Undercover Memories by Alice Sharpe Read Free Book Online

would be a way to work that to his own advantage.
    He’d just driven up a rise when the sight in the small valley below caused him to pull over to the side of the road. The police had set up a roadblock, and a growing line of cars waited to be cleared.
    No way Korenev would chance that if he had any other option. No way John could chance it, either. He didn’t have a driver’s license, he looked as if he’d been attacked by a bear and he was driving a car registered to someone else.
    He turned around and went back the way he’d come.
    When he got to the four corners, he pulled over again and walked the intersection, crossing each street and bending to look closely at the ground, searching for some sign that they’d come this way. There were no buildings and no one around to point a finger and say, “They went that way.”
    The only thing he saw out of place were parallel tracks two tires had made in the verge. It looked fresh to him. But this was the smallest and least-traveled-looking of the roads, and his instincts said to try the others first.
    Thirty minutes later, after a dead end and a road that looped around to connect to the main highway, he set off down the smaller road. Had he ever had good instincts? Were they messed up now due to the fall and amnesia, or was he always a screwup?
    It wasn’t long before he came across a closed-up gas station on one side of the road and a run-down-looking tavern on the other. There were two old guys in the parking lot and a few vehicles, but other than that it was dead.
    There was something about the two old men, though, that set off a warning bell. The way they stood in the center of the lot was odd, for one thing, as were their confused expressions. He pulled into the lot and got out of the car, attempting to look respectable despite his shredded suit and the bruises and Band-Aids on his face.
    He shouldn’t have worried. Both men reeked of booze and didn’t look as though they were up to making a single discerning observation.
    “You seen it?” one of them asked him as he looked into John’s eyes. His were watery and vague. He was the taller of the two and reed thin. His face was covered with gray stubble. The other was shorter and younger by a decade, but both were easily drinking away pensions. They were dressed more or less alike in heavy jackets, jeans, boots and cowboy hats.
    “Seen what?” John asked. He had the feeling he’d come in late to a show that was already in progress.
    “My truck,” the tall one said, burying his hands in his pockets.
    John stared at the old guy a second, trying to figure out if this was a joke. He finally repeated, “Your truck?”
    The old man held out unsteady hands as though to demonstrate how big the truck was. “It’s black,” he muttered.
    “Hell, it’s mostly rust,” the other guy sniggered.
    The old man looked offended for a second, then emitted a loud guffaw. “Someone must of stole it,” he said.
    “Who would steal that pile of—”
    “Well, it’s not here, is it?” the thin one barked, kicking at the muddy parking lot and almost falling on his face. John caught his arm and steadied him.
    The younger man studied the empty spot and shook his head. “It sure ain’t.”
    John looked around the lot to see if they’d parked it somewhere else and forgotten about it—not that he would tell them. Neither was in any condition to drive. It turned out to be a moot point as there was no rusty black truck in sight.
    “Let me ask you a question,” John said. “Have either of you seen a large man in a gold car with a young blonde woman? Would have been in the last couple of hours, probably less—”
    He shut up as he registered their blank expressions. Identical shakes of their heads followed, and John knew he was wasting time.
    “Damn thief,” the older guy said. Looking at his friend, he added, “Now how are we going to get home?”
    “Come on, George, it’ll be A-OK, hunky-dory. What we need is a little