know how to find Maria Morales. Will tell you for five thousand American dollars.”
SIX
J uan slammed a fist into the wall and winced. Rubbing the bruised flesh, he decided that was a dumb thing to do. All he needed was a broken hand. But frustration had him in its grip and wasn’t letting go. Who’s trying to kill me? And why? What have I done to make someone so angry with me?
Another thought struck him. Did someone know who he was? Before his amnesia days, did he have an enemy that he couldn’t remember—but one who obviously remembered him?
He racked his brain trying to think. Okay, he’d been with Lucas in the gym the first time someone had tried to kill him, then on the dock the second time. Both times Amy had shown up after the fact. And Jonathas had been there both times—after the incident.
Most likely, Jonathas would know how to make poison darts, but what possible reason could the boy have to want to kill him?
Amy had probably watched enough movies and television to know how to jam a gas pedal and steering wheel, but how would she have been able to set everything up so fast? She’d been with him only moments before the incident. Unless she’d had help. But why would she have rushed into the river to look for him if she’d just tried to kill him? And why would she have tried to smother him with a pillow only to do CPR and bring him back from the dead?
Then he pictured her sitting on the end of the dock with her Bible. While she’d been troubled, there had also been a quiet peace surrounding her. No, it wasn’t Amy, of that he had no doubt. And he really didn’t think it could be Jonathas. But if not one of them, then who? And again…why?
Argh. He was going to go nuts. After a quick shower and change of clothes, he felt much better. A little tired, but that was nothing unusual, especially on days when he overdid it. Almost getting killed could probably be considered overdoing it.
He decided to go check out the picnic first, then see if Amy wanted to help him work on the wing later. He’d even offer to share his tool belt. He grinned to himself…then frowned. Why was he seeking her out? He’d be better off leaving her alone, yet he felt pulled to her. She fascinated him with her deep faith, bright smile and sometimes sad eyes. Her unwavering care for him when he’d been sick had touched him. Sure, she’d lost her patience with him a couple of times, but she’d never yelled at him or forced an issue; she just let him figure out on his own that she was right.
And Lucas was right about her eyes. They held pain from something. Something she was either running from or trying to ignore. Juan sighed. He had enough problems without borrowing anyone else’s. And yet…
Mentally smacking himself upside the head, he ordered, Leave her alone, man. She’s not for you. At least not until you figure out who you are.
His stomach finally claimed his attention, and the picnic was waiting—hopefully, so was Amy. He opened the door to leave and stopped. The memories were back. The images all ran together in his mind as he struggled to sort them out.
A large house, a mansion, with a swimming pool. Cooking out on a grill, laughing with friends, people—family? Doing a cannonball into the deep end of the pool. A redhead ran up and threw her arms around him to give him a hug. His mother—he didn’t know how he knew the woman was his mother, he just did—shook her finger at him and ordered him, “You need to find another job. It’s just too dangerous. It’s going to get you killed one day.”
His job? He ignored the thought, not wanting to disrupt the memories.
A tall distinguished man laughed and crooked an elbow around his neck. “Son, you do what you’ve got to do. Right now, we’re just glad you’re here. Welcome home.”
He blinked.
God? I don’t know if I have the same kind of relationship with You that Amy has, but I know I need some help here. If You’re listening, let me figure out
SIX
J uan slammed a fist into the wall and winced. Rubbing the bruised flesh, he decided that was a dumb thing to do. All he needed was a broken hand. But frustration had him in its grip and wasn’t letting go. Who’s trying to kill me? And why? What have I done to make someone so angry with me?
Another thought struck him. Did someone know who he was? Before his amnesia days, did he have an enemy that he couldn’t remember—but one who obviously remembered him?
He racked his brain trying to think. Okay, he’d been with Lucas in the gym the first time someone had tried to kill him, then on the dock the second time. Both times Amy had shown up after the fact. And Jonathas had been there both times—after the incident.
Most likely, Jonathas would know how to make poison darts, but what possible reason could the boy have to want to kill him?
Amy had probably watched enough movies and television to know how to jam a gas pedal and steering wheel, but how would she have been able to set everything up so fast? She’d been with him only moments before the incident. Unless she’d had help. But why would she have rushed into the river to look for him if she’d just tried to kill him? And why would she have tried to smother him with a pillow only to do CPR and bring him back from the dead?
Then he pictured her sitting on the end of the dock with her Bible. While she’d been troubled, there had also been a quiet peace surrounding her. No, it wasn’t Amy, of that he had no doubt. And he really didn’t think it could be Jonathas. But if not one of them, then who? And again…why?
Argh. He was going to go nuts. After a quick shower and change of clothes, he felt much better. A little tired, but that was nothing unusual, especially on days when he overdid it. Almost getting killed could probably be considered overdoing it.
He decided to go check out the picnic first, then see if Amy wanted to help him work on the wing later. He’d even offer to share his tool belt. He grinned to himself…then frowned. Why was he seeking her out? He’d be better off leaving her alone, yet he felt pulled to her. She fascinated him with her deep faith, bright smile and sometimes sad eyes. Her unwavering care for him when he’d been sick had touched him. Sure, she’d lost her patience with him a couple of times, but she’d never yelled at him or forced an issue; she just let him figure out on his own that she was right.
And Lucas was right about her eyes. They held pain from something. Something she was either running from or trying to ignore. Juan sighed. He had enough problems without borrowing anyone else’s. And yet…
Mentally smacking himself upside the head, he ordered, Leave her alone, man. She’s not for you. At least not until you figure out who you are.
His stomach finally claimed his attention, and the picnic was waiting—hopefully, so was Amy. He opened the door to leave and stopped. The memories were back. The images all ran together in his mind as he struggled to sort them out.
A large house, a mansion, with a swimming pool. Cooking out on a grill, laughing with friends, people—family? Doing a cannonball into the deep end of the pool. A redhead ran up and threw her arms around him to give him a hug. His mother—he didn’t know how he knew the woman was his mother, he just did—shook her finger at him and ordered him, “You need to find another job. It’s just too dangerous. It’s going to get you killed one day.”
His job? He ignored the thought, not wanting to disrupt the memories.
A tall distinguished man laughed and crooked an elbow around his neck. “Son, you do what you’ve got to do. Right now, we’re just glad you’re here. Welcome home.”
He blinked.
God? I don’t know if I have the same kind of relationship with You that Amy has, but I know I need some help here. If You’re listening, let me figure out
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