Hide My Memories: A Romantic Suspense Thriller Series (Hide Me Series Book 1) (7 page)

West checked his watch again. "Yep, just in time for the end of our shift."

Katerina tried to laugh but found that it stuck in her throat.

West drove back to Westwood Harbor slowly, silently. Katerina watched out her window, glad for the silence.

Once back at the ambulance bay they quickly did a post-shift restocking, then checked out.

Before she could make a beeline for her car, West stopped in front of her and seemed to struggle with his words. Katerina didn't think she could stand anything he was going to say. She thought she saw pity and fear in his eyes. She didn’t want to deal with either. She squeezed his arm quickly and thanked him for all his help. Then she ran around him and all the way to her car.

On the way home, staring up at the yellow moon, the images slid back into her mind, taking up their old, familiar place.

A bitter disappointment sliced through her, as slick as any knife. But then she realized that it was only two images competing for space in her thoughts.

The woman with the liquid brown eyes was gone.

He took the day off work. He couldn’t concentrate anyway. He hadn’t been able to concentrate for three days now. He sat in the parking lot of Ironwood massage, his car out of reach of the eye of the few security cameras, and watched the building. Three days ago, he'd gone in to that building to get a massage and that's when
it
had happened. What exactly had happened, he wasn't sure, but he knew it was nothing good. He'd been laying on the table, drowsing, waiting for his massage therapist to come in and start. It'd been years since he got a massage and he was looking forward to it. When she finally came in everything had seemed normal, but then when she touched him, he’d felt a strange draining sensation that had made him even more tired. His head had felt like it weighed one thousand pounds. It had seemed to him that she drugged him – stuck a needle right in him somewhere and shot something into one of his veins – but he couldn't seem to care about it. He tried to make himself care about it, because if she was drugging him, she
knew
. But he couldn't.

And then she had been out the door. He hadn't even had the energy to lift his head up and see what was going on. He might even have fallen asleep. But then she'd come back, his energy had returned, and everything had been normal. The massage had been pretty good, nothing to write home about.

But when he'd gone to pay the receptionist, she had apologized. He called the receptionist’s face up in his mind in full detail. She had been cute, and perky, with her hair pulled back into a ponytail. Just the sight of her had interested him but he had quelled his interest. Westwood Harbor wasn't his domain.

"I'm so sorry about your first therapist, sir," she had said.

"First therapist?"

"Yes, she got sick and had to go home," the receptionist had said, her wide eyes fixed on his. "But we don't think she's contagious or anything," she had added.

He had puzzled over that the entire drive to work. He had tried to remember exactly what had happened when he felt so sleepy and drained.

And finally, he decided that he had to talk to this ‘first therapist’. He had to find out what had happened to her. He wanted to know how she had drained him or what she had done to him. Had she taken part of his soul? Had she taken part of his memories or thoughts? He didn’t think he believed in that sort of thing, but he thought he’d better be safe. Because if she had, that would make her very dangerous, and there was only one thing you did with dangerous people. You took care of them. If you were smart and safe. And he was both smart and safe. Safe to a fault, his brother always said.

He watched the building, not quite daring to go in, but not entirely sure what he should be scared of. He didn't even know what
she
looked like. But he knew what the cute little receptionist looked like. Damn the agreement he had made. He would take the cute receptionist and find out the other woman's name and address. And then he would pay her a visit too.

He waited all day but the receptionist didn't come out for lunch. He didn’t see her until after 5:30. She slipped into a tiny, blue sedan and pulled out of the parking lot, never noticing the car staying three car lengths behind her.

He followed her to a two-story, green apartment building. He had no idea if she had a husband or kids waiting for her, but at this point he didn't care. He would take care of them all if he had to.

He got out of his car when she got out of her car. When she started up the steps, he hung back for just a moment and then started up the steps behind her. He kept his pace slow, so he didn't freak her out. As soon as he saw her fit her key in the lock of a door a few feet away from the stairs, he quickened his pace. As she pushed her door open he pushed in right behind her, startling a small squeak out of her, but that was it. As soon as she looked like she was going to scream, he clamped a hand on her mouth.

"No screaming, sweetheart. You scream, you die, understand?"

With the arm he had slung across her chest, he could feel her pulse beating madly in her neck. It excited him. He had a syringe, and he would use it, once she had answered his questions. But he couldn't chance it before. She wasn't nodding or trying to signal the affirmative. In fact, she was still struggling in his arms. He squeezed her tighter to him and leaned into her ear closely. "Stop struggling or-."

He had to stifle his own scream as she bit him on the finger, hard. It felt like she had his entire hand in her mouth and was grinding the fingers to the bone. He pulled his hand backwards and she dropped straight down, pulling herself out of his grip. She ran fast, down the hallway, disappearing from sight.

He swore, and launched himself after her. Was there another exit back here?

At the end of the hallway was what looked like a small bedroom. He saw her disappear inside it. He passed a door on his right without even a glance, his feet pounding hard on the floor.

He burst into the bedroom and saw her immediately on the side of the bed, fishing around in a drawer. Just as he reached her, she turned around and shoved a gun in his face. Without thinking, which was so unlike him, he grabbed the gun and twisted it, wrenching it mercilessly, trying to rip it from her grasp. He watched her finger tighten on the trigger and he wrenched harder, so it wasn’t pointed at him. He flipped the gun all the way around until it pointed at her and as he tried to tear it from her grasp, she tried to hold onto it.

One of them squeezed the trigger and her face disappeared.

"Shit!" He stood, mouth agape, unable to believe what just happened. He hadn't even got her own name out of her, much less the name of the woman he was looking for.

He prided himself on his ability to think on his feet and he pushed himself to use that ability now.
Act, be smart, you can get out of this.

He grabbed part of the bedspread and wiped the gun down with it, then he pressed her fingers back to it again.

Then he turned and strode back down the hall, his body doing the work of his brain.

He stopped for a second at the door, made his face into the proper surprised mask, then opened it slightly. First pulling his sleeve down over his fingers, he found his hand reaching back and locking the knob from the inside.
Smart
, he told himself, and then rushed out the door. He looked right and left, and saw a man a few doors down, wearing the same look of cautious exploration that he had on.

"Did you hear that?" he yelled at the man. "It sounded like a gunshot!"

"Yeah, where did it come from?" the man yelled back.

"I think it was down there," he called, pointing, then pounded down the stairs. When he was certain the man wasn't following him, he got in his car and drove away quickly.

He needed a plan B.

But before he could even start to think of one, he realized that with any luck at all, he wouldn’t need to. The police would now deliver the woman’s name to him. Suddenly, he was eager to go back to work, and he knew he would be able to concentrate just fine.

Something pulled Katerina from her sleep. She rolled over and looked at the time. 11:30 AM. She had slept through her alarm
again
. She scrubbed her face with her hands and was glad that she had at least woken up a little bit earlier this time. Did she dare examine her dreams? Did she have a choice? She missed the days when all she had to worry about when she woke up was if she would make rent and where her next meal would come from.

The night before, she had wanted to stay up and think about what had happened that day, but as soon as she got into her apartment, a bone-weary tiredness had dropped upon her, forcing her into her bed, where she fell asleep almost instantly.

A knock sounded on her front door, urgent and loud. Oh, so that's what had woken her up. She got up and ran down the hallway, pausing to look out her peephole. It was a uniformed police officer. Foreboding flooded through Katerina and she quickly undid her locks.

"Yes?"

"Are you Ginger Holloway?"

"Yes."

"I need you to come to the police station with me, ma'am," he said.

Katerina's heart sped up. "Why?" she stammered.

"I don't know the specifics, but you need to come."

"Okay, just let me get dressed." Katerina ran down the hallway, jumped into a T-shirt and a pair of jeans, grabbed her phone, and threw her uniform into a bag. She didn't know if she would get a chance to come back here later - she didn't think she was under arrest though. She wondered briefly if someone had decided she was responsible for whatever had happened to that woman after all, and then she pushed the thought away. If she were under arrest, the cop never would have let her go to her room by herself. As she walked slowly back down the hallway to her door, she speed dialed West's number.

"Hello?"

"West, there's a police officer here and he says I have to go to the police station."

"Okay, I'll meet you there." No hesitation, no questions, he was just going to meet her there. Katerina smiled to herself at his… his what, his chivalry? His thoughtfulness? She honestly didn’t know what to think of him but she was grateful for him.

"Can I drive my own car?" she asked the officer.

"Yes, I will follow you."

Katerina got into her small car and drove the fourteen miles to the police station. On the way there, she tried to assess the state of her mind. The woman with the liquid brown eyes was still gone out of her ever-present picture show, but the other two women were still there. Some of the urgency of the images seemed to have been lost though, with the discovery of the first woman. Maybe because she knew what she was dealing with now? At least she did a little.

With that done, her mind was clear to turn to what was going on now. If her mom hadn't already been gone, she would've been scared for her mother. But she had no one in her life right now. This had to have something to do with what had happened yesterday.

When she arrived at the police station, the officer waited for her to get out of her car, and then led her through a side door without a word. She walked, slightly behind him, down the starkly white hallway, and held her breath. How was West going to find her?

Finally, he led her through a pair of double doors and into what could only be an interrogation room. She swallowed and sat down.

He left her there, and she waited, trying to keep her breathing under control.

Finally, the door opened again, and a slim, brown haired man in a suit came in. He sat down across from her and asked, "Are you Ginger Holloway?"

She nodded.

He dropped a sheaf of papers in front of her. She rifled through it and read a few lines. It appeared to be a write-up of the incident that had happened yesterday where the body had been found. She even saw a several-paragraph statement that she had made.

After she had glanced through each paper, he said, "My name is Detective Gagne. I've been assigned this case."

Katerina didn't respond. She didn't know that the Westwood Harbor Police Department had made a case. She thought that had been left up to the Sheriff of Tetam County.

He spoke again. "Do you know a Pam Troper?"

Sudden fear sliced through Katerina like a knife. She was afraid she knew where this was going. Her eyes filled with tears and she shook her head, mutely. Why hadn't she called Pam yesterday? Why hadn’t she warned her? This was all her fault.

"You don't know her?"

"No, I do,” Katerina managed to say. “She's dead, isn't she?"

The detective looked at her blankly, but Katerina could tell she had said the wrong thing. Her phone buzzed. She ignored it.

"What makes you say that?" he asked.

"Because I'm here. Because you had someone come to my house and get me. Because Pam worked with me on the day that I had those horrible images come into my mind of all the dead women. He went after her, didn't he?" Katerina bit back her tears, and tried to hold herself together.

Instead of answering her questions, Detective Gagne asked another question. "When was the last time you saw her?"

"Three days ago it – no four days ago, when I worked with her. When all this happened," she spat out.

"And what was the nature of your relationship?"

"Nothing, we were friends, we worked together."

"Did you ever see her outside of work?"

"No, never."

"How long did you work with her?"

Katerina shook her head. "I don't know, a few months. She only started a few months ago."

"Did she have any identifying marks that you knew of?"

Katerina shook her head again, but then realized she was wrong. "She had a tattoo, a musical note, it was above her left breast."

"Would you be willing to try to identify her body?"

Katerina buried her face in her hands and sobbed. After a few moments she pulled herself together and nodded. "I would, but can my friend come with me?"

"Who is your friend?"

"West Shepherd. He is a paramedic and firefighter."

"I'll let you know."

Detective Gagne stood up and left the room. Katerina grabbed her phone and checked the text message that had come in. It was West.
I'm here. Where are you?

Katerina pressed quick dial and held the phone to her ear. "West, oh God, it's so bad. Pam is dead."

"Who is Pam?"

"She was the receptionist at the massage clinic I worked at." She heard West suck in a breath.

"They want me to identify her body. Will you go with me?"

“Yes, of course I will."

The door opened and Detective Gagne returned. Katerina looked up at him, praying he would let West come. She'd seen plenty of dead bodies before, but none of them had been her friend, and none of them had been murdered because of her.

"Your friend can come with us, if he's here within the next ten minutes."

"He's here now, West, where are you?"

"I'm in the lobby."

Detective Gagne must've heard, because he said, "We will meet him there."

***

A few minutes later, the three of them were in the elevator, heading down two floors to the medical examiner's office. As the elevator opened, the sterile scent of heavy disinfectants greeted them. West took her hand and Katerina was immediately grateful.

They followed Detective Gagne through a pair of heavy double doors. The room was brightly lit and impeccably clean. Katerina glanced around. There were stainless steel tables and sinks everywhere. But she didn't see any bodies. Thank goodness.

A plain man wearing a clean medical jumper sat at a table in the corner. When he saw them he stood and pulled on a pair of heavy-duty, blue, latex gloves. He looked pointedly at Detective Gagne.

"We're here to see Troper," Gagne told him.

"This way," the man responded after a moment's hesitation.

He led them through another set of double doors to a larger steel-lined room, this one chilly. The man approached a wall where several drawers were stacked on top of each other, like large filing cabinets. He went straight to the far right drawer, second from the bottom and pulled it open, then stepped back.

Katerina approached cautiously. There was a white towel over the face of the body in the drawer.

"We can't show you her face," Gagne said. "There's nothing left there to identify. But could you look at the tattoo and the general shape of her body and tell us if you think this is her or not."

Katerina nodded. The sheet covering the body was pulled down far enough that she could see the tattoo. "Yes, that definitely looks like Pam."

West squeezed her hand hard and Katerina squeezed back, holding on like a lifeline.

***

When they made it back out into the hallway, Katerina asked, “What happened to her?”

“Gunshot, with her own gun.”

“Suicide?” Katerina whispered, feeling West clamp his hand around hers again.

“I doubt it,” Gagne said. “Most people who commit suicide don’t shoot themselves
in
the face.” He sniffed forcefully. "But there were no signs of forced entry and nothing was taken from her apartment. So we aren't sure what we’re working with."

Katerina blanched. “When did it happen?”

“As far as we can tell, yesterday evening between five and six.”

While we were talking about her
, Katerina thought, biting the inside of her lip.

Yesterday, as horrible as finding the body had been, she had still had the luxury of thinking this would be simple. They would talk to Pam and then they would know who had placed all those bodies. All those bodies, that they had just found one of so far. But now Pam was dead too.

Back in the elevator, Gagne looked her straight in the eye. "I want you to stay available, in case I need you." Katerina nodded mutely.

As she and West pushed their way out of the double doors of the lobby, she turned her face to the sun, and tried to ignore the crushing guilt that was now doubling over the general anxiety she had felt for so many days. She looked at her phone. "Almost time to go to work," she said.

West turned to her. "I really think you should take a day off, don't you?"

She shook her head. "I need to work. I need something to do. I can’t just sit in my apartment and think about these things. Besides, I feel better when I work."

"But what if this guy is looking for you now?"

Katerina recoiled. She hadn't thought of that.
But of course he was
. If he had gone after Pam, he would be coming after her next. Or maybe after everyone in the office.

"I have to make a phone call," she said quickly, hoping she wasn’t already too late. She walked away from him and called Ironwood Massage.

The owner of the clinic answered and Katerina could hear shock in her voice.

"Tricia, it's Katerina. I guess you know about Pam?"

"Oh Katerina, it's horrible, she didn't show up to work this morning and I was worried about her so I asked the police to check on her. They called me back and told me she was dead. They wanted me to come down and identify her body, but I couldn't do it. I just couldn't handle seeing a dead person. Especially Pam." The older woman broke off and Katerina could hear her sobbing.

"It's okay, Tricia, I did it. It's done. But that's the reason I'm calling. The guy who did this might come after everyone there. He’s a murderer. And he got a massage there on my last day. I need to look up the records and find his name.”

"The police already came and took them, Katerina. There wasn't anything. He just gave his name as Robert Smith. The officer as much as said that it must be a fake name. He asked us if we took I.D. and I had to tell them no. He wanted to know how the man paid and I said he paid in cash. He even gave Tammy a $10 tip.”

Katerina rubbed her forehead, a dull ache beginning to spread there. "What are you going to do Tricia?"

"What can we do? We're going to shut down until he's caught. It's going to kill the girls."

Katerina nodded to herself. She knew how that was. When you were working paycheck to paycheck you couldn't afford to miss even a day. But then she registered what Tricia had said. It wouldn't literally kill them and this guy would.

"I get paid in a couple of weeks. Tell them I can give them each a hundred dollars." She knew that would be nothing for them, and she probably couldn't afford it herself. But she was making more money now, and she couldn't shake the feeling that this was all her fault. She had to do something.

She hung up with Tricia and went back to West, filling him in. The grim lines of his face scared her even more than she already was, but what could she do? She had to work.