Forgotten Secrets (11 page)

Thayne squinted against the morning light reflected off a silver dream catcher hanging at the entrance to Fannie’s Bed and Breakfast. He waved at Hudson. His brother had guarded the B&B while Thayne had gone home to shower and change clothes. A light summer breeze caused the chimes to quiver. A melodious peal rode the wind but didn’t welcome, only warned.

He hesitated before opening the door. In some ways, sunrise had come too quickly in Singing River. In others, not fast enough. He could tell his body ran on adrenaline now. His training made him capable of functioning with minimal sleep, but instinct wouldn’t find Cheyenne. Thayne stroked his unshaven chin. He’d checked in on the way here. Last night had been a complete bust. No sign of his sister.

He and his father had discussed calling off the search. They’d disclosed the threat to the search teams, but almost everyone had lifted their chin, fire in their eyes. They’d appointed armed lookouts on each team. Like the investigation hadn’t been challenging enough already.

Cheyenne’s second night gone. At the sheriff’s office, many wouldn’t look him in the eye.

They believed she was dead. But they hadn’t given up, either. Neither had he.

His head whispered the statistics. His heart shut down the mutterings.

Cheyenne was a fighter. She was smart.

Riley believed there was a chance, and he trusted her.

She’d pushed him away. He’d backed off for Cheyenne’s sake, but when they found his sister, he and Riley were going to have a long talk. After he swept her away and kept her from thinking too much for a week, maybe two.

Thayne trudged up the wooden steps to Fannie’s and opened the front door. Sunlight sliced through the open windows of the ground floor, wicked edges of brightness mocking him. Yeah, he’d have rather been nursing his third beer in a dark bar. Not because he wanted a drink, but because that would mean they’d found Cheyenne.

The cheerful décor grated. So did glancing at the door at the top of the stairs. He took them two at a time and rapped on Riley’s door.

No answer.

He paused, leaning into the door. No sounds came from inside.

He lifted his fist to knock again.

“Don’t you dare knock one more time, Thayne Blackwood.” Fannie’s southern drawl carried a threat he couldn’t ignore.

This morning the curvaceous ex–beauty queen looked twenty years younger than her seventy-five years. Hair shellacked in place and a layer of makeup that had been expertly applied.

Not that he knew how she created the dewy mask. He just knew it couldn’t be real.

Fannie frowned at him from the bottom of the stairs. “Get down here,” she called in a stage whisper, her voice carrying to him. She wagged her finger at him. “I’ve got coffee on.”

“Riley and I have an investigation to conduct,” he said.

“She called up asking for another refill on her coffee fifteen minutes ago. She’ll be down when she’s ready. Leave her be.” Fannie scanned him up and down with a critical eye. He squirmed when her gaze fell on his un-ironed work shirt and jeans. “You look like hell.”

Knowing Fannie wouldn’t leave him in peace, he tossed a resigned last look at Riley’s door and made his way to the B&B’s lobby. “Yeah, well, I didn’t get a lot of sleep waiting for a sniper who never showed, and the searchers didn’t find Cheyenne last night. Hell, they didn’t find any sign of her. Six hours of stepping through search grids, arm’s length apart, shining light on every inch of terrain.”

“I know, hon.” Fannie led him into the kitchen and lit the gas beneath a cast-iron skillet. “Sit down.”

He pulled out the solid mahogany chair while she poured a cup of black coffee. Four cardboard boxes labeled C
HURCH
rested on the kitchen counter behind him. Stacked neatly, but the only items that didn’t belong in the cozy room.

Fannie slid the mug over to him then turned back to the stove, layering strip after strip of bacon to cook.

The aroma hit him in the gut. “Gram used to cook for us kids on Saturday morning. Especially in the summer. Bacon, biscuits and gravy. All four of us scarfed them down then went out to the swimming hole.”

“My recipe,” Fannie said with a wistful smile over her shoulder. “Helen makes those biscuits better than I do. Said she added a secret ingredient to
improve
them. Never did tell me what it was. I’ll have to ask her at church today.”

Before she forgets forever.

The words went unspoken between them.

Thayne took a sip of coffee. Man, he’d have to take some of Fannie’s blend back to the base with him when he returned to duty. “Gram saw who took Cheyenne.”

Fannie shifted the bacon around in the pan. “Helen has more good days than bad. It might come to her.”

“I wish I understood what goes on in her head.” Thayne set down the cup. “If I did, maybe I could trigger the memory.”

“I’ve seen you with her. You know how to reach her.”

“Patience and time. Cheyenne doesn’t have that luxury.”

“Helen would do anything for her family if she could. You know that. Right now, it just isn’t . . . possible.”

“I know.” Thayne pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ward off the frustration building behind his eyes. “What has she said to you about her Alzheimer’s? She doesn’t talk about it. Neither does Pops. None of us do. Not really.”

Fannie didn’t speak for a moment. She adjusted the flame under the skillet and faced him. “We don’t talk about it, either. What’s to say? There’s nothing we can do to stop it. All we can do is live with it as best we can. We’ve all made adjustments. I’m learning your gram’s recipes. She wants them written down for you kids now that your mother’s passed.”

“I noticed her repeating a lot of questions when I came home for Christmas two years ago, but she was still the same Gram.” Thayne stared into his coffee cup. “She’s different now.”

“She’s changed over the last six months. Her meds aren’t working as well. Helen, Norma, Willow, and I still have our book club meeting every Wednesday, but we discuss our all-time-favorite Agatha Christie novels, nothing new.” She pressed down her apron. “Did you know that’s how your grandmother first noticed the short-term memory loss more than five years ago? She kept having to reread sections that didn’t stick with her.”

“How long have you known?”

“She knew something wasn’t right, but Norma knew first. Her mother and sister both had it young.” Fannie sat across from him and patted his hand. “When Helen was finally diagnosed, we all had a good cry, but we’d known before then. It’s an insidious disease, and we’ve adjusted for her, just like your family has. We spend more and more time living in the past where she’s comfortable.”

“Gram has good friends,” Thayne said. “I never asked what she felt about what was happening. And now, I’m not sure if she understands.”

“Thayne, the only thing Helen ever said to us was that she didn’t want to be a burden to Lincoln and the family. She asked us to look after you all when she couldn’t.”

Thayne’s throat thickened with emotion. “Sounds like Gram. If nothing can be done, she just pushes through.”

“As we all do.” Fannie’s eyes gleamed with unshed tears. “Oh, enough of this. Helen would scold the both of us if she saw us getting all weepy for her.” She rose and forked the bacon onto a paper towel–covered plate. “Keep asking her about that day, Thayne. Inside I know she wants to help find Cheyenne if she can. Even though she lives in the past sometimes, Helen still remembers a lot of what’s going on now. Sometimes it just isn’t at her fingertips when she wants it.”

Fannie shoved a cinnamon roll at him and cocked her head, her eyes twinkling. “Go ahead. Made ’em fresh last night.”

Thayne stared down at the roll. “You know, don’t you?”

“That you pilfered one last night? That you took it up to Riley’s room? Yes, young man, I know. I also heard you slam out of here not long afterward.” She handed him a fork. “Eat.”

Thayne stabbed the gooey roll, but he couldn’t lift it to his lips. His mouth had turned to sawdust. He pushed the plate back at her. “She didn’t need my help. No big deal. And I didn’t slam.”

Fannie snorted, in the delicate way only a southern lady can. “Poppycock. That girl gets under your skin, and I, for one, think it’s a good thing. She’s smart, she cares, and put the two of you in the same room and the air starts to tingle. I haven’t witnessed those kind of sparks since your father chased after your mother.”

“Oh no you don’t, Fannie.” Thayne shook his head. “I have enough trouble without becoming a project for the Gumshoe Grannies. You, Willow, Gram, and Norma should keep to Agatha Christie and your book club.”

“I didn’t take you for a fool, Thayne Blackwood. Do you know how often the real thing comes along? Well, I’ll tell you, once in a lifetime.”

“Riley and I . . . It’s complicated.”

Fannie’s eyes widened with utter shock. Thayne stilled, not even bothering to turn around.

“Very complicated,” Riley said, her voice husky.

She stepped into the room and crossed the kitchen before pouring a cup of coffee and facing him with businesslike eyes, devoid of anger or frustration.

Or anything.

“But right now, we don’t matter. The only thing that’s important is finding Cheyenne.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Bacon normally made Riley’s mouth water, but she simply stood numb in the warm kitchen. She didn’t even taste the coffee she sipped. Intellectually, she knew she was drinking Fannie’s special blend, but the liquid sliding down her throat could have been hot water or hot chocolate.

Complicated.

The word definitely encompassed her feelings for Thayne. She wanted to let him see her heart, but something pulled her back. How could she give him what he had every right to expect—her whole heart and soul—when she knew with everything inside of herself that she needed every modicum of passion and commitment to find his sister? And her own.

Riley pasted on her professional FBI face. The expression might slip in the field on occasion—as Tom constantly reminded her—but she could keep it together. Until she found Cheyenne.

If
she did.

Fannie cleared her throat and sent Thayne a you-really-put-your-mouth-in-it-this-time look.

“I guess we should be going,” he said, his voice cautious.

“I’m ready.” Riley set the barely touched coffee on the sink. She’d have to hope the five cups she’d downed upstairs would keep her going for a while.

“Are you headed to the church?” Fannie asked.

“Sheriff’s office first. Then church.” He glanced at Riley. “I thought we could check out any results on the BOLO and see if the court order came through for the medical records.”

She gave him a quick nod of agreement. “I’d like to use your computer system for a few minutes.”

Ignoring the quizzical quirk of his brow, she clutched the satchel of notes, sketches, and photos she’d brought along.

Fannie simply shook her head at the two of them, clicking her tongue. Finally, she pointed to the counter. “Thayne, would you take the left two boxes of goodies to the men at your office?”

“What about the others?” he asked.

“They’re for the search-and-rescue headquarters in the fellowship hall at the church. I’m meeting Helen to serve food if she’s up to it.” Fannie took Thayne’s hands in hers. “You and Riley will find your sister. I truly believe that.”

He simply bent down and kissed her cheek before crossing the kitchen and lifting the two boxes. “The basket, too?” he asked.

She shook her head. “It goes on the back porch.”

Thayne turned to her. “For Kade?”

“This morning, I found out he quit paying for his apartment and headed for the woods. He’s having flashbacks.”

Fannie’s voice sounded so heartbroken, her expression so sad, Riley’s heart hurt for the older woman.

“Has he gone for treatment?” Riley asked.

“Waiting list. Cheyenne did everything she could to get him in. She’s been his saving grace,” Fannie said. She gripped Thayne’s arm. “If you see Kade, let him know he can stay with me whenever he wants. Please.”

“And I’ll inform the search team to keep an eye out for him,” Thayne said. He grabbed his keys from his pocket. “You ready?”

“Just one thing.” Riley faced Fannie. “The SUV you saw—did you notice anything strange about it?”

“Beside the tinted windows so dark you couldn’t see inside?” Fannie asked, packaging up another bag of muffins and slipping them in a box.

She tapped her foot. “Norma’s always telling me to be more observant. That’s why Miss Marple solves all those mysteries.” Fannie placed her hands on her hips. “The car was clean as a whistle. I mean, waxy-shiny clean.”

“Pristine,” Riley commented. “Not surprising.”

Fannie pulled strapping tape from a drawer and measured it the length of the box. She stopped just before she cut. “I do remember the license plate was mud-splattered. Blocked out the numbers and letters.”

Riley’s heartbeat sped up. “Did you see the color?”

Fannie closed her eyes tight. “Light blue or white, I guess. With dark letters.” She grinned. “I remembered.”

“Agatha would be proud,” Riley said.

“Probably Wyoming. Maybe Nevada,” Thayne said. “I can look up other possibilities when we get to the office.”

Riley glanced over at Thayne. “If it’s Wyoming plates, Cheyenne might not be far.”

“Then go find her!” Fannie said.

Thayne paused at the door.

“Do you think anyone’s watching us?” Riley asked.

“Maybe. Just keep alert.”

“It’s not like we can afford to hide out,” Riley said.

They hurried to the SUV. Riley opened the back door for Thayne, and he slid the boxes of food inside.

“Any new information from last night?” she asked after he started down the road.

His eyes turned sober. “No sign of her. It’s not fair, you know. All she’s ever done is help people. The first thing I remember about my big sister was her hiding a stray cougar cub in the barn. The mother had been shot by a rancher after she’d killed a calf. The little thing should have died, but Cheyenne wouldn’t let it. She nursed that cub back to health then cried for a week when the park service took it away.”

Riley understood the disbelief. She’d felt it herself, but it was an easy trap to fall into, spending too much time thinking and imagining. “Were you up all night?”

“I’m used to it,” he said. “How about you?”

She shrugged. “I’ll sleep later.” They pulled up to the sheriff’s office, and Riley reached for the satchel beneath her. “I
do
need to use a computer in your office to do a little research.”

“What about your laptop?”

She glanced away from him and gripped the door handle.

He grasped her arm to stop her from leaving. “What aren’t you telling me?”

She was silent for a moment, gnawing on her lip. Better the truth now than when they were in the middle of a room of detectives. She twisted in her seat and lifted her chin. “I’m not sanctioned to be here. I’m on my own time.”

“Vacation, you mean?”

“Not exactly.” How was she supposed to tell him? She breathed in. “My boss suspended me. I can’t get into the federal databases. They’ve locked me out.” The words escaped fast and ran together.

With a stunned look, he fell back into his seat. “What happened? You’re their ace. I saw the news scrolling across the television this morning when I went home to shower. The reporter may have given credit to the FBI for taking down the East Coast Serial Killer, but
I
know it was you.”

“How can you be so certain?”

He lifted his hand as if to touch her, then dropped it. “Because you don’t stop until you catch the bad guys. We talk every Friday. You run theories past me. And all of them were right.”

She shook her head.

“Don’t, Riley. I know you didn’t locate the serial killer in time to save the first-grade teacher. It wasn’t your fault.”

She stilled. Why couldn’t he shut up? She stared out the window, praying he would drop the conversation.

“Her death wasn’t your fault. You know I’m right.”

“But
I’m
the one who didn’t see the connections fast enough.” Her vision blurred, and the pain of being too late nearly doubled her over. “I couldn’t save her, and God, I wanted to.”

Her voice broke. Thayne let out a curse and tugged her across the seat into his arms. She pushed at him, but he pinned her against his chest and stroked her hair.

“You’re the best there is, sweetheart. Sometimes we can’t win. I don’t like the truth, either. We’re so alike, but we both have to accept reality.”

“Now you sound like my boss.”

Thayne leaned back and tilted her chin so he could see her eyes. “Why did he suspend you?”

She didn’t like the speculation in his expression, like he was looking right through her. She gritted her teeth. “Why doesn’t matter, except that it gave me time to help.”

“You can tell me anything. I’ll understand. We’re friends.”

True, but she’d come to realize she couldn’t allow herself to love him. If she failed to find Cheyenne, she’d lose him anyway. Love came with conditions. She’d learned that truth the hard way in her own home.

So she said nothing and squirmed back into her seat.

Finally, he yanked open the car door. “After we find Cheyenne, you and I are going to have a long talk about what it means to be friends.”

“Is our
friendship
real? Or just
complicated
?” Before he could respond to the barb, she grabbed her satchel and hurried into the sheriff’s office.

For a Sunday, the place teemed with a blur of activity. The dispatcher fielded calls. A fax machine hummed; a printer churned. A uniform strode to a door labeled C
ONFERENCE
R
OOM
with a map. He opened it. Three men sat, silently sifting through files. Behind them, a crime board took up an entire wall, the content similar to hers but with its own timeline and a different set of photos.

“Dad’s office is over there,” Thayne said with a resigned sigh.

A loud
clank
sounded at the back of the room. Just beyond an open door, a man stood in a jail cell running a metal camping cup back and forth along iron bars like a scene from an old western.

“Blackwood, get me the hell out of here, you SOB.” A gray-haired man with a shadowed beard and bleary eyes shook the bars. “I ain’t staying here one more day and night.”

“Judge isn’t in until Monday, Ed. That’s tomorrow in case you lost a day.” Thayne crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s not my fault you decided to pull an idiot stunt on a Friday night.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“You held Carol hostage with a knife. You threatened a deputy sheriff—me. Judge Gibson won’t go easy on you. You’ll do time for this one, Ed. No passes.”

So, he was Carol Wallace’s live-in.

Ed ran the cup across the bars again. “It ain’t fair. You were a bigger screwup than me as a kid, Thayne Blackwood, and your daddy let you off.”

“I may have done more than a few things I’m not proud of, Ed, but I never threatened a woman.” Thayne stalked to the cell. “Give it a rest. Your blood’s still about fifty-proof and at least you’ve got a bed here. Or are you gonna sleep on the streets? Carol kicked you out, remember.”

“She’ll take me back,” Ed said, his voice confident. “No one else’ll have her. Besides, I know what happened to her daughter, Gina. She’s got no choice.”

A crick in Cheyenne’s neck yanked her from sleep. She groaned at the ache in her belly, but at least she was a bit better. A soft snore rose from across the dark room. Bethany. Cheyenne’s eyes snapped open.

Reality slapped her in the face. Not a hospital. Not by a long shot. Her prison.

Her body stiff from the nausea and vomiting, she sat up with a moan. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and felt along the wall for the light switch.

With a flick, fluorescence illuminated the room. She had no idea if it was night or day. Not for sure. It could be eight at night or eight in the morning.

Cheyenne stumbled over to her patient.

Bethany had shoved the covers to the end of the bed. At least her face and cheeks were no longer splotchy red with the reaction to penicillin. But she was still flushed.

Cheyenne pressed the back of her hand to her patient’s forehead. Damp. As were her gown and the sheets.

Bethany was burning up with fever. A result of the needless surgery.

Cheyenne had filtered through every possible cause of the illness. She dismissed the drug they’d used to knock her out. Its effects had dissipated. That meant the toxin had to be in this room, but since she’d disinfected the entire room, that left ingestion.

Cheyenne had only swallowed food and water.

Which might be why Bethany was regaining consciousness even though her fever had spiked. She hadn’t eaten anything since Cheyenne had been locked with her in this room.

Light footsteps raced past the door, just outside the prison. Heavier footsteps followed, then a loud scream sliced at Cheyenne.

“Let me go! I want my mommy and daddy. Please!” a young boy cried out.

Cheyenne rose from the bed and stood against the metal door, her fists clenched, nails digging into her palms.

“They don’t want you anymore, Micah.” The woman’s voice—Adelaide perhaps?—was calm and unemotional.

“I told you a thousand times, my name’s not Micah.”

“It is now.”

“Leave him alone,” she yelled, pounding against the cold steel.

A door slammed.

“No. Please, no,” shouted Micah. “I don’t want to go in there. I won’t cry anymore. I promise.”

Another door crashed with a clang, metal on metal. The boy’s voice went completely silent.

“Oh God.” She could feel the blood drain from her face.

She had no idea what they were doing to that boy, but her mind could only imagine the worst. She had to get out of here and bring help.

An iron key creaked. “Move away from the door,” a familiar voice said.

Ian.

Cheyenne stepped back. The metal creaked open. Just beyond, she could see hands holding a gun.

Someone beyond that door was poisoning Bethany. And her. Who could she trust?

She’d counted down the numbers. Ian, Adelaide, Micah, Hannah, and the one they called
Father
. She had no idea if there could be others.

Ian entered the room, his face pale. “You shouldn’t have yelled.”