Recovered Secrets

Wheezer, their computer analyst, had jumped on the search and according to the team, if there was something to be found he would find it. Grace hoped so. Once again, she prayed and asked God to reveal her past so she could move forward.

“Okay,” Wheezer said over the speaker, “I have a pretty large list of Dr. Sayers. Cutting down to female. Less of a list. I’m going to filter the search to doctors who went off-grid in the past two years. It’ll take a minute, but when I have something, I’ll call you.”

“Hang in there,” Wilder Flynn, the security team director, said to Grace. “We won’t stop until we have answers. If you need us there, Hollister, say the word. I can send a team member or personally fly in.”

“I appreciate that, Wilder. For right now, I think we can manage.”

Grace did, too, but flying blind was dangerous. Anyone could be against her. She wouldn’t recognize an enemy from an ally. They hung up and she offered to make coffee.

Hollis grinned. “I never turn down coffee.”

Grace actually laughed. As she headed for the coffee pot in her kitchenette, she glanced inside her bedroom and a sudden wave came over her. A memory! Like a scene from a movie playing in full color in her mind.

Grace was dressed in a long black evening gown, her hair swept to the side. She had her arm looped into a man’s and as she gazed up, it was Peter Rainey’s face. He laid his hand on hers, and that’s when she noticed the engagement ring. Peter leaned down and kissed her. “You look beautiful, Max,” he said.

Then the memory was gone. Fade to black.

She fumbled the carafe and it slipped from her hands, crashing to the floor. Hollis jumped up from the couch. “Grace?”

“Sorry... I uh—I dropped the coffee pot. Don’t come over here. Glass.” She rushed to the small pantry and retrieved a broom, but her hands shook. What did this mean? Had she been engaged—married even—to Peter? His betrayal could have been adultery. She’d had little moments of memory pops over the past six months but nothing this big. This substantial. This confusing. Grace went to task sweeping up the glass shards.

“What startled you?” Hollis asked.

Heat ballooned in her cheeks. She couldn’t hide this from Hollis. But everything in her wanted to keep it buried. “I... I had a flash of a memory. A snippet really, and it unnerved me. Came on so sudden.”

Hollis ignored her warning about the glass and leaned over the breakfast bar, resting his elbows on it and putting himself eye level with her. “What was it?”

“I’m not sure what it meant,” she whispered as she dared a peek at him. Solemn eyes. Jaw tight. As if bracing himself for the worst news. What would be the worst news to Hollis? Had she once loved Peter? He’d never mentioned any feelings. Granted, he hadn’t had much time before he was murdered. It was as if someone knew he would talk, and they were shutting him up.

Instead of revealing the secret, she changed the subject. “Someone wanted Peter dead. He was going to tell me who I was and possibly answer any further questions I may have had.”

Hollis’s lips twisted to the side as he pondered the information. “If the shooter didn’t know you had amnesia, then killing Peter first might not be about him giving you information as much as you giving Peter information...as in the doctor’s location. If those Latino men wanted the doctor, they could have killed Peter to cut him out of finding her first.”

“Excellent point. The guy with the gun may have believed I’d go with Peter. The men who attacked me didn’t realize I had amnesia—neither did Peter at first. If they’re behind killing Peter, your theory makes more sense.”

Hollis nodded. “I wonder if he was truly your ally. He said to trust him, but he also said he’d betrayed you.”

“He mentioned it had all been lies. What does all mean?”

Hollis’s phone rang, and he answered. “...Okay. Location? We’re on our way. I got Grace with me.” He hung up. “Two teenage boys out fishing on the river. With the rain and flow, they can’t paddle in. Need a tow.”

Grace left the broom and a pile of glass on the kitchen floor and followed Hollis outside to his truck. “Why would teenage boys be in the fast-flowing Mississippi River, knowing all the water—”

“One, they are teenage boys. Two, teenage boys have no sense. I know. I was one. And I’m sure there was a dare involved. They’re going to be grounded for a century.” Hollis chuckled but it didn’t quite hit the jovial mark. They could drown out there.

They stopped at the SAR facility. Hollis hitched the trailer to his truck and loaded the boat onto the trailer while Grace grabbed extra life vests. They headed west on Old Highway 4 until they reached the parking lot at the river’s boat ramp entrance. Grace backed the boat down the ramp and they lowered it into the water, put their life vests on and sped across the choppy waters toward the location the boys had given the 911 dispatcher.

Grace pointed ahead. They were bobbing in a little johnboat. “You’re right. They have no sense at all.”

Hollis pulled the boat close and tossed a rope. Then he leaped into the boys’ johnboat, rocking it wildly. Both boys sat quietly. No doubt dreading the parental punishment to come. Once he tied the rope, he said something to the boys and they nodded. “We need life vests, Grace. They seem to have lost theirs.”

Both boys hung their heads as Grace tossed two over.

“I’m going to ride with them. Pull us in,” Hollis said.

Grace nodded and slid into the captain’s seat, revved the engine and carefully turned the boat, so she didn’t tip the little one behind her. She towed them to the ramp. The older teen hopped out and ran and got his truck, then backed the trailer into the water as the other boy and Hollis secured their boat on the trailer.

“Don’t run off just yet,” Hollis called. “Park up there and wait on me.”

After securing their own boat, they pulled up beside the boys, hopped out and reclaimed the vests.

“They are sorely regretting this decision,” Hollis whispered, amusement lining his words. He gave them a stern warning about boating in the river—especially when it was this high and without life vests—and said that their parents would be receiving a phone call from him. The boys nodded and gave yes sirs, then Hollis and Grace strolled toward Hollis’s truck.

“Well, that was fun,” Grace deadpanned and turned toward the Big Muddy, Hollis leaning on the side of the truck. “River is really high, Hollis. That concerns me.”

“Me too.”

The boys peeled through the gravel lot, fishtailing and whooping and hollering. Hollis shook his head. “And they learned nothing. They’re just going to take their recklessness to the roads.”

Grace frowned. “Recklessness. I can’t make that definition come.” Stuff like this happened all the time, and it was frustrating to no end.

“It means behavior with no thought that it could endanger themselves or others. Or both.” He sighed. “Make sense?”

Hollis had been her saving grace these past two years, but now that her life was in danger, was she being reckless by letting him stay involved? He watched her carefully, waiting for her answer. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “Makes sense.”

“Grace, are you okay? Since the memory flash you’ve been kinda off. You know you can share anything with me, right? I’m here for you. We’re...we’re friends.” That last sentence seemed hard for him to say. They were friends, though. She couldn’t remember ever having any but surely friends cared enough to look out for one another. Hollis was protecting her, but who was protecting him? Not Grace. But down deep came an intense desire...so incredible—to protect him. To guard him. She wasn’t even sure she had the ability, but the emotion was so wildly strong that surely she must have the power to back it up.

“I need you to know, Hollis—”

Pop!

A bullet whizzed past and Grace winced as a sudden sting seared her skin. Her jacket ripped open near the shoulder. She’d been shot.

Hollis threw her to the ground. “Get under the truck,” he hollered and they slid their way underneath. “How bad are you hit?”

“A graze. I think.” If it was the same shooter from earlier this morning, he had excellent aim. Either he missed this time or was sending a deadly warning that if she didn’t cough up the doctor, next time he wouldn’t miss. She squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t know how to make these people understand that the information they want is sealed up tight in my brain!”

“We’ll worry about that later. Right now, shimmy out the other side. Stay down, but get inside the cab. I’ll wait until you’re in before heading for the driver’s side.”

“No! Hollis, they may shoot you on sight. They have no reason to keep you alive, and they may believe that killing you might make me talk.” It wouldn’t. The very thought of them hurting Hollis sent a rage she didn’t remember ever feeling through her system. It was cold. Dark. And frightening—because for a split second it crossed her mind to make them pay if they hurt him. Deep in her marrow, a whisper said she could do exactly that.

“Don’t worry about me, Grace. I’m a big boy and this ain’t my first rodeo.”

“I know, but—”

“Get in the truck. We can argue later.” His voice had the same scolding tone he’d laid on the boys, but she caught a measure of fear behind it—not for him but for her. She scooted until she was free from under the truck, then rolled over and carefully ducked while opening the door.

A bullet slammed into the hitch. Were the shooters toying with them? “Hollis, you need to come out this side and slide in. I’ll drive.”

Hollis paused then followed suit. Grace stayed low but scooted over.

Another shot fired. Her arm burned like crazy, and blood had seeped through her shirt and jacket.

Hollis jumped in, and Grace hit the gas, the truck throwing up gravel and fishtailing through the parking lot. She kept the pedal to the metal until they neared the SAR facility. Hollis had remained quiet, his jaw clenched. Once they jumped out, he rounded on her with fire in his eyes. “Grace! I can’t believe you!”

Grace stepped back stunned. “Me? You’re angry with me?”

“You don’t change orders in the middle of a mission. It gets your team killed.” His voice had risen an octave or two.

“Yet I’m the only one wounded.” She shoved her shoulder around so he’d get a good look. Why was she so angry? “I was trying to save your sorry tail from getting your head blown off. That was a Barrett M82A1, thank you very much! And you’re mad because you could have—”

“What did you say?” he asked, eyes wide. The anger dissipated.

“I said, I saved your sorry tail?” What had she said? She was fired up and for no good reason—Hollis was right. She hadn’t experienced this kind of fury before, and it terrified her that it could be buried deep within her.

“No. You said I could have had my head blown off by a Barrett M82A1. That’s a sniper rifle, Grace. A very specific rifle. How do you know that?”

Grace gasped. She had said that. How did she know? “I recognized the sound. It makes a high-pitched pop.” Was she an arms dealer or something? She nearly fainted.

“Grace, could you have been in the military?”

It was a nicer thought than where she was going. “Maybe? Are there female snipers in the military?”

Hollis stared blankly, then blinked. “Only a handful, but yes.”

Grace Thackery. Quilter, bed sheet changer, dining server and possibly a US military sniper. “Now what?” she whispered, unsure she wanted her memories back. If she’d been a sniper, maybe she’d been on a mission to rescue the doctor. In Mississippi?

Hollis touched her shoulder. “First we mend this graze. And then, Grace Thackery, Mad Max...we put a rifle in your hands and see if your brain remembers if it loves the feel of it in your hands or not.”

THREE

“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.