Page 18 of Montana Memory

No judgment. No questions. Just action.

I swallowed hard and grabbed a dish towel, scrubbing at the peanut butter streak while he rinsed plates. The silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t exactly easy either. Too much space for thoughts I didn’t want.

Hunter worked methodically, rinsing, stacking, wiping down surfaces like he’d done it a thousand times. Maybe he had. Maybe this was just what he did—clean up other people’s messes. Rescue the girl who’d lost her memory. Offer help she didn’t know how to ask for.

The knot in my chest tightened, breath coming sharp and uneven before I could stop it. “I can’t do this.”

Hunter stilled, his hands braced on the counter. He didn’t ask what I meant—he knew I wasn’t talking about cleaning.

“I can’t just sit here, not knowing.” My voice cracked, frustration burning its way up my throat. “I need more. I need to know who I am, what I did—why I did it.” I threw down the dish towel. “I feel like I’m trapped in someone else’s life, and none of it makes sense.”

He turned then, drying his hands on a paper towel. Green eyes locked on mine, steady, unreadable. “I get it.”

Something about that—him understanding—only made my chest squeeze tighter. “Do you? Because I don’t even know if I want to remember.” My voice dropped, my fingers curling into fists. “Obviously, I was a terrible person—or made at least one truly horrible choice. What if we find out even worse stuff?”

Hunter didn’t hesitate. “Then we figure it out. But you want to know. Knowing even the worst is better than not knowing. We’ll make that happen.”

A shaky breath escaped me. “How?”

He reached for his phone and looked down at it. “I have a guy.”

I blinked. “A guy?” Hunter had a safe house, so I guessed it made sense that he also had aguy.

“Tech genius. If it’s available online, Jace can pretty much find it.” He gave me a look, one brow lifting. “You want answers?”

I nodded, my pulse unsteady.

“Then let’s get you some.”

He pressed a number then put his phone on speaker and set it on the table between us.

The call barely had time to ring before a gruff voice answered. “Long time no talk, brother. Thought you might have relocated to Tahiti.”

Hunter exhaled through his nose, the closest thing to amusement I’d heard from him since he walked back into the kitchen. “Jace. Hey, man.”

“You doing okay?” There was a wealth of knowledge in that question. Jace obviously wasn’t asking it in a chitchat sort of way.

“Yeah. Hanging in there. I need your expertise.”

“You got it. Tell me what you need,” Jace said, voice shifting into something sharper, more businesslike.

Hunter glanced at me before answering. “Jada Banks. Lost her memory. Need to know who she is.”

“How deep do you want me to dig?”

“Right now, just the basics. She knows nothing, and we don’t have any sort of computer handy. I’m here with her.”

“Hi,” I said, voice shaky.

“Hi, I’m Jace Monroe. Nice to meet you. Let me get at this.”

“Okay.”

Jace didn’t respond, just the sound of typing on a keyboard filling the space between us. A minute passed. Then another.

And then— “Here we go.”

My breath caught in my throat.

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