Recovered Secrets. Jessica R. Patch

“Something like that.”

      “You know,” she said wistfully, “I’m handy with a needle and thread, and that time Dennis fell into the ravine I knew how to splint his arm. If these guys are looking for a doctor... I could be a doctor or in the medical field too.”

      “Anything is possible. I’ll follow you to the inn. Drive slow on the spare. I’ll have it fixed later today.”

      She nodded and cranked her engine. A doctor? Hmm...doubtful, but for now he’d keep his thoughts to himself. He wasn’t sure he liked where they were going.

      * * *

      Inside the inn, Grace snagged a leftover cinnamon roll. She deserved it. She also deserved to get clean. Her face was a mess, muddy and streaked from the battle a little over an hour ago.

      “Hollis, I’m going to take care of all this filth. When I’m done, we can get back to the facility. I need to look at the weather satellites, and I know you want to ride out and inspect the waters around the levee.”

      Hollis finished off his roll and nodded. “You really should. You smell.”

      “I do not!”

      Laughing, he held his mug up in a salute and winked. “Maybe not, but you do look like you wallowed in mud.”

      She shuddered. She had and not by choice.

      “I didn’t mean to upset you.” His eyes held concern.

      “You didn’t. I need to clear the gunk off my face.” She headed for the kitchen door.

      “Holler if you need anything.”

      Her place from the kitchen was about fifteen to twenty feet. Grace waved and made her way out the door and along the sidewalk lined with flower pots—the flowers wilting at the merciless and unending rain. It was overcast but warm. After unlocking her door, she stepped inside and tensed.

      Something wasn’t right. Pausing in the entry, she grabbed an umbrella from the wicker basket. Nothing appeared out of sorts. But the eerie sensation skittered across her skin. Everything inside her screamed a warning. Should she call for Hollis? The window in the inn’s kitchen was open. He’d hear. Grace surveyed the open floor plan. To the left of the kitchenette was her bedroom and bathroom. Inching toward her room, her heart galloped. Was she being ridiculous?

      She toed her bedroom door farther open and stepped inside, caught a whiff of musk. The smell zinged along her memory pulling something familiar forward, but it was blurry. She inched into the bathroom, switched on the light and felt a presence behind her.

      Turning, a figure loomed. Throat constricting, adrenaline racing, she didn’t wait for him to tackle her. She went on the offensive and rushed him, but he dodged her. She swung around and his back was to her. Grace instinctively thrust out the umbrella—the hook catching around his neck like a noose. She yanked—choking him—forcing him backward and toward her.

      “You...always...knew how...to make...an entrance...” he sputtered and held his arms out to his side. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

      “Then what are you here for? My valuables? I’ll give you a hint. I don’t have any.” Where on earth did that bravado and snark come from or her instincts to use that umbrella as a weapon?

      “I’m turning around.”

      She recognized his voice now that her ears weren’t buzzing, but her heart was going wild and she itched to run. Run fast and hard.

      With hands raised, Peter Rainey from breakfast faced her. “You can put the umbrella down. Really.”

      She lowered it.

      “I thought you were dead.” He shook his head, eyes wide. “But then three weeks ago I saw you on the national news. In the background while the SAR chief told the world they’d found the little girl their team had been searching for. It was covered almost nightly. I was in shock. Then confused.”

      He was confused? How had he seen her on TV? Hollis had made sure to steer her clear from the media during that hunt for their pastor’s little girl—her scars kept him protective of her, and she appreciated that. She hadn’t found the child for the recognition anyway.

      “Why did you settle down in this Podunk town? Why did you pretend not to know me earlier? And why are you volunteering with Search and Rescue and living under a tin roof?”

      “Why are you under my tin roof? I don’t have any cinnamon rolls here.” Now probably wasn’t the time to go comedic and dry, but a memory teetered on the edge of her mind—she used this kind of banter to do something...what?

      He chuckled. “Always loved that snark. I know you hate me.”

      She did?

      “I’m here to make amends, Max, even though you have every right to stomp me into the ground for betraying you. I should have known better but...”

      Max! Was that her name? Short for Maxine or something? She glanced at the door and her hands shook.

      Peter spotted it. “Are...are you afraid?”

      She was working hard to conceal it; should she not be? “Well, you did betray me.” If she told him her brain had deflated like a balloon and she was at a loss for memory, he might try to hurt her or clam up. He’d asked why she pretended not to know him. Well, he hadn’t acted like he knew her either, so he was hiding something. He was her only link to her past. She had to play the game for as long as she could.

      “Look, I’ll tell you everything, but I may not be the only one who knows you’re alive.”

      Oh so true. She had two creeps coming for her already.

      Peter sighed. “I can help you. I know you have no reason to trust me, but I promise I’m telling you the truth. Where is Dr. Sayer? I can help her too.”

      Her! The doctor had a name and gender. Good, she could work with this. But could she work with this man? What if he tried to betray her again? How did he betray her before? By beating her up and leaving her for dead? Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and she bit down on her lip to hide the tremble. What if she didn’t know any more self-defense moves?

      “I didn’t—” He paused, cocked his head and surveyed her. It gave her the shivers but she tried to hold fast. Still, her fingers jittered, causing the umbrella to bounce. He watched it then let his gaze slowly roll over her face and locked onto her eyes again.

      “What’s my name?” He was on to her somehow. The fear. The fear was tipping him off that something was wrong.

      “Peter.”

      He narrowed his eyes and took a step forward. She took a step back and he paused, tipped his head to the side. “What’s your name?”

      Busted. Would he kill her now?

      “Why do you ask?” She tossed a glance at the open door and took another step toward it.

      Peter matched a step forward for every one she took in retreat, surprise in his eyes. “I thought you were toying with me this morning somehow so I didn’t say anything, played the game. But you weren’t up to anything sneaky. You don’t know me. And you don’t know you either. I’m so sorry, Max.”

      “For what?”

      “Everything. It was all lies.”

      “What was all lies? Is my name Max?” she asked, her head spinning. Did she try to run or did she trust this man who admitted to betraying her?

      He glanced out the window and shook his head; he seemed concerned. “No. It’s a nickname. Mad Max.”

      Mad Max? “Am I crazy or something? If you’re not here to hurt me...then tell me who I am.”

      “Max,” he whispered. “Your real name is—”

      Glass shattered and Peter fell to the ground dead. Grace stared