Fatal Recall. Carol J. Post

      She lifted her brows, her interest piqued. “What kind of hobbies?”

      “Camping, hiking, canoeing, kayaking. And some other activities that aren’t so tame.”

      “Like what?”

      “Rock climbing, sandboarding, parasailing, white-water rafting. Class five, of course. There’s a group of four of us—three of us that do adventures together once or twice a year.”

      “Three of you now?” She grinned. “Did you lose one?”

      “We’ve got a backpacking trip planned for Colorado this summer, probably just Bryce and me. Colton’s occupied these days with a wife and kid.”

      She frowned. He’d continued without acknowledging her question. Maybe something terrible really had happened to the fourth guy.

      He proceeded to relay some of his experiences. Finally, he stopped. “I’m sorry, I’m monopolizing the conversation.”

      “That’s okay. What consists of my life story right now, you’ve witnessed. So talk on.”

      She enjoyed listening to him. His tales were interesting, his voice soothing, with a liquid smoothness and rich timbre. As he talked, her thoughts grew more random, and she drifted on the fringes of oblivion.

      Tanner paused. “Hey, you’re not falling asleep, are you?”

      “Mmm-hmm.” She didn’t open her eyes.

      “Seriously. Wake up.”

      She forced her eyes open. “Are you going to keep me awake all night?”

      “I’m going to try.”

      That probably wasn’t a bad idea. She needed to stay alert. For all she knew Tanner could be an ax murderer.

      That’s not what she felt, though. The vibes she got from him were all positive.

      But who was she to make that determination?

      How could she trust her gut when she couldn’t even remember who she was?

       TWO

      The air was cold and damp. No matter what she did, she couldn’t get warm.

      She drew her legs up, curling into a fetal position. It didn’t help. The damp chill had permeated every cell. When she reached for her comforter, her fingers wrapped around a stick.

      She came awake with a gasp. A hand clamped down hard on her mouth, pinching off her nose at the same time. Her heart stopped, then kick-started in triple time.

      Her eyes adjusted to the semidarkness of the room. Someone leaned over her, his head silhouetted against the speckled backdrop of the ceiling.

      Tanner. His lips were compressed as if to shush her, but no sound came out.

      Footfalls sounded a short distance away. The events of the prior day slammed into her with the force of a tidal wave. If not for the hand clamped over her mouth, she’d have sucked in another gasp.

      Tanner apparently recognized awareness in her eyes, because he slowly removed his hand.

      The footsteps crunched closer, the tread heavy. “I know you’re here somewhere. I heard you.”

      A heavy silence fell. The guy had stopped, probably studying his surroundings. Had she and Tanner left evidence of their presence? Broken limbs? Trampled underbrush?

       God, please don’t let him find us.

      The spontaneous prayer brought her up short. Did she have that kind of relationship with God, where she could send up a silent plea and expect to get an answer?

      Maybe not. A panicked prayer in a moment of duress didn’t mean anything.

      The man started moving again. “You might as well give up. I’m gonna find you.” He walked away and circled back, approaching on the other side. Then the footsteps retreated.

      She lay stock-still for what seemed like forever, scarcely daring to breathe. Finally, Tanner crept from their bunker. When she crawled out behind him, he was looking around, eyes alert. A shiver shook her shoulders. What she could see of the sky to her right looked a little lighter than the rest, but it would be some time before the sun traveled high enough to warm the air.

      Tanner looked down at her. “He’s gone.”

      She expelled a breath. Thank You. Wherever the answer had come from, someone deserved the recognition.

      “It sounded like he headed toward the river.” Tanner was still whispering. “I’m hoping he’s given up looking for us. When we get back to civilization, we’ll figure out our next step.”

      She nodded. He’d said “we.” Maybe he didn’t plan to dump her at the nearest hospital or police department.

      “Are you thirsty?”

      “And hungry.” She gave him a weak smile. “I don’t suppose you have another squished granola bar hiding anywhere.”

      “’Fraid not.”

      As she followed him toward the creek, she cast repeated glances over her shoulder. As long as the shooter didn’t double back, they should be all right.

      “I’d promise you a steak dinner tonight but I’m afraid the fare is going to be hospital cuisine. They’re going to want to run tests, probably keep you overnight.”

      Though she didn’t look forward to a hospital stay, having her memory wiped out was disconcerting enough to go along with whatever Tanner suggested.

      He stepped to the side to walk next to her. “Have you remembered anything since yesterday?”

      “Nothing. But I woke up this morning.” Tanner’s concerns about her falling into a concussion-induced coma were for naught. Until that final stretch before dawn, her sleep had been too fitful. Besides being cold, she couldn’t find a good position. The ground had seemed harder with every passing hour.

      He picked up a stick and broke a piece off its end. “You need a name.”

      “Any ideas?”

      He walked in silence, his expression thoughtful. “You don’t look like a Sarah or a Millie or a Priscilla.”

      “Why not?”

      “Those names are too...” His voice trailed off as he struggled to come up with the right adjective.

      “Soft and feminine?”

      He winced.

      “It’s okay. I’m wearing jeans, hiking boots and a messy braid. I don’t look like a Priscilla.”

      “So no soft names.” He broke off another piece of the stick he held and tossed it. “You need something strong—something implying athleticism, competence, self-sufficiency.”

      She quirked a brow, not sure how he came up with the last two descriptors. She’d have been in a pickle without him. But since she’d eluded her assailant until knocking herself unconscious, she had to have some level of competence.

      They reached the creek, and she knelt next to it. “How about Katrina?”

      He loomed over her, wiggling his brows. It didn’t matter what he called her. Anything they came up with would be temporary until someone identified her or she regained her memory.

      “You don’t look like a Katrina.” He dropped down next to her. “Or maybe you do. Kat for short.”

      “Alrighty, then. I guess I’m Kat.” She didn’t feel any connection to the name. Of course, she didn’t expect to.

      After sipping several scoops of water, they straightened. Her stomach growled, and she