Page 13 of Montana Memory

The cops moved past, and I let go, guiding her to the side exit. We stepped outside, the cool evening air hitting my skin.

“Keep walking,” I murmured, and, to my relief, she did without hesitation. We slipped into the alley. A patrol car turned the corner, its headlights sweeping over the pavement. God damn it, they werereallylooking for her.

I moved fast, pressing her back into the shadows, my body blocking hers.

“Stay still,” I breathed. She stiffened but didn’t pull away.

Between this embrace and the other, I was closer to Jada than I’d been to a woman in nearly a year. Her breath was warm against my throat, her pulse a rapid beat against my chest. I didn’t let myself think about that.

Yeah, right.

The moment the patrol car turned the corner, I stepped back. “Come on.”

The night was quiet except for the steady sound of our footsteps against the pavement. I led Jada down the alley, along a side street, and another block over before stopping beside my truck. The old Chevy was dented, paint faded, but the engine was solid. It wasn’t registered in my name—not in any name that could be traced, anyway—but it was mine.

She hesitated beside me, eyeing the truck like she expected me to break in. “You going to hot-wire this one too?”

I exhaled sharply, the closest thing to a laugh I’d had in days. “This one’s actually mine.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she climbed in anyway. The silence inside the cab stretched as I started the engine and pulled onto the road, navigating through the traffic in the gathering darkness. I kept my grip loose on the wheel, my focus split between the rearview mirror and the road ahead. No sirens. No headlights gaining on us. We’d gotten out clean.

Still, I didn’t relax.

Jada sat stiff beside me, staring out the windshield, her fingers twisting the hem of the stolen scrub top. The streetlightscast long shadows across her face, making the bruises stand out even more.

Finally, she spoke. “Why do the cops want me?”

My grip tightened on the wheel. I wasn’t surprised by the question. But that didn’t mean I wanted to answer it. How much did she really want to know? I hesitated, the weight of everything pressing against my chest. Then I let out a slow breath. She had a right to know.

“You were involved with a man named Alan Ard. He was a criminal serving time for assault,” I said, keeping my voice even.

I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. Nothing. No recognition. Just the same vacant confusion. The muscles in my jaw flexed.

“You stalked his ex-girlfriend, Kenzie Hurst. Kidnapped her. You were planning to use the same memory-loss drug on her that you were injected with.” My voice was steady, even as my gut twisted. “That drug is the reason you don’t remember anything.”

Her breath hitched. “No.”

It wasn’t a scream. It wasn’t a cry. Just one broken word, small and uncertain.

I didn’t let up. She needed to hear this. “Alan was playing you,” I said. “He was released on parole, and then he talked you into bringing Kenzie to him in the cabin where I found you. He was the one who hurt you. Stun-gunned you. Injected you with the memory-loss drug.”

Jada’s fingers curled into the seat. Her gaze was locked on the window, but I doubted she was seeing anything outside. Her throat worked, like she wanted to say something but couldn’t force it out.

Finally, in a voice so quiet I almost missed it, she whispered, “I don’t even know who I am.”

I clenched my jaw to keep myself from saying anything else.

I might have said too much already.

Chapter 5

Jada

The hum of the tires was steady beneath me, a rhythmic vibration through the worn leather seat of Hunter’s ancient truck, but it did nothing to ground me. Nothing could. Not after what he’d just said.

Ikidnappedsomeone.

My hands curled into fists in my lap, fingernails biting into my palms. My mind lunged in every direction, searching for something—anything—that would prove him wrong. A memory, a feeling, a sense that I couldn’t possibly be the kind of person who would do something like that. But there was nothing.

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