Reading her mother's words, Juliet fancied she could hear Anya's voice layered over her own.
"While at university, I became intrigued by the ideals espoused by the older brother of one of my friends. He spoke of Marx's and Lenin's visions of social and economic harmony and shared my antipathy for fascism. One day, he revealed that he was an agent for East Germany and talked both his sister and me into visiting that country. He took us through the Wall to meet their leader, Dieter Goebel, an elegant, articulate man who loved art as much as I did. My friend fancied herself in love with this man. Goebel entranced us. He made us feel we were part of something truly significant. By the end of our visit, we had both been recruited to be his eyes and ears.
"Upon graduating, I got a job in Westend, Berlin. It was there I met your father at a soccer match—neither one of us was interested in the game. Gerard was a U.S. citizen, employed by the National Security Agency and working at the American electronic surveillance installation in Teufelsberg. When I disclosed your father's job to Goebel, he encouraged me to get to know the American better. I was expected to relay any and all information Gerard might reveal regarding intercepted radio and telephone messages. The East wished to know what information was being passed on to NATO. When your father proposed, I was devastated, for East German agents were forbidden to marry. However, with the expectation that I would be privy to more secrets if I married your father, Goebel allowed me to wed.
"As you can see by the certificate enclosed with this letter, your father and I married in West Berlin, not far from the stadium where we met. Our parents attended, and to the world, our marriage was an average, blessed union. Throughout the first year, I endeavored to pass secrets to my handlers. But your father neither spoke of his work nor brought any papers home for me to peruse. Goebel ordered me to secure a secretarial position within my husband's office or else divorce him. By this time, I had begun to abhor the lies I told Gerard and dreaded the deceptions I was forced to enact to rendezvous with my contacts in the East. I begged Goebel to release me from my obligation. He informed me in no uncertain terms that I would be terminated if I backed away. I knew I had to make a choice, but couldn't bring myself to divorce your father. Therefore, I confessed the truth to him and cast myself on his mercy. Bless his kind heart, he forgave me and vowed to protect me. However, due to the nature of his job, he could not keep the information to himself.
"The only way we could remain together was to confess the situation to his superiors. Gerard and I were confined by his government for three months while federal agents interrogated and debriefed us. When they were finally satisfied that I was giving up all my ties to East Germany, they granted me permission to accompany your father back to the States. The NSA stripped Gerard of his security clearances and his job. The U.S. Marshals service placed us in Witness Protection. We received new identities as Anne and Gerald Rhodes. Emma was born shortly after we settled in New Jersey, where we led peaceful, ordinary lives."
Drawing a shaky breath, Juliet paused to collect herself before plowing on.
"Darlings, I have lived with the guilt of costing your father his career. Being the man he is, he will tell you he would have it no other way. But I have seen his restlessness and remorse, and know it is my fault. I also accept the blame for embracing the ideology of Marx and Lenin without considering the reality of human nature.
"If you are reading this, you are old enough to understand that we must keep the truth about my history and your father's a secret. The agents I betrayed, including my best friend and her brother, were recalled to East Germany and barely escaped imprisonment—although I warned them. But Dieter Goebel, head of the Directorate, would gladly murder me for disclosing information about my associates and the inner workings of the Stasi. Therefore, you must keep our family secret safe while finding it in your hearts to forgive me for my naiveté. Your loving mother, Anya."
Juliet swallowed hard. "Anya," she repeated the name, thinking it suited her German-speaking mother more than the name Anne.
"Holy hell."
In her peripheral vision, Juliet could see Tristan gaping at her. "You had no idea about this?"
"None." She shook her head. She had thought herself the product of an ordinary family growing up in a small house outside of Moorestown, New Jersey. "It makes so much sense, though," she added. "I always wondered why my parents, who were brilliant, hadn't done something more with their lives than teach school. Not that there's anything wrong with that. They just had an energy about them that made it seem like they ought to be doing more."
"Your mother was a spy," Tristan exclaimed, imbuing the word with all the mystery and romance it implied. "No wonder you became a private detective. It's in your blood!"
And here she thought she'd taken after her father. Then again, since her father had worked for the NSA, he'd been a spy, too. To think that her parents had been working for opposite sides until they fell in love and put their union first. The truth obliterated every presupposition she'd ever had about her parents except one. They had always adored each other, clearly more than she even realized.
"I have to tell Emma," she declared, snatching up the certificate and pushing to her feet. "This information changes everything. Now I know why someone would kill them. I have a motive. I even have suspects."
"Who?" Tristan asked. "That Goebel guy? You think he tracked her down, all those years later? What for? East Germany collapsed. What would be the point of seeking revenge against her?"
Tristan's input stumped her. Both Goebel and the man who'd recruited her mother in the first place had good reason for wanting to kill her, but would they really harbor a grudge for twenty years?
"I don't know," she admitted. "I need more information. I need Hilary." Pulling her phone from her purse, she speed-dialed her assistant. "Don't leave the office," she requested. "I'm coming back in." Ignoring Hilary's groan, she hung up and placed the letter and certificate back into the envelope, sliding it into her purse.
"I'm coming with you," Tristan stated.
His temerity amazed her. "I have a lot of work to do. You'll be bored out of your mind." More likely, she would be entirely unable to concentrate.
"Nah. We'll take my motorcycle. That way I can tool around the area if I get in the way. I'll pick you up when you finish your work and bring you back here."
The implication that they would then spend time alone together caused her traitorous body to respond and for her to accede. "Fine," she heard herself say. "How long are you in the area?"
Tristan shrugged. "Couple of weeks. I'm on leave."
The answer disconcerted Juliet. Two weeks? Was he planning to hang around her that entire time? What happened if she got used him? It would be that much harder to push him away. Without comment, she brushed past him to return the albums to the footlocker. As Tristan moved to help her, she deliberated asking what his intentions were. What was he looking for—a short affair? A long-term relationship? Marriage?
She was afraid to ask. No way in hell was she going to let someone who could die in the line of duty get anywhere close to her.
Sex was one thing, but if Tristan wanted more, she couldn't give it to him—hence the consolation package she had thought up weeks before. She'd asked her assistant to work on it, and Hilary was waiting for confirmation that her research was accurate. She would know for certain any day now, hopefully soon. Because one thing was certain, whatever this was between her and Tristan, it wasn't going to last long.
"You ready?" she asked, closing the full chest. "I'm calling my sister on the way out."
Chapter 3
Tristan looked around Juliet's office with interest. For some reason, he'd expected Precision Investigating, her P.I. firm, to take up more square feet. Then again, rental space came at a premium in Northern Virginia. Her office consisted of a single room of moderate size on the third floor of a newly constructed office building. A wall of windows overlooked George Mason University's main campus.
Two striped armchairs, an artificial fichus tree, and a side table smothered in gossip magazines occupied one corner of the room. The rest of the space had been split down the middle by an invisible line demarked by the level of clutter on each side. Juliet's half was as pristine and spartan as her apartment. The other half, belonging to her assistant, was crammed with computer equipment, framed pictures of a cat, a collection of coffee mugs, and at least a hundred science fiction novels.
Juliet introduced him to her assistant with a wave of her hand. "Hilary, this is Tristan. Tristan Halliday, Hilary Alcorn."
The ruby-haired pixie spun in her chair to gape at him. Thick-lensed, teal-framed glasses made her turquoise eyes look enormous. Roughly thirty, with voluptuous breasts that drew attention to her wildly colorful attire and costume jewelry, he saw at once that the only type of ring she wasn't wearing was a wedding band.
"Holy crap," she breathed. Crystal earrings tinkled as Hilary looked him up and down.
"Nice to meet you." He stuck out a hand to give her something to do besides gape at him.
"Better for me, I'm sure," she drawled, tearing her gaze off him to look at Juliet. "How's your sister? Did she recognize the composite?"
"She's good. And no, she didn't," Juliet said, briskly. "Before you ask any more questions, read this." Juliet handed Hilary the letter they'd found, then stood over her assistant, reading along and worrying her lower lip as Hilary absorbed the letter's meaning.
"Jesus, Joseph, and Mary," she finally breathed, every bit as astonished as Emma had been when Juliet called her. "Your mother was an East German spy?" Hilary's voice held a note of disbelief.
Juliet retrieved the letter. "Apparently so. But that helps me narrow down possible suspects. In her letter, my mother said Goebel would gladly kill her. Then there's the older brother of her friend, the one who recruited her. Either one of them would have a motive. Have you gotten any hits on the facial recognition software?"
"Jeez, I'm working on it!" Hilary gestured at her hardware—three monitors and a couple of laptops. "It's not like I can scan the composite and hit a single button. I have to access literally a hundred separate databases. This isn't television where they can pin down the suspect in thirty seconds flat."
"No, I understand," Juliet assured her. "Just asking."
Tristan realized he might as well have been invisible—not that he blamed either woman. At the moment, Juliet's life was way more interesting than he was.
"Actually, I did get two possible matches." Hilary faced her monitors and jiggled her mouse, rousing the computer under her desk. As it hummed, several windows popped open on her screens, making Tristan think of Hack, a techie in his platoon who would totally appreciate Hilary's setup.
Opening an onscreen folder, Hilary cast several documents including a state driver's license and a mug shot onto separate monitors. "This guy's an ex-convict living in Wisconsin. He drives a truck for a living."
Juliet took one look at the man's photo and shook her head. "No, that's not him. The mouth isn't right."
"No worries." Hilary closed the folders and opened another file. "How about this guy? He's a math teacher at a private school in Charlotte, North Carolina."
Juliet stared hard at the image. "Too young," she finally decided. "Can't you filter the search using an age range?"
"Sure. What range do you want?"
Juliet frowned. "Well, to me he looked maybe in his fifties. That was eleven years ago, so let's say fifty-five to seventy, just to be on the safe side."
As Hilary made the adjustment, Juliet placed the marriage certificate next to her. Hilary looked it over. "What's this?"
"My parents' certificate of marriage with their real names. Their parents' names, too. My mother's folks would be German, but my father's parents were American. And they might still be alive. Can you find them?"
Hilary gawked at her boss for a moment. "You doing OKOK with all this?" she asked gently.
Ah, so he wasn't the only one who realized Juliet tried to look tough, but that was mostly veneer. Tristan watched her stand a little taller. "I'm great," she said breezily.
She probably wasn't. That was OK, though, because Tristan would be there to hold her if she needed him as she had in Mexico.
"All right." Hilary gave a skeptical shake of her head. "I'm on it." As she dove with alacrity into her search, Tristan thought again of Hack who could find just about anything using his laptop.
Juliet caught his eye and gestured to the armchairs behind them. "This could take a while," she said.
Heeding the cue to back off, Tristan ignored the chairs to prowl the perimeter of her office. The framed certificates hanging over her desk captured his notice. He stepped closer to read them. Juliet had graduated with honors from the University of Maryland—College Park with a degree in Criminology. She held a license from the state of Virginia and a certificate from the National Association of Legal Investigators.
"Nice," Tristan said, giving her a respect-filled look.
"Thanks." She looked like she might ask about his background but, instead, she locked her hands behind her back.
"Me, I only finished community college," he volunteered with a self-deprecating shrug. "Thought I was a real hotshot, too busy racing cars to think about going to a four-year school."
Hilary shot him an owl-like glance over her shoulder.
"Tristan was a NASCAR driver," Juliet explained, her tone just the tiniest bit derisive. "He spent several years on the circuit, but that got too boring for him."
"Yeah, that does sound tedious," Hilary drawled.
He felt the need to defend himself. "It was, actually. The only obstacle in racing is physics—speed, mass, and inertia. Trust me. It gets dull after a while."
"Unh-huh," Hilary agreed.
The lone knickknack sitting atop Juliet's file cabinet captured Tristan's attention. Picking it up, he turned the jade figurine over in his hand, trying to decide what it was.
"What is this?" he asked, holding it up.
Juliet and Hilary exchanged an amused look.
"What do you think it is?" Juliet challenged him.
"Uh, I don't know. A fertility goddess?"
Hilary snorted, snatched up the nearest coffee cup, and took a swig. Juliet colored and looked away.
Puzzled, Tristan waited for an explanation. "What?"
"It's called a wishing stone," she said tersely. "Supposedly it takes the shape of your innermost desires."
"Like the Mirror of Erised in Harry Potter," Hilary chimed in, while madly clicking her mouse.
"Hilz gave it to me for my birthday," Juliet tacked on.
The allusion to the mirror went over Tristan's head, but Juliet's explanation didn't. He shot her a lascivious grin while stroking the figurine's smooth edges. "I guess it's pretty accurate, then."
The color rising into her cheeks betrayed her naughty thoughts. Hooyah. Tristan's plan was totally going to work. As long as she persisted in wanting him, she was going to let him stick around, and the more he stuck around, the more she'd get used to him.
Hilary murmured to herself as she deepened her search.
Juliet stood over her, eyes fixed on the middle monitor.
Putting down the wishing stone, Tristan walked over to the coffee table covered in magazines. He picked up one and turned it over. Hilary Alcorn enjoyed a subscription to People. She'd apparently read this issue before bringing it in. Since it featured an article on his older look-alike, Matthew McConaughey, he dropped into one of the chairs to read it.
The actor was enjoying fatherhood. Good for him. Tristan intended to be a father, too, one day. First, he had to marry the perfect woman.
Juliet walked past as she paced the length of the room and back.
Pretending to read, Tristan watched her feet go by. The pacing was obviously a habit. She'd already worn a path in the carpet.
"Oh, dear," Hilary exclaimed, causing Juliet to hurry back to her assistant's side.
"What?"
Tristan gave up pretending interest in the magazine and peered toward Hilary's computer.
"I found your grandfather's obituary." Hilary relayed the news apologetically. "Sorry, but he just passed two years ago. It says he married your grandmother, Faith Rose Carter in 1955 in Arlington, Virginia."
"Is she still alive?" Juliet asked with cautious hope.
"Um, hold on a sec." Hilary's fingers played hopscotch on her keyboard.
Sensing a breakthrough, Tristan set the magazine aside and stood up.
"There's a Faith Carter Brause still in Arlington. Assuming she took Paul's name in 1955, this has got to be the same woman."
"Arlington," Juliet repeated, swinging an astonished look at Tristan as he stepped up next to her. "That's just up the road."
"I have an address," Hilary added, narrowing her search. "It matches up to the Golden Pond Retirement Community."
Juliet consulted her watch. "What time do visiting hours end?"
"Checking that... 8 p.m."
Juliet turned to Tristan. "I need to go to Arlington."
"I'll take you on my bike," he offered, pleased to play a part.
"OK. One second." She made a duplicate of both the certificate and the letter using the copier in the corner. "File the originals for me, will you, Hilz?" She handed them to her assistant and slid the copies into the envelope, which she stuck inside her purse alongside the composite of the killer.
"Ready." Juliet looped the purse strap onto her shoulder and strode to the door.
"Bye, Tristan," Hilary sang out as Tristan turned to follow Juliet.
"Later." He sent the redhead a parting grin.
To his amusement, she sank back onto her seat clasping a hand to her heart in a mock swoon. Women like Hilary were good for the ego, he reflected, chasing Juliet down the stairs.
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