Page 77 of Running to You

“You remember something?”

“Nothing new.”

“Don’t push it. The memories will come.” His words were kind, but he pulled his hand back.

Jon and Grant were watching.

“Sorry.”

“You all right?” Grant asked.

“Just trying to remember. I’m fine.” She forked a bite of salad and popped it into her mouth. Crisp lettuce, warm chicken, and a cool, sweet strawberries, all covered in a raspberry vinaigrette. But as much as she enjoyed it, her appetite was gone.

The lighthearted mood had lifted, leaving behind heaviness and fear.

Sam paid the check, refusing to let Grant or Jon contribute. After he added the tip and signed it, he said, “What have you got for us?”

“Gilbert C. Lyle,” Jon said. “Thirty-one. Born in Duluth, Minnesota. Enlisted at eighteen. Never saw combat—except what he caused. Got kicked out of the Army at twenty-three for getting into a bar fight with a fellow soldier.”

“Sounds like a piece of work.” Sam’s gaze flicked to Eliza, his eyes stormy. “Not exactly your type.”

“I’m sure we weren’t together.”

He didn’t seem as sure but said nothing.

“No record of employment after his dishonorable discharge,” Jon said. “Only record is his rap sheet. Assault, assault with a deadly weapon, and sexual assault.”

Sexual assault? She let the words float around for a minute, but they didn’t land. She’d interacted with this guy, but not in that way. So that was something.

“How is he not in prison?” This from Grant.

Jon shrugged. “Charges are all in different states, so maybe that played a part. Anyway, things went quiet for him about three years ago. No employment. But he does have one more arrest about a year ago for assault in Utah. I looked up the address he gave the cops. A halfway house in Salt Lake that claims he never stayed there. Unfortunately, the cops never followed up because the victim refused to press charges.” He glanced at his notes. “Victim was Nicole—”

“Moore.” The name popped out before Eliza even realized she knew it.

Jon pulled a pen from his shirt pocket. “What do you know about her?”

“Um…” She closed her eyes, trying to remember. Her head started to throb.

“Don’t force it, Eliza,” Sam said. “Just relax. We’re not in any hurry.”

Right. Because she could relax while they were all watching.

But Sam smiled at her, sipped his soda. “You guys catch the game last night?”

The men started chatting about football.

Giving her a moment to think.

She closed her eyes. Nicole Moore. She considered the name. Nicole Moore. It didn’t bring anxiety but peace. Nicole was an ally.

An image came. Tall, sandy-blond hair that needed a trim. High cheekbones and gray-green eyes. Smiling.

Her laugh. The way she took her coffee—three creams, no sugar.

Eliza could picture Nicole’s eyes widened in fear, could hear her voice lowered, sharing a secret. Not a fun secret.

They ate together, but not always. It was a treat when they did. Even though they lived near each other, just across the grass. Down the hill.