Compromised Identity

by Jodie Bailey

  “Got it. And watch your back.” Tate was gone before Sean could answer, but at least the older man hadn’t called Ethan.

  Yet.

  Sean stayed out of the way as fire trucks swarmed in and firemen dealt with the fire, waiting for Criminal Investigations to show up. The last thing he needed was for the MPs to herd him off the scene with the crowd by the road.

  When his phone rang, he stepped back into the relative silence of the courtyard and glanced at the screen. Tate. There was no way he had Jessica already. It had only been a few minutes since they hung up. If Tate had called Ethan on him, he’d better be ready to fight. “Where are you?”

  “Easy, man.” Tate’s low voice held veiled amusement despite the situation. “I’m nearly there. Just wanted you to know I got a phone call from a buddy of mine. They pulled a body from the river.”

  “Yeah. The fake Channing.”

  “Uh-uh. Another one. This time it’s a male, found about thirty yards from the first body. I’m going to make an educated guess it’s the guy driving your getaway car Monday.”

  “You think?” Sean couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “Somebody’s running scared, killing off their cohorts. That makes whoever’s running this game dangerous.” And more likely to make a mistake.

  “Which makes me think...”

  Sean peeked around the corner of the building at the chaos in the parking lot. “Fire away.”

  “Why blow the car without you in it? If your ringleader isn’t above doing away with his own people, he’s not going to be kind to you.”

  “Could’ve been any number of reasons. A faulty timer. A bad switch. They likely meant it to blow when we started it or had a tilt fuse for when we were driving and it malfunctioned.” Maybe Jessica was right. Maybe God was watching out for them.

  “Or it’s a diversion.”

  The words sank into Sean’s chest. “From what?” He backed up two more steps into the courtyard so he could see the main entrance to the company, dread chasing Tate’s words.

  “I’m just thinking it’s a little odd the thing went off right after you put two and two together.”

  “I hear you, but there was only a couple of minutes of lag time between us putting the pieces together and then deciding to leave.” The dread burrowed deeper. Something wasn’t right. It dug at his subconscious and refused to lock in. He took two more steps toward the building.

  “It could have been there awhile while they waited for the opportune time.”

  “Why not just set it off and kill us when they could?”

  “Revenge,” Tate said. “You said it yourself. They’ve got a need to hurt you. Anybody hear you talking?”

  A diversion. A need to hurt you. “Only person who could have heard anything we said was...Meyers. The private at staff duty.” Sean broke into a run. That was the thing that had been nagging him. Meyers was off his post when Channing broke into Jessica’s office, and he was back in again pulling staff duty three days later? He’d been right there when they walked into the building. And he hadn’t been at his post when Sean stepped outside to wait for Jessica just before the car went up. “That’s why he seemed familiar. His picture must have been on the cell phone, and Jessica never made it through all of the pictures. We missed him. He’s in on it.”

  Sean burst through the doors to the battalion, praying Meyers would be sitting there, but the desk was empty. The staff duty officer was outside, so where was Meyers? He shoved his phone into his pocket and barreled past the desk toward the major’s office. He pushed into the room without knocking, the door only opening about three-quarters of the way before it hit resistance. Sean edged around the door.

  Major Braden lay on the floor, neck at an odd angle, lips already turning blue. Sean ducked down to feel for a pulse. Nothing but rapidly cooling skin, no movement.

  Sick dread choked him as he backed away from the body and scanned the room. Jessica’s phone lay on the desk.

  “Jessica!” Doubling back up the hallway, Sean checked each area of the headquarters building. Empty.

  He bolted back through the lobby, slowing to a stop in front of the staff duty desk. His laptop sat in the center of the table, opened to face him, the screen saver scrolling the time. Had it only been fifteen minutes since he left her?

  He reached for the machine when his phone vibrated in his pocket. Please be Jessica.

  No. Ashley. He jerked the phone to his ear, words already racing with his thoughts. “Dig into a soldier in Jessica’s battalion. A Private Meyers. He’s got Jessica.”

  “I know.” Her voice was tense in a way he hadn’t heard since shortly after he’d been abducted himself.

  “How?”

  “Check your email. They’re playing our game against us.”

  Grabbing his laptop, he ducked back up the hall to the small conference room and logged on. “What am I looking for?”

  “They sent me a message from your secure email.”

  Sean’s fingers froze on the keys. “How did they get into that?” Those accounts were buried deep. Access required two different encrypted passwords.

  Ashley didn’t answer.

  “Tell me.” Sean ground the words out as he logged into his account. One new email waited in his inbox, sent from his own address. Bile rose and he swallowed hard. “They hacked me.” Again. He pounded his hand on the table. Somehow, he’d failed again.

  “I’ll figure it out. But I don’t think it’s on your end.”

  It didn’t matter. He’d still failed Jessica. He clicked the link and scanned the email.

  Where was your post office box?

  “They’re taunting me about the last op?” It was childish, foolish. He clicked on the attachment and found an image of his burning vehicle, then noticed the file size. It was too big to be a simple picture.

  The photo. The question. His fingers went numb. “They have our program.” The same program that had blown Mina’s terror cell apart was being used against them. Sean had encoded intelligence inside photos and sent them back to a post office box in Black River, New York for Ashley to decipher using software they’d developed together during her recovery.

  “How would they get it?”

  “I don’t know.” Sean closed his eyes, pulled in air and opened the program he’d buried in his hard drive, then clicked on the photo. A small box popped up and he typed the words. Black River.

  A second photo popped open on the screen and Sean’s stomach twisted and threatened to make a run up for air.

  A close-up of Jessica. Bound...a knife at her throat.

  * * *

  No matter how hard Jessica swallowed... No matter how hard she tried to think of something else... Nothing could take away the feel of the cold blade that had pressed against her throat. She wanted to claw at the spot until some other, harsher sensation wiped it away but she couldn’t. Her hands were duct taped behind her, pressed into the fabric of the front bucket seat in Meyers’s truck.

  They pulled closer to the guard gate to exit post and Jessica tried to hold her breath steady. Maybe if she screamed, they’d hear her.

  Meyers seemed to read her thoughts. “I meant what I said. You do anything to indicate you’re in trouble, I’ll kill you and anyone who tries to rescue you. While it would be a whole lot more poetic for Turner to watch you die, I can handle it if he only gets to grieve the fact he couldn’t save you.”

  Jessica’s eyes drifted shut. She was going to die either way, but the choice of whether to take down an innocent gate guard with her... At least this way, she bought time. How much, she had no idea.

  She fought the duct tape holding her hands and only succeeded in having it cut into her skin. She was trapped. She had nothing sharp to cut with, couldn’t unfasten her seat belt and lunge across the console to wreck the vehi
cle—she was along for the ride, wherever Meyers decided to take her. She fought to keep herself from panic. “Where are we going?”

  He smiled ever so slightly. “Your house.”

  “Why?” She clamped her mouth shut. Tate was at the house. If Meyers took her there, she had an ally he knew nothing about. If only she could get a message to Tate that she needed help before he walked out of his makeshift bedroom into something he was totally unprepared for.

  “It’s home base. Sooner or later, Turner will show up. We’ll just wait until he does.”

  As they passed through the gate headed off post, Jessica tried to gain the attention of someone—anyone—but there was no way. Meyers had chosen Gate 7, the one with the farthest distance between the entrance and exit roads. Even if a guard did turn toward her, he’d likely never be able to read her desperation.

  And she had no doubt Meyers would slash her throat before help could get to her. She slumped against the seat, head down, not willing to make eye contact with the driver of the car beside them at the stoplight. It was too risky, too many lives at stake.

  Lord... What should she pray anyway? That Sean figured out what was going on and found her quickly? That would only land both of them in danger. That Tate was awake and alert at the house? That would only get him killed if Meyers surprised him. Lord, whatever needs to happen. Just get us out of this alive. She couldn’t think of anything else, just let her heart cry out in desperation she couldn’t even begin to express.

  As her pulse slowed to normal, she lifted her head and dared to take in their surroundings. He was headed for the highway, which meant he’d likely take Wilma Rudolph into downtown. Normally, it would be the most crowded route, but on Thanksgiving Day? The boulevard would be a virtual dead zone. If she could only work her fingers to the side and hit the seat belt buckle... But she’d never get back around to the door fast enough to open it and dive out before Meyers was on to her. Until he got her out of the truck at her house, all she could do was wait.

  And make him talk. “Why do this? You took an oath to protect...” She sat back farther in the seat. The fake soldiers. “You’re not Private Meyers.”

  “I’m not even a soldier, but I read a whole lot of books about them.” He smiled. “You can call me Joel. The real Private Meyers is peacefully sleeping in some woods outside of Fort Benning, Georgia. I met him at a bar. Poor guy had no family to miss him, just a girlfriend he broke up with over email when he moved up here to Campbell. So sad.” He said it so matter-of-factly, so casually, as if life was disposable, easily dismissed.

  Jessica tugged at the duct tape again, but it held tight. He would kill her and Sean and Tate and anyone else who got in his way if he needed to. She had no more doubts.

  “Why?”

  “Why ask the question?” Joel flicked a hard, dark gaze her way. “You and Turner already figured it out. I did hear you talking, you know. Neither of you has a quiet voice.” He chuckled. “Too bad, too. You could be headed home to make your turkey or whatever it is you were going to make today if you’d just given me twenty-four more hours. Then it wouldn’t matter who you told. It would all be in motion.”

  “Whoever is pulling the strings on this thing was going to make it seem like soldiers turned on soldiers. Make teams mistrust each other.”

  “Make them wonder who was going to pull the trigger next. Just a couple...every day...over time. Until nobody can even rest their heads on their pillows over here or over there because you just never know who’s going to wield the weapon next.”

  Jessica wanted to ram a fist into his smug mouth. The idea that her brothers and sisters could be slaughtered by ones they perceived to be their own, could view each other with distrust, could be so afraid for their lives in places that should be safe... The fire that blew through her had nothing to do with fear. “How many?”

  He chuckled. “You’d love it if I told you. But I can tell you this.” He winked. “I’m the one in charge. Your battalion is my baby.”

  “How many?” She barely knew the men and women who’d crossed over with her brigade, but she’d spoken to parents, to spouses, to friends...

  He waved a hand in the air and wiggled his fingers. “Guess.”

  She bit her tongue. No way would she give him the satisfaction. “Why?”

  “Because it’s what my father wanted.”

  The familiar sentiment, coming from the mouth of a killer, chilled her blood. How many times had she thought the same thing, turned her life a different direction because of her father? And here sat a murderer, citing the same reason. Maybe it was a common link she could manipulate, gain some sympathy, make him see her as human. She tried to steady her voice, gall rising at the idea of trying to connect with the man beside her. “I understand.”

  “Really.” The word drew out on a wave of skepticism.

  “My father wants me to be an officer. To be like him and my brother. Only problem is, I never quite measured up.” And she never would. She could become an officer, but it still wouldn’t be good enough. Never. There would only be more to measure up to. Why did she have to be staring down death to see that?

  “My father isn’t forcing me to do anything. I’m just taking over the family business.”

  Jessica couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t pretend to sympathize with the man beside her. “Your father’s a terrorist?”

  His hand flew across the space between them, his knuckle driving her lip against her teeth. “He’s a fighter against your country’s tyranny.”

  Jessica held her head steady and blinked back tears as blood oozed metallic behind her teeth. She ran her tongue along the inside of her damaged lip, trying not to wince. “Our tyranny?”

  “Your nose is everywhere it shouldn’t be, your fighters marching for freedom. Well, not every person on earth deserves freedom. Not every person on earth is equal. In the end, someone has to be the most powerful and rule the others. And my father was helping to make that happen.”

  She wanted to plug her ears to keep from hearing any more. Scream at the top of her lungs to let out the tension. Anything but sit here with her insides feeling as if they were going to push out of her skin more with every word Meyers spoke.

  As he turned on to her street, Jessica found her driveway. Tate’s car was missing.

  Her last hope plummeted. She’d be in an empty house with a man bent on hurting Sean through her. A man willing to harm her and take photographic evidence that would torture Sean for life. Her heart hammered harder and she swallowed a rush of panic. If she lost control, she’d never be able to escape if the opportunity arose.

  She scanned her neighbors’ yards. Most were empty in the late-morning laziness of Thanksgiving Day, but several houses down and across the street, a small cluster of teenage boys tossed a football.

  When she turned away, Joel was watching her as he slowed in front of her house. He cast a pointed glance at the boys but said nothing.

  He didn’t have to.

  She turned away, unable to stomach the message he was communicating. Please, God. No more death. Let the neighbors all stay inside their warm houses, clueless to what was about to happen inside her own. At the moment, that was her greatest prayer.

  But movement a few doors down caught her eye as Major White walked out of his house, seemed to catch sight of the truck, and stepped off his porch with purpose. She prayed Joel didn’t notice.

  But he did. “Is he coming this way?”

  Jessica stiffened. “Probably.” Why lie? His destination would be clear in two seconds anyway.

  “You will not tell him anything, and you already know why.”

  Jessica whipped toward him, sick of the threat. “I know why. You’ll kill me. You’ll kill him. You’ll blow up the world. Got it.” She turned her back on him and stuck her arms between them. “But he’s going to know some
thing’s wrong the minute he sees me when my hands don’t come out from behind my back at all.” She spit the words out like acid, anger heating the cab of the truck.

  Joel’s face hardened, then he pulled out his knife. “Turn around. But I assure you, I’ll use this if you so much as trip over a tree root.”

  “Got it.” She bit off the words and pulled the sleeves of her plaid shirt down over her wrists, then pushed the truck door open.

  “Jessica.” Retired Major Dan White crossed the next-door neighbor’s yard, his step sure, his bearing projecting his military status to anyone in his presence. “I heard from your father a little bit ago. He’s been trying to call your cell phone.”

  “I had to go into work. I must have left it there.” Her mind raced around the words, trying to find some way to communicate with her neighbor.

  Joel stepped up beside her, drawing the major’s attention before he looked back at Jessica with an arched eyebrow.

  Now. Now was the time to ask for help. Hoping her voice didn’t betray her, she lifted her hand and brushed a loose piece of hair behind her ear, letting the sleeve of her shirt fall below her wrist. She kept her gaze hard on the major’s, flicking a glance to her wrist only once, praying he’d hear what she wasn’t saying. “I’ll have Sean here take me back to get it in a few minutes.”

  Joel laid a hand on her back and extended his free hand. “Sean Turner. Nice to meet you, sir.”

  The major shook his hand and never turned back to Jessica. “You, as well. Make sure she calls her father, Sean. And you two have a nice Thanksgiving.”

  The major turned and walked back to his house.

  Joel pressed her back. “Let’s go.”

  Jessica tried not to let her posture slump. Her last chance at rescue was walking away.

  SEVENTEEN