Fatal Recall. Carol J. Post
Like the sun reflecting off something metallic.
Someone had a gun. It was likely aimed at them.
And he had about one second to react.
* * *
Three cracks split the air in rapid succession. A second later, she hit the water face-first, driving it into her mouth and up her nose. Its icy chill engulfed her, and the current dragged her downstream, slamming her body into submerged rocks. When she surfaced, she gasped for air between fits of coughing. Tanner was nearby, being carried downstream at the same speed as her, one arm looped over the side of the kayak.
“Get to the edge.” He gained his footing, then turned to roll the kayak onto its side.
“What are you trying to do, drown me?” Even as the words spilled out, she knew better. Gunfire had reverberated around them as he’d tackled her and pulled her overboard.
He ignored her outburst. “Keep down and stay out of sight.”
The worst of the rapids was behind them; the current at the river’s edge was more manageable. More shots rang out, none of them finding their mark. Which was good. A bullet would sail through plastic as easily as a hot knife through butter.
As they approached the bank, everything fell eerily silent. Moments later, gunfire again rent the air. A hole appeared near the back of the boat. Of the next four shots, two hit their target. One narrowly missed Tanner.
He tilted his head toward the bank. “We’re going to use that for protection.”
She cast a glance over her shoulder. An old hardwood had lost its grip at the edge of the river and toppled over, its roots a vertical tangled mass six feet in diameter.
The assailant fired two more shots. Tanner stared at her, eyes intense. “When I give the word, scramble up the bank, staying as close to the downed tree as you can. Then run into the woods without looking back.”
When the water wasn’t much more than a foot deep, she dropped from a crouch to her hands and knees. The bank was within arm’s reach.
She looked at Tanner. “What are we waiting for?”
“The eighth round.”
“Huh?”
Before he could respond, a shot hit the water near them.
“Now.”
When she hesitated, he gave her a push. “Go, go, go.”
She sprang from the water and scrambled up the bank, back itching for the bullet she expected. By the time the gunfire resumed, she’d left the river behind and entered the safety of the trees on its opposite slope.
But she didn’t slow down. Tanner was somewhere behind her. She could hear him crashing through the forest.
Finally, he closed the distance between them. “I think we’ve lost him.”
She bent over and sucked in several gulps of air. Tanner looked to be in great shape, definitely a man who frequented the gym. But he was as winded as she was.
He leaned against a tree and pulled his phone from his pocket. “No service. But thanks to the waterproof case, it looks like it survived our impromptu swim.” He slid it back into his pocket. “So, who are these guys?”
“I don’t know.”
He lifted one brow, the gesture filled with doubt. “What are you doing out here?”
She searched for an answer. It was there somewhere, but her head hurt too badly to pull it out. “I can’t remember.”
Tanner frowned. “You forget where you put your car keys, not why you’re alone in the woods with men shooting at you.”
“I said I don’t know. Okay? Just leave me alone.” She stalked off in a different direction. Her head was killing her and focusing was pretty much impossible. She didn’t need some stranger giving her a hard time.
He fell into step beside her. “I’m trying to help you. Do you have a name?”
She studied his face, as if the answer would somehow be there. What she found were piercing green eyes under a head of soft brown hair and a square jaw covered by a day’s worth of stubble. Not a single hint as to her identity.
She shook her head. “I’m sure I do. I just can’t remember what it is right now.”
He stopped to stare at her. “You’re serious.” Whatever doubt she’d seen had turned to concern. “What about ID?”
She patted her pockets. Nothing in her jeans pockets, front or back. One jacket pocket was empty. The other... She pulled out a small wooden box, rectangular in shape. It looked handmade, with perfectly cut pieces of wood joined together, a polished patchwork of varying shades.
She turned it over. A minuscule crack circled the longer sides, close to the end. A seam between pieces of wood? Or the edges of a drawer? She tugged at it, then frowned. If it was a drawer, it wasn’t budging.
Tanner held out a hand. “Let me try. It’s probably swollen from getting wet.”
She handed him the box, then stood next to him while he pried and pulled. Finally, he’d worked it open enough to look inside. It was empty, except for some bits of dried leaves. Tobacco?
Tanner brought it to his nose, and his brows knit. When she gave it her own test, a knot formed in her stomach. It wasn’t tobacco. It was pot.
She shook her head. “This isn’t mine.”
Tanner cocked a brow. He didn’t believe her.
Of course not. How could she know she didn’t smoke pot when every memory had been wiped clean? She didn’t have an answer for how she knew, just that she did. “I don’t know why I have this, but I can guarantee you if this box held joints, they weren’t mine.” She frowned. “I have some pretty strong emotions right now, and they’re not good.”
She took what he held and closed the drawer. “Whoever the box belonged to, I’m keeping it.” She slid her hand over the varnished surface, then slipped the item back into her pocket. “This is all I’ve got. Nothing that offers any hint about who I am.”
A chill ripped through her, and a shudder shook her shoulders. He stepped closer to run his hands briskly up and down her arms. “I hope it’s just the wet clothes and you’re not going into shock. We need to get you to a doctor, pronto.”
He took her hand and resumed walking, his gait stiff but fast. “We’ll veer to the left, then double back. We should be able to avoid whoever is after you but still reach the highway.”
She nodded. She had no idea where they were. Ever since her panic subsided enough to think straight, she’d tried to recall the last thing that had happened. An hour later, she still couldn’t remember. And her head felt as if someone had clamped it into a vise.
Whether or not she was in shock, she was freezing. Her drenched jeans leached warmth from her body with every step, and her wet jacket flopped against her torso, pounding the chill deeper.
It wasn’t going to get better. The sun was resting too low to dry clothes or warm bodies. They probably had less than an hour of daylight left. If they didn’t make it out soon, they’d be spending the night in the woods. Another shiver passed through her.
He squeezed her hand, and she gave him a shaky smile. “Thank you for everything. I hate to think what would’ve happened if you hadn’t come along.”
“I’m glad I was there.”
She cast him another glance. “What did you mean by ‘the eighth round’?”
“I was counting the shots. There was a gap after the first eight, then another gap after the next eight. Whoever is after you is using a pistol with a magazine that holds eight cartridges. After the eighth shot, he’d have