His Secret Life

by Webb, Debra

  Stuart nodded. “I suppose you’re right. I certainly don’t want to endanger my family by becoming involved with a man with a troubled past.”

  “Unfortunately,” Victoria offered, “it goes with the territory, Stuart.” She knew this all too well. “Wealth and power can sometimes prove a magnet for those seeking easy money. Self-protection is essential. If we uncover disturbing details perhaps it would be wisest to show your gratitude anonymously through my investigator.”

  “So his name is definitely not Troy Benson? How did you find him?”

  “My investigator, Jane, used the description your wife gave of the man who rescued her to start the search. Since the man was thought to be on foot that night, our first assumption would be that he lived nearby. Along that deserted stretch of road, there are only a few scattered communities. The occasional farm, but not much else. We focused on anything within walking distance.”

  “Reese vividly recalls catching a glimpse of someone as her car spun out of control,” Stuart confirmed. “She believes he was, indeed, on foot.”

  “That being the case,” Victoria went on, “we assumed that the man was likely from somewhere nearby. Jane checked the surrounding communities until she found someone matching the description. He goes by the name Troy Benson and he works at a diner in Plano.”

  “If your investigator hasn’t spoken to this man yet, how can she be sure it’s him—other than the description my wife gave, I mean? This Troy Benson could simply be someone who looks like the man who rescued my family. Is she sure it’s him?”

  Again, Stuart’s anxiousness was showing. He wanted this man found, but he also wanted to find the hero he had created in his mind. “Reese stated that the man who rescued her cut his left forearm as he pulled her from the damaged car, correct?”

  Stuart sat forward a little. “Yes. Yes, she did. Does this Troy Benson have an injury consistent with what my wife recalls?”

  “He does. Jane has him under surveillance and is hoping for an opportunity to lift a latent print. We can have a friend at the bureau, as well as our Chicago PD liaison, run the print through the systems to see if he shows up in any databases.”

  “You’ll keep me informed?” Stuart asked, his expression clearly crestfallen.

  “Absolutely.”

  Victoria’s client stood, sighed. “The waiting game it is, then.”

  “It won’t be long,” Victoria assured him. “Trust me, Stuart, Jane will work as quickly as possible.”

  When Stuart had taken his leave, Victoria stood for a long moment staring at the door that separated her office from the small private lobby where Mildred greeted clients and took care of Victoria’s calendar.

  Waiting was the hardest thing to do.

  A person’s whole life was spent waiting on one thing or another. For Christmas to arrive. To find love. For the safe birth of a child…to live without fear.

  Waiting was all Victoria could do for now as well.

  Chapter Three

  Plano, Illinois, 4:30 p.m.

  The Sunshine Diner was filled to capacity as usual. Jane selected the only vacant stool at the counter to facilitate a better view of the kitchen’s serving window.

  An apron-clad Troy Benson set two plates on the serving window ledge and announced, “Order up.”

  With his shirtsleeves pushed up, the bandage on his left arm was visible.

  “You ready to order?”

  Jane dragged her attention from the window to the waitress who’d stopped on the other side of the counter. “I’ll have the special.” Burger and fries. A girl couldn’t go wrong with the basics.

  The waitress, Patsy, scratched the order on her pad, flashed a smile and headed over to post the order on the cook’s wheel in the service window.

  Benson glanced at Jane as he tugged her order from the wheel. Jane held his gaze, wanting him to know she wasn’t here for the food. She’d come in and out the past couple of days. She felt certain he realized she was watching him, but he hadn’t gotten nervous just yet.

  She’d been cautious with her questioning of the locals. Not wanting to spook him, she’d resisted talking to the waitresses or the busboy in the diner.

  Benson drove a beat-up old truck. The license plate was registered to a Troy Benson, originally from Michigan. His driver’s license went back four years. No work or credit record for six years prior to that. Mainly because the man, the real Troy Benson, with that Social Security number had some nine years ago entered a private extended-care facility in Michigan after a tragic automobile accident. Since the facility wasn’t funded by government insurance, there was no reason for any government agency to be suspicious of the use of the Social Security number some five years later. While the real Troy Benson withered away in Michigan, this pretender had started a whole new life in Illinois.

  If Jane could get this guy’s prints, it would be reasonably easy to determine if he had a criminal record or if perhaps he was in Witness Protection. There had to be a motive for his having taken an alias and living such a low-profile life. A low-profile life, according to the few people she’d questioned, that he went to great extents to keep very personal.

  After work Benson drove his ancient truck to an equally aged farmhouse on Grissom Spring Road. He had no friends, no social life that anyone she’d asked was aware of. He had simply blown into town, driving that old truck, four years ago and had been working at the diner since.

  He didn’t look like a short-order cook.

  Tall, well-muscled, mid-thirties, blond hair, blue eyes. Damned good looking. A little glimmer of warmth swirled beneath her belly button. Any woman would have to be in a coma or dead not to notice how handsome he was. But guys who looked like that never took a second look at Jane.

  Plain Jane.

  Her nickname in grade school had followed her into adulthood. She hadn’t bothered attempting to dispel the unflattering moniker. She liked wearing jeans and T-shirts when she was off duty. Even on duty she stuck with serviceable slacks and conservative blouses along with practical shoes. And she hated makeup and all the hair fuss that most women took great pride in skillfully sporting.

  If that, along with her generic brown hair and eyes, made her a plain Jane, then so be it.

  “Here ya go.”

  Patsy settled a stoneware plate in front of Jane. “Thanks.” Jane considered the burger and fries. “How about some coleslaw?” What she needed was a small enough item touched by the cook that she could take with her. And return it, of course, once she’d lifted the necessary prints. She’d noticed some side orders, coleslaw in particular, were served in bowls small enough to suit her requirement.

  “Sure thing.” Patsy strolled back to the window. “Need an order of coleslaw, Troy.”

  Benson flicked another of those suspicious glances from the waitress to Jane. Troy disappeared from the window for a moment and returned with a small, single-serving-size stoneware bowl of slaw. Patsy immediately placed the side order in front of Jane.

  “Great.” Careful not to touch the little bowl with her fingers, she dug in. She was starved. Though she’d been in the diner earlier this afternoon, she hadn’t ordered anything but coffee until now. As she ate, she covertly kept an eye on Benson. The waitresses were hustling to refill drinks and take orders since the evening crowd was slowly drifting into the diner.

  The bustle of the kitchen staff was also obvious beyond the serving window. While the waitresses were preoccupied with their evening rush, Jane pulled a couple of plastic sandwich bags from her purse and picked up the bowl, using one of the bags as a barrier between her fingers and the stoneware. With her movements hidden beneath the counter now, she slipped the empty bowl into the second bag and tucked it into her purse.

  With a quick check to ensure that no one was paying attention, she grabbed the side order bowl left by the customer who’d abandoned the stool next to her and placed it by her plate. No need to call attention to the fact that she’d taken the bowl.

  Pa
tsy strolled past, slowing long enough to refill Jane’s soda.

  Her phone vibrated. With another perusal around the diner, Jane reached into the pocket of her pants and pulled out her phone to check the screen. Text message from Ian Michaels. Rendezvous with MW 5:00?

  Jane responded with a suggestion of five-fifteen. OK flashed on the screen. The newest member of the Colby Agency’s staff, Merrilee Walters, would come by the Plano Hotel at five-fifteen to pick up whatever Jane had been able to retrieve that might provide Benson’s prints.

  Excellent timing. Evidently she’d already been in the area since the office in Chicago was more than an hour away. That a member of the agency staff was standing by, indicated that the client was getting anxious. He wanted the name of the hero who’d rescued his wife and son.

  Jane polished off her burger, paid her check, left a generous tip and headed for the rendezvous with Merri. The hotel was only a few blocks from the diner, so Jane had chosen to walk. According to one of the waitresses, the entire diner staff worked until around eight cleaning up and prepping for the next day. Benson wasn’t likely going anywhere before eight.

  And if he did, Jane knew where he lived. She was waiting for one thing, approval to approach. That approval would come when the Colby Agency had done all possible to rule out a criminal record.

  As Jane rounded the corner at the end of the block, she hesitated. The sun hovered above the trees, still generating enough heat to draw a sweat. The occasional car rolled down the street. A few pedestrians were out and about. Still, that creepy sensation that crawls up the back of one’s neck had camped at the base of her skull.

  Jane stopped, turned around.

  Nothing.

  Her instincts still humming, Jane sped up her pace and made it to the hotel in record time. She surveyed the block in both directions. Nothing or no one appeared out of place. No sign of Merri.

  Jane waited out front until her colleague arrived. She parked at the curb and Jane slid into the passenger seat, thankful for the cold air blasting from the air-conditioning vents.

  “Any trouble finding the place?” Jane was careful to wait until Merri had turned in her direction before speaking. The newest member of the Colby Agency staff was deaf. She was inordinately skilled at lip-reading.

  “Your directions were very clear.” Merri glanced around the street. “Has your target noticed your presence yet?”

  “He’s suspicious.” Jane couldn’t help wishing she’d been born with Merri’s bright blue eyes and silky blond hair. Truth was, no one was really ever happy with their appearance. At least that was what she told herself each time she had a “plain” moment. “I think he’s keeping an eye on me.”

  “I guess I should make this quick, then,” Merri suggested. “I don’t want to draw any unnecessary attention.”

  She was right. Jane retrieved the bagged side order bowl and passed it to her colleague. “The waitress may have blurred Benson’s prints, but it was the best I could do for now.”

  Merri placed the bag in the console of her sedan. “I’ll get this to Ian this evening. He has a friend from CPD and one from the bureau standing by.”

  “Good. Maybe we’ll know something early tomorrow morning.”

  “That’s Ian’s goal.”

  Before getting out, Jane hesitated. “How’s Victoria?” The last couple of weeks had taken a tremendous toll on the head of the Colby Agency. Her granddaughter’s safety was at stake and the source of the threat was still untraceable. Victoria now knew his identity, but finding him was proving impossible.

  Merri’s expression turned grim. “She’s holding up.” She shook her head. “The little girl, she doesn’t really understand what’s going on. Which is good.”

  Until now Jane hadn’t noticed the slight distortion in Merri’s speech. Maybe because they hadn’t talked alone like this before. Merri had been deaf for about six years now. Her speech had begun to suffer in the extended period without the resonance of sound to maintain rhythm and modulation.

  “Have a safe trip back to the city.”

  Merri nodded. “Ian will be in touch.”

  Jane watched Merri drive away. After living her entire life in the South, Merri was certainly getting her bearings in what she teasingly called Yankee territory.

  Fishing for her keys in her purse, Jane walked toward the car she’d rented for this assignment. By the time she drove back to the diner, the dinner crowd would have thickened. Taking up a surveillance post nearby would be fairly simple.

  She wasn’t cleared to approach Benson yet, but keeping an eye on him in case he decided to cut and run was essential. Norcross was insistent on learning as much information as possible on Benson.

  She slid behind the wheel and drove the few blocks to the diner. Parking down the block and on the other side of the street, she watched the customers filter in and out. Even with the windows down, the July heat was sweltering.

  From time to time she got out and walked a short distance, just to stretch her legs and get some air flowing beneath her blouse.

  More than two hours passed before the waitresses started to, one by one, head out the front entrance. The brightly colored neon sign that announced the diner was open for business went dark. Benson came out the back door a couple of times pulling a trash container. Another employee hustled out to help him dump the containers. The second time, Benson paused before going back inside. He surveyed the street, his gaze settling on Jane’s car.

  Oh yeah, he was well aware that he was being watched.

  If he had something to hide, he might very well ditch his comfy life.

  Jane watched him swagger back to the rear entrance. His suspicious glances piqued her curiosity. “What are you hiding, Mr. Benson?”

  Pretty soon the lights went out inside the establishment and the kitchen staff trickled out the rear entrance. Benson waved good-night to his coworkers and headed for his old blue truck. He climbed inside and backed out of his parking slot. He hesitated at the street, probably checking out her position again before driving away.

  Jane gave him a few seconds’ head start before executing a U-turn and following. He’d already made the turn that led deep into the woods when she reached the turnoff to Grissom Spring Road. His farmhouse sat a couple of miles into the woods. At one time the farm had been pastureland and cultivated acreage, but for the past fifteen or so years the woods had closed in, leaving a small yard around the old house.

  There were no streetlights on the old road, making the path dark beneath the canopy of ancient trees. Jane’s weapon was in the rental car’s console. But before she got out of the car, it would be in her purse. She was no fool. Being armed, especially on an assignment like this, was the only way to go.

  She passed Benson’s place and almost braked, but checked the urge at the last moment. His truck wasn’t in the driveway.

  What the hell?

  When she’d rolled past his property far enough to be unseen, she braked to a stop and shoved the gearshift into Park. How had she lost him? There were only a couple of turns between town and his place, other than driveways leading to residences and those were few and far between.

  “Damn it.”

  She reached for the gearshift. Turn around and pick a spot to wait him out. If he didn’t show up in a reasonable length of time, she’d have no choice but to hunt him down.

  “Get out of the car.”

  Jane’s breath caught at the shouted command. She turned to stare out the window. Troy Benson stood at her door, the business end of a large handgun aimed at her face.

  “Get out,” he repeated.

  So much for waiting until she heard from Ian.

  Jane didn’t really mind having to bump up her schedule. The only part that really bothered her was the fact that his gun was seriously larger than hers.

  Chapter Four

  “Hands up.” Troy Benson backed up a step as the driver’s side door opened.

  The woman slowly raised her hands as she dropp
ed her feet to the ground and pushed out of the vehicle. “I don’t know what this is about, mister, but I’m lost. All I need are some directions on how to get to town.”

  He would just bet she needed directions. “You have some ID?”

  She nodded. “In my bag.”

  He motioned to his right with his weapon. “Step away from the car.”

  When she’d sidestepped, not taking her eyes off him, to the middle of the road, he reached, equally careful not to take his eyes off her, for the purse sitting on the console inside the vehicle. He closed the door and jerked his head toward the place he called home for now. “This way.”

  She didn’t argue, which surprised him. It shouldn’t have. The woman wasn’t lost. She had been watching him all afternoon. She’d come into the diner earlier that day.

  Leading the way, she walked along the gravel road, then made the left into the dirt driveway leading to the house. Midway down the drive, she hesitated.

  “Look.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “I don’t want any trouble. I just need to find my aunt’s house. She called and I haven’t seen her since I was a kid and I don’t have a clue where she lives except that it’s—”

  “Keep moving,” he ordered, cutting her off. She could just save all that babble. Whatever she was up to, he would soon know.

  As she climbed the rickety steps to his porch, he considered the idea that he should have left already. He had known this was coming. What a damned fool he was. This town didn’t mean anything to him. The job damned sure didn’t. Still, he hated like hell to pick up and leave. He’d gotten close to a couple of people, as close as he dared anyway.

  Stupid. Way stupid.

  Anyone close to him was a target. He knew better. But four years had allowed him to lose his edge…to believe it was over.

  It would never be over.

  The only thing he could do to protect those around him was to get the hell out of here as fast as possible.