A Trace Of Memory. Valerie Hansen

so abruptly.

      Every muscle in his body tensed. Could that have been when she first got into trouble? Maybe, if he’d gone to look for her then...

      You can’t change the past, he told himself. Even if you could, there’s no guarantee you’d have been able to locate Emma, particularly if she didn’t want to be found.

      That was how it had seemed to everyone, he recalled. At first, her letters had been upbeat and joyful, even when she was relating failed auditions. Then, their tone had changed and they had finally stopped coming. He’d thought surely she’d return for her father’s funeral two years ago, but she hadn’t even done that.

      Now, for the first time since, Travis wondered if she’d already been a prisoner then. The thought was so disquieting it caused him physical pain.

      * * *

      The mug’s warmth as her hands clasped it was nearly as comforting as the hot beverage. Emma had accepted the long coat Cleo had given her in lieu of a proper robe and was seated at the kitchen table with the others.

      “I’m glad you asked me questions as soon as I woke up,” Emma said. “I’m already starting to forget the details of my nightmare.”

      Travis smiled slightly and began to enumerate. “So far, we know you were locked up and escaped. The place could have been anywhere. Do you think it was near Nashville? That’s where your last letters came from.”

      “How long ago was that?”

      “Several years. You were supposed to be coming back to Serenity for your father’s funeral but you never showed. Your mom was devastated when she didn’t hear from you. She tried to get the police to look for you but nobody would believe there was anything wrong.”

      “Why not?”

      He cleared his throat and took a slow sip, clearly buying time. “You’d been singing with a band that often got into trouble.”

      “Trouble?” Emma frowned. “What kind of trouble?”

      “Let’s just say their reputation was not for reliability. Or honesty.”

      “I can’t imagine I’d put up with that. I always felt my music was very important. That’s why...” Blushing, she averted her gaze.

      “I know. You made that quite clear when you refused to stay here and marry me.”

      Her lips parted, trembling. “I really did that?”

      “Yes.”

      “Enough of all this,” Cleo interjected. “Let’s get back to the dream. What else can you tell us?”

      “Only that it could just as easily have been a product of my imagination,” Emma said sadly. “That’s exactly what it feels like now.”

      “Doesn’t mean there can’t be a ring of truth to it,” the older woman insisted. “Your injuries prove you were held prisoner and chained up. Think about the rest of the room. What did it look like? Smell like? What could you hear in the background when it was quiet?”

      Emma pursed her lips. “There was a rotten smell, like garbage. And a tiny bathroom. Sometimes I thought I heard muffled voices but I could never understand what they were saying.”

      “How about music?”

      Her eyes widened. “Yes! Guitar, with an amped-up bass that sometimes rumbled through the floor.”

      “Now we’re getting somewhere,” Travis said. “What else?”

      Emma’s shoulders slumped and she sighed. “That’s it. That’s all. I’m sorry.”

      Patting her hand, Cleo was reassuring. “You’ve come a long way since you got here. I have a nurse-practitioner friend who might be able to help, too.”

      “I don’t want to go anywhere. Not until I’m sure nobody is out to get me.”

      “Do you mind if I invite her over for supper? Come to think of it, you may have gone to school with her. Remember Samantha Rochard?”

      “Vaguely. I think she was a couple years ahead of me.”

      “Probably. She married John Waltham.”

      “That name rings a bell, too. What does he do?”

      “He’s with the police,” Cleo said, arching a brow. “If there’s a crime involved, like we suspect, and we can convince Samantha of it, she can go to work on John for us and maybe get some action.”

      Although she nodded in agreement, Emma kept thinking of her tenuous past and the possibility that she had been keeping company with criminals. In her heart she felt innocent, yet that didn’t mean she hadn’t been in as much trouble as her current predicament indicated. Kidnappers didn’t go around chaining up harmless people. She must have done something to have brought this on herself. But what?

      A shadowy image danced at the fringes of her consciousness, looming then retreating like a phantom.

      She squeezed her eyes tightly closed and concentrated.

      The face began to solidify, to leer at her with stained, crooked teeth and piercing blue eyes. She knew that face! It had been a part of her life even before the abduction.

      And with that picture of the man came another glimpse of the little blonde girl. Only this time it was he who was holding her hand.

      A light touch jolted Emma. Both Travis and his aunt were staring at her, asking questions with their concerned expressions.

      “I just saw more,” Emma whispered. “The man who hit me had blue eyes and bad teeth.”

      “That’s wonderful,” Travis told her.

      She shook her head adamantly. “No. It’s worse. The little girl? The one I told you I sort of remembered?”

      Travis nodded.

      “I think I know why I left without her,” Emma said. “She apparently belongs to that horrible man who locked me up.”

      Reaching out to tightly grasp Travis’s hand, she added, “We have to find her and get her away from him somehow. We have to.”

      * * *

      It was almost dawn before Travis was able to get back to sleep, and even then his restlessness prevented adequate rest.

      Sometime after they had all retired again it had occurred to him to do a computer search for Emma and the band she had been with before dropping out of sight. Given that she would be a definite asset during that kind of research, he had opted to wait until the following morning.

      He was already seated at the kitchen table with his laptop open and coffee brewed when the women joined him.

      Cleo donned an apron and went to work at the stove, as usual, while Emma poured herself a cup of hot coffee, carried it to the table and paused behind him. “What’re you doing? Email?”

      Travis shook his head. “No. I’ve been waiting for you to get up so I could show you a few things I found already.” He pulled up some sites he’d saved. “Does any of this promo look familiar?”

      “No. I don’t think so.”

      As she leaned closer she rested one hand lightly on his shoulder, sending a shiver zinging from his toes to the top of his head.

      Travis ignored the pleasant sensation to ask, “How about this one? The band’s name is similar to the one you used to sing with.”

      She was shaking her head. “No. Sorry.”

      It wasn’t until the fifth photo spread that he heard Emma’s sharp intake of breath and felt her hand grip his shoulder more tightly as she set her coffee cup aside.

      “Wait. Go back. That guitar player on the left looks familiar.”

      “I thought