Читать книгу A Trace Of Memory - Valerie Hansen - Страница 13

FOUR

Emma had never been fond of the night, but darkness had seldom frightened her as much as it now did.

She had let Cleo escort her upstairs and loan her a flannel nightgown while Travis stayed behind to double-check the locks on the doors and windows.

His footfalls on the stairs were a welcome sound, particularly after she opened her door a crack and peeked out to watch him pass before shutting it tightly. There was no lock on her door; nor would she have used it if there had been. It was enough to know she wasn’t alone in the house.

What was almost as frightening as reality was the notion of the nightmares that sleep might bring. Emma knew she couldn’t lie awake all night, yet the moment she closed her eyes she feared the glimpses of evil would return.

Finally, unable to stay alert any longer, she pulled the covers up under her chin, sighed and closed her eyes.

Soon, it began.

The room of her dreams was dark and dank. The cot on which she lay was lumpy, her lone blanket scratchy and frayed. She tried to move her left arm and found it bound by something cold and metallic that was cutting into her wrist.

Her eyes popped open. Someone was coming! A key clicked in the lock and the metal door swung open with a squeal of its rusty hinges.

A huge shape loomed. Approached.

Emma cringed, fisting the blanket and peering into the darkness to try to see details of the man’s shadowed face. The brightness behind him prevented it. “What do you want?”

“You know what I want. The sooner you tell me where my useless wife stashed the goods, the sooner you’ll be free to go.”

Emma’s mouth was so dry she could barely speak. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ha!” His laugh was cruel and cynical. “She only had one close friend and you were it. You must know.”

“I don’t. Please, let me go. I won’t tell anybody what you’ve done. I promise I won’t.”

“Like you promised my wife you’d keep her secret?”

“Yes. I mean, no. I don’t have any secrets to keep.”

Hovering over the cot, he leaned closer. Emma could smell alcohol on his breath, sense an anger so great it was smothering.

He drew back his arm.

She cringed, knowing what was coming.

The shadowy figure swung his open hand and Emma heard it connect with her cheek, felt the sting of the blow.

She managed to inhale past the lump in her throat and screamed.

* * *

Travis lay atop the comforter, still dressed except for his boots, in case he needed to take quick action again. Harlan might have been right about the shots that had disabled the ATV, but it was just as easy to imagine that Emma’s foes had found her, particularly since she’d returned to her roots. Anybody who knew where she’d come from would be able to track her.

The only sounds were familiar: the house settling, an occasional call of a whip-poor-will outside and the yips from a restless pack of coyotes somewhere in the woods. If Travis’s mind had not been so busy trying to figure out what was going on regarding his houseguest, he would already have drifted off to sleep.

His eyelids were getting heavy when the silence was suddenly broken by a high-pitched screech.

He was on his feet before he even realized he was moving. Emma!

Just as he reached for the doorknob of her room it was jerked away.

Wild-eyed, hands pressed over her mouth, she barreled headlong into his chest.

Travis barely managed to keep his balance. “Easy, Emma, I’ve got you,” he said, holding her gently in spite of her pummeling fists.

Thankfully, the strength of her attack was waning.

“Breathe, honey, breathe,” he urged. “Come on, Emma, take a deep breath. You’re safe.”

To his relief, the panic-filled haze seemed to clear. She blinked. Focused. Drew in air with a shudder.

“Travis.”

His name was hardly more than a whisper, but it was enough to prove to him that she was fully awake and aware.

“That’s right, it’s Travis. You’re in my house and you’re safe. I promise.”

“I thought...”

“What, Emma? What did you think? Tell me. It might help us find out what happened to you.”

She was still gulping air. “I—I was dreaming. It was awful.”

“What can you remember?”

“A man. Big. He—he was asking me something. I couldn’t remember then, either, so he hit me.”

“What else? Did the dream tell you where you were?”

She shook her head. “No. Only in a room somewhere. And a cot. I was lying on a cot.” Easing away from Travis, she held out one arm and stared at her reddened wrist. “It wasn’t a rope that made this mark, it was handcuffs. I was fastened to the bedpost with a chain.”

Although her look of terror was gone it had been replaced with a sense of absolute truth that cut Travis to the quick. Someone had kept Emma prisoner all right. But who? Why? And how in the world had she managed to escape?

“How did you get away?”

Slowly, pensively, she shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Did you have help? Was there someone else there with you? Maybe that child you thought you recalled?”

He could see her struggling to remember. It was in her eyes, in her expression, in the way she leaned a little away from him so she could meet his somber gaze.

“I don’t know,” Emma finally said. “In this nightmare I was all alone—except for the man who hit me.” Her hand raised to cup her cheek. “Right there, just the way it looks.”

They were joined by Cleo, belting a robe and padding barefoot down the hallway. “Land sakes. What’s going on?”

“Emma had a nightmare,” Travis explained. “I heard her screaming and thought she was being attacked again.”

The older woman put her arms around both Emma and Travis. “Praise the Lord it wasn’t for real.”

“She remembered a few things because of it,” Travis added. “It wasn’t a pleasant experience but it might help her recover in the long run.”

Blinking, Emma looked from one to the other, her eyes misty. “I’m afraid to go to sleep for fear more of it will come back to me, yet I want to know. Does that sound as crazy to you as it does to me?”

“Not crazy at all,” Cleo said calmly. “Since we’re all wide-awake, how about going downstairs for a cup of hot chocolate? That always helps me relax.”

Emma was quick to agree so Travis did, too. Given a choice, he would gladly have stood in that hallway for hours, comforting Emma. There was nothing wrong with his memory. He remembered exactly how she had felt in his arms. And how deeply he’d been hurt when her letters to him had stopped so abruptly.

Every muscle in his body tensed. Could that have been when she first got into trouble? Maybe, if he’d gone to look for her then...

You can’t change the past, he told himself. Even if you could, there’s no guarantee you’d have been able to locate Emma, particularly if she didn’t want to be found.

That was how it had seemed to everyone, he recalled. At first, her letters had been upbeat and joyful, even when she was relating failed auditions. Then, their tone had changed and they had finally stopped coming. He’d thought surely she’d return for her father’s funeral two years ago, but she hadn’t even done that.

Now, for the first time since, Travis wondered if she’d already been a prisoner then. The thought was so disquieting it caused him physical pain.

* * *

The mug’s warmth as her hands clasped it was nearly as comforting as the hot beverage. Emma had accepted the long coat Cleo had given her in lieu of a proper robe and was seated at the kitchen table with the others.

“I’m glad you asked me questions as soon as I woke up,” Emma said. “I’m already starting to forget the details of my nightmare.”

Travis smiled slightly and began to enumerate. “So far, we know you were locked up and escaped. The place could have been anywhere. Do you think it was near Nashville? That’s where your last letters came from.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Several years. You were supposed to be coming back to Serenity for your father’s funeral but you never showed. Your mom was devastated when she didn’t hear from you. She tried to get the police to look for you but nobody would believe there was anything wrong.”

“Why not?”

He cleared his throat and took a slow sip, clearly buying time. “You’d been singing with a band that often got into trouble.”

“Trouble?” Emma frowned. “What kind of trouble?”

“Let’s just say their reputation was not for reliability. Or honesty.”

“I can’t imagine I’d put up with that. I always felt my music was very important. That’s why...” Blushing, she averted her gaze.

“I know. You made that quite clear when you refused to stay here and marry me.”

Her lips parted, trembling. “I really did that?”

“Yes.”

“Enough of all this,” Cleo interjected. “Let’s get back to the dream. What else can you tell us?”

“Only that it could just as easily have been a product of my imagination,” Emma said sadly. “That’s exactly what it feels like now.”

“Doesn’t mean there can’t be a ring of truth to it,” the older woman insisted. “Your injuries prove you were held prisoner and chained up. Think about the rest of the room. What did it look like? Smell like? What could you hear in the background when it was quiet?”

Emma pursed her lips. “There was a rotten smell, like garbage. And a tiny bathroom. Sometimes I thought I heard muffled voices but I could never understand what they were saying.”

“How about music?”

Her eyes widened. “Yes! Guitar, with an amped-up bass that sometimes rumbled through the floor.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Travis said. “What else?”

Emma’s shoulders slumped and she sighed. “That’s it. That’s all. I’m sorry.”

Patting her hand, Cleo was reassuring. “You’ve come a long way since you got here. I have a nurse-practitioner friend who might be able to help, too.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere. Not until I’m sure nobody is out to get me.”

“Do you mind if I invite her over for supper? Come to think of it, you may have gone to school with her. Remember Samantha Rochard?”

“Vaguely. I think she was a couple years ahead of me.”

“Probably. She married John Waltham.”

“That name rings a bell, too. What does he do?”

“He’s with the police,” Cleo said, arching a brow. “If there’s a crime involved, like we suspect, and we can convince Samantha of it, she can go to work on John for us and maybe get some action.”

Although she nodded in agreement, Emma kept thinking of her tenuous past and the possibility that she had been keeping company with criminals. In her heart she felt innocent, yet that didn’t mean she hadn’t been in as much trouble as her current predicament indicated. Kidnappers didn’t go around chaining up harmless people. She must have done something to have brought this on herself. But what?

A shadowy image danced at the fringes of her consciousness, looming then retreating like a phantom.

She squeezed her eyes tightly closed and concentrated.

The face began to solidify, to leer at her with stained, crooked teeth and piercing blue eyes. She knew that face! It had been a part of her life even before the abduction.

And with that picture of the man came another glimpse of the little blonde girl. Only this time it was he who was holding her hand.

A light touch jolted Emma. Both Travis and his aunt were staring at her, asking questions with their concerned expressions.

“I just saw more,” Emma whispered. “The man who hit me had blue eyes and bad teeth.”

“That’s wonderful,” Travis told her.

She shook her head adamantly. “No. It’s worse. The little girl? The one I told you I sort of remembered?”

Travis nodded.

“I think I know why I left without her,” Emma said. “She apparently belongs to that horrible man who locked me up.”

Reaching out to tightly grasp Travis’s hand, she added, “We have to find her and get her away from him somehow. We have to.”

* * *

It was almost dawn before Travis was able to get back to sleep, and even then his restlessness prevented adequate rest.

Sometime after they had all retired again it had occurred to him to do a computer search for Emma and the band she had been with before dropping out of sight. Given that she would be a definite asset during that kind of research, he had opted to wait until the following morning.

He was already seated at the kitchen table with his laptop open and coffee brewed when the women joined him.

Cleo donned an apron and went to work at the stove, as usual, while Emma poured herself a cup of hot coffee, carried it to the table and paused behind him. “What’re you doing? Email?”

Travis shook his head. “No. I’ve been waiting for you to get up so I could show you a few things I found already.” He pulled up some sites he’d saved. “Does any of this promo look familiar?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

As she leaned closer she rested one hand lightly on his shoulder, sending a shiver zinging from his toes to the top of his head.

Travis ignored the pleasant sensation to ask, “How about this one? The band’s name is similar to the one you used to sing with.”

She was shaking her head. “No. Sorry.”

It wasn’t until the fifth photo spread that he heard Emma’s sharp intake of breath and felt her hand grip his shoulder more tightly as she set her coffee cup aside.

“Wait. Go back. That guitar player on the left looks familiar.”

“I thought he might,” Travis said. “When you described your captor last night I immediately thought of Blake.”

“Who?”

“Blake Browning.” Travis pointed at the screen. “He’s the guy you chose over me and went to Nashville with.”

“I did?” Her brow was knit, her eyes narrowing as she stared. “I can’t believe it. Him? Over you?”

Apparently realizing how her comments could be misconstrued, Emma immediately straightened and backed away from Travis, giving him room to turn and look up at her.

“It was probably the chance to become a star that swayed you. I can see that now. But at the time it seemed awfully personal.”

“I can understand how it might,” she replied somberly. “There’s a lot I don’t recall, but I’m positive I was never romantically involved with that man. Just looking at his photo makes my skin crawl.”

“I guess that’s a good sign,” Travis said. “I tried to trace him and the Browning Brothers band and came up empty. We’ll probably have to let Harlan take it from here.”

The lack of enthusiasm showing on Emma’s still-bruised face told him she didn’t consider his suggestion to be a good one.

“You and I can do more research later if you want,” Travis promised. “Right now, I need to have breakfast and get ready to take the sheriff and his deputies to where I left the four-wheeler. They’re supposed to be here at eight.”

“I’m going with you,” Emma declared.

Travis had not expected that. Therefore, his retort was less than diplomatic. “No, you’re not. You’re staying in this house with Cleo.”

Judging by the way Emma’s hands were fisted on her hips, he realized she had not taken kindly to his forcefulness. All she said was, “Oh?”

He pushed away from the table, stood and closed the laptop before reaching for her hand. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Think, Emma. Whoever was out there last night may still be hanging around. If it was Blake, he’d know you and I used to be close. This is one of the first places he’d look for you.”

“There’s also nobody who knows what he looks like as well as I do.”

“I thought you didn’t remember.”

She shook her head and pressed her lips into a thin line as if sorting her thoughts before speaking. “I don’t remember many details of being kept prisoner, but I do know what it feels like to look into that man’s eyes.”

“Do the two go together?” Travis asked.

Emma blinked rapidly. “I’m not sure. The person I see when glimpses of a face come to me seems darker, more menacing. But it could just be shadows I’m remembering. Nothing is clear.”

“Okay. I’ll buy that. Aunt Cleo’s nurse friend is coming over this evening and maybe she can help us all understand what’s got your thoughts so scrambled.” He gave Emma’s hand a gentle squeeze. “In the meantime, will you please stay out of sight? For Cleo’s sake, if not for mine?”

“Well, when you put it that way...”

Before she could change her mind he smiled, took his half-empty coffee mug to the sink and headed for the back door.

Keeping that headstrong young woman safe was far more important than taking time to eat a proper breakfast. He’d grab a bite later, after he’d shown Harlan the damaged ATV and hauled it back to the barn.

As a last-minute act he once again grabbed the pistol off the top of the kitchen cabinet and securely clipped its holster to his belt before pulling on a denim jacket.

Travis was far from certain that his enemies had abandoned their attempts to do harm. Even if they didn’t happen to be lurking in the woods anymore, they were around. He felt it all the way to the marrow of his bones.

And he didn’t intend to give them any advantages if he could help it.

One final glance at Emma was all he allowed himself. The sight of her standing there, arms folded and looking so forlorn, was nearly enough to make him backtrack and give her a parting hug.

That would be a really stupid move, he decided in seconds. The best way to keep his wits about him and succeed in protecting her was to remain aloof and encourage her to do the same.

He huffed. He was already so emotionally involved with Emma Landers he could barely see straight. And that could prove fatal. To both of them.