A Trace of Memory, page 6
It took all the self-control Travis could muster to hold his tongue—and his temper.
SIX
Emma didn’t blame Travis for watching his rearview mirrors as though he expected more trouble. She did, too. Sort of.
Feeling strangely calm considering their situation, she sat wedged in the center of the farm truck’s front seat while Cleo occupied the place by the window.
Ever since she’d declared her decision to face her fears and had prayed for strength, Emma had sensed an inner peace that was strong enough to convince her that those prayers had been answered.
Travis, on the other hand, was acting far grumpier. It was evident he was upset about their shopping trip. He didn’t try to hide the displeasure in his expression; nor had he spoken a word since they’d driven away from the house.
Well, too bad, Emma thought. Yes, she was still concerned—for herself and for her companions—but she wasn’t going to let some lowlife with a bad attitude stop her from living a semblance of a normal life. Whoever had phoned to threaten her had insisted she was keeping secrets. Therefore, if they wanted her to cooperate when she finally did recall something, they’d have to keep her safe and sound.
Rational thought brought her to the additional threats and their possible effect on her friends. The next time she had a chance to speak to her nemesis, she intended to make it very clear that if anything happened to Cleo or Travis she was never going to talk. Period. That scheme wasn’t foolproof but it certainly had merit. Two could play the game of intimidation.
As Cleo had predicted, the parking lot of the big-box store was crowded. Travis cruised around until he found an empty space close to one of the store’s entrances.
“About time,” Cleo chided, climbing out with her purse and waiting for Emma to slide over and join her. “I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to park this thing.”
“I wanted to be close to the door,” he replied flatly. Joining the women, he took Emma’s elbow while continuing to scan the open areas for threats.
She shook off his touch, and said, “I can manage just fine, thank you.” She turned to Cleo. “I want you to keep close track of everything you spend on me so I can repay you.”
“That’s not necessary,” the older woman assured her.
“I know. But it’s something I need to do to keep from feeling like a freeloader. Since I don’t even have any ID, there’s no way I could get credit, let alone a job. Not yet. As soon as I remember more and I’m sure it’s safe, I’ll go to work somewhere.” She began to smile. “Maybe I’ll apply here. Who knows?”
“Take your time,” Cleo said with affection. “There’s no hurry. You’ve only been back home for a couple of days. Don’t expect too much of yourself.”
Travis reached the automatic doors ahead of them and stood in the way so they’d stay open. “Get a move on, you two. We’re too exposed out here.”
“Okay, okay.” Cleo jostled Emma. “Come on, girl, let’s head for the unmentionable department so we can ditch Mr. Gloomy Gus.”
The reference and resulting sour face Travis made, combined with her own nervous energy, was enough to make Emma giggle. She knew he had their best interests at heart and she was grateful—she simply didn’t want to spend every waking moment dwelling on the negative as he seemed inclined to do.
Nevertheless, she did take stock of their surroundings and scan each passing face, just in case. Now that she’d managed to relax a bit she was getting the gut-level impression that her main enemy was a bigger, bulkier person than Blake had been. It wasn’t a firm knowledge, as if she could actually picture the man, it was merely a sense of his size that she recalled as making her feel small. And helpless, she added, chagrined.
Determined to keep her wits about her and behave normally no matter what, Emma forced a smile for Cleo and pointed. “The department we want is back there, I think.”
“Right you are.” The corners of the older woman’s bluish eyes crinkled and she grinned at Travis. “Where do you want us to meet you when we’re done?”
He folded his arms and stared her down. “I’ll be watching from a distance. Stay where I can see you.”
“That’s gonna be a trifle hard if Emma needs to try something on,” Cleo told him. “But we’ll do our best, won’t we, girl?”
Nerves still tingling, her sense of humor more than a little out of kilter, she laughed and said, “Sure, we will,” drawing it out for emphasis. Seeing Travis’s scowl deepening only made her chuckle again.
“This is not funny,” he said flatly.
“I know, I know.” Emma hoped she looked penitent even though she was still fighting to keep from laughing. It was that or start to cry, since she had to relieve the tension somehow.
Pausing, she laid her hand lightly on her champion’s sleeve, feeling well-worn denim beneath her fingertips, and raised her gaze to join with his. “I do understand why you’re worried, Travis. I’m not belittling you. But I can’t hide all the time. I’d really go crazy if I tried to do that.” She gave him a conciliatory smile, hoping he’d sense her sincerity. “Please, try to understand.”
He shook his head. “I have never understood one tenth of the things you’ve tried to explain, Emma. Why should this time be any different?” Stepping back, he jerked his head toward Cleo. “Go on. Shop if it’ll make you happy. Just don’t take so long that I fall asleep on that bench over there.”
Emma’s grin widened and her spirits lifted even more. She was really looking forward to getting a few nice things. It was as if new clothes would be a harbinger of her new start. A new life. A fresh opportunity to find the happiness that had so far eluded her.
She might not remember many details about her quest for stardom and consequent fall into hard times and maybe even criminal pursuits, but she was certain of one thing. She had not been truly happy since the moment she had left Serenity and Travis Wright behind. That had been the beginning of the end.
And now? Turning to accompany Cleo, Emma realized why she was feeling so at peace. Travis was keeping watch. What could possibly go wrong with him right there?
* * *
Picking out an unknown person or persons from a milling crowd was not merely hard, it was practically impossible. Travis knew roughly what Blake Browning looked like but that wouldn’t be much help if, as they suspected, there was more than one man chasing Emma. All one of them would have to do was distract him while the other pounced.
The hair on the nape of Travis’s neck prickled. Was he being watched? Was Emma? He swiveled to check other shoppers. Most were couples or young mothers caring for fussy youngsters while trying to accomplish their intended tasks. Seeing the children reminded Travis of the little girl Emma had remembered. Could she be that child’s mother? he wondered, not for the first time.
His heart told him how much learning that would hurt, while his conscience insisted it must make no difference. Neither he nor Emma could ever go back to the carefree relationship they had once shared. He knew that as well as he knew his own name. Nevertheless, he found himself hoping for the impossible.
Cleo’s short, salt-and-pepper hair was visible above the racks of clothes. So was the light blond of Emma’s. It had yet to regain the sheen of health that he had once admired but Travis didn’t care. He loved to look at it, anyway.
What would Emma think if she suspected his baser motives for volunteering to watch over her? Since he wasn’t positive about his feelings, either, he supposed it was okay. Yes, he wanted to protect her. Absolutely. So what was wrong with enjoying the job?
Plenty. The poor woman was as befuddled as they came. Anything less than total self-control on his part was very wrong and he knew it.
“I can do this and still keep my distance,” Travis vowed in a whisper. “I will do it.”
His gaze drifted over the racks of clothing and returned to where he’d last spied the women. He could still see Cleo’s darker hair but not Emma’s. That was a little disturbing.
Forcing himself to delay overt action while moving to a better vantage point, Travis fought to calm his pounding pulse and keep from making a scene.
He felt a bit silly for feeling such strong apprehension. Cleo was still on the opposite side of the clothing rack and not acting a bit upset. That meant Emma must be close by. If he could only catch a glimpse of her...
The darker-haired shopper turned slightly. Showed Travis her profile.
His heart leaped to his throat. It wasn’t Cleo!
* * *
The fitting room was so small that one customer could barely turn around in it, so Cleo had remained outside while Emma tried on several pairs of jeans and shorts with a couple of new, scoop-necked T-shirts.
“What do you think of this outfit?” Emma asked, opening the dressing room door for the fourth time and expecting to see her shopping companion.
She scowled. “Cleo?”
There was no sign of the older woman or of the salesclerk who had given them the key to the cubicle door.
Emma took a tentative step. “Cleo? Where are you?”
A quick check of the aisle where Travis had promised to wait showed that he, too, was gone.
She started to back up, seeking the supposed safety of the tiny room. Her hand was on the knob, pulling the door closed, when meaty fingers curled around the edge of the opening to stop her.
Without thinking, Emma gave the door a hard tug, smashing the man’s hand.
He yowled and pulled back.
Emma finished slamming the door before she realized it couldn’t be locked from the inside! All she could do was hold tight to the knob and yell for help.
She inhaled deeply, intending to scream, when the knob was yanked away and she was no longer alone in the confining space.
The burly man clamped one hand over her mouth, stifling any sound as he put his other arm around her throat from behind.
Nearly as angry as she was petrified, Emma bit him. The taste of his skin was foul. His resultant yelp, however, was sweet.
He released her and began to shake his sore hand.
Emma reached for the door.
He stopped her with a painful shove that slammed her against the dressing room wall and caused her knees to buckle. That was when she noticed that the door did not go all the way to the floor!
Instead of screaming as her instincts insisted, she flattened her stomach to the tiles, pushed behind her with bare toes, reached forward and almost shot out of the little room.
A strong hand grasped her ankle at the last instant.
Emma shrieked. “No! Let me go!”
Her nails clawed at the smooth flooring as she was dragged backward. A few more seconds and she’d have gotten away.
“Please, God,” she rasped, kicking the captured leg and trying to find purchase with the other foot.
Attempting to roll over and fight back, she wrenched her knee and howled as pain shot from her toes to her hip.
Just then, a shadow passed over her.
Emma screamed again, this time loud and long.
* * *
It seemed to Travis that hours had passed, yet he knew Emma had only been out of his sight for a few moments. Critical moments.
He had been searching for either her or his aunt and had located neither when he recognized a panicky-sounding voice. A guy didn’t have to be a genius to figure somebody was in trouble. He was certain he knew who.
Sounds of a scuffle took him to the ladies’ fitting rooms. No customers were visible except Emma. And she was flat on the floor, looking as if she was demonstrating swimming strokes. Poorly.
So relieved he could hardly think, Travis raced toward her. He almost had hold of her wrists when she rolled halfway over and began to kick at whoever was holding her ankle.
If the dressing room door had been open, Travis would have attacked her attacker. Since it wasn’t, he settled for helping Emma resist. Naturally, she fought him, too.
He kept hold and pulled her free before shoving her behind him and bracing to do battle.
Thankfully, Emma realized who he was almost immediately. She stayed close, breathing hard and struggling to speak. “Be careful, he—”
The door burst open unexpectedly. A hard body crashed into Travis with a football-like tackle and sent both him and Emma crashing to the ground.
A crowd was gathering by now, pressing in on them. People were mumbling. Several were taking pictures with their cell phones, as if witnessing an assault was newsworthy, without offering aid.
Store clerks clad in easily identifiable aprons stood nearby in a tight group.
Travis shouted, “Somebody call the police!”
Zigzagging between the milling observers, their nemesis was sprinting away.
Travis jumped to his feet, braced himself and charged into the crowd in pursuit.
Someone grabbed his arm and spun him around. He got free just as others joined in. Men and women were shouting at him. Somebody threw a punch that doubled him over. Another came from behind and draped something fabric over his head, temporarily blinding him.
“Emma!” She was his main concern. The only thing that mattered was keeping her safe. One attacker had fled, but that didn’t mean there weren’t accomplices.
He heard her yell, “Stop! Stop,” and felt arms around him that he knew had to be hers. She had put herself in harm’s way to halt the erroneous punishment the bystanders were inflicting.
“No!” Emma shouted. “Not him! You’ve got the wrong man. This is my friend.”
The people who had finally acted in her behalf were reluctant to release Travis, even after Emma vouched for him over and over. When the cover was finally removed from his eyes, it was evident from their expressions that they were eager to resume the chastisement, no matter who was actually guilty.
Travis shook off the last grasping hand and let his gaze travel over each angry face, hoping the attacker had tarried to watch the melee. No one looked familiar.
As the muttering crowd dispersed, he reached for his cell phone to call 911. There was no signal inside the building, meaning it was unlikely that any of the onlookers had been able to report a crime in progress, either.
“Wait,” Travis shouted. “Did any of you get a picture of the guy who grabbed my friend? He ran right past you.”
No one responded. Instead, individuals turned away, pretending they didn’t hear or understand.
Emma gripped his arm. “Let them go. I got a good enough look at him to know it wasn’t Blake. This man was much bulkier and darker. Older, too, I think.”
“Will you be able to identify him if you see him again?”
“Yes. Well, probably. Right now I’m too scared to think straight.” She smiled. “Meaning I’m normal, right?”
He was relieved to see her wry sense of humor surfacing. It was clearly a coping mechanism but Travis didn’t care. Emma was safe. That was all that counted.
Pulling her close to his side, he ignored the lingering pain from the sucker punch and asked, “Where’s Cleo?”
When Emma turned her wide, blue gaze up to him and he read the fear in it, he realized she didn’t know.
“Where was the last place you saw her?” he asked, tamping down panic for Emma’s sake.
“Here. I thought she was going to wait for me.”
Travis took her hand and led her quickly to the other dressing rooms, rapping on each door while Emma peered under to check for occupancy. They were all empty.
“Time to notify security,” he said. “Since nobody else seems to have called them.”
“I’m worried about Cleo.”
“So am I. Stay close.”
Emma gave a weak laugh, padding along beside him barefoot. “You couldn’t get rid of me right now if you tried.”
As far as he was concerned, that was the best news he’d heard in days.
* * *
They found Cleo pounding on the customer service desk and trying to convince the clerks that there was a serious problem back in the fitting area. Unfortunately, she sounded so rattled her frantic pleas were being disregarded.
Hugging Emma and Travis the moment she spied them, Cleo continued to berate the staff, half weeping, half joyful and no-nonsense.
“Where were you?” Travis demanded.
“Answering the call of nature, if you must know. By the time I got back to the dressing room, there was a crowd gathered and I couldn’t get through. I heard shouting so I came up here for help.” She made a sour face. “Too bad I didn’t get any.”
Emma saw one of the workers listening to a walkie-talkie, then heard her say, “It’s all right, ma’am. Our security people have checked and there’s nothing wrong.”
Backing up to the counter and hoisting herself into a sitting position, Emma spun on her back pockets and displayed her injured ankle. The red marks from the man’s fingers were already starting to show bruising.
“In that case,” she said with disgust, “maybe you can tell me how I got this while I was trying on clothes.”
“We have no knowledge of your injury,” the officious clerk declared. “It could have happened before you arrived.”
“Suppose we let the Ash Flat police decide that,” Travis said, producing his cell phone again. “Shall I step outside and call them or will you do it?”
Emma could have kissed him. Cleo did.
SEVEN
“I’d have screamed if those people had asked me one more stupid question,” Emma said. “Let’s stop on the way home and talk to the county sheriff about what happened, in case he hasn’t heard.”
