Free Peppermint Creek Inn by Jan Springer

were holding him at the ghost town, waiting for Scout to get there and pump the information out of him when he escaped. A local cop went missing. He was last seen chasing after our man in the wilderness. Justin thinks our man killed him.”
    His smile widened. “Really? We’ll just have to add that to our man’s wanted list. I want you to head up that way and keep a lid on things with Justin. We need our man alive until we get what we want.”
    “There’s more.”
    His white bushy eyebrows shot up in wonder. “Still more?”
    Pauline nodded. “Justin says our man has amnesia.”
    “How interesting.”
    “Don’t you find that a little too convenient, Chief?”
    “He always was a smart fellow. But he wouldn’t pull a stupid trick like that. Not unless it was true. You should know him better than anyone.” He draped a comforting arm across her shoulder. “Don’t worry though. You’ll be his widow soon enough.”
    “What should we do next?” she asked, suddenly shivering in the chilly breeze. Or was it from his cold touch?
    “Find him. Hold him for questioning. Then he, along with any potential witnesses, must be eliminated.”
    Pauline shivered violently as the seriousness of his words reached home. She wished it was over and not just beginning.
    —
    Dark, narrow alleyways, seedy smoky bars, traffic congested, smog-infested streets, hooker and drug dealing neon nights in which he felt numb, oddly not a part of.
    And yet, here he stood talking and laughing with the professional ladies of the evening, buying their pimps drinks, lugging back a few himself just to be sociable. Paying off crooked cops with astronomical amounts of money in return for favors, dancing with some tall, sexy, blond bombshell he didn’t even like.
     
    Another dark night lured him deeper…
     
    He was trapped in a suffocating, cold, black, damp room. Someone was leaning over him, checking to see if he was still alive after the violent beating they’d given him. Ash gray cigarette smoke twirled crazily on the night breeze, floating toward heaven, escaping through the tiny cracked openings in the rotting, sagging moss-covered ceiling.
    How he wished he could escape the cold and these miserable handcuffs that burned raw fire deep into his wrists. He yearned to hop onto a smoke particle, using it as a magic carpet and quickly drift out of this hellhole.
    The cigarette smoke hugged his clothes, seeped into his skin. The tart smell lingered in his nostrils, made his nose itch, burned a scratchy trail down his throat.
    He could even taste it!
     
    Tom’s eyes snapped open.
    Raw orange sunlight bore shards of pain deep into his eyes sockets. Yet he couldn’t blink.
    The shadow stood there. A black silhouette.
    Right there! Outside the window. Watching him sleep.
    For a split second, he figured he must still be in the trenches of his dream. But the unmistakable cigarette smoke curled like a billowing gray cloud through the open screen window, striking his face with offending odor. He swallowed back a cough. Cold perspiration shot across his forehead at lightning speed.
    The shadow moved slightly, as if realizing it had been spotted.
    Then it disappeared.
    He wanted to laugh. Downplay what he’d just seen. Tally it up to some weird daydream, a side effect to the familiar pounding gripping his right temple. But the cigarette-scented air wouldn’t allow him to let it go so easily.
    Sara!
    Was she in danger?
    Bolting upright, he bit back a groan as pain sliced a sizzling arrow through his back and belly, yet he counted on it. Welcomed it. Used it to keep his mind focused on Sara, and not the paralyzing panic gripping his insides. He whipped aside the blankets and swung his weak legs out of the bed.
    The room tilted precariously for a few seconds then everything righted itself. Gritting his teeth, he hoisted himself off the bed.
    He hadn’t gotten a good look at the person. But it hadn’t been Sara. He didn’t know how he knew she didn’t