“I remember every fucking detail of what that asshole did to her,” Lachlan said.
“Why don’t we stop wasting time and focus on figuring out who kidnapped Britt and is trying to kill her.” Everett wrote on a tablet, projecting the notes on the screen. “Assuming, of course, her story is true.”
“Wait.” A cold weight settled in Lachlan’s gut. “You don’t think she’s Britt?”
Silence. The air in the room seemed to thicken, the faint hum of the surveillance equipment the only sound.
Lachlan’s throat tightened. “She has amnesia, but there’s no doubt in my head or my heart that she’s my woman. Ye don’t forget that kind of connection. I know it’s her.”
“I wasn’t around when you and Britt were together. It’s quite possible that you’re right,” Rocco said, slouching in his chair as he popped a couple of grapes into his mouth.
Lachlan’s head snapped toward him. “Quite possible?”
“Yeah, fucker. Just possible.” Bobby stopped typing, frowning at Lachlan as he spoke.
Lachlan’s vision went red. The chair scraped violently against the concrete as he lunged toward Bobby.
Everett and Kane were on him in a flash, gripping his arms, holding him back.
“Calm down,” Everett muttered, straining slightly against Lachlan’s strength. “Don’t let him get to you.”
Lachlan’s chest heaved, his breath ragged. He forced himself to relax, jerking out of their grip. Fighting Bobby wouldn’t solve this. He had to get them to see the truth in front of them.
“Britt had a memory,” he said, forcing steel into his voice. “One that wasn’t in the audio recordings. She remembered an address—my old house. 67 Nova Lane. The house she lived in with me.” He leaned forward, his hands bracing against the cool surface of the table. “How do you explain that if she’s not Britt?”
Rocco studied the grape between his fingers, maneuvering it between each one like a circus trick. “Could’ve been implanted.” His voice was casual, almost bored. “Subliminal messaging. Layered frequencies. Information absorbed without realizing it. That address could’ve been slipped into whatever mindfuck they pulled on her.”
“Kane,” Lachlan turned to his friend with desperate intensity. “You had a front-row seat when Britt and I got together. What do you think?”
“Doesn’t matter what I think. The woman in that room needs our help regardless of who she is.” Kane shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I just don’t want you to get your hopes up if she’s not who you want her to be.”
Everett exhaled through his nose. “There’s a simple way to find out.”
Lachlan’s eyes narrowed. “No.”
Everett continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “A DNA test.”
“I don’t need a DNA test.” Lachlan’s voice was lethal. “I know she’s Britt.”
Kane hesitated. “It’s not a bad idea. We wouldn’t have to tell Britt or Paloma?—”
“Did you not hear what Britt went through? Some fucker held her captive and controlled her life.” The vein in Lachlan’s temple throbbed out of control. “And now you want me to go behind her back. Decide for her? That’s not happening.”
“Fine. Then tell her we think she’s Britt Freeman and let her decide,” Bobby said.
“She thinks someone forced Britt Freeman’s memories on her. She won’t trust us if we approach her the same way.” His eyes darted to the surveillance feed where Britt sat, illuminated by the soft lighting. “She’s not going to stick around either. And I’ll have lost her again.” The words caught in his throat. “I just got her back. I’m not letting that happen.” His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “We have to do better by her than what she’s been through.” He turned toward Rocco. “Who’s the psychologist you and Jemma worked with at the DEA?”
“Fallon Abrams,” Rocco said, sitting up straighter as he popped the grape into his mouth. “She can evaluate Britt and give us insight on the likelihood of her regaining her memories either way.”
“Alright, you contact Dr. Abrams.” Everett wrote on the tablet, and the words appeared on the screen. “Any ideas on whothe guy she called The Visitor could be? He obviously knows more about her than she thought if he followed her to St. Felipe and knew about the house on Nova Lane.”
“He could be anybody. Medium skin tone could be a number of different ethnicities. Vague height. Muscular build. No distinctive accent, marks, or tattoos. But maybe we could hack into the surveillance cameras in the neighborhood, scour footage from the approximate time when she was there, and get an image,” Kane said.
“I already tried that when she was telling her story and came up empty. The cameras at Lachlan’s old house are offline or were removed. I got footage of the truck from a few cameras of the neighbors’ houses, but the license plate was obscured and unreadable. None of the cameras were at the right angles to see The Visitor,” Bobby said.
Lachlan sucked in a deep breath. “So our only credible lead is the Quattro gang member who chased her through the streets of Conrad after recognizing her.”
“Alejandro Cerundolo is leading the cartel now that Titus is dead,” Kane said, with a sly grin. The same Alejandro who was heartbroken after Britt dumped him for you. If you were a low-level gang member and saw a woman who looked like the dead love of his life, wouldn’t it be in your best interest to track her down and bring her to your new leader?”
