SECONDARY TARGETS

by

Sandra Edwards

Secondary Targets

Copyright © 2010 Sandra Edwards

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from Sandra Edwards.

Published by Amazon DTP

Seattle, WA

Electronic DTP Edition: September 2010

This book is a work of fiction and all characters exist solely in the author's imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any references to places, events or locales are used in a fictitious manner.

Other books by Sandra Edwards

Crazy For You

Incredible Dreams

Broken Wings

Coming Soon

Vegas, Baby (sequel to Broken Wings)

Forever For You (sequel to Crazy For You)

To all my Friends and Family: Thanks for your continued support and help!

~ ~ ~

To The Readers,

Secondary Targets is a tale of intrigue and mystery that I began writing several years ago. Since a pivotal part of the plot centers around Grand Central Station in New York City, which no longer has lockers available to the public, rather than rewriting the book, I took author’s liberty and left the lockers in GCS for the sake of the story.

As always, I welcome comments, thoughts and emails from my readers. I’d love to hear from you, if you’re so inclined. Drop me a line at sandra1@sandrawrites.com.

Happy Reading!

Sandra Edwards

CHAPTER 1

Raleigh National Cemetery

Today

THE morning sun glared down on Grace Hendricks like an evil omen. She towered over the plot that was supposed to be her father’s grave, but the headstone said someone else was buried there. Grace felt like she’d walked onto the set of some weird Sci-Fi flick.

She surveyed the cemetery, half-blinded by the sunlight dousing the tombstones. Granted, she hadn’t been here since the funeral, eleven years ago, but who forgot a thing like where their father was buried? She hadn’t been a child with distorted memories, she was twenty-two when the man died.

A quick double-check of the small notepad she had clutched in her left hand confirmed the cemetery’s section and plot markers matched the ones she’d scribbled onto the paper before leaving her home in Cleveland yesterday. Grace hadn’t stumbled upon the wrong grave.

Her gaze lit back on the headstone and remained, as if the marker was going to correct itself. It didn’t.

“Where’s my father?” she whispered.

Grace backed away and hurried for the car. Her pounding heartbeat raced to her head and banged against her skull. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. Four-star generals didn’t just disappear, especially the former commander of a United States Marine Corps Air Station.

She slammed the car door and started the engine, casting a fleeting glance over the cardboard box on the seat at her side. The container held the file she’d recently obtained from the Veteran’s Administration—they said the dossier was her father’s records, but she didn’t believe it. The file didn’t detail a single event in the life she remembered.

Missing graves and bizarre VA files. What the hell had Grace stumbled upon?

So far, this trip to North Carolina—the site of her father’s last command, death and subsequent burial—had done nothing to clear up the mystery. If anything, the esotericism had amplified.

The only place left to go was Cherry Point, where she hoped someone would recognize her father’s name and agree to help the former commanding general’s daughter. But who could she trust? Who wouldn’t think she’d lost her mind? Only someone who’d been there, the same as her, the day of the funeral.

Captain Eric Wayne.

He was the only one she could trust, even though she’d run out on him shortly after the funeral. The chances of Eric still being stationed at Cherry Point were slim at best, but she could always check with the Post Locator.

Hopefully, he wasn’t overseas.

When Grace arrived at the front gate those bozos wanted to deny her base access, until they saw the civilian security clearance badge, with her picture, hanging off her rearview mirror. Grace had jumped through hoops to earn those credentials for her job as a corporate fundraiser, and now her efforts were paying off in spades. Even the guards’ overbearing arrogance couldn’t stop her from entering this, or any other, military base on US soil.

Okay, so maybe, in light of 9/11 they were just doing their job, but still, why didn’t any of them know who General Michael Hendricks was? Did neither of them know the history of the military installation they guarded?

Grace headed for the Post Locator. According to them, Captain Eric Wayne was now Lt. Colonel Wayne and once again stationed at Cherry Point. What luck. Something was going Grace’s way. Finally.

She parked in the vacant visitor space in front of Building 2386. The landscape hadn’t changed much in the eleven years she’d been away. Stately red-bricked buildings, Cherry Point’s landmark, sparked her memories. Well-manicured lawns still had those squared-off hedges and splashes of spring colors bordering the structures.

Grace maneuvered through the busy entrance, slipping inside the lobby. She checked the directory on the far wall and searched for his name and location.

Lt Colonel Eric Wayne—3rd Floor, Suite 118.

Grace leaned against the sidewall of the almost empty elevator and waited for her floor. A woman, her only companion on the lift, exited on the second floor, and a guy in a Marine Corps Service Uniform joined Grace. She figured him for about forty-five or so. His gaze fell upon her and stayed a little too long to suit Grace.

She smiled, hoping to appear friendly and remote enough not to provide encouragement. The elevator’s ding signaled their arrival at the third floor, and a silent offer of thanks invaded her thoughts.

A chill shuddered up her torso as she moved past the Marine and stepped into the corridor. She studied the numbers at each door and the names beneath them.

On one side of the hallway, the numbers ran “odd” in the low 120s. The other side, the right side, she scanned them as she walked. 124. 122. 120. 118. Lt. Colonel Eric Wayne.

A mixture of fear and insecurity swept through Grace, but she had no time to wallow in self-pity. The past had reemerged, the music was getting louder and she’d forgotten the dance. Still, she opened the door and stumbled onto the dance floor, a necessary maneuver if she wanted answers. Her father had disappeared—grave and all. Eric would know what to do. Or she was screwed.

In the reception area, a clerk behind the counter glanced up from her computer screen and smiled at Grace. A single window on the far side cast faint rays of sunshine inside the mostly drab room. Grace stepped forward, closer to the receptionist. The girl had wrapped her blonde hair in a bun—whatever it takes to get it off the collar—and glued in place with hairspray. She wore no earrings, no makeup, no nail polish.

Grace fiddled with the purse strap hanging on her shoulder. “I’m here to see Lt. Colonel Eric Wayne.”

“Lt. Colonel Wayne has retired,” the receptionist said. “Just today. He left a couple of hours ago.” The clerk’s demeanor showed no sympathy, her voice held no consideration for what her words might cost Grace.

Retired? Seriously? What the hell was Grace supposed to do now? Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to ‘erase’ her father, and she had no idea where to turn.

She couldn’t trust too many people with this newfound information. In fact, she could count them on one hand and have a whole lot of fingers left over.

Could she trust anyone, other than Eric, with this bizarre story? No one but Marcus, and the post locator had nothing on Eric’s best friend.

A sick sensation rose up and Grace swooned.

“Can I call someone for you?” the receptionist asked, standing.

“No.” Grace moved back a couple of steps, turned and headed for the exit. Her trembling hands clutched the handle and pushed, enabling her escape.

Okay, get a grip. Giving up wasn’t an option. Nor was going back to Cleveland and pretending her father hadn’t been wiped from existence. She’d tried a variation of the scenario before. One where she avoided dealing with her father’s death—which had only led her down a path of darkness. A place she couldn’t visit again. She had to have a Plan B.

And she’d implement it, just as soon as she concocted one.

Pink’s Tavern seemed liked the appropriate place, for sentimental reasons, to end Eric Wayne’s last day of active duty in the United States Marine Corps.

The place was a hole-in-the-wall joint during Eric’s first stint at Cherry Point fifteen years ago, and nothing had changed. Not its owner. Not its charm. Not the sign hanging behind the bar proclaiming the establishment as Pink’s in pink neon cursive.

Eric strolled across the open expanse between the door and the bar. A hint of beer and pretzels mingled with the more pungent aromas of smoke and stale perfume. The hard-rocking sounds of Rod Stewart blasting from the jukebox made the stench a bit more bearable.

The leatherneck in Eric scanned the near-empty tavern. Happy hour was a good forty-five minutes away, just enough time for a beer or two and then he’d head out before the meat-market crowd arrived.

Pink, otherwise known as David Floyd, greeted Eric as he claimed a stool at the middle of the unoccupied bar. The pub’s owner and bartender had long since hit his fiftieth year. During the time Eric had been stationed elsewhere, Pink had lost most of his hair and none of the extra pounds he’d packed on with his favorite diet of beer and doughnuts.

“Lt. Colonel Wayne,” Pink’s boisterous voice bellowed, “how’s it hanging with the Marines?” He placed the usual, a bottle of Budweiser, in front of Eric.

“It’s no longer Lt. Colonel.” Eric reached for the beer. “Thanks to a little thing called retirement, I’m now a man of leisure.” After devoting twenty years to the Marine Corps—pretty much his whole adult life—he could use a bit of repose.

“Well...” Pink grabbed a bottle of Tequila, a couple of shot glasses and hammered them onto the bar. “I’ll drink to that.”

“That’s why I like this place.” Eric laughed and latched onto the nearest shot glass.

Pink downed the liquor and slammed the beaker against the bar. “So, what are you going to do now? Aggravate the Marines?” A slight snigger rumbled from his restrained laughter.

The music stopped and the tavern grew quiet, except for the faint sounds of CDs changing on the jukebox. A ray of light illuminated the interior. Someone had opened the door.

Pink looked up. His attention stayed on his newest patron, or patrons, longer than typical.

Eric had no idea, nor did he care, who’d claimed the seat a couple of stools over, but judging by the look on Pink’s face—smittened intrigue—it had to be a woman. Pink gawked at the girl and Eric laughed but didn’t steal a peek.

“When a Man Loves a Woman” blasted from the jukebox. Eric hated the song. It reminded him of Grace. Somebody had kept playing the tune over and over the night she stood him up, right here at Pink’s, eleven years ago.

Don’t go there. Keep your head out of the past.

At least he wasn’t still sitting around waiting on her to come to her senses. He’d gotten over the fascination years ago. Now, he no longer cared.

Time to check out the chick sitting a couple of stools away. She was here. She was real. And probably waiting for her boyfriend. Eric grabbed his beer, expelling any thoughts of hitting on Pink’s latest customer.

“What can I get you, darlin’?” Pink, on the other hand, poured the charm on thick.

“Black Russian, please.”

“Coming right up,” Pink said, and went about mixing the concoction.

“Thanks. Heavy on the black, please.” Her voice, polite and familiar, floated toward Eric.

What the...?

No way. Couldn’t be.

Eric’s heart clawed against his chest, and his mouth dropped open. He made a conscious effort to close it as curiosity convinced him to turn toward her.

Grace? Were his eyes playing tricks?

Wouldn’t be the first time. He’d always been able to recognize his mistake quickly though. Until now. Everything about this woman screamed Grace Hendricks.

The tavern’s dim lighting illuminated her slender, reed-like frame. Her clothing was more conservative than before. The dark pantsuit wasn’t something he’d expect to find in her closet, but the garment added a sense of maturity to her appearance.

Wisps of dark hair framed her face, still porcelain-white and ageless. She wore her hair shorter now. No more than an inch or two past her shoulders, and tamer than he remembered but still russet-brown. He’d always loved the color. It reminded him of chocolate.

Eric’s heart slipped to the floor. Then anger took possession of the empty spot. He shook his head and sneered. “Little late, aren’t you?” Turning away, he picked up the bottle and chugged his beer.

“Excuse me?” Her familiar voice was no longer polite.

“About eleven years, I’d say.” Neither happiness nor relief had overcome him at the sight of her, but her presence did have him wondering.

What’s she doing here?

To assume she was looking for him was audacious if not arrogant. Grace Hendricks was a lot of things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. The girl had been raised military. She had to know the odds of Eric being at Cherry Point, eleven years after the fact, weren’t good.

So, why was she here?

“Eric...?” she uttered his name in a quavering whisper.

He had a feeling he was about to find out.

She rolled over the empty stool separating them and hugged him. His first inkling, to return her embrace, didn’t last long. Her desertion, as of yet unexplained and unforgiven, called his resentment back to the forefront of his mind.

He stiffened and nudged her away. “Why are you here?”

“Eric, I need your help.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve.”

“Please, Eric...” She paused as Pink sat the drink in front of her, and after a brief interlude she latched onto it. “You’re the only one who can help me,” she said, and devoured half the cocktail.

Eric would’ve been overridden by his bitterness, if not for the fear emanating from her like an aura. She was either afraid or a damn good actress. Given time to make a choice, he bet on the latter and kept silent. He wasn’t biting and that had her fidgeting. Good.

“I retired my superman cape today,” he said, with such detachment he had to fight the urge to smirk.

“Well, if you say you’re not going to help me,” she said, in a half-bargaining half-threatening way. “I’ll just follow you home.”

Eric shook his head and couldn’t resist saying, “My wife won’t like that very much.”

Her laughter came across as puffed-up mockery. “Very funny.”

Sure, okay. Lots of things were wrong with his statement. Inaccuracy for one. He had no wife to speak of, but why was it so hard to believe he’d gotten married since he’d seen her last?

Grace hesitated and reached for his arm. “I need you to come with me to the cemetery,” she said, barely above a whisper.

“What?” He stiffened and leaned back, away from her. She’d lost her mind.

She inched closer. “To visit my father’s grave,” she said, still whispering. “Please?”

How dare she? How dare she waltz back into his life after all this time and beg him to escort her to the cemetery, specifically to visit the General’s grave.

He didn’t know which was worse. Her nerve, her strange behavior and odd request, or his inability to say no.

Eric almost considered her petition. For about a second. Because of the General, his former commanding officer. Then he remembered who he was dealing with. This girl wasn’t an ordinary damsel. Black widow was more likely.

“You’re about eleven years too late, Gracie.” Eric’s icy tone chilled his throat. He turned away from her and snatched up his beer. “Go find yourself another whipping boy.”

“Eric please...” She touched his arm. “You’re the only one I can trust.”

Laughter snorted out through his nose.

She trusted him. Since when?

He jerked away. As if putting a few inches between them made a difference. Not with all the vulnerability frozen on her face. He should’ve paid better attention in science class, then he’d understand how something so cold and unmoving had managed to melt his resistance.

Eric sighed and sat the beer bottle on the counter. Maybe appeasing her would eventually get rid of her. “All right.” He hoped his tone, bargaining and provisional, saturated her with misgivings. “I’ll see you to the cemetery,” he said, “but then you’re on your own.”

“After we go to the cemetery—” She straightened her posture and shot him a glare that nearly set him on fire. “If you can walk away, I won’t try to stop you.”

CHAPTER 2

DURING the drive to the cemetery, darkness had begun to ink out the twilight’s shadows. She’d opted to follow him in her little blue sports car and he kept checking his mirror, half-expecting her to disappear. She’d done it before. Grace Hendricks was good at vanishing.

Eric envied her, wishing he had such a gift.

Just outside the cemetery’s gate, he pulled off the side of the road and he let his umbrage go before exiting the car. After a couple of steps toward her, he stopped. She rolled the window down and he slid his hands inside his trouser pockets.

“You’ll probably want to get in my car,” he said.

“Why?”

“I doubt they’ll let you, a civilian, inside in the dark.”

“You’re a civilian too now.”

“And you know this how?” he asked.

“Because I went to Cherry Point after I left here, to see if I could find you.”

“What made you think I’d still be here?”

“Oh, I didn’t. I was shocked to say the least.” She wrapped both hands around the steering wheel and focused on the darkness in front of them. “I asked for a location on you and Marcus.” The mention of their best friend’s name brought both pleasant and painful memories. “I’m not really sure I can trust anyone else.”

There it was again. The notion that she trusted him. Ironic. Eric’s overpowering reaction to her filled him with a bittersweet sensation. He shoved the fleeting moment aside and summoned a safer, albeit uglier, mood. The safety device wrapped around him like a security blanket. “The chance of finding me or Marcus was slim at best.”

She held his stare, taking his remark in stride. “They told me you retired. Today.”

“Yes, but...” Eric needed to get back on track and find out why she was here. The real reason, which he doubted had anything to do with him personally. “I may be retired, but the guard here at the cemetery doesn’t know that.” He turned on his heel and headed back to his car. Either she was going to follow him or not. He didn’t care, one way or another. He’d just as soon go home.

Her car door slammed, and going home slipped off the table. At least until he visited the General’s grave.

The General’s grave? What was she up to? What kind of angle was she working?

Grace slipped into the passenger’s seat without waiting for him to open or close the door.

And women bitch about how guys aren’t chivalrous anymore. Yet, he couldn’t remember the last time one had given him the chance.

They passed through the gate without incident, and Eric intuitively remembered the way. Amazing since he hadn’t visited the General since the day of his funeral, and the man had almost become his father-in-law. But that was more years ago than Eric cared to count.

In the western section of the southern region, he braked alongside the lane. He shifted the car into park and stepped out into the warm night air. A chill sped through the balmy twilight and wrapped itself around him. Eric scanned the area and leaned against his car door.

The Crape Myrtles, a southern staple, had begun to bloom and their soft scents filtered through the cemetery. Their fragrance mingled with Eric’s reservations about trekking through the cemetery at night. Not to mention the age-old question rattling around in his head—where the hell had she been?

Grace hopped out and scrambled through the field of tombstones at a speed-walking pace. Eric hurried after her. She was on a mission and it would take a lot to dissuade her. Just keep up with her, and defer the inevitable until later.

Roaming around the cemetery at night didn’t seem to bother her nearly as much as it did Eric. His usual indifference to the dark offered hollow comfort now. He didn’t like it. Not one bit.

The desire to demand answers swelled inside his head. He wanted to restrain his need to know, but the monster was out of control.

“I can’t believe you’d just show up here after all this time and from out of nowhere.” His voice had gone high and squeaky but that didn’t stop him. “And what do you do? You drag me to a graveyard in the middle of the night.”

“Come on...” She latched onto his hand and dragged him behind her.

Her touch felt too good. He didn’t like it. “Can we step back and regroup?” He tried to retrieve his hand.

She tightened her grip and quickened her pace. “No. We cannot take a break.”

“Why not?”

“Because...” She stopped abruptly. “You need to tell me how this happened.” She folded her arms at her waist and waited. After a brief interlude, her lips parted as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t make up her mind.

Eric shook his head. She wasn’t supposed to get to him so easily. He let the zillion questions that’d come to him over the years slip through his thoughts. Maybe it would diffuse her influence over him, or take over and do what needed to be done—demand an explanation.

Right about now that sounded like a good idea.

“Well that’s a hell of a question.” A strong suggestion of reproach came out in his odd, yet gentle tone. “How this happened?” He ground the words out between his teeth, until finally, his anger bubbled over. “You want me to explain to you...how it is that it took you eleven years to show up?”

His demands seemed to roll off Grace like she was shielded by some imaginary protective barrier. She threw back her shoulders and appeared to grow a full two inches before pointing to the grave before them.

Her golden-brown eyes never left his steady gaze. “Where is my father?” Grace’s doleful, given-up look hardened the center of his heart.

Eric let his attention fall on the headstone. She’d said something about her father, but the marker suggested they were standing in front of the final resting place of Captain Harry Reynolds, who’d supposedly died a full ten years before the General. He tried, without success, to wrap the confusion wandering around his mind in reality.

Was this supposed to be the General’s grave? Eric checked the plot markers. He paced the length of several graves on either side. They had to be on the wrong aisle. The wrong block. The wrong row. Something. There had to be an explanation. A missing grave was crazy.

A hollow, left-behind feeling swept over him as he stopped at the foot of the Captain’s grave. “What the hell’s going on?” he whispered, staring at the marker.

Eric knew, as well as Grace, this plot was the General’s final resting place no matter what the damned tombstone said.

Granted, Eric hadn’t been here in a while. Not since that fateful day, but he hadn’t forgotten. He had a lucid recollection of where the burial had taken place. Right here in front of him. Which is why a captain’s grave marker in place of the General’s made no sense.

He cast an accusatory glare over Grace, and she wilted under it. “What is this? Some kind of joke?” Eric couldn’t bring himself to believe her capable of something so despicable.

“Well, if it is,” her voice took on an offensive tone, “it’s not very funny.”

Eric paused, stalling, waiting for this peculiar night to right itself. It didn’t. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to help me figure out what’s going on.”

“Give me one good reason why I should, Gracie?”

The utterance of his pet name for her sparked a glow that lingered long after Grace’s expression tempered. Her brown eyes still held the hints of a tawny hue, and something new—a hardness, a cool and aloof distance not quite camouflaged inside her poignant stare.

“Okay, how about this...?” She gestured toward the grave but her focus remained on Eric. “Where is my father?”

Mixed feelings of hope and dread surged through Grace. She had to find out what happened to her father, but she worried Eric would refuse to help.

Fear hardened his expression even though an implication of annoyance hovered in his striking ice-like green eyes. She waited for his answer, but none came. Still, his unyielding glare showed no signs of relenting, yet his slouching posture suggested otherwise. He looked as if he wanted to disagree, but like her, couldn’t find a valid argument.

Her father’s grave had disappeared. Who could explain that away?

“Do you have any idea what’s going on?” she asked, a bit weaker than intended.

Eric surveyed the darkness around them and raked his hand through his almost non-existent hair. Grace wondered if he’d let it grow now that he and the Marine Corps had parted ways.

“I can’t even fathom a guess, Gracie.” Eric propped his hands on his hips and shook his head. “This makes no sense.” He struggled with the words, the idea, the implication.

“Well, I think it’s pretty obvious.”

“What is?”

“So what do you think...? The United States Military ran out of room to bury their dead?” She held the screams of frustration at the back of her throat. “You think they’re planting people on top of each other now?”

Eric’s eyes lit up like a light bulb had turned on inside his head. “Who all knows about this?”

“Just you and me,” she said. “Oh, and the state of North Carolina.”

“North Carolina?”

“Well, the vital records office.” She gave a dismissive shrug. “I asked them for a copy of daddy’s death certificate. They said there wasn’t one.”

“Of course there’s a death certificate,” he said in a chilling, sarcastic tone. “Didn’t you get a copy when he died?”

She nodded.

“So why ask for one now?” he asked. “What’d you do, lose it?”

She ignored the bit at the end. “Because his military records are all screwed up. The death certificate in there says he died on Christmas Day. In Arizona.”

That look crossed Eric’s face again. The one that said, this makes no sense but he wasn’t willing to acknowledge it. He’d never been one to admit there were things he couldn’t explain away. This weakness probably had something to do with his childhood and the fact that his mother had been so horribly absent. He couldn’t explain that away any better than he could this.

Why in the heck had Grace chosen Eric to come to for help? Mr. Ignore-it-and-it’ll-go-away.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He showed no signs of relenting.

Okay, so contacting him—bad idea. Grace took a couple of steps backward and turned away. “Just take me back to my car,” she said. “I’m sorry I bothered you. I’ll figure this out myself.”

Seeking out Eric had been a mistake. One she planned to rectify immediately.

“Gracie,” his voice charged after her like a pissed off bull after a matador.

She picked up the pace. The front gate was close, maybe she’d walk to her car. Far be it from her to inconvenience anybody, especially the one man she thought she could trust.

“Grace, please wait.” He latched onto the upper portion of her arm with enough strength that she stumbled backward when he stopped.

“Look, you obviously don’t want to be bothered.” She looked at his hand on her arm and tried to will it away.

“I never said that.” He released her. “It’s a lot to take in.” His frustration morphed him into a shell of vulnerability. “You’re suddenly here. The General’s not only gone, but somebody’s taken his place.”

“Yeah, it kind of freaked me out, too.”

They started moving again, in the direction of Eric’s car. He opened the passenger door and waited for her to slip inside before easing the door shut and trotting around to the driver’s side.

His door closed and a sense of claustrophobia thickened around Grace, tangling her in a web of impulses. She wished her father were here. She wanted all this craziness to go away. And, she needed Eric’s forgiveness.

Eric’s punishing glare told her none of those things were happening. He wrapped his fingers around the steering wheel. His lips moved, twitching, but no sound emerged.

Whatever his reason for not walking away, she knew she hadn’t sold him on staying either. Gaining his help would take more than a pretty smile and a missing grave.

He finally spoke. “You said the death certificate in his military records has the wrong information?”

“Either that,” she said as if the possibility were real, “or I’m nuts.”

“Well, if that’s the case—” He almost laughed. “Then you and I are having the same psychotic episode.”

“What are the odds of that?” she said with a measure of reluctance.

“Where’d you get his military records from?” he asked, ignoring her inquiry.

“V.A.”

“When?”

“Last month.”

His stare drilled into her. “And you obtained these records why?”

“Genealogy.”

“Genealogy?”

“Yeah, you know...family history.”

“I know what genealogy is.” He stiffened as though she’d struck him. “I just don’t understand what you thought you’d find in a V.A. file.”

“The names of my grandparents.”

“You didn’t know that?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. She didn’t recall her father ever, not once, mentioning her grandparents’ names.

Suddenly, Grace felt clueless.

CHAPTER 3

NEARLY one thousand pages comprised Michael Hendricks’s V.A. file, and Eric had blanketed the majority around him on the couch in his living room. Grace had the rest stacked in her lap and stuffed between her legs and the sides of her chair.

They’d stayed half the night reading and rereading, searching for clues. The morning’s wee hours had come and gone. The first rays of sunlight poured through the window, bringing with them a feeling of foreboding. And Eric hadn’t come any closer to understanding or solving his former commanding officer’s disappearance.

Eric skimmed page after page, and waited for someone to step out of the shadows and say, “Great joke, huh?”

But that didn’t happen.

Instead of reading about the daring exploits of a decorated fighter pilot who’d climbed his way to the high-ranking position of Four-Star General in the Marine Corps, Eric faced countless pages detailing the eccentric and bizarre antics of a paranoid schizophrenic.

This file made no sense. The service accolades Lance Corporal Hendricks had been awarded by the Army could be counted on one hand. General Michael Hendricks, the man Eric had served under in the Marine Corps, had so many medals he couldn’t wear them all at the same time.

“You’re sure this isn’t the wrong file?” Eric already knew the answer, but he had to pose the question for the sake of thoroughness.

Never mind the annoying little inquiry knocking at the back of his brain. Wrong file or not, there’s no denying a missing grave.

“That was my first thought,” she said. “I contacted the Veterans Administration and they assured me, only one Michael Everley Hendricks ever served in any branch of the United States Military.” The implication sounded as final as her words. Disappointing, not to mention crazy.

“Then what the hell is this shit?” Eric tossed a handful of papers onto the coffee table. “These aren’t your father’s military records.” He paused, all sorts of arguments swarming inside his mind. “When exactly was he supposed to be able to get together with your mother and have you? Why aren’t you mentioned in these records at all?”

“Well, I never said you were supposed to take them at face value.” She flashed him a condescending glare. “I’m fully aware these things are falsified.” Grace paused and gave a forlorn nod. “You don’t suppose they did this because of...you know...?”

The look on her face chipped at Eric’s heart. “No, Grace.” He fought the urge to hold her, comfort her. “They didn’t falsify his records because he allegedly committed suicide.” The ruling was suspect now, to say the least.

“So why then?”

Good question. An idea flickered inside Eric’s head. Why would someone do that? The whole thing made no sense. Eric didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.

“That’s why I need you to help me,” she said, in an almost pleading voice. The same one she used to use when she intended to be persuasive.

She needed his help? Eric managed to contain the urge to laugh. Hesitating, he tried to muster the ability to “just say no”.  He didn’t need to get caught up in some hare-brained scheme she’d devised for whatever reason.

This had to be a hoax. What other explanation could there be? Nothing else seemed believable. But who was doing the hoaxing? Grace? Why would she defile what little remained of her father’s good name? Simple, she wouldn’t.

Grace must have sensed his indecisiveness because she moved from the chair to the couch. “If you don’t help me, Eric...” her words trailed off on her breaking voice. She drew a breath and swallowed hard. “I don’t know what I’ll do.” An increasing level of certainty charged her tone. “I can’t trust anybody but you.”

Really? She trusted him? In fact, he’d just heard her say as much.

Imagine that. Go figure.

Eric made a last-ditch effort to latch onto the idea that he could turn his back and walk away. Even if his heart had agreed, camaraderie for a fellow Marine and former commanding officer wouldn’t allow him to ignore her plea.

“How do you know you can trust me?” he asked, putting off the inevitable.

“You told me I could.” She looked at him with a wide open stare.

He pushed himself off the couch. “I’m not the same guy you knew eleven years ago,” he said, and headed for the kitchen. Eric needed coffee. Strong coffee.

Footfalls fell in line behind him. With her hot on his trail, the kitchen felt so much smaller. He’d hoped to put a little distance between them, but she was making his effort hard.

He grabbed a couple of mugs from the cupboard and offered one to her. “Want some coffee?”

Coffee. Was he serious? Didn’t he remember her aversion to coffee? Showed how much she’d been on his mind during the eleven year absence.

“Thanks,” she said sullenly, “but I’m not much for coffee.” She waited for his reaction, to see if he’d fluster once he realized his blunder.

Nothing.

Then again, Eric had never gone to a lot of trouble to put on airs or worry over appearances. Case in point, the house he lived in off base. There was nothing wrong with his home, per se. The décor, or lack thereof, told a visitor a lot about him. He was clean, efficient and single. The kitchen was as plainly furnished as the living room and the guest bedroom she had slept in last night. What he needed was there, but the home was free of nonessentials.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, Eric gave a little chuckle. “That’s right,” he said with a nostalgic smile and then looked at her. “You want some hot tea?”

He did remember. Grace’s heart let out an animated fluttered and the warmth caught in her throat. She sucked in a breath of air, hoping to subdue the elation. “No thanks.” Heat rose to her cheeks. “I don’t think caffeine is what I need right now.” She avoided eye contact with him but stole a glance in her peripheral vision.

He stood there with a commanding air of self-confidence in his Levi's and beige tee-shirt. Eleven years may have gone by but Eric Wayne standing before her, looking better than ever tugged at her heartstrings.

He poured steaming coffee into a blue mug, grabbed the sugar canister and dumped a liberal amount into the cup. “If you’re hungry, we can drop in to Beeman’s.” He paused, stirring the sugar into the coffee. “It’s a local place over on fifth, where that Mexican restaurant used to be,” he added, and put the spoon in the sink.

“I guess you don’t have any food here.” She moved to the opposite side of the kitchen and leaned against the counter, as if the extra space would save her from being questioned about the past. He’d made his feelings clear, painfully so—he was no longer interested in her like that. Not anymore. But she didn’t rule out his need for an explanation.

“Nope.” He shook his head.

Eric wasn’t much for cooking back when they were together, and apparently he hadn’t changed. Looks like he lacked a steady girl in his life. His failing left her with a stupendous degree of delight.

“So, do you have any suggestions on what I should do or where I should go from here?” She chose her words carefully, evasively. Putting Eric on the spot was not conducive. He could easily turn the tables.

“We’re going to get some breakfast,” he said, and tasted the coffee. “And we’ll figure out what our next move is while we’re there.”

“You mean you’re going to help me?” Hope barreled up her throat, and to avoid appearing desperate she tried to suck it back down with a sharp gasp.

“Yes, I’m going to help you, Grace.” Eric placed the mug in the sink, and Grace crossed the open expanse between them in three large steps.

She wrapped him in a grateful embrace. “Thank you, Eric. Thank you.”

For a few seconds, he returned her hug but then his body stiffened and he pushed her away. He flashed her one of those looks that said he’d help her, but she wasn’t the reason.

Eric had pushed her away, twice now. This wasn’t about them or her father or his former commanding officer. Maybe the need to hear her explanation had abandoned him a long time ago. Maybe she gave herself too much credit. Maybe he didn’t give a crap.

Grace stepped back and tried to quell the sting before it nipped her ego. She should be thankful Eric wasn’t demanding answers in exchange for his help. If he found out about the darkness she’d fallen into after her father died, he’d walk away and never look back.

She had no illusions or aspirations, for that matter, where Eric was concerned. Still, she couldn’t bear the thought of him thinking ill of her. Being mad because she’d disappeared was one thing, hating what she’d become was another. So what if she’d put all the bad stuff behind her more than five years ago? But the past still hung around like some dark cloud waiting to drop the bottom out and rain its misery down on her life.

For sanity’s sake, Grace needed to keep her distance from Eric, both physically and spiritually, or she was setting herself up for a humiliating rejection.

Eric grabbed his keys off the rack by the back door and motioned to her with a wave. “Come on. Let’s go.”

She followed him into the darkened garage, thankful when he turned on the light. A single bulb overhead illuminated an interior cluttered with moving boxes stacked and lined around the perimeter.

“You going somewhere?” she asked, moving toward the passenger’s side of his car.

“Yeah,” he said, hitting the electronic lock on his key chain. The alarm beeped twice and the sound of the car unlocking echoed around the garage. “I’m retired. Remember? Why would I want to stay here?”

Well, hey...Havelock’s not that bad. Grace reached for the handle and opened the door. “Suit yourself,” she said, and slipped inside Eric’s dark blue sedan. Apparently, she should avoid delving into his personal life as he didn’t seem to appreciate the inquiries.

Okay. Nobody had to tell her twice.

Beeman’s served up a tasty, yet uneventful, breakfast. Grace and Eric ate, mostly in silence, and she worried about the seemingly unanswerable questions stifling the air around them.

What the hell happened to her father, and, who was responsible?

Grace let out an involuntary groan as she pushed her near-empty plate of bacon, eggs, hash browns, and toast remnants toward the center of the table. “At the risk of alienating you further—” She glanced up and the look on Eric’s face, alienated astonishment, crushed her train of thought and stopped her inquiry.

“Now I remember why you used to aggravate me so.” Sarcasm weighted his tone, and she could easily guess his thoughts. If you know you’re going to piss me off, then why do it? Why indeed.

She merely stared, tongue-tied. Lost in her own anxiety.

“What, no comeback?” Amusement spurted out in the chuckle following his analysis.

Grace hated that about Eric. He always knew the thoughts running through her head, no matter what façade she summoned.

She surveyed the diner around them. The early-morning crowd had thinned out and the three waitresses in their matching uniforms wore the same corresponding looks of relief. All seemed thankful for the reprieve before the next crowd filed in. If the breakfast meal was any indication, lunch time would be just as packed.

Their waitress placed a bill on the table near Eric. He fished his wallet from his back pocket as he perused the ticket. Grace didn’t feel exactly comfortable when he placed a couple of twenties on top of their check.

“I can pay for my breakfast,” she said, reaching for her purse.

Eric’s emerald eyes traveled up slowly and locked with hers, their color darkening.

Uh oh.

She braced for his backlash.

None came. Instead, Eric snorted and stood, burying his wallet back into his pocket. He started walking away and after a couple steps he looked over his shoulder. “You coming?”

Grace grabbed her purse and chased after him, catching up at the door. “Wait, where are we going?”

“Cherry Point,” he said, pushing the door open.

They crossed the threshold into the crisp fresh air. “Cherry Point?” she asked, following him the few short paces between the freshly groomed lawn and his car. “Why are we going there?” She leaned against the car, waiting for him to unlock the doors.

Eric remained silent until they were both inside the vehicle. “We need to know exactly how big this thing is.” He rested one hand on the steering wheel, the other along the back of the seat and turned to Grace. Her confusion must have fluttered out into her expression because he gave her a pitying look, and said, “We need to know how deep this thing goes, and how many people might be involved.”

“And going to Cherry Point is going to tell us all that?” she asked, a vague sense of uneasiness pushing out the words.

Eric turned the key. “If we’re lucky.” He shifted the car into gear and backed out of the parking space.

He wasn’t telling her the whole story. Panic and anxiety knotted inside Grace. She hadn’t seen Eric in a long time. What if she’d misplaced her trust?

Grace mentally slapped herself across the face, so hard she almost felt the stinging sensation burning her cheek. Her fingers offered a gentle touch as she tried to massage away the phantom pain.

The fifteen minute drive to Cherry Point passed by as quietly as breakfast. Eric’s silence was as daunting as the endless possibilities, none of which made sense. Maybe a visit to Cherry Point was just the ticket. At least the base might shed some light on why her father had disappeared from the nearby national cemetery.

Eric parked in front of the JLC building. Suspicion induced Grace to observe him guardedly. Going to the base’s legal center made no sense.

He didn’t stop to explain his methods, didn’t bother to check if she was following him until he was well onto the sidewalk and halfway up the walkway toward the central entrance. By then, he’d stopped, turned and planted his hands on his hips and started shaking his head. “Well,” he mouthed the words, “come on.”

Grace shoved the door open and exited the car. Had Eric always been this rude? She couldn’t recall a time when he was. He must have acquired his new trait while they were apart. She slammed the door and charged up the walkway.

A desire to retaliate consumed Grace, but she fought it. Pissing him off wasn’t a good idea. And the only words floating around her head right now would have only brought out his resentment.

In a nutshell, as far as Grace could see, Eric resented her. He resented her presence. And he definitely resented her predicament.

Better to resent her for splitting, than loathe her for staying.

Grace strolled up onto the sidewalk.

Eric latched onto her wrist. “Would you come on?”

Her arm felt smaller than he’d let himself remember. Eric’s head filled with compromising memories that threatened to take his sanity and wash it downriver.

“What are we doing here?” she asked, as Eric hauled her toward the entrance.

“Just be cool and let me do the talking,” he said as the sliding doors parted. “I know that’s hard, but just try. Okay?”

“Very funny.” She yanked her arm away from Eric and shot him a fierce look.

He shushed her as they approached the reception desk.

“Lt. Colonel Wayne...” The enlisted girl behind the counter rose and saluted, examining him oddly. Perhaps because she’d never seen him out of uniform.

“There’s no need to salute me.” He scanned her nameplate with a stealthy glance. “Corporal Lynch.”

“Sir?”

“I’m out of uniform,” he said with a shrug and a wink. “Tell me, is Sergeant Billings in today?”

“Yes sir, he is.” She sat back down in her chair. “I’ll tell him you’re here,” she said, reaching for the telephone.

Eric muttered his gratitude, turned to Grace and tugged her to a row of nearby chairs.

“Now can you tell me why we’re here?” she whispered. “What’s the plan?”

“I’m just calling in a favor, that’s all.” Eric folded his arms over his chest and relaxed in the chair. He had to keep his distance, and if that meant keeping her at arm’s length on all accounts then so be it. He had to find out what happened to the General, but he didn’t have to let her under his skin in the process.

Nope. That wasn’t an option. Once this was over, Grace Hendricks could go about her merry way, which suited Eric just fine—so long as it was as far away from him as possible.

The clerk popped her head up over the counter. “Sergeant Billings will see you now, sir.”

Eric stood and reached for Grace’s hand. They walked down the corridor behind the receptionist, and he said a silent prayer of thanks for Grace’s silence.

He paused in front of Billings’ door and glanced at Grace. “Just let me do the talking, and don’t stare.” He released her hand, opened the door and stepped aside so she could enter first.

Billings shot to his feet and moved around the desk. “Lt. Colonel Wayne,” he said, saluting with his only arm. Eric returned the gesture.

“Sergeant Billings.” Eric stepped in front of Grace to shake the sergeant’s hand.

“Sir, what can I do for you and...?” his words trailed off as he studied Grace.

“Billings, this is Grace Hendricks.” Eric paused, taking a brief interlude to check her. She showed no signs of gawking at the sergeant.

“This is Grace?” Excitement poured out in Billing’s voice. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said, turning toward her. “I’ve heard so much about you. All of it good.”

She cast a quick, what-the-hell’s-he-talking-about look at Eric, then focused on Billings. “Thank you,” she said, shaking the sergeant’s hand.

“She’s the late General Hendricks’s daughter,” Eric said.

“General who?” The sergeant displayed an expression of sheer ignorance.

“Sorry,” Eric said. “I guess that was a little before your time here.”

“So what brings you to the Point today?” Billings asked. “Believe me, if I didn’t have to be here, I wouldn’t.”

“I was wondering if I could borrow your computer terminal for a few minutes.” Eric massaged his own arm. The right one. The same as the sergeant’s only remaining arm, and Eric wasn’t going to let him forget that. What good was a limb without a life? Billings wouldn’t have either, if not for Eric, and he wasn’t above playing the guilt card now if it got him what he wanted.

“I could get into huge trouble.” Billings shook his head.

“Of course, if we look but you don’t give us permission...” Grace’s voice trailed off.

“That would require my not being in the room, now wouldn’t it?” Billings said.

“Yes, it would.” Eric slipped his fingertips inside his back pockets.

Billings shook his head and moved back toward his desk. “Sorry, Colonel, I can’t help you. I’ve got a staff meeting in ten minutes.”

“Not a problem, Sergeant. Thank you for your time.”

Eric prayed Grace didn’t object. After a few minutes in the nearby rest rooms, he and Grace could slip back into the office after Billings had left.

She made no objection as he moved her toward the door and out into the hallway. Billings followed them out and headed in the opposite direction.

“Oh, Colonel,” Billings called after Eric.

Eric glanced over his shoulder and waited.

“Enjoy your retirement, sir.”

If Billings only knew. Eric gave a little wave as the sergeant turned away. After a few steps, Billings disappeared around the corner.

Eric took Grace by the upper arm and did an about-face, heading back into the sergeant’s office.

“Did he do that on purpose?” Grace asked. “Leave like that?”

“Yes.” Eric closed and locked the door behind them.

“What happened to him anyway?”

“He was injured in Iraq a couple of years ago.” He wasted no time, parking himself at the Sergeant’s desk.

“Oh...” Grace paused. “Where’d you meet him?”

“Iraq,” he said, typing away on the keyboard. “Look, can we stop with the chitchat? We don’t have very long.” Eric didn’t want to get into the particulars of his friendship with Sergeant Jacob Billings. The Marine Corps had branded Eric a hero. But he’d only done his job—save a fellow Marine—and he didn’t need any praises and accolades.

“How long is not very long?” she asked, veering off the subject of Sergeant Billings. Thank God.

“Ten minutes. Fifteen, tops.”

“What exactly are we looking for again?” she asked, lingering over his shoulder.

“As a former commander here at Cherry Point, there should be plenty of information about your father and hopefully his grave’s whereabouts.”

The documentation had to exist. It was only eleven years ago. Plenty of people should still be around who’d remember General Michael Hendricks.

Eric stared at the computer screen and a list detailing all of Cherry Point’s commanding generals since the base’s inception during World War II. A sick, heavy feeling weighted the pit of his gut.

One name was inexplicably absent.

General Michael Hendricks.

CHAPTER 4

THE halls of the Reception Center at Cherry Point buzzed with military personnel and a few carefully selected civilians.

Eightball had no trouble fitting in. He strolled along, clearly comfortable in his green Service Uniform, carrying a large manila envelope tucked under one arm. With each encounter in the corridor he’d smile to the civilians and salute those in uniform, and then continue on his way.

He’d waited a long time for this day. Ever since Michael Hendricks’s untimely death. That’s how long he’d been itching to get his hands on the man’s daughter. No matter how hard Eightball and his colleagues had tried, they hadn’t been able to locate Grace Hendricks. It was like a crack in the universe had opened up and devoured her.

And, spit her back out yesterday.

Eightball continued down the hall, finally reaching his destination. He entered the office and eased the door shut behind him. Seeing the receptionist’s desk empty, he figured the Major General’s secretary was probably out running an errand. Either that, or she was—

He ordered the notion out of his thoughts, bent his head and studied his hands. Eightball had enough good in him to induce him to pause briefly, long enough to knock on the interoffice door before entering. Just in case.

But he had enough bad to tempt him not to wait for an invitation. The bad outweighed the good and he opened the door. Just in case.

Inside, the Major General—code name Torpedo—also wore the traditional Marine Corps uniform. And, he was alone.

Bummer. Eightball let out a disappointed sigh and entered the roomy office, devoid of personal taste in decorations. Everything was standard military issue, from the framed aviation photographs to the blue checkered chairs and the matching lampshades on the sixties-styled side tables. Magazines, all military related, were stacked to precision on a larger table between the chairs.

Sunlight filtered through vertical blinds and cast a band of dusty haze across the desk, partially blocking his colleague’s face. A memorable scent, spicy and a bit on the androgynous side, lingered in the air. Trident had been there.

Torpedo appeared neither surprised nor upset to see Eightball. After a moment of stone-faced expression, Torpedo’s face morphed into a display of gratification.

Damn. Torpedo always spoiled Eightball’s fun. They rarely let him kill anymore. His only joy these days, the element of surprise, had been reduced to rare occasions. And now, Torpedo seemed to take pride in robbing him of that. Was it too much to ask to be able to announce his triumph, as pitiful as it was, once in a while?

Eightball paused in front of his colleague and tossed a batch of eight-by-tens onto the desk. He laced his fingers in front of him and waited.

Torpedo scanned the photographs, recent and all of Grace Hendricks. The man’s girl-friendly face, clean-shaven and with Paul Newman eyes, gave nothing away about the thoughts running through his head.

Eightball hated that. Not the good-looking part—Eightball was all about the ladies—but the part where he could never tell what Torpedo was thinking. That always got on his nerves.

“They were taken yesterday.” An optimistic patience filled Eightball’s voice. Surely they’d let him go after her now that she’d been located.

“She was here?” Torpedo commented, amused. “To see Wayne, no doubt.”

Damn it. Was nothing sacred anymore? “What are we going to do about him, now that he’s retired?” An order to kill was too much to hope for. Eightball had gotten his hopes up before and it’d all come to nothing.

“To hell with Wayne.” Torpedo gave a dismissive wave. “I’ve been watching him for eleven years, you don’t think he moved up the ranks from Captain to Lt. Colonel in such a short time on his own merit, do you? He doesn’t know squat.”

“What do you want done?” Eightball asked, an obliging gleam lighting his tone.

“Find them. See what they’re up to.” Torpedo’s mood remained calm. “But don’t do anything drastic.” He paused, shaking his head. “It may be a false alarm.”

“Whatever it is,” Eightball said. “We’ll find out.”

Eightball longed to get back into the job that suited him best. Killing. And this incident might do the trick.

Hell, they’d been prepared to let him take her out eleven years ago, if she hadn’t disappeared.

CHAPTER 5

GRACE had trouble wrapping her mind around the visit to Cherry Point. Why had her father’s name been omitted from the military installation’s records? Who had that kind of power?

She glanced around Eric’s dimly lit living room. The massive fireplace, a remnant from days gone by, persuaded her to think about things she shouldn’t. Like basking in the warm glow of a toasty fire on a cold winter’s night, in the arms of a man she’d given up to the past a long time ago.

She drew in a breath and caught a glimpse of Eric from the corner of her eye. Busted. He was looking straight at her. An overwhelming fear of two very different sorts—one centered around her father and the other on Eric’s imminent inquisition—set her panic in motion.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, propping his feet onto the coffee table.

She cut her eyes toward him sitting in the chair kitty-cornered from her, and steered the conversation as far away from her mistakes as possible. “Why do you suppose daddy’s name wasn’t on that list?”

Eric shook his head. “Try as I might, Gracie, I can’t come up with even a farfetched reason for that.”

“What do you think we should do?” She tried to hide her insecurity. If Eric bailed on her, she was toast.

“My gut tells me we need to hit the road.” He paused, clasping his hands together behind his head. “But to where, I haven’t a clue.”

“Somebody out there knows what happened to my father.”

“That they do.”

“How do we find out who that is?” Uncertainty hovered in Grace’s mind. “How do we differentiate the good guys from the bad?”

“I have a feeling, if we trust the wrong people we might end up like the General.” There was no malice in his words, just wisdom.

“If it’s all the same with you,” she said, “I’ll let you choose who we trust and who we don’t.” Her track record for making decisions hadn’t been the greatest since her father died.

Eric glimpsed at his watch and then lifted his gaze to meet Grace’s. “Why don’t you grab a couple hours rest?” he suggested. “We’re going to be leaving as soon as it gets dark.”

“Where are we going?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

Maybe that’s why he was waiting for dark—to think of somewhere to go. No matter the reason, she decided he was right. She’d better rest while she had the chance.

Grace pushed up from the couch. “I’m going to follow your advice.” She pointed toward the hallway and the guest room he’d offered her. “Wake me when you’re ready to leave?”

“Sure.” His smile was a defeated yet determined attempt.

Plenty was left to say, but she didn’t want to go there. Instead, Grace took the easy way out, heading toward the hallway with her worries and insecurities intact. Better to hide inside the silence of a lonely, empty room than give Eric a chance to ask questions when he probably wouldn’t like the answers.

Grace opened the bedroom door and her instincts urged her to run. But she’d already done that, and look how it turned out.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Heading to the Cape for some alone-time was supposed to help her come to terms with her father’s death.

She hadn’t told anybody but Eric that she was leaving or where she was going. It was their special place and nobody else needed to know about it. Early in their relationship they’d gone up the coast and ended up spending a long weekend at a seaside inn. And, immediately following her father’s death, the Cape was the only place she could think of that brought her peace.

The trip was only supposed to last a few weeks, at the most. And when she left, she had every intention of coming back. She just needed a little time to accept the way her father had died. Suicide.

But her chosen path to solace had failed Grace. The only place it led was rehab, five years later.

Her instincts hadn’t exactly been reliable back then, so why should she think it’d turn out any differently now?

If any part of Eric had contemplated walking away from Grace at the cemetery, that opportunity passed when he discovered the General’s name was no longer associated with Cherry Point’s records.

Eric stared at the fireplace. Maybe he should retrieve it. Assuming it was still there. Yesterday he would have thought that likely, but in light of the General’s disappearance, anything was possible.

The General had done some odd things in the months before he died. Things to which Grace wasn’t privy. But none of the man’s past behavior could’ve prepared Eric for yesterday’s outcome.

The clock above the mantel said Grace had been in her room for a little over an hour. He let two more hours pass before he dared to make his move.

Eric stood and took quiet steps across the room before sitting on the hearth. Leaning back into the firebox, he reached up inside the chimney’s flue. The bricks were rough and covered in soot, but that didn’t deter Eric. He searched for the loose, telltale brick. Once he got a decent grip on it, it came out with relative ease. Eric lifted himself up to feel inside the hole.

The small metal container, barely larger than a matchbox, was cool to the touch. Understandable since Eric hadn’t started a fire in weeks. He popped the top and exhaled his relief upon seeing the key inside.

He’d kept it safe, and a secret, for eleven years. Before that, who knew how long the General had kept it hidden. A few weeks before his death, the General had revealed a clandestine compartment well-concealed inside his desk at home. Of course it was empty back then, and the General had never explained why it needed to be a secret.

Yet, Michael Hendricks’ gentle insistence had stayed with Eric all these years. If anything should ever happen to him, and it was followed by strange occurrences, Eric should go to the desk, where he’d find something inside it this time. He should remove it and share its existence with no one but Grace.

Eric didn’t immediately retrieve the contents after the General died. But when Grace failed to meet him at Pink’s a few weeks later, he’d gone to the Cape looking for her and found her gone. That was his cue.

He’d taken the key and hidden it with painstaking deliberation, in each new location he was stationed, and he’d never shared its existence with anyone. That had more to do with his pride than anything else because Eric had always thought it led to something to do with him and Grace, on a personal level—to which Eric didn’t care about the spoils.

In light of the last couple of days, he began to buy into the notion that whatever it led to, it was big. Maybe even dangerous.

Eric examined the General’s bounty, letting his curiosity over what the number thirty-six—the only engraving on the key—might mean.

Hearing Grace’s bedroom door open, he quickly fished his wallet out of his back pocket and stuffed the key in the compartment behind his credit cards.

“Sleep well?” he asked as she appeared around the corner.

Grace laughed. “About as well as can be expected, I guess.” She raked her gaze over Eric and it left him feeling nostalgic. “So, are we still splitting?”

“Yes, we are.” He pointed to a duffle bag beside the door leading to the kitchen. He’d tossed in a few changes of clothing while she was sleeping.

She looked like she wanted to say something, probably ask where they were going. Hell if he knew. His plan was just to get in the car and start driving.

“You still don’t know where we’re going, do you?” Her words were an inquiry but her voice didn’t deliver it that way. She’d said it like she knew what she was talking about.

She could see right through him. Eric hated that about Grace. “I don’t know what’s going on.” He shook his head. “But I get the feeling that what you’ve stumbled upon is much bigger than you. Me. Even your father.”  He paused, still unable to wrap his head around it. “This could get ugly. You have to promise me that you’ll do exactly as I say, whenever I say.”

Eric couldn’t stress the importance of that enough. She had to listen to him and she had to do it without argument. Their lives just might depend upon it before this thing was over.

CHAPTER 6

THE convenience store’s well-lit exterior afforded Eric a better than average view of Grace chatting with the clerk as she paid for the mountain of junk food she’d carted to the counter. Eric gripped the steering wheel with one hand and braced his cell phone against his ear with the other.

“No, I don’t think Grace has anything to do with it—” Eric stopped mid-sentence, seeing her heading toward the store’s exit with a large paper bag. He straightened in his seat. “I’ve got to go. We’ll be there before dawn,” he said and disconnected the call. He tucked the phone between his leg and the seat.

Inside the car, Grace passed him a cold bottle of water and a bag of Doritos.

“Chips?” His weakness. What were the odds of her remembering that after eleven years?

“Yeah, and I got some honey buns, cashews and powdered donuts.” She glanced at him with one of those looks that suggested this had nothing to do with him. It was all about her sweet tooth.

Eric chuckled and opened his bottle of water.

“So, you figure out where we’re going yet?” she asked, strapping into her seatbelt.

“Yep.” He shifted into reverse and lifted his foot off the brake. “To see a friend.”

“Anybody I know?”

“Yep.” He turned away from her, checking the traffic before pulling out into the street.

“Well...” She smacked him lightly. “Don’t keep me in suspense. Who is it?”

“Marcus.” Eric’s attention fell to his arm and then rose up to Grace’s face.

“Marcus?” Excitement filled her voice. “Oh my God. How’s he doing?”

“He’s fine,” Eric said. “Retired now.”

“There seems to be a lot of that going around.” She turned away from him and glanced out the window. “Wasn’t he a lawyer or something?”

“Yes. A criminal attorney.” Eric turned onto Highway 17’s onramp. “He spent twenty years in a position that’s better than military intelligence, for hearing rumors about those things that nobody talks about because nobody knows they’re happening.”

Marcus Johnson had spent the bulk of his military career defending grunts who’d been accused of one crime or another. If Eric was lucky that meant his friend was privy to things that he could never hope to dream up—like how a commanding general in the United States Marine Corps disappears, right under everybody’s nose.

How long before we get there?” she asked, still peering out the window.

“A few hours. Feel free to go ahead and get some rest.” He liked the idea of her going to sleep much better than the notion of them talking. Nothing good could come from talking. Especially when he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answers to the questions running through his mind.

“Do you think Marcus can help us?” She looked at Eric as if she’d never heard his suggestion for sleep.

Eric shrugged his answer and shook his head. God, he hoped so.

Guess that ruled out Grace going to sleep. Too bad. Eric would have to muster quite a bit of diligence to steer the conversation away from “them” and why she hadn’t come back, but he’d do what he had to do. He’d quit needing to know that a long time ago. Eric was done. It was over.

Then the General disappeared.

And here he sat with Grace Hendricks by his side. Damned crappy luck.

Eric blew out a heavy sigh and tapped his fingers against the steering wheel.

His non-verbal response didn’t do a thing to curb Grace’s recent concerns, but she was thankful that he hadn’t asked her about the last eleven years and where she’d been. In order to keep things that way, she kept quiet as he weaved through the evening traffic on Highway 17. The city lights mesmerized her as they zoomed past in long fluorescent trails.

Silence, crushing and cumbersome, thickened the space between them. She never thought she’d be in Eric’s presence again. Not amicably anyway. It wasn’t something she’d aspired to. Her past hadn’t allowed for that. And now, here in this situation, she didn’t know which was more nerve-racking, the thought of facing his wrath or the obscurity surrounding her father. Not that it offered any comfort, but she decided that her father’s mystery trumped Eric’s underlying anger.

Tiring of the infinite quiet, she reached for the radio button. Anything was better than the silence. Almost. Hopefully, Eric hadn’t developed a penchant for country music—not that there was anything wrong with it. It just wasn’t her thing.

A familiar song poured from the radio and as that guy from Jefferson Starship sang about Miracles, she looked at Eric. Damn, he hadn’t changed much. He’d hardly aged at all. Not the way Grace had, anyway. Other than a few lines weathered by time, he was pretty much the same.

He kept his attention focused straight ahead. Kept his eyes on the road, traffic or whatever. His ability to ignore her scrutinizing stare made Grace feel second-rate. She’d learned to mask her inner feelings, but she was unable to put the lesson to good use and project a successful front.

Grace slipped the worry beads off her wrist and down into the palm of her hand. She’d earned them in rehab and for the first time in a long time the purple, pink and green beads were something more than frosting. Their smooth surface cast a hypnotic effect on her brain.

Her mind started to wander around in the memories of her past. Was there a clue hidden somewhere in them? Something that appeared trivial at the time, but now seemed strange?

Consumed by what might be hidden in the past, she scarcely caught a glimpse of the sign welcoming them to South Carolina. Instead, no matter where her thoughts needed to be, they were more agreeably occupied by memories of an afternoon long since past.

Her father’s annual barbeques were the talk of Cherry Point and highly anticipated among the officers and select enlisted personnel. The backyard of the General’s quarters was always filled with cheerful conversations and succulent aromas, and if she breathed deeply enough she could almost smell the hickory and mesquite flavors smoking into the chicken and beef.

But there was one party in particular that topped all the others. It happened about twelve years ago, when she was twenty-one. That’s when she met Captain Eric Wayne.

Standing on the back porch, she’d seen him talking to her father. Intrigued, she couldn’t recall seeing him before, so she watched them. He was going to salute, but her dad had stopped him. And even though she couldn’t hear it, her father appeared to be laughing.

She imagined him saying something like, “Relax. Get yourself a beer. And for Pete’s sake, lighten up.”

Grace set out to rescue the poor, obvious newbie, and trotted down the porch steps. Watching the ground, she weaved through the crowded maze of party-goers. When she looked up she collided with the guy she’d intended to save.

“I am so sorry,” he said.

Their gazes met and locked. He smiled and she reciprocated. The attraction was instant as Grace got caught up in his eyes, their color as green and bottomless as the Atlantic off the coast of Florida. They complemented his face well. Obviously, he was a Marine, indicative of the jarhead haircut he was sporting. Even so, that too contributed, if not enhanced his G-Q-ish good looks.

“Where’s the fire?” She giggled, wondering where her father had been hiding this one.

“Fire?” Confusion crinkled his brow and then, after a moment, he caught on. “I was just going to see if I could find myself a beer.”

Grace grabbed his hand. She could help him with that. “Come on...” Her words trailed off as she urged him to follow her. “I’ll show you,” she said, glancing at him over her shoulder.

“How did you come to be here?” he asked, following her up the porch steps. “You really don’t look like the military type.”

“What?” She opened the screen door. “You don’t think I could be a Marine?”

“Well, actually...” He paused in the doorway, as if considering it. “No.” His lingering, scrutinizing gaze filled her with reticence.

Grace giggled and headed for the fridge where she grabbed two beers. “Okay, so I’m not in the Marines.” She tossed him a bottle of brew.

He caught it one-handed. Lord, he was handsome. No wonder her father had been hiding him. Then again, maybe he was married.

That thought smote her fanciful whims. What a shame.

“Are you married to someone who is?” he asked, openly fishing for information.

“Nope.” She turned away. Since he was asking, then neither was he. Good.

“So, what are you doing here then?” His voice followed her, telling Grace he was right behind her.

Grace stopped at the door to the basement. “My father invited me.” She opened the door and headed down the stairs.

He followed her to a couch where she plopped down, slid her feet out of her sandals and tucked one leg beneath her.

He sat down beside her, and if Grace’s intuition was right, he was about to turn on the charm. “So,” he said, twisting the cap off his beer. “Your father’s military.” It was more of a statement than a question. Like he was going to use that info to his advantage.

“Yes.”

“Who is he?” He looked at her, his deep green eyes sparkling with a mixture of pleasure and curiosity.

After staring a little too long, Grace realized she was hooked. Shaking her head, she tried to dismiss the feeling and break the spell. “Enough about my father.” She wasn’t ready to cut him off just yet. “Who are you?”

“Forgive me. I’m not being very polite. My name is Eric,” he said with a wink. “Eric Wayne.”

“And you’re new to Cherry Point?” She let her curiosity escape. “When’d you get here? Yesterday?” she asked, thinking she was being funny.

“As a matter of fact, I did.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.” Eric smiled at Grace and it melted her heart. “Do you have a name?” he asked with a slight tinge of wonder in his inquiry.

“Yes,” she said. “It’s Grace Hendricks.”

“Hendricks...” his voice trailed off in confusion. And she waited for him to make the connection. “There’s a General here at Cherry Point named Hendricks.” His perplexed expression changed to one of devastation. “You’re General Hendricks’s daughter.”

Grace remembered thinking that day that Eric looked like someone had just pulled the rug out from under him. He’d had that same look again recently at Pink’s when he realized she was sitting two stools over.

And now, they were on their way to see Marcus. Hopefully he could help fill in the puzzle pieces. Lord knows Grace and Eric weren’t having any luck.

CHAPTER 7

NEWLY retired Lt. Colonel Eric Wayne’s house looked too quiet and dark for anyone to be home. Eightball was almost disappointed. If he happened upon Wayne while he was home, he’d have no choice but to eliminate him.

Let down by the thought of finding the residence unoccupied, he pushed the frustration aside and punched a code into the security keypad with a gloved finger. The back door popped open.

Without a sound, Eightball slipped inside and made his way through the kitchen and into the living room. While he’d bet money that Wayne wasn’t home, instinct pushed him to reach inside his jacket and wield a 9-mm handgun. He rested his forefinger on the trigger, anxious to try out the new silencer.

He rifled through the former Marine’s home, one room at a time, not caring if he disturbed the contents. The décor wasn’t that great in the first place. Not that Eightball liked his environment all girly or anything, but there was something to be said for a genteel atmosphere.

He crept down the hallway and peeked in the other rooms, finding nothing. Once satisfied, although annoyed, that the house was empty, he pulled out his cell phone and hit the speed dial.

“The house is empty,” he said, dissatisfied.

“They’ve probably taken off.” Torpedo’s words traveled across the airwaves. “Find them.”

“And when I do?” he asked, trying to limit his anticipation.

“Follow them. See what they’re up to.”

Damn it. Is this what he’d been reduced to? Baby sitting.

CHAPTER 8

GRACE had been wearing that worried look for so long that Eric had begun to wonder if it was a mask. Finally, she’d laid her head against the window, agreeing to get some rest. It didn’t surprise him that she hadn’t easily surrendered. He didn’t recall her ever being a pushover. Talking Grace into doing anything good for her had always been a challenge.

She appeared to succumb to the slumber and Eric set his sights on the road, giving nothing more than a fleeting thought to the passing sign welcoming them to Georgia. He was more interested in the memories floating around in his head.

Events occurring such a long time ago were at the forefront of his mind. A week ago, he was confident he’d tucked them safely away, back into the deepest recesses of his psyche. Now that Grace was back, her presence was allowing those memories to resurface again. No matter how hard he tried to block them, there were too many for his single-minded viewpoint.

Everybody had thought he was crazy going after the General’s daughter. Her identity slowed him down for about five minutes. Eric had met the challenge with gusto after a little coaxing from the General—although Grace had called it bullying.

In retrospect, the General’s suggestion that Eric escort Grace to the Officer’s Ball did seem a little odd, even though he’d thought nothing of it at the time.

Eric stole a peek at Grace, still sleeping against the passenger door. Why had the General gone to such lengths to set them up on a date? It didn’t make a lot of sense considering the man didn’t know Eric from Adam, yet he’d readily and willingly pushed a virtual stranger in the direction of his daughter.

After a couple of hours, and a whole lot of sifting through his memories, the rising sun peeked over the horizon and Eric shielded his eyes with a pair of sunglasses that had been lying on the dashboard.

He eased off the gas and glanced up and down the lonely, deserted highway. The early morning haze had him squinting, but once he was convinced he wasn’t being followed, he made a left turn.

Realistically, Eric knew it could be nothing more than paranoia on his part. The chances of someone following them were slim. Maybe twenty percent. Okay, more like fortyish. Nobody made a grave disappear without making sure the deed went undiscovered.

The two-lane street remained quiet and Eric counted off the gravel roads as he passed them. One. Two. Three. Another quick scan and he turned onto the private drive. He looked at Grace. She was still sleeping with her hands tucked between her head and the window. Drawn up, nearly into a fetal position, she looked helpless and vulnerable. He almost wanted to touch her. To comfort her. Almost. But it was a bad idea. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and pushed aside the overpowering feeling.

Eric couldn’t, wouldn’t forget how it’d felt when she’d left. Doing so amounted to emotional suicide. She’d split without a word once before. And she’d obviously wanted to stay gone. Not even Eric’s military contacts had been able to locate Grace Hendricks. Who’s to say she wouldn’t do it again?

She was good at disappearing and reappearing into and out of thin air. Evident by her reemergence at Pink’s, on a barstool with no more than a seat or two separating them. Eric’s first instinct was to run. Fast and hard. But curiosity got the better of him. He had to know what possessed her to come back now, after all this time.

He wasn’t expecting the General’s grave—or rather, what was supposed to be the General’s grave—to be the culprit.

Grace had stumbled onto something neither of them could explain, nor was there any guarantee that Marcus could clear up the mystery. Whatever was going on, somebody had gone to a lot of trouble to cover their tracks. He doubted they’d appreciate Grace exposing their handiwork. And that made him fear for her life.

No matter what Grace had done to him, Eric couldn’t leave her unprotected. But how was he supposed to keep her safe when he didn’t know who or what he was shielding her from?

Georgia, Southeast of Atlanta

Marcus Johnson lived in a rustic log home pleasantly situated on Lake Sinclair. The only neighbors visible from his house lived on the opposite shore. Some people found it isolating, but Marcus preferred it that way.

He could count on one hand the number of people he’d been able to trust during the course of his lifetime. None of them lived anywhere near him now. Eric and Grace were two of those people, even though he hadn’t seen either of them in ages.

Eric had a tendency to call every now and then, especially when special days rolled around and he was feeling sentimental. As far as Marcus knew, Eric hadn’t seen or talked to Grace in over ten years, so it was a shock to hear that not only Eric was coming for a visit, but he was bringing Grace.

Marcus had been watching from his living room window for a good fifteen minutes. He suspected the sunlight filtering in through the blinds was drawing attention to the hint of gray around his temples that had seemed to pop up overnight. He knew it was there, but it didn’t bother him. Much. At forty-two, he knew it was bound to happen sooner or later. Of course, he’d thought about hiding it but ultimately decided against it. If his hair was going to turn gray, then so be it. Besides, dyeing it every few weeks seemed like a pain in the ass.

After receiving Eric’s call, the color of Marcus’ hair became the least of his worries. No sooner had he hung up the phone when the bad feeling began to seep in and swarm around him. Marcus hadn’t seen his friend in a number of years but he’d always been able to tell when something had spooked the guy. And something had definitely spooked Eric. Marcus had heard it in his voice.

The implications gnawed at his insides when he saw the faint headlights coming up the drive. Marcus stepped out onto the porch, thankful for the tree cover surrounding his property. It made it hard to spy on him from afar. No doubt that would comfort Eric.

The four-door sedan skidded to a halt in the front driveway. Eric jumped out and met Marcus halfway up the steps with a firm handshake and a worried, half-hearted smile.

Marcus glanced over Eric’s shoulder, seeing Grace slumped against the window. He’d seen her that way more than once, but this time he doubted it had anything to do with alcohol.

Not that Marcus was judging Grace. She had her reasons for turning to the bottle, just like he had. While her reasons, he suspected, had had something to do with losing her mother when she was so very young, Marcus’s problem was par for the course. A woman.

Marcus shook the unwanted memories out of his head and pointed to the car. “Let’s bring her inside.”

He waited on the porch while Eric gathered Grace in his arms and brought her up to the house. Holding the door open, Marcus motioned Eric inside.

A ceiling fan just inside the entry blew a slight breeze over them as he guided Eric toward a hallway leading to a prepared guestroom. From the doorway, Marcus watched Eric set her down gingerly, then grab the afghan from the foot of the bed and drape it over Grace. Feeling a little intrusive and a bit apologetic, Marcus backed out into the hallway and headed for the living room.

Within seconds Eric had joined him, taking a seat on the couch. His tired eyes and weary face painted a gritty picture. One Marcus did not welcome. He’d seen that look often during his stint as legal counsel in the Marine Corps, but mostly on some poor schmuck who’d claimed to have been framed.

“Maybe you should join Grace,” Marcus suggested, “and get some rest.” He didn’t like the implications of Eric’s despair and hoped a nap would erase the predicament. Somehow he doubted it. “We can talk later.”

“There’s no time for rest.” Eric’s countenance stoned with the inevitability of it all. To him, it seemed, the course was already set. “I’ll rest when this is over.”

Marcus felt the tension building in his forehead. He was going to need aspirin. Lots of aspirin. And maybe Eric was going to need a pain killer, too. Marcus had never seen him like this, and they’d been friends for a long time.

Best friends, way back when. It hadn’t mattered to either of them that Marcus was black and Eric was white. They were two peas in a pod, wooing women and leaving a trail in their wake. Both had been equally serious about their respective careers in the Marine Corps, although they were on very different tracks. Marcus did the legal thing while Eric played war games.

Then Eric met Grace, and he was officially off the market. But Marcus, on the other hand, had made it a point never to let a woman get close to him. Not since that Tracy Kelley fiasco. It had been a tough lesson, but he’d learned to cut them loose before they got attached.

Marcus shook the ill-favored snippets from his past out of his mind and let the more agreeable thoughts emerge. “Your visit is a pleasant surprise.” It was good to see Eric, but the true nature of his call held uncertain possibilities. “Although, I must say—” He stiffened. “Last week, you would’ve been the last person I expected to see coming up my driveway.”

“I should’ve kept in touch more often.” Eric’s face paled with a glimpse of penance.

“What’s that they say about hindsight?” With a jovial chuckle, he let Eric off the hook for any oversight on his part. If only Marcus could dismiss the sinking feeling in his gut so easily. “But you’re not here for a friendly visit.”

“No.” Eric’s troubled gaze seemed to haul the weight of the world around the room before landing on Marcus. “There’s something really weird going on. Something you’re going to have a hard time believing.”

“Try me.”

“Yeah, I know...you think you’ve heard it all.” Eric’s laughter raised chills up Marcus’s arms. “But I’ll venture to say this one will be a first.”

There wasn’t much Marcus hadn’t heard. They both knew that. So what the hell had Eric and Grace stumbled upon? “How about you go ahead and run it by me?”

“How many missing graves have you run across in your day?”

Every sane thought in Marcus’s head scattered. He tried, in vain, to latch onto any of them but those little suckers were quick. “Come again?” he said, just to make sure he’d heard correctly.

He’d misheard people before. It wouldn’t be the first time. Maybe “misheard” wasn’t quite the right word. Misread was probably a better choice, yet still not right. He hadn’t exactly seen or heard the train wreck barreling toward him with Tracey Kelley onboard. Or Cherilyn either, for that matter.

“And not just any grave.” Eric’s voice kept Marcus’s subconscious from drowning inside the murky mistakes of his past.

“Do tell?” The implication yanked at his attention and made him forget about his past misfortunes.

“General Michael Hendricks.”

The name stunned Marcus. Literally. Thoughts darted around his head and bounced off his skull, colliding in fits of chaos. No matter how they meshed, no combination presented a reasonable explanation for the missing grave of Cherry Point’s former commanding general.

“And there’s no chance that Grace had him moved?” Marcus asked, even though he could guess that wasn’t the case.

“No,” Eric said, shaking his head. He paused a moment and gestured toward the bedroom where Grace was resting. “She’s beside herself. She doesn’t know where to turn, or how to find her father.”

Marcus bit back the urge to laugh. “But you think I can help?”

“I’m counting on it.”

There wasn’t anything Marcus wouldn’t do for Eric or Grace, but he hoped their faith in him wasn’t misplaced.

Grace’s subconscious clawed at the stupor fogging her brain as she stirred from exhaustive sleep. After a brief interlude with slumber-induced panic, she awoke fully and remembered she and Eric were heading for Marcus’s house. That must be where she was now. Fear subsiding, she examined the puzzle pieces of strange events concerning her father. Who could benefit from tarnishing the man’s military service records and making his grave disappear? Better yet—why?

A little more of her drowsiness fell away and she tossed the afghan aside. Planting her feet on the floor, she rubbed her hands across her face but it did little to clear up the mystery.

Get up! The words ping-ponged around her thoughts, but she quickly came up with plenty of reasons to ignore them. Going out there, where Eric and Marcus were, meant facing reality. And reality had suddenly turned scary.

She could hide in Marcus’s spare bedroom all day, but it wouldn’t change things. It wouldn’t help solve the mystery, and she doubted it would bring back her father’s grave.

Grace pushed herself up from the bed and stumbled out into the high-ceilinged hallway that led into the open expanse of Marcus’s living room. Even half asleep, the walls planked with white cedar paneling were appealing and inviting to the senses.

Her thoughts remained in limbo as she dropped to the couch, an arm’s length from Eric.

“Can I get you anything?” Marcus asked, sitting in a chair kitty-cornered from Eric.

But that was just like Marcus. Always the thoughtful one. Eternally considerate with regards to the comfort level of those around him.

Just some answers. “I’m fine, thanks.” Grace scanned the room. While Marcus had gone to the trouble to decorate, it was still a man’s quarter. Definitely no woman’s touch here. How had a guy like Marcus managed to remain single?

The same way Eric had. They avoided commitment like the plague. Her gaze landed on Eric and she remembered a time when he hadn’t avoided the “C” word. In fact he’d reveled in it. But she’d messed that up. Royally.

He turned to her with a sad sort of smile, and she got the feeling he’d fought the gesture every step of the way. Understandable, after the way she’d disappeared so mysteriously and without a word all those years ago. He’d probably encased himself inside a virtual barrier to prevent the sting accompanying that sort of thing.

Eric’s fingertips brushed through the tresses of her hair, sweeping it back from her face. His hand lingered on her cheek, longingly. His touch was suddenly almost unbearable in its tenderness.

“You sleep okay?” he asked, and the tension threatening to swallow Grace whole eased.

“Yeah.” She paused for the briefest of moments before turning to Marcus. “My God. Marcus Johnson.”

Marcus’s attention fell upon her with a gentle smile. “Gracie, you’re looking well.”

Other than Eric, Marcus was the only person who’d ever called her Gracie. She wasn’t sure what had prompted the nickname from Eric, but he was almost certainly the reason Marcus had chosen to use it. Funny, she’d never let anyone but Eric and Marcus call her that.

“Thanks, Marcus,” she said with a glint of amusement. “Likewise.” And she wasn’t kidding. Time had been good to him. His dark, coffee-colored skin was flawless. The makings of a beard, a little more than a two or three day shadow, was immaculately groomed along his chin and jaw line. He was a truly handsome man.

Grace caught an intoxicating whiff of Polo, the only thing Eric had ever worn. Memories crippled her sanity. She let her gaze jump back and forth between Eric and Marcus. Her lover and his best friend. How had she lived the last eleven years without either of them?

She longed to dance with Marcus, and she yearned for Eric’s reassuring embrace. There was something to be said for the comfort of a lover’s arms, especially when he possessed the means to rouse desires that had been lying dormant and waiting for his touch alone.

Snap out of it! Getting lost in thoughts of Eric wasn’t wise. Nothing good could come from it. It would only lead to heartache and misery when he found out about her failings.

“I’m sorry I didn’t make it to the General’s funeral.” Marcus’s apology broke into Grace’s private reflections, bringing her back to reality.

“It’s okay.”

“We were out in the field. Training.” Hanging his head, he looked embarrassed that he hadn’t been there to pay his respects. “By the time I received word, it was too late.”

“Don’t sweat it,” she said, avoiding eye contact. After all this time she still wasn’t fond of discussing the circumstances of her father’s demise. She’d never accepted that he could lay the barrel of a gun against his head, much less pull the trigger.

She had to dig deep to muster the courage to face the subject. Not that she had a choice. None of them had a choice. Not anymore.

“Eric tells me your father’s grave has disappeared.” Marcus’s tone was calm, but his words were scary. To hear somebody else confirm it was surreal.

“Pretty much.” Grace hesitated. She had a credible eyewitness in Eric, but to her it still sounded ludicrous. “Look, I know you probably think I’m crazy or whatever, but eleven years ago my father was buried in the Raleigh National Cemetery. Section 24. Plot 4035. That much I do know.”

Grace felt like she’d gotten trapped on the set of that weird sci-fi flick she’d stumbled upon days earlier, and so far she hadn’t found an exit door.

CHAPTER 9

MARCUS shifted his attention to Eric and chose his words carefully. “And you two were there yesterday, but someone else is buried there now?” Even as he said it, it sounded fantastic. Unbelievable. Crazy, even.

If it’d been anybody but Eric reporting such an outlandish claim, he would’ve promptly shown them the door. But it wasn’t someone else. It was Eric. The man he’d always referred to as the best friend he’d ever had.

“Strange as it may seem, that’s exactly what I’m telling you.” Eric’s skewed expression told Marcus that Eric knew how wild his claim sounded.

But Marcus had been around enough to know that just because it sounded nuts, didn’t mean it wasn’t true. He’d heard some doozies during his days as legal counsel for the Marine Corps. Everything from UFO cover-ups to military experimentation, Marcus had heard it all.

“The V.A. records.” Grace’s emotive voice filled with hope. “Did you show him those?” she said to Eric. Affection and confidence, in Eric, glittered in the depths of her cryptic eyes.

Marcus had to wonder why she’d disappeared all those years ago, virtually abandoning Eric. Clearly, she still harbored strong feelings for him. Evident by the approval in her expression.

“Yes.” Eric turned to Marcus. “Someone’s gone to a lot of trouble to cover up the General’s military career, his grave, and when and where he died.”

“But why?” Grace crossed her arms and pointedly searched Marcus’s face, as if looking for answers. “What could anybody gain by doing that?”

Good question. One Marcus hesitated to ponder. Doing so meant he’d have to give credence to the rumors he’d heard over the years. But, was Marcus ready for that?

Ready or not, it appeared to be heading toward him at full speed, and that was a train wreck he wanted to avoid.

“Was your dad gone a lot when you were a kid?” Marcus hid his anxiety beneath a layer of staid calmness.

Grace sat silent for a moment, probably rolling the past across her mind like a film reel. Trying to recollect anything that, while at the time seemed normal, but now felt out of place. “Yeah,” she finally said with a slight nod. “He was a pilot and all. Always gone on missions. Especially when I was real little.”

“Did he ever talk much about what he was doing when he was gone?” Marcus asked. “Most pilots like to engage in a lot of bragging rights when they return home. Did you ever hear anything like that?” He continued his unsettling line of questioning but kept his voice on an even keel. No use stirring up insecurity in Eric and Grace too. Marcus had accrued enough for all three of them.

She stared off into space, like she was agitated. Maybe because she had plenty of memories to consider, but none of them offered viable clues. Grace confirmed Marcus’s suspicions with a single word. “No.” With a tight-lipped smile she shook her head. “Daddy’s missions were always very hush-hush. He said it wasn’t something my mother or I needed to worry ourselves about.” She let it go with a dismissive shrug, leaned back against the couch and crossed her legs.

Eric had been sitting quietly; watching, waiting, willfully taking in every bit of the conversation. His face lit up, as if he’d awakened from a long, lengthy slumber.

“There’s a major cover up going on here.” Eric bobbed his head with an affirmative nod. “That much I do know.”

“That’s a fair bet.” Conciliation oozed out in Marcus’s tone.

Bewilderment invaded Eric’s expression. “But what I don’t know is—” His voice filled with doubt. “If the people responsible for the General’s missing grave or his phony service records know that Gracie and I know about it.”

The perpetrators would have to be all over the General shadowing him, even in death, to know that. Still, considering the depths of the cover up, surveillance was likely.

If that were the case, Marcus had better figure out a way to solve this mystery quickly. He needed time to think, without his well-meaning friends staring him down for answers.

Marcus slapped his hands against his thighs. “You kids hungry?” he asked, glancing between them. “I sure am.” And he was, truth be known. Nothing like a good meal to set the mind in motion. “I’ll go fix us some breakfast.” He looked at his watch. 10:30. “Well, brunch. I’ll fix us some brunch.” He stood and lingered over them. “You guys should check out the view from my deck,” he suggested, gesturing to the sliding glass doors off to the side of the dining room. “It’s really quite nice.”

Eric waited to speak or move until Marcus had disappeared into the kitchen. Why, he didn’t know. There was nothing he could say that Marcus couldn’t hear. Except maybe the pathetic declaration roaming through his head about how much he’d missed Grace and how great it was to have her back by his side.

Pitiful. Just pitiful.

“Guess he wants us to go outside,” Eric said in an attempt to settle his thoughts elsewhere.

Without a word, she got up and headed for the slider. Eric remained seated just to watch her go. Somewhere along the way she’d shed her conservative get-up for a more casual look of blue jeans and a woman’s form-fitting white tee. Now that was the Grace Hendricks he remembered.

Finally, when she’d disappeared from view, he forced himself off the couch and followed her outside. Finding her leaning against the deck’s railing and gazing out over the lake, which was exceptionally still, was comforting in a weird, sadistic sort of way. He was crazy for letting his thoughts get this far. As his grandma used to say, “A glutton for punishment.”

Eric braced himself against the railing and faced her. Sunlight glistened against her hair, bringing out the deep reddish-brown highlights. It looked tamer than he remembered. Maybe because of the curls. She’d done away with them. Not necessarily a bad thing. Recalling the feel of her unruly tresses, he wanted to run his fingers through her hair again. He still wasn’t sure which he preferred. Soft and silky. Or wild and wiry. There was something to be said for the latter. He wondered if the straight hair would wound as easily around his fingers in the heat of the moment—

Whoa! He gave himself a mental kick in the rear. Not good. Not good at all. His sudden inability to control his thoughts and emotions rankled Eric.

Refocusing on something as simple as the circumstances that had brought them back together took more energy than he’d like to admit. He couldn’t imagine what she was going through. Still, sympathizing with her was easy.

“For what it’s worth, Gracie...” It was best to tread lightly, knowing she was upset. Who wouldn’t be? Her father had disappeared. Literally. “You’re not crazy. I was there, too.”

Why was he, all of a sudden, so determined to validate her sanity?

There it was, Eric’s protective nature striving to rear its supportive little head. If the guardian in him was getting out, his true feelings were sure to follow.

Eric couldn’t let that happen. He’d just about cornered his resolve to thwart the inevitable when her stature began to droop like an unwatered houseplant.

“Why would somebody do that, Eric?” Grace’s frail tone shredded the inquiry. Her face displayed all the confusion that had bombarded her over the last couple of days. “Why would they just wipe him out? Like he never existed.” She blinked out the tears that had begun to well around her troubled bronze eyes.

“I don’t know, Gracie.” An overwhelming need to comfort her pounced on him like a wildcat attacking its prey. Eric stirred uneasily, turned and rested his elbows on the deck’s railing. “But I promise you, we’re going to find out what’s going on.”

He looked out over the lake. The water, calm and eerily still, gave the appearance of a thin sheet of glass or ice. Remembering it was breakable was a prudent move. It could easily be destroyed, just like Eric’s world was in danger of being crushed, depending on the outcome of the General’s plight. If there was some weird conspiracy going on, that would forever change reality for Eric.

“I’m sorry.” Regret ushered in her simple statement. She looked as sad and remorseful as she sounded. But why?

“For what?” Maybe by asking he could get to the bottom of her apology.

After a long, exhausted sigh she crossed her arms over her torso, in effect closing herself off. “For dragging you into this mess.” She avoided eye contact with him, but that didn’t surprise Eric. She was hiding something, but he wasn’t sure he wanted or needed to know what it was. Her presence had already disrupted his life enough without tossing additional complications into the mix.

He hesitated, for measure, before turning around and leaning against the railing. Eric was tempted to ask her one of the millions of questions that had crossed his mind over the last eleven years. The one he wanted an answer to more than all the others was the one that stuck out most predominately in his thoughts, but he wasn’t sure if he was ready for her response.

He didn’t want to hear her say he’d meant nothing to her. That leaving him behind had been easy to do. The most natural thing in the world. Eric wasn’t ready for this reality. He’d forgo the answers to avoid the heartache.

Keeping his thoughts locked inside seemed like the way to go. At least he felt safer that way. If he didn’t let Grace back in, she couldn’t hurt him. Again. This was his philosophy now. He hoped it’d work. If it didn’t, he was in trouble because he didn’t have a ‘Plan B’.

“It’s not like you had a choice,” he said, sticking to the subject at hand.

A choice? Hell no, Grace didn’t have a choice. Who else but Eric could she have turned to after losing her father? Literally. That was hard to comprehend, much less acknowledge or say out loud.

Eric’s embrace would come in handy right now. She’d always felt at home there. God, she missed that. But he’d made it clear, there would be no physical contact. Not anymore.

Tears stung the corners of her eyes. She tightened her folded arms, trying to mimic an embrace. One that’d be a far cry from the real thing. Especially Eric’s. But she’d forfeited the right to feel the comfort, never mind the passion, of his arms when she’d elected to taste a different kind of comfort. Too bad she hadn’t seen the demon hiding inside—until it was too late.

She looked out at the eerily-still lake. It offered no reprieve. “It’s really beautiful here, isn’t it?” she asked, if only as a pretense of covering the storm of emotions raging behind her gaze.

“Yes. It is.”

Grace felt Eric looking at her, examining her. Did he see her tears? Did they bother him? Or had he grown immune during their eleven year separation?

There was a time when he would’ve drawn her to him, soothingly. He made no move toward her and that panged her heart like a pin cushion overrun with tiny needles.

Grace looked for sanctuary in Marcus’s outdoor paradise. The deck—the ultimate in backyards—offered endless possibilities, from the empty dining table near the lavish grill, to the benches surrounding the fire pit, to the plush lawn chairs accompanying the hot tub.

I need to sit down. Maybe then, she could pull herself together. She chose the inviting wicker furniture beneath an ivy-tangled pergola.

“Listen, if you want to cut and run,” she said, dropping onto the oversized, cushioned chair, “I’ll understand.”

“Not my style,” Eric said. “That’s more your department.”

Irritated by his mocking tone, her lips parted in surprise. Was he joking?

“Is that supposed to be funny?” she said in a voice that was as cool and clear as ice water. He had to be joking. The only other option was that he was intentionally being mean. Grace’s mind raced through her memories, searching for any inclination that he’d always been this insolent.

Her reaction seemed to amuse him. His laughter had a sharp edge as he sauntered toward Grace and took the seat opposite her. Sitting back, he propped his feet on Marcus’s table, and a cheeky grin overtook his features.

“Nah...” He laced his hands behind his head. “It wasn’t meant to be funny.” But, judging by the look on his face, absolute gratification, he wasn’t torn up that she’d taken it that way. “Interesting how that works out, huh?”

And annoying. Swamped by a measure of bitterness, she laughed to hide her building frustration.

Eric Wayne had turned into a real pain-in-the-ass.

CHAPTER 10

MARCUS prided himself on the notion that his guests could count on any meal he served to be not only grand, but entirely satisfying. Everything from the sophisticated display of foods right down to the Tansu table from American Drew that he served them on, it all showed how much Marcus enjoyed the art of dining.

Even if it was just him, which it usually was, he was never one to skimp when it came to a good meal.

He referred to this one as brunch because he was serving it much later than the first meal of the day. But, in reality, it was nothing more than an elaborate spread of breakfast foods. It was all there. Eggs, biscuits, potatoes, bacon, sausage, pancakes and various fruits—all ready and available for the taking.

From the head of the table, he dished the foods nearest him onto both Eric and Grace’s plates, and passed his own for them to return the favor. Eric tossed strips of bacon and sausage medallions onto Marcus’s plate and passed it to Grace, who carefully spooned country fries next to the meats before handing the dish back to Marcus.

“I’m not saying this is all tied together.” Marcus sat his plate down and grabbed his fork. “But I’ve heard stories.” He hesitated, unsure if he should be telling this to anyone. Even Eric, whom he trusted implicitly. With that notion, he continued, “Different versions of the same tale, more than once. About some poor schmuck who’d insisted he was being framed.”

Up till now, Eric had been listening quietly, only stealing quick looks at him every-so-often. But the revelation grabbed Eric’s attention and hauled it to Marcus.

“Framed?” Grace, who’d been concentrating more on the food, chimed in. “For what?” She stilled, confirming she was ill-at-ease. “And by who?”

“For what...” Marcus shook his head. “That never really matters. And by whom is purely a matter of speculation.” A secretive tone fueled his words. “The important thing is that they all had two things in common.” He waited until their curiosity caught up with his disclosure. When sufficient interest lit their faces, Marcus continued. “They all said they were being framed.”

“Isn’t that the usual defense?” Eric chuckled and chomped on a piece of bacon.

“Yeah, but, when they also say they were offered a position—one they’d subsequently turned down—with an elite military-type government agency...one that doesn’t exist under any branch of the United States Government...you tend to take notice.”

“Just how many times have you run across this?” Eric wasn’t laughing anymore. His face had become dreadfully sober.

“Every time somebody said they’d been framed, they were first approached with a clandestine proposal to join some mysterious organization.” Marcus’s mind teetered on the edge of uncertainty. What sane person believed the bill of goods he was trying to sell?

“Huh?” A faint thread of hysteria cracked in Grace’s voice as she placed her glass of orange juice back on the table. Her eyes had a strange glare in them as her attention bounced between Eric and Marcus.

The girl was clearly spooked, but Marcus sensed there was more going on inside her head that had nothing to do with the General’s disappearance.

“Spike teams,” Eric said, before Marcus had a chance to delve too deep into what might be troubling Grace. “Hatchet forces.”

“Close. Close.” Marcus nodded perfunctorily. “Just not quite so universally known. And a bit more clandestine.”

“So, they work pretty much under the same pretense as our good friends in the Army?” Eric posed the question, but judging by his perceptive expression understanding had awoken in him. “But with a lot less scruples,” he added, confirming Marcus’s suspicions.

“You’re getting there now,” Marcus said, almost laughing. To see that he and Eric still had the ability to anticipate each other’s thoughts was refreshing. “They take what they want. No matter the costs. And they don’t care who gets hurt in the process.”

Playing with the scrambled eggs on his plate, Eric asked, “No rules, huh?” His light tone melted some of the tension that had started brewing when Marcus received Eric’s phone call yesterday.

“Just don’t get caught,” Marcus said, opting to drive the mood in an informal direction. Finally, somebody had found a way to ease the tension and he had no plans to thwart the effort.

“Wait a minute...” Grace’s objection invaded their repartee as she waved her fork elaborately in the air. “Isn’t that the kind of shit you guys live for?”

“Typically,” Eric said, as if he really knew the topic. Marcus doubted it. If Eric was that knowledgeable on the subject, he wouldn’t have come looking for Marcus.

Time to shed some light. “But not when we have to be reinvented as a person.”

“Maybe you should just go ahead and spell it out for me,” Grace said with the dejected look of surrender, and laid her fork across the center of her far-from-empty plate.

“Well...” Marcus glanced at Eric. Who better to use for show-n-tell? “If Eric here decides to join our secret military group...at that point, Eric Wayne no longer exists. He gets a new identity and is forever cut off from his former life.”

“And if I say, no...” Eric said with a grand air and reached for his cup of steaming coffee. “I find myself in some serious shit.” As he sipped the coffee, Marcus doubted Eric was truly aware of his accuracy.

“Precisely.” Marcus’s zeal poured out in a full-throated roar. “It’s then that he’s accused of some crime or another that’ll buy him twenty-to-life in Leavenworth.”

“Why?” she asked with a long, exhausted sigh and reached for her fork.

“Because...” Marcus said as Grace poked at the mixed fruit, mostly melons, on her plate. “If you say no, you have to be neutralized.” He couldn’t begin to appreciate this reasoning, but he understood it. “These types of operations depend upon secrecy and no one but its own agents knowing it exists. Well, no one credible anyway.” The entire concept was clever, and Marcus had to laugh at the irony. “And who’s going to believe Eric Wayne’s accusations if he’s doing time in Leavenworth?”

“So what you’re saying is...” Grace’s words lingered on the air as she paused, probably searching for some viable logic to what sounded like nonsense. “If Eric is targeted for recruitment, but he says ‘no thanks guys’...then they go out and frame him for a crime he didn’t commit just so they can lock him away in case he decides to tell somebody? And all the while, they’re hoping against hope that nobody’ll believe him, if they decide to listen to him in the first place, since he’s supposedly a criminal locked up in Leavenworth?” Grace judged Marcus with doubtful, shuttered eyes. “I ask you, where is the logic in that?”

“Truth is stranger than fiction, Gracie.” Marcus let it go. Acknowledging what he was proposing had to be right up there with discovering the General’s grave was missing. He just needed to make her see the validity of his claim. “Besides, who’s going to believe Eric if he speaks up? Hell, I’m not even sitting in Leavenworth,” he pointed out, “and you don’t believe me.”

Marcus didn’t blame Grace for doubting his theory. Swallowing it was tough. Especially when nobody, not even Marcus, understood the reasoning behind its purpose.

Grace stabbed her fork into the mound of potatoes on her plate and waved her catch at him. “And you’re saying my father was a part of this?”

“At this point, I wouldn’t rule anything out.” Marcus let his words roll off his tongue in a calm, careful, and casual manner. “Especially since the General’s grave has disappeared.”

“Geez, Marcus,” Grace said as if the entire conversation was beyond her tolerance level. “You’re starting to sound as crazy as those V.A. records they sent me.”

Crazy, maybe. But Marcus wasn’t half as cracked as the lunatics who’d tampered with the General’s V.A. file and made off with his grave. That scheme took ingenuity, not to mention nerve. He wished he understood their thought processes. What good could come from the ruse?

Marcus had always been able to figure out the criminal intent of his clients. But these guys—he was so far from understanding their objective that he doubted he’d be able to follow a road map, even if they gave him one.

That’s why Eric and Grace needed more help than Marcus could offer. Luckily, Marcus had a good idea about who they could turn to—if she was still in the same place.

Then again, “they” might anticipate that Marcus would head in her direction, and if that was the case, he could be leading Eric and Grace into a trap.

Not a comforting feeling. Perhaps he should consider bringing along “the girls”.

Eric woke up in the same position he’d passed out in—flat on his back. He had to give Marcus credit, the bed in this guestroom was damned comfortable and almost succeeded in luring him to stay there. But he couldn’t do that.

The room had been brightly lit when Marcus showed him to it, but now, only darkness seeped in through the slated blinds covering the window. He’d been asleep for hours. While he needed the rest, he wasn’t sure it was a good idea. Nothing was a good idea that didn’t bring him closer to finding the General, so he could get on with his life. An impossible feat until he parted ways with Grace.

He pushed himself to the side of the bed and lingered there for a moment, allowing the fog of sleep to dissipate as he swabbed his hands over his face. Finally, Eric rose and lumbered toward the doorway, softly illuminated by a dim light in the hallway.

If he hadn’t fully awakened during the time it took to traverse the hallway, he was jerked out of his drowsy state when he entered the living room and saw Marcus sitting on the couch polishing a sawed-off shotgun.

A subtle chill rolled up his arms, and Eric tried to hide the shudder that followed by shoving his fingertips inside the pockets of his Levi’s. “Holy shit!”

“You’re awake.” Marcus barely glanced up at Eric, but it didn’t break his concentration. “That’s good. We’ll want to get going soon.” Still, there was no urgency in his tone or his actions as he continued his task of buffing the gun.

“You think those are necessary?” Eric asked with a waving gesture at Marcus and his hardware. He sat down in the chair across from his friend, and fixed his gaze on the unsettling sight.

Not that Eric was afraid of guns, or the prospect of using them. Hell, he was an expert marksman. He could nail a target from a thousand yards—if he had to. But the thought that he might have to put his skill to use, that raised the danger level a notch or two above Eric’s comfort plane.

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Marcus carefully laid the shotgun at his right hand side and turned to the .9mm handgun to his left. He checked the clip and patted the barrel. “This is Helen,” he said, offering the weapon to Eric. “She has a hair-trigger, so you’ll need to watch that.”

Eric cradled the handgun in his palm and carefully checked the safety. It was on. Good. He tucked the gun into the waistband at his back and pulled his t-shirt down, concealing it. “That one have a name?” he asked, imbued with idle curiosity.

Marcus held her up, resting the butt of the shotgun on his knee. “This is Lorraine.” His broadening smile conveyed his pride. “They are my girls.”

“Well, I guess if you’re going to have some girls hanging around, this is a good kind.”

“They haven’t let me down yet.”

“Well, let’s hope their track record remains intact.” Eric tried to infuse a bit of laughter into his worrisome tone. But the doubt was there, lingering on the edge of his thoughts. Just how much trouble were they in? “What are the odds you think we’ll need them?”

“In light of a missing grave and military records that have obviously been tampered with—” Marcus’s apprehensive tone bothered Eric. “—I wouldn’t rule anything out.”

Okay, well if he was going to put it like that, then Marcus might be on to something. But what, exactly?

Eric preferred the scenarios running through his mind, to Marcus’s—his need for guns. But Eric wasn’t convinced that there wasn’t a logical explanation, and logic, by definition, didn’t include conspiracy theories and an elaborate scheme to ‘erase’ a man’s entire existence.

He’d humor Marcus and Grace, for now, but in the end Eric was confident they’d discover this mystery was nothing more than a case of erroneous mis-identity.

“So, you have a plan then?” Eric asked with a fair amount of curiosity. Watching Marcus’s investigative intellect in action would be interesting.

“Sort of,” Marcus said with an offhanded shrug. “Mostly, I’m just making it up as I go along.”

At least Marcus was capable of thinking on his feet in a less than ideal situation. Eric was happy to pass the leadership roll off to him, it was better than trying to figure out their next move himself.

“So what is our next move?” Eric asked. “Should we consider leaving soon?”

“Yes.” Marcus motioned toward the hallway where they’d stashed Grace inside a guestroom. “Maybe you should go ahead and wake her.”

Eric stood, checked the gun at his back and strode toward the hallway, stopping at the first room on the right. He paused in the doorway for a brief moment, drinking in the sight of Grace sleeping soundly, her slender figure defined by the dim light in Marcus’s other guestroom. He was infused by a feeling of warmth and tried to push aside the desires he thought long extinct, buried, and forgotten... damn near it, anyway.

The stone center of his heart crumpled.

Remembering why they were here, at Marcus’s, Eric was overwhelmed by an inexplicable sense of danger. He considered his options, quick to discard all but the one where he had to protect Grace.

Since time was of the essence, he mustered the strength to tuck his wounded feelings aside. If they survived this thing—and that was a big if—there’d be plenty of time later for his incessant obsession.

He shifted from foot to foot before pushing himself across the room toward her. Leaning over her, he laid a delicate hand on her shoulder. A tingling tremor ran up his arm.

“Gracie...” he whispered, “wake up.”

Eric’s voice yanked her from the throes of sleep. She’d been dreaming about him, back when they first met. She wanted to go back, back to that wonderful dream. The memories were so fresh now. She recalled so vividly the unadulterated desire that invaded his eyes every time he’d looked at her. Back when they were falling in love.

Reality clouded with her memories of the past as she glanced up and saw him standing over her. She almost forgot they’d spent the last eleven years apart.

“What?” The reason they were there sank back in and Grace sat up. “What is it?”

“We have to go now.” His tone was serene, but it failed to screen the urgency of his words.

He wasted no time, scooped her into his arms and moved her swiftly outside to the car.

Through sleep-deprived eyes, she witnessed a distorted view of Marcus scrambling behind them. Then, as the picture began to clear, he moved like a perfectly choreographed dance around Grace and Eric and opened the front passenger car door.

Eric deposited her inside the front seat with a thud and she hoped it wasn’t on purpose. Fueled by resentment, she tracked his swift, sprinting movement around the car and eyed him as he slid in behind the wheel.

The sound of the backdoor closing intermingled with the roar of a revving engine, and the smell of gasoline filled the air.

“Leave the headlights off.” Marcus’s hand rested between Grace and Eric on the seat’s back. “Until we’re well out and onto the highway.”

“Why?” Grace asked, as Eric shifted the car into drive and hit the gas.

“If anybody’s watching, they’d better have night vision if they want to see us leave.”

Grace looked over her shoulder and saw two distinct and different guns on the seat beside Marcus. One, an automatic handgun. The other a sawed-off shotgun.

They almost made her forget what he’d said, about someone following them. Almost. But the two were kind of tied together—actually, handcuffed was more like it. After everything that’d happened, beginning with receiving those weird records on her father, why wouldn’t she think or expect that someone would be tailing her?

A lot of scenarios were running through her mind, too many in fact. At this point, she wasn’t ready or willing to consider most of them, especially the ones where her father was involved in the cover-up.

Maybe Marcus, and even Eric, was willing to consider it, but Grace wasn’t buying it for a second.

By the time they reached the highway, Grace was fully awake, and more viable questions were filling her head.

“I have a question,” she said, to no one in particular. “Where are we going? And why are we in such a hurry?”

“That’s two questions,” Eric said in a jesting way.

Grace cut her eyes at him. Her reaction seemed to amuse Eric.

“We’re going to see a...” Marcus’s words trailed off, like he was trying to decide his connection with whoever, whatever, or wherever they were headed. “...A friend of mine.”

CHAPTER 11

ERIC tilted his head up and looked in the rearview mirror. “Anybody I know?” he asked, his tone dripping with curiosity.

Grace shifted sideways, as much as her seatbelt allowed, and looked at Marcus.

“Cherilyn.” Just as the name rolled off his tongue, a sad sort of faraway guise passed across Marcus’s eyes.

“Ah-ha!” Eric taunted him. “The infamous Cherilyn.”

Eric didn’t know a whole lot about Cherilyn. Just bits and pieces of maybe a half a dozen conversations he’d had with Marcus.

If it hadn’t been for Tracy Kelley, Eric might have never heard Cherilyn’s name, much less anything about her.

Tracy Kelley. Now there was blast from the past. Even before Cherry Point and Gracie. Tracy had been Marcus’s lesson on ‘never lead a girl on when you’re not serious.’ Hell, even Eric had learned a lesson with that one.

She had thought marriage—to Marcus—was in the cards. And all because they’d slept together a few times. Well, actually, it was more like a few months. But Marcus hadn’t realized so much time had passed until it was too late.

“What can I say?” he’d told Eric. She was good, and he’d enjoyed their trysts.

To Tracy, they were an item. To Marcus, she was a great piece of ass.

That’s when Marcus revealed to Eric that he was already married—to a woman he’d met several years before when they were both stationed in Florida. She too was an officer in the Marine Corps.

Eric was shocked, to say the least. He’d never, in a million years, ever thought that Marcus could have a wife tucked away somewhere. But, undoubtedly this news had been the straw that finally broke the camel’s back for Tracy.

Marcus had later told Eric that he’d hoped by telling Tracy about Cherilyn, she’d decide, since he was married, that he wasn’t all that great after all.

When Tracy figured out Marcus wasn’t hearing wedding bells, she was devastated and fell into a deeply distraught state of mind. Eric had always thought that what she really wanted to do was grab Marcus’ attention. Shake him up a bit. Make him see the error of his ways. Eric didn’t believe she’d truly intended to kill herself when she took that bottle of pills. Nevertheless, that was the end result.

After that, Marcus nailed them once and moved on. Love ‘em and leave ‘em fast. That became his motto.

“Might she be an old girlfriend?” Grace’s inquiring tone dragged Eric’s thoughts back to the present.

I guess that’s one way to put it. Eric managed to contain the comment to just a thought.

“Well, if she is,” Grace said with a measure of reservation, “I hope you left on good terms.”

Unable to contain his amusement, the way he had his thoughts, Eric threw back his head and laughed out loud.

“Very funny,” Marcus’s muddled voice traveled up to the front seat.

“How long’s it been since you saw her last?” Eric asked.

“Hell...” Marcus’s voice trailed off as he took the time to think it over, “Must be, damn near twenty years now.”

“Twenty years!” Grace exclaimed, looking over her shoulder. “What makes you think she’s even going to remember who you are?”

“Gracie...” Marcus grabbed his chest playfully. “You cut me to the core.”

A few hours into the drive, Grace had talked Eric into stopping for a bite to eat. He pulled off the highway into a parking lot of a nearly-deserted diner that looked like a throw-back from the fifties. Gravel crunched beneath the vehicle’s tires as it rolled to a stop at the front door.

He cut the engine and car doors opened as he, Grace and Marcus exited into the chill of a cool spring morning. Advertisements lined the windows in bright blues, pinks and green neon, hawking a wide variety of beer.

Eric followed her up the front steps and reached around Grace, opening the door for her. Inside, he directed her toward the nearest empty booth. To him, it was more comfortable than sitting at a table with chairs, and it also provided more privacy while eating. A definite advantage. Eric valued privacy above all else.

Grace slipped in beside Eric, leaving the opposite bench for Marcus who remained standing.

“Order me some coffee, would you?” Marcus said to no one in particular, then spun around and strolled away.

Grace watched him go, and once Marcus was out of earshot range her gaze drifted to Eric. “What’s up with this Cherilyn anyway?”

Eric remained quiet, feeling no urgent need to answer her question. He wasn’t comfortable discussing Marcus’s personal life with anyone, not even Grace. Doing so was like betraying a confidence, and Eric didn’t approve of betrayal in any shape, form, or fashion.

Grace, as if sensing Eric’s hesitance, returned her attention to Marcus who’d made it across the empty, open expanse of the restaurant’s dining area. Finally, he disappeared under a sign that read, “Rest Rooms”.

“How does she fit into all this anyway?” Slowly, Grace’s gaze traveled back to Eric. “Do you think she can really help?”

“Well, Marcus does. Or we wouldn’t be headed in her direction.” Eric crowded the wall, wanting more space between him and Grace than sitting beside her afforded.

“Why?” She gave him a pointed look. “She one of Marcus’s many conquests?”

Eric laughed. “Many conquests?” He snatched a couple of laminated menus off the rack at the edge of the table and handed one to Grace.

“Oh, you have such a selective memory.” Her words snapped under her exceedingly chillier tone. She looked at the menu, but he had a hunch she wasn’t reading it. “You going to try and tell me that Marcus wasn’t on a mission to accommodate every single woman, and some married ones too, when you and I were together?”

Easy to see where this was going—in a direction Eric wanted to avoid. And for as much as he didn’t want to be the one to reveal certain aspects of Marcus’s past, Eric was going to have to give her a little something to get her to lay off. Otherwise, the whole damned thing could get out of hand. Quickly.

“Cherilyn is white.” Eric’s voice remained remarkably calm considering he was partaking in something he’d call gossip. “And apparently they were hassled quite a bit because of it.” He shrugged, not to dismiss their plight, but to expel his own sense of betrayal. “I believe that she thought she was hurting Marcus by being with him. So, one day, she up and left.”

Eric wished he had a cup of coffee or something to focus on, besides the uncomfortable feeling the subject caused. The last thing he wanted was to give Grace the impression that he was still hurting over their breakup, much less the way it happened.

“Oh, wow.” For a second, he thought she might laugh, but then her tone grew somber. Maybe, for once, she’d thought about someone else and realized just how devastating that must have been for Marcus. “That sucks,” she added poignantly.

Tell me about it. Finally, maybe she’d catch a glimpse of the end of their own relationship—from Eric’s point of view.

“At least she told him she was leaving.” He tried to send her an icy glare, wrapped in the hope that it might impose half as much pain on her as she’d inflicted upon him. “And why.”

Eric wasn’t sure which was worse. Anger or hurt. At this point, it was hard to tell the difference.

The waitress appeared, just in time to help stop the hurt from cutting a little deeper. “Morning.” She gave them a smile big enough to welcome both Eric and Grace. “What can I get you folks?”

Eric rattled off a request for two coffees. One for himself and one for Marcus. He thought about ordering hot tea for Grace, but didn’t want to assume she still favored the coffee alternative.

“Can I get a hot tea?” Her request didn’t surprise him, even though he’d steered away from making assumptions. “And, can we get a few more minutes before we place our orders?” she asked, looking at the waitress. “We want to wait until our friend returns from the restroom.”

“Sure thing.” The waitress’s wink fell upon Eric.

Grace jabbed him in the side and her laughter sputtered out behind a snort.

Great. She was amused by another woman’s attempt to flirt with him. Not exactly a huge ego boost.

He welcomed the sight of Marcus returning to the booth. Good. Maybe now the conversation would head in another direction. If Eric was lucky. He wasn’t counting on it though. So far, his retirement was a bust.

Marcus slid across the empty bench opposite Eric and Grace. The waitress returned with a pot of black coffee and filled two cups. One for him, and one for Eric.

Coffee. Good. Boy, he sure needed it. The stronger, the better. Course, he doubted any amount of coffee would do the trick when it came to cutting the edge on his anxiety.

The waitress placed a teapot on the table near Grace and waited to see if they were ready to order. “I’ll have a Sammy’s Slam,” Grace said and pushed the menu toward Eric.

“Make that two.” Eric held up two fingers on one hand.

If Sammy’s Slam was good enough for them, it’d work for Marcus. “Three,” he said, and slid his menu across the table toward Eric.

Eric scooped up the laminated leaflet, stacked them with a few taps against the table and returned them to their spot on the rack.

Grace grabbed a couple of sugar packets and ripped them open. “So, Marcus,” she said, dumping the contents into her steaming tea, “you think your friend can help us?”

“Yes,” he said half-heartedly. He wasn’t altogether sure of that, but he had to believe it. “I think she can.”

“You think she’ll know something about this mysteriously classified department of the government that you’re so convinced exists?” Eric spoke up, his tone harboring skepticism.

“I think there’s a possibility that she may at least be able to point us in the right direction.” Marcus tried to play it cool by concentrating on his coffee, stirring it to cool it off.

“Why would she?” Grace asked, as if it was a ridiculous notion. After a second or two, a light bulb seemed to go off inside her head and she made the following connection. “Unless you think she’s part of this organization?”

“I’ve heard rumors,” he confessed, “more than once.” Marcus probably shouldn’t have said that but he couldn’t expect them to follow his unsubstantiated whims across the country without foundation or reason.

Even he hadn’t decided whether or not he believed the rumors. But he’d heard them, one after the other. Gossip about what Cherilyn had gotten herself mixed up in after she left him. The reports had read like a fantastic plot in some military thriller, and he’d initially dismissed them as bogus. But now, for the first time, he had a concrete reason to seriously consider their validity.

These latest developments also gave him solid ground to contact her, and in the process he could find out how she was doing. He longed to see her. Just to know that she was okay. But more importantly, it provided him the means to save face if it turned out she’d moved on and remarried, while he hadn’t.

The waitress appeared with three plates of steaming hot Sammy Slams, saving Marcus from his own self-destruction. When he and Cherilyn married, he’d thought the world had changed, evolved. Learning differently had been a tough lesson.

Grabbing his fork, he gave Grace a little wink and poked at his food. An effective ploy to steer his thoughts away from the things he could not control, the things he could not change.

It didn’t pay to wallow in remorse over the failure of his marriage to a white woman. Still, the experience had taught him that the world the government had allowed everyday citizens, like himself, to see was not the world in which those everyday citizens actually lived.

While there was a fine line between reality and faux-reality, and now that he, Grace, and Eric had stumbled upon it...what kind of consequences would they suffer?

CHAPTER 12

Suffolk, Virginia

STANDING alongside Eric and Grace at Cherilyn’s front door, Marcus started to wonder what he’d hoped to accomplish by this visit. Exactly. Did he have that much faith in “old time’s sake”? Was it enough to induce Cherilyn to welcome him with open arms, and after all this time?

Maybe. Maybe not.

But Marcus had to give it a shot. Sooner or later they were going to be playing a game of cat and mouse with someone, if they weren’t already, and he preferred to know who. Practically anybody could be involved.

There were only so many ways to find out who they were up against. And, as much as Marcus hated to admit it, he wasn’t that well-connected. Not when it came to shit like this. He knew one person, and one person only, who might be able to help. If Cherilyn turned her back on them, they were in big trouble.

Go figure. His only hope was a woman who’d run out on him in the past when things had gotten a little too tough.

Damned crappy luck.

Nerves, like thorny vines, knotted and twisted around the rock-hard fear anchored low in Marcus’s gut. He tried to lift his arm to knock on the door, but it felt like one of those boulders at Stonehenge, heavy and immovable.

This was a dumb idea. What made him think he was prepared to confront Cherilyn? He hadn’t prepped for that. He’d never played the “what if” game. There was no point. She wasn’t coming back. She’d made that clear when she left. Oh, she’d said it was for his own good, but that excuse offered little solace—then and now.

Marcus had accepted, years ago, that that part of his life—his marriage to Cherilyn—was over. The idea that he’d one day be standing at her door wasn’t a notion he’d ever entertained. The thought had never crossed his mind. He wasn’t one to spend a lot of wasted time on impossible dreams.

Never say never.

Eric reached around Marcus and knocked on the door.

Oh, God...I don’t think I can do this. Marcus needed more time to erase the pain his breakup with Cherilyn had inflicted. Yeah, but, how many years was that going to take? He’d thought, incorrectly, that he was past it. The regret threatening to rip his heart out of his chest suggested he was wrong.

The door swung open with a slow-motion affect. Marcus’s heart sank into his stomach and his gaze fell to the cobblestone steps. What if her husband answered the door?

Great. Now he’d fallen onto the “what if” wagon. God, he sure knew how to pull himself down into the depths of humiliation.

He gave himself a mental slap in the face, collected his scattered emotions and pulled his gaze up the length of the figure standing on the other side of the threshold.

Blue jeans adorned the long, slender legs of a woman and led up to a blue checkered blouse tied at the waist. Creamy-white skin peered out from behind the shirt’s top two unfastened buttons.

Cherilyn ran her fingers through her sandy-blonde hair. It was cropped short now, the style complimented her face in a flattering way. Her hazel eyes sparkled courteously as she searched the faces of her company.

She’d hit forty last year, in November, but he was still easily sucked in by the allure of her beauty.

“Hello, Cherilyn.” Marcus greeted her in a stifled breath, frightful that his splintered heart might finally inflict its wrath.

Seconds ticked by before Marcus’s shock of seeing her standing there wore off and gave him an overwhelming sense of peace. Something he couldn’t explain, even to himself.

If Cherilyn tried to conceal her surprise she wasn’t successful. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped opened. “Marcus...” She gasped softly, until finally her lips molded into a bittersweet smile.

The presence of Eric and Grace caught her attention, briefly, and her eyes darted between the three of them before settling back to Marcus, where they seemed to be asking, what are you doing here?

“I apologize for dropping by without calling.” Marcus figured his defense probably sounded apocryphal, but he had meant it with the utmost sincerity. Maybe he should’ve called first, if he’d bothered to take down her phone number. This might turn into an uncomfortable situation.

“It’s not a problem,” she said vaguely, but remained in the doorway. A human barrier between him and her new life inside.

He glanced past her with a stealthful glimpse, but saw nothing to give away the details of her current life. “I hope we’re not disturbing your family.” Please don’t let there be kids. Good God. Could Marcus handle her having children with another man?

Grace snickered, barely above her breath. Her amusement wasn’t targeted at Marcus so much as his predicament, and she didn’t want him to think otherwise. But that didn’t stop Eric from jabbing his elbow into her side.

Damn it. Why did he do stuff like that?

“There’s nothing to disturb here.” Cherilyn stepped aside. “Come on in.” She waved them inside with a reluctant gesture.

Grace usually had no trouble reading people, but Cherilyn was a closed book. She had no idea if Marcus’s ex’s display of reluctance was genuine.

Eric pushed Grace behind Marcus and she stumbled inside. She would’ve retaliated had it not been for the room and its atmosphere. Angels designed in porcelain, crystal, and ivory occupied every available spot on the shelves, tables and nooks in the living room.

Instantly, Grace caught a whiff of a pleasant scent floating on the air. What was it...lavender? Or maybe lilac. Oddly enough, she couldn’t decide if the ambiance was magical or spiritual.

“This is an unexpected surprise.” Cherilyn led them across the room toward two tan leather couches facing one another and separated by a cherry-planked coffee table.

Eric drove Grace toward one couch and Marcus followed Cherilyn to the other. Grace and Eric sat, while the other pair remained standing.

“Why are you here?” Cherilyn asked Marcus in a tone filled with just enough curiosity to come across as friendly.

There was no beating around the bush with Cherilyn. Grace appreciated that in a person.

“I like her,” Grace whispered to Eric. “She gets straight to the point.”

Eric rolled his eyes and shushed Grace.

“At least she remembers who he is,” Grace said just above a whisper.

Eric wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “Would you please shut up?” He breathed the words through her hair, his breath tickling her skin. Or maybe that was reaction to his touch.

She passed on debating over it for long. Better to stifle her feelings than let her heart fall to her sleeve. Instead, she focused on Marcus and Cherilyn standing together, hands clasped and facing one another.

Man, why did they ever split up? Clearly, they still loved each other.

“I need your help, Cher.” Marcus gestured toward Eric and Grace, but his gaze remained locked on his ex. “We need your help.”

Cherilyn looked at Grace and Eric, her lips parted but she abstained from speaking. Grace smiled, still trying to figure out how to read the woman. No luck. Cherilyn whatever-her-last-name-was was a complete enigma.

“Hello.” Cherilyn finally offered up a courteous greeting. She looked down at her hands, still encased in Marcus’s. Her cheeks turned a vivid scarlet and she grinned sheepishly. “Who are your friends?”

“This is Eric Wayne and Grace Hendricks.” Marcus began the introductions.

Grace snickered. And again, Eric elbowed her in the side, more forceful this time.

Geez, can’t a girl have a little fun? When the hell had Eric turned into such a wet blanket?

“This is Cherilyn.” Marcus continued the introductions, dragging Grace away from her thoughts. He turned back to Cherilyn, his weary expression said he’d backed himself into an emotional corner. “Are you still...?”

“Yes,” she said, and cleared her throat. “I’m still Cherilyn Johnson.”

So, when they divorced she kept the name just not the man.

Poor Marcus.

For a second, he looked like he was weighing an objection to Cherilyn’s statement, and then it just seemed to fade away. “I...ah...” Marcus’s stature stiffened. “I came here because we really need your help.”

Cherilyn giggled. They still had their hands tangled together and she made the move to sit first, Marcus followed her, as if he didn’t want to let go. “You know I’ll do whatever I can for you,” she said, reinforcing the hold she had on him.

Their eyes locked in an engulfing, exciting sort of way, as if they were the only two people in the entire world.

Grace was filled with a sudden outburst of emotion. Seeing the way they looked at each other was touching, and depressing. Once upon a time, Eric had looked at her like that, but she hadn’t seen that from him since she returned to Cherry Point. And she missed it. She missed seeing love lighting his eyes. Now, all she saw was a cold, empty stare, one that told her he was here for her father and no other reason.

Cherilyn had intended to give Marcus and his friends her undivided attention as they told their story, but soon her mind wandered off to the glory of days gone by. The bittersweet reflections were all she’d had for nearly twenty years. Still, even though Marcus sat close enough to touch, she found solace in the familiarity of what had comforted her for so long. Her memories.

Inside her thoughts, it was easy to block out the bad and filter in only the good. Suppressing the reality and truth about what happened to Cherilyn and Marcus was the only thing keeping her sane.

Naively, they had bought into the rhetoric that “love conquers all”. Not so. She’d caught on before Marcus, and that’s why she’d been forced to play the bad guy. But the real culprit was society, and society had gotten away with a crime against love. So what if Marcus was black and she was white? They’d fought the reality of the situation for the longest time, but some things weren’t meant to be, no matter how much she wanted them.

Learning that things weren’t going to be different for her and Marcus was a hard lesson, but in the end she came to terms with it. They weren’t meant to beat the odds. People weren’t beyond the prejudices associated with skin color and that sort of thing.

She’d hoped for the best, that things could work in their favor, until that fateful day when the clouds cleared and the pieces fell into place. At least for Cherilyn. Marcus’s life was in increasing danger the longer they stayed married.

Cherilyn hated her selfish side, the one that had thoughtlessly laid Marcus’s life on the line, and all for the sake of satisfying her own wants and needs. Looking back, she found her actions sickening.

Marcus had come home that day, badly beaten and with a broken rib or two. He stumbled into the house and fell into her arms. She barely got him into the bedroom before he passed out. Thank God she’d had a friend who was a nurse. Cherilyn had beckoned her to see to Marcus’s injuries, and had sworn her to secrecy.

In the end, rather than watching him pay with his life for living with her, she left. Ending their marriage was the hardest thing Cherilyn had ever done and it broke her heart.

By the time she’d mentally filtered through the details of their short marriage, Marcus and his friends had finished their story.

“So what do you think?” Marcus waited, peering at her with those hopeful, yet desperate-looking eyes. “Can you help us?”

“Marcus...” Cherilyn could think of several reasons to say no, and just as many to concur. “I’d love to help you. But I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Was it her fault she hadn’t heard a word they’d said?

“Look, Cher,” Marcus’s words faded as he glanced at his friends. “Can we talk privately?” He was still looking at his buddies, but the inquiry, Cherilyn knew, was meant for her. When he turned back to her, bleak lines creased his forehead and his mouth stiffened.

In private? She sensed fear in his words, his stance, his demeanor.

“Sure.” Cherilyn pushed back a wayward strand of her hair. “Your friends might be interested in taking a look at my rose garden out back.”

The time had come to get down to business and find out what trouble Marcus and his friends had brought to her door.

CHAPTER 13

CHERILYN had said go, and Eric grabbed Grace’s hand and heaved her to her feet, elevating her anxiety. Every time she wound up alone with Eric, fear, guilt, and shame twisted into tangled knots inside her gut.

Sooner or later, he was going to demand answers. Answers to those dreaded questions she’d been hiding from all these years. Why she’d disappeared, abandoning him? And, where had she been all this time?

Eric dragged her, less than willingly, toward the slider and swept the glass door open with one-handed ease. Instantly, the scent of roses, strong and sweet, filled the air.

Grace stood stunned, taking in the dreamlike beauty of dozens of rose bushes ambling around green hillocks, thwarted only by the cavalcade of Mulberry and Sycamore trees bordering the garden.

She sucked in a long, deep breath, letting the aroma soothe her senses and calm her worries, if only for a moment. “Get a load of this place, would you?”

“Yeah.” Eric’s biting laughter brought her back to Earth. “Looks like a damn postcard.” His sarcasm wrapped around Grace as if trying to suffocate her. “The picture’s great to look at, but it’s not much good for anything else.”

“That’s a pretty cynical outlook, Eric.” She studied his grim expression. He didn’t used to act like such an ass. Was this her fault?

“It is what it is, Gracie.” He released the stranglehold he had on her wrist and buried his fingertips in his front pockets.

Grace massaged her arm, trying to rub away the imprint of his grasp.

His gaze fell over her and then bounced back up to rest on her face. “Oh, sorry.” The cold void echo of his words shattered her courage and she turned away.

Searching the breathtaking garden, she found a snug retreat awaiting her at the end of a winding path. Grace wended her way down the redwood steps and onto the cobbled path, seeking safety in the gazebo ahead at the heart of the grove.

A woodsy smell mingled with the scent of roses as she approached the gazebo. Inside the structure, a swing tempted her to take a seat. She pivoted around and sat, and Eric, meandering up the path after her, caught her attention and didn’t let go.

His lean physique looked tough in his Levi’s and Marine Corps issued tee shirt. A detached, preoccupied expression revealed the concern and uncertainty he was probably trying to mask, but Grace had learned to read that face ages ago.

Eric stepped onto the porch and she pulled her drifting thoughts together. She patted the empty space beside her and nodded, inviting him to join her on the swing.

“So what do you think about this secret organization business?” she asked, routing the conversation to assure they wouldn’t wander onto subjects she’d rather not visit.

“Well, I’m not naïve enough to think I know everything our government’s doing.”

“So you think it’s possible?”

“Possible.” He agreed with a nod. “Not really probable...but it is possible.”

“Do you see daddy being involved in something like that?” She got sucked into the influence of his intense green eyes. She’d always loved their infinite depth. But they possessed something different now. Sadness.

“I wouldn’t have ever thought so.” He glanced over his shoulder, at the yellow climbing rose behind them. “But right now, I don’t know what to think.”

“Me either.” Grace thought about plucking a rosebud off the bush, but concern over Cherilyn’s reaction stopped her. Avoiding making the woman mad was a good idea. Who else were they going to turn to? “This is so far above my thought processes that it makes me feel kind of stupid.”

“You’re far from stupid, Gracie.” He snapped the stem on the rosebud she’d been eyeing, and offered it to her. “So don’t let it get you down.”

Grace took the flower and wafted it under her nose. She almost got sidetracked by the pretty smell. “You think we’re ever going to find out what happened to Daddy?”

“Somebody knows. And I’m going to find out who that is.” His smile reeked of pity even though his words presented hope.

But Grace saw through both. He was still looking for that logical explanation, only there wasn’t one. Even if the military records could’ve been chalked up to clerical error, how does somebody lose a grave?

A smile curled on Grace’s lips that said she had total faith and confidence in Eric. He’d seen that look more than once in the last couple of days. He wished he felt the same.

“What do you think they’re talking about in there?” Her voice oozed intrigue as it threw him the loaded question.

How should he know, Eric didn’t have a clue. Them? The situation? Will she or won’t she help? Take your pick. His own ridiculing laughter scoffed at him, creeping out into the forefront of his mind where it managed to escape for all to hear.

“Your guess is good as mine.” He tried to drown out the lingering mockery with the sound of his own voice. When that didn’t happen, he shrugged it away and draped his arm along the back of the swing.

“I don’t have any guesses, Eric.” A strangely sad expression on her face told him that something inside her was broken. Maybe the General’s death—or was it his disappearance—had been one too many blows in a long line of misery. God knows, she hadn’t had the most advantageous luck during the course of her life. The constant abrasion of misfortune had taken its toll on Grace Hendricks.

And now here she sat, vulnerable as hell, and all Eric could think about was his own self-preservation. He should be mad as hell at her. But he wasn’t. Oh sure, seedlings of curiosity still had him wondering what happened back then, why she’d disappeared? No matter the reasoning, his conclusion would always be the same.

The truth began to flicker on the horizon of his mind. He would always be in danger of losing his heart to her. That worried him. At any point in time, Grace Hendricks could yank his heart from his chest, throw it on the ground and stomp all over it. Again.

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on,” he said, getting back on track and, at the same time, steering away from the subject of them.  “But I promise you I’m going to find out. One way or another.”

“Do you think Marcus has enough influence with Cherilyn to get her to help us?” Grace knotted her hands in her lap.

Wagging his head slightly, Eric said, “I think Marcus is quite capable of persuading her to divulge any information he desires.”

“Hopefully, he has enough pull with her that she’ll at least point us in the right direction.” Her troubled voice reminded Eric that they sat on opposite ends of the spectrum. She was looking for an adversary while he was looking for a reasonable explanation.

What about this business with the General? Eric might be more worried about their safety if he thought there was something to this theory that the General’s disappearance had something to do with secret organizations and government cover-ups. But he just didn’t buy it. This kind of shit only happened in the movies.

So what...had they stepped onto the set of a James Bond film? Yeah, right. More like Candid Camera.

Eric had all but convinced himself that he was right and Grace was wrong when Marcus and Cherilyn appeared through the back door and headed up the path toward them. Damn. Now it was going to be three against one. Not good odds.

They joined Eric and Grace inside the gazebo and Marcus’s eyes sparkled with an almost hopeful glint. Eric heeded his internal voice that wondered what fueled this newfound optimism—Cherilyn’s presence or her knowledge. Either one was bad. Really bad.

Marcus didn’t need to surrender himself to the mercy of a woman who’d leave him at the first sign of trouble. Had it been so long that Marcus had forgotten what being deserted felt like?

But the alternative was her knowledge. If Cherilyn confirmed Marcus’s suspicions, then Eric had a whole lot of rethinking to do, a complete restructuring of his mindset. Neither option seemed particularly pleasant.

They stood over Eric and Grace, a sly smile spreading over Marcus’s face. “Eric. Gracie.” He buried one hand in his pants’ pocket and loosely tangled the other with Cherilyn’s. “It’s time that I introduced you properly to my wife, Cherilyn Johnson.”

“Huh?” The steel walls of Eric’s intellect held the idea in solitary confinement. No way. Couldn’t be. Marcus and Cherilyn were still married? Really?

After all these years, he’d naturally figured that somebody, at least one of them, had gone ahead and gotten the divorce. Then again, if he put some thought into it he should’ve known Marcus wouldn’t have been that somebody. Impossible.

“Your wife?” Grace’s disbelief blurted out in her somewhat amused voice. She probably found the notion romantic. “You hear that?” She looked at Eric with wide-eyed innocence, but he knew it was merely a smokescreen. “He introduced her as his wife.”

So she wanted to go there, huh? “Yeah,” he said coolly, “And as I recall, she’s still carrying his name. That’s what one would expect from a wife.”

“Maybe one day you’ll stop and actually take notice of what’s right in front of your face.” Grace’s eyelids slipped down over her eyes. He’d hurt her feelings. Great.

“Listen, you two, it’s a moot point.” Cherilyn broke into their quarrelling banter. “Marcus and I are no longer legally married,” she said, stressing the word “legally” over the others.

Everything went silent, even the wind rustling the rosebushes. The stillness gathered around them like a thick, suffocating vapor. Eric had to stop it, conquer the demon. “It’s very nice to meet you,” he said as graciously as he could manage, and offered his hand as a gesture of friendship.

Cherilyn accepted his well-intended generosity and clutched his hand with a firm grip. “I’d like to welcome you all to my home.”

“Thank you.” Grace jumped on the bandwagon. “And may I say, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Their host’s smile did not indicate concurrence. If anything, it screamed displeasure. Not that Eric could blame her. They’d dropped in on her without notice, and brought with them a whopper of a story. In her shoes, he wouldn’t be just annoyed, he’d be pissed.

“Marcus has told me about your...” She paused, and her face fell into a more agreeable expression. “Situation.”

Well, that’s one way to put it. Eric shut down his mocking laughter to just a thought.

“I’ll do whatever I can to help you in your quest.” Cherilyn’s immediate, and voluntary compliance, caught Eric off-guard. He wasn’t expecting her to be so easily persuaded.

But, she was Marcus’s ex, that had to count for something. It’s not like she had Eric’s excuse. He had a history with the General.

“Well,” Grace’s tone was layered in skepticism, “unless you’re privy to information, such as why someone would want to erase all traces of a man’s existence—” The doubt glazing her voice hardened. “I’m not really sure there’s anything you can do to help.”

“Let’s go inside,” Cherilyn suggested, way too serenely to suit Eric considering what Grace had just said, “and we’ll talk.”

Cherilyn led the party into the house, determined not to discuss a single solitary point until she’d served refreshments.

She left her guests in the living room with Marcus while she threw together a quick tray of cheeses, cold cuts, crackers and iced tea in the kitchen. As she worked, she wondered if Marcus still pampered his guests. She knew how intoxicating he could be. He’d had won her over, straight away.

Cherilyn made a couple of trips from the kitchen to the living room, laying everything out for her snacked feast in defined precision. The crackers—two types, Club and Ritz—had to be centered around the cheeses, American, Cheddar, and Swiss on one side and the meats, ham, turkey, and roast beef on the other. A pitcher of iced tea and four glasses on the opposite end of the coffee table, and to top things off, she dumped a bag of plain salted potato chips into a bowl and placed it in an open space on the table.

Satisfied that things were perfect, she sat down on the couch beside Marcus. She studied his friends snuggled together on the opposite sofa. Their demeanor suggested they were lovers, or at least in love.

Cherilyn envied them the opportunity laid at their feet. Hers had been yanked away long ago, like a too short blanket. She’d kept tugging at it, but fate and society had the stronger hold.

But Cherilyn couldn’t let herself go there, not when there was still a chance for her to grow whole again. And as long as she was breathing, that was an option.

Marcus squeezed her hand and eased into a smile, as if he knew her thoughts. Maybe she should get straight down to business, the only way to protect her heart.

“Well, let me just jump right on into the fire here.” A snorted chuckle rumbled up her throat. How else did one delve into this particular conversation? She turned to Marcus. “The rumors you’ve heard are true,” she said with a nod.

Marcus’s smile faded a little, his body arched into a stance of tension, like hearing it was different than suspecting it. “Which rumors?” he asked, raising one suspicious eyebrow. She knew the reaction well. The one Marcus displayed when he didn’t like what he was hearing.

Cherilyn had never talked about her work with anyone outside her affiliate contacts, but divulging the name of her organization, known only as The Club, was another matter. No one would ever hear those words slip from her lips. If they did, she’d kill the eavesdropper.

She’d never shared the story with anyone. Never told a soul how she came to be acquainted with The Club, an elusive and highly secretive organization, nearly twenty years ago. Back then, shortly after her split with Marcus, she’d traveled down a destructive path. She’d never jeopardized her military career, but she did put her life on the line more than once. As it happened, The Club sought out candidates with an apparent death wish.

How long the recruiters watched her before approaching her was anybody’s guess, but she figured it for several weeks, maybe months. She based her opinion on how it worked once she started recruiting. They’d monitored Cherilyn at her worst, when she had no scruples and was afraid of absolutely nothing—especially dying.

When her recruiters, two men, propositioned Cherilyn, having just lost the only thing in this world that had meant anything to her, she figured, “why the hell not”. She’d tried love and look how that turned out. Why not go for a life of adventure and intrigue?

That little thing about being shut off from her past didn’t bother Cherilyn. In fact, she’d counted on the break helping her to get over the hurt. Although, in hindsight, that hadn’t happened.

But, you know what they say about hindsight. She strangled the pride chasing her laughter up her throat, plastered on her best somber face, and said, “I am a member of an organization such as the one you’re all speculating over.”

“You are? Really?” Eric said, caught off guard.

They all looked at her, gazes fixed, eyes thirsty for details. Details she did not intend to share. She purposely let the silence fraught the space between them, as if creating an imaginary barrier. Anything to keep a mental hurdle between them and her knowledge.

Grace turned to Marcus. “But I thought you said once recruited, the prospect loses their identity?” Clearly, Marcus’s friends weren’t going to be an easy sale.

“He’s correct.” It wouldn’t hurt to give them a niblet, besides, Marcus needed a certain degree of validation or they might doubt his ability to reason. The last thing Cherilyn wanted was Marcus looking like a fool. “I am Cherilyn Johnson, although I haven’t used my real identity in over fifteen years now. But, nevertheless, that is who I am.”

“But why?” Grace asked with a degree of perplexity.

“The better question is...” Cherilyn’s cautious words floated around the room posing the inquiry to all but addressing it to none. “What makes you all think Grace’s father’s death has something to do with any covert organization?” She wanted to take the focus off herself and direct it to, why are you people really here?

“We have no reason to believe that at all,” Marcus said quickly. “We simply want to know if you think it’s possible the General was a member of such an organization.” A questioning effect lingered in his tone, like he wanted her to confirm his suspicions.

“I can only speak for the people I’m affiliated with. That being said, if he was—” She bloated her words with insignificance and doubt, hoping to veil her agitation over the topic. “There would only be, at the most, seven other people besides him that knew about it.”

“And who might those people be?” Eric was awfully calm, considering the things he’d just heard, and for the first time. She’d have to keep an eye on him.

Cherilyn shook her head. “Trying to identify any one of those individuals would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack.” She hoped that sounded as desolate as its intent.

“Why seven people?” Grace continued her relentless questions. Damn, didn’t that girl ever quit?

Cherilyn summoned the courage and determination to help her remain calm. She couldn’t avoid the inquiries altogether either, that would raise much more suspicion than was acceptable.

“Well, prospects are recruited by two people. And can be involved in no more than five recruitments.” Now she was telling secrets she shouldn’t be revealing to anybody outside The Club.

Marcus raked his hand over his well-groomed hair.

The fact that somebody was actually admitting the existence of any covert organization, let alone privy details, took Marcus by surprise.

“Why?” Grace had been badgering Cherilyn with the why questions and he hoped she wasn’t wearing out their welcome. Clearly, she didn’t get it and had no qualms about making that known. Marcus sympathized with her. He didn’t get it either.

“Anonymity. It allows an organization to thrive undetected.” Cherilyn  continued disclosing obviously secret information, and that had Marcus wondering the same as Grace.

Why?

Cherilyn was being undeniably cooperative, but that didn’t change or affect why he, Eric and Grace were there. “The fact that the General’s whole life has been erased,” he reminded himself out loud, “that’s a pretty good indicator that he was involved. Is it not?”

Cherilyn took her time responding. It seemed to take her forever to say, “It’s a pretty safe bet.” With a slight nod, she continued on, “If not mine, he was probably associated with some organization or another.”

Marcus didn’t like the way this whole thing was turning out. He’d come there, banking on the perception that Cherilyn could point them in the right direction. He was at least hoping she’d be able to find out, one way or another, if the General actually had a connection to her organization.

What’d you expect? She’d have a list of members, or something?

From what Cherilyn was telling them, the chances that they’d ever find out the truth was somewhere between slim and none. In order for that to happen, provided the General’s recruitment had actually happened in the first place, they’d have to get lucky enough to run across one of those seven people Cherilyn mentioned who could validate their suspicions.

And what are the odds of that happening?

They were simply going to have to resort to Plan B. Marcus sure wished somebody would hurry up and clue him in on the agenda.

CHAPTER 14

Georgia, Southeast of Atlanta

EIGHTBALL stood in the midst of the shambles that was once Marcus Johnson’s living room. He and his cohorts had turned the place upside-down. There wasn’t a single piece of salvageable furnishings left anywhere in the entire house. Still, Eightball hadn’t found anything he considered valuable.

Of course, the chances of the girl and her friends having already found the payload, much less left it behind, was ridiculous. But there were items, clues that Torpedo and Trident were certain they already had in their possession. Personally, Eightball thought the better idea was to take the articles, whatever they may be, and be done with it. His colleagues, however, had other ideas. They believed nobody but Grace Hendricks could decipher the clues.

But damn, when was the girl going to get on with it? Geez. Eightball was growing tired of waiting around, playing babysitter.

His cell phone rang out with Michael Jackson’s “Bad”, dragging his thoughts away from his current dilemma. He retrieved the device instantly, from the front pocket of his jacket, and let the tune play a few seconds longer before flipping the gadget open.

“Yes.” He paused, listening. Pleased with the caller’s message, he let his inner smile escape. “Excellent.”

He snapped the phone shut and placed it back in his jacket pocket. “Who says you can’t make a horse drink, once you’ve led him to water?” he said, amusing himself, if no one else, with the anecdote.

CHAPTER 15

Suffolk, Virgina

ERIC sank wearily into Cherilyn’s couch, awaiting the chance to escape into dreamless sleep. He needed the rest. Time to think. Time to figure out what was what. Time to absorb the inevitable.

His thoughts drifted aimlessly, fretting over this business with the General and recounting memories of Grace that he’d otherwise forbidden himself to remember. In that twilight state just before sleep, when he was most vulnerable, they came—memories that, were he in possession of his full faculties, he’d never allow himself to revisit.

The only two Officers Balls he’d ever been to were usually the first to surface. He’d accompanied Grace to both. One had been their first date. The second had been a bust. Grace had just about blown a gasket when she requested the band play something they could dance to, and they responded with “Tie A Yellow Ribbon”.

Eric chased the fleeting laughter around his brain, unable to catch up to it. Not that there was anything wrong with the song, it just wasn’t Eric’s thing. Or Grace’s, for that matter, when it came to dancing.

Eric was not a dancer. No way. No how. Grace and Marcus, they were the ones known for tearing up the dance floor, while Eric looked on, enjoying a cold brew. And, they were more likely to appreciate the likes of The Gap Band or Morris Day rather than something akin to elevator music.

Grace had boldly bid the General goodnight with a kiss on the cheek, grabbed Eric and Marcus and slipped out the back, where they headed for the nearest dance club.

Eric had to admit, downing Kamikazes and upside-down shots and watching Grace and Marcus counter the effects on the dance floor was much more fun than any Officers Ball he’d ever attended. Although, after a couple rounds, he bowed out gracefully. Somebody had to be responsible.

After that thing with Tracy Kelley, Marcus’s only mission was to get plastered. And Grace, well she was determined to never be outdrunk by anyone. The assignment of designated driver always fell to Eric, but he didn’t mind.

Marcus was masking his hurt from the past. Not necessarily the past featuring Tracy, but the one before that. Marcus’s pain was all about Cherilyn.

Grace claimed that she just liked to party. But Eric thought maybe she, like Marcus, was harboring her own hurt. She never talked much about her mother, but from the little he’d gathered from a few words here and there, Grace’s mother had died several years earlier. Eric could easily guess that losing her at such an early age had taken more of a toll on Grace than she was willing to admit.

Someday she’d come around, open up and let him in. When she did, he intended to be there for her. No matter when or where it happened, Eric was determined to provide the shoulder she needed.

Marcus had told Eric he was crazy. Oh, he liked Grace well enough but said she had this power over Eric, just like Cherilyn had had over him. In retrospect, Marcus had branded himself an idiot for giving Cherilyn the power to break his heart. She hadn’t necessarily sat out to crush him like that, but that offered little comfort in hindsight.

Eric knew the rhetoric of cynicism when he heard it, and it had come loud and clear from Marcus. The pain he attempted to mask with alcohol, yet was failing miserably, was never about Tracy Kelley or her death. Everything Marcus did or didn’t do was a direct result of Cherilyn and the fact that she’d broken his heart.

Which is probably why he’d kept warning Eric that, one day, whether she meant to or not, Grace would end up breaking his. He didn’t know how or when but he claimed it would happen sooner or later, because nothing lasts forever. If there was any truth to Marcus’s prediction, the worst part of all was that Eric couldn’t do a damned thing to stop the inevitable.

Still, Eric didn’t let the difficult time he’d been having, breaking through her shell, daunt his efforts. His hard work was well worth the wait, that night of the second Officers Ball.

By the time Eric and Grace arrived at their favorite seaside motel, she was still smashed. He’d left her in the car while he’d secured a room and then carried her inside. Times like these, all Eric did was put her to bed and hold her throughout the night. Anything else would be less than honorable. Eric wasn’t the kind of guy to take advantage of an inebriated woman.

Gently, he placed her above the covers on the bed, and went into the bathroom. His routine, on nights such as this, was to dampen a washcloth and swab her forehead. He wasn’t sure why, but it seemed to help.

Considering the amount she’d drunk, it’d surprise him if her head wasn’t spinning. He strolled back into the dimly lit room, wet washcloth in hand, and found her lying on her side, clutching the bedcovers in her fist. A clear-cut sign that she was commanding the spinning to stop.

She pushed herself up and scooted back against the headboard. “We spend an awful lot of money in this place,” she said through the faint slur of too much booze.

Grace was right. They did spend a lot of time at this place, checking in and out several times a week.

“That we do,” he agreed softly, eased down onto the bedside and began blotting her forehead with the cool, damp cloth.

She closed her eyes and rested her head against the headboard. “Why?” she said barely above a whisper.

“Why what?” he asked, continuing to dote over her with the washcloth.

“Why do you do it?” Her breath held the vividly sweet scent of Peach Schnapps. “Why do you always take care of me?” She opened her eyes and zeroed in on him with a wistful look. “My mother used to take care of me.”

“I know, baby...” Eric let his voice trail off, and refrained from taking her statement as a cue to broach the subject of her mother. His goal was simply to make her as comfortable as possible.

“Did I ever tell you about my mother?” Her red fingernails bit deeply into his forearm. Eric ignored the pinch.

“No, baby.” He shook his head and continued to swab her face, not saying anything more. If they were going to talk about her mother, it had to be her idea. Even if she was drunk.

“She died eight years ago.”

Eight years? Grace was what, maybe thirteen? Damn, that’s rough.

“I came home from school one day, and there was a bunch of cars outside.” Her pain pooled around her eyes. “When I walked into the house, I saw daddy sitting on the couch. And he was crying.” Her face stiffened into a desolate, tight-lipped expression. “I’d never seen my father cry before.” All those shots she’d drunk to numb the pain had failed her. Tears spilled onto her cheeks. “She used to tuck me in every night, then she’d kiss me on the forehead and tell me she loved me,” she said, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “I miss her so much.” Grace dropped her head, overpowered by grief. Her body shook in short, anguished sobs.

“I know, baby.” Eric pulled her into his arms and offered her solace in his embrace while she cried for the mother she’d lost.

Even though Grace had never talked about her mother, other than a word here and there, obviously she’d never gotten over the loss, yet she’d managed to hide it quite well. Up until now.

Eight years of pent-up heartache came pouring out, and the harder she cried the tighter he held onto her. Eric wasn’t about to let her go, he wasn’t about to let her suffer alone. He intended to hold onto her long after her tears had tapered to sniffles.

He couldn’t imagine what this was like for Grace, deprived of a mother’s presence in her life all these years. All the while knowing she could never talk with her again. Not ever.

Eric resolved to call his mother first thing in the morning. She may have had her own problems over the years, but at least he could still talk to her. Hear her voice.

The dream splintered apart and Eric’s eyes shot open. The shock of finding himself on Cherilyn’s couch caught him off guard. Glancing around, he tried desperately to wrap his head around reality.

A slight moan rumbled up his chest. He thought about rubbing his eyes, but maybe smacking himself in the face was a better option. But would that help at all in waking him? He was willing to give it a try, anything to help him wake, when he figured out Grace was leaning against him, sleeping soundly.

He moved her off him with gentle expertise and carefully laid her down, grabbed a blanket off the back of the sofa and dotingly tucked it around her. Pausing over her, he drank in the sight of her in the midst of a peaceful slumber. He bent over and brushed her forehead with a gentle kiss. “I love you, Gracie,” he said in a barely audible whisper.

Eric wasn’t ready to tell her face-to-face. Grace lying there sleeping was the only circumstances that would ever induce him to say those words out loud. Not that he was trying to deny it, at least not to himself, but he wouldn’t tell her. He just couldn’t do it. Marcus was right. And Eric wasn’t about to put himself back out there on that limb. The damned thing was too weak to hold his weight.

Leaving Grace to the care of her seemingly serene sleep, Eric needed fresh air and moved stealthily toward the back door and the darkness waiting outside.

Marcus sat in a lawn chair on the opposite end of the patio. His shape dimly outlined by the full moon, perched behind a thin cloud and casting obscure shadows over the terrace and rose garden. He had a powerful resilient look about him sitting there in the dark.

Which was good. They were going to need a lot more strength than Eric felt capable of producing. Not that he wouldn’t do what he had to do to protect Grace. No harm would come to her as long as he drew breath. But that didn’t mean he could give her the answers she sought. That’s a place he was coming up short, and he didn’t like it. Eric didn’t like succumbing to the mushroom effect—being kept in the dark and fed a load of crap.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked, bending down and checking the sturdiness of a chair near Marcus.

“Probably the same thing you are.” Marcus let out a little chuckle.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Satisfied with the chair’s durability, Eric made himself comfortable. “I couldn’t sleep, and I didn’t want to wake Grace.”

“I’ll bet.” Marcus’s amusement splashed over his biting comment, making it feel sympathetic.

“What’s your excuse?” Eric cast a scrutinizing eye over his friend, wanting desperately to direct the subject away from him and what he might be feeling.

“Just trying to figure out if it’s possible for feelings to remain dormant for damn near twenty years, and then resurface.” The look on Marcus’s face, that of a distressed, discouraging fool, said it all. Clearly, Marcus believed he’d smothered the flame.

That’s what you get for thinking, pal.

Not that Eric wasn’t guilty of doing a little thinking himself. “Yeah, it is.” It hadn’t been twenty years, in his case, but all the rest he could vouch for. “Question is...?” He cut his narrow-eyed gaze toward Marcus, who responded with a bewildered look. “Can you pick up where you left off?”

Marcus snorted. “When did this become about me?”

“It’s always been about you, Marcus.” Eric wasn’t letting him off that easily, especially since he’d have to face his own fears if he let Marcus’s go so effortlessly.

Eric’s fears? He wasn’t prepared to admit that he had any.

Grace stood poised at the back door, checking out Eric and Marcus through the slider. Seeing the two of them together brought back memories, both good and bad. But she preferred to ponder on the good. Like the fact that Eric was her first. Compared to her friends, she’d lost her virginity rather late, but she’d never regretted waiting for Eric so he could be the one. The way he’d worried about her father finding out had made Eric nearly as nervous as Grace.

She laughed.

Even now, she couldn’t stop her thoughts from reeling back into the past and accessing a much happier time. Grace had never been able to hide much from her father, and her smitten reaction to meeting Lt. Eric Wayne was no exception. Her father—Eric’s new commanding officer—responded by suggesting that Eric escort Grace to the Officers Ball.

Of course, she’d had mixed feelings about her father’s suggestion to Eric that she was sure had bordered on, “That’s an order, Wayne.”

Well, she wasn’t having any part of it, no matter how much she liked him. She didn’t need anybody to order up dates for her.

Then he’d showed up at her door. At a very innocent twenty years of age, she hadn’t had a great deal of experience with “men”, just juvenile-like “boys”. She wasn’t aware of much, but she did know she didn’t want a man who had to be forced into compliance.

“Look, you don’t have to do this,” she’d said, trying to ignore the tingling in her stomach.

“I’m well aware of that.” His gaze roved and lazily appraised her, jolting her heart and pounding her pulse.

“I know my father told you to do this.” She struggled to maintain a flat, ordinary tone. “I appreciate the gesture—” She boldly met his eyes. “But, I can get my own dates.”

“I have no doubt about that, but I think you’ve got it backwards,” he said with an air of calm and self-confidence that left Grace feeling smitten. “I’m pretty sure his concern was over my ability to find a date.”

“What?” As green as Grace was, she knew this guy had skill. Hell, if she wasn’t careful, he’d charm her right out of her pants.

“See, unlike you...” His bold stare accessed her frankly, disturbing her in every way. “I cannot find my own dates.”

“I doubt that.” She was strangely flattered by his quirky come-on.

“Don’t think of it as an order directed at me from your father,” he said, persuasively. “Think of it as a favor to me.”

Grace still recalled the soft, gentle laughter bubbling up her throat when she’d finally relented and agreed...since he couldn't seem to find himself a date.

She pivoted on her heel and strolled wistfully back into Cherilyn’s deserted and dimly lit living room and dropped to the couch facing the back door. The moonlight’s reflection cascading off the slider reminded her of another night when it glistened out over the ocean like a shimmering sea of liquid pearls.

Grace could almost hear the sound of water rolling lazily back and forth, and smell the sweet honeysuckle drifting through the night, overpowering the salty sea air.

It was their third date, officially, and in the three weeks since they’d met, she’d been able to think of virtually nothing else. They’d dined at water’s edge in the high-end restaurant Lou LaBonte’s, and Eric had invited her for a stroll on the beach afterward.

“So, Eric Wayne...” Grace dangled her shoes in one hand and clung to Eric with the other as her feet crunched into the dampened sand with each step along the water’s edge. “What’s your story?”

“What’s my story?” He repeated her words as if somebody had slipped her a damaging note behind his back. “I don’t have a story.”

Grace stopped and studied his stark face. “Everybody has a story.”

“Okay.” His eyes hardened. “What’s your story?”

“My story...?” Grace hesitated, letting her grim amusement take hold. “Well, I’m just your average spoiled commander’s daughter.”

“Average...spoiled...commander’s daughter?” A glint of humor stimulated his words and he laughed as if genuinely amused.

“Okay. Your turn.”

“My turn...?” He uttered a surly grunt, and remained silent for the longest time. Finally, he looked back at her and a natural smile curved at the corners of his mouth. “What’s my story?” He posed the question with a soft tone, and traced his fingertips along the edge of her cheek. Tangling a strand of her wayward hair around his hand, he said, “I’m crazy about you.”

With a gentle tug of her captured hair, Eric pulled her to him. His lips touched hers and sent the pit of her stomach into a swirl. A latent giddiness showered over Grace, one she hadn’t felt since Jimmy France planted one on her back in the seventh grade.

A lingering shiver rippled through Grace and brought her back to the present. She scrutinized the darkness around her, the emptiness, the loneliness. The mystery surrounding her father and this thing with Eric brought her nothing but drudgery and constant hastening. She felt like she should always be moving, on the go, but she didn’t get why. Sitting still afforded her nothing but the opportunity to realize she was clueless—about her father’s mystery and Eric. The General? Not her fault. Eric? Totally to blame.

Eric had unleashed a hunger in her the night he took her virginity, one she thought she’d managed to subdue over the years.

No such luck. Simply walking back into his life had awakened the dormant hunger and now her body ached for his touch.

And that was a consequence she’d have to suffer. She’d made her choice, as wrong as it was, a long time ago. Eric Wayne was no longer an option. He’d made that clear. Grace was lucky he’d agreed to help her, and considering the virtual distance he was constantly trying to lay between them, she’d do well to remember that. She didn’t need to make him so uncomfortable that he’d decide to up and leave.

Grace needed Eric, depended upon him and his expertise. Even though it might not look so now, in the end, he’d figure out what was going on. Eric didn’t know how to quit or give up—which is why it’d been so damned hard for her to hide.

CHAPTER 16

ERIC stumbled into Cherilyn’s dining room the next morning, after having been awake half the night. All things considered, getting up before 8 AM was a hassle. He shook his head and tried to dispel the fog clouding his mind.

So far, no luck.

Seeing Grace and Cherilyn sitting at the dinner table looking all perky and shit definitely didn’t help. On the other hand, Marcus with his weary eyes burdened by the weight of uncertainty, didn’t appear any better off than Eric.

Eric was swept away by a mood of discouragement, but, for Grace’s sake, he intended to give the impression of being steadfast. He went to her side and without thinking kissed the top of her head. Her hair was soft, like silk.

Thoughts seized his brain of the numerous times he’d tangled his hands in her hair when they used to make love—whoa! He snapped out of the memory. Where did that come from?

She tilted her head back and forced a demure smile, leaving Eric with a stranded, left-behind feeling. But that didn’t stop him from bending and brushing his lips against her forehead. “You sleep okay?”

“Yeah.” Her voice broke miserably and she froze, as if suddenly becoming uncomfortable. A look of tired sadness passed over her features.

The awakening experience left Eric reeling and he settled into a nearby empty chair, disappointed. He couldn’t deny the evidence any longer. Grace Hendricks had moved on, and Eric would do well to follow suit.

“Would you like some coffee?” Cherilyn stood, with her cup in hand and moved around the table.

Boy, would he ever. “Sounds great,” he said, scooting the chair back and preparing to stand.

“Just stay there,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll get it,” she added, right before disappearing into the kitchen.

Eric repositioned his chair and an anxious feeling followed his gaze around the table, passing quickly by Grace and stopping at Marcus.

“Any thoughts on what we should do now?” Marcus asked, his face terribly serious.

“It doesn’t look like we’re going to be able to find out what happened to my father.” Grace’s face held a haggard and defeated look. “Not unless we can get lucky enough to run across somebody that knew him as a member of Cherilyn’s mysterious organization.”

“Somebody out there knows what happened to the General.” Eric maintained his persistent mantra and turned to Grace. “I’m not about to give up.”

He’d jumped into the quest headfirst, and as hard as it seemed now, he wasn’t about to give up without the answers. Somebody had them and he intended to find out who.

How? He hadn’t a clue.

Grace wanted to believe Eric had the ability to pull the answers, and persons of unknown identities, out of thin air, but that was expecting a bit much. Quite illogical, actually.

Still, she had no doubt that Eric believed what he was saying, and that in itself coiled her optimism upward. As unrealistic as the prospect was, he had every intention of succeeding and his determination had to count for something. She was surprised to hear his fortitude echo in her own thoughts.

Cherilyn reappeared with two cups of coffee in hand and set one in front of Eric. She ambled around the table and slipped gracefully into her seat. “You’re father didn’t leave you any letters, or anything like that?” She sipped her coffee and targeted all her attention on Grace. “Anything that could maybe indicate what all the mystery is about?”

Grace shook her head slowly. Despite Cherilyn’s surface cordiality, Grace felt like the woman was fishing. But for what? Maybe this was a spy’s way of uncovering facts?

“Okay, so this is what we do know.” Cherilyn planted her forearms firmly on the table and the grand gestures she made with her hands seemed to support her judgment. “Someone eradicated your father’s existence. Literally, stole his grave.” She cut her eyes at Grace in a peculiar, probing sort of way. “And that in itself is plenty reason to worry.”

Well, yeah. Grace’s mind crawled away from reality and right back onto the set of that weird, sci-fi flick. Even though Cherilyn had shed some light on Marcus’s conspiracy theory, Grace still had trouble embracing the notion.

“Whoever did this...?” Marcus’s voice rose a little on the last word of his courteous half-question, right before his words turned sour. “It’s only a matter of time before they figure out that Grace knows about it—” His voiced followed his finger around the table. “And now, so does Eric, me, and you.”

“When that happens, it doesn’t really matter who we’re dealing with.” Cherilyn’s voice was awfully calm considering the words spilling from her mouth. “We’re in trouble.”

“If that’s the case,” Eric was much more serious, “then we probably don’t want to be anywhere that they can find us.”

“You’re absolutely right.” An energetic tone came into Cherilyn’s voice. “We need to be on the move, and right away, too. If it’s my people,” she warned, “they’re probably only a step or two behind you.”

Grace felt like the last gullible participant in some thoughtless practical joke. “How, exactly, are we supposed to stay ahead of someone if we don’t know who they are?”

“Well,” Cherilyn said with all the mystery and confidence that any good spy would possess, “I might know a little something about how to do that.”

“What do you propose we do?” Marcus said, as if he wished the ground would splinter and swallow him up.

“We have two objectives.” Cherilyn straightened herself with dignity. “One...we want to know what happened to Grace’s father. And two...we need to stay at least one step ahead of whomever is responsible for his disappearance.”

Nobody, least of all Grace, was going to argue those points.

Eric, Grace and Marcus willingly followed Cherilyn’s instructions and quickly gathered their things in preparation for leaving. Hitting the road in a timely manner was imperative if they hoped to stay ahead of them, while searching for clues to unravel the mystery.

The whole damned thing gnawed at Eric’s insides. He scrutinized Cherilyn as she entered the living room, full of confidence, and deposited a navy-blue backpack onto the coffee table.

What the hell was she up to?

“Grace, I want you to leave all your identification, credit cards—anything they can use to track our steps—leave it here.” Cherilyn knew how to take charge of a situation. When her eyes started darting between Eric and Marcus, he knew it was their turn. “You guys do the same.”

“What will we do for money?” A slight touch of sarcasm danced with Grace’s words.

Eric tended to agree with her. Just how far did Cherilyn think they’d get on nothing?

Cherilyn patted the backpack assertively. “Well, I’ve got twenty-five grand in cash. If we use it wisely, it’ll last us a while.” She paused with a dismissive shrug. “At least until we can maybe find out what’s going on.”

Grace’s mouth fell open, but Eric kept his zipped tight.

Why would she do that? Skepticism nearly shoved his thoughts outside the safe confines of his mind. Who did that kind of thing for strangers, or ex-husbands?

Somebody that was up to something, that’s who. Looks like Cherilyn might still have a thing for Marcus.

“Well, as much as I like you and your girl...” Cherilyn gave a little chuckle, as if she knew Eric’s thoughts. “I’m doing this for Marcus. He’s involved now, and I won’t allow anything to happen to him.”

Wow. She was willing to turn her world upside-down and contribute twenty-five grand to the cause. Amazing. What some people would do for love.

Eric didn’t particularly care about her motivation, he was glad she was there. They needed all the help they could get if they were going to stand a chance at remaining a step or two ahead of any pursuers.

If there was any validity to the claims Cherilyn was making, then Eric had to consider the convenience by which that was happening. They’d maintained a lead without knowing how, why, or who might be following them. For Eric, that was happening a little too easily.

He’d like to believe he was smarter than these people and their organization, which incidentally was apparently empowered, yet denied, by the United States Government. Eric was not that naïve. But he was determined. He’d wrapped his personal dignity up in his bid for success.

But, if there was a bunch of bad guys from some secret organization after them, then how, pray tell, was he supposed to protect Grace when he had no clue who he was up against?

Cherilyn Johnson was a take-charge sort of person. She hadn’t always been like that, but after a hard lesson learned from a cruel, callous world filled with hatred and prejudices, she’d learned to adapt. She had tailored herself effectively, and she’d done it fast.

The way she saw it, she knew more about how to handle the situation than her guests. She felt confident that she’d get no argument from Marcus, but she wasn’t so sure about Eric.

Lord, that man was so apprehensive about whether or not he could protect his girl. Well, Cherilyn would have to use her persuasive devices, and they weren’t always charming. But, in this case, the honey approach was the way to go. She’d found, over the years, that friendly influences carried far more weight than intimidation and scare tactics. For obvious reasons, she’d have no use for the latter.

Of course, convincing Eric that traveling in his car was no longer a viable option—not if they wanted to maintain their edge—was not as much of a slam-dunk as she’d hoped. He wanted reasons, real ones that he could sink his teeth into.

“Well...” She enlisted a charming tone and a sweet disposition. “If you’re not already being followed, it’s only a matter of time until that happens.”

If she was right—and Cherilyn always trusted her gut—it would happen. And when it did, the last thing any of them wanted, whether they realized it or not, was to leave a trail leading right to their doorstep.

She was in charge now. The men were going to have to accept it.

“So what do you suggest?” Eric said with a subtle mocking nuance in his voice.

Cherilyn ignored his vexing cheekiness. His challenge was commendable.

“Rental car,” she said with an air of eloquence.

She’d learned a long time ago that renting various automobiles, doing it quite often and using various identities when you did it, was the only way to survive the game. If they could find you, then somewhere along the way you’d lost your place as the prey and fell into the much more precarious position as the hunted.

Marcus nodded his head, as if he knew the direction her conversation was headed. “I’ll take you to get the car.”

He had one thing right. She was going, but he wasn’t. “Not a good idea,” she said, hating to bust his bubble.

“Why not?” Marcus countered.

“We’re trying not to draw attention to ourselves.”

“As much as I hate to say it—” Grace’s voice was calm and contrite. “Times haven’t changed that much. A black man and a white woman will probably draw attention.” She looked acutely embarrassed and glanced at Marcus, shooting him an apologetic look.

“They’re right, you know. An interracial couple will likely be noticed.” Eric gave Marcus one of those looks that said, you’re outnumbered dude. “But more importantly, you’ll be remembered.”

Eric Wayne thought with his head. Cherilyn had to admire that. Kudos to him and the honey approach. Together, they convinced Marcus that Cherilyn was right.

She understood what so many others didn’t. Just because someone is after you, it doesn’t necessarily mean you’re the hunted—not in the traditional sense—nor does it mean that your pursuers are in charge.

CHAPTER 17

JUST when Eric thought things couldn’t get any stranger, Cherilyn had him drive past the car rental place several times. What were they going to do? Rent a car or case the joint to rob it?

A couple of blocks from the rental agency, she said, “Okay, stop here.”

Eric followed her instructions and pulled to the curb, checked his mirrors and scanned the surrounding area.

The street was calm of mid-morning traffic and very few pedestrians moved along the sidewalks. Across the road at the post office the nation’s flag snapped and fluttered in the wind. Gray clouds streaked across the southwestern sky, like shreds of soiled, ripped-up cotton.

The passenger door handle clicked, and Cherilyn backhanded Eric’s arm with a gentle smack. “There’s a diner about three blocks back. Go wait for me there.”

“You sure you don’t want me to go in with you to get the car?”

“No,” she said quickly. “Go to the diner. Get yourself a cup of coffee or something to eat, and wait for me there.” The car door swung open and she stepped out onto the concrete sidewalk. Yeah, whatever. God, she sure was bossy. What if she turned out to be one of those male-bashing types? Suddenly, he felt sorry for Marcus.

The car door slammed and Eric flinched. He watched her walk with a purpose up the street and finally, after she paused at the corner, he hit the gas and navigated the car out into the roadway, making a u-turn.

Eric became suddenly uber-aware of his surroundings, checking his mirrors for tails and a glimpse at Cherilyn to confirm her course. Satisfied with what he saw, or didn’t see, he navigated the car into the diner’s parking lot.

Opening the car door, he took another quick sweep of the area. There was nothing to fear inside this near-empty parking lot and he stepped out onto the worn and brittle pavement. The cool morning breeze touched his face. Making his way toward the diner’s entrance, he glanced up at the sky, gray and threatening.

A storm was definitely coming.

Eric wrapped his hand around the steel door handle, cool to the touch, and gave a push.  Considering the very empty parking lot, the diner was quite populated, mostly at the counter. Probably locals, within walking distance. That told Eric the food was likely decent.

The majority of booths were empty and he claimed one near the door. Ordering something to eat might be a good idea, especially if it’d help him keep his mind off Grace. Controlling those mind-consuming thoughts was difficult when every move he made these days was directly connected to her. How could he avoid the pitfall?

Simple. He couldn’t. But he’d have to pick and choose wisely when it came to the details he let dominate the forefront of his mind. What he needed to do was travel further back in time and search his memories for clues when the General was alive.

He sifted through his memories, searching... searching... searching. His first day at Cherry Point. Ordinary days of service in the Marine Corps. Various duties and key meetings. The General’s key.

Eric let his thoughts linger on the key. He seriously considered telling Cherilyn about it, but the General had been so adamant that he keep the key’s existence to himself.

He’d been with Grace for several days now, so why hadn’t he told her about the key? Didn’t he trust her?

The smell of coffee yanked Eric out of his procrastination and tossed him headfirst into reality, where he remembered he was waiting for Cherilyn to return with the rental car.

He wasn’t sure why he was supposed to wait for her here in this place, but he was thankful for the time to think, even if he didn’t like the thoughts eating at his mind like an insatiable monster.

Admitting the key might lead to danger meant conceding there might be more to the General’s missing grave and questionable service records than a simple case of mistaken identity.

The fact that he was sitting here waiting for a woman, he didn’t know from Adam, to return with a rented vehicle that would be used to go on the run was a pretty good indication that the General’s key was going to end up playing a role in this bizarre mystery.

But the question remained, why was Cherilyn so eager to get herself wrapped up in this mess? He tried to calculate her motive, but still hadn’t figured her out by the time she returned nearly half an hour later.

She moved through the diner’s entrance with tremendous poise and composure. That kind of irked Eric, but still, he surmised the fundamental details going on inside her mind. He fancied himself ahead of the game, above everybody else at the diner, in being privy to this knowledge.

Did she know how many people, as well as exits, were in the restaurant? Had she assessed the situation a split second after she walked through the door? If Eric were a spy, that’s what he’d do.

Hump. Taking into account the situation he was now in, maybe that’s something he ought to consider. Yes, maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to start thinking like a spy.

He hoped the most important thing a spy needed to remember was not something that was only taught in spy school.

Eric’s leg was bouncing up and down, shaking the booth.

Damn. Not good.

“You look nervous,” she said, sliding into the opposite side of the booth. “You really need to get a hold of that.”

“Well, I get a little anxious when I’m waiting for someone in a public place,” he said, with a trace of irony in his eyes.

His statement ensued curiosity but she didn’t let it sway her. “Look.” She pointed a condemnatory finger at Eric. “This is not the time to freak out.”

“You don’t have to worry.” He sounded sure of himself. He looked it too. “I’m not going to slip up. Protecting Grace is my number one priority.”

Cherilyn rolled her gaze away—on purpose—drew a breath, stalled, and then turned back to him. “Good. Let’s go.” She scooted to the edge of the booth and pushed herself up. “You’re riding with me.”

Upon standing, he reached into his pocket, peeled a twenty off the top of a thin folded stack of money and tossed it on the table. “I’m leaving my car here?” he asked, reaching around her and opening the door.

“Yes.” She moved outside and he followed. “With any luck, the diner will have it towed before too long. And it’ll disappear into the city’s holding garage, waiting for you to come bail it out.”

And, if luck continued to follow suit, there in that garage the car would hide from discovery.

Grace didn’t understand why Cherilyn, once she and Eric returned with the rental car, was in such a big hurry to hit the road. She struggled to get it, but she didn’t see the logic. What was the point or the big hurry when nobody really knew where they were going or what they were looking for? Grace needed a logical explanation for everything. For her, it was all about rhyme and reason. There was no room for speculation or supposition.

Cherilyn stood beside the rental car, holding the door open and drummed out an annoying tune on the roof with her fingernails. Her eyes scanned the area but her head never moved. Impressive.

She looked worried, and that bothered Grace. If the spy was worried, what did that mean for the rest of them?

Eric gave Grace a little nudge and she slid into the backseat, where he quickly followed. He rested his arm around her shoulders and she moved closer, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Over the years, she’d buried the knowledge of just how comforting, yet electrifying, his simple touch had felt.

She looked at him, and his verdant green eyes frosted a little, chilling the thin layer of space between them.

Eric withdrew his arm and clasped his hands together in his lap. “You okay?” he asked, but declined to look her way.

“Yeah,” she said with less certainty than she would’ve liked. She tucked her hair behind her ear and braced herself as the car sped away with Cherilyn behind the wheel.

“You know I’m not going to let anything happen to you, don’t you?” he said in an uncompromising yet oddly gentle voice.

She forced a smile and gave a tense nod. Not that she doubted him. On the contrary. Grace believed Eric would die trying to protect her, but that offered no comfort. That’s all she needed—to be the reason he died.

Cherilyn gunned the rented sedan up the entrance ramp and out onto the freeway, westbound. The first patters of rain began to pellet the window next to Grace, and she hoped they were headed away from the storm instead of straight for it.

CHAPTER 18

On the road near the Georgia-South Carolina border

EIGHTBALL deftly tooled the car through the mid-afternoon traffic in this little out-of-the-way town off the 85. He’d preferred taking the scenic route since he wasn’t in a hurry. According to Torpedo, they knew where the General’s daughter was headed before she and her companions did. So, why rush?

Eightball always made it a point to obey the traffic laws. He didn’t like drawing unnecessary attention to himself. Maybe that’s why he’d chosen a white car instead of a black or red one. Both colors were undoubtedly more appealing. But black vehicles were automatically associated with people in his line of work. When shit hit the fan, people always remembered the dark vehicle lurking in the vicinity on the day of, or the days leading up to, the accident. And red—anybody driving a red automobile was asking for trouble.

Eightball prided himself on his ability to blend in. He was determined not to treat this mission any differently than any other, even though it was nothing more than a glorified private dick assignment.

Okay, that was probably too generous. Babysitting. Eightball had been reduced to a freaking babysitter.

He didn’t have to like it but he had to do it because the order had come straight from Trident. Much to Eightball’s dismay, Trident had forbidden him to kill Grace Hendricks and her companions. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Eightball wasn’t allowed to approach them either.

Geez, couldn’t a guy have any fun? So, he wasn’t allowed to kill them—couldn’t he just play with them for a little while?

But Trident wanted the General’s daughter and her friends to think they were totally alone in their quest, without company of any sort on their trail. And that meant Eightball had to keep his distance, at least until he and his cohorts got what they wanted because nothing good could come from crossing Trident.

Trident was convinced that, eventually, the General’s daughter would lead them to the goods. After all, that’s what this was all about, keeping the General’s secret stash from falling into the wrong hands.

There was no room for error. Only one set of hands were acceptable for this outcome, and that was Trident’s. Then and only then would any of them be safe from discovery. And none of them wanted to be discovered.

Typically, Eightball’s job was eradication, and he took immense pride in his expertise at eliminating people. He amused himself by coming up with creative ways to get rid of those who had been deemed enemies of the cause. His assassinations were never carelessly plotted. On the contrary, his plans were well thought out and always practical. Nothing was too elaborate for Eightball. And, because he paid so much attention to the little details, it was no wonder that every target he’d ever taken out had met with an unfortunate “accident”.

Well, except for that one time. Eightball really hadn’t wanted it to play out the way it did, but at the time he didn’t have a choice. Still, no one was the wiser because nobody knew the target had in reality been murdered.

Eightball’s cell phone jingled with Michael Jackson’s “Bad”. Quickly, diverting his attention from his daydreams he snapped up the phone as the traffic light in front of him turned from yellow to red.

He flipped the phone open and laid it against his ear. “Do we have them?” Eightball asked eagerly and tapped his fingers lightly on the steering wheel.

Waiting for the traffic light to change, he listened diligently to his cohort on the other end of the line. He glanced up from time to time, keeping an eye on the traffic light. When Torpedo told him what he wanted to hear, Eightball relaxed a bit and even cracked a slight smile at himself in the rearview mirror.

“Amazing.” Eightball’s shattering satisfaction had him nearly bursting at the seams. “They did exactly what Trident said they would.” He spoke the words in an exceedingly proud manner, as if he’d come up with the notion himself.

At times like this, Eightball aspired to be just as intuitive as his boss. If he could predict his enemy’s every move, life would be complete.

Eightball listened again for another brief moment and then said, “I’m on it.” The traffic light turned green and he closed the cell phone with one hand and placed it at his side on the empty passenger’s seat. He pressed the gas conservatively and navigated the vehicle passed the intersection.

The floorboard of the car was littered with empty fast-food restaurant bags, the ashtray spilled over with half-smoked cigarette butts, and the stench of burnt tobacco reeked heavily in the air but Eightball couldn’t care less, none of it bothered him. He was too consumed with the thrill of the chase.

Of course, this wasn’t the ideal hunting situation, babysitting and all, but he’d take what he could get. And he’d pursue them relentlessly, even though touching, much less killing, was off the table.

Eightball had to keep the faith that his loyalty wasn’t in vain. He had to hope that one day soon, when they were done with the girl and her friends, Trident would let him take out their enemy.

CHAPTER 19

South of Atlanta, Georgia

THE freeway’s streetlights briefly illuminated the car’s otherwise darkened interior as the vehicle zoomed along Interstate 85. Cherilyn glimpsed at the snapshot image in her rearview mirror of Eric and Grace slumped against one another and sleeping soundly in the back seat.

Marcus sat quietly in the passenger’s seat beside Cherilyn, and she could tell by the stoned look on his face that he was methodically filtering every piece of information he’d gathered over the years and stored away in his brain. But, would the search do him any good? Did he have the answers hidden away inside his psyche?

She had no way of knowing what details or clues he may have run across during the course of his military career. But, after living with twenty years of hindsight, Cherilyn had effectively procrastinated the past to death. Too bad the damned ghost was still hanging around.

If only surviving the breakup had been as simple as leaving Marcus and the marriage behind.

Retrospection carried little weight in this case. She couldn’t go back, no matter how much she’d like. So much more was involved than simply realizing the error of one’s ways. Cherilyn had never doubted her love for Marcus; or his for her for that matter. That was never the issue. The issue was Marcus’s safety. Always had been, always would be. She’d gladly sacrificed her own happiness, something that couldn’t compare to Marcus’s life, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t curse fate.

There were times when she had grown careless with her own life, but she wasn’t stupid, and anyone who’d ever considered her as such had done themselves a great disservice. Underestimating Cherilyn Johnson, or any of her various alter-identities, wasn’t smart. She took great pride in this knowledge.

Maybe that’s why, or at the very least was part of the reason the elusive and secretive organization she’d come to know as The Club had come calling. Not one to look a gift-horse in the mouth, Cherilyn had accepted the offer right away. Besides, what else did she have to do? Living happily ever after was off the table, at least for the time being. She’d resolved to find something else to do while she waited for society to lighten up, and joining The Club had seemed like a good idea at the time.

Thankfully, it hadn’t taken her long to realize her blunder. She began preparing, almost immediately, for the possibility that she might need to disappear someday. From anyone and everyone. Even her employers. Especially her employers. She’d lost the ability to trust when she lost Marcus.

Cherilyn swore she’d never find herself in such a precarious situation again, and chose to trust absolutely no one. With that decision came the option of dropping off the grid at any given point in time. When and if it came to that, Cherilyn didn’t intend to struggle.

And now, all these years later, she owned an assortment of homes and had various bank accounts scattered across the globe. All, under a variety of identities. She was certain no one could ever hope to trace any part of it back to her, least of all her employers.

Cherilyn chose one of her own personal safe-houses as their next stop, located on the shores of the Gulf of Mexico in the panhandle of Florida. Nobody knew about it but her, not even her contacts in The Club. No matter who was on their trail, there, they’d be safe from discovery for at least a couple of days.

Eric didn’t bother asking where they were headed, exactly. South, that’s all he knew. Anything more than that, if Cherilyn was going to tell she would’ve clued them in already. He got the impression she not only liked being in charge, but found ample enjoyment in reminding those around her of her supremacy.

The most annoying part was that Cherilyn was justified. She had every right to feel superior because she knew what to do and when to do it. Granted, her plan to leave Eric’s car in a place where it’d be quickly towed was brilliant. He also appreciated that it’d buy them a day or two’s head start. They could use all the extra time and space they could get between them and the people responsible for the General’s disappearance.

The house she took them to surprised Eric. In his opinion, it stuck out like a sore thumb, but she hadn’t asked him what he thought. Hopefully, they’d be on the move promptly and wouldn’t hang out in this wealthy individual’s paradise for long.

Whether the house belonged to Cherilyn or one of her acquaintances, they had great taste, Eric gave them that. He wasn’t above acknowledging the appeal of the mammoth two-story and its open floor plan.

Sophisticated style highlighted with exotic woods, rare marble, numerous skylights and walls of windows on the beachside allowed the sun’s natural light to brighten the interior—not to mention the magnificent views.

Eric followed Grace upstairs. Cherilyn had encouraged them to choose any of the bedrooms they wished, and Grace selected an impressive, although not the largest, room on the beachside of the house. With features like a Jacuzzi tub, a deluxe private bath and a king-size bed, Eric could get used to the lavishness.

Grace seemed to be more intrigued with the balcony on the other side of a pair of French doors, and headed straight for the terrace overlooking the water. Eric followed her and began to see the purpose of this elaborate house.

Everything about the second-story patio, even the oversized chaise lounge—which looked like it’d been custom-made and obviously built for two—screamed self-indulgence. An afghan lay invitingly across the back of the chair. Two green shrubs sat diagonally across on either side of the balcony. A small table beside the chair was covered with a sheer blue and green tablecloth that perfectly complimented the blue in the lounger.

Grace passed the settee and didn’t stop until she’d laid her hands on the balcony’s railing. She leaned against the banister and gazed out over the gulf. “This is amazing.”

The water, extremely calm, rolled lazily back and forth rendering an almost hypnotic effect. Eric leaned against the railing and faced Grace, keeping his gaze fixed on her and leaving several inches of empty space between them.

He wanted to tell her about the key and how he’d come by it because now he was thinking that maybe it led to something important. If that was the case, then the possibility of someone being hot on their trail had just intensified.

Eric had two reasons now for solving the mystery. One, to find out what happened to the General, and two—probably the most important issue—protecting Grace.

He was going to have to tell her about the key.

The sun, huge and orange, was slowly sinking behind the horizon on the other side of the water and the sky steadily darkened. A chill, fueled by the brisk late-winter air blew in from the ocean. Grace shivered and folded her arms, hugging herself tightly.

“Are you cold?” Eric looked around and instantly spied the blanket on the chair’s back. He snatched it up and draped it around Grace’s shoulders.

Grace tugged and twisted at a flexible bracelet of pink, purple and green beads on her left wrist.

This wasn’t the first time he’d noticed the odd accessory. Not that there was anything wrong with it, really. It’s just that the odd piece of jewelry seemed like something a teenager would wear.

She tried to smile, but her eyes failed to hide her fear. “I’m scared, Eric,” she said awkwardly, wrapping the beads around her fingers.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Gracie.” A confident tone accompanied his promise. “I’ll protect you with my life.”

She closed her eyes and a heavy sigh had little effect on the monkey riding her back. “Why?” Her eyes opened again and the fear residing in them just seconds ago had been replaced by conjecture.

Eric didn’t understand why Grace didn’t get his motivation. “Don’t you get it?” Considering that she was raised on the military, she should.

The General. It was all about the General. Wasn’t it?

“I get that I walked out on you, eleven years ago, without so much as a word.” Grace could hardly believe that she had actually brought up the subject. Was she trying to chase him off? No, but she didn’t get his motivation and she needed to know what drove him. “And now, here I am, back again and with no warning at all.”

Good, Lord. I’m awful. She censured herself, as Eric’s gaze remained staidly still, piercing her with an intense glare. Sensing the barely controlled resentment coiled within Eric, Grace’s composure and self-worth withered.

“It’s looking more and more like I’ve placed you in a life-threatening situation. And still, you drop everything to protect me.” Her words held a measure of confidence, but her tone was like forcing them over broken and jagged glass. “Why?” she asked again. “I don’t deserve your help.”

Nor was she worthy of it, but she needed his help. Without it she was screwed. Still, even if she didn’t deserve it, she wanted his motivation to be because he loved her. She didn’t want to hear about how he owed it to her father.

But what other explanation was there? Eric didn’t owe her a damned thing. So why was he willing to put his life on the line for her? That’d probably lose appeal quickly if he found out about her weakness.

Yes, it was probably best to keep her distance.

Blood was pounding at the end of Grace’s fingertips and she realized she’d wound the worry beads so tightly around her fingers that she was cutting off the circulation. She released the bracelet and it snapped back in place on her wrist.

Breaking the rehab trinket was a bad idea. It might induce him to ask questions about its origin.

Eric hated that she didn’t seem to trust his motives, in effect, distrusting him. He wanted to touch her cheek, to draw her into his arms, but his lingering resentment wouldn’t allow it. “I was mad at you for a really long time.” The desire to drag her into his arms swelled inside Eric. Not the best of ideas. He needed a task to preoccupy his hands, and commenced tucking the blanket in around her protectively. “But, as mad as I was at you, I kept this picture of you and me, on my desk, for all to see.” He didn’t understand his logic behind that inspiration, but the fact that he’d kept a photograph for eleven years of a woman who hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye was an interesting insight. “And you really need me to tell you why I’d willingly die, trying to protect you?”

A cold knot tightened around his fragile heart. Why? Why hadn’t she loved him the way he’d always loved her. And why hadn’t he seen it? Why hadn’t he seen her subtle pulling away? There should’ve been tell-tale signs, but he hadn’t seen them even in hindsight.

Maybe he’d been too crazy in love. Good thing that was over.

“Don’t leave me alone, okay?” The look on her face matched her shaky voice. “You can have the bed and I’ll sleep out here.” She gestured toward the chaise-lounger. “Just please, don’t leave me here by myself....” Panic broke her words, and she tried, unsuccessfully, to hide her fear.

Tears welled slowly around her eyes and almost made him forget about his own anger. “I’m not going to leave you alone.” He couldn’t fight the urge any longer and trailed his fingertips along her jaw-line. “And I’ll sleep anywhere you want.”

A tear escaped, although he suspected that she hadn’t wanted it to. He pulled her into his arms, wondering if he could offer her comfort. He hoped so since this was something he was probably going to end up regretting. Then again, holding her had never been disappointing.

She fell easily into his arms but her body tensed. Eric blew out his regrets with a heavy breath and tightened his embrace.

Memories invaded his head and clouded his ability to reason. He thought he’d settled the past a long time ago. Eric wasn’t plagued by conjecture of the unknown. He knew all too well what it was like to make love with Grace, to feel the heated passion that had always ignited anytime they were anywhere near each other.

His recollections of those times mingled with his current faltering efforts to keep her at a safe distance and the combination of both were starting to get the better of him.

He hadn’t tried to fight it back then, and he had no plans to deny it now. Even so, that didn’t mean he had to like it. In fact, he didn’t like it one bit. Nevertheless, it had no bearing on anything. It didn’t change recent events. And, it didn’t change the way he felt—no matter how much he wished otherwise.

Eric had gotten himself caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place. He did not want to be here, in this vulnerable place, and he couldn’t walk away—because of the General.

CHAPTER 20

Hollywood Beach, Florida

MARCUS lounged in silence at the snack bar separating the dining room from the kitchen. Cherilyn had busied herself with the task of putting a pot of coffee on to brew.

The morning sky’s golden haze, and bright and vivid sunlight set the scene for a successful day. But what constituted success? Learning the truth? Eluding those who’d snuffed out the General? Staying alive?

How about getting a hold of this fascination with Cherilyn?

Maybe it was just nostalgia that had him feeling so sentimental. A lot of years had flown by, but Cherilyn was still just as captivating as the day they’d met.

Amazing. No wonder he couldn’t commit to Tracy, or any other woman. He’d been comparing them all to Cherilyn. Or at least the notion of what she’d meant to him. Putting her on a pedestal hadn’t been the brightest move, it had made it hard for anyone else to compete. Especially when he’d convinced himself that her choice to leave wasn’t her fault. The possible truth behind his belief that Cherilyn was somehow innocent had no bearing on reality. It really didn’t matter who’d done what to whom. But fault or not, she was gone.

Marcus had stopped entertaining the notion of her coming back someday, a long time ago. And it wasn’t until this very moment that he realized he’d been helplessly and hopelessly wrapped up in the past.

That imaginary light bulb was shining brightly in his head now and he was seeing things a bit more clearly. But that didn’t mean he knew what to do about it. Still, recognition had to count for something.

Cherilyn grabbed a couple of cups from the cabinet, and Marcus wondered how often she came to this place. Was it often? She seemed to know where everything was located. She looked inside the cups and turned to the sink to rinse them out.

“How long do you think we can safely stay here?” Marcus asked.

“Three, maybe four days.” She shrugged it off, but he got the feeling she wasn’t as certain as she tried to project.

Sure, there was always a chance that they could stay here forever and never be discovered. But who was willing to take that risk? Not Marcus.

Cherilyn filled the cups with coffee and glanced at Marcus, setting the pot back on the coffee maker’s pedestal. “Black?”

Who remembered a thing like that after all these years? Impressive. “And strong.”

She slid the cup across the counter with a sweet smile.

Marcus dragged the mug toward him. “Do you have any thoughts about what’s going on?”

“I can only guess.” She leaned against the counter and sipped her coffee. “If someone has wiped Grace’s father from existence, literally, why do you suppose that is?”

Marcus could think of a few reasons, all of them scary. “I don’t know, Cher,” he said, trying to dismiss everything that didn’t make sense. “I mean, I’ve heard rumors over the years. But I’ve never had to consider their authenticity before.”

Cherilyn drew in a breath and closed her eyes. “If someone has gone to that much trouble,” she said, opening her eyes, “why have they allowed Grace to live? Isn’t she proof that the man existed?”

Reality slapped Marcus across the face. Why had they allowed Grace to live considering what they’d done to her father?

“Maybe she has something they want?” Cherilyn’s suggestion came lightly considering its connotations.

But what could she have that someone wanted bad enough to make her father disappear, yet let her live? “Maybe they think she does.”

Cherilyn pushed off the counter. “Why do you say that?” she asked, coming around the snack bar and sitting on the empty stool beside Marcus.

“If she does—” He shook his head in a slow, systematic manner. “She doesn’t know anything about it.”

Cherilyn paused in silence, staring at her feet. Marcus remembered her stalling tactic well. Finally, she crooked her head around and looked at him. “And you know this because...?”

He didn’t have to put any thought into her inquiry. “Because I know Grace. She’s totally in the dark.”

Anguish breezed across Cherilyn’s face. “Are you in love with her?”

Where the hell had that come from? “No. Grace is a friend.” He paused, shaking his head. “Nothing more.” Marcus clamped his jaw tightly, trying to deter the thoughts in his head from finding their way into his voice. He failed miserably. “There’s only been one girl that I’ve ever loved.”

Cherilyn smiled in a soft, sad sort of way and glanced off into the direction opposite Marcus, as if she were embarrassed.

“Hey,” he said, touching the soft fabric covering her arm. “Don’t mistake my concern for Grace as being something it’s not. She’s simply a friend. Just like Eric.”

“I guess you can still see through me.” A nervous cackle followed close behind Cherilyn’s words. A blotch of crimsoned embarrassment stained her porcelain white cheeks.

She leapt to her feet and Marcus followed as if he’d been yanked up by some invisible cosmic chain linking them together.

Their close proximity brought with it anxiety—at least for Cherilyn—evident by her staunch arms hanging stiffly at her sides, and her quivering lips.

She was trying to distance herself from him, and Marcus couldn’t have that. For once, he needed her to stay and fight. Fight for them and everything they could’ve been and still could be, with just a little effort.

Eric didn’t take pleasure in the thought of confirming for Grace what Marcus and Cherilyn were so certain was the case, but what other explanation could there be? With everything else that was going on, the General’s key gave credence to Marcus and Cherilyn’s assumptions.

Admitting it though meant clueing Grace into the fact that her father had lived this mysterious and secretive life. One that Grace, and possibly her mother, hadn’t known about.

Well, it looked like the time for disclosure had come. No more putting it off until later. Sooner had arrived. But it didn’t mean he knew what to do or felt comfortable with his ensuing task.

Eric remembered the way Grace’s eyes had lit when she first caught sight of the chaise lounge on the balcony. “Let’s go outside.” He nodded toward the bedroom’s double doors leading outdoors. “And take in a little fresh air.” He winked and grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the door.

She followed him willingly outside and to the chair where he sat first, and she snuggled against his torso. A cool brisk breeze blew in off the ocean and Grace shivered. Eric took the afghan and covered her, draping his arms loosely around her to hold it in place.

“Grace, honey.” He called her by the intimate endearment and she didn’t seem to mind. “You do know, the last thing in this world that I’d ever want to do is hurt you by tarnishing the memory of your father.”

“Yes, I do know that to be true.” She lifted her head from his chest and looked at him. “So maybe you should just tell me what you’re trying so hard to avoid.”

“The day we buried your father, and you took off on your sabbatical to sort things out.” Eric had kissed the side of her head before he realized it, and just as quickly he recognized life didn’t hurt quite so badly with Grace in his arms. But it was just a band-aid. It didn’t change the fact that she’d already broken his heart once. Who’s to say she wouldn’t do it again? “I went to the General’s house and did what he’d instructed me to do a few months before his death.”

Grace’s eyes darkened and her brow furrowed. “What? What did he tell you to do?”

“He showed me a secret compartment in his desk, and told me that if anything ever happened to him, I should take the contents and never tell anyone about the desk or what I’d found.”

“What was hidden in there?” Grace’s expression changed from confusion to curiosity.

“A key.”

“A key?” Her confusion returned.

“I have no idea where or what it leads to, but now I’m willing to bet that whatever it is...there’s somebody else out there, somewhere, that wants it.” Eric didn’t like the uncomfortable feeling left by that notion, mainly because it demeaned his mistaken identity theory.

Grace didn’t say anything for the longest time, and during the silence a fury of conjecture and speculation overloaded Eric’s brain. So many strange and different things were happening. And he was starting to believe—even if he didn’t like it—that they were all tied together. But what was the common thread? Besides the General.

Her gaze drifted around, taking the long way to land on his face. “If that key leads to something they want, do you think they know that?”

Eric thought about it. Probably not. “I doubt it,” he said, shaking his head. “Clearly, they’re not above killing. If they knew I had it, and if it is indeed something they want, I’d probably have met with my maker long ago.”

She stiffened and a gloomy look crossed her face. Grace didn’t like talking about Eric’s death any more than he did. Apparently, she still had a heart after all.

“How are we supposed to figure out what that is?” she asked in a diluted, dejected tone. “Or, where it’s at, for that matter.”

“I have no idea.” Eric forced the tough words out, hoping they didn’t sound as pathetic as he imagined. “I think it’s time we clue Marcus and Cherilyn in about the key.” Reluctance over disobeying the General’s instructions settled in a heavy, uncomfortable wall around Eric.

“Whatever you think is best.”

“It still has to be okay with you.” Eric paused. “It’s your father’s memory we’re talking about.”

“And maybe our lives.” Grace’s comment reminded him that she’d always been the voice of reason in their relationship. Good thing too, because nothing made sense to him. “So, whatever you think is okay with me.” Her declaration came almost serenely.

When she smiled that way, when her eyes lit up every time she looked at him, those things were just more fuel for the out-of-control fire that Eric was trying so desperately to extinguish.

He touched the edge of her cheek and pushed her glimmering dark tresses out of her face, knowing this kind of physical contact was a bad idea. Her hair felt like the softest silk and he battled with the urge to wrap it around his fingers. Considering a cause and effect scenario, he was able to thankfully push the impulse aside.

Eric wanted to believe Grace when she said he could trust her. More than anything else, he wanted to feel good about putting his faith in her once again and not have the rug pulled out from under him.

But, so far, he hadn’t arrived at that place.

He was however nearing a locale called seeing the light. Eric hadn’t ever wanted to believe or even consider the General’s death was a direct result of the man’s own doing. But the facts being what they were—there was no evidence, nothing to indicate that anything other than a self-inflicted gunshot wound had taken the General’s life—made it hard to remain in denial.

Logically speaking, and Eric was all about logic, he’d had no choice but to accept what he knew had been so terribly hard for Grace. The General committed suicide. Eric didn’t have to like it, but he had acknowledged what seemed logical.

He’d also spent the last eleven years wondering what was the purpose for the General’s key. Mostly, he thought it had something to do with himself and Grace. But the more time that passed, the more his over-active imagination stirred up trouble inside his head and had him dreaming up some pretty wild scenarios. None of which he’d ever given much credence to—until now.

Upon hearing Cherilyn’s revelation about a secret organization, of which she claimed to be a member, the pieces were pretty much starting to fall into place.

For the first time in eleven years, Eric was seriously considering the notion that the General was most likely murdered.

Grace had always known that somehow, someway, she’d eventually wind up back in Eric’s arms again. She’d never been able to convince herself of how that was supposed to happen, given the circumstances under which she’d disappeared.

Even though she’d left him, physically anyway, she’d also left something behind. Her heart. Maybe that’s why she’d never formed any lasting bonds of commitment with any other man. It’s hard to give something away that you no longer have.

But there were far more pressing matters at stake than Grace’s love life. Like trying to establish how much trouble she’d brought to Eric and Marcus, and subsequently Cherilyn?

For as much as they’d all told her there was no danger—and all because it wasn’t obvious—but, Grace wasn’t so sure.

“You believe what Cherilyn’s saying about daddy being part of some secret organization, don’t you?” Grace knew that both Eric and Marcus believed the goods Cherilyn was selling.

Grace had known from the get-go that something weird was going on, but Cherilyn’s claims of covert operations was a little hard to ingest.

“Right now, it’s the only thing that makes credible sense.” He dismissed the implication with a shrug.

“What do you suppose is the purpose of daddy’s key?”

“It leads to something,” he said. “It has to.”

“Something that somebody else wants?”

“I wouldn’t have thought so last week, but I’m leaning that way now.”

Maybe it would’ve been better if she hadn’t walked back into Eric’s life. Placing him in danger was never Grace’s intention, but now she was afraid that’s just what she’d done. Regret swirled around her, threatening to stagnate the air in her vicinity. She had to think of Eric for a change. Forget about the mystery surrounding her father. Above all else, she needed to do what was best for Eric.

“So, we just need to figure out who wants the damned key and give it to them.”

“Hell no!” Eric’s sharp tone accosted her. “Whatever the key leads to, that’s what we want. We get that, and we’ve got bargaining power.”

“Are you sure we need to be getting mixed up in all this?” Grace backed her head up a little so she could look into Eric’s eyes. She wanted to see his reaction. “It seems pretty dangerous.”

“Honey, we’re already in it. And now we’ve got to do whatever it takes to survive.”

Okay, so maybe Eric had a point. Grace had never believed that her father had killed himself. Then again, she hadn’t been able to wrap her head around a solid reason why anybody would want him dead either, but that was quickly becoming the least of her priorities.

What if she’d put herself, Eric and Marcus in danger?

If she had, their hope rested with Cherilyn. But Grace didn’t feel exactly comfortable about placing their lives in the hands of a woman she didn’t know, even if she was Marcus’s ex-wife.

CHAPTER 21

THE early morning view from the table on the terrace at Cherilyn’s beachfront home hypnotized Eric, but he fought its magnetic power. A faint scent of salt drifted through the sea air and the water was amazingly calm, except right up along the shoreline where it rolled lazily in and out. Eric pulled his gaze away and stared at the mocha-black coffee steaming in his mug, the muddy liquid fueled his imagination.

If the General had belonged to some covert organization, not unlike the one Cherilyn professed to be a member of, that sure would explain a lot of the man’s secrecy just prior to his death.

Maybe the General’s colleagues had wanted something he wasn’t willing to relinquish. But what? What could the General have had that would’ve caused his associates to put a bullet in his head?

Was it incriminating evidence? Eric had no doubt that just such a thing was going to be found at the end of the trail, wherever that might be. But he didn’t believe for a second that it had caused the General’s death.

The man he’d known, served under, was much too loyal to build a case against his colleagues without a really good reason. Eric didn’t know what bugged him more. The notion that the General would be mixed up in a mess like this in the first place. Or, that Eric couldn’t figure out what would make his former commanding officer turn on his own kind.

As far as he could see, there was only one thing that would induce the General to do that and she was sitting an arm’s length away. Grace.

Eric hadn’t looked at Marcus for more than a second or two since breakfast was over, but he could feel Marcus’s analyzing gaze from the other side of the table.

“What are you thinking about?” Marcus asked.

Grace. Everything was about Grace. Somehow, some way, it always came back to her.

“You’re on to something, aren’t you?” Marcus said.

“Look—” Eric tilted the chair back onto its hind legs. “Since you guys think our pursuers are after something.” He paused and finally looked directly into Marcus’s eyes. “I might be able to sort of...confirm that.”

A degree of confusion fell across Marcus’s face. “How’s that?”

“A few months before the General passed away, he showed me a compartment hidden inside his desk.” Eric folded his arms over his chest, but failed to subdue the uncomfortable feeling that accompanied leaking the one piece of information the General had insisted he keep to himself. “It was empty at the time.”

Marcus gave him a stealthy, cautious glance, and Cherilyn threw out an inquisitive look that left Eric curious about her level of interest. He didn’t need to see Grace’s face to know she was just as surprised as the first time she’d heard about the key.

“And when exactly did you figure out the drawer was no longer empty?” Marcus was doing his best to subdue his uncertainty, but Eric saw the chaotic mess hiding behind his calm demeanor.

Eric leaned confidently forward, folded his arms and propped them on the table. “After the funeral.”

Cherilyn failed to catch the sigh before it escaped, even though she tried.

Marcus cleared his throat and locked his arms together over his chest. He looked away, but Eric still caught sight of the treachery peering out from behind his eyes.

Eric understood Marcus’s questioning reaction, but he just didn’t get Cherilyn’s. Why was she so damned interested in something that happened eleven years ago?

Damn it. This thing with Grace had left him unable to trust anyone.

Marcus turned to Eric with his best poker face. “What did you find in the desk’s hidden drawer?” he said over the lump in his throat. Whatever it was, it’d better be relevant right now. They needed a break. Marcus had grown tired of looking inane and clueless.

Eric dug his hand deep inside the front pocket of his Levi’s. “This,” he said, placing a key on the table and pushing it toward Marcus.

Marcus reached across the table and dragged it closer. Picking it up, he inspected it. There was nothing out of the ordinary about the gold-colored key. Its only identifying mark was the number “thirty-six”.

Great. A freaking key. Eric had just stomped on Marcus’s optimism that this might lead to something worthwhile.

“Why’d you go back to the desk in the first place?” Marcus asked, shaking his head. “Did the General tell you to?”

“Yes,” Eric said. “He specifically instructed me to come back to the desk if anything happened to him.”

“Do you know what that leads to?” Cherilyn asked, and Marcus attributed her curiosity and enthusiasm to her profession. The woman had to be good at her job, nobody lasted that long in the business of covert operations if they weren’t on top of their game.

Marcus was too close to this thing, thank God he’d decided to seek out Cherilyn. She was just doing what needed to be done.

“No.” Eric shook his head, indicating he had no idea where it led.

“Okay, so if the General went to enough trouble to hide this key, and make sure nobody but you found it.” Marcus rationalized General Hendricks’s action, at least to himself. “Whatever this leads to...it has to be big.”

Wild ideas whirled around chaotically inside Marcus’s head and he tried, without much success, to grab hold of any one of them. “The only explanation is,” he said, shaking his head. Not that the thoughts roaming around inside his mind made any sense, but it was the best he could come up with. “General Hendricks had something that somebody wanted. And when he refused to give it to them...they killed him.”

Grace gasped and the ensuing sobs stole her breath away. While she had probably entertained such a notion, Marcus doubted she was prepared to hear the words spoken out loud. He wasn’t.

She leapt to her feet and rushed for the stairs leading down to the beach. Eric rose and trotted down the steps after her.

Guilt consumed Marcus. There was nothing attractive about his insensitivity. Now he knew why he preferred to think things out before voicing his opinions. Little or no forethought only led to hurt and disappointment.

Evident by Grace running off right now, with Eric chasing after her to offer comfort. Marcus felt like a class-A asshole.

Cherilyn turned to him. “Maybe we should...” She paused, inspecting her polish-chipped fingernails. Scratching at the paint, she removed almost all the polish that remained on her forefinger. Her gaze traveled back up to meet Marcus’s. “Maybe we should be a little more considerate when we discuss General Hendricks’s demise in front of his daughter.”

“You’re right. That was really insensitive of me,” Marcus conceded with an abundance of self-denunciation.

Cherilyn stood, scooting the chair back and Marcus rose as she approached him. Her fingertips grazed along the side of his face and reminded him of days gone by, with Cherilyn lying naked in his arms.

“Oh, I know you didn’t intend to hurt her,” she said. “It’s just that while we’ve stumbled onto this real life mystery, the thing is, what we have to remember...at the center of our mystery is a man’s death.” Cherilyn gave a lonely, trodden shrug. “Her father.”

Cherilyn’s words were caring, but her demeanor was detached. Marcus could see how she’d probably had to teach herself, years ago, how to be cold and calculating. By now, she had to be an expert at showing little or no emotion. Her survival instincts had to be kicking into high gear, but still, she showed a certain sense of sorrow for Grace, and that’s one of the things about Cherilyn that Marcus had fallen in love with.

They both knew what it was like to lose someone you love. Their situation may have been very different from Grace’s, but both caused heart-wrenching pain that showed no partiality.

To that, Marcus could relate.

The difference, the thing that set them apart, Grace had lost her father but she didn’t know why. Unlike Grace, Marcus knew exactly why he’d lost Cherilyn. Twenty years ago, society had been intolerant of their interracial relationship.

Marcus knew that circumstance and the luck of the draw had likely been the deciding factors preventing Cherilyn from making an attempt at a reconciliation, even though society’s intolerance had eased a bit over the years. But, if Cherilyn had gotten herself mixed up with the likes of people who’d wiped out the General, then her fate was sealed the moment they joined forces.

She wouldn’t have come back no matter how much she’d wanted to reunite, if for nothing else but to protect him. Nobody had to tell Marcus that Cherilyn loved him, that she’d always loved him. The bed they shared last night proved as much.

Eric should’ve said something when he revealed the key instead of clamming up, even though he wasn’t ready to offer any thoughts on the matter. It’s not like he didn’t trust any of them—except maybe Cherilyn, but that’s only because he didn’t know her—but, the General had been so adamant that Eric keep the key’s existence to himself. And, he’d done just that, for all these years.

Given the circumstance, it made perfect sense, at least to Eric, to give up the key, sit back and watch to see what conclusions Marcus and Cherilyn might draw upon. Then again, maybe he wanted to see if someone else would draw the same conclusions that he had. Sort of a validation tactic to ensure that he wasn’t losing his mind.

But he hadn’t considered, or even presumed, Grace’s reaction. And for that, he condemned himself.

Eric finally caught up to Grace by the time she neared the water’s edge. “Gracie...” He clutched her upper arm within the confines of an easy-going grasp.

She jerked away, breaking free. Moving away from him, she continued along the shoreline.

Eric stopped. She was doing it again, running away. Her simple act shoved reality into Eric’s face—Grace Hendricks had never had, and still didn’t have, his best interests at heart. It was all about her, or so it would seem. If she’d cared about him at all, then she had to stop this crazy nonsense right now.

“Don’t you do it, Gracie.” Resented anger bubbled up in his tone. The time had come for Grace to accept responsibility for her actions. For once, she needed to stop and really think about what she was doing. For Eric’s sake, she needed to do that. She may not give a rat’s ass about him, but if that were the case, she was going to own it. Right here. Right now. “Don’t you walk away from me again.”

Grace froze, and he merely stared, tongue-tied. She gave a hesitant glance over her shoulder and Eric waited, challenging her to turn fully around and face the consequences of her actions.

Tears glistened her eyes and she swallowed hard, lifted her chin and bravely met his gaze. She moved without haste or purpose, at first, toward Eric, but closing the gap seemed to lure her in like a magnet to steel.

Eric closed his arms around her and felt Grace weeping silently against his chest. “It’s okay,” he said, attempting to soothe her with his caressing embrace.

“Why, Eric?” Desperation filled her tone with as much misery as her tears. “Why would daddy risk his life over something materialistic?”

The truth slapped at Eric in a rippling effect sort of way. Michael Hendricks, the man Eric had served under, would not have risked his life for material gain. The General wasn’t that kind of guy. Money didn’t mean that much to him. But Grace did.

Grace. Could she be the target? Eric didn’t see how. Hell, she was still alive. These guys, whoever they may be, they weren’t above killing. The General’s demise proved that. Still, while Grace might not be the main objective, whatever that was, it had to have something to do with her. He’d bet on it. And if Grace was the catalyst, that made them all secondary targets.

CHAPTER 22

ERIC woke early the next morning. Mainly because he was having a hard time sleeping throughout the uneventful yet emotionally chaotic night. He’d lain awake, painstakingly calculating every detail trying to unravel the mystery he’d gotten tangled up in.

At five-fifteen a.m., waking the others wasn’t prudent, and he headed outside. A walk along the beach would do him good. He needed to clear his mind and regroup the thoughts swirling wildly around inside his head.

Ever since Grace had walked back into Pink’s—eleven years late—the entire ordeal baffled him. She may not be what “they” were looking for, but they assumed she could lead them to it, and that was just as bad, if not worse.

He stood facing the water, hands in his pockets, wondering how he was supposed to protect her when he didn’t know who the enemy was or what they wanted.

Footsteps fell in behind Eric, drawing closer. He didn’t need to check, it was Marcus. Eric let his gaze fall to the shoreline and linger there for a moment before glancing over his shoulder to acknowledge his friend. “What are you doing up so early?”

“Cherilyn says that—” Marcus stopped at the water’s edge beside Eric. “We need to leave here today.”

“I’m not surprised,” Eric said, yet he wondered why he wasn’t. Since when had he become an authority in the ways of a spy? Obviously he hadn’t and he wasn’t, indicative of the multitude of questions spilling over in his head. “How long do you think we can go on like this?” Eric was no expert, but it couldn’t be forever.

Marcus remained silent for a time, and that punched at Eric’s confidence. “Well...” he said in an attitude of never-ending vulnerability. “Hopefully, as long as it takes. Otherwise...” Marcus’s words trailed off, as if too shaken to continue.

Dread crawled over Eric and clawed at his courage, trying to gain control of his confidence.

At any given moment, their luck could run out. Marcus got it. Eric got it. He didn’t need to remind himself of the consequences if they couldn’t figure out what was going on or what to do about it before fate flew the coop.

“Let me ask you,” Eric said with precious little conviction. “What do you make of all this? The General’s literal disappearance? The key?”

“Well...” Marcus frowned in genuine alarm. “As far as the General is concerned, I truly have no idea. I can’t even fathom a reason, a valid one, to erase him from existence.” He hesitated, shaking his head and rolling his eyes, the same way he used to do when he talked about Tracy Kelley, after she took her life. “I’ll tell you what though,” he said, finding strength somewhere in the depths of his voice. “I’m sure your key leads to all the answers we’re seeking.”

“What are the odds...?” Eric laughed skeptically. “That we’ll ever find out where the key leads?”

“The General Hendricks I knew,” Marcus said, and his confidence seemed to bloom right before Eric’s eyes. “If he left a key, one he hid from everybody but you...then he also left a clue. Somewhere. Somewhere out there, there’s a clue telling you where the key leads.”

Son of a bitch! Why the hell hadn’t Eric thought of that? Of course. The General would never have gone to the trouble of hiding some key, for Eric’s eyes only, and not left a trail, probably subtle, leading to something of grave importance.

Yep. If Eric got his hands on that, whatever it was, then he’d have a legitimate edge at protecting Grace.

After breakfast, Eric and Grace cleaned the kitchen while Marcus and Cherilyn gave the rest of the house a quick once-over.

With so much riding on the end result, Eric and Grace worked diligently and cohesively, as if they’d been doing it their entire lives. She hand-washed the dishes while he towel-dried them and put them away in the cabinets. Afterward, they wiped down the counters, cabinets, and appliances.

Cherilyn had insisted that no one would, or could, associate the house with her, but Eric wasn’t taking any chances. If someone, namely the wrong people, stumbled upon the knowledge that the house belonged to one of Cherilyn’s alter egos, Eric didn’t want it to appear that anyone had been there recently.

Damn. He was getting good at this spy shit.

Once the house was clean, they headed for the garage, got in the car and left. Cherilyn insisted on doing the driving, and Marcus put up a minimal fight, but Eric didn’t care. He was content to relax in the backseat with Grace.

It allowed him to gage her reaction, or lack thereof, each time he touched her, whether on purpose or by accident. He was attempting to see if he could get an idea about what was going on inside her head. At least, where they were concerned. But she seemed exceedingly troubled today, more so than the last few days. She appeared in deep thought, and that meant trouble.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” she said, shaking her head. “Something about all this just isn’t quite right.” Grace made a placating gesture. “Ever since you told me about that key. There’s either something wrong, or something’s out of place. I just can’t put my finger on it.” She looked almost panic-stricken.

“I don’t want you to worry.” He had suddenly found new hope. The General must have left a clue behind, somewhere, regarding the key. Eric just had to find the damned thing.

Rationally speaking, even if it was merely his conviction, surely the General would have made sure the clue was well-hidden and it would only be recognizable to Eric or Grace.

Course, he was just flattering himself. Grace was going to end up being the only one who could find that clue. Eric just had to focus. The General would never be so careless as to leave it someplace where it’d be lost to her forever.

Surely for something so important, the General would have made certain that Grace could always gain access to the clue—no matter how far away she might travel, or how many years may pass her by. Realizing that he was finally on the right track was powerful, and triumphant.

Of course the General left a clue. One that’d still be waiting, no matter how long it took Grace to find it. Eric almost felt like gloating.

“Your father left you a clue,” he said to Grace. “All we have to do is find it.” But for as optimistic as Eric felt now, what he was proposing was easier said than done—if not next to impossible.

“Clue?” Cherilyn whispered at Marcus, so softly he might not have heard it if he hadn’t been peering at her intently. He’d been looking at her for a while, mesmerized by the beauty she still held. The years had been good to his ex-wife.

“Well, Eric has this theory.” Overwhelmed with the iffy concept, Marcus paused searching his thoughts for a good starting point for what was mainly speculation, at best. Did they have time to go chasing whims? Could they afford to ignore it, even if it was conjecture? “In light of the key and circumstances by which Eric came to have it...he believes it has to lead to something substantial and that the General probably left a clue somewhere pertaining to its bounty.” Marcus let out a dry laugh and glanced out the passenger window. “And if that’s even remotely accurate, finding it will probably be next to impossible.”

Cherilyn’s mouth fell open slowly. She blinked a few times and then glanced into the rearview mirror. “Grace, do you have your father’s belongings?”

Marcus looked over his shoulder in time to see Grace nod before saying, “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Where do you live?” Cherilyn’s inquiry came so calmly that it made Marcus wonder how she managed it. Staying calm was taking all his strength. But he had to, for both Cherilyn and Grace’s sake.

“Ahm...” Grace hesitated to answer, instead glancing at Eric for direction. He gave a nod so minimal that Marcus would’ve missed it if he hadn’t been looking. “Cleveland.”

“We need to go to your house,” Cherilyn said decisively.

“Is that safe?” Suspicion crept out in Eric’s tone, suggesting he didn’t like the idea.

“That I can’t be sure of,” Cherilyn said. “But if there is a clue, it’s probably in his belongings.”

“How can you be so sure?” Eric asked.

“Because that’s what I would’ve done.” Cherilyn’s voice held so much confidence that Marcus found it hard to discard her claim.

“Marcus and I, we’ll go to the house,” Eric said to Grace, “and you can wait for us at a nearby motel, or something.” Eric obviously believed Cherilyn, too.

“Oh, no you won’t.” Grace’s response came swiftly. “You’re not leaving me anywhere. Besides...” A measure of smugness entered her tone. “If there’s a clue in daddy’s things, you guys will probably overlook it anyway.”

“She does have a point.” Marcus looked over his shoulder at Eric, easily concluding that if Eric had the key then Grace was probably the only one who could recognize the clue. That would’ve provided extra precaution as a way of preventing whatever the General had hidden from falling into the wrong hands. “She has to go.”

“No.” Eric wasn’t budging. Marcus couldn’t blame him. “I won’t risk her life.”

But Marcus wasn’t easily swayed either. “Then we’ll just have to make sure that we protect her life.” He was comforted by the notion that between the three of them they could satisfactorily watch out for Grace.

Obviously, Eric didn’t trust Cherilyn, but Marcus did. He wasn’t altogether certain that Eric trusted him, but that was neither here nor there. At this point, the only thing that concerned either of them was finding out what happened to the General, and now, if need be, protecting the man’s daughter in the process.

Cleveland was a long way from the panhandle of Florida. And while Cherilyn ventured a guess as to the thoughts preoccupying her companions’ minds, she had no way of knowing if she was correct.

Eric and Grace were an enigma, trying to convince everyone, including themselves, that they were not attracted to each other when plainly there was something far deeper than what met the eye with those two.

And Marcus, if he was still the man she’d married all those years ago, he was probably trying to figure out a way to dig himself, and his friends, out of the mess they’d gotten tangled up in. Eric and Grace had chosen wisely when they befriended Marcus. Better friends didn’t happen along every day. If nothing else, Marcus would not give up when it came to his friends. Never. She couldn’t help feeling a bit jealous.

Even so, Cherilyn wanted whatever was at the end of the road that this key was going to take them down. Whatever that turned out to be, she was sure it was crucial. And whoever ended up possessing that bounty would have the advantage in the long run. She’d been on the short end of the stick before, and she didn’t intend to let that happen again.

This time, Cherilyn intended to win.

CHAPTER 23

BY the time they arrived in Knoxville, Tennessee, Cherilyn had run out of reasons not to pump Marcus for more information about Grace Hendricks.

Why was he so intent on protecting her? She didn’t buy the friendship card he was playing. No way. She wanted answers and she intended to have them, but getting them in front of Grace was out of the question. Cherilyn didn’t want to come across as some jealous hag.

Nope. A good night’s rest was in order.

Cherilyn took the next exit off the freeway and headed for the brightest roadside motel sign.

Eric sat up quickly and leaned toward the front seat. “What are we doing?”

The guy was so damned jumpy. And distrustful. Cherilyn was going to have to find a way to neutralize his nerves. “We’re stopping for the night.”

“I’ll drive,” he insisted.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m tired and I need to think. I need to figure out what to do next in case we can’t find your general’s clue at Grace’s house.” Cherilyn caught a glimpse of Grace in the rearview mirror. Eric needed to be more like her, the woman was still sleeping.

Whatever induced Eric’s resolve, it’d split, leaving him with a blank face. He slumped back against the seat, clearly having no argument left in him. Thank goodness.

She parked the car at the lobby entrance and Marcus withdrew a bundle of cash from Cherilyn’s duffle bag and peeled a few twenties off the top. “I’ll go in and get us a couple of rooms.” He opened the car door and stuffed the cash inside his pocket as he stepped out of the sedan.

While he was gone, Cherilyn filled the time, and avoided the pangs of uncomfortable silence, with directional-type questions about where Grace lived. Which area of Cleveland did she live in? Which freeway system provided the simplest route? And, how well she knew her neighbors. Would they talk to any strangers who might come calling?

After waking, Grace answered Cherilyn’s questions with short, simple answers. South side. 90 and the 14. Not well. And, who knows.

Marcus returned and directed her to pull around to the far side of the motel. After a few brief exchanges, Eric and Grace disappeared into one room and Cherilyn followed Marcus into the one next door.

She struggled with the urge to delve right into interrogation mode, and instead went for the area restaurants brochures fanned out on the dresser’s top. Grabbing a handful, she headed for one of the queen sized beds, plopped down and relaxed against the headboard.

After a quick scan of each, she decided on a place that offered delivery and a standard American-Italian menu. “Hey, you want some pasta?” she asked Marcus, but kept her eyes on the leaflet.

He sat on the foot of the bed she was lounging on. “Sure. Why not?” he said without much enthusiasm.

Cherilyn wanted to get him out of his funked-up mood. She needed information. Information she wasn’t likely to get if he remained in low spirits. “Ravioli still your favorite?” She hoped to infuse enough zeal in her tone that it’d induce a positive reaction from Marcus.

He looked at her, and for a moment she wasn’t sure what his reaction might be. But slowly, an expressive smile curled at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah. Ravioli is still a favorite,” he said with a wink.

Cherilyn ordered two ravioli dinners, and waited until they’d been delivered and she and Marcus had began eating, before daring to converge on the subject of Grace Hendricks.

“So how long have you known Eric and Grace?” she asked, picking at her food.

Marcus paused with his fork hovering above his disposable plate. “I’ve known Eric about fifteen years, and Grace, maybe twelve.”

“What’s up with them, anyway?” she asked as if she were gossiping with her best friend.

“What do you mean?”

“Why are they pretending they don’t care about each other?”

Marcus’s brow wrinkled. “It’s a long story,” he said, and dropped it at that.

He didn’t like gossiping about his friends, and she totally got that. But Cherilyn had to have access to every explorable avenue, or this mission was doomed to fail.

“Look, I know you don’t want to betray a confidence,” she said. “And I’d never ask you to, but I need to know everything there is to know about them, especially Grace, if I’m going to help.”

Marcus seemed to be struggling with what he thought was right and what he knew needed to be done. Finally, his expression melted into surrender. “Whatever we discuss in this room stays between us.”

“Absolutely.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Well, for starters...what’s the deal with them?”

“Look, all I know is that, eleven years ago, it was really looking like Eric and Grace were going to get married.” The frown twisting his face told Cherilyn he wasn’t comfortable with the conversation even though she’d convinced him it was necessary. “Then the General died. And Grace had a hard time dealing, so she took some time off. She was only supposed to be gone a couple of weeks, but she never came back. Until now.”

“Did Eric try to find her?”

“Oh yeah.” Marcus snorted a laugh and then cut it off. It wasn’t exactly appropriate for the conversation. “But, ah...if anybody knows how to disappear, it’s Grace Hendricks.”

Good lord, that girl had made an art out of the act of disappearing. Not even Eric and his military contacts had been able to find her. Marcus had been aware of the many times Eric had tried over the years but had come up empty-handed.

“Why do you think she vanished like that, without a word?” Cherilyn asked.

It took Marcus a moment to decide to respond, but when he did he voiced what he saw as the truth, the real root of Grace’s problem. “I don’t think she ever got over her mother’s death. And then, when her father died it all culminated in a massive blow to her psyche.”

“Her mother’s dead, too?” A light of pity skimmed across Cherilyn’s eyes, lasting only a second. “Bummer.”

“Well, that’s one way to look at it.” If only it were that simple, but Grace had spent years in useless therapy. None of it helped. None of it had taken away her pain—until she was old enough to indulge in alcohol.

Once she reached the legal drinking age, she spent her evenings drowning her sorrows into oblivion. That was when he and Eric entered the picture.

Marcus knew all about numbing inner pain with booze. He’d been doing it for years when Eric introduced him to Grace, and that’s the thing on which they bonded. Luckily, Marcus and Grace had Eric to look out for them and to always keep them from making a huge mistake by drinking and driving.

“So, what happened to her mother?” Cherilyn pulled Marcus out of a dangerous place in his past.

“She died in a car accident,” Marcus said, shaking his head. “I think Grace was about thirteen or fourteen when it happened.”

“That’s tough.” Cherilyn winced and shook visibly.

“From what I understand, Eric’s about the only person she ever talked to about her mother’s death. But I don’t think the scope of their conversations about it were extensive or deep.”

She didn’t say anything, just peered at him with one of those looks that asked for more details, and he felt compelled to comply.

“From what Eric said.” Marcus paused to make it clear, all his information was second-hand. “She bottled her pain up inside and refused to let it out to anyone, even the psychiatrist the General sent her to for weekly visits throughout her teenage years.” In a way, Marcus felt sorry for Grace...having to sit in some shrink’s office, week in and week out, with them constantly asking her how she felt. It had to be a constant reminder of the tragic event that had caused her so much pain.

“So, I guess that probably made things worse,” Cherilyn said as if she understood.

“Yeah, I think...pretty much.” Marcus pushed the near-empty disposable serving tray toward the center of the small corner table, forced his chair back and stood. Sliding his hands into his trouser pockets, he strolled to the other side of the motel room. “I think, personally.” He pivoted around to face her and withdrew one hand from its hiding place, resting it against his chest. “By the time I met her, she was not only trying to anesthetize the pain of losing her mother, but also years of ineffective therapy.”

And just when Marcus thought Eric might be getting through to Grace—helping her heal—the General shot himself. Supposedly. But now, it looked a whole lot like murder.

Losing her father had been a bigger burden than Grace Hendricks was capable of bearing.

What would finding out he hadn’t committed suicide after all do to her already fragile psyche? Would it hinder or help? Would it cause her to disappear from Eric’s life again? Without a word? Without even a simple goodbye?

That act was unforgivable from where Marcus was sitting, and in light of their current situation it qualified Eric for sainthood. Marcus wasn’t so sure he’d be so gracious in Eric’s shoes.

At least Cherilyn had told Marcus she was leaving him, and why.

Eric deserved the same but what he got was shafted, pretty much at the altar, for his troubles.

Grace’s actions back in the day just didn’t make sense, and someday soon, Marcus was going to ask for answers.

CHAPTER 24

THE prospect of stopping for the night pleased Eightball. He was half-starved and coveting some R and R.

A local restaurant had delivered his order, a burger, fries and a large coke, in a timely manner. Eightball handed the driver a twenty and closed the motel room’s door and headed for the bed. He appreciated the opportunity to sit back, prop up his feet and enjoy his meal while watching a little television.

The cigarette he’d laid in the ashtray on the nightstand when the knock came at the door still burned in the receptacle. Smoke swirled up into the air but Eightball concentrated on nothing other than consuming his food.

The Honeymooners were on TV. He munched on a handful of fries and laughed exuberantly at some silly little thing Ralph had said.

His cell phone lay at his side on the bed, and jingled with his usual Michael Jackson ringtone. He’d chosen the tune because he, like the object of the song, was “bad”. Without any forethought he grabbed it and answered the call. “Talk to me,” he said, chewing and swallowing the fries in his mouth.

Eightball listened intently to what the caller had to say, then asked, “Do we know where that is?” He was hopeful, but knew the odds weren’t good.

Having no concern or regard for his colleague on the other end of the line, he popped another fry into his mouth and started chomping on it. He relished the savory flavor by smacking loudly. “Well, I wouldn’t worry about it too much...” His voice trailed off into laughter.

Eightball couldn’t contain his amusement any longer, and felt no remorse for his short-coming. Nor had the irony of the situation escaped him as he was well-aware that he was located just a couple of doors down from Michael Hendricks’s daughter and her friends. They were all lodging at the same roadside motel in Knoxville, and he was certain that she and her friends had no idea of their close proximity.

That simple fact gave Eightball the edge. As long as he knew about them but they were oblivious of him, then he held the advantage. When and if he ever lost it, he’d gladly eliminate the threat.

CHAPTER 25

MARCUS sat perched on the edge of the bed opposite the one Cherilyn had sprawled out on. She’d said she was going to rest her eyes for a moment, but that was nearly an hour ago. Good. Maybe she was asleep. He wanted to take a shower, but didn’t like the idea of parading around the room in front of her in nothing but a towel.

Oh sure, they’d shared a bed, even recently, but knowing something’s there and having to look at it were two entirely different things. Now was not the best of times for her to dwell on his scar.

He eased up off the bed and crept into the bathroom. Only after he’d guided the door shut and turned the doorknob’s lock, did he feel comfortable removing his shirt.

The abrasion sprawled across his side and around toward his back, much like an old-school kidney operation scar. If only that’d been the case.

One of Marcus’s assailants had taken a three inch pocket knife to him after the gang had attacked him mercilessly—his punishment for marrying outside his race.

The scar remained a constant symbol of what Marcus had done wrong, and the reason Cherilyn had chosen to leave the marriage.

He ran his fingers over the abrasion and tried to push the unwanted memories aside, opting to turn on the water. As usual, Marcus hoped the shower would wash the ghastly images from his mind. Maybe someday that’d work, but he doubted this would be the day, anymore than it had been yesterday.

The shower’s mist rained down over Marcus, cleansing his body and filling his thoughts with images from the past. One particular day, above all others, was the bane of his existence.

It wasn’t the memory of the assault that was a constant irritant for Marcus. That day was easy in comparison. The source of his misery was the day he woke up in the hospital and found his wife draped over his hospice bed.

There wasn’t a single spot on his entire body that didn’t hurt. Even his eyelids were encumbered with agonizing pain when he opened them. Reality was hazy at best, and it took a few seconds to realize where he was, and why.

Cherilyn was sleeping, but her eyes looked reddened and swollen shut. They, along with her pallid face, gave away her damaged state. The worn and crumpled Kleenex clutched loosely in her hand confirmed that she’d been crying.

Panic ricocheted through Marcus and he tried to sit up. Pain ripped through his chest, side and back. He relented to the pressure, sinking back into the bed with an escaping moan.

Cherilyn sprang up like a pop tart. “Marcus...?” She addressed him in a weakened voice that matched her fragile appearance. Her scrutinizing gaze scanned him quickly. He knew the look well. His wife was surveying the damage.

“What’s up, baby?” The words raked over his hoarse throat. He’d practically kill for a drink of water.

“Honey...?” Her tone held a more hopeful pitch, now that she’d obviously realized he was awake and in possession of his mental faculties. “How do you feel?”

As if sensing his thirst, she reached for the hospital issued pitcher and cup. Iced water speckled and splattered the bedside tray as she filled the plastic receptacle.

“Probably as bad as I look.” He grasped for the cup but hadn’t anticipated the weight of his hand. Glancing down, he was stunned to see both his arms wrapped in bandages. Marcus closed his eyes, feeling a headache coming on. He needed to think, but wading through all the haze was proving difficult.

“Are you thirsty?” she asked and paused, her face slipping into a mask of regret. “Here.” She set the cup down on the tray. “Let me help you.”

Marcus’s eyes were swollen and, while it was true, he felt like he was peering at the world through thin slits, he had no trouble seeing Cherilyn’s pain as it slid down her cheeks in trails of silent tears.

She found a straw, ripped the wrapper off and stuck it inside the cup before guiding both the siphon and the vessel toward his mouth.

Marcus sucked but got nothing. Maybe try a little harder. He called every muscle to action and ignored the pain that accompanied his feeble attempt at getting a drink of water, but still nothing.

Tired, he turned his head away and closed his eyes.

“Marcus...?” she said in a gentle pleading tone and draped her hand warmly over his. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” he mouthed the word, but couldn’t be sure if any sound came out. His head pounded and he felt himself slipping back toward the darkness.

He didn’t want to go back there, into the slumber of nothingness, but it mattered little, and he couldn’t be sure how long he’d stayed when he woke again.

But, true to form, the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes again was Cherilyn, looking like she’d lost her best friend.

Seeing him awake, she forced a smile over her rigid face, leaned over and brushed her lips against his forehead.

“How long was I out?” he asked, thinking his voice sounded heartier than before. He felt stronger.

“Not long.” She cleared her throat and choked back her concern, but it escaped in her brittle tone. “How are you feeling?”

She forced a smile and he knew it was nothing but a bid at misdirection. “Much better now,” he said, just to let her think she’d succeeded in her as of yet unidentified goal. “How long have I been in here?” he asked, fleeting images filling his head of the attack that had brought him to this place.

“It’s been a while.” Cherilyn eased into the chair at his bedside, still clinging to Marcus’s hand, and gave him a forced smile, as if that’d stop the tears soaking her eyes. “But the doctors have assured me that you’re getting better every day.”

“Good,” he said, feeling like he was thinking clearer than he had in a long time. “I’d like to go home.”

Finally, his mind was no longer draped in cobwebbed confusion. Clear thoughts of why going home was such a good idea filled his psyche. It’d been too long since he’d relished the heat of her naked body against his. Having those thoughts come to life, literally, filled him with a smile.

Damn, he must be getting better.

Wrapped in carnal thoughts of Cherilyn, the realization came slowly that she wasn’t nearly as happy about his potential release.

“What?” he asked, trying to put his budding anxiety under lockdown. “What is it?”

She shook her head slowly and her expression hardened. “We can’t go home.” Tears pooled around her beautiful, clear-blue eyes.

“Why not?” What was he missing? Had something happened at the house?

“They almost killed you, Marcus!” A terrified look accompanied her desperate plea, and he almost forgot he was the victim.

He drew a deep breath and instantly regretted it when his lungs twisted in agony. “And they’ll pay for that, too,” he said, holding his breath, hoping the pain in his chest would soon subside.

“We don’t even know who they are.” Cherilyn wasn’t arguing with him for argument’s sake. That wasn’t part of her makeup.

Suddenly, Marcus was more concerned about his wife’s intentions than the identity of his attackers. “What are you saying?”

“We have to face facts.” She kept her practiced smile plastered on but it didn’t mask her torment, not from Marcus.

The facts? Was she serious? The facts were that they loved each other and she was his wife. “What facts?” He got the feeling that she saw the facts as something entirely different.

“The fact that you and I—” She’d gotten control of her tone but it did nothing to keep the tears from sliding down her cheeks. “We were kidding ourselves.”

Damn. Times like this, Marcus hated being right. They weren’t on the same page at all. “We’ll leave here,” he said. “We’ll go somewhere else.”

“Where would we go?” Her hopeless tone suggested she didn’t consider that an option. Not a viable one anyway.

“I don’t know.” He shuffled through the wild thoughts and practicalities alike, looking for an answer. “We’ll get transferred,” he verbalized the thought as it crossed his mind. Making it up as he went along, he continued on, “considering what happened, we won’t have any trouble getting new orders.”

Cherilyn shook her head slowly and it seemed to reinforce her belief that they’d come to the end of the road. “You think a transfer will keep you safe?” From the look on her face, sheer doubt, she didn’t think so. “You think the Marine Corps is going to keep you safe?” A sense of neuroticism had set a definite shrill in her tone. “The Marine Corps isn’t going to keep you safe. They can’t keep you safe.”

“Cher...” Marcus objected even though he knew he was losing ground, “you’re my wife.”

“And I always will be.”

But that hadn’t been the case, at all. A few months later, Marcus had received the divorce papers. He’d signed them and mailed them back to the attorney in question, mainly because he’d figured if she was serious enough to make the gesture, then she must want the disconnection.

Marcus shut the water down and dried off with the plush towel hanging over the shower door.

He couldn’t help but wonder if Cherilyn had lived to regret her decision to dissolve their marriage. He didn’t imagine that her stance had changed much over the years, but he regretted it. He just hadn’t realized it until now. Clearly, he still had feelings, strong feelings, for his ex-wife.

After drudging up the past, Marcus foresaw a night of tossing and turning. And, he’d dream about it too, no doubt.

The next morning, he was still tired after a restless night. He was thankful when Cherilyn said it was time to leave. Maybe, once in the car, he’d finally get some sleep.

Several dreams later, at daybreak, he awakened fully recharged, but with the attack from so long ago weighing heavily on his mind.

The memory of that night haunted him still. He’d tried therapy over the years, to no avail. He’d never been able to completely drive out his troubling demons. Eventually, he’d found a way to shove the nightmare toward the back, darkest corner, of his mind, and only occasionally did it creep back into his thoughts, reminding him of all he’d lost.

Marcus’s judge, jury and executioners had never been identified. And, even though he’d told himself many times that he was over it, deep down inside he still hated them for what they’d done. They’d taken away everything good in his life. His wife. There was a small part of him that hoped they all burned in hell.

His recovery from the near fatal beating was slow-going. Cherilyn wouldn’t have been able to divorce him so easily if not for that. But, once Marcus was adequately recovered, the Marine Corps opted to order him to a new facility where no one knew his history, and hopefully he could move on with his life.

Years later, when Marcus was ordered to Cherry Point and placed under the command of General Michael Hendricks, Marcus had convinced himself he’d moved on. At least he was safe—physically anyway. The General was the only person at Cherry Point that knew Marcus’s history and he’d never shared it with anyone.

General Hendricks had been appalled by what had happened to Marcus. He’d also made it his personal crusade to see to it that nothing like that ever happened to anyone while under his command. That was his personal promise to Marcus.

The General had kept his word. Marcus felt he owed it to him to find out what happened to the man, and to make sure nothing happened to his daughter in the process.

No matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, he couldn’t come close to contemplating a guess as to what was going on with the General. His analytical legal mind was usually able to get inside the inner workings of the criminal’s head. Marcus had defended too many of them, and had learned to read them quickly. By now, he got what made them tick. But here, right now, he couldn’t begin to grasp these unknown individuals’ illicit motivations. There had to be more than one person involved. How did one person make a high profile grave in a National Cemetery disappear?

That took connections. And guts.

If Cherilyn was even close, these people were way out of Marcus’s realm of firsthand knowledge. Everything he’d ever heard about secret, covert operations was merely hearsay. When it came to standing against the myth, he was at a clear-cut disadvantage. Marcus was acutely aware that there was nothing he could do about it, and that made him nervous.

He glanced over his shoulder at Eric and Grace leaning against each other, sleeping.

Marcus’s heart pounded and chased the anxiety up his chest, and he drew a deep breath to quell its mischief. Finally, gaining some much needed control over his emotions, he looked at Cherilyn.

She had both hands on the wheel and was staring straight ahead, singing softly along with the radio.

What was that song? He knew it, but couldn’t recall the title. Damn. He hated it when that happened, which seemed to be all too often these days.

Cherilyn glanced at Marcus and winked. “Have a nice nap?”

Nap? I don’t nap. Babies nap. “I was just resting my eyes.”

“Okay.” She snorted one of those laughs that reeked of doubt.

“Do you think anybody’s on to us yet?” His voice held a degree of optimism even though it was futile. If they were, that wasn’t good. And if they weren’t—how could that be? How did the people who made the General’s grave disappear not know about them?

Cherilyn shrugged. “Well, you and I may be as of yet undiscovered,” she said provisionally, “but...your friends? That’s another story.”

“If that’s true,” Marcus said, “then they’re not far behind.”

“Grab my duffle, please,” Cherilyn said, pointing to the bag at his feet. He did as instructed and held it in his lap. “I know you’ve got that shotgun in the trunk.” She paused and, using one hand, unzipped and dug around inside the bag. “But this is probably easier to conceal.” She pulled out a 9-mm handgun.

Marcus took her gun without saying a word. The fact that she thought it was necessary spoke volumes.

CHAPTER 26

ERIC had tried imagining, over the years, what kind of neighborhood Grace had decided to call home. Wherever it was, it hadn’t included him. She’d made sure of that.

He wasn’t sure if he was surprised or had expected to find she’d been living in an older neighborhood on the south side of Cleveland. How long she’d been there, he hadn’t a clue. As of yet, she hadn’t offered that info.

Most of the houses looked like they were built around the turn of the twentieth century. The home she directed Cherilyn to stop in front of had the columned porch architecture that was so popular during the era. Flowery shrubs with all the colors of the rainbow lined the front. Large concrete steps led from the worn walkway up to the covered veranda.

On the porch’s left side, at the far end a small table sat invitingly with two cushioned wicker chairs, indicating the owner was open to the idea of company. Still, the minimal number of chairs signified that visitors were only welcomed on an intimate basis.

The swing on the opposite side was the perfect complement. Even so, Eric struggled to make his way up the steps and trailed behind the others. Who knew he’d find it such a difficult undertaking to enter the place where Grace had called home?

So, this is what they call curb appeal. Eric was ready to try any distraction that came to mind, anything to sidetrack him from the reality that Grace had moved on. If admiring her landscaping was the way to do that, then so be it. As much as he hated to admit it, walking up to the house was comfortingly inviting. It was one of those places where you think you’d enjoy sitting on the steps and eating ice cream with your children. Or simply lounge in the swing and watch them playing with the other kids in the neighborhood.

Eric lingered behind the others at the bottom step while Grace slid her house key inside the lock. How many men had stood in that spot with her, and kissed her goodnight? How many had gone inside? And, how many had stayed the night?

Grace turned the key in the lock, but before she could turn the knob, Marcus grabbed her arm and stopped her from opening the door.

“Let me go first,” he said, guiding her back toward Eric.

What the hell am I doing? Eric moved up the steps toward her. Not only did Eric hate feeling this way, but his incessant fixation on her ability to get over him was bringing out a careless side of Eric that he didn’t like.

Damn it. He’d forgiven Grace. That’s what he’d told her. So what the hell was all this regret about?

Eric couldn’t afford to lose his cool right now. Grace’s life might depend upon him staying in control. Positioning himself between her and the door, he glanced inside the house.

“It’s okay,” Marcus called out from the interior. “It doesn’t appear that anybody’s been here.”

Relief swelled around Eric’s resentment but failed to consume it. Unable to go inside, he headed for the swing.

Grace paused at the door, having recognized the dissonance brewing behind Eric’s eyes. She wished she could help him, but didn’t know how. If she only knew what was wrong. Cutting her eyes toward the swing, her heart bottomed out. Identifying the torment plastered on his face was like a revelation.

Eric felt cheated. And it was her fault.

How was she supposed to fix that? Making it up to him was impossible. She couldn’t give him back the time he’d lost. And that was the thing that seemed to be bothering him the most.

Grace strolled to the swing and eased down beside him. For all the times she’d concocted this scenario in her fantasies, having the real thing here beside her now chased them off immediately and she hadn’t a clue what to do. An idea, one single idea, skipped through her thoughts. Doing something, anything, was better than doing nothing.

She draped her arm around his shoulders, leaned toward him and planted a kiss on his cheek. And instantly regretted the move. Sadness swelled tears inside her and she tried to head them off with laughter. She closed her eyes and turned away.

“What was that for?” His inquiry was filled with skepticism and doubt.

Grace didn’t respond immediately. First, she set out to wrangle in her riotous emotions. “You have no idea,” she said, turning back to face Eric and whatever wrath that came with him. “There were so many times when I sat right here in this swing, daydreaming about you and me.” She was very aware of the saddened smile curling on her lips, and she made no attempt to break away from the gaze he’d locked on her. “In the world I’d created in my head...we live here happily with our two children.” While tears brimmed her eyes, his flared with resentment. Accepting the notion that it was time to face the music, she continued on, “our son is the eldest. And he’s wildly popular with all the kids in the neighborhood. Our daughter is finally old enough to go outside and play with the other children, and her brother is very protective of her.”

Grace had played out that scene, over and over, in her mind. She and Eric, happily married and nothing pleased them more than spending a lazy Saturday afternoon in the swing on this front porch, their front porch, while their children played with their friends.

In her fantasy, the children never aged. The eldest, a boy of about nine or ten, she fancied would be named after his father and well-liked by the other children, even the older ones. Their daughter, Grace imagined, would be named after both her grandmothers. She was just about six, and hadn’t been playing outside with the other children all that long, it had been her fondest wish ever since she peered out the window one day and saw her brother playing alongside the neighborhood kids.

“Did that give you comfort, Gracie?” Eric’s tone cut into Grace’s soul. “Being here in the present, but living in the past?” His pain escaped in the form of a sharp laugh. “Hell, you weren’t even living in the past. You created a whole alternate reality inside your mind.” He paused, and glanced out over the empty yard. She let her gaze follow his and she could almost hear the laughter of the ghosts of their children that could’ve been. But then his cold stare settled back on her and chased away her fantasy. “I just want to know if that was enough.”

His words sliced through her. “You think it’s comforting to live in a world that doesn’t exist?” Tears spilled from her eyes, splashing her cheeks. “No, it wasn’t comforting. No, it didn’t help,” she said, shaking her head. “But it was all I had.”

Grace sprang to her feet, but Eric wasn’t far behind. He grabbed her and pulled her to him. “I’m sorry.” He forced her to remain in his arms. “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t like the implication, but she relented, hardly able to fight her desire to let his soothing embrace offer her some much needed comfort—even if it was derived out of pity. She’d take what she could get.

“There’s no hope for us. Is there?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

Eric’s resentment had resurfaced and it was urging him to give her a big, fat resounding No. He’d thought about shutting down the urge, briefly, but figured why bother. It’s not like she’d gone out of her way to spare his feelings.

He begrudged her for running out on him. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, here she was submerging herself inside this fantasy life that included nothing more than the notion of him. He also resented her looking so damned good.

Why? Why couldn’t he just look at her with indifference? And feel absolutely nothing. Instead of having this overwhelming need to comfort her invading his senses. That notion, he decided, was presumptuous. He was assuming that he could succeed at the task. What if he couldn’t? Maybe she preferred the fantasy to reality.

The front door opened and Marcus poked his head outside. “Sorry to disturb you guys, but, this house could turn into a war zone at any minute.” His face, riddled with fatigue, failed to hide the angst his voice tried so hard to cover. “We need to see if we can find what we came for and get out.”

Eric pushed himself up from the swing, leaned down and grabbed her hand. She followed him inside where Marcus and Cherilyn were busy rummaging through the house in true spy form.

Grace lingered near the door for a moment and then grabbed a box and began packing her father’s medals and decorations and her treasured photographs. Eric plucked a picture frame off the fireplace mantle of himself, Grace, and Marcus. There was one of Eric and Grace, right after they’d met. He was glad she’d gotten that one, he would’ve spent way too much time reminiscing.

“Grace,” Cherilyn’s voice broke into Eric’s private reverie. “Did your father leave any personal papers? Memoirs or anything like that?”

Grace took a second to ponder that notion. “No,” she finally said, shaking her head.

“Well,” Cherilyn said regrettably, “I think we should take the things you’ve gathered and be on our way.”

In a perfect world the clue would’ve been staring them in the face when they walked through the door. But nothing had ever come easy for Eric Wayne, why should now be any different?

Eric stacked one box Grace had filled onto another and carried them to the car. They contained the things she wanted, the things she treasured most.

It was one more jab, like a stake into his heart, that there were things far more important to her than him.

But right now there was nothing more important to Eric than keeping Grace safe.

CHAPTER 27

Near the Tennessee-Kentucky Border

TWILIGHT invaded the late afternoon sky, casting a haze over the city and Eric’s mind. Discombobulation was tiring work, and had left him exhausted.

The back seat of Cherilyn’s latest vehicle acquisition proved much more invigorating than the last. Eric settled into the seat and rested his head against the window. The feel of Grace leaning against him wrapped him in a familiar comfort that he’d long since forgotten.

Soon after his thoughts slipped into the silent darkness of sleep, a dim light invaded the crepuscule and hauled him back to a place and time he knew well. Dixie’s. Eleven years ago.

The seaside restaurant in Atlantic Beach, North Carolina had a reputation for being the birthplace of marriage proposals. He’d almost been forced to make the reservations nearly two months in advance. Not by choice but by necessity. Thanks to the General’s recommendation, name-dropping had worked to Eric’s advantage. Or, maybe it was simply the phone call from Cherry Point’s commanding officer that had done the trick.

Either way, Eric and Grace shared an intimate table on the terrace overlooking the bay. The ambiance, spectacular and accentuated by shimmering candlelight, did its best to soothe his nerves.

Waves rolling lazily back and forth did a poor job of creating their usual calming effect. Eric fiddled with the little blue box in his blazer pocket. Brushing his fingertips over the velvet, he studied Grace with admiring appreciation.

God, that girl was beautiful.

Dark hair cascaded recklessly around her face and down over her shoulders. Brown eyes sparkled with a golden hue that was only present when she was excited or happy. The notion that she was either or both was enticing.

Eric wasn’t a big fan of makeup, but hers suited her. Pink eye shadow had paled as the sky darkened, leaving only a glistening dusting above her eyes. Her lips were perfectly painted with an alluring shade of red. The urge to reach across the table, grab her and ravish her mouth, to begin with, enveloped him in a strong craving that wasn’t likely to let go anytime soon—thanks to that red dress.

It brought out the intensity of both her hair and her eyes. And those little spaghetti strap thingies...one had fallen from her bare shoulder and lay against her arm. Did she know the sight had intensified his passion?

She flashed a smile, pulled the strap back up over her shoulder and stood. “I’ve got to go powder my nose.” A nervous sort of giggle escaped and she glanced away shyly. “God, I never thought I’d be saying something like that.”

The gentleman in Eric stood and released her from the discomfort that seemed to have crept upon her. Did she know about this place’s reputation? Something had stirred her nerves. She knew.

The two of them overcome with anxiety, that just wouldn’t do. Eric set out to conquer his weakness by concentrating on Grace. Watching her walk away from him, with that dress clinging to her body, shifting back and forth, ever so slightly, as she strolled along.... The view enticed him. Seduced him.

God, he wanted her.

Eric cleared his throat as she disappeared inside the restaurant. The solitude gave him a chance to expel, or at least subdue his urge to rip the dress from her body, take her and claim her as his own.

Was there not a place of happy medium between his nerves and his desires?

With fleeting thoughts tantalizing his mind of freeing her body from the confines of the dress, he waved for the waiter.

As if the attendant had been anticipating Eric’s call, he quickly appeared with a bottle of champagne on ice. While he prepped and opened the wine, Eric pulled out the jewelry box from his pocket. He pried the case open with care, as if he could hurt the contents. Or maybe he just wasn’t as sure of himself as he’d originally thought?

A distinct possibility. He believed Grace loved him and would want to spend the rest of her life with him. But he’d been wrong before. He’d believed his mother loved him, but as it turned out, she’d only loved drugs.

Luckily, Grace wouldn’t be like that.

Pushing his mother’s betrayal out of his mind, he plucked the sparkling diamond ring from its platform and dropped it into one of the champagne glasses on the table.

The waiter poured a bit of the wine into a flute and handed it to Eric. He took a sip, glanced at the attendant and nodded his approval. With Eric’s endorsement, the man continued his duties and filled both glasses before placing the flute with the engagement ring on Grace’s side of the table.

It felt like it’d taken forever for Grace to return, but it probably wasn’t nearly that long because the waiter had barely walked away from the table when she appeared at the terrace doorway.

Eric doubted she knew her face lit up like a Christmas tree every time her eyes met his, but seeing her reaction helped him regain his confidence. He stood, and prepared to turn on the charm.

Grace had a huge case of the butterflies, knowing the restaurant’s reputation, but just in case Eric wasn’t aware of the implication, she fought the surge of excitement. Setting herself up for a fall was a bad idea.

She sucked in a breath, but it was no match for anticipation’s thrill. Her arms hung at her sides, swaying as she walked, and she rubbed her thumbs over her fingertips to keep her hands from doing something stupid—like perch themselves on her hips, or worse yet, intertwine together and stall in front of her chest. She usually wasn’t self-conscious in skimpy outfits, but the thought of Eric’s disapproval disheartened Grace.

He offered her an irresistible smile that suggested otherwise, and courteously pushed her chair in as she reclaimed her seat. She buried her hands in her lap and summoned her playful side as he returned to his chair opposite her. One look into his endlessly infinite green eyes and she lost all doubt, right along with the ability to reason.

Eric, as if sensing her dilemma, offered her a menu. She opened the bill of fare and surveyed the options. Grace’s disappointment billowed out in a soft sigh. She hated these kinds of restaurants. The menus they gave women never included prices—which was kind of stupid, not to mention archaic, when you thought about it. What if the woman was paying the bill?

“See anything you like?” Eric asked.

She peered over the brim of the binder. “Yeah.” She lowered the menu and became acutely aware of the smile spreading over her lips. “How about you?”

“Plenty,” he said, and took a swallow of champagne.

Had he even looked at the menu? Or was his mind more happily engaged elsewhere? She wouldn’t mind ordering a to-go box and taking dinner back to the apartment they’d been renting off-base for the last six months.

They weren’t exactly living together, not officially anyway, but when Eric wasn’t in the field, they were there. It was more practical than a motel, and as he’d often said, the apartment tended not to denigrate their affair like the cheap digs at the Seaside Inn.

But what to order for dinner? Far as she knew, Eric wasn’t on the take and there were probably a few items listed that could send him to the poor house. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.” Grace refused to be the reason he had to take out a loan just to pay for dinner.

“I’m having liver and onions,” he said and plastered on a stoic face.

She rolled her gaze over the menu and turned to him. “I don’t recall seeing that under the entrees.” She looked at him, curious about how long he could hold out before laughing. “It’s up to you. I’m eating whatever you are.” Grace met his stare head-on, nabbed her champagne flute and gulped down over half its contents.

Eric was in rare form, and if she stood half a chance, she needed the liquid courage the wine offered.

And what was with his silly grin?

She needed more alcohol. Without looking at the glass, she slid it across the table toward him. “Very tasty.”

He gave her one of those magnifying looks that left her feeling vulnerable and naked. It would’ve helped if she could’ve pulled her gaze away, but she failed.

Without looking, he pulled the champagne bottle from the ice, gestured a salute and refilled her flute. His grin morphed into a one-sided smirk.

What was up with him? She glanced at the champagne, mesmerized by the bubbles traveling up through the beverage. The bottom of the glass twinkled and trapped her interest.

A ring? There was a freaking ring in her champagne. Her heart churned her blood until it burned hot against her cheeks. “Holy shit, Eric!” Grace’s hand flew to her chest. “Did you put that in there?”

“Well...” His laughter finally broke free. “It was either me, or the waiter.” He steadied his gaze upon her, as if he was undressing her with his eyes.

The feeling of being naked washed over her again, and suddenly she felt the need to cover herself. She hated feeling susceptible, and yet adored the pleasure that only Eric could induce. “Well, it’d better be from you.” She chuckled softly and her shy uncertainty convinced her to look away.

The car slowed down until it ceased moving, bringing Grace out of her enjoyable sleep. She hadn’t dreamed of the night Eric proposed in such a long time, and felt cheated to have been yanked away from the memory.

Awkwardness burned her cheeks. She sat up and wiped her hands over her face. “Where are we?” she asked, before turning to Eric. Did he see her blushing?

“We’re in Cincinnati,” Eric said. “Cherilyn’s hungry.” If he’d tried to hide the annoyance that filtered out in his tone, he failed miserably.

He’d obviously grown tired of Cherilyn, but Grace wasn’t altogether certain that he’d ever had any toleration for the woman in the first place. And the fact that Marcus believed she was their salvation seemed to offer Eric little comfort.

“Cincinnati...?” Grace’s voice trailed off as she tried to clear away the languor. Damn, it didn’t seem like they were getting very far, very fast.

Car doors opened and Eric, Marcus and Cherilyn exited the sedan. Grace stepped outside the vehicle and the smell of barbeque drifted past. “I’ll be in in a minute,” she said leaning against the automobile. “I want to get some fresh air.”

“You guys go ahead,” Eric said to Marcus and Cherilyn, and paused on the other side of the car. “We’ll be right there.”

“You don’t have to wait for me,” Grace said.

“I know that.” Eric smiled and strolled around the car.

Grace met him halfway and paused, backing against the vehicle and folding her arms in front of her.

“What’s troubling you?” he asked, leaning against the car. Their arms nearly touching electrified the small space that separated them.

“You name it.” Grace laughed, hoping to minimize her mounting anxiety. “I’m not sure how I feel about what Cherilyn’s suggesting,” she said with a shrug. “Just seems like a hopeless business to me. If I want to find Daddy, I run the risk of ruining his reputation.” Conflict swelled inside her. “If Cherilyn’s right...” Her words trailed off, and the rest got bogged down in her mind. What kind of man did that make Daddy? No one deserving of her pride.

“So, you’ll have had a dysfunctional parent,” he said, as if it mattered little. “Join the club.”

“Oh, that’s right,” her voice echoed the words slowly as she recalled bits and pieces of information about Eric’s relationship with his mother. But the info she had was eleven years old. “So how is your mother?”

Eric groaned before answering. “She died about ten years ago.”

Suddenly, Grace felt the weight of his agony bearing down on her and filling her with remorse. “Oh, geez, Eric.” She gulped at the lump forming in her throat. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t sweat it.” He shrugged it off as if it was of little consequence, but Grace didn’t buy it. “She chose drugs over me, right up until the end.” The bitterness in his tone said she was right.

There was no way she could ever tell Eric about her own addiction, even if she had conquered it. Clearly, he’d never forgive her if he found out she’d turned to drugs instead of him. Thinking otherwise, was only setting herself up for a fall.

“I got over it a long time ago.” If Eric could convince Grace, then maybe he’d find a way to persuade himself someday.

Grace pushed off the car and moved to stand in front of him. She studied his face with a comforting, I-wish-I-knew-how-to-make-it-better look.

He hated it when she looked at him like that. Who could fight off that angelic, wistful face? Not him.

Knowing it was a bad idea, he tipped her hair with his fingers and brushed it back. What would it take to get her to look at him the way she had the night he’d proposed?

Seems the only person still fixated on that night was Eric. Grace had moved on. Obviously. But what did she do with his ring?

“What do you think about this clue business?” She didn’t move away, just stood there, inches from him, and drove her fingertips inside the front pockets of her blue jeans. “And that whole notion of seven people,” she added, shaking her head. “It’s creepy.”

Eric hadn’t an inkling about the clue, but he agreed, Cherilyn’s concept was weird. And so was his fascination with Grace. His hurt feelings weren’t the thing to concentrate on right now, but he couldn’t help himself. Thoughts of her—them—not only occupied, but had long since overrun, his mind.

He should be thinking about the General and the dangers his disappearance posed. Allowing himself to be distracted deserved a mental kick in the rear. And he’d give himself one, just as soon as he managed to shove the crowding images of Grace toward the back of his mind.

She was as beautiful as ever. Granted, she’d tamed her wild hair, which he’d been fond of, but it was still enticing. Her restrained tresses tempted him with promises of satisfaction if he’d just reach up and run his fingers through the soft, gentle strands.

Eric shook his head, an effective measure at driving out the mind-consuming thoughts. He gained control of his judgment and the fog began to clear, allowing the urgency of the situation to return to the forefront of his consciousness.

“I have no idea what the clue is,” he said. “I just know that your father wouldn’t leave you something you couldn’t recognize. All you have to do is find it and know it when you see it.”

He wished it were that simple. Eric would love nothing more than to settle this mystery and move on—away from Grace. Both Grace and his mother had taken their shots and filled his heart with holes. He’d learned well from his mother that leopards truly don’t change their spots.

Eric would be a fool not to accept that going their separate ways was in his best interest once this mission was over. If he maintained that stance, he stood a fair chance of walking away with his heart intact. Pretty much.

CHAPTER 28

BY the time Eric and Grace showed up inside the restaurant, Cherilyn and Marcus had found seating at a booth in the corner. Cherilyn motioned them over.

Eric led Grace toward them, their hands loosely linked together, and once at the booth he encouraged her to sit first. Cherilyn liked the way he’d masked his protectiveness in chivalry. Such manly behavior gave her tingles.

During the course of dinner, they ate, talked about the clue and where the General may have possibly hidden it. They speculated about what could have happened to a Four Star General’s grave and why it disappeared.

In the end, just as Cherilyn suspected, all eyes turned to her. Luckily. She’d counted on them logically looking to her for answers simply because of who she was, and they hadn’t disappointed. After all, she couldn’t rectify the situation if they didn’t trust her implicitly.

Although, she didn’t get why they expected her to have answers and explanations. Why? Just because she was a member of The Club?

If she had to guess, she’d say their general’s grave was done away with because technically he no longer existed. That was the logical conclusion.

She’d never been slow on the take, even when she and Marcus were together, she’d known the relationship was doomed from the start but she’d resisted the inevitable because she loved him. Even after she left and divorced him, she’d kept his name. It was a way to keep some little piece of him and what they’d shared.

And while she’d told Marcus her name was still Cherilyn Johnson, that was only a truth by means of a technicality. Cherilyn Johnson had disappeared, dropped off the grid nearly twenty years ago. She ceased to exist the moment she’d agreed to become part of something that didn’t operate on any level of any branch of the United States Government.

Sure, she’d lived dangerously there for a while, right after losing Marcus, but no one had ever accused Cherilyn of being stupid. She learned early on, but perhaps a bit too late, that the organization she’d signed on with was much like the Mafia in the respect that she could never leave. There was no quitting, no walking away.

Adapt and adjust. Those terms quickly became her motto. She may not be able to walk away, but damned if she wasn’t going to make it hard on them if they turned on her. Of course, that’d meant years of frequent identity changes, which was nothing unusual in her business.

Confident that none of her peers had any idea just how thorough she’d been, and to the lengths she’d gone to create numerous identities for herself, Cherilyn prided herself on being several steps ahead of them—just in case.

The Club had taught her that being devious was okay, so long as it was for the greater good. And, as far as she could see, there was no greater good than Cherilyn Johnson.

Being underhanded during the course of her missions was a given. If nothing else, she owed that sentiment to her employer. If one doesn’t exist, it’s easy to con the prey while carrying out the mission. And Cherilyn’s main mission, while under the guise of The Club’s agenda, was in truth, making several identities quite wealthy over the years, ensuring her own ability to remain elusive should the need arise.

But never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that it would come down to Marcus. Even on the best of days, Cherilyn hadn’t dared dream that her motivation would turn out to be her ex-husband. If she had, she might have planned differently.

Cherilyn had never taunted herself with the notion that she and Marcus could, or ever would, reunite. Once the divorce was finalized, and she subsequently signed her life away to The Club, there was no going back. No time for regrets. No time for remorse. And definitely no time for self-pity.

She’d crawled too far, too deep into this thing and now there was no way she could tell Marcus about the life she’d gotten into. Cherilyn had done things that were ruthless, illegal and downright unethical—and all in the name of national security. Marcus would never get that, much less approve.

To think she could hide it from him was presumptuous. She was on the move. Frequently. She spent her life, a few weeks here and a few weeks there, in one of the varied alter-egos she’d created. She carried out each mission with diligence and precision, and when she was done she’d move on to the next assignment, all under the ruse of a new identity.

In order to pull all that off in front of Marcus, he’d have to know about it or risk blowing her cover. She’d thought they were a thing of the past, or she wouldn’t have turned so cold in her attempt to mask the pain and the loneliness she’d come into.

Eric and Marcus followed the girls toward the exit. He was looking forward to getting back on the road, even though he had no idea where they were going, Cherilyn was secretive about such details. She gave new meaning to the adage, what you don’t know can’t hurt you, and obviously believed it whole-heartedly. Eric could see why she operated that way, but he didn’t like being kept in the dark.

Stepping into the cool of the evening, a brisk chill swept past his cheeks, and the blare of music from next door brought back fond memories of bar-hopping escapades with Grace and Marcus. A nostalgic sigh ripped through his psyche.

“Let’s stop in for a drink?” Grace’s tone was overloaded with enthusiasm and her gaze glanced back and forth between Marcus and Eric. A smile lit Marcus’s face. He was definitely game.

“Do you dance?” Eric said to Cherilyn.

She shook her head. “I was never much for the dance floor.”

“Well, let me warn you,” he said, grasping Grace’s hand. “We will lose them to the music,” he added of Marcus and Grace.

The four of them entered the club, found a table and ordered drinks. Grace fidgeted in her seat, moving to the beat. If any of the old Grace remained, she was itching to get on the dance floor and it showed.

When Eric heard a train echoing across the sound system, it could mean only one thing. The deejay had played the Gap Band’s song “Party Train”. This would be the catalyst that lulled Grace and Marcus away, leaving Eric and Cherilyn to their own devices.

Grace and Marcus goofed off on their way to the dance floor, and Eric knew they’d have all the youngsters line dancing before the night was over.

Just as well. Eric turned to Cherilyn. This bar, the music, and Grace and Marcus’s love for the dance offered Eric the perfect opportunity to “pick” Cherilyn’s brain.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her. Okay, so he didn’t trust her. But hell, he didn’t trust anybody. He didn’t even trust Marcus, not entirely. So, it wasn’t like it was a bad mark against Cherilyn.

Hmm.... How was he going to say this without pissing her off? “You and Marcus,” he began, the words still stringing together in his brain as he spoke, “must have had something pretty special.”

“Why do you say that?” She didn’t bite the bait he was using to fish.

“Well...it takes a lot to throw your life away for people you don’t know.” He shook his head, determined not to let her nonchalance deter him. “So, the connection between you and Marcus must still be there.”

“Make no mistake,” her tone grew serious, “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Marcus safe.”

“I have no doubt about that,” Eric agreed. While he wasn’t altogether sold on Cherilyn, he’d bet money that her motivations were firmly centered on Marcus.

Cherilyn seized her drink, bypassed the straw and gulped down a quarter of the cocktail, open-mouthed. She deposited the glass on the table and scrutinized him without speaking.

Ooh, he’s good at fishing. How much Marcus had told him, she didn’t know, but she’d seen this maneuver and she wasn’t about to be the one to divulge the particulars.

The subject needed changing, and she knew just how to do it. “So...” she let a light tone fuel her words, “how long have you and Grace been together?”

“What? Together?” Eric fidgeted and avoided eye contact. “We’re not together.” He laughed nervously, perhaps trying to convince himself that he spoke the truth.

“You are lovers...are you not?”

He flashed her a look of disbelief.

He’s cute. It wasn’t hard to figure how Grace had fallen for him.

“Grace and I are not lovers.”

She laughed. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

“It’s the truth.” Defeat crumbled his stature. “We used to be, but that was a long time ago.”

“Is that right...?” Cherilyn words trailed off in mild curiosity.

Eric leaned into the table and draped his hand over the rim of his Bourbon and Coke. “Until last week, I hadn’t seen Grace in eleven years.”

Spirited anger flashed over her eyes and she pushed her near-empty cocktail toward the center of the table. “And you have the nerve to question my motives?”

“Look—” Eric stood his ground. “My one and only concern...the only thing I care about is protecting Grace.” He hoped his stare was burning through to her sense of decency. “I can’t do that if I don’t know what’s going on.”

She didn’t say anything, and her silence lingered long enough to fill him with worry. This wasn’t good. Cherilyn was supposed to be their way out of this mess, not one more setback.

“Looks to me like,” she finally spoke, “you haven’t gotten over Grace, anymore than I’ve gotten over Marcus.”

God. He hated women like her. The ones who saw right through you, and didn’t mind sharing what they witnessed. But Eric had more important things to worry about, like, if Cherilyn saw it, did that mean Grace did too? And if she did, why in the hell couldn’t he see what was going on inside that beautiful head of hers?

If only he knew which side of the fence Grace was favoring. For all he knew, she could’ve been sitting on the fence and he wouldn’t have been the wiser.

The only thing he knew for sure was that he had to protect Grace. His confidence in that department was waning. But, to get to her, they’d have to kill him first.

CHAPTER 29

AFTER a night of dining, drinking and dancing, at least on Marcus and Grace’s part, Eric insisted they procure rooms at the motel across the street. Cherilyn’s steely glare splashed over him, but she didn’t argue. Who could disagree with the debate that they needed to map out a new game plan?

A one day stopover turned into two with Grace and Marcus sleeping in until noon the next day. The two looked pretty haggard, and Eric surmised they were realizing the party factor was a lot harder than it used to be. Age had a way of making that happen.

Eric didn’t give it much thought when Grace stammered from the bed and stumbled into the bathroom a few minutes past noon. Moments later he heard the water come on. A shower was probably exactly what she needed. What Eric needed wasn’t to see her step out of the bathroom nearly half an hour later wearing boxers and a cutoff tee shirt.

He worked to focus on the television, but his peripheral vision enticed the rest of his gaze her way.

Droplets of water trickled down from her soaked hair, leaving her shirt just wet enough to barely outline the shape of her breasts.

Damn. She looked good.

He moistened his lips, absorbed in the sight of her, and closed his eyes. Eric gave a mental swat to the thoughts running rampant inside his head. Don’t go there, man.

Images of him and Grace...tangled together...skin against skin...stilled inside his mind.

Okay, so closing his eyes wasn’t working. He opened them and shook his head, as if that’d help.

It didn’t.

“Now I know why I quit drinking.” She sat beside him on the bed and tousled her wet hair with a towel.

“Not as easy as it used to be, huh?” He gave a little chuckle, more so at the detrimental factor that time had taken its toll, rather than her statement.

“Tell me about it.” She laughed and rolled her eyes.

Overcome with the urge to tease her, he asked, “So, does this mean you don’t want to go out again tonight?”

“Oh, God...” She moaned and fell against his chest. She stiffened a little, like it wasn’t something she’d meant to do, but still, she made no move to back away.

Eric sucked in a deep breath. Peaches. Damn. Her hair smelled like peaches. He hated that a simple little thing like the scent of a peach was capable of robbing him of his ability to reason.

He skimmed her damp hair with his fingertips, not that he thought it was the greatest of ideas but desire is a powerful fixation. It took some doing, but he finally collected his thoughts and slipped out from under her.

She grabbed his wrist, and stood too. “When this is all over,” she asked, “what’s going to happen to us?”

Eric shook his head slowly and replied with honesty, “I don’t know.”

“Are you going to be able to walk away?”

“Are you?” His need to get off this treacherous rollercoaster of emotions spilled forth in his tone—but it didn’t last long. A strong yearning to embrace her won out and pushed his arms around her. He bowed his head and whispered against her ear, “I’m sorry.”

She tilted her head back and peered into his eyes. “It’s okay. Say what you feel.”

“I just did.” He gave a quiet laugh and reinforced his hold on her. “How about you? Will you feel like walking away?”

Grace didn’t miss that he’d found a softer, gentler way to reiterate his question. “I feel safe in your arms. I haven’t felt safe since I was a kid.” She too had her own devices for evasive maneuvers.

Her mind reeled around her last statement and she barely heard him when he said, “Is that all you feel?” She detected the annoyance in his tone, more so than the words, but still it didn’t have the strength to overpower her own enthusiasm that she’d just stumbled onto something big.

“That’s it!” Instantly, she pulled away and headed for the door, only stopping short when she realized she wasn’t properly dressed. She looked over her shoulder at Eric. “I need those files.”

“What files?”

“My father’s V.A. files. They’re in the car.” She tempered the pushy, demanding Grace trying to escape. Keep your cool, girl. This was not the time to piss him off. “The files, they’re off,” she explained. “There’s stuff in there that shouldn’t be.” Something about the faux files had been nagging at her, and finally she identified the culprit.

“All right,” he said, moving toward the door. “You stay here.” His scrutinizing gaze raked over her. “I’ll get them.”

He opened the door and disappeared outside without giving her the opportunity to object, not that she would. Grace was more than happy to let him be the “man”. Besides, time to think would do her good.

And, she should probably get some clothes on. Marcus and Cherilyn were bound to show up soon since Eric would have to ask her for the keys. Grace grabbed a pair of sweats and one of Eric’s tee shirts.

Eric returned with not only the files, but, just as she’d suspected, with Marcus and Cherilyn in tow.

“They’re curious.” Eric sat the two printer paper cartons on the bed.

“I thought you guys might show up,” Grace gave them a moment’s notice and turned toward the files.

She’d been looking forward to spending the evening alone with Eric. Maybe this would’ve been the perfect opportunity for her to try and break down some of that wall standing between them. Just as well. Destroying the barrier meant obliterating any good images of her that he still owned. Not wise.

“What exactly are you looking for?” he asked, grabbing a handful of papers from one of the boxes.

“I’ll know it when I see it,” she said, taking the papers from him. “Just let me look.”

Grace skimmed the V.A. records while the others looked on with hopeful and enthusiastic expressions. The file contained dozens of transcripts depicting psychiatric sessions, and all Grace had to do was find the right one. Without it, she doubted anyone would believe her wild story.

When she found the document in question, she knew it by the opening statement. Patient’s delusional episodes are increasing and becoming more grandiose.

The only problem with that statement was that it wasn’t a delusion. It was real. Grace should know, she’d been there.

Why didn’t I see this before? She gave herself a swift, mental kick and plucked a few pages from the stack. “Here it is,” she said, giving Marcus and Cherilyn a moment’s notice before turning to Eric. “When I was little, we used to vacation in St. Augustine, Florida, every summer.” The trips had stopped after her mother died. Sadness washed over Grace. “One year daddy saved this little kid from drowning. He’d hit his head on the diving board.” The memory of that day still freaked her out. Grace shook the image from her head, and handed the papers to Eric. “Here. Read this.”

She fancied herself knowing his roaming thoughts as he skimmed the first page. Knowing Eric, he’d skip the doctor’s intro in search of pertinent information. He was never one to waste time on petty details. He’d search for the meat of the report, and when he found it, the beginning of the story, his green eyes lit up like fireflies.

“You want to talk about a hero...” Eric began reading the text aloud, an action that was sure to clue the others into the implications. “I saw a hero once. I was in St. Augustine, Florida, at the Holiday Inn on Carrera.”

Grace didn’t remember the exact address, but that didn’t encumber her brain from recalling even the minute details of those summer vacations with her parents. Every year, like clockwork, the family vacationed in St. Augustine, and the Holiday Inn was always their destination.

Eric’s eyes closed into narrow slits and his brow furrowed as if a knot had tangled in his stomach. Understandable, considering. Still, in true Eric fashion—luckily, he hadn’t lost his knack for perseverance. It was the only thing she had going for her, and yet, the one thing she couldn’t escape—Eric continued on, “There wasn’t a better place to be during the last two weeks of June because of the carnival.”

Grace couldn’t begin to count the number of times she’d heard her father say those very words. Michael Hendricks absolutely loved carnivals. He was always thrilled to be in the midst of one, especially the one in St. Augustine. Sunning at poolside by day and cruising the carnival at night had, on more than one occasion, filled Grace and her parents with sheer joy.

“I was sunning by the motel’s pool.” Eric’s words cut into Grace’s reminiscing, “Right next to this beautiful woman.” He paused and sucked in a breath. Eric always was intuitive. Grace envisioned that knot in his gut tightening. “Early on, I thought I might be able to make some time with her, but alas, it was not meant to be. She was there with her husband and their little girl. That child was a gorgeous little piece of sunshine, she was.”

Grace’s soul slammed to the floor. In her heart of hearts, she knew her father had fabricated the V.A. file. The similarity was too analogous for it to be nothing more than coincidence.

“The little girl and her father were playing near the shallow end of the pool.” Eric’s voice sobered, as if tantalized by the man’s story. “There was this little fat kid. He must have been about nine or ten, and he’d been doing belly flops off the diving board. Needless to say, the kid slipped on the slick, wet board and flew up into the air. As he came barreling down—” Eric winced. “His head slammed against the diving board and then he bounced off and tumbled into the water. Everyone stood around staring at the sight of the boy lying face down in the water. Nobody did anything, including me, except for this little girl’s father. That man flew into action, swimming the length of the pool in record time.” Eric’s tone quickened as he read about the unbelievable heroics. “Swiftly, and in a manner that made it look ever so easy, kind of like Superman, this guy grabbed the kid and had him out of the water and at poolside so fast, it made my head spin. Persistently, he performed mouth-to-mouth longer than any hospital would have, I grant you, until the kid began coughing up water.”

The thing was, the hero described in the file was Grace’s father. Instilled in her memory, she recalled saying to her mother, after his gallantry, “Daddy’s kind of like Superman.” Grace’s memories of that day hadn’t diminished over the years, and just like back then, she was still in awe of her father’s valor.

Feeling the sadness melt her smile away, she looked at Eric.

“So, what you’re saying is...this guy in the file was recalling the incident where the General saved the kid?” Eric shook his head and caught his breath.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Grace said.

But why? He understood the implications, he just didn’t get it. Why would one of Grace’s memories be included in a fabricated file about her father? Wasn’t that defeating the purpose?

“Gracie...” Marcus’s voice gave away his pending objection, “It’s probably just a coincidence. I hardly think it’s a clue from the General.”

“What makes you think it’s a clue?” Eric asked Grace. A little voice inside his head told him she was right. Something about the incident made her think so, and Eric’s better judgment told him to trust her instincts. He didn’t have all the answers, but he got that it was more than mere coincidence.

“Well,” Grace said, “for one thing, the hero in that file was my father. I remember the incident clearly.” She turned to Marcus. “You can call it a coincidence if you want, but it’s pretty thin if you ask me.”

The General was the hero in the file? Eric hadn’t seen that coming. Grace was right. This had to be the clue. But what did it mean?

Grace’s gaze fell upon Eric and pleaded for his conviction. “So much of that narrative was actually real conversation between my parents and me at the time. But more than that...from the moment my parents met, my father always called my mother Sunshine.” Nostalgia was probably responsible for melding her face with the gentle smile. But memories were all she had now, and that drowned Eric in sadness. “That nickname kind of stuck.” Grace laughed softly. “When I came along, he always referred to me as a gorgeous little piece of Sunshine.”

Eric understood the connotation, even if he didn’t get the connection. Clearly, Grace believed her father was sending her a message, and he doubted anybody could change her mind.

Not that he wanted to. Eric didn’t doubt her instincts for a second. Still, what was this whole trip down memory lane supposed to accomplish? Possibilities filtered through his mind until one got stuck.

“Grace is right,” Eric said. “It has to be a clue.” He paused, shook his head and tried to reason it out but kept coming back to the same thing. “Why else would an incident from her childhood be in a fabricated file about her father?” he asked, but didn’t wait for answers. “I’ll tell you why...because the General fabricated the file himself, and he added an actual event, that Grace would recognize, as a clue.”

Cherilyn’s face was covered in amusing surprise, almost as if she was proud of him for figuring that out. Just as quickly though, she plastered on her ‘poker face’ and Eric no longer knew what was on her mind.

Marcus, on the other hand, wore his mask of doubt well. Words like far-fetched were probably running rampant inside his head. But hey, the whole damned thing was out-of-this-world ridiculous.

“Then there’s only one thing left to do,” Cherilyn said and waited for reactions. When she got them—Grace’s hopeful, Marcus’s doubtful, and Eric could only imagine that his face showed his annoyance, but thankfully she wouldn’t know it was meant solely for her and not the situation—satisfied, Cherilyn revealed her plan. “We have to go to St. Augustine.”

They’d worry about what to look for when they got there.

CHAPTER 30

ERIC understood Grace’s motive, she’d always had a tendency to remain quiet unless she was pissed off, but he didn’t get why Marcus waited to question their next step until they were less than twenty miles outside St. Augustine.

Going to St. Augustine and finding the motel sounded good, in theory, but what if too much time had passed?

“So, if I’m right, and my father left this—whatever it is—at this motel...” Grace’s voice faded, right along with her confidence. Obviously the same doubts Eric was experiencing were running around in her head too. “What if the motel’s not there anymore?”

“Well,” Cherilyn spoke up, “if he went to all that trouble to leave something for you there, something that was obviously so important to him, you can bet your ass that motel is still there.”

Okay. Eric would buy that if the General wasn’t dead. It’s kind of hard to make sure the motel remains, years after he’s passed on. Unless... “He owns it!” Eric realized out loud. “Or at least you do,” he said, looking at Grace.

“Hell, Eric, you catch on fast.” Cherilyn’s half-hearted laughter echoed past them. “Why weren’t you ever recruited?”

Something about that notion jumbled Eric’s nerves. “Beats the hell out of me.” He couldn’t quite pinpoint the reason it bothered him so, but still, anxiety swept over him as he consciously tried to cast the idea from his mind.

Hell, he didn’t know anything about this so-called organization, or even if the General’s and Cherilyn’s were supposed to be one and the same. But according to Cherilyn, that was something they may never know. Nevertheless, he found the idea of erasing Eric Wayne’s identity a little unsettling.

Grace’s hand inched toward Eric and she laced her fingers with his. He gave a gentle squeeze and an appreciative smile, letting her know he approved.

Things were starting to look up. For the first time, Grace felt they were actually getting somewhere. She had no doubt that the passage in the V.A. file was the clue they’d been looking for. Her father had written that file. Whether the others believed it or not, she knew it to be so. Still, whatever her father had left behind, to be found at the end of this scavenger hunt, was also meant to be discovered a long time ago.

Finding it back then, just as her father had planned, probably would’ve been easy enough if she hadn’t run away. Eric would’ve told her about the key, and they would’ve started the search immediately. If it was gone now, she had no one to blame but herself.

Grace could spend all day playing the what-if game. But at the end of the day they were still here, and now it was eleven years later. She wasn’t exactly confident that the endowment was still in its hiding place after all this time.

“So, what do you think, Marcus?” She valued his opinion, and wanted to know whether or not he was as convinced as Cherilyn would have them believe.

“Well...” His face showed the doubt his tone tried so hard to hide. “It is a fairly odd coincidence that your memories ended up in a fallacious V.A. file that’s supposed to ward people off the trail of Michael Hendricks.”

He had a point. There was something to be said for that. What exactly, she wasn’t sure. “And you, Cherilyn,” Grace asked, focusing on Marcus’s ex, “what do you think?”

“Well, Marcus makes a lot of sense, but...” Cherilyn glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “If there’s any truth to this theory...your father’s plan was ingenious.”

They all had, even Grace, for one reason or another, led themselves to believe they’d find the answers at the Holiday Inn, to at least some of the questions they shared, if only in their minds.

Then they found the site of Grace’s childhood vacation destination. None of them were prepared for what they found. Of course, finding it had happened quite by mistake. St. Augustine had only one Carrera and it was a ‘Street’. There were no Avenues, Drives, or Lanes. Simply Carrera Street and nothing more.

After driving up and down the street several times, and not seeing any motels or even the hint of one that once was, they had just about decided to go back to square one and start all over.

Cherilyn chose a donut shop as their point of  reorganization. “Let’s grab some donuts,” she said, pulling into the parking lot. “Then we can figure out where we went wrong.”

“I don’t remember this place being here,” Grace said, surveying the parking lot and the building sitting center-point. If a donut shop had been nearby during their vacation stays, she would’ve been bugging her parents about the tasty treats. “We must be on the wrong end of the street,” she said absently as she climbed out of the car.

“Maybe we can find some information inside,” Eric said, closing the car door. He followed Grace toward the entrance.

She hoped he was right as she followed Marcus and Cherilyn inside the Grand Central Donut Station. Taking seats at the counter, Grace and Cherilyn sat next to one another with their guys at their sides.

Grace scanned the large menu covering most of the wall in front of them. She drew a breath, reveling in the aroma. The shop smelled delicious. Grace inspected the menu. Ooh, chocolate covered éclairs. Now that was something she could sink her teeth into.

A frumpy waitress appeared around the corner and Cherilyn gave a little snort, but checked herself quickly. Good. Grace didn’t like being embarrassed. Sure, the girl was moderately overweight and undeniably self-conscious about it, but there was no reason to humiliate her over it. It was a safe bet that working in a donut shop had been part of the reason she’d ended up this way. Too much temptation on a daily basis. Grace knew how easily that could happen and preferred to give the girl the benefit of the doubt.

“What can I get you guys?” she asked with a forced smile and brushed her carefully groomed yet hopelessly outdated hair back out of her face.

“I was afraid you were going to ask me to make a choice.” Cherilyn laughed, looked at Grace and added, “donuts are my weakness.” Her hunger-stricken face said she wasn’t kidding. Cherilyn turned back to the waitress. “I think I’ll have a couple of glazed donuts and some coffee.”

Grace and Marcus rattled off their orders, each procrastinating about what to get. Sometimes, Eric had to fight the urge to hurry them along. But he’d learned a long time ago that that did little in the way of actual help.

He glanced at the waitress’s nametag as she sat a cup of coffee and a chocolate covered donut on the counter in front of him. Boy, Trish, if you keep working here, before you know it your weight’ll be up around three hundred pounds.

Eric pushed those thoughts out of his mind. He’d need to put aside the sarcasm in favor of something much more agreeable—like charisma—if he wanted to know what the waitress knew.

“So, Trish,” Eric called her name, and, while he waited for her response, he tested his coffee. Hot. He willed the burning sensation away as she approached, and prepared to turn on the charm.

“What can I do for you?” she asked with a smile.

“Back in my younger days,” he said, “I swear I recall a motel on this street somewhere. A Holiday Inn.”

“You’d be right.” The waitress propped her hands on her hips and glanced back and forth between Eric and Grace. “A Holiday Inn used to be right here on this very lot.”

“Really?” Grace’s eyes lit up.

But Trish ignored her, instead focusing solely on Eric. He was torn between fishing her for information and schmoozing closer to Grace to give the impression that they were “together”.

“It was bought up by some big corporation about twenty years or so ago.” She baited Eric with the promise of valuable information, and he jumped off the fence onto her side. A victorious smile spread across her face. She truly believed she’d drawn his attention away from Grace.

Eric didn’t fight it, didn’t deny it. There was much more information that needed unearthing. He wasn’t sure why, but they needed to know more about the corporation that bought this land.

He winked at Trish and then cut his eyes toward Grace, who showed absolutely no signs of jealousy. But really, why should she? This girl was hopelessly plain, almost to a comical point.

Grace wasn’t anybody’s fool. She had to know Eric’s intent. She probably even felt sorry for the girl. Unless, of course, she couldn’t care less who Eric got together with. There was that.

Eric couldn’t dwell on such possibilities. He had to stay focused. For Grace’s sake. In the end, he was there to protect her, nothing more.

“So, they decided to do away with the motel and build a donut shop instead?” Eric hadn’t meant it as sarcastic but it was a ridiculous notion.

“Well, not at first.” Trish continued to let the information pour in his direction. “First, it was Grand Central Laundry Station.”

Grand Central? Wasn’t that the name of the place now? Grand Central Donut Station, or something? “Grand Central is an odd name for a Florida corporation,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound boorish.

“You’re telling me.” She laughed. “The people who own the land are very specific though.” She proudly told him what she knew, and for that he was thankful. “No matter what goes up here, it has to have some form of Grand Central Station as its name.”

“Trish...” Cherilyn put on her friendliest tone, as if she knew the waitress was only receptive to Eric. “Do you recall the name of this corporation?”

Trish peered at her like she was contemplating whether or not she wanted to oblige Cherilyn. Eric didn’t think Trish cared much for Cherilyn. To that, they had something in common. Something about Cherilyn also rubbed Eric the wrong way.

But luckily, a smile from Eric and Trish was more than happy to pop around the corner and check the business license hanging on the wall.

She came back out and announced proudly, to Eric, “It’s owned by the Grace of Sunshine Corp.”

Well... Eric managed to contain his reaction to just a thought. What do you know about that?

CHAPTER 31

CHERILYN glanced into the rearview mirror to catch a glimpse of Eric and Grace, mostly Eric. “Do you really think it’s so simple that it could be locker thirty-six at Grand Central Station in New York?” she asked out loud. Nah. It couldn’t be. Did she dare hope?

“Simple maybe,” Marcus chimed in. “It’s brilliant, I tell you. Hide it in plain sight.”

“He couldn’t have picked a better locale,” Eric agreed. “There’s no fear of anything ever happening to that place. At least not in our lifetime.” He paused as bewilderment furrowed a frown on his forehead. “But who’s been paying for the locker all this time?”

Eric’s stature had stiffened considerably. She doubted he’d last much longer.

She’d have to give him incentive. “Do you think your General would have thought that far ahead?” Cherilyn asked. For the sake of the position they were currently in, she hoped so.

“The General wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble to end up letting something go that he’d regarded with such importance.” Marcus shook his head. “He wouldn’t let it be confiscated for non-payment.”

“If the General is part of some elusive organization.” There was still a degree of doubt in Eric’s voice. He was a hard one to convince. “He would’ve thought the whole thing out, thoroughly, before putting a single plan into motion.” He hesitated and fidgeted, as if the conversation bothered him. “The man did not take things this far, only to let a little thing like failure to pay get in the way.”

“So...” Grace finally spoke. In the rearview mirror, Grace turned toward Eric. “Are we headed to New York and Grand Central?”

Eric shrugged his shoulders and his face twisted into a crazy display of uncertainty. Grace laughed softly, as Cherilyn was tempted to do. She kept her cool though. They were almost home free. She could feel it, and it was exciting.

“Well, yes,” Cherilyn said. “But we’re not going directly there. No.” She cut her eyes toward Marcus. “First, we’ve got to make a stop.” If she convinced him, he’d convince them.

“A stop?” Marcus asked. “Where?”

“Memphis, Tennessee.” She hoped her vague tone tempered any urgency emerging in their minds.

“Why?” Eric asked. His curiosity hadn’t cooled.

That question was bound to show up sooner or later. Why? Why weren’t they headed straight for the bounty? Whatever was there had to be crucial. Hell, it was enough to make people chase Grace around, even after eleven years. So, why were they headed somewhere else? Not to mention, in the opposite direction.

Since Eric opened the door, Cherilyn saw no reason to keep them in the dark any longer. But, she had to break it to them gently. She hoped they were ready for it because they didn’t have a whole lot of time to get used to the idea.

“Look.” Cherilyn glimpsed at Eric and Grace by way of the rearview mirror before settling on Marcus. “You guys know that you can’t go back to your lives, don’t you?”

“What?” Grace blurted out, abhorrence cracking in her voice. Cherilyn had expected as much.

“The people that are after you,” Cherilyn said, her eyes locking with Grace’s in the mirror, “they’re never going to give up.” She’d convince her, one way or another. “The best thing you guys can do for yourselves is forget who you are and never look back.”

“I don’t see how it’ll help us to drop off the face of the Earth.” Eric gave a slow, disagreeing headshake, but she doubted it was something he’d set out to do purposefully.

“It won’t.” Confidence exuberated around Cherilyn’s words and in her tone. “That’s why we’re going to make a quick stop, and I’m going to fix that.”

“I’d be interested in knowing how you’re going to accomplish that.” Marcus’s voice filled with skepticism.

“Me too.” Eric almost laughed.

“It’s really not that hard,” she said, filling her tone with simplicity. She could fix it. Cherilyn could fix everything.

The safe house Cherilyn had tucked away in Memphis showed a side of her that none of them expected. While typical, at least at first glance, the difference between this house and the others she’d taken them to, was, this one literally brought to life the realism that Cherilyn was indeed a spy.

This house had a secret room off the master suite. Not a secret compartment or a closet, but an entire room. It boasted no windows, just wall-to-wall computers, telephones, and other technological equipment.

Grace, Eric, and Marcus looked on as she whizzed, whirled and whipped around the room in her wheeled office chair, turning on various pieces of equipment and finally booting the computers.

Once the machines were up and running, she breezed around the room from one computer to another, as if she and the equipment were participating in a well-choreographed dance.

It was apparent, even to a novice, Cherilyn knew exactly what she was doing. Clearly, she’d done this—whatever it was—before.

What was she doing?

After a few assiduous moments of bouncing around between various keyboards, Cherilyn looked at Eric. “How does it feel?” she asked casually. “You no longer exist.”

“What?” Grace cried out. This business of wiping out identities made no sense to her. She didn’t like it one bit.

Grace was more comfortable residing somewhere in the realm of sure bets. She needed a basis set against facts and figures. If she had that, she was home free. If she knew what a company’s annual revenues were, or if she had a good idea of what an employee’s annual income was, she could talk either one—the company or the employee—out of at least two percent. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a fundraiser, and she wasn’t collecting donations for the needy.

Eric leaned against the closed door, looking all calm and collected. Obviously, taking this recent turn of events much better than Grace. “So...” He laughed. “I’m just a figment of your imagination then?” Folding his arms across his chest, he mocked Cherilyn.

“Very funny,” she said, undaunted by his cynicism. “Within forty-eight hours you will cease to exist. At least Eric Wayne will anyway. I’ve already erased your social security number and your military records.” She looked over her shoulder, specifically at Eric.

There were no telltale signs conveyed on her face. Nothing about her expression indicated what was really going on inside her head. The woman simply stared at him with a stoic face and continued on, “I’ve released a slow-crawling virus that will never be detected by anyone because it’s only after one thing. To delete records of you.” She paused, catching her breath. “It’ll take about two days to complete its job. After that, any legal records of you will be gone. Including the record of your birth.”

“How are you going to do that?” Marcus’s voice reeked of skepticism. “The state where he was born has his birth certificate on file,” he said as if he’d blown holes in her claim.

“Well...” Cherilyn responded, but showed no signs of defeat. “While there is a microfiche tucked away somewhere with his birth certificate imaged on it,” she acknowledged that much to be accurate. “No one will ever look for it,” her tone changed with her mounting condescension. “Records from both state and national levels are stored on computers now. When someone requests a record, whether it’s a birth certificate, a marriage license, or even court records, the requested record is accessed and printed out from the computer file. The original microfilm or microfiche are never touched.”

Eric was quiet for a brief moment, as if letting Cherilyn’s claim sink in. “Fine idea,” he conceded. “Your computer virus is going to weed its way through all government, legal and financial records and start chomping. But won’t people become suspicious when large chunks of information turns up missing?” The smirk on his face said he thought he had her. “Too many people start complaining because the state can’t seem to find their birth certificate or whatever...the state employees will eventually have to go back and dig out that piece of film.” It was a logical conclusion, and one Grace figured Cherilyn had already thought about.

“That’s the beauty of my little virus.” Cherilyn laughed one of those soft, gifted laughs that screamed complacency. “Nobody’s going to complain about anything. No one else’s documents are going to come up missing. That piece of microfiche your birth certificate’s on—” She offered an example to prove her point. “My virus won’t destroy the entire piece of imaged film. It’s only going to damage a specific image. But to the human eye, it’s going to look blank where your record used to be.” She gave him a wink and a fake smile, its only purpose was to rub her triumph in his face. “So, in essence, it’s going to remove your record and leave everybody else’s intact, right where it was.”

“You can do that?” Grace asked, failing to, yet not caring that she hadn’t hid her shock.

Cherilyn’s claim was amazing, to say the least, not to mention unbelievable. But it must be so. It justified her father’s death certificate’s disappearance. What other explanation could there be for the state of North Carolina’s contention that there was no death certificate, when they gave her one at the time of his death? When she looked at it like that, it made perfect sense.

Finally. A logical, well as close to logic as she could get at this point, for why North Carolina couldn’t produce a copy of Michael Hendricks’s death certificate.

“You’re next.” Cherilyn’s voice dragged Grace’s thoughts back to the here and now.

“Why?” Grace asked. “Why are you erasing us?” She readily admitted the fog surrounding the mystery was slow to clear, and even though it had begun to, she still didn’t get the value in vitiating the identities of Eric Wayne, Grace Hendricks, and Marcus Johnson.

“It’s the only way to keep you all safe,” Cherilyn said. “Chances are, there’s only a few people that know about you and your connection to Michael Hendricks. If we build you new identities, by the time I’m done...they’ll never be able to find you.”

“Hold up,” Marcus objected. He didn’t have a problem becoming someone else, especially if it gave him and Cherilyn a second chance, but he wasn’t ready to turn his back on the only thing that’d been constant in his life over the last fifteen years or so. “What about my bank accounts? What happens to my money?” He wanted his money. It was his. He’d worked hard for it, and wasn’t prepared to see it dumped down the drain along with his identity.

“Funneled.” Cherilyn’s simplistic tone was tangled in mystery.

“Funneled?” Marcus repeated, he hadn’t bought into her bill of goods just yet. “Could we be a little more specific, please? To where exactly are you going to funnel it?”

“Well, in your case, it’s going to be laundered,” she said, way too calmly to suit Marcus. “Eventually it’ll be released back into a bank account for the new identity I create for you.”

“Uh huh...” Marcus’s voice ventured off onto a lonely trail of surrender. He may not like what was happening, but it was happening, and if he wanted to come out of this thing unscathed, he’d better let Cherilyn go back to her business.

“You guys had better make yourselves comfortable,” Cherilyn said. “This will take a while.”

That made sense. While it may not have taken long to start the process, completing it had to be another matter. How long did it take anyway, erasing three identities? One day. Two? Maybe more knowing Cherilyn. She’d check, recheck and triple-check her work.

He suspected that by the time they reached Grand Central Station, Marcus Johnson, Eric Wayne and Grace Hendricks would no longer exist. That notion left a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

CHAPTER 32

ERIC took advantage of Marcus’s fixation on Cherilyn’s every movement and slipped his hand around Grace’s and together they snuck out of the secret room.

Making their way downstairs and toward the kitchen, he pushed the discomfort over the recent turn of events toward the edge of his mind. One swift kick and it’d be gone. Yeah. Right. Good luck on that one.

All this worry and exasperation twisted and knotted inside his empty gut and left him with hunger pangs. Or maybe it was just an excuse not to have to think about who he was going to be tomorrow.

Whatever the reason, Eric talked Grace into making a trip to the grocery store. He’d seen one on the way in, not far from the house, and he looked forward to grabbing some supplies for dinner.

Country fried steak, mashed potatoes and gravy, and corn on the cob sounded delicious. Definitely Eric’s idea of the perfect meal. He was surprised how easily he’d talked Grace into tackling the task of cooking dinner.

As he recalled, cooking was never Grace’s forte. And just in case that hadn’t changed, he agreed to help as part of the bargain. He’d learned over the years how to find his way around the kitchen. He wasn’t as gung-ho about it as Marcus, but he knew what he liked to eat and he knew how to prepare his favorite dishes.

Back in the kitchen of Cherilyn’s latest safe house, Eric rolled up his sleeves and took over, delegating the simplest tasks to Grace.

She wasn’t having it. He’d found out quickly that she’d learned a thing or two over the years—like how to effectively pawn off tedious tasks such as peeling potatoes.

Grace settled into preparing the steak while Eric diced the spuds. With a fair amount of expertise, she placed the steak between pieces of saran wrap and scavenged the drawers until she located a meat tenderizer. She proceeded to beat the crap out of the steak, and Eric winced slightly.

“Better keep your eye on your job, instead of mine.” A hint of caution ushered in her warning. “Otherwise, we may find a finger in the potatoes.”

Okay, so that scenario wasn’t appealing. Eric took her advice and focused on finishing his task. Like an old pro, he scooped up the potato cubes and dumped them into the pot of boiling water on the stove.

Trying to hold the smirk in, he leaned against the counter and eyed her with interest. She dipped a hammered piece of meat, first into an egg mixture and then she slapped it around in a blend of flour and spices.

A mischievous laugh rumbled up his throat and he asked, “When’d you learn how to cook?”

Grace burst with a daring, yet playful, concoction of laughter and opposition. “Oh...you’re asking for it.” She stuck her hands in the flour and flicked her fingers at him. A shower of powder rained down over Eric.

“Was that it?” He laughed and slinked toward her. “That your best shot?”

“Eggs?” she asked, picking up the bowl. “You want eggs?”

“No...” He shook his head and took the dish from her. The bowl clinked against the counter and he dabbed his fingers in the mush and then plastered egg over her face.

She looked around surveying the room, seeking anything she could use in retaliation. But there wasn’t anything else. Nothing that’d meet her needs anyway. The only thing left was potato peels and corn on the cob. Those were not retribution items. Grace had nothing left at her disposal. She shook her head, reluctantly accepting defeat.

Her temper brewed as she tapped her foot against the floor, drumming out a tune that rivaled the great dancers of old. “You are so lucky.”

“You giving up already?” he asked with smug repartee.

“Well, I guess I could always bake a pie and shove that in your face.” She ended her counter with a shrug.

“Remind me to keep you out of the kitchen from now on.” Eric latched his hands around her wrists and pulled her to him.

From now on? She managed to contain the inquiry to just a thought. Did that mean he anticipated a next time? Grace wanted there to be a next time, and a time after that, but she had this little thing called her past getting in the way.

But Eric wanted her. She saw the lust burning his green eyes, and when Eric wanted her, she was powerless to resist.

Her resolve weakened, intoxicated by his drive and her desires. She closed her eyes and murmured his name, “Eric.”

What am I doing? Her eyes sprang open. Bad idea. Really bad idea.

Eric brushed his lips against hers. Hunger zipped through her and seared against her skin, aching to get out. He released her hands and slid his arms around her waist. Instinctively, she let her arms glide up and around his neck.

“I missed you so,” he said between soft, gentle kisses.

Okay, so maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Just this once, for old time’s sake. Then she could move on. She relaxed, inviting a much more intimate kiss from him. When he reciprocated, she drew a breath and released a slight moan. As if encouraged by her, he pressed harder, ravaging her mouth.

An odd hissing interrupted the mood. A loud whistling and spewing preceded seconds before the potatoes overflowed and water spilled over from the pot.

“Damn it!” She scoffed at the mess on the stove. Reluctantly, she pulled out of Eric’s arms, grabbed an oven mitt and removed the lid.

Steam billowed from the pot. “Careful,” Eric warned.

She eyed him with a not-very-convincing look. “I guess we should concentrate on dinner.”

Do we have to? But he couldn’t say that out loud, could he? No, of course he couldn’t. No matter how much the desire niggled at him to throw her up on the countertop. He eyed it, considering its potential.

Damn, it was too high.

There’s always the table. And, it was lower.

Ah, hell. Cherilyn and Marcus were in the way. Damn.

When they got their own place, he’d make it a point to have his way with her in every room.

When we get our own place? The question breezed across Eric’s thoughts uneasily. He’d promised himself he wasn’t going to go there. But somehow, he’d already arrived even though he couldn’t recall setting out on the journey.

Well, he’d have to see what it’d take to overcome this little setback.

At dinner, Eric and Grace ate in silence. They were too quiet to suit Cherilyn. Marcus was quiet too, but it was a different kind of quiet. His silence was born in thought, whereas, Eric and Grace’s was something else entirely.

Cherilyn fought with the urge to let assumptions carry her judgment away. But there couldn’t be any maybes here. She had a job to do, and she’d feel a lot better if her companions’ identities were eradicated by the time they reached the locker at Grand Central Station.

Even so, Eric and Grace’s current disposition dragged her thoughts, momentarily, away from the task at hand. She studied Grace suspiciously, taking particular notice of the dried egg in her hair.

Cherilyn was amused by the thought that Grace could be such a sloppy cook, but the look on her face, as well as Eric’s, forced Cherilyn to draw other conclusions.

Sure, they were both upset over the prospect of losing their identities, but hey, it could be worse. Identities were nothing compared to their lives.

“Grace.” Cherilyn prepared to offer her own special brand of comfort. “I know, from personal experience, that leaving the identity you were born with, behind...” Her words trailed off as she hesitated, feeling the onset of the tiniest bit of pity for the girl. “Well, it can seem like everything you know about yourself to be true, is going to be wiped out in the process. But, you’ll be okay.” And so will everyone else.

Considering the look on Grace’s face, that thought hadn’t crossed her mind. Her expression held a more clandestine appearance. One born out of necessity.

If Marcus had to guess, he’d say she’d been otherwise agreeably engaged in some fiery embrace with Eric. He’d seen firsthand the sparks igniting between the two of them. Love at first sight.

Now there’s a subject Marcus knew a little about. He’d not only witnessed it with Eric and Grace, but he’d experienced it with Cherilyn. He didn’t know what might become of “him and Cherilyn”, but it was happening all over again to Eric and Grace. It was etched onto their faces in masks of sheer terror and undying desire. Something major had happened in the kitchen before dinner. Whatever it was had also been cut short, prematurely.

“Grace, dinner was delicious.” Marcus offered her a smile, hoping to settle her insecurities. “You two should relax,” he said to them, “Cher and I will clean up.”

Cherilyn flashed him a condescending stare that screamed, speak for yourself. He gave her a wink and her glare softened. “Okay...” She smiled but fought it. Her efforts were futile. “You wash and I’ll supervise.”

Grace rose from the table and dropped her napkin into her plate. Marcus and Cherilyn seemed determined to clean up, and she wasn’t about to argue the point.

Slowly, she made her way up the stairs. Eric’s footsteps echoed close behind. Her hopes for a passionate exchange between the two of them—which were precarious in the first place—had been daunted by Cherilyn’s declaration that losing one’s identity didn’t in any way take away the foundation of who that person was.

But of course it did. How could she anticipate keeping even the smallest hint of who she was if she was no longer Grace?

“I’m going to take a shower,” she said, not necessarily to Eric but as if her thoughts had escaped.

Methodically, she went into the bathroom situated off to the left of the guest bedroom and closed the door between herself and Eric.

He backed into the chair between the bed and the bathroom door, folded his arms across his chest and draped his foot over his knee. Maybe Grace’s shower would give him a little time to figure things out. He had to find something to ponder besides his mounting desire for Grace.

Sure, Cherilyn was only trying to help, but her aid was of little consolation. She may be nothing more than the messenger, but the message was not something that either Eric or Grace wanted to hear.

Desire urged Eric to go into the bathroom. But that was a bad idea. Better to give her some time and privacy and let her have her shower in solitude.

She needed time to think, just like him. Maybe she’d come to realize, all on her own, that nothing mattered except them. Them. Now that was a concept that he’d have to somehow learn to accept.

Making a concerted effort to do just that, he grabbed the remote and switched the television on but it offered little comfort as he found it hard to wrap his mind around any of the programs. He couldn’t stop thinking about Grace.

The game show “Jeopardy” came and went.

She’d been in there an awfully long time. Eric looked at his watch. Half an hour. She’d been in there half an hour.

Fighting to keep the anxiety from flooding his thoughts, he got up and stepped toward the bathroom. “Gracie…” He tapped on the door and it crept open.

The shower’s frosted glass door distorted the silhouetted figure of Grace sitting in the back corner, knees drawn and held tight against her chest with her arms.

Eric hurried across the room. “Gracie?” His mounting fear escaped in his tone.

She didn’t move.

He opened the door and peered down at her. Without a second thought, he stepped into the shower, clothes and all, and pulled her into his arms.

She clung to him, crying.

The feel of her was soft and bittersweet, reminding him of days gone by when she finally got around to grieving for her mother. Trouble now was, Eric couldn’t be altogether certain of what she was actually mourning this time. The possibilities were endless but three options ranked among the top: the loss of their relationship, her father, or the thought of losing her own identity.

The reason was actually irrelevant. He supposed when push came to shove the motive really didn’t matter. Whatever it was, just as he’d been there for her regarding her mother, he’d be there for her now.

He turned the water off and grabbed a towel. Draping it delicately around her, he swabbed her dry.

She looked at him, tears pooling around her eyes, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

“You don’t need to apologize to me,” he said, continuing to dry her damp body. “Just tell me what’s wrong?” he urged, “and I’ll fix it,” he said, draping the towel around her and leading her into the bedroom.

He grabbed a robe off the back of the door and helped her into it. She layered one end over the other and covered herself. All in all, Grace seemed to make a swift recovery.

She looked at him with a faraway look in her eyes and gave him a sad sort of smile. “I’m afraid that if I become someone else…then I’ll lose the very last thing I had that tied me to you.”

A week ago, Eric would’ve had some brilliant comeback for that. Something charged in the realm of his bitter pride. But today, today he came up with nothing more than the desire to comfort Grace.

His smile started on the inside and burned through to the outside. He swept her damp tresses out of her face. “It doesn’t matter what your name is,” he said. “You’ll always be a part of me.” The urge to kiss her overcame him, but she was in a much too fragile state at the moment. Eric gave himself a mental kick in the rear and reconciled himself to a mere touch and nothing more. He winked playfully, and added, “No matter what…you and I…we will always be a part of each other.”

“You say that now...” her voice trailed off and she turned away, as if she didn’t want him to read her face.

“I say that always.” He followed her, but stopped inches short and avoided touching her.

“You say that now,” she repeated the words, but more forceful this time.

Eric stopped and studied her face. A dark veil shaded his usually prominent green eyes. “Whatever you’re trying to tell me,” he said, “maybe you’d just better spell it out for me.”

Damn his intuition. That’s one of the things she’d always loved to hate about him, and now, she just wished it’d go away.

But it wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was her past. She dropped onto the bed and crossed her legs at the ankles. “You probably should sit down,” she said, and gestured toward the nearby chair.

Uncertainty and doubt hardened his face as he backed into the recliner, rested his elbows on the chair’s arms and clasped his hands together. The inquiry in his green eyes bore through her. He expected answers. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

But there was no way out, nowhere to go, no drugs to mask the pain.

“Whatever it is,” he said, “we’ll get through it together.”

A bit of scoffing laughter broke out before she had the chance to impede it. She choked it down and planted her hands at her sides. The enjoyable feel of the satin comforter distracted Grace from the task at hand and marred reality.

Could they get through it together? Was it possible?

Don’t be an idiot Grace.

She reminded herself of what Eric had gone through with his mother. The last thing he needed or wanted was a wife with the same issues.

Sadly, once he found out, he’d be gone. She only hoped he’d delay his departure until after they’d unraveled the mystery surrounding her father.

“Talk to me, Gracie,” he said, insistence rising in his voice. “Let me help.”

“Trust me.” She snorted a laugh. “The last thing you’re going to want to do, is help me.” The need for self-preservation breezed across her mind. She straightened with a purpose. “You have to promise me that you will see this...” She paused with a grand gesture. “This mystery we’re tangled in right now, to the end.”

Eric laughed, and made no move to make such promises.

“Promise me, Eric.” Demand rose in her tone.

“Okay. Okay.” His jovial laughter turned into nervous uncertainty. “I promise,” he added, waving his right hand in the air.

He’d done it, he’d promised. Grace blew out her relief out in a liberating sigh. Unless Eric had changed over the years, really changed, he wouldn’t turn his back on her now, no matter how much her confession prompted.

“Your turn,” he said.

She sucked in a breath, as if it’d bring with it courage. It did, just enough to convince her that she was a hopeless fool.

Well, it was time to face her fears and put an end to her childish fantasies centered around the notion that she and Eric could someday reunite.

“The least I deserve is an explanation,” he said, “don’t you think?”

She did owe him a truthful account of what had happened. That much was true. “Yes,” she said, nodding in agreement.

Grace moved closer to him and rested her palms on his knees. He gave her a comforting smile and it did its job. Somehow.

“I really meant to come back,” she said. “I did.”

“Then why didn’t you?” He laid his hands on top of hers.

“Because I wasn’t worthy of you.” Her instincts coaxed her to retreat. She tried, starting with her hands but he was quick, and held them in place.

“Why would you think that?”

“You don’t get it, do you?” The realization came to her in the form of a brick wall, and she slammed into it at full speed. “You just don’t know what it’s like to not be perfect.”

That’s what he was expecting. Perfection. And Grace couldn’t have landed further from his expectations.

Eric’s laughter filled the space between them. “I hardly deserve that, Gracie.”

True. Her assessment may be factual, but he was the one who’d been wronged. “It wasn’t meant as a jab at your character,” she said. “I’m just calling it the way I see it.”

“That’s how you see me?” He looked hurt.

Great. That’s all she needed. A little more guilt pouring down around her. “You’re twisting my words, Eric.”

“Then straighten them.”

She raised a pointed finger into the air. “Okay,” she bargained. “You don’t say another word until I lower my hand.” Grace nodded and swallowed the uncertainty clogging her throat. “To me, you are perfect...in every way. You’re the perfect soldier, the perfect friend, the perfect man. And you deserve so much better than me.”

He opened his mouth and she stopped him with a verbal bashing before she laid her weakness out for his ridicule. “I was a wreck after Daddy died.” Technically, she’d been a wreck since her mother’s passing. Grace got the feeling Eric recognized that. “I was just planning on drowning my sorrows with alcohol while I was gone, but I found some weed at the beach house and ended up smoking it.” She paused, scrutinizing him for anything he might be feeling. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you the rest,” she offered nervously.

Everything slowed down, as if she was in the midst of some strange movie where everything was running in slow motion. First, he withdrew his hands. Then his entire body froze, as if Medusa had laid her gaze upon him.

“You chose getting high over me.” His words were fueled by defeat. His tone lacked anger.

She’d much rather he be angry. At least, if he was pissed off, there’d still be something there. Something besides indifference.

One quick sweep of the hand and he knocked hers away. Disgust—which by all intents and purposes is different than anger—burned in his eyes. He wasn’t mad at her, he was disgusted with her. Just like he’d been disgusted with his mother.

Standing, he gave her one last look of pitying revulsion before storming for the door.

Grace leapt to her feet, but froze bedside. “Eric...” she called after him.

Without turning or looking over his shoulder, he waved her off like he was dismissing an unwanted visitor.

Eric didn’t care that she’d gone through rehab and beat her addiction. He didn’t care that she’d been clean and sober for more than five years. He didn’t care that she’d regretted her failing every day since. None of it mattered.

He hadn’t even the common decency to slam the door on his way out.

Eric had proved the worth in Grace’s suspicions. She could only pray he’d continue to follow suit and keep his word about her father.

Divided, Grace feared she and Eric would fall victim to the same demons that had preyed upon her father.

CHAPTER 33

TORPEDO wasn’t any good at the waiting game. Not like Eightball. While his cohort could sit around calmly waiting for the perfect opportunity—Torpedo, on the other hand, wasn’t quite so patient.

He’d never deluded himself that he could be an assassin. He didn’t have it in him. Not that he couldn’t kill, he just didn’t have the ability to sit around and wait for the ideal chance to send his mark out in dramatic fashion. Instead, he stuck with things like launching missions, wiretaps, secret rescues, and interrogations.

Interrogations. Now that was something he could sink his teeth into. He didn’t have to wait or consider the timing. All he had to do was seed the fear of torturous bodily harm into his target. Typically, that’s all it took. But if it meant he had to actually follow through, well that was just an added bonus. No matter the case, when it came to interrogations Torpedo always got the goods.

He knew he could extract the coveted information anytime, anywhere, anyplace. If Trident would only turn him loose on those brainless idiots.

Unfortunately, it had become abundantly clear that Trident had other ideas. Plans that included hoping those bumbling fools would lead them to the bounty.

Sitting around waiting for them to figure out where to look was nothing more than a waste of Torpedo’s time. But, there wasn’t much he could do about it. Trident’s foot had gone down and no one was willing to question that decision.

The present course of action wasn’t the route Torpedo would’ve taken, it wasn’t the way he would’ve handled things, but still, doing as he was told was his duty. And Torpedo valued duty, not to mention self-preservation. No one was more dangerous than Trident.

Nor did anyone dare question Trident’s decisions—not since Michael Hendricks. He had, and look how that had turned out.

CHAPTER 34

THE one thing Eric Wayne had never done, during the course of his whole life, was break a promise. Most likely because his mother had broken plenty—to him. Learning that Grace had treated him the same way didn’t help, but still, he couldn’t break his promise to her. And that was the only reason he remained by her side.

All in all, he felt lucky to have found her out before letting things go too far. Now that he knew what he was dealing with, he wouldn’t repeat that mistake.

From here on out, he was all about letting the chips fall where they may, which is one reason he had no problem letting Cherilyn take the lead. Finally. And since he hadn’t questioned her decisions, neither did Grace. Too bad Grace hadn’t discovered this newfound confidence in him back in the day.

He tossed his bitterness aside. Green was only becoming as an eye color, nothing more. Better to adhere to their current predicament, and leave the escapades to the experts. Eric couldn’t vouch for Cherilyn’s capabilities, but he doubted there were any better than she at the art of illusion.

There was definitely more to that woman than meets the eye. True. Grace had a bit more confidence in Cherilyn’s motives. She was convinced Marcus’s ex had a good reason for heading in the opposite direction from New York City. Eric wasn’t so sure. Especially now that they’d finally realized that’s where they needed to go. Even so, he couldn’t give a shit less anymore. He just wanted this over.

Odd though, that Grace had so freely put her faith and trust in Cherilyn, at least as long as Eric was willing to do so. Her reasoning—the woman was an expert at this sort of thing.

Well, okay, she had a point.

When they ended up in a quiet little place called Arcadia, Louisiana, at another one of Cherilyn’s safe houses, Eric was beyond surprised.

Who hides in a place like this? One smart cookie—that’s who. What were the chances that somebody would get lucky enough to stumble upon Cherilyn’s new and unknown identity in this place? Talk about thin.

Maybe Eric had underestimated Cherilyn. Once he saw the secret room she had tucked away here, he knew he’d definitely underestimated her.

This room, the same as the other, was filled with technological gear, but there was also equipment used for the purpose of creating photo identification and credit cards.

The special thing about the cards Cherilyn created was that she could link a trail to any Department of Motor Vehicles in any state, and various national and worldwide banks, making the identification and credit cards appear authentic. Not even the DMV or the bank in question would ever know they hadn’t issued the cards.

Eric had definitely underestimated Cherilyn Johnson.

He lingered back, leaning against the doorjamb—a feat he’d grown accustomed to ever since Grace walked back into his life.

Cherilyn’s gaze remained glued to Eric as she passed him and moved into the hallway. Like lambs being led to the slaughter, Marcus and Grace followed her toward the living room. Eric trailed after them because there was no other choice.

“We’re going to stay here long enough to create new IDs for each of you.” Cherilyn took a seat on the couch.

“What about you?” Marcus sat beside her.

“I’ve got plenty,” she said, as Eric dropped into the Lazy-Boy and Grace draped herself along the arm of the chair.

“That they can’t trace?” The attorney in Marcus made an appearance.

“Precisely,” Cherilyn assured Marcus, and then turned to Eric and Grace. Eric didn’t know which was worse—Cherilyn’s scrutinizing glare or Grace’s presence. So near, yet so far. “You two know who you want to be?”

“We want to be Eric and Grace,” he said, “but since that’s not going to happen...you decide.”

“Yeah, you decide,” Grace agreed.

“Okay.” Cherilyn paused while a smirk melded on her face. “So, you two don’t have a problem being Horace and Ethel Dumbass...for the rest of your lives?”

“Oh, I refuse to be Ethel Dumbass.” Grace rattled off a swift objection.

Cherilyn laughed, clearly amused with herself. “You will need to decide who you want to be. And, do you want to be single, or a married couple?” She paused warily and caught her breath. “Talk about it and let me know soon. We need to have your new identities intact by the time we leave here tomorrow morning.”

Tomorrow morning? Wow. She didn’t waste any time. As if she hadn’t thrown enough at Eric already. Like the part about whether or not he and Grace wanted to be a married couple. Was she crazy?

How was he supposed to decide the direction for the rest of his life in less than twenty-four hours? That was too fast. Way too fast.

“Hey, can I be a doctor?” Eric masked his uncertainty in humor.

“Sure, I can make you a doctor,” Cherilyn said, “but I wouldn’t try practicing medicine if I were you.”

“If he gets to be a doctor,” Marcus chimed in, “I want to be a rocket scientist.”

Grace scoffed at them with sharp laughter.

“What...?” Marcus’s face fell into the most convincing display of hurt. “You don’t think I could pull it off?”

“Well, let me put it this way—” She paused, glanced between Eric and Marcus a few times and muffled the hilarity rising up her throat. “You guys are aiming way too high.”

Eric let out a little chuckle, detesting its impact.

Grace shook her head sadly, turned and headed upstairs.

Eric sprinted after her taking the steps two at a time. Midways up, it hit him. He was chasing after her. There wasn’t much Eric wouldn’t have given at that moment to be able to turn around and head back downstairs. As much as he loathed the weakness, he continued upward.

She entered their assigned bedroom and commenced pacing at the foot of the bed.

Eric stopped in the doorway. He should let it go and head back downstairs. Instead, he said, “What’s up?”

She stilled and looked at him. Her angelic face lacked understanding, like she didn’t get why he was there. With her. Join the club, neither did he. Dependability was overrated.

“Look, I said I’d stay until the end.” He turned his head, he didn’t care to look at her but he couldn’t help himself. “I’ll keep my word.”

Her stature shrunk a little, like she regretted trapping him in the promise. She was feeling guilty...? Good. “How about the name change thing?” he asked, his tone remained calm and friendly, just as he planned. “How do you feel about that?”

“I don’t know, Eric.” She shook her head and went back to pacing. “I’m not real comfortable being someone other than Grace. I mean...I like my name.” She stopped and her gaze settled on him again.

“Well...” He slid his fingertips into the pockets of his Levi's. “We can always ask her to keep your first name as Grace.” He gave her false hope, knowing Cherilyn would never go for that. But it bothered him little.

Mostly, Eric didn’t care anymore. Whatever it took to wrap this thing up, until then he’d just go along for the ride.

By the time they left the next morning, Cherilyn had firmly established the identities of John Matthews, Melissa Cramer, and Richard Lincoln. Whether or not Eric, or even Grace and Marcus were prepared for it, it didn’t matter. It was happening.

But Eric saw it as a step in the right direction. Finally. They were headed for New York City and that meant the end was near. Whatever the General had stashed in locker thirty-six at Grand Central Station was going to allow him to move on with his life, and away from Grace.

“Well, gang,” Cherilyn said hesitantly as she barely tapped the gas pedal and coasted down the street. “Looks like all our efforts were in vain.”

“Why?” Eric’s entire being tensed and that nervous flitter that’d been dancing around in his brain recently was back.

“We’ve got company,” Cherilyn said, but she didn’t seem all that surprised or worried.

“Are you sure?” Marcus asked hastily. “Do you know who it is?”

“I don’t know who it is,” she said, checking the mirrors, “but I do know a tail when I see one.”

“How is that possible?” Grace asked. “You’ve left no trail. How did they find us?”

Grace had a point, but the better question was, why were they losing their identities if they couldn’t stay a step or two ahead of them right now?

“Either I’ve tripped up—” Unlikely. “Or, they’ve been following you all along.” Again, unlikely.

Eric doubted this guy in the non-descript sedan, who was obviously military, had been following them all over the country and this is the first time Cherilyn noticed.

Maybe he’d been a little too preoccupied with whether or not they were on the right track to see it. He had been fixated on what they’d find at Grand Central. Would it end this farce, or was it just another clue?

But Cherilyn. She’d been trained in the art of espionage. She should be able to spot tails in her sleep. Eric didn’t particularly like her, but he gave her props. She was too diligent, too detailed, too defined. There’s no way he’d ever believe she tripped up. Not possible.

So where’d this guy come from? A guy that suddenly, from out of nowhere, decided to show himself. Why now? Had he known all along where they were headed?

If that were true, why’d they need to wait for Eric and the others to retrieve the locker’s contents? Why didn’t they take the key and just go get the stuff themselves?

This whole mystery surrounding the General was growing stranger by the minute. If this latest development prolonged his time with Grace...somebody was going to pay.

CHAPTER 35

New York City, Queens

UNDER the cover of night, Cherilyn guided the automobile into the garage. Eric looked at Grace, leaning against him sleeping. The nightmare was almost over, and that left him with a bittersweet hangover.

Cherilyn exited the car and stopped at the door only long enough to tap a sequence of numbers on the alarm system on the wall. The door to the house opened and the garage door closed, sealing out the night and any threats looming in the darkness.

Eric climbed out of the backseat and coaxed Grace into his arms. She began to stir as he carried her through the house, following Cherilyn and Marcus until they stalled in a dimly lit hallway.

“You guys’ll be comfortable in here.” Cherilyn swung the door open and took off down the hallway.

Grace wriggled out of Eric’s arms before he could carry her over the threshold. No point in getting her hopes up about that sort of thing anymore. He knew her flaw, and he wasn’t accepting.

“Where are we?” She scanned the bedroom and headed for the French doors on the opposite side.

“We’re in New York. Queens, I think.” His voice followed close behind. “Maybe you should get some rest.”

She ignored him, opening the doors. “Do you think we’re close to the end?” she asked, moving outside onto the balcony. “Is it almost over?”

“I don’t know,” he said and leaned against the railing. “It could be the end, or it could simply be another clue, leading us to yet another location.” His tone showed the distaste the thought brought him.

Eric couldn’t wait to be rid of her, and that hurt. “What if it is the end of the trail?” She made small talk to shield her wounded ego.

“Well...” He folded his arms over his chest. “I think it all depends on what’s at the end of the trail and how safe we’ll be once we get there.”

“What if we’re not safe?”

“You know I’ll do whatever I have to do to keep you safe,” he said, as if it was nothing more than an assignment. An obligation.

When this was over, she half-expected to receive a bill for services rendered. “And what if we are safe?” She should’ve let it go, but like so many times in the past she made the wrong choice.

“Then it’ll be time for me to go back to what I know best.”

“And what’s that?”

“Solitude.”

“I know you probably don’t believe this, but...” Grace hesitated, fighting the mocking laughter trying to escape. The truth was a ridiculous notion, and wasn’t worthy of anybody’s attention. She couldn’t, and wouldn’t, blame him if he laughed in her face. Still, she voiced her feelings. “A day hasn’t gone by that I don’t regret my error in judgment.” Her hand moved toward his face as if it had a mind of its own. She went for his cheek and felt the muscles harden. “I have never, not once, stopped loving you.”

“Grace.” He drew a breath and latched onto her wrist, moving her hand away. “I wish I could believe you when you say that, but more than that, I wish it’d make a difference.” He led her arm to her side and kept his hand clamped loosely around her wrist. “I do love you. Always have. Always will.” Eric’s bittersweet smile filled her with regret.

She knew what was coming next. “But...”

“But it’s too late.”

Too late. Those words hit her worse than any drug-crash ever had. But that Grace was gone. Long gone. She was a different person now. Her instincts urged her to salvage what she could. “If you’ll just tell me what I need to do to make this uncertainty you’re feeling, go away...just tell me and I’ll do it.”

“Believe me, Gracie.” He gave her a half-hearted smile. “If I knew, I’d tell you.”

Okay. So there’s nothing worse than begging. And she didn’t want his pity. If he wanted to end this thing so he could be rid of her, then so be it. Let’s get this show on the road. “I want to go with you when you go to Grand Central Station.”

“No.” He shook his head. “Not happening.”

“Why not?”

“Because I made a promise to keep you safe.” The cold look in his eyes said he wasn’t thrilled about any of this. That hurt. “And this could be a trap.”

Yeah, any move they made could be a trap. The trap could’ve already been set. This was just a divertive tactic on Eric’s part, but she wasn’t biting. “But I want to go with you.” She layered her voice in persuasion since a simple request hadn’t worked.

Grace figured that since he wanted to be rid of her so badly, he’d give in sooner or later.

“No,” he said, hardheaded as ever. “Marcus and I will handle it. You are going to stay here, where it’s safe.”

“It’s safe here?” she threw at him. “And you know that how?” Grace would use every opportunity within her arsenal to convince Eric. She couldn’t explain it but she didn’t want to be separated from him. She had no valid reason for her way of thinking, she just didn’t like the idea.

“You made a promise, too,” he reminded her with a smirking smile. “You said you’d do whatever I say, whenever I say.”

Oh, sure. Eric picked a fine time to use her own words against her. Damn. Grace stalked back inside the bedroom and slumped down onto the settee in the far corner.

The sting to her ego hadn’t come so much from the truth in his words as it had from that smile of his. He probably wasn’t aware of its power over her, and for that she thanked God.

Even though her thoughts kept wandering back to Eric, she had trouble ridding herself of the impending feeling of doom that insisted on hanging around.

Eric parked himself on the bed beside her. The look she’d been dodging turned his expression into one of pitiful misfortune. “Gracie, please...” His words came softly and his tone flowed with a pleading quality. “You need to stay here. Where it’s safe.”

Tears dampened the corners of her eyes. “Okay,” she mumbled and affirmed it with a slight nod. She tried to stifle the imminent flood, but failure was destined to follow.

Eric leaned toward her and brushed his lips against her cheek. “I’ll be back.” His declaration came so persuasively that she could almost talk herself into believing it. Almost.

He pushed himself off the bed and gave her a wink born from sparkling green eyes that bathed her in a gratifying gaze.

She leapt to her feet. “Hurry back, okay?”

The amount of strength it took to turn and walk away from Grace crowded Eric with regret and reproach. Whatever happened to self-motivation? The see it and be it approach? See yourself indifferent, be indifferent. So much for psychobabble.

Eric blazed a trail downstairs and followed Marcus through the kitchen toward the back door. A piece of junk mail lying on the counter caught his eye. Addressed to Madelyn Givens, obviously one of Cherilyn’s alter-egos, he made a mental note of the name. It might come in handy somewhere down the road.

Damn, I’m getting good at this. Puffed up with his own pride, Eric followed Marcus into the garage. “I’ll drive,” he said, and didn’t give Marcus much choice when he headed straight for the driver’s side.

“Fine with me.” Marcus went for his usual place in the car without argument.

Eric contained his surprise to just a thought. Marcus was a leader, not a follower. Until now. Maybe it was Cherilyn. She had that effect on people.

Grace stared at the empty doorway where Eric had disappeared moments before and choked on the lump clogging her throat. She rose slowly and went in search of Cherilyn. Maybe she’d find solace in like company. She and Cherilyn certainly had something in common, love and respect for the objects of their affection.

Finding Marcus’s ex in the dining room, Grace slipped into a chair at the table. “They’re gone?” she asked, even though she knew the answer.

“Yeah.” Cherilyn’s quiet nod rivaled the gentleness of her tone.

“Why is it that I feel like I’ll never see him again?” The notion had lingered on her mind since he’d left, but speaking the words out loud was like finally realizing their value. A price she couldn’t afford, on so many levels.

“Well, maybe it’s because of your history.” Cherilyn said, sounding simplistic. But Grace knew it was an act. She just wanted to change the subject. “You do realize—” she said, glancing at Grace with one of those lofty looks that said she was all-knowing. Ah, here it comes. “That you’ve been bitten by the love bug again, don’t you?”

Grace snorted a laugh. There was nothing superior about her knowledge over Grace’s. “Well, now...that’s a thing you know a little something about, huh?”

Grace’s laughter encouraged the smile curling on Cherilyn’s lips. “Would you like some tea?” she asked, her tone cooling. “I do find, so often, that a cup of hot tea is rather comforting in situations such as this.” In refined eloquence, Cherilyn stood and waited for Grace’s response. “And, yes, I do know a little something about that.”

“That’s true.” Grace gave an agreeable nod. “You certainly do.”

“Yes,” Cherilyn said, moving toward the kitchen. “Some hot tea is just the thing we need.”

“You want some help?” Grace called after her, secretly hoping she didn’t.

Two women in the same kitchen could be dangerous, but Grace was all about politeness. She took her chances offering her services, yet all the while praying for Cherilyn’s declination.

“No.” Cherilyn stopped at the door. “You stay here. I’ll be back in a jiff,” she added and disappeared into the kitchen.

Grace waited patiently, silently contemplating the situation. Thoughts of Eric perpetuated in her head. She tried to shake the feeling that she might never see him again, but no matter what she told herself, it wouldn’t go away.

Shortly, Cherilyn returned with a tea service made of fine china that must have cost a fortune. As Cherilyn poured the tea, Grace gave her a mental salute. If she owned such a tea set she’d never use it for fear of breaking it. The woman had guts.

Cherilyn handed her a cup and flashed a friendly smile. “Go ahead,” she urged, “drink up.” She gave her a coaxing nod. “I promise, you’ll see things from a new perspective.”

“How long’s it been since you saw Marcus last?” Grace made small talk and then sipped her tea. Ummm...hot. But good. Cherilyn was right. It was soothing.

“Pretty close to twenty years now,” Cherilyn said and put on a sad sort of smile.

“Was it tea that helped you through it?” Grace asked. “I mean...being away from him and all?”

“Among other things.” She grabbed her teacup and rolled her eyes before taking a sip.

Her stiffening disposition said she didn’t like the subject. But whether it was fueled by the breakup or the time she’d spent separated from Marcus was another matter. Either way, Cherilyn looked on the verge of anger. And right now, nothing good could come from anger.

CHAPTER 36

ERIC hadn’t a clue about what he expected to find or to happen once he and Marcus arrived at Grand Central Station and opened locker thirty-six, but if there was going to be trouble he didn’t want Grace anywhere near it. He’d spent so much time fixating on her, he was no longer sure if his fascination was born from the need to protect her or just get away from her. She’d already ruined his life once, better to not let it happen twice.

The soldier in him paroled the outskirts of his mind and the perimeter of his vision, waiting, watching, expecting—but nothing happened. He and Marcus walked inside one of the nation’s busiest landmarks and right up locker thirty-six without any hoopla or fanfare.

A sensation of impending doom escorted him to the lockers and stood guard while he retrieved the key from his wallet. He scanned the vicinity, half-expecting a slew of the General’s associates to ensnare them and lay siege to the locker’s contents.

Maybe they were waiting for them to open the locker?

He slid the key into the slot and it turned easily. One more quick scan before he popped open the door. Nothing out of the ordinary. No adversaries. No threat. No worries.

Eric removed the locker’s contents—two briefcases—and nothing or no one interfered. They may not have had company, however unwanted, but there was plenty of anxiety to go around as he handed one of the attaché cases to Marcus.

The trepidation stayed with Eric and accompanied him outside, where he and Marcus strolled to the parking garage across the street. Although dressed in a casual manner, anyone taking notice of either of them would have assumed they were simply two entrepreneurial businessmen returning from or arriving on a business trip.

“This was too easy,” Eric said, slipping into the parking garage’s elevator.

“I know what you mean.” Marcus gave the parking interior one last sweep before stepping into the elevator with Eric.

Eric hit button number three and the doors closed. The compartment began its ascension and his heart pounded with a terrible foreboding that things were somehow going to get worse.

The elevator opened at level three, and a comforting feeling bundled around Eric when he laid eyes on the rental car just a few paces away. He paused at the driver’s door long enough for a quick sweeping analysis of the garage before he got into the car.

“This is really unbelievable.” Baffled confusion shook Eric. Had they really walked into Grand Central Station and confiscated the briefcases with absolutely no resistance at all? Finally, hopefully, at least, the mystery would be solved.

“I expected an army of opposition to be waiting for us here,” Marcus said, and Eric felt better knowing they were on the same page.

“So did I.” Eric started the engine and shifted the car into gear. “That’s why I didn’t want Grace tagging along,” he added, backing out of the parking space.

“She’s safe with Cher.” There was certainty in Marcus’s voice. He believed his words, and that offered Eric a measure of encouragement.

He wasn’t sure about much of anything else, but he was confident the General’s briefcases would tell the tale. In fact, he was counting on it. Eric cruised to the exit.

“What’s in the briefcases?” he asked, merging into the traffic on 42nd Street.

Marcus opened one of the attaché’s and it was filled with stacks of money and a cluster of passports. Eric spotted the goods in his peripheral vision. He stole a quick look for confirmation.

Yep. The case contained a ton of cash and several travel permits.

Eric snatched up one of the passports and expertly maneuvered the steering wheel and inspected the pamphlet at the same time. It contained a much younger photo of Eric, but with a new name.

He tossed the passport back into the case and grabbed a couple more. Another of him, the photograph just as old as the other, but with a different name. He tossed it aside and inspected another. This time, one of Grace and just as Eric expected, she too had a different name.

“What the hell...?” Eric’s confusion mounted as Marcus riffled through the briefcase, finding several birth certificates and numerous drivers licenses from various states for both Eric and Grace—all with a variety of names.

The items fell from Marcus’s hands as he looked at Eric. If he was trying to hide his bewilderment, he’d done a poor job of it. “There are identities here for you and Grace. Lots of them.” Confusion creased his brow and lit his face with uncertainty. “There’s a ton of cash. Swiss bank account numbers. You name it, it’s here.”

The briefcase drew Marcus back and he came out with an envelope addressed to Grace and Eric.

The mystery clouding Eric’s mind thickened instead of clearing. “What’s that?”

“I think it’s from the General,” Marcus said. “Maybe it’s an explanation.”

“And maybe it’s just a plea for Grace’s forgiveness,” Eric countered. The General loved his daughter. Her forgiveness would be of the utmost importance to him—right next to her safety.

“So, you want to wait and let her open it?” Marcus asked.

Yes, Eric nodded.

Marcus only had the opportunity to go through the one case by the time they’d arrived back at the safe house, and by now Eric was consumed with anxiety. He didn’t know how he knew, he just knew—something was wrong. If only he knew what.

He guided the car into the garage and a storm of chaos campaigned effortlessly inside his head.

“Let’s bring the cases into the house.” Eric had barely shifted into park before he blew out of the car, briefcase in hand, and rushed toward the door leading into the house.

That sinking feeling intensified. He entered the house through the kitchen, calling her name. “Grace...?”

Nothing.

He heard nothing but the sound of Marcus’s footsteps following close behind.

His heart clamored against his chest as he passed through the kitchen and they laid the briefcases onto the counter before moving into the living room. The turmoil squatting in his thoughts finally gave credence to the tension invading his soul from the moment he’d left Grace earlier.

It looked like a cyclone had hit the house. Furniture lay askew, ripped apart. Tables were overturned. Drawers had been rummaged through. Lamps broken. Eric’s heart slammed to the floor at the thought of the struggle that had undoubtedly taken place.

They set about canvassing the place, hoping against hope that they’d find Grace and Cherilyn hiding in some corner, scared out of their wits.

Eric’s fear manifested from the depths of his soul and consumed him. Just please, God, don’t let her be dead.

Room by room, floor by floor, they found the house was empty. Anger and a bit of self-condemnation were Eric’s invading emotions as he slowly began to accept that Grace was no longer in the house.

“I am such a freaking idiot!” Eric’s frustration escaped. “Why didn’t I see this coming?”

His raked his hand over his Marine Corps buzz haircut. He trotted down the stairs and stilled in the living room briefly before he began pacing the length of the overturned couch.

Marcus stopped near the stairs and propped his hands on his hips.

“You looked in all the closets?” Eric asked. “I mean, they could be hiding,” he added, more hopeful than anything.

Marcus shook his head. Cherilyn would never be found cowering in some corner. Only one of three scenarios was plausible in this case. She’d either, one, killed them, which wasn’t likely since neither she nor Grace was there. Two, she and Grace had been killed. Or three, at best, she and Grace had been taken hostage.

If Cherilyn was still alive, there was a good chance he could save her. Marcus had to hold onto that notion.

“Look, we can’t lose our cool now,” Marcus said, secretly hoping he could follow his own advice. “We have to remain calm so we can figure out where they’ve taken them.”

Finding Cherilyn and Grace was their one and only option.

The telephone rang. Eric and Marcus looked at each other.

“Answer it,” he said to Eric. The feeling of dread washed over Marcus. This couldn’t be good.

Eric picked up the phone. “Yes...” Nerves cracked his voice.

“Bring the General’s things to the Bremerson and Tichner warehouse.” A technically altered and unidentifiable voice ordered. “It’s on the docks along the East River, near the Brooklyn Bridge. Bremerson and Tichner’s warehouse. And no funny business, Wayne. You’ve got an hour or the little lady gets it.”

The line went dead.

“We have an hour to get to Bremerson and Tichner’s warehouse.” Eric repeated the gist of the instructions to Marcus. He paused, catching his breath and then said, “Let’s go.” He didn’t wait for Marcus’s response, just headed for the door.

Eric charged through the kitchen and nabbed a briefcase on his way out into the garage. Marcus followed, hot on his trail with the second case.

Car doors slammed, seatbelts buckled, and Eric started the engine. Fuel, thick smoke, and the smell of burning rubber filled the garage as Eric threw the car in reverse and stomped on the gas, barreling out into the driveway.

Eric didn’t have the slightest clue as to where he was going. He was about as familiar with New York as the Middle East was with democracy. But he wasn’t going to let a little thing like that keep him down. He just needed to figure out which he wanted Marcus to do first—open the envelope or figure out where the warehouse was located.

If he was going to stand the slightest chance of saving Grace, he had to know what was in that envelope. He glanced at Marcus. “Read me that letter.”

Eric guided his attention back to the street. Sorry, Gracie.

CHAPTER 37

The Story of Michael Hendricks

HE hadn’t always been Michael Hendricks. But what’s in a name, really. It’s just semantics. This one was merely one of  many identities he’d invented for himself in his service for an organization that had no name and technically didn’t exist. At least not on paper. And most certainly not on any verifiable level.

But to say that he was in the employ of this group would not be entirely correct. It was more accurate to say that he was one of the organization’s co-founders.

The sixties, the decade of free love and experimentation was quietly giving way to the seventies, the decade of passivism. This was all fine and well except that a few choice individuals felt the United States was in big trouble. One of these individuals was a man the Marine Corps would later come to know as Michael Hendricks.

Certain the country was headed for a major meltdown, he and others were convinced they had to step in and put a stop to the decline of western freedom and all it afforded.

It started as mostly a trial and error venture, and later thrived due to the brilliant mastermind of Hendricks. He had a knack for knowing, within hours, when he’d implemented a plan that couldn’t possibly work. And he was also adept at figuring out, just as quickly, how to fix the problem.

It didn’t take a lot of effort to realize they needed the element of anonymity for the organization to thrive and prosper. More than anything else, Hendricks and his colleagues knew they had to protect the identity of their recruits.

The organization was all about covert operations. It’s what they did best and they prided themselves on their capabilities. They did things the United States Military couldn’t do legally. They took what they needed, whether it be economical, tactical, or monetary. If Hendricks, or any of the other founding members thought they needed something—didn’t matter what it was—someone was given the orders to make it happen. And if need be, elimination by assassination was not out of the question.

Since confidentiality was of the utmost importance, the decision was made early on that each member would immediately begin utilizing various identities once joining the organization.

For the most part, he’d gotten stuck in the identity of Michael Hendricks because that’s the one he was using when he met Caroline Chambers. He was in his mid-thirties back then and a couple of years into the elusive organization. Caroline was a beautiful young girl just out of college with dreams of becoming a doctor.

Michael and Caroline lived together for several years. It was easier to hide his various identities from her that way. The specially created identity of Michael Hendricks was an officer in the United States Marine Corps. So Caroline wasn’t surprised when he was frequently called out into the field for some sort of training or another. And while she thought he was out on some military exercise, Michael was actually carrying out some covert operation that he and his associates had deemed necessary.

Michael and his colleagues weren’t prejudiced against one type of recruit over another. However, most of them did come from the United States military. Not all of them, but the majority did.

Since they were picking up recruits from the military, they swiftly learned that it was crucial to expunge the military records of their members. They figured out just as fast that new records had to be invented, for at least one of the identities the recruits were going to use. Not all their identities were military. In fact, it became evident rather quickly that no more than one or two should serve in any branch of the military. More than that, and they were risking their covers being blown.

But there had to be some trail of some sort, no matter how phony or illusory the identity was. It had to be military. At least one identity needed to have access to various military institutions throughout the world and without repercussions.

Michael and his colleagues were not above placing themselves in strategic situations, such as prominent positions in various departments of the United States Government, which ultimately offered up carte blanche, a convenient advantage when it came to getting what they wanted.

In the beginning, back when there was only a handful of agents, it wasn’t hard to keep up with all the duplicity.

For the most part, Michael Hendricks was a happy man, enjoying his adventures as a field agent for the elusively secret organization, which he prided himself on being a large factor in the creation of. But he also took pleasure in returning home. To Caroline.

His direction changed one bright spring day when he returned home to his beautiful companion and the most pleasant of surprises. She was pregnant.

At that point, the whole world changed for Colonel Michael Hendricks. He was getting on in years, for a field agent. On the verge of forty in a couple of years, he decided to restructure the organization to suit and accommodate his decision to marry the mother of his child.

As time passed and the organization grew, it had become clear that they needed to establish a central position for someone to fabricate military records for the members.

This notion went against every principle they’d founded their organization upon. The person who held this position would know all the inter-workings of the organization because they’d know all its members. Nevertheless, it had to be done. But this was a position the founding members weren’t willing to turn over to just anyone. So Michael took the job himself. He felt better about the whole thing this way. He wasn’t keen on the idea of a recruit knowing more about the organization than him.

In essence, he permanently became Michael Hendricks. For the most part, he came in out of the field and took a permanent full-time position in the United States Marine Corps. Michael Hendricks had a most impressive military career—at least on paper.

Initially, he gave himself the grade of Captain. His rise up the ranks came without fanfare as orders came down periodically from Washington in a usual and common manner. No one ever questioned the orders, not even when Michael Hendricks was promoted up to the rank of Brigadier General and eventually named the commanding officer of MCAS Cherry Point in North Carolina.

Michael settled into a quiet life with his new wife, Caroline Chambers Hendricks. He liked it this way, too. He was able to be home with Caroline quite often and eventually their baby girl, Grace.

As Grace grew, Michael’s missions for the organization became fewer and fewer. It seemed that he was now content with the job of simply creating the false records for the recruits.

Of course the walls came crashing down around Hendricks a few years later when his wife was killed tragically in an automobile accident. It was then that he made the decision to retire from the field completely. He was able to do this only because he was one of the members in charge. A simple recruit would never have been allowed to make such a decision.

To the outward appearance, Michael was merely a high-ranking official at Cherry Point, while in reality he was inventing records for select individuals.

Years passed, uneventfully, until Grace graduated from high school and continued her education at the local university. She was barely nineteen when Captain Eric Wayne entered her life. Smitten with each other, they formed a bond quickly.

Michael was extremely pleased with Grace’s choice in men. He saw something in Eric, something he couldn’t put his finger on. But he was certain Eric loved Grace and he would always take care of her.

Unfortunately, Hendricks’s colleagues saw something in Eric, too. The decision was made quickly, and the task fell to him to recruit his daughter’s new beau.

When Hendricks inferred that Eric Wayne wasn’t recruit material, the response was…if he’s good enough for your daughter, he’s good enough for us.

Once Michael accepted the realization of the situation and the position he’d placed Eric, and therefore his own daughter, in, he began making plans to save them from the mess he’d created.

It wasn’t like he could tell his colleagues that Eric had declined. At that point Eric would have been framed for some heinous crime and sent to Leavenworth for far longer than Michael even dared to venture a guess.

Stalling, under the pretense that he was preparing for the recruitment, Michael paved the way for Eric and Grace’s disappearance.

Knowing the end was coming sooner or later Michael hid clues in his V.A. file. Clues that only Grace could find. He showed Eric the secret compartment hidden inside his desk while it was still empty. Later he put the key to locker thirty-six at Grand Central Station inside the stall.

He felt confident that he had all the bases covered since it would take both Eric and Grace to find the locker and its contents.

Maybe it was an elaborate plan but he had to make sure no one else got their hands on the explosive information. That was the only way to keep Grace and Eric alive.

And his main goal was his daughter Grace’s safety. He’d gladly trade his own life to secure her health and happiness.

CHAPTER 38

The Letter

My Dearest Gracie, and Eric:

If you’re reading this, you’re together and you’re both alive. And as happy as that makes me—unfortunately it also means that I’m dead. And since you’ve found this letter, it means you’ve found out a lot of other things, as well. Many things that are going to confuse you.

Gracie, after reviewing the contents of both briefcases it may appear to you that everything you know to be true is a lie. But the love that your mother and I felt for one another is not a lie. And the love we shared for our only child, you, is not a lie, either.

Michael Hendricks was one of various identities that I created for myself long before I had the pleasure of meeting your mother and finally having you.

As I’m sure that you’ve seen by now, in the briefcases filled with revelations, I was one of the co-founders and first active agents of an elusive organization that has never been burdened with a name. All of the particulars…names, dates, places…and anything else you need to know, including full explanations and historical background on my fellow comrades and our group can be found in one of the briefcases. The other contains various identities and access to all the financial support the two of you could ever need to keep you safe, secure, and hidden from anyone who may have inadvertently deemed you a threat based on my actions.

I acted of my own accord in becoming involved in a task to create this organization, which would carry out missions the United States Military could not—not legally, anyway. I did it for the good of this country. I agreed to be a party to the founding of this organization for our country’s national security and for the general safety of all American citizens. But if I had known how it would play out, Gracie—if I had known that I’d meet your mother and we’d end up having you….

But I cannot change what’s already been put into effect. And given the opportunity to go back and do it all over again I cannot say that I’d change anything. To never have created the organization would surely have been detrimental to the United States and therefore to all U.S. citizens. We could all drive ourselves crazy with “what-ifs”. But that isn’t going to do anyone any good.

The bottom line is, they wanted Eric. And they wanted me to recruit him. I tried a feeble attempt at stalling to bide some time. I pretended to prepare the way for his recruitment, when all the while I was merely paving the way for the two of you to escape together. My hopes are that you’ll disappear someplace where none of them, not even the agents I’ve trained myself, can find you.

Eric, you must not fight them. This is a war you cannot win. You cannot fight something that does not exist. I have provided you enough ammunition so you can make certain they keep their distance. I’ve provided documentation, which you may be able to use as leverage. The knowledge is not meant to be a means for you to wage open war with them. But you must understand, it is given to you so you will know exactly WHO you’re up against. It’s all there. Everyone that can possibly be a threat to you, there’s plenty of documentation on them in one of the briefcases.

My advice to you is…take my daughter and disappear under the guise of new identities (which I’ve provided for you). You’ll have nothing to fear from any of these identities because no one other than myself, and now the two of you, knows anything about them. The bank accounts are clean. None of them will ever be traced back to me, much less you.

Eric, I know the task I’m laying at your feet is one you can easily handle. You’re made of the stuff that’s needed to outsmart them all. That’s why they wanted you so badly. I was not willing to attempt a recruiting where you were concerned. First off, if you had refused you would have been accused (and convicted) of some crime or another that would have gotten you serious time in Leavenworth. If you had agreed, you and Grace would have been separated forever. Quite simply, because as a general rule the identity of Eric Wayne would have been erased. Spouses and significant others are not allowed to know the particulars of our organization, not even its existence.

And I could not do that to you, Gracie. I could not tear Eric away from you in any shape, form, or fashion. Whether it be time in Leavenworth or in service to this country.

Gracie, just know that I will love you forever. My love for you is my motivation for the things I do now. No matter what happens from here on out…you will live in my heart forever.

I’m counting on you, Wayne. I’m banking on the fact that I’m not wrong about you. You take care of my daughter, you hear.

Stay Safe and Never Let Your Guard Down,

Michael Hendricks

CHAPTER 39

New York City, Queens
Present Day

UPON occasion, Eric may have considered himself an idiot for letting them get to Grace, but he wasn’t stupid—not by a long shot.

He could easily guess why the caller had given him a time frame to get to Grace. Simply put, they didn’t want to give him a chance to carefully study the contents of the briefcases thoroughly.

The caller could safely bet that, with all the confusion and commotion going on, neither Eric nor Marcus had had time to carefully inspect the contents of both briefcases. Otherwise, they would’ve never arrived back at the safe house in time to answer the phone. Then again, maybe they were well aware of exactly when Eric and Marcus had returned to the house.

To tell the truth, Eric didn’t care what was in the other briefcase. He could take a real good guess that it had something to do with that damned organization. He also knew they wanted it, whatever it was, and he was willing to accommodate them in order to get Grace back safely.

Eric didn’t care one way or another about the contents of either briefcase. All the money and power that either satchel contained, or could lead to, was not worth risking Grace’s life. The contents of the cases paled in comparison.

But he was curious about the information the General had gathered on these lunatics. It must be pretty important if they’d gone to all the trouble of wiping the General from existence, and now they were threatening Grace and Cherilyn just for GPs.

Considering the very strong possibility that Cherilyn was one of their own, Eric understood and shuddered at the ramifications of that little tidbit. Even so, by Cherilyn’s account on the matter, they probably wouldn’t know it if she was. Either that, or they just didn’t care.

That notion grinded Eric’s nerves into mush.

He looked at Marcus with an anxious glance. He divided his attention, strategically, between his friend and the road. Marcus had been studying a map of the city, forever it seemed. That too set Eric on edge.

Eric settled his sights back on the road. He’d do well to stick with driving and let Marcus worry about where to go. It’d be a shame to get into a car wreck now that he was so close to finding Grace.

At least it felt like they were close. They’d been given a location to bring the briefcases and Eric had to hope he’d be able to trade them for Grace.

“Our target location is in a warehouse near the Brooklyn Bridge.” Marcus blew out a helpless sigh. “Do you realize how many warehouses there are down there?”

“I hope it won’t be too hard to find the one they’re talking about,” Eric said, staring into the traffic straight ahead.

“Oh, something tells me…” Marcus let out a sarcastic chuckle, catching a small glimpse of reality. “They’ll make it real easy on us.”

He got the significance of the briefcases in his lap. He, like Eric, could guess that one of them contained all of the General’s documentation regarding his organization. Somebody wanted it. They wanted it so badly, they’d gone to the trouble to kidnap Grace and Cherilyn to get it. The General’s people weren’t playing. And neither was Marcus.

Society had taken Cherilyn from him once before, and he’d be damned if he’d let them do it again. Well, maybe not these people exactly, but who wasn’t the issue. It didn’t matter who. What mattered now was that he got Cherilyn back.

He’d received a small taste of what it was like to have her back in his life again, and he liked it. It was a good feeling, one he intended to keep.

This time it was going to be different. This time Marcus was not going to allow her to simply walk away. And above all else, he was not going to let them take her away either.

Eric’s stress had mounted just the same as Marcus’s over the girls’ disappearance. But Eric’s anxiety over Grace’s plight was mixing with a new frustration. He could easily get lost traveling through the streets along the East River because it all looked the same.

The Brooklyn Bridge off in the distance had to mean they were getting close, didn’t it? His heart raced with anticipation, wrapped in fear. He fought in vain with the notion that he may not be able to live up to the idea of the kind of hero Grace needed.

Thoughts of being a little too late…seconds in fact…clouded his senses. Nasty images flooded his mind, images of those jackasses killing her anyway, even after he’d given them the briefcases, and then forcing him to stand by and watch helplessly as the life drained from her body. He’d rather die.

Intense anger flared inside Eric. If they harmed a single hair on her head then they’d better kill him while they were at it. Otherwise, he vowed to make it his personal mission in life to hunt them down, one by one or all in a group. It didn’t matter to him. He wasn’t picky. But he wouldn’t rest until he saw each and every one of them dead.

Eric had finally embraced reality. His fears didn’t matter. The notion that he wanted to be rid of her—which he’d tried in vain to convince himself of—didn’t matter. She could run all she wanted. Hell, he could run this time, but it wouldn’t change the truth.

He loved Grace. And the thought of her death terrified him. She was with him now—

Well, she would be if he got to her in time. And he was pretty sure she’d still be around tomorrow. After that...hell, he wasn’t going to concern himself about the future. He had to make the most of the here and now. As long as they were together today, that’s all that mattered. And no matter what happened tomorrow, they’d always have today.

“Hey,” Marcus’s tone brimmed with excitement. “Here it is,” he said, pointing toward one of the warehouses. The sign on the side of the building identified it as Bremerson and Tichner.

Eric’s nerves calmed a bit now that they had finally arrived. He had to find Grace and he had to do it now. No matter what happened tomorrow, he wasn’t about to let it end today.

He hesitated before opening the car door and glanced at Marcus. “I’ll go in through the front. You come in from the back.”

“Sounds good to me,” Marcus said, rolling out of the car.

They cautiously approached the warehouse and both tucked handguns inside the waistbands of their jeans. Good thing Cherilyn had given them an extra. They pulled their shirts out, down, and over the hardware, concealing their weapons.

Eric carried with him Michael Hendricks’s briefcases and all their contents. He eased opened the front door of the warehouse, and Marcus disappeared around back.

Caution slowed Eric’s steps as he entered a building that was being used for storage. Everywhere he looked, numerous crates of various sizes had been stacked high upon each other, in places all the way to the ceiling.

The cold iron of a gun barrel, a six shooter he’d bet, prodded the back of his head. The opportunity to defend himself had passed. Unfortunately. He raised his hands in surrender.

“Don’t turn around,” his assailant instructed.

Why did that voice sound familiar? Eric knew it from somewhere. But who was it? Think.

“Don’t say a word,” the familiar voice said. “Just move forward and slowly.”

Walter Holloway. Cherry Point’s current commanding general. All this time, it was General Holloway. Damn. Why hadn’t he seen that? Confusion mingled with Eric’s anger over what may be happening to Grace.

Eric filed through his memories, back to the day of the General’s funeral. Holloway, a Colonel back then, had offered his condolences to Grace. She’d been despondent, overwrought with grief. Had he taken her aloof manner as an indication that she knew?

Eric moved forward in slow, guarded steps. He had to cooperate for now. He wouldn’t be of much use to Grace dead.

Marcus slipped inside the building and into a back door view of the massive storage crates stacked high on top of one another. He got the feeling this place might turn into a maze. Could be good. Maybe not. Lots of hiding places, and that’d be okay so long as he and Eric were the ones doing the hiding.

He retrieved the .9mm handgun, he’d gotten from Cherilyn, from the waistband of his jeans. Readying himself for anything, he left nothing to chance. He’d accept any consequences so long as it saved Cherilyn’s life.

A shot echoed through the warehouse, and Marcus knew the bullet whizzing through the air was headed straight for him. A millisecond later, immense pain exploded in his upper body.

He regretted missing the chance to tell Cherilyn goodbye. Confusion cobwebbed his brain and he felt his legs giving out as his mind succumbed to the darkness.

The echo of gunfire, cold and unfeeling, sliced through Eric. His heart froze and then shriveled. “Who was that?” he demanded to know, yet fearful of the answer.

“Well, let’s hope it wasn’t your girlfriend.” His companion let out one of those evil laughs that thrived on heartlessness. “Be a shame, after you’ve come all this way.”

Eric blasted his anxiety over Walter Holloway turning out to be his enemy. “If she’s dead—” he warned. “You’d better kill me too.”

“Why’s that?” The assailant baited Eric further. “You just can’t live without her?”

“If she’s dead, and you leave me alive,” Eric’s tone turned vicious. “I will kill you.”

“Ooh. Touchy.” Holloway taunted Eric as their journey ended at a closed door. “Well, here we are. I’d watch that attitude with Trident, if I were you.” He acted as if he was offering Eric a useful tip.

“Trident?” Eric let the name wander through his thoughts. Who the hell is Trident? And how many more of you are there?

“Trident wants the briefcases,” Holloway said, his tone friendlier now. He opened the door and gave Eric a modest push.

Eric stumbled into an unbelievable sight. Grace in a chair, bound and gagged. She was alive, but that offered Eric little assurance, considering. He couldn’t rest until she was safe.

Cherilyn, on the other hand, sat behind the desk, her feet propped up in contentment. She was way too comfortable for a kidnap victim.

Reality sank into his gut.

This was not the time to panic. This was the time to come up with a new plan. This was the time to kick Cherilyn’s ass. He’d known there was something up with her. He should’ve trusted his instincts.

Eric took a quick visual review of Grace. She looked scared, but she appeared to be okay, physically.

A measure relief swept Eric up in hope. If she was alive, there was always hope. Hope for what at this point, he wasn’t sure. But as long as she was breathing, he wasn’t about to give up hope.

“Good lord.” Cherilyn’s feet slammed to the floor. “It’s about time you got here,” she said, her wicked eyes rolling.

Sure, there was something about her that he hadn’t liked, but he hadn’t pegged her for being involved. Maybe I’m not so good at this.

Eric’s mental thrashing ceased once he caught sight of the handgun, a six shooter and bullets, lying on the desk.

“Cherilyn?” Anxiety fueled his tone. “What’s going on?”

“I thought it was pretty clear,” she said. “I want those briefcases. Or Gracie here gets it.”

Marcus. Where the hell was Marcus? “God, Cherilyn, they shot Marcus!” How could she let that happen? She loved Marcus, or at least Eric thought so. Maybe he was wrong. He’d been wrong before.

“Oh, I know.” Her reaction was heartless and cruel. Definitely not that of a woman in love. At least, not by Eric’s standards. “I really didn’t want it to come to that,” she said, with a grand gesture. “But once you guys got to my house, I knew right away…he’d never turn on you. Not even for me.” Remorse darkened her eyes with regret.

Perhaps Eric’s initial analysis of her was off. But... “Why?” Eric asked, knowing full-well that Marcus wouldn’t be the only one dying here today.

“There was no way in hell that I was going to let Michael Hendricks, or his beloved little family, live happily ever after.” Her words snapped with spite. “Why should you all get to live happily ever after? I didn’t.”

“Why the General?” Eric scavenged through the confusing thoughts muddling his brain. “You didn’t even know him.”

“Didn’t know him?” Her heated comeback shattered reality as Eric knew it. “Oh, I knew that son-of-a-bitch all right. Michael Hendricks stole my life from me. He recruited me, never giving it a second thought that he’d taken away every possibility of me and Marcus ever reuniting.” The anger Cherilyn had been harboring, possibly for years, bubbled up and boiled over, chafing her tone. “And, if I couldn’t live happily ever after, then neither was he. And subsequently, neither are you.”

“You’re Trident.” He knew it the moment Holloway had pushed him through the door, but saying it out loud was like realizing it for the first time.

A day from long ago flashed in Eric’s mind. The day he’d gone to the General’s office, before the man died, and learned about the secret compartment hidden in the desk. The General had been on the phone, arguing with someone named Maddie.

One of Cherilyn’s alters was named Madelyn, evident by the mail on her countertop back at the safe house. Was it Cherilyn the General had been arguing with that day?

“Oh, you catch on fast.” Cherilyn chuckled but it died out quickly. Her brow furrowed and she gave him a scrutinizing glare, like she was trying to figure out whether or not he was playing stupid.

That, my dear, is something you’ll never know. Laughter rippled through his mind. At least he’d one-upped her somehow.

And now he had to persuade her that she was wrong—for Grace’s sake. “You’re taking what happened to you and Marcus out on the wrong people.”

“No, I’m not.” Her cool, quick response suggested that his charm had little effect on her. “Your General made it so that Marcus and I could never be together again.” She shrugged and tilted her head. “So I decided one good turn deserves another. It’s only fair that I took from him, what he’s kept from me.”

Good, God. She’s crazy. Was she crazy enough to let them go? Somehow, he doubted it. “Listen.” He offered her the briefcases. “Here’s what you asked for. Just take it and let Gracie go.” He had to try, even if it was a futile request.

“I couldn’t let your General’s wife go.” She shook her head, determined. “And I can’t let yours go, either…sorry.”

You had Grace’s mother killed? Eric almost blurted the words out, but stopped himself just short.

Grace screamed at Cherilyn through the scarf binding her mouth.

“Oh, look.” Cherilyn smirked. “Your wife has something to say.” Her penetrating glare overshadowed her statement. “How come you didn’t tell me the news when I welcomed you into my home?”

Huh? How’d she know that? He and Grace had been married for all of about five minutes. They’d eloped, the day before the General died. By the time the thought to tell anyone had crossed his mind, Grace was gone. Disappeared. So, he’d kept the news to himself and never told a soul.

Nor had he been able to break those bonds of matrimony. He’d assumed, apparently incorrectly, that Grace had gotten the marriage annulled. Was it possible that she hadn’t?

My God. Are we still married?

“Funniest thing,” Cherilyn said. “I was going through your wife’s purse after I brought her here. I pull her driver’s license out of her wallet, and what do you think it says?” she asked, but somehow he didn’t think she cared what he thought. “It says her name is Grace Wayne. Can you imagine that?” Cherilyn’s tone and expression suggested that she found the idea amusing. She turned to Grace. “I thought I told you to leave your identification at my house.” She scolded Grace and then looked back at Eric. “I guess she just couldn’t let go.”

That statement spoke volumes to Eric. Now if he could live long enough to do something about it. Cherilyn had to have a weakness. He just had to find it. Yesterday, he’d put money on it being Marcus. Today, he wasn’t so sure.

“No wonder I couldn’t find her.” Cherilyn’s eyes gave away her amusement. “I was looking for Grace Hendricks. The thought that she could be Grace Wayne never occurred to me.” She shook her head. “Man, you guys wasted so much time.” Her tone flowed a bit softer now, as if she felt sorry for them. “And now that you’ve finally found each other again—” With each word her voice hardened until the merciless Cherilyn had returned full-force. “It’s too damned bad that you both have to die.”

Cherilyn scooped up the handgun on the desk with one hand and the bullets with the other. She loaded the gun, all the while eyeing Eric with a callous stare.

She was too hardhearted, too precise. How was he supposed to catch a break with someone like her?

The door opened and drew the full attention of Eric, Cherilyn and Holloway. Marcus stumbled in, holding his bloody side with one hand and his gun in the other.

Eric didn’t miss the nervous glance Holloway threw at Cherilyn. She didn’t flinch the slightest reaction to Marcus’s apparent resurrection.

“Torpedo...” With a cool gesture, she pointed at Eric, signaling her accomplice that that’s where his priorities lay.

Blood spilled over Marcus’s hand. He couldn’t remember which he was attempting to hold in, the blood or the pain. “Put the gun down, Cher,” he said with a bounty of confidence even though his tone had weakened, right along with his body.

“I can’t do that, Marcus.” Regret spilled forth in her voice as she fed the last bullet into the gun.

Anger charred Marcus’s heart. How dare she use him like this? How dare she put him in this position? How dare she force him to kill the only woman he’d ever loved? “Put the gun down.” He raised his own weapon and pointed it at Cherilyn.

“Come on, Marcus.” She showered him with mocking laughter. “You know you’re not going to shoot me.” Her cold hollow glare holed through him. Slowly, as if he was caught up in some strange nightmare, she lifted her gun toward Grace.

Marcus closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. He didn’t need to see it to know his one shot was heading straight for Cherilyn’s forehead, and in the process, destroying every ounce of hope Marcus could ever hope to acquire.

A thousand countless memories swept through his heart…the first time he met Cherilyn…their first kiss…the first time they made love…the day they were married…the strain of his breaking heart that day in the hospital when she walked out for good...the joy that filled his heart and sealed the cracks when she opened her front door just a few days ago....

In the commotion, Eric gained the element of surprise and put Holloway in an effective headlock. They struggled over the accomplice’s gun, and a shot rang out.

Eric? Grace’s heart deflated. She drew a breath and her chest expanded. Cherilyn’s ropes bit into her skin.

A fair amount of relief soothed her when the guy Cherilyn had referred to as Torpedo fell to the floor.

Eric scrambled to Grace’s side and fumbled with the ropes, managing to untie her quickly. “What about the other one?” he said to Marcus.

“Dead,” Marcus said, barely above a weak whisper, seconds before his body folded into a clump of flesh and bone at their feet.

CHAPTER 40

ERIC and Grace waited patiently in the emergency waiting area of the Brooklyn Hospital Center. They’d loaded Marcus into the car and brought him here themselves. They hadn’t wanted an ambulance to come to the warehouse for various reasons. Most importantly, Marcus could die waiting for the paramedics.

Eric glanced at the clock on the drab gray wall. 8:37 pm. Marcus had been in surgery for well over an hour.

How much longer? The emptiness of obscurity drained his spirit. God, what’s taking so long?

A couple of beat cops passed through the sliding doors and went straight to the information desk. Something told Eric they were here to talk to him and Grace. He glanced at her. Luckily, she was sleeping. He didn’t doubt she could talk a good game, but she’d been through a lot and he wanted to save her the plight of lying, at least for today.

Eric waited to stand until they’d turned and headed his way. He took a few steps, meeting them in the middle.

“I understand you brought in the John Doe,” one of them, the larger of the two, said.

“Yes. That’s right.” Eric was smart enough to know the best thing he could do was offer up as little information as possible. That way, it’d really look like he didn’t know Marcus from Adam, he was just some poor schmuck that Eric and Grace had happened upon in the parking lot of some shopping center.

“What happened?” The cop asked with a look of expectance.

“I have no idea,” Eric said, remaining so cool that he wanted to pat himself on the back. “We found him in the parking lot at Atlas Park.”

“Atlas Park?”

“Yeah. My wife and I had being shopping.” Eric made it up as he went along, but even he had to admit that every word coming out of his mouth sounded like gospel.

“Did you see anyone leaving the scene?”

“No.” Eric shook his head. Okay, it was probably time to build a plausible story for them. “He was lying between the rear of our car and the front of the van behind us.”

“You call 9-1-1?” the big cop asked as his partner began taking notes on a small pad.

“My wife tried.” He made a small waving gesture toward Grace, still sleeping on the nearby couch. “But we couldn’t get a cell signal.” Eric turned back to the police officers. “The guy was bleeding an awful lot. We thought it best to take him to a hospital ourselves.”

“You live around here?”

“No. We’re vacationing from Alabama. Visiting my wife’s cousin, Madelyn Givens, here in Queens.”

“Get that address,” the big cop said to his partner and then focused on Eric again. “When are you leaving town? I’m sure the lead detective is going to want to talk to you.”

“Currently we have no set plans,” Eric said, “but I’ll be sure to let you know when we decide otherwise.”

A doctor, a pretty black woman, appeared from behind the swinging doors they’d last seen Marcus disappear behind. Her gaze scanned the waiting area and settled on Eric, probably because he was with the police.

“Did you bring in the gunshot victim?” she asked him. He nodded. “A friend of yours?”

Eric shook his head. “As I was telling the officers here...” He reiterated his story to her, not word-for-word but basically the same details. He drew on everything he’d ever heard or watched about credible witnesses, leaving nothing to chance.

“How about his wallet?” the cop who’d been taking notes asked the doctor.

“He had no wallet or any identification on him when he arrived at this facility.”

“Your take on the gunshot?”

“He was shot from a distance.” She paused, and her gaze traveled a path among them. “My guess is that he was approached in the parking lot. Maybe a mugger asked for his wallet. He probably tried to back away, attempting an escape. And they shot him.”

“Then they probably grabbed his wallet and split.” The non-note-taking cop drew his own conclusions.

Luckily, the same conclusions Eric wanted him to make. “Is he going to be okay?” he hoped he didn’t sound too anxious. Nothing more than a freaked out Good Samaritan, that’s how he had to come across.

“It was touch and go throughout the surgery,” she said. “If he survives the night, I believe he’ll make a full recovery.”

Touch and go! That was putting it mildly. Dr. Angela Marcum had nearly lost her patient, so far a John Doe, not once but twice in the operating room. The second time he flat lined, it took almost a full minute to bring him back.

“Well, we’ll take it from here,” she said to the John Doe’s Good Samaritan.

“We just wanted to make sure that he’s okay.” He shrugged and tilted his head toward his wife. She was sleeping. She’d been through a lot today. He should probably take her home where she could rest.

“Well, he’ll be asleep most of the night. At least.” She buried her hands inside her lab coat pockets. “If you’d like to check on him in the morning, by then he might be able to tell us who he is.”

“My wife will be pleased to hear that.”

Angela glanced at the woman sleeping on the couch. “She looks tired.” She looked back at her hero husband. “Maybe you should take her home.”

“Is that your professional opinion?” he asked, and she got the feeling he was teasing.

“Yes.” She offered him her standard, friendly smile and bowed her head. “If you’ll excuse me,” she added, and turned away. She was going to go check on her patient.

Angela had always been concerned for human life, that’s why she’d become a doctor in the first place, but this stranger—something about the man she’d just operated on had touched her soul.

He was near death when the unbelievably charitable couple brought him into the emergency room. Thanks to their quick, and smart, thinking, if they’d waited for an ambulance to arrive on the scene, John Doe would probably be dead right now. She couldn’t explain it, but her heart ached at the thought of his life expiring, especially while he was under her care.

Well, when he woke up tomorrow maybe he’d tell them his name.

We’re still married! Those words kept barreling through Eric’s mind like an out-of-control orb in a pinball machine. Even now, long after he’d come to terms with his past, it seemed surreal.

Their decision to elope was born amid rumors that orders were coming down for Eric’s platoon to be shipped to Afghanistan.

Eric still had a clear picture in his mind of that day even though he’d long since tucked it away, back into the most isolated corners of his heart.

The rain should have been an indication that the day was destined to live in infamy. It wasn’t so much that this day in particular had torn his world apart. That’d actually happened the day the General died. But the events leading up to the wedding started on that rainy day.

Eric recalled so clearly the uncertainty he’d felt when he left the General’s office that afternoon. He’d told Eric that orders were coming down in the next few days and that his platoon would be leaving for Afghanistan before the end of the week.

Eric’s problem wasn’t with the orders. He, like most military personnel, wanted to go in the worst way. He just didn’t think Grace was going to be receptive to the idea.

But Grace had been born into the military way of life. Orders overseas was nothing new to her. Orders taking one into a war zone was another matter. In that respect, Eric had plenty of cause to worry.

The General, knowing that Eric had recently proposed to Grace, suggested he take a couple of days and go away with Grace, and do what he had to do.

Looking back now, perhaps that was the General’s way of saying, “You go marry my daughter, now.”

Now Eric wasn’t so sure the General’s reasoning was what he’d been originally led to believe.

He’d walked into the apartment that day, soaked. Grace had failed at another attempt at cooking dinner, this time she’d burned a pot roast. Eric had changed into dry clothes and consoled her in his arms as he got on the phone and ordered pizza.

“Half an hour,” he said of the delivery time, kissing the top of her head.

Hopefully, she wouldn’t recognize the difference in his tone, but knowing her she was probably already on to him.

He remembered holding onto her for the longest time that evening, before and after the pizza arrived.

They sat together in silence, wrapped in each other’s arms. She wasn’t saying anything and that couldn’t be good. The longer the quiet lasted, the more anxiety built up in Eric. She knew, she had to, that something was awry.

“Okay...” Frustration burst out in her voice. “Your silence is scaring me. What’s wrong?”

“Your Dad told me in confidence,” he said, tightening his embrace, “that orders are coming down. I’ll be gone by the end of the week.”

“Where?” she asked, fear choking her voice.

“Afghanistan.”

“Afghanistan?” she asked, her voice steadily weakening. “Isn’t that dangerous?” Her body stiffened and shook.

She was going to cry. No, don’t cry. “I’ll be okay,” he said, trying to memorize what it felt like to hold her.

Her soft, silent tears soaked his tee-shirt. “But what if you’re not?” She lifted her head and gazed at him with watery eyes. “If not for my father, I wouldn’t even be notified. The Marine Corps would not even acknowledge that I exist.”

A wave of guilt washed over Eric. She was right. The Marine Corps wouldn’t give Grace the time of day should his life end while serving his country. To the United States Government she was just a fiancée. Nothing. She didn’t exist. They wouldn’t allow her to make any decisions regarding his final arrangements. Yet he knew, she’d need to do that or she’d never get past his death.

“Come on,” he said, getting up. “Come on, let’s go.” He extended his hand out to her.

“What?” she asked. “Eric, don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you.” He pulled her to her feet.

“Then what are you doing?”

“You and I are going to get married.” Hell, he intended to marry her anyway. And if a marriage certificate gave her peace of mind while he was away, it was a small price to pay.

A couple of days later, they returned to Cherry Point a married couple, just hours before the General’s body was discovered.

But orders to Afghanistan had never come down. Nor had the General’s death altered potential orders in any way. The truth was, there were never any orders sending Eric to Afghanistan.

Now Eric realized, the General had plotted, schemed and of course lied in order to see to it that Eric married his daughter before he died. The man hadn’t taken his own life, as originally ruled, but Eric believed the General had been well-aware that his days were numbered.

It’s a shame the General had gone to all that trouble. Eric had had every intention of marrying Grace.

But, no matter when, where or how it’d taken place, it happened. And neither of them had had the marriage annulled, much less sought out a divorce.

Damn. Eric and Grace were still married.

He stepped on the gas and left the hospital’s parking structure, merging into traffic. Better get back to Cherilyn’s house. Grace needed rest, and Eric had work to do.

CHAPTER 41

ERIC had spent the better part of the night in Cherilyn’s spy room, while Grace rested upstairs. He’d learned a thing or two from watching Marcus’s ex about the process of identity creation. He’d been watching, much closer than she’d realized.

During the course of the night, his first few tries were pretty much trial and error, but after several, not so perfect attempts, he finally got the hang of it. By the time dawn had broken into a new day, he’d created drivers licenses for two of the identities the General had left for himself and Grace. But he didn’t stop there. He turned one of the many identities the General had created for him into an identity for Marcus.

He’d released Cherilyn’s virus with the new names a few hours ago. Forty-eight hours seemed to be the magic timeframe, according to Cherilyn, so he had a good start.

Grace entered the secret room, like she’d read his mind, and handed him a cup of piping hot, black coffee.

He took the mug with a wink and saluted her with a “cheers” gesture. He’d come so close to losing her. For real. For good.

“You okay?” he asked, forcing the unwelcome and unwanted thoughts out of his head.

“Yeah, I think so.” She gave a forced smile and pulled a chair up next to him. “A little shell-shocked. But okay.”

“Thanks.” Eric sipped the coffee. The hot liquid soothed him, wrapping him in warm attentiveness.

“Are we safe now…do you think?” she asked, optimistic.

“I think so.” He’d like to offer hope, but just in case that turned out to be a bad idea, he added, “but if not, at least now we know who we’re up against.”

Thanks to the General’s briefcases, they knew who their enemies were, and Eric and Grace had plenty of financing to help them get lost in the crowd.

“What are you doing in here, anyway?” she asked.

“Making sure that Marcus isn’t identified. And while I’m at it, neither are we.”

Grace sipped her coffee and the robe pulled up on her arms, revealing the rope burns on her wrists.

Eric closed his eyes and pushed himself up from the desk. He pulled Grace into his arms. “I was afraid I’d lost you.” That fear wiped out every bad thing she’d ever done to him. Her disappearance, the drugs. None of it mattered now. He relished in the pleasure of holding her in his arms and mustered the courage to ask about the thing that had been nagging at him for days now. “Gracie, can I ask you a question?” he said, weaker than he’d expected.

“Sure,” she said, resting her cheek against his chest.

Could she tell his heart was on the verge of pounding its way out of his chest?

Stay focused. “What’d you do with it?” he asked, nervously anticipating what that answer might be. “The ring.”

Her delicate but genuine smile gave him comfort, but then she turned away and trotted out of the room.

Where’d she go? Did she leave because she was embarrassed to tell him what happened to the ring he’d given her? Had she hocked it? Traded it for drugs?

Eric’s heart dove south and when he tried to catch it, it was like it slipped through his fingers.

Before he had the chance to delve fully into self-pity, she returned, the smile on her face broader than when she’d departed. She held the little blue velvet box out in the palm of her hand.

Could it be? The promise of joy revived his shattered heart, and wounded his psyche all at the same time. But Eric wasn’t going down that road again. He forced the hurt aside, determined to move forward and not backward, he took the jewelry case and opened it up. That same solitary diamond that he’d given her all those years ago sparkled against the dark blue background and filled him with hope. A soft smile wedged his mouth open.

Eric slipped the ring from its pedestal and looked at Grace. With a hesitant pause he cleared his mind of all those negative thoughts that’d been residing there so happily for such a long time.

“I want you to put this back on,” he said. “But, if you do...don’t ever take it off again.”

She didn’t say anything, she didn’t have to. She was still wearing the smile and for the first time in a long time Eric wasn’t worried. She offered him her hand, and he slid the ring onto her finger.

“I am going to take a shower.” She sauntered toward the door and looked enticingly over her shoulder. “Care to join me?”

Grace emerged from the bathroom, wearing nothing but the silk robe she’d snagged from Cherilyn’s closet. Eric was on the other side of the room, a towel wrapped around his waist, deciding between a pullover tee and a button-down shirt to go with his Levi’s draped along the edge of the bed.

“Are we going back to the hospital?” she asked, taking into account that every minute they stayed they were in danger of discovery. Yet, she couldn’t imagine abandoning Marcus.

“Yes, we are,” Eric said, snatching up the dressier shirt and sliding his arms into the sleeves. “When you get dressed, wear a long sleeved shirt.”

“Huh?” She didn’t get his suggestion at first, then she glanced down at her arms and saw the marks. He’s right. They didn’t need anybody questioning them about what had happened to her. “You’re right.”

“No matter what, we have to remain the tourists they think we are.” He strode to the dresser and stopped, checked his appearance in the mirror and turned back to her. “We can’t appear to be anything other than the concerned couple that found him yesterday.”

Grace sat on the edge of the bed. Oh, man. She needed to be an actress to pull this off. And Grace wasn’t an actress. But she’d learn real quick though, for Marcus’s sake. “What are we going to do? After Marcus gets better?” She tried to hide her anxiety but it escaped in her voice. “Where are we going to go?”

“I don’t know, Gracie,” he said. “But wherever we go, whatever we do... we’ll do it together.”

Well, at least they were on the same page—which was a miracle, considering. She’d made so many mistakes and he had suddenly forgiven her for all of them. Did she deserve such happiness?

“Why didn’t you tell me we were still married?” she asked.

Damn. Maybe she’d been a little premature with that happiness thing.

“I just assumed that you’d had the marriage annulled, after you left.” Mocking laughter rumbled up his throat. “See what happens when you assume?”

“Like I told you before, I didn’t leave to get away from you.” She struggled to get the words out. “And besides...how was I supposed to know you hadn’t had the marriage annulled either?”

He gave her one of those apologetic looks that said she had a point, but there was a certain afterglow that suggested he hadn’t yet jumped off the fence.

“Are you still angry with me?” Grace was tormented by a sudden inexplicable chill.

Eric looked at her, studying her face in silence. His head started moving slowly, disagreeing, just before he said, barely above a whisper, “No.”

She took a couple of steps toward him and stopped, fear and uncertainty marking her fragile disposition.

Gazing at her now, his whole outlook had changed. Eric couldn’t explain it or quite put his finger on it, but still, something inside him had shifted. During the last eleven years, he’d never once thought about Grace as his wife. She’d simply been the girl who ran out on him.

But now, in light of recent events and revelations, Grace was his wife and she always had been. Never mind that they’d been apart all this time. Now it just seemed like an obstacle, a circumstance that someone had deliberately put in their way. Through time, effort, and a fair amount of luck, they’d found their way back to each other.

Eric wasn’t going to look a gift-horse in the mouth. She was here and he was thankful.

“Grace, I put that ring back on your finger, didn’t I?” he asked, and she nodded. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want us to have kids. I want us to grow old together.” He laid his heart on the line for her. Could she do the same?

She moved a step or two closer. “I hear a but in there somewhere.”

“I feel compelled to tell you.” He hesitated, hoping she’d heed the warning. “If you run away again…even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t be able to forgive you.”

Grace sucked in a shallow breath, and a smile as intimate as a kiss swept across her lips. She moved toward him, and with each slow seductive step her thin robe parted with teasing, beckoning behavior.

Eric’s levelheaded side fought with his carnal side. He wanted to be seduced by her. Wait a minute, his sensible side cried out. They were having a serious conversation. He wasn’t anybody’s fool. Was he going to let her use seduction as a distraction?

No. Definitely not. Well...maybe. Probably.

Grace stopped, inches short and pushed Eric into the armless chair behind him. Her robe stood open an inch or so and her naked body peeked out at him.

Eric looked her over. Damn, she was splendid. His desire to slide his hands under her robe exploded into full-blown lust.

She straddled him and the robe parted to her sides, revealing her tempting body. Resting her arms on his shoulders, she spoke softly, “I’ll spend every day, showing you that you’ve made the right decision.”

Temptation got the better of Eric, finally, and he slid his hands inside the robe. “You can start now,” he said, positioning her body to suit his own wants, needs, and pleasures.

But he couldn’t let them get carried away for long. There was plenty of time for carnal recreation later. Right now, they really needed Marcus to get well and he needed to do it quickly because the three of them needed to disappear—just in case there were more of Cherilyn’s cohorts out there waiting to strike.

CHAPTER 42

MARCUS’S chest ached and his head was hazy, as if he was in some thick, dense fog. He struggled to open his eyes but his lids felt like they’d been glued together.

Where am I? And why the hell did it feel like somebody had set a massive boulder on his upper body?

Maybe there was something on his eyes. Perhaps he should rub them and find out? Using his fingertips, he massaged his eyelids.

“Welcome back,” the voice of an angel said to him.

Her serene voice somehow enabled him to finally open his eyes. The angelic voice had a face to match.

Her rich bronze skin glistened with excitement and her brown eyes brightened upon meeting his. She let out a soft sigh and a tentative smile curled on her lips.

His head still clouded, he tried to remember where he was. Who he was. “Where am I?” The words came out, but he was pretty sure he’d meant to contain them to just a mental inquiry.

“You’re at Brooklyn Hospital Center.” She wrapped her fingers around his wrist in a purely medicinal fashion. “Can you tell me your name?” she asked, looking at her watch.

What was she doing? Taking his pulse?

Yeah. The word breezed through his thoughts in response to her question. Of course he knew his name. He just needed a minute to think of it. “What happened to me?” He’d change the subject until he remembered.

“You were shot.” Compassion poured out in her voice. “Do you have any recollection at all about that?”

He might be on the verge of remembering something, but his wits told him he shouldn’t be talking about it if he did remember. “No,” he said. A hint of nerves hitched a ride on his answer.

“We suspect you may have been mugged,” she said, making notations on his chart.

“Mugged?” he questioned her statement and tried to locate some sort of solid recollection in his mind.

“You were found in a shopping mall parking lot, not far from here,” she said, reaching for her stethoscope.

“How long have I been here?” He wasn’t sure why but he judged the particulars important.

“Since yesterday.” She placed the cool metal of the stethoscope against his chest.

“Is this normal?” he asked, about the loss of his memory. “Not remembering who I am or what happened?”

She rested her hand over his and offered him a reassuring smile. Great bedside manner. He’d bet she’d entered more than one of her patients’ fantasies.

Man, get a grip. He quietly scolded himself for losing control of his senses.

“It’s not uncommon to suffer a temporary loss of memory after a traumatic occurrence.”

Temporary? He hoped that prognosis was correct.

“Typically, it doesn’t last more than a few days.” Her voice, more than her words, comforted him.

Instantly her bronze skin flushed with a soft crimson flow. She was embarrassed. What had she been thinking?

“Is, was, anybody with me?” he asked. Her face turned redder. A-ha. Now he could guess the thoughts that’d been roaming around in her head. Something along the lines of...It’s too bad that you’re going to wake up in a few days and realize that you’ve got a wife and kids waiting for you somewhere.

The notion of a wife and kids brought him nothing. No recollections. No familiarity. No hope.

“Well, a nice couple brought you in,” she said. “They stayed last night until you were out of surgery. I believe they have intentions of coming back today.”

She gave him one of those pitying smiles that said she was glad that somebody cared about him. He looked at his hand. His left one. No ring, not even the mark of one. Clearly there was no wife. If there ever had been, she was gone now, from not only his mind but his heart.

Eric and Grace made their way down the hospital corridor, holding hands. He played with her rings. He’d given her the eternity ring earlier that morning. They’d stopped at a shopping center to purchase a new wallet, to plant Marcus’s new identity in. Passing a jewelry store, Eric led Grace inside. It was high time he bought his wife a wedding band to go with her engagement ring.

Closing in on the nurses’ station on Marcus’s floor, Eric spied the young doctor they’d talked to yesterday and guided Grace toward her. “Good morning.”

Dr. Marcum turned toward them. “Mr. and Mrs. Cooper,” She greeted them with a professional smile.

Good thing he’d had the good sense to use the name of one of the identities the General had created for him on the sly—just in case. Eric was not convinced the danger had passed just because Cherilyn, Holloway, and their unidentified accomplice had been neutralized.

“We just wanted to drop by and see how he’s doing,” he said scrupulously polite and friendly. “Has there been any change?”

“Yes.” She nodded with a pleasant smile. “He has regained consciousness.”

“Splendid,” Eric said, trying to contain the bulk of his joy over hearing that Marcus was going to be okay. “May we see him?” he added, his tone calmer now.

“Of course.” She turned and motioned them to follow her down the corridor. “He doesn’t remember what happened. Nor does he know who he is,” she said, as they walked casually toward his room.

Grace gasped. “He’s going to be okay though...right?”

Hopefully this was just a ploy on Marcus’s part not to have to divulge any personal information.

“He’ll be fine,” the doctor said. “It’s probably just circumstance of being in the wrong place at the wrong time coupled with the trauma of being shot that’s caused a temporary loss of memory. I anticipate he’ll regain his memory soon.”

“That is excellent news.” Eric’s pleasure poured out in a smile.

They stopped in front of Marcus’s room and she paused briefly before issuing her warning. “Try not to tire him out with too much chatter. He needs his rest.”

“We wouldn’t dream of interfering with your recovery plans,” Eric said, and followed his words with a sort of snigger.

Dr. Marcum pushed the door open and Eric and Grace followed her inside the room.

Marcus’s gaze drifted toward the opening door, and the minute it fell upon the couple behind Dr. Marcum, his memories came flooding back like a giant wave. Definitely too much at once.

Relief painted Eric and Grace’s faces, but they masked it well. Only someone who knew them would see the worry hidden behind the facade.

Marcus didn’t really hear Dr. Marcum when she introduced him to his rescuers. He was still processing the excessive details, and trying to recall the precise events that had brought him to this place.

Then he slammed head-on into a Sherman tank. Cherilyn. He’d killed Cherilyn. No wonder his memories had elected desertion.

“Hello…” Eric’s greeting trailing off into careful consideration as he offered his hand to Marcus. “My wife and I just wanted to make sure that you’re okay.”

“Thank you.” Marcus shook his hand. “I’m fine. A little sore. A little forgetful. But fine.”

Marcus opted to keep up the charade of amnesia since the good doctor had introduced Eric and Grace as Doug and Katey Cooper. Knowing Eric, he’d already created a new identity for Marcus, too. All Marcus needed to do was wait until he could share that information in private.

“The police haven’t been able to uncover any information regarding what happened.” Eric’s tone was calm as he spoke to Marcus, but his eyes told a different tale. He wanted Marcus to get rid of the doctor. “If you don’t mind, I’ve taken the liberty of hiring a private investigations firm.”

Grace moved closer to Marcus and covered his hand with a gentle touch. “I’m so happy to see you alive and awake.” She hesitated, stifling her tears and mouthed the words, “thank you”.

“Hey doc,” Marcus called out. “Where’s that food you promised me?”

“Coming right up.” Once again, she graced him with her beautiful smile and paused at the door, glimpsing toward Eric and Grace. “Remember what I said,” she told them with an allusive warning.

“Yes, ma’am.” Eric waved her off as she disappeared into the hallway. As soon as the door shut, his attention rocketed back to Marcus. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said. “I take it no one knows what happened at the warehouse?” That inquiry alone should tell them he was in full possession of his faculties.

“If they do,” Eric said as if it were a real possibility, but one he wasn’t worried about, “they don’t know we were there.” Eric paused, and there was something impishly wicked in his eyes. He was damn proud of himself. “The police are going to find a wallet that will enable them to identify you as a real estate magnate from California. You’re name is Julian Turner.”

“Julian?” Seriously. Julian?

“Tell you the truth, I didn’t care much for the name myself.” A witty smile accompanied Eric’s shrug. “So, I gave it to you.”

Marcus raised a determined finger at Eric. “I will get you for this.”

“Marcus,” Grace stepped in, playing referee, much as she had in the past. “Before she comes back—”

“Yeah,” Eric cut in. “She sure is over-protective of you.  I think she likes you.”

If only. When Marcus had no memories, Dr. Angela Marcum had filled his thoughts. And now that his recall had made a full recovery, as strange as it may seem, she was still there overwhelming the biggest part of him.

“Marcus,” Grace said his name again, more determined this time. “I just wanted to say thank you. I know it wasn’t easy, but she would have killed me.”

“I know, Gracie…” Marcus closed his eyes long enough to ward off the sorrow threatening invasion. “I loved her. But not enough to let her hurt either of you.”

In some small way, it felt ironic to Marcus that he’d used the past tense term, loved—as in, not anymore.

It suddenly occurred to him that the moment he’d walked into the room at the warehouse and saw Cherilyn with the gun in her hand, that was the moment his love for her had started to diminish. And then, when she raised the gun toward Grace, every ounce of anything he’d ever felt for Cherilyn died instantly.

Marcus, Eric and Grace, as well as their conversations, froze when the door opened and Dr. Marcum appeared with a tray of food.

“Listen,” Grace said to Marcus, “I can only imagine that not knowing who you are, or what happened to you, must be very frustrating.” She paused, pouring it on thick. “Is there anything we can get you? Or anything we can do for you?”

“You’ve done more than could ever be expected of you. So, thank you, but no,” he said graciously. Well, nothing short of a memory adjustment. Marcus would love to forget about Cherilyn and everything there was between them. But, then again, maybe it was a lesson he shouldn’t soon forget.

The good doctor sat the cafeteria special on the tray and moved it in front of Marcus. He eyed it with little interest. Hmm… Mashed potatoes, corn, some canned pears—that was his best guess—and some sort of meat by-product. Not exactly what he’d had in mind when he asked for food.

“This is it?” Marcus hoped it wasn’t, but somehow knew it was.

“Sorry. It’s the best I can do from the hospital cafeteria.” The doctor’s apology sounded sincere, but it did little to improve the appeal of the meal.

“Well, can I at least watch a little TV while I eat?” he asked, making the best of the situation.

“Sure.” She searched through the desk drawers until she found the television’s remote. Clicking the TV on, she handed the controller to Marcus. “Well…” She flashed a smile that hinted at a little more than friendly. “Enjoy your dinner. I’ll see you later.” A little bit of the sunshine left with her as she slipped into the hallway.

“Very interesting.” Eric’s gaze darted back and forth between Marcus and the door.

“She likes you.” Grace’s statement endorsed Eric’s implied opinion.

“And you base that belief on...?” Marcus’s words trailed off into a doubtful chuckle that mingled with the noise from the television.

“Have you ever seen a doctor deliver a patient’s dinner to him?” Grace snickered.

Marcus prepared an objection but was instantly distracted by the diamonds glistening on Grace’s left hand. “Wow, Gracie, you could light up the entire hospital with those,” he said of the rings.

Her cheeks brightened, like that of a blushing bride. “Oh, my rings.” She giggled. “Well, this is my engagement ring. Eric gave it to me way back when.” She stopped talking long enough to touch the hardware. “And he bought this one for me today,” she added of the band of diamonds sitting alongside the engagement ring.

“Did I miss something?” Marcus’s uncertainty corrupted his words. He questioned whether or not he’d actually lost some chunks of time. And if he had, this news meant he’d replaced them with something else.

“Well…actually…” Looking star struck, Eric struggled to find the words. “Grace and I got married, we eloped, the day before the General died.”

“Married?” Marcus was too rattled to do anything more than drop his jaw in shock.

When the hell...what?

Of course, it shouldn’t surprise him, Grace and Eric marrying. It was the logical next step. The out of ordinary thing was the General’s death. Had it not been for that, they’d probably have a whole slew of kids by now.

“Neither one of us had the marriage annulled.” Eric gained ground on his composure and his tone strengthened. “And what’s more, she’s been living as Grace Wayne all these years.” His words came confidently, but his shocked face said he was just as confounded as Marcus.

“Married?” Marcus repeated the word again, just to give it a chance to sink in. When it did, he looked at Grace and Eric. “You guys are still married,” he said, and it was no question.

“Grace Wayne…” Eric laughed softly. “Who’da thunk it?” he said with a hint of playfulness. “That’s why I couldn’t find her. I was looking for Grace Hendricks.”

“And apparently so was Cherilyn,” Marcus said with a measure of guilt, which made sense. Cherilyn was his ex-wife, and because of that Marcus had opened the door for her to infiltrate their lives.

“Yes, and thank God we are all safe and sound.” Grace said, her voice harboring no ill-will toward Marcus.

“Hopefully the police will locate your wallet pretty soon,” Eric said. “In the meantime, you might want to continue to play that I-can’t-remember-anything card until you’re out of here and you’ve had a chance to mull over who Julian Turner really is.”

“Yeah, but, what if they don’t find it?” he said. “What do I do then?”

“You’ll come stay with us.” Eric took a second to glance at Grace, who nodded. “There, you’ll get the chance to figure out everything about the identity, and, slowly you can get your memory back.”

“Of course that’s what you’ll do,” Grace said. “Besides, we have to make sure there’s no one else left out there who’s after us.”

The television went into a local news program. “Police discovered two bodies in a warehouse along the East River in Brooklyn this morning.” That statement drew all eyes to the TV. “Both individuals suffered fatal gunshot wounds. Police are withholding the identities of the victims until notification of the next of kin.”

That was it, there was nothing more to the story. The news anchor went straight into a human interest piece.

Eric, Grace, and Marcus all followed each other’s gazes around the room like they were in a conga line. The difference was, the tune playing was bewilderment layered with a pinch of panic.

Two bodies? Just two? That wasn’t good. There were three of them yesterday. They’d all thought, obviously incorrectly, that they’d neutralized each of them, but one of them was still alive. And worse yet…they’d gotten away.

But who...who survived?

CHAPTER 43

Small Town, USA
Ten Years Later

CHATTER from a dozen conversations filtered through the air, laughter resided in many. The Coopers’ barbeques were the coveted neighborhood place to be. If one had managed to acquire an invitation, then they could safely say they were part of the “in” crowd.

The last few parties the Coopers had hosted entertained nearly one hundred guests. Luckily, the backyard was roomy and bountiful with plenty of room for their guests.

Lively conversation, good food, good drink—both alcoholic and non-alcoholic—was always available. The pool had been a great idea. It preoccupied the children. No wonder everyone wanted an invite.

Doug and Katey Cooper were undoubtedly living the proverbial American dream. They’d come from New York City to live a quiet and peaceful life in this non-descript little town. Rumor had it, they’d made a killing in the stock market several years ago, back when they lived in New York City.

The barbeques had started out as a friendly, “hi, we’re new to the area and we’d like to get to know our neighbors,” sort of thing. The first year, attendance was scarce. But once people got to know the Coopers, attendance began picking up every year and lately the parties had grown so wildly popular that they decided to throw the barbeques sometimes three and four times a year.

This barbeque was the first for this year. Spring had arrived and now the sweet scent of lilacs, jasmine, and honeysuckle drifted intoxicatingly through the air.

Doug Cooper scanned the crowd, searching until he found her. His wife, Katey. His gaze fell upon her and stayed there. Amazing, he still enjoyed the simple act of looking at her just as much today as he did the first time he’d laid eyes on her.

Doug, now approaching the big five-0, was trim and fit and still looked good, or so his wife told him—daily. Women of his acquaintance hadn’t missed his robust physique either, but Doug was a one-woman man, and that had made some women quite envious of Katey Cooper.

His wife was an amazing woman with an eternally youthful quality about her beauty. In her early forties, Katey rarely admitted to being anything more than thirty-something.

With her youthful appearance and delightful personality, women wanted to be her and men simply wanted to be with her.

Watching his wife, with a crafty smile on his thoughts, Doug could easily guess that she was setting someone up to secure a donation from them at a later date for the West Side Clinic.

Doug’s thoughts of his wife were interrupted by his youngest child tugging at his shorts. “Daddy…” his daughter said, gazing up at him, “Michael said I can’t play with the ball.”

At the age of seven, Grace Cooper had quickly and aptly learned the art of wrapping her father around her little finger. With a few words from that sweet voice of hers, along with some effective batting of those deep green eyes that stood out so prominently against her russet brown hair, which always reminded him of chocolate, and he was putty in her hands. He knew it, but he didn’t care.

Doug surveyed the pool in search of his eldest son Michael, who’d just turned nine last month.

Grace was a beautiful combination of her mother and her father, while her eldest brother, on the other hand, didn’t look a thing like either one of them. But Doug wasn’t worried.

He recognized the boy’s amazing resemblance to his maternal grandfather, Katey’s dad, also his namesake.

Grace’s twin brother, Eric, was gifted with the facial features of his mother, along with her eyes, and Doug’s blond hair. Fiercely independent and with a multitude of charisma, Katey constantly said that someday her baby boy would end up breaking more than a few hearts.

Doug’s eyes locked with Michael’s and the boy tossed the ball in question out of the water and onto the grass.

“Michael.” Doug stared at him. “It won’t be much fun if you have to sit on the sidelines and watch, will it?”

The boy should know that tone by now, and he’d do well not to push Doug. Not unless he wanted to ruin his chances of helping with the new project Doug was starting next week.

Doug scooped up the ball and handed it to his daughter.

She clutched it in her small hands and flashed him a grateful smile. She batted her eyes a couple of times and said, “Thank you, Daddy.”

And Doug’s heart melted.

Katey walked up and laced her arm around Doug’s. “She got you again, didn’t she?” His wife’s jolly laughter bounced off him.

“Yeah.” Doug knew when he was beat and tore his gaze away from his daughter. Instead, he concentrated on his wife now. “She got that from her mother,” he said with a wink.

Neither Doug nor Katey had had any regrets about settling down in this quiet little town. They’d made the decision when they’d found out Katey was expecting their first child. They’d decided they wanted to raise their expanding family in a calm, quiet, and safe atmosphere if that was at all possible. A small community afforded the best chance of that happening.

The basis of their newfound philosophy, they said, was Julian Turner.

The Coopers developed a strong bond with Julian after finding him lying in the parking lot of a mall in Brooklyn. He’d been shot. The attending physician in the emergency room at Brooklyn Hospital Center was Dr. Angela Marcum, a pretty black woman who, at the time, was in her early thirties.

When Julian awakened sometime later, seemingly at a loss for details regarding the shooting, the police dubbed the incident a mugging gone badly due to the fact that Julian’s wallet and identification were missing when he was found. Dr. Marcum speculated that the trauma of being robbed at gunpoint and subsequently shot had brought about the inability to recall the incident.

Several days later the police recovered a wallet with a California driver’s license and several credit cards. The billfold belonged to Julian Turner, a real estate mogul from out west. The photograph on the driver’s license was how the mugging victim in the Brooklyn Hospital Center was identified as Julian Turner.

Wanting to settle down into an uneventful life, the Coopers set out in search of a quiet life in a tranquil little town. After settling into their new home, their good friend Julian and his new girlfriend Dr. Angela Marcum came for a visit.

Extremely pleased with the quaint picture of small town life, Julian found that he, like his new friends, was right at home.

It didn’t take him long to persuade Angela to marry him. And just a few months after the Coopers had moved into the neighborhood, the house across the street came up for sale. Julian and his new wife bought the house and moved in promptly.

Angela ended up pregnant right around the time Katey gave birth to Michael, and she was insistent that if their child were a boy they would name him Julian, after his father.

Julian obliged his wife. But when Angela gave birth to a second son, about a year after Katey had the twins, he insisted they name the child Marcus. His reasoning was that he’d had a good friend once named Marcus, but, unfortunately he was dead.

And now, here at the Coopers’ barbeque the Turner children played together enthusiastically with the Cooper children in the Cooper’s swimming pool.

“Cooper…” A neighbor, John Starrett, approached Doug with a jovial laugh. “Are you ready to sell me that Shelby?”

“Oh, my good friend...” Doug shook his head. “She is not for sale.”

“And even if she was,” Julian chimed in with a sharp laugh. “You’d be hard pressed to afford her.”

John laughed on the outside, but Doug knew, on the inside the remark dug under the man’s skin.

Everybody knew the Turners and the Coopers had money, a lot more than anybody else in this sleepy little town. The thing that made them likeable, Doug thought, was that they didn’t make a big production of their wealth.

Surreptitiously, John Starrett fancied himself as being the one true friend that neither Doug Cooper nor Julian Turner knew they needed. He had grand illusions that one day he’d finally get the opportunity to display that friendship and from there on out, he would be the center of their world.

But it was highly unlikely, virtually impossible, that he could live up to his golden desires. Other than Doug and Julian, no one else could ever know the bond that existed between the two men. Nobody but Doug’s wife. She was the only person that knew a wedge could never be driven between the two friends.

And even if it could, it’d never happen by the likes of John Starrett. He reminded Doug too much of a guy he used to know who went by the name of Holloway. Doug hated that guy.

“Since everybody’s so curious about the Shelby, maybe you should go ahead and tell them,” Julian said to Doug.

“Maybe you’re right,” Doug agreed. “Maybe it’s high time the neighborhood started contributing and giving back to the community.”

Julian and Doug both let out a wily chuckle. No wonder they were the best of friends. When they weren’t fishing or hunting, they dabbled in the restoration of classic and antique vehicles.

The word had gotten around about their work. People had been coming from all over, for years, making inquiries and requests about their cars.

Doug had insisted that he wasn’t looking to go into business. This was nothing more than a diversion for him. Julian felt pretty much the same way.

Julian, like Doug, didn’t need to make more money. They both had plenty of that.

But, with a little persuasion from his practical business-minded wife, Doug was able to see the light. Katey, who’d once had a successful career as a fundraiser, showed him how to finance their hobby without dipping into resources that were better spent securing their children’s future.

With an annual car show and auction, Katey suggested they could easily finance their ventures for the upcoming year.

Doug had to admit, it was a great idea. Brilliant in fact. It would also be a grand gesture to charge an admission fee and donate those funds to the West Side Clinic.

The clinic was initially Angela’s project. Even in the midst of doing her fair share of populating the little town they lived in, she was not quite ready to give up practicing medicine. With Julian and the Coopers’ help, she opened up the West Side Clinic in their small town.

The clinic offered medical care to those who needed it. If the patient could afford to pay something, then they paid whatever they could. If they couldn’t afford to pay anything, that was okay, too.

Angela had persuaded Katey to volunteer a few hours several days a week to come in and help her out with administrative duties. And again, Katey Cooper used her business savvy to turn the clinic into a phenomenal success.

Quickly, she organized the health center, setting up a daycare on site, which she’d initially intended to use to care for hers and Angela’s children. But by the time it was up and running, it also offered free daycare to the employees of the clinic. Eventually, they offered free daycare to patients who didn’t have anywhere else to leave their children when they needed to see a doctor.

Katey Cooper was also quite effective in organizing benefits and fundraisers for the clinic. She had an uncanny ability to talk the money right out of anybody’s pockets. It didn’t matter who they were, no one was safe when she set her sights on their wallets.

“May I have your attention...” Doug beckoned the consideration of his guests. “Since we’ve had quite a few inquiries about the Shelby, I suppose I might as well get right to it.”

Wait until they all got a load of the Cuda he and Julian had just brought in. They planned to begin the restoration next week, and Doug’s son Michael was going to help.

Michael loved going into the garage with Doug and Julian, and they enjoyed teaching him about the cars. They showed him how to handle each step of the process properly and Michael took to it and thrived on the restoration procedure.

“Is it for sale?” John Starrett asked eagerly of the Shelby, even though Julian had been right about him. Starrett would never be able to afford the value of that car. And even if he could, his wife would never allow it.

“Nope, it’s not for sale,” Doug said with a little shake of the head. “As some of you know, Julian and I have a little hobby.”

“An expensive little hobby, too.” Someone out in the crowd chuckled.

“That’s very true,” Doug said. “Every year, we have a car show and an auction, mainly because that’s the only way my wife says I can keep doing it next year.” He winked at Katey. “We use the money from the auction to finance our restoration projects for the upcoming year. Now I’m not one to solicit at these barbeques because I consider them to be an informal get-together. But, since we’ve had a few inquiries about the Shelby, we thought we’d let everyone know…” Doug paused, catching his breath and his wife eyed him with a curious, what-are-you-up-to look.

Neither she, nor Angela—as far as Doug knew—had any idea about his and Julian’s plans for the Shelby.

“We’re going to sell raffle tickets at the car show...and just let me say this now, before everyone stops listening…” This was going to create quite the buzz. “The Shelby is insured for one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. We are going to sell raffle tickets at one hundred dollars per ticket. You can buy as many tickets as you like, and, so long as we sell at least five hundred tickets...some lucky person is going to win that Shelby.” Doug paused to let the chattering die down, and then he continued. “The reason we want to raise at least fifty grand is because we are donating the money to Angie and Katey’s clinic.”

The crowd burst into applause. They all knew what the clinic meant to their small community.

Katey and Angela showered their respective husbands with sweet kisses.

“That gesture is going to pay off big-time for you, Mr. Cooper.” Katey’s promise breezed against Doug’s ear and rolled thrilling thoughts through his mind.

“I’m going to hold you to that, Mrs. Cooper.” He sealed it with a smile.

When the Coopers weren’t throwing neighborhood barbeques, or Doug and Julian weren’t fixated on some automobile that they were bringing back to life, and Katey and Angela had left the clinic in the capable hands of the staff for the day, there was nothing that either of the two couples loved better than spending a lazy Saturday afternoon sitting on their respective front porch swings.

They were content just to sit there watching their children play together and with all the neighborhood children.

Julian could be found glancing across the street from time to time, holding his wife in his arms. Sometimes, his expression tended to lean toward the sad side and Doug figured that’s when his thoughts wandered off to his first wife. Julian had never told Angela about his first wife, but Doug knew he had no regrets.

Across the street in the Coopers’ swing, Doug loved nothing more than holding his wife in his arms and caressing her long dark hair.

It’d been hard getting used to calling her Katey. He suspected it had been just as hard for her to get used to calling him Doug.

But it had to be done.

After Marcus shot Cherilyn, Eric and Grace thought it probably best if they reinvented themselves and never breathed a word about what had happened. Who’d believe them anyway? More than likely, Marcus would’ve ended up in prison. It was possible, and very likely that all three of them would have ended up incarcerated.

And, there was still one of them out there. Somewhere. They’d never found out which one of Cherilyn’s cohorts had survived.

Eric had suggested, several times, that it hadn’t been Cherilyn. He’d never been quite so graphic with Marcus, but he’d seen the bullet pierce her forehead. That diminished her chance of survival immensely.

Still, as long as one of them was still out there, danger always lingered just around the next corner. Eric could live with that. What he couldn’t live with was seeing Grace in prison.

Eric and Grace didn’t think that’s why her father had gone to all that trouble, years ago, for that to happen.

So, with relative ease Eric and Grace turned into Doug and Katey Cooper, identities Michael Hendricks had created for them.

It was easy enough to reinvent themselves, with all the fake identities the General had given them to choose from. Eric had learned enough from Cherilyn that he had no trouble converting one of his identities, Julian Turner, a real estate tycoon from California, into a black man with Marcus’s face.

They’d all gotten stuck with the Cooper and Turner identities when Marcus and the doctor who’d saved his life fell in love.

Eric Wayne, Grace Hendricks Wayne, and Marcus Johnson had disappeared. And none of them could ever come back. They had to disappear, just like the real identity of Grace’s father had vanished. And their true identities, like his, was lost forever.

And just like Grace would never know who her father really was, their children could never know who their parents were either. A sad destiny, but it beat getting caught.

Maybe that’s why they named the twins Eric and Grace. It was their attempt at preserving some little something of who they really were.

And while there true identities would undoubtedly have to remain buried forever, Eric and Grace’s love for each other was something they were finally able to convey openly and freely with one another and never have to worry about the other’s intentions. They both knew they were in it for the long haul.

But neither Eric, Grace, nor Marcus could truly let their guards down. Trouble could waltz back around the corner at any time.

It’d done it before.

**I hope you enjoyed SECONDARY TARGETS. Please turn the page for an excerpt of my Kindle bestseller CRAZY FOR YOU**

**Directly following CRAZY FOR YOU, please enjoy an excerpt of Cara Marsi's romantic suspense LOGAN'S REDEMPTION**

CRAZY FOR YOU

by

Sandra Edwards

PROLOGUE

1988
New York City

The interview wasn’t going well. Not from Roxanne’s point of view. She knew Lauren Weber’s reputation as a talk show host. In a word, barracuda said it all. This came as no surprise to Roxanne and now she wondered how she’d ever been talked into this in the first place.

If Lauren’s guest had anything to hide she had a way of tempting those skeletons out of the closet. And Roxanne had plenty to hide. Plenty that could tarnish her public image of sweet and innocent.

This is all Walt’s fault. Roxanne’s publicist had convinced her it would be good publicity for the new movie. Initially, his argument had been a good one: Lauren Weber was the most popular talk show host around, and this would be a nice plug for the new movie since millions of people would see the clips.

Walt had been adamant, so reluctantly, and against her better judgment, she’d agreed to let America’s favorite talk show host interview the renowned authoress-actress Roxanne Simon.

“What can you tell us about Garrett-Hollander?” Lauren’s questioning voice brought Roxanne back to reality.

She didn’t falter at the mention of the ever-popular rock band. “Well…” Roxanne said, “I don’t know what I could tell you that you don’t already know.”

“Isn’t it true that you and your sister Candy knew them when they were nobody?”

“I’ve never thought of Frank or Rich as nobody.”

“Isn’t Frank Garrett the father of your son?”

The audience reacted with a mixture of gasps and whispers.

Roxanne laughed skeptically. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Well, his name is Frankie.”

“Frank is my father’s name,” Roxanne said with all the repose expected of someone with two Best Actress Oscars under her belt.

Lauren took on one of those looks that said she knew she was getting nowhere. But Roxanne wasn’t falling for that. Lauren Weber was regrouping. And Roxanne Simon would be ready.

“Your latest movie,” Lauren said, changing the subject, “Bad Company, was released last week and it’s doing well at the box office.” She paused briefly, allowing the audience time for applause. “And rumor has it that it’ll be nominated for multiple Academy Awards.”

“Well…I think it’s a little early to be supposing about the Oscars,” Roxanne declared.

“You’re no stranger to the Oscars,” Lauren said. “You’ve won awards before. Aren’t you getting used to collecting them by now?”

“I’ll never get so used to it that I’ll take something like that for granted,” Roxanne said meekly of the Oscars. “I’m always grateful for any recognition of my work.”

Roxanne was surprised at how cool she’d managed to remain. Lauren had invaded territory that was better left alone. Territory that was known for bringing out Roxanne’s weaknesses.

“What’s next?” Lauren’s voice remained casual.

“A vacation,” Roxanne said, and dropped it at that. It wasn’t time for the public to know she’d started work on her autobiography.

“Devoting some time to your son?”

“Yes.”

“Is he here with you?”

Apprehension bundled up inside Roxanne, but she wouldn’t lie. In the past, her lies had a way of biting her on the butt. “Yes, he is.”

“Could we bring him out?”

Shit. Through the years, Roxanne had successfully protected Frankie from the press. Not one photograph of him had ever been published in any newspaper or magazine. But America was going to get a look at him now.

If Roxanne refused to let him come out, the audience would know she had something to hide. That news could get back to Frank. On the other hand, if she let did him come out, then Frank might see him. Yet there was no real choice in the matter; refusing to bring him out would cause a much bigger fuss.

“If he wants to come out,” Roxanne said. “But, Ms. Weber…please understand—” her tone issued an unmistakable warning, “—I wouldn’t want his head filled with any foolish ideas.”

That probably wouldn’t stop Lauren, but hopefully a sense of decency would. Lauren didn’t have to tell Frankie she thought Frank Garrett was his father to get her point across. The implication would be more than enough.

Roxanne’s four-year-old son ran across the set and climbed into a chair that had been strategically placed between talk show host and guest.

Frankie looked at Roxanne for direction.

“Hi, sweetie.” Roxanne smiled at the boy. “This is Ms. Weber and she wants to talk to you.”

Frankie turned to Lauren and waited for her to say something.

“Frankie,” Lauren’s tone, drenched in gentle persuasion, placed additional emphasis on his name. “Is there anyone out there in TV land that you’d like to say hello to?”

Frankie nodded.

Lauren pointed off to the right. “Just look into the camera over there, and say whatever you want.”

Frankie peered into the camera and waved. “Hi, Aunt Candy. I’m on TV.” His upper lip twitched slightly to one side—a trait all too familiar for Roxanne.

Lauren smiled. “And what a lovely child he is. I’d say there’s a striking resemblance.” She paused. “Wouldn’t you?” She topped off her declaration with a triumphant stare straight into the eye of the camera.

The damage was done. Anybody with eyes could see that Lauren wasn’t speaking of any resemblance between mother and child. Frankie’s locks, curly and black, were far from Roxanne’s straight chestnut-brown hair. Nothing about his piercing baby blues resembled her unusual eyes shaded the color of purple violets. No, it was clear—Frankie didn’t resemble Roxanne at all.

After filming the show, Roxanne and Frankie went home to their apartment overlooking Central Park. Candy had left for Florida the day before, at Roxanne’s insistence, and now Roxanne was wondering what she’d been thinking.

Heading to Florida—a place she hadn’t been in five years—wasn’t Roxanne’s idea. If she’d had her way, she would have chosen to never step foot in the place again. But Jerry, her psychiatrist, had said she’d never be free of her demons if she didn’t face them. And that meant returning to Florida for an extended stay.

Well, at least she could nip this Lauren Weber fiasco in the butt before she left. Sure, Lauren’s audience had seen Frankie, but if Roxanne could keep the whole of America from getting a firsthand look, she had to try.

Inside her bedroom, Roxanne carelessly tossed clothing inside her suitcase while holding the telephone against her ear with her shoulder. “I do not want it aired.”

“They won’t go for it,” Walt said with a measure of regret in his tone. “What they’ve got is too hot.”

“Well, threaten them then.” She cradled the receiver in her hand while various scenarios, all of them revenge oriented and involving Frank, wrecked havoc in her mind. “Tell them they’ll never get another interview from anyone even remotely associated with Simon Productions. Ever again.”

“Roxanne, I tried. They don’t care.” His words were kind, and draped in a compassionate tone, but they missed the mark. “It’s going to air in a couple of weeks.”

“A couple of weeks...?” Nothing could lessen that blow. “Why so soon?”

“Rox…” Walt said. “They aren’t going to let this one sit on the back burner. Just go on to Florida and let the whole thing blow over.”

Blow up, is more like it. “Okay,” she agreed in a defeated tone and slammed the phone down, staring at it. Lauren Weber had managed to turn her world upside-down. “Bitch.”

A Few Days Later
Florida

Roxanne’s red Porsche sailed smoothly down the highway. With the convertible top down, her hair flew recklessly around her head and she’d reach up from time to time to push it out of her face.

Approaching Tampa, she wondered if she could pick up Y-95, an old radio station favorite. Adjusting the dials, instantly the hard-rocking sounds of the J Geils Band poured out through the speakers. As the band serenaded her with their wit about how much Love Stinks, she said softly, “Boy, does it ever.” Roxanne snuck a peek at Frankie sleeping in the passenger seat, and fought the temptation to turn up the volume.

Ten minutes later, she passed a sign reading: Welcome to Tampa. A familiar excitement stirred within her. Yesterday, returning to Florida was the last thing she wanted. But now, surprisingly, coming home felt good. Of course, the new house probably had a little something to do with that. She’d never laid eyes on it, outside of photographs, but she already loved it.

After Jerry had convinced her she needed to go back, for her own sanity, she’d been so scared that Frank was going to magically appeared from out of nowhere that she bought the house through a service. She knew the floor plan inside and out, even though she’d never stepped foot inside the place.

At the intersection of Busch and Armenia, Roxanne waited for the traffic light to turn green. No matter how good finally coming home felt, it had little effect on her mounting dread. If Frank saw that show, or heard about it, he’d find her no matter where she was. She could only hope this would be the last place he’d look.

Roxanne pulled her car into the semicircle driveway, parking behind Candy’s black Targa. She climbed out of the car and neither the humidity nor the heat dissuaded her as she went to the passenger side and gathered Frankie, who was still sleeping, into her arms.

She headed toward the front door of the two-story, wood-trimmed house that she found as appealing now as she had when she’d seen it in the photographs. It looked even more inviting, if that was possible, nestled amongst the tropical trees and plants. Once at the door, she couldn’t get to her keys and decided to lean on the doorbell.

The door opened promptly. “Hi, Jameson.” She felt a measure of comfort, seeing half the husband and wife team that’d been in her employ since shortly after Frankie’s birth.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Roxanne,” Jameson said in a well-educated accent. “Shall I take him?”

“Yes, please.” She passed Frankie off to him. “Have Rose put him to bed,” she said of Jameson’s wife.

“Ms. Candy is out by the pool.”

“Thanks.” She gave him a smile, and then darted through the house and out into the back yard.

Candy was bikini-clad and laid out in a poolside lounge chair, soaking up the sun. The tropical heat washed over Roxanne in a thick wave of sweltering moisture as she dropped into a nearby chair. She’d nearly forgotten how uncomfortable Florida’s humidity could be. She wondered if Candy was asleep and cleared her throat.

Candy’s eyes opened behind her Sun Clouds. After a moment, she asked, “How’d the interview go?”

An unpleasant feeling devoured Roxanne. Reluctantly, she admitted, “Not well.”

“So what happened?”

“All she wanted to talk about was Garrett-Hollander.” Roxanne tried to show as little emotion as possible, even to Candy.

Candy tipped her sunglasses up and propped them her forehead. “That was the subject?”

In the background, one of Garrett-Hollander’s songs poured from the radio sitting on the ground at Candy’s side. Since Roxanne’s unexplained disappearance from Frank’s life five years ago, he’d written many songs about her. Some indicated his hatred for her, while others simply begged her to come back. There were also songs alleging that she’d been a hooker. It was one of those songs that played on Candy’s radio now.

…I played the fool
I trusted her
But she let me down
Cause while I was away
Roxanne was out selling herself
All over town…

“I’m surprised she didn’t ask me about that damn song.” Roxanne hated that song and she cursed Frank for writing it. To hear him tell it, she’d been out prostituting herself just because she could. It hadn’t been that way at all and it pissed her off that Frank would suggest as much.

“So tell me what happened?” Candy flashed Roxanne an eager smile. She loved gossip. Especially when it involved the two of them.

“Well, to make a long story short—” Roxanne hesitated. “She asked me point blank if Frank Garrett was the father of my son.”

“No...” Candy’s disbelief lit in her emerald eyes, brightening them. “What’d you say?”

“Well, I denied it of course, but the bitch wouldn’t give up.” She paused long enough to get a hold on her frustration. “She even conned me into bringing Frankie out on the set.”

“During taping?” Candy’s voice shook.

“Oh, yes. And she commented on the resemblance too.” Roxanne reacted like an injured puppy. “And she wasn’t talking about me and Frankie.”

“Oh, wow.”

“If he sees that show…” Roxanne’s voice trailed off as she thought about Frank. Quickly though, she regained her composure and added, “I hate to think of the consequences.”

“Frank’s in his own little world,” Candy said. “The last thing he’s got time for is to keep up with you.”

“Yeah, right.” Roxanne’s disbelief escaped in her laughter.

Candy didn’t speak right away. The silence was deafening. “Did you know their first album was a flop?” she asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. “When their second album came out, it did so well that people went out and bought the first one too.”

“They have two albums?” Roxanne asked innocently.

Candy raked an admonishing glare over Roxanne. “They have three, which is my point exactly,” she said, as if she knew Roxanne had chosen to play dumb. Uh oh. That meant the lecture was coming. “It hasn’t been your concern to keep up with him, so why should he have gone to so much trouble to keep up with you?”

“Okay, so maybe you’re right.” Roxanne wasn’t quite ready to give up the fight. “But if what you say is true…then why do you know so much about them?”

Candy ignored her question. “You do have reason to be concerned, though.”

“How so?”

“If Frank does see that show...you’re dead meat.” She slid her sunglasses down over her eyes and sank back into the lounge chair.

“That’s very comforting Can…” Roxanne’s voice trailed off. She didn’t want to think about what might happen. Nothing good could come from that.

“Face the facts,” Candy said, “Frankie is a walking, talking replica of Frank, you know.” Her undesirable words surrounded Roxanne like a fine mist. “I know you had your reasons for running away from him.” Compassion filled her tone, yet if offered little comfort. “But you better realize…it might be time to pay the piper.”

Roxanne went upstairs to take a long, hot bubble bath. Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, she poured bath oil into the stream of running water. She sat there almost in a trance, watching the tub fill and the bubbles grow. Satisfied with the water level, she got undressed and stepped in. She slid down through the bubbles, into the comfort of the water, feeling confident it would soothe her soul and make her troubles disappear.

Why? Why was this happening now? Especially after all this time. Everything had been going so well, too. But now the bottom was about to fall out.

Why did it always come back to Frank Garrett? Roxanne tried to put him out of her mind, just as she’d tried to do so many times before. But somehow, he managed to keep sneaking back into her thoughts. A long time ago, she thought running away would solve her problems. She thought running away would set her free. Free from Frank. Now she realized she’d been mistaken.

It seemed her past was about to come back to haunt her. She knew she wasn’t up to facing Frank. She didn’t know if she’d ever be ready for that. In Roxanne’s mind she had done nothing but love Frank. She’d only tried to help him, and in return he’d let her down. Once again, he’d doubted her before giving her the opportunity to explain. And he’d promised he would never do that again.

Roxanne wanted desperately to be able to go back. Back to the beginning. Back when things were fine. Back before the hatred. Back when there was only love.

As the water rocked back and forth, time began to rock back and forth as well, until Roxanne had no concept of time at all. And once again, she had no idea what was the past and what was the present….

**Thank you for taking a look at CRAZY FOR YOU. Please visit my website at SandraWrites.com for more information on this and other titles.**

**Please turn the page for an excerpt of Cara Marsi's LOGAN'S REDEMPTION**

LOGAN'S REDEMPTION

by

Cara Marsi

CHAPTER ONE

Dan Callahan needed his help. Logan Tanner smiled as he scanned the plush office with its platoon of secretaries. Who would have imagined it all those years ago when he was sneaking dates with the great man’s daughter?

Doriana. The Callahan princess. Vice President of Project Development. Probably an honorary title.

He’d come all this way for a job. Seeing Doriana again had nothing to do with it.

Yeah, right. He almost believed it.

The door to the inner sanctum opened and Dan Callahan, CEO of Callahan Construction, approached, hand outstretched. The pictures of the business mogul that accompanied the news articles Logan had read didn’t do the older man justice. Despite his average height, Callahan exuded a power and confidence no photo could capture.

Logan stood to shake the offered hand.

“Tanner,” Callahan said in clipped tones. “Let’s go into my office.”

He led Logan into a spacious room dominated by a large mahogany desk and windows that looked out to the smog-filled Philadelphia skyline.

Callahan sat behind the massive desk and gestured Logan to the leather chair facing him. He pulled a thick envelope from a drawer and pushed it across the desk toward Logan. “The dossiers you wanted on my top officers,” he said. “I’ll have information on the rest of the corporate employees in a few days.” He handed Logan a smaller envelope. “The keys to your hotel room and the car I rented. I had the car parked at the hotel.” His thin lips curled into a smile. “Do you know how hard it was to rent a junker? The hotel wasn’t too thrilled about having it parked in their garage either.”

Logan returned his smile. “If I’m supposed to be a temp worker, I can’t ride around in a luxury car.”

Callahan nodded. “I understand. What else do you need?”

“I want the names and addresses of all the workers at your construction sites.” Logan stuffed the envelopes in his briefcase.

Callahan scrubbed a hand across his chin. “I can get what you need on our supervisors and regular employees, but we hire a lot of day laborers.”

“I know,” Logan said. “I was one of those laborers once.”

Callahan’s blue eyes widened. “You worked for me? Maybe that’s why you look so familiar.”

“We never met before today,” Logan said. “I worked for you for a short time about sixteen years ago when I was nineteen.”

“Well you look damn familiar.” Callahan shrugged. “Why did you leave my employ?”

“I joined the Army.”

“Good reason. You’re from this area?”

“Born and raised, but Arizona is my home now.” And he wouldn’t have come back at all except this assignment was too good to pass up. And there was Doriana.

Callahan steepled his fingers and studied Logan. “I’ll get the information on my construction crews, but why do you want to check out my top people? They’re loyal to me.”

“I’ve been investigating corporate crime for a lot of years,” Logan said. “You’d be amazed at who sabotages a company.”

“Well, you’re the expert.” The older man ran a hand over his graying hair. “I didn’t hire you any too soon either. We had some vandalism at one of our sites last night. It’s escalating just as you said it might.”

“Then I’d better get started.” Logan stood. “Have you worked out a cover for me?”

Nodding, Callahan pushed back from the desk and rounded it to face Logan. “I’ve arranged for you to be temporary assistant to one of our vice presidents. Her regular assistant starts pregnancy leave next week. Stop by her office now. She’s expecting you.”

Vice President? It couldn’t be. What were the chances?

“Does this VP know why I’m here?” Logan asked.

Callahan shook his head. “As you instructed, I’m the only one who knows.”

“Good.” Logan thrust out his hand. “I look forward to working with you, Mr. Callahan.”

“Call me Dan. My receptionist will give you the suite number where you’re to report.”

“I’ll be in touch.” Logan walked from the room, and the receptionist in the outer office handed him a piece of crisp white paper. After thanking the woman, Logan stepped into the hall.

He glanced down at the paper in his hand. His breath came out in a rush and he crumpled the paper. Damn his rotten luck.

* * * *

“The temp your father hired is here.”

Biting back a groan, Doriana Callahan turned from her computer and faced her assistant.

Lisa closed the office door and leaned her very pregnant body against it. A huge grin split her pretty face.

Doriana arched an eyebrow. “You find it amusing that my father overstepped my authority and hired your replacement?”

Lisa made an unsuccessful attempt to look sympathetic. “I know you’re upset with your dad, but he is CEO. So I guess he can do whatever he wants.” Her gray eyes twinkled. “Your father should do more of the hiring around here.”

“What are you talking about?” Doriana asked.

“You’ll see. Should I send him in?”

“Him?”

“Yup,” Lisa said. “Your dad hired a guy.”

Doriana frowned. “A guy? I’ve always had a female assistant. What will I do with a guy?”

Lisa giggled. “Trust me. You’ll figure out what to do with this one.”

“This pregnancy is affecting your brain.” Doriana pushed away from the desk and stood. “He can’t be any worse than the candidates the agency sent over.” She shrugged into her suit jacket and lifted her heavy hair free of the collar. She needed a haircut, but where would she find the time?

Lisa’s gaze swept her. “You’re the only one around here who wears a business suit. We do have a casual dress policy. And you might want to loosen up a little, considering.”

“Considering what?” Doriana asked.

Lisa gave her a sly smile. “When you see your new assistant, you’ll see what I mean.”  She patted her protruding stomach. “This baby’s not going to wait much longer. It’s a good thing your dad found someone.”

“I suppose I should be grateful for that.” Doriana sighed. “Wait about five minutes before sending him in.”

“You need to primp,” Lisa said.

“What?”

Laughing, Lisa opened the door and squeezed out.

Rubbing her aching temples in a futile attempt to massage away her headache, Doriana sat down and swiveled her chair to face the large window that took up an entire wall. Smog blanketed the Philadelphia skyline, obscuring her view of Billy Penn atop City Hall. She missed old Billy’s comforting presence, especially now.

She needed time to mentally prepare to meet the temp her father hired. She did her own hiring for her department, but her dad had insisted on this temp. Didn’t her father trust her after a decade with his company?

Her gaze drifted to the long table under the window. Family pictures rested on the marble top. Most were of Josh growing up. She smiled, remembering how Franco wanted to name his new nephew Noel because he was born on Christmas Eve.

She couldn’t believe Josh would be sixteen next month. She bit her lip as an ache, sharp as a stonecutter’s chisel, stabbed her heart. Nearly sixteen and out of control. When had Josh stopped being her sweet, lovable little boy and turned into the arrogant, rebellious almost-man who fought her every chance he got? A hellion who reminded her more of his father every day.

Thinking of Josh’s father brought the old, familiar pain. She’d never revealed the identity of her son’s father to anyone. Seventeen, scared and humiliated, she couldn’t admit that her baby’s father had walked away without a word.

She’d moved on with her life and even had a few relationships, but she couldn’t forget the boy who stole her heart and disappeared. She’d never had a chance to tell him she was pregnant. Would it have made a difference? The old doubts and questions tumbled through her mind, making her head throb harder.

Inhaling deep breaths, she counted to ten, as she’d learned in a stress management seminar. It didn’t help. Nothing helped these days. The demands on her time gave her constant headaches. Her son needed her, but so did Dad and the company, especially with the recent setbacks.

The intercom on the desk shrilled. “Doriana,” Lisa said from the outer office. “Jenson is having one of his hissy fits. He wants you to call him. You have that meeting in a half hour. And Mr. Tanner is waiting. Should I send him in?”

Doriana’s hand froze over the reply button. Tanner? Long hours had her imagination working overtime.

“Doriana?” Lisa said.

Doriana shook herself back to reality. “Tell Jenson I’ll call him. And I didn’t forget about the meeting. Please send in Mr..., the temp.”

Wearing her best professional smile, Doriana stared at her office door. Of course it couldn’t be him. It couldn’t be him. The refrain ran through her head like a mantra.

The door opened and her gaze connected with gold-flecked hazel eyes. Josh’s eyes. No, Logan’s eyes.

“Hello, Dorie.” His voice, deeper than she remembered, held the rough edge that had so excited her as a teenager. He closed the door softly and leaned against it, a black-clad Adonis who, despite the years and the hurt, took her breath. Unmoving, he studied her.

Was he looking for the young girl he’d romanced, then abandoned? That girl died the night her son was born. Their son. Anger and bittersweet sorrow swept through Doriana. She brushed strands of hair from her face with a shaky hand.

“You look good,” he said.

So do you. She couldn’t say the words. Pulling her gaze from his, she glanced toward the window. The pictures. Josh. Fear splashed over her like ice water from the Delaware River. One look at the pictures and Logan would know. She wasn’t ready for this.

Resolve stiffened her spine. She would protect her secret and her son until she discovered why Logan was here. “Is this some sort of joke?” she asked, returning her attention to Logan. “What are you doing here?”

“Working for you, last I heard.”

He strode slowly across the carpeted room with the predatory grace of a mountain lion. A hunter with a lithe, muscular body and sun streaks gilding his light brown hair. Had he come to snare her with past memories that were better left dead, to destroy her orderly life? To make her son, and her, dream of things that could never be?

“Not glad to see me, Dorie?”

Heat spread from her neck to her face. Dorie. Logan’s pet name for her when they made

love. “Don’t call me that.”

He stood in front of her desk and stared at her with hooded eyes. “All our memories aren’t bad, are they, Dorie?”

His low, seductive voice burned her with enough electricity to power a high rise. She stared at his full lips. Her own lips tingled as she remembered the feel of his mouth on hers, remembered his wildness and her own answering needs.

Standing on legs that had the consistency of wet cement, she curled her hands into fists. She wouldn’t let the past hurt her again. Nothing mattered now except protecting Josh. And protecting her heart. “I don’t know how you talked my father into this, Logan, but it won’t work.”

He pressed his palms on her desk and leaned toward her. She held her ground, inhaling his scent of citrus and outdoors. Faint lines bracketed his mouth and eyes. A smattering of gray wove through his hair. His eyes held a steely glint that warned of dangers she knew too well. The guarded look on his face and the rigid set of his jaw hinted at emotions kept in tight rein. Had he finally learned to harness the recklessness that had driven her to him, that had made her betray her parents’ trust?

“I’m working for you,” he said. “I’m here to stay.”

Like you stayed the last time? Fear and apprehension squeezed her heart. Did Logan know her secret? Josh had accepted that his father left before he was born. Lately he’d begun asking questions. She promised to tell him about his father when he turned eighteen. What would her troubled son do if he knew his father was in town?

She wouldn’t concern herself with unnecessary fears. In six months, Lisa would be back and Logan would be gone.

“Sit down. We’ll talk.” She sank slowly into her chair and picked up a sheaf of papers, studying them, buying time. She lifted her gaze to find Logan staring at her. Seated in the chair nearest her desk, he stretched his long legs in front of him. The coolness in his eyes slowly gave way to an awareness that made heat coil in her stomach despite her anxiety.

The wild boy she’d known had matured into a confident man whose chiseled features were roughened by the power and air of mystery that clung to him. Clad in black pants that hugged his muscular legs, black leather jacket and deep brown sweater, he looked like a man who’d seen too much of the dark side of life. And was comfortable with it. Excitement quivered along her skin.

He broke the connection and glanced away. She suspected he harbored his own secrets. She followed his gaze to the window. And the pictures. She didn’t want him asking questions about Josh. Not now. The guilt she’d carried all these years pricked her, and she shifted uncomfortably. “Logan, why are you really here?”

He folded his arms across his chest and met her gaze, a challenge in his eyes and the arrogant set of his body. “To work for you.” He scanned the room. “You’ve done well for yourself.” His lips tilted in a mocking smile. “But then your dad owns the company.”

She bristled. “I’ve had to prove myself time and again. I’ve worked harder than you can imagine. But I don’t owe you any explanations.”

“You don’t.” He straightened and his harsh features relaxed. “We’ve got to work together. Let’s make the best of it.”

She breathed deeply in an all-out effort to relax. She’d endured a lot in the years since she’d last seen Logan. Surely she could handle working with him and seeing him every day.

“How did my dad come to hire you?” she asked.

He settled into his chair and shrugged. “I was between jobs and your dad owed a mutual acquaintance a favor. So here I am.”

“You’re between jobs? What do you do for a living?”

He stiffened slightly. “I do this and that, whatever pleases me. I don’t like to stay in one place for long.”

“You don’t have a permanent home?”  He would leave again. She couldn’t tell him about Josh. Her son needed a real father, not a temporary one.

Logan leaned closer. “You never expected me to amount to much, did you, Doriana?”

Hurt chased across his eyes, spiking her curiosity, and making her wonder if he was as hard as he seemed. But he’d come back now. Maybe he knew about Josh. Or maybe he was  toying with her.

The intercom buzzed and she started. “Excuse me.” Glad of the interruption, she pressed the talk button. “Yes, Lisa?”

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Lisa’s stressed voice said. “Jenson keeps calling and you have that meeting. Also the fax machine is acting up again.”

“Hang in there, Lisa. I’ll call Jenson right away and then see about that damn fax machine. I told Purchasing weeks ago that we needed a new one.” Doriana replaced the phone and turned to Logan. “I run a busy office and I need someone who can keep up with the pace. Your lifestyle isn’t my concern. Do you have the job skills I need? Did my father even check that out?”

Logan’s full lips quirked in a grin. “Your father is head of a multinational company. Do you doubt he has the expertise to hire your assistant?”

Her face heated. “I have faith in my father’s expertise, but not yours.”

Their gazes caught. Something burned in the depths of Logan’s eyes that made Doriana’s heart teeter against her chest like loose scaffolding bumping a building.

“I have all the skills you need,” he said. “I can handle anything you throw at me.”

How about a fifteen-year-old with attitude? “We’ll see about that,” she said, angling her chin. She had to end this discussion now, with her professionalism intact. “Are you prepared to commit for six months? That’s how long my assistant will be on leave.” Folding her arms across her chest, she waited for his negative response. Of course he wouldn’t agree to stick around that long. Commitment was never Logan’s style.

“I’ll be here as long as you need me,” he said in a tight voice.

Willing to concede defeat for now, she stood and leveled her gaze at Logan. She’d talk to her dad about hiring someone else.

Logan rose slowly, towering over her by at least a foot. His gaze trailed her face, stopping at her mouth. He didn’t try to hide the desire in his eyes. Her knees jelled. Disturbed by her attraction to him, she dug her nails into her palms. This could not be happening. This would not happen.

“Doriana?”  His voice caressed.

She shivered, unable to look away from the seduction of his gold-flecked eyes. His knowing smile made her stiffen. He was well aware of his effect on her. The thought cooled her like a powerful fan on a steamy day.

“When do you want me to start?” he asked.

“Tomorrow morning. Eight o’clock.” Thank God she sounded normal again. “Lisa will go over her projects and duties then.”

“Tomorrow then.” He turned and strode from the room, moving with a self-assured sensuality that made her pulse trip.

A trickle of foreboding caused a chill deep in her soul. How would it feel to see Logan every day, a constant reminder of what they’d once shared...of the youthful dreams that had died the day he walked out of her life? To look into his eyes and see Josh, and feel the guilt? Maybe she should have tried to find Logan all these years. Didn’t he have a right to know about his son?

Folding her arms, she crossed the room to stare out the window. The smog had lifted and she could see the skyline clearly now. “Oh, Billy,” she said to the famous statue. “What am I to do?”

As if the statue answered, she glanced down at the table and picked up one of Josh’s pictures. She couldn’t risk her son becoming attached to a father who would walk away again.

Gathering up the photos, she left only one, of Josh as a toddler. If Logan saw the picture he’d assume she was the mother of a small child. Thank God Josh had inherited her black hair.

She would have to keep up the pretense for only a short while. She’d convince her dad that Logan had to go. Guilt reared up but she brushed it aside.

* * * *

Logan retrieved the briefcase he’d left with Doriana’s assistant and walked out to the hall. The elevator came quickly and he stepped in. His mind barely registered the other riders crowding in with him. What was he thinking, coming on to Doriana like that? He had a job to do. He knew better than to risk an important assignment like this.

His gut tightened. Doriana was more beautiful and exotic than he remembered. The severe cut of her business suit couldn’t hide her lush body and her smoldering sensuality...a sensuality he’d awakened long ago. He gripped his briefcase, fighting his body’s response to her. But he couldn’t stop the memories flooding him. The feel of her thick black hair brushing his bare chest as they made love. Her laugh and the way she made him feel important. And then the awful night that tore him away and ended his dreams.

He needed air and space. The other occupants pushed against him. He should have taken the stairs. The elevator came to a final stop and Logan stepped out, moving swiftly to the revolving doors of the Callahan Building and out to the sidewalk. He lifted the collar of his jacket against the November chill as pedestrians jostled by him.

He’d be glad to get back to the sunshine and tranquility of Arizona. With luck he’d get this assignment over quickly and be home for Christmas. Home. His stomach twisted. A sparsely furnished house without even a goldfish for company. Maybe he’d go away for the holidays. Someplace noisy where he wouldn’t have to think. Where he could forget.

He hailed a cab to take him to his hotel. He settled into the seat, anxious to escape to the quiet of his room. Hopefully the luggage he’d shipped earlier had arrived. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes. But he couldn’t escape Doriana or his memories. Her scent of roses followed him. She’d always worn rose cologne. That was one thing about her that hadn’t changed.

Her eyes were the same...large and golden brown, melted chocolate laced with warm caramel. At seventeen they had flashed with happiness and a sense of adventure.

The loneliness and vulnerability that shadowed her incredible eyes now had gotten to him in ways he didn’t like and couldn’t afford. What had happened to her in the years since he’d last seen her?

That wasn’t his problem. Doriana was hands off. They were from different worlds. He’d learned that lesson a long time ago. And he was damaged goods. Another lesson he’d been reminded of time and again. The familiar hurt wrenched him.

The cab jerked to a stop in front of a luxury hotel. The uniformed doorman rushed to open the taxi door.

Callahan had spared no expense on his hired gun, Logan thought as he entered the plush lobby. The smell of old money mingled with the perfume of the fresh flower arrangements scattered around the cavernous room.

He walked quickly to the bank of elevators. He needed solitude. He had to study the dossiers Callahan had given him, had to immerse himself in his work. This job would be rougher than he thought. He hadn’t figured on seeing Doriana every day. He’d been fooling himself all these years.

He still wanted her.

**Thank you for taking a look at LOGAN'S REDEMPTION. Please visit Cara's website at CaraMarsi.com for more information on this and other titles.**