Untamed: Duty Bound Book 3 (13 page)

Smiling a kind, crooked smile, the woman eased the goblet back and forth to prevent her from choking on the refreshing liquid. Without warning, Greta withdrew her hand.

Still thirsty, she reached out and touched the woman’s bony forearm. The smile faded from Greta’s moving lips, but its warmth lingered in her eyes. “It’s empty. Would you like more?”

“Yes, please.”

Greta lowered her head back onto a downy pillow, then walked to a table pushed against the naked wall of the cave. The unique legs were made of antlers, giving the table a rustic charm. A pitcher sat on top, and Greta refilled the goblet from it.

She propped herself up with her elbow. The bearskin slipped down her chest, exposing a pretty beige nightgown. A fox was embroidered over her left breast. She had no more memories of the garment than she had of the cave.
Where am I? How did I get here?

A fire burned in a pit, warming up the cave. As she attempted to sit upright, the flames spun around the room as wave of dizziness assailed her.

Her cry for help died on her lips.

***

At the counter of the ferry station, Avery presented a fake ID and paid cash for two one-way tickets.

“Cute little boy you have, sir.”

The youngster was fast asleep in his arms, oblivious to the teller’s comment. Still, the warm breath tickling his neck kindled a yearning in Avery’s heart.

He accepted the tickets—and the compliment—and boarded the ship.

Benches and armchairs filled the main room. He chose an armchair facing the window. The less he interacted with strangers, the better for his cover story. He repositioned Rory against his chest, assuming a comfortable position. Only then did he allow himself to relax.

The Blazer was parked at the back of a sleazy motel where he’d rented a room with his credit card for two nights. He’d ruffled the sheet and towels, turned the television on, emptied the beer and the tomato juice in the toilet before randomly tossing the cans inside the room. On his way out, he’d hung the Do-Not-Disturb sign on the doorknob, walked three blocks, then hailed a cab to get to the ferry station.

The trail ends there.

The wind rattled the window and the angry sea rocked the ferry. Avery leaned his cheek against the boy’s head and closed his eyes. He didn’t need to watch the green-faced passengers expel digested food and bile into paper bags. The sound and smell of it were bad enough. His own stomach roiled but not to the point of overflowing…not yet.
A nap will do me good.

He drowsed on and off, his mind never too far from the boy wrapped in his arms or his mother. Personal relationships had never lasted, mainly because duty had always come first. The fate of strangers taking priority over birthday parties or dinner dates. Throughout his career, Avery had never given more than a passing thought at the possibility of having a wife or a child, keeping the remote dream hidden in the recess of his heart until a special boy exposed the void in his future.

An announcement drowned out by static ended his reflection. Outside the window, the first ray of sunlight peeked over the ocean. He glanced at his watch. 6:45 a.m.

“Wake up, little man.” Avery gently rubbed Rory’s back, rousing him from a deep slumber. “We need to go to the bathroom.”

A long stretch of road lay ahead. With any luck, their ride would be waiting in the parking lot of the ferry station at North Sydney, Nova Scotia.

Chapter Twenty

She slowly sat in what had become her bed. The throbbing in her skull and the dizziness weren’t as pronounced as they were…hours…days ago.

Time had slipped away from her, and her memory had met the same fate. With cautious fingers, she probed the back of her head. A patch of hair was missing. Someone had bared her scalp and placed some sort of bandage over the sore area. “How bad is it?”

“Not bad, and it’s not infected. It will heal, but it will heal even faster if you don’t touch it.” Along with a reassuring smile, Greta offered her a steamy cup. “Drink this.”

The broth smelled delicious and tasted even better.

“Who am I, Greta? What happened to me? Why can’t I hear?” Those questions had haunted her brief, wakeful moments, but she hadn’t felt strong or coherent enough to articulate them.

“I don’t know who you are, but you are lucky to be alive.”

On the lips on the older woman, the name Lucky resembled a blessing. “Lucky seems like a nice name.”

“Lucky?” Twinkles sparkled in Greta’s dark eyes. “It fits you. You were alone in the forest when two men attacked you. One hit your head with a big stick. It may be why you can’t remember or hear anything, though I’m not sure how you can understand everything I’m saying.”

“I can read lips.” She could only assume that something in her past had incited her to develop this particular skill. “Greta, those two men…” The blurry image of a man with dark brown eyes skimmed the edge of her mind. “Do you know why they attacked me? Did they say anything?”

“A long time ago, I stumbled onto one of them in the forest. He was with two friends, drinking and taking drugs. He assaulted me while the other two just watched. I fought him and ripped his ski mask. His face…I never forgot his face. He pulled a knife…” An invisible veil dropped over Greta’s face, blanking her expression. “An old man saved me.”

“And that same man attacked me?” Having no recollection of the attack, the men, or the reason that had prompted her to wander alone in the woods, Lucky drank the warm broth in a vain attempt to squelch the cold invading her body.

“Yes. I spotted him this afternoon by the frozen stream, cutting a hole in the ice with a chainsaw, so I spied on him. He and his friend didn’t put their ski masks on until you showed up. It was almost as if they were waiting for you.”

Lucky sighed in frustration.
I wish I could remember—or forget—everything.

“Don’t despair. You will eventually remember.” As if she’d been reading her mind, Greta patted her knee over the bearskin. “In the meantime, you are safe here.”

Here
was the inside of a cave with rudimentary furnishing and no running water. “Won’t the two men find me?”

“You were riding a Ski-Doo when they ambushed you. After he hit you, you slumped against the windshield. I hit him back, jumped on the seat, and rode away with you. One man followed. I knew it was only a matter of time before he caught up with me, so I crashed into a beaver lodge and tossed your winter coat on the seat. It sank within minutes. I erased the traces leading away from the crash. No one followed us here, that much I know for sure.”

“You staged my death?”
I have no more past.
That was one clever and ironic twist if she’d ever heard one.

“I didn’t want them to keep looking for you. When you’re strong and ready, you can resurface. Now rest, Lucky. Your body and your mind need to heal.”

***

Something pressed on Avery’s chest. Caught between dream and reality, he resisted the urge to spring into action until he fully awoke.

The explosion and the long trip resurfaced in his mind as it cleared away the last vestige of sleep. Bill had waited for them at the ferry terminal with muffins, juice, coffee, and a child car seat in a blue minivan.

To give the old man a chance to rest after driving seven hours to meet them, Avery had slipped behind the wheel. Upon arriving at Buccaneer, he’d crashed on the couch.

I’m getting too old to stay up all night long.

The weight shifted on his belly. He opened his eyes, and his breath caught in his throat. Rory was fast asleep on his chest, small hands firmly gripping his shirt. Not once during the trip had the boy complained. Still, confusion and sadness had simmered in Rory’s eyes. At a loss to alleviate his distress, Avery wrapped a protective arm around the small body.

Traces of chocolate lingered around the boy’s mouth.

No one had been home when they’d arrived. Avery could only assume Bill had fed his little man some chocolaty treats before he climbed on his chest for a nap.

“Is he yours?”

The question had been spoken so quietly that it took a moment for Avery to identify the source. Seated in a reclining chair near the fireplace, Rowan gazed at him with inquiring eyes. A bundle was wrapped in her arms, and a tiny head full of fuzzy red hair rested on her shoulder.

“It’s a long story, and it’s complicated.” He tilted his head toward the baby. “She’s as gorgeous as her mother. Did you decide on a name?”

A mysterious smile enlivened Rowan’s face. “Savannah.”

“Savannah?” The same name Rachel had chosen for her daughter before a bullet ended their lives. “It’s beautiful.”

“I’m glad you approve.” A light shined through the mist clouding her eyes as she kissed her daughter’s cheek. “One day, I will give her the pink knife—to keep her safe.”

Rachel, his former colleague, had been gone three years this month. The pink knife had belonged to her. She would have been touched that Rowan named her daughter Savannah.

“I missed you, Rowan.” They shared a deep friendship born from a tumultuous summer.

“You called me collect from Newfoundland and asked if Bill could drive all night to meet you at the ferry because you
miss me
?” Amusement twinkled in her eyes and spilled into her words. “Sure.”

“For the record, I asked if Bjorn could pick me up.” Avery hadn’t meant to impose the winter journey on an old man, but he hadn’t known Rowan’s husband had gone back to Iceland to visit his sick grandmother. “But I appreciate Bill’s sacrifice.”

“Bill knew you wouldn’t have asked unless it was important. It wasn’t a sacrifice.”

Nevertheless, he was in her debt. “I need help, Rowan.”

Baby Savannah wriggled in her mother’s arms and Rowan repositioned her daughter against her shoulder. “You know I’d do anything for you. Just name it.”

“This is Rory.” As he stroked the youngster’s back, a warm feeling spread inside Avery’s chest. “He’s a bright kid, but he doesn’t speak.” Not to wake his little man, Avery kept his voice low. “I suspect he lost his voice after witnessing the beating and possible murder of a man.”

Terror twisted Rowan’s lovely face, and his mind traveled back to that fateful day at the lighthouse. She’d been a survivor. If anyone could empathize with Rory, it was Rowan.

“He needs a safe place to stay, but for reasons I’m not at liberty to explain, I can’t trust anyone inside the department. I covered my tracks coming here. Your family isn’t in danger.”

“I trust you, Avery.” Rowan’s motherly gaze settled on Rory. “We’ll take good care of him. No one will know he’s here.”

“Thank you.” Her confidence heartened his spirits. “I’ll be back for him as soon as I can. I promise.”

***

Stone, you picked the wrong day to play hooky.

The demoted constable hadn’t bothered to show up for work. Greg could only imagine the kind of mischief the drunken man might have gotten himself into. With the report of a tragedy unfolding in the forest, the detachment didn’t need any more trouble or bad publicity.

Cooper’s cruiser was parked in front of the garage, and a light shone through the window of the low building. Greg stepped inside. The heater was on. As he looked around, he unzipped his winter jacket.

A pair of dark blue trousers, with golden strapping and no crease in the fabric, dangled from the passenger side of Stone’s RCMP truck.

“Coop?” Unlike Stone, the younger Mountie ironed his pants. “What are you up to?”

The constable extricated his tall, lanky frame from the front seat and ran his fingers through neatly cut strawberry blond hair.

“Sarge?” With his clean shave and rosy baby face, Cooper looked like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Stone wasn’t happy with the way I cleaned the truck, but aside from an empty can of beer under his seat, I’m not seeing any reason for him to complain. Where is he anyway?”

The littering of beer cans grated on Greg’s nerves, but unless he lifted identifiable prints or caught the delinquent officer red-handed, he couldn’t accuse him of drinking on the job. “Wish I knew. His Chevy is gone. I take he didn’t tell you where he went or when he planned on coming back?”

“Nope, but if you want my opinion, he’s up to no good.” Cooper slammed the door shut, then leaned with his elbow on the window frame. “Want me to look for him?”

Knowing how Stone spent his days—or nights—might prove valuable.

“Doc Pike just came to see me in a panic. His sister’s cabin has gone up in smoke, or so he says. I was going to send Stone…” Greg would have loved to dump the case on Stone’s shoulders and watch him screw up the investigation, but he couldn’t delay visiting the alleged crime scene. “I’ll go take a look. In the meantime, send the beer can to the lab and find Stone. I don’t care how you proceed.”

Chapter Twenty-One

A child ran toward her, arms wide open. Tears brimmed in his eyes—big blue eyes as mesmerizing as a cloudless sky on a cold January afternoon. Pain wrenched her heart, as she had never seen such beautiful eyes reflecting so much suffering.

An ax tumbled from the top of a majestic fir tree, chopping a snowy branch in its descent. No taller than a sapling, the child stilled and looked up.

No!
She snapped her eyes open. The nightmare faded away before the youngster suffered any harm.
Who are you?

Something touched her arm. Lucky jolted.

The older woman retrieved her hand but kept staring at her, worry obscuring her face. “Bad dream, Lucky?”

She wanted to dismiss the images but couldn’t. “I’m always seeing the same young child, all bundled in a snowsuit. I think it’s a boy.” The image was genderless, but when he reached for her, Lucky felt like she knew him. “He has gorgeous blue eyes.”

A dreamy smile floated on Greta’s lips. “You have gorgeous blue eyes. Maybe you’re seeing yourself.”

“I have blue eyes?” There was no mirror in the cavern. Her skin was white, her hands looked young, her muscles were toned, but her face remained a mystery. “How old do you think I am, Greta?”