Sudden Recall. Lisa PhillipsЧитать онлайн книгу.
There may not be anything between them, given her memory loss and the unanswered question of why she’d never met him at the airport. But that didn’t mean he was willing to risk not being around if she needed him.
* * *
Sienna knelt and pulled the shoebox from under the bed. Outside, she heard Parker’s truck start and the engine rev as he drove away.
A cold settled in her stomach as she realized she was here without him. Some part of her seemed to recognize him, as much as she didn’t want that to be the case. The last thing she needed was a man she had no memory of expecting her to say a particular thing or act a particular way.
That kind of pressure—wondering if she was still the woman he’d known and who that was—would drive her crazy. Sienna felt crazed enough already. The CIA? It was enough to send her running out the door. With no memory, she was more than in over her head; she was drowning. Those men had tried to kidnap her, and she’d had no way to fight them off beyond the basic self-defense techniques she’d learned at the gym.
Sienna removed the rubber bands that secured the box and sat back on her heels. She flipped the lid onto the floor to reveal the contents.
A collection of photos with curled edges had been fastened with a rusty paper clip. The one on top was a country house and barn. Underneath the stack was an old movie ticket stub, two postcards from European cities that were blank on the back and enough space for the Bible Sienna had removed when she’d woken from her coma.
Nothing new. Nothing that made her remember what she was supposed to be doing. Or anything about who she was.
Did Nina really think Sienna hadn’t looked in the shoebox before? And what in here made Nina believe Sienna would leave her aunt?
The Bible had been a solace to her in the months she’d tried to get her memory back. Sienna had scoured its pages, reading and rereading passages she had highlighted in her forgotten past. Notes she had made in the margins where it had spoken to her in one way or another. But none of that meant anything to her now—she had no frame of reference for it. She had read it as though for the very first time, soaked up the hope and peace found in those pages when so much of her life was upside down.
Sienna flicked through the photos, but there wasn’t anything tucked between them. She only saw images of people she didn’t recognize in places she’d never been.
With a cry of frustration she dumped the shoebox over. She wanted to smash the thing, but then she’d have nowhere to store the secret treasures of a woman who didn’t exist anymore. Maybe she never would.
On an exhale, Sienna righted the box and restowed the items. When it was secure, with the rubber bands replaced, she went to the closet and tucked it in her duffel. Who knew what the night would bring? If she had to run, she wanted the hidden things with her.
Sienna glanced at her closed bedroom door. Did she want to face her aunt? Karen was keeping secrets from her. Why else would she have asked Sienna if she had killed her attackers? Now Sienna knew why her aunt had thought that. But was it real? Was she a killer?
She got ready for bed. She was done with this awful day where her life had upended. With a sigh, she closed the bathroom door and went to the window. The night outside was dark, but the only light came from the living room to her right. Sienna had turned off her lamp so she could better see the stars, but it was cloudy. Not a night to dwell on the magnitude of things around her.
The backyard was an expanse of damp grass from the rains they’d had the past week, but was now twice as green. Bad with the good, just like everything in her life.
The trees swayed in the breeze, though her barn was silent. The animals were fine.
The quiet just reminded her that no one needed her. At least, not until she recalled whatever it was she’d forgotten. Then maybe everyone would stop giving her indecipherable looks or walking on eggshells as they bypassed her to get on with their important lives.
A flash of motion by the barn.
She’d painted it herself, because every barn should be red. Plain wood was a travesty. Probably just a small animal foraging.
It moved again. Bigger than a critter. The size of a grown man.
Parker swiped his card in the reader. The buzzer went off. He pushed open the heavy door and strode into the office. Despite it being way past midnight, at least half of those who worked there milled around. Their team and two others shared the floor, one of whom was in and prepping for an early-morning raid.
Wyatt sat behind his desk, peering intently at the screen on his computer.
Parker hung his coat on the back of his chair. “Did you lose your reading glasses again?”
Wyatt shot Parker a disgusted look that only made him laugh. They were all late thirties, and Wyatt bemoaned—constantly—the fact he’d been prescribed glasses for his headaches instead of less paperwork and more fieldwork.
Wyatt clicked his mouse. “Paperwork on the detainee is done. I put in a request for some background on him, but we likely won’t know who he is until we run his prints. Even then, given his accent, we may be looking at Homeland Security or Interpol. Who knows where this guy surfaced from?”
Parker slumped into his chair. “My guess, they’re going to show up as ex-military. Foreign, but the country won’t matter much. One was Italian. The others weren’t.”
“So why is a team of foreign mercenaries trying to kidnap your girl-with-amnesia?” Wyatt grinned. “Is she some kind of spy?”
Parker stayed quiet.
“She is?” Wyatt busted up laughing. “Seriously? Little Sienna Cartwright is CIA?”
Parker was too tired; otherwise, he’d have thrown a paperweight at his partner. “I fail to see why this is funny. My guess, whatever her last mission was, it went unresolved and that’s why she was almost abducted by foreign mercenaries.”
Wyatt’s smile dropped. “Whoa.”
It had happened a few times. Those moments where it became clear there was a world between Parker’s experience as a SEAL, traveling the world, meeting a CIA agent, and Wyatt’s experience being a city police detective. Sure, they were both small-town US marshals, but the roads they had traveled to get there were vastly different.
Wyatt swallowed. “Jonah’s on the phone with the judge. Mr. Italiano can sit in holding tonight. In the morning we’ll figure out who he is, and what’s next for him.”
Parker nodded. “Okay. Guess it’s time to go get some sleep.”
Wyatt waved off Parker’s comment. “Sleep is for sissies.”
Parker pulled his jacket back on and strode down the hall to find out from the duty marshal if their detainee had said anything. Any comment he made was a potential lead on whoever had targeted Sienna tonight. If they got something good, he’d be one step closer to walking away.
When he was sure she was protected, when she lost that shadow of fear in her eyes, then Parker’s heart would finally be able to let her go.
He’d seen it in his dad, the desperation that wouldn’t let him find peace after Parker’s mom had run off with another man. He’d been eight at the time, and for the next ten years he’d watched his father drink away the pain of her betrayal.
History had repeated itself with his own ex-wife. Parker had prided himself on being stronger than the lure of the oblivion drinking would have given him. Instead, he’d thrown himself more and more into work—until he’d earned the nickname “Charger” because he wouldn’t ever stop, no matter what was in front of him.
Most days he’d almost envied his dad the outlet of alcohol, the sting of betrayal had been that great. He’d thought he finally found what he’d