". . . Forget Me Not also reveals the author's deep spiritual faith."
Reviewed by Betty Cox
Posted March 29, 2010
Romance Suspense | Inspirational Mystery
She is driving a Red Jaguar in an undesirable part of New
Orleans and talking on the car phone to her
attorney/financial analyst about two things -- her desire to
build a children's center in this area of the Big Easy, and
his suggestion that she sell the beach shack she inherited
from her Aunt Beth in Seagrove Village, Florida to a party
willing to pay top dollar plus for it. Then, her ex-
guardian drops a bombshell by telling her that NINA,
Nihilists in Anarchy, has located her once again and she
will have to relocate. Right after she hangs up the phone
she is carjacked and beat up pretty good. When she awakens
to the bright light of a flashlight held by a man in
pajamas, she remembers the carjacking, but nothing else
except that she is a woman of faith. Clyde Parker takes her
to the Crossroads Crisis Center to be looked over by their
staff. In the reception room is a portrait of Susan Brandt,
the founder, and it is identical to her. Since she found a
card in her pocket from the Center with the name Susan
written on the back, and also remembers one of her abductors
calling her Susan, she believes she is Susan Brandt. Only
problem is that Susan Brandt and her son were murdered
nearly a year ago.
Once a man of great faith and belief in God, Ben Brandt has
not stepped foot in the Crisis Center which was established
by Ben and Susan. He has lost his faith and questions a God
that would take his innocent wife and child in such a
heinous and unexplainable way. When his staff insists that
he come to the Center to see a woman calling herself Susan,
and who looks like his late wife, he is convinced it is just
another con artist trying to extort money from him. The
stranger's resemblance to Susan makes Ben furious, and his
rudeness to her finally ignites her from the daze she has
been in. Someone is trying to kill this woman because of her
resemblance to his wife, and he realizes he must protect her
better than he did his own family. He only asks that she
call herself by another name, and they mutually decide on
"Karen."
Ben takes Karen to his estate, which has state-of-the art
security, and ensconces her in a guest cottage. However,
within hours an attempt is made on her life. Who is "Karen"?
How did she end up in Florida from New Orleans? And, most
importantly, why? As pieces of this puzzle begin to fall
into place, no one in the United States will be safe from
the forces behind the evil.
This tale contains all of the danger, treachery, and action
a reader could wish for, along with intrigue coming from all
directions. Vicki Hinze's enthusiasm for her stories
highlights her sharp talent for conveying human emotions,
and FORGET ME NOT also reveals the author's deep spiritual
faith. FORGET ME NOT is the first offering in a new series
of Christian Suspense, and the outstanding characters and
the author's narrative leave the reader wanting more! More!
More!
SUMMARY
THEIR ELUSIVE ENEMIES TOOK EVERYTHING. NOW THEY WANT
MORE.
Crossroads Crisis Center owner Benjamin Brandt was a content
man—in his faith, his work, and his family. Then in a
flash, everything he loved was snatched away. His wife and
son were murdered, and grief-stricken Ben lost faith.
Determination to find their killers keeps him going, but
after three years of dead ends and torment, his hope is
dying too. Why had he survived? He’d failed to protect his
family.
Now, a mysterious woman appears at Crossroads seeking
answers and help—a victim who eerily resembles Ben’s
deceased wife, Susan. A woman robbed of her identity, her
life, of everything except her faith—and Susan’s necklace.
The connections between the two women mount, exceeding
coincidence, and to keep the truth hidden, someone is
willing to kill. Finding out who and why turns Ben and the
mystery woman’s situation from dangerous to deadly. Their
only hope for survival is to work together, trust each
other, and face whatever they discover head on, no matter
how painful. But will that be enough to save their lives and
heal their tattered hearts?
ExcerptPROLOGUE
July 12
"You know what I want."
Hearing
him behind her, she jerked and dropped her paintbrush. It
slid across
the canvas, streaking the emerald gulf water with a bold,
jagged slash
of white.
"Gregory,"
she said, her voice half-croak, half-whisper, her eyes
seeing far beyond
the easel and canvas in front of her.
She
had made this confrontation inevitable, but she hoped to
finish one
last painting before—
"Well?
Are you going to give it to me?"
Shaking,
she turned. He stood closer than she expected, towering
above her and
blocking both studio doors. The one to the deck overlooking
the gulf
was closer, but with his stride and reach—she didn’t stand
a chance.
Inevitable.
Putting
down her palette, she squared her shoulders and stiffened,
unable to
see past the bloodlust in his eyes. Would her response push
him over
the edge?
Regardless,
she had only one choice. Her mouth as dry as the sand
between her and
the surf, she hiked her chin and looked him right in the
eye.
"No."
"Reconsider—and
think carefully." His hands curled into fists at his sides,
his face
darkened to red, and the blood vessels in his thick neck
protruded.
"Is that your final answer?"
How
could anyone that angry sound that controlled? She darted
her gaze from
door to door, still seeking a way out. But there wasn’t
one. No one
would interrupt, would hear her scream. There would be no
escape.
She
glanced to a painting of a young girl, hanging on the wall.
What more
could she have done? The man was rich, powerful, and more
manipulative
than anyone she’d ever known. She had gone all the way to
the mayor
looking for help. Well, to his wife, Darla, but even she
had to admit
how outrageous her claims had sounded. Gregory Chessman
did seem incapable of anything that wasn’t wonderful.
Yet
she knew better. She studied the painting, the innocence
and promise
in that beloved face. If he found her—and sooner or later,
he would—then
she, too, would die. That left but one option. One. And who
knew if
it would work?
"I
know the truth about you." She injected her tone with
confidence and
a warning of her own. "If anything happens to me, others
will know
it too."
"You
tried that and failed." He grunted.
"You’re a crazy woman. No one believes a crazy woman, not
even an
airhead." He followed her gaze to the painting.
Something
inside him snapped. His face contorted and he closed the
gap between
them in a flash, clamping his fingers around her throat.
Fury pounded
off him in waves, rivaling the six-foot surf. With a
throaty growl,
he jerked, lifting her off the ground.
She
fought hard, kicking and swinging her frail arms, trying to
break his
hold, but she couldn’t make contact beyond his forearms.
Her
vision blurred, her starved lungs burned, craving air. Her
limbs turned
leaden.
Then
the brilliant light flooding the studio faded to black, and
she knew
no more.
* * *
Gregory watched the life leave her
eyes, taking pleasure in the fact that his would be the
last face she
would see. How dare she refuse him? Threaten him?
The crazy fool.
When
the last spark of hope for revival passed and she hung limp
and lifeless
a foot off the floor, he dropped her.
Her
body crumpled in a heap.
He
didn’t look down, just walked over her, knocked the aged
painting
off the wall, and then crushed it with the heel of his
shoe. Three years,
and the subject in it still taunted him. Still made him
vulnerable to
Alik Demyan. Gregory shuddered.
Now
she would suffer for both, for trespassing on his peace.
The
portrait lay tattered and torn, its brittle frame cracked.
He went at
it again, and kept at it until the painting was utterly
destroyed.
Though
he despised dirtying his own hands, NINA would be pleased.
No one had
messed up this one…
CHAPTER 1
October 9
"It’s a bad business decision."
Behind
the wheel of the red Jaguar, she checked her rearview
mirror, uneasy
at being where she shouldn’t be after dark.
"Maybe," she braked for a traffic light,
"but it’s a good heart decision."
The
man on the phone grunted his true feelings; his words
proved far more
diplomatic. "I understand that position on some of your
ventures,
like your work building the children’s center, but I don’t
understand
it on this. We’re talking about a run-down beach house
three states
away with exorbitant taxes and insurance that you never
visit. Retaining
it isn’t logical."
Her
aunt Beth had loved that run-down beach house, and they’d
spent almost
twenty wonderful summers together there. But maybe you had
to grow up
orphaned and denied the privilege of living with your last
blood relative
to understand the value of that.
"It’s
in hurricane country and eighty feet from the gulf," she
told her
financial advisor. "Of course the taxes and insurance
premiums are
outrageous."
Two
blocks ahead, a jazz funeral ambled down St. Charles
Avenue. Bluesy
music floated on the night. Not wanting to intrude, she
flicked her
little finger, tapping on the blinker, then turned at the
corner and
headed out of the French Quarter.
Her
uneasiness grew. There had been some police presence in the
Quarter.
Where she was headed, there wasn’t apt to be any.
"That’s
why you should sell it." His sigh crackled static through
the phone.
"Look, it’s a good offer. Market value plus 20 percent is
rare."
She
looked down the deserted street. A group of teenage boys
were hanging
out in front of a half-gutted building. Yet another remnant
of Hurricane
Katrina; the kids had no place safe to go. She hoped to
soon change
that. In this neighborhood, being on the street at night
wasn’t just
unsafe, it was dangerous. "Now you’re upset."
"I
am not upset."
If
his tone got any stiffer, it’d make the trek from Atlanta
to New Orleans
without benefit of the phone. He was definitely upset.
"Good." She needed to get past this call and focus on
returning
to the hotel.
Trash
littered the sidewalk and clumped in a pile near a storm
drain carved
into the corner’s concrete. Smelly garbage, rain-soaked and
muddy
from that afternoon’s thunderstorm, assaulted her.
Finger
to her nose, she looked from the grungy walk back to the
street.
"Why are these ‘blind’ buyers offering more than fair
market
value anyway?"
"You’ve
refused their previous offers and they want the property."
"Yes,
but why?" That just didn’t make sense.
"Dozens of homes are on the market. Why not buy one of
those? Why
Aunt Beth’s place?"
"Who
cares? Just take the money and run."
She
didn’t live her life that way. "See, that bothers me. When
people
hide who they are and push this hard, there’s a reason."
This property was in Seagrove Village. She couldn’t afford
to forget
that or not to be suspicious.
"Their
reason doesn’t matter. This is the perfect time to unload
it."
"I
don’t want to unload it." Without the beach house, she
wouldn’t
have any personal family memories after age seven—a fact he
well knew
since he’d handled her estate from the time of her parents’
passing.
How could he not understand?
"If
you’re going to ignore my advice, then why pay me for it?"
She
paid handsomely for it, but it was still a bargain.
"You’re a very good analyst, and I value your opinion, but
I make
my own decisions. Since I’m accountable for them, that’s as
it should
be." He should understand that; he’d taught it to her.
She
pulled up beside a car parked near a stop sign. Sitting
stopped on dangerous
streets gave her the willies. She wasted no time scanning
for oncoming
traffic, and then drove on.
"Why
are you so eager for me to sell?" Even before she’d reached
legal
age and he had gone from trustee and replacement guardian
to financial
advisor, he never pushed her this hard on anything.
"It’s
in your best interests."
"In
your opinion, but not in mine."
"I
know you make the final calls—and how you make them." He
sighed
deeper, heavier. "You’ve prayed on this and it doesn’t feel
right,
so you’re not doing it."
Well,
at least he understood that much. "Yes, prayer is my bottom
line."
Saying the offer didn’t feel right would do, but it was an
understatement.
Down to the marrow of her bones, she felt certain she was
supposed to
keep the beach house.
As
certain as she was that she must never return to it.
God’s
reasons on both went far deeper than her own, and if and
when He was
ready to reveal them to her, she’d be eager to know them.
Until then,
she would act in trust. Follow His will.
"There
is another reason you should consider and aren’t."
"Oh?"
His brittle tone had her stiffening. This wouldn’t be good
news.
"A
man purporting to be an investigator showed up at your
neighbor’s
house this afternoon looking for you."
No.
Not again. Please, not again. Fear streaked through her
chest, squeezed.
No sound came out of her mouth, so she waited on tender
hooks for him
to continue.
"You’re
going to have to run again. NINA’s found you."
NINA?
She had been running from men, not a woman.
"Who is she?"
"Not
who, but what. NINA is the name of the group looking for
you."
The
men were a group? They had been scary; this was terrifying.
"What kind of group?"
"Nihilists
in Anarchy."
She
swallowed hard. "So the biological terrorist threat is
still out there,
and it’s bigger than I thought."
A group. An organized group.
The taste in her mouth turned bitter.
"I’d hoped if I disappeared…"
"It
didn’t help. These are not fly-by-night thugs. I wish they
were. NINA
is a multinational organization—far too substantial to let
one woman
interfere with their plans."
Her
muscles went tight, knotted, and the urge to cry swelled
inside her.
She blinked fast, fighting it. "I have to disappear again."
"If
you want to live, yes."
Her
nightmares were starting all over again, and growing worse.
"Are they connected? The beach house buyers and these
people?"
"What
interest would a major terrorist group have in a shack of a
beach house?"
"That
was my question to you," she reminded him.
"None
known to the FBI. I contacted my friend there and made a
few inquiries—citing
a hypothetical situation again, of course."
"And
his advice remained the same," she guessed.
"That I should come in and get into Witness Protection."
"Actually,
no. With this new development, he doubts he can protect
you. His hypothetical
advice is to get lost and stay lost somewhere far, far
away."
"So
he was already familiar with this NINA?"
"Oh
yes," her advisor said. "They’re on multiple national watch
lists."
Boy,
had she fallen into it. "I told you the men after me were
bioterrorists."
She’d overheard that much.
"Bioterrorism
is but one of the threats NINA poses."
"There’s
more?" The news just kept getting better and better.
"Much
more, I’m afraid. NINA embraces the destruction of all
political,
social, and religious order. They reject morals and ethics
as mere products
of pressure. Life, to them, has no meaning. Good and evil
are based
on perspective, nebulous things. They even reject the
significance of
family."
Alien
philosophies. Spooky ones. And wasn’t that just great?
Having a duo
of cutthroats after her hadn’t been bad enough. She had to
run into
an entire army of them. "Charming. How did you find out
NINA was involved?"
He
hesitated and then sighed. "It’s safer that you don’t know."
Not
from the FBI apparently. Two trucks blew past her. One had
a back end
full of wooden crates that wobbled. She tapped the brake to
put more
distance between them, not trusting the ropes securing them
to hold.
"Did
you tell your FBI friend that the men could be members?"
"Of
course not. You’d be pulled in for questioning and be at
even greater
risk. NINA would know the moment you entered the building—
even my
friend couldn’t deny it."
That
was her take on the matter too, but it comforted her to
know he had
hypothetically discussed the situation with a professional,
and he was
in agreement. Clearly, he considered the men and the
anonymous buyers
two separate events—and they well might be. At this point,
she had
no way of knowing. "How did they find me?"
"No
idea. You’ve avoided the press, public gatherings… Has the
media
caught wind of your reasons for being in New Orleans?"
"No."
She’d had a close call with a reporter from the
Times-Picayune, but no direct hits. She’d grown
adept at avoiding
television cameras long ago.
"No
public records filed?"
"Only
the beach house deed."
"That
leads to me, not you, and it’s in another state." He
sighed.
"I have no idea how they located your current home. But
don’t delay
down there. They’re one step away. Vanish."
In
ordinary circumstances, it would be unfortunate to be
skilled at vanishing,
but in this case, her having a great deal of experience at
it was a
blessing. "I’ll wrap up here in a few hours and then go."
"A
few hours? That’s risky."
"Yes,
but necessary." If NINA knew she was here, they wouldn’t
have been
at her home this afternoon talking to her neighbors. And
since she didn’t
know her neighbors and they didn’t know her, she should be
safe for
a few more hours. That would be long enough. The kids here
needed the
center. She couldn’t raise their hopes and then dash them
by leaving
without doing anything.
"Invoke
your power of attorney. I’ll contact you again in six
months—sooner,
if I can—and when I do, I want to hear that this center is
up and
running."
"I’ll
take care of it," he said. "Our usual financial
arrangement?"
Her
life, the dire straits of the kids here, and he was
concerned about
money. The man had plenty and was still fixated on amassing
more.
"Our usual arrangement is fine."
"Very
well. I’ll decline the offer for the beach house," he said,
caving
on that issue. "And I’ll pay the taxes and insurance."
"Tell
the buyers we won’t entertain future offers too." This was
their
third attempt in the three months since Aunt Beth passed
away, and the
fear of a fourth offer dangling like a dark cloud on the
horizon she
did not need.
Not
knowing their motivations sparked worry. Every time these
mysterious
people made an offer, it triggered more, and she stayed
knotted up like
a pretzel for days. Now she discovered her pursuers, who
might or might
not be connected, had an entire organization behind them,
and it was
hunting her down and closing in. That made these anonymous
buyers a
lot less intimidating.
"I’ll
tell them. Though it’s never wise to close the door on
future opportunities."
"If
I’m wrong, it won’t be the first time or the last. I’ll
live with
it."
"Very
well." He clipped his tone. "I’ll handle the matter first
thing
in the morning."
"On
this NINA group," she said, determined to try one last time
to learn
more. "I know it’s safer for me not to know how you found
out about
them, but have you placed yourself in jeopardy? I need to
know that
much."
"No,
I haven’t."
"You’re
sure?"
"Positive."
That
didn’t give her much leeway to insist on disclosure.
"Just in case, you’d better tell me all you can."
"No.
I won’t take deliberate action that pushes you further into
the fire."
"But—"
"No,"
he insisted, then softened enough to add,
"Let’s just say that sometimes people are the exact
opposite of
who they appear to be."
Which
told her nothing. Who was the exact opposite of who they
appeared to
be? "That’s it?"
"That’s
it."
"Fine."
No sense arguing. He wouldn’t budge.
"Thank you for everything." His warning could take her out
of the
line of fire. At least she knew they had found her home and
were closing
in on her. "Take care. I’ll call when I can."
"Be
smart about it, and do stay alive. You know how I detest
having to rearrange
my schedule."
Boy,
did he. And for him, this comment was intensely personal.
So much so
that a lump formed in her throat. "I’ll do my best not to
cause
you any inconvenience."
She
would; she always had. But would her best be good enough to
keep her
alive?
* * *
"I found her." A gravel-voiced
man reported in via phone. "Interception is complete."
"Excellent."
He stepped outside and permitted the long-held tension to
drain from
his body. He’d been expecting this call for weeks.
"Where is she now?"
"Don’t
worry. She hasn’t checked out of her hotel. She’s scouting
sites
for the new center."
More
good news. He glanced at his watch—7:15.
"So you’ve enacted the plan? With the red Jag?"
That car was crucial for two reasons. One, to signal their
men, and
the other to signal a key player who didn’t yet realize he
was a key
player. The car would serve notice he couldn’t miss.
"Yes,
sir. The plan is active, the Jag is in place, and our men
are in position.
All I need is your authorization, and I’ll cut them loose."
He paused
and then added, "It should all be over before you catch the
nine o’clock
news."
He’d
seen this moment in his mind’s eye a million times, and
he’d studied
at least that many possibilities seeking a different final
solution.
But all the seeking and sifting had changed nothing. In the
end, the
same simple truth remained. Pit anything—money, power, or
blood—against
survival and survival won.
"Two
twenty-two," he said, relaying the code.
"Code
master?"
His mouth went dry and his tongue
stuck to his teeth. He sipped from a crystal glass that
cost more than
most made in a week and then whispered on a hushed breath
the word he
had yearned and dreaded to speak. The word that opened
craters of fear
in those unfortunate enough to understand
its meaning: "NINA."
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