Fatal Recall. Carol J. Post
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her upper arm. “Does this trigger any memories?”
She turned her head to see what he’d indicated. “Not at all.”
He’d noticed the tattoo yesterday, before she’d put her jacket on. It was a fairly elaborate crown, a common gang symbol. That connection would help the police identify her. Chances were good she had a record.
Whatever affiliations she’d had, she’d likely gotten out, a feat in itself. Otherwise she wouldn’t have borne the pain and expense of trying to have the symbol removed.
“How about this?” He traced a three-inch scar on her forearm.
“It looks like an old cut, but I don’t remember where I got it.”
“It’ll come to you eventually. You’ve already regained one memory.”
She sat and unlaced her right boot. As she removed it, she winced. When she peeled off her sock, he frowned. A discolored area wrapped the bottom of her ankle and spread across her foot toward her toes. Tissue had tried to swell against the tightly laced boot, leaving reddened grooves.
“Too bad we don’t have some ice for that.”
“It’ll be all right. I’m sure I’ve experienced worse.” She indicated her upper arm with her other hand. “This, for example.”
“I agree.” As he and Kevin had aged out of the system, they’d talked about having an eagle tattooed over their right pecs, signifying freedom. Kevin had followed through. Tanner hadn’t. He really didn’t like needles. From everything he’d heard, he wouldn’t like lasers any better.
Kat was one tough lady. She’d sustained a head injury, slept on the ground in damp clothes, gone hungry and walked the past three hours on a sprained ankle. All without complaint. She was more resilient than a lot of men he knew.
After a brief rest, she put her sock and shoe back on, then stood. But instead of resuming the hike, she uprooted some nearby plants. Onion-like greens grew from small, light-colored bulbs. She brought them to her nose. “Wild garlic.”
When she handed him one, he sniffed it. Though not as strong as expected, it still held that distinctive scent.
She munched on the green stems, then peeled the outer layer to expose the clean bulb. After removing the roots with her thumbnail, she popped the bulb into her mouth.
He did the same. The dandelions were long digested, and he was starved. He’d never been a dainty eater. Even before his postadolescent growth spurt, when he’d weighed one hundred pounds soaking wet, it hadn’t been for lack of nutrition. His small size had made him a target for bullies in the foster and group homes, so he’d always eaten like a horse. It eventually paid off.
Kat picked up her walking stick and resumed their trek. Soon, the sound of moving water reached them. Rather than the trickle of a creek, it was a constant barrage of sound, a steady shh that grew louder as they walked.
“Hear that?”
“I do.” She gave him a cautious smile. “I’m just not looking forward to wading across. I don’t feel like getting wet again or fighting that current.”
“We may not have to. If we come out a mile or so upstream from where we left the kayak, we’ll miss it. Where I launched, the river flows on the other side of the road, then crosses under a bridge.”
A truck engine rumbled in the distance, increasing in volume, then fading. When they headed down the last slope, the river lay in front them. To the right, it curved to disappear under a bridge.
They covered the final yards, then stopped at the shoulder to look both directions. Traffic was nonexistent. To the left, Highway 19 stretched toward Bryson City. The Nantahala Outdoor Center was about five miles away. If someone would give them a ride, they’d save an hour and a half of walking. For Kat’s sake, he hoped some Good Samaritans were traveling on 19.
As they crossed the two-lane highway, a white pickup truck moved toward them. Kat held out a thumb, and the truck barreled past. Five other vehicles did the same. He didn’t blame the drivers. Picking up hitchhikers was a good way to get oneself killed.
When a low rumble sounded behind them, he turned to watch a box truck approach. He held up a hand to flag down the driver. The truck slowed and the right-turn signal came on. Tanner’s pulse kicked up.
The vehicle eased to a stop, an auto parts delivery truck. Tanner opened the passenger door and helped Kat in, then slid in behind her.
“Where you headed?” Reflective sunglasses hid the driver’s eyes.
“Nantahala Outdoor Center. It’s not far, but five miles on a sprained ankle can feel like forty.” He tilted his head toward Kat.
“Not fun.” His straight salt-and-pepper hair was pulled into a ponytail beneath a New York Jets ball cap, and he exuded a relaxed friendliness.
Tanner checked his phone again. Still no service. He’d rather have the police there, or at least en route, when he and Kat arrived. Since they’d been in a kayak, the Nantahala Outdoor Center was the most logical place to end up. The shooter could be waiting for them.
But he wouldn’t expect them to arrive in an auto parts delivery truck. By the time he figured it out, Tanner would have his pistol in hand.
The driver slowed for a curve. “How’d you guys get so far from your truck anyway? There aren’t any hiking trails out this way.”
Tanner looked past Kat to study the man, debating how much to tell him. It didn’t take him long. If the driver was a threat, they’d already know it. He was sticking his neck out for them. He needed to know the situation.
“We were kayaking, then wound up running from a guy with a gun.”
His mouth went slack. “Have you called the police?”
“We will as soon as we get service.”
As they approached the Outdoor Center, the driver reached into a pocket on his door and laid a pistol in his lap. “Just in case.”
Tanner scanned the roadside. No one seemed to be lurking. Two cars sat in the parking lot, both empty, the occupants likely inside the building. His Silverado waited at the far end. He pointed it out, and the driver stopped in the next space.
“I’ll make sure you get away okay.”
“Thanks, man.” Tanner slipped a soggy bill into the guy’s hand, then climbed from the truck.
Kat cast a glance over her shoulder as she slid across the seat. “God bless you.”
The driver smiled. “He already has.”
Tanner raised his brows at the semireligious conversation between two unlikely candidates—Kat, with the remains of her gang tattoo, and the truck driver, with his shades and ponytail.
Two of the foster homes he’d landed in had been religious, with a list of dos and don’ts that would stretch from Louisville to Nashville. He couldn’t quote it from memory, but he was pretty sure ponytails and tattoos were on the “don’t” side.
While the delivery guy waited, Tanner let Kat into the passenger seat of the Silverado and removed his Glock from the glove box. Now the playing field was a little more level.
As he circled around to the driver’s side, he continued to scan the area. Even when he pulled onto Highway 19, with the delivery truck behind him, he still didn’t relax. He probably wouldn’t until he and Kat were seated inside the police station at some officer’s desk.
He glanced in his rearview mirror. The truck was still behind him, keeping up in spite of the seemingly endless series of S curves. Finally, the highway straightened out and widened to four lanes. Tanner chose the right one. The truck driver did, too. A red van behind them moved into the left. Within moments, it overtook him and sped past.
Another vehicle traveled in that lane, also,