Wait Until Dark: Carolina Moon Series, Book 3 Page 3

  In an instant, he was on alert. His eyes jerked open, and uneasiness filled him.

  Fight, Brody. Fight. Your life depends on it.

  Slowly, the room came into focus. A woman sat only a foot from him, her blonde hair and easy profile facing a crackling fire. His breath caught at the sight of her. She was beautiful.

  And dangerous. He wasn’t sure where the thought came from, but he had to trust his instincts.

  She glanced at him, alarm filling her. He followed her gaze as it jerked to the floor. A gun. She had a gun.

  His reflexes snapped into action. He lunged forward, catching the woman in a chokehold. The mug in her hands crashed to the floor. Liquid seeped onto the wood below him.

  Leaving one arm around her neck, he quickly grabbed the gun from the floor and held it to the woman’s head.

  “Who are you?” he hissed.

  The woman gasped. Clawed at his arms. Her body jostled as she tried to get away.

  “I asked you who you were,” he repeated through gritted teeth.

  “Felicity French.” Her voice quivered.

  The scent of her shampoo—fruity and sweet—drifted upward, temporarily calming him. “Where have you taken me?”

  “It’s . . . this is my house. I found you out—outside in the snow. Half-frozen. I was afraid you would die.”

  He involuntarily loosened his grip as more questions hit him. He had no recall of how he had gotten here. “Where am I?”

  “I told you—my house.”

  “No, I mean where exactly is your house?”

  “Hertford, North Carolina.”

  “Who do you work for?” he demanded.

  There were people who wanted him dead. Drug rings he’d busted. Modern-day pirates he’d sent to jail. Human-trafficking operations he’d shut down. He could remember those things. But not how he’d gotten here.

  “I don’t work for anyone. I’m . . . unemployed.”

  His eyes roamed his surroundings. It appeared to be an ordinary home, although outdated and slightly musty. It was large with high ceilings and ornate—though faded—woodwork.

  “Is there anyone else here?” he demanded.

  Just as the words left his mouth, an older woman stepped from the shadows with a rolling pin in hand. She patted it against her palm and scowled. “I am, and if you don’t let her go, I’ll bash your head in like bread dough that rose too high.”

  He almost laughed. But then he saw the serious expression on her face and decided better of it. “How’d I get here?”

  “I told you,” the woman he’d grabbed said through what sounded like clenched teeth. “I found you outside. In the snow. I obviously should have left you there, especially if this is the thanks I get.”

  “That’s right. She saved your life, you ungrateful brat,” the older woman muttered, smacking that rolling pin against her hand again. “What kind of idiot goes out in weather like this?”

  Weather like this? What did she mean? He didn’t dare look at the window for fear of being clobbered.

  His muscles tensed. Saved his life? What had happened?

  He glanced at his arm. Where had the strange clothing come from? A blue flannel shirt covered his upper half. Sweats concealed his legs. Colorful blankets were tangled at his feet.

  “Please,” the woman whispered. “I was only trying to help. Put the gun down.”

  There was something about the desperation in her voice, the honesty in the emotion, that made him trust her.

  He released his grip, and the woman scooted far away from him, gasping for air and touching her neck. Accusation and disgust stained her eyes.

  Regret panged inside him. He’d scared her. Brody wasn’t sure where his reaction had come from. He’d been certain he was in danger.

  “I’m sorry,” he started. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  She scowled, disdain dripping from her voice. “Could have fooled me. Who are you?”

  “My name is Brody.” At least he remembered that. He remembered his tiny house, his truck, his job with the Coast Guard. He recalled Bible studies, Sunday morning church services, and his favorite barbecue restaurant. But nothing about how he got here today.

  “Why were you out in the storm, Sonny Boy?” The older woman had a G.I. Joe look on her face as she glared at him, ready to attack.

  He opened his mouth to answer but shut it again. “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know?” the older woman asked.

  He rubbed his temples, trying to make his thoughts come into focus. Finally, he shook his head. “I mean, I don’t know. I only remember docking my boat. Everything after that is blank.”

  Chapter Four

  “Don’t play games with me.” Felicity seethed out the words, her fear replaced with anger. No way was she letting someone come into her home and threaten her.

  “I wish I were.” The man rubbed his neck and rocked back. Confusion strained his gaze.

  Felicity’s eyebrows shot up at his words, and she approached the conversation cautiously. “What do you mean?”

  He shook his head, still squinting and rubbing his neck. “I . . . I can’t remember anything. I have no idea how I got here.”

  Felicity’s shoulders sank. The perplexing look on his face caused her heart to soften, even though she willed it not to. Compassion would only equate to weakness in this situation. “What do you mean?”

  The man studied her face. “Do I know you?”

  “So help me, if this is all an act . . .” Her words came out as a low growl.

  The agony in his eyes again softened her heart. He lowered his head into his hands, before raking his fingers through his thick hair. His eyes met hers.

  “It’s not an act.” His voice sounded hoarse and scratchy with emotion. “And you’re not a sham either, telling me you have no idea who I am?”

  “I’m just as confused as you. Were you out of your mind going out in this weather?”

  The light from the fire danced across his face. Felicity waited for him to continue, hoping a memory was emerging from some deep place in his mind. Maybe it would just take a minute. He did have that nasty bump on his forehead.

  While he still stared at the fire, he spoke. “The last thing I remember is going out on a rescue mission. Someone was out on the river in this weather.”

  “Are you a marine police officer or something?”

  He shook his head. “No, Coast Guard. Anyway, I didn’t find him, and I had to come back to shore because of the snow.” He lifted his gaze to hers. “Then I woke up here. I can’t remember anything else.”

  Felicity’s mind whirled at full-speed. No, it couldn’t be. Things like this didn’t happen in real life, only in the movies. Or maybe he was playing a trick on her, trying to fool her.

  One look into his wide eyes and she believed him, though.

  “You have short-term memory loss,” she mumbled. Her gaze flickered to his forehead. “Your head wound might have something to do with it.”

  He gingerly touched the sore spot with his fingertips. For a moment he looked like a lost little boy and Felicity’s heart went out to him.

  He was ready to kill you, Felicity. Be careful.

  He lowered his hand and touched the scruff on his chin. Felicity could see him absorbing each fact. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to not know how you’d ended up in a strange place.

  The man cleared his throat and dropped his hand. “How did you find me?”

  “I was looking out the window. I saw you right before you went down.”

  “Thank goodness for that. This could have ended badly.” He studied her a moment. “I’m sorry about what happened earlier. I don’t know why . . .”

  “It’s okay.” Felicity stood and started toward the kitchen. “I’m going to fix you something warm to drink. You’re still not out of danger yet.”

  “I’ll stand guard.” Aunt Bonny pounded her rolling pin again.

  Felicity didn’t wait for
a response. Instead she went to the kitchen and began a pot of coffee, desperate to compose herself.

  When Brody put her in a headlock earlier, she’d been totally thrown off guard. She’d been unaware he possessed that kind of strength or energy, especially in his injured state. How much of his hostility stemmed from parts of his life he couldn’t remember—parts related to that bullet wound? Even though he was Coast Guard, that didn’t mean he was a good guy.

  After the coffee finished perking, she poured the liquid into an oversized mug, and grabbed a small trash bag and several paper towels. When she returned to the living room, Brody sat on the couch, a far-off expression on his face. Cautiously, she handed him the drink.

  “This will help warm you up.”

  He mumbled a thank you and took the mug. After the first sip, he coughed.

  “Go slow.” Felicity started to reach forward to help him, but stopped mid-motion and clasped her hands in front of her instead. “You’re lucky you don’t have hypothermia right now.”

  He said nothing. Felicity studied him, noting how his eyes were tight at the corners and how the wrinkles on his forehead showed concentration. He was trying to remember, trying to put his mind at ease.

  Felicity cleaned up her broken coffee mug, searching for any stray shards of porcelain, and soaking up the spilled liquid. She tied all the trash in the plastic bag and deposited it in the wastebasket.

  When she sat down, he drank the last drop of his coffee and handed the mug to her. “If you’ll just allow me to use your shower, I’ll get out of your way.”

  Felicity’s lip tugged up in a half-smile. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  Brody raised his eyebrows. The questions in his eyes stirred Felicity’s soul.

  “Excuse me?” he asked.

  Felicity arrowed her forehead toward the window. “It’s been snowing all day, and it’s not supposed to let up any time soon. The roads are impassable.”

  He was silent, brooding almost.

  “The shower’s down the hall,” she stated. “You can help yourself.”

  He gave a tight nod and started to rise, but teetered. Felicity instinctively rose and slipped an arm around his waist. His weight pressed on her, and she wondered how she’d ever managed to get this man inside. In days past, she might have credited it to a higher power.

  He didn’t refuse her assistance, as she thought he might. Together, they slowly made their way down the hall to the bathroom, Brody walking like a man three times his age.

  He paused at the doorway and looked down at the sweats and flannel shirt he wore. He touched the shirt as if the feel of it would stir a memory. “Is this what I had on when you found me?”

  Felicity felt the heat rise to her cheeks. “No, your clothes were soaking wet.”

  When she finally pulled her eyes from the floor, she thought she saw a twinkle in Brody’s eyes. Something about her embarrassment seemed to amuse him. She knew it was unusual for someone her age to blush over something like that, but it was like her aunt said: she had scruples. Ricky had never appreciated that fact.

  She cleared her throat, determined not to let him know he’d affected her. “I’ll see if they’re dry and leave them outside the bathroom if they are.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  With her cheeks still flaming, she hurried away.

  Chapter Five

  Brody let the hot water hit him. He stretched an arm out, leaning on the shower wall to support himself.

  What had happened to get him here?

  His head pounded something fierce. He’d need some Advil as soon as possible. The knot on his forehead had done its job.

  After letting the spray pound his body for several minutes, he cut the water and toweled off. He stepped onto the cold tile floor, rubbed the fog from the mirror, and looked at his reflection.

  A nasty gash stretched across his forehead. What had happened out there exactly? Not remembering was driving him crazy.

  He hadn’t felt so thrown off guard since his girlfriend had disappeared when he was in high school. Those days afterward had felt so topsy-turvy and uncertain. Though it had happened well over a decade ago, he’d never been the same.

  He smoothed his damp hair, and, as he did, an impending feeling of danger hit him again. It wasn’t a memory. It was just a gut instinct that something was wrong.

  That something was very wrong.

  Had he really hit his head that hard?

  His last memory was of docking the boat. What had happened between then and now?

  There was only one thing he knew for sure: as soon as the snow melted, he wanted to get out of here. But he couldn’t do that until the roads cleared.

  He peeked out the door and found his clothes neatly folded there, just as promised. He pulled them inside, interested to see if they held any additional clues. He found his wallet and searched through it, but only the normal inhabitants were there: driver’s license, a few dollars cash, debit card.

  Did he have a phone in his pocket? Maybe his call history would give him some clues.

  He reached for his shirt, but there was no phone. What had happened to it? Was it still in his truck? Speaking of which, where was his truck?

  Maybe Felicity would let him use her phone. He needed to call his friend Joshua, the police chief. Maybe he could shed some light on the situation.

  The image of the blonde with the crazy curls and fire-filled eyes crossed through his mind. How the slight woman had managed to pull him into the house amazed him. He should be grateful she’d found him. Instead, she set his nerves on edge. Something wasn’t adding up.

  He finished getting dressed and strode into the living room. Felicity folded clothes in the corner, and her aunt could be seen in the edge of the kitchen. Something flickered in Felicity’s eyes when she saw him.

  He’d gotten off to a rocky start with her, to say the least.

  She pulled something out of her pocket and dangled it in front of her. “I found this.”

  He stepped closer and stared at the key in her hands, unsure what she was getting at. “I’ve never seen that before.”

  “It was in your pocket.”

  He raised a shoulder. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m having a few memory issues right now. Besides, it looks like one of those keys you’d buy at a souvenir shop at the beach.”

  She swallowed hard—hard enough that Brody could see her throat tighten. “Is that right?”

  “You have a different idea?”

  She averted her gaze before shrugging. “Why would I have a different idea?”

  “That’s my question exactly.”

  When she said nothing, he decided to let the subject drop. The key was the least of his worries at the moment. He needed to fill in some of the blanks, and there was no better way of doing that than talking to Joshua.

  “Could I use your phone?” he asked.

  She didn’t smile, just nodded toward the table by the couch. “Right over there. Hopefully, it still works.”

  He lumbered toward the table and dialed Joshua’s number.

  “Joshua,” Brody started.

  “Hey, man. Didn’t recognize the number. You staying warm? I thought I’d hear from you a couple of hours ago. I tried calling your cell phone, but there was no answer.”

  He glanced across the room at Felicity. “I’m okay. For now. I have a situation . . .”

  “What’s going on?”

  He filled his friend in on what he could remember.

  “You must have hit an icy patch and been in an accident. That would make the most sense.”

  “I agree.” That was probably the truth. But, for some reason, Brody didn’t completely buy it.

  “You said a woman named Felicity rescued you? I met a woman named Felicity at the grocery store a couple of weeks ago. Granddaughter of Fanny Pasture.”

  Fanny Pasture? That’s whose house he was in? He’d always wondered what the inside of that old, grand house looked like. This wasn
’t the way he expected to get a glimpse.

  He glanced over his shoulder again and saw that Felicity was preoccupied with laundry still. His gut told him that she was also very much paying attention. Even though Fanny had been an upstanding citizen, that didn’t mean her granddaughter was.

  “Know anything about her?”

  “I heard she’s nice. I don’t really know much beyond that. Someone said she moved here from Raleigh. I think she used to work at a university there.”

  “I see.” A university? He couldn’t quite picture the woman with the wild untamed hair as the professional collegiate type. Then again, what did he know?

  “I’d offer to drive by and pick you up, but the roads are closed. Not even emergency personnel can get out.”

  If I was just in a simple accident, then where had the key come from?

  It was probably nothing, he realized. Yet his mind kept coming back to it.

  Something had transpired in his missing time. But what?

  As Brody talked on the phone, casting suspicious looks over his shoulder, Felicity slipped into the dining room and pulled the key from her pocket. Why was she so fascinated with this? It was probably nothing.

  Yet something in the back of her mind beckoned her to dwell on various possibilities for a moment.

  She studied the design a little more closely. This definitely wasn’t mass-produced. It was iron and heavy. The edges showed signs of age, and bits of rust were still present in the grooves. She would bet there had been more rust at one time, but someone had attempted to restore it.

  The bit had wards in it—places that were square—that would activate a lever within a lock. It also had a collar and throating on the stem—classic signs of keys from earlier centuries.

  She brought it to her nose and smelled it. Old. It definitely smelled old.

  If she had to guess, based on the design and size, this could easily be from the eighteenth century.

  What would a huge key like this belong to? It reminded her of the kind she envisioned using in a treasure chest as a child—only larger.

  “What do you have there?”

  Felicity nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of her aunt’s voice. The key clattered to the floor, and she quickly snatched it up. “Nothing.”