A Trace of Memory, page 16
In the background, Emma noticed Cleo sliding out of her chair and feigning nonchalance when she had to be feeling every bit as nervous as everyone else.
“You. Old woman. Sit.”
“Old woman, my aunt Fanny,” Cleo grumbled at him. “Keep your shirt on. I was just gettin’ a container so I could send some of this food with you.”
“I don’t need your handouts.”
“Maybe you don’t but your little girl does. I’ll fix her up a bag of cookies, too.”
Emma’s heart felt lodged in her throat. She knew where the plastic bags were kept in the Wright kitchen and they were nowhere near where Cleo was headed.
The shotgun! Emma was at a loss. Cleo thought it was still loaded. If she picked it up and tried to use it, Blake would surely shoot her. At this close range, he couldn’t miss.
She caught Travis’s eye and thought she saw a slight nod. When he reached into his pocket and surreptitiously pulled out the shells he’d removed from the .12 gauge earlier, she was positive he understood.
“Cleo,” Emma called urgently.
“Just a second.”
“No.” This time Emma shouted.
The older woman looked back. Followed Emma’s gaze. Saw the red-colored cylindrical shells displayed in Travis’s palm.
In the few moments it had taken for Cleo to come to her senses, Blake had grabbed his daughter’s hand and was leading her away, apparently oblivious to the tableau taking place practically under his nose.
Emma and the others could do nothing but watch Sissy go and pray that Jesus would watch over her. Wherever her father took her. Whatever he decided to do next.
SIXTEEN
Travis kept his arms wrapped tightly around Emma to stop her from trying to follow Blake. She fought him, as he’d expected.
“Let me go!”
“No. You can’t help Sissy by getting yourself shot. Calm down. Think. There must be something sensible we can do.”
There were tears in Emma’s eyes when she looked up at him. “What? You tell me and I’ll gladly do it.” Still struggling, she added, “Otherwise, let me go.”
Instead, he pulled her closer. Every fiber of his being was screaming for him to go after Blake and the child, while the saner side of his brain insisted it could be literal suicide.
In the background, Travis heard his aunt phoning the emergency number shared by the sheriff, police and fire departments. As she explained the situation and reported that the child and her father were no longer on scene, he could tell by her responses that she was not happy.
“What’s that got to do with it?” Cleo demanded. “Just go get him.” Silent for a few moments, she blurted, “Oh, for cryin’ out loud,” and hung up.
Still holding tight to Emma, Travis looked over at the older woman. “What did they say?”
“That they’re already lookin’ for Blake and his partner. Knowing Sissy’s with him will probably mean they won’t chase his car. If they do spot him, they’ll hang back and wait till he’s alone.”
By this time, Emma’s struggles had eased enough that Travis loosened his grip, although he still kept her close. There was no way he’d let go completely and take the chance she’d somehow follow Browning.
The kiss he placed on her forehead when she turned her head and raised reddened eyes to him was so instinctive, so natural, he’d acted before he could stop himself.
If there was any special recognition in Emma’s expression he missed it, considering himself fortunate that she either hadn’t noticed or was willing to overlook the telling, emotional slip.
He was about to suggest that Cleo phone Samantha and advise her to cancel their visit when a car pulled up in the yard and stopped.
Emma twisted from his grasp and flew out the door, stopping on the porch.
Travis was right behind her. He realized immediately that these visitors were expected.
As Samantha and her companion climbed out of the white SUV, Emma sagged against a porch post.
Gently, relieved to feel little resistance, Travis stepped up and took the place of the post, pulling Emma back into his arms and holding her firmly, lovingly.
Maybe these women could advise them how to best rescue the little girl, he reasoned. Parental rights were strong, as they should be. Would it be enough that Emma had had an inside look at Browning’s life and had judged it lacking? Likely even a danger to his daughter?
Although Travis’s heart was breaking for Sissy, he was a realist. It was Jet and Ben who had been identified as Emma’s actual assailants. As long as she was still befuddled about Blake’s part in her abduction and imprisonment in Tennessee, there was no way the authorities were going to take her word for it. Their only real hope, at this point, was that Ben would implicate his brother and give Harlan a better reason to hold him once he was apprehended. If he ever was.
That notion settled in Travis’s heart and sent chills down his spine. It was not enough to dislike and distrust Blake Browning. They needed positive proof of his criminal activities or he’d likely go free.
Emma needed to remember everything.
That was their only real hope of saving Sissy.
* * *
The arrival of Samantha Rochard-Waltham and Brenda Connors was anticlimactic to say the least.
Emma greeted Samantha politely before meeting the older, pleasantly plump, gray-haired social worker.
Brenda’s twinkling eyes were framed by glasses that made them seem larger than life. Her relaxed manner and friendly smile were not enough to put Emma at ease, although she did manage to refrain from stating her case until introductions were complete.
“Why don’t we all go inside?” Samantha suggested.
Emma noticed that both women were looking at Travis as if expecting him to explain further, but she jumped right in with her own version of the story.
“Sissy isn’t here anymore,” she said, struggling to keep from sounding as if she were barely holding back hysteria. “Her father came and got her just a few minutes ago.”
Samantha patted Emma’s arm. “I’m sorry to hear that. Have you remembered more about him?”
“He delivered drugs. He admitted it in front of all of us,” Emma said, indicating Travis and Cleo.
“What about the child?” Brenda asked. “Was she well? Were there any signs of physical abuse?”
“Only that she was dirty, hungry and tired,” Emma said. Her voice caught. “He threatened to make her disappear if I didn’t help him find some money his wife hid.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean he was going to harm her,” Brenda offered. “He may have meant both of them were going into hiding.”
“What if he didn’t? What if he means to...” Emma could not put her worst fears into words.
“I’ll list everything you said in my report,” the social worker promised. “Why don’t we go have a cup of coffee and you can tell me the rest?”
“We don’t have time for coffee. We have to do something!”
“Legally,” Samantha reminded her. “That’s the way to win against a person like Sissy’s father. If you don’t jump through the right hoops you can make matters much worse.”
“How could they possibly get worse than they are already?” Emma asked. Nevertheless, she led the way into the kitchen.
“There’s plenty of extra chicken and fixin’s, if you ladies are hungry,” Cleo said, pouring two more mugs of hot coffee and serving their guests.
“Thanks. Maybe later.” Brenda took a seat at the far end of the table and rearranged dishes to make room for her briefcase. “First, I need to get a few facts down on paper.”
Emma was more than ready. She leaned forward, hands gripping the edge of the table, and waited, eager to proceed, to make some kind of progress no matter how simplistic and futile it seemed.
“Your name?”
“Emma Lynn Landers.”
“Can you show me an ID? A driver’s license will do.”
“I—I don’t have anything like that.” She looked to Samantha for support. “Didn’t you tell her what happened to me?”
“No. That was privileged medical information. You can fill her in right now if you want.”
“Later,” Emma said firmly. “The important thing is getting the proper authorities looking for Sissy. If you’re right about Blake planning to disappear, every minute counts.”
The social worker’s gray head was nodding. “Absolutely. Now, what is the child’s home address? Start with the county where she currently resides.”
Flabbergasted, Emma could only stare. “What difference does that make?”
“Jurisdiction,” Brenda replied. “Shall I put down Fulton County?”
“You’d better go back to the beginning and tell her everything,” Travis interjected. “I have a feeling this meeting is not going to end quite the way we’d hoped.”
Emma’s spirits plummeted. He was right. She’d never considered that the more Blake and Sissy moved around, the harder it would be for any branch of the law to catch up to them. If they claimed to still have a home in Tennessee, there was probably little the authorities in Arkansas could do—unless he was caught committing another crime here.
As she began her convoluted tale of kidnapping, escape and memory loss, Emma was already making plans.
If she couldn’t remember enough to nail him for prior crimes in Tennessee, she’d see to it that he broke the law in Arkansas.
First, she’d have to find a way to get word to him that she had regained her lost memory. Then, when he came for her, she’d let him think he had the upper hand before springing her trap.
It would have to include backup from the sheriff, she reasoned, but she’d keep her circle of confidants as small as possible, perhaps starting by informing the determined reporter who’d kept pestering her for an interview.
Above all, Emma told herself, she must not let Travis know. He’d surely try to stop her if he had any idea what she was up to—or even attempt to take her place.
She knew she was the only one who could pull this off. All she had to do was figure out how to adjust the jaws of her trap without having it snap shut before she was ready.
* * *
Night was encroaching by the time the nurse-practitioner and social worker left the Wright home. Travis had excused himself to take care of evening chores while the women told one another goodbye.
He could tell how upset Emma was to learn that her chances of successful intercession on behalf of Sissy were severely limited. And he sympathized. He simply didn’t see what else they could do, short of breaking the law themselves and somehow stealing the child back from her father.
“Meaning, we’d go to jail and Blake would still win,” Travis muttered to himself.
Therefore, their only real hope was for Emma to recall enough to warrant Browning’s arrest for imprisoning her. If she couldn’t even identify the place where she’d been locked up, how could they possibly convince anyone that the kidnapping had actually taken place?
When Travis came back inside with Bo, Emma was waiting for him. He glanced past her. “I take it they finally left?”
“Yes. What a waste of time.”
“That’s the disadvantage of being the good guys,” he said. “We have to follow the law while the crooks can break all the rules they want.”
She heaved a heavy sigh. “I’m beginning to see that a lot more clearly than I’d like.”
It occurred to him to suggest they pray about it but he refrained from doing so. Emma’s faith was probably stretched to its limits. His certainly was.
There was one other thing he had considered, yet he hated to even bring it up because it could cause her more anguish.
Folding her arms, she scowled at him. “Spill it.”
“Spill what?”
“I don’t know. But you have something on your mind. I can see the wheels in your brain spinning.”
“You can, huh?”
“Yes. There are times when I can almost read your mind.”
“That’s scary.”
“You have no idea.” She managed a slight smile. “Might as well tell me. You know I never give up.”
“True.” He cleared his throat and stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets. “I was just wondering if you might want to try taking one of those sedatives again. They did help once.”
Emma nodded soberly. “Yes. They did. I hadn’t thought of that but you’re right. I was probably going to lay awake half the night, worrying about Sissy, anyway.”
“Okay, I’ll tell Cleo to stand by.”
When Emma gazed into his eyes and said, “It’s you I want there if I panic again,” Travis was momentarily taken aback.
“All right. I’ll sit by you, too.”
Her eyes misted and she sniffled, making him yearn to take her in his arms so strongly he nearly gave in. The memories of holding her close earlier in the day were so vivid he could almost feel her warmth, her trust, the way she’d leaned on him both literally and figuratively.
Yes, he would be there for her. Always. Whether she continued to want him to or not. And tonight, when she voluntarily took the prescription that was supposed to lead to a cure, he’d never leave her side. Wild horses couldn’t drag him away.
* * *
For Emma, the anticipation of sleep was anything but comforting. There would be no escape for her if things went as planned. No peaceful rest. No sweet dreams.
Of course, the first instance might have been a fluke, she told herself to buoy her courage. Samantha had explained that just because she’d ostensibly been drugged during her captivity, that didn’t mean she was guaranteed to remember when sedated again. Truth to tell, Emma wasn’t certain how she felt about trying a second time. If it hadn’t been for Sissy, she probably would have waited for her memory to return at its own pace.
“I plan to nap on the sofa,” she told Travis and Cleo. “I hope it’s not too much of an inconvenience for either of you. I just don’t want to actually go to bed.”
“Works for me,” the older woman said. “I have plenty of knitting to keep me busy until I doze off in my recliner. And Travis can sleep anywhere.”
Emma saw him nod. She took off her shoes, pulled the coverlet off the back of the sofa and curled up just as Sissy had earlier. Identifying with the child she loved so dearly, she closed her eyes and turned away so the others wouldn’t notice the few silent tears slipping out to dampen her hair at the temple.
Breathing deeply and trying to relax, she was about to give up when she felt the cushions at her feet move and realized Travis had joined her. Knowing he was there, that close, helped tremendously.
She continued to inhale and exhale, drawing oxygen into her lungs and counting the breaths. Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen...
Aromas that had been mild and pleasant began to take on a rancid air. The jarring beat of a bass in the background made her teeth ache, her hands clench.
Loath to open her eyes and find herself a prisoner, she was relieved to see she was not. Instead, she was onstage with the band. The men were supposedly playing while she sang and Robbie harmonized, but their rendition of familiar music was truly dreadful.
“They’re higher than a kite,” Robbie had whispered to her while Jet, Ben and Blake grinned and jumped around, playing wild, discordant riffs. “What are we going to do?”
“Get out of here and leave them to make fools of themselves without us,” Emma had told her. She picked up Robbie’s banjo while the other woman brought the mandolin.
“I can’t go far. Remember?” Robbie said, hurrying to keep up.
“You can’t? Why?”
“Because I’m awaiting trial, of course. I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t count on you, Emma.” She glanced back at the exit that had led them into the alley behind the coffeehouse.
Shock momentarily stole Emma’s voice. “Wait a minute. Why are you going to be on trial? What about the guys?”
“I made a plea bargain. They won’t be charged.”
“How could you? I mean, what did you have to bargain except Blake and the others?”
“Mack,” Robbie said. “He was behind it all, anyway, and getting a man like him off the streets was more important.”
“Not in my book,” Emma argued.
She set the extra instrument aside as soon as they reached the steps to the bus where Robbie’s little girl slept peacefully, unaware of the potential loss of her mother.
“What about Sissy?” Emma asked. “You can’t leave her. That’s crazy. What were you thinking?”
“It’s what I felt I had to do,” Robbie insisted. “There’s something else I need to tell you, too. I didn’t dare speak a word of it before. Not when we might have been overheard.” Her glance back at the darkened, empty alley was furtive.
Listening closely, Emma held her breath.
Robbie’s lips started moving but no sound came out. Emma saw her point to the bus as she spoke, then begin to weep and run up the stairs into the only vehicle the group had managed to hang on to as their unpaid bills had piled up and buried them in debt.
“No!” Emma shouted. “No! Don’t go. I didn’t hear what you said.”
She fought the grasp of unseen hands holding her back, keeping her from following her friend. Robbie was the one person whose support had kept her sane during their band’s whirlwind tour and subsequent fall onto hard times.
Darkness flowed over and through Emma as if a malevolent force was robbing her of the very essence of life and carrying her deeper into inescapable despair.
“Take care of Sissy,” Robbie was calling as if from far, far away. “Use the money to take Sissy and hide until I can come back for her.”
