Page 3 of Fractured Memories

Imogen glanced up as he entered the kitchen, a broad smile stretched across her face. “Everything okay?”

“Yes. Thanks for sending up Amber. She’s reading one last story to Harper before bed.” He opened thecloset next to the mudroom. A safe rested on the top shelf. He typed in the security code and removed his gun and holster before strapping them on. “This shouldn’t take long.”

“Don’t you dare walk out of this house without taking Felicity these cookies.” Imogen extended a Tupperware packed with homemade Snickerdoodles. “They’re her favorite.” A shadow crossed her face. “I imagine she’ll need a bit of TLC over the next few days. Investigating Brooke’s murder will drudge up painful memories for her.”

Noah frowned. “Who told you we’re investigating Brooke’s murder?”That piece of information wasn't public knowledge yet. He wasn’t certain they’d make headway given the slim case file.

“About a dozen people in bible study asked me about it this afternoon.” She arched her brows. “Haven’t you learned by now that nothing stays secret for long? Especially when you involve Maple Jennings.”

He groaned. Maple Jennings owned the flower shop in town, as well as Brooke’s old house. Noah had requested access to the home this afternoon so he and Felicity could do a walk-through of the crime scene together. “She promised to stay quiet.”

“Asking Maple to stay quiet is like requesting a magpie not to sing. It’s impossible, and likely added fuel to the fire. I guarantee the moment you walked out of her shop this afternoon, Maple was on the phone to half the town.”

Small-town life. It had its benefitsand its pitfalls. Noah took the container of cookies from Imogene before kissing her forehead. “Call me if Harper gives you any trouble.”

“That child couldn’t be trouble if she tried.” She winked.

Noah laughed. He adored Harper with all his heart, but she was rambunctious, opinionated, and stubborn. Under the right circumstances, those traits would serve her well. Under others… well, she could try the patience of a saint. He often wondered what his late wife would think of their daughter. Sally had been quiet and artistic. A deep thinker, firm in her convictions, but with an uncanny ability to understand others. Harper took after her in looks, but the brash attitude was Noah through and through.

The night air was sticky. Milo bolted out of the darkness to greet Noah with enthusiasm. The black Labrador was as rambunctious as Harper. The two of them spent hours playing together. Noah held open the back door so the dog could slip inside. He’d eat dinner, then trot up to Harper’s room and sleep on the rug in front of her bed.

Maybe it was silly—Milo wasn’t a trained guard dog—but Noah sensed the sweet Lab would protect Harper with his life if need be. Knoxville was a safe town, but Noah wasn’t ignorant of the dangers his profession caused. Arresting criminals and testifying at their trials created enemies. Keeping his family safe was a constant worry.

He fired up his SUV and steered toward Brooke’s old house. The lake sparkled in the moonlight. As his tiresate up the asphalt, his mind turned to the case. Would they be able to identify the killer? It’d been fifteen years. The physical evidence was scant. No murder weapon, no unidentified or unexpected fingerprints in the home, no witnesses besides Felicity. Back then, she’d been a waif. Petite and rail thin with large brown eyes that took up her whole face.

She couldn’t remember anything that’d happened on the night of the murder. Traumatic amnesia, the doctors called it. Noah didn’t know the ins and outs of how it worked, but whatever memories were trapped in Felicity’s mind affected her. The weeks that followed the murder were awful. Felicity jumped at every loud noise. She couldn’t sleep. Barely ate. Six months later, her father sent Felicity to live with her grandmother for the summer. He later joined her and the family never came back.

From Noah’s perspective, the desperate move had worked. The terrified teenager who’d fled town had morphed into a smart and savvy Texas Ranger. Felicity was one of the best law enforcement officers Noah had ever worked with. She was compassionate and always willing to go the extra mile.

He prayed this case wouldn’t be too much for her though. PTSD was a sneaky disease. It could rear its ugly head even after years of dormancy. Felicity was determined to get answers, but Aunt Imogene was right. This wouldn’t be easy for her to face.

He hung a right on a two-lane country road leading toward the lake. An unnatural light glowed in thedistance. What was that? As Noah grew closer, he suddenly realized what he was looking at. Terror gripped him. His hand tightened on the steering wheel as he flipped on his lights and siren while simultaneously slamming his foot down on the gas. Pulse racing, he radioed into dispatch.

Brooke’s old house was on fire.

THREE

Noah’s tires screeched as his truck slid to a stop near the blazing house. Neighbors had already gathered in the yard. The light from the flames reflected a mixture of horror and fascination on their faces. Ash and soot floated in the air. His boots ripped across the brown-tipped grass as his gaze flickered from person to person. Felicity wasn’t among the crowd.

He stopped a 30-something man with a snake tattoo on his bicep. Noah flashed his badge. “Knoxville Police Department. Did you see what happened?”

“The place just exploded. Must’ve been a gas leak or something.”

An elderly woman nearby held up her cell phone. “I’ve called for the fire department.”

“Did anyone come out of the house?” Noah’s tone was sharp, but he could play nice later. Right now, the only thing that mattered was locating Felicity. His gaze skipped between the two individuals. Suddenly, thefamily resemblance between them was clear. A grandmother and her grandson.

“No.” The younger man shook his head. His eyes widened. “You don’t think someone’s inside, do you? The place is a vacation rental?—”

“You’re sure no one came out of the house after the explosion?”

“Absolutely, sir.” He pointed to a house down the street. The garage door was open. A motorcycle rested on its side on the concrete and various tools were scattered about. “I was working on my bike when the place went up in flames. Like I said, it was an explosion. I’m sure it’s a gas leak or something.”

Noah wasn’t sure about anything except that the last time he’d spoken to Felicity, she was going inside the vacation rental. His chest squeezed tight at the thought of her dying in that house, fifteen years after she’d witnessed a murder there. Shoving those thoughts and feelings aside, he snapped into battle mode. “Get these neighbors off the yard.” Noah raised his voice, along with his badge. “Everyone move to the other side of the street for safety. Now!”

The neighbors began heeding his order. Before the man could leave, Noah grabbed his arm. “What’s your name?”

“Jake.”

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