Unraveling Jane Doe (Holding The Line Book 3) Read online

  He tilted his head. “Why not? Did you come across the border illegally? Did a coyote bring you?”

  “What? No.” She shook her head, and the tangled strands of her hair whipped back and forth. “Nothing like that. Please. I-it’s my husband, my ex-husband. He’s after me, and I’m afraid.”

  Rob swallowed. If she just lied to him, she’d picked the best lie to tug at his heartstrings.

  He waved his arm toward the burned-out car. “Did he do this?”

  “I think so. I think he caused the accident and then made sure the car went up in flames.”

  “Why didn’t you go up in flames with it?”

  “After the accident, I saw him coming for me, so I hid behind the tree and clump of bushes. He set the car on fire and took off. He never saw me. He thinks I’m dead, and I want to keep it that way.”

  “If we call the police...”

  “No cops!” She dipped down and scooped up the knife. “I swear, you’ll have to shoot me with that gun you keep touching, or I’ll run off into the desert and you can forget you ever saw me.”

  “I’m not going to shoot you, but I’m not going to let you run away, either. What’s your name?”

  “J-Jane.”

  He narrowed his eyes. Blatant lie. “Last name?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Okay... Jane.” He held out his hand. “I’m Rob Valdez, and I’m gonna help you out.”

  She folded her arms. “Not by taking me to the hospital and calling the police. That’s not going to help me.”

  “We’ll figure something out. Let’s get you out of this desert. I have water in the truck.” Locking his gaze with hers, he ducked to pick up his badge and ID.

  “Water?” Her body swayed to the side and she braced a hand against a branch of the paloverde tree.

  “That’s right. You must be parched.” He inched closer to her, shuffling his boots in the sand.

  “Water?” As the word left her lips, she crumpled to the ground.

  Rob lunged forward. He placed one foot on top of the knife, driving it into the dirt just in case this was some kind of scam.

  He crouched next to her and whistled as he touched the wound on the side of her head. No scam.

  He swept his light across the ground to see if she had anything besides the knife and the clothes on her back. She didn’t.

  He pocketed the knife, placed the flashlight between his teeth and slid his arms beneath Jane’s lithe frame. He pushed up, clasping her to his chest, and picked his way over the ground.

  Trooping up the incline carrying dead weight, even though that dead weight was as light as a feather, was proving to be a challenge. He pumped his legs, digging his feet into the sand with each step. When he reached the top, he placed Jane on the ground and scrambled over the ridge. He scooped her up again and placed her in the passenger seat of the truck, snapping the seat belt across her body. He reclined the seat and checked her vitals.

  He wouldn’t call her pulse strong, but it beat steadily beneath his fingers. Her parched lips parted, and she released a soft sigh. Her dark lashes fluttered.

  He held his breath, willing her to come to. He’d rather have her conscious and threatening him with that knife than out like this.

  Reaching into the back seat, he grabbed the first-aid kit every Border Patrol vehicle carried. He flipped it open and snagged some gauze and antiseptic from two compartments. He lifted the top tray and pinched a clean cloth between two fingers. He soaked it with water from his bottle and dabbed the cut on Jane’s head. Head wounds always bled all out of proportion to their seriousness, but this nasty gash had him worried.

  He should just drive her straight to the hospital and let a professional take care of her. Even if her ex found her out, the cops could protect her.

  His hands froze and he snorted. He knew better than anyone the fallacy of that misplaced belief. He finished cleaning the dried blood from her cut and applied some antiseptic.

  Her breath quickened and her eyelids squeezed tighter.

  “Jane?” he whispered in her ear, but it probably wouldn’t do much good. If her name was Jane, his was Tarzan.

  He wrapped some gauze around her head like a hippie headband to cover the injury in case her movement caused it to bleed again. Then he dumped some water on another clean cloth and pressed it against her lips.

  She moaned and shifted in her seat.

  “I’ve got you. You’re safe. Wake up and drink some water.”

  She mumbled something and moved her arm.

  “That’s it. Come out of it.”

  Her eyes flew open, and she stared at him. Panic flooded her face. She jerked forward against the seat belt and lurched back against the restraint.

  “You’re all right. You’re all right. Remember? I’m Border Patrol agent Rob Valdez. You passed out down there, and now you’re in my truck.”

  Her hands flailed for a few seconds. “No police.”

  “I didn’t call the police. I didn’t call anyone.” He held out the bottle of water. “I cleaned your wound. I did the best I could, but...”

  “No hospital.” She shook her head, gasped and then cradled one side of her face with her palm.

  “Okay, no hospital, either, but you need to take it easy.” He held the water to her lips. “Drink. You’re dehydrated.”

  Closing her eyes, she gulped back the water, finishing almost half of the liquid. She shoved the bottle between her knees and wrapped both hands around it, denting the plastic.

  Rob cleared his throat. “Is there someplace I can drop you? A friend? Relative? Bus station? I can drive you up to Tucson, if you like.”

  She opened one eye. “Tucson?”

  “Isn’t that where you were headed when you had the crash?” He’d just assumed that. Jane hadn’t told him a whole helluva lot outside of the story of her abusive ex. He tilted his head. “Where were you headed? How’d you wreck that car?”

  He should’ve been asking these questions before he got her in his truck.

  “I wasn’t running toward anything or anyone.” She put a hand to her throat, and her voice hitched. “I was just running away.”

  “You don’t have any friends or relatives in this area? No bags? No money? No car?”

  “Everything burned up in that inferno.” She swept her hair, clumped with blood, from her cheek where a single tear sparkled. “I’m so tired, so weak.”

  Rob patted her knee and pushed up to his feet. What kind of brute was he, interrogating her on this desert road when she needed food and meds and rest?

  “I can take you back to my place for now, so you can get your bearings. Is that all right?”

  “How’s your family going to feel about it? I don’t want to put anyone out.”

  “I don’t have a family—at least not one I live with. If you’d rather stay with a family, I can probably drop you off with my buddy and his wife.” He scratched his chin. “I think that would be okay.”

  Whom was he kidding? Clay Archer played by the rules, even if his wife, April, didn’t. Clay would call the cops for sure.

  “Your buddy? Is he a Border Patrol agent, like you?”

  “He is.”

  She held out a hand. “That’s okay. I trust you. I mean, you rescued me. I just need a day to regroup.”

  “Of course, yeah, regroup. I have more water at my place and some leftover food, and even some ibuprofen, which seems to be missing from my first-aid kit.”

  He closed the door of the truck and went around to the driver’s side. Sliding behind the wheel, he glanced at the petite woman in the seat next to him, her dark lashes creating two perfect crescents on her cheeks.

  Maybe it would be better if he didn’t call his coworkers on this one. They were always telling him how impulsive he was, and this would give them more ammunition.
>
  He studied Jane’s profile, convinced she was faking sleep, and started the truck.

  The woman had to be about a 110 soaking wet. He’d feed her, let her get some rest and get her bearings.

  How much trouble could she be?

  * * *

  THE BORDER PATROL AGENT...Rob...prodded her shoulder. “Are you awake? Conscious?”

  She stretched her arms and rubbed her eyes. She’d been awake the whole way but didn’t want to face any more of his questions. How could she? She didn’t have any answers.

  She’d learned she was somewhere between the Mexican border and Tucson, but how she got here, she hadn’t a clue. Scratch that. She’d been driving that car when it crashed. She hadn’t even thought to grab anything from the car before she scrambled out of it.

  Now she had nothing...except that knife, which he’d taken. She slid a gaze at the earnest young man beside her. Well, nothing except this hot Latino with his soulful dark eyes and ready sympathy.

  “Feeling any better?”

  “Not much.” She clapped a hand on the back of her neck and twisted her head from side to side. “I’m feeling stiff.”

  “This is my place.” He pointed out the windshield as they pulled into the driveway of a small house with lights burning in the front windows. “I’ll get you some ice, ibuprofen, food and water—in whatever order you want—and then you can make your plans in the morning.”

  “Water, pain meds and ice first.” She finished off the bottle of water still clutched in her hands. Her plans for the morning swam in her head in a misty fog with all the other confusing thoughts—including her identity.

  Jane—what an idiot. Why didn’t she just call herself Jane Doe? Rob didn’t believe her for a second. What else hadn’t he believed?

  At least he hadn’t run to the cops. She’d felt sure a Border Patrol agent would be duty-bound to call the police and report the accident and its strange victim.

  His face had softened when she’d told him the story about the violent ex-husband. She cringed a little inside when she saw how her lie had affected him... But it could be the truth.

  Maybe one of those men who’d planned to kill her by setting fire to the car was an ex. She couldn’t remember their words right now, but they’d come to her later—unless she had some sort of weird short-term memory loss where she couldn’t remember even recent events.

  She remembered Rob Valdez, though, and his kindness. Her gaze flicked over him. And the way that shirt from his green uniform hugged his shoulders and tightened across his chest when he moved. She couldn’t be too messed up if she could still appreciate a handsome man in uniform.

  She jumped when he put his hand on her arm. His touch sent some sort of electric current through her system, or it made her nervous.

  He snatched his hand back. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

  “No. I’m still on edge.”

  “If you’re nervous about coming into my house, I can check with my coworker and his wife. You might feel more comfortable there.”

  She doubted she’d feel more comfortable with another Border Patrol agent. She couldn’t possibly get lucky a second time with a law enforcement official who wouldn’t run straight to the cops.

  “It’s not that. I’m still nervous about my ex...and what he did to me.” As she threw that last bit in there, Rob’s eyes turned into liquid velvet. His pumped-up frame housed a soft heart—and she had to take advantage of that soft heart right now, no matter how wretched it made her feel.

  He snatched his keys from the ignition, and all that softness morphed into hard lines and a clenched jaw. “I can imagine, but you’ll be safe here.”

  And she believed him—not only that she’d be safe with him but that he could imagine. Of course, what did she know? How could she read people when she couldn’t remember any people in her own life?

  “I’ll help you out.” He clambered from the truck with his equipment belt squeaking and a backpack slung over one shoulder.

  By the time he came around to her side of the truck, she’d unlatched her seat belt and grabbed on to the water bottle—her single possession at this point besides her dirty and tattered clothing.

  He opened the door and held out his hand. “Hang on.”

  She did hold on to his hand while he guided her out of the truck and walked her up to his house. The blue door with the light above it stood out against the beige stucco of the house. The door fitted into an arched entryway that led to a courtyard with potted cactus and chairs gathered around a wood-burning potbellied stove. He wouldn’t have need of that during what must be summer.

  She placed a hand over her heart. She didn’t even know the season, but the intense heat marked it for summer.

  “Are you all right?”

  “You’re a kind person.”

  A flush edged into his face just beneath his mocha skin, and he snorted. “Kind? Okay.”

  They crossed the courtyard, and he unlocked the front door. The tile floors and adobe walls created a cool cocoon, and she released a long breath.

  Rob dropped his stuff on a bench in the foyer and brushed past her as he strode into the living room. He gathered some throw pillows on the couch and bunched them up on one side. As he patted the cushion, he said, “Sit right here. I’ll get you some cold water and ice for your head.”

  She sank to the couch, propping her arm on top of the pillows. “Can I use your restroom?”

  “Of course.” He smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand. “What am I thinking? Second door on your right down the hall. Do you need help?”

  “I think I can make it.” She rose to her feet and headed for the hallway. She pushed open the door of the bathroom and held her breath as she squared herself in front of the mirror.

  She sucked in a breath at the reflection that stared back at her. She flicked a strand of light brown hair as her brown eyes surveyed the unfamiliar face. No, not unfamiliar. Had there been a spark of recognition at the unexceptional features? Brown hair, brown eyes, slightly upturned nose. Nothing that would make her stand out in a crowd—she liked that.

  She patted the clumped hair on the side of her head and gritted her teeth as she traced the bandage Rob had wrapped around her head.

  He tapped on the door. “Everything okay?”

  Oh, yeah. Just getting acquainted with my face.

  Inserting a finger beneath the gauze, she said, “Should we take off this bandage?”

  “I can replace that with something better. I have a whole first-aid station out here when you’re ready.”

  She flung open the door and he jerked back. “I’m ready.”

  “Worse than you expected?” He cocked his head.

  “Better, a lot better.” She followed him into the living room and took her place in the little nest he’d fashioned for her on one side of the couch.

  He’d arrayed bottles, bandages, water and an ice pack on the coffee table in front of her.

  “Let’s replace that bandage. I can do a better job now.” He sat beside her and unwound the gauze from her head. He dabbed the edge of a wet towel on her wound, cleaning more blood from her scalp.

  As he applied more antiseptic, she flinched.

  “Sorry.”

  When he finished with the bandage, he offered her two ibuprofen cupped in his palm. She downed them with the water.

  “Now you need some food.”

  Her gaze shifted from his face to the small kitchen behind him. “Don’t go to any trouble.”

  “You won’t let me take you to the hospital. I can’t let you starve.” He jumped up and swept up several items from the table. “No trouble, either. I have some leftover albondigas soup and half a turkey sandwich I swear I didn’t touch.”

  “That sounds good, but what are you eating?” She would’ve killed for a sandwich this afternoon, bu
t she’d gotten used to the hunger clawing at her stomach.

  As he walked into the kitchen, he glanced over his shoulder. “I ate dinner hours ago. You do realize it’s almost midnight?”

  She didn’t know much, but she’d noticed the time when she got into his truck. It had been light outside when the car crashed.

  “Just want to make sure I’m not stealing your leftovers.”

  “Not at all.” He ducked into the fridge and pulled out a bag with one hand and a plastic container with the other. He tipped the container of the soup back and forth. “I’ll heat this up.”

  She toed off her canvas shoes, dirty and filled with sand, and curled one leg beneath her. Releasing a long breath, she relaxed her shoulders for probably the first time since she’d awakened in that car. She didn’t want to think about tomorrow. Didn’t want to think about who she was and why two men were trying to kill her.

  The beep of the microwave penetrated her thoughts, and she sat forward, her mouth watering at the spicy aroma of the soup.

  After clinking around in the kitchen for a few minutes, Rob emerged carrying a tray. He set it on the coffee table in front of her and even shook out the cloth napkin and placed it on her lap.

  “What service, but I feel guilty.” She waved a spoon at him.

  “Don’t worry about me.” He backtracked to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge and twisted off the cap. “This is all I need right now. It had been a rough day even before I spied your car off the road.”

  She paused in the middle of stirring the soup, the little whirlpool in the liquid mimicking her mind. “You saw the crash from the road?”

  “I saw the smoke. I know that piece of desert like the back of my hand.” He took a swig of beer. “I’d offer you one, but I don’t think alcohol is a good idea in your condition.”

  He had no idea. “Don’t think so, either. Water’s fine.”

  “Can I ask you what happened out there? Was someone chasing you? You lost control?” He’d sat down in the chair across from her, rolling the bottle between his hands.