Chapter 22
“How are you holding up?” Sebastian asked, falling into step next to Lachlan. They walked down the corridor toward the conference room, where Dr. Fallon Abrams waited to give her assessment.
It had been three days since Lachlan had seen Britt, days when he felt like she’d died all over again and was lost to him.
But he kept reminding himself that giving Fallon time to evaluate Britt was what Britt needed.
He wanted to do everything he could to help her regain her memories, even if that meant staying away from her … temporarily.
“I’m not,” Lachlan admitted, glancing at his friend. “Did you see her?”
“Yeah. I was here when Rocco brought Fallon in and got a chance to introduce myself. Talked to her a bit,” Sebastian said, staring straight ahead without making eye contact.
“She’s Britt for damn sure, even if she doesn’t remember yet.
But this is a delicate situation. We have two responsibilities: help her get her memory back and—”
“Stop Alejandro Cerundolo from killing her,” Lachlan said. “Both are important, but pull us in two different directions.”
“And we need to be moving in one direction, Lachlan,” Sebastian said, an urgency in his tone.
“There was a time when Alejandro loved Britt as much as you do, but those days are over. He’s gotten the prize—he’s the new leader of Quattro.
His efforts to manipulate Britt’s memories didn’t work.
She’s a loose end he needs to tie up. If she resurfaces and tells what happened to her, every gangbanger in Quattro will come to the same conclusion we did.
He won’t be in charge of the cartel anymore. He’ll be dead.”
Lachlan gripped the back of his neck, massaging the knots away. “You’re right. No matter how much I want her to remember her life with me, none of that matters if we fuck around and let Alejandro kill her.”
“I know I’m right. To save Britt, we have to take down the leader of one of the most powerful crime organizations. A mission fucking impossible,” Sebastian said as they reached the door to the conference room. “I need you to focus only on that. We’ll deal with the memory shit later.”
He wasn’t sure he could commit to what Sebastian asked, even though he knew his friend was right. Keeping Britt alive, even if she never remembered him, was most important. He could live with that pain because it hurt a shit ton less than believing she was dead.
“Alright,” Lachlan said, then paused. “Who’s inside with Fallon?”
“Just Everett. Didn’t think you wanted a big audience for this.”
“I don’t.” He’d been of no use to anyone over the past three days, thinking about Britt while he went through the motions of his normal routine—dropping Paloma off at Goat Scout Camp, shuttling Serena King and the rest of the Hullabaloo Coffee executives across the islands for meetings and events, then returning in time to pick Paloma up, having dinner and playing games with her before tucking her in at night.
The routine that had been a source of immense pleasure now felt like it was missing something. Missing someone. Britt.
He’d almost broken down too many times and told his daughter that her mother was alive.
But his better judgment had prevailed, and he’d held back.
He wasn’t sure how much longer he could.
It felt wrong to let Paloma continue to believe her mother was in heaven, even if Britt couldn’t remember her.
There had to be a way to make her understand this.
When he figured it out, he wasn’t lying to his daughter anymore.
Lachlan asked, “What are the other guys doing?”
“Bobby is working to get us a sympathetic contact within Quattro who might help us get close to Alejandro,” Sebastian said.
“Kane is in Little Turkey trying to locate the underground compound where Britt was held. If he can find it, he’ll get in and out with no problem.
There could be something inside that could prove useful. ”
“Any leads so far?”
“No, but when we get the intel, you’ll be crucial to helping us come up with the next steps.” Sebastian reached for the door and opened it.
Lachlan hesitated, his eyes drawn to three doors across the hall—the suite where Britt was staying. He wanted to reassure her that he wouldn’t let anyone hurt her ever again. But that would have to wait until after his discussion with Fallon.
“You must be Lachlan.” Fallon stood, extending a hand toward him.
She was pretty in a way that appeared purposefully downplayed, like she was determined to have colleagues see her for her intelligence before gawking at her physical beauty.
High cheekbones, full lips, and eyes that sparkled with warmth and warning assessed him.
“I am,” he said, shaking her hand.
“I never got a chance to thank you for helping to save Jemma. Her former team appreciates it more than we can express. We miss her,” Fallon said.
“DEA’s loss is the PIIB’s gain, I suppose,” Lachlan said, reflecting on the daring, middle-of-the-night rescue of Rocco’s girlfriend from a drug cartel enforcer.
From what he recalled, Jemma had been forced out of her role at the organization shortly after her rescue, but found a new coveted spot with the island feds.
Fallon sat down next to Everett, then waved a hand for him and Sebastian to do the same. “Everett and I were just catching up on old times. I haven’t shared any details of my assessment of the woman called Britt with him yet.”
Lachlan tensed, wondering what Fallon had learned. What secrets the woman had unearthed that could shake his world to its core? “Well, don’t keep us in suspense.”
“I’m known for being very direct, but before I tell you my findings, you need to understand my approach,” Fallon said. “I’m not the typical clinical psychologist. While I have all the same training, my skills and expertise are honed and refined to work with a more complex clientele.”
Sebastian leaned forward. “Like potential DEA undercover agents and deadly criminals.”
“Among others,” Fallon said. Her smile revealed dimples at the corners of her mouth, softening her formidable presence.
“My expertise includes cases of control and identity manipulation that lead to dissociative disorders and memory trauma. My discussions with Britt were designed for two purposes—determine whether her assumed medical condition is real, and if so, identify the likely cause.”
“Wait, you think she could be pretending to have lost her memory? Lying to us?” Lachlan shook his head. “No way.”
“I agree with you. I don’t believe she’s lying about her memory loss, but I did take her through a rigorous evaluation to come to my conclusion,” Fallon explained. “In the process, I uncovered things you should be aware of.”
“Things like what?” Lachlan asked.
“I had tests performed to determine if the cause of the amnesia was neurological or psychological,” Fallon said.
“Like head trauma experienced from being in a car bomb,” Lachlan said, feeling sick to his stomach. “If her brain was damaged, she might not regain her memories.”
“Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves,” Fallon warned. “But in theory, that’s correct. However, Britt showed no signs of that kind of trauma.”
“So she showed signs of a different trauma?” Sebastian raised an eyebrow.
“Yes. The kind of physical trauma that would have required extensive surgery performed over several months and taken twice as long to heal. I suspect she was hospitalized for two years or longer. Possibly kept in a medically induced coma for much of that time,” Fallon said.
“That timeline fits,” Sebastian said. “Britt said she was held captive for a little over a year, but we know the car bomb happened three years ago. This explains that gap.”
“Alejandro has the financial resources and the connections at the Rakestraw Blake Center to pull it off,” Everett said.
“How hurt was she?” Blood roared in Lachlan’s ears as he remembered Britt’s nightmare. The memories of being burned from the car bomb that haunted her dreams. “What kind of surgery?”
She hesitated as she looked at Everett, then said, “Plastic surgery. The scars are subtle, almost imperceptible. Most medical professionals would easily miss them, but I’ve seen them before.”
Everett frowned, then said, “It’s not uncommon for leaders of drug cartels to fake their deaths and then re-emerge with entirely new faces. Is that what you saw?”
“Yes,” Fallon responded, leveling her gaze on Lachlan.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Lachlan demanded.
“The plastic surgery performed on Britt could have been to repair severe injuries from the car bomb,” Fallon said, then paused. “Or it could have been to change one woman’s face to look like another’s.”