Collecting Evidence

Somewhere in the building, a baby cried out, and he thought of Jack. Along with relief that she was physically okay and the instantaneous heat that ripped through him at the sight of her, anger churned through his gut.

Dammit, if Jack was his, why hadn’t she told him?

Finally, she retreated and pulled away, wiping her palm on the side of her skirt. “Sister Margaret said you know where my family is.”

A slight tremor laced her voice, and he tried to place himself in her shoes, to understand what it must be like to be lost and alone with no memory of what had happened, but obviously aware she was in danger.

“Yes, your cousin Emma is waiting at the Ute reservation. That’s where you live. She’s been searching for you ever since you disappeared.”

A frown creased the delicate skin above her huge almond-shaped eyes. “How could I forget my own cousin?”

The doctor’s advice trilled in his head like a warning bell, and Dylan forced an understanding smile. “You suffered a head injury,” he said, hating the distress lining her face. “Sister Margaret said in time you may remember everything.”

She shivered and wrapped her arms around her waist.

“Sister Margaret also said a man broke into your room. Did you get a look at your attacker?”

She shook her head. “No, it was too dark. All I saw was his shadow. Then he attacked me, and I fought back and screamed.” Her voice broke, her breathing rattling out as if she was reliving that horrible event. “Then the sisters and other women ran in, and he jumped out the window and got away.”

A fresh bruise darkened her cheek, and he gritted his teeth to keep from touching it and pulling her into his arms to comfort her. She looked so small and fragile and…vulnerable. “What else do you remember?”

She chewed her bottom lip. “He had a knife in a leather pouch attached to his belt.”

Dylan’s blood ran cold. “How tall was he?”

She hesitated, rubbing her head in thought. “I don’t know. It was just a shadow.”

“Did you notice a distinctive smell?”

“Cigarettes,” she whispered. “And sweat.”

Watts used to smoke but had supposedly given up the habit. But perhaps the man had picked it back up. “Did he say anything?”

She shook her head. “No, he just grabbed me and shoved his hand over my mouth. Then I…I think I bit his hand.”

Her feistiness might have saved her life. Twice now. “I’d like to look around that room and see if I find any evidence.”

Sister Margaret nodded, and he went to the sedan to retrieve his crime kit. He flipped on a flashlight, waving it across the room in an arc as he searched the corners, the bed and floor.

With a grunt, he knelt and with his gloved hand, retrieved a loose hair that had fallen on the floor. It might belong to one of the other women or children, but he’d check it out. The hair was longer than Boyd Perkins’s or Sherman Watts’s—but still, it might be a lead if there was a third perp.

Continuing the search, he paused at the window, then used a pair of tweezers to pluck a small piece of fabric that had caught on a nail on the windowsill, and bagged it along with the hair to send for analysis.

Maybe forensics would turn up something to help them nail the bastard and make sure the charges stuck when they finally tracked him down.

Stewing over the circumstances, he carried the evidence bags to the car while Aspen said goodbye to the other women. Outside, he phoned Miguel to explain the situation.

“Amnesia?” Miguel asked.

“Yes. She didn’t recognize me. I’m hoping that seeing Emma and Jack will jog her memory.”

“I’ll warn Emma about the doctor’s diagnosis,” Miguel said. “And tell her not to push, to give Aspen time.”

Five minutes later, Aspen returned carrying a small paper bag holding the meager possessions she’d accumulated since staying at the shelter.

Sister Margaret gave him a concerned look as she escorted them to the gate. “Take care of her, Agent Avecedo.”

He squeezed her hand with a nod. “Don’t worry. I won’t leave her alone until we find out who hurt her.” He paused and lowered his voice. “And, Sister, I’m going to need the medical report from when Aspen was brought in. When we find out who did this, it will help with prosecution.”

If he let the son of a bitch live that long.

“I’ll speak to the doctor, but we’ll need a release from Aspen.”

“I’ll talk to her about it,” Dylan said.

Sister Margaret agreed, then thanked him, and he walked Aspen to the car. She settled into the passenger side and buckled her seat belt, the tension thickening as he drove away from the shelter.

“Sister Margaret said that you were injured when you arrived at the center. That you thought that someone, an abusive boyfriend, was after you.”

She shrugged. “It seemed like a likely story, Agent Acevedo.”

“Call me Dylan.”

She gave him an odd look, then nodded.

“Did the abusive boyfriend idea come from a memory?” he asked.

She fidgeted, looking back at the center as if she wanted to return to the safe haven she’d found within that iron fence. “Not really. Just a feeling that I was running from someone.” Her voice warbled. “And then there are the nightmares.”

“Nightmares?”

She nodded, her brown eyes huge in her face. “Nightmares of fighting some man, of running, of hearing the river and being cold…”

She angled her head to study his face. “Can you fill in any of the missing pieces?”

“Some, but not all. We found your car smashed into a tree by the San Juan River.” He paused, debating over whether to tell her that her son had been left in her car. “There was evidence of a struggle. Blood in the car. We didn’t know if you’d survived or if you might have drowned in the river.”

She made a low sound in her throat. “My cousin…She was worried?”

He nodded and gently placed his hand over hers in an attempt to calm her, although heat radiated through him. He wanted more, wanted to hold her and assure her everything would be all right.

Wanted to shake her for not telling him that they had a son together.

“Yes, Aspen, her name is Emma, and she’s anxious for you to come home.”

Relief filled her eyes, and she relaxed slightly. As much as he wanted to press her, he forced himself to rein in his emotions and let her absorb what he’d told her.

“You look exhausted,” he said. “Why don’t you try to rest during the drive? I know Emma will want to talk when we arrive.”