A spy with amnesia—and a mission he can’t remember

When Casper English lands in her ER with amnesia, Dr. Ashley Drager learns he has a picture of her...and the same tattoo as her long-missing father. With a dangerous man after Casper, and his memories possibly holding the key to finding Ashley’s father, she secretly whisks him away from the hospital. But can she keep him alive long enough to help him regain his memories?

JORDYN REDWOOD is a pediatric ER nurse by day, suspense novelist by night. She pursued her dream of becoming an author by first penning her medical thrillers Proof, Poison and Peril. Jordyn hosts Redwood’s Medical Edge, a blog helping authors write medically accurate fiction. Living near the Rocky Mountains with her husband, two beautiful daughters and one crazy dog provides inspiration for her books. She loves to get email from her readers at jredwood1@gmail.com.

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Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Fugitive Spy

Jordyn Redwood

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08264-8

FUGITIVE SPY

© 2018 Jordyn Redwood

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.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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“We’re leaving.”

Her words had an edge to them, and her face was creased with worry.

“Dr. Drager, please, what is going on?”

“Ashley... You might as well call me by my first name. I’m essentially kidnapping you.”

She transferred him to the wheelchair, and he waited for the dizziness to pass. “If I’m going to allow myself to be kidnapped, I need to know why.”

“Something weird is going on here. You show up, beaten, with amnesia and a photo of me in your pocket. And your tattoo is the same exact one my father has, who’s been missing. Then my father’s arch-nemesis shows up looking for you...”

He got it. She thought he could provide her with answers. Maybe, too, she was the key to him getting his memory back.

“If we get out of here,” he said, “what exactly is your plan?”

“To keep you alive.”

Dear Reader,

Fugitive Spy was inspired by Ken Alibek’s nonfiction book called Biohazard, where he documents his work with the Soviet Union creating and stockpiling biological weapons of mass destruction.

The concepts in this book might seem unbelievable, but they are pulled from factual accounts. The video described by Casper and Ashley of Gruinard Island exists and can easily be found on the internet. Unit 731 was real as well as Operation Cherry Blossom. Many elements of the novel are based on real-life events. However, if I can ease your mind some, to my knowledge there is not currently a bioweapon called ES1 or one that combines smallpox and Ebola. Let’s hope and pray that never happens.

What is clear from Mr. Alibek’s book is that some governments have made the choice to operate outside the law when it comes to chemical and biological weapons. My impression from him from the book is that we shouldn’t let a piece of paper (as in a law) satisfy our intellect that countries are always operating inside the law without some form of verification.

I always LOVE to hear from readers and will be particularly interested in your thoughts on this book. I can be reached via email at jordyn@jordynredwood.com or by mail at the following address: Jordyn Redwood, PO Box 1142, Parker, CO 80134.

May good men always shine light to uncover the darkness.

Many blessings,

Jordyn

And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.

—Romans 8:28

For Carolyn Mai: loving grandmother, fellow wordsmith, lover of books and knowledge. Thank you for passing on your passion for Christ and writing to me.

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

EPILOGUE

Extract

ONE

As CIA spy Casper English crossed the threshold into the abandoned home, the faint wheezes of a man teetering on death whispered just above the gusting snowstorm. Drawing his weapon, he inched farther into the darkness. A cast of faint moonlight illuminated an arm, seemingly disembodied, lying on the floor across the threshold of a doorway. The wind battered against the house so badly that the old wood walls groaned in distress.

Walking quickly, Casper closed the distance.

It was his partner, Ethan.

“You...found me.”

Ethan’s breaths came quick and ineffective. Casper’s heartbeat quickened with each shallow gasp his partner...his friend...puffed out in vapors into the frigid night. Dark, thick fluid glistened from a wound in his chest, and Casper knelt down beside him to assess it. From an inner pocket of his leather jacket, Casper withdrew a small flashlight. Ethan’s hand flew up and knocked it out before Casper could turn it on.

“They’re...close. Too...close.”

Instinctively, Casper rose up and looked out into the darkness through the fractured, dust-crusted glass of the nearest window. This location was too close to the city. To everything. Too hard to keep hidden from those who had chased Ethan. It was more likely than not that they were going to be discovered. How Ethan had crawled through snow to even hide here was unfathomable. Casper concentrated on the landscape. The trees threw thorny shadows onto the silky white drifts. Nothing moved that resembled a human. Ethan pulled something from his pocket. His hand lifted up and flopped against Casper’s chest.

“Take them.”

Casper grabbed the two items. A photo and a small piece of paper. In the darkness, he couldn’t make out the information they contained. “Ethan, the terrorist attack. Did you find out anything about the date? The location?”

A faint shake of his head. Casper’s stomach plummeted. None of this was good. His partner wasn’t going to survive, the gathering darkness brooding in Ethan’s eyes showed the shadow of the grim reaper on the hunt. Casper had seen it before in too many patients as they left this existence.

“The attack...is ES1...”

Casper swayed a bit at Ethan’s revelation.

No, that’s not possible. Does Ethan even know what he’s saying? Or is his brain malfunctioning from blood loss?

“It...exists.”

Ethan’s eyes closed. Casper shook him by the shoulders and Ethan’s head lolled to the side. He had to verify this information. If he took what Ethan said to his superiors without proof, they’d laugh him right out of the CIA. That was how crazy Ethan’s statement was. Casper settled his hand in the center of Ethan’s chest. The tension in Casper’s gut eased as he felt it rise under his touch.

How was Ethan’s claim possible? ES1 had been a theorized virus that combined two of the deadliest pathogens known to man—smallpox and Ebola. The Soviets reportedly looked to develop it before their illegal bioweapons program was discovered during a US inspection over twenty-five years ago. Purportedly, they’d abandoned their aspirations when the manufacturing sites had been dismantled.

Ethan’s eyes fluttered open. “His daughter.”

“Ashley,” Casper confirmed.

Ethan nodded. “He...sent her...”

“What?”

“Information.”

A spy sending sensitive information to a civilian? His own daughter? That didn’t make sense to Casper. Dr. Russell Drager, a leading bioweapons specialist, had been missing for more than two years. Ethan and Casper had been tasked to find him before he fell into the wrong hands or was assassinated for his work for the CIA. How could a man, his mentor, endanger his daughter so easily? It spoke of desperation. Of not being able to trust those he reported to. If Russell had information concerning this pathogen, he needed to give it to his handler, Jared Fleming. The only reason Casper could imagine Russell taking such a risk was if he didn’t trust Fleming anymore and didn’t know who else Fleming might have corrupted.

“Fleming...” Ethan shook his head and clenched his hands against the wound, gritting his teeth together against the pain. A shudder ran through his body. “Compromised.”

Casper’s stomach knotted. How did that happen? A handler compromised? Russell told Casper once during his fellowship, rather flippantly, that ES1 would make Marburg look like the common cold if it were developed and released.

Had that been a warning for Casper? Did Russell know ES1 existed when he made that statement?

“Does Fleming know about Ashley? That she might have this information?” Casper asked.

“Hid it...from him.”

“You were trying to find her?”

“Hospital. Close.”

That was Castle Peak Medical Center. No wonder Ethan was in this area. He’d gotten this far before he was discovered trying to get Ashley—to protect her.

Will she even remember me? It’s been years. We’re both older. Different.

“Take her...address. Help.”

Casper shoved the items into his jeans pocket. He reached under his partner’s shoulders to lift him up, assuming his words were meant for assistance, but Ethan was dead weight. Casper settled him back down and placed his cheek next to his lips.

Stillness. No inhalation. No exhalation.

Ethan was dead.

Clenching his hand into a fist, Casper punched the rotting wood planks. A window shattered and Casper instinctively flattened himself against the floor, his muscles tense. Even though his heart was heavy, there was no time for goodbyes. The decrepit back door whined as it shifted on its hinges, and Casper beelined through it and back out into the bitter night air.

As he ran, Casper tripped on a roving tree root and fell into the snow just as a bullet whizzed past his ear, the high-pitched whine adding more chill to his bones than the drift he’d face-planted in. He wiped the frozen crystals from his eyes and tried to get his bearings. He needed a place to hide. There was a four-lane road off to his right. Cars streamed by and he considered commandeering one, but discarded the thought as it would draw too much attention.

If he didn’t move fast, they were going to catch him and he wouldn’t be able to find Ashley and safeguard her.

On his left, there was a copse of timber skeletons. In the faint moonlight, he couldn’t see the depth of them, but they were his only option for cover. The sound of heavy boot falls brought him to his feet and he ran, reaching instinctively to the waistband of his jeans for the small firearm he’d stowed there.

It was gone. Likely ejected from its spot into the snow when he fell.

Just as Casper reached a running stride, a hand clasped his shoulder and his feet tangled underneath him. A man, taller and heavier, forced him over onto his back. Two of his cohorts closed the remaining gap, each taking several swift kicks into his rib cage and sternum. His lungs exploded in white-hot fire. He tried to breathe. The effect of those blows was the same as being dropped straight onto his back and getting the wind knocked out of him. There was a glint of a knife straight up his jacket and shirt, the fabric falling away from his chest. Rough hands patted his body, his pants pocket. A fist connected with his jaw and his head spun.

They were going to kill him.

“Where is it?” one of the men yelled, delivering another kick to the side of his head.

Casper flipped over and staggered onto his hands and knees. Droplets of blood—his blood—darkened the snow. A cut to his forehead? Pain seared in his chest as he coaxed the freezing air in.

He didn’t know what they wanted, and if they determined he didn’t have it...they’d kill him just like Ethan.

“Mr. English, if we don’t get the thumb drive, not only will you die, but whoever has it will suffer the same fate as you.”

If Casper admitted he didn’t know what they were talking about, they’d finish him off without a thought. Ashley would be next. Would she even survive the night?

Pain exploded as something unyielding connected with the back of his head. He splayed out onto the ground. Was someone whistling? A dog barking?

Blackness.

* * *

The unconscious man was going to die if ER physician Ashley Drager didn’t do something.

Quickly.

“Ashley, his heart is throwing off some bad beats,” said Lance, one of the ER nurses, a raised urgency to his voice.

Ashley glanced at the monitor. The rogue missteps of their patient’s heart had traversed by, now only witnessed by the ECG tracing the monitor automatically printed. His heart rate was on the low side, but considering his seemingly excellent physical shape that could be normal. Blood pressure was low as well, but not abnormal.

The aberrant heartbeats Lance warned her about were out of place at best. Their patient didn’t wear a medical alert bracelet that gave witness to any serious medical conditions. A Colorado driver’s license identified him as Casper English. Age thirty-four. Five foot nine. One hundred and eighty pounds.

Another nurse, Katie, pulled a photo from another of Mr. English’s pockets. Her eyes locked Ashley’s in terror as the red blood cells in her face scurried elsewhere, leaving her pink cheeks washed white. “It’s you,” she stammered.

“What?”

The young nurse held out a shaky hand. “The photo in his pocket is of you.”

Ashley plucked the photo from her fingers—the image of her at her medical school graduation. Why would a stranger have this photo? She swallowed past the tension in her throat.

First things first. If I want answers, I have to save his life.

Two police officers huddled in the hall. A man found beaten in the woods certainly warranted their notification by the ER staff. His socks and shoes were missing. His shirt torn...no, sliced up the middle by something razor-sharp. A pair of worn, tattered jeans the only barrier left to protect him from the biting wind.

Why do you have my picture? The thought became intrusive. She tried to shove it away.

“What’s his temperature?” Ashley asked.

“Ninety-three degrees,” Lance replied.

“He has hypothermia. His heart doesn’t like this low body temperature and if we don’t get a handle on it, we’re going to have more problems on our hands. Warm blankets. Lots of them. Let’s get those IV fluids warmed up, as well.”

Ashley frowned and gathered her dark brown hair into one of the ponytail holders she always kept on her wrist.

So much for getting off work on time. Lord, would it be too much to ask to have an end of shift without a major crisis?

As a favor to the night shift physician, Ashley had agreed to examine the mysterious arrival that had been dropped off by a stranger and his dog. The man who’d left him hadn’t wanted to answer many questions. Ashley hadn’t thought she’d walk in to find a critical patient flirting with the grim reaper.

In a flurry of activity, Lance changed out the IV tubing so the fluid ran over a warming plate. Several heated blankets were placed over their patient. Katie grabbed a set of hot lights and set them over the ER gurney, their patient like fast food waiting for delivery.

Ashley placed two fingers in the groove of the unconscious man’s right wrist, finding his pulse under hers like a weak echo. His face and torso were a road map of fury to whomever Casper had run into on this bitterly cold night. Angry circular bruises of various sizes and shapes dotted his skin. Some were clearly triangular shaped, indicating an object had been used to create the injury driven into his skin at high velocity. The tip of a boot? Ashley’s fingers traveled up his forearm. His skin was cold, doughy under her touch. She pulled his arm away from his torso, looking for any injuries that could be more life-threatening than the hypothermia he was suffering from.

Are you a stalker? Is that why you have my picture? And if you are, why has someone beaten you? To protect me?

Working in the ER lent credence to this question. He wouldn’t be the first patient to take an unusual interest in her.

Ashley returned her attention to the unconscious man. Severely beaten was an understatement. In fact, he might find death a welcomed relief compared to the pain he would be suffering when his brain reengaged with this world. At least, Ashley hoped he would find his way back.

What little information they’d garnered from the Good Samaritan was he’d been found while he was out walking his dog in the woods. Upon discovering him, he then carried him to his truck and brought him here. It had been easier to lay him in the open bed of the pickup and he figured the short drive wouldn’t do any harm. That ride likely worsened their patient’s hypothermia. The story was strange and the actions of his rescuer somewhat odd, but it definitely wasn’t the tallest tale Ashley had heard in her years as an ER doctor.

What was Casper doing in the woods? Alone, all by himself? Essentially left to die.

The monitor triple-beeped—its better-pay-attention-to-the-patient-because-he’s-trying-to-die tone. Everyone in the room glanced at the mysterious man’s heart tracing and each knew in their gut this man was starting to circle the drain.

“Start CPR. Get the defibrillator pads on him,” Ashley ordered.

The ER tech and Lance turned Casper on his side and slid a CPR board underneath his back. As the tech started CPR, Lance placed two large white adhesive patches on Casper’s skin.

“Charge to one-hundred-and-sixty joules,” Ashley said.

Katie dialed in the electricity. The machine toned it was ready. “Everyone clear!” she yelled.

The medical staff close to the bed backed up one step. The man’s body jerked slightly as the electricity coursed through his chest. Within seconds of the shock, the man’s eyes bolted open and he sat straight up in bed, his brown, nearly black eyes wide with confusion. He grabbed Katie’s wrist and held it firmly, his breath heaving.

Ashley’s heart galloped in her chest. She’d heard stories like this, about a shock waking a patient up, but never had she seen it. She took three quick steps to the bedside and rested a gentle hand on her patient’s shoulder, hoping her touch was reassuring enough to calm him down.

“Sir, you’re at Castle Peak Medical Center in the emergency department. I’m Dr. Ashley Drager. You were brought here after someone found you unconscious.” Ashley smoothed her hand down his arm over the tense muscles to his hand that held viselike onto the nurse. “Please, let her go. You’re safe here.”

The man’s eyes locked her gaze. A flash of something, perhaps recognition, was gone as quickly as it came. Did he know her? Would he be able to tell her about why he had her picture? All that remained in the darkness of his irises was terror.

“Do you remember what happened to you?” Lance asked.

Ashley curled her fingers around her patient’s and began to pull his appendages up one at a time. The man allowed her to do so and when the last one was released, Katie rubbed her wrist, the skin reddened from the grip.

“Do you know your name?” Ashley asked.

The man blinked at her several times and remained silent.

“Your driver’s license states your name is Casper English. Is that correct?”

He began to shiver. Ashley walked to the warmer and grabbed another blanket. Her patient remained sitting, and she unfolded the worn cotton to drape over his shoulders. Just as she was about to release the linen, she saw the tattoo that branded him between his shoulder blades. The medical staff inked in black superimposed over a blazing red biohazard symbol.

Identical to the one her father had. In the same exact spot as his.

Her missing father. Gone for just over two years.

Ashley began to tremble and held the warmed blanket to her chest to drive the chill away. Her mouth gaped open, her lungs hungry for air but seemingly unable to draw breath. The room grew hazy.

“Ashley?” Lance asked.

Lance’s voice brought her back to the present, and she shook her head to reengage her brain. She dropped the blanket over the man’s shoulders.

What were the odds this man would possess the same unusual mark as her father?

Did this stranger hold the answer to her father’s disappearance?

TWO

She had called him Casper. Dr. Ashley Drager. That was what she called herself.

The nurses were gone from the room. He huddled into the blanket she had placed over his shoulders. Never in his life could he remember being this cold. It was as if his bones were solid ice and would never stop leaching frigid water into his veins. Her hands, small, soft, yet determined, eased him back onto the raised head of the gurney.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” she asked.

Her dark blue eyes seemed a safe place to be. They exerted a trusting nature, an open mind, almost a pleading for information.

The name she called him...Casper...seemed to ring true, but neither was he positive that was correct. He searched his mind for an answer to her question and all there was to draw upon was a blank well of darkness.

Casper’s stomach clenched. He couldn’t remember. What was the last thing he could clearly recall? What had he been doing to end up here? He pulled the blankets down that covered his chest to examine his injuries. An IV was in his left hand. He touched it lightly, the fluid running into his veins warm and soothing. He tugged at the large patches on his chest, but Ashley grabbed his hand and pulled it down as if he were an intemperate child doing something he shouldn’t. In truth, it’s how he felt—young, uncertain. He honed in on her face for approval with each movement he made. Gingerly, he touched his jaw with his fingers. Several mounds of swollen flesh protruded from his skull in abnormal places, and even the slightest touch caused sharp spindles of pain to spread throughout his head. He settled against the pillow.

“I can’t remember.” Was this how his voice normally sounded?

Dr. Drager pulled her stethoscope from her pocket. “Let me see if I can find a reason why you’re having trouble remembering. Your body temperature is very low. That could be part of it, but I’m doubtful that’s the cause. You’ve sustained several blows to your head and that could be the answer right there, but we need to be sure you don’t have any bleeding inside your skull. We’re going to send some lab work and I’m going to get a CT scan of your brain.” She laid the stethoscope against his chest. The normal chill he expected was warmer than his skin. “Sorry about the rude awakening. Your heart was in a lethal rhythm and the only quick way to fix that was with a little electricity.”

Little?

He rested a fist in the center of his chest as counter pressure against the remnant of pain from that dose.

Clearly, there were things he did remember. He knew what things were—particularly in this room. A pen. A stethoscope. An IV. He could identify the contraption in the corner—a rapid fluid infuser. The device they’d used to get his heart rhythm normalized—a defibrillator. He knew what a doctor was. What a nurse was. He knew how to put an IV in and could easily recall other medical procedures—his fingers itching to perform them. Muscle memory existed intact. Did that mean he was in the medical field?

Casper just couldn’t remember anything about himself or his circumstances. How was that possible? Was he in the medical field? Was he a nurse? A doctor? A medic? Is that why he almost felt comforted by these surroundings?

Dr. Drager reached behind her and grabbed something from the metal stand that sat next to his bed. “This is your license. At least, we assume it is. Does this help strike up a memory?”

He took the plastic ID from her hand. Scanning the details didn’t jar anything loose. He shrugged and offered it back to her.

“You can keep it. We have all the information we need from it. You also had this picture with you,” Dr. Drager said.

He took it from her hand and glanced at it only briefly. Someone in a graduation gown he didn’t recognize. When he caught the doctor’s gaze, she looked exacerbated, one eyebrow hiked higher than the other—almost as if prompting him for...what?

Must be frustrating to have a patient show up without any answers when you’re trying to help them.

Reaching around, his muscles stiff and sore, he placed the items in the back pocket of his jeans. He riffled through his front pockets and withdrew a wadded piece of paper. Once he’d evened out the page—it contained an address.

“Perhaps we should give that to the police, see if it’s important,” Dr. Drager said.

“No!” The strength of his conviction surprised even him.

She took a step back, the flash of fear quickly recovered by her well-practiced, calm demeanor from handling volatile patients.

Why am I so adamant about hiding this information? I don’t even know what it means.

“Casper—” She paused, perhaps changing her mind about the direction she wanted to take the conversation. “I’m trying to help you.”

The blood pressure cuff squeezed his arm. “I know. I’m very thankful.”

Dr. Drager was headed out of the room when she suddenly turned on her heel and faced him. “Where did you get your tattoo? Do you recall anything about that?”

“What tattoo?” Casper asked, the words spilling before he could search the void that was his mind.

“The one on your back. Right between your shoulder blades. It’s a medical staff superimposed on a biological biohazard symbol.” Ashley walked across the trauma room to a box on the wall.

A sharps container.

How could he know that and not know any personal details of his life?

“The symbol is exactly like this one.” She tapped at the box to staccato her point. There was pain in her eyes as she looked at him. They glistened under the fluorescent lights.

He clenched his fists. Heat surged into his body, but not a welcome feeling physically normalizing his body temperature.

What he felt was anger. Unidentified. Smoldering.

And for her, he felt an ache in chest. Something akin to sorrow.

What’s happening to me? What do these emotions have to do with anything?

“I feel...” He wanted to scream. Cry out. This was so maddening. “Do you know me?” he finally asked her.

She dropped her hand from the box on the wall. “I don’t know you, sir.”

“But we’ve met before...haven’t we?” he asked, his heart almost begging for some sort of connection, a lifeline for his sinking psyche.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever met you,” she answered. Her eyes locked on his as if she was trying to bolster her certainty. “However, the photo you carry is of my medical school graduation. How did you get that picture?”

Her not knowing him—everything about her statement felt wrong. He felt like he knew her. That he’d been the beneficiary to personal details of her life that she was unaware of.

“Did you have a dog when you were young? A cocker spaniel? Named Lady? After the movie...” He snapped his fingers. “Lady and the Tramp.”

Her eyes widened and then a smile placated her lips. “The tattoo on your back matches exactly to one my father has. Strangely, he’s been missing for two years. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

What is going on here?

Ashley nodded her head, his astonishment at her statement more an answer to her question than any words he could have spoken. “Let’s get those tests done and see if we can find out why you’re having trouble remembering who you are. In the meantime, we’ll continue our rewarming measures. One of the nurses should be back shortly to take you to Radiology.” She locked Casper’s gaze. “We’ll get you feeling better, Mr. English.”

“Please, don’t leave. We should talk.”

Dr. Drager turned on her heel and left the room.

* * *

Ashley fled the trauma room, turned down the nearest vacant hall and leaned against the wall.

None of this is right. How can this patient have a picture of me? The last time I saw that photo I’d pulled it out of my father’s wallet. How could this man know such a detail about my life? Was this handsome stranger plunked in my ER like some whimsical practical joke?

If so, it was elaborate. ER types were known to play pranks, but this? No, it was impossible. Too complicated.

This was too much—especially on the heels of another package being delivered to her just today. They were always accompanied by a letter, in her father’s handwriting, simply requesting that she keep the items safe. One of many packages she received over the last several months.

Ashley reached into her lab coat and fingered the small envelope. It had come packaged as nondescriptly as the other ones. Addressed to her—always coming through department mail. Nothing but the simple note inside. No information on where he could possibly be. Never a return address. There were different items. Most were photos. Some with numbers on the back that didn’t make any sense to her.

This time a thumb drive.

She leaned over and rested her hands on her knees hoping the light-headedness would pass. This was a known complication of the emergency department. A sight. A sound. A stranger could be the impetus of dredging up pain from the buried, murky depths of her past.

The day her father disappeared was always fresh in her mind. Few days went by without her thinking of him and those circumstances. They’d celebrated dinner together as a family. A late Christmas dinner as she’d been working. It had been her, her parents and her younger brother—to celebrate the end of her fellowship and her new job as an attending. The next morning, he was gone. Her mother said he’d slipped out for some doughnuts and coffee and just...never came home.

Nothing had ever been found of him. Not his car. No electronic fingerprints. He had to be off grid, maybe operating under a new identity. If he wasn’t alive, then who was sending these packages?

To live with a ghost was worse than knowing the truth.

“Dr. Drager?”

She looked up, her vision fuzzed, and she pressed her thumb and index finger to the bridge of her nose. A headache was starting to take hold.

“Yes?” She blinked her eyes. Her vision cleared. The two officers who’d been waiting for the report on her patient stared at her expectantly.

“Any information?” one of them asked.

“Right now, he doesn’t remember anything. Amnesia...likely a result of several blows to his head.” She shoved her hands into her lab coat, curling her fingers around the small but bulky envelope. “Why don’t you leave me your card? Give us a few hours to sort through his medical issues. Even if his CT scan is normal, I’ll consult neurology for the memory loss. Until he can remember something, I don’t know if you need to stay here. He can’t offer any details of his attack right now.”

The other officer reached into one of his coat pockets. “That would be great. We’d keep camped out, but there’s been an officer-involved shooting across town. All hands on deck as they say.”

Ashley took the card from the officer’s hand. “Stay safe out there.”

She watched them exit the department through the ambulance bay before making her way to the nerve center of the ER, the central hub where doctors and nurses mingled. She sat down at a computer and pulled up Casper’s chart to enter some orders for tests when a man tapped the top of her computer screen with the tip of a cane.

Ashley flared her fingers out above her keyboard in annoyance before glancing up.

She pressed her lips together to keep from screaming.

Jared Fleming stood in front her. His bright blue eyes bored straight into her.

Her father’s arch nemesis.

Who clearly didn’t recognize her.

“You are?” he clipped.

He was exactly how she remembered him from her youth. Six feet, which was tall considering her five-foot-two-inch frame. Gray hair. Bushy black eyebrows.

“I asked you a question,” he reiterated in the wake of her silence.

A man in a military uniform stood a few feet behind him, but Fleming was dressed in a black tailored suit. The vibrant, sapphire-blue shirt beneath it was almost too bright to look at.

“Dr....” Something in her told her not to continue. She reached up and flipped her ID badge around to cover her identity as she stood up, wishing she had a step stool so she could be eye to eye with the tyrant. “How did you get back here?”

“I don’t need permission to—”

“Actually, you do need permission. Are you family of a patient?”

His eyes narrowed. “That’s...complicated.”

Thrusting her arm up, she pointed to the door that exited to the waiting room. “If you’re not immediate family of one of our patients, then you’ll have to leave.”

He straightened and squared his shoulders. “I’m here on important business. A matter of national security.” He rustled through one of his pockets. “I’m looking for this man. Have you seen him?”

A striking photo of her patient, handsome, clean-shaven. Unbeaten.

Casper.

She lowered her arm, her fingertips tingled.

“It’s imperative that he be turned over into our care,” Fleming said.

A sharp pain flared in her gut. The one thing she knew about this man was that her father had told her never to trust him. In fact, so often came this warning in the years before he went missing that it was one of the most common memories she had of their lives together. Now, this enemy of her missing father wanted her patient, who just by the very nature of Jared’s visit was now more firmly connected to her father in her mind.

And if Casper disappeared like her father, then perhaps her last hope of discovering the truth would vanish, as well.

“If this gentleman were here, I assume you have legal documents that say he can be relinquished into your care.”

Jared narrowed his eyes. “Such paperwork will be...forthcoming.”

“Excellent. Until then, I’ll need you to get off hospital property.”

He rapped the bottom of his cane against her desk like a metronome.

“Do I need to have security escort you out?” she asked, knowing how empty a threat this was as she eyed the seventy-year-old sentry that sat at the ER entrance perusing a newspaper.

“That won’t be necessary.” He tipped his head to her. “I think I can find my way out.”

Fleming motioned to his cohort. As soon as the two men disappeared through the door, Ashley sat in the chair, her head falling into her hands.

What she was contemplating was going to put her whole medical career in jeopardy.

THREE

Perhaps twenty minutes after Ashley had left him, she was back pushing a wheelchair, whisking the curtain closed over his glass doors so that he was shielded from peering eyes in the hall.

“Lance, would you mind leaving us? There’s a private matter I need to discuss with our patient.”

“CT just called for him,” Lance said.

“Yes, exactly. You know, I’m getting off work anyway. I’ll clear this matter up and then I’ll take him to CT myself.”

Lance looked at her blankly. “Are you...sure?”

“Absolutely.” Ashley motioned her hand in front of her to try to erase his doubts. It was a rare event for a doctor to personally escort a patient to Radiology. “It’s the end of your shift, too. I know you’re anxious to get home to your new baby girl.”

Lance’s smile lit his face up. “You’re right. Thanks, Ashley. It’s going to take me a while to get things wrapped up and give my report. You doing this really helps.”

“Have a great night,” she said as he exited the room.

The interchange confused Casper. Ashley looked disheveled, out of sorts. There was a slight sheen to her forehead. A mild tremble in her shoulders. She pushed the wheelchair next to his bed, parked it and then lowered the side rails.

“We’re leaving.” She rounded to his left side and turned off his monitor, then began disconnecting the monitoring cables from his body.

Her words had an edge to them—her face creased with worry. The actions she took coupled with her clipped words seemed to suggest something other than a simple trip to Radiology.

“This is going to hurt,” she said, taking firm fingers and ripping the defibrillation pads off his chest.

Casper gritted his teeth and suppressed a yell. Unable to keep his eyes from watering, he rubbed at the raw, burning skin.

“Sorry,” she said, though she didn’t sound nearly as penitent as he wanted her to be. Next, she removed the layers of clear tape that held his IV in place.

He clasped his hand over hers. “Wait, aren’t they going to need this for the scan?”

She blinked at him. If he had to guess, she pondered why he would even think to ask such a question. “No, we’re leaving the hospital.” With a quick motion, she pulled the catheter from his arm, put a cotton ball over the site and then wrapped a piece of self-adhering dressing around his hand.

“Dr. Drager, please, what is going on?”

“Ashley... You might as well call me by my first name. I’m essentially kidnapping you.”

Not that he minded, but for what reason? What had her so unnerved?

“Why are we leaving?”

She yanked one of the blankets from his chest, settled it in the wheelchair and then eased his legs so his feet were resting against the floor. The room spun.

“Sit here for a minute. You’re probably dizzy from laying down for so long. If you fall I won’t be able to pick you up by myself and I can’t call for help.”

Casper pressed two fingers into his temple until the sensation passed. “If I’m going to allow myself to be kidnapped then I need to know why.”

“Does the name Jared Fleming mean anything to you?”

Nothing registered. He shook his head.

“Something very weird is going on here. You show up, amnestic—almost beaten to death. Your tattoo is the same exact one my father, who’s been missing, has. You arrive with a photo of me in your pocket. And just as I was trying to insanely, and with a lot of denial I might add, talk myself out of thinking that you having a connection to me and my father was utter lunacy, my father’s arch nemesis shows up asking me to relinquish you into his custody without any legal documentation supporting such an action.”

Every last ounce of strength that Casper possessed, which was precious little at this point in time, melted away like the snow under a newly bright Colorado sun. Trouble was, he wanted to assist her, but doubted he could lift a finger to even help himself. Ashley had every right to make such assumptions and clearly she was operating for his benefit, albeit through selfish needs of her own.

Can I blame her? I’d do exactly the same thing under these circumstances. Sticking with her might provide the answers that I need. Maybe she’s the key to getting my memory back.

Casper inhaled sharply and gathered up the last vestiges of his energy. He eased himself up and pivoted into the wheelchair. Now all he wanted to do was go to bed and sleep the rest of this day away. She tucked the blanket around his torso.

“If we get out of here, what exactly is your plan?” Casper asked.

Ashley bent over and unlocked his wheelchair, her exhalation whispering past his ear. A hint of citrusy body spray lingered in her wake.

“I haven’t thought that far ahead. I’ll probably take you to my mother’s house. If you knew my father maybe she knows you and can help me figure out if I should be worried about Jared coming for you or not.”

“So you don’t necessarily believe your father? That this man is his enemy?”

“It’s hard to put faith and trust in a man who deserted his family. My father said a lot of crazy things. Did a lot of scary stuff, but the one thing he was always consistent about for several years before he disappeared was his hatred of the man who just came looking for you.”

Ashley wheeled him to the door and peeked around the curtain. Seemingly satisfied, she yanked the curtain aside and pushed him through the sliding glass door. Making two quick turns, they came to a vacant hall. She locked the chair.

“Hopefully, everyone will be tied up for shift report. I need to grab my coat and purse. Don’t go anywhere.”

She disappeared behind the door to the doctor’s lounge and he was left alone. The chill was beginning to dissipate and he appreciated the warmth the blanket provided. If he’d been found in the snow, it likely hadn’t melted in the few hours since his arrival, particularly with the blackness of night making its claim against the last remnants of daylight.

Just as the door clicked closed behind Ashley, Lance rounded the corner.

“Mr. English, are you lost?”

The spry nurse rounded to the back of his wheelchair and unlocked the brake. “CT is wondering where their patient is.”

Casper took his left hand and shoved the brake into place just as Ashley came through the door, zipping up her coat and holding her purse and a large manila envelope.

“It’s okay, Lance. I’ve got it. Just didn’t want to come back to the department after I dropped him off.”

Lance nodded, though unsurely, but backed away so she could scoot behind the chair.

After a few more turns through the halls of the ER, Ashley came to a side entrance. “My car’s not far, but it’s going to be hard to get this wheelchair through the lot with all the snow.”

He nodded and flipped the footrests up. He stood, shakily. Ashley scooted next to him and fit herself under his right arm. Just the right size to act as a crutch. He leaned heavily against her, worried that she might topple over, but her strength surprised him and they soldiered through the door into the biting wind.

They walked perhaps thirty steps until they reached a pine-green Toyota Highlander. She pressed her key fob twice, unlocking the passenger door, and he poured into the seat, barely able to hold himself upright. After she grabbed the blanket and hastily threw it over his chest, she buckled the seat belt around him and hurried to the driver’s side. After starting the car, she turned on the heat, and he was immediately met with a blast of cold air that the thinly threaded blanket did little to protect him against, and the chill reasserted itself with a vengeance. His teeth chattered.

She turned down the flow and put the SUV in Reverse, making her way through the parking lot.

Just as the parking lot arm was about to release them, a security guard came running toward their vehicle from the left.

“We shouldn’t stay,” Casper warned.

Ashley powered down her window, ignoring Casper. “Everything okay, Noah?”

“Dr. Drager. A patient has been reported missing from the hospital. A Casper English.”

She glanced back at Casper and he shrugged, his mind a muddled mess of frozen brain cells.

“He’s all right,” Ashley called out the window. “Mr. English is here with me, and he’s refused any further medical care. He’s asked me to drive him home.”

“Dr. Drager, as you know, it would be highly unusual—even against policy—for you to transport a patient off hospital property regardless of their wishes.”

“It’s fine, Noah. He’s an old friend. I think the hospital will—”

Ashley jerked back and Casper felt the warm spray of something hit his face. When he looked left, he saw a fine mist of red droplets covering Ashley’s hands, which gripped the steering wheel so tightly they were stark white. Noah staggered back a few steps away from the car, a hand held tightly against his neck as blood gushed between his fingers. The guard dropped to his knees.

“Drive!” Casper yelled.

Ashley reached for the car’s door handle. “I can’t leave him,” she cried.

The next shot cracked the back driver’s-side passenger window.

“Ashley, go! We’re going to die if we stay here.”

The next shot punctured through Ashley’s open window into the dashboard.

Ashley stepped on the gas and flew out of the parking lot.

* * *

The night rushed past Ashley. Light snow flurries danced unabashed. Everything seemed quiet and peaceful other than the fact that she was speeding through neighborhoods preparing for slumber—braking, sliding on the icy streets. The dropping temperature crystallized what little snow had melted during the day. Ashley used a wet wipe from her glove box to clean the blood spray off her hands. She took another and wiped the left side of her face.

She was crying. Thinking of Noah. She prayed her call to the emergency department and 911 about Noah’s injury and the shots fired got help to Noah in time and no one else was hurt. When one of her fellow physicians pressed her for information, she’d disconnected the call.

Ashley’s thoughts spun. Adrenaline-fueled blood rushed through her head and there was a faint pitched whine ringing in her ears that masked Casper’s voice. She looked at him, barely able to see through her tears, wondering if she’d have to resort to reading lips because she couldn’t discern what his words conveyed. Gibberish. What she did see was the surprise and apprehension that covered his face.

It was the worry that concerned her the most. Who were these people?

This is exactly why patients can’t talk when I tell them bad news. Why they can’t process any information. What is this insanity?

Clenching her teeth, she wiped the tears from her face.

I have to pull myself together. Crying isn’t going to help either one of us right now.

She gripped the steering wheel so hard her hands ached. Casper glanced behind them, his movements stilted. “They’re coming.” A simple statement filled with so much danger.

Ashley glanced up in her rearview mirror. A black SUV was quickly closing the distance. Perhaps two blocks behind. A crack of metal jolted the car.

A gunshot punctured her tailgate. Ashley pressed her foot into the accelerator.

Casper narrowed his eyes. “Nearest highway?”

Ashley tried to think. First thing, she needed to shake them off their tail. She whipped the steering wheel right—so tight was the turn that the car lifted up briefly on two wheels. Ashley’s heart climbed into her throat.

After a series of three Z-turns, their pursuers remained right on their tail.

“That’s not going to work. They’re more experienced at this than you,” Casper said.

“Who is ‘they’?” Ashley yelled, briefly glancing Casper’s way. Her hands were slick with sweat.

“Get to the highway.”

Fine. What sense did it make to let the confused, amnesiac patient determine their course of action? Not much, but there hadn’t been a med school class on outrunning thugs who intended to kill innocent people, so she gave him this one suggestion.

Two more turns and Ashley sped up the entrance ramp onto the highway. She merged quickly into traffic.

“Fast lane,” Casper said.

No, that wasn’t going to work. If driving was their skill, these delinquents would simply follow them until she ran out of gas. Somehow, she had to shake them.

There was a semi in the slow lane. Ashley began to position herself next to it...slowing their vehicle down.

“What are you doing?” Casper asked.

The black SUV sidled up next to them. The windows were tinted so dark she couldn’t discern the shape of any of the men inside.

The window of the SUV cracked open. Ashley hedged up until she and the semi were nose to nose. There was perhaps half a mile to the next exit.

Quickly, she looked left. The tip of a gun showed through the small gap in the window. The back passenger window on Casper’s side shattered. Air waffled noisily through the car so hard that her eardrums ached with the pressure. Ashley veered right. Casper turned his head her way reflexively, his head hunched down, expecting to impact against the tractor trailer’s side.

“Whatever you’re going to do, do it now!” Casper yelled.

Ashley stomped on the accelerator, pulling ahead of the semi, and at the last possible moment jerked the steering wheel hard right, careening in front of the sixteen-wheeler and onto the exit ramp.

In her wake, she heard the blare of the truck’s horn in complaint. Ashley shook so badly she could hardly grip the steering wheel. Her legs quivered.

Casper laid a reassuring hand over hers. “Nice job.”

His touch had a surprising calming effect. Her father hadn’t been the touchy-feely type. She could count the number of hugs she’d received from him growing up on one hand. One of her regrets after her father disappeared was not having had a closer relationship with him.

Ashley made several more turns, attempting to put a confusing amount of distance between them and their attackers.

Casper pointed at the twenty-four hour grocery store coming up on their right. Perhaps thirty minutes had passed without evidence of them being followed. He motioned his finger up and down. “Turn in here. Park close to the front.”

Ashley’s body felt like a tangle of nerves on fire. “Shouldn’t we keep moving?”

One of Casper’s hands gripped the dashboard. He looked as lost as he no doubt felt. This wasn’t good in any measure. They were being hunted. This was something both of them understood. How could an amnesiac man and a healer ward off armed gunmen?

Since Ashley’s mind remained a muddled mess and she couldn’t think of any alternative argument, she did as Casper asked and parked her car among the other vehicles, but not directly under a parking light, hoping the darkness would offer some disguise. She turned the car off and killed the lights and looked at the world in front of her.

It was that peaceful seasonal lull. Just after the holidays but before all the outdoor lights were taken down. The hubbub of the holidays was over and the spirit of Christmas could be enjoyed without the accompanying stress.

Casper scanned the road that ran past the grocery store. He was sitting up and forward in his seat, a guard dog on alert. His continuously roving eyes narrowed and Ashley’s chest ached as she held her breath.

A black SUV was turning into the lot. How was it possible for them to be found so quickly? Her mouth dried. Did they duck down? Get out? Stay as still as statues?

Ashley looked for some direction from Casper, but he remained pensive and silent next to her. They both watched the vehicle turn into the lot and park a few rows away, and then a mother with two teen daughters emerged.

“We need a different car,” Casper said.

“As in steal one?”

“Unless you have another spare vehicle that’s perhaps not registered to you or anyone you know. What I know is that this Jared Fleming is going to know who you are now. It looks like he has some resources at his disposal that maybe fly under the letter of the law. We need to disappear.”

Her mouth gaped open. Casper was serious.

Is that what her father had done? Gone into hiding because of Jared?

Ashley shook her head. “What do we do after that? Where do we go? I don’t think going to my mother’s is a good idea anymore. We don’t know who these men are or what they want. I won’t put her life in danger.”

“Well, we do know what they want...at least partially.”

He was right. “They want you, but why?”

Casper shrugged. “And is it connected to your father? I’m not one to believe in coincidences. I don’t know the meaning behind these events and I don’t know why I was attacked or by whom, but I think we’re together for a reason and that’s been orchestrated.”

By God. Those were the two words he didn’t end with but meant wholeheartedly. That was what she felt like he was saying to her. Her view on God? That He was a disconnected, distant being that cared little for the everyday affairs of humans. Just like her father was currently and had been from her earliest memories. It’s not that she didn’t believe in God, it’s just that she didn’t think He orchestrated the minutiae of her life.

Thoughts tousled through her mind, looking for a way to connect with one another. Was the thumb drive she’d received important to the events that just happened? Should she tell Casper about it? What did she know about this drifter sitting next to her? Her father might be missing for nefarious reasons. Nothing said that her father wasn’t involved in some criminal undertaking. Who was to say that he and Casper weren’t part of some criminal underbelly and she’d just tethered herself to him from one assumption—that her father had told her never to trust Jared Fleming and that man had wanted her patient.

But could she trust her father?

Ashley shook the thoughts away. She’d keep the thumb drive a secret...for now. She needed more data to make an informed decision.

Casper wanting to steal a car boiled down to her doing it. What condition was he in to go searching through a bustling parking lot looking for a vehicle to abscond? Breaking the law could lead to repercussions by the Board of Healing Arts. She could lose her medical license. What was stopping her from just calling the police? Wouldn’t that be a wiser choice?

Her instincts told her not to. What help had the police been to her and her family after her father’s disappearance? Not a scrap of evidence, a lead or hint that he was even still alive had been given to them from law enforcement. The packages were the only evidence she clung to, but receiving them didn’t mean he was alive. The first sense of promise that she might discover answers was from this stranger who possessed the same unusual tattoo and had landed in her ER as if gifted from desperation.

Her heart sank. Her cell phone...was it already being traced? Probably. Or was she being paranoid? Probably not. She pulled the device from her back pocket, but before she could power it down, maybe even destroy it, she had to do one thing.

Mom, I’m okay. You may not hear from me for a while. I love you. Please, don’t worry.

Immediately after the message showed delivered she turned the phone off. Casper nodded approvingly. Weird thing was, his assent meant something to her. An alliance, though tenuous, was forming.

Was turning the phone off enough? Could they trace it powered down? She didn’t have any experience in evading the law—or the lawless. Casper unlocked his seat belt and began sifting through his pockets and removed the wadded piece of paper.

“We need to go here,” he said, pointing to the slip that held the penned address.

“How can you be sure?”

“I’m not, but I don’t know what else to do.”

“Do you know exactly where it is?”

“In Colorado. We’ll need a map. You can buy one in there.”

“No credit cards I’m assuming.”

“Right.”

Ashley reached for her seat belt. Her heart pounded against her moral conviction of what he’d asked her to do. Did she not have a say? In fact, there could be an easy argument that she was of sounder mind and body than he was.

“I’m not doing what you ask.” Ashley turned and faced him. “I can’t steal a car. Whatever is happening here, I’ve already done enough to put my medical career at risk. Taking a patient from the hospital, if you corroborate my story that you came willingly...”

“You didn’t take me from the hospital without my permission,” Casper said. “That’s not a lie. I could have stopped you.”

She raised an eyebrow at the unlikeliness of that statement. Truly, he was in little condition to stop her from doing much. “Then that charge I can survive. The hospital won’t be happy that I drove a patient home, but a slap on the wrist might be punishment enough in their eyes.”

“I sense a rebuttal coming.”

“I just won’t steal a car. I’m willing to go on this...adventure with you to a certain point, but I can’t break the law.”

“Fine. I understand. This is all very confusing to me, as well—”

“I can only imagine.”

“Then what is your plan?”

She reached behind her, grabbed her purse and reached into its depths for her wallet. She opened it up and pushed her finger into the gap, a place she opened in the lining, for one of the last things her father ever gave her.

“My dad told me that if I was ever in trouble—‘weird trouble’ was the phrase he used, then I was to call this person and ask for help.” She opened the paper and traced her father’s blocky penmanship. “Horace Longbottom.”

She jolted as Casper laughed. “Seriously?”

In fact, he laughed so hard, he had to use the corners of the blanket to dab the tears from his eyes.

Heat flushed Ashley’s face. “Like you have room to laugh at a name... Casper? As in the friendly ghost? What sane parent names their kid something they know will be an automatic reason to bully their child?”

Casper raised his hand at her as his laughter died. “Point taken. I’m sorry. It’s just...sometimes you need to laugh when things get dark.”

True. That was one thing she could agree with. Black humor was a mechanism she used in the ER all the time to get through hectic shifts. It was a salve she and her coworkers depended on.

“You’re forgiven.” She opened her wallet again. Only about seventy-five dollars in cash. Enough to make a phone call, and buy some items for Casper. He was still shivering intermittently beside her. A slight wintery breeze drifted through the shot-out windows. Something hot to drink would help while they waited. “Stay here,” she instructed.

Ashley stepped from the vehicle and began to walk into the store, wondering if she’d be shot on sight just like her friend Noah.

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