In the Dead of the Night (18 page)

Jenny was unraveling him, one stitch a
t a time. He’d make her pay for it.

Jenny nearly panicked when she spotted a police cruiser parked at a restaurant. Her pulse quickened and her hands grew clammy. Then she realized he had to be inside eating. But now she had to ditch the rental car before she got caught.

She pulled int
o a quick lube oil change place and handed her keys to the attendant. “I’ll be back in a few.”

“Do you want a full car wash?”

“Sure.” That would give her even more time. The car would be hidden inside the building for longer.

She did
a double-time down one of the side streets, not sure what she would do next. Could she hitch a ride?

A beauty parlor caught her eye.
She twisted her hair around her finger. Maybe a darker shade would help hide her identity?

She stepped into the
cool air conditioned beauty parlor. No one would ever think to look for her there. She should have her hair all cut off in something ridiculously short, but as she studied the curls dangling over her shoulders, she couldn’t do it. “I want to have my hair dyed black,” she said to the hair stylist.

“Do you want it trimmed?” the hair stylist asked.

“No. Just dyed. And afterward, I need it put up in some kind of a do, to keep it off my collar. Army regulations, you know.” She seemed to be getting glimpses of her life back in tiny puzzle-sized pieces, except they didn’t fit together at all.

For one thing, wearing the un
iform seemed like something she had done before. Flashes of images of shooting a weapon on a firing range and crawling in the dirt under barbed wire, appeared in her memories briefly. But how could she have done such a thing as a tax accountant? Allan hadn’t mentioned a thing about her having been in the Army. Unless, he hadn’t learned about that part of her life. Had she done something bad and been kicked out?

Maybe learning about her past wasn’t such a good idea.

“Are you from around here?” the older woman asked, her own black curly hair cut short in a cute style.

“
South Padre Island.” Except for that place and Grand Cayman Islands, she couldn’t remember any other.

“But you’re in the Army.
No military bases around here.”

Posts, she wanted to correct her.
Army posts, Air Force bases. My God. She was remembering. Or at least she was kind of remembering. Her stomach tightened as she grew lightheaded. “Fort Hood. I’m stationed there.” She still couldn’t remember the details, only that she’d dressed just like she was now.

May
be she could make her way there and blend in with the rest of the military population. Wouldn’t it be safer on a military installation? She sat up straighter. They could protect her. She could tell the military police what had happened to her. And they would contact the right authorities, and she would be safe.

For the first time since her escape,
she felt a sense of relief.

T
hen in the next instant, the relief crashed like the stock market during the Great Depression when she thought of the woman’s words. What if in wearing a uniform in this small town, she drew suspicion? She must have stood out like a puff of cloud on a sunshiny day. Then again, would the agents suspect that she would wear something so unusual?

She rubbed her forehead.
The tension built in her temple. Yeah, until they discovered the rental car and the attendant told them she was wearing Army fatigues.

Jeez, she really wasn’t cut out for
this espionage stuff.

An hou
r later, her hair was black and secured in a bun. But now she had to find another store and quickly change clothes again. She found a thrift store down the street and hurried inside.

After
selecting a baggy blue T-shirt and a pair of matching blue running pants, she figured she would looked frumpy enough not to get any notice. She picked out a sun hat, too, not only to cover her features a little more, but to provide protection from the sun that had already started to beat down in the hot Texas early afternoon. No refreshing ocean breeze here to cool a body off.

Su
nglasses at a drugstore helped a little, too. Now to find a place to change her clothes where no one would take notice. She entered the restaurant where the police car had been, but was now gone. After slipping into the restroom, she changed into the clothes, then stuffed the Army uniform back in the bag. Might come in handy later.

Returning
to the hostess stand, she told the woman she wanted a seat for two. No sense in advertising she was alone. If anyone came looking for her, they’d ask for a single woman.

She was really getting good at this.

***

Allan tapped his fingers on the car seat.
“No more word for what, an hour and a half? The longer we lose her, the more likely the trail will grow so cold—”

Dale’s phone rang, and he lifted it to his ear.
“Good show. Be there in a minute.” He smiled at Allan. “They found the rental car at an oil lube place. She’s still wearing the fatigues.”

“Call in the rest of the team.
Have every business in the area combed for a woman wearing Army fatigues.”

Allan’s heart soared.
She couldn’t be that hard to find, unless Wilson’s men got hold of her, or someone else did. If she hitched a ride and the wrong sort…

He took a ragged breath.
He wanted to shake her and make her understand how dangerous she was making life for herself. On the other hand, he wanted to hold her tight and never let go.

Police, A.T.A. agents, and
members of the border patrol gathered at the oil lube business, all ready to find the woman with amnesia whose life was in danger of being terminated by a serial killer.

One of the local cops handed Allan a map of the businesses in the area.
Samuel pulled a brochure out between the driver’s seat and the console of the rental car. “She visited the South Padre Island tourist information bureau. Looks like that’s how she knew how to navigate her way around.”

“So she hasn’t really regained her memory,” Allan said, his heart sinking.
If she remembered her past, she would at least know what Wilson looked like. Now, she was like a little lost lamb and the big bad wolf was still tracking her. “She hasn’t eaten as far as we know. It’s almost noon. Check out the restaurants first. And clothing stores, in case she has it in mind to change her clothes again. Oh, and remember, she’s still carrying my black backpack.”

The sixteen men split off into pairs.
Dale and Allan headed toward one of the clothing stores.

Dale glanced back at the oil lube business.
“You’ve got to admit, the lady’s sure resourceful. Nobody would have thought of a person on the run, taking a rental car in for an oil job and car wash.”

Allan grunted.
“Anything else we didn’t know about her? Did she have a little CIA training on the side?”

Dale grinned.
“Wouldn’t that be something?”

They stepped into the boutique, but quickly exited the shop after the clerk couldn’t identify her.
After three more clothing shops, Dale got a call. “Yeah, what’s up, Samuel?” He frowned at Allan. “Thanks.” He covered the mouthpiece and spoke to Allan, “She got a change of clothes. But it was at a thrift shop, and they didn’t record what they looked like. Just shirt, pants, and sneakers, is what the woman wrote.”

“Damn.”
Now without knowing what she was wearing, all they had to go on was the black backpack. If she ditched that, they would be lost.

Dale said, “Yeah?” to Samuel.
“Damn.” He looked at Allan. “She’s changed her hair color. Black. Okay, get the word out to the search team. No more looking for her in stores. Search eating places next.” He closed up his phone.

Allan and Dale studied the map
, and then looked at the restaurants in the area. “What about that one?” Allan asked, considering the eat-in Italian restaurant across the street.

“Might as well try it.”

***

Jenny hadn’t realized she was so hungry.
But halfway through her lasagna, her stomach seemed to fill up all at once. Probably the last several days of trauma had made it shrink.

She had purposefully
sat with her back to the aisle and was thankful they had seated her in a dark corner near the rear of the business. The restaurant was broken up with walls decorated in paintings of Italian cities, dividing sections to allow patrons to enjoy some dining privacy. The layout wasn’t helpful for a person who wished to find someone easily. Thank goodness.

She
pulled Allan’s water pouch out and filled it with the ice water from her glass. Then she waved for the waiter’s attention to get a refill on her water.

She glanced down at the map of the town.
There were no public transportation systems, no rental car places. She was stranded. What if she stayed at one of the hotels? Everyone would think she’d continued on her way, wouldn’t they? No one would think of her staying in the area.

Her waiter headed toward her with the pitcher of ice water but stopped, then detoured.
Chills ran down Jenny’s back as she recognized Allan’s deep, dark voice.

“We’re looking for this woman,” he said.
“She would be alone, most likely. Her hair is black now. And she’s carrying a black backpack.”

“Yeah, I think she’s the one sitting alone at that table just beyond the wall there.”

Jenny threw a twenty on the table, then grabbed up the bag and dashed out of her seat. Heading in the opposite direction from the men, she tried to make it to the front door. But Dale ran to the entrance with his phone to his ear, barking orders.

Damn, the building would be surrounded by their men soon.

Allan was still searching for her and must be behind her. Jeez. She dove into the men’s room. Luckily it was empty. She ducked into a stall.

Now what?
Hiding in the men’s room wasn’t going to work.

The door to the restroom creaked open.
Damn, she was a gonner. But then a zipper peeled down with a zip. The sound of someone urinating in the open urinal followed.

Wrinkling
her nose, she closed her eyes.

The door squeaked open again.
“See a woman come in here?” Allan asked the man at the urinal.

The man chuckled.
“Nope.”

Allan paused, then headed out of the room.
She waited until the toilet flushed, and the man left. Then she hurried out of the stall, hoping she’d reach the door before someone else wanted to use the room.

She peeked out.
No sign of Allan or any of the others. But when she edged toward the front door using the walls to hide behind, she saw Allan, Dale, Samuel, and Cameron, all blocking the entrance, taking turns talking.

Whipping around, she
headed for the kitchen. She figured they would have it covered already, but it was her only chance out of here. When she pushed the door open, several cooks glanced in her direction. She smiled, trying to disarm them if they knew she was a wanted woman and dashed for the doorway.

Two men wearing aprons attempted to stop her.
She struck one with her backpack, and kicked the other in the shin.

“I’ll get the of
ficers!” one of the men shouted and darted out of the kitchen.

None of the other kitchen staff came near her, and she bolted for the door.
When she ran outside, the sunlight blinded her, and she squinted. Perspiration dribbled down her neck, and her heart couldn’t have drummed any harder.

She knew she didn’t have any chance now.
Three police cars had parked nearby, and as soon as she ran past the dumpsters, a uniformed police officer caught sight of her and hollered for her to halt. Luckily, he didn’t draw a weapon.

But the worst of it was, apparently Allan and his men had convinced the police to help them.
Great
. She was dead meat now.

The police officer got on his walkie-talkie, but almost immediately, the kitchen door to the Italian restaurant slammed open.
Jenny blinked the tears away as she climbed a chain-link fence into someone’s backyard.

Some distance away, Allan shouted, “Jenny!”
His voice was demanding, like a parent would use with an unruly child. Her head pounded with anger and frustration.

She tried to ignore him and everyone else that climbed the fence, rattling the chain link, or clomped in boots in the yards next door, skirting around it.
She felt like she was the focus of a statewide manhunt, and everyone from the entire Texas police force and other law enforcement agencies converged on her postage stamp bit of territory.

Despite not wanting to abandon the backpack, she finally dropped the cumbersome baggage in the driveway of the property.
She dashed across the street, nearly colliding with a border patrol car as the metal bumper skidded to a halt, bumping her leg.