Secondary Targets

by Sandra Edwards

  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 t
han 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.”