“What about the coroner’s report? Was there anything interesting in the toxicology report?”
“Yeah. A drug known as DH208. Apparently it’s a military-only drug that’s designed to almost instantly freeze the central nervous system of humans and nonhumans alike.” His gaze met mine again. “You were right.”
“Which doesn’t mean I applied the stuff.”
He smiled. “I wasn’t actually thinking that.”
“So you no longer think I murdered him?”
“I never did. But it’s a cop’s job to be suspicious of everyone and everything. Especially when coincidences keep pointing a particular way.”
“Which just goes to prove you can’t trust coincidences.”
“I don’t. But here you are, the biggest of them all.” He tilted his head a little, studying me through slightly narrowed eyes. “Why is that, do you think?”
“What? Why am I here, or why are these murders happening while I’m here?”
“Both.”
“I think the murder thing is simply bad timing, but I guess whoever is behind the mess surrounding me wasn’t to know that I was investigating the very same crime or that it would actually happen here. As to the other … to be honest, I don’t know. Evin said we’d only be here for a week. After that, he wasn’t sure.”
“If he was a part of the scheme, wouldn’t he be aware of whatever plans there are?”
“Only if he’s a willing participant. I have a feeling he’s not.” I hesitated. “Which reminds me—I have another favor to ask.”
He simply raised his eyebrows, so I continued.
“As you’ve already mentioned, Evin goes to the pub to make a phone call every night. I caught part of the number last night—the first four digits are 0356. Is there any chance of getting a printout of the calls made on that phone and tracking down the full number?”
“You don’t want a lot, do you?” He frowned and rubbed a hand across his stubbly chin. “I know someone who might be able to do it on the sly.”
I frowned. “Why not request it officially?”
“What reason would I give? If there is a bigger plot behind your memory loss and sudden appearance here, don’t you think they’d have set up checks? A request for information on that particular phone might just send an alert to the very people you’re trying to uncover.”
My heart warmed at his statement. He believed me. He might have emphasized the “is,” but the belief was there in his eyes, if not his words.
“That might be a good thing. It might just lead to them making a mistake and exposing their identity.”
“Or killing you outright. There’d have to be someone else other than Evin on watch here.”
“I guess.” I might be able to defend myself, but there was no defense against a long-range bullet. And while I kept hearing that voice telling me he didn’t want me dead just yet, that he wanted me to suffer, that didn’t mean I wouldn’t end up dead if things started going wrong before my seven days were up. After all, I was a long way from home.
Home.
God, I ached for it—ached for the people who I couldn’t remember but who I was suddenly certain made home home—so badly the word stuck in my throat and made breathing suddenly difficult. I might not remember where home was exactly, but I so wanted to see Rhoan and Liander and …
Someone else, someone who was my heart if not my soul.
Someone who was in that battered, bloody, black car. Someone I’d already been told was dead.
No, something inside me screamed. No!
I rubbed my forehead wearily and battled to keep that scream inside. At least some information was slowly leaking back. I had two more names now: Rhoan and Liander. They were a part of me—not just a part of my life. I felt that with every fiber.
Which meant one of them, at least, was my brother.
Rhoan, that little voice whispered. My brother, my twin.
I took a deep, somewhat shuddery breath and released it slowly. I was tempted to ask Harris to do a search for him, but instinct said not to. Harris was right—whoever was behind this plot had planned it thoroughly. If Rhoan was my brother, then any official search for him might just raise alarms. Hell, even if I found his phone number, just ringing him might lead to more drastic action. Like his death.
That voice had said that he wanted me to suffer. And what better way was there to achieve that than to wipe my memories, take me away from everything and everyone I loved, then slowly allow those memories to come back—only to have each and every one I cared about murdered the moment I contacted them?
It would be his style. Whoever “he” was.
But first things first. I needed to find my brother’s location, either through Google or the old-fashioned way, via the White Pages—and at least looking through a phone book would leave nothing to trace.
I could decide what my next step should be once I’d found him.
“You’re looking rather lost in your thoughts,” Harris commented, and the sudden sound of his voice made me jump. I’d totally forgotten he was there for a moment. “Care to share?”
“Just remembering some names.” I shrugged. “Their relationship to me, however, remains tantalizingly lost in the fog.”
He grunted, and I wasn’t entirely sure he believed me. “You ready to leave?”
I raised an eyebrow. “I have a choice?”
Again a slight smile tugged his lips. “No, you do not.” He waved a hand toward the doorway. “After you, Hanna London.”
I opened my mouth to tell him that wasn’t my name, then snapped it closed. My name was there, I could feel it, but it just wouldn’t reveal itself.
Patience, I reminded myself.
Only I had a suspicion patience was the one thing I didn’t have a lot of.
I made my way through the house and out the back. Harris closed and locked the door behind us, then turned around and said, “I won’t find you inside again, will I?”
I smiled, but my reply was cut off by the sudden sound of screaming.
Screaming that was male and filled with fear.
Screaming that was cut off almost as quickly as it had begun.
Chapter 11
“Stay here,” Harris said, barely even looking at me as he ran off.
I snorted softly. Like I was really going to obey that order when I hadn’t obeyed any of his others so far.
I took off after him, our footsteps ringing sharply across the darkness. The wind remained free from the scent of blood, but the taste of fear was growing sharper.
We rounded the last of the buildings and turned in to the paddock area where Landsbury had been attacked and killed. The young policeman was still at his post, but he was staring at the emptiness beyond the hills. He looked relieved when he saw Harris.
“Sir,” he said, voice a little strained, “there’s some sort of kerfuffle out in the Northern Ranges.”
“Did you see anything or anyone, Benny?” Harris asked.
“No, sir. Just heard the screaming.”
Harris nodded and ran on. I followed close on his heels. We raced out of the paddock area into a sandier, wilder area, sprinting up a hill. Harris paused at the top, and I stopped beside him, my nostrils flaring to catch any hint of blood or vengeance or any other scent that didn’t belong. None of those rode the wind, but the smell of fear was thicker.
“There,” Harris said, pointing sharply to the left.
I followed the line of his finger. Several hilltops away, metal gleamed briefly but brightly in the moonlight. Someone had raised a knife, but whether that someone was male or female was anyone’s guess, because—
thanks to the hill—all we could see was the hand and the knife.