Carol Ericson - Trap, Secure

“Yep.”

Picking up a book of fairy tales, she traced the edge with her finger. “Does this Zendaris have children?”

“We don’t know, but it sure looks like it.”

“Unless this room is for the children of his staff. This is a big place. He must support a lot of people living here.”

Gage gestured around the well-appointed room. “Seems kind of lavish for the staff, doesn’t it?”

She swallowed a painful lump. “Do you think Zendaris could have children with his...girlfriend?”

Gage’s eyebrows snapped together as if it had never occurred to him that she might be the mother of Zendaris’s children.

Her knees felt shaky and she sank into the armchair. Something about this room stirred emotions deep within her, plucked at her heartstrings. Could she be a mother?

She flipped open the cover of the book still clutched in her hand. Her fingers traced over some words in Spanish. “Look.”

Gage took two steps and hovered over her shoulder. “What is it?”

“It’s a note in Spanish. It says, To Randi, May you have a fairy-tale life, Love, Abuelita, little grandmother.”

Gage rubbed his chin, sprinkled with dark stubble. “Who’s Randi?”

“You’re asking the wrong person.” She followed the letters with her fingertip. “Could Randi be one of Zendaris’s children?”

“Then who’s Abuelita? Zendaris, as you can probably tell by his name, is not Latino.”

“The child’s maternal grandmother? Maybe they’re half-Colombian. Maybe that’s why they stay here.”

His hands dropped to her shoulders and the touch felt like a caress. “Are you up for a little more exploration before I get you out of here? I think you need to see a doctor.”

“A head doctor.”

“Maybe that, too.”

She rose from the chair and tucked the book under her arm. As she did so, she noticed a pair of sandals halfway under the chair. She put her hand on Gage’s corded forearm. “Wait.”

She slipped her feet into the sandals and grimaced. “Just like Cinderella.”

They poked their heads into one adjoining room. Little-girl decor—princesses, ballerinas and mermaids— overlooked a disheveled mess. Someone had tossed drawers and emptied closets. All personal effects had been stripped from the room.

They crossed the playroom to the other adjoining bedroom, and the same scene had been played out in the boy’s room.

Gage crossed the hall and she followed, her sandaled feet almost dragging. She didn’t want to see what awaited them in those rooms.

Gage pushed open a door, and a powerful, masculine aroma washed over her. The scent of musk made her head pound even more. The closet doors gaped open and empty hangers swayed back and forth. A neatly made-up king-size bed had a commanding position in the corner of the room, facing a flat-screen TV.

Had she slept in this bed with her children across the hall?

The room led to a large master bath and beyond the bathroom, another door beckoned. She stepped into the adjoining room and gripped the book so hard the edges dug into her palms.

This room had a distinctly feminine touch. It, too, had been ransacked, but clothes still hung in the closet. She crept toward the items and yanked a dress on its hanger from the rack. She held it up to her body and spun around to the full-length mirror.

“It’s a fit.” Gage came into the room with a scowl etched across his face.

Her cheeks warmed. Had she lived here in this house as man and wife with a drug dealer?

She tossed the dress onto the bed. “I still don’t remember anything.”

“Don’t you...Randi?” He pulled a small envelope from the dressing-table mirror and turned to wave it in her face. “They missed something when they ransacked the room.”

Her heart jumped as he pulled a slip of paper from the envelope.

He squinted at the note. “It says, Randi, almost made the trip south to see you when I was in Costa Rica, but remembered visitors aren’t welcome. Come home soon. Love, Jessica.”

“Is there a name and address on the envelope?” Randi must be her name. This was her room, her note. Now that she knew her first name, she’d like to know her last.

He flipped over the envelope. “Just has your first name in care of the Costa residence. Does that name mean anything to you?”

“No, but maybe this is the Costa residence. Maybe you got your signals crossed.”

“Not a chance.”

“What about the return address?”

“The envelope is ripped.” He fingered the corner of the envelope. “I can just make out the name—Jessica Lehman—and the postmark is from Houston, Texas.”

Randi’s throat thickened and she couldn’t swallow. She must have a grandmother somewhere and a friend in Houston. People who cared about her.

Where were they now? Would they be able to help her out of this mess?

She jumped when Gage placed his hand on the small of her back. “I’m sorry, Randi. This must be tough for you.”

She pulled back her shoulders and shrugged off his touch. She’d better not get too dependent on him. He wanted her to regain her memory so that he could pump her for information about Zendaris. Once he got what he wanted, he’d abandon her to whatever fate awaited cast-off lovers of drug dealers.

“Does this mean you believe me?”

“If you’re lying about having amnesia, you’re one hell of an actress, but—” he steepled his fingers and tapped them at the tips “—you could be an Academy Award winner.”

She brushed past him and scooped up an armful of clothing from the closet. “I’m not going out in the world without clothes.”

“Travel lightly. It’s a two-mile hike back to the chopper.”

She dumped the clothes on the bed and dove back into the closet for a bag or backpack. She dragged out a red duffel and flicked the tags on the strap. “Too bad there’s no full name and address. I might’ve been able to reclaim my life sooner rather than later.”

Gage spread his arms. “I think your life was here, Randi—and it left you.”

She dropped onto the edge of the bed, clutching the bag to her chest. “What if those kids across the hall are mine?”

“Then we’ll help you get them back.” He ducked into the closet and grabbed a pair of sneakers. “I think these will work better out in the jungle than those sandals.”

A half an hour later, they stood at the open gates to the compound. Gage had his backpack on his back and his large, black duffel strapped across his body. He’d broken down the scary-looking weapon and stashed it in the duffel.

He’d given her a small pack with a few bottles of water and medical supplies. He’d talked her into leaving the red bag and just stuffing a few items of clothing into his duffel.

“Are you sure you can do this? You just suffered a concussion.”

“I have no memory. What could possibly be worse?”

“Aggravating your injuries with physical exhaustion. We can stay here for a few days, and I can call in for help.”

She shifted the pack on her back. “I’m not staying here another minute.”

“Let me know if you get tired, and follow my footsteps. We’re still a long way from morning, and it’s still dark out here.”

She peered up through the canopy of trees. Even if the sun were rising, it would take a while for its light to reach them beneath the umbrella of branches and leaves.

Gage tromped through the foliage, his boots snapping twigs and crushing leaves along the way.

Randi followed, her mind, or what was left of it, whirring. If everything Gage had said about her was true, maybe she didn’t want to discover her real identity. But maybe her boyfriend had kept his illegal activities hidden from her. Maybe she didn’t know anything about his business.