Undercover Soldier

by Linda O. Johnston

  Plus, he was being careful, using driving techniques to ensure they weren’t being followed. The danger wasn’t over. Fortunately, he’d been able to retrieve his military semiautomatic pistol and hide it in the glove compartment.

  He occasionally tried to veil road noise with music from a middle-of-the-road radio station but kept it low, trying to soothe Sherra now and then with insipid comments about their drive. He doubted it was working. But total silence wasn’t a good idea, either.

  As soon as he’d realized he needed to get Sherra to a safe house, he had scoped out possibilities and located a place to rent. It was in Glen Burnie, Maryland, about forty miles from Bethesda, much nearer to the Chesapeake Bay than to Washington, D.C. He had also gotten his Department of Defense contacts to create a couple more identities—a second or third for him, depending on how he looked at it, and a new one for Sherra, too. The lease was under their new names.

  He hadn’t broken that news to her yet but would have to soon.

  In fact— “Okay, spill it, Brody. I’m tired of talking about the weather and traffic and other inconsequential stuff. You’re not really distracting me. Tell me where we’re going.”

  He glanced at her. He knew that stubborn expression only too well—her bottom lip stuck out as if enticing him to kiss it back into calmness. Which never happened, or at least it hadn’t in the past. He’d never been able to distract her when her dark eyes bored into his that way, as if she could somehow spy his thoughts and extract them.

  She looked so damn sexy, even though she’d taken an extra few minutes to change into a pale blue T-shirt and darker jeans. The first shirt she had put on had the CMHealthfoods logo front and center. He enjoyed viewing her bustline but the sign made it even more magnetic, especially to male eyes. He’d sent her back for something more anonymous.

  She wasn’t looking away or backing down now, but he took his time answering. “I rented a house before I came to find you,” he finally admitted. “I told you from the first that I needed to get you to a safe house since your online prying had opened a can of worms that I had to crush to be able to fulfill my mission.” He managed to keep the ever-present irritation about that from his voice. “I anticipated potential danger to you, too, though I didn’t know some jackass would come to your home and try to kidnap you. Mostly, I just thought I’d get you off the internet for a while to let things cool down so I could finish what I had to.”

  “But why?” she demanded. “And what exactly is your mission?”

  He turned off the interstate onto Route 100. They’d arrive at their destination in about half an hour. If he decided to talk about it now, that would give him time to tell her a bit of what she asked. He needed to inform her of some of it, anyway.

  But he would prefer to do it when they were sitting down somewhere, perhaps over a glass of wine. Civilized and calm. Not fleeing in a car from a bad situation. It wouldn’t go over well anyway, but sometimes the right atmosphere helped.

  There was one thing he could inform her about now, though. It would give her some time to stew about it, get the rage he anticipated out of her system, or at least allow it to cool from the boiling point to a simmer.

  The identity thing.

  “I promise to tell you about it after we arrive,” he told her. “Or at least what I can. National security is involved.”

  “How convenient.” She sounded peeved, and his next glance revealed her arms crossed over her very attractive bust in an unattractive gesture of anger.

  “I’m sure you guessed that part,” he shot at her. “Afghanistan, roadside bombs, death, mistaken identity. That just might involve more than a little clerical error.”

  He saw a movement out of the corner of his eye. Sherra had uncrossed her arms and again stared at him. “Yes, I guessed that. What I haven’t guessed yet is why. Why did someone die? I’m glad it wasn’t you, but why was he identified as Brody McAndrews instead of Brody Andrews? Why wasn’t the mistake immediately fixed? Why—”

  “Like I said, I’ll tell you what I can.” He reached over and turned up the radio dial so music again filled the car’s interior.

  “Brody!” Sherra all but shouted. “I’m with you because I have to be. But you can’t just put me off like this.”

  Yes, he could. For her safety, and his. But he understood her frustration. In her position, he’d feel the same way. He did feel the same way.

  “Like I said, I’ll explain what I can later. But for now, I’ll tell you about the identities we’re going to assume.”

  “What!” He saw her go rigid behind her seat belt. “Brody, I won’t—”

  “Yes, you will.” He’d turned the radio down once more. Although his tone was softer than hers, it allowed for no dissent. “It’s the best way for us both to stay safe.”

  “But—”

  He interrupted again. “Here’s the deal. We’re going to be a couple who’s been married for seven years. That’s what we’ll look like. Since it’ll just be us, we can sleep in separate bedrooms, but our new neighbors can’t suspect we’re anything but normal. Of course even normal couples have arguments, but to the world it’ll look like we’re living with them just fine.”

  “Brody—”

  “No, I’m not going to be Brody. Or Jim. I’m Bill Bradshaw, and you’re Sally. I’m in construction and will be remodeling a couple of houses in the neighborhood. You’re an out-of-work teacher studying to get another degree.”

  “Then I’ll have access to the internet?” They had brought her laptop and smart phone—after he took charge of them—and she sounded hopeful. Was she actually buying into this with no argument?

  “No. We’ll get you a lot of reading material—regular books and some on e-readers that I’ll help you download. You can write on your laptop, too, if you want. But no internet access without my participation and supervision.”

  “And exactly how long do you think this’ll be?” Her voice was calm. Too calm. He anticipated an explosion any minute, but he’d deal with it. She had no choice.

  “Unknown right now. I was getting pretty embedded in my undercover identity before, but I may need to take a longer leave of absence than it’ll take to get over some fake flu. I’m not sure where you’ll be when I go back. For the moment, we need to make sure the original plan isn’t blown and can stay in effect despite all the hacking and inopportune questions you’ve asked online. If not…well, we’ll just have to see.”

  “That’s no answer!” She finally exploded. “Brody, I have a life. One that may not be the most exciting in the world, but I’m happy. I’m not giving it up because someone—several someones, maybe—are concerned about the computer research I did when I heard that the man I once loved died.”

  “You will do it, Sherra. For my sake and yours, and a whole lot more. I mean, you’ll do it, Sally. Might as well get used to it.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Yes, you do,” he countered. “You put us both into this position with your hacking. Now deal with it. I have to.” Once again, he turned up the music as punctuation—and to take away her ability to contradict him. He knew he’d hear more about it later, but for the moment she actually remained silent.

  When he again looked at her, her arms were crossed once more. Her gaze was straight out the windshield. Her mouth was a grim line of anger.

  That was okay. She didn’t have to like it. She just had to listen.

  After a while, he pulled off the main roads, then slipped along others into wooded areas that were actually quite scenic.

  They were also hard to find.

  Eventually, he drove onto a gravel driveway near an unobtrusive single-story house painted an ugly shade of brown. Its far side was along a creek that emptied into a stream that eventually met the Chesapeake Bay.

  If necessary, Brody would get a boat so they’d have
alternate means of transportation to keep them safe.

  “We’re home, Sally,” he said.

  Chapter 6

  The narrow green pillow on the wooden lawn chair where Sherra sat was amazingly comfortable. The view of the softly flowing creek from the back deck of the house was soothing. The merlot Sherra sipped from a nice, if inexpensive, stemmed glass tasted fruity and exotic.

  Her mood was wild. Scared. She wanted to throw something.

  She wanted to go back to her real life.

  Even so, she leaned back in her seat, feigning calm. “Good choice,” she said to Brody, who sat on an identical chair beside her, wearing his glasses. “This house, I mean. It’s quite pleasant. I especially like this view.” That, at least, was true. The nearby homes were eclectic, of different sizes and vintages, but the one thing they all had in common was the view of the adjoining waterways from their backyards.

  Brody, too, sipped wine, looking like the serene, casually dressed lord of the manor. He’d even raised his wineglass in salute a few minutes ago when an apparent neighbor from across the narrow inlet putted his boat away from the dock that matched the one behind this house, heading toward the nearby stream.

  “Me, too,” he said, his deep voice mellowed even more by the light alcohol.

  Yes, there had already been wine here when they arrived. A refrigerator and pantry stocked with food.

  When she’d commented on it, Brody admitted he had planned more than just renting this house in advance. He’d had every intention of ensuring that she came there. That they both came there.

  That he’d planned to take control of her life—although that was tacit, not part of his admission.

  As a result, he had gotten it ready for them both even before appearing in her life again. He’d made assumptions that she would go along with what he told her.

  Or that he would find a way to convince her.

  As much as she hated that, Sherra wished for a moment that this tableau was real, that she was simply visiting a friend who happened to live in this area. A good friend, perhaps. A friend with benefits, like the lovemaking she had shared with Brody last night.

  Had it only been last night? So much had happened since then that it seemed ages ago. And that made her crave him again all the more.

  She wouldn’t mind staying here overnight. With him. Taking advantage of the sexiness of the man who sat so calmly beside her.

  And he did look sexy sitting there. He still wore the same navy T-shirt and jeans he’d worn on the drive here. The way he held the delicate stemmed glass in his large, work-worn hand reminded her of his touch on her body the previous night.

  She had a sudden urge to put down her wine and make him take her into his arms. Right here. Right now. That would help to get her mind off reality.

  But every part of that scenario was a bad idea.

  Instead, she again made herself speak conversationally. “I’m surprised we’re out here in the open this way. If we’re trying not to be noticed, to stay safe in this safe house, what are we doing?”

  The sexy smile on his gorgeous, angular face again made her want to throw herself into his arms. “Have you ever heard of hiding in plain sight?”

  “Sure. But why are we doing it?”

  “Just looking normal. We’re not that obvious in daylight anyway.” He stood and moved to the deck’s railing. The slope below was relatively gentle, and water lapped at the shoreline about ten feet away. From what Sherra gathered, it must be high tide, since there was no indication that the creek bed encroached farther onto the land. Plus, the wooden dock was only a couple of feet above the water line.

  She closed her eyes briefly. Was he avoiding her? Or just finding a way to ignore her question more easily?

  Not gonna happen. She joined him at the rail.

  “We’re here now, Brody. I’ve done what you asked—and, yes, I know it was at least partly for my own safety.” At the thought of the man Brody had fought with at her condo—a man who’d tried to kidnap her—she shuddered for probably the zillionth time and took another deeper sip of wine.

  “But don’t you think I deserve answers now? I mean real answers, not just hints that just skim the surface of my curiosity because of some unexplained claim of national security.”

  He turned and looked down at her. His expression was stony, as if to put her off. Again. He had, after all, told her—often—that she’d brought this on herself by nosiness in pursuing what really happened to Brody McAndrews.

  She now knew part of it, but not the reasons behind it all.

  Why had Brody let the world believe he’d died and someone with a similar name had been the one to survive?

  Before he said anything negative, though, she added, “That came out wrong. I do deserve answers. Tell me what’s really going on, Brody. Please.”

  His jaw hardened, as if he was preparing to say something negative. She had to stop him. Impulsively, she thrust her body against his, careful not to cause either glass of wine to fall.

  She stood on tiptoe in her soft athletic shoes and placed her mouth on his. Or at least tried to. He was tall enough that she couldn’t quite reach without his cooperation.

  Good thing was that he did cooperate.

  She savored the sweet wine flavor of his lips. He, in turn, swept his free arm around her, drawing her closer yet.

  So close that she could feel not only the hardness of his muscular upper body, but another hardness, too, down below. One that took her breath away as her insides heated instantaneously.

  She wanted him. Again. Right away.

  But as he deepened the kiss, some part of her brain, the sane, rational part, considered what was really going on. Though she’d initiated the closeness, had he taken over, trying to distract her? Whatever the reason, whoever was in charge, it didn’t matter.

  The sound of a boat’s motor interrupted as their across-the-inlet neighbor returned.

  “Let’s go inside,” she whispered against him. “More privacy.”

  “All right,” he said. “But if you’re expecting me to cave and tell you everything just so we can really pretend to be an old married couple tonight, Sally, you’ve got to understand—I’ll tell you what I can, but I’m under an obligation to keep a lot of what’s going on covert. Especially from someone like you, with no security clearance and, judging by your online snoopiness, the discretion of a mad parrot.”

  She stared into his face and saw an unexpected twinkle in his eye. She remembered the expression so well, from when they had known each other before.

  He might be joking. Or not.

  “A mad parrot? And here I thought that, if I really wanted to spill everything, I could pretend to be a reality TV show star.”

  “Or a reporter for a celebrity gossip newspaper.”

  “An out-of-control smart phone recorder.”

  Both of them were laughing. The pressure was eased. They were friends again. More? That remained to be seen.

  But Sherra could only smile even more broadly when Brody—no, Bill—said, “Come on, Sally. Let’s go in…and talk.”

  * * *

  They sat at polar ends of the fluffy white couch that must have cost a mint when new. Now, its seams were a bit frayed.

  So was the attitude in the living room.

  Brody considered it a fairly nice room, with a picture window overlooking the stream they’d just been viewing from the patio.

  “Bill” had rented the place furnished. The tall craftsman-style tables on each side of the sofa could have used refinishing, too. The plain but plentiful side slats holding up the small square table tops looked worn, as if people had used the furnishings for more than decoration. The TV was far from state-of-the-art, low definition, on top of another table that had seen better days. All the furniture
sat on faded area rugs on the hardwood floor.

  Sherra, with her sense of style, obviously noticed the contrast between the apparent upscale decor and the current condition of the furnishings. She said nothing when they first sat down, just placing her wineglass on the table nearest her. Then she asked, “Who did you rent this place from, Brody?”

  Since that was a nice, relatively noncontroversial question, Brody responded. “I saw the listing online and contacted the local real estate agent. The property used to belong to a local mechanic but he lost it in a foreclosure and it’s now owned by a guy who bought up a bunch of homes to rent out.”

  “Did the agent tell you that?”

  “No, I looked it up on the internet.”

  Brody loved the sound of her laugh, despite the shake of her head and the ironic grin on her lovely face. “So it’s okay for you, a soldier, to go digging online, but not for someone who makes her living at it.” She sat back and crossed her arms again over her chest.

  Brody wished, for a moment, that he was the light blue shirt she wore. Better yet, he wished their cover identities were closer to reality and he could take the shirt off her, as a real husband might do with his wife.

  The fact they’d made love last night was irrelevant. That had been a mistake under these circumstances; perhaps a catharsis after so many years apart, considering what they had once meant to each other. But it was still not something that could be repeated.

  With effort, he shoved aside his attraction for her, faced reality. “Not that I needed it to find a house to rent, but I have a security clearance that gives me more leeway online. Any searches I do are part of my job.”

  “Interesting excuse.” Her tone sounded wry. “But I don’t buy it. No, your searches are part of your secret identity, your bursting in on my life to change everything.” She stood and turned her back on him as she approached the window.