“Nope. Heard him talking to one of his officers, though. Said something about John and Jane Doe who died in the house.”

  John and Jane Doe?

  Not Adele and Mason Cooper?

  Thanking the man, he asked him to call his private cell if he remembered anything else and showed him out. His mind reeling.

  John and Jane Doe.

  Someone had to have known who they were—if indeed the couple who’d met their tragic deaths in that home had been Aimee’s parents. Someone had known who Aimee was. Had contacted her aunt. Someone had cremated the ashes—gotten them to Bonnie Barker when she came to pick up her niece.

  He glanced toward the stairs. Giving Aimee a second to come down. Hoping she came down to him.

  Maybe her parents hadn’t actually been in a car accident. Maybe their home had been in an accident—axels had come off, stranding it.

  Was it possible the couple had still been in the home when it had been burned? Had someone collected some of their ashes for their daughter?

  And his father, being the commander who always thought he knew what was best and had the power to change his portion of the world as needed, had simply made all the evidence go away so the little girl could think her parents died in a car accident?

  Was he losing his mind, reaching for something so far-fetched?

  No sound from the staircase. He moved slowly toward it.

  Aimee remembered her mother crying. Her father there, trying to placate. She’d run to hide. What if Adele had found out about Mason’s gambling? What if the man, in debt to the point of having a bookie after him, had panicked? Killed his wife, and then himself?

  And, what if, to spare the child, Jackson’s father had told her only living relative that the couple had died in the accident, not before? It was just the kind of thing he’d have done.

  The kind of thing Jackson would never do. The kind of thing they fought about the day his dad had been killed. Shephard’s vigilante justice was for the best reasons, but societal laws existed for good reason. Following them was the only way for diverse peoples to live peacefully together.

  One man didn’t get to choose to play the game his way...

  Rounding the corner of the staircase wall, dreading the sight he expected to see...a devastated Aimee unable to stand...he stopped short. The stairs were empty.

  And her door, at the top of them, was tightly shut.

  Chapter 16

  “Look, my job is to help you retrieve memories that are starting to surface—that’s it. Sheriff Redmond’s job, his responsibility to Evergreen, is different. He has to investigate suspicious activity, to follow up with any pieces of evidence that turn up and to make his own assumptions that have nothing to do with me. And yes, he’s hired me to help with a particular piece of evidence—your mind—but that’s my only role. To help you remember. I have no part in, or effect on, any of the rest of his investigations. Okay?”

  Sitting on the solid, shiny hardwood floor in the corner of her room at Jackson’s, holding her phone to her ear, Aimee’s eyes filled with tears. “Okay.” She was shaking from the inside out.

  “You want to tell me what’s going on?” Kelly Chase’s patient, reassuring voice came over the line and another wave of sweat popped on Aimee’s skin. “You don’t just call and ask me whether I’ll be unbiased in my assessment of you, or be swayed by Jackson, without reason.”

  “I need to know what you honestly think about my situation. Am I kidding myself here, trusting that the images and impressions I’m getting are real?” Heat continued to suffuse her body. “Do you believe it’s really possible for me to remember something that far back? Assuming it’s there to remember?”

  “My professional assessment is that the memory flashes you’re having are real. You knew there was significance at the White house before Jackson told you there was. That’s why I wanted him to take you by places of significance before you knew what they were. If you hadn’t remembered anything, didn’t mean you couldn’t or wouldn’t, but because you did, it convinces me that your mind is telling you something...”

  The hot flash passed, and Aimee shivered. Her equilibrium hanging entirely on the psychiatrist’s voice.

  “My opinion is that you’ve suppressed something traumatic,” Kelly continued. “And that it’s coming to the surface. Traumatic events can do that.”

  Aimee had always been such a calm, take-it-on-the-chin type person. Where all these deep emotions were coming from...where they’d been all her life...

  Even her intense attraction to Jackson that went so much deeper than body parts.

  She was finding it hard to feel like herself.

  “So, you don’t think I’m losing my mind?” She had to be absolutely sure. Because she was trusting herself even while she was hiding things from herself.

  “Of course not.”

  Aimee sat with a pause on the line after that. Trying to keep at bay the panic emanating from the part of her mind that was hiding from her, while she processed what she had at hand. She wanted the memories to come. Was prepared to handle them, no matter what they brought. But she wasn’t going to lose herself in the process.

  “You ready to tell me what this about?” Kelly’s question came at seemingly the exact right moment. “If you’ve remembered something...”

  “No.” She hugged her knees up to her chest with her free hand, trying to stem the nervous energy running through her. “And that’s part of the problem. I just overheard a conversation, an elderly man speaking with Jackson. He’d come to the house.” She told Kelly, in as few words as possible, about the mobile home, the bodies that had been found inside, the little girl. “Jackson’s dad was there, handled the whole thing. He told the rig owner that the couple had died as the result of a murder-suicide...” She gulped as tears threatened again. Swallowed. All she could get out was little more than a whisper, “I know it’s not true.”

  She didn’t have any memory to substantiate knowing. “I have no proof. Nothing I can give him. But I’m as certain that one of my parents did not kill the other as I am that I’m sitting here talking to you. It screams from inside me that it’s not true.”

  And she did sound a bit hard to believe. Even to herself. How could she possibly hope that a man like Jackson, one who seemed to make all of his decisions based on the information at hand, who was seeking proof to call truth, could believe her?

  “Have you talked to Jackson?”

  “No. He doesn’t know I overheard...”

  “I’d expect him to investigate what he was told, and if it’s not your parents, he’ll find that out.”

  Right. “And what if there’s nothing but more dead end?” She had to get busy. No more holding the hand of her three-year-old self. “I need you to push me,” she said. “What can I do to make this happen faster?”

  “There’s no guarantee you’re ever going to remember what happened in full, Aimee. We talked about that in the beginning. You may never get more than these snippets.”

  She wasn’t willing to accept that. “I have to know.”

  “And I think that need is what will get your mind to open up to you. But it’s not something you can force.”

  Okay. She took a deep breath. Kelly’s words rang true. Made total sense.

  “Is there something we can do to coax the memories out safely?”

  “If we knew any place you’d been, any place that could be familiar to you, it could help,” Kelly said. “Like the White house. But truthfully, your mind is going to give it up when it’s ready. My suggestion would be to try another cognitive interview this afternoon. Let yourself settle from this morning. Otherwise we’re probably just going to frustrate you. I know it’s an impossible ask, but at least try not to force things...”

  “When I came here my idea was to be out and about, seeing the area, smelling the air, hoping for triggers...”

  “Where do you most want to go?”

  “Outside. I want to walk.”

  “Maybe we do a cognitive outside after lunch...”

  “That sounds good.”

  “I’ll talk to Jackson...”

  He was going to tell Kelly that he suspected her parents had been victims of a murder-suicide. She didn’t like the idea of them talking behind her back. Which was ludicrous since, technically, Kelly was working for him and she’d agreed to the plan.

  Still...

  “Can I talk to him first?”

  “Of course. I’ll be here and ready whenever either of you need me...”

  Aimee wasn’t feeling any happier when she disconnected the call. But she was calmer. And that counted for a whole lot.

  With one last deep, strengthening breath, she stood up, pulled the skirt back down to her knees, straightened the hem of her blouse at her hips and opened her bedroom door, her heart catching immediately and then speeding up to double tempo.

  Jackson stood, halfway up the stairs, leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone. He turned her way as soon as the door creaked open, and the sheriff she’d expected to see there, who had his theory that he was going to prove, didn’t seem present at all. Instead she met the warm, green-eyed gaze of a man who cared.

  And she cared, too.

  Even though she knew they were on different sides.

  * * *

  “You heard.”

  She nodded. Started slowly down the stairs. “You did, too—my conversation with Kelly?”

  He shook his head. “As soon as I heard your voice, I hung out down here.” He didn’t know what to say to her. How to help. And had so much to do. First and foremost, get to the station and look up the report of that mobile home accident, and the emergency move permit. He could ask Sandra to do it. Or any of the other people who worked for him.

  This one he wanted to do on his own.

  But there he stood. Didn’t go up. Or down, either.

  “You knew I was there?” She nodded to just below where he stood.

  “The middle of the sixth stair creaks. And you brushed against the wall.” He glanced at her, and away. Feeling like he let her down, when he knew that he’d done the right thing. His job. He’d had a feeling it was going to come to him bringing bad news into her world. “You wanted the truth.”

  “I still want it.” As she came slowly down the stairs toward him, his chest got tighter and tighter, until he finally had to head down, too. Ahead of her. She was getting too close.

  Maybe he was, too.

  In the living room, he turned, knowing he had to get moving. But needing to do something for her...to help her...not as a cop, but as a friend.

  “We knew it probably wasn’t going to be good,” he started, struggling not to take her in his arms in an attempt to wrap her in comfort. He couldn’t even imagine the pain she must be feeling. The shock. And more...

  How did you ever come to grip with knowing that one of your parents killed the other?

  If, indeed, that was how it all played out. The certainty seemed inevitable to him, but... “I need to follow up on the information Landing gave me,” he said. “To verify what’s true. Starting with getting a copy of that accident report...”

  “My parents didn’t die in a murder-suicide.” Her solid tone brought his gaze straight to her. She didn’t blink.

  “You remembered something?” That possibility hadn’t even occurred to him. And it should have.

  She shook her head. “I just know, dead certain, that that wasn’t them.”

  His heart split at the obstinate set of her shoulders, her adamant expression. Split and bled a little. Making him damned uncomfortable.

  He wasn’t a bleeder. Ever.

  “Let me follow the facts, Aimee.”

  “I’m not stopping you. In fact, I want you to, but I’m telling you that it wasn’t them.”

  His gut told him she was wrong. He couldn’t pretend otherwise. “You need to be prepared...”

  Her nod cut him off midsentence. “I am prepared. And I’m not saying their deaths weren’t horrible or tragic. I’m just letting you know what I know. The second I heard those words, even before I’d fully grasped them, I knew they weren’t true. I was in a tailspin. I couldn’t breathe. And I knew they weren’t true.”

  His nod was out of respect.

  “Kelly wants to do another cognitive, after lunch. Outside, maybe a park. Just something that gets me outside in the Evergreen air.”

  He needed air.

  “Just because we seem to have gotten closer to solving the mystery surrounding your parents’ deaths, we still don’t know who’s after you now,” he told her. “I can’t hold you hostage, but I’m going to strongly request that you allow me to continue to offer sheriff’s protection until we have all the answers we need.”

  Like confirmation that Mason Cooper had fallen prey to a gambling habit that had put him and his family at risk, made him desperate enough to end his life. And take his wife with him.

  Had the man purposely taken his daughter to a sitter that day, knowing that when he hugged her goodbye it would be the last time he saw her?

  Even with no kids, and no family prospects on the horizon, Jackson could hardly fathom that one.

  Maybe Mason hadn’t known. Maybe it had been a crime of passion. And maybe the dead couple in the motor home with the three-year-old girl weren’t Adele and Mason Cooper.

  He just didn’t yet have a clue what a gambling habit from thirty years ago could have to do with Mason’s daughter in town now.

  There was still a critical piece missing.

  One Aimee most likely held locked inside. “It seems obvious to me that whether you know something or not, someone thinks you do. Or that you could. And whatever that something is, is worth killing you over.” He didn’t want to scare her, but he needed her to understand the seriousness of her situation.

  If for no other reason than so she’d help him keep her safe.

  She nodded. And then said, “You need me to remember, Jackson. Kelly and I both think that I need to be where I feel like I need to go, to expose myself to different parts of the area, in the hopes that, like the White house, something will trigger.”

  She had him there. “Unfortunately all of my available personnel are busy, either helping follow up on leads from all of this, or working other things.”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  She wasn’t getting it. And he didn’t have time to argue. “Come to the station with me now, hang out for a bit while I do what I have to do there and then I’ll take you and Kelly anywhere you want to go.”

  It wasn’t ideal. He needed to be questioning people. If Landing was out there, there were likely more just like him. People with information they had no idea was key—and dangerous. And he needed to follow up on Burley himself. Leon had already reported in that morning, letting him know that he’d gotten absolutely nothing more out of Randall Burley. The man was sticking to his story.

  And didn’t seem the least bit nervous or worried.

  According to Leon, Burley seemed to be telling the truth.

  Jackson trusted his second in command completely. Knew that Leon could read a subject as well or better than Jackson could.

  Had never, ever questioned his judgment on a case before.

  And still, he wanted a go at Burley himself.

  Because he was making this case personal?

  He couldn’t dismiss the possibility.

  Nor could he walk away from Aimee or finding the answers to all of the questions surrounding her.

  “Fine.” She’d been standing there silent for several seconds. It took him another one or two to realize she’d just capitulated. Agreeing to remain in protective custody.

  “You mind if we get breakfast sent over when we get there?” he asked, eager to get her safely into the station so he could get to work.

  When she shook her head, he could have pulled her into his arms and kissed her again.

  Except that she’d run upstairs to get her purse.

  First time a small leather shoulder bag had ever saved his life.

  Chapter 17

  Aimee thought it would be awkward, walking into the sheriff’s office, the temporary ward of the sheriff, with so many of the people there working on a part of her life she didn’t even remember. People she’d never even met, no less.

  But the way everyone smiled at her as she was introduced to them individually—Deputy Sheriff Leon Goldberg, and Detective Sandra Philpot—and yet treated her with respectful distance, she felt more relaxed within a few minutes. Jackson showed her to a large conference-type room that also seemed to serve as a mini cafeteria, based on the refrigerator and vending machines at one end, and next to the sink, a counter with a coffeepot, a towel with dried mugs turned upside down on it and a sectioned-off metal tray holding various condiments, plastic tableware and napkins.

  She couldn’t help being a bit distracted as she caught a glimpse of his office, watched the way his staff treated him and took in the atmosphere, furnishings, rooms with which he was surrounded every day. From what he’d told her, she figured he’d pretty much grown up within the station’s walls and she liked seeing all the different sides of him. Imagining him there as a child. Drawing on the chalkboard at the end of the conference room opposite the kitchen area.

  Thinking about a young Jackson, taking in the daily life of the grown man, distracted her from the things that were all seemingly out of her control for the moment. Allowed her to think about something other than her parents, to feel something besides worry for them.

  And for herself, too.

  Why would someone want her dead? What hornets’ nest from the past had she inadvertently opened up by coming to Evergreen?

  And how would it all end?