“Listen, I don’t want any trouble,” Joe said, hands up in front of him. What should he do? It was hard to concentrate when all he could think about was the men Blake’s father had sent after him. His brow was beaded with sweat, and his hands felt clammy.
You need to do something, Joe. Don’t just stand there waiting for them to hurt you. Do something!
“Then tell us where he is,” Hoodie Guy growled. He nodded to one of his friends, who promptly grabbed an upturned chair off a table. Joe gave a terrible start and his pulse soared when the chair was bashed against the table several times before it splintered and broke into several pieces. The men grabbed several more chairs and broke them. They flipped over tables and knocked the framed pictures off the walls. They were tearing the place apart.
Hoodie made a grab for Joe, but Joe dove behind the counter. He snatched a hold of Bea’s baseball bat just as Hoodie guy raised his arms to grab Joe, leaving his ribs exposed, and giving Joe the perfect opportunity to whack him on the side with the bat. The guy doubled over in pain, and Joe slammed the bat down onto the man’s back before he kicked out, catching Hoodie guy in the face and bloodying his nose. The guy let out a barrage of curses as he pushed himself to his feet. Joe tried to get to his cell phone, but he was preoccupied swinging the baseball bat. He was about to yell for help when someone grabbed hold of the man’s hoodie and jerked him back, sending him skidding across the floor. Joe was frozen to the spot, gripping the bat against him, as Tom landed a fierce punch against one man’s face while he kicked out at another.
Joe wanted to help Tom, but he had the feeling he’d only end up getting in the way. He’d never seen anyone fight like that. Not outside the movies, anyway. It was like Tom knew what move his opponent was going to make before he made it. There was a fierceness in him Joe was seeing for the first time, yet he was calm, his moves calculated, like he’d done this plenty of times before. He grabbed one guy by the arm and flipped him over his back, then thrust his palm up against another guy’s nose. One man against six, and Tom wasn’t breaking a sweat.
One of the men pulled out a gun, and Joe cried out a warning. Tom snatched the man’s gun and took it apart while the guy was still holding it. How had he done that? Tom was beating the pulp out of the men, and Joe wondered if he should call the police, but he had a feeling that would be a bad idea. Though how it could be worse than what was happening in his shop was beyond him, but how would they explain to the police about Tom, his amnesia, and his ability to leave six men writhing in pain? What if those detectives showed up again? Joe didn’t trust them.
The men fell over each other, dripping blood and holding sore limbs as they tried to flee. Tom managed to grab hold of Hoodie Guy before he could make it to the door, but the guy unzipped his hoodie and fled.
“Dammit.” Tom chucked the hoodie on the floor. Joe could tell he was tempted to go after them but decided against it. His chest rose and fell, but there was barely any sweat on his brow. He turned to Joe, his expression almost pained. “I should go.”
“What?” Joe lowered the bat, taken aback when Tom walked into the garden. Joe followed, not quite ready to leave the bat behind. Tom paced. He stopped to look down at his knuckles, and that was when Joe saw the blood. Quickly, Joe went back in and picked up the small first aid kit from behind the counter, and went back out. Tom hadn’t moved. He stood there staring down at his hands.
Joe removed an antiseptic wipe from its packet along with a roll of bandages. He stepped up to Tom and gently took his hands.
Tom flinched, as if he’d been in some kind of trance. When he spoke, his voice was hushed. “I’m so sorry, Joe.”
“It’s okay, Tom.” Joe carefully wiped Tom’s hands clean. They were still stained red, but Joe tenderly nursed them as best he could until the blood was gone, then wrapped the bandages around them. Tom’s hands were steady, like nothing had happened.
“Okay? Those men were here for
me
. We both know that. They tore your shop apart. Did they hurt you?” Tom frantically checked him over. “Are you okay? Did they touch you? If they put their hands on you, so help me, I’ll hunt them down and—”
“I’m fine. I promise.”
Tom ran a hand through his hair, concern etched into his handsome face. “What if I hadn’t arrived in time? What if one of those bastards had shot or stabbed you? I’d never forgive myself. Those men want me, not you. What if it had been Bea or Donnie or Elsie? I have to go. I can’t put you in any more danger. If something happened to you because of me, I couldn’t live with myself. These men mean serious business. They won’t stop until they get their hands on me or someone ends up dead. I have to go.”
“You can’t be serious.” Joe realized Tom wanted to protect him, but what difference would it make now? They believed Joe was involved, that he knew where Tom was. Yet the danger Joe was in would be nothing compared to what Tom might face out there on his own.
“Joe, listen to me.” Tom put his hands on Joe’s shoulders. “With every day that passes, the more danger I bring down on you and those around you. I should have left a long time ago.”
“No.”
Tom stared at him. “What?”
“I’m not letting you go out there on your own. Where are you going to go? You can’t trust the police. You think I’m going to let you walk out into God knows what? Do you really think I’d just, what? Go about my business while you’re hunted down? Go on as if nothing had happened, waiting for the day I hear about your death on the news?”
Tom frowned. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“You have skills, training—that much is obvious—but they have the advantage, Tom. You can’t remember who you are. You don’t know who these people are, why they want you, or what they’ll do to you. There might be an entire army out there looking to get their hands on you, and you have no one on your side. As much as I’d like to boast about my batting skills, there’s a reason I’m not playing for the Yankees.” He needed to make Tom understand. “Going out there on your own without any information is suicide.”
“Joe, be reasonable. Whoever these men are, they’re willing to kill to get their hands on me.” Tom shook his head. “My mind’s made up. I’ll find a shelter or somewhere to hide out until something comes back to me. Maybe I’ll leave the state, head to Virginia.” Tom went pensive. “There has to be a reason Virginia’s the first state that popped into my head.” He narrowed his eyes. “I have some kind of connection there.”
Was Tom remembering? “What do you remember about Virginia?” Joe asked, hopeful.
“I… I don’t know. It feels… important, though. It makes sense. I remember places. Colonial Williamsburg, Monticello, the caverns, Washington, DC. It’s… so familiar. Yet here I am in New York City.” Tom shook his head. “I should go.”
“Don’t leave me.” Joe was caught off guard by his words. He hadn’t expected them to come out. They’d been swimming around in his head for some time, and now seemed as good a time as any to let them out. He’d done it. He’d asked Tom to stay. Joe worried his bottom lip with his teeth before speaking up again, his brows drawn together. His voice was so quiet, he wondered if Tom had heard him at all considering he hadn’t said a word.
“Please.” Joe took a step toward him. “We’ll figure something out together, but don’t go. Not now, not after….”
Tom swallowed hard. “What are you trying to tell me, Joe? After what?”
“I just… I don’t want to lose you. I know we’re dealing with a lot of uncertainty here, and there’s a good chance I might end up losing you anyway, when you remember, but until then… I’d like you to stay with me. I kinda got used to having you around.” Joe tried not to fidget. His face was flushed, and he was having trouble meeting Tom’s gaze. Joe cared about him, wanted him to stay here with him.
“How long have you been worrying I’d leave after regaining my memory?” Tom asked gently.
“A while,” Joe admitted. “I know I’m being selfish. Whoever you are, your life’s clearly more exhilarating. The places you’ve been to, the way you handle yourself, the shape you’re in.” Joe let out a sigh. “You shouldn’t be cooped up here.”
Tom drew Joe into his arms. “Even a wandering man yearns for a home to go back to, Joe. It’s true, I’m not so good at being still for long, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be here. I like being around too. I’ll stay. God knows I want to. We’ll have to be more careful. I don’t want you getting hurt. I need to think about my next course of action. Whoever those men were, they’ll be back. You, Bea, Donnie, Elsie, and the customers who come in here every day need to be kept safe. I can’t put them at risk again. What if these men return during the day? The public has to be protected from men like those, from men who swore an oath only to spit on the promise they’d made.” There was no mistaking the conviction in Tom’s voice.
“You feel strongly about that, don’t you?”
“I do.” Tom’s expression hardened. “I won’t let those lowlifes or the men they work for hurt innocent people. They don’t care who gets hurt in their quest for greed and power.” Tom pulled away and closed his eyes, his brows drawn together.
“Tom? What’s wrong?”
“There’s something there. I can almost see it.” He opened his eyes and looked around. “This garden. I came here for a reason. I was running from them. I knew to come here.” He slowly walked around the garden, taking in everything around him. “Why would I come here? If I was running from them, why would I pick this spot?”
Tom concentrated and followed whatever train of thought he was on. Had Tom really come
here
specifically? Why? Joe had never seen him before that night, so why would Tom choose this garden? Tom stopped again and closed his eyes. He breathed in deeply and let it out slowly through his mouth.
“Coming in here would mean jumping the fence. If I was in danger, being chased, why take the chance of getting cornered?” He opened his eyes again and crouched down. Joe followed his lead, crouching down beside him.
“There’s nothing here but grass, dirt, and potted flowers,” Joe muttered. If there had been anything here, Joe would have found it the night he found Tom. It wasn’t the first time they’d checked the garden. Tom had been out here plenty of times, hoping it would jog his memory, but nothing ever came to him, until now.
Tom cocked his head to one side. “Dirt and flowers. There were dirt and flower petals in my pocket when you found me.” He picked up a pot of pink geraniums. “Pink petals.”
“These are the only pink flowers out here,” Joe pointed out. “Look.” He placed his finger to one flower in the bunch. “This one’s missing some petals.”
“So, how’d they get in my pocket?” Tom asked.
“You think you plucked them and put them in your pocket? That doesn’t make any sense.”
Tom sighed. “None of this makes sense.” He studied the flowers and fingered the dirt, a frown coming onto his face. He stood and walked over to one of the light fixtures. “There are indentations in the dirt.” He dug through the soil, his eyes widening. “There’s something in here.” Tom dug in and pulled something out.
“What is it?” Joe asked him. All he could see between Tom’s fingers was a small lump of dirt.
Tom handed Joe the flowerpot and wiped what he’d found with the end of his T-shirt. He held it up to the light. It was a tiny black plastic case.
Joe peered at it. “Looks like one of those SD cards you store pictures on.”
“Among other things,” Tom replied. “Joe, I need to use your laptop.”
Joe gave him a nod. He returned the potted plant to where they’d found it and quickly went inside, with Tom insisting on going ahead and checking the place out first. He made sure all the windows and doors were secure before they headed upstairs to Joe’s apartment. Tom said he’d wait in the kitchen while Joe grabbed his laptop from the bedroom. As he did, he wondered if Tom buried that SD card in the pot of geraniums. It had to be. It would explain why Joe had found Tom in the garden and why there had been dirt and petals in his pocket. Had Tom put them in there as a clue to himself? Why else would they be in his pocket?
It was like some kind of spy movie or something. Joe had to admit he was intrigued, and a little excited. He met Tom in the kitchen at the breakfast nook, where Tom sat. Joe placed the laptop in front of him and booted it up, thanking Tom when he slid over so Joe could sit beside him. Joe was dying to find out what was going on almost as much as Tom. Maybe this was it. Maybe whatever was on that card could help them identify Tom.
The moment the laptop booted up, Tom slipped the SD card in. A black screen appeared prompting for a password. Dammit. For a second Joe thought they’d been on to something. Whatever it was, Tom hid it in that plant.
“It’s encrypted.” Tom studied the screen and the blinking cursor.
“Well, so much for that,” Joe muttered. At least that’s what Joe thought until Tom started typing away. A second black screen popped up with scrolling white text before a spreadsheet opened.
Joe’s jaw dropped. “How did you do that?”
Tom stared at the screen. “I don’t know. I just… did it. I put my fingers to the keyboard and went with my gut. This all seems familiar. Bypassing the encryption, I mean. I have no idea what this list is. I feel like I should know, like it’s the key to everything.”
They studied the sheet. There were several columns. The first contained names, the second random numbers, the third large sums that appeared to be dollars and cents, and the final column contained dates. The bottom of the spreadsheet had tabs separated by months.
“Hold on.” Tom perked up. “If I check the file’s info, I might be able to see who the creator was.”
“Great idea!” If Tom knew how to get past the encryption, there was a chance he might be the file’s creator. When the window popped up, they stared at it as if it held the secrets to the universe. They were disappointed to find merely a set of initials.
“LB.” Tom pressed his lips together before letting out a sigh. “I don’t know what that means.”
“Could they be your initials?” Joe asked hopefully.
“Maybe, but that doesn’t help much. They could stand for anything.” Tom returned to the spreadsheet. “This looks like some kind of bookkeeping software.” Tom clicked on something else and another folder popped up. This one contained receipts, invoices, and bills. Another folder was filled with images.