Secondary Targets

by Sandra Edwards

  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 Grac
e 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?”