Read Forget Me Not: A Novel (Crossroads Crisis Center) for Free Online Page B

than we hoped.”
    “And now, with her aunt gone, there’s less fear of reprisal.” A knot formed in Gregory’s chest. He paced from chair to desk. The subjectwasn’t a fool. She had to know that tangling with him put her in lethal jeopardy. “Are you telling me she called here—herself?”
    “No sir. That would be bad. This, I’m sorry to say, is worse.”
    “Worse?” Gregory pressed in the code to recall the message from his service.
    Tapping his fingers on the credenza, Paul grumbled, “I should have handled it, Mr. Chessman. Everything was a mess, and Edward and Harry just disappeared.”
    Gregory should have allowed Paul to handle it. Unfortunately, three years ago Paul hadn’t yet proven himself, and Gregory elected to stick with the tried and true. The subject was a lightweight—or so he’d thought at the time. Everyone had underestimated her—him, his secret partner, Edward and Harry—everyone
except
Paul. And they all had done so on such a grand scale that Edward and Harry had botched things badly.
    For weeks, Gregory had sweat bullets—until it became clear that the subject wasn’t going to make waves. Still, he found merit in avoiding loose ends. But the subject had evaded his associates and vanished. Worse, she had managed to keep vanishing. He’d spent three years living in fear that she would resurface and, now, it appeared she had.
    And Paul claimed this message carried even worse news? There was no worse news.
    “Go on, sir.” Paul motioned to the phone. “Listen to it. You’ll see what I mean.”
    Gregory played the message. The voice had been modified—man or woman, he couldn’t tell—and what was said took two seconds to replay, but the danger in it for him was timeless.
    It was worse. It rocked Gregory’s entire world.
    “Susan’s alive”

4

    D o you know me?” Still holding pressure on her head wound, she stood at the receptionist’s desk inside Crossroads Crisis Center.
    “I-I think my name is Susan.”
    The young woman with spiky dark hair and chocolate brown eyes was caught off guard by the question. Her jaw dropped open and her gaze slid over to a painting on the wall. It hung above a long, narrow table that was home to two slim lamps and a burst of lilies.
    The girl was out of her depth.
    “Maybe you’d better get your boss.” Clyde stepped forward. “I tried to take her”—he motioned toward Susan—“to the hospital, but—”
    “Thank you, but I can speak for myself, Mr. Parker.” Susan reached into her pocket, then pulled out a card, smudged with mud and dirt, and tried to wipe it clean. The dirt sprinkled on the countertop between her and the receptionist.
    “Sorry.” She released the pressure on her head wound long enough to sweep the droppings into her hand. “My car was jacked and I was abducted and beaten.”
    Blood gathered on her scalp, and Susan put the pressure back on her wound, then wiggled her elbow midair. “That’s how I got this gash in my head … I think. I’m not sure because I can’t remember much of anything, but—”
    “Give her the short version,” Clyde suggested in a whisper close to Susan’s ear. “The girl’s confused, and she looks a little scared too.”
    She did. A brass nameplate identified her. “Melanie, this card was in my pocket.” Susan flipped it over and frowned at more dirt smears. “See? Someone wrote ‘Susan’ on the back of it.” She tried to smile, but her lip was swollen and raw and her jaw was numb. It had to look more like a grimace. “When I saw the name written there, I remembered one of my abductors calling me Susan.” She shrugged. A hot arrow of pain shot through her shoulder, across her back.
    “Just a moment, please.” Melanie bit her lips, lifted the phone receiver, and punched two buttons, her gaze darting back to the wall. “Mrs. Crane, Code One, front desk.”
    Susan stiffened. “Code One?”
    “Uh-oh.” Clyde leaned close again. “Codes are always bad news. I told you,