Page 84 of Montana Memory

Who knew? Maybe if Kelly and Johnson had shown up after I looked through all that, I would’ve had more answers for them. But I doubted it.

“Okay, monsters,” I called gently. “I’m back.”

The kittens scrambled out from beneath the couch like furry missiles, tumbling over one another and meowing in excitement. I dropped to my knees, letting them crawl over me as I scratched their bellies and ears and kissed the top of Biscuits’ head.

“I missed you too,” I murmured.

I topped off their food and water bowls, straightened the litter box, and gave them a couple minutes to settle. Then I stood, brushing cat hair from my thighs.

I wanted to call Hunter. I wanted to tell him everything—how it went with Johnson and Kelly, what Lachlan had said, how I’d gotten through it without panicking or falling apart. I wanted to hear his voice. I knew he’d be proud of me.

But first, food.

I walked into the kitchen, yanked open the fridge, and pulled out the sandwich fixings. Mayo. Turkey. A tomato that looked just about to turn if I didn’t use it today. When Hunter got home tomorrow, I’d cook, but it wasn’t worth the effort for just me.

I’d just set the bread on the counter when the front door opened.

My heart leaped. He’d come home early!

“Hunter?”

But it wasn’t Hunter standing in the door. It was Johnson. And right behind him—Kelly.

I stared, confused. “Did you forget something at the sheriff’s office?”

“Yes,” Johnson said, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. “We forgot to ask where the half a million dollars is.”

I blinked. “What?”

“The money,” Kelly added. “The five hundred grand Alan gave you.”

“I don’t—I have no idea what you’re talking about.” My pulse spiked. “Alan never gave me anything like that.”

Johnson’s expression hardened as he stalked forward. “I didn’t buy the memory thing. Thought it was bullshit. Maybe your little memory issue is real. Maybe it’s not. Either way, you’re going to tell us where that money is.”

“Wait—” I backed up, hands raised. “I’m telling the truth. I don’t remember anything like that. I don’t know about any money.”

He grabbed my arm. Hard. Fingers biting into the flesh above my elbow as he jerked me closer. “You sure about that?”

“Let go of me!”

Kelly stepped beside him, holding something small between his fingers. A glass vial. My stomach dropped. My eyes shot to the counter, where the antidote I’d been given was still sitting, unopened.

This wasn’t mine. They had their own. They knew all about the memory-loss drug.

Kelly smiled, calm and quiet. “We got this from Dr. Beckett. Thought it might come in handy.”

Johnson’s grip tightened. “We’re going to find out how real that memory loss is.”

I didn’t wait to see what they would do next—I jerked out of Johnson’s hold and ran.

But I didn’t make it two steps before Kelly caught me around the waist. His arm locked across my middle, dragging me back hard against his chest. I kicked, elbowed—landed a solid jab to his ribs—but it didn’t matter. He grunted and held on tighter.

“Feisty,” he muttered. “I like feisty.”

“Let go of me!”

“Sit her down,” Johnson ordered, already riffling through one of the kitchen drawers. He pulled out a notepad and a pen like this was just another day in the office.

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