Hollis closed the distance between them in three strides, pulling her to him in an embrace. “Grace, you don’t know anything for sure and no matter what you did in the past, that’s not who you are now. You’re that new creation, remember? In Christ. I see the way you care about people and are kind. Whatever happened back there...that isn’t who you are.” But when her memories surfaced, she might want more than this simple small-town life regardless of who she’d been. She might have loved ones—a romantic loved one—who had been searching for her.

  “I know who I feel like most days, but lately... I’m scared, Hollis. For my life. For what my past holds. I’m afraid for you. You didn’t ask to be thrown into this. Your life is in danger by being associated with me. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.”

  Warmth flooded him. Grace cared about him and his safety. That concern... He couldn’t even remember the last time someone cared for him so tenderly. Not since Mom died. Tish—she was like a mom, but it wasn’t the same. Grace... He couldn’t go there. “You’re a good friend, Grace. And friends help one another.”

  She pulled away and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her long-sleeve T-shirt. “Yeah. Friends.” She sniffed and pointed toward the shed. “What do we do with him? He isn’t going to talk.”

  “He would. Eventually. If we did what it would take. But I’m not going to. And neither are you. Let’s call Sheriff Freeman and he can decide.” Cord would be more curious about how a woman who was five foot six and didn’t come close to Crewcut’s weight class had subdued the hefty dude. Hollis was frightened of her capabilities, and thoroughly impressed.

  They entered the shed. Crewcut was gone. Somehow he’d gotten out of the ropes. Hollis’s pulse pounded. “Get inside.” They had no idea where he was or if he had weapons stashed nearby. Hollis pulled his weapon from his ankle holster and covering Grace, they sprinted inside the training facility. Grace paced Hollis’s office.

  “Do you think he’s the guy who shot Peter? Who shot at us at the river?” She gnawed her thumbnail. She was an absolute mess.

  “Maybe. I can’t say for sure. But he didn’t bat an eye when I called you Mad Max.” Hollis told her his conversation. “Which means he has some connection with Peter. I don’t believe he’s ever had personal contact with you before now. I wish I knew how the pieces fit.” He’d give it another try. Hope she’d open up to him. Hollis couldn’t blame her if she wanted to keep some of her memories private, but... “Grace, would you tell me about the memory you had when you dropped the coffee pot? It could be relevant.”

  She halted pacing and faced away from him. “I was with Peter. I think we may have been at a special event. He...he kissed me, and I was wearing an engagement ring.”

  Hollis’s gut twisted. Grace and Peter more than likely had been a couple. Possibly engaged or married. All this time he’d been afraid she belonged to someone. Looked like to Peter. And she’d witnessed his murder. When her memories returned there would be grief even if Peter had betrayed her. “Do you know where you were in the memory?”

  She refused to face him. Hollis slowly rounded his desk and laid his hands on her shoulders. “Grace, you are beautiful and bright. You were bound to have been in a relationship. I’m sorry you can’t remember it, and I’m sorry you had to see him like that.”

  She finally turned. “You always know what to say. Always kind and thinking of others first. I wish I were that person.”

  He cradled her cheeks. “You are.”

  “I don’t know, Hollis. What if I become that awful person again? What if I want to when—if—my memory comes back?” She covered her eyes with the heel of her hands. “What if I can’t deal with everything I’ve done?”

  He held her close and kissed the top of her head. “You can choose who you want to be. And we don’t know that you were a bad person. You could be a US Marshal. A soldier. A former soldier.”

  “Or I could be an assassin.”

  There was also that. But Hollis didn’t want to go down that road or what it would mean when she had total recall. Because that would make her a criminal. A murderer.

  And that would mean she’d have to go to prison.

  FOUR

  After they had contacted Sheriff Freeman and waited on him to arrive to take more statements, Grace had sat at the kitchen table at the Muddy River Inn sipping a cup of hazelnut coffee with heavy cream and staring at the sunshiny walls.

  Nothing inside felt sunshiny.

  Outside the rain had continued to steadily fall. Hollis and Grace had checked the levee right after they finished with the sheriff. It was rising pretty fast. Hollis seemed to think it would hold—if the rain slowed in the next couple of days.

  Didn’t seem like it would. Not according to the National Weather Service radar. Grace had kept a close eye on it. Weather changes fascinated her. Had they always? Weather—while predictable most times—could change suddenly, and for the worst. Then as quickly become calm and peaceful. It reminded Grace of how fast her anger had set in when she’d been attacked. Like a wild rage. Where did that kind of temper come from? What had she done and whom did she hurt when it burst out of her in the past?

  At the moment, she was anxious and afraid. Coffee probably wasn’t the best choice. Tish entered the kitchen, a friendly smile but concerned eyes trained on Grace. “How are you feeling, hon?”

  “Like a roller coaster of emotions.”

  “None of this is a surprise to God, you know.” Tish poured herself a cup of coffee. “I don’t know why He’s allowing it. I don’t know what good will come from it. But I do know that His Word says He works everything out for good,” she touched Grace’s hand, “for those who love and trust Him.”

  Grace did love God. And she did trust Him—to bring back her memory, to protect her now. Just seemed like He was a bit slow at the moment. She could have used her memories ages ago. “Thank you, Tish. I know Hollis feels like the inn is relatively secure—more secure than my own home because of how public it is, but you might be safer if I find somewhere else to stay.”

  “Nonsense. Hollis knows best. And family stick together—that’s what we are in my eyes, Grace.”

  Grace wasn’t sure what she’d do without Tish. Had Grace’s mother loved her and cared for her like Tish was now? In her daydreams, she’d been part of a loving, happy family. She’d had a fluffy dog and even a horse. But who knew what Grace’s childhood had been like. Why didn’t her parents reach out to find her? Or had they? Were they?

  The door opened and Hollis dripped on the welcome mat. “I have seen enough rain to last me a lifetime. How do people make it in Seattle?” He slipped off his raincoat and hung it on the hook by the door. After wiping his hiking boots on the mat, he headed straight for the coffee pot. “This smells like your foo-foo brew.”

  Tish snorted. “It’s hazelnut and you’re welcome to decline a cup.” She winked at Grace and pushed open the door from the kitchen to the inn’s dining area. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “You are the best, Tish.”

  “And don’t you forget it.” She clicked her tongue a couple of times and bustled into the dining area.

  Hollis poured his cup and sipped. “Not bad.”

  “For foo-foo brew,” she chuckled.

  “The area is secure. I went over the details with Cord. He’s going to have a deputy drive by every forty-five minutes to an hour. He even offered for you to bunk in his guest room.” A divot formed in the middle of his brow. “Wasn’t that nice of him?”

  Grace hid her smile behind her mug. “It was. I guess you turned that offer down.”

  “I can protect you just fine. I don’t think seclusion is smart at this point.”

  “I’m afraid causalities may arise if we stay in a public place.” Whoever was after her wasn’t going to stop.

  “They don’t seem to want to cause too much of a ruckus, minus dropping Peter Rainey in your home—but they kept to the shadows.”

  “One shot. Gone. Vanished.” She had to agree on that point with Hollis. “I can’t stay in the inn 24/7, though. If I’m stuck here, I’ll feel caged, and somehow, I am certain that will not bode well for me. Or you.”

  Hollis raised an eyebrow and sipped his brew. “I believe you. We’ll do what we can and be cautious. I think Cord will work with us—or you. And when we aren’t trying to discover who is after you, we’ll deal with this weather. If it floods...don’t expect sleep anytime soon. We’ll be rescuing folks—and even pets—left and right.”

  “Let’s pray it doesn’t come to that.”

  “I am. Believe me, I am.”

  Grace finished her cup and snagged a notepad off the kitchen desk and a silver pen from Tish’s rooster-shaped pen holder.

  “Whatcha doin’?” Hollis asked.

  “I’m going to write down what I do know.” She scribbled her notes, which included two possible sets of people coming after her, the information she’d gleaned from Peter and her vague memory of him as well as who Dr. Sayer probably was based off what they’d learned from CCM.

  Making a second column, she began listing the possibilities of Grace’s identity. Soldier, former soldier, US Marshal, a protected witness, a doctor or someone in the medical field. Then she listed the more unsavory ideas.

  Tish rushed into the kitchen. “Hollis! The downstairs bathroom is flooding. Can you come see about it?”

  Hollis gulped his coffee and put his mug in the sink. “On it.” He looked at Grace, his eyes darkened. “Go nowhere.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain,” she said with a bite and saluted. She was used to taking orders from him with the search-and-rescue missions, why did this irritate her so much now?

  Hollis squinted and opened his mouth to speak, but remained silent and followed Tish.

  Hollis was trying to protect her. She huffed and a blip of a memory invaded her mind along with the scent of flowers. Grace was in a garden. A beautiful manicured flower garden with a large fountain.

  “Hector, this is incredible,” she said.

  Her arm was tucked into a Latino man’s. He was average height. Jet-black hair equally as dark as his eyebrows and eyes. Bronzed skin. Older than Grace by several—maybe many years—but he was handsome. Powerful. His deep voice reached her ears. “You are thrilling.” He kissed her cheek, lingering. His phone rang and he answered. The sound on the other end was muffled, but Grace knew she’d been trying hard to listen.

  His mouth straightened into a hard line. “Do nothing until I arrive. Don’t tell her you’ve called me. I’ll leave at once.” He hung up, pocketed the cell phone.

  His eyes darkened. “I’ll be home in a couple of days. Go nowhere.”

  Grace’s anger rose and nearly boiled over, resentful that she was forced to allow him to bark orders but also knowing it was dangerous not to obey him.

  Why?

  The memory was gone as quickly as it erupted. Hollis’s identical words—his serious tone—must have brought it back and that misplaced frustration had been thrust at Hollis.

  This was two memories so far and both involved men. Both felt romantic. What was going on? Who was Grace? Some kind of call girl or something? Grace might be keeping all kinds of secrets from dozens of people.

  She swallowed and sat at Tish’s desktop computer.

  Maybe Grace could do a little digging on her own. She did an online search for the name Hector coupled with Bogota, Colombia.

  Several headlines popped. Grace clicked on the first one and a picture morphed on the screen. The same man in her memory.

  Hector Salvador.

  Drug lord from Colombia. He’d been arrested two years ago in Hope, Tennessee, a small southern town. ’Bout the same time she’d been beaten up and gone into a coma. According to this news article, he’d come to the town to destroy a rival drug cartel. She continued to skim. His former sister-in-law lived in Hope...yada, yada, yada... Blair Sullivan...married the undercover DEA agent leading the investigation.

  She did a little more digging. Blair McKnight now. Still lived in Hope. Ran a small antiques shop. Was she who had called him in that memory? Had he left Grace to go to Hope, Tennessee?

  “All is fixed,” Hollis said as he entered. Grace hurried and exited the screen, her stomach flopping around like a fish. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He approached her and laid a warm, gentle hand on her shoulder. “Whatcha doin’?” He glanced at the computer.

  “Just trying to find out some stuff.”

  “Anything on Dr. Sayer?” he asked. Of course, he’d think she was searching for information on the doctor. Until Grace knew more about Hector and her relationship with him, she wanted Hollis in the dark. He’d already looked at her with what appeared to be fear in his eyes in the shed. Not fearful of her...but of who she might be. She’d read it loud and clear. He also knew she’d kissed Peter and might have been engaged to him. The last thing she wanted to admit was that she probably had some freaky torrid affair with the head of a powerful drug cartel!

  Shame flamed her cheeks, turning them hot, and tears pricked her eyes. “Nothing on her.” It wasn’t a lie. Lying to Hollis—to anyone—seemed wrong on many levels. But Grace had a frightening feeling that she’d lied a lot in her past and never thought twice about it.

  Hollis’s gaze bored into her but he said nothing. When he crossed the room to the plate of cookies on the island, she let out a sigh of relief. False relief. There would be no real easy breathing until she was safe, her identity known and hopefully her past put to rest.

  Right now her best option to help her accomplish these things was to find Hector Salvador—which wouldn’t be difficult since he was in prison and that was no secret—and hope he could give her a few pieces to the puzzle, or a lot of pieces. But could a man like Hector be trusted?

  Her second-best option was to call his former sister-in-law, Blair McKnight. According to the articles, she hadn’t had contact with Hector, her late husband’s brother, but that didn’t mean Blair had never met Grace. And if she had zero knowledge of Grace, she still might have some useful information about Hector—like would he talk to Grace?

  Grace almost died two years ago. The same time the doctor in Bogota went missing as well as when Hector went to the States and was arrested. The news said it was drug related and rival cartel related...but was it? Was there more there that the news media didn’t know?

  If Grace was involved with Hector’s imprisonment, the last thing he’d do was tell her the truth. Based on the men coming after her...she was pretty sure she’d made an enemy out of the Colombian drug lord and he was vengeful.

  He might come across the table and kill her himself.

  * * *

  Hollis sat across from Grace at the Muddy Brewhaha coffee café on Main Street, watching the rain slick down the window pane. The street had an inch of rain and car tires cut paths through the dirty water. Kali hummed behind the counter as she whipped up espressos, hot teas and served muffins to patrons who were trying to stay dry and caffeinated. Hollis had brought Grace for those same reasons and to coax her into telling him the truth.

  He wasn’t an idiot. Earlier today, Grace had been on that computer. And the second she’d excused herself to the bathroom, he’d checked the browser history.

  Why was Grace searching for Hector Salvador? She’d obviously had a memory of him. He could be a link to her past—her identity. Hector Salvador was a deadly threat. He’d done his own research on him while Grace had helped Tish check in a couple of visitors and serve dinner to outside guests.

  It was almost 7:00 p.m. But they were both restless. Hollis was a frenzy inside. He’d never been anything but honest with Grace, and up until now she’d never kept anything from him. At least that he was aware of. Should he tell her that he’d searched her browser history? Maybe he shouldn’t have done it; it was her life—her privacy. He respected that immensely, and under normal conditions he’d have never even dared. Except this wasn’t normal conditions and her life was in peril. Any sliver of information could give them a leg up. Yet, Grace had chosen to conceal information. Without it, Hollis couldn’t fully protect her.

  What was her relationship with Hector? The thought of a romantic one with a man like him sent shivers down Hollis’s spine. The woman he knew now wouldn’t even give it a thought. Maybe she’d been played by him...or she had worked for Hector Salvador in some capacity. But even then, it would be under less than noble conditions. The woman was schooled in guns and Hector Salvador was more than a powerful drug lord. He ran guns. Grace might have too—or even been one of his hired killers.

  That look in her eye when she had Crewcut bound in the shed. Arctic. No remorse for tying him up and what that implied.

  But that wasn’t the Grace Hollis cared about now. That wasn’t his friend who sat with him at church and sang loudly, played board games with him on slow nights at the SAR facility or the same woman who loved to stitch a quilt.

  His coffee was getting cold. Grace’s maple pecan muffin remained untouched.

  “You’re quiet,” he said as the rain pelted the roof and windows, coffee café music played lightly in the background and the scent of maple and cinnamon wafted through the atmosphere.

  “Sorry,” she muttered and stared out the pane as the gray evening turned black. “I’m not lively company tonight. I appreciate you getting me out of the inn, though.”

  She was going stir-crazy. Like himself. And he knew her well—at least the Grace here in the present. He studied her eyes, hair...she might have a touch of Hispanic descent in her. Could Hector be family? He was old enough to be an uncle—maybe her father—but Hollis couldn’t be sure.