Kidnapped Hearts (10 page)

Jake groaned.

Larry’s phone rang. A second later, a
dark-haired man a touch shorter than Jake’s own six-three height entered.

“Jake, this is Agent Matt Dennis. Agent,
this is Special Agent Jake Gibson, Retired.”

Jake stood. “IA?”

“At your service.” Agent Dennis stretched
out his hand.

Jake took in the man’s face and enormous
nose. He lifted his chin. “What happened?”

“I found myself caught in the middle of
two pissed-off Russians, so I thought I would use my face as a shield.”

“Did you get a few good licks in of your
own?”

“With the help of my partner, Beretta.”

Jake chuckled.

“You’ll have to deal with my ugly mug until
the swelling goes down.” Agent Dennis gently touched the schnozzle in question.

Larry picked up a folder from his desk.
“Agent Dennis will be your leg man. Anything you need, he’s your go-to guy.”
Larry passed one of the folders to Agent Dennis and one to Jake. “Here’s the
info you’ll need concerning the case.”

“What’s your cover?” Jake asked.

“I’m just a friend from work who retired
early on disability.”

“Makes sense.” Jake reached for the
doorknob. “Larry, this afternoon when the motorcycle drove by, I think he
recognized me.”

Larry braced his hand on his hip. “You’re
just now telling me?”

Chapter
Seven

“No!”
Pamela screamed. Her breathing quickened. She looked around frantically, trying
to make sense of the destruction. Her beloved café demolished. Glass scattered,
tables and chairs toppled, and people screamed.

Her
eyes landed on a body in the middle of the mess. Her body tensed, and pain
pierced her heart. “Marge!” she yelled until her throat felt raw.

Something
pinched her arm. “Get away from me,” she ordered, trying to see what had
touched her. She couldn’t see anyone, only the battleground of The Memory Café.
Warmth flowed through her veins, and her body relaxed. She slumped into a
nearby chair. “I need to help Marge.” Her eyes were heavy.
I’ll
lay my head back, and wait for Dad
, she
concluded. Her breathing evened out, and she fell to sleep.

“How’s the patient this morning?” the
doctor asked, lifting a hospital chart out off its holder.

Paul glanced at Pamela lying still in
bed. “Not good. She’s quiet now. Earlier, she had yelled and tossed around so
much that I thought she would hurt herself. The nurse gave her some medicine to
help her relax. That’s the second time she needed drugs to relax her.”

“And look at her sweating. Is that
normal?” Celine broke in.

“She experienced trauma and has a rather
nasty bump on her head. It’ll take a little while for the nightmares to go
away, but she’ll be okay,” the doctor said, reading the chart.

“Were the results of the CT scan
conclusive?” Paul asked.

“Everything checked out fine.” The doctor
stopped next to the bed, and Paul moved aside. “Sweating is the physical
release caused by the nightmares. She looks good, just needs some rest. I want
to keep her on fluids for a little longer, but she’ll probably be able go home
later today.” The doctor made notes in the chart and returned it to the wall.
“Let the nurse know when she wakes. We’ll need to check her pain level,” he
said over his shoulder before leaving the room.

A second later, “How’s Pamela?” Jake asked,
moving close to the bed. “I see she’s still asleep. I figured she’d be up and
running the place by now.”

****

Pamela’s eyes
popped opened and darted from one side of the room to the other. She tried to
focus on her surroundings, but her vision was cloudy, and her head ached.

Off to the right, some sort of
contraption blocked a sink, a red receptacle near it. She wasn’t in this room
last night. Something tickled her face. She tried to scratch it, but her right
arm wouldn’t move freely. An IV tube poked out of her arm. On her chest, wires
sprouted from unfamiliar clothing. A mangled sound escaped her. She had
forgotten they hooked her up to all these machines.

“Pamela?”

A voice from far away called her name.

She shifted her eyes off a thin blanket
covering her body to metal bars. All the air escaped her lungs.
I’m in a hospital
.

“Pamela.” A hand wrapped around hers and
squeezed.

She squinted at two of the BOFs. Paul sat
in the chair next to the bed while Celine stood behind him. Their concerned
expressions unnerved her. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, and asked,
“Where are Dad and Marge?”

Paul coughed while Celine shuffled to her
other side, neither seeming to want to answer the question. She nudged the
contraption, which Pamela now recognized as the IV pole, out of her way and sat
down in the empty chair. Celine picked up Pamela’s hand in her cold ones, and
Pamela knew something bad had happened. She swung her eyes to Paul. “Tell me.”

“Do you remember what happened at the
café?”

No, she didn’t remember. Or had she? Was
the destruction in The Memory Café a nightmare or reality? She wanted to run,
run away from everything and everyone that had to do with the mess she found
herself in. “Just tell me, Paul.”

“Shots were fired inside the café.” He
paused.

A knot formed in her throat. She
swallowed and forced out, “Go on.”

“A piece of glass from the window hit
Marge.”

The knot slammed into her stomach, and
her heart raced, feeling as if it would explode any second. If she hadn’t been
lying down, she would have fallen.

Celine squeezed her hand.

Pamela's eyes widened. “Is she okay?”

Paul twisted his mouth. “She’s stable in
Intensive Care. She’s survived the night, which is the most critical time. The
odds are in her favor.”

Pamela tried to process what she heard,
comparing it to her nightmare. Marge hurt, café destroyed. “Wait, you said
overnight?”

“Yes.”

She’d been here all night. It felt like
she’d just arrived. Several hours had passed, and she hadn’t been there for
Marge … or her dad. “I’ve got to get up.” She released both of their hands and
pushed the covers back.

The IV tugged on her arm, and at the same
time Celine said, “You can’t.”

Pain pierced her head, black dots
appeared, and she lowered onto the bed. “Where’s my dad?”

“With Marge,” Paul supplied.

“My dad needs me.”

Jake appeared. “Hal Kennedy is with him.”

Pamela’s gaze slid over Jake. Had he
stayed the whole time? She remembered him being at the café. “Did you come to
the hospital with me?”

“I did.”

A quiver of excitement touched her that
he cared, and then as quickly it disappeared. She was his obligation. Of
course, he had to stay.

“I called your dad. He’ll be here
shortly.”

Shifting a little, she looked at the man
who called her dad so easily. “You have my dad on speed dial?”

Paul slid out of the chair and moved out
of the way, allowing Jake to edge closer.

“Yeah, he’s my new BFF.” Jake tickled the
bottom of her foot.

She fought off the smile that risked
lightening her depressed mood. “Why am I in the hospital?”

“You blacked out,” Celine said.

Her nurse came in and checked her IV.
“Ms. Young, I’m glad to see you awake. How do you feel?”

“I have a bad headache, and I’m sleepy.”

“I’m sure you do. There’s a sizeable bump
on the back of your head.”

Pamela touched the spot. “Ouch!”

“I’m sure it’s painful. At least you’re
able to lay your head back without hitting it directly. Last night, we gave you
some medicine to help you sleep, along with pain medicine, due to the trauma
and all.” The nurse stuck a needle into the catheter in her arm. “I’m giving
you another dose of pain medicine now, but later you’ll take it orally. I
believe the doctor intends for you to go home today.”

She was elated by the news, yet at the
same time it scared her. What if those men returned?

The nurse dropped the needle into the red
bin that Pamela eyed earlier. “Do you have any questions?”

She started to move her head back and
forth, but thought better of it. “No.”

“Okay then, if you need me, just push
this button.” She patted her leg, then left.

Pamela eye’s locked on her friend’s
fretful ones.

“Celine, Paul, could you give us a few
minutes?” The gravity in Jake’s tone seized their attention.

Paul nodded and kissed Pamela’s cheek.
Celine repeated the gesture and together they left the room.

Jake sat in the chair Paul vacated
earlier. With his elbows on his knees, he leaned forward. “Pamela, do you
remember when we saw the motorcycle?”

Afraid of his next words, her lower lip
started trembling, and tears stung her eyes. She nodded.

“He came back.”

The nasty black spots jumped, her skin
grew clammy, and her breathing became shallow. Whoever wrote the notes made
good on their threats.

“Actually, several Black Scorpions drove
by your restaurant.”

Paul already said that someone shot into
her café, but she wanted details. “In my nightmare, my café had exploded.”

His lips flattened, and his shoulders
drooped. He picked up her hand and rubbed his thumb over her skin. “It didn’t
explode.”

Pamela forced herself to concentrate on
what he was saying, instead of his soothing touch, but it was hard.

“The Café is intact.” He cleared his
throat. “However, there are several holes in the plaster, and the front windows
need to be replaced.”

“Holes?” she repeated, her brain not able
to wrap around the concept of her café being shot up.

“Yes.”

Her eyes fluttered closed for a split
second. The terrible sound from that night echoed in her brain. She had visited
the firing range with Steve enough to know the sound came from guns being
fired.

“Was anyone critically hurt?”

The stroking on her hand never eased up.
“Only one person in the café, Marge.”

Pamela stared at her hand in his. She had
caused this. Closing her eyes, she sucked in her lips, trying to ward off the
guilt that plagued her. Paul had already told her about Marge, but hearing the
news a second time didn’t lessen its impact.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Jake said softly,
reading her thoughts. “You can’t go down this path. Marge wouldn’t want it.”

Pamela gazed at the man who seemed to
know her so well. His oval face didn’t have any visible lines, except for the
one scar on his forehead, yet he looked worn. She remembered the night of the
storm in the café, how she thought the expression on his face resembled Marge’s
sons. He had seen war too, just not in the military.

She moistened her dry lips.

Jake rose from his chair and handed her a
cup of ice water with a straw. Her mind muddled, she looked down at the blanket
and fingered its edge. One question seesawed in her head, similar to the way
the ball does in a Ping-Pong game. Were his lips the ones that touched hers?
Her head started to throb, and the ball pushed images of The Memory Café to the
forefront. People running frantically, men dressed in suits rushing inside the
café shouting orders, loud noises booming. At least she knew now, that the
noises were gunshots and not a bomb. Somehow, that knowledge didn’t comfort
her.

Just before the loud noise, she
remembered a body shielding hers. A space of time lapsed where all recollection
vanished until something warm covered her lips, then nothing. Her eyes closed,
remembering lips pressed against hers.

“Pamela?”

She heard him say her name, but she
didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to hear any more bad news. She wanted to
retain the warmth she felt before everything went black.

“Should I get the doctor?”

“No.” Her eyes slowly rose to his arms
resting on his jean covered knees. He stared at his twisted fingers. He had
fine hands, she thought, strong and capable. Her eyes traveled higher. His
shirttail hung out, hiding whatever hung on his belt. The shirt pulled taught
over his well-developed chest muscles. With the top button undone, a thick neck
flashed at her. Continuing the journey, her eyes stopped on his face.

Jake appeared to be a genuine, decent
person. Undeniably, he was not anything like the man who’d attacked her. Sam
would never have come to her rescue.

Her mother unjustifiably told her to stay
away from Jake a decade ago. Would Vivian say the same now, considering Jake
had rescued her not once, but twice?

Refocusing, she scanned his blue eyes,
relatively small nose, and square jaw with a five o'clock shadow. He shuffled
his feet, and her eyes locked with his. Like a freeze-frame, her body pulsed
with each beat of her heart. His eyes didn’t merely meet hers; they reached
into her chest, tugging at her very essence.