person who knows that you’ve been found is the doctor and a nurse or two. I don’t want anyone else to know because I intend to ask questions about you, questions that will hopefully make somebody nervous enough to show themselves.”

“And then what?”

“Then we find out just what in the hell happened to you over those four days.”

An unexpected chill walked up her spine. She wasn’t at all sure she wanted to know what had happened to her.

RYAN SHOULD NEVER HAVE gone into the bedroom when he’d heard her crying out. Seeing Britta lying on the bed had brought back a rush of memories he’d tried hard to forget. Even now, as he sat across the table from her, those memories of making love with her lit a simmering flame in the pit of his stomach.

She’d been a wildly passionate lover, a woman comfortable with her own body and equally comfortable with his. They’d been holed up in a duplex for months and there had been few places in that tiny space that they hadn’t made love.

He cast her a surreptitious glance. She picked at the pasta salad as if finding it nearly unpalatable. “You know, if you don’t like it, you don’t have to eat it,” he said. “I’m not exactly a master chef.”

She looked up at him and smiled. It was the first smile she’d offered him, and the power of that gesture kicked him right in the stomach. “It’s very good. I’m just not as hungry as I thought I was.” She set down her fork, obviously deciding not even to pretend to eat.

“I’m overwhelmed at the moment by everything that’s happened since I woke up in the clinic,” she said softly. “I guess I’d feel more comfortable if I at least remembered you.”

He’d feel more comfortable if she never remembered him. “We just need to take this one day at a time,” he replied. “Hopefully in the next couple of days I can find out what happened to you, and in the meantime maybe your memory will start to come back.”

“I hope so,” she said fervently. She tilted her head slightly to one side and gazed at him for a long moment. “I feel as if I’m at such a disadvantage here. You know me well enough to know what I’d want to drink with my lunch and yet I don’t know anything about you.”

“I know what you like to drink because while you were in my custody we ate meals together, but we didn’t share a lot of personal information.” He looked down at his plate so she wouldn’t see the lie in his eyes.

If and when she regained her memories there would probably be hell to pay for the lies he was telling, but he’d worry about that when the time came.

“So, we weren’t really friends?” There was a faint wistfulness in her tone.

He could only imagine that in her present state she was desperately seeking a connection to somebody…to anybody. “We were friendly,” he conceded.

She smiled again, and the flame that had lit in the pit of his stomach burned a little hotter. He got up from the table, feeling the need to get out of there, to escape her nearness.

Besides, he had work to do, and it wouldn’t get done by him sitting here with her. “I’m going to finish unloading the car, then head out for a couple of hours.” He didn’t wait for her reply but went out the back door and to the car.

He had not only his suitcase in the trunk, but also several shopping bags from the discount store. He gathered up everything and returned to the cottage.

Britta followed him into the living room where he dumped all the bags on the sofa. “There’re clothes and toiletries for you in here.” He placed his suitcase on the floor and opened it. On top of his clothes was a cell phone and charger. “This is for you,” he said as he handed her the phone, then plugged the charger into an electric socket in the wall.

“I’ll give you my number so that you can call me if you need me,” he continued. “Stay away from the doors and windows. Nobody knows you’re here and I want to keep it that way.”

“So basically I’m a prisoner here,” she said flatly.

He forced a lazy grin to his lips. “That’s right, darlin’, and I’m your number-one jailer.” He laced his voice with his Texas drawl. “And while I’m out trying to figure out what’s going on in this little village, you might want to use your energy and cook me up a good dinner.”

Her eyes narrowed and her back went rigid, just as he knew they would. She’d hated it before when he’d used the little-woman routine on her, which was why he wanted to use it and see if it brought back any memories. The fact that she merely nodded and didn’t explode let him know just how fragile she was.

“I should be back in a couple of hours.” Once again he felt an incredible need to gain some distance from her. “Lock the doors and call me if you need anything.”

He didn’t wait for her reply but instead stepped out of the back door and into the briny-scented air. This was going to be more difficult than he’d thought.

When he’d walked away from Britta months ago, he’d put her in his past. He’d been determined never to see her again, that she would never be part of his life again. But her disappearance and the fact that she might be in trouble had changed everything.

He stood in front of the house and gathered his thoughts. He’d start at the docks. He wasn’t sure of the best way to proceed, but he’d decided to play the role of Britta’s boyfriend, desperately seeking any information about his missing lover.

He patted his pocket where he had a picture of himself and Britta tucked inside. It had been taken months ago, and it was a particularly good photo of Britta.

As he headed toward the docks, dark clouds hung low overhead and the scent of decaying fish grew stronger despite a wind that had picked up. The ocean looked unwelcoming with whitecaps shooting up with tremendous force. A rumble of thunder in the distance announced a coming storm.

A group of men sat at an old wooden picnic table, their sunburned faces identifying them as men who spent most of their time on the water. Ryan ambled toward them with a friendly smile. If he was ever going to pull out his good-ol’-boy-from-Texas act, now was the time.

“How you all doing?” he asked, then cast his gaze back out to the tumultuous sea. “Guess it’s not a good day to be out fishing.”

“We can afford to take a day off,” a man with white hair and a grizzly beard said. “Been pulling in the best hauls of our lives lately.”

“Ryan Burton,” Ryan said, and stuck out his hand.

“They call me Captain Claybourne,” the old man said as he grabbed Ryan’s hand in a firm shake. He pointed to the man next to him, a young man with a shock of blond hair. “This here is Sam Lanier.” Ryan nodded, and Captain Claybourne then pointed to the man across the table. “And that’s Alex Gibson.” Alex Gibson raised a hand in greeting, his bright blue eyes holding a touch of reserve.

“So, the fishing business has been booming,” Ryan said as Captain Claybourne gestured him to a seat at the table.

“I’ve been fishing these waters for fifty years, and I’ve never seen anything like it,” Claybourne exclaimed, and shook his head. “We’re pulling in new records every day. It doesn’t seem to matter what kind of fish it is, they’re all as big as I’ve ever seen them.”

“Gonna make us all wealthy men,” Sam said with a wide grin.

“Don’t be spending the money too freely,” Alex said. “You never know with the sea when things might go bad again.”

There was a sober moment of silence, then Captain Claybourne eyed Ryan curiously. “You vacationing here in Raven’s Cliff?”

“Actually, I’m trying to chase down a woman,” Ryan replied.

“Aren’t we all,” Alex replied dryly.

The other two men hooted. “Don’t let Lucy hear you saying stuff like that,” Sam exclaimed. “Lucy owns Tidal Treasures, a little trinket shop,” he explained to Ryan, “and she and Alex have been seeing each other.”

“Well, I’m here in town looking for my girlfriend,” Ryan replied as he pulled the photo from his pocket. He handed it to Captain Claybourne, aware of a subtle hierarchy among the men. “She got here a couple of days ago but nobody has seen her since the night she arrived.”

Claybourne looked at the photo then shook his head and handed it to Sam. “Sorry, I haven’t seen her around.”

“Me, neither,” Sam replied.

Alex took the photo and studied it, then shrugged his broad shoulders. “Sorry.” He handed the photo back to Ryan, who pocketed it once again.

“Have you talked to Captain Swanson?” Claybourne asked.

“Nah, I’ve been reluctant to go to the authorities. Valerie has a history of disappearing then turning up again,” Ryan replied. “Besides, he has enough on his hands with the accident that happened at the wedding of the mayor’s daughter.”

“Yeah, we weren’t invited to the wedding, but we heard about it,” Sam said. He shook a cigarette from a pack and lit it. He took a deep pull, released the smoke, then shook his head. “Crazy, huh, how she got blown off that cliff and just disappeared. You’d think her body would have been found by now. We all searched.”

“Sometimes the sea doesn’t give up what it takes,” Alex said.

Ryan stood, knowing there was nothing else to ask them, no reason to linger. None of them had displayed any suspicious-looking expressions as they’d looked at the photo of Britta. “Well, I appreciate your time and it was nice meeting you all.”

“Sorry we couldn’t be of help. You going to be around the area in case we do see your woman?” Claybourne asked.

“I’ll be around,” Ryan replied. He didn’t want to give them any information about where he was staying to lead anyone to Britta, so with a small wave, he left the men and headed farther up the dock.

His cell phone rang and he grabbed it from his pocket and checked the caller ID. It was Michael Kelly. “I did some checking into that drug you asked me about,” he said when Ryan answered. “I can’t find any information on Stinging Flower. It’s not in the database and nobody I’ve asked has ever heard of it.”

Ryan frowned with frustration. He’d been hoping to learn more about the drug that had been injected into Britta. “You’ll keep digging?”

“Yeah, but I have a feeling at least for now it’s a dead end. You sure you don’t need me out there? I could help you turn over stones to try to find out what happened.”

“No, I don’t want two of us asking questions and bringing unwanted attention to all this. I met the captain of the police department. He seems like a sharp guy. I don’t want to get him involved in this because I’m afraid he’ll dig deep enough to find out that Valerie King isn’t who we say she is. The fewer people who know the truth about her, the better. If I have to go to him later, I will. But at the moment I’m trying to keep this as low-key as possible.”

“Okay, it’s your call,” Michael said. “Is she still not remembering anything?”

“Nothing,” Ryan replied. “Who knows if she’ll ever remember what happened in Boston. I just wish she could remember where she’s been since she arrived here in Raven’s Cliff.”

“You have any ideas at all?”

Ryan frowned once again. “No, not a clue,” he finally replied. “But hopefully that will change over the next couple of days.”

After he hung up, Ryan remained standing on the dock, staring out at the storm clouds that drew closer. The approaching darkness in the sky filled him with a sense of apprehension.

He was a man trained in dealing with facts, and there was absolutely no factual basis for what he felt in his soul. And what he felt was that there was an evil here in Raven’s Cliff and for four days Britta had somehow been a part of it.