Lethal Memory (A Counterstrike Novel Book 2) Read online

  “Are you sure this is the right area?” Riley practically pressed her nose against the side window as he rolled to a stop at the curb. “These places cost millions, and for whatever reason, I don’t feel rich.”

  He held up his cell phone. “I’m sure since I put your address into my phone, and it’s telling me we’ve arrived at our destination. I don’t see any visible street numbers, but I think we’re here.”

  “Are you kidding?” She waved toward the Gothic Revival house, complete with towers, spirals, and gingerbread trim, just visible through a pair of tall, wrought iron gates.

  “Not Dracula’s castle. Yours is the old carriage house at the edge of the property. At some point, it must have been turned into private living space. Maybe the owner needed cash to manage upkeep on that monstrosity.”

  “Thank God.” She studied the shingled, two-story structure with white trim. “It doesn’t jog any memories, but it’s attractive and a manageable size. Oh, wow, I even have a little rose garden. Not that anything is in bloom the end of October, but I bet it smells heavenly in the summer.”

  “I imagine so.” The car door creaked as he opened it to step out onto the street. “Don’t move yet, not until I check out the place. At least there’s no crime scene tape to hinder us.”

  “That’s right.” She seemed to deflate into the corner. “I forgot you mentioned one of those cretins searched my home for a backup file I apparently didn’t make.”

  He leaned down to look in at her and braced one hand on the frame of the old pickup. “If they trashed your home, we’ll clean it up. We’ll handle this together. Okay?”

  She nodded. “Sure. Thank you.”

  Noah smiled at her, hoping to ease the lines of worry etched on her bruised face. “I’ll see what’s up and be right back.”

  Stepping away from his truck, he shut the door with a metal thwack. At least the heater had eked out a little tepid air once the engine had finally warmed up, so the cab wasn’t too cold. The ’57 Chevy had its good and bad days. If he were smart, he’d find something more practical—not to mention reliable—to drive, but he couldn’t bring himself to part with his grandpa’s pride and joy.

  Shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, he hurried up the brick path to the front door. With little hope, he tried the knob. Locked.

  “Damn.” He checked the ledge above the door but didn’t find a key. There was nothing under the welcome mat, either, and he hadn’t thought to bring his lockpick set with him. Turning slowly, he spotted a ceramic cat next to a stack of empty flower pots. “I wonder . . .” He lifted the statue and grunted in satisfaction before bending to retrieve the key beneath it. After opening the door, he walked through the entry and swore.

  The men who’d searched the place had done a thorough job. In the living room, drawers from the rolltop desk in the corner had been emptied, and the contents from a dozen folders littered an area rug. A collection of hardcover books that had once occupied a bookcase were scattered across the floor, and the cushions on the couch had been tossed in a heap. Stepping over the piles in the main room, he passed through the small dining area and stopped beside the central island in the kitchen. Dishes were smashed, and utensil drawers had been dumped onto the tile floor. Lower cupboard doors hung open, with pots and pans pulled off the shelves. A film of gray powder covered everything. Without bothering to check upstairs, Noah headed back outside.

  Riley pushed open the door and swung out her legs. “Well?”

  “They tossed the place. Cleaning up will take a few hours, and you’ll need to replace your dishes. My guess is he was just plain pissed by the time he got to the kitchen.”

  “Gee, exactly how I wanted to spend my afternoon . . . on a shopping spree.” She gripped his arm and stood on one foot while he pulled the crutches out of the bed of the truck and handed them to her.

  The sarcasm edging her voice made him smile. He wasn’t sure he’d hold up as well as this woman had under the same conditions.

  “The old ones were cool. I liked the abstract pattern.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment. “Interconnecting triangles in purple and blue.”

  “Exactly. You remember them?”

  “An image of a cardboard container holding dishes flashed through my mind. The box sat beneath a Christmas tree decorated with old-fashioned ornaments and red bows. Wrapping paper was scattered across the hardwood floor.”

  “That’s great, Riley. These little shards of memory are a really good sign, but I’m sorry so many of your plates are broken.”

  Using the crutches, she headed toward the house. “I’ll take memories over dishes, any day. Let’s go deal with the mess.”

  Two hours later, Noah took a bulging trash bag to the can he’d discovered in a shed behind the carriage house and shoved it inside with the first one. After replacing the lid, he brushed his hands across the seat of his jeans. Riley’s home was in reasonable order, even if it did need a thorough cleaning to remove the last traces of powder residue the cops had left while dusting for prints. Crossing the stone patio, he entered through the back door into the kitchen.

  Riley sat on the couch in the living room, flipping through a photo album. She glanced up when he entered the room. “I was a cute kid. Apparently, I had my own goat.” After a moment, she closed the album and set it on the coffee table. “I want to go visit my grandfather. Maybe tomorrow.”

  Noah sat down next to her. “You’ve done a lot today. For now, I’d advise taking it easy and getting some rest.”

  She leaned back against the cushions. “I’ll admit I’m wiped out, and my head aches. I hate being so weak.”

  “I’ll get you a glass of water and your pain meds. I’m a little concerned about those stairs—” At a knock from the entry, Noah stopped speaking. “I wonder who that is?” He rose to his feet. “Stay put while I check it out.”

  Riley’s lab assistant stood on the stoop. He had his back to the house, and his shoulders were hunched against the cold beneath a navy Trimountaine logo sweatshirt. When Noah opened the door, he swung around to face him. His eyes behind the round glasses widened.

  “I wasn’t sure if anyone was around, but I saw the truck parked out front and—” He broke off and cleared his throat. “Did you bring Riley home?”

  “I did. Come on in, Charles.”

  “Thank you.” He stepped into the entry. “I’ve been asking to see Riley for a few days, but every time I’ve called, the woman who deals with the families and friends told me she wasn’t up to having visitors.”

  “The men who kidnapped her were pretty rough. Today, she’s feeling better, but she still tires easily. I’m sure she’d like to speak to you. Just keep it short.” Noah led the other man into the living room and studied Riley closely, searching for any hint of recognition in her eyes. There was none.

  “Jesus. I guess I didn’t expect—” Charles stopped across the coffee table from Riley. “They really messed you up good.”

  “I’m afraid you have me at a loss.” She gave Noah a questioning look.

  “Charles Brasher, your lab assistant.”

  He drew in a sharp breath. “That woman, Scarlet, mentioned you had memory issues . . .”

  “That’s putting it mildly. Currently, my mind is a blank slate.”

  His expression morphed from alarm to incredulity. “You must remember something.”

  “So far, only a couple of random images from my childhood. The good news is I should get most of my memory back as my brain heals.” She glanced over at Noah again. “Right?”

  He hoped the smile he gave her was reassuring. The lost look in her eyes made his heart ache. “That’s the most likely prognosis.”

  “What about your . . . uh, classes? Maybe you’d remember the course material if you took a look at it.” Charles shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. “The same with your research. If you review those files, they might jog your memory. Have you tried?”

  “I haven’t had an opportuni
ty. Believe it or not, a fractured skull takes a lot out of you.” Her tone held a touch of irony.

  “I didn’t mean—” He stopped and swallowed. “Sorry. I’m better with lab work than social etiquette. I’m just concerned.”

  “I appreciate that. I intend to call the department chair, whoever that might be, and tell him or her I need to take a leave of absence until after winter break. Hopefully by then I’ll have recovered. Maybe you could help me with names and contact information?”

  “Sure.” Charles hesitated for a few seconds. “So, you don’t plan to go back to work anytime soon?”

  “Not until my injuries heal and I regain at least a portion of my memory. In the meantime, I’ll do as you suggested and try to refamiliarize myself with the material I teach. Maybe it’ll start coming back to me.”

  “About your lab work . . . Look, if there’s anything I can do, I’d be happy to help in any way possible.”

  “Thanks, Charles. I’ll be in touch once I’m feeling a little stronger and come up with a game plan. For right now, at least, my research will have to wait.”

  Noah moved toward the doorway. “Riley needs to rest.”

  “Uh, sure. Okay.” The younger man edged backward. “I’ll text you that contact information.”

  “My phone—” She broke off and let out a frustrated breath. “I don’t know what happened to it, and I didn’t notice a landline.”

  “I’ll pick up a new one for you this afternoon.” Noah pulled his cell from his pocket. “What’s your number, Charles. I’ll text you once Riley has a way for you to reach her.”

  He gave Noah his number and then looked back over at his boss. “I guess I’ll talk to you later. I hope you heal quickly.”

  “I do, too. Thanks for stopping by, and for your concern.”

  He nodded. “Bye, Riley.”

  After Noah let Charles out, he returned to the living room. “I met your lab assistant once before, right after you were kidnapped, and he was a bundle of nerves. Under the circumstances, that was understandable, but the guy is obviously pretty tightly strung.”

  “He must be excellent at what he does, or I can’t imagine I would have chosen him to work with me.”

  “No, you seem like the type of person who would demand competence. Maybe he’s just worried about his own future now that your project is on hold. I expect a grad student would count on his research position to bolster his resume.”

  Riley nodded. “You’re probably right.” After a moment, she spoke again. “You don’t have to babysit me, Noah. I suspect you’re a busy man.”

  “My time is my own between rescue missions. Right now, I’m free to hang out with you until we get another assignment.” He pulled his keys from his pocket and smiled. “Not exactly a hardship, Riley. I will, however, go pick up some groceries since you don’t have much to eat in the refrigerator. Any requests?”

  “I don’t feel like I’m a picky eater, so you can surprise me. I’d give you cash, but I’ve no clue where my purse is.” She frowned. “Or my car. I assume I have one.”

  “Maybe it’s at the University since that’s where you were when those bastards grabbed you. We’ll find it.” He fidgeted with the keys. “I was thinking maybe I should stay here tonight. I’m not crazy about leaving you alone.”

  She sat up straighter. “And then what?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “How about tomorrow night and the night after that? You said Wolf spoke to the people at Vortex and threatened them.”

  “He did, but—”

  She closed her eyes, and he could swear she was counting beneath her breath.

  “I won’t let you put your life on hold for me. I mean it, Noah.”

  At a sharp rap on the door, he let out a frustrated breath. “You’re certainly popular today.”

  “Apparently so. Can you—”

  “Of course.” As he headed toward the entry, he glanced over his shoulder. “This conversation isn’t over.”

  A man and woman, both dressed in casual suits, stood on the stoop. The man held a badge up to the window.

  Noah opened the door and stepped back. “Afternoon, officers. I assume you’re here to question Riley?”

  “I’m Detective Brasher, and this is Detective Connolly.” The older cop, who looked to be in his mid-fifties with blunt features and salt and pepper hair, was accompanied by a much younger, female partner. “Is Professor Adair at home?”

  “She is. Come on in.”

  “And you are?”

  “Dr. Kimball.” Noah shut the door behind them. “You aren’t the detectives I spoke to a couple of days ago regarding Riley’s condition.”

  “We’ve been reassigned to the case,” Brasher answered. “You work for Counterstrike?” At Noah’s nod, he continued, “I won’t accept any more stonewalling. We need to speak to Ms. Adair immediately.”

  “Since having a conversation is no longer likely to hinder her recovery, you’re welcome to talk to her. I made it clear to your colleagues she’d be available once she’d had a little time to recover.”

  “We appreciate that.” Connolly spoke for the first time. The petite woman’s smile held understanding and sympathy. “Thank you, Dr. Kimball.”

  She seemed to be playing the role of good cop, in stark contrast to her partner’s combative bluster. Suddenly the older detective’s name clicked in Noah’s brain.

  “Are you related to Charles Brasher, Riley’s lab tech?”

  “He’s my nephew. I wasn’t on duty the night of the abduction, but I asked to be assigned to the case since Charles has a personal stake in the outcome. You can bet I’ll make certain whoever was responsible for Professor Adair’s kidnapping winds up behind bars.”

  Noah headed toward the living room. “Charles mentioned his uncle was the one who told him to contact Counterstrike.”

  “That’s right. My nephew was in a complete panic when he phoned me. Your organization rescued the daughter of old friends of mine. The family is richer than God, and the media didn’t catch wind of the incident. I figured Counterstrike was Professor Adair’s best shot. Turned out I was right, but that doesn’t give you the right to impede our investigation.”

  “No impeding intended.” He met Riley’s gaze as he approached the couch. “Detectives Brasher and Connolly are here to ask you a few questions. The gentleman is Charles’s uncle.”

  “Nice to meet you both.” Riley tapped her bandage-wrapped knee beneath wide-leg athletic pants. “I’d get up to greet you, but I still need crutches to stand.”

  “Please don’t. How are you feeling, Professor Adair?” Connolly stepped forward. “I’m sorry about your injuries.”

  “I’m sorry about them, too, but I’m happy to be alive. Unfortunately, I’m not sure how much help I’ll be since I have no memory at all of the kidnapping.”

  “Dr. Kimball told the original detectives on the case that you’d lost your memory.” Brasher gave her a disbelieving look. “I’m sure you must remember—”

  “Absolutely nothing,” Riley interrupted him. “Noah tells me it’ll take time to regain my memories.”

  The cop turned to face him. “How much time?”

  “I’m hopeful she’ll recover most of her episodic memory within a month, but I would be surprised if her recent memories, ones from the time of her kidnapping, aren’t lost for good.”

  “You’re kidding?” His brows lowered in a fierce scowl.

  “I’m afraid not.”

  The detective turned back to Riley. “Maybe you could start with what you do know.”

  “I woke up in a small, enclosed space several hours before the Counterstrike team rescued me. I was battered and bleeding, and my head hurt so badly I wasn’t sure I wanted to survive. Apparently, I’d been unconscious for some time after one of my abductors got a little too aggressive with the questioning, but I don’t remember that part.”

  “How many men did you see, Professor Adair?” Connolly asked.

  “Just two.�
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  “Did they mention who they worked for? Any names at all?” Brasher stared at her intently. “This is important.”

  “No.” She hesitated. “Actually, when we were on our way out, the man who seemed to be in charge yelled for Lonzo. The younger one, Lonzo, was the freak who tortured me.”

  “I can verify that,” Noah said. “But I’m sure by now you’ve identified the bodies of the two men who held her captive.”

  Brasher nodded. “They were just the muscle. We want to know who ordered the kidnapping.”

  “I wish I could be more help, but that’s all I know.”

  Detective Connolly stepped closer and handed Riley her business card. “You’ll call us when your memories begin to return?”

  “Of course. I won’t feel safe until the person responsible is locked up, even though I can’t possibly give him what he wanted so badly.”

  Brasher crossed his arms over his chest. “What would that be, Professor Adair?”

  “My research on dementia. At least that’s what they said they wanted. If there’s a backup file, I’ve no idea where I put it. And any knowledge I had stored in my memory is lost.”

  “For now,” the detective responded.

  Riley gave a quick nod. “For now. I only hope all that data isn’t gone for good.”

  * * * *

  Charles stepped into the foyer and looked into the eyes of the man who held him by the short hairs. “She said she doesn’t remember anything. I don’t think she’s lying.”

  “You sure about that? The woman is brilliant. I have a feeling she can lie with the best of them.”

  “I think I know her a little better than you do.” He headed toward the only lighted room in the house at this late hour. The shelves lining the office space were filled with books, most on the topic of dementia and Alzheimer’s disease. His gaze was drawn to the photo resting on the credenza behind the large oak desk. A young man, smiling, seemingly happy. A sigh slipped out.

  “I expected to see you sooner. I don’t like to be kept waiting, Charles.”