Out of the Mist (Can't Help Falling Book 1) Read online

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Harvest Moon Press

  Out of Time . . .

  Beaten and left for dead, Juliet Kimball awakens in the rain with no memory of how she ended up alone on an isolated road. After another attempt on her life, she'll have to pour her faith into the one man who's made it clear he doesn't believe her.

  Injured drug agent Matt Barnes has seen just about everything in a decade battling the worst humanity has to offer. But he's never seen anything like Julie. The beautiful blonde reminds him more of sorority Barbie than a ruthless drug kingpin. But looks can be deceiving. He's got the bullet hole to prove it.

  Julie—and her memory are all he has in a case going nowhere. To erase the worst mistake of his career, his team will utilize her to lure the most dangerous drug lord he's ever battled. But will the woman he's fallen in love with ever forgive him for making her the bait?

  ***

  Can't Help Falling Series

  Book 1: Out of the Mist

  Book 2: Out of Reach (December, 2016)

  Book 3: Out on a Limb (March, 2017)

  Book 4: Out of Bounds (June, 2017)

  Chapter 1

  Julie jolted awake to thunder vibrating the ground under her cheek and splats of rain trickling down her neck. Overhead, a canopy of branches trembled in the gusting wind. Had she wrecked her car? An earthy bloom of decaying leaves clung to her sweater as she gingerly pushed herself upright. For several moments, the world tilted in the claustrophobic darkness. She was alone. In a ditch. Sweating and shivering at the same time.

  "Am I drunk?" Pain slithered over her like crawling insects. Tequila had been on the never again list since college. She rose from the ground, managing to remain upright for eight seconds before pain rushed her ankle and she toppled back to the ground. Panic and anger competing for attention, she pulled herself to her knees. "Okay— so we crawl." Swiping at the stream of rain dripping down her nose, she smeared mud across her face. "Super duper." A bubble of hysteria rose in her chest, begging for release. But crying wouldn't exactly help.

  Despite the fog shrouding her brain, Julie knew it hadn't been an accident. Someone had done this. Her swollen jaw held the drunken sensation of an injury she would be afraid to acknowledge in the mirror.

  Fisting handfuls of weeds, she clawed her way up the embankment, praying she'd find a road. Her wobbly knees seemed intact. Though her lungs worked overtime to keep up with her heart, at least they were functioning. When her stilettos sank in the hillside, she struggled to remove them. If she'd known she would be kidnapped, she never would've worn new pumps.

  Shoes should've been the last thing on her mind, but contemplating her shiny, never worn, sort-of-pinched-her-toes-but-she'd-bought-them-on-clearance Jimmy Choos was easier than wondering why someone wanted her dead.

  When tires crunched on the gravel above, instinct flattened her against the slope. Please don't see me. Dread hovered like the storm clouds overhead as twin headlights loomed closer, casting exaggerated shadows on her hiding place. "Don't panic," she whispered.

  A warehouse. A body. A lion's paw? Images flashed before her as she shrank into the shadows, remaining motionless for what seemed an eternity. Was he back? The thought did little to steady her catapulting heart.

  Who was she kidding? It was the perfect time to panic. She wanted to run— to the nearest source of light . . . safety . . . warmth. Cower under a blanket with her eyes scrunched shut.

  Once the vehicle passed, Julie lurched to her feet, a wave of dizziness threatening to drop her again. Finally reaching pavement, she released a sob of frustration at the glimpse of fading taillights. Wanting the car to return. Wanting to run in the opposite direction. With a renewed sense of urgency, she stumbled down the road.

  ***

  "Pete. . . I just saw somethin'."

  "Half the county's searchin' for that girl. You really think we're gonna find her?"

  "I saw a flash 'a color in my mirror."

  "We ain't seen the car, Billy. Don't you think we'd find the car first? Or did she let herself outta that trunk?"

  "People were blowin' their horns like crazy. Maybe the perp decides to dump her."

  In the span of seven minutes, the 911 operator received six calls on a junker car with a woman's arm hangin' from the taillight. Now, one call— that's probably a prank. But six? In Marsh Point, they were lucky to get six calls all night. 'Course not a single damn caller got the plate number.

  "What'd I tell you," Billy crowed when they turned back. "Hell if that ain't her."

  Pete flicked the siren as they pulled up behind a limping woman. She turned, swaying on her feet like a Friday night drunk. "Holy Mother 'a God."

  Blood oozed from an ugly laceration on the side of her head. Long, straggly hair covered a battered face. Glowing in the moonless night, an icy blue sweater hung from one shoulder, spattered with dirt and blood.

  "Ma'am? I'm gonna approach. Place your hands where I can see them." His gaze never leaving the woman, he muttered to Billy. "Get an ambulance. She ain't gonna be standing much longer."

  ***

  "You're sayin' she can't remember anything?" Captain Jonas paused for the hospital intercom, his three-more-years-til-retirement eyes looking weary. "Amnesia's in the movies, Jeb."

  "Is it permanent?" Matt Barnes rose from his chair, relieved to suspend his argument with the small town cop. Jonas should've called yesterday. Since he'd landed in Marsh Point two months earlier, Steve had called him on just about everything. A doe wandering down York Street? Check. Gus Moseley, roaring drunk and bustin' up Milly's Lounge every Friday night? Check. A Jane Doe found in the middle of nowhere . . . his middle of nowhere— with distributor quality heroin under her nails? No check. This was the case Steve decides to handle on his own? Instead, he'd received the news from the Boston drug team.

  "Too soon to know." The doctor glanced from Jonas to him. "It's common after head injuries."

  "How long?" Just because Matt was on medical leave from the agency didn't mean he had nothing better to do. Weekly PT on his useless shoulder. A daily hike— sometimes two. The Marsh Point librarian knew him by sight. He'd already devoured the mystery section. Living out at the lake meant spotty cable. Half the time he couldn't even get the Bruins.

  The doctor shrugged. "Memory usually returns in fragments. The more she can string together-"

  "What's typical?" Jonas quizzed him.

  "Everyone's different. Could be days— maybe weeks. Some take longer."

  "Could she be faking?" Matt asked what they both suspected. It was pretty convenient the woman who'd rolled around in pure grade heroin couldn't remember a damn thing.

  Jeb grinned. "Anything's possible, but pressuring doesn't work, so don't upset her." The pager interrupted their discussion. "That's for me." Waving, he left them.

  Jonas met his gaze. "So, DEA's taking over my case?"

  "Why would you want lead on this?" When you're seriously unqualified? "You're spread too thin."

  "I finally get a good case-" The old man sighed. "Fifteen years of Friday night DVs after Gus drinks too much-" He sighed. "Wife never leaves— and each time I gotta sweat gettin' shot." He scratched his salt and pepper crew cut. "Wife beaters and DIBs. That's my life now."

  "DIBs?" Matt stifled a yawn. He wanted coffee that didn't originate at the third floor nursing station.

  "Drunk in daddy's boat." Steve's smile didn't reach his eyes. "So, you got a lead? This tie back to Boston?"

  "Looks like it." He pushed off the corridor wall, grimacing as pain lanced his shoulder. Ten weeks after surgery and he was still worthless.

  "Okay, Mattie. Let's do this."
Graying whiskers creased into a smile. "We don't see many heroin dealers in Marsh Point. And I damn sure haven't come across amnesia before."

  "Can't help on amnesia, but drugs, I know." Matt pushed through the door. A battered, sleeping woman met his gaze. Blonde. Late twenties. Maybe thirty, he corrected, his gaze methodical. An ugly purple bruise marred her right cheekbone, the color seeping into her eye socket, giving the appearance of a shiner. A sweep of dark lashes offered stark contrast to parchment skin, leaving him with a disturbing sense of innocence she couldn't possibly claim.

  He drew closer. Bandages covered a head injury that had taken seventeen stitches to close. The contusion spreading into her hairline was a nasty rainbow of purple and yellow. Doc was right. She was lucky to have awakened at all.

  "Ma'am? You awake?" Glancing at Jonas, he hauled a chair to her bedside.

  When her eyes fluttered open, fear flared in their depths, warring with the arresting color for his attention. Terror, followed by confusion. Matt acknowledged both before conceding they were possibly the greenest eyes he'd ever seen.

  "I'm Captain Jonas," Steve explained. "Marsh Point PD. This is my colleague, Matt Barnes. We'd like to ask a few questions, Miss-"

  "Julie." A notch appeared between her brows. "That's. . . I don't know-"

  "You've sustained a serious head injury. You remember how that happened?"

  "Someone— hit me." Eyes unfocused, she appeared to be concentrating on a memory. She raised her arm to mimic the action. "Maybe a pipe?"

  Matt's imagination filled in the sound of the thud— a weapon against delicate skin and bone. Her shudder caught him off guard, crawling down his skin. He catalogued it— referencing the database in his head. Faking fear was easy, he reminded himself. After a decade in drug enforcement, he'd pretty much seen it all.

  "Did you know him?" Steve's elder statesman voice encouraged.

  "I don't . . . remember." Grass green eyes went vacant. "My head feels— thick, like . . . it's not working."

  Her voice quavered on the last bit. Nice touch, Matt acknowledged. Avoiding him, her gaze remained on Jonas. Clearly, she preferred the fatherly figure she could trust. Or play.

  "Where you from?"

  Slender shoulders lifted, appearing helpless. "Not here." Restless fingers plucked at the sheets covering her. Once manicured nails were ragged. "Marsh Point is in the Berkshires?"

  "Pretty much the last stop before the New York border," Steve offered.

  Matt hid his smile. Already charmed, Jonas would be damn near useless. The old man may have started his career in the city, but fifteen years in Marsh Point had dulled his edge. The tox report on Julie's clothing indicated she'd rolled around on a carpet laced with dangerously pure heroin. A batch of drug that sure as hell hadn't been cut to street grade. Her fancy sweater, saturated in blood and drugs. Expensive black pants from Talbots— this season's style. Hot lookin' designer shoes that probably cost a week's pay. All dusted with smack.

  The paydirt had been under her nails— drugs and a drop of someone's blood. Matt was eager to learn who owned the sample. "Do you remember anything about the night you were found?"

  "Fragments— feeling late for . . . something." Her voice trailed off. "Maybe I was lost?"

  Okay, so the scrunched nose thing was sorta charming, Matt admitted. Her gaze remained glued to the wall, leaving the impression she really couldn't remember what the hell had happened. Or she was damn good at trying to convince them.

  "I remember the car sound . . . I thought he'd come back."

  Jonas shot him a look. "Who?"

  "The man in the ski mask." Her expression confused, she glanced up. "I was in a closet. She hesitated. "That doesn't seem right. It was noisy."

  When Steve glanced at him— none too subtly, Matt wanted to groan. The old man was seriously out of practice. Her memory of the trunk should be organic— confirming what they'd gleaned from 911 calls. "What else?"

  Reluctantly, she shifted her focus to him. "I think I had a meeting."

  "With the man?"

  "I can't believe I would associate with someone like him, but . . . something felt familiar." Long lashes fluttered against translucent skin. "Is that crazy?"

  Jonas muttered something reassuring. Matt remained silent, intrigued by her choice of words. 'Associate' implied someone beneath her stature. Was she someone important? That tended to complicate things. Her tailored clothes sketched a picture of an affluent lifestyle— certainly not what a street dealer wore. He filed the question away for later.

  Removing himself from the temptation of his downtown office— from the well-meaning visits of family and co-workers, from the sorry-you-effed-up expression in their eyes— he'd hunkered down at the lake house for the grueling months of physical therapy his rebuilt shoulder required. Nearly three months after surgery he wasn't close to duty-ready. At least not undercover. But sheer boredom had him consulting with the Marsh Point PD.

  The call from State had been a godsend. They wanted him back— in some role. Lab analysis of Julie's clothes tied her to the Boston Harbor haul two months earlier. Their first real break since he'd been shot. But this wasn't shaping up as a typical case. Julie was a beautiful woman with a suspect story. The drumbeat of warning hammered his brain. This time, his shields would remain firmly in place, immune to manipulating, green eyes. Instinct told him this woman spelled trouble.

  ***

  "They found her?"

  "Yeah." Matias fumbled for loose change as he inched through the drive thru line.

  "You have confirmation she's no longer . . . with the company?"

  "Nothin' in the paper yet." An icy warning whispered along Matias' spine. He resisted the urge to explain his latest screw-up. "The job was handled as ordered," he lied.

  "You followed the plan?"

  The silky voice raised hair on his neck. Here it comes.

  "Because I don't remember discussing driving the bitch all over town."

  Matias' pulse ratcheted. Like it was his fault she surprised him? No one coulda warned him? When boss lady found him standing over the old man's body, the plan went out the window.

  "She showed up unannounced," he reminded. Based on her— observations, I took action."

  "This was immaculately planned-"

  How the hell could he predict her waking up in the trunk? The bitch kicks out a tail light, waving at every hayseed in the stupid town? He should've capped her at the warehouse. Instead, his dick had gotten in the way. The plan involved doin' blondie in the woods. His hands tightened on the wheel . . . feeling her throat. Her pleading with him. Tryin' to run. No one to hear her scream. . .

  Heat rolled over him, his breath quickening. Dios, his luck sucked. "I thought-"

  "We don't pay you to think."

  Matias' blood pressure spiked with the desire to reach through the phone and choke the bastard 'til his eyes popped. He was sick of taking orders-

  "Provide verification on her status tomorrow. Otherwise, our employment arrangement will experience a rather abrupt end."

  ***

  Fog surrounded Julie, the thick clouds nearly suffocating. When she stumbled over the body, the phone flew from her hand. Cold, black eyes behind the mask mocked as he raised a hand to silence her-

  "Tori . . ." She jolted awake, eyes wet.

  "Was that a memory?"

  Caught in the wispy tentacles of her dream, she shrank from the familiar voice. It was Barnes. The one who didn't like her.

  "Ma'am, I won't hurt you."

  Sensing him standing over her, she blinked to clear her eyes. "A dream." Brain still hazy, her shudder was involuntary. "He's still out there-"

  "What's he look like?"

  Julie hesitated. How to explain the ominous sense of dread without sounding crazy? Barnes' casual demeanor was betrayed by the wariness in his eyes. Despite his relaxed perch on the chair near her bed, she sensed a readiness to spring into action. "I see his eyes— they're dark. Scary."

  "Is
he white? Black? Hispanic?"

  She summoned the memory she wished to forget. "He has olive skin."

  "If he wore a mask-"

  She raised fingers to her lips. "Around the mouth hole." Absorbing his scrutiny, she stared back. "You're with the police, too?"

  "I'm consulting with Captain Jonas."

  Consultant. She inhaled at the singe of memory. Straining for more, it dissolved in the air between them.

  "What was that?"

  Frustrated, she ignored his sudden interest. "That word— means something."

  "Consulting?"

  Something about Barnes didn't add up. He didn't look like a small town cop. He didn't act like a small town cop. Despite the casual polo shirt and faded jeans, his demeanor radiated with purpose. "Where's your Tom Ford briefcase?"

  Intense blue eyes studied her, this time from behind a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, reminding her of a disgruntled college professor. Ignoring her, he picked up his phone.

  "You're pretty good at not answering questions."

  He smiled. "I could say the same about you."

  "For the record, I don't believe I'm usually this difficult." She hoisted herself into a sitting position so he wouldn't tower over her. "Were you wearing glasses yesterday?"

  "I forgot to order new contacts. My luck ran out this morning." After scrolling through his phone, he slid it in his pocket. "Who's Tori?"

  Call Tori. "My dream— I was trying to call Tori, but there was so much white dust I couldn't see the numbers. Then ski mask guy showed up."

  "The officer who found you three nights ago indicated you said the name Tori several times."

  Her pulse quickened. "What about a last name? It must be someone I know."

  Barnes flipped open a pad, scanning several items before speaking again. "He said it sounded like 'stash'. Barnes glanced up. "Stash refers to drugs. Maybe that's what you meant."

  Drugs? She frowned. "No."

  "How can you be sure?"

  Because it seemed completely foreign? Was that a valid answer? "I just . . . know."