Chapter 4 Cliffside Reenactment

# Chapter 4: Cliffside Reenactment

The ring felt both foreign and familiar on my finger as I walked into the precinct the next morning. I'd hidden it beneath a bandage, claiming a minor injury, but its weight was a constant reminder of the questions that had kept me awake all night.

Murray ambushed me before I could reach my desk. "Where the hell have you been? Coleman's been breathing fire."

"Research," I said, not entirely lying. "For a personal project."

"Well, your 'personal project' nearly got you suspended. Again." He lowered his voice. "Listen, something weird came in this morning. Thought you should know before the briefing."

I tensed. "What kind of weird?"

"Anonymous tip about a potential hostage situation. Guy named Cain Lockhart."

My blood froze. "What about him?"

"Caller said he's being targeted by the Donovan syndicate. Revenge for that warehouse shooting." Murray studied my face. "Thing is, when I ran Lockhart's name through our system, it was flagged. Restricted access, top-level clearance only."

"That's not unusual for high-profile security contractors," I said carefully.

"Maybe." Murray didn't look convinced. "But what's really weird is when I tried to access your complete service record—to see if you'd crossed paths with him before—I hit the same firewall."

I swallowed hard. "Probably just a system glitch."

"A glitch that links you and Lockhart?" Murray shook his head. "Isla, whatever you're mixed up in—"

"Officers!" Superintendent Coleman's voice boomed across the squad room. "Briefing room, now."

Saved by the bureaucracy. I followed the flow of officers, grateful for the interruption but unsettled by Murray's discovery. If he had found connections between Cain and me, others would too.

The briefing was standard—updates on ongoing cases, patrol assignments, warnings about a new street drug. I barely paid attention until Coleman mentioned the anonymous tip.

"We have credible intelligence that Cerberus Security CEO Cain Lockhart may be targeted by the Donovan organization following the warehouse incident," he announced. "Given Mr. Lockhart's connections to government contracts, we're assigning protective surveillance."

My head snapped up. "Sir, if I may—"

Coleman cut me off. "Officer MacAllister, you're still on desk duty. This doesn't concern you."

But it did. If the Donovans were truly targeting Cain, it connected directly to my past—to the undercover operation he claimed I'd been running before my "death."

After the briefing, I cornered Coleman in the hallway. "Sir, about the Lockhart surveillance—"

"I said desk duty, MacAllister." His tone was final.

"With respect, sir, I have reason to believe I may have relevant experience with the Donovan organization. From before my... accident."

Coleman's expression changed, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "What exactly are you suggesting?"

"My memory loss... there are gaps that don't align with the official record." I chose my words carefully. "I've been having flashbacks. Combat training I don't remember receiving. Names that seem familiar."

"You were advised to report any memory recovery to Dr. Richards immediately," he said stiffly.

"I'm reporting it to you, sir. Because I think the department has been less than forthcoming about my past."

Coleman glanced around the busy hallway, then gripped my arm, steering me toward his office. Once inside, he closed the door firmly.

"Sit down, Officer."

I remained standing. "I want access to my complete file."

"That's not possible."

"Because it's linked to Cain Lockhart?" I challenged.

Coleman's face hardened. "Who have you been talking to?"

"Does it matter? The truth will come out eventually."

"The 'truth' isn't as simple as you think." He sighed heavily, the stern superintendent briefly replaced by a weary man. "Your undercover work was classified. Deeply classified. After your presumed death, certain... accommodations were made."

"Accommodations," I repeated flatly. "You mean lies."

"We call it protective protocol. When you were found alive but amnesiac, a decision was made at the highest levels to maintain operational security."

"By keeping me in the dark about my own life?" Anger flared hot and bright. "About my husband?"

Coleman's eyes widened fractionally—confirmation in itself. "Who told you that?"

I held up my hand, peeling back the bandage to reveal the ring. "He did."

"Lockhart approached you?" Coleman's voice sharpened. "When?"

"Does it matter? What matters is you've been lying to me for five years."

"We protected you," he countered. "Your undercover identity was compromised in the worst possible way. Your 'husband'—" he nearly spat the word, "—has connections that make your Donovan operation look like child's play."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying Cain Lockhart isn't just some security contractor. He runs one of the most sophisticated private intelligence networks in Europe. 'The Ghost,' they call him in certain circles. Governments use his services when they need deniability."

My mind raced. "And I was what? Investigating him?"

"Initially." Coleman pinched the bridge of his nose. "Until you compromised yourself by becoming personally involved. The marriage was real—that much is true. But it violated every protocol we had."

"So you let me believe I was just a patrol officer? Kept me in the dark while I rebuilt a life based on lies?"

"We gave you a second chance," Coleman insisted. "A clean slate. Lockhart was deemed too dangerous to remain connected to you."

"That wasn't your decision to make." My voice shook with fury. "Those were my memories. My choices."

"And now what?" he challenged. "You remember a few fragments and suddenly you're ready to throw away five years of rebuilding? For what? A man who operates in the shadows? Who kills without remorse?"

"I want to know who I was," I said firmly. "All of it. Not just the sanitized version you fed me."

Coleman studied me for a long moment. "Fine. I'll authorize temporary access to your restricted file. But not here—too many eyes. Meet me at the archives facility tonight, 10 PM." He scribbled an address on a notepad. "Come alone."

I took the paper, suspicion warring with gratitude. "Thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me yet, MacAllister." His expression was grim. "Some memories are better left buried."

---

I should have gone straight to the archives facility that night. Should have followed protocol, waited for Coleman, done things by the book.

Instead, I found myself driving along the coastal road north of the city, following coordinates I'd found in an encrypted file on the phone Cain had given me. The file was labeled simply "beginning/end."

The road curved along dramatic cliffs, the North Sea crashing against rocks hundreds of feet below. As I rounded the final bend, I saw it—a modern glass house perched on the cliff edge, illuminated against the darkening sky.

Our wedding venue, according to the video. The site of my "death," according to Coleman.

I parked at a discreet distance, approaching on foot with my service weapon drawn. The property appeared deserted, but a faint light glowed from within. The door was unlocked—an invitation or a trap, I couldn't be sure.

Inside, the house was a minimalist dream of glass and steel, offering panoramic views of the churning sea below. A single laptop sat open on a coffee table, its screen displaying a countdown timer: 00:12:47... 00:12:46...

Beside it lay a small stack of photographs—me in tactical gear, smiling with a team of officers I didn't recognize. Me receiving some kind of commendation. Me with Cain, his arm around my waist, both of us laughing.

"I wondered when you'd find this place."

I spun, gun raised. Cain stood in the doorway, hands slightly raised in a non-threatening gesture.

"Don't move," I ordered.

"Wouldn't dream of it." Despite the gun aimed at his chest, he seemed utterly calm. "Have you spoken to Coleman yet?"

I frowned. "How did you—"

"I know how the superintendent thinks. He'll have offered to show you your file, somewhere private. Away from witnesses." Cain's expression darkened. "It would have been your last conversation."

"What are you talking about?"

"Your department has spent five years burying what happened here. They won't let you uncover it now." He nodded toward the laptop. "That's a livestream of the archives facility. Coleman arrived ten minutes ago—with four armed men who aren't police."

I glanced at the screen, which now showed security footage of the facility's entrance. Coleman was indeed there, speaking with men whose faces were carefully angled away from the camera.

"This proves nothing," I said, though doubt had already crept in.

"The countdown is when they'll realize you're not coming." Cain took a careful step forward. "We have about twelve minutes before they track your phone here."

"You think Coleman wants to kill me? That's absurd."

"Not Coleman specifically. But the people he answers to? Absolutely." Another step. "You were their best, Isla. An undercover operative so deep in the Donovan organization that you uncovered their government connections. Names that couldn't be exposed. Operations that couldn't see daylight."

My head was spinning. "If that's true, why not kill me five years ago? When I was in the hospital, vulnerable?"

"Too public. An amnesiac officer dying mysteriously would raise questions. Better to give you a new identity, keep you close, controlled." His voice softened. "Until you started remembering."

The ring seemed to burn against my finger. "And you? Where do you fit in all this?"

"I was a complication they never anticipated. Our marriage wasn't in their operational plans." A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "You were supposed to be investigating me, not falling in love with me."

"So I compromised myself," I said bitterly.

"We compromised each other." He was close enough now that I could lower my gun or shoot him point-blank. "My business operates in gray areas. Your investigation should have destroyed me. Instead..."

"Instead what?"

"Instead, I gave you everything. My networks. My resources. To help bring down Donovan." His eyes held mine. "And in return, you gave me something I never expected."

"A weakness," I guessed.

"A conscience." He reached out slowly, his fingers brushing my cheek. "You made me want to be better."

The touch sent a jolt through me—not fear or revulsion, but recognition. My body knew him, even if my mind didn't.

Before I could respond, the silence was shattered by the wail of approaching sirens.

"They're coming," Cain said urgently. "Earlier than I calculated."

"Who?"

"Donovan's men. Someone must have tipped them off." He moved to a panel in the wall, revealing a hidden safe. "We need to go. Now."

"I'm not going anywhere with you until I get answers," I insisted, even as my tactical instincts screamed danger.

"Then ask while we move." He removed a go-bag from the safe and tossed it to me. "That cliff path is our only exit."

I caught the bag automatically. "The cliff? Are you insane?"

"It's where you disappeared last time." His eyes met mine, deadly serious. "History repeating itself."

Headlights swept the driveway, engines growling as vehicles approached. I made my decision, following Cain through a hidden door at the back of the house. We emerged onto a narrow path winding down the cliff face—treacherous in daylight, potentially deadly in the growing darkness.

"Stay close to the wall," Cain instructed, leading the way. "There's a boat waiting at the bottom."

Shouts erupted above us as Donovan's men discovered the empty house. Gunshots followed, bullets chipping stone near our heads.

"They're shooting blind," Cain said calmly. "Keep moving."

We descended rapidly, the path growing narrower. The sea crashed against rocks below, the spray occasionally reaching us even at our height.

"This is where it happened, isn't it?" I asked, a memory struggling to surface. "Where I went over."

"A hundred meters ahead," he confirmed. "There's a wider section where they cornered us."

As if his words had triggered it, a flash of memory exploded behind my eyes—men with guns, Cain bleeding, my decision to draw them away.

I stumbled, nearly losing my footing on the narrow path.

"Isla!" Cain grabbed my arm, steadying me. The contact sent another memory surging—his hands on my waist, lifting me over the railing of a yacht. Dancing under stars.

"I remember pieces," I whispered. "Fragments."

More gunfire erupted, closer this time. They'd found the cliff path.

We reached the wider section Cain had mentioned—a small plateau where the path briefly leveled out before continuing its descent. My mind overlaid another image: the two of us, cornered, out of ammunition.

"We were trapped here," I said slowly. "They had us pinned down."

Cain's expression was pained. "Yes."

"You were shot." My hand reached out instinctively, touching his side where I somehow knew a scar would be.

"And you jumped to save me." His voice was rough with emotion. "Drew them away so I could escape."

The sound of pursuit grew louder. We were running out of time.

"The boat?" I asked.

"Another fifty meters down. But we'll be exposed crossing this plateau."

I assessed our options with the clarity that came from training I couldn't consciously remember. "I'll cover you. Go first."

"Not a chance," he growled. "We go together or not at all."

Before I could argue, the first of our pursuers appeared on the path above. I fired twice, forcing them to take cover.

"Now!" I shouted.

We sprinted across the exposed section, bullets kicking up dust at our heels. I returned fire, the dual guns—my service weapon and the Beretta—feeling like extensions of my arms.

We'd nearly reached the continuing path when I heard Cain grunt in pain. He stumbled, blood blossoming on his shoulder.

"Keep going!" he ordered through gritted teeth.

I grabbed him, half-dragging him to cover behind an outcropping of rock. "Not without you."

For a moment, we were pressed together, his breath warm against my face. Another memory surfaced—the two of us in similar proximity, but in softer circumstances. His lips on mine, gentle despite his dangerous reputation.

"This feels familiar," he murmured, echoing my thoughts.

"Being shot at?"

"Being saved by you."

More bullets struck our meager shelter. I peered around the edge, counting at least five gunmen advancing cautiously.

"The boat won't wait forever," Cain said. "And that wound needs attention."

I made a quick decision. "I'll draw them off. You get to the boat."

His eyes widened in alarm. "No. That's exactly what happened last time."

"Then we'll change the ending." I pulled a flare gun from the go-bag he'd given me. "When you see the signal, be ready to run."

"Isla—"

I silenced him with a look. "Trust me."

Something in my expression must have convinced him. He nodded reluctantly. "Just don't jump off any cliffs this time."

"No promises." I loaded the flare gun and took a deep breath. "On three."

I counted down, then rolled from cover, firing the flare not at our attackers but at the dry brush farther up the path. The vegetation caught immediately, creating a wall of fire and smoke.

In the confusion, I sprinted in the opposite direction from Cain, drawing their attention with deliberately wild shots from my service weapon.

"There she is!" someone shouted. "Get her!"

I led them on a chase along a diverging path, buying Cain time to reach the boat. When I was certain they were all following me, I doubled back through a narrow crevice in the rock face—a shortcut I somehow knew existed, though I had no conscious memory of it.

The path to the boat was clear when I emerged. I could see Cain in the distance, nearly at the bottom of the cliff. He'd made it.

I started after him, but a sudden movement caught my eye. One gunman had spotted me, raising his weapon.

No time to draw my own. I threw myself forward as he fired, the bullet grazing my arm. The momentum carried me over the edge of the path.

For one horrifying moment, I was falling, the dark water rushing up to meet me.

Then my hand caught a jutting rock, halting my descent. I hung there, feet dangling over the abyss, the wound in my arm screaming in protest.

Above me, footsteps approached the edge.

"She went over!" a voice called. "Like last time!"

"Make sure she's dead," another ordered. "Check the water."

I clung to the rock, my grip weakening. Blood from my arm made my hand slippery. Below, the sea churned against jagged rocks.

This was how it happened before, I realized. Not a deliberate jump, but a fall. History truly was repeating itself.

As my fingers began to slip, a hand suddenly grasped my wrist. I looked up to see Cain, his face tight with pain and determination.

"Not again," he said through clenched teeth. "Never again."

With strength born of desperation, he pulled me up until I could scramble back onto the path. We crouched together, hidden from view of the men above.

"The boat?" I whispered.

"Still waiting." He examined my bleeding arm. "But we need to move fast."

Voices approached our position. Cain pulled me close, pressing something against my lips—an oxygen mask connected to a small tank.

"What are you—"

"Plan B," he whispered. "Trust me."

Before I could respond, he had fitted a second mask over his own face and pulled me with him—over the edge of the path, into the churning water below.

The impact was shocking, the cold seizing my lungs despite the oxygen mask. We plunged deep, the current immediately trying to smash us against the cliff face.

Cain's arm was iron around my waist as he kicked, guiding us through the water with confident strokes. I followed his lead, my body once again remembering what my mind had forgotten.

We surfaced briefly in a small cove, hidden from view of the cliff path.

"Boat's just around that outcropping," Cain said, voice muffled by the mask. "Can you make it?"

I nodded, too breathless to speak. We submerged again, swimming parallel to the shore until we reached the waiting vessel—a small but powerful speedboat with a covered cabin.

Hands reached down, pulling us aboard. A man I didn't recognize helped me into the cabin while another tended to Cain's shoulder wound.

"Status?" Cain demanded, all business despite his injury.

"Perimeter secure. Donovan's men still searching the cliff," the man reported. "Coleman's team is en route—ETA fifteen minutes."

"Coleman?" I asked sharply. "He's working with Donovan?"

"Not directly," Cain winced as the medic extracted the bullet from his shoulder. "But they share masters."

As the boat sped away from the coast, I looked back at the cliff where I had supposedly died five years ago. Flames from my flare still illuminated the upper path, small figures moving frantically against the glow.

"You knew this would happen," I accused Cain. "You set this up."

"I anticipated it," he corrected. "After you accessed your marriage records, it was only a matter of time before they moved against you."

"So you used me as bait."

"I protected you the only way I could." His eyes held mine, challenging. "Would you have believed the truth otherwise? That your own department wanted you silenced?"

I had no answer for that. Instead, I asked, "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere safe. Somewhere they can't find us." He nodded to one of his men, who brought forward a first aid kit for my arm. "We have unfinished business, you and I."

As the medic cleaned my wound, I stared at the man who claimed to be my husband. His shoulder was being bandaged, his face pale from blood loss, yet his eyes never left mine—watching, waiting for something.

"I thought you were the one," I said quietly. "The one who pushed me off that cliff five years ago."

Pain flickered across his features—not physical, but deeper. "Is that what you remember?"

"I don't know what to remember anymore." I looked down at the ring on my finger, still there despite our plunge into the sea. "Everything I thought I knew feels like a lie."

"Not everything." He reached across the space between us, his fingers brushing mine. "This was real. Is real."

I pulled my hand away, not ready for that connection. "I need time. Space to process."

"We have about twelve hours before we reach our destination," he said with a hint of his earlier confidence. "Use it however you need."

As he moved to the front of the cabin to speak with the captain, I leaned back against the cushions, exhaustion finally claiming me. My last conscious thought was of the cliff, of falling, of water closing over my head.

But this time, when I sank into darkness, I wasn't alone.