Kellie VanHorn - Fatal Flashback

That was why she had the gun. She was an FBI special agent.

And she’d managed to finagle an assignment to the coveted Washington field office. Years of work and effort finally paying off.

Yet none of it explained why she was here. And did the fake name mean it was an undercover assignment? Had she ever even gone undercover before?

Maybe her luggage held more clues.

She found a pair of yoga pants and a cotton T-shirt in one of her bags. After dressing, she pulled her long hair into a loose ponytail. She’d been so exhausted last night, what with all the wake-up calls, that she’d stumbled through a quick shower and fallen asleep on the couch without much thought. But now, looking in the mirror, she traced the lines of her face in the glass.

It was the face she had seen for a lifetime, familiar and yet not. Older. Because Ashley knew there was still a gaping blank spot—more like a chasm—behind that face. Places in her mind where the memories were gone, or maybe squished by swelling. Everything past the age of about twenty-six was blurry, faded into nothingness as she tried to recall anything more recent. But going by her birth date on the driver’s license, she was twenty-seven.

That meant more than a year of her life was incomplete or missing.

After returning her wallet to the handbag, she walked out to the living room to dig through the luggage. The suitcase was full of clothing and toiletries—each item new, yet familiar, like muscle memory recalled the feel of each thing but her eyes were seeing them for the first time.

The other bag, a small satchel, was far more interesting. It held a laptop, a cell phone and an item that at first glance appeared to be a man’s leather wallet. Upon flipping it open, it turned out to be her badge.

Special Agent Ashley Thompson, Federal Bureau of Investigation.

That was what she had tried to pull out of her pocket to show Logan yesterday as her proof for the gun.

But she had left the badge in her luggage.

Only one reason an agent wouldn’t carry her badge. She must be working undercover. As a park ranger? Why here, in Big Bend?

Did any of them know she was an agent? Not Logan, obviously.

The laptop might tell her...

After three failed attempts at the password, the computer locked her out for the next hour. So much for that idea.

Plugging in the cell phone to recharge, she rummaged in the kitchen for anything edible. She found an apple and a bagel. Making a mental note to thank the receptionist, she scrolled through the contacts in the phone. Her finger hovered over her mom’s cell phone number. One push and Ashley would hear a familiar voice.

No . She closed the contacts file. Calling anyone would be a great way to blow her cover. Plus, she had no reception out here anyway.

Instead she opened the phone’s gallery. She scrolled through one image after another, watching a blur of faces fly past until one caught her eye. Sam, standing beside her, his arm slung around her shoulders.

The picture was time-stamped from last fall—just over a year ago. His wide grin made her want to smile but... Ashley furrowed her brows. Why did seeing him make her stomach twist?

She set the phone down and carried the cold, uneaten bagel to the kitchen before tackling the large suitcase. No point in dwelling on what she couldn’t remember. Better to focus on what she did know—that she was a federal agent and she was in west Texas for a reason.

A reason that might have something to do with what had happened to her last night.

Wheeling the suitcase into her bedroom, Ashley slowly unpacked all the neatly folded clothing. Beneath the clothes, shoes and toiletries, she found a layer of books. A Bible, a couple of novels and a guide to desert animals and vegetation.

She thumbed through each one, placing them, in turn, on top of the dresser. When she got to the guidebook, as she flipped through pages of snakes and spiders and scorpions, a piece of paper fluttered out onto the floor.

She picked it up, noting the darkened, worn edges—as if someone had held it with dirty hands—and opened it carefully to reveal a full page of hand-drawn markings and tiny words.

A map. It was a map! A long, twisting river ran along the lower section with labeled towns on both sides. Strings of upside-down V’s looked like mountain ranges and they were labeled, too. She almost needed a magnifying glass to read the letters. Or a lamp might help. She glanced up, suddenly noticing how dark it was—she’d been so absorbed with unpacking she hadn’t looked at a clock in hours.

It must be getting late. Logan would be here soon to check on her.

She took the map into the living room, pausing to feel for a light switch, but in the momentary silence she heard a sound that made her blood run cold. A low scraping noise coming from the bedroom window, like someone was running a chisel between the casement and the wood frame. And it was far too rhythmic to be an animal or the wind.

Someone was trying to break into her house.

Ashley’s breath echoed loudly in her ears, her heart hammering, as she hastily folded up the map and tucked it inside the waistband of her pants. The sound persisted— scratch, scratch, scratch —and she tried to slow her breathing as she glanced around the room for a weapon.

She wanted her gun, but Logan had given it to the superintendent and he wouldn’t return it until she was ready for duty. There—in the kitchen—the knife block. She crept through the dark living room and around the peninsula into the kitchen, pulling out one of the long knives at the top of the block.

The casement was moving now. The intruder struggled with the window, trying to pull it up as quietly as possible. With all the lights off, the trespasser probably thought she wasn’t home. Her eyes darted to the front door. If she slipped outside now, whoever it was might never know she’d been in here.

But what if someone was waiting out there, too? Whoever had hit her in the head? And if the person at the window was working alone, she didn’t want to miss her chance to identify the intruder.

Taking one slow, deliberate breath after another, she crept to the doorway leading into the bedroom. She pressed her back against the living room wall and stole a glance around the doorjamb into the room. It was too dark to see who was outside the window, but gloved fingers worked underneath the inch-wide crack. If she had to pick, she’d guess they belonged to a man.

Her heart lurched. Breathe . FBI agents don’t panic . They could wish for backup though, couldn’t they?

Ashley’s palms went slick with sweat. She tightened her grip on the knife handle as the window moved up another inch. She couldn’t let him get all the way into the room or he might overpower her. But she wanted to see his face before she made a move.

Waiting was agony. Another inch and two hands appeared under the casement, now pushing together.

Almost time.

Somebody banged on the front door and Ashley was so startled she let out a cry. The hands disappeared from the window. That low, gritty brushing noise had to be retreating footsteps across the desert sand.

“Ashley?” Logan called, knocking again.

She dashed across the living room, throwing the door open. “Quick, around back. He’s getting away.”

Logan stared, his head cocked to one side. “What?”

She dropped the knife to the floor with a clatter and shoved past him, forgetting about her bare feet until she was already running around the back of the house. Even though the intruder might be long gone already, maybe she could still catch a glimpse of him. Anything that might give her a clue as to his identity.