Fatal Flashback

An undercover investigation means deadly danger.

Will an agent’s missing memories save her?

Attacked and left for dead, undercover FBI agent Ashley Thompson has forgotten almost everything about her current assignment. Now she’s working with park ranger Logan Everett to expose a crime ring—even as she secretly investigates the rangers to root out a mole. But since Logan doesn’t know Ashley’s real identity, is blowing her cover the only way to catch a killer?

KELLIE VANHORN is an award-winning author of inspirational romance and romantic suspense. She has college degrees in biology and nautical archaeology, but her sense of adventure is most satisfied by a great story. When not writing, Kellie can be found homeschooling her four children, camping, baking and gardening. She lives with her family in west Michigan.

Also By Kellie VanHorn

Fatal Flashback

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Fatal Flashback

Kellie VanHorn

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90081-6

FATAL FLASHBACK

© 2019 Kellie VanHorn

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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“How can I help you when you won’t tell me anything?”

Logan’s green eyes seemed to read her soul. “You’ve remembered more than you’re telling me.”

Ashley swallowed. “I don’t remember asking for your help.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t seem to mind last night, when you leaped into my arms.”

Of all the nerve. Her cheeks flamed instantly. “Your job, Ranger Everett, is to train me as a Big Bend ranger. Not pry into my personal life.”

The clouds rolled closer, intermittently blotting out the sun, and the scent of impending rain danced in the air.

Suddenly, a sharp, deafening crack split the air, and a spray of rocks pelted the side of his face.

Too close for thunder. Too brief for a rock slide.

The crack came again, along with another burst of rocks between them, but this time he heard the telltale whizzing sound, too.

“Down!” Logan yelled, jumping toward Ashley as another bullet zinged over their heads. “Someone’s shooting at us!”

O God, thou art my God; early will I seek thee: my soul thirsteth for thee, my flesh longeth for thee in a dry and thirsty land, where no water is.

—Psalms 63:1

Dear Reader,

Thank you for sharing Ashley and Logan’s journey with me. We don’t all experience the life-threatening situations they faced, but we do wrestle with our own pain, grief and loss. These things are an inevitable part of life in a fallen world. My prayer is that, like Ashley, you’ll remember at those times how great God’s love is for you. No matter how hard the circumstances, we never have to face them alone.

When I was in graduate school several years ago, I had the privilege of camping in Big Bend National Park. The majestic and rugged beauty of this remote and rarely visited place stuck with me, making it a natural choice for the setting of this novel. If you ever have the chance to visit, you will realize I’ve taken the liberty of rearranging park trails, altering the operations of the National Park Service, and reviving an old city across the border in Mexico. But hopefully you’ll also find it to be as beautiful and awe-inspiring as I’ve attempted to portray.

I love hearing from readers, so please connect with me at www.kellievanhorn.com, where you can also learn more about my work.

Warm regards,

Kellie VanHorn

For my family

Acknowledgments

My heartfelt gratitude goes to all who’ve helped make this book possible: my fantastic critique partner, Michelle Keener, for her thoughtful feedback; Kerry Johnson, for her critique of the beginning; Margie Reid, who shared her words of wisdom on an early version.

Thanks to my wonderful editor, Dina Davis, and the rest of the Love Inspired Suspense team for bringing this story to life.

To my parents, Gary and Denise Parker, and my brother Matt—thank you for letting me read during all those family dinners.

To my husband, Jason—thank you for your boundless encouragement. I couldn’t have done it without you. To our kids, Isaiah, Nate, Ella and Luke—thank you for enduring long typing sessions in which you had to get your own snacks.

Last of all, thanks to my Savior, who gifted me with the desire to share my faith through stories.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Introduction

Bible Verse

Dear Reader

Dedication

Acknowledgments

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

ONE

Cold water roared through her clothes, swirling over her head and through her hair, dragging her back into consciousness. Instinctively she struggled for the surface and as soon as her head cleared the water, she coughed and gasped in a few precious breaths, wiping at her stinging eyes.

In the fading daylight the banks of the narrow river filled the horizon, impossibly high to her right but leveling out on the left. Sparse brush and skinny cottonwood trees lined the sandy river’s edge.

Not a soul in sight.

Something sharp—a submerged log, maybe—jammed into her ribs. She cried out in pain but was rewarded with a mouthful of dark river water. Coughing it out, she turned against the current and kicked for the bank.

She crawled out onto the sand, tiny rocks biting into her palms, and pushed through the reeds growing at the water’s edge. Collapsing onto a clear patch of ground, she struggled to catch her breath. What on earth had happened? Where was she?

The back of her head throbbed like she’d smashed it into a rock. Worse, though, was the way her brain felt like cotton fluff, disoriented and unfocused.

She squinted into the last fading rays of light, one cheek pressed down on the cool sand. As the initial blackness receded, her senses clicked slowly into place. The tall reeds stood like sentinels between her and the flat, glossy stretch of dark river water, barely visible in the dying sunlight. She shivered as a light breeze drifted over her drenched clothes.

Sitting up slowly, she pressed a hand to the throbbing place on the back of her head. When she pulled it away, a red, sticky film coated her fingers.

Her heart jumped in her chest. If only this horrible groggy feeling would go away, she could figure out where she was. What to do now.

Some distance to her right, the river disappeared into a deep canyon with jagged cliff walls rising on both sides. From the way the current ran, she must’ve fallen in back there, before the cliffs became impassably steep.

That way was west—the last bit of sun was still visible dipping down behind the rim of the canyon, sending streaks of pink and orange through the distant clouds.

In the other direction, to the east, the landscape flattened out and groves of cottonwood trees grew along the riverbank. No sign of civilization for as far as she could see.

How did she end up here, in the middle of nowhere?

“Ashley,” she said softly, more to reassure herself than anything else. “My name is Ashley. Thompson?”

She rolled the last name around on her tongue. Sounded right.

Somewhere through the haze in her brain, she remembered that something terrible had happened—something related to why she was here, wherever here was. But she couldn’t remember for the life of her what it was—only that it hurt, so badly her stomach clenched into a tight, aching knot.

She pressed her hands to her temples, her forehead, her eyes, trying to calm her pounding heart. Panicking wouldn’t solve anything or help her remember.

Something hard dug into her hip as she sat with her legs to one side. Fumbling in her pocket, her hand closed around the smooth, cold and heavy object, then dropped it onto the sand.

A gun.

She slid backward, staring at the dark weapon lying there like a rattlesnake ready to bite.

Law enforcement. That had to be it. She stared down at her clothing, as if her soggy black pants and white blouse could explain everything. Even though it’d been in her pocket, she had a holster. The gun had to be hers. Legally, she hoped.

And the clothes seemed familiar enough. At least they fit. She struggled to remember anything—her last meal or her last ride in a car or her last day at work—but there was nothing. Just a vast, blank space in her mind, as if someone had siphoned away her entire identity beyond her first name. How was it possible she had no idea where she was or how she had gotten there?

And what on earth was she supposed to do now?

Her lips parted to utter a prayer, but she checked herself almost instantly because, along with that certainty about her name and the sense that something terrible had happened, came the knowledge she wasn’t on speaking terms with God.

She shivered. Night was coming and she had no idea where to go. The thought of wandering around looking for help in the dark was horribly unappealing.

She crawled back toward the gun and picked it up, tentatively at first, but as her hand closed around it, a familiar sense of security washed over her. She clung to that tiny bit of comfort and clasped her knees to her chest, staring out across the desert. Hoping against reason that help would come.

Logan Everett walked across the parking lot to his Jeep. The meeting with the river ranger and the border patrol agents had taken longer than he’d expected, and the sun had begun its final descent behind the Mesa de Anguila to the west.

He could still get in a good chunk of the drive back to Panther Junction before the onset of total darkness, but he had a nagging feeling something was wrong.

That black sedan that had turned around in front of the general store—he had seen it from the window during their meeting—had headed down toward Santa Elena Canyon a good hour ago, and it hadn’t returned. Granted, it was hard to tell from his vantage point inside the Castolon ranger office, but it had looked like the driver, a woman, was alone.

Now that it was almost dark, she shouldn’t still be there. She couldn’t drive that sedan on the dirt road up to Big Bend National Park’s west entrance at Terlingua and, as far as pavement went, the canyon was the end of the line.

Logan exhaled a long breath that matched his never-ending day. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to check. He had learned that the hard way. He trusted his instincts—they hadn’t failed him yet—and if it turned out she was fine, or not there anymore, at least he’d be able to sleep tonight knowing he’d made sure.

An image flashed into his mind—a man’s body in a ranger uniform, half a mile off the trail. Vultures circling above in the 110-degree heat. More than circling.

Logan shuddered. No, he was not going to think about Sam. Not now.

Please, Lord, he prayed, keep this woman safe.

The Santa Elena Canyon parking lot lay in deep shadow by the time he pulled in. The lot was empty except for the black car, its driver conspicuously absent. Logan parked and got out, pulling a flashlight from the Jeep’s glove compartment.

He walked toward the trailhead, scanning his light across the sand for footprints. There were plenty, since the canyon trail was one of the most popular in the park. He frowned. It was also short enough that the woman should have returned by now.

He stopped when the arcing sweep of his light caught a set of footprints off to one side, leading toward the river. Annoying hikers. It was like they couldn’t read the signs plastered all over the place.

Stay on the trails. Not only did it preserve the environment, there were enough ways to get injured without needing to wander off looking for more trouble.

Picking his way carefully, Logan followed the tracks until they ended at the river. Here the sand was wet and the marks were much clearer. Too large for a woman. The same single pair of tracks circled back to the parking lot.

Nothing. As he turned to leave, his flashlight glinted off something lying in the brush a short distance downstream.

He snatched it off the damp sand. A woman’s silver wristwatch. His breath caught in his chest. Judging by its near flawless condition, it hadn’t been there long.

Hastening his pace, he walked downstream along the bank, sweeping the light ahead. He hadn’t gone far when he froze. Movement—there, to the left. A woman. And she was clearly alive, because she was lying on her stomach, arms out in front of her, pointing a handgun at his chest.

He slowly lifted both hands, the law-enforcement side of him sizing her up within seconds—midtwenties, maybe five feet, eight inches in height, thin yet muscular build. She had the same long, dark hair of the driver he had seen earlier.

Only now it was wet and hung in clumps around her pale face and her sandy, soaked shirt clung to her shoulders and arms.

“Whoa, it’s okay. I’m here to help you. You don’t need the gun.” He angled the flashlight to one side and inched toward her, hands up. “Put the gun down, okay? There’s no reason for anyone to get hurt.”

“Who are you?” Her voice was high-pitched and trembling.

“Logan Everett. I’m a law-enforcement ranger.” He pointed at the brown arrowhead badge on his shirt. “National Park Service.”

The woman sat up, keeping the gun steady. Clearly she was no stranger to handling weapons.

Law enforcement?

Or criminal? Crime was rare in Big Bend, but it did happen.

“Don’t come any closer.” Her brown eyes grew wide, the whites glistening in the fading light.

Logan stopped, crouching down ten feet away from her and holding the silver wristwatch out for her to inspect. “Is this your watch?”

“I...I don’t know,” she stammered. “Stay back.”

There was a definite edge of panic in her voice. Something had happened to her and she was still terrified.

“Hey—” he reached toward her “—we’re on the same side. How did you get out here?” The wary, frightened look in her large, dark eyes reminded him of a cornered animal.

Her forehead wrinkled and her eyes slipped out of focus as she shook her head. “I...I fell into the river.”

He nodded reassuringly, even as he tried to calculate how she could have fallen in. He couldn’t see her feet clearly from his present position, but he didn’t think it was likely the tracks by the river had been hers. Odd.

When she didn’t say anything else, he asked, “From the trail?”

“I...” She bit her lip, brows furrowed, and lowered the gun slightly. He straightened and inched forward, taking advantage of her distraction. “I don’t remember.”

Her eyes were still out of focus and her hands shook as she held the gun.

“Are you injured?”

She took one hand off the gun, reaching for the back of her head. When she pulled her hand away, red smeared her fingertips. She stared at the blood, the gun drooping in her other hand.

That explained it—well, at least her obvious confusion. Poor woman. She probably had a concussion.

He stepped forward, holding his hands up, inching closer and closer. Like approaching an injured mountain lion, only without the tranquilizer darts.

When he was a few feet away he dropped down onto his knees. He was directly in front of her by the time she looked at him again and, before she could react, Logan had the gun out of her hand and safely tucked into his waistband.

The woman stared at him, her expression torn between fear and confusion.

“There.” He offered her a grin. “Now that you’re not going to kill me, maybe I can help you.”

He peered at the back of her head. Her long, brown hair was matted into a knot by the blood and there was a large bump. Had she fallen? Or was it foul play?

“Where am I?” She turned wide, dark eyes up to him.

“You must’ve taken quite a blow to the head. This is Big Bend National Park, in west Texas. And we’re right outside Santa Elena Canyon on the Rio Grande.”

“Texas?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She winced as she pulled back onto her knees.

“Easy.” Logan held out his hand. She glanced up at him warily. “You might have other injuries.”

She rubbed a hand slowly over her lower ribs. “I hit something in the water,” she mumbled.

“We need to get you checked out. Do you think you can walk?”

When she nodded, he gently helped her to her feet. She swayed unsteadily for a moment, clinging to his arm.

“Do you remember your name?” He picked a path for them around the low brush back toward the trailhead parking lot.

“Ashley.” She gripped his arm a little tighter as she stumbled over something in the growing darkness, and Logan swung his light to the ground. Despite her little dunk in the Rio Grande, a light scent of something sweet, like berries, emanated from her hair.

“What’s the last thing you remember, Ashley?”

“I...I remember...” She grew thoughtful for a moment, chewing on her lip. When she spoke again, her voice held a note of hope. “Taking a cab. Yes, that was it.”

“I think we can rule out that being today. So, you have no idea why you’re here in Big Bend?”

She shook her head but a brief flicker of some emotion passed over her face. Grief? Or anger? He wasn’t sure, but clearly something lurked under the surface and she didn’t want to share or couldn’t remember.

Either way, pretty women dressed in tailored slacks didn’t turn up in the Rio Grande for no reason.

When they reached the parking lot, Ashley stared blankly at the two vehicles in the lot—the rental car Logan suspected was hers and his NPS Jeep.

“Recognize it?”

She dug into one of her pockets. “No. But I do have a set of keys that survived the river. I may as well try them.”

The river had wrecked the electric key fob, but she was able to open the driver’s door using the key. As she searched the interior for personal items, he called in the plates to a park dispatcher.

A quick search confirmed it was a rental, from an Enterprise in El Paso, Texas—she must’ve flown in to the airport there.

“The name?” he asked the dispatcher.

The radio crackled. “Watson. Ashley Watson.”

Ashley climbed back out of the car, holding the black blazer that completed her suit—absolutely the wrong clothing for the desert—as well as a small handbag.

“Ms. Watson?” Logan gestured at the purse. “Did you find some identification?”

She frowned, rubbing her forehead with a knuckle as she stared at the closed purse.

“Everything okay?”

“Sure.” Her expression cleared but the air of confusion still lingered—must be from the head injury. She fumbled with the purse’s zipper and dug out a wallet, staring at the driver’s license inside for a long moment before handing it to him. Her forehead creased again.

Logan took the license from her clammy fingers. Ashley Watson. Issued in the District of Columbia. His brows pulled together. “No idea what brings you to Texas, Ms. Watson? You’re a long way from home.”

She leaned against the car. Her face was pale but she held his gaze. “No, but it’ll come back to me. Otherwise, I know where to go home. Now, if you want to point me in the right direction to a medical facility, I can drive myself. I’m sure you have other places to be.”

Was she trying to get rid of him? Did she remember more than she was letting on?

“Really?” He raised an eyebrow. “You think I’d let you drive in your condition?”

“I’m feeling better. Besides—” she nodded toward his Jeep “—you probably have a cold pack in there for my head, right?”

“For starters, the road to the nearest medical facility is that way.” He pointed across the parking lot toward a nearly invisible dirt road leading into the desert to the north. “And second, you’ll be coming with me to park headquarters in Panther Junction after we go to the clinic.”