Fractured Memory. Jordyn Redwood

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      “I’ve upended your life. I’ll try to make the transition as easy as possible. There are a few things I want to go over with you, since this hit man seems to prefer bullets.” Eli leaned against the dresser. “If we’re in a car getting shot at, I need you to get as low as you can.”

      “Wouldn’t that be natural instinct?”

      Eli smiled. “You would think so until it actually happens to you. People tend to freeze in a crisis, but your emergency nursing background probably won’t allow that happen. You’re trained to work through that—to fight instead of run.”

      “One thing in our favor.”

      “Julia...” His voice trailed, his eyes distant. “If you’re ever taken hostage, the best thing is for you to work with us to try and get free. Try to keep the assailant’s head in clear view.”

      For a kill shot.

      “Do something. Anything. Drop your weight unexpectedly, but whatever you decide, just give me a warning before you do.”

      “Like what?” Julia asked.

      “We’ll keep the words red daisies as a code. For just you and me—okay?”

      “You think someone could actually get in here?”

      He shook his head. “It’s unlikely, but we try and plan for all contingencies.”

      “I’ll see you—”

      “In the morning. What time are you usually up?”

      “I work day shift, so I’m used to being up by five thirty.”

      “I won’t wake you before then.”

      He turned to leave, trying to squash the thought of taking Ben’s place over the next few hours. If he didn’t solve the mystery of the hit package, Julia Galloway would never be safe.

      * * *

      Julia began to unpack her clothes into the plain, unvarnished pine dresser that sat in the corner.

      How many other people placed their belongings here? Did all of them live through their experience? When she pulled the drawer open, pen-gouged letters in the bottom of the top drawer read...

      I was here. Kristin.

      Worry. That was what this statement meant to Julia. This person wanted something permanent to mark her existence. A note that someone would read to imprint the memory of her in their mind.

      How frail human existence was. Another lesson from the medical trenches.

      I will remember you, Kristin. Who will remember me?

      Loneliness overwhelmed her. An ever-present ache in her chest that was hard to stymie. Her fingers trailed over the front of her Bible. The words inside were the only reminder that she was never truly alone.

      Hugging herself, she knew she wanted more. Physical contact with someone who loved her. God meant people to be in relationship with one another.

      Her life...her history...meant isolation.

      Nothing could change what she’d already lived through, but neither did she feel it was good for things to remain the same. It had felt unexpectedly natural to be in Eli’s arms—she wanted to have that feeling again.

      Julia had decided to pack a week’s worth of items and wash them if her exile extended beyond that. Five pairs of jeans. Ten pairs of socks. Some items it was best to have extra of in case the worst happened.

      That was another lesson of the ER—always prepare for the worst-case scenario.

      Next came the stack of short-sleeve shirts. Long-sleeve shirts. Plenty of scarves. Three pairs of pajamas.

      Her gun sat at the very bottom. Julia glanced around the bedroom, trying to find the best place for it. She tucked it underneath the mattress and then stowed the suitcases in the bottom of the closet.

      After everything had a proper place, she ventured into the kitchen. Ben sat at the two-seat kitchen table, his laptop open in front of him. He seemed lost in thought—his gaze drawn to the view of the children’s play equipment that backed up to the town house, a small park for families that lived close by.

      Children played while their watchful mothers stayed nearby. Several boys threw mulch chips at one another. She cleared her throat. He broke his gaze and turned her way.

      “All settled?” he asked, closing his laptop.

      “As well as can be expected.”

      He rose from the table. “Can I get you anything? I think Eli put some tea in the cabinet.”

      “You sit. I don’t want to disturb your work.” Julia walked into the kitchen and began to scour the cabinets. She found several boxes of flavored tea. On the stove top was a stainless steel teakettle. She lifted it and filled it with water. “Can I make some for you?”

      “I’ll try anything once. Coffee is my go-to beverage.”

      “You know, I never got the taste for coffee, which always surprises people when I tell them I work in health care.”

      “That does strike me as odd.”

      “How do I make a long story short? During nursing school, I worked with a hospice nurse. When we were visiting a family after her patient died, they offered me a cup.”

      “I take it that didn’t go over so well?”

      Julia chuckled. “It was the strongest, most bitter liquid I’d ever put in my mouth, but I drank it because I didn’t want to appear thoughtless. From then on—”

      “No coffee for you.”

      Not to mention that the aroma of the coffee had also been forever linked in her mind to the stench of death. Julia shuddered and turned the water off, set the teakettle on the stove and turned on the gas burner. “Exactly, just tea. So, what is it you do for the FBI?”

      “I guess you could call me a jack-of-all-trades. My specialty is computer forensics, but I hated being cooped up indoors, which was part of why I joined the FBI—to get to work in the field.”

      “And outside of work?”

      “I know I don’t look the part of the rugged mountain man, but when the snow is melted and the sun is out I’m usually hiking. Evergreen is home.”

      Julia tapped her fingers on the counter as she waited for the water to boil. “Have you seen the insane gymnastics maneuvers people are attempting these days? I didn’t even know what parkour was until some kid came in with a broken arm after trying it.”

      Ben laughed. “Those parkour people are a totally different breed. A little—” he whistled and circled his finger next to his head “—cray-cray to say the least.”

      “Do you have children?”

      His СКАЧАТЬ