California Moon

“Okay,” Shannon replied unsteadily, afraid to get him riled.

“I thought it was here, but it’s not. Just some damn smashed beer can,” he explained.

Shannon was terrified of provoking him, but her curiosity and quick mind flew ahead of her. “What were you looking for?”

“Frankly, I don’t remember.”

“You were badly beaten. It’s understandable.”

A flash of gratitude crossed his eyes. Shannon saw it.

“There’s a lot I don’t remember. Not who, or why or what they wanted. There were two of them. That’s about all I know.”

“And whatever it was you left here…” she ventured with a great deal of trepidation.

“Maybe they came back and found it.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “God! I hate losing part of my life like this. C’mon. Get in.”

Shannon closed the car door. Her hands were shaking as she tried to insert the key in the ignition. “Damn. Get in there!”

It wasn’t her words that jogged his memory so much as the exasperation in her voice. It reminded him of his own feelings of powerlessness just before blacking out that night.

He’d thought they would kill him and his only revenge was to keep the disk from them at all costs. Now he remembered he’d been sharp enough to slip the disk into the torn lining of his windbreaker, behind the Bulls’ basketball-embroidered emblem.

He slapped his chest, feeling for it. “Hell!”

“What?” she asked, her shoulders jumping away from his anger.

“I put it in my jacket. I know I did.” He paused, then looked at her. “It was you!”

“Me?”

“You said you had my jacket dry-cleaned.”

“I did.”

“Where? What cleaners?”

“My usual one in Shreveport.”

“Where in Shreveport?

“A block from my house.”

He motioned at the ignition with the gun. “Let’s go.”

“Back to town?” She couldn’t believe her good luck.

He nodded. “That idiot stole my disk.”

“Okay,” she said, smiling inwardly.

How lucky could she get? John was going back where she knew she’d find a way to break away. At the very least, every police officer in the city would be looking for her car. Her nightmare was nearly over.

9

Ben licked the bloody spot where Chelsea had removed his skin along with the surgical tape. “How long have I been out?” He rubbed his sore jaw.

“I don’t know,” she replied, untying his hands. “What happened?”

“Obviously, John Doe has been released,” he said derisively, yanking at the gauze and tape around his ankles.

“That’s impossible!”

“I mean, he escaped!”

“I don’t understand. I would have seen him, heard something. Shannon would have told me…”

Their eyes met.

“Damn!” Ben jumped to his feet. “When was the last time you saw her?”

“Hours ago. Oh my God! Do you think he took her?”

“Where did you see her?”

“In the meds room. She didn’t act like anything was wrong.”

“How did she act, exactly?”

“Like Shannon. Distant, obliging, too helpful.”

He glared at her and checked his empty holster. “Damn it! The clips, too.”

Chelsea’s eyes were wild. “He’s going to kill her!”

“Not if I can help it.”

Ben raced out of the room and headed to the nurses’ station, where he snatched the phone out of a nurse’s hand.

“Hey! Wait a minute! You can’t do that!”

“The hell I can’t,” he said, hanging up the girl’s call. He dialed the police station. “Gimme Chief Bremen. This is Richards. Make it fast.”

“Sorry, sir. The chief’s been home for hours.”

“He what? What friggin’ time is it?”

“Past midnight, sir.”