Chapter 6
Jada
The safe house was too quiet. Too still. Silence pressed against my ears, thick and suffocating, like a weighted blanket I couldn’t throw off.
I hadn’t slept.
I tried—curled up on the stiff couch in the living room, staring at the ceiling, counting the tiny cracks in the plaster. But my mind wouldn’t settle. Thoughts raced, looping over and over, questions I couldn’t answer carving trenches in my brain.
I moved instead. Wandered. Opened cabinets, ran my fingers over the surfaces of the furniture like touch alone might trigger something familiar. Nothing did.
Hunter had disappeared into a back room the moment we arrived last night. He’d looked pale, unsteady, and hadn’t been interested in any sort of help or even talking. He hadn’t come out since.
I’d hovered outside that door for a while, debating knocking, but what would I even say? I barely knew him. And even if he’d saved me twice now, that didn’t mean I had the right to push into whatever battle he was fighting on the other side of that wall.
I had so many questions about myself, but I had a bunch about Hunter too. How did he even have a safe house? This obviously wasn’t some ordinary place.
It was stocked—cans, boxes, bags of food lining the shelves and fresh clothes, new with tags, stacked in a closet. Nothing fit me right, but after stripping off my stolen clothes, I pulled on a pair of too-big sweatpants and an oversized hoodie. It felt good to be clean, even if the fabric sagged against my frame. I was surprised to notice my own clothes on the counter; Hunter must have grabbed them after I’d changed at the hospital, so I threw them and the scrubs in the wash. Then I turned to investigate my new surroundings.
I ended up in the kitchen, staring at the rows of food, and it hit me—I had no idea what I liked. Not just what I wanted to eat, but anything. Did I prefer sweet or salty? Coffee or tea? Beer or wine? It was a stupid thing to fixate on, but it settled into my brain, lodged there like a splinter.
And since it looked like Hunter wouldn’t be coming out any time soon, I started testing.
I popped the tab on a can of soda, let the bubbles fizz against my tongue. Root beer—too sweet. Cola—better. Lemon-lime—perfect. I wrote it down.
I tried crackers, cookies, peanut butter straight from the jar. Sipped wine—red, too dry; white, better. Beer was disgusting. Another note.
I made scrambled eggs, grilled cheese, boiled pasta just to see if I liked the texture. Ate until my stomach hurt, not because I was hungry, but because I needed to know.
I finally gave in and lay down again, exhausted but still restless. I expected to wake up to nothing, to a blank slate like the day before.
But I remembered. I didn’t even have to look at my notes; every like or dislike, I remembered. I remembered everything that had happened at the hospital. I remembered what Hunter had told me about Alan Ard and kidnapping Kenzie Hurst.
Nothing before waking up in the cabin three days ago, but I knew I liked lemon-lime soda and white wine and hated beer. And somehow, that felt like a win.
Until all the other thoughts crashed back in about what I’d done. Hunter’s statements had given me enough information to leave me with millions of other questions and the burning notion that I was someone I might not want to remember. I didn’t even have the full picture. Just jagged pieces that didn’t make sense, that painted me in the ugliest colors imaginable.
I needed more. A computer, a phone—something that would let me look myself up, dig through whatever digital footprint I’d left behind. If I was going to face the truth, I needed all of it, not just scraps. But there was nothing here.
I glanced toward the hallway, toward the room Hunter had disappeared into last night. He hadn’t come out, hadn’t made a sound. Was he okay? Was he even still here?
I told myself I didn’t care. He was a stranger after all. A man who had saved my life, yes, but not someone I knew.
Except, I did care. And when that door finally creaked open midmorning, my breath caught before I could stop it.
Hunter stood there, freshly showered, dark hair still damp, the sharp angles of his face clean-shaven. He looked better than last night—less ghostly, more solid—but there was still something off. A lingering paleness under his tanned skin. A slight tension in his shoulders.
“You’re alive,” I muttered, voice rough.
His lips twitched like he might’ve smiled under different circumstances. “Sorry for leaving you alone.”
He didn’t say anything else.
I wasn’t sure why that frustrated me so much. It wasn’t like I was owed an explanation. But something about the way he avoided my gaze, the way his fingers flexed at his sides, told me something had happened. And he wasn’t going to tell me what. The silence between us stretched, thick and heavy, filled with things we weren’t saying.
We were two people trapped in a place that wasn’t ours, drowning in pasts that wouldn’t let go.
I crossed my arms, trying to ignore the strange pull in my chest. “Well, welcome back.”
“Thanks.” He walked toward the kitchen, and I followed him. I cringed when I looked around. I hadn’t realized how big a mess I’d left until Hunter stepped into it.
Dirty dishes were stacked in the sink, the countertops covered in half-used ingredients, open boxes, and a graveyard of discarded taste tests. Empty soda cans, crumpled napkins, a streak of peanut butter smeared across the edge of the stove. It looked like a raccoon had broken in and gone on a bender.
I winced. “I, uh…was figuring out what I like.”
He raised an eyebrow. “How’d it go?”
I shrugged. “Lemon-lime soda for the win. Coffee with sugar but no cream. Creamy peanut butter over crunchy.”
“Sounds like a productive night.”
“I was going to clean up,” I muttered, heat climbing up my neck. “I forgot.”
He didn’t even look at me as he rolled up his sleeves. “I’ll help.”
No judgment. No questions. Just action.
I swallowed hard and grabbed a dish towel, scrubbing at the peanut butter streak while he rinsed plates. The silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t exactly easy either. Too much space for thoughts I didn’t want.
Hunter worked methodically, rinsing, stacking, wiping down surfaces like he’d done it a thousand times. Maybe he had. Maybe this was just what he did—clean up other people’s messes. Rescue the girl who’d lost her memory. Offer help she didn’t know how to ask for.
The knot in my chest tightened, breath coming sharp and uneven before I could stop it. “I can’t do this.”
Hunter stilled, his hands braced on the counter. He didn’t ask what I meant—he knew I wasn’t talking about cleaning.
“I can’t just sit here, not knowing.” My voice cracked, frustration burning its way up my throat. “I need more. I need to know who I am, what I did—why I did it.” I threw down the dish towel. “I feel like I’m trapped in someone else’s life, and none of it makes sense.”
He turned then, drying his hands on a paper towel. Green eyes locked on mine, steady, unreadable. “I get it.”
Something about that—him understanding—only made my chest squeeze tighter. “Do you? Because I don’t even know if I want to remember.” My voice dropped, my fingers curling into fists. “Obviously, I was a terrible person—or made at least one truly horrible choice. What if we find out even worse stuff?”
Hunter didn’t hesitate. “Then we figure it out. But you want to know. Knowing even the worst is better than not knowing. We’ll make that happen.”
A shaky breath escaped me. “How?”
He reached for his phone and looked down at it. “I have a guy.”
I blinked. “A guy?” Hunter had a safe house, so I guessed it made sense that he also had a guy .
“Tech genius. If it’s available online, Jace can pretty much find it.” He gave me a look, one brow lifting. “You want answers?”
I nodded, my pulse unsteady.
“Then let’s get you some.”
He pressed a number then put his phone on speaker and set it on the table between us.
The call barely had time to ring before a gruff voice answered. “Long time no talk, brother. Thought you might have relocated to Tahiti.”
Hunter exhaled through his nose, the closest thing to amusement I’d heard from him since he walked back into the kitchen. “Jace. Hey, man.”
“You doing okay?” There was a wealth of knowledge in that question. Jace obviously wasn’t asking it in a chitchat sort of way.
“Yeah. Hanging in there. I need your expertise.”
“You got it. Tell me what you need,” Jace said, voice shifting into something sharper, more businesslike.
Hunter glanced at me before answering. “Jada Banks. Lost her memory. Need to know who she is.”
“How deep do you want me to dig?”
“Right now, just the basics. She knows nothing, and we don’t have any sort of computer handy. I’m here with her.”
“Hi,” I said, voice shaky.
“Hi, I’m Jace Monroe. Nice to meet you. Let me get at this.”
“Okay.”
Jace didn’t respond, just the sound of typing on a keyboard filling the space between us. A minute passed. Then another.
And then— “Here we go.”
My breath caught in my throat.
“You’re twenty-eight,” Jace started, voice all business now. “Parents are dead. Looks like your father was never in the picture. Mother passed away ten years ago.”
I exhaled slowly, waiting to feel something. Grief. Relief. A memory.
Nothing.
Jace kept going. “Not married. Actually, divorced. Kept your married name. No kids.”
That one hit. A weight I hadn’t realized I was carrying lifted from my chest. No family out there wondering where I was. No child waiting for a mother who wouldn’t remember them. I hadn’t even thought to be scared of that until now.
I let out a breath in a rush. “Okay.”
“You are a PR rep for a hotel. Only living relative I can find is a half brother,” Jace continued. “Caleb Moyer. Five years older. Serving year four of an eight-to-ten-year sentence.”
My stomach clenched. “For what?”
“Drug trafficking.”
I looked over at Hunter. “Before you got me out, a security guy at the hospital asked if the name Banks or Moyer meant anything. I knew Banks from you but not Moyer. Maybe that’s why they were asking about me. Because my brother’s a criminal.”
Hunter was watching me, unreadable as ever. “Maybe.”
I curled my fingers against my thighs. Half brother. Criminal. The only family I have left.
Jace didn’t pause long before continuing, “There’s more.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear it. But at this point, I didn’t have a choice.
“Alan Ard,” Jace said, the name landing like a hammer on my chest. “Recognize it?”
I rubbed my eyes. “Evidently, he’s my ex-boyfriend.”
Hunter’s gaze sharpened. “He was serving time at the same prison as Caleb?”
“Bingo,” Jace confirmed. “Looks like that’s how Jada met him—visiting her brother. Ard looks like a piece of shit. Was in for assault and battery against a woman named Kenzie Hurst. His ex-girlfriend. Beat her up bad enough to land himself in prison for two years. Just got out on parole a few days ago, and… Well, now it looks like he’s back in.”
“Yeah, we know that part,” Hunter said.
Jace kept going. “After you met Alan, you started visiting him regularly.”
I swallowed. My voice was hoarse when I forced the words out. “Why would I do th?—”
I cut off my own question because the answer was obvious, wasn’t it? Because I’d cared about him. Because I’d been involved with him.
I dragged my fingers through my hair, trying to piece together something— anything —that made sense. But all I had were facts. Cold, impersonal facts about a life that belonged to me but didn’t feel like mine.
Hunter didn’t say anything, but when I met his eyes, something flared there. Something tight.
“Jace,” he said, his voice level. “Check for an active warrant on Jada.”
“Nothing,” Jace said, his tone shifting into something surprised. “You’re listed as a person of interest, but no active charges. No warrant.”
I blinked. “That…doesn’t make sense. I helped kidnap Kenzie.”
“No, it doesn’t make sense,” Hunter agreed.
“Yeah, if you were involved in her kidnapping, there should absolutely be a warrant out for you.” Jace typed something else on his end. “And the cops were definitely after you yesterday in downtown Denver, but there’s no warrant.”
My pulse thudded in my ears. Hunter leaned back against the counter, rubbing his jaw, and for the first time since this conversation started, he looked unsettled. I wasn’t sure what was worse—the pieces I was getting, or the ones that were still missing.
Hunter exhaled sharply, folding his arms across his chest. His eyes flicked to me, then back to the phone. “Jace, Jada was injected with some sort of memory-loss drug. Can you see what you can find out on the black market?”
I stiffened.
Jace was silent for a second before his keyboard clacked again. “Yeah, but it’ll take me more than a minute to dig into it. I’ll need some time.”
Hunter didn’t look surprised. “How long?”
“A few days, and that’s if I can find anything at all,” Jace admitted. “Meanwhile, honestly, I’d start by talking to Caleb Moyer. He’s in on drug trafficking charges. That means connections. It’s possible he’s heard of something.”
Hunter was already shaking his head. “She can’t go there. If cops are looking for her, they’ll be watching for her to visit him.”
I swallowed. He was right.
“Which means you’re going,” Jace said, as if it was already decided.
Hunter didn’t argue. Didn’t hesitate. Just nodded once, like the thought had already crossed his mind.
“I’ll get you on the visitor list,” Jace said. “You’ll be in by tomorrow. I’ll get back to you with anything I find out online.”
The call ended with a final click, leaving nothing but silence in its wake.
I had more answers now, but they weren’t enough. They weren’t even close.
My brother was in prison. The man I’d been involved with was a violent criminal. The police were after me but hadn’t charged me with anything. And someone had wiped my memory with a drug so obscure, even a tech genius like Jace didn’t have immediate intel on it.
I should have felt something solid—anger, grief, regret. But all I had was a hollow ache. Like my brain couldn’t catch up with the weight of what I’d learned.
Across from me, Hunter rolled his shoulders, exhaling like he was shaking off the tension of the conversation. His gaze landed on mine, steady and unreadable. “First thing we do is figure out if there’s an antidote.”
His voice was quiet but firm, like this was a mission, something with clear steps and a tangible end.
I swallowed. “And if there’s not?”
Something flickered in his expression, but he didn’t let it settle. “Then we figure out a plan forward.”
I licked my lips, fingers fidgeting against my thighs. “And my brother?”
“I’ll get what I can out of him,” Hunter said simply, like it wasn’t a question, like it wasn’t even up for debate.
I looked at him then, really looked at him. He had no reason to help me. No real connection to me, other than the fact that he’d pulled me out of that hospital and kept me from getting arrested.
And yet, he was still here.
I let out a slow breath, feeling something settle in my chest, something I didn’t want to name. “Thank you.”
He held my gaze, his green eyes unreadable. “Get some rest, Jada.”
Rest. As if that was possible.
But somehow, with him here with me, the weight of everything didn’t feel quite as crushing as it had a few minutes ago.