Chapter Three

“Look, Missy!” Tresha pointed across the city park in Columbus, Georgia. “There he is again!”

Missy lifted a hand to shade her eyes from the unbearable afternoon sun as she stared in the direction Tresha pointed. Her head throbbed from the dull ache that rarely eased and, for the hundredth time in the three days since the storm, she wished her injured brain would heal.

“Ya see him?” Tresha tugged on Missy’s sleeve.

Missy squinted at a man standing in the shade of cypress. “I think so.” He was the same man Tresha had singled out during their last stop about four hours ago.

“Ain’t he just about the tastiest thing you’ve ever laid eyes on?” Tresha’s head swiveled to get a better look.

“Tasty” wasn’t the word Missy would’ve chosen to describe the man’s tall, dark, and dangerous looks.

In a threadbare sport jacket over a pale blue shirt, he should have blended in better with the bedraggled hurricane evacuees. Yet, his bearing suggested he belonged somewhere else. Perhaps the military—like the guardsmen who had helped with the evacuation. Except he wasn’t in uniform. Even his eyes betrayed him—scanning the crowds like a shark circling for his next meal.

Somehow, in the sea of all these unrecognizable faces, she sensed something familiar about this man. Impulsively, she took a step toward him—then froze.

“What’s the matter?” Tresha glanced at Missy, then at the man, and back at her again. “Girl, you got a strange look on your face. Do you think you know him?”

“I’m not sure.” Missy had a feeling he was following them, maybe even looking for her.

Tresha straightened her flowered-print blouse and tossed her long braided cornrows off her shoulder. “Well, if you know him, maybe you could introduce me to his fine self.”

Missy balked at the thought of approaching the stranger. He must look familiar because she’d seen him at the last stop. Logic told her to embrace anything familiar. She had amnesia, for goodness’ sake! Yet, her mind whispered a warning to hide.

Despite the oppressive heat, chills rode down her arms. This man represented danger. Instinct trumped logic. She grabbed Tresha’s arm. “Come on. Move away before he spots us.”

“But if you know him, maybe he can help.”

“No!” Missy whispered. “Move. Now.”

A middle-aged couple and four teenagers passed by. Stepping in beside them, Missy sandwiched herself between Tresha and the group. One of the teenagers eyed Missy’s torn shirt with disgust and veered aside. Tresha grumbled, but Missy didn’t miss a beat and matched the group step for step until they were out of the man’s line of sight.

The hour-long rest stop at the Columbus city park was nearly over. Everywhere they’d stopped, broken trees, bits of roofing, and debris littered the ground from countless tornados the hurricane had spawned. It seemed like the entire world was in shambles. Missy felt just as torn up.

Everything had been in chaos after the hurricane took direct aim at the Florida Panhandle. Tagged as a Category 5, Hurricane Igor hadn’t lost strength until well inland, leaving surge zones flooded and several thousands homeless, including Missy and Tresha.

By the time Tresha had occupied the empty seat beside Missy on the bus, she was already on the second leg of the evacuation. Tresha talked nonstop about how the hurricane had forced her to start fresh in a new city, with her aunt in Atlanta. Missy could only listen. With no memory, she had no stories to swap, no experiences to share. When the rescue workers found her, she didn’t have any identification, not even a purse. Tresha had nicknamed her Missy, saying it sounded better than Miss No Name.

Missy and Tresha kept pace with the family group until they stopped under some shade. Missy realized they couldn’t just stand around, or the man might still spot them. She looked for a place to hide until the boarding call came. The one building that offered any concealment was the park’s cinderblock restroom. When they’d been in there earlier, they’d heard boarding broadcasts for the other buses. It seemed as good a place as any to stay out of sight until it was time to leave.

Missy glanced over her shoulder. From this distance, she saw the man scanning another group of evacuees. With his back turned, she took the chance to move. “Come on.” Grabbing Tresha’s hand, she sprinted toward the building.

At the doorway, Tresha skidded to halt and nearly pulled Missy’s arm out of its socket. “Hey, don’t you remember how bad it smelled in there?”

“We won’t stay long.” Missy dragged the other girl inside with her.

Her stomach roiled in protest as the stench of urine and other less tolerable odors immediately assaulted her senses. However, the shadowy interior was empty, and being alone for even a few minutes after living shoulder-to-shoulder with other evacuees, was a rare break.

Dropping her backpack on the floor next to the cracked porcelain sink, Missy stared at the reflective sheet of metal that served as a mirror positioned above the sink.

Tresha scanned the ground before giving up on finding a clean spot and dropping her pack next to Missy’s. “So now what we gonna do? Just hang out here, cooking in this shithole ’til the bus leaves?”

Missy sighed at her reflection through the filmy haze and wished something about the face staring back looked familiar. “I have a bad feeling about that man. We’ll stay in here for a minute or two, then check to see if he’s gone.” Lifting her hair away from her forehead, she leaned close to examine the bruise just below the hairline.

“Ever since I’ve met you, you’ve had a bad feeling about everything.” Tresha leaned over Missy’s shoulder and squinted at their reflections. “I think that goose-egg on your noggin has you jumping at your own shadow.”

“You’re probably right,” Missy agreed. The lump, prominently visible with its array of purple and blue discoloration, looked horrific. According to the doctor, it was the primary cause of her memory loss.

Although she’d suffered a slight concussion, she’d been handed a pass to leave with the evacuees who could move under their own power. The doctor’s prognosis was that her memory should return as the wound healed. Yet, as the long hours stretched ahead, it seemed less and less likely she’d remember anything about what had happened to her or who she was. “I can’t shake the feeling,” she told Tresha. “That man is trouble.”

“So you’re just gonna run and hide whenever something scares you.” Tresha made a face. “If it was me, and he was someone I recognized, I’d be all over him like white on milk. What’s wrong with you? Don’t you like men?”

Blinking at the image in the mirror, Missy let out a humorless laugh. “I don’t remember.” Dark smudges accentuated exhausted brown eyes. Were those really her eyes? It still unnerved her not to recognize herself.

“Ah, I’m sorry. It’s gotta suck not remembering anything.” Tresha twisted the handle on the faucet. A dry gurgle rattled through the pipes, but no water came out. “Still nothing. I can’t wait to take a shower.”

“Me either.” In all the places they’d stopped, the plumbing was sporadic at best. Like everyone else, they’d received a backpack with an allotment of bottled water and a box of rations, which they fiercely guarded. They saved the water for drinking.

The door opened, ending their private moment. Grateful they’d had some time away from the crushing presence of others, Missy turned toward the new occupant.

“Crap,” Tresha whispered. “Can you believe this?”

Missy’s heart slammed against her chest.

Shadows hid a man’s face, and she thought the stranger had followed them. Then he stepped into the light and she saw his scraggly beard and filthy clothes. He was one of the refugees.

“This is the ladies’ room,” Missy said to the man.

He started at her voice and looked as though he’d leave. Then he caught sight of the backpacks under the sink, and his gaze turned hungry.

Missy realized what he was after. He wanted what all the evacuees wanted. More food, more water. More essentials everyone needed. Unattended bags in the ladies’ room were an easy score.

“Mister, you shouldn’t be in here.” Tresha’s words were defiant, but Missy still heard the fear in her voice.

The man looked up from the backpacks and gazed around the restroom and back at them. “Just the two of you?” A wolfish gleam entered his eyes. “Salt and Pepper. I do like variety,” he mocked in a gravelly voice. With a flick of his wrist, a knife suddenly appeared in his hand.

Tresha’s mouth opened to scream, but only emitted a panicked croak.

Missy’s blood ran cold. During the long hours in the dark of the bus, Tresha had confided how one of her mom’s boyfriends abused her as a child. Tresha wouldn’t be in this position if Missy hadn’t had some crazy idea about being followed. This was her fault.

“Hey! Take the packs,” she said. “Just leave us alone.” They wouldn’t receive more food until the final stop, but making sure Tresha wasn’t hurt was more important than anything else.

The man glanced down at the packs, then back at the girls. “I will,” he said as he palmed the crotch of his pants with his free hand. “After.”

“Sweet Momma!” Tresha voice squeaked. “What’re we going to do?”

Missy’s mind went into overdrive. It was two against one. They could take him. Right? She glanced at Tresha. Tears trickled down the young woman’s dusky cheeks, and she trembled like a willow in a windstorm. Her breath came in quick pants. Missy realized it was up to her to protect them both.

A bravado she didn’t fully comprehend surfaced. “You’re making a big mistake,” she said to the man.

He smirked and took another step forward, flicking a thick tongue over his cracked lower lip. “Oooh, baby. I like a little spirit. Makesss it more excitin’.”

Missy glanced at the wall behind her. The high, skinny window didn’t offer an escape. The man stood between them and the exit. They were trapped.

Let him come to you. The thought materialized like a whisper in her ear. A composed centeredness settled inside her.

“Tresha.” Missy touched the other girl’s arm to get her attention. “Get inside that stall behind me.”

Tresha didn’t wait to be asked twice. She scurried around Missy and ducked inside the stall.

“Can’t go nowheres, baby.” The man waggled his fingers at Tresha. “Come on. Let’s hasss us some fun. We can make it a threesssome.”

Tresha whimpered, making Missy even more determined to keep her friend safe from harm.

Missy stepped away from the sink and stood between the man and Tresha. His slurred words bolstered her confidence. He’d been drinking. How he’d gotten liquor was a mystery. The aid stations certainly weren’t doling it out. From somewhere deep inside her brain, she remembered that inebriation slowed the reflexes.

Her mind and body aligned as one. The feeling was reassuring and inexplicably familiar.

The man shuffled toward Missy. “Lucky number one. You get to be first.”

She ignored his taunt, her consciousness shifting beyond the threat.

With arms spread, the man waved the knife in a circle. “Take off your ssshirt, or I’m gonna cut you.”

“I don’t think so.” Missy stepped sideways.

His gaze lagged to follow her. “Sssstop moving around.”

“Got to do better than that,” she mocked.

His face hardened. “Bitch!” He lunged straight at her.

A fragmented memory of a similar attack flashed in her mind, then was gone. Clarity replaced the garbled image. She exhaled and calmly turned aside to let the man rush by.

He stumbled, and Missy caught the back of his neck. Using his own momentum, she shoved his head into the chipped porcelain sink. The satisfying whack confirmed a solid connection. The attacker slowly slumped to the grungy concrete. His knife clattered uselessly to the floor.

A rush of energy suffused her. With each breath, this newly discovered talent empowered her. At the same time, it scared the crap out of her.

Tresha poked her head out of the stall. “Holy Mother—” Her pretty eyes were as big and round as chocolate walnuts. “How’d you do that?”

Missy looked at her hands and swallowed. “I…don’t know.” Her body had instinctively responded to the situation while her Swiss-cheese memory struggled to make sense of it all. She’d protected herself, without a doubt. Although the man had deserved it, she’d injured him.

Who was she, that she could do such a thing? A sense of remorse caught her off-guard, and she lost the centered feeling.

Tresha tiptoed over and peered down at the man. “Holy smokes, girl. Where’d you learn to do kung-fuey spy stuff like that?”

Missy shook her head.

“Come on.” Tresha pointed at the door. “Let’s get out o’ here, before this guy wakes up all kinds of pissed.” She grabbed her backpack and didn’t look back as she ran out of the restroom.

Missy stood there, dazed at what had she done. How had she done it? Maybe if she could remember more about these martial arts skills, she could find clues to who she really was. It was something to focus on and maybe regain her memory.

Crossing to the man, Missy picked up the knife and flipped it closed. Then she stuffed it in a side pocket on her backpack. The dazed attacker hadn’t moved. “I warned you. I didn’t want to hurt you—”

Sunlight caught her eye and the boarding call sounded clearly though the restroom’s open door. A distinctly masculine silhouette stood in the doorway.

“What the hell happened in here?”

“This guy came in and tried to…” she began, and then stopped as the man stepped forward. The door closed, enveloping them in the gloom.

“Kellee?”

The hairs on her neck pricked. Somehow she knew the voice belonged to the stranger who’d been wandering through the evacuees outside. And he’d found her. “Ummm…” He was taller than he’d looked from a distance. An overwhelming urge to run vibrated through her legs.

“It is you!” The man’s eyes narrowed as though adjusting to the dimness of the restroom. “Are you all right?”

“I’m…fine.” Kellee? Was that her name? Her mind searched for confirmation, but instead of learning something about herself, she felt alarm at being trapped again.

“Then why in the hell didn’t you call after the hurricane? Your father is worried sick about you. Do you realize how long it’s taken me to find you?”

Her father? All her senses flared on alert. A memory fragment—about a man taking her to her father—zipped through her brain and then shattered against a wall of nothingness. “I don’t know…”

“It doesn’t matter now.” The man looked at the attacker sprawled on the floor. “You did that?”

Gripping the backpack tighter, her gaze darted to the attacker, then back to the stranger. “I can explain what happened.”

“It’s okay. I got the digest version from your friend outside.” He took another step closer.

Beyond the stranger was her way out. She circled him as he approached. Afternoon heat radiated off his clothes. Even in the dim light, his dark eyes glittered like obsidian. A small scar was visible along his unshaven jaw. Broad shoulder muscles strained the seams of his jacket and the smell of sweat mingled with the scent of a spicy aftershave. It titillated her senses. She sniffed, waited a beat for a recollection. Although pleasant, nothing about the scent connected in her memory. She simply didn’t know this man and couldn’t ignore the feeling of danger he represented.

His attention shifted to the attacker, and he crossed over to the man. He looked down and then glanced back her. A smile curved his lips. His unexpected humor softened hard lines in his face. Her stomach pitched in response.

“You sure did a number on your buddy. Are you just going to leave him here?”

“He’s not my buddy. He got what he deserved.” She lifted her chin, challenging the stranger to argue. “You have a problem with that?”

His smile faded slightly. “Nope. But we have to turn him over to the authorities. Can’t have a wolf like him loose among the sheep out there.”

The loudspeakers sounded the boarding call again. If she didn’t leave now, she’d be stranded. “I’ll…go and get someone while you make sure he doesn’t run away.”

The stranger grunted in what sounded almost like a laugh. “Like that’s going to happen. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

He crouched to check the man’s pulse, giving her the opening she was looking for.

“That’s what you think.”

“What?” He straightened.

Missy sprinted to the door and collided with a heavyset woman coming inside. She knocked a sack out of the woman’s arms.

“Kellee!” the stranger called behind her.

Without stopping, she squeezed around the woman and took off.

“Damn it, Kellee,” he shouted. The woman in the doorway blocked his way. “Come back here.”

Missy ran into the crowd. Feeling safety in numbers, she glanced behind her as the man exited the restroom. His jaw tightened. Angry eyes drilled her with a threatening glare that was as scary as it was suddenly familiar.

She hesitated. Maybe she did know him.

He saw her pause and must have assumed she’d wait, because instead of shoving the woman out of his way, he bent to rebag the woman’s scattered treasures. In a flash of insight, she realized he expected her to go back and help.

Should she return or keep running? Earlier, instinct had told her to hide from this man. Instinct had protected her and Tresha from a horrible attack. Now was not the time to ignore all the warnings from her inner voice. Hurrying around the other side of the building, she spotted the bus. Tresha was just climbing aboard and she cut in line behind her.

“Hey.” Tresha looked at her. “I thought you were gonna stay with your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Missy said as she caught her breath. She followed Tresha down the aisle.

Doubt darkened Tresha’s eyes as they took their seats. “That’s not how he acted when I told him you needed help in there.”

“You told him where I was?”

Tresha shrugged, looking embarrassed. “I sort of bumped into him outside the bathroom. He’s one solid hunk of muscle. I thought he could help you take care of that creep.” She flipped her long hair over her shoulder. “When you didn’t come right out, I figured you two knew each other. If the bus hadn’t been called, I’d have followed his fine ass back in there.” She shuddered. “Even with that other guy still there.”

“We don’t…” Missy paused. “I mean, I don’t know that man. He must know me. He called me Kellee—”

“What a minute,” Tresha interrupted. “He called you Kellee? Is that your real name?”

“I don’t know. It’s just what he called me.”

“So you don’t know him, but he knows you?”

“Maybe…” Indecision warred inside as Missy leaned against the window. “I don’t recognize him.” She took a deep breath with her next admission. “I’m afraid of him.”

Through the filthy bus window, she saw the man scan the crowd, then climb the steps to the closest bus. Her heart slammed against her chest, fearing he would search every bus in the caravan. “Please, Tresha.” She touched her companion on the arm. “I’m not sure if he’s a friend. Help me hide.” Sliding lower in her seat, she positioned her backpack over the window.

Tresha gave a sage nod. “Okay, Kellee,” she said. “Can’t call you Missy—it don’t fit you no more.”

Kellee sighed with relief. “Thanks. I owe you.”

“Hey,” Tresha said. “You saved me back there. Even if it don’t make any sense, it’s the least I can do.”

Tresha crowded closer and placed her backpack on top of Kellee for cover.

“You need to stay low, too,” Kellee said. “He knows we’re together.”

Tresha slouched down in her seat.

As the last the person boarded, the bus engine started. Then the driver closed the door and engaged the gears. Shifting the backpack slightly, Kellee peeked out her window.

The man had jumped off the other bus and stared at her retreating bus. Frustration soured his determined face.

She realized then, she hadn’t escaped from him, simply delayed the inevitable. All he had to do was ask the aid station staff about their destination, arrive ahead of the bus, and wait.