Barbara Colley - Dangerous Memories

Leah had told him the basics about the incident, and though it could be argued that he was simply being influenced by those words, Hunter knew deep in his gut that the flashes in his head were too detailed and graphic to be anything but real.

It had been New Year’s Eve. Even now he could feel the sting of the bitterly cold night. The 911 call had come from a hysterical child. Her mother’s ex-boyfriend was drunk, threatening to kill her and her mother. Hunter and his partner, Jack O’Brian, had been sent out to investigate the call.

Even before they reached the third floor of the apartment building, they heard the woman’s screams. Together, they kicked in the door. The man had the woman pinned against the wall near a door. From the look of her bloody face, he’d used the gun to beat the hell out of her. It all happened so fast that Hunter had reacted out of pure instinct. Hunter went in low and Jack entered high. Just as they cleared the door, the man, gun in hand, whirled to face them. The man fired and missed, then he dropped to the floor. But in that split second before he dropped and just as Hunter squeezed the trigger of his own gun, the door behind the man flew open. The little girl had died on impact.

Hunter’s insides shriveled as the memory faded. He’d taken an oath to protect the innocent and on that night he’d broken the oath and lost his soul in the process. Putting himself in danger was one thing, but he couldn’t risk another innocent. Not again. Leah had said he couldn’t fire a gun, and he was damn sure she was right, so there was no way he could protect her even if he wanted to.

Taking a deep breath and praying that he was doing the right thing, Hunter slowly lowered the gun, then he turned it butt forward and held it out to Lance Martin.

“You made the right decision,” the agent told him, scrambling to his feet as he reached for the weapon. He handed it to his partner. Addressing both Leah and Hunter, he said, “We don’t have much time. You’ve got about five minutes to pack.”

Ray Harris followed Leah and Hunter back to the bedroom while Lance Martin stayed in the living room to keep watch out front. Once in the bedroom, the agent positioned himself near the window that overlooked the backyard. Hunter was standing at the foot of the bed, and as Leah crammed underwear, a nightgown, T-shirts, a pair of loose-fitting jeans and a couple of pairs of knit pants into a backpack, she could feel Hunter watching her every move.

“I take it these belong to me and not some fictitious uncle.” Hunter plucked at the knit shirt he was wearing. “Are there more where this came from?”

Nodding, Leah reached down and took the cardboard box from the bottom of her closet. “Not many,” she said as she handed the box to Hunter. “You packed most of your stuff for the trip to Orlando. I just left it there.” Unable to maintain eye contact, Leah turned away, then began searching through the closet until she found the spare backpack she was looking for. She threw it to Hunter, and while she made a trip to the bathroom for toiletries, and to change into a better-fitting pair of jeans, he began stuffing the backpack with the clothes from the box.

“Time’s up,” Ray Harris announced when Leah returned. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

With Harris bringing up the rear, Leah and Hunter headed down the hall. When they entered the living room, Lance Martin glanced their way. “Ready?” he asked.

Leah shook her head. “What about my job? I can’t just disappear without telling them something.”

“You’ll have to call and say that you’re resigning.”

Leah glared at Martin. “I can’t just up and quit.”

“Yes, you can,” the agent told her. “And after this is all over, the hospital will be apprised of the circumstances. Now, are you ready?”

Leah shook her head. “I don’t care what you say, I’m not quitting my job. And one more thing—I’ve got to make sure my house is secure,” she insisted. “Make sure all the windows are locked, stop the delivery of the newspaper, have my mail stopped.”

Martin rolled his eyes, then, with a sigh, he said, “Ray and I will check the house now—and later, we’ll take care of the newspaper and your mail. You and Hunter wait there.” He motioned toward the hall where Hunter had jumped Ray Harris.

Within minutes, both agents returned. “All the windows are locked and the back door is secure,” Martin told her. With him in the lead and Harris bringing up the rear, they hustled Leah and Hunter to the car.

Harris drove and Martin rode shotgun. Leah sat as close to the door as she could while Hunter sprawled out behind Martin on the passenger side.

“So where is this so-called safe house?” Hunter asked once they were on their way, bumping along the narrow, uneven street that Leah lived on.

Martin shifted sideways in the seat. “It’s just outside the city, near Kenner,” he said over his shoulder.

“How long before we’re transferred to Orlando?”

“Probably a day or two at the most.”

Leah, still avoiding eye contact with Hunter for fear of seeing only condemnation, listened to his questions and the agent’s answers as they drove beneath the overhanging branches of the towering oaks that shaded the narrow street. As she gazed out the side window at the century-old homes they passed, her mind’s eye kept seeing the betrayal on Hunter’s face when he’d learned that she lied about their relationship.

She should have told him the truth. Shoulda, woulda, coulda, she thought with sarcasm. And hindsight was a wonderful thing.

Across from her, Hunter shifted in the seat. “Another question,” he said, directing his attention to Martin again and interrupting Leah’s self-flagellant thoughts. “How did you know where to find me?”

Leah tensed as her gaze flew from the window to the agent.

“We weren’t sure where to look at first,” the agent said. “The minute you disappeared from the hospital, we put a tap on your wife’s phone, and we also instructed the staff at the hospital to immediately report any inquiries made about you. Then, this morning, we hit pay dirt. Your wife’s phone call to the hospital was what tipped us off.”

“Her phone call?”

Hunter whipped his head around to glare at Leah. At the expression on his face, a cold knot formed in her stomach.

“And just what kind of phone call did she make?” Hunter retorted, sarcasm oozing with each word as his eyes burned a hole in her that went all the way to her soul.

Leah swallowed hard. Caught again. Yet another lie, another betrayal found out.

“She was trying to confirm that you had been a patient there,” Martin answered. “For all the good it did her,” he added. “But it was just the red flag we’d been waiting for. We were dispatched immediately to bring you in.”

“We’ve got trouble!” Harris interrupted in a tense, clipped voice. “We picked up a tail. The black SUV.”

When Martin shifted his gaze to the vehicle’s side-view mirror, Leah heard a pinging sound. The rear windshield splintered and Leah screamed.

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