by Cindy Dees
“Mrs. Black, we know why those men barged into your school last week, and it has to do with you. That’s why we’re here today. To explain to you what happened, who those men were and what it means for you.”
“Really? The police have nothing. No motive and no identities.” Then she blurted, “I’d love to hear your theory.”
Piper nodded in Zane’s direction. “This gentleman here is a federal agent. He has spent some months...observing...a group of men he believes to be Iranian operatives. The same group that invaded your school.”
“Iranian? Does this have to do with Mark?”
“Who’s Mark?” Piper asked quickly.
“My husband. He’s working in Iran right now.”
“You are correct,” Piper replied gently. “Those men came here to kidnap you.”
“One of the secretaries said they were asking about me. But I couldn’t believe I was that important to anyone. I mean, I’m an assistant principal at an elementary school in a small town no one’s ever heard of.”
“The secretary was also correct. Those men planned to kidnap you, take pictures and video of you, and send the images back to Iran, where somebody planned to coerce your husband into doing something. Do you have any idea what they might have wanted from him?”
“Well, yes. He’s a nuclear facility inspector on an international team. I imagine the Iranians would want him to falsify a report or maybe pretend to have inspected a facility he hasn’t seen.”
Piper stared at the woman in shock. Ho. Ly. Cow. She glanced over at Gunnar Torsten, who also stared grimly at the woman. Looking sidelong at Zane, Piper muttered to him, “Does that jibe with what you know of Mahmoud and company?”
“Yes. Perfectly.”
“Then maybe she was their main mission, after all.”
Zane shook his head. “I don’t think so. I still think she was a side gig. If they’re hostage-taking specialists, they would be the logical choice to be activated and sent in to kidnap a civilian.”
“What are you two talking about?” Persephone interrupted. “How do you know what these men wanted? If they actually wanted to kidnap me, why didn’t they come to my home when I wasn’t here at school and grab me there?”
Piper answered, “Because they thought they had you. One of the men identified me as being you.”
Persephone stared at her. “I don’t understand.”
“I was here that day. Delivering my neighbor kid’s lunch that he forgot in my car. When they barged into the office and saw me, they mistakenly identified me as you and kidnapped me instead.”
“Oh, my God!” Persephone exclaimed. “But you’re okay? They didn’t hurt you?”
Although the worst of the swelling in Piper’s black eye had gone down, she still had a cut over her left eyebrow and her eye was turning a rainbow of various colors. It was patently obvious she hadn’t gotten out of the experience unscathed. She answered honestly, “They did hurt me, in fact. And they would have done the same to you.”
“Oh, my God!” This time when the woman exclaimed, she actually rose out of her chair. “This can’t be true! I don’t believe it.”
Zane leaned forward and spoke grimly. “Believe it, ma’am. I’m one of the men who attacked the school, and I’m the one who identified her as you.”
“You’re one of the assailants?” Persephone gasped. She reached quickly for the phone on her desk. It was obvious she intended to call the police.
Major Torsten leaned forward and pressed his hand down on top of Persephone’s, stopping her from lifting the receiver. “We told you. He’s a federal agent. He was undercover, infiltrating the team. He was instrumental in getting those men out of your school without anyone being harmed.”
“How can you say that?” Persephone’s voice rose toward a screech. “The children are traumatized! My teachers are terrified—”
Torsten cut across her unfolding tirade. “They’re alive. The attack on this school could have gone immeasurably worse. That team was trained killers with no capacity for remorse. They wouldn’t have hesitated to mow down everyone in this building if they hadn’t found you—or a woman they believed to be you—right away.”
Persephone looked unconvinced, and Torsten continued tersely, “My operative, Captain Ford here, was beaten and brutalized on your behalf. Ask her how capable of violence those men were if you don’t believe me.”
Persephone looked at Piper in horror and woman whispered, “Is that true?”
Piper leaned forward and looked her squarely in the eye. “Yes. It is. Had I not had the highly specialized training that I do, and had I not had the surreptitious help of this agent, I would have suffered even more serious attacks than I did and very likely would have died. That was what those men had in store for you.”
Clearly appalled, Persephone pressed a hand over her mouth and stared at Piper, her eyes full of silent questions over just how bad it had been.
Piper stared back at her implacably, doing her best to convey that it had been every bit as dreadful as the woman was capable of imagining.
Torsten’s voice cut through their silent communication, woman-to-woman. “Where exactly is your husband now, ma’am?”
“Last I heard, he’s in Tehran.”
“Do you have a direct phone number for him?” the major pressed. “We need to warn him. Tell him to head for the American embassy immediately for his own safety.”
“Um, yes. Of course.” She pulled her purse out of a drawer, set it on her desk and fumbled inside it. She emerged with a cell phone. Unlocking it, she pushed a few buttons and then listened intently.
She murmured in alarm, “He’s not answering.”
“It’s late evening over there,” Torsten replied. “He’s probably asleep.”
“Yes, but he always picks up my calls.”
“Can you leave a message?” Torsten responded.
She nodded and said into the phone, “Mark, it’s me. Please call me the second you get this.”
Torsten leaned forward. “Tell him to go to the embassy first.”
Persephone continued, “Umm, you need to go to the American embassy right now. You’re in danger and need protection. I’ll explain it when you call. Just get to the embassy and then call me. I love you. Be careful, and be safe.”
She laid the phone down, her expression troubled. “Something’s wrong. Even if he were asleep, he would wake up and answer a call from me.”
Torsten swore under his breath, and Piper silently echoed the sentiment. Her antennae were wiggling wildly. Mark Black was in serious trouble.
Then Torsten said, “Would you consent to entering into protective custody, Mrs. Black? I’ll have some of my people stay with you and guard you until FBI agents can come from New Orleans and pick you up.”
“My job—”
“It will wait.” Torsten cut her off. “Your life is in danger, ma’am. Two of the terrorists got away this morning, and it’s possible they’re headed here to kidnap you for real.”
“What about Mark?” she demanded, sounding near panic.
“We’ll locate him and put him under guard, as well. But I can’t in good conscience leave you without protection. The sooner you agree to let me take care of you, the sooner I can get on with finding and protecting your husband.”
Piper was impressed. It was a low blow by Torsten to use the woman’s husband to manipulate her into agreeing to protective custody, but Piper got why he’d done it. Right now, time was the enemy. The major was only doing what was necessary to move the mission along.
It had been one of the more difficult transitions to special operations thinking for her. Lies and subterfuge were standard tools of the trade.
Of course, Zane must be an expert at wielding both. Which would explain how he’d survived with Mahmoud and his cronies for months. She had no business believi
ng anything he’d said to her in the heat of their lovemaking, and she certainly couldn’t believe any feelings he’d revealed to her.
Persephone rose from her desk, purse in hand, and nodded at Major Torsten. “If it’ll help you protect Mark sooner, let’s go right now.”
It was decided that Tessa and Rebel would stay with Persephone at Piper’s house—a neutral location not connected with Persephone Black’s life in any way—until FBI agents arrived to take her into custody. Torsten explained that the FBI would put her in a safe house or a hotel room at an undisclosed location and under guard around the clock until this crisis was over.
When they all arrived at her bungalow, Torsten agreed to let Piper take a quick shower and change into clean clothes while he made the arrangements with the FBI.
She shampooed her hair three times to get out the dirt and grime of that horrible basement and from running around in the woods for days. She scrubbed her body from head to toe with a loofah until her skin was red and tender—
Huh. Maybe she’d been more affected by her captivity than she’d admitted to herself. Go figure. She rinsed off and climbed out of the shower thoughtfully.
It was a little slice of heaven to put on clean clothes, blow-dry her hair and actually put on a bit of makeup. Finally. She felt like herself again.
She emerged from the bathroom and Zane rose to his feet. He’d been waiting for her apparently, sitting on the edge of her bed. Whether he stood out of general politeness or out of shock at seeing her cleaned up, she couldn’t tell.
“Feeling better?” he asked quietly.
“Definitely.”
He continued to study her intently, and she added, “It’s a bit of a shock being here in my house with everything suddenly back to normal.”
“I feel that way when I come off a tough undercover assignment,” he offered.
“How do you settle back into your real life?” she asked curiously.
“I don’t have a real life, so I’m not the guy to answer that.”
She stepped closer, gazing up into his sober eyes. He wasn’t being flippant. “How do you stay yourself when you spend so much time being somebody else?”
He flinched ever so slightly. She waited him out, though, and at length he answered, “Sometimes I don’t know who I am anymore.”
“Well, that sucks.”
He snorted in what sounded like startled humor. Closing the distance between them, he wrapped his arms around her and buried his nose in her hair. “I feel like myself when I’m with you. I see the man you see when you look at me, and I remember who he is. For a minute or two, I’m back in my own skin.”
“You’re welcome, I think.”
She felt his smile against her temple. Then he murmured, “I’m starting to think you saved me in the nick of time.”
“You’re the one who saved me,” she protested.
“I might have saved you from Mahmoud and his boys, but you saved my soul, Piper.”
Her arms tightened around his waist, and they stood like that for a long moment, silently sharing their relief at having made it out alive.
He commented reflectively, “You’d have figured out a way to escape on your own eventually. I just sped up the process.”
“I’m not superhuman. They had me handcuffed to a steel pipe. That would have been hard to overcome.”
“You’d have found a way,” he stated confidently.
“We’ll never know.” She paused. “The good news is we’re both alive and we’re both safe.”
“For now,” he sighed. “I’ll go back undercover to identify the bad guys you and your team will chase down and take out. This momentary respite is just that—momentary.”
Her stomach plummeted. He was right. If this was the real world, neither of them truly belonged in it. They both lived in the dangerous shadows beyond this shiny, safe place.
She had no business imagining them being together for the long term, imagining them finding some sort of permanent happiness, together or otherwise. This moment, this man, what they’d shared between them—it was nothing more than a sweet illusion.
Their realities bore no resemblance to this whatsoever. Her world was that basement, facing down bad guys. That forest, evading death. That farmhouse, shooting it out with terrorists.
Happiness with Zane had no place in that world.
Silently devastated, she stepped back, pulling away from him, slipping out of his embrace. Unable to look at him, she turned and headed away from him. Anywhere that wasn’t the circle of his arms.
“Anyone hungry?” she asked everyone else.
Nobody wanted anything to eat, but she desperately needed to do something to keep busy. Her steps took her to her cheerful yellow kitchen.
It was a lie. All of it. The bright colors and homey touches. They were a big fat lie she told herself—that she could have a home. A picket fence and a dog and 2.1 kids. Maybe a husband. Family and friends. All lies.
When Zane followed her into her kitchen, she still refused to look at him. Instead, she stuck her head in her refrigerator and pulled out the makings for grilled cheese sandwiches.
“Hungry?” she asked Zane reluctantly.
“After the past few days of nothing to eat but bugs and weeds? That would be a yes.”
She smiled in his general direction but didn’t make eye contact. Her courage deserted her and she put her head down, buttering bread and stacking Swiss, cheddar and provolone cheese slices on the bread. Damn. Nothing to do now but watch the sandwiches cook.
Zane grabbed a quick shower while she got the stove heating up, and she was relieved to have the kitchen to herself to regain her composure. Everyone else had settled in the living room to wait for the FBI to arrive and take custody of Persephone.
By the time Zane came back, his hair damp and smelling like her shampoo, she’d managed to shove her feelings into a drawer in her mind and slam the damned thing tightly shut.
She said nothing, concentrating on slicing apples for the two of them.
“How are you doing?” Zane asked quietly.
“I’m glad to be home.”
“Yeah, I got that. How are you doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“C’mon. It’s me you’re talking to. Your boss can blow off the past week by saying it was only what you were trained to deal with, but I know what you really went through. That kind of stuff leaves its mark on anyone.”
She flipped the sandwiches and busied herself pulling out glasses and filling them with ice. “Something to drink?”
“Sure. Whatever you’re having.”
She poured sweet tea from the pitcher in her refrigerator. Napkins. They needed napkins—
“Stop, Piper.”
He snagged her hands and forced her to come to a halt in front of him. Reluctantly, she lifted her gaze to his. She didn’t want to do this!
“How are you doing?”
She huffed. She really, really didn’t want to talk about it. But apparently Zane was prepared to burn the sandwiches black if she refused to answer him. “I’ve been better,” she admitted.
He let her go when she tugged her hands away and turned to rescue the sandwiches from the stove. She cut them in half diagonally and plated them, along with apple slices and potato chips.
“Sit,” he ordered. “And stop fussing.”
Zane held her chair for her and she slid past him, so close that she could smell the earth-and-rain scent of him.
He moved his chair from across the table to beside hers and sat down. “I’m not letting you run away from what happened to you. If you don’t face it and deal with it, it’ll gnaw at you until it eats you up.”
“Thanks to you, nothing really bad happened to me.”
“I have to disagree.”
She shrugged. “So I got slapped a
round a little. They could have branded me with hot pokers or shoved bamboo spikes under my fingernails. I’m healing, for the most part. And as for a sexual assault, it didn’t happen, thanks to you.”
He frowned as if he was searching for words. Then he leaned forward and spoke quietly. “Just because I didn’t actually attack you doesn’t mean that the mental—and emotional—damage wasn’t done. You still have to deal with the very real possibility of it happening.”
Was he right? She realized she was staring at him, and looked down at her plate hastily.
“Whatever you need from me to aid your recovery—just let me know. If you need me to go to therapy with you, or you need me to go away and to never see me again—”
“No. Not that,” she said quickly.
He fell silent, studying her intently. “You’re sure?”
“I’m not sure about anything except that it feels supremely weird to think about being apart from you.”
He gazed at her for a long time and then quietly said, “So be it.”
Chapter 15
Zane always felt underdressed when he visited the Pentagon. A plain civilian suit just didn’t impress when everyone else was running around in starched, spit-shined, beribboned-uniform glory.
He must have sighed aloud, for Piper murmured beside him, “What’s wrong?” Either that or she was just that closely tuned to his emotional state. Which was entirely possible. Their morning of debriefing at the CIA had been a revelation.
She had an uncanny ability to know what he was going to say next, to finish sentences for him, supply the right word when it failed to come. And to correctly read every moment when he waxed uncomfortable, sometimes subtly touching his foot with hers under the table.
Not that they’d had a minute to themselves to talk in private, of course. The debrief had been thorough to the point of torture, and mentally exhausting. He’d walked through his months with Mahmoud’s terror cell, and then through the kidnapping of Piper. She joined in at that point, and they gave their debriefs in parallel. He described a portion of her captivity from his viewpoint, and then she told the same portion of it from hers.
