Stolen Secrets

by Sherri Shackelford

  She carried the food and overnight bag down the hallway while he struggled with the guinea pig cage.

  Pausing before a nondescript door, Jordan gestured with his shoulder. “There’s an empty apartment down the hall. I’ll get your key after we eat. These fries aren’t much good if they’re cold.” Propping the cage on his bent knee to open the door, he met her gaze. “I’m not certain if pets are strictly allowed, so we’ll keep this guy under wraps.”

  “Don’t worry. He’s very quiet.”

  The inside of the temporary housing was as bland as the outside. The space reminded her of an extended-stay hotel. There was a small kitchenette and living room along with two closed doors that she presumed led to a bedroom and bathroom.

  The moment they sat down, Lucy’s appetite returned with a vengeance. In a flurry of paper wrapping and napkins, they devoured their dinner in companionable silence. She glanced at the clock, shocked to see that it was barely six.

  “I can’t believe it’s not midnight,” she said. “I feel like it should be dark outside.”

  Jordan balled his wrapper and stuck it back in the empty sack. “You’re telling me.”

  He stretched his arm and winced, then rubbed his shoulder.

  Lucy cleared her throat. “They didn’t tell me much about the bombing. Were you...were you hurt badly?”

  He shrugged. “Not bad.”

  She glanced at the table. “I know it’s none of my business. I just wondered.” She made a vague gesture beside her face. “I saw the scarring earlier. When we were in the car. Was that from...was that from what happened?”

  He started to say something, then appeared to change his mind. “Yes.” He threaded his fingers through his hair, revealing only a brief hint of the scar before dropping his hand. “I caught some shrapnel from the blast.”

  “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.”

  She didn’t know why she needed to know, but being here, after what had happened this morning, she wanted to learn everything about him. She wanted to understand who he was as a person beyond what she’d heard from Brandt.

  “It’s all right.” He stood and crossed to the garbage can. “I don’t really remember much about that day. I’d gone to the local market.” After pressing his toe against the lever, he tossed in the remainder of their shared dinner. “You’d love the markets there. Everything is colorful and exotic. The sights, the smells, the food. I usually bring something back for my family. My stepsister is expecting. I thought I’d get something for the new baby.”

  Since he hadn’t lingered on the topic, she decided not to press him. “Do you have any other siblings?”

  “Nope.”

  She didn’t know why it surprised her to think of him as having a stepsister. He seemed solitary, but that was only because they’d met under such odd circumstances. “Do you get to see your stepsister often?”

  His expression grew wistful. “Not as much as I’d like. But I’m trying to be better. After I got out of the hospital, I stayed with my dad for a few weeks in Florida. Then I stayed with my stepsister for a few days. She’s only been married a little over a year, and I didn’t want to overstay my welcome.”

  Lucy planted her chin on her hand. “You’re fortunate, you know? I always wanted a brother or a sister I was close to. It’s lonely growing up as an only child.”

  “I can relate more than you think. I was twelve when my dad remarried. I was used to being alone. It took me a while to adjust.”

  “I suppose it would.” Her smile was pensive. “But at least you had someone else to blame when there were cookies missing from the cookie jar. I’ve always wanted to talk with someone else who shared my memories of growing up. It’d be nice to have more family. More company.”

  “There’s that.” He returned to his seat across from her. “Emma and her husband visited here once. He’s a good guy. We caught a college football game. Now that she’s getting closer to having the baby, she doesn’t like to travel as much.”

  Lucy glanced around the room, noticing for the first time the signs of a prolonged stay. There were even a few framed pictures on a shelf and, alongside, a lonely stack of hardback books.

  “How long have you been here?” she asked.

  “Almost four months.”

  She started, surprised and unexpectedly hurt that he’d been this close the whole time and had only just reached out. “I didn’t realize.”

  Then again, she hadn’t exactly given him any reason to think she’d welcome a visit. She’d been too wrapped up in herself and her own suffering.

  Jordan straightened the salt and pepper shakers on the kitchen table. “We’re implementing a new program to monitor overseas communications. We’ve got at least another six months before rollout. After that, I’m back to Maryland. That’s where the National Security Agency headquarters is located. But you already know that.”

  They’d both had a long and difficult day, and Jordan deserved time to himself, yet Lucy found herself lingering. She’d been grieving by herself for so long, and now she didn’t have to be alone.

  All of her memories of Brandt came with an ache. Having Jordan here, knowing he understood her loss, she recalled the good times. The happiness and the laughter. The hope. And the ache didn’t seem quite as bad as it had before.

  “Where does your stepsister live?” she asked.

  “Texas.” He pointed out a picture of a smiling couple standing before a two-story house with a wraparound porch. “We weren’t close growing up, and I regret that. It was a second marriage for both our parents. She’d recently lost her dad and wasn’t happy that we’d come into her life. I suppose she felt like my dad was trying to replace the one she’d lost. It’s hard for kids.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be telling you all this.”

  “No,” she protested. “Please. I want to know. It helps. The talking.”

  An emotion she hadn’t felt in a long time stirred inside her. She longed for something more in her life. But if she stepped outside the numbness, she’d have to open herself up to pain. To loss. And she wasn’t ready. Not yet.

  Jordan made a vague motion toward his bookshelf. “Her name is Emma Lyons—”

  “The journalist?”

  “Yes.”

  Lucy gasped and half rose from her chair. “I know her! I know her books. She wrote Unforgotten. She wrote that other one.” She snapped her fingers, dredging up the memory. “She wrote the book about the Lone Star State Killer. Which means you’re the Jordan Harris.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed, clearly bemused. “I’m Jordan Harris.”

  “The two of you found...” She trailed off. “I’m sorry. Maybe you don’t want to talk about it.”

  “No. It’s all right. I’m growing accustomed to the questions.” He scratched his temple with his index finger. “You know most of the story if you read the book. When we were kids, the two of us found the body of a woman who’d been murdered. We were on vacation. Camping. Emma became obsessed with serial killers after that. She wrote about them. She studied them. Though she didn’t realize it at the time, she even managed to hunt one.”

  Lucy sat in bemused silence for a few moments. “What a small world.”

  “Yeah.”

  The steady hum of the refrigerator filled the silence, and she wished she’d brought her e-reader. She wanted to find Emma Lyons’s book again, now that she knew Jordan was featured. She had only a vague memory of a dramatic shoot-out when the killer kidnapped Emma.

  Brandt had never mentioned the incident to her, and she wondered if he’d even known about it. Jordan had admitted the connection only when she’d cornered him.

  He rubbed a hand over his eyes and stifled a yawn. He was exhausted.

  “Well, uh...” She glanced around. “I should be going.”

  Jordan stood. “I’ll get the key. I
’ll be right back.”

  When he returned a few moments later, she reached for Mr. Nibbles. “Thank you. For everything. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

  He lifted the cage before she could protest. “I’ll get that.”

  She peered inside. “He looks tired.”

  “He looks ornery.”

  “That, too. Although looks can be deceiving.”

  She stepped on her sore ankle and winced. Jordan looped his free hand beneath her arm and steadied her. Her pulse kicked into overdrive. She was confused by the feelings he stirred in her and the spark of awareness at his touch.

  Testing her weight once more, she moved away. “It’s fine. Just a twinge when I step wrong.”

  He walked her down the hallway and showed her into a small apartment that was a mirror image of his own, right down to the kitchenette.

  As she arranged the cage, he hovered in the doorway. “You’ve got my number. I’m down the hall if you need anything.”

  “Thank you.” Unsure what the future might hold, she screwed up her courage and said, “I should have written to you or something. I’m sorry. I knew you were hurt. I didn’t know...I didn’t know if you’d want to hear from me.”

  His expression was inscrutable. “I wasn’t sure of your response, either. I missed your emails, though. When I think of Brandt, I think about him reading your stories. I remember how happy you made him.”

  Tears pressed against the backs of her eyes. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

  Guilt and sorrow tugged her in opposite directions. Even though the fear was a relief from the oppressive pain, she didn’t welcome either emotion. She wanted to retreat into the oblivion she’d grown accustomed to before Jordan’s arrival.

  “Get some sleep,” he said, backing into the corridor. “Chances are, we’ll have this whole thing wrapped up by tomorrow and this will all just be a bad memory.”

  “I hope so.”

  The door swung closed behind him and she stood unmoving for a long moment. Isolated with her thoughts, she reached for her phone. She wasn’t quite ready to be alone. Not yet. Without giving herself time to reconsider, she quickly dialed the number.

  After several rings, her mom picked up.

  “Is this important, Lucy?” she demanded without preamble. “I was just walking out the door.”

  Lucy studied the ceiling. “No. It’s nothing important.”

  “Okay, then. Call me back next week. I’m leaving for California tomorrow.”

  “Oh. Uh, you didn’t say anything about taking a trip.”

  “Didn’t I? Well, I’m telling you now.” Noises sounded. “I saw on the news there was a shooting in your neighborhood this morning. Really, Lucy, it’s time you grew up. You’re an adult now. You shouldn’t be living in such a...a bohemian...area of town.”

  “I like my neighborhood.”

  “That neighborhood is for millennials who claim they want to be artists but are really just living off their parents.” She huffed. “Maybe you’d get a promotion at work if you did something about that hair. It’s all connected. If you made more money, you could afford something nicer.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my hair.”

  “No one will ever take you seriously until you change your style. It was mildly amusing when you were sixteen. People expect a little rebellion out of a teenager. When you’re twenty-six, it’s embarrassing. Now you’re turning into a recluse, as well. When was the last time you left the house?”

  “It was a rough year, Mom.”

  “Not that again. Is this still about that guy you got engaged to after only dating for six months? I read in Dear Amy that you shouldn’t mourn a relationship longer than you were in the relationship. And it’s been a year. There’s no point in wallowing in self-pity. You have a good job, even if you could do better. A good life. Enjoy it.”

  “I better let you go.” Lucy sucked in a jagged breath. “You have a safe trip.”

  Calling her mom was a mistake. Vicky Sutton wasn’t going to change, and it was Lucy’s own fault for expecting something different. At least now she didn’t have to feel guilty about not mentioning that she was present at the shooting. There was a chance this would all be over by the time her mom got back from California.

  “Lucy? Are you still there?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ll talk more next month. My friend Donna has a lovely town house in West Omaha. We’ll tour her complex. Just don’t wear those awful combat boots.”

  “Love you, Mom.”

  “All right, then. We’ll talk more about this when I get back.”

  After disconnecting the phone, Lucy stared at the wall for several long minutes.

  A knock sounded, and she opened the door to Jordan.

  He smiled sheepishly and extended his arm. “I found some carrots in the fridge for your guinea pig.”

  Their fingers brushed and her heart did an unexpected little hopscotch. “Thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I wanted to.”

  He was gone just that quickly, and she stared at the pile of carrots, absurdly touched by the gesture. He was a good man. He’d been a good and loyal friend to Brandt. Despite the circumstances, she was glad he was here.

  Jordan had given her something she hadn’t had in a very long time. He’d given her something to look forward to.

  He’d given her someone to look forward to.

  FIVE

  Three long days after the shooting at the coffee shop, the tension in the room was palpable. Jordan had assembled his team, and they’d taken over a conference space in a satellite office. The wood-grain-laminate table was littered with coffee cups and notepads.

  Jordan turned to Lucy. “Are you certain you haven’t been contacted on any additional platforms?”

  She was beautiful this morning. Not in the classical sense. Not in the way television and movies wanted to convince people someone was beautiful. There was nothing plastic or made-up about her. Instead, there was just something alluring about her.

  He’d spoken with his stepsister, Emma, the previous evening, and he hadn’t been able to describe Lucy in a way that did her justice. She’s unique—that was the best he’d been able to come up with, and that description was woefully inadequate.

  “Nothing here,” Westover said. “We’ve got a track on her connections.”

  The IT department at the National Security Agency had cloned Lucy’s phone, and they were monitoring for any contact from the buyer. As the days passed without any news, the team had grown edgy and impatient.

  “No one has approached me,” Lucy said. She mumbled beneath her breath, “Just like I’m certain Mr. Nibbles doesn’t bite.”

  They’d been having the same lighthearted argument for several days.

  “I rescued him from international spies,” Jordan whispered. “We’re brothers in arms.”

  “I made you rescue him.”

  “A minor detail.”

  Though clearly frustrated by her forced confinement, Lucy was taking her altered circumstances like a champ. A sucker for hardcover books, she’d borrowed a selection from his meager collection. He’d been reluctant to loan her his stepsister’s book because Emma had written him in a more heroic light than he deserved, but Lucy had been relentless. They’d also discovered they both had a passion for spy novels. Go figure.

  Karp stared at them over his wire-rimmed glasses. “Would you two like to share with the rest of the class?”

  Jordan cleared his throat. “I was reminding Ms. Sutton that the photo found in her house—”

  “In Mr. Nibbles’s cage,” she offered helpfully.

  “Discovered in the guinea pig cage.” He couldn’t bring himself to say “Mr. Nibbles” in front of the other guys, and she was well aware of his reluctance. She’d been trying to
trick him into saying the name for the past three days. He was standing firm. “The photo yielded no clues. There were no fingerprints. No useful DNA.”

  “Who uses a Polaroid camera these days?” Westover asked. “That has to be unusual. Is there any way to trace the film?”

  “That film is sold in every Walmart in the nation.” Karp rolled his eyes. “Those cameras are a fad for teenagers. I bought one for my daughter at Christmas. Apparently, the kids like the novelty of an actual photo instead of a digital print on their phone. Everything old is new again, I guess.”

  “Seems like overkill,” Westover said. “This guy takes a shot at her, then drops by her house to stick a photo in a rodent cage?”

  “Guinea pig,” Jordan corrected.

  At Lucy’s sharp glance, he shrugged. Mr. Nibbles was like a little brother. Jordan might find the little rodent an annoying pest, but no one else got to make fun of him.

  “I talked with the profilers in Maryland.” Karp typed something on his computer. “They agree with Jordan. The buyer wants her to know who’s in control of the situation. She didn’t play along the first time, and now he’s showing her who has the power.”

  Westover lifted his head. “You think the buyer is doing his own dirty work? Seems risky.”

  “Not likely.” Karp glanced at Jordan. “What do you think?”

  “The shooter is a contract player. He’s got to be. He’s showing off, but not for us. He’s trying to make a name for himself. And I doubt he’s working alone. We find him, and we can trace him back to the buyer.”

  Karp pushed up his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “We’re leaving no stone unturned, but we’ve still got nothing.”

  A deep wrinkle creased his forehead. He was frustrated. They all were.

  They were operating on an unproved theory with dozens of unknowns. Each day without a demand put Lucy at risk. While Jordan was accustomed to honing his patience, this case was different.

  His edginess was out of character. He sometimes sat for weeks, even months, waiting for the right opportunity to plant his equipment. And that was only the beginning. When the devices were in place, the true waiting began. He once tracked the occupants of a single residence for three months.