Don’t Remember (A Taylor Sage FBI Suspense Thriller—Book 5)

PROLOGUE Every moment in Special Agent Taylor Sage’s life had come down to this. The old, weathered cabin door swung open in front of her. A gust of cold, musty air filled her nose. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet as she took an uneasy step inside, her heart pounding violently in her throat. If Taylor was right, then Angie—her sister, who vanished without a trace twenty years ago—could be here, in this cabin. She’d found the symbol from the tarot reader’s prediction, and now she was here. Ready to face whatever came next. Taylor found herself standing in a dingy room with a broken window. The floor was covered in a thin layer of dust and grime, and the air was thick with the smell of mold and mildew. The window was cracked, and the glass was missing in several places. There was a table in the middle of the room, and a chair was overturned next to it. The room was empty. There was no sign of life. Taylor’s chest had never been tighter. Breathe, Sage. Breathe. She took another step forward. There were no visible signs of life—but Taylor couldn’t shake the spine-tingling feeling that she wasn’t alone. That she was being watched. Taylor drew in a sharp breath and spun around suddenly, facing the door. Nothing. The air was still. She was just being paranoid. Sighing softly, she turned back around. Less than four feet away, the back wall of the cabin came into sight. The wall was lined with cabinets. Taylor’s throat went dry. She crept toward the cabinets and placed a shaking hand on the door handle of one of them. Her throat tightened, and her head spun as she pulled the door open. The cabinet was filled with decades of dust and cobwebs. Inside were only a few cans of food, a box of matches, and a few tattered magazines. Taylor’s hands trembled as she closed the cabinet. She looked inside the rest of them with the same result. There was nothing here. Taylor hadn’t found Angie. A sense of frustration flooded Taylor’s chest. She clenched her fists in frustration. Why was she wasting her time at the cabin when she could be out there, searching for Angie? Was this really the wrong spot? It made no sense; the symbol had brought her here. There was no way all of that was just a coincidence. “Where are you, Angie?” Taylor’s chest tightened. If Angie was gone, then they could never be a family again. All of this really would be for nothing. The tarot cards, the symbol, this wild goose chase… Taylor felt like she was going crazy. Maybe she’d dreamt all of this up, and it was just one very long nightmare. But no. She was here, in this moment, and the symbol—it had been real. She had to keep looking. Taylor turned her attention to the small kitchen in the back corner. The sink probably hadn’t worked in years. But as Taylor looked around the dusty countertops, something gleamed in the moonlight. She drew closer. It was a fork. And on it was what looked like fresh tomato sauce. Her heart thudded as she looked closer. In the sink was an open can of ravioli. Fresh. So fresh Taylor could still smell the tomatoes and spices. Someone was here. Taylor whipped around, just as— Taylor sensed something coming right for her. The sound of the air whipping as something was thrown across the room filled Taylor’s ears. Ceramic shattered against the wall. She ducked down and spun to face her assailant. It was a man. A crazed, decrepit, older man. He had white hair and dark, piercing eyes. His skin was wrinkled and weatherworn, and he was dressed in torn, tattered clothes that were once probably a bright and colorful plaid. The old man smiled at Taylor with a mouthful of yellow teeth and reached for her. Taylor stalked backwards, but the old man matched her every step, his hands outstretched, his smile growing wider. “You!” he yelled. Taylor stilled. Something about his voice was familiar. The old man stepped closer, and Taylor could see the outline of his thin, hunched figure in the moonlight. Her brow furrowed as she looked closer. She recognized the face—but from where? It didn’t matter. Maybe he was someone from their past. Taylor didn’t care. In that moment, all she cared about was knowing if Angie was still alive. “Where the hell is my sister?” Taylor demanded. The old man spat. “Damn you. You ruined everything,” he growled. “You’re the one who took Angie,” Taylor hissed. She had no proof yet—but inside, she knew it was true. There was a pause as the old man glared at her. Then he smiled. “You think everything is so black and white, don’t you?” He laughed, a hysterical, wheezing laugh. “It’s so much more complicated than that, my dear.” “Where is she?” Taylor demanded. There was a pause. “I don’t know,” the old man said. “You’re lying!” Taylor said, approaching him. “You took her!” “I didn’t,” he said. Taylor’s blood boiled. “You’re the only one who knows where she is!” she yelled. “Tell me where she is!” “No,” he said. Taylor’s hands balled into fists. She could feel her hair standing on end. Then he said: “I won’t let you have her.” Taylor’s resolve burned to life. Every fleeting hope, every delusion, every dream she’d had over the past twenty years all suddenly felt within arm’s reach. This son of a b***h really did have Angie. Anger flushed through her entire body, like a sheet of lightning. She would not let this man stand between her and Angie. With a sudden burst of energy, Taylor lashed out. She grabbed the old man by the collar of his shirt, yanked him up off his feet, and slammed him against the wall. “Where is she?” Taylor demanded again. He merely smiled, showing off his yellow teeth. “I already said I don’t know,” he hissed. Taylor felt the rage surge within her. She slammed the man against the wall again. “Tell me where she is,” she said. “You’re a fool,” he said. Taylor’s body began to shake with rage. “Tell me where she is,” she said, her voice cracking with intensity. The old man chuckled. “You can’t have her. She’s mine.” She didn’t have time for this anymore. Taylor stood back and whipped out her g*n, pointing it right at his face. “Tell me where my sister is or you die.” She wouldn’t shoot him, not to kill—Taylor didn’t want him dead. She wanted answers. Who was he? Why was he so familiar? And why did he take Angie? He deserved to rot in a cell—but it didn’t hurt to let him think Taylor would really blow his brains out. But he just smiled at the barrel of the g*n. “She’s mine,” he said. “She loves me. She’s loved me all this time. You can’t keep us apart.” Something audibly clicked. And before Taylor had a chance to process it, he had his own handgun out. But he didn’t point it at Taylor—he just held it limply in his hand. “Drop that,” Taylor demanded. “Now. Drop it.” But his arm limply raised the g*n up, and up—until it was pointed right at his head. No! Taylor threatened him with her own g*n again, as if that would make him stop. “Drop the weapon now,” Taylor said. “Do not shoot.” “She loves me,” the old man said. “She loves me, and she chose me… you can’t take her away. You can’t. Then I’d be all alone…” “Drop your weapon, now!” Taylor said. “She loves me so much that she ran away from home to be with me,” the man said. “Drop your weapon,” Taylor said. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—listen to a single thing this man had to say. Angie didn’t run away. He stole her. Taylor wouldn’t believe anything else. “Who’s going to love her now? Who’s going to take care of her? Who’s going to cook for her?” The man lifted the g*n higher. “Stop it!” Taylor said. She raised her g*n more. She didn’t know what to do. Shoot his leg? His arm? She had to stop him, but— The man’s finger curled around the trigger. “Stop!” Taylor said. The old man stared at Taylor. His eyes were dark, and they were suddenly brimming with tears. “No,” he whispered. Taylor’s heart was torn. “Drop the weapon,” she said, her voice cracking. Desperation took hold of her. She just needed the truth. If he killed himself, she might never get it. The man stared at her, terrified. He was shaking with fear. “I don’t want to live without her, ever,” he whispered. “Don’t do this,” Taylor whispered. “Please,” he said again, his voice cracking. He was begging her. “Don’t make me do this. She’ll die without me. She loves me.” Taylor’s stomach rolled. She wanted to throw up. “Don’t,” she warned him again. The old man closed his eyes. “No!” Taylor screamed. She dove in, trying to grab his weapon—but it was too late. He fired. The sound of the g*n pierced Taylor’s ears. She froze. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Her eyes went wide and her mouth hung open as she watched the man’s body fall to the floor. A hole in his head was oozing blood onto the carpet. She was too stunned to move. She just stood there, staring at the body. What have I done? How did she let this happen? Why didn’t she shoot? Taylor didn’t know. She had been petrified, physically and mentally. She’d frozen. But she couldn’t freeze up anymore. She was too close. Finally, she snapped out of it. Her brow furrowed, and her eyes narrowed. She rushed over to the old man. Tears welled up in her eyes as she knelt down beside him. The wound continued to spill blood, and his eyes were glassy as he stared at nothing. He was dead. “Damn you,” she whispered. “Damn you to hell.” Taylor wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to puke. But the sound of something shuffling somewhere in the cabin filled Taylor with a sudden panic. She whipped around, too fast, and the world began to spin. Her head ached. Her stomach churned. Taylor could barely see. She felt like she was going to vomit. “Angie!” Taylor cried out. “Are you in here?” She had to keep looking. She couldn’t give up. She dove into the bedroom of the cabin. There was nothing there but a shabby bed, a dresser, and a bookshelf, plus a single stream of moonlight through the window. The man must have slept here. The shuffling sound again. Taylor spun around. Something else—or somebody else—was in here, somewhere, but she didn’t know where. Please be Angie. Please be Angie… The sound came again—something metallic, something moving. It sounded like it was coming from behind the bookshelf. Without thinking, Taylor threw the bookshelf down, letting its old, rotting wood splinter against the floor. Behind the bookshelf was a small door. Taylor’s heart leapt into her throat. “Angie! Angie!” No response came. But she heard the rattle of what sounded like chains being dragged across a floor. Taylor grabbed the knob of the door and twisted. Locked. “Damn it,” Taylor said. She didn’t have the right tools to break down the door. She turned back to the body of the dead man through the doorway. She’d been in such a panic before that she didn’t even see the keys on his belt. “I didn’t want you dead,” she muttered to the body. “You should have just told me. You should have just told me the truth.” She knelt back down. The body’s eyes were still open, staring up at the ceiling. She thought about closing them, but she couldn’t bring herself to touch him. To touch the man who’d kept her sister captive for all these years. The keys jingled in her hand. She grabbed them and ran back into the bedroom, then slipped a key into the door, twisted it, and turned the knob. It opened. Taylor heard the sound again. The rattling. But beyond the door was just a dark, empty closet… Or so it appeared. Taylor stepped inside. The chain rattled again. It was coming from behind one of these walls. Taylor knocked on them. The walls seemed hollow, like they were just pieces of plywood stacked on top of one another. Taylor don’t know where Angie was, but she’d have to look through all of these walls. She kicked one of them in, surprised by how easily her foot went through. It wasn’t a wall. It was just cardboard. Taylor tore through it until she reached a room on the other side. And inside, in a small, cramped crawlspace, was a woman, chained to the back of the wall. Hunched in the corner, wearing rags. Long, black hair. Unrecognizable. Emaciated. But when she looked at Taylor, Taylor saw those blue-gray eyes, haunted as they were, and Taylor knew. It was Angie.