Unraveling The Past

FALSELY ACCUSED

After six months undercover with the meth dealers plaguing her town, deputy Joanna Graham’s cover is blown—and someone’s framing her for corruption and drug trafficking. She turns to her boss, Sheriff Tyler Beck, for help, but in coming to her aid he’s knocked unconscious...and loses his memory of the past seven years. Now Joanna must convince Tyler to trust her as they go on the run to figure out who set her up and who’s at the top of the meth gang. But as their lives are in danger, so is Joanna’s heart. This new Tyler has no recollection of their brief relationship. Could this be a second chance for them? Or will the fragile connection they’ve made be shattered when Tyler’s memory returns?

“Who gave you authorization to be here?”

She didn’t slow down. “You did, sir.”

“Me? That’s highly unlikely.” He again willed his memory to return. He hated this feeling of weakness, not knowing the mission brief or objectives. This woman could be leading him into a trap. He stopped on the stairs and barked an order at her. “What is the name of your superior officer?”

She turned. “His name is Sheriff Tyler Beck of Godspeed, Missouri.”

He held on to the peeling handrail for support as her words hit him in the gut. He was Tyler Beck, and his hometown was Godspeed, Missouri. But he wasn’t a sheriff. He was an officer in the navy SEALs. She was trying to dupe him, capitalizing on his loss of memory to lead him straight into enemy hands.

“Nice try, young lady,” he said. “But there’s no way I’m a small-town sheriff.”

She stood three steps down from him, her eyes running up and down the entire length of his body. “So why are you wearing his uniform?”

ELISABETH REES was raised in the Welsh town of Hay-on-Wye, where her father was the parish vicar. She attended Cardiff University and gained a degree in politics. After meeting her husband, they moved to the wild, rolling hills of Carmarthenshire, and Elisabeth took up writing. She is now a full-time wife, mother and author. Find out more about Elisabeth at elisabethrees.com.

Unraveling the Past

Elisabeth Rees

www.millsandboon.co.uk

But He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you,

for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

—2 Corinthians 12:9

For my longtime friend and ally, Lisa Nicholls,

whose beautiful spirit lights up all the dark places.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

ONE

Tyler woke on the floor: cold, hard, damp concrete, strewed with the kind of trash left by vagrants and junkies. Turning his head, he saw empty bottles and cigarette packs lying among half-eaten, moldy snacks and syringes. The smell in the air was almost as unbearable as the excruciating pounding of his head. A bare bulb hung overhead but was not lit, and water had collected inside the glass casing, murky and brown, in which tiny insects had crawled and drowned.

The sound of distant gunfire echoed through the building, and he willed his limbs to move, trying to overcome the pain surging through his body. Danger was close by.

He sat up, speaking his jumbled thoughts out loud. “Where am I?” He put a hand on his pulsating head. “What happened?”

He automatically reached for his weapon, holstered around his waist. He had no memory of the event that had led him here. Where was the rest of his SEAL unit? He figured that he must be on a military mission, but where? His last memories were of dark and dusty hillsides in Afghanistan, of deep and winding caves teeming with enemy forces, of five men fighting alongside him like a band of brothers. This derelict building could be anywhere, but judging by the numerous American brand beer bottles scattered around, he was on home soil. He shook his head, willing the memories to reveal themselves. The temperature was bitterly cold, and he took deep gulps of air to stop his muscles from shivering. It must be winter, wherever he was.

The gunfire increased in intensity, and he hauled himself to his feet with a huge groan to rest an outstretched hand on a nearby wall and steady his shaky legs. Then he staggered out of the room where he had lain and walked a few paces down a long corridor. He looked at the floor. Beside his boot lay a large rock, a sliver of blood snaking down its craggy edge. He gingerly rubbed a finger along a gash on his temple as he realized what had felled him. This rock had not only knocked him out cold, but it had stolen his recollection of events.

“Sheriff Beck! Where are you?” a female voice called out.

He turned his head sharply toward the sound. Beck was his surname, but he was Petty Officer Tyler Beck of SEAL Team Four, based in Little Creek, Virginia. He certainly wasn’t a sheriff.

The voice shouted even louder. “Sheriff Beck, we gotta get out of here, now!”

He tried to gauge the location of the woman. Above his head were the metal walkways of another story, and feet were pounding on it, heading in his direction. Inside this huge atrium were small rooms, adjacent to one another along the corridor, and all had rusted bars alongside. It was then that he realized he was in an abandoned prison. But how? And why?