Protector: The Flawed Series Book Three Page 9

  “Think about it. Your car’s been registered. The name on it’s fake, but the tags can still be traced back here to our apartment. We don’t have time to properly rid this place of all our prints and DNA for the last five months.”

  “You’re the one who leaves a mess everywhere.”

  “Would you quit complaining and just get to the rental place? I’d like to leave before the day’s up.”

  Ethan could almost feel the heat radiating from his accomplice’s face. He imagined it, bright red like a giant zit that was about to pop.

  “Fine. Rental car it is.” Nicodemus huffed loudly and slammed the door.

  Some mental calculations told Ethan that Jacksonville to Pueblo was about a full day’s worth of driving. Splitting that up would take too long, and he couldn’t drive—not even at night, or oncoming headlights would blind him. That put Nicodemus in the driver’s seat for an extended period of time. He wouldn’t be happy about that.

  But if Ethan’s plan came to fruition, he would only have to deal with his partner for a few more days. He’d be done with Nicodemus, and he would have Kelsey.

  Precisely what he wanted.

  Saturday morning was colder, as if a hidden layer of warmth had evaporated during the night. Or maybe it was Logan’s mood. His argument with Jade was still on his mind during breakfast when he tried to wade through his stack of grading. He gave up the task and decided to visit his father again.

  As if in tune with the dreariness of his mood, the rubber of his soles made dull thuds as he crossed the courtyard. The stone tables near the center were unoccupied, it being too cold for a picnic or outdoor lounging. He stepped up to the one where he and Grant had played chess and brushed the pine needles off the bench.

  Cold air prickled his nose at each inhalation, and his breath frosted in small puffs as he sat waiting. After five minutes he started to shiver and bounced his legs to keep the blood flowing. He checked the time. It was twelve fifteen. Logan hadn’t thought to ask if Grant usually came out to play chess at the same time each day or if his schedule varied.

  Five more minutes and his buttocks were frozen. He stood and headed for unit 301, hesitating before knocking softly. It was only a moment before Grant opened the door.

  Logan smiled, a trace of shyness overtaking his confidence. He suddenly felt a bit silly.

  Grant stared back at him, his brows lowered in a frown. He wore a bathrobe tied loosely around the waist and flannel pants underneath. He pulled the robe tighter across his bare chest.

  “Yeah? Help you?”

  Logan’s smile wavered. “Hello. It’s me, Logan.”

  Grant’s stern expression deepened, the lines around his mouth pulling taught. He held the door halfway open, but it looked like he was prepared to shut it at any moment.

  “From Thursday?” Logan said. “We played chess? You beat me—badly.” He managed a tight chuckle.

  Grant’s eyes lacked any flicker of recognition.

  “Sorry. Don’t know anyone named Logan. And I got no idea what you’re talking about.” He started to shut the door, but Logan put out a hand to stop him.

  Surely he couldn’t have forgotten him that quickly—especially with his photographic memory.

  “Don’t you want to play chess again?” Logan gestured back at the table where they’d played before. His voice sounded desperate, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t know what else to say.

  “Not really, no. It’s cold out, and I’m in the middle of a book.” Grant inched the door shut a little more.

  Logan couldn’t let him off that easily. He’d come here today for one reason alone, and it had nothing to do with playing chess. “Okay…but I have something important to tell you.”

  Grant arched an eyebrow and tipped his head back skeptically. Logan took a deep breath, asking himself if he were ready. But he couldn’t flee this time.

  “I’m your son. My name’s Logan Henry.” A frantic need to explain, to not let this man push him away, gripped Logan. “I’m thirty-one years old—”

  “I don’t have a son.”

  “But you’re Grant Henry. You gave me up for adoption—”

  “Never had kids.” Grant stepped back and tried to shut the door.

  Logan stopped it with his hand.

  “Wait—”

  “I’m done talking. You’re letting the cold in.” Grant’s gaze went harsh. “Leave me alone or I’m calling the police.”

  Stunned, Logan’s hand fell to his side.

  The door slammed. A breath of warm air licked Logan, quickly followed by a gust of cold. He stood staring at the door for a moment, wondering what to do.

  When he finally shoved his hands in his pockets and turned, he saw a woman in scrubs—probably in her mid-fifties—hurrying toward him. Her speckled, gray hair hung just above her shoulders, and a gentle expression of concern rippled her features. She must have overheard what had happened.

  “I’m so sorry about that.” She nodded at Grant’s doorway and stopped near Logan. “He gets confused sometimes. He doesn’t mean to be rude, but sometimes it comes out that way.”

  When she smiled, laugh lines accentuated her pretty mouth. She held out her hand. “I’m his wife. My name’s Clementine.”

  “Logan.”

  “Nice to meet you. And how do you know Grant?”

  Logan paused for a beat. Then, “He’s my father. Or, at least, that’s what the private investigator said. I don’t know what to think now. Maybe my facts are wrong.”

  Clementine’s brows lifted. “Oh.” She breathed out through puckered lips. “I have a feeling the facts were right.”

  Logan gave her an inquiring look.

  “Have a second?” She gestured at the stone benches. “Want to sit?”

  His rear had no desire to plant itself on the cold surface again, but he followed her anyway. Clementine’s frown creased her soft brow, and Logan perched with his back arched stiffly, as little of him as possible touching the frigid stone.

  “I heard Grant had a son.” Clementine stared past Logan, her gaze fixed on some point in the distance. She sighed and met his eyes. “It was before we were married, of course, and like many things before then, it’s something he’s forgotten.”

  “Forgotten? How do you forget something like having a child? Especially with his—” He halted, remembering his promise to Grant about not exposing his secret. But surely she knew, if she was his wife.

  Clementine arched an eyebrow. “He told you?”

  Logan nodded.

  “Hmm.”

  “He said he doesn’t tell many people.”

  She sighed. “He doesn’t think he does. I’m not really sure how many people he’s told, but I know it’s more than he can remember. Not that it really matters. His ability is limited by his condition.”

  “His condition?”

  “When his wife died—”

  “His wife? I thought you—” Logan frowned.

  “His previous wife, Lorna.” Clementine paused and searched Logan’s face, then continued. “I expect she was your mother.”

  “Yes, she died soon after I was born.” He nodded her on.

  “Well, it was traumatic. I wasn’t around when it happened, but the doctors talked about repressed painful memories and resulting trauma in his brain. The gist of it was that he developed short-term memory loss. He only holds onto spurts at a time. Far as I can tell, it all stemmed from his wife’s death. And then there’s his missing memories of the event altogether.”

  Logan frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s a bit hard to tell how much he remembers for sure, as you might imagine. Every day I have to update him—remind him how old he is, how long we’ve been married, what he did yesterday. It’s like someone presses the reset button every so often, and it’s not consistent.” She shook her head. “Sorry, that wasn’t your question, was it?”

  Logan gave a polite smile as if to say he didn’t mind.

  “As far as what all he
remembers from before Lorna passed away, I think most of it’s intact. His childhood, college years, all that are clear. But there seems to be a fog around her death. He doesn’t remember her at all. Maybe that’s a good thing, I don’t know.”

  “So he doesn’t remember having a son either.”

  She gave him a sad smile. “I’m afraid not. I actually tried to bring it up, soon after we got together. It wasn’t a good idea.”

  “What happened?”

  “Grant is…stubborn. Try telling him he’s been married before and that he had a son, and he doesn’t accept it. He got all irate on me. It was almost impossible to calm him down. It sounds horrible, but I was actually glad when he forgot it all later—so we could start over.” She sighed. “I only brought it up because I thought he might like to know—might want to meet his son. I didn’t want to cause him more pain. But that’s what it seemed to do. After that…well, I decided not to mention it again.”

  Logan nodded slowly. His anger and resentment at Grant had cooled. The man wasn’t a jerk. He was a victim of tragedy—just as much as Logan was. It suddenly hit hard how far reaching the effects of Lorna’s death were, creating impassable distance for the two men left from her life.

  He took a deep breath and looked into Clementine’s sad eyes. “How do you do it? How can you live with someone who has a condition like that?”

  Her soft smile came back, and the faint wrinkles around her eyes deepened. “It’s not always easy. Of course, when you love someone as much as I love Grant, it’s a lot easier than it could be. Despite all the daily frustrations that go with it, I can’t ever forget to be thankful for what I have. I was given a second chance.”

  Logan cocked his head and frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Her cheeks grew pink like a little girl’s. “We dated in college back before he and Lorna were together. I was head over heels for him. He liked me, too, but I think maybe not as much. When he broke it off, I was devastated. I went years without dating anyone. I spent my twenties desperate to find the right person but not willing to give anyone else a try. I went through most of my thirties feeling that I’d missed my chance and being so incredibly lonely.

  “Then I ran into Grant again. There was still chemistry between us—strong as ever, as if he’d never broken it off. That charming smile, those mysterious eyes.” She shook her head as if embarrassed by her own enchantment with him.

  “He was taken—of course, the handsome man that he was. He’d met Lorna, and they’d gotten married after just a few weeks. Despite whatever lingering attraction there was between Grant and me, I could tell he was crazy about her, and I knew I had to let him go. I didn’t see him again for maybe a year and a half—after she died.”

  A soft breath slipped between Logan’s lips as he thought of his mother’s death, and his father grieving in his own way, the memories trickling away from him.

  “When I did see him again,” she said, “he was different—moody, unpredictable. But he was also incredibly like his younger self. The memory loss messed with his mind. His cynicism had faded and his hard edges smoothed. Too bad he didn’t forget his stubbornness.” She chuckled. “But it was like his personality had been restored—like an old penny shined new. He was as alive and vibrant as ever. When I found out he didn’t remember his wife or that they’d had a son, I was stunned. But he remembered me.” Her smile widened then faded as a look of guilt settled over her eyes.

  Logan’s throat felt rough, and he had a difficult time swallowing. “That had to be comforting.”

  “It was—I thought if anyone could help him through his bouts of fog—his moody, confused spurts—it would be me. I could never let him stay in the home where they’d put him. He was confused and lonely and could never remember why he was there. But he was comfortable with me.”

  “So you took him in?”

  She nodded. “I admit, it wasn’t all selfless. I was still in love with him. And when he and I were together, that love was as strong as it had ever been. I didn’t have to compete with anyone.”

  “But his photographic memory wasn’t harmed by the trauma—or was it an aftereffect, too?”

  “No, he’d had that ability since he was a kid. He told me back when we were dating.”

  “His memory is impressive.”

  “Parts of it are definitely still alive and well, although there are gaps—and a lot is lost every day. He hasn’t been able to hold onto much since Lorna’s death. His few new memories seem to revolve around me. I think it’s probably because of our relationship.”

  Logan nodded, thinking Grant wouldn’t remember the receipt from two days ago even though he’d memorized it in a few seconds.

  “I’m sorry you had to find out this way, and about your mother,” Clementine said. “And I’m sorry I never went to the trouble to look you up. I didn’t think Grant could handle meeting a son, not after that outburst. I figured you’d been adopted and probably didn’t need someone showing up and throwing your life out of balance either.”

  “That makes sense.” She would have had no way to know how miserable his childhood had been, and he didn’t want to lay that burden on her now, either.

  “Is there anything I can do for you? I could probably set up some visits with Grant, maybe tell him you’re someone else? I can make up some excuse, if you want to see him.”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  “Okay.” She stood, pressing her hands to the top of the stone table. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Logan.”

  “Clementine?”

  “Yeah?”

  “There’s one other thing I’d like to know.”

  “Sure. What is it?”

  “Did—or does—Grant have any…emotional control issues?” When her frown seemed to signify she didn’t know where he was going, he continued. “Any unexplained bursts of anger or fear or other strong feelings?”

  “Well, like I said, he got pretty upset when I tried to convince him he had a child. And he has ups and downs—that’s normal with memory loss. I’m a nurse, and after we got back together—after the incident—I did a lot of research on the topic. He actually handles it better than expected. He’s pretty even-keeled most of the time, even when he can’t remember what he did the previous day.”

  “What about any problems before the incident? Extreme mood swings or an imbalance or anything?”

  “Nothing that I know of. The whole time we were dating he seemed pretty normal to me—other than the exceptional memory.”

  Logan nodded slowly, thinking. He stood and stuck out his hand. “Thanks. It was nice to meet you.”

  Apparently he and Grant had less in common than he’d hoped.

  ~

  A rough vibration and a loud whirring woke Ethan suddenly. He sat up, and his eyes flew open as the car jerked sharply to the right. He cursed and glared at Nicodemus.

  “What are you doing, trying to run us off the road? If it weren’t for those divots on the shoulder, I would’ve slept right through my demise. Be more careful!”

  Nicodemus blinked swollen eyes and gripped the wheel tighter. “I’m at my limit. I keep noddin’ off.”

  The night was dark, and it was well after midnight. Ethan watched the flat landscape on either side, barren of trees or hills, with only wild grass and farmland in all directions. He wasn’t sure exactly where they were—maybe Kansas or Oklahoma. The weather had changed from humid to crisp, slowly cooling off.

  “I want to get there as soon as possible.”

  “But I’ve been driving over twenty hours!”

  “We stopped back in Alabama,” Ethan said. “You had a couple hours of sleep then.”

  “Ages ago! It’d help if I wasn’t the only driver.”

  “You know I can’t drive.”

  Nicodemus waved a hand in an irritated gesture. “’Cause you’re blind. I didn’t work you this hard when we were chasing the witch.”

  Ethan sighed. There was no reason to wait another day when Kelsey was fina
lly within his reach. But he didn’t want to end up dead on the way. Or worse—permanently injured due to this idiot driving them off the road.

  “Fine. Pull over for a bit. But we’re getting back on the road soon.”

  Nicodemus eased his foot off the gas and pulled the car onto the shoulder, not even waiting for the next exit. Before Ethan had time to say anything else, Nicodemus killed the engine and reclined his seat.

  He was snoring only moments later.

  If there was anything worse than listening to Nicodemus talk, it was listening to him snore. Ethan cringed. After five minutes, he’d had enough. He shoved the car door open and stepped out into the brisk night air. It felt good—revitalizing.

  He stooped down and brushed the dirt with his hand. A mouse skittered away from its hiding place. He smirked at it, thinking how just a few months ago he might have been here on another journey, his purpose to collect those very creatures.

  It had been all about fear—such a powerful tool. But Ethan’s focus had changed. He eagerly awaited seeing Kelsey again, but not to frighten her. She might be terrified, sure, that was part of the process. But now fear alone wasn’t his end goal. He’d freed most of his pets—those creepy crawlers that had served his purpose so well in the past. Now, he only needed her. Kelsey would be his latest pet—the only one that mattered anymore.

  Only maybe five hundred miles separated them. Eight hours of driving. Two tanks of gas. And a few measly stone walls. Soon, he’d be within those walls. Soon, he’d have her.

  And this time, he wouldn’t let her go.

  Logan found it nearly impossible to focus on grading his students’ tests when he got back home. What he’d learned about his father rolled around, caught in his mind like the last coin that refused to be shaken free of a piggy bank.

  Pushing aside the stack of papers, he reached across the table for the book he was reading. He flipped through several pages but quickly set that aside too. His legs pulled him across the room and back as he wished he could talk to someone about his frustrations. Jade came to mind, but their recent argument was still too close. He’d have to deal with the backlash of that first—something he didn’t want at the moment.