Читать книгу Collecting Evidence - Rita Herron - Страница 9

God, Aspen was even more beautiful that he’d remembered. Seeing her sitting on the floor with those kids triggered childhood memories of his mother doing the same with him and his siblings.

And served as a reminder that Aspen had intended to help children before her life had been interrupted by a murder.

Her long dark hair hung in a thick braid over her shoulder, her chocolate colored eyes huge and so sultry that once again he lost himself in the beautiful depths.

They were also pensive, pained by her loss.

Damn, he could almost feel the turmoil inside her, the need to replace her missing past with the truth. Yet she instinctively knew the truth wouldn’t be pretty, and she was frightened.

“Detective?” Her voice was pleading, searching his for answers. Answers that he didn’t have.

He studied her for any sign of recognition, for any glimmer that she would welcome him back in her life. That she knew that he could be trusted to stay by her side.

But he saw no indication that she knew who he was…or that she’d ever melted beneath his hands and mouth like a wanton lover.

Instead she looked at him as if he was a perfect stranger.

That hurt. He wanted her to know him, to recall what they’d had together, to want his touch as much as he craved hers.

Her face flushed slightly as he clung to her hand, and the trembling in her petite body and flushed expression in her eyes offered him a seed of hope. Even if she didn’t remember him, there was something there, a simmering, immediate attraction, just as the first time they’d touched and fallen into bed.

She was serving cocktails in that casino in Vegas, wearing a short little black skirt with a cropped T-shirt that hugged her breasts and exposed the smooth brown flesh of her flat stomach. Her voice had purred like a kitten, her movements fluid and seductive, her body so tempting that he had had to caress her bare skin.

That body he knew so well. One he’d tasted and explored and memorized.

One he’d wanted so often over the past few months that he’d fantasized about having her again and again.

Somewhere in the building, a baby cried out, and he thought of Jack. Along with relief that she was physically okay and the instantaneous heat that ripped through him at the sight of her, anger churned through his gut.

Dammit, if Jack was his, why hadn’t she told him?

Finally, she retreated and pulled away, wiping her palm on the side of her skirt. “Sister Margaret said you know where my family is.”

A slight tremor laced her voice, and he tried to place himself in her shoes, to understand what it must be like to be lost and alone with no memory of what had happened, but obviously aware she was in danger.

“Yes, your cousin Emma is waiting at the Ute reservation. That’s where you live. She’s been searching for you ever since you disappeared.”

A frown creased the delicate skin above her huge almond-shaped eyes. “How could I forget my own cousin?”

The doctor’s advice trilled in his head like a warning bell, and Dylan forced an understanding smile. “You suffered a head injury,” he said, hating the distress lining her face. “Sister Margaret said in time you may remember everything.”

She shivered and wrapped her arms around her waist.

“Sister Margaret also said a man broke into your room. Did you get a look at your attacker?”

She shook her head. “No, it was too dark. All I saw was his shadow. Then he attacked me, and I fought back and screamed.” Her voice broke, her breathing rattling out as if she was reliving that horrible event. “Then the sisters and other women ran in, and he jumped out the window and got away.”

A fresh bruise darkened her cheek, and he gritted his teeth to keep from touching it and pulling her into his arms to comfort her. She looked so small and fragile and…vulnerable. “What else do you remember?”

She chewed her bottom lip. “He had a knife in a leather pouch attached to his belt.”

Dylan’s blood ran cold. “How tall was he?”

She hesitated, rubbing her head in thought. “I don’t know. It was just a shadow.”

“Did you notice a distinctive smell?”

“Cigarettes,” she whispered. “And sweat.”

Watts used to smoke but had supposedly given up the habit. But perhaps the man had picked it back up. “Did he say anything?”

She shook her head. “No, he just grabbed me and shoved his hand over my mouth. Then I…I think I bit his hand.”

Her feistiness might have saved her life. Twice now. “I’d like to look around that room and see if I find any evidence.”

Sister Margaret nodded, and he went to the sedan to retrieve his crime kit. He flipped on a flashlight, waving it across the room in an arc as he searched the corners, the bed and floor.

With a grunt, he knelt and with his gloved hand, retrieved a loose hair that had fallen on the floor. It might belong to one of the other women or children, but he’d check it out. The hair was longer than Boyd Perkins’s or Sherman Watts’s—but still, it might be a lead if there was a third perp.

Continuing the search, he paused at the window, then used a pair of tweezers to pluck a small piece of fabric that had caught on a nail on the windowsill, and bagged it along with the hair to send for analysis.

Maybe forensics would turn up something to help them nail the bastard and make sure the charges stuck when they finally tracked him down.

Stewing over the circumstances, he carried the evidence bags to the car while Aspen said goodbye to the other women. Outside, he phoned Miguel to explain the situation.

“Amnesia?” Miguel asked.

“Yes. She didn’t recognize me. I’m hoping that seeing Emma and Jack will jog her memory.”

“I’ll warn Emma about the doctor’s diagnosis,” Miguel said. “And tell her not to push, to give Aspen time.”

Five minutes later, Aspen returned carrying a small paper bag holding the meager possessions she’d accumulated since staying at the shelter.

Sister Margaret gave him a concerned look as she escorted them to the gate. “Take care of her, Agent Avecedo.”

He squeezed her hand with a nod. “Don’t worry. I won’t leave her alone until we find out who hurt her.” He paused and lowered his voice. “And, Sister, I’m going to need the medical report from when Aspen was brought in. When we find out who did this, it will help with prosecution.”

If he let the son of a bitch live that long.

“I’ll speak to the doctor, but we’ll need a release from Aspen.”

“I’ll talk to her about it,” Dylan said.

Sister Margaret agreed, then thanked him, and he walked Aspen to the car. She settled into the passenger side and buckled her seat belt, the tension thickening as he drove away from the shelter.

“Sister Margaret said that you were injured when you arrived at the center. That you thought that someone, an abusive boyfriend, was after you.”

She shrugged. “It seemed like a likely story, Agent Acevedo.”

“Call me Dylan.”

She gave him an odd look, then nodded.

“Did the abusive boyfriend idea come from a memory?” he asked.

She fidgeted, looking back at the center as if she wanted to return to the safe haven she’d found within that iron fence. “Not really. Just a feeling that I was running from someone.” Her voice warbled. “And then there are the nightmares.”

“Nightmares?”

She nodded, her brown eyes huge in her face. “Nightmares of fighting some man, of running, of hearing the river and being cold…”

She angled her head to study his face. “Can you fill in any of the missing pieces?”

“Some, but not all. We found your car smashed into a tree by the San Juan River.” He paused, debating over whether to tell her that her son had been left in her car. “There was evidence of a struggle. Blood in the car. We didn’t know if you’d survived or if you might have drowned in the river.”

She made a low sound in her throat. “My cousin…She was worried?”

He nodded and gently placed his hand over hers in an attempt to calm her, although heat radiated through him. He wanted more, wanted to hold her and assure her everything would be all right.

Wanted to shake her for not telling him that they had a son together.

“Yes, Aspen, her name is Emma, and she’s anxious for you to come home.”

Relief filled her eyes, and she relaxed slightly. As much as he wanted to press her, he forced himself to rein in his emotions and let her absorb what he’d told her.

“You look exhausted,” he said. “Why don’t you try to rest during the drive? I know Emma will want to talk when we arrive.”

She gave him a wary look, but nodded. A second later, she curled up against the door and fell asleep, but even in sleep, her body seemed wound tight and braced for battle as if she expected her attacker to reappear any minute and end her life as he’d tried to do before.

THE NIGHTMARES RETURNED AGAIN.

Aspen struggled to wake herself, determined not to let them suck her into the darkness, but the heavy pull of fear yanked her back to the day she’d been running.

Running, but from whom?

If she could only see the man’s face…

She crawled along the steep rocks, fighting to steady herself as the river raged below, the snow-capped ridges reminding her that the water would be dangerous and freezing. That although she was an excellent swimmer, there was no way she could survive the icy temperatures or strong current.

Then the hands were upon her, clenching, hitting, choking her, dragging her into the murky depths of death.

She screamed, snippets of her life flashing in front of her. The Ute reservation, the casino, the Trading Post, the children gathering for a Ute celebration. The Bear Dance in the spring and the Sun Dance at Mesa Verde.

Her mother teaching her the ways of the people. The childhood stories of the Sky People, the legend of the Sleeping Ute Mountain, and the ghost stories her mother insisted she pass on about the sacrifices of their ancestors.

Then she was drowning, the icy water sucking her down to the bottom, the rocks beating against her skin, the whisper of death calling her name.

She jerked awake, shaking and disoriented. Suddenly she felt the agent’s hand on hers again. “More nightmares, Aspen?”

She lifted her head, pushed a strand of hair that had escaped her braid from her eyes and tried to steady her labored breathing. “Yes.” She glanced down at his hand, aching to cling to him for protection, but she hardly knew the man. Still, he made her feel safe as if he wouldn’t leave her to the terrifying memories that hacked at her sanity, tapping at the fringes of her conscience yet evading her.

While she’d slept, the weather had changed. Dark ominous clouds hovered above the ridges, the mountain runoff filling the potholes and shoulder with rising water. A chill filled the car, the temperatures dropping as they neared the canyon.

The road was virtually deserted, the landscape colored with shadows, prairie grass and scattered rocks. In the distance, the sound of a coyote rent the air, the slap of the windshield wipers battling the light rain eerie in the silence.

Occasionally they passed a pueblo style house, the elements having beaten its beauty to a muddy brownish orange. The story she’d told the children earlier reminded her that this area was dangerous territory for the reemergence of the grizzly bear.

And the ghost town that had once been a miner’s haven made her anxious to return to civilization.

A gust of wind that sounded like a freight train sent tumbleweed swirling across the road, then suddenly bright headlights appeared behind them, racing up on their tail.

Aspen tensed as Dylan swerved, the car bounced over a rut in the road and hit a wet patch. The car behind them rammed into their tail, sending the sedan fishtailing across the dark highway, skimming rocks and spewing gravel and dirt.

Dylan cursed in Spanish and steered into the skid in an attempt to regain control.

But the car raced up behind them, rammed them again, then swerved to their right and a gunshot pierced the side of the car.

Aspen screamed, and Dylan shoved her head down. “Stay low!”

Dylan sped up, weaving left then right, as if he intended to outsmart their attacker at his own game of cat and mouse. The sedan sent the other car sliding off the road toward the creek, which looked as if it was about to flood from the mountain runoff.

Aspen covered her head with her hands, leaning down so her forehead touched her knees. But a second later, the other car’s tires squealed and the vehicle slammed into them again. Another shot shattered the window on the passenger side, sending glass raining down on top of her.

She cried out again, and Dylan shouted another obscenity, losing control as the sedan careened off the road, bounced over shrubs and rocks and hit a tall rock formation. Metal screeched and gears ground together as they spun toward the ridge out of control. The car flipped on its side, rolled and landed upside down in the creek bed. The air bag exploded, knocking the wind out of her and trapping her in the seat.

Aspen thought she might have passed out for a moment, and when she recovered, her breath huffed out in tiny pants as water began to seep through the window.

“Are you okay?” Dylan shouted.

They were both hanging upside down, the seat belt cutting into her neck. She glanced sideways and noticed blood dotting his hands, and felt it trickling down her arm where glass had pelted them.

“Aspen?”

“Yes, I’m okay,” she rasped. “But water’s coming in.”

“I know. Hang on to the seat belt and side of the car while I cut you out.”

She sucked in a sharp breath and braced herself with one hand on the roof of the car and another on the door. Dylan retrieved a knife from his pocket and sawed at her air bag, puncturing it. It deflated with a whoosh, then he sawed at her seat belt. The icy water gurgled and spewed through the window, dripping onto the roof and soaking her.

“Hurry!” she whispered hoarsely as déjà vu struck her. She’d been in another crash and had almost drowned…

Her dreams of running, of being cold—they weren’t just nightmares. They had been very real.

“Almost got it,” Dylan said between clenched teeth.

The belt finally snapped, and she slid downward, her head hitting the roof. “Try to climb out,” he said. “I need to cut my belt.”

Terror seized her. She didn’t want to go out there alone.

“Go, Aspen!”

His sharp voice jerked her from the fear gripping her, and she maneuvered sideways, then kicked the rest of the glass free with her feet. Water gushed inside the vehicle, and she held her breath, grabbed the seat and shoved her weight through the window. The freezing water swallowed her, and numbness claimed her, but her foot connected with rock, and she used it as a spring-board to propel her. Teeth chattering, she waded to the embankment.

Dragging in huge gulping breaths, her limbs shaking, she searched the creek and finally saw Dylan wading toward her in the waist-deep cold water.

He crawled from the creek, carrying the crime-scene kit in one hand. Another gunshot blasted the rock beside her, and Dylan grabbed her hand. “Come on, let’s go!”

Her legs felt like Jell-O as he yanked her to her feet and dragged her across the embankment. She stumbled over rocks, and her ankle twisted but she plunged on, ducking low to dodge another bullet.

She couldn’t die now, not when she’d just found out her name, and that she had family waiting for her.