Fractured Memory

“You could be working with someone.”

“You’re right. I could. Can you hear those sirens? They’re awfully close. Why would there be help on the way if I was the killer? Did you call them?”

Her shoulders relaxed, and she eased the weapon down a bit. The sincere look in his eyes became more convincing than her resolve to shoot an intruder.

“At some point, you’re going to have to trust that what I’ve said is the truth. I’m here to keep you safe.”

Julia lowered the revolver. “Red daisies?”

“What?”

“Those were the best safe words you could come up with?”

Eli’s relieved smile solidified her impression that he couldn’t truly be nefarious. “I had to think of something on the spot that a killer wouldn’t say. It was the best I could do.”

She pointed the weapon to the floor. Her eyes darted to the side as a fist pounded her door.

Eli raised a calming hand. “That’s my partner on your case, Ben Murphy. Are we good here? Can I let him in?”

She motioned to her pajama pants. “I’m not entirely presentable.”

“Get dressed and then come down. There’s a lot we need to talk about.”

Julia backed away from the top of the stairs and closed her bedroom door behind her. She crossed the room to her closet and pulled out a pair of jeans and a floral turtleneck. In the bathroom, she brushed through her wet hair. Her hands still trembled from the massive adrenaline release.

What she wanted back was the peaceful morning she’d planned. After three hard days as a nurse in the pediatric ER, especially after losing a child from drowning, she needed some quiet to recoup.

The gunfire shattered the solitude she so badly needed. Had the horrors she’d already survived come back to haunt her? What was it about Eli that tugged at the erased threads of her mind? There was something about him, his presence, which felt warm and homey—like hot chocolate on a cool autumn evening. In the wake of her parents’ death, it was a feeling she craved.

There was a three-month gap in her memory starting from the time of the attack until she entered rehab for a brain injury caused by a lack of oxygen at nearly being hung to death. From the subsequent brain swelling, Julia had been in a coma and on life support for a month. Then, according to her grandfather, she’d spent another two months in the hospital until she grew strong enough for a rehab facility. Her remarkable recovery had astonished doctors, who were convinced she would never be anything other than persistently vegetative.

Julia’s first memories were shrouded in a foggy sea where she relearned to eat, walk and speak. Even now, nearly two years after the incident, there were only fleeting moments when Julia could sense memories from those three months trying to break through the imprisonment of her brain injury.

Six months after her near murder, the Hangman’s trial started.

Julia didn’t follow the news threads about the trial. The prosecutor chose not to have her testify, as her fractured memory was of no use to his case. The forensic evidence the Hangman left behind was enough to seal his fate.

Even though her mind was healed, she had to convince everyone else she was all right. The Colorado State Board of Nursing insisted she complete additional testing and clinicals to ensure that she was competent enough to practice nursing.

Almost two years of her life given away to a criminal. For her own sanity, she had made a conscious choice to not make attempts to retrieve the lost time, suppressing her normally inquisitive nature to avoid everything on the internet about the man who tried to kill her—a doctor who had been a coworker.

Someone she had once called her friend.

Now that she had started back nursing in the pediatric ER, all she wanted to do was heal kids and stamp out disease—as they always said at work.

Had that been wise? Did her lack of knowledge about the Hangman and his crimes put her at a disadvantage now?

She quickly dressed. Running shoes seemed to be the best option for a day where she had already been shot at before nine o’clock in the morning. From the stairwell, male voices snarled like lions arguing over territory, but as soon as her feet hit the landing, they stopped.

Eli broke through the trio of uniformed officers and led her to her kitchen. He pulled a chair out for her. Another man, dressed in a charcoal-gray pinstriped suit, followed him.

“Julia, this is my partner, Ben Murphy. We’ll be working together on your case. He’s from the FBI.”

The FBI and the U.S. Marshals working together?

Ben reached his hand out to her. “I wish we could have had a calmer introduction.”

His hand enveloped hers. Strong grip. His black hair, longer and swept off to one side, stood in stark contrast to his emerald-green eyes.

“Nice to meet you, Ben.” She sat in the chair, pulling her hand from his.

Ben continued. “Since the Hangman’s case was under federal jurisdiction because of the Wyoming murder victim in his series, your death threat was forwarded to us by a local parole officer. However, FBI staffing issues provided an opportunity for us to work with the marshals, who are more skilled at protecting witnesses. We bring different assets to your case.”

“Tea?” Eli asked.

She nodded.

“Pumpkin spice creamer and two teaspoons of sugar?” Eli stated more than asked.

Her lips pursed. How did he know?

He went directly to the cups and pulled one from the cupboard. No riffling around the kitchen in a blind search.

Electrical currents pulsed through her chest. He knew where they would be.

How was this possible?

“I see you’re getting low on your stockpile.” Eli shook the container to emphasize his point and examined it closer. “No matter, it expired two months ago.” He pulled out the trash drawer and chucked it in.

He not only knew her but knew her home.

“Who are you?” Julia demanded.

He turned to her, cup and spoon in hand, stirring her concoction slowly. “Eli Cayne. Marshals—”

“No.” She held her hand up. “Who are you to me?”

He crossed the kitchen, set the cup down in front of her and turned to his cohort. “Can you give us ten minutes?” Ben handed him the manila folder. The one Eli claimed marked the end of her life.

Eli unbuttoned his suit jacket, and she noted dark patches on the broad expanse of his tailored shirt. Water from her hair, from when he had carried her up the stairs. Something about being held in this man’s arms had felt so strangely familiar. Comforting. Julia pushed the thought aside and watched as he lowered himself into the chair across from her. She gripped the cup between her hands to cut the fear-laden chill that set in her bones.

“I used to work for the Aurora Police Department. I was the lead detective on your case. I’ve only been with the marshals’ office for about a year and a half.”

How much did she want to know about their past? Had there been anything besides a professional relationship between them? Pins and needles rushed over her body. She felt light-headed. Fear rose within her. The daily battle to keep it at bay faltered.

Julia placed her palm on the envelope and slid it on the table between them. “Tell me about this. Tell me why you’re here.”

Eli pinched the flimsy metal clasp together, pushed the flap open and pulled out the documents. He fanned the pages out, turning them around so she could see them. “This is what we call a hit package. It’s typically put together by someone who wants to hire a hit man for murder. It has all the pertinent information of your comings and goings. Photos of your house. Your vehicle and its license plate. Your gym. Place of employment...”