Ramona Richards - Memory of Murder

THE SECRETS OF HER PAST COULD IMPERIL HER FUTURE

Lindsey Presley certainly can’t imagine why anyone would want her dead—though she knows she wouldn’t be alive today if not for the local cop who saved her from two murder attempts. Deputy Jeff Gage has worked difficult cases, but with only Lindsey’s fractured memories of a broken past to guide him, this is by far his most challenging. For Lindsey, fleeing the town she has come to call home is unthinkable. Separately, they are vulnerable, but together, Jeff and Lindsey just may stand a chance of catching a ruthless killer.

“Why is this happening?”

Jeff touched Lindsey’s shoulder. “Get some rest. Ray will run me home, then he’ll be out here till you’re ready to go. I’ll relieve him and take you to the restaurant. You shouldn’t walk—”

“You really don’t have to—”

“Lindsey.” He interrupted her, then paused and let out a slow breath. “I know I didn’t take care of you tonight—”

Without thinking, she cupped his cheek with her free hand, stopping his words. “You did all anyone could do.” The doubt in his eyes made Lindsey ache in a way she didn’t quite understand, but she knew neither of them could deal with it tonight. Slowly she eased her hand away. “I’ll see you at four.” Straightening and pulling open the screen door, Lindsey unlocked her home and reached in to turn on the light.

Then she screamed.

RAMONA RICHARDS

A writer and editor since 1975, Ramona Richards has worked on staff with a number of publishers. Ramona has also freelanced with more than twenty magazine and book publishers and has won awards for both her fiction and nonfiction. She’s written everything from sales-training video scripts to book reviews, and her latest articles have appeared in Today’s Christian Woman, College Bound and Special Ed Today. She sold a story about her daughter to Chicken Soup for the Caregiver’s Soul, and Secrets of Confidence, a book of devotionals, is available from Barbour Publishing.

In 2004 the God Allows U-Turns Foundation, in conjunction with the Advanced Writers and Speakers Association (AWSA), chose Ramona for their “Strength of Choice” award, and in 2003 AWSA nominated Ramona for Best Fiction Editor of the Year. The Evangelical Press Association presented her with an award for reporting in 2003, and in 1989 she won the Bronze Award for Best Original Dramatic Screenplay at the Houston International Film Festival. A member of the American Christian Fiction Writers and the Romance Writers of America, she has five other novels complete or in development.

Memory of Murder

Ramona Richards

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.

I will say of the Lord, he is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust. Surely he shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler, and from the noisome pestilence. He shall cover thee with

his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust:

his truth shall be thy shield and buckler.

Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night;

nor for the arrow that flieth by day.

—Psalms 91:1–5

To Sharon, who has learned to live Psalm 91:5, growing stronger every day.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

EPILOGUE

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Excerpt

ONE

Her every nerve suddenly on edge, Lindsey Presley stared at the blond man confronting Deputy Jeff Gage.

Reaching behind her, Lindsey double-checked the lock on the front door of her restaurant, then hugged the night-deposit bag more tightly. She prayed she was wrong about the stranger. After all, he didn’t look all that different from other young people in the area. Clean-shaven, short hair, T-shirt, jeans. Barely more than a kid. Average.

Except for that vintage orange 1968 Pontiac GTO that waited behind him, blocking Jeff’s patrol cruiser. The GTO’s front door stood open, waiting. Its motor idled with the distinctive rumble of a pampered muscle car.

The top step of the Cape Cod–style building gave Lindsey a view of the entire parking lot. Empty, except for the three of them and the two cars. She blinked hard, distracted as the kid shook his left hand out to one side, as if trying to fling a bug from it. His right hand remained hidden behind his hip.

Go back inside. This isn’t right. A streetwise instinct honed in her childhood urged Lindsey to flee behind closed doors. There a kitchen bristled with knives she could use for defense. But that instinct fought with her reluctance to leave the sheriff’s deputy who stood between her and the young man. Jeff had promised to protect her on the nightly deposit runs to the bank and had done just that since she’d opened the diner six months ago. During those short rides to the bank, they’d become close friends. She didn’t want to abandon him. She wouldn’t.

Friends don’t do that. And the guy still hasn’t done anything wrong. Logic told her to wait. Friendship begged her to stay. Her gut told her to run.

Jeff, who had been waiting for her at the foot of the front steps at eight o’clock, also seemed to sense something odd about the way the young man had slid the GTO into the parking lot after closing time. He stood with his back stiff, feet apart and firmly planted, his hand on his gun. On guard and wary.

The man’s left hand shook harder, and Lindsey’s muscles tensed. Now, she thought. It’s going to happen now. What do I do?

Trip the alarm. The thought startled her, but she immediately knew it was a good idea. Turning, she thrust her key in the lock, twisted it and cracked open the door. If she didn’t close it or enter the code inside within thirty seconds, the alarm would sound.

“Sir, you need to leave.” Jeff’s firm command echoed over the empty parking lot. “The restaurant is closed.”

Lindsey pivoted back toward the parking lot, eyes fixed on the two men. The younger man shook his head, now holding his left hand high and smiling broadly. “I understand. I understand. I just need directions. I drove all the way from...from Chicago. Trying to find a girl I met online. Just a girl.” He stepped forward, as if to go around Jeff.

Jeff blocked his path. He glanced warily up at the kid’s left hand. “Where are you going?”

The blond never responded. Instead, he swung his right arm around from behind his back. He ground a stun gun into Jeff’s chest. With a stark cry of pain, Jeff dropped to the asphalt, his body twisting in spastic seizures.

“No!” Lindsey screamed. She dashed down the steps toward them, throwing the money bag at the man. “Take it!” She lunged toward Jeff.

She never reached him. Fire shot through her skull as the man grabbed her by the hair, yanking her backward. He punched her in the solar plexus. Lindsey’s breath stopped and spots danced in front of her eyes as she collapsed. Her assailant grabbed her arm and slung her over the hood of the GTO.