Читать книгу Undercover Memories - Lenora Worth - Страница 14

The next day, Ryder headed back to the hospital to check on Emma. He’d put a patrol on her door while he did some digging on both the pretty PI with the head wound and the two goons who’d allegedly left her for dead.

One perk of being a vice cop, if there was such a thing. He had a lot of confidential informants who’d squeal for anything from money to food to opioids to get them through the day. He didn’t hand out drugs as prizes, but he did offer people cash to get food or do whatever their conscience allowed or forced them to do. Some of his informants had turned their lives around and often thanked Ryder for helping them. Some died or disappeared.

But last night, one had come through for him.

“I saw her,” the kid everyone called Junior had told him in a hushed voice while they hid behind some buildings and trees about a block from the Triple B. His eyes were swollen from too much vodka and pot and his face showed signs of a whole lot of soul-searching and streetwalking. “She was pretty. Stood out. Asked a lot of questions. Wanted to know if any underage teens hung out at the Triple B.”

“Underage teens? So you think she was looking for someone? A runaway maybe?”

“Maybe. I told her all kinds come and go and she mentioned a name, but then I got out of there when Bounce and Ounce started stalking her.”

Ryder showed the CI a grainy picture of Emma he’d pulled from a social media page. “Does this look like the woman you saw?”

“Yep. I think that’s her. I remember that shiny hair—like red wine. She looked tough.”

“Yeah.” Ryder could attest to that and the shiny auburn hair. “Do you remember the name she mentioned?”

“No. Like I said, I had to leave quick.”

So now Ryder had established she had been in the bar and why she might have been there. And he had a possible eyewitness to seeing Bounce and Ounce going after her. But he knew from past experience the kid wouldn’t go on record with this information.

He’d given the kid a twenty. “Go get a shower and some food at the shelter down the street.”

Ryder figured the kid would buy drugs and liquor with the money but prayed he’d at least get some food in him. Nasty business, the things Ryder saw each day. But he always remembered his daddy’s advice.

“Pray the ugly away.”

I’m trying, Daddy.

Remembering his larger-than-life father who’d been sheriff in Denton County for twenty-eight years before he’d been shot down while off duty, Ryder again wondered why he did this job. He’d just gone off to college when his dad had died. Ryder had come home and finished up at a junior college near the ranch. Criminal justice. Then he’d headed to the police academy and never looked back. Or maybe he always looked back. Hard to tell.

He wanted justice, of course. He could go home to the ranch that had been in his family for generations and make a nice living off the livestock and the land, but this job kept tugging him back. According to his mother, he had a death wish. One she and his teenaged sister wanted him to give up.

Ryder wasn’t quite ready to walk away from crime.

Especially not now. Emma Langston had put a kink in his undercover investigation, but she’d also rallied some long-lost thread of feeling inside his heart. Curiosity had him by the throat. Her expressive eyes had him by the heart.

Not wise. No time for such notions. He didn’t take the time to have a love life. His job scared women away. His mother tried to set him up with fine, upstanding churchgoing single women. But the minute he mentioned working Vice in downtown Dallas, he never saw those sweet women again and usually saw wedding photos of them on social media. That kind married doctors and lawyers and ranchers. Not detectives who walked through the seamy, ugly side of life. Nope. No time to even think about Emma’s immediate hold on him.

She’s not that kind.

Okay, his always-arguing brain had him on that one.

She was not that kind at all. Different. Tough. Determined. Strong. Afraid. Secretive. Reckless and ruthless.

Maybe he didn’t need her kind in his life either.

But he checked with the nurses’ station and got permission to go in and see Emma even while his brain told him to let it go. Then he talked to the officer who’d stood watch.

“All quiet,” Seth Conyers said. “I sat in that chair all night and I have the bad back to prove it.”

“I’ll be here for a while,” Ryder told the officer. “Go on home to your wife. I’ll stay until your relief shows up.”

Ryder didn’t want to be at the station right now anyway. As he’d figured, Bobby Doug Manchester had shown up to speak to the chief about “the constant barrage of criminals and indecent people who walked the streets of Dallas.” Ryder had left with the echo of the pompous businessman’s sarcastic wrath ringing in his ears.

“You keep at it, Detective Palladin. You’re doing such a great job.”

Ryder knocked and heard Emma call out, “Come in.”

She sat up in bed, her blue-green eyes watching the door with an alertness he recognized all too well as a flight risk. But her color was back and, other than a few bruises and the bandage on one side of her head, she looked much better.

Lifting her chin, she asked, “Did you send the uniform away?”

“You mean Seth? Yeah, he was ready for some shut-eye.”

“Are you his replacement?”

“And good morning to you, too.”

“I need your help to get me out of here.”

“Why, yes, I had a pretty good night myself, and thank you for asking.”

She sank back, her long hair slinking over her shoulder. “Sorry. I don’t make a good patient.”

“I never would have guessed.”

“I’m starving.”

“Didn’t they feed you?”

“I didn’t like the food here.”

“That explains why you’re still hungry. Or maybe just hangry.”

“I’m bored and aggravated—and hungry and angry. Will you help me?”

Letting out a tired sigh, Ryder sat down in the high-backed recliner across from the bed. “What exactly do you want me to do? Smuggle in some real food?”

“Bust me out of here,” she said on a quiet note that kind of tugged at his heartstrings. “I could use a good hamburger.”

Even with a huge bandage on her head, the woman showed a strength that seemed to buzz with electricity. That or he’d had one too many cups of coffee this morning. Ryder had never met anyone quite like Emma Langston. Here she sat with a busted head and wearing a faded hospital gown, but she had more gumption and grit than most of the notorious criminals he came up against on a daily basis. And she sure looked a whole lot prettier than them, too.

But he could not indulge in all that gumption and grit and prettiness. This job demanded all of his attention. He had to get to the bottom of why she was here so he could get on with his own investigation.

“I’m pretty sure your doctor and my chief would both frown on that,” he replied, referring to her earlier question.

“And I’m pretty sure you’re the kind who doesn’t worry about being frowned upon.”

“You know me so well already?”

“I know your kind.”

Glancing around, he took in that assumption and said, “So did you remember anything else?”

“I didn’t sleep, so I had time to think about things.”

That wasn’t exactly a good answer. “And?”

“And I need to be out there, not lying here.”

“You do know you have a head injury even if your head is too hard to get that, right? What does your doctor say?”

“He’s done a set of questions and because I can’t answer all of them, he wants me to rest. But I can’t rest.”

“What did you remember, Emma? And don’t try to con me.”

Emma worried with her covers, her fingers curling into the soft white fleece of the warm blanket. How much could she trust him? How much did he know already? What if he was part of this? What if he knew more than he was letting on?

Testing him, she asked, “How far did you get with my background check?”

His eyebrows winged up in surprise. “Far enough. Since you either can’t or won’t share what you remember, I’ll tell you what I know.”

She didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Fighting with her brain all night had brought her nothing but a bad case of anxiety. Even her dreams made no sense.

“You were born in Galveston. You attended school there and in Houston—several different schools—but you were a straight-A student. Graduated with honors and a little scholarship money and went to the University of Texas. Studied criminology. Worked as a police officer for two years and then ventured out on your own to become a private investigator.”

He named her address, and a vague memory came alive inside her brain. A memory of almost being at peace with herself.

Almost.

“I was a police officer?” Emma squinted, tried to find the shattered pieces of her memory. Faces and arguments, shame and danger. She didn’t want to remember.

Those scattered memories, just as the doctor had said. But the doctor had also told her that happened in about a third of amnesia patients. Emma thought these little islands of floating memories made it much worse. They offered glimmers of hope but made her head feel like a jigsaw puzzle.

Ryder continued, his gaze studying her with a new shine. “Thirty-one years old and single.”

He said that in a way that suggested he approved. But again, Emma felt something like a dull knife stabbing at her heart. “Guess I don’t have much of a love life.”

His eyes held hers a little too long on that last note. “Tried any dating sites?”

“Wow, Detective, you sound as if you’re casing me for a date or something. Do you hang out on match-up sites a lot?”

“If I did,” he said with a slow drawl that feathered its way down her spine, “I’m guessing I wouldn’t find any information on one Emma Langston there.”

“You’d be right on that, but what would it matter? Seems you know more about me than I know myself. Like I said, I don’t date very much.”

“And you remembered that, at least.”

“I’m remembering odd things,” she admitted. “Any deep, dark secrets in my background check?”

“I did find one thing interesting,” he said, his voice calm and controlled and clear. But he hesitated.

“What?” she asked, her heart pumping. “I can handle it. Just tell me.”

“Emma, you were a foster child. You went through the system from the time you were five and lived in several different homes around the Houston area.”

Emma grabbed the blanket covering her, her fingers digging into the lightweight fabric. Her heart went cold, vague memories echoing through the pain in her head. “I... I don’t...remember. Why can’t I remember?”

“Hopefully it will come to you,” he said, his tone soft and low. “You also have a gap in your background. Almost a whole year between high school and college. But you would have just aged out so maybe you took off and stayed low until you decided to work your way through college.”

Emma stared him down, her mind like a massive cobweb. She didn’t remember very much, but that missing year seemed to jump right out at her, like a bad clown trying to scare her. Shivers made goose bumps on her arms.

“Any record of what happened to my parents? How did I wind up in the system?”

“I haven’t found anything on that yet,” he admitted. “But I found something in your wallet. A picture of a couple and an address on the back. But no names. Maybe they were your birth parents.”

He pulled out a photo encased in clear plastic and handed it to her. “Do you recognize them?”

Emma stared at the couple, the term birth parents chilling her like ice water. The woman had a classic bob haircut, grayish and simple. The man wore glasses and had a nice smile. Something tugged at Emma when she recognized her own handwriting in the hastily jotted address. A push and pull that she didn’t want to explore. She took in breaths, a sense of foreboding making it hard to find air.

“Did you contact these people based on that address?” she asked Ryder.

“Not yet.” He watched her staring at the photo. “But I have someone down south who does the same kind of work you do. He’s waiting for us to give him the go-ahead to question them.”

“Don’t,” she said. “Not yet. I can’t remember these people so...let’s see if I can figure it all out before we approach them.”

“Are you afraid?”

Her pulse bumped into an erratic beat. “I don’t understand what I am right now. Maybe they were my clients? But why would I carry their picture in my wallet?”

“They could tell us why.”

“Not yet,” she said, her gut holding her back. “I’m a PI. I keep quiet on a lot of things. What if I came here investigating those people?”

“Do you think that?”

“I can’t be sure. But before we involve them, I’d like to hear what your friend finds out.”

Ryder took the picture back and then gave her a blank stare. “What are you leaving out? What’s going on with you? You’ve wanted to get out there and get at it, and now you’re holding back on me.”

“I told you, I don’t remember much,” she replied. “I feel it in my gut, though. I had to have come here looking for someone. I must be looking for a certain person. That couple could be my clients or they could be part of the problem.”

He sat up and nodded, but he didn’t push her on anything else. “I talked to a source who saw you in the Triple B. Said you were asking a lot of questions about underage teens. Does that ring a bell?”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Can you find my cell phone, please?”

“Emma?”

“I told you, I want to leave the hospital and I’ll do it, with or without you.”

“Don’t be foolish. How can you solve this thing when you can’t even remember much past your name and occupation?”

She bit her lip and hit her fists against the blanket in frustration. “Would you leave, please?”

“I’m trying to help you,” he said, his own aggravation darkening his golden eyes to burnished brown. “Let me work this thing out.”

“It might be too late,” she cried out. “And don’t ask me how I know that.”

Ryder got up and touched her hand. “Look, my partner and I are working on this. There are some bad elements at the Triple B and we’re trying to break up a dangerous ring of criminals. You don’t need to be in the middle of that.”

“I’d say I’m already in the middle of that,” she retorted.

“I’ll keep beating at the bushes and I’ll report back to you every day. How about that?”

Knowing he’d come here to see her made Emma feel better and also made her let go of some of her hesitations. But she had no intention of lying here like a sitting duck.

“They’ll find me,” she said. “I saw a brief report on the evening news late last night. About me.”

Anger shot over his features. “What?”

“They didn’t name me but they reported an unidentified woman being attacked behind the Triple B and that she was in a local hospital.” She swallowed, wishing she hadn’t told him that, but he’d find out soon enough. “The report indicated the Triple B is a very dangerous place. Especially for vulnerable young women. Then they talked to a local businessman named Bobby something who ranted about crime in that area.”

Ryder shook his head and groaned. “Bobby Doug Manchester. A lawyer and a real estate tycoon who’s always griping about the crime around that part of town. Speculators think he’s gearing up to run for office one day. Reporters listen to the police scanners. On slow nights, they go for any scrap of news even when they don’t have all the facts, and Bobby Doug listens in and rants on about crime in his district since he’d like to buy out the vacant buildings around there. He probably tipped off the reporters.”

Ryder figured that was what his early morning visit to the station earlier had been all about. The self-righteous Bobby Doug hounded the locals on a regular basis.

“Well, I’m that scrap of news and the man made it clear he wants the lowlifes off the streets of Dallas,” she replied, her tone calming now. “I’m a PI investigating some sort of case that somebody wants to keep me from investigating, and someone else is paying me to do that. I don’t need some ambitious businessman mentioning me by name so he can gain points. Another reason why I need to get out of here.”

Ryder stood over her, worry clouding his face. “Part of the report you heard in the news is correct, Emma. I’m doing my best to get rid of that bad element at the bar, so I don’t need the press or Bobby Doug snooping around. But then again, maybe someone wants the press involved enough to scare you away. Do you believe those two were going to kill you?”

“I’m pretty sure of it,” she said, nodding. “I must have asked too many questions about something they didn’t want me to know.”

Ryder lowered his head and gave her a direct stare. “Or you were close to finding someone they didn’t want you to find.”

“I need my cell phone,” she said, turning to get out of bed.

“We didn’t find a phone on you or near you. And if we had, it would have gone to the lab.”

“But it might help me remember something or find out why I came here. Are you sure?”

“We didn’t find anything like that near where you were attacked. No purse or phone, nothing except your wallet...and a weapon.”

“I carry a gun?”

“Yes, and you’ve got a permit for that. Already cleared. Your gun is safe back at headquarters in the evidence room. It hasn’t been fired recently. Clean as a whistle.”

Another strong memory of trying to get to the gun. “I rarely have to use the thing.”

He looked in the locker next to the bathroom. “Your wallet is right here in the bag with your clothes, but we cataloged and photographed what we found. The crime scene techs didn’t find much in the alley, but they did dust the Dumpster where you fell.”

She took in a gulp of air. “I was shoved against the Dumpster.”

“You remembered?”

“Yes, someone shoved me. They held me but I fought back until one of them found the sweet spot on that bat.” She held tight to the blanket and sheet. “Somebody shouted just as the bat came down. I managed to move my head, but obviously it still made contact.”

“Another odd memory.”

“Do you believe me, Detective Palladin?”

“Should I believe you, PI Emma Langston?”

“Why would I lie? I’m remembering bits and pieces. That’s all I’ve got for now. Why don’t you go Dumpster diving and see if Bounce and Ounce threw away my phone?”

Ryder settled in the nearby chair but never really answered any of her questions. She didn’t blame him for doubting her, but it stung either way. Frustration made her lash out. “What do you think?”

“Bounce and Ounce would have cleaned up the scene if Pierce hadn’t sent them scurrying. Those two have heavy records on petty crime and a nice history of several assaults, so they’d have no qualms about murdering anyone. But we can’t find them to get their side of things. There wouldn’t have been any trace of you ever being there if they’d succeeded.”

“You think they have my phone?”

He held up a finger. “I’m going to send Pierce back out there with the techs to check the Dumpster again. They would have checked it the other night—or should have. They might find something new with today’s trash dump, though.”

“I must have had a car. How else could I get there?”

“Do you remember a car?”

She closed her eyes, then hit her fists against the sheets. “No. Nothing. Maybe I took the DART.”

She watched as he texted someone. How could she remember the transit system and not the people in that photo? Who were they? Did they hire her?

Ryder didn’t notice her inner agitation. “My partner will know if they found your car, but we didn’t find it last night. Bounce could have hidden it and your phone.”

“I remember a dark parking lot. A long street.”

“That’s something at least.” He finished the text, his eyes on her again. “If we find an abandoned vehicle nearby we can trace the license and registration and see if it belongs to you.”

“Yep. First thing I’d try.”

“Funny, that memory of yours. Selective.”

“The doctor said it could be this way.”

“I read up on amnesia, so I reckon he’s got you all figured out.”

He was calculating, and her not having a phone with her wasn’t adding up. Not in her disoriented thoughts either. “Maybe I purposely left my phone in the car. You know, to keep them from seeing something I’d saved there.”

“We’ll go with that for now. That, or they have the phone and already know what’s on it.”

“Okay.” Her heart was sinking by the minute while her pulse seemed to be rising. “I need to get out of here, Ryder.”

Ryder went back to the locker again. “When you’re able.” Then he went into the bathroom, probably checking the place out for weapons or things she’d hidden, since he obviously didn’t believe her or think she should leave the hospital.

She was about to show him that she was able to get up and go but the door opened and a janitor entered with a big cart. “I need to clean the AC filters.”

Emma glanced toward where Ryder had gone still beyond the bathroom door, his hand on his weapon, a finger to his mouth. Then she glanced back at the man and shook her head.

“Excuse me?” she said, stalling. “I don’t see any filter vents in here.”

The man didn’t elaborate.

Ryder didn’t wait. He whirled around the door, his gun drawn and aimed at the man. “Show me some ID.”

The surprised intruder took one look at Ryder and pushed the cart toward him, then managed to tug at the door and run down the long hospital hallway.

“Don’t move, Emma,” Ryder called out. Then he hurried down the hall ordering the nurses to call security. “Lock this place down,” he shouted. “Now.”