Authors: Sue Barr
****
Feet kicked out over the porch railing, Tank sipped a beer and
watched agency vehicles and swarms of forensic teams arrive, only to disappear
into Regis’ house. Tank appeared calm, almost nonchalant, but he raged on the
inside.
Surveillance confirmed Regis was involved with Big Boss and had set
the charges at Shelby’s house. Tank’s first impulse had been to drag the simpering
worm out of his house and take him to a secluded, quiet place where he would do
things. Things that took time.
He daydreamed about it, relishing in the pain and fear Regis would
experience, but the burning anger dissipated and Tank decided revenge was best
served by letting Regis sweat it out in prison. Tank would let it slip, when
they interviewed Regis that a few of the bigger men behind the cold silent
walls were looking for dates. Regis had a vivid imagination. Let him figure it
out.
His cell phone vibrated. Reaching into his back pocket he pulled
the phone out and checked caller I.D. His tight voice betrayed the tension
coiling in the back of his neck. “Steele.”
“The little ferret’s been under our noses the whole time.” Rodie’s
excited voice shot through the phone. “It appears he was more involved with Big
Boss than we thought. Regis did a lot of business for him, using gadgets on the
phone to disguise his voice—”
“Have you got him in custody?” Tank asked.
“Yeah and you should see his basement, man. Freaking space age.”
“I’ll be there in two.” Tank turned off his phone, set the empty
beer bottle on the porch, and walked down the street. How convenient Regis
lived only three houses away. The irony was not lost on him.
****
The interior of the house bustled with activity and Tank, pushing
by some agents searching a closet, made his way to the basement. With one
sweeping glance he saw Regis had set up an intricate computer lab on the right
and the left side of the basement housed bankers boxes stacked five high and he
couldn’t tell how many deep. The room felt cold, almost sterile, smelling of
bleach and chlorine.
Regis had been meticulous with his record keeping and surveillance
of Big Boss’s ‘troops.’ Tank looked over the shoulder of the computer forensic
analyst, watching column after column of numbers scroll down one of three
screens, set up on a steel tube desk.
“What do you have?” Tank thought his eyes would cross. There were a
lot of dates, names and numbers.
“What don’t we have would be a better question. Regis tried to
clean his computer before we got here, but I’ve been able to reconstruct most
of it.” The analyst took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He
indicated the screen on the left. “This file is drug deals. Who bought, who
sold. See the ones in red?”
Tank leaned in and saw a few names highlighted in red.
“We think these are ones who didn’t pay.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Red is dead.” The analyst scrolled the page back up a few screens
and the cursor hovered over a name, Dino PasQuale. “See Dino here?”
“Yeah, wasn’t he found floating a few years ago?’
“Yup, that’s him and right about the time Dino was killed, you’ll
see Angelo’s name in the payment column.”
Tank nodded. That made sense. It was a well-known fact that Dino’s
brother Angelo had continued the business. “What else have you got?”
“Lots. This egg head kept everything. This one...” A few clicks and
another file popped up on the second screen. “...itemizes robberies in the area
and a few out of state. He lists who Big Boss hired, who got what percentage of
the take. He even rated them on a sliding scale. It’s like hitting a gold mine.
We’ve been able to get some warrants out on a few people, all because our
little buddy is an anal idiot. Too bad a lot of the trails are dead ends with
closed numbered accounts, but we’re working every angle we’ve got to find the
identity of Big Boss.”
“Agent Steele?” Tank turned to see another agent, hesitating at the
foot of the stairs. “I think you should see this.”
Tank followed him to the second floor, toward the master bedroom.
He stopped cold in the doorway and took a deep breath, forcing himself to enter
and take a closer look. His hands clenched and he shook with an almost
uncontrollable anger.
The illegal business Regis was involved in, Tank could understand,
but what he saw in this room kicked him in the gut. The far wall was covered in
a collage of photos taken of Shelby, proving Regis had stalked her for years.
There were photos of her at work, talking on the phone in her
kitchen even sunbathing in her back yard. But the one that almost had Tank drop
to his knees was of him and Shelby, taken through a window. He recognized the
dress she was wearing. He’d just proposed, and she’d said yes. Closing his
eyes, he still smelled her perfume.
The picture forever encapsulated them in a passionate embrace, his
one hand cupping her face, the other pulling her close to his body. Her arms
were wound around his neck with her fingers tangled in his hair. He’d been
kissing her passionately, deeply and so in love, and he hated Regis for taking
her away before he could explain that he never stopped loving her.
The agent finished snapping photos of the scene and removed that
same picture off the wall, and began to place it into an evidence pouch. Tank
snatched the photo out of his hand. The agent, taken by surprise, reached for
the picture. “Sir, that’s evidence.”
“This one stays with me. She’s more than a manila folder full of
photos.” Tank’s voice brooked no argument and the agent, after a slight pause
nodded, moving over to other pictures on the wall. Tank carefully tucked the
photo into his wallet and turned his back on the abhorrent shrine.
Chapter Fifteen
Everything hurt.
I tried turning my head side to side. My stomach rolled with
nausea, but not enough to throw up. Nothing seemed familiar as I looked around
a spacious room with pale yellow walls. Bright blue curtains framed a large,
oversized window and I could tell dusk approached. The double bed I lay in was
comfortable enough and a quick check under the patterned quilt showed I wore a
lacy, white cotton nightgown. Did I even own a nightgown and where was I?
I raised myself to a sitting position and my stomach lurched again,
but quickly settled. On the far side of the room opposite the bed, I saw an
adjoining bathroom. Relief rolled over me. Nature called and the last thing I
wanted was to try and stumble down some hallway.
With cautious movements I swung my legs over the edge of the bed
and stood. Kneecaps shaking, I began to cross the room when dizziness hit me
full force. Edges of black crept in around my vision and I had to prop my
weight on the bed with one arm.
Head lowered, to staunch the feeling of nausea that had returned
with a vengeance, I heard the door creak open. Feeling like a naughty child
caught out of bed I froze, my gaze raised to a tall, lean stranger standing in
the doorway.
He rushed to my side and wrapped a strong arm around my waist,
giving me the support I needed. “Wait a minute. I’ll help you,” he said, “Where
were you going?”
“Bathroom.
NOW
!” Urgent need crowded out time for niceties
and small talk. I didn’t even mind that a complete stranger was going to help
me.
“Then we better hustle. I’ll get you there and give you some
privacy.”
He helped me to the bathroom and then eased back out, closing the
door. I waited until I knew for certain he’d moved away before I sat to attend
my needs.
The smallest of tasks almost proved too much for me. I stood to
wash my hands and the room dipped and swayed. Only by hanging onto the counter
did I stop myself from falling.
In the mirror, a stranger’s bright blue eyes stared back at me. A
sterile gauze strip at my temple blended in with the pasty white of my
forehead. There was also gauze on the side of my neck and a few bruises on my
shoulder peeked out from under the collar of the nightgown. No shadow of
recognition hit me.
I must have made a noise because after a light tap, the door opened
and he popped his head in again.
“You okay? Do you need a hand getting back to bed?”
Weakly, I nodded.
“Don’t mind me.” He scooped me up, easily carrying me back into the
bedroom. With gentle care I was laid onto the bed and then the stranger pulled
the duvet to cover me again.
He dragged a chair from under the window to the side of the bed,
sat on it and leaned forward until his forearms rested on his thighs. He had
thick, wavy, chestnut hair, chocolate brown eyes and a rugged face.
I wished he had hair the color of burnished oak, tipped with golden
highlights and green eyes, or did I like blue? He looked at me with a concerned
expression. My eyelids drooped and I struggled to keep them open.
“Who are you?” I finally asked.
“I’m…a friend.” The pause made my brow furrow. That was not an
honest answer. How did I know that?
My last coherent thought, before I fell back asleep was, “Who am I?”
****
Before I knew it a week had passed. Caleb, that was the stranger’s
name, helped me with most things and brought me meals. Conversation never
strayed into personal areas. In fact, Caleb didn’t talk much at all. Although
he told me my name was Dixie.
As my strength returned I began sitting on the window seat in my
bedroom, looking outside. The mountains in the distance created a slate blue
border for the valley spread below the house, which rested on a remote ridge.
Sunsets were my favorite time of day. When the sun began to
disappear behind the line of mountains, tinges of red and orange were flung
into the sky, changing to a purple so deep it seemed almost blue. Darkness
would settle, gather in the hollow of the valley and then climb, overtaking our
ridge. Something that beautiful should have been memorable, but it wasn’t.
After another week the bandages came off my neck and arms. A
gentle, country doctor visited to remove stitches and checked the burns on the
back of my hands and neck. Fortunately they were minor and healed with very
little scarring. Well, not any physical scarring that is. Frustration became my
best friend as I struggled to kick-start my memory bank.
I hounded Caleb to bring me books and told myself fairy tales,
thinking I could trick my mind into letting something slip. But it stayed
tighter than a snare drum.
After the doctor’s visit, I was brushing my teeth and looked at my
reflection. Some of my hair had been shaved in a little patch at my temple, the
rest of it bounced around my shoulders in springy curls. A thought popped into
my head, like a picture. I saw myself with curls tumbling down my back. This
happened a lot. Bits of my memory would flash in and then go. If I tried to
capture them, to make them stay so I could study them, I’d get a terrible
headache.
Caleb came upstairs and stopped at the open door to my room. A warm
smile moved across his face. He was always smiling and it irritated the heck
out of me. One thing I knew for sure. I disliked morning people. They were
perky.
“Good morning. Would you like a bath? The doctor said you could now
that the bandages have been removed.”
I almost groaned aloud.
“Yes, thank you. I could use a long soak with lots of bubbles. I
love bubbles. Oh, and I love scented candles.”
I felt a giddy excitement and jumped up and down.
“Caleb!” I grabbed his arm and he gave a start.
“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
I dropped my hand and stood there, grinning like a fool. “No,
nothing’s wrong. I just remembered I like scented candles and long, hot baths.”
He returned my grin. “Well, hot water and bubbles I can do, but I
don’t have any scented candles. Maybe on my next run into town I’ll get you
some.”
I’d like to go to town. Someone might recognize me. “Can I go into
town with you?”
He went into the bathroom and turned on the taps for my bath. His
voice drifted out, “Sure. I’m not going for a couple of days. Maybe you’ll be
strong enough to come along for a change of scenery.” He turned off the taps
and came back into the bedroom. “Give me a shout when you’re ready to come
downstairs for breakfast.”
Stretched out in the tub, the water lapped against my neck and
shoulders, the bubbles creating a shimmering quilt upon the water. I let the
soothing warmth remove any tension I felt. When I slid my hands over my body, I
imagined that big hands were caressing me. The memory of tangy cologne tickled
my senses.
An ache lodged itself in my heart. There was no ring on my finger,
or even a tan line indicating I’d worn one, so I wasn’t married. But I knew I’d
had a lover. The question was, who? Caleb? I tried to picture him being
intimate with me. It was possible. He had a great body. Hard and muscular,
hidden beneath button down shirts.
What would he look like in a black tee shirt and faded Levis? In my
distant memory I heard a whispered,
I’ve got you darlin’
. I leaned my
head against the back of the tub and tried to follow that voice, but couldn’t.
There was nothing but darkness and a sense of great loss.
Caleb’s voice came through the closed door. “Dixie, are you
alright? I thought I heard you cry out.”
With a start, I realized I’d been crying. My voice husky, I called
out. “I’m okay. I’ll be a few more minutes.” I quickly finished bathing and as
I toweled off, I realized I didn’t have any decent clothes to change into. “Caleb?”
He must have been waiting right outside the door because he
answered immediately, “Yes, are you alright?”
“That’s getting old. You don’t have to ask me every three seconds
if I’m all right.”
His voice let me know he was smiling when he answered, “Okay, what
do you want?”
“Do I have any clothes? I mean, all I have is two nightgowns and a
housecoat. Where are my clothes?” I tugged the freshly laundered nightgown over
my head and brushed out my tangled curls.
“Give me a few minutes. I’ll find something for you to wear.”
Caleb returned with a pair of jeans and a cotton shirt, his face
tingeing dull red when a lacy bra dangled out from under the shirt. He shifted
his position at the door and said, “These are your jeans and underwear. The shirt’s
my sister’s. It should fit; she was about your height. I’ll be downstairs if
you need anything. We’ll have breakfast when you’re ready.”
Fortunately, everything fit fairly well, even if the jeans were a
little loose. I guess being in a coma was also a great weight loss program. Soft
moccasins were the only footwear available, so I slipped them on and headed
downstairs for the first time since I’d awakened two weeks ago.
I was anxious to see what the rest of the house looked like. I
couldn’t put my finger on it, but nothing in the bedroom felt like it was mine.
Maybe another room in the house would trigger a latent memory. The doctor, on
his last visit, told me I’d suffered a major blow to the head which was why I
couldn’t remember who I was, or where I was from. He said my memory might
return and it might not. The brain was a tricky thing. It marched to its own
little drummer.
The old phrase,
Today is the first day of the rest of your life
,
spun through my head. How true. The journey to discover who I was had started.
My stomach protested with a loud rumble.
Okay, the journey would start after breakfast.
****
I followed the smell of bacon to the kitchen where I found Caleb
making breakfast.
“Mmmm, I think I love the smell of bacon and eggs.” I stared at the
scarred, wooden table, located smack dab in the middle of a typical country
kitchen filled with lots of cupboards and counter space. It was the perfect
spot for large family gatherings and baking scores of pies. I wondered if I
baked pies.
Caleb said without turning around. “Have a seat. I’m almost done.”
Though this was an older home, the finest of appliances graced this
room. Judging by the smells making my stomach rumble Caleb knew how to use them
too. So far, most of our meals had been prepared by Mrs. Cribbs, a local woman
who came out four days a week to do housework and prepare meals. Today was her one
of her days off.
He set a plate of bacon, eggs and toast in front of me, followed by
a steaming cup of coffee.
“Do you take milk or sugar?”
My mind stayed blank. “I don’t know. I’ll try it black and add if I
need to.” I sipped my coffee and felt a familiar satisfaction. Lifting my cup
in a mock salute I said, “Black.”
“Aren’t you going to eat?” Caleb had sat down and noticed me
staring when he took a sip of his coffee.
“I need to thank you.”
“For what?”
“For looking after me. I mean, who am I to you?”
“I’m not sure how much I should tell you.” He set his coffee down. “You’re
in the Witness Protection Program. Do you know what that is?”
I nodded.
“You were hurt when your house was blown apart. It’s a miracle you
survived. Because you have no living relatives, we’ve allowed everyone,
including whoever set the explosives, to think you are dead.”
The words
no living relatives
sank in.
“Is my name even Dixie?” Tears welled up in my eyes, and I wiped
them away with the back of my hand. I felt anger at this show of emotion. I
knew I wasn’t an emotional crier. This had to come from something deeper.
Something I hadn’t figured out, or remembered, yet.
“No, but because of your memory loss the doctor says it’s better if
you don’t know it right now. If anyone calls you anything other than Dixie you’ll
know not to trust them. There’s a reason why your mind has blocked all this and
when you’re ready, hopefully you’ll have full recovery.”
I reached across and took his calloused hand in mine. “Thank you,
Caleb. You’ve been good to me.”
He attacked his breakfast. Between mouthfuls he said, “Eat up. I
don’t want you to die from hunger after everything else that happened to you.”
With gusto I dug in. Caleb wouldn’t let me help with the dishes, so
I wandered around and finally found what could be called a library. Rich,
mahogany shelves filled with books from floor to ceiling covered one whole
wall. A desk with a leather chair took advantage of natural light streaming in
through the large window.
I plopped down on the big leather couch with a book, but after a
few minutes I scooted over to the other end. Nothing felt right. Finally, I
shifted over to the big comfy chair, snuggled in deep and swung my leg over the
side. That was better.
By late afternoon I was extremely fatigued and headed for bed.
Every step to the second floor pulled energy from my legs and drained me.
Caleb called from the living room, “Do you need a hand?”
“No, I have to do this. I’ll be all right. Good night.”
I grabbed the railing and hauled myself up the last few steps. I
heard a creak on the floor and knew he watched. He always watched. Probably waiting
for me to tumble down these blasted stairs.
I stopped and caught my breath at the top. Sheesh. A baby kitten
could take me right now. My legs shook, every step became an effort, but I made
it to my room and collapsed on the bed, and fell asleep with my clothes on. Slow
beginnings, but it heralded the start of my physical recovery. It took another
week before I could stay up all day without nodding into my soup at supper.
One quiet evening Caleb and I were in the den. Seated at his desk
he was going over bills and paperwork, chewing the end of his pen and
scratching his head—a lot. Instinctively I know he didn’t like to do bookwork.
He was a hands-on kind of guy.