With the Material Witness in the Safehouse

“Headache?” he asked. She gave him a small nod and thought she saw a flash of sympathy darken his eyes. “Why don’t you lie down for a little while? I’ve got phone calls to make, and once you feel better, we’ll talk about how things are going to go here.”

At the moment lying down sounded like a wonderful idea. She hadn’t realized how weak she still was until this moment. The bed looked inviting, and at least if she took a little nap, she wouldn’t have to worry about the fact that she couldn’t remember her immediate past and had no idea what her future held.

As Ryan left the bedroom, Britta stretched out on the bed. She lay on her back and stared up at the ceiling, trying to process everything she knew, but finding it impossible not to dwell on all the things she didn’t know.

She wasn’t even wearing her own clothes. Ryan had arrived at the clinic that morning with a bag of clothing from a nearby discount store. Although the underclothes had been the right size, the sweatpants and sweatshirt were far too big and an ugly color, not quite yellow and not quite green.

With a sigh she closed her eyes. The dream began before she realized she’d fallen asleep. She saw herself in a long white gown. An intricate necklace of seashells lay heavy around her neck.

The sand was warm beneath her feet as she walked the shore. The moon overhead was full, illuminating the tumultuous waves with a ghostly light.

The sea called to her, wanting her to come home. She walked toward the water, unable to fight the siren song that sang in her head, urging her forward.

She barely felt the salty water that embraced first her feet, then her legs, although she gasped slightly as it reached her waist and then her chest. She continued to walk until the water was up to her neck, then her chin, then finally over her head.

There was no panic, nothing except a strange calm acceptance that this was where she was supposed to be. The sea was her destiny.

It wasn’t until she was deep beneath the surface where the moon no longer shone that panic first stirred in her. Her heart pounded as she realized she couldn’t breathe. Her lungs began to burn and she tried to swim up, but anemones in various shapes and colors wrapped around her and held her in place. She fought, thrashing her arms and legs in an attempt to escape.

“Britta!”

The deep voice pulled her from the dream, and her eyes snapped open to see Ryan sitting on the edge of the bed. For just a moment it seemed completely natural for him to be on the bed with her, and that only added to her confusion.

He stood, every muscle in his body rigid as he shoved his hands into his pocket. “You must have been having a nightmare. You were crying out.”

She sat up and tried to remember her dream, but it slipped away as full consciousness returned. “I’m sorry.” She worried a hand through her hair. “How long was I asleep?”

“About an hour. How’s the headache?”

“Better.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood.

“I fixed lunch. Are you hungry?” he asked as they left the bedroom.

She nodded, surprised to discover that she was hungry. The catered clinic food had been abysmal, so she didn’t know when the last time was that she’d had a good meal.

He pointed her to a chair at the table where he’d already set plates and silverware, then went to the refrigerator and pulled out a bowl of pasta salad. He set it in the middle of the table, then returned to the fridge for a platter of cold cuts. “It’s nothing elaborate.”

“It looks good.”

He handed her a bottle of diet soda, then poured himself a glass of milk. It was disconcerting that he knew her well enough to know what she’d want to drink, and yet she couldn’t remember a darn thing about him.

“We need to go by the inn and get my things,” she said once he was settled in the chair opposite her. “I’m assuming I arrived here in town with at least a suitcase.”

“I don’t want to do that,” he replied. “I bought you some extra clothes and I’ll get you whatever else you need.”

She frowned. “I don’t understand. Why can’t I just get my own things?” Maybe the familiarity of her own clothes would jog something in her memory.

“Right now the only person who knows that you’ve been found is the doctor and a nurse or two. I don’t want anyone else to know because I intend to ask questions about you, questions that will hopefully make somebody nervous enough to show themselves.”

“And then what?”

“Then we find out just what in the hell happened to you over those four days.”

An unexpected chill walked up her spine. She wasn’t at all sure she wanted to know what had happened to her.

RYAN SHOULD NEVER HAVE gone into the bedroom when he’d heard her crying out. Seeing Britta lying on the bed had brought back a rush of memories he’d tried hard to forget. Even now, as he sat across the table from her, those memories of making love with her lit a simmering flame in the pit of his stomach.

She’d been a wildly passionate lover, a woman comfortable with her own body and equally comfortable with his. They’d been holed up in a duplex for months and there had been few places in that tiny space that they hadn’t made love.

He cast her a surreptitious glance. She picked at the pasta salad as if finding it nearly unpalatable. “You know, if you don’t like it, you don’t have to eat it,” he said. “I’m not exactly a master chef.”

She looked up at him and smiled. It was the first smile she’d offered him, and the power of that gesture kicked him right in the stomach. “It’s very good. I’m just not as hungry as I thought I was.” She set down her fork, obviously deciding not even to pretend to eat.

“I’m overwhelmed at the moment by everything that’s happened since I woke up in the clinic,” she said softly. “I guess I’d feel more comfortable if I at least remembered you.”

He’d feel more comfortable if she never remembered him. “We just need to take this one day at a time,” he replied. “Hopefully in the next couple of days I can find out what happened to you, and in the meantime maybe your memory will start to come back.”

“I hope so,” she said fervently. She tilted her head slightly to one side and gazed at him for a long moment. “I feel as if I’m at such a disadvantage here. You know me well enough to know what I’d want to drink with my lunch and yet I don’t know anything about you.”

“I know what you like to drink because while you were in my custody we ate meals together, but we didn’t share a lot of personal information.” He looked down at his plate so she wouldn’t see the lie in his eyes.

If and when she regained her memories there would probably be hell to pay for the lies he was telling, but he’d worry about that when the time came.

“So, we weren’t really friends?” There was a faint wistfulness in her tone.

He could only imagine that in her present state she was desperately seeking a connection to somebody…to anybody. “We were friendly,” he conceded.

She smiled again, and the flame that had lit in the pit of his stomach burned a little hotter. He got up from the table, feeling the need to get out of there, to escape her nearness.

Besides, he had work to do, and it wouldn’t get done by him sitting here with her. “I’m going to finish unloading the car, then head out for a couple of hours.” He didn’t wait for her reply but went out the back door and to the car.

He had not only his suitcase in the trunk, but also several shopping bags from the discount store. He gathered up everything and returned to the cottage.

Britta followed him into the living room where he dumped all the bags on the sofa. “There’re clothes and toiletries for you in here.” He placed his suitcase on the floor and opened it. On top of his clothes was a cell phone and charger. “This is for you,” he said as he handed her the phone, then plugged the charger into an electric socket in the wall.

“I’ll give you my number so that you can call me if you need me,” he continued. “Stay away from the doors and windows. Nobody knows you’re here and I want to keep it that way.”

“So basically I’m a prisoner here,” she said flatly.

He forced a lazy grin to his lips. “That’s right, darlin’, and I’m your number-one jailer.” He laced his voice with his Texas drawl. “And while I’m out trying to figure out what’s going on in this little village, you might want to use your energy and cook me up a good dinner.”

Her eyes narrowed and her back went rigid, just as he knew they would. She’d hated it before when he’d used the little-woman routine on her, which was why he wanted to use it and see if it brought back any memories. The fact that she merely nodded and didn’t explode let him know just how fragile she was.

“I should be back in a couple of hours.” Once again he felt an incredible need to gain some distance from her. “Lock the doors and call me if you need anything.”

He didn’t wait for her reply but instead stepped out of the back door and into the briny-scented air. This was going to be more difficult than he’d thought.

When he’d walked away from Britta months ago, he’d put her in his past. He’d been determined never to see her again, that she would never be part of his life again. But her disappearance and the fact that she might be in trouble had changed everything.

He stood in front of the house and gathered his thoughts. He’d start at the docks. He wasn’t sure of the best way to proceed, but he’d decided to play the role of Britta’s boyfriend, desperately seeking any information about his missing lover.

He patted his pocket where he had a picture of himself and Britta tucked inside. It had been taken months ago, and it was a particularly good photo of Britta.

As he headed toward the docks, dark clouds hung low overhead and the scent of decaying fish grew stronger despite a wind that had picked up. The ocean looked unwelcoming with whitecaps shooting up with tremendous force. A rumble of thunder in the distance announced a coming storm.

A group of men sat at an old wooden picnic table, their sunburned faces identifying them as men who spent most of their time on the water. Ryan ambled toward them with a friendly smile. If he was ever going to pull out his good-ol’-boy-from-Texas act, now was the time.

“How you all doing?” he asked, then cast his gaze back out to the tumultuous sea. “Guess it’s not a good day to be out fishing.”

“We can afford to take a day off,” a man with white hair and a grizzly beard said. “Been pulling in the best hauls of our lives lately.”

“Ryan Burton,” Ryan said, and stuck out his hand.

“They call me Captain Claybourne,” the old man said as he grabbed Ryan’s hand in a firm shake. He pointed to the man next to him, a young man with a shock of blond hair. “This here is Sam Lanier.” Ryan nodded, and Captain Claybourne then pointed to the man across the table. “And that’s Alex Gibson.” Alex Gibson raised a hand in greeting, his bright blue eyes holding a touch of reserve.

“So, the fishing business has been booming,” Ryan said as Captain Claybourne gestured him to a seat at the table.

“I’ve been fishing these waters for fifty years, and I’ve never seen anything like it,” Claybourne exclaimed, and shook his head. “We’re pulling in new records every day. It doesn’t seem to matter what kind of fish it is, they’re all as big as I’ve ever seen them.”

“Gonna make us all wealthy men,” Sam said with a wide grin.

“Don’t be spending the money too freely,” Alex said. “You never know with the sea when things might go bad again.”

There was a sober moment of silence, then Captain Claybourne eyed Ryan curiously. “You vacationing here in Raven’s Cliff?”

“Actually, I’m trying to chase down a woman,” Ryan replied.

“Aren’t we all,” Alex replied dryly.

The other two men hooted. “Don’t let Lucy hear you saying stuff like that,” Sam exclaimed. “Lucy owns Tidal Treasures, a little trinket shop,” he explained to Ryan, “and she and Alex have been seeing each other.”

“Well, I’m here in town looking for my girlfriend,” Ryan replied as he pulled the photo from his pocket. He handed it to Captain Claybourne, aware of a subtle hierarchy among the men. “She got here a couple of days ago but nobody has seen her since the night she arrived.”

Claybourne looked at the photo then shook his head and handed it to Sam. “Sorry, I haven’t seen her around.”

“Me, neither,” Sam replied.

Alex took the photo and studied it, then shrugged his broad shoulders. “Sorry.” He handed the photo back to Ryan, who pocketed it once again.

“Have you talked to Captain Swanson?” Claybourne asked.

“Nah, I’ve been reluctant to go to the authorities. Valerie has a history of disappearing then turning up again,” Ryan replied. “Besides, he has enough on his hands with the accident that happened at the wedding of the mayor’s daughter.”

“Yeah, we weren’t invited to the wedding, but we heard about it,” Sam said. He shook a cigarette from a pack and lit it. He took a deep pull, released the smoke, then shook his head. “Crazy, huh, how she got blown off that cliff and just disappeared. You’d think her body would have been found by now. We all searched.”

“Sometimes the sea doesn’t give up what it takes,” Alex said.

Ryan stood, knowing there was nothing else to ask them, no reason to linger. None of them had displayed any suspicious-looking expressions as they’d looked at the photo of Britta. “Well, I appreciate your time and it was nice meeting you all.”

“Sorry we couldn’t be of help. You going to be around the area in case we do see your woman?” Claybourne asked.

“I’ll be around,” Ryan replied. He didn’t want to give them any information about where he was staying to lead anyone to Britta, so with a small wave, he left the men and headed farther up the dock.

His cell phone rang and he grabbed it from his pocket and checked the caller ID. It was Michael Kelly. “I did some checking into that drug you asked me about,” he said when Ryan answered. “I can’t find any information on Stinging Flower. It’s not in the database and nobody I’ve asked has ever heard of it.”

Ryan frowned with frustration. He’d been hoping to learn more about the drug that had been injected into Britta. “You’ll keep digging?”

“Yeah, but I have a feeling at least for now it’s a dead end. You sure you don’t need me out there? I could help you turn over stones to try to find out what happened.”

“No, I don’t want two of us asking questions and bringing unwanted attention to all this. I met the captain of the police department. He seems like a sharp guy. I don’t want to get him involved in this because I’m afraid he’ll dig deep enough to find out that Valerie King isn’t who we say she is. The fewer people who know the truth about her, the better. If I have to go to him later, I will. But at the moment I’m trying to keep this as low-key as possible.”

“Okay, it’s your call,” Michael said. “Is she still not remembering anything?”

“Nothing,” Ryan replied. “Who knows if she’ll ever remember what happened in Boston. I just wish she could remember where she’s been since she arrived here in Raven’s Cliff.”

“You have any ideas at all?”

Ryan frowned once again. “No, not a clue,” he finally replied. “But hopefully that will change over the next couple of days.”

After he hung up, Ryan remained standing on the dock, staring out at the storm clouds that drew closer. The approaching darkness in the sky filled him with a sense of apprehension.

He was a man trained in dealing with facts, and there was absolutely no factual basis for what he felt in his soul. And what he felt was that there was an evil here in Raven’s Cliff and for four days Britta had somehow been a part of it.

Chapter Four

After Ryan left the cottage, Britta carried the bags of items he’d bought her into the bedroom and began to unpack them. Toothpaste, toothbrush, deodorant and hair products went into the bathroom on a shelf, then she pulled out the clothing he’d bought for her.

By the very items he’d chosen for her, she’d guess that he didn’t know her as well as she’d thought. She frowned as she pulled out two pairs of baggy sweatpants, one in blue and one in black. There were matching sweatshirts, as well, and both were two sizes too big.

She couldn’t remember a lot of things, but she was sure this wasn’t her normal choice of clothing. He’d certainly not opted for making a fashion statement, unless it was a bad one.

As she pulled out a pair of flannel pajamas, she stifled a groan. She was relatively certain she’d never slept in flannel pajamas in her life.

More than anything Ryan had said to her, this indicated that their previous relationship had been strictly business. Still, there had been that moment when she’d awakened in the bed and had stared at him seated next to her and a memory had niggled, teasingly trying to make itself known.

For just a moment she thought she could remember the hot taste of his mouth. For one insane second she thought she had a memory of being in his arms, of his hard, muscled body pressed intimately against hers.

She shook the crazy thought out of her head and hung the clothes in the closet. The strange thing was that while there was a sense of comfortable familiarity about him, she also felt just a touch of disquiet where he was concerned. It wasn’t exactly fear, but just the feeling that she needed to be wary.

She had no choice but to trust him for the moment, but if she got a sense that he was a real, physical threat, she’d run. She might not know everything about her past, but she’d do whatever necessary to ensure she had a future.

He’d already indicated to her that there had been one attempt on her life while she’d been in his custody. She wondered if a member of the gang she’d testified against had found her here in Raven’s Cliff. Had one of them somehow held her against her will? Injected her with the drug that had stolen her memories?

But why would they do that? She’d already been in court and testified. Her memories of the shoot-out that night at the hotel were documented in court files. What good would it do anyone to try to get rid of her now, so long after the fact? It just didn’t make sense.

She hoped Ryan came back with some answers. According to what he’d told her, she’d entered the Witness Protection Program. That meant she’d agreed to leave her old life behind. She’d given up her job, the little apartment she’d called home and all her friends.

She had no relatives. She’d lost both her parents three years ago. Thank God they hadn’t been alive to see the mess that her life had become.

What she needed to do was focus on where she went from here. Surely Ryan didn’t intend for them to be here in Raven’s Cliff for too long, and then she’d be relocated.

The last bag she opened was the one she had brought with her from the clinic. Inside was the white gown she’d been wearing when Ryan had found her, along with the necklace that had been around her neck.

She pulled out the gown and ran a trembling hand over the gauzy material. The bottom was dirty and crusted with sand. She’d hoped by touching it, by looking at it closely, a memory would blossom in her head, but all she got was a vague feeling of fear.

The necklace was made of dozens of chunky pretty shells threaded onto a thin piece of fishing line. Where had it come from? Who had made it? And why had she been wearing it and the gown and wandering in the old lighthouse? She ran her hand across the shells.

Go to the sea.

The words were a faint whisper in her ear and she quickly snatched her hand away from the odd necklace, quieting the strange inner voice.

Unsettled even more than she had been, she shoved the items back into the bag and placed them on the floor of the closet, then left the bedroom.

The first thing she did when she returned to the kitchen was check the refrigerator to see what food was in there. It was fully stocked, as was the freezer. Apparently the FBI had the power not only to change who you were, but also to stock a refrigerator with enough food to last a month.

She pulled out a package of steaks to thaw. She’d cook the evening meal tonight, but if Ryan thought she was going to spend the days here cooking and cleaning for him he had another think coming.

Her mother had been a strong, independent woman, a wonderful role model for Britta. Chores at her house had been equally shared between husband and wife, and Britta’s father had never treated her mother like “the little woman” whose only job was to cook and clean for him.

A search of the kitchen cabinets yielded a notebook and a pen. She grabbed herself a cold can of diet soda, then sat down at the table to make a list of what she wanted her new life to be. Someplace in the back of her mind she knew it was a desperate attempt to regain control.

She knew she could never go back to the kind of job she’d once wanted, as manager of an upscale hotel. She’d seen enough movies to know that when you entered the Witness Protection Program you not only gave up friends and family, but also any ties to the kind of job you’d once had. She was a bit surprised that she’d been set up as a housekeeper at the Cliffside Inn.

Maybe in her next life she’d be a waitress or a cashier in a grocery store. The degree she’d obtained in hotel management would probably never be used again.

A rumble of thunder broke the silence and a small sliver of fear tightened her stomach muscles. Funny, she didn’t think she’d ever been afraid of storms before, but the kitchen was suddenly too small, too dark, and the approaching storm touched off an unexpected edge of anxiety.

She tried to focus on the paper in front of her but jumped and let out a small squeal as lightning flashed at the window, followed by another growl of thunder. Rain began to pelt down, and she found it impossible to sit any longer.

Surely the rain would bring Ryan back soon. It surprised her how much she didn’t want to be alone. As another strobe of lightning flashed, she left the kitchen and went into the living room.

At that moment she heard a key in the front door and Ryan came in, dripping water and cursing beneath his breath. “Does the sun ever shine in this place?” he asked, obviously not expecting an answer.

She hurried into the bathroom, grabbed a towel, then returned to the living room and handed it to him. He flashed her a grateful smile as he swiped it over his short brown hair.

She curled up in one corner of the sofa and fought the impulse to jam her hands over her ears as the thunder crashed overhead. A vision flashed in her head…she saw the hotel lobby decorated in gold and orange for the holiday. The lobby of the Woodlands Hotel offered lush elegance and an aura of luxury and serenity. But that vision was shattered by the acrid scent of gunfire that filled her nose. In her mind she saw one man dive for cover behind a love seat and another topple over the back of a chair. A scream. A moan. And blood. Blood everywhere.

The vision disappeared as quickly as it had come. “Are you all right?” Ryan asked, eyeing her curiously.

“I’m… I think I just had a memory.”

He tossed the damp towel to the tile floor and moved to the sofa to sit next to her, bringing with him the odor of the rain and that faint scent that stirred something deep inside her. “A memory of what?”

“The shooting that night at the hotel. It was just a flash. I smelled the gun smoke, saw men diving for cover and that was it. But that’s a good sign, isn’t it? Maybe with time I am going to get back all of my memories.”

He nodded, his gaze enigmatic as it lingered on her. “It’s a start,” he finally said.

“The days I’ve been missing since I arrived here, do you think it’s the work of one of the gang members?” she asked.

“I don’t think so. If one of the gang members had found you, they wouldn’t have kept you for four days, but at this point I’m not ruling out anything.”

She frowned thoughtfully. “I can understand them wanting to kill me before this all went to trial, but if I already testified against them, then why would they still want to kill me? Why did I have to go into Witness Protection after the trial was over?”