Killer Body. Elle James

eyes widened and a peachy-rose flush spread across her cheeks. “I don’t know.” She laughed, a sound completely devoid of humor. “I don’t remember where I live …”

      “Oh, good, she’s conscious.” Frank Young blew through the door without knocking, sliding his cell phone shut with one easy, practiced move. “Do you think you can answer some questions for me?”

      Dawson slowly turned Savvy around where her bare backside faced the window, not Frank Young’s prying eyes.

      Savvy nodded.

      Frank’s eyes narrowed and he got right to the point, “Well, then, what do you remember from last night?”

      Savvy deadpanned. “Nothing.”

      “Nothing whatsoever?” Frank’s brows rose.

      “Until Dawson told me, I didn’t even know my name.” If Dawson hadn’t already witnessed the effect of her memory loss on her, he might have missed the quaver in her voice.

      The D.A. missed it completely. “I’ll have a talk with the doctor. There has to be a way to get your memory back.”

      “Let me save you the effort.” Savvy’s shoulders pushed back, her spine stiffening beneath Dawson’s hand. “He said the amnesia could be temporary or could just as easily be permanent. Only time will tell.”

      Young’s eyes narrowed and he stared hard at Savvy. “Are you sure you don’t remember anything?”

      Savvy glared at the D.A. “Why would I lie about a thing like that?” She waved at the hospital room. “How would you like to wake up in a hospital room, with strangers, and no idea who or what you are? Try it sometime, although I don’t recommend it.” She nudged Dawson’s arm. “I need to sit.” The hand on his arm shook, but Savvy’s face remained firm and unwavering.

      “My apologies, Ms. Jones.” Frank Young’s head dipped toward her. “You might not understand just how important it is that you remember what happened.”

      “Since I can’t remember, maybe you can tell me why it’s so important.”

      “Ms. Jones, a man was killed in that alley, by the gun the police found in your hand.”

      Dawson’s arm tightened around Savvy as he fought the urge to plant a fist in the district attorney’s smug face.

      Savvy leaned into him, her face waxy white, making the freckles stand out across her nose and cheeks. “They found a gun in my hand?” She stared down at her right hand and then reached up to touch the gauze circling her head. “Why would I have shot someone? Was he shooting at me?” Her fingers found the lump of bandages over her left temple.

      “That’s what we need to know. Why would you shoot Tomas Rodriguez and then shoot yourself?”

      Savvy stared up at Dawson, her brows furrowed. “I shot someone then I shot myself?” She shook her head. “Is this true?”

      Dawson grabbed her cold hands and held them in his, wishing the D.A. would back off. “That’s the way it appeared.”

      “Why do you think I shot someone and myself? There has to be a reason … evidence.”

      “When your coworker found you, she reported that you had a gun in your hand.” The D.A. crossed the room and stood directly in front of her, his gaze intense, drilling into hers. “The same one used to shoot yourself in the head and to kill Tomas Rodriguez. The only fingerprints on the weapon are yours.”

      Her eyes widened and she stared at Young. “I don’t remember.” She sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, her head swinging from side to side. “I don’t remember anything.”

      Frank Young’s lips pursed into a tight line. “I suggest you do something about getting your memory back, Ms. Jones, or you could be tried for the murder of Tomas Rodriguez.”

      Savvy looked to Dawson, her eyes searching for answers. “How can I be tried for a murder I can’t remember committing?”

      “The evidence is circumstantial,” Dawson said in an attempt to reassure Savvy.

      “If my fingerprints are on the murder weapon, the evidence isn’t just circumstantial, it’s damning.” She turned to the D.A. “What can I do?”

      “Stay in town.” Frank Young brushed a speck of dust off his fancy suit, before looking up at Savvy again. “No formal charges have been brought against you, as yet. That could be only a question of time. In the meantime, you and Mr. Gray have bigger problems than the federal court system.”

      Savvy laughed, the sound verging on hysterical. “What could be worse than being accused of murder?”

      “Tomas Rodriguez was Humberto Rodriguez’s only child.” Dawson stared down into her face, his hands holding hers firmly in his. What else could he do? He couldn’t shield her from the truth any longer. She needed to know what she was up against. “Humberto Rodriguez is the kingpin in the Mexican drug cartel in Laredo’s sister town, Nuevo Laredo, and some say even here in Laredo. He’s also known for his ruthless and vindictive streak.”

      Savvy pulled her hands free of Dawson’s, a frown tracing furrows in her forehead. “Does he think I killed his son?”

      “The local news media got hold of the story.” Young glanced up at the empty television screen. “Everyone in south Texas and the northern regions of Mexico knows Tomas Rodriguez is dead. It’s been all over the news stations. Once Humberto gets wind that you were the one holding the smoking gun, we’ve no doubt he’ll be after you. Based on the earlier attack I was informed of, sounds like he already knows who and where you are.”

      Savvy lay back against the pillows and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Great. Everyone knows who I am but me.”

      The Dawson of a couple months ago would have headed for the nearest bar to escape his troubles. And frankly, the call of whiskey had him licking dry lips. One glance at the pale, defenseless woman lying in the hospital bed dispelled any lingering desire to drown his worries in booze. The police force hadn’t protected her. Young had been right, someone who didn’t have a stake in the region needed to handle this job.

      “Knock, knock.” A dark-haired woman poked her head through the door and smiled.

      Dawson stepped between the door and Savvy’s bed, shielding her from any possible threat.

      “This is Savvy Jones’s room, right?” The woman eased through the doorway, her brows dipping low on her forehead.

      “Yes, it is, Ms. Scott.” Frank Young closed the distance between them. “Please come in. Maybe if Ms. Jones sees a familiar face it will jog her memory.” Young cupped the woman’s elbow and drew her toward the bed. “Savvy, do you remember Liz Scott? She’s the coworker who found you in the alley.”

      Savvy stared up at the slim woman with the long, dark brown hair hanging down around her shoulders.

      She wore faded jeans and a white cotton blouse with the sleeves rolled up. “Hi, sweetie,” Liz said in a soft Southern drawl as she set a bud vase with a single yellow rose on the nightstand beside the bed. “I brought you some clean clothes for when they release you.” She held up a canvas bag, tears pooling in her eyes as she forced a shaky smile. “How are you feelin'? You gave us all quite a scare.”

      Panic swelled in Savvy’s chest as she looked up at the woman and tried to remember her. She looked nice, and she acted as if she knew her, but nothing triggered in her memory to remind her who she was. “Do I know you?”

      Tears tipped over the edge of Liz’s eyes and she forced a laugh. “Yes, honey, you do. We work together at the Waterin’ Hole. You’re the only one there who keeps me from walloping the customers. And you babysit my Charlie sometimes.” Liz glanced across at the D.A. and back at Savvy and shrugged. “What did the doctor say about the memory loss? Does he think it’s only temporary?”

      Savvy shrugged.