Fatal Recall

Her jaw tightened, and her brows drew together. Did she have a fear of hospitals? Or was it going to the police that worried her?

“We need to file a report.” The moment someone shot at them, he’d scratched his plans for putting her in an ambulance and letting the EMTs haul her away. “There’s a chance the police can help us figure out who you are, especially if your prints are in the system.”

“You think I might be a criminal?” She smiled, but there was tension behind it.

He shrugged. “Lots of people get fingerprinted for their jobs. It doesn’t mean they’re criminals.”

She stared straight ahead, apparently not convinced. He understood her reservations. It was a scary proposition. She could learn she’s a fugitive and be led away in handcuffs. With all she’d been through, he hoped that wasn’t the case.

She heaved a sigh. “However it turns out, it’ll be a relief to find out who I am.”

“Someone’s probably reported you missing by now.”

“Maybe.” She held out her left hand, palm down. “Looks like I wore a ring long enough to tan around it. I don’t know if it was a wedding or an engagement ring. Or why I no longer have it on.”

As they walked, the sun climbed higher, burning off the haze and warming the air. Finally, she shrugged out of the jacket. As she tied it around her waist, muscles worked beneath a pale gray design, a tattoo that looked about two laser treatments away from removal.

He touched her upper arm. “Does this trigger any memories?”

She turned her head to see what he’d indicated. “Not at all.”

He’d noticed the tattoo yesterday, before she’d put her jacket on. It was a fairly elaborate crown, a common gang symbol. That connection would help the police identify her. Chances were good she had a record.

Whatever affiliations she’d had, she’d likely gotten out, a feat in itself. Otherwise she wouldn’t have borne the pain and expense of trying to have the symbol removed.

“How about this?” He traced a three-inch scar on her forearm.

“It looks like an old cut, but I don’t remember where I got it.”

“It’ll come to you eventually. You’ve already regained one memory.”

She sat and unlaced her right boot. As she removed it, she winced. When she peeled off her sock, he frowned. A discolored area wrapped the bottom of her ankle and spread across her foot toward her toes. Tissue had tried to swell against the tightly laced boot, leaving reddened grooves.

“Too bad we don’t have some ice for that.”

“It’ll be all right. I’m sure I’ve experienced worse.” She indicated her upper arm with her other hand. “This, for example.”

“I agree.” As he and Kevin had aged out of the system, they’d talked about having an eagle tattooed over their right pecs, signifying freedom. Kevin had followed through. Tanner hadn’t. He really didn’t like needles. From everything he’d heard, he wouldn’t like lasers any better.

Kat was one tough lady. She’d sustained a head injury, slept on the ground in damp clothes, gone hungry and walked the past three hours on a sprained ankle. All without complaint. She was more resilient than a lot of men he knew.

After a brief rest, she put her sock and shoe back on, then stood. But instead of resuming the hike, she uprooted some nearby plants. Onion-like greens grew from small, light-colored bulbs. She brought them to her nose. “Wild garlic.”

When she handed him one, he sniffed it. Though not as strong as expected, it still held that distinctive scent.

She munched on the green stems, then peeled the outer layer to expose the clean bulb. After removing the roots with her thumbnail, she popped the bulb into her mouth.

He did the same. The dandelions were long digested, and he was starved. He’d never been a dainty eater. Even before his postadolescent growth spurt, when he’d weighed one hundred pounds soaking wet, it hadn’t been for lack of nutrition. His small size had made him a target for bullies in the foster and group homes, so he’d always eaten like a horse. It eventually paid off.

Kat picked up her walking stick and resumed their trek. Soon, the sound of moving water reached them. Rather than the trickle of a creek, it was a constant barrage of sound, a steady shh that grew louder as they walked.

“Hear that?”

“I do.” She gave him a cautious smile. “I’m just not looking forward to wading across. I don’t feel like getting wet again or fighting that current.”

“We may not have to. If we come out a mile or so upstream from where we left the kayak, we’ll miss it. Where I launched, the river flows on the other side of the road, then crosses under a bridge.”

A truck engine rumbled in the distance, increasing in volume, then fading. When they headed down the last slope, the river lay in front them. To the right, it curved to disappear under a bridge.

They covered the final yards, then stopped at the shoulder to look both directions. Traffic was nonexistent. To the left, Highway 19 stretched toward Bryson City. The Nantahala Outdoor Center was about five miles away. If someone would give them a ride, they’d save an hour and a half of walking. For Kat’s sake, he hoped some Good Samaritans were traveling on 19.

As they crossed the two-lane highway, a white pickup truck moved toward them. Kat held out a thumb, and the truck barreled past. Five other vehicles did the same. He didn’t blame the drivers. Picking up hitchhikers was a good way to get oneself killed.

When a low rumble sounded behind them, he turned to watch a box truck approach. He held up a hand to flag down the driver. The truck slowed and the right-turn signal came on. Tanner’s pulse kicked up.

The vehicle eased to a stop, an auto parts delivery truck. Tanner opened the passenger door and helped Kat in, then slid in behind her.

“Where you headed?” Reflective sunglasses hid the driver’s eyes.

“Nantahala Outdoor Center. It’s not far, but five miles on a sprained ankle can feel like forty.” He tilted his head toward Kat.

“Not fun.” His straight salt-and-pepper hair was pulled into a ponytail beneath a New York Jets ball cap, and he exuded a relaxed friendliness.

Tanner checked his phone again. Still no service. He’d rather have the police there, or at least en route, when he and Kat arrived. Since they’d been in a kayak, the Nantahala Outdoor Center was the most logical place to end up. The shooter could be waiting for them.

But he wouldn’t expect them to arrive in an auto parts delivery truck. By the time he figured it out, Tanner would have his pistol in hand.

The driver slowed for a curve. “How’d you guys get so far from your truck anyway? There aren’t any hiking trails out this way.”

Tanner looked past Kat to study the man, debating how much to tell him. It didn’t take him long. If the driver was a threat, they’d already know it. He was sticking his neck out for them. He needed to know the situation.

“We were kayaking, then wound up running from a guy with a gun.”

His mouth went slack. “Have you called the police?”

“We will as soon as we get service.”

As they approached the Outdoor Center, the driver reached into a pocket on his door and laid a pistol in his lap. “Just in case.”

Tanner scanned the roadside. No one seemed to be lurking. Two cars sat in the parking lot, both empty, the occupants likely inside the building. His Silverado waited at the far end. He pointed it out, and the driver stopped in the next space.

“I’ll make sure you get away okay.”

“Thanks, man.” Tanner slipped a soggy bill into the guy’s hand, then climbed from the truck.

Kat cast a glance over her shoulder as she slid across the seat. “God bless you.”

The driver smiled. “He already has.”

Tanner raised his brows at the semireligious conversation between two unlikely candidates—Kat, with the remains of her gang tattoo, and the truck driver, with his shades and ponytail.

Two of the foster homes he’d landed in had been religious, with a list of dos and don’ts that would stretch from Louisville to Nashville. He couldn’t quote it from memory, but he was pretty sure ponytails and tattoos were on the “don’t” side.

While the delivery guy waited, Tanner let Kat into the passenger seat of the Silverado and removed his Glock from the glove box. Now the playing field was a little more level.

As he circled around to the driver’s side, he continued to scan the area. Even when he pulled onto Highway 19, with the delivery truck behind him, he still didn’t relax. He probably wouldn’t until he and Kat were seated inside the police station at some officer’s desk.

He glanced in his rearview mirror. The truck was still behind him, keeping up in spite of the seemingly endless series of S curves. Finally, the highway straightened out and widened to four lanes. Tanner chose the right one. The truck driver did, too. A red van behind them moved into the left. Within moments, it overtook him and sped past.

Another vehicle traveled in that lane, also, too far back to identify the make. Instead of accelerating, the driver matched the speed of those in the slower lane, forcing others to go around him.

Tension crept across Tanner’s shoulders. Was someone intentionally keeping them in sight while remaining far enough away to avoid identification?

“So, we’re headed to Bryson City.” Kat’s words broke into his thoughts. “To the police department.”

“Yeah.” The other direction would have taken them to Andrews, then Murphy. Murphy had a hospital. He’d seen it—Murphy Medical Center. He didn’t want to risk leading anyone to his new hometown. But unless Kat made an amazing recovery over the next twenty-four hours, she’d need someone to keep an eye on her.

She wasn’t his responsibility. But until she figured out where she belonged, she wasn’t anybody’s responsibility. He couldn’t just dump her. The role of protector was too deeply ingrained.

He shifted position to pull his phone from his pocket, then handed it to Kat. “See if we have service yet.”

“Two bars.”

“Can you pull up directions to the Bryson City Police Department?”

Her thumbs flew over the screen. A half minute later, a computerized voice informed him that he was on the fastest route.

When he looked at her again, she was chewing her lower lip.

“You okay?”

She sighed. “What if I’ve done something terrible and they arrest me?”

“You look more like a victim than a criminal.”

She gave him a weak smile. “Thanks.”

As they approached town, he took a brush from the console and ran it through his hair. When he started to put it back, she stopped him.

“Do you mind?”

“Go right ahead.”

She removed the elastic band from the end of the braid and slipped it around her wrist. “If I’m going to jail, I at least want to look halfway decent.”

After working the tresses loose, she shook them out, then went to work with the brush. Soon her hair flowed over both shoulders in shiny black waves, falling all the way to her waist. Even after spending the last two days in the woods, she was beautiful.

Not that it mattered to him. Those were the ones to worry about. The beautiful ones. Especially around deceitful best friends.

Up ahead, Highway 74 broke from 19, veering off to the right. As Tanner took the exit, remaining on 74, he checked his mirrors. The auto parts truck followed him. So did the car he’d been watching. That didn’t mean anything. Highway 74 was well traveled.

At the instruction of the GPS, he moved into the left lane. The truck driver flew past with a wave and two toots of his horn. The car followed him and Kat. He forced himself to relax. Maybe the driver had business in Bryson City, too.

“Is everything okay?”

He glanced in the rearview mirror again. “We might have a tail.” At her gasp, he continued, “Don’t turn around. Just be ready to call 911.”

“According to the GPS, we’re less than a mile from the police department.”

Tanner turned on his signal and made a right.

“Academy Street?”

“I’m taking the scenic route.” He moved down the street, frequently checking his mirror. A half minute later, the car followed. After two more turns, it was still behind him.

“Call 911, then hand me the phone.”

He wouldn’t head to the station. Otherwise the assailant would take off. Instead, he’d let the police come to them.

Kat did as he asked, then slid down in the seat as much as the belt would allow. Creases of concern marked the bridge of her nose, and her hands were curled into fists.

When the dispatcher came on, Tanner explained the situation and relayed what he knew about the vehicle, which wasn’t much. Boxy, older model, lighter color. It was still too far back to identify the driver or even tell if someone occupied the passenger seat.

Before Tanner could finish his report, the car made a sudden left turn. He blew out a frustrated breath and jammed on his brakes. “He knows we’re onto him.”

After turning around in the parking lot of a local business, he went in pursuit. For the next ten minutes, he combed the streets of Bryson City. So did the officer who was dispatched. Neither had any success. The car had vanished.

He braked at a stop sign. “I’m sorry. I’d really hoped we’d catch him.”

“Me, too.”

“Let’s get that police report made.”

With her wide eyes and creases of worry lining her face, she looked like a lamb being led to slaughter.

His heart twisted. He couldn’t help her. He didn’t know any more than she did about what they would find.

And though he’d love to say something that would take away the desperation he sensed, he wouldn’t lie to her.

Or give her reassurances he couldn’t back up.