“Or Patsy’s dead. Dead people don’t claim money.” Grace hung her head and raked her hands through her hair. “But if she is alive and knows, that’s horrible. I can’t imagine not being able to say goodbye to the ones I loved for fear of getting killed in the process. But if they want the toxin, she wouldn’t be killed.”

  “Not until they had what they wanted. She is surely smart enough to know once the toxin was finished, she would be expendable.” Hollis rocked in his office chair. “The question is, was Patsy at the compound making this toxin of her own free will or was she forced into it?”

  The room remained silent. Finally, Wheezer spoke. “We’ll keep on it, Grace.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  They said their goodbyes and hung up.

  “Patsy is the key.”

  “I agree.” A boom of thunder sent Grace a foot in the air. The woman was a scared rabbit, but fighting to be brave. Hollis crossed the room and sat beside her, slinging his arm around her. “How about we get some real food, and talk about what to do next?”

  “I think the next thing we’ll have to do is pull more cars out of flooded roads and ditches.” The thumping of rain on the roof was a sure sign this town was in trouble if the system didn’t pass through soon.

  “You’re right.”

  “I need to look at the radars and track the storm. If residents need to evacuate, I can’t be sitting on my hands.” Grace stood and stretched.

  One of the volunteers poked his head in the office. “Hey, glad you’re here. We’ve got an issue. Mulberry subdivision is in a flood zone and the yards are already under water. Satellite system shows heavy rain for the next three days.”

  “I’ll call the sheriff. Thanks.”

  Felt like more than rain flooding his world lately. If they could only catch a break. As Hollis looked out the window at the rain coming down, an eerie feeling tightened his chest. If Grace was a spy, then they’d continue to send agents—agents trained to kill.

  Hollis was prepared to go down swinging.

  EIGHT

  Grace breezed through the kitchen and into the dining area with a tray of eggs sunny-side up, a plate of toast and bacon, two coffees and a bowl of fruit. She placed them in front of Dr. Jones and his wife. They always had breakfast on Thursday mornings at the inn, then Dr. Jones went to work and left Mrs. Jones lingering over a third cup of coffee and a paperback. They were like clockwork with their routines. Grace envied them that kind of familiarity. She wanted someone to settle into routines with—a place they always ate breakfast, a park they walked in every evening after dinner.

  “Thank you, Grace,” Dr. Jones said. “How are you feeling?” The entire town knew about the explosion—it had made the news. Cord had kept Grace from TV cameras, giving all the interviews. No one else needed to see her on camera and hunt her down. She had enough psychos after her already.

  “Much better, thanks. Enjoy.”

  She carried her coffee pot to the table in the corner near the window and bookshelves. Hollis sat eating pancakes and bacon and studying something on his laptop. “Warm up your coffee?” she asked.

  He looked up and smiled. “Always.” Last night they’d taken Cord up on his offer and stayed there again and would indefinitely. But during the day, Grace had to work. Wanted to keep some normalcy. And if they were to take off and flee, it would only send the bad guys chasing her. They’d all agreed to stay in Cottonwood. Keep to public places. And have someone around for added protection. At least if unfamiliar faces cropped up in town, they’d be on alert. In an unfamiliar city no one was recognizable and the risk spiked.

  “As soon as breakfast is over, Tish says I’m free. It’s soup or chili and corn bread on the dinner menu tonight and she can handle that solo.”

  Hollis nodded and sipped his coffee. “Good plan. We have to finish sandbagging and work on an evacuation plan if it gets worse. Cord said half of the Mulberry subdivision has cleared out. Water’s up to the front stoops and porches. Some leaking in homes already.”

  “Where did they go?”

  “Hotels, friends, family. Insurance will cover it if they have flood insurance, but it’s still a headache.”

  Dr. Jones stood, catching Grace’s attention. He slipped on his white doctor’s coat and like a match being lit, a memory ignited.

  A woman with the same dark hair, skin coloring and eyes as Grace’s entered a large living room. She smiled and hung up a white doctor’s coat.

  “Hey, honey. You eaten anything yet?”

  Grace—maybe sixteen or seventeen—was curled up on a white sofa with a bowl of cereal. “This count?”

  Her mother grinned, but she looked tired around the eyes. “Is it bran or sugar galore?”

  “Sugar galore, but it says it’s fruity so...” She shoveled in another bite. “Dad gonna be home tonight?”

  “He’s still out of town. Be back Friday.”

  Grace glanced at the doctor’s coat. Dr. Newark. Pathology.

  The memory faded.

  “Grace,” Hollis snapped and Grace blinked. “Hey, I said your name three times. What’s going on?”

  “I got a memory. Of my mom. I look like her and her name—I have a name!—is Newark. She worked in pathology. But I don’t know where or what her first name is. Or my name. Just that I liked cereal and my dad traveled for work.”

  Hollis beamed. “This is great news.”

  “It’s possible my mom knew Dr. Sayer. We need to call CCM and have them try to find links between the two. Find a first name for my mom which might link to something that would tell me my name.”

  Hollis called CCM, giving them the new information. They promised to get right on it. He hung up and Grace sat across from him. “I don’t know my mom’s first name...or anything really but I know deep down—I feel it—we were close and I miss her.”

  “I miss my mom,” Hollis said. “She was the best. Worked her fingers to the bone to make sure Greer and I had everything we needed after my father abandoned us. When I turned sixteen, I got a job and tried to give her my paycheck to help us out. I remember she cried and hugged me but said, ‘Hollister Montgomery, as long as I’m breathing and able, I’m supporting this family. Be a kid a little longer, but I love you so much for it.’”

  Grace’s eyes burned.

  Moisture formed in Hollis’s eyes. “That Christmas I bought her favorite perfume. After Dad left and it ran out, she’d stopped wearing it. Too expensive. At least for her. She always bought us what we wanted first. White Diamonds. I bought her a bottle every year until she passed. When I was back home visiting Greer this past April, the place still smelled like it.”

  “I wish I remembered what my mom smelled like.”

  “I wish you did too. Maybe you will. You’ve been having more vivid memories than you ever have before. This could mean they’re about to unleash on you.”

  A bittersweet hope. “I wish the good memories would return. The rest—they can stay locked in an abyss.”

  Hollis laughed as his cell phone rang. “It’s CCM.” He answered.

  “Hey, Hollis, it’s Wilder. You’re on Speaker.”

  “You are too. Go ahead.”

  “We’ve got some solid information.”

  Excellent.

  “We found a Dr. Newark in pathology at George Washington University Medical. Lucinda Newark. Just texted you a photo.”

  Hollis checked his texts. Showed it to Grace. “Is that her? Your mom? From your memory?”

  Grace stared at the photo, stunned. “Yes,” she whispered. “That’s her.”

  “Okay, then here’s what we know. Lucinda Martinez married Henry Newark. One daughter, Lucy Anna Maria Newark.”

  Grace couldn’t hold in the tears. She had a name—after her mother. Hispanic descent. A dad. Hollis squeezed her hand.

  “Henry Newark worked in Washington, DC, as a data analyst for an advertising company. They lived in a suburb about fifteen minutes away in Virginia—I have an address. Lucinda was the head of the pathology department and did some lecturing at the university. Get ready for this... She was born and raised in Natchez, Mississippi. Went to college and taught at Mississippi State. Moved after she married Henry. No records on how they met or even a wedding announcement—possibly eloped. All her family is deceased. Haven’t been able to find too much on Henry Newark, at least not yet,” Wheezer said.

  Grace—Lucy—had ties to Mississippi on her mother’s side. “Did you search properties or anything in Mississippi in my name or my mom’s? If I am an agent and kept a safe house that no one knew about, it might be nearby.”

  “I didn’t find anything yet. But I’ll keep trying,” Wheezer said.

  “Did you find any ties to my parents and Dr. Sayer?”

  “Not a one. Doesn’t mean there isn’t though,” Wheezer said. “I’ll keep digging. I’m sending over an article. It’s...it’s about their deaths, Grace. Or Lucy. What do you want to be called?”

  She’d had so many names. Lucy, Valentina, Max, now Grace. Who knew how many more aliases? But Grace was who she felt like in the present. “Grace is fine.” And it reminded her how much grace she needed.

  “I sent it to Hollis’s email. They died in a plane crash. A little over ten years ago. The thing is, Grace, the flight plan had them heading to Bogota when it went down. That’s why I want to dig a little more thoroughly.”

  Grace and Hollis stared at one another.

  “Thanks, y’all,” Hollis said. “We appreciate all your work.”

  “We’ll keep on it. Call you when we have something.” Wilder hung up. Hollis opened his email and the article.

  Grace began reading. They’d been on a vacation in South America. Didn’t say where. Could they have been flying to Bogota—to Dr. Sayer? Was it a coincidence? The plane crashed in the ocean. Bodies not recovered. Three deceased. Mr. and Mrs. Newark and the pilot.

  “I have much more information than ever before but also more questions. If they died a little over ten years ago, and my birthday in the memory was a few weeks before my eighteenth birthday, then I’m probably twenty-eight.”

  “I would suspect so.”

  “If my parents knew Dr. Sayer, how weird is it that I ended up at Hector’s compound while Patsy was working for him on-site? Would I have known her too? Was she a prisoner of his and that’s why I went? Being there might have been professional and personal. It explains why I allegedly took her with me and ran.”

  Hollis rubbed his neck. “I don’t know. But if your mom is from Natchez and worked in Starkville at the university, and you were found on the riverbank in Cottonwood, then you were either caught while traveling from Starkville to Natchez or the other way around since we’re located almost in the middle but closer to Natchez.”

  But which was it?

  “We don’t have to wait for Wheezer. It’s not a leap to guess you may have owned a house and/or property—not necessarily in your name or your family’s name. You’re smart enough to know how to hide something like a private safe house. A place you never told a living, breathing soul about.”

  This was so much information to digest, Grace’s mind whirled and buzzed.

  Hollis clicked his tongue against his teeth. “I say we take a trip to Starkville and flash Patsy Sayer’s photo around, and your mom’s. You never know. What else do we have to lose?”

  Nothing.

  “What about sandbags and strategies?” she asked.

  “I’ll call in some other volunteers. They can meet up with Cord.”

  While Hollis made phone calls, Grace finished up breakfast, then they hopped in Hollis’s truck and headed for Starkville, Mississippi—the college town where her mother had once taught. Not quite three hours away. There might be at least one professor still around who remembered her, even though it was nearly thirty years ago.

  It was almost lunchtime when they arrived. They pulled onto campus. College students bicycled and congregated on sidewalks.

  They knocked on office doors, waiting for classes to end to slip inside rooms and show Grace’s mom’s picture to professors and teachers. Bust after bust. She taught there before Grace was ever born but surely there had to be someone left who knew her or of her.

  The dean? Even if he did know Lucinda, that didn’t mean he’d divulge any information. Grace had zero proof that she was her daughter. They finally found his office.

  Inside they were met by a woman with salt-and-pepper hair and a no-nonsense demeanor. “Can I help you?”

  They made introductions and Hollis explained they needed to see the dean about a former professor. They gave a few details, keeping personal information to themselves. “Would you happen to know her?”

  She gave it a quick glance. “She doesn’t look familiar and the dean’s very busy,” the secretary said.

  “I understand, but he could be a big help to us, Ms....”

  “Miss. Ryland. Judith.”

  “Judith. If he says no, then fine. But...please ask.” With those eyes, Hollis was sure to get his way.

  She sighed and hit the intercom button.

  After waiting almost twenty minutes, the dean gave them his attention.

  Tall with stark white hair and kind eyes, he greeted them with handshakes and invited them to sit across from his desk. Grace and Hollis revealed her situation—minus the murderous attempts, but a tragic accident that resulted in amnesia and that they were tracking relatives.

  “I can’t imagine your plight,” he said. “I did know Lucinda. I came on three months before she left. She was a kind woman and her students doted on her. She was tough. To be honest, that’s all I know, other than her departure felt abrupt—but she never offered any personal information. She only said she had another job and they expected her ASAP. Two weeks later, she was gone. I don’t even know where.”

  And the plot thickened. Grace held in a frustrated sigh.

  Hollis leaned forward. “Could you give us any personal information at all? Where she lived at the time? Colleagues who taught with her but are gone now?”

  The dean nodded and got his secretary on the intercom. “Pull up the personal records on Lucinda Martinez, please.”

  About ten minutes later, the secretary buzzed him to check his emails. All records had been digitally scanned. Hallelujah!

  “I can’t forward these to you. They’re confidential, but it looks like she rented a small home about five minutes or so away from campus.” He scrawled the address on a Post-it. “And it appears she was part of the college Christian Life ministry that helped students find church homes.”

  That made her mom a Christian, then. Surely, Grace must have known that faith early on as well.

  Why had she strayed from it? Or ignored it?

  “Other than that,” the dean said, “I have nothing left to offer you.”

  They said their goodbyes and thanks, then entered the hall cluttered with students.

  “If my mom rented a house here and lived in it until she moved and married my father, then she wouldn’t have had any property to pass down to me. At least not in this area. Which means I wouldn’t have any to have stashed Dr. Sayer in. At least nothing that I didn’t purchase on my own.”

  Hollis weaved and bobbed through the throng of people, a backpack smacked into his shoulder and he grimaced. “Again, you’re smart. You could easily have bought property under an alias—had someone you do know and trust purchase it for you. The possibilities are endless. Look at Peter Rainey and what he did with that rental car. No ID. What kind of car did he use before that rental? If he flew in, where would we find him on a flight manifest? You were trained. You’d know ways to stay off the grid.”

  “Like having a safe house in a college town or near here? Mississippi is an unlikely place to go.”

  “We may have to travel to Natchez where your mom grew up. Could be that whoever got the jump on you followed you from there but didn’t catch up to you until after Sayer was hidden. Same could be said of Starkville though too. And it’s smarter to stash someone here.”

  No one would seem out of place with it being a college town. People in and out all the time.

  Hollis plopped on a bench outside a building. Grace perched next to him.

  A woman knocked into a student.

  “Miss Ryland! Watch where you’re going!” he yelled and bent to pick up his spilled backpack. “Could you be any more extra?” he muttered to himself.

  The dean’s secretary stormed down the sidewalk, busting through the students like a whirlwind.

  “Does that strike you as odd?” Grace asked. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “If you’re thinking we should follow her,” Hollis stood, “then yep.”

  * * *

  Grace joined Hollis as he pursued the secretary to the lot. They were parked a few rows down. They waited until she backed out then got in the truck and kept a safe distance.

  “You think she knows Dr. Sayer? Knew my mom?”

  Hollis turned left about thirty seconds after Miss Ryland. “If she does or did, her acting skills are impeccable. And the Oscar goes to...”

  “Who’s Oscar?” Grace asked.

  “Who’s who? Oh...it’s the most prestigious—top—award an actor can receive.” He grinned. “How do you not know that? You got amnesia or somethin’?”

  She chuckled and shrugged. “Maybe. I forget.”

  Miss Ryland led them into the middle of farmland. Nestled into the back half of the field on a small patch of property, a farmhouse came into view. Nothing but cornfields on one side of the house and cotton fields on the other. Hollis pulled to the shoulder of the road. He’d have to wait for the secretary to settle in. One dirt road. Two vehicles. She’d know she’d been followed.