by Rachel Lee
“You could say so.”
She stared down at her hands, absorbing it all, then said quietly, “I don’t think I like the people you work for.” In fact, between this and Johnny’s death, they’d be easy to hate. She never wanted to hate anyone, but she had been steadily discovering her capacity for it since Johnny died.
“Right now, I don’t, either. But again, we don’t know for sure. All we know is that someone is after me. Could be anyone. We simply took evasive action so I couldn’t be tracked easily.”
She nodded slowly and realized that the dark world she had always known was out there somewhere, a world she had so far successfully avoided, now sat in her apartment with her. She knew those jobs needed doing; she wasn’t a fool. But it had never been something she wanted to participate in. Now, as he had said, she was in it up to her neck. For Marisa. For the people Marisa loved. Well, she’d just have to survive this brush with the ugly side of the world.
“I’m sorry, Julie. We never wanted you involved.”
“I kind of involved myself,” she admitted. Slowly she raised her gaze, trying to smile. “There are threats, and there are threats. I’d like to think that people who are working for me, for my country, aren’t being exposed to them by the very people who should be protecting them.”
“We’d all like to think that. And most of the people I’ve worked with would never dream of doing something like this. But there are always some... Anyway, maybe that’s not what’s happening. We’ll find out.”
“How?”
He looked rueful. “I’m supposed to think, according to your sheriff. He says that information can look very different in light of a new perspective, and he’s right. So somewhere locked inside my head is the answer. Who wants me dead? And why? I’ll figure it out.”
She bit her lip, forgetting her own shock and feeling sorrier for him than she could say. Wounded, cut loose and left to his own devices. Not a pretty picture. “It must be awful, knowing someone wants to kill you.”
“I’ve been here before.”
She studied him, knowing he probably had been. It was almost beyond imagining. “You ever think about quitting?”
“I’m in line for disability retirement right now.”
She nodded. “Then what?”
“Well, that’s a good question. But right now I need to survive this.”
Indeed he did. Rising, she went to get more coffee, seeking to settle her upset and keep a cool head. It was the only way she could be helpful now. “How’s that sling doing? And can I help you with your thinking?”
“The sling is great. I actually believe it might be helping. Less blood running to my hand. As for the thinking part, I’d have to reveal...”
“Operational secrets,” she interrupted. “I get it. I’ve heard it before. So I’m living with a ticking time bomb, nobody knows when it might go off, and I’m not allowed to know a thing about it.”
“Pretty ugly,” he agreed, frowning a bit. “Are you aware of compartmentalization?”
“Not exactly.”
“It means nobody, absolutely nobody, is given any more information than what he or she needs to complete a job. We do that because the flow of information can be dangerous, so we limit it. For example, in all the years I’ve known Ryker, I couldn’t tell you most of what he’s done. A few ops we worked on together, yes, but nothing else. It can be frustrating at times, but you get used to it because you understand the reason for it. It protects people and saves lives.”
She thought about it. “That requires an awful lot of trust, that you’re being told all that you need.” It was a way of life that would surely drive her crazy in short order.
“Yes, it does.”
Her gaze met his as she put the pieces together. “Somebody’s betrayed your trust.”
“Maybe. No way to know for sure, so we’re covering all bases.”
She wouldn’t be able to stand living like that, but here she was, right in the middle of it. Which left only one question she could ask, and she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer.
“How many people want to kill you, Trace?”
He rose from his chair and began pacing again. “Let me make something clear, Julie. I never hung anyone out to dry. I took care of my assets and my operatives. They were helping me, and they deserved everything I could do to keep them safe. So a few days ago, I’d have said nobody wants to kill me. Clearly I was wrong. Somehow, somewhere, I put someone in a position that is driving them to seek vengeance. That’s what I need to figure out.”
She thought that’d be enough to keep anyone burning the midnight oil. She could barely imagine how many people he needed to remember, how many situations he needed to reevaluate. After a few moments, she carried her coffee to her desk.
“While you cogitate, I need to plan a week’s lessons.”
He simply nodded, wandering into his own thoughts again. She forced herself to pull out her plan book and tried to find the mental space that gave birth to her ideas for the coming week. It wasn’t going to be easy with a caged lion pacing behind her.
The benchmarks were already laid out in her plan book, for each day and each week. All she needed to do was come up with some ideas for reaching them that would keep her students excited and not bored. She glanced over to the side and saw the stack of workbooks she’d purchased and decided that maybe it was time to introduce them. The kids liked workbooks because they provided measurable progress as they moved through them, and then when they had finished, they could take them home to show off their accomplishments. They would certainly help with her planning for the week.
Drumming her pencil on the desk idly, she stared out the window, noting that even the next building had vanished in the blowing snow. Full whiteout: a good day to be inside, even if Trace was pacing around behind her.
Or maybe because Trace was pacing around behind her. She rather liked him, little though she knew about him. He’d only told her a bit, but it had been enough to gain her respect.
She hated, though, to think of the world he had lived in for so long. Just this instance made her wonder about all the rest of it. She was sure whatever he did was nothing like the movies, and she cherished no illusions of Tom Cruise doing fanciful things as part of Mission: Impossible. The work was probably extremely stressful and often unpleasant.
But she wondered how he had come to this point, depending on a friend and people he didn’t know. And why. He’d never tell her the why, she was certain, but the very fact that he lived in a world where someone wanted him dead was chilling enough.
He was an attractive man, though. Not a standout; women wouldn’t crane their heads as he walked down a street, and that probably aided him most of the time. But he was still attractive, to her at least, and she wished she could have met him under ordinary circumstances. She’d love to get to know him better, and maybe even have an affair with him. He did get her motor humming, although exactly how she had no idea. Ryker hadn’t affected her that way, not even once. And the few men around here that she’d dated, well...those had been a flash in the pan. The doldrums had settled in quickly. It was nice to once again feel the sparkle of attraction, even though she imagined nothing would ever come of it. He was totally preoccupied with survival, and she’d be selfish to think of anything else.
But... She smiled secretly. Maybe a one-nighter would answer a lot of other questions. As a teacher she had a reputation to think about, but she’d noticed the town tended to turn a blind eye when she dated. Folks here weren’t cruel, and most weren’t judgmental as long as people didn’t flaunt their peccadilloes. Quiet little affairs...more than one person had whiled away a winter that way. She almost laughed, considering the truth of that. It wasn’t as if all the married couples in this county were always faithful, but no one wanted to be at fault for causing marital problems. Unless, of course, it was their own
marriage. Then the mess could hit the fan big-time.
The phone rang, and she reached for it. She kept the base set on her desk and cordless extensions in her bedroom and kitchen. Every time she picked up one of these phones, she remembered her mother walking around the house trailing a twenty-five-foot phone cord coil that always managed to twist and knot. Phones had come a long way.
“Hello,” she answered and heard Ryker’s voice in response.
“Hey, is our friend around?”
“Where else would he be?” she asked wryly. “He’s wearing a hole in my rug. Do you want to talk to him?”
“Can you put us on speaker? You might as well hear this bit.”
“Ooh, I feel privileged,” she retorted, and heard him laugh.
He said, “She who shares the noose gets a piece of the action.”
Then she punched the speaker button and said, “You’re on speaker.” She turned and saw that Trace had come to stand right behind her. A slight sweat had appeared on his brow, probably from pain.
“I’m here,” Trace said.
Ryker’s voice filled the room. “Just a small update. Mission accomplished yesterday. We tried your cell this morning and were sent directly to voice mail, so it’s probably dead. Your car hasn’t been towed from the accident scene yet, and probably won’t be until this storm passes. State police recorded an accident yesterday afternoon, no driver or passengers around, and they traced the vehicle identification number to one of you. So, buddy, you’re off the grid. At least, for now.”
“That’s good. I need some thinking time.”
“You know, I was trying to do that last night and early this morning while pacing with my cranky daughter.”
“And?”
“I realized how difficult this is going to be for you. You can probably cut off everything before the last couple of years, but that’ll still leave a lot of possibilities. Like you, I don’t know why anyone should be after me, but if I had a problem like yours I’d be pretty much at sea.”
Trace lowered himself carefully onto a chair. “Well, I dealt indirectly with a lot more assets than you. Assuming this is an asset. And it must be, or the agency wouldn’t be helping him.”
Julie interrupted. “What the heck is an asset?”
Silence greeted her. Finally Ryker said, “Buddy?”
“It’s no secret,” Trace said slowly. “Assets are foreign nationals who help us. Sometimes in big ways, sometimes in small ways, and occasionally for a very long time. We protect them the way we’d protect our families. We’ll pull them out and give them new lives if they ever get exposed.”
“So why would one of them be after you?”
“Because,” said Trace heavily, “sometimes things don’t go according to plan.”
Julie’s heart lurched as she considered those possibilities.
“But you had some distance between you and most of the assets you were running, at least for the last few years,” Ryker pointed out.
“Yeah, I did. But I was still in charge of the guys at lower levels. Who knows how one of them may have screwed up? Stuff happens.”
“And we don’t always hear about it when it does,” Ryker said.
Julie spoke. “Compartmentalization?”
“Exactly,” Trace answered. “Exactly. That multiplies the problem here.”
Silence fell for a little while. “Julie?” Trace said.
“Yeah?”
“You wouldn’t happen to have one of those phones that plugs into the wall, would you?”
“Actually, yes I do. It’s cheap, but I keep it for when the power goes out.”
“Then can we use it? Because cordless phones broadcast their signal.”
Julie felt a shiver of shock run through her. The things she’d never thought about. Never had to think about. But as soon as Trace said it, she knew he was right.
“It’s probably okay right now,” Ryker said, “but he’s right. If someone starts backtracking Trace from Denver...”
“As soon as we sign off here, I’ll get the old phone.”
“And disconnect your base set, okay?”
“You got it.”
It struck her again that all of a sudden she was involved in a real spy story. A deadly one. An amazed cussword floated into her head, but she didn’t speak it. When you dealt with little kids all day, the worst cussing you could do was darn it. Right now she felt a need for something stronger. The next best thing emerged. “Cusswords,” she said vehemently.
Two surprised men fell silent, then Trace asked, “Cusswords?”
“When you talk to youngsters all day...”
He laughed, a real laugh. “Copy that. Okay, then. Let’s switch the phones and I’ll get back to thinking.”
“How’s the baby?” Julie asked before Ryker could disconnect.
“Believe it or not, she’s a little better. Cranky, but not nearly as stuffed up. My wife is getting some sleep right now.”
She noted the way he didn’t use Marisa’s name. They were broadcasting. For the first time, being on the telephone chilled her.
“My ear’s to the ground,” Ryker said, by way of farewell. “I’ll keep you posted.”
When she hung up, she immediately pulled the plug for the base set out of the wall and got the regular phone from the kitchen drawer where she had stashed it. I’ll bet Tom Cruise never felt like this. At least the thought amused her. Mildly.
“I’m sorry about all this,” Trace said as he watched.
“I don’t know that I am,” she said frankly. “Am I getting a ration of shocks and surprises? Yes. Do I hate it? No. A little shaking up is good for the soul. Anyway, I’m determined to treat this like a game I have to win, because if I really let myself think about it, I might freak.”
He eyed her sympathetically. “Freak if you need to. I’ll listen.”
“I’m sure you will. But freaking never fixed anything. You wouldn’t believe how many times a week I have to tell that to a child. Now it’s my turn to take my own advice. So no freaking out. However, I see sweat on your brow and it’s not that warm in here. If anyone out there is moving, it’s by dogsled, and we’ll hear the barking before they get here, so why don’t you take something for that pain?”
“I need my head,” he said, but he smiled. “Half a dose mixed with a heavier dose of caffeine, if you don’t mind.”
She waved a hand. “I have plenty of coffee, and if you want stronger I once splurged on an espresso machine. I can light you up, baby.”
That drew a laugh from him and brought a twinkle to his brown eyes. “You light me up more than you know, and no caffeine required.”
She felt her cheeks heat and headed quickly to make that espresso. So she wasn’t the only one feeling it. A warm glow settled deep inside her. She liked it.
* * *
Much as Trace tried to keep his head on his problem, Julie took up space. While he sipped the double shot of espresso she’d made for him and waited for the pain pill to kick in, he decided she was not at all what he would have expected from a kindergarten teacher. Not that he’d ever spent a lot of time thinking about it.
She’d have to be lively to some extent to deal with children of that age all day successfully. But it was more than that. Cusswords? He still wanted to laugh over that. But it was yet more. Most people would have wanted nothing to do with him and his dangerous problems, but she’d dived right in to protect her friends. Loyalty was a quality he valued above almost anything. She had quite a tongue on her when she chose, she didn’t hold back, and her face was entrancing to watch as expressions continually flitted across it. Always having a sense of what she was feeling and thinking would be a comforting quality to him after all the years he’d spent in a world where everyone tried to conceal everything. How relaxing to
be with someone who had no secrets, and who couldn’t really conceal them if she wanted to.
She turned from her desk and found him watching her. “See something you like?”
He had to grin. “Very definitely.”
She smiled back. “Me, too. So tell me something?”
“If I can.”
“What did Ryker mean when he said the police traced your vehicle back to one of you?”
He probably wouldn’t be telling her anything she couldn’t guess if she thought about it. “I have a number of identities.”
“Ah. Will the real Trace Whoever please stand up?”
“Sort of like that.” For once he threw caution to the winds. “My real name is Trace Archer. I don’t use it very often, but that’s pretty much what’s on my paychecks.”
“So you assume that’s the real one.” A smile danced around her lips.
“That same guy pays my taxes, too.”
She laughed. “I’ve never had an alias. Maybe I should get one. Except that I can’t imagine who else I could be.”
“I think,” he said, meaning it, “that you could be anyone you want to be.” Beauty, intelligence and a quick wit, all in one package.
“If it’s just about a piece of paper, probably. Changing other things about me would be harder. Do you have to do that?”
Again he weighed the question. He wasn’t in the habit of talking about these matters, and every question posed the possibility of revealing something he shouldn’t. “Yes,” he said presently. “Sometimes I’ve had to. It’s like being in a play, except that you can’t afford to drop your character, ever. You have to live it, breathe it, even sleep it.”
She chewed her lower lip, nodding slowly. “How do you find yourself in all that?”
Shock shook him. He was amazed that she’d even thought of that part of it. “It’s not always easy. When you start to forget, it’s time to come in for a while. Repatriation, they call it.”
“What do you call it?”
“Finding my feet again.”
She stood up. “More espresso?”
“Thanks, yes.”
