mind drew a blank. He’d obviously lost the past few, what, hours? Days? The amnesia had to be related to the headache clawing its way across his skull. He was suffering from a concussion. But how had it happened?
Bigger question—why did he have an urgent need to protect Miss North and...a baby?
He looked over his shoulder. There was a sleeping child in the back seat. Whose? Jenna’s? No, she wasn’t married, didn’t have a boyfriend or even date, if you believed the locals. She was a transplant from Tulsa with a generous heart, a woman who used her social and financial talents to raise money for the Broadlake Foundation.
“Please wait here,” the cop said and left them alone.
Jenna turned to Matt. “They’re going to find us. What do we do?”
She could tell him what was going on, for starters.
“Matthew?”
The way she spoke his name made it sound like they were close, like they knew each other outside of working in the same building. Sure, he might have imagined dating someone like Jenna, a lovely woman determined to help people. Only he didn’t remember ever grabbing coffee with her or chatting outside of work. He was on the job and, even if he weren’t, he’d made a promise to himself to avoid romantic entanglements.
“What’s he doing?” she said, eyeing the rearview mirror.
“Patience,” he said. “He’s running the registration. It’s procedure.”
He closed his eyes, fighting back the anxiety taunting him. He’d have to confess his condition because he needed her help to navigate through the temporary amnesia. Matt sensed she needed his help as well.
“Aren’t you worried?” she asked.
He opened his eyes, but couldn’t admit the truth: that he was terrified because he’d lost a chunk of time.
“No, of course you’re not worried, you’re FBI,” she muttered and studied the rearview.
She knew the truth? Which meant what—that she was helping with the investigation? Was that possible? Because he didn’t remember her being ruled out as a suspect.
He needed to remember.
“He’s coming back,” she said, sitting straight.
The officer, who Matt realized was a state trooper, stepped up to her window and passed her the licenses and registration. “The closest medical facility is St. James Healthcare. I’ll escort you.”
“We wouldn’t want to take you away from your duties, Officer,” she said.
“You’re not. Follow me.”
She closed the window and sighed. “Now what?” she asked Matt. “Should I ditch him?”
“Ditch him?” he repeated in a sarcastic tone.
“Bad idea, huh?”
“Pretty bad, yeah.”
“What if he called Billings? What if he’s on their payroll? What if they’re waiting at the hospital? What if—”
“Slow down, speedy. You’re making my headache worse.”
“Sorry, sorry.” The squad car passed them and she followed. “I wish I could get ahold of Marcus.”
“Who’s Marcus?”
“Chloe’s cousin. He’s supposed to help.”
“Ma’am?”
“What?” She shot him a quick glance.
“Chloe...?”
“Mrs. McFadden,” she said. “You remember.”
Mrs. McFadden—sure, he knew her. She was on the development board and helped with fund-raising events. All roads to the money-laundering investigation led to Mrs. McFadden’s husband, Gary, but they didn’t have enough to build a case. They’d even considered that his wife might be involved.
“Matthew?” she said.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“What’s going on?”
“I’m having some...memory challenges.”
“Oh.”
He heard the disappointment in her voice, as if she’d been relying on him to protect her and the child. But that hadn’t been his assignment. His assignment was to work as a custodian in the foundation office, be invisible and gather information. Keep an eye on nighttime activity, determine if they were not only laundering money for the cartel but were also distributing drugs out of the community center.
“Blows to the head can do that,” she offered. “Don’t freak out. It’s usually temporary.”
“How would you know that?”
She shrugged. There was more to it, but she wasn’t sharing. Why would she? She was stuck with a helpless man and...a child.
“So, the child is Mrs. McFadden’s?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Where is Mrs. McFadden?”
She gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled fingers.
“Miss North?” he prompted.
“Jenna, call me Jenna,” she said, with slight irritation in her voice.
“Okay, Jenna. Why is Mrs. McFadden’s child in my truck?”
“She asked me to protect him.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Chief Billings killed Chloe,” she blurted out in a pained voice.
He glanced out the passenger window and fisted his hand to stop his fingers from trembling. Men like Matt didn’t tremble, and they didn’t let fear run rampant. Yet this was the first time he’d awakened with a chunk of his life missing, like it had never happened, and he was forced to rely on a stranger to fill in the blanks.
Well, not a complete stranger. He’d done a background check on all the foundation employees to help identify which ones were the most likely to be involved in the money-laundering activity. Matt still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that all roads led to the small, quaint town of Cedar River, Montana, known for its world-class scones and snow sports, headquarters of the international and altruistic Broadlake Foundation.
His supervisor had gotten Matt a job as the night custodian, and during the day he continued surveillance at the hot spots in town. They suspected money was being filtered through the foundation in the form of donations, only they couldn’t determine who was orchestrating the mystery deposits into the accounts. Everyone had been suspect, even the town’s police chief, who
