Page 6 of Cassidy

Less than five minutes later, he joined Cass in the kitchen, rolling the small carry-on suitcase behind him. She turned and led the way back outside. He took a moment to use the keypad to close the garage door, then asked, “How do you think they got inside?”

“No sign of forced entry,” Cassidy said with a shrug. “Could be they somehow got your key code information.”

He didn’t think his key code was common knowledge; his house didn’t appear to have had any repairs lately indicating he may have given it out to a worker. Yet thanks to his inability to remember anything, he couldn’t say for sure he hadn’t shared it with someone.

Maybe even the same person who’d driven him outside of town, clubbed him on the head, and left him to die.

He abruptly stopped midstride. Had he known his assailant? Was that the reason he’d gotten into the car with him?

Not being able to remember was infuriating. He needed his brain to heal and fast.

Before it was too late.

Too late for what, he wasn’t sure.

“Gabe? Is something wrong?” Cassidy’s voice penetrated his troubled thoughts.

“No. I’m fine.” He opened the rear hatch, set his suitcase inside, and closed it again. He slid into the passenger seat as Cassidy started the engine. As they drove away, he turned to glance back at the house. He wouldn’t have been able to give Cass directions on how to get there, but he was relieved to discover the inside was familiar.

It occurred to him that he might be able to jog his memory by looking at photographs of people he knew. To do that, he’d need a computer. Maybe Cassidy had one he could borrow. The previous sense of urgency he experienced upon waking up at the side of the road returned with a vengeance.

As if there was something important he had to do. Maybe even something related to his computer.

When Cassidy took the on-ramp to the interstate, he asked, “Where are we going?”

“My place.” Then she hit the phone button on her steering wheel. “Call dispatch.”

He heard the other end of a phone ringing, then a voice answered, “This is precinct seven.”

“This is Officer Cassidy Sommer. I’m calling to report a break-in at the following address.” She rattled it off from memory, a feat he couldn’t do despite how the house belonged to him. “I understand the location is in White Gull Bay, but the home belongs to our tech analyst, Gabe Melrose. His computers are missing, and those devices are used in conjunction with our network.”

“Understood. I’ll send uniforms to the scene,” the dispatcher said.

“Thank you. I’ll make sure Captain Finnegan is aware as well.” Cassidy glanced at him as she ended the call. “Do you remember our boss?”

He grimaced. “Not really.”

“How is it that you remembered me?” Cassidy asked. “Not just me personally, but also my phone number?”

He flushed with embarrassment and hoped she wouldn’t notice in the darkness. “I don’t know why you popped into my head. Maybe I was thinking of calling you before I lost consciousness.”

“That makes sense,” she said. “It’s a good thing you were able to get to the gas station to make the call.”

“Yeah.” There was no denying the malicious intent. Whoever had dumped him at the side of the road had likely expected he’d succumb to hypothermia before he could be rescued. “I guess God was watching over me.”

She snapped her head over to look at him. “I’ve never heard you say that. I didn’t realize you believed in God.”

“I, uh . . .” He wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Did he believe in God? He must, otherwise why would he have said that? The phrase had come to him before he could consider what it meant. But even as he repeated the words in his mind, they felt right. He put a hand to his throbbing head. “I think so, yes. But I really wish I could remember.”

Her expression softened, and she reached over to pat his knee. “You will. Give it time.”

Time. He swallowed hard, instinctively knowing he didn’t have time to sit around, waiting for his memory to return.

He needed to understand what was going on before the assailant struck again.

Cassidy neededto call Rhy but hated the idea of waking him up at the late hour of eleven thirty at night. His wife, Devon, was pregnant and due in the middle of January, and they had a one-year-old daughter, Colleen.

Was the loss of Gabe’s laptop a security risk? Could the person who broke into his house and trashed the place access the police database? They each had their own computer passwords, but she wasn’t enough of a computer geek to understand if that was enough.

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