Читать книгу Recovered Secrets - Jessica R. Patch - Страница 16

“Well, Grace...ready or not,” Hollis said and pointed to the disassembled rifle lying in its box on the outdoor table. “Let’s see if you’ve done this before.”

She hoped she hadn’t. Not once. Not ever.

Last night it had rained too much for them to attempt any shooting practice and she simply couldn’t bring herself to try and assemble the rifle. But it was Tuesday midmorning and the rain had let up—the heavy clouds were a warning it would make its return, and she had no more excuses. Only a couple of guests had been around to witness the scene yesterday, and Tish handled it with grace and a free night’s stay. Plus maple pecan muffins. That alone was worth staying at the Muddy River Inn.

Hollis had insisted on he and Grace staying in adjoining rooms at the inn to be on the safer side. It was clear that no matter what she said to try and push him from this situation and the danger, he wasn’t going to back down. A sliver of her felt guilty, but mostly, she felt grateful and protected.

Grace stared at the rifle and her fingers twitched. She didn’t remember holding one. Right now, nothing came to mind. She reached out, hesitated. “I feel stupid.”

“I say that at least once a week. Maybe today’s your day of the week.”

“I don’t know how to do this, Hollis. I’m blank.” Except the innate feeling to pick it up and give it a go.

“Touch it. See what happens.”

She nodded and licked her lips. The best-case scenario, she couldn’t remember because this wasn’t something she’d done before—or often enough—for muscle memory to take over. Worst-case? She did know which meant...she’d killed people before. “I don’t want to.”

“Even if it might give us a lead? Give us more insight to who you might be? And why three men—so far—have come hunting you? The sniper might be one of—or with—the two men who jumped you when your tire blew. But it could have been someone entirely new sent to take out Peter, and now you...or to warn you. I don’t know. But that’s too many men who want to hurt you, and they have the advantage. I hate that one man wants you dead. So...maybe just...do it for me.”

There wasn’t anything Grace wouldn’t do for Hollister Montgomery.

She nodded and touched the long black case. She picked it up and placed it on the ground. Not the table.

Grace skimmed her fingers across a long piece with...pods. Lower receiver. She extended the bipod on the lower receiver and laid it on the ground. Oh boy.

She grasped the charging handle and pulled against the tension, withdrawing the midlock pin from its holder. A shaky breath let loose and she glanced at Hollis, but he stood with a grim expression, arms folded. He nodded for her to continue.

She slowly allowed the bolt carrier to come forward until there was no longer any spring tension and it rested in the lower receiver. Carefully, she picked up the upper receiver, making sure the barrel extension and feed ramp were correctly aligned.

She closed her eyes and a flash of memory came. She was dressed all in black, carrying the long black case up a flight of stairs.

She opened her eyes and slid the barrel forward until it was fully seated against the barrel stop. Quickly she slid the impact bumper into position, locked the rear pin into the barrel key, followed two more steps and put the upper receiver into position. After a few more swift maneuvers, she placed the midlock pin through the midlock hole in front of the magazine well on the bottom of the rifle until it was fully seated, locking the upper and lower receivers together. Once the receivers were mated, she loaded and inserted the magazine.

She heard the click and tugged on the magazine to ensure it was properly placed.

“Do you want me to shoot it too?” she asked, adjusting the pad to her shoulder and setting her sights.

“Do you want to shoot it?” Hollis asked.

Her stomach leaped and twisted. Fear and excitement rushed her. “I kinda do. See that tree about two hundred yards? There’s a broken branch.”

“You wanna hit a broken branch.” His tone all but screamed “too easy.”

“I want to hit that leaf dangling off the end.”

Hollis didn’t laugh, and she was only sort of joking. “Okay,” he whispered.

She set her sights. Looked up, peered through her scope. Grabbed her locket and kissed it, as if she’d done it a hundred times before. She thought she heard Hollis make a noise like a grunt, but she didn’t focus on him. She focused on her breathing and the target. Aimed. Fired.

The leaf blew to bits.

A wave of adrenaline raced through her, warming her blood and giving her a serious energy boost. She stood and shook her head. “I was half kidding. I didn’t think I could do it.”

“I knew you’d do it.” He held up a stopwatch. “I knew it when you beat my time. I can assemble this in twenty-four seconds. You did it in twenty-three, and that was with a slow start.”

She stared at the rifle, at the stopwatch, at the obliterated leaf. “Who am I?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.”

How could she remember assembling the gun and even the proper parts by name, but no memory of using it? How had she learned to do this and at such a fast rate? She must have been important in the military. “Wouldn’t the military be looking for me if I was still active?”

“They would.”

“Don’t you think they would have found me?” Her heart missed a beat as terror washed over the high she’d been on. “Why haven’t they? Unless...”

“You might not be military, Grace.”

She might be something sinister.

Hollis’s cell phone rang and he pulled it from his black fatigue pants. “It’s CCM.” He answered and put it on Speaker. “Hollis and Grace here.”

“Hey, guys. It’s Wilder.”

“And Wheezer,” the computer analyst piped in.

“And Wheezer,” Wilder said with a chuckle. “Since he’s itching to have a chat with y’all, I’ll let him give you the news.”

Finally, some news after ages of not having any.

“Wheezer here, again.”

Grace grinned at Hollis and he returned it.

“Here’s what we believe. The Dr. Sayer you’re searching for may be Patsy Mae Sayer. Sixty-one years old. Never been married. Works for the CDC but she disappeared two years ago when she worked overseas in Bogota, Colombia. She was researching yellow fever and malaria among refugees, and who knows what other top secret stuff.”

Hollis frowned. “Where was she before Bogota? Isn’t Atlanta where the CDC is based?”

“She’s spent decades in South America—mostly Bogota, but before that, yes. She’s from Illinois. Went to school at Yale. She’s a genius. PhD, Genetic bioengineer. It’s crazy how smart this woman is,” Wheezer said.

“I believe this is your doctor,” Wilder said. “For one, the timeline fits and no other Dr. Sayer is missing. Bogota may be the key link. If she was there and Latino men have come looking for her, then Colombians make sense. You may be connected to Bogota, Grace.”

Grace shivered. Why would she have been there? She couldn’t even remember where Colombia was, but she sure as the grass was green could assemble a sniper rifle. “Do you have the skills, Wheezer, to find out how many female snipers are in the military?”

Wheezer chuckled. “I am flattered that you would think that...and I don’t know...”

“Some things are off-limits, Wheezer,” Wilder said with a cautionary tone. “I don’t need the military getting a red flag they’ve been breached and descending on us.”

Right. True. Grace was desperate.

“And even if I could—which I might—it would take a long time to crack through the number of firewalls and encrypted security. Do you think you might be a sniper in the military?” he asked.

No. She was afraid she was a gun for hire or something equally as terrifying. But the Colombian men didn’t think the doctor was dead. Which meant Grace hadn’t been sent to kill her. Kidnap her? She needed a paper bag to breathe in.

“She put a Barrett M82A1 together in twenty-three seconds, and that was because she was hesitating at first.”

Wilder whistled. “Well done, lady.”

Yeah. She guessed so. “What about Peter Rainey?”

“That’s where things get fun,” Wilder said. “Peter Rainey doesn’t exist. At least no one who matched the photo you sent. We called the rental car company. They weren’t missing any vehicles but when they did a check at our insistence, they did find a tag stolen along with some rental papers. They checked their cameras and sent us footage, but this guy was good. No facial image. Nothing we could even use to ping off. But it’s pretty obvious this Peter Rainey did it.”

Grace’s head might explode. What did this mean?

“Anything else?” Hollis asked.

“We ran a check on the make and model of the car. We found one reported stolen from a used car lot about seventy miles from Cottonwood,” Wilder said.

Peter Rainey stole a car, stole a car tag and papers from a rental place which was pretty smart. If he was pulled over, he’d have the papers to match the license plate and the police would assume it was legit and not a stolen vehicle. “Thanks for all the help.”

“No prob. If you need anything else, we’re a phone call away.”

They hung up and Hollis stared into the wind. He rubbed the stubble on his chin.

After several long beats, Grace couldn’t stand it. Was he thinking the worst too? Would it change the way he felt about her—as a friend that is? Hollis didn’t think of Grace romantically. “I’m going to clean out the storage shed.” She rushed to the side of the building. Hollis didn’t follow. He was thinking the worst. His good friend, sweet Grace who rescued little girls from the woods, quilted with a group of senior ladies, baked cookies with Tish and drank chamomile tea probably blew heads off human beings for cash—if she wasn’t a sniper. But why would Colombians hunt down a military sniper? That made no sense. No... Grace had a sick feeling she wasn’t the good guy at all.

She hauled open the shed door and the smell of river water smacked into her senses. A tiny crack of light pushed its way through the filthy window. As she weaved through the equipment, kayaks, canoes and paddles hanging on the walls, she made her way to the back. She didn’t even know why she told Hollis she was coming to do this. The shed was in order and would never be spotless from dirt and cobwebs. She needed a minute to think. To process the information.

Hollis must have known that—or he was too overwhelmed and unable to find the words to come find her. It was a horrible situation and Grace might be a horrible person. Maybe she was overreacting. But if she’d been in a profession as docile as a kindergarten teacher, she wouldn’t be in Bogota or know how to assemble a rifle. She searched Bogota on her phone. Capital of Colombia. Terrorists! Drugs!

Hairs on her arms rose but before she could turn, a rowing oar came around her neck and strong arms used it to pull her backward, choking her with the wooden paddle. She elbowed the attacker and instead of trying to move forward, she pressed into him, giving her some room to breathe. Grace shoved him into the kayaks stacked against the wall.

“I wasn’t expecting too much of a fight,” he said.

Challenge accepted. That same crazy sensation rushed over her and without thought, she twisted around, but he shoved her forward and pulled a gun. “You’re going with me.”

She stared at the gun, her heart slamming into her rib cage, but a memory bobbed on the edge of her consciousness. She lurched forward, disarmed him in two moves and rendered him useless. She grabbed the ropes hanging on the wall and went to work. Whoever this man was, he was going to talk. No matter what she had to do.

* * *

Hollis heard the commotion in the shed. Grace probably knocked the kayaks over like dominoes again. He headed that way to help her but his mind wouldn’t let up on what he’d witnessed. She’d assembled that rifle like a pro. Like someone who had done it hundreds or thousands of times. He wasn’t sure what it meant, but it unsettled him. Not to mention, she had a memory flash in her kitchen that she didn’t want to share, one she tried to switch subjects about with hopes he’d forget, but he hadn’t. He wouldn’t. But Hollis wasn’t one to press. He had memories he would rather not share too.

He heard another thud and picked up his pace. When he reached the shed, Grace had an oar to a man’s neck and he was bound to a rickety chair.

“Who are you?” she asked with more force than he’d heard from her before.

The man in the chair was about Hollis’s height. Two-eighty. Military haircut. Hardened ice-blue eyes and defiance all over his clean-shaven face. Maybe mid-to late-twenties.

“Grace?” When Grace turned her head, she had the look of a hungry wolf. Teeth bared, wild eyes. Who was this woman?

“What?” she demanded with an edge in her voice.

A soft answer turneth away wrath.

The proverb swept through his mind. “Hey,” he whispered. “I just want to know what’s going on. Are you all right?”

Suddenly it was like a fog cleared in her eyes. She dropped the paddle and backed away as if she’d terrified herself.

“Go ahead,” the man said. “Do what you do best, lapdog. You won’t get anything out of me.” He laughed and Hollis assessed him. He was breakable. Still young. Tough. But he could be forced to talk. Hollis had no plans to try it. This wasn’t war, but Grace’s life was at stake. Had Hollis not shown up when he had, Grace may have tried to break the man, and she probably would have succeeded.

“I—I have no... I don’t even—” Grace rushed from the shed, sprinting across the yard.

Hollis turned to Crewcut. “Why did you call Mad Max a lapdog? You know she does what she wants when she wants. Or are you the lapdog sent to fetch her? Never actually seen her up close have you?” Hollis grinned, hoping his acting skills worked. If he could use the nickname and pretend as if he knew who she was, then this guy might slip up and give him another clue. And if Crewcut knew she was a lapdog, and if doing what she did best implied—he swallowed—torture, then this kid had severely underestimated Grace, which made him stupid or he knew her only by reputation—Mad Max. Maybe.

“Max is as good as dead.”

So he knew her nickname. Was it just Peter who called her that? Did this guy know Peter—or Peter’s real identity? Had he been the one to kill him?

“You hear me, dead. Whether or not she gives us the doctor.”

The temptation to throttle this guy was intense. He kept threatening Grace and no one was going to touch her. To keep his civility—even though this guy deserved a beating—Hollis exited the shed and chased after Grace. Then they’d figure out what to do with this guy. He wasn’t going anywhere, considering Grace’s skill with knots.

She stood by the water’s edge at the creek, her arms folded as she rubbed her upper arms. “I don’t know what happened. One minute I was terrified and fighting for my life and then it’s like everything went dark. A switch flipped and before I realized it, I had him tied to a chair. I have no idea what I would have done had you not shown up.” She faced him, tears in her eyes. “I think I’m a really bad person who’s done unspeakable things.”

Hollis closed the distance between them in three strides, pulling her to him in an embrace. “Grace, you don’t know anything for sure and no matter what you did in the past, that’s not who you are now. You’re that new creation, remember? In Christ. I see the way you care about people and are kind. Whatever happened back there...that isn’t who you are.” But when her memories surfaced, she might want more than this simple small-town life regardless of who she’d been. She might have loved ones—a romantic loved one—who had been searching for her.

“I know who I feel like most days, but lately... I’m scared, Hollis. For my life. For what my past holds. I’m afraid for you. You didn’t ask to be thrown into this. Your life is in danger by being associated with me. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.”

Warmth flooded him. Grace cared about him and his safety. That concern... He couldn’t even remember the last time someone cared for him so tenderly. Not since Mom died. Tish—she was like a mom, but it wasn’t the same. Grace... He couldn’t go there. “You’re a good friend, Grace. And friends help one another.”

She pulled away and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her long-sleeve T-shirt. “Yeah. Friends.” She sniffed and pointed toward the shed. “What do we do with him? He isn’t going to talk.”

“He would. Eventually. If we did what it would take. But I’m not going to. And neither are you. Let’s call Sheriff Freeman and he can decide.” Cord would be more curious about how a woman who was five foot six and didn’t come close to Crewcut’s weight class had subdued the hefty dude. Hollis was frightened of her capabilities, and thoroughly impressed.

They entered the shed. Crewcut was gone. Somehow he’d gotten out of the ropes. Hollis’s pulse pounded. “Get inside.” They had no idea where he was or if he had weapons stashed nearby. Hollis pulled his weapon from his ankle holster and covering Grace, they sprinted inside the training facility. Grace paced Hollis’s office.

“Do you think he’s the guy who shot Peter? Who shot at us at the river?” She gnawed her thumbnail. She was an absolute mess.

“Maybe. I can’t say for sure. But he didn’t bat an eye when I called you Mad Max.” Hollis told her his conversation. “Which means he has some connection with Peter. I don’t believe he’s ever had personal contact with you before now. I wish I knew how the pieces fit.” He’d give it another try. Hope she’d open up to him. Hollis couldn’t blame her if she wanted to keep some of her memories private, but... “Grace, would you tell me about the memory you had when you dropped the coffee pot? It could be relevant.”

She halted pacing and faced away from him. “I was with Peter. I think we may have been at a special event. He...he kissed me, and I was wearing an engagement ring.”

Hollis’s gut twisted. Grace and Peter more than likely had been a couple. Possibly engaged or married. All this time he’d been afraid she belonged to someone. Looked like to Peter. And she’d witnessed his murder. When her memories returned there would be grief even if Peter had betrayed her. “Do you know where you were in the memory?”

She refused to face him. Hollis slowly rounded his desk and laid his hands on her shoulders. “Grace, you are beautiful and bright. You were bound to have been in a relationship. I’m sorry you can’t remember it, and I’m sorry you had to see him like that.”

She finally turned. “You always know what to say. Always kind and thinking of others first. I wish I were that person.”

He cradled her cheeks. “You are.”

“I don’t know, Hollis. What if I become that awful person again? What if I want to when—if—my memory comes back?” She covered her eyes with the heel of her hands. “What if I can’t deal with everything I’ve done?”

He held her close and kissed the top of her head. “You can choose who you want to be. And we don’t know that you were a bad person. You could be a US Marshal. A soldier. A former soldier.”

“Or I could be an assassin.”

There was also that. But Hollis didn’t want to go down that road or what it would mean when she had total recall. Because that would make her a criminal. A murderer.

And that would mean she’d have to go to prison.