Undercover Memories

Her most important mission...

and she can’t remember what it is.

After amnesia strands private investigator Emma Langston in Dallas, only Detective Ryder Palladin can stop the men trying to kill her. But protective custody on Ryder’s family ranch has its own risks, like falling for the handsome cowboy. Before she can untangle her feelings for Ryder, Emma must recover her memory...because she’s sure someone’s life depends on it, even if she can’t remember whose.

With over seventy books published and millions in print, LENORA WORTH writes award-winning romance and romantic suspense. Three of her books finaled in the ACFW Carol Awards, and her Love Inspired Suspense novel Body of Evidence became a New York Times bestseller. Her novella in Mistletoe Kisses made her a USA TODAY bestselling author. Lenora goes on adventures with her retired husband, Don, and enjoys reading, baking and shopping...especially shoe shopping.

Also By Lenora Worth

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Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Undercover Memories

Lenora Worth

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08625-7

UNDERCOVER MEMORIES

© 2018 Lenora H. Nazworth

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 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.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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“We need someone to cover us.” More shots shattered the air and Ryder pushed Emma down again, his breath coming in huffs.

He looked at the trees again, then pulled out his cell and sent an alert text to all available personnel.

Ryder glanced toward the barn and saw rifles peeking out of windows and doors. Then he moved his head slightly toward the house. A curtain was pulled back in an upstairs window.

Lowering his head, he ignored the floral scent wafting from Emma’s hair and whispered in her ear. “When I say go, I want you to run toward the barn, toward the doors. Someone will let you inside.”

“What about you?”

“I’m going to cover you, along with my men inside who are waiting.”

“Are you sure this will work?”

“If you run fast, yes.” He looked into her eyes, his heart beating against hers. “Belly-crawl if you have to and don’t look back.”

She nodded and gave him a solid stare. “Be careful, Ryder.”

Another shot hit the air.

“Just do it, Emma.”

Dear Reader,

I love setting stories in Texas. It’s a big, vast place with a million stories to tell. This one grabbed me and I had to write it. Emma made the ultimate sacrifice, and then she had to make another sacrifice after temporarily losing her memory. But her fears kept her from doing what she needed to do.

Ryder was on a quest for justice, thinking if he caught enough bad guys he could appease his father’s tragic and senseless death. This story is about doing the right thing for all the wrong reasons and about sacrificing what could have been for what needed to be.

Together, these two tormented characters came together one dark night and decided to find the truth by helping each other. Sometimes, it seems we are plunged into darkness and that God does not hear our pleas. But He leaves signs along the way to guide us. Like Ryder and Emma, we have to listen, search and be open to those signs. They both found the justice they were seeking, and their sacrifices finally paid off.

I hope you look for the light at the end of the darkness and watch for the signs that the Lord sends. I hope you enjoyed going on this quest with Emma and Ryder. And if you’ve never been to Texas, then what are you waiting for?

Until next time, may the angels watch over you. Always.

Lenora Worth

In the fear of the Lord is strong confidence: and his children shall have a place of refuge.

—Proverbs 14:26

In memory of all the children who don’t find their way home. You are not forgotten.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Reader

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

Extract

About the Publisher

ONE

Detective Ryder Palladin listened to the grit and static of the scanner and hit a fist against the steering wheel of the rusty, old undercover vehicle. He was hot and tired and full of bad coffee. “Daughtry, come in.”

He’d been sitting in this broken-up, weed-infested parking lot in the armpit of downtown Dallas for the better part of an hour, waiting to see if Daughtry could get their man. Petey Smith was low on the ladder to drug lord success, a gofer really. And as squirrelly as a back-alley rodent. He’d squeal before they slammed the bars on his jail cell.

If Daughtry ever signaled that he had him.

His younger, overly confident partner’s voice finally came through on Ryder’s earbud. “What’s the matter, cowboy? Miss me?”

“Just report,” Ryder growled back, ready to get home. His partner, Pierce Daughtry, had joined Vice two years ago when the man had been extremely wet behind the ears. Sometimes, Ryder believed Pierce was still a rookie, but the kid had proved himself over and over. He’d better come through tonight. Ryder wanted to finish this shift and head to his Fort Worth ranch for the weekend.

“Did you find Petey?”

“Nope, but I found a situation,” Pierce replied in his laid-back Texas drawl. “Might want to come and take a look at this one.”

“I sent you in to surveil one shady criminal.”

“I’m not kidding, man,” Pierce replied. “I... I think I’ve found a dead woman.”

“Call 911.”

Ryder let up with the chitchat and got out of the unmarked car at a run, his semiautomatic pistol drawn, his cowboy boots hitting the ragged sidewalk tearing through one of the worst areas of downtown. A Texas-size summer heat sizzled all around him as his breath cut through the heavy humidity and the dank smells of rotting garbage and worse.

Rounding a dark corner, he saw Pierce Daughtry up ahead in the alley, bent over what could only be the discovery he’d made.

“She’s still alive, but barely,” Pierce said on a loud whisper while Ryder stared down at the still figure. “I think I interrupted them. That big bouncer and his scrawny sidekick.”

“Did you try to stop them?”

Pierce did an eye roll. “What, and give away my cover?”

Ryder did a return eye roll. “What happened?”

“They saw me coming around the corner and turned and ran in the other direction,” he said with a grim grin. “I gave chase but they got away before I could do anything much. Took off in a black truck.” Shrugging, he added with dripping sarcasm, “And that’s when I reported to you, Oh-Great-One.”

“They left her for dead,” Ryder finished, ignoring the sarcasm since it kept them both grounded. “I’ll check her for ID.”

Ryder bent down over the woman and immediately noticed the dark blob of blood on the left side of her head just above her temple. Shining a penlight, he took in her face. Pretty in an intriguing, freckled way. Wearing just enough lipstick to make him wonder. From what he could tell from the sickly yellow streetlight hanging by a thread in the corner, dark auburn-colored hair, long and matted with blood, a slender, buff body, average size in height. She wore jeans and a lightweight blue button-up shirt. And a nice pair of black boots. Pointed toes that looked lethal.

Sirens sounded off in the distance.

“Hang on, beautiful,” he said after checking for a pulse. Weak, but still fighting. Careful, he frisked her, searching for identification. He found a tiny wallet in her back jeans pocket, along with a credit card and some cash, which indicated whoever did this wasn’t trying to rob her. But Pierce showing up could have stopped that. He did say they’d run away.

Careful, Ryder searched her once more and found two more interesting items.

A Glock semiautomatic nestled against her backbone. He held the gun with the handkerchief he kept in his coat pocket and then handed it off to Pierce for safekeeping. Then he went back to the wallet to see if he could find any names or meeting schedules. This was interesting—her wallet also contained a private investigator’s license.

Emma Langston. From what he could see from the yellow glow of the streetlight, the photo matched her physical appearance. Birth date matched the age she looked to be—around thirty-one years old. Her driver’s license was registered to Galveston County and her address listed a property in Galveston. She’d sure come a long way inland for something.

Or someone. Who was this unconscious beauty after?

“Must be important for you to case this joint,” he mumbled while he checked her pulse and tried to make her comfortable. Staring down at her, he asked, “What’s the story, Red?”

Ryder silently prayed she would wake up and answer that question. And all of the other ones forming in his head, too.

Pain stomped through her head like a herd of longhorns.

Trying to push through, she rode the wave of urgency sounding like an alarm throughout her system.

Emma woke with a start, sweat chilling her body and a muted sun shining through the slanted blinds. Sunrise or sunset? Glancing around, she blinked and went into defense mode. She was in a hospital room. “Hey?”

That set off all kinds of alarm bells, but then another kind of panic set in. The kind that could make a person nauseated and full of sick dread. Emma didn’t like this feeling of floating on an empty cloud while her head screamed with agony.

What had happened to her?

She blinked and gripped the sheets, her gaze moving to the beeping machines hooked up to her body. She hated needles. But when she lifted her head, it rolled like a punching bag. A ragged pain shot through her, cutting off her breath.

The panic thickened like a heavy fog.

She couldn’t remember what had happened to her, but her whole body ached in a crushing sequence that moved from her brain to her toes.

“Hey?” she called again and then after a frantic search for the bed’s remote control handle, she buzzed for a nurse.

And got one right away. “Tell Dr. Sherrington she’s awake. And...keep that detective out of here until we can check her vitals and verify her condition.”

Detective?

Emma watched as the nurse did her thing. Blood pressure, heart rate, beep, beep. Lifting tubes and checking fluid bags. Beep, beep, beep. Emma touched her head because at least a hundred hammers kept knocking at her brain. Heavy bandages. “What happened to me?”

The nurse shined a light into her eyes. “You suffered a concussion.”

“How?”

The nurse summed her up and, from the look of respect in her eyes, must have decided Emma could handle the truth. “Blunt force object. Otherwise called a baseball bat.” Then the nurse checked her blood pressure. “But you were smart. Looks like you fought back and possibly deflected the blow, according to the paramedics who brought you in last night.”

Emma had a flash of memory, a feeling of bracing against something. And the one last thought. This is gonna hurt.

But she forced control. “Oh, okay. Happens a lot.”

She didn’t know why she’d said that or how she even knew that she’d been injured before. And that scared her more than knowing.

The gray-haired doctor came in, his dour expression not really helping. “You’ve been through quite an ordeal, haven’t you?”

Emma didn’t tolerate patronizing. “Well, I don’t know. I can’t quite remember.”

She pushed at the panic following that statement. She wouldn’t give anyone the satisfaction of watching her cave. Trying to breathe in and out, in and out, she watched the doctor watching her.

He checked her over, poking and prodding and testing. Moving his bright light and his fingers in front of her eyes, asking if she could feel this or see that. She didn’t want to feel anything, but she did want to see it all in her mind.

“Things are fuzzy,” she admitted, hoping he’d fill in the blanks.

Finally, he looked at her chart and then he looked at her. “What do you remember?”

She shook her head, swallowed the fear. She could go dark and not discuss this. That MO had worked for her for years now.

And how had she remembered that?

“Talk to me,” the doctor said, no longer in a playful mood. “We need to get you well.”

Emma nodded and decided it might be wise to cooperate. “Doc, I... I don’t remember anything much.”

“Do you know your name?”

She blinked, thought long enough to make the hammers go into overtime. “Emma?”

“Yes, you’re Emma Langston. That’s a start.” He gave her chart to the nurse. “Give it some time. We’ll do more tests and see how you progress. You’ve suffered a moderate but serious concussion, but you woke up within the one-to twenty-four-hour period, and that’s a plus. No swelling or bleeding on the brain. Another good thing. Temporary amnesia is common after a head injury, but we’ll monitor you while we wait it out.”

“I don’t have time to wait it out,” she replied, trying to get out of the bed. She knew one thing: she had to be somewhere. But where and why?

The doctor pushed her back down. “Whoa, you can’t go anywhere just yet. You’ve been unconscious for close to fifteen hours now.” Showing an edge of compassion, he added, “You’ll need some therapy. Head trauma is serious stuff.”

“I’ll be okay,” Emma said, already dizzy again. “I’ve been here that long?”

The doctor nodded. “They brought you in around midnight and now it’s five in the afternoon.”

“That’s long enough for me.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

He asked some more questions. She gave feeble, weak answers. She couldn’t bluff her way out of this one.

Why am I here?

“Where am I?” she finally asked, wishing she could remember. “What city is this?”

He named the hospital. “You’re in Dallas, Texas. Do you remember where you came from?”

Shards of memories danced just out of her reach.

Dear Lord, help me. Help me in my time of need.

Funny, she remembered praying that same prayer long ago. For some reason, Emma wanted to cry. To curl up and cry, long and hard. But she didn’t cry, she reminded herself. That much she knew.

“That’s a loaded question,” she retorted, pushing away the lump in her throat. “But right now, I can’t answer it.”

Emma had to get out of this hospital. She’d come to Dallas for a reason, obviously. But...she couldn’t remember what she was doing here.

Then she did remember something. Grabbing the nurse’s arm, she said, “You mentioned a detective. What’s he got to do with this?”

“He’s been waiting most of the day to talk to you,” the nurse replied. “I can send him away.”

“No. Send him in,” Emma said. “Maybe he can help me piece things together.”

The nurse looked skeptical but finally nodded. “I’ll ask Dr. Sherrington.”

“No. I said let me speak to the detective. Now.”

“I’ll go and find him,” the nurse responded.

Emma sank back against the pillow, drowsiness tugging at her consciousness. She had to talk to that detective. Had she done something wrong? Or did he know who’d done this to her?

She waited, holding her breath, her prayers as scattered as her memories. The detective might be the one person who could tell her why she had such a strong urgency in her heart to get out of here.

He flashed his badge. “Detective Ryder Palladin.”

Emma stared up at the man standing at the foot of her hospital bed. He filled the room and made it shrink until she felt his too-close appraisal.

To mask her fears and confusion, she turned things back toward him. “Palladin? Really?”

His wry grin told her he got that a lot.

“Yep. It’s my real name. But with two Ls.”

“Like the cellular palladin, not the gunslinger Paladin?”

“So we’ve established you know your chemistry and that you remember that old Western series.”

Surprised at herself, she nodded, a memory of sitting on a sofa with some other children when she was tiny hitting her in the gut with a sweet intensity. Did she have a family somewhere? “I guess so. The doc told me I’d have little clusters of memories. Islands of memories, he called them.”

Ryder Palladin didn’t look like a big-city detective. More like a cowboy straight out of that old Western. Complete with a cream-colored hat, plaid button-up shirt and nicely worn jeans. With dark longish wavy hair and glinting bronze-brown eyes that held a gold mine of secrets.

He took off his hat and allowed her to enjoy all that luscious wavy hair. “Do you remember who you are?”

“Emma. Emma Langston, according to the doctor.”

“But not according to you?”

“I’m remembering bits and pieces. Why are you here?”

Lifting a dark slanted brow, he chuckled while his secretive gaze did a round on her. “You get right to the heart of things, don’t you?”

“I don’t have time for idle chatter.”

He absorbed that with classic detective disdain. “Need to be somewhere in a hurry, Emma Langston?”

She didn’t like his smug attitude or the way he made tiny little shivering sensations float down her spine. “What do you know about me?”

“I’m the one who asks the questions,” he retorted, throwing his hat in a nearby chair. He had the kind of hair a woman wanted to grab onto and hold. Silky, shining, unruly.

“I’m the one who needs to know what happened,” she replied, her head hammering and grinding in pain while her heart jumped in a fast-beating tempo.

“You got hit with a baseball bat.”

He watched her cringe. “Yeah, the nurse told me. But I think I can almost remember that. I need a few more details.”

He put his hands against the foot of the bed. His big, tanned hands. “You were at the Blue Bull Bar—the Triple B to the locals. Do you almost remember that, too?”

Emma swallowed away the terror of not remembering, of not knowing. She liked to be in control—of her emotions, of her life, of her work. Somehow, she did know that.

“Why would I go there?”

He gave her that lazy slide of a gaze again. “I’m asking you.”

“I don’t remember.”

“Your ID shows you’re a private investigator from Galveston.”

Emma inhaled a breath, the sound of ocean waves crashing against a seawall filling her mind. Images of a tiny beach house, all blue and white and sunny, made her feel secure. But other memories of fear and urgency seemed to want to darken her mind.

He picked up on her confusion right away. “Do you remember that now?”

“Some. Maybe. I can see the beach in my mind. A house. I might live there. But why did I come to Dallas?”

“I’m thinking you were at the Triple B looking for someone or maybe tailing someone.”

“Why were you there?”

“Do you always answer a question with a question?”

“I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

That retort won her a grin of appreciation. “And she has a wicked sense of humor at that.”

“Seriously, why were you there? It might help me remember.”

“Good try.” He eyed her for a long minute, still not quite trusting her. Then he leaned in. “I work Vice.”

“A vice detective? Did I do something wrong?”

“No. But my partner found you unconscious in the alley behind the Triple B.”

Another memory of walking into a seedy, dark bar, the smell of beer and smoke assaulting her, making her feel sick. Stares and whispers and...questions.

“I asked some questions.”

“I reckon you did.”

“They told me to get out.”

“I reckon they would.”