“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 ou
t 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.
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