Bombshell: A BWWM Billionaire Amnesia Romance Suspense Novel (5 page)

To his relief and gratitude, Joann came to his rescue, motioning for Merrick to get off the couch and then taking his spot.

“Bombshell,” she said as she took the girl’s hands in hers. “That’s enough talking for now. You need more rest. Sleep another hour or so, and then we’ll get you dressed and take you up to your fiancé’s cabin. Then the two of you can get reacquainted and you can have all your questions answered.”

“That’s right,” Merrick said, standing up to go. “I’ve got some work to do. I’ll see you later.” He leaned down to kiss her lightly on the top of her head, then walked out the front door, the smell of honeysuckle and cinnamon lingering on his lips.

When he got back to the cabin, he used the house phone and called Tony.

“Tony, were you able to book the bird?”

“Nice to hear your voice, too, bro.”

“Sorry – I’m a little preoccupied.”

“I bet. Rescuing damsels in distress, and avoiding work.”

“Are you coming anytime soon or not?”

“Not. Can’t come until tonight.”

“Good, then we can be back in Atlantic City before midnight.”

“What? Hell, no. Merrick. No pilot is going to fly in those mountains after dark. You better have a room for me and the pilot – ’cause we’re spending the night. And besides, I want to see that legendary fishing creek of yours.”

“Fine, but I want to leave right after breakfast tomorrow, and I need another favor.”

“What, dude? You’re starting to push it. You’re going to owe me so much.”

“I need new identification for Bombshell.”

“For who?”

“The damsel in distress. That’s her stage name. She doesn’t have any identification, and I need you to get her some. Also, I want to take her to the hospital tomorrow, so add her to the payroll and backdate her start date so the insurance company doesn’t give us any crap.”

“You don’t ask for much, do you, bro?”

After clarifying exactly what he wanted on the identification and what pay rate and position Mona Lisa Van Dyke would have at the hotel, he thought about the other issue.

“Have you said anything to Mom about what’s going on?”

“Nope, just that you got in a bar fight and lost an eye.”

Merrick snorted. If he’d told Mama G that bit of news, she’d have flown the helicopter herself to check on him. “Seriously, what does she know?”

“Nothing, except… okay, she was getting on my case again about Calista being gone, so I told her you found a new performer.”

Merrick gulped. Now he really needed Bombshell to come back with him to Atlantic City. “Well, at least you didn’t tell her what I told the girl. That would flip her out,” Merrick said, unable to stifle a laugh.

“What? What did you tell the girl?” Tony prodded.

“I told you that she’s got amnesia, right?”

“Yeah, you mentioned that.”

“Well, I wanted to make sure she’d come back to Atlantic City, so I told her that the two of us were engaged.”

“Bro. No way!” Tony said. “Oh, that’s priceless. Wait until Mama G hears this.”

“No, Tony, you can’t tell her!”

Merrick gaped at the phone. Tony had hung up. He called him back right away, but Tony had already transferred his phone to the answering service. Damn him. Merrick wished he had his cell phone. Then he could text his half brother all the details of what he’d do to him if he dared to say anything to Mama G about the fake engagement.

Chapter Six

Sheriff Harold Buck got out of the shower and put on his uniform. He went into the kitchen and filled a plastic tumbler with ice. Unscrewing the top from a bottle of Smirnoff, he poured until the liquid was almost to the top. After grabbing a bottle of canned grapefruit juice and topping off his breakfast with some vitamin C, he sat down at the table and readied his gun for the daily cleaning. He stopped before taking the cloth to it, and stared at the fouling dusted along the barrel. He looked inside the barrel and saw more evidence that the gun had been recently fired.

He put the gun down and rubbed his temple, trying to remember when and where he’d used his gun. A growl in his stomach made him forget about the gun.

“Jana,” he yelled towards the back of the house. “Make me some breakfast.”

But Jana didn’t respond. And he remembered. He got up, taking his drink with him, walked across his pristine living room, and opened the door to the guest room. All her things were still there, so where was she? Then he remembered. She’d left him. She’d – left – him!

Harold’s jaw clenched. He downed the rest of the liquid, then threw the glass against the wall. The motion made him groan as he felt something ache in his chest. His face hurt as well. He walked back to his bathroom and examined his face. When had he gotten in a fight? His nose was swollen –  not broken, but badly bruised. He lifted his shirt and saw an ugly bruises blooming under his rib cage. He thought about the gun that had been recently fired. Had he killed someone?

He went back to the living room and cleaned up the broken glass, picking up the ice cubes melting on his carpet. He picked up the phone and called in to dispatch.

“How are things, Heidi?” he asked.

“All’s well,” she answered, but there was something in her voice that belied her cheery disposition.

After wiping down the water spots in the sink and putting away his liquor, he retrieved several trash bags and a large rock from the backyard. He wiped the fingerprints off his service revolver and emptied the chamber. Placing the gun in one of the bags, he rolled the bag around it, then secured it with duct tape. Then he placed that bundle into another black trash bag and this time added the heavy rock. He put on his equipment belt and put his spare Glock in the holster.

On the way to work, he pulled off the main road and drove until he came to a bridge. The creek below it ran deep and fast. No one would see the gun if he could get it between the rocks. He tossed it in and watched it disappear. He regretted losing the Sig, but something told him he’d done something stupid the night before.

On his way to the sheriff’s office, he called Fletcher, and told him to meet him at the Well Service store. They arrived at the same time and Fletcher took point outside, keeping watch and deterring other customers from stopping by for a chat about their wells.

“Sheriff!” the owner’s wife looked alarmed as Harold strolled into the showroom. She got up from the reception desk and hurried into a back room. Sheriff Buck waited patiently.

The woman’s husband appeared a moment later. “Sheriff Buck,” he said nervously.

The sheriff walked over to the wall and ran his forefinger over the line of family photos on the wall – all of them showing the owner’s happy children at various stages of their development. As he brushed his finger against each picture, he made a point to put each one off balance.

“I’m disappointed in you, Pete,” Harold said, without looking at the small business owner. “It would be a shame if something bad happened to your source of livelihood, just because you couldn’t remember to pay for insurance. I thought you cared about your family more than that.”

“I’m sorry – it was just an oversight. Uh, I’ll write you a check right now,” the man stammered and hurried over towards a desk.

Before he could get to it, Harold advanced on the man and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. He lifted him up by the throat with one powerful hand, then slammed him against the wall of pictures, causing two of them to crash to the floor. The worm wiggled and struggled in his grip, clutching desperately on the sheriff’s powerful arms, trying to save himself from strangulation.

“You know I don’t take checks, worm! Cash. I want cash. Have it for me by two o’clock this afternoon, or else.”

Harold released the worm, dropping him to the floor. The man gasped and grabbed his throat. Harold turned on his heels. Fletcher had come inside to watch the show. Fletcher poked his head out the door then gave Harold the thumbs up.

Harold could hear Pete’s wife shouting and calling out her husband’s name. Then he heard her crying. He liked it when women cried. These people were weak, useless idiots. They deserved what he was doing to them.

Fletcher headed off to do his duty in another section of the county and Harold drove to the office. In his mind he went through his to-do list for the day. Pick up the money at two – get Fletcher his cut, then visit his arms supplier for an unregistered Sig 9. He’d put a new note in his file and make sure the office records on his old weapon got lost. The new gun would be the one he’d always had. If Jana was dead somewhere, they’d never pin the murder on him. He was untouchable. No one in town had the balls to stop him.

Chapter Seven

After a disturbing and restless night’s sleep, Holly woke to the sound of someone moving around in her kitchen. “Jana,” she said as she got out of bed and stepped into her slippers. Jimmy was in the kitchen putting bread slices in the toaster.

“Any word from Jana?” Holly poured herself some coffee.

“No,” Jimmy said. He put the toast on a plate, then carried it to the living room and plopped down on the couch.

“Tell me everything you remember,” Holly said as she sat down on the chair on the other side of the coffee table. That’s where Jana usually sat. Her chest squeezed.

“Well, I went there like we agreed, and I got there just before the show started. I had the brought the spot, like you suggested. You were right – it really improved the atmosphere.”

“Who cares about the atmosphere? Tell me about Jana.”

“You want all the details or not?” Jimmy said huffily. “Because I can call a cab and go home right now if you aren’t happy with my delivery.”

“Calm down, prima donna –- fine, tell it your way.”

“Like I was saying, I walked inside with the spot and set it up near the light switches. The show started, and when I heard the emcee announce Bombshell, I knew it had to be Jana – ’cause that’s the nickname I gave her, remember?”

“Yeah, vaguely,” Holly said.

“When the emcee announced Bombshell, I flipped lights out and fired up the spot. The crowd totally responded to it, and then when Jana started her thing – God, Holly it was ten-times better than rehearsal. The audience loved her.”

“Can you cut to some part of your story that might help us find her? Please?”

“Yeah, she was doing her gig, when I got knocked over the head and me and the light went crashing to the floor.”

“Go on.”

“Well, I must have been out for a bit, because the next thing I remember was seeing this studly-looking guy in the front beating on the sheriff. The guy hit him over the head with a chair, then he made Jana leave with him.”

“And then what? Who was the guy? Did you recognize him?”

“It wasn’t exactly easy to see in there. But I don’t think I’d seen him before. I’m sure I would have remembered if I had.”

“So, what happened next? I’m trying to figure out where she is.”

“They left, and I just lay there on the floor, still feeling pretty out of it. I kept my eye on the sheriff, who managed to get up. I didn’t move and he walked outside, and then about two seconds later I heard the gunshots.”

“Oh my God, you’re saying he used his gun. What if he shot Jana? That would explain why she never came home.” Holly’s eyes filled with tears.

“Don’t jump to conclusions. If she was dead, somebody would know. Maybe the sheriff missed and she just ran off with that guy. I’m pretty sure he was drunk, so it’s a good bet his aim was off.”

Holly paced the room.

“How many?”

“How many what?”

“How many gunshots?”

“I don’t know, MacGyver. Four, maybe six?”

“Then what?” Holly pressed.

Jimmy thought a moment, eyes looking up and off to one side. “Let’s see. Okay. I remember. When I heard the gunshots, I freaked. Thinking I better go out the back somewhere and hide. I forced myself to get up, but then slipped on a puddle of beer. Then I heard a few more shots and a car’s tire squealing, then I heard the sheriff or someone coming back up the steps – so I played dead – even though I had to keep my face lying in beer on that filthy floor. It was horrible.”

“So, who came back in, was it the sheriff?”

“Yep, it was. He came in, cursing up a mean streak. He went straight for this big jar of money they had for the winner of the show, and then he left, with the money.”

“Wow,” Holly said.

“I know. Some role model, eh?”

“How did you get to the diner? You said your car was totaled.”

“Well, I don’t know about totaled, but the door was smashed, and I couldn’t open it.”

“So, how did you get to the diner?”

“Sam gave me a ride.”

“The owner of the bar, Sam?”

“Yeah. He came back about ten minutes after the sheriff had left. He turned on the lights and sort of walked around a while, shocked at the damage. I tried to tell him that what I saw. I tried to get him to call 9-1-1, but he refused. He made me promise not to say anything about it, before he gave me a ride. I crossed my fingers behind my back, so I could at least tell you. You know how I hate keeping secrets.”

“Is that everything?”

“Yep, everything I can think of.”

“Well, get dressed. I’ll take you back to the bar and we can see how bad your car is. I’d like to talk to this Sam guy, myself.”