Lost Christmas Memories. Dana MentinkЧитать онлайн книгу.
think I stopped there.” She caught Keegan’s eyes. “When did the wreck happen?”
Something in Keegan’s expression sent nerves jumping along her spine. “Was someone hurt?” Her body went tense, the action sending the blanket askew. “Did I hit anybody?”
“No,” Keegan said, pulling the blanket back into place. “You didn’t hurt anyone. I met you at an abandoned train station where you stopped because of your flat tire. We were... I mean...do you remember why we were in such a hurry to leave the train station?”
Again, the flickering images of violence erupted in her mind. Was it bits of a leftover nightmare? “I’m not sure.”
The officer tucked his thumbs into his gun belt. “You told Keegan here that you’d been at the center to meet Bryce Larraby.” He paused. “You also told him you’d witnessed a murder, but you did not identify the killer or the victim.”
Tracy would have leaped from the bed if the doctor hadn’t restrained her. The nightmare wasn’t a dream. “I did. I thought it was a dream when I first woke up, but it must have really happened. I can remember seeing a man strangling a woman. It must have happened there at the center.”
“What man?” John said. “What woman?”
“I...I don’t know.” She fought against another rising tide of panic. “Did you go there to investigate? To the Mother Lode, I mean? Was there...?” She swallowed.
“We did and found nothing. You never met my father, Bryce Larraby. He said you’d emailed him to set up a meeting, but you two hadn’t confirmed a time. My officers finished combing the place. There’s no sign of foul play, nothing out of the ordinary.”
Tracy stared, mind whirling. Why couldn’t she remember where she’d been? Whom she’d seen? Her mind was a mess, but her gut kept screaming that what she did remember was real. It was clear from the chief’s tone that he didn’t believe her. Her chin went up. She’d learned long ago not to care what people thought of her. “Quietly plow ahead” was her motto. Alone preferably. With others when absolutely necessary.
“Chief Larraby, I’m not a liar. If I said I saw a murder then I did.”
“I’m sure that’s what you thought you saw. People can make themselves believe almost anything.” He paused. “We found medication in your bag. Topiramate.”
She sucked in a breath.
“Wait a minute,” Keegan said, mouth tight. “What are you implying? She’s just been through a head injury, John.”
“I’m well aware.”
Tracy let out a long, slow breath. “Those pills are for seizures, Chief Larraby, and I haven’t taken any lately.”
“How do you define lately?”
“I haven’t had a seizure in more than six months, which is why I can drive.” Her tone was cold and she hoped he got the full impact of her distaste for his questions. “I’ve been tapered off the meds under a doctor’s care. I carry them because my property is in a remote area and I haven’t found a local doctor yet. I’m not an addict, and whatever I witnessed wasn’t a product of drugs. That much I can tell you for certain.”
“Confusion, short-term memory loss.” John ticked the items off on his fingers. “All symptoms of overuse. And the medication, Topiramate—it’s used to treat alcohol addiction, isn’t it?”
“Knock it off.” Keegan’s tone was savage. “We got shot at both at the train station and the road just before we crashed. That’s fact, and you can’t gloss over it.”
Tracy gasped. Shot at?
“We’ve examined the scenes and the car,” John said coldly, “but we’ve got nothing on the shooter except some tire tracks. Doc, can you run a blood test to check for drugs in her system?”
“That’s—” Keegan started angrily.
“That’s perfectly fine,” Tracy said, cutting him off. “Go ahead.”
“I can run them, of course,” said the doctor. “But most will only stay in the system for two to three days, so you may not find anything anyway.”
“Run the tests,” John repeated. “We have to check out her story.”
“It’s not a story,” Keegan snarled. “Stop treating her like a criminal.”
“I’m doing my job and you need to back off.”
Keegan’s eyes flashed blue fire. “No, you’re not. You’re punishing her because I helped her. Or maybe you’re trying to cover up for one of dear old Dad’s employees. Is that it? Does Bryce have some skeletons over at the center he’s pressuring you to bury?”
John whirled to face him, hands fisted. “Keegan...”
“Gentlemen,” the doctor said. “She needs rest. Your visit is over.”
“I have more questions,” John said.
“They’ll wait. Out.” He ushered them to the door.
John followed the doctor into the hallway and Tracy could hear him begin a conversation on his cell phone.
Keegan stopped and turned before he cleared the door.
“I’ll be waiting out in the hall in case you need anything.” He lowered his voice. “I think they’ve refilled the free cookies at the nurses’ station by now since I ate the last six. Not homemade, but they’ll do. I’ll sneak some in for you.” He turned to go.
“But...” She didn’t know where to begin. Her memory was as ragged as an old coat—they’d apparently been shot at. “Someone tried to kill me? And you got shot because of it? I don’t understand all this. Why can’t I remember the murderer’s face? The victim’s? What is happening to me?” To her dismay, tears flooded down her cheeks and she bit her lip to keep from outright sobbing.
He was at her side in a moment, tender and soft. “Hey there, Pockets. Don’t worry. Soon as you get some rest, we’ll figure it out, okay?”
Pockets? His hands were strong as he brushed at the trickle of tears.
“We’re...friends?” she found herself whispering. Friends were not something she sought out. Too much disappointment down that road after she’d seen her closest friends abandon her when the truth came out about her father. His shame had cloaked her like a stain, it seemed, friendships abruptly evaporating when he’d been sent to jail.
Focus on Grandpa. Get out of here.
Still, there was something so warm in Keegan’s touch. She allowed herself to feel comfort in it, the solace of knowing he wanted to protect her. It was a new feeling, both delicious and unsettling.
He grinned widely. “Yes, ma’am, we’re friends. I mean, you tried to shoot me and all, but once we got that out of the way, we bonded like two horses in a snowstorm.”
“I...shot at you?” She gazed in horror at his arm. “Did I do that?”
“No, ma’am. No offense, but you’re not that good a shot.”
“I’m not?” she said weakly.
“Nope. You probably couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn, as my brother Owen would say.”
Her small giggle surprised her. “That’s exactly what my grandpa Stew would say, too. He’s an old cowboy from way back. When he had to sell his land, it nearly killed him.” She chewed her lip. “He’s arriving tomorrow, Saturday. I have to get out of here to meet him.” She looked around. “My cell phone. Have you seen it? I have to call him. I think I lost it somewhere.”
He leaned down and caught her eyes with his. “You didn’t have one at the train station, but I’ll ask the doctor anyway. Don’t worry.