Joe wanted to help Tom, but he had the feeling he’d only end up getting in the way. He’d never seen anyone fight like that. Not outside the movies, anyway. It was like Tom knew what move his opponent was going to make before he made it. There was a fierceness in him Joe was seeing for the first time, yet he was calm, his moves calculated, like he’d done this plenty of times before. He grabbed one guy by the arm and flipped him over his back, then thrust his palm up against another guy’s nose. One man against six, and Tom wasn’t breaking a sweat.
One of the men pulled out a gun, and Joe cried out a warning. Tom snatched the man’s gun and took it apart while the guy was still holding it. How had he done that? Tom was beating the pulp out of the men, and Joe wondered if he should call the police, but he had a feeling that would be a bad idea. Though how it could be worse than what was happening in his shop was beyond him, but how would they explain to the police about Tom, his amnesia, and his ability to leave six men writhing in pain? What if those detectives showed up again? Joe didn’t trust them.
The men fell over each other, dripping blood and holding sore limbs as they tried to flee. Tom managed to grab hold of Hoodie Guy before he could make it to the door, but the guy unzipped his hoodie and fled.
“Dammit.” Tom chucked the hoodie on the floor. Joe could tell he was tempted to go after them but decided against it. His chest rose and fell, but there was barely any sweat on his brow. He turned to Joe, his expression almost pained. “I should go.”
“What?” Joe lowered the bat, taken aback when Tom walked into the garden. Joe followed, not quite ready to leave the bat behind. Tom paced. He stopped to look down at his knuckles, and that was when Joe saw the blood. Quickly, Joe went back in and picked up the small first aid kit from behind the counter, and went back out. Tom hadn’t moved. He stood there staring down at his hands.
Joe removed an antiseptic wipe from its packet along with a roll of bandages. He stepped up to Tom and gently took his hands.
Tom flinched, as if he’d been in some kind of trance. When he spoke, his voice was hushed. “I’m so sorry, Joe.”
“It’s okay, Tom.” Joe carefully wiped Tom’s hands clean. They were still stained red, but Joe tenderly nursed them as best he could until the blood was gone, then wrapped the bandages around them. Tom’s hands were steady, like nothing had happened.
“Okay? Those men were here for me. We both know that. They tore your shop apart. Did they hurt you?” Tom frantically checked him over. “Are you okay? Did they touch you? If they put their hands on you, so help me, I’ll hunt them down and—”
“I’m fine. I promise.”
Tom ran a hand through his hair, concern etched into his handsome face. “What if I hadn’t arrived in time? What if one of those bastards had shot or stabbed you? I’d never forgive myself. Those men want me, not you. What if it had been Bea or Donnie or Elsie? I have to go. I can’t put you in any more danger. If something happened to you because of me, I couldn’t live with myself. These men mean serious business. They won’t stop until they get their hands on me or someone ends up dead. I have to go.”
“You can’t be serious.” Joe realized Tom wanted to protect him, but what difference would it make now? They believed Joe was involved, that he knew where Tom was. Yet the danger Joe was in would be nothing compared to what Tom might face out there on his own.
“Joe, listen to me.” Tom put his hands on Joe’s shoulders. “With every day that passes, the more danger I bring down on you and those around you. I should have left a long time ago.”
“No.”
Tom stared at him. “What?”
“I’m not letting you go out there on your own. Where are you going to go? You can’t trust the police. You think I’m going to let you walk out into God knows what? Do you really think I’d just, what? Go about my business while you’re hunted down? Go on as if nothing had happened, waiting for the day I hear about your death on the news?”
Tom frowned. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“You have skills, training—that much is obvious—but they have the advantage, Tom. You can’t remember who you are. You don’t know who these people are, why they want you, or what they’ll do to you. There might be an entire army out there looking to get their hands on you, and you have no one on your side. As much as I’d like to boast about my batting skills, there’s a reason I’m not playing for the Yankees.” He needed to make Tom understand. “Going out there on your own without any information is suicide.”
“Joe, be reasonable. Whoever these men are, they’re willing to kill to get their hands on me.” Tom shook his head. “My mind’s made up. I’ll find a shelter or somewhere to hide out until something comes back to me. Maybe I’ll leave the state, head to Virginia.” Tom went pensive. “There has to be a reason Virginia’s the first state that popped into my head.” He narrowed his eyes. “I have some kind of connection there.”
Was Tom remembering? “What do you remember about Virginia?” Joe asked, hopeful.