Undercover Memories Page 10

Paige went back to the stack and shuffled through a few of what appeared to be vacation shots taken in Hawaii. “Any of these jar any memories?” she asked.

  “None. Wait a second, this is a false front. Listen when I knock.” He rapped his fingers against the desk panel…it did sound hollow. Running his hands over the wood, he finally managed to slide open a small hidden compartment.

  From this, he withdrew a manila envelope, and they both cleared off room on the desktop. John emptied the contents. “My passport,” he said. “And another photo.”

  In this picture, a young teenage version of John stood between a man and woman who looked way too old to be his parents. Behind them she could see a river and one end of a bridge with green turrets. It looked somehow familiar to Paige.

  She had checked the reverse side of every photo for identifying names or locations and found very little. This time she struck gold in the form of names. Sergi, John and Galina Ogneva, 1988 was written in block letters.

  “Eureka,” John said.

  She glanced at him but he wasn’t looking at the photo; his attention was focused on the passport. He opened it and perused the pages. “Late last year, I went to Canada,” he said. “A few months later, I flew to Kanistan.”

  “Kanistan,” Paige repeated. “That’s in the Ukraine somewhere, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wait a second, I remember,” she said, tapping the top photograph with a fingertip. “Look at this picture. See that turret? It’s an unusual color and shape. It’s on a bridge that crosses over to a big hotel that sits on an island in the middle of a lake. It looks like a fairy-tale castle in the winter when the lake freezes over and everything is covered with ice. I used an image of it in a calendar a few years ago.”

  He studied the photograph, his finger touching the people. “Who are they?”

  “The adults are Sergi and Galina Ogneva and the kid is you.”

  He flipped the photo over and then back again. “So, where is this place?”

  “Kanistan.”

  “Anatola Korenev’s accent sounds eastern European, doesn’t it?” John said.

  “It sure does.” They needed more information. She began to pick through the remaining papers when she realized John’s attention was now riveted on one of the outside monitors.

  An old, dented, heavy-duty van with an oversize grille and enough antennae to track a satellite had pulled up to the front gate. As they watched, the door opened and a man with a bushy black beard got out of the car. He wore a bandage on his right hand. As he approached the fence and shook the chain and lock, Paige’s stomach did a belly flop.

  “That’s Korenev,” she mumbled.

  John swore. “He’s getting back in the van. Maybe he’s leaving.”

  Indeed, the old vehicle backed up thirty feet, but then shot forward toward the gate. The crash was silent to them, but the monitor screen filled with the images of flying metal as the van battered half of it away.

  “Quick, get everything back in the envelope,” John said, scooping up the passport and the other papers.

  Paige stuffed the photos in her pockets. She glanced up at the monitors to see Korenev at the back door now, holding a huge gun that looked as if it belonged in a war zone. He fired at the door. The sound traveled up the stairs into the loft. The screen filled with smoke. They’d be sitting ducks if they attempted to use the stairs.

  From below, they heard gunfire, then Korenev’s booming voice. “I see you found old man,” he yelled. “You two go next to join him. No mercy this time.”

  No mercy this time? Was the man delusional? Since when had he ever shown anyone any mercy?

  A bullet shattered one of the glass panels, and Paige retreated deeper into the room as glass rained down on the floor. My God, they were trapped. They were going to die. Korenev wasn’t fooling around with knives. He had himself an honest-to-goodness automatic weapon and there was nowhere to go....

  John grabbed her hand and pulled her into the kitchen, where they hunkered down near the floor, in among cooking gear and dishcloths. He fired off a shot toward the open doorway, which was around the corner from them. “There has to be a fire escape,” he said.

  “I didn’t see anything under any of the windows—”

  “We couldn’t see the northeast side from any of our positions. It has to be over there.” He fired off another round. “Go find it and use it. Once you’re outside, you’ll have to go out the front gate and run back to your car.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll try to slow him down. Go.”

  “You’ll follow?”

  “If I can,” he said, pushing her away.

  “John…”

  “Please,” he said, with a hasty look. “Go.”

  As he fired again, she scooted out of the kitchen and made her way back to the northeast corner. Out of the corners of her eyes, she saw John creep toward the shattered interior window. The sound of ammunition firing underscored urgency, but leaving him to face Korenev alone was the hardest thing she’d ever done.

  Okay, a fire escape had to be attached outside the windows in either the bedroom or the bathroom. Those were the only areas in that corner and she hadn’t seen anything when she was in the bathroom. Maybe it was a rope piled inside a closed drapery, though. She’d have to look. She flew around the big bed, stumbling when she hit a stool, knocking it aside and catching herself by grabbing for a bedpost. She tore open the drapery covering the bedroom window.

  And there it was, a metal platform affixed to the outside of the window with an attached ladder. She opened the window and screamed at John as she picked up a stray boot and popped out the screen. She followed it out onto the fire escape.

  The platform sported a railing on one side and felt steady enough under her feet, but it appeared the ladder was cantilevered. As she put her weight on it, it creaked and groaned and began to descend. She grabbed for the hand railing and for a dizzying moment thought she was going to fall.

  Holding on for dear life, she proceeded down the ladder, trusting it would support her and praying John would find a way to follow.

  * * *

  JOHN HEARD THE CLATTER of metal and hoped it meant Paige had found a way out of this hellhole. Now he had to figure out how to stop Korenev.

  From the direction of the shots, he knew Korenev was on the stairs but he dared not risk looking for an exact location. He could if he had a mirror, however, but where did a guy like him keep a mirror in a place like this except fastened to a medicine cabinet? There wasn’t time to fool with that.

  Wait a second. He was right next to the kitchen, and he must be some kind of gourmet cook because he’d spied a whole rack covered with stainless-steel pans.

  He covered his movements with more shots and took one of the frying-pan lids from the rack. The top of the lid, the side without the handle, was very reflective. Holding it like a shield, he got back in position by the broken window.

  “Here goes nothing,” he muttered, inching the lid above his head with one hand while firing the gun with the other as a distraction. Korenev returned fire and by angling the shiny lid and happening onto a wayward shaft of light, John was able to pinpoint Korenev’s position.

  Korenev was halfway up the stairs, creeping closer. The weapon he toted was not the gun he’d lifted from Brian Witherspoon—this was an assault weapon that would tear a man’s flesh off his bones.

  A second later, Korenev must have spied the makeshift mirror because he fired a shot. John released the lid just in time to keep from losing a finger or two. In the next instant, he stood and fired. A roar from Korenev thundered on the stairs. A second later, the big man fell to the cement floor, and it seemed the building shook. John risked a look.

  Korenev had survived the fall. He was grasping his left leg, but he was already repositioning his weapon.... The guy was like a cockroach—invincible.

  Time to get out of there. John ran across the apartment as fast as anyone could. He was on t
he fire escape and down to the ground without even noticing he’d grabbed his satchel in passing. There was no sign of Paige. He debated going to the back and shooting out the van tires, but that would put him in direct sight of the door.

  He heard an engine behind him and turned to see Paige’s car. She pulled to a stop beside him and he yanked open the door and fell into the passenger seat.

  “Where’s Korenev?” she asked.

  “I wounded him. Go back down that alley.”

  “Is he going to follow us?”

  “Not if I take out a tire or two.”

  Korenev had figured out how to open the sliding doors and stood inside, stooped over, but he straightened when he heard the advancing car. The van was too far away for a debilitating hit from John’s revolver, and no way did he want to drive into that yard and get close to a madman wielding an AK-47. He took a shot at Korenev for good measure…and missed. Korenev raised his weapon.

  “Let’s get out of here,” John yelled.

  Paige pressed down on the accelerator and they shot toward the street.

  John turned in the seat to watch the road behind them. So far, so good.

  “Now we know for sure Korenev killed the man in the fire truck,” Paige said, “and that you didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “Yeah. I think the old man must have been at my place taking care of the fire trucks or something when Korenev showed up. Maybe the old guy left the gate open and the sliding doors, too. Maybe Korenev just rolled right in, walked up to the open window and overpowered him. Then he went upstairs and took what he wanted.”

  “I wonder what he wanted,” she said.

  “I do, too.”

  “And if he just steals whatever he wants, including cars, why does he keep taking old wrecks?”

  “Probably because they’re easier to hot-wire. And maybe it has something to do with the fact their owners might make less of a fuss when their vehicle turns up missing.”

  Once again, they flew over the bridge into the city. John held on for dear life as Paige took a sudden right, and then they were traveling downhill into the dark.

  He turned in the seat to find she’d entered a parking garage. She pulled up to the automated gate and took a ticket. The arm swung up and she steered them to the ramp that led up, and then kept going until they were on the roof. She parked in the southwest corner, where they could see the entrance of the garage three stories below.

  “What now?” she asked as she turned to him. She dug his photos out of her pockets as though just remembering them. Most were creased, one was torn.

  He took them from her and looked through them, studying each, hoping something would awaken some little memory that would leapfrog into total recollection. He paused when he got to the one of him as a child. That it was him there could be little doubt. Same shoulders, same eyes, same ears.

  “Nothing is helping me get my memory back,” he said, discouraged almost to the breaking point. What was it going to take?

  Paige took the manila envelope out of the satchel and reached inside for the passport. “You didn’t travel a whole lot before the Canadian trip and then the one to Kanistan last month. And you went one day and came home the next.”

  “I wonder why I went.”

  “This looks like an address book,” she said, liberating a small, red leather-bound book. “See if any of the names jump out at you.”

  She stared at him as he searched the pages, her eyes anxious, her fingers pleating the hem of her jacket. He had one of those funny feelings that she was trying to find a way to tell him something. “What’s on your mind?” he asked.

  Her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks. She cleared her throat. “There’s something I didn’t mention. Something about you.”

  “Great.” He heaved a deep breath. “Okay, I’m ready. What is it?”

  “You’re not going to like it, so I’m just going to spit out the facts because that’s all I know, anyway. The reason you left the police department was because you got caught accepting a drug bribe. It didn’t say how much or anything. I guess the department kind of settled for you paying back the money and leaving quietly because of your hero status thanks to saving the congressman. I’m sorry I held it back.”

  He was a cheat, too? In addition to what else? And if he’d been drummed out of the very department that was undoubtedly now looking for him, would he even have a chance to plead his case before they locked him away?

  How did you defend your character when you didn’t know what kind of character you had, especially when there was a dead guy in your place of residence?

  “I don’t know what to make of that information right now,” he said at last. “I’m going to try to ignore it for the time being.” He studied the names on the page: Addison, Burton, Carlisle. No bells, no whistles, no nothing. Not until he hit the Ds. “Here’s something.”

  “Someone you remember?” Paige asked anxiously.

  “No. But I’ve seen the first name recently. Natalie, last name Dexter. Isn’t she the redhead in the photo?”

  “Yes, yes.” Paige shuffled through the photos and handed him the right one. “This might be her or it might not be. The woman who gave the interview was named Natalie, too, and she must have known you pretty well. It’s got to be the same person. I’m going to talk to her.” Paige drew out her cell phone. “Give me her number.”

  He read it off as she punched in numbers.

  Paige waited a moment or two and then said, “Natalie? Natalie Dexter? Yes, hello, my name is, uh, Julia. Julia Roberts.” She laughed and added, “No, not the movie star, I’m afraid. Actually, I’m a writer doing a story on John Cinca for a newspaper. Oh, just a little one up in the mountains. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions.”

  She listened for a bit. John tried to read what was going on, but for once her expression was neutral. She shook her head as she resumed speaking. “Well, actually, I’m not in the mountains right now. I’m in Lone Tree because of a family thing. I saw your name on a report.” Another pause to listen followed by a sucked-in breath of excitement. “You will? Right now? I’m sure I can find it. I’ll meet you there in twenty minutes. Thank you.”

  “You warned me you were a good liar,” John said when she hung up.

  “Nice of you to notice,” she said.

  “Except for the Julia Roberts thing.”

  “I drew a blank.” She returned his flicker of a smile, then turned serious again. “I need to find Sunshine Coffeehouse. She said it was on Main.” Paige gestured toward the street below. “That’s Main down there.”

  “I’ll go,” he said.

  “No, you won’t. Who knows how this woman feels about you? One glance and she might call the police. Besides, you live and work here. Your face was all over the place when you saved that congressman. Anyone might recognize you. This place can’t be too far away. Natalie gave me a cross street and I remember seeing it when we first drove into town. Vine, that’s it. Main and Vine. I’ll go meet her and come back here and we’ll figure out the next step. Stay out of sight, okay?”

  He wanted to protest, he wanted to take control—this was his life even if it currently resembled an avalanche.

  But she made sense. He would stay in the car and look at every scrap of paper they’d salvaged and maybe something would get through to his subconscious.

  “Now it’s my turn to tell you to be careful,” he said. “Anatola Korenev knows exactly what you look like.”

  “You shot him. His leg was all bloody.”

  “You don’t really think a little thing like that will stop him?” John said.

  * * *

  PAIGE RECOGNIZED THE woman from the photograph the moment she walked into the crowded coffeehouse. Though seated, Natalie Dexter appeared tall and willowy with large, green, expressive eyes framed by waves of auburn hair. She wore a faux-fur-collared sweater over trim slacks and sipped something frothy from a coffee mug.

  “Natalie?” Paige said in
greeting.

  Natalie gave Paige a quick once-over and smiled. “You must be Julia,” Natalie said, extending a hand. She gestured at her coffee and added, “Would you like something?”

  “What you’re having looks great. I’ll go up to the counter—”

  “No need, sit, please, the waiter here is really nice.” Natalie waved a hand and a young man in an apron appeared at her side as though he’d been awaiting her summons. “Will you bring us another nonfat mocha, Billy?” she asked.

  The coffee arrived as Paige draped her coat over the back of her chair. She’d stopped at a drugstore along the way and bought an inexpensive digital audio recorder. She dug that out of her handbag and said, “Do you mind?”

  “I guess not,” Natalie said. “Like I mentioned on the phone, I’m a little pressed for time.” She raised her left hand to glance at her watch. A large solitary diamond sparkled on her ring finger. It looked a whole lot like an engagement ring. “What would you like to ask me?”

  Are you engaged to John Cinca? was what Paige wanted to ask, but she didn’t. “How do you know Mr. Cinca?”

  “We met when he was a policeman and I worked as a court stenographer,” she said easily. “We started dating.” She shrugged. “We got real close, even talked about marriage.”

  “But you didn’t?”

  “No.” She sat back in her chair and met Paige’s gaze. “Have you met John?”

  Paige mentally crossed her fingers and lied. “No.”

  “He’s a wonderful guy. I was crazy about him.”

  “But…?”

  “But he had all these closed doors.”

  Paige took a drink of the warm, chocolate coffee to give herself a moment to think. It tasted comforting and homey, sensations that seemed almost foreign at this point.

  “Could you explain what you mean by closed doors?” she asked.

  “Oh, you know. Emotionally, he wasn’t very available. It’s not hard to understand why. I mean, he didn’t know anything about himself before the age of ten because of the amnesia.”

  Paige clasped her hands together in her lap as she leaned forward. “Amnesia?”

  Natalie glanced down at the tape recorder and shook her head. “I shouldn’t have said that, especially to a reporter.”