Читать книгу Fatal Recall - Carol J. Post - Страница 14
ОглавлениеThe 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.
