Jessica R. Patch - Recovered Secrets

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.

He heard another thud and picked up his pace. When he reached the shed, Grace had an oar to a man’s neck and he was bound to a rickety chair.

“Who are you?” she asked with more force than he’d heard from her before.

The man in the chair was about Hollis’s height. Two-eighty. Military haircut. Hardened ice-blue eyes and defiance all over his clean-shaven face. Maybe mid-to late-twenties.

“Grace?” When Grace turned her head, she had the look of a hungry wolf. Teeth bared, wild eyes. Who was this woman?

“What?” she demanded with an edge in her voice.

A soft answer turneth away wrath.

The proverb swept through his mind. “Hey,” he whispered. “I just want to know what’s going on. Are you all right?”

Suddenly it was like a fog cleared in her eyes. She dropped the paddle and backed away as if she’d terrified herself.

“Go ahead,” the man said. “Do what you do best, lapdog. You won’t get anything out of me.” He laughed and Hollis assessed him. He was breakable. Still young. Tough. But he could be forced to talk. Hollis had no plans to try it. This wasn’t war, but Grace’s life was at stake. Had Hollis not shown up when he had, Grace may have tried to break the man, and she probably would have succeeded.

“I—I have no... I don’t even—” Grace rushed from the shed, sprinting across the yard.

Hollis turned to Crewcut. “Why did you call Mad Max a lapdog? You know she does what she wants when she wants. Or are you the lapdog sent to fetch her? Never actually seen her up close have you?” Hollis grinned, hoping his acting skills worked. If he could use the nickname and pretend as if he knew who she was, then this guy might slip up and give him another clue. And if Crewcut knew she was a lapdog, and if doing what she did best implied—he swallowed—torture, then this kid had severely underestimated Grace, which made him stupid or he knew her only by reputation—Mad Max. Maybe.

“Max is as good as dead.”

So he knew her nickname. Was it just Peter who called her that? Did this guy know Peter—or Peter’s real identity? Had he been the one to kill him?

“You hear me, dead. Whether or not she gives us the doctor.”

The temptation to throttle this guy was intense. He kept threatening Grace and no one was going to touch her. To keep his civility—even though this guy deserved a beating—Hollis exited the shed and chased after Grace. Then they’d figure out what to do with this guy. He wasn’t going anywhere, considering Grace’s skill with knots.

She stood by the water’s edge at the creek, her arms folded as she rubbed her upper arms. “I don’t know what happened. One minute I was terrified and fighting for my life and then it’s like everything went dark. A switch flipped and before I realized it, I had him tied to a chair. I have no idea what I would have done had you not shown up.” She faced him, tears in her eyes. “I think I’m a really bad person who’s done unspeakable things.”

Hollis closed the distance between them in three strides, pulling her to him in an embrace. “Grace, you don’t know anything for sure and no matter what you did in the past, that’s not who you are now. You’re that new creation, remember? In Christ. I see the way you care about people and are kind. Whatever happened back there...that isn’t who you are.” But when her memories surfaced, she might want more than this simple small-town life regardless of who she’d been. She might have loved ones—a romantic loved one—who had been searching for her.

“I know who I feel like most days, but lately... I’m scared, Hollis. For my life. For what my past holds. I’m afraid for you. You didn’t ask to be thrown into this. Your life is in danger by being associated with me. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.”

Warmth flooded him. Grace cared about him and his safety. That concern... He couldn’t even remember the last time someone cared for him so tenderly. Not since Mom died. Tish—she was like a mom, but it wasn’t the same. Grace... He couldn’t go there. “You’re a good friend, Grace. And friends help one another.”

She pulled away and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her long-sleeve T-shirt. “Yeah. Friends.” She sniffed and pointed toward the shed. “What do we do with him? He isn’t going to talk.”

“He would. Eventually. If we did what it would take. But I’m not going to. And neither are you. Let’s call Sheriff Freeman and he can decide.” Cord would be more curious about how a woman who was five foot six and didn’t come close to Crewcut’s weight class had subdued the hefty dude. Hollis was frightened of her capabilities, and thoroughly impressed.

They entered the shed. Crewcut was gone. Somehow he’d gotten out of the ropes. Hollis’s pulse pounded. “Get inside.” They had no idea where he was or if he had weapons stashed nearby. Hollis pulled his weapon from his ankle holster and covering Grace, they sprinted inside the training facility. Grace paced Hollis’s office.

“Do you think he’s the guy who shot Peter? Who shot at us at the river?” She gnawed her thumbnail. She was an absolute mess.

“Maybe. I can’t say for sure. But he didn’t bat an eye when I called you Mad Max.” Hollis told her his conversation. “Which means he has some connection with Peter. I don’t believe he’s ever had personal contact with you before now. I wish I knew how the pieces fit.” He’d give it another try. Hope she’d open up to him. Hollis couldn’t blame her if she wanted to keep some of her memories private, but... “Grace, would you tell me about the memory you had when you dropped the coffee pot? It could be relevant.”

She halted pacing and faced away from him. “I was with Peter. I think we may have been at a special event. He...he kissed me, and I was wearing an engagement ring.”

Hollis’s gut twisted. Grace and Peter more than likely had been a couple. Possibly engaged or married. All this time he’d been afraid she belonged to someone. Looked like to Peter. And she’d witnessed his murder. When her memories returned there would be grief even if Peter had betrayed her. “Do you know where you were in the memory?”

She refused to face him. Hollis slowly rounded his desk and laid his hands on her shoulders. “Grace, you are beautiful and bright. You were bound to have been in a relationship. I’m sorry you can’t remember it, and I’m sorry you had to see him like that.”