Lisa Childs - Agent to the Rescue

She had heard them yesterday. He’d thought she was sleeping, but she had heard everything he and Blaine and Jared Bell had said in her room. Now he flinched—with regret. He didn’t want to keep anything from her, but there were some things she hadn’t had to hear...like anything about the sadistic serial killer.

If that was who had abducted her, it was probably better that she never remembered what had happened to her. She would never recover from the nightmare of confronting such a monster.

* * *

PANIC OVERWHELMED HER, stealing away her breath. But she was actually less afraid of having a serial killer after her than she was afraid of losing Agent Reyes. He couldn’t pass off her case to someone else.

“The victims of the Bride Butcher aren’t married yet,” Agent Stryker said. “He abducts the women at their last fitting for their wedding dress.”

She shook her head—not in denial of what he claimed but in denial that she could have been at a fitting for a wedding dress. “No...”

“Do you remember something?” Claire Stryker asked. “Something that makes you think you’re not really engaged?”

“I can’t remember anything...” She stared at the newly married couple. Their love was palpable—like another presence in the hospital room. “But if I was married or engaged, wouldn’t I remember... him ?”

“Maybe you don’t want to remember,” Dalton suggested. He apparently suspected that was who had hurt her.

Was she such a horrible judge of character that she would have fallen in love with a monster?

The petite blonde stepped closer to the bed and reached for her hand. She twisted the ring on her finger.

“What are you thinking?” she asked. Such intelligence shone in Claire’s eyes that she wanted to hear her opinion.

“It looks like this ring has been on your finger for a while,” the other woman replied.

Her stomach pitched. And yet the person who’d put that ring on her hand hadn’t even filed a missing persons report for her? What kind of man was her fiancé? The monster Dalton Reyes apparently suspected he was?

Agent Stryker glanced at his watch and said, “If we’re going to make our flight, we should get going...”

“We should stay,” Claire told her husband. “We could help...”

“You could,” Dalton agreed. “But you’re not. You’re going to leave for your honeymoon and have a wonderful time.”

Claire hesitated.

Even her husband looked uncertain. “Let’s talk in the hall a moment...”

Her stomach sank again as the two men stepped out of the room. She was certain that Agent Stryker was going to try to talk Dalton into handing her case over to Agent Bell.

“Don’t worry,” Claire told her. “We only offered to help because we owe him—not because we don’t think he’s capable of solving the case on his own. Dalton is a very good agent.”

She nodded in agreement. “I know. I wouldn’t be alive if he wasn’t.”

“He’s not like Ash and Blaine Campbell, though,” Claire continued. “They were marines—they grew up knowing what was right and what was wrong.”

Anger surged through her, and she opened her mouth to defend him. The special agent obviously knew what was right and wrong.

But before she could speak, Claire continued, “Dalton grew up on the streets—in a gang. He had to figure out for himself what was right and wrong. I think that’s even more impressive.”

“So do I,” she said. But everything about Dalton Reyes impressed her. She couldn’t help wondering about herself. What kind of person was she? Was she an honorable person? Did she know right from wrong?

“This must be so hard for you,” Claire said, “not having your memories. Not knowing how you grew up—who your family is or your friends...”

She wondered if she had any—since nobody had filed a report about her missing. Dalton and Agent Stryker stepped back into the room, and like the love between the Strykers, there was love between the men—a strong bond of friendship.

Her heart ached with an overwhelming sense of loss. But she hadn’t just lost her friends; she had lost herself, as well.

Dalton uttered a long-suffering sigh, even while his dark eyes twinkled with merriment. “I had to give this guy some advice for the honeymoon.” He turned toward Claire. “You’re welcome.”

The new bride laughed. “Like you have any experience with honeymoons or will ever have any experience...”

Apparently, as well as growing up on the streets, Dalton had grown up determined to remain single. She hadn’t been surprised when she’d overheard him telling Blaine Campbell that he wasn’t marrying anyone. Ever. She faintly remembered him saying something in the ambulance when the paramedic had mistaken her for his bride. She’d been in and out of consciousness, so she hadn’t picked up on his words but on his tone. He had been appalled that someone had mistaken him for a groom.

At the moment she could relate as she glanced down at her hand again. She wanted to take off the ring. She couldn’t believe she was engaged. It didn’t feel right.

“If you two don’t get going, you won’t have any honeymoon experience, either,” Dalton warned them.

Claire glanced at her. “But I could help...”

“I have help,” Dalton said. He wrapped his arm around the young bride and steered her toward the doorway. “I know you two can’t stand spending time together, but you’re going to have to suck it up for the next fifty or sixty years.”

The newlyweds chuckled—confident in their love and their relationship.

She glanced down at her ring again. Why would she be wearing this when she obviously hadn’t felt that way about whoever had put the ring on her finger? But then, a love like the Strykers’ was rare and special.

“It was nice meeting you,” Claire called back to her.

She had met Claire. She wasn’t sure if they’d met her—because she wasn’t sure who she was, except not Jane or Mercedes. But maybe she would need to start thinking of herself as one of those names since she was unlikely to ever remember her own. She waved at them. “Enjoy your honeymoon.”

The Strykers both hugged Dalton before leaving. He stared after them a moment, as if tempted to call them back, before he turned back to her.

“Who is your help?” she asked. While it would have been selfish to keep them from their honeymoon, she would have trusted the Strykers to help her.

“Trooper Littlefield is going to stand guard in your room,” he told her, “while I go to Chicago to follow up a lead.”

“Littlefield?” she asked.

Was that the trooper whose car had been stolen? Because of that and because something about him or his uniform was vaguely, unsettlingly familiar to her, she wouldn’t feel particularly safe with him. But then, she didn’t feel particularly safe with anyone but Dalton.

“He’s a good officer,” Dalton assured her. “He’s the one who called me when he noticed the vintage Mercedes. He knew something wasn’t right about it.”

Her in the trunk—that was what hadn’t been right about it. What if he hadn’t seen the car? What if Dalton hadn’t stopped it?

She would be dead. She was certain of it. She shuddered with the realization that someone out there wanted her dead. What kind of person was she that someone could hate her enough to try to kill her more than once...?

“Are you okay?” Dalton asked, his voice even deeper with concern. “Claire didn’t upset you, did she?”

She shook her head. Claire hadn’t upset her, but meeting the other woman had. “I just wish...”

“What?” he asked.

“I wish I knew what kind of person I am,” she said. “If I’m like her...” Or if she was someone who’d earned another person’s hatred? “I just wish I knew who I am...”