One Good Man(4)

“That Roni’s and Honoria’s behavior made sense. They’d been going through all sorts of machinations to keep me from reading the news.”

Roni would be the blonde, Honoria the Hispanic woman. Jamie had obviously shared some of her background with them. He made a mental note to add the info to his phone before prodding again. “What else?”

“That I needed to call my mother. That it wasn’t going to be long before the media figured out Jamie Danby used to be Stephanie Monroe. This is the first movement the case has seen since it went cold, and investigative reporters these days are able to ferret out just about anything they want to know.”

She shrugged, thumbed one of the tablets free and put it in her mouth, her fingers worrying the roll the only indication that her nerves weren’t as calm as her voice. “My mother is the one who changed our identities. Once she realized we were on our own, she packed us up, sold the few head of livestock still on the ranch, filed for divorce, and we vanished. But her resources were way more limited than those available to whatever government agency handles witness protection. So I figure if reporters can find me after this break in the case, then the killer can, too.

“Except…” She paused, frowning as she gouged a thumbnail into the paper between the antacid tablets. “I’ve always assumed he knows. That he’s left me alone because my amnesia means I’m not really a threat. That coming after me when it’s clear he’s gotten away with murder would be the stupidest move he could make.”

The stupid ones didn’t stand a chance. The smart ones, well, they could take longer to track down and bring to justice. But Kell would bring this one to justice. Jamie’s family, Kass’s family, the families of the other victims—they weren’t the only ones who had suffered because of the killer who’d rampaged through the Sonora Nites Diner.

There was another man, the man who had taught Kell what it meant to be a Texas Ranger, who had lived and breathed the investigation, who had wept at every brick wall. As much as Kell was here for Jamie and Kate Danby, he was here for the man who had sworn to see this case through to the end, but who’d been hit and killed by a drunk driver while pulling over another on a long solemn stretch of Interstate 10.

This was Kell’s job to finish now.

“On the other hand,” she continued, popping a second antacid before closing the bits of paper around the roll’s open end and tucking it into a pocket of her purse. “How smart could he possibly be to have left the diner that night without making sure there was no one still alive?”

Kell returned his cup of coffee to the table, holding it in place between both of his hands. “You’re the one who outsmarted him by playing dead. You saved your own life, Jamie.”

“Too bad I couldn’t do the same for anyone else.”

Her voice was flat, almost unfeeling. It didn’t break with sadness over the loss of life, or sting with survivor’s guilt. Though she’d walked out of that diner covered in blood, she spoke of the experience as would an outsider.

Locking away her emotions with her memories was a coping mechanism. Kell reached for the key. “What if you could do something now? For those who are left?”

Her eyes snapped, her breathing quickened. He’d hit the nerve he’d hoped for. “I told you. I told the cops and shrinks who questioned me then. I told the counselors I saw for months after. I can see splatters of color, and fractals of light and shadows as he moved through the diner. But I don’t remember him. The last thing I see clearly is parking in the lot behind the diner before work. I barely remember opening the door and going inside.”

She had gone inside. She had punched the time clock at 5:52 p.m.—eight minutes before her shift began. She had completed her six hours and—this was where Kell’s imagination kicked in—had been joking around, maybe blowing off steam with her coworkers when the killer had slammed through the front door and opened fire.

Behind the register, Jamie—she’d been Stephanie then—had fallen to the floor. The killer had kicked her body out of the way to get to the cash register. Her ribs had been bruised so badly, the impression of his shoe’s heel was visible in the blues and purples marring her skin.

She hadn’t even moved when the killer had dragged away her boss. When the authorities arrived, she’d been lying exactly where she’d fallen, covered in her own blood and that of the others, her wounds fortunately no threat to her life.

What the crime scene photos and mock-up staging revealed, however, was that Jamie’s position had her facing the front windows and the parking lot. If she’d opened her eyes even once, she might have seen…something. Car color, make or model. Numbers on the license plate. Killer’s clothing, height or build. Age or ethnicity.

She might not have seen anything, but there was a very good chance that she had—and that she knew she had. Not consciously; the Jamie she was now wouldn’t know anything about it. That’s why Kell needed to ask Stephanie.

But he had to tread carefully to get from here to there. “I know you don’t remember. Your mind is doing what it’s supposed to do.”

She gave a sharp snort. “It’s supposed to fritz out? Really?”

“Not fritz out. Protect you. Amnesia is a coping mechanism.” Just like her sarcasm.

“So it’s all there. I’m just not thinking hard enough, or trying often enough to find it? Is that what you’re saying? Because if you’ve come all this way for that—”

He cut her off before her accusations grew more strident, and got in the way of her listening to him. “That’s not what I’m saying. Not at all. The memories are there, yes. But thinking hard or trying often is not how you’ll find them.”

She didn’t believe him; he knew she was humoring him at best. “And I suppose you have the magic touch to make that happen?”

“Not me,” he said softly, “but I know who might.”

She waited, silent, expectant, as if bracing against him throwing a bucket of cold water in her face.

He got it over with as quickly as he could. “I’d like you to see a forensic hypnotist.”





3



HE WOULD LIKE. He would like. Well, she didn’t give a rat’s ass what he would like. He wasn’t the one whose head would explode if those memories ever came back.

“I’m sorry. I’m not sure what to call you. Sergeant? Ranger? Trooper?”“Call me Kell,” he said with too much twinkle in his green eyes for the subject at hand.

Murder needed to be looked at with serious intent. And if he was hoping to soften her up, to win her to his side with that sparkle, well, it was time he had his hopes dashed.

She started to do just that, but was stopped by the squeal of tires as her mother’s Suburban took the turn into the Cantus’ at a speed that would have scared a stunt driver straight. Jamie flinched, bracing for the SUV to ram the front of the store.

But the vehicle skidded to a stop, fishtailing to the left and throwing gravel, causing the Texas Ranger to surge to his feet with a deep “Holy hell.”

“It’s my mother,” Jamie told him, enjoying the way his eyes went wide as much as she appreciated the width of his shoulders beneath his sharp white shirt. He was, in a word, hot. Disturbingly so. Big and intoxicating and lusty. Okay, more than a word, she thought, and cleared her throat. “I forgot to call her back.”

Kate jumped out of the cab and came at them, waving her arms and yelling the very same thing. “You were supposed to call me back. Jamie. What’s going on?”

On her feet now, too, Jamie made the introductions. “Mom, this is Sergeant Kell Harding with the Texas Rangers. Kell, my mother, Kate Danby. Dr. Kate.”

Jamie’s mother looked at the man in the Western-cut dress shirt, white hat, boots and jeans, then turned an inquiring gaze back on her daughter to wait for more than an exchange of names—a gaze filled with as many fears as questions.

Her own heart aching over the worry her mother had suffered all these years, Jamie took her hand and pulled Kate to sit on the bench beside her. “Kell came the moment he was given the case files. He came in person. He wanted to make sure we were okay. To answer our questions.”

Jamie turned then to look at Kell. He again sat on the other side of the table, but rather than sit directly across from either her or her mother, he had positioned himself in between, giving them equal consideration. She liked that as much as she liked the creases fanning out from the corners of his eyes. They seasoned him with wisdom, not age, and spoke of experience Jamie knew was needed.

His attention on Kate, Kell inclined his head. “Your daughter’s right, Dr. Danby. Any questions you have, ask—”

Kate cut him off. “You being given the files—does that mean the case has finally been brought out of cold storage to thaw? That maybe we can put an end to this once and for all? Or are we going to have to spend the rest of our lives the way we’ve spent the last ten, fearful and looking over our shoulders, searching for whatever it is that’s spooked us?”

Kell didn’t look away. He pressed his lips together, and Jamie watched the muscles in his neck tighten as his jaw held taut. Around his coffee cup, his hands also tightened. She heard the plastic squeak. But he kept his frustration in check. And she knew it was frustration, not anger, not insult, and frustration with the case, not with her mother’s accusation that he wasn’t doing his job.