Page 95 of Montana Memory

The memories expanded from there in a tsunami: coming face-to-face with Kenzie and what I’d done to her. Deja Brew. The cabin at Resting Warrior Ranch. Facing Copper. Jumping over rooftops.

I gathered them to me, thankful for them all.

I reached inward, careful, like walking barefoot across broken glass. Was anything else there? Any memories I hadn’t had before? Faces? My mother’s voice, the smell of my shampoo, the job I’d had before I lost my memory?

Nothing. Just blank space. Blank space, like the drug name. Tears pricked behind my eyelids, hot and sudden.

The antidote hadn’t worked. It hadn’t given me my memories back.

But it hadn’t stolen my other memories either. I wasn’t a vegetable, and I wasn’t dead. That had to count for something.

Now that my mind had snapped back into focus, I couldn’t block out Kelly and Johnson any longer.

“She’s been out too long,” Kelly muttered, his voice sharp with frustration.

“She’s breathing,” Johnson replied, but he didn’t sound confident. More like he was trying to convince himself.

“Barely,” Kelly shot back. “What if she’s in a coma?”

I stayed perfectly still, every muscle locked in place. My breathing was slow and shallow, just enough to keep them from thinking I was dead. They were standing over me—I could feel the weight of their presence, the tension vibrating off them in waves. Kelly’s tone was tight, agitated. Johnson sounded more cautious, but no less dangerous.

I knew this was my only chance. They thought I was unconscious, maybe even slipping away. As long as they believed that, I had time. Time to think. Time to plan. Because once they realized the truth—that I still had no memory of Alan giving me the five hundred thousand dollars, if he ever had at all—they’d stop asking questions and start digging a hole.

“She’s not in a coma.” Johnson let out a low breath. “She’ll wake up soon, and we’ll know if she can get us the money. If not, then we deal with it.”

Deal with it.I didn’t need to hear the rest to know what that meant.

I focused on keeping my body limp and my face slack, even as panic started to claw at the edges of my mind. I needed a way out. Staying in this cabin was a death sentence. If I could get them to take me somewhere else—anywhere with people—I might have a shot. A chance to run. Call for help. Do something other than wait for the end.

But where? A public place would set off alarm bells in their heads. They’d never agree to that. My apartment was useless. No key, no cover story that would hold up. I couldn’t even remember what street it was on.

I fought to stay calm, to push through the thick fog in my mind. There had to be something. Somewhere I could take them that sounded real.

Then it came to me. Clear. Sharp.

I had a place.

It wasn’t safe and it wasn’t guaranteed, but it was better than lying here waiting to die. I could make them believe it. I had to.

I stayed still a moment longer, listening to Kelly and Johnson argue above me, their words growing more impatient by the second. Then I gathered every ounce of courage I had, ready to open my eyes and sell the lie that I had my memory back. Pray I didn’t make any mistakes.

Because if they saw through it, I wouldn’t leave this cabin alive.

I opened my eyes slowly, blinking like the light hurt—because it did—and let out a soft groan.

Kelly was the first to notice. He stepped in fast, crouching down, face tight with suspicion. “Well, look who finally decided to wake up.”

Johnson hung back, arms crossed, like he was waiting to see which way the wind blew.

I dragged in a breath and forced my lips into a scowl. “Why the hell are you two shouting like morons? My head is pounding.”

Kelly blinked, caught off guard. I pushed myself up on one elbow, even though the motion made the room tilt.

“You’re lucky that damn antidote worked,” I muttered, like I hadn’t been lying on the floor faking unconsciousness and praying I didn’t die.

Their eyes lit up.

“Wait,” Johnson said, stepping forward. “You remember?”

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