Conceal, Protect

by Carol Ericson

  “What’s the rest of the story? Who are you, and why are you in Colorado?”

  “I thought I’d made that clear. I’m an agent with this intelligence organization—with Prospero.”

  “You’ve been watching me? Following me?”

  “As soon as we found out about Abby Warren’s secret life, we dug into her background and discovered you. We’ve had our eye on you ever since.”

  “You probably know more about my life than I do. You obviously knew about my husband’s murder.” Did he also know Alex had become a control freak, bordering on emotionally abusive?

  “I knew about your husband’s murder.” He covered her hand with his. “Sorry.”

  If J.D. was sorry, he probably didn’t know about Alex’s obsession with tracking her every movement. She inched her hand away from his warm grasp. Was his name even J.D.?

  “What’s your name?”

  “J.D.” He held up two fingers like the Boy Scout he wasn’t. “I swear.”

  “Is that for Jim Davis?”

  “Uh, no.”

  At least he had the decency to blush. “What is your real name? I have a right to know the name of the man who’s been following me around for a month.”

  “Jared Douglas.” He held out his hand for a shake.

  She ignored it.

  “Would I have discovered anything more about Jared Douglas than I did about Jim Davis from a search on the internet?”

  “You ran a search on me? Good girl.”

  Her lips twisted into a snarl. “Don’t patronize me. I ran a search on Jim Davis.”

  He shrugged. “You wouldn’t have found much more on Jared Douglas—fewer of us—but it’s not like I frequent any social networking sites with my occupation and hobbies listed.”

  Noelle slumped in her seat and turned her gaze to the landscape, blanketed in freshly fallen snow. She had bigger problems than the identity of her ranch hand turned spy.

  She and Abby hadn’t been close at all. She’d found her roommate closed off and distant, and that had suited her. The primary requirement she’d had for a roommate after Alex’s murder had been neatness—and Abby had fit the bill.

  Abby had shared very little of her life. She certainly didn’t tell Noelle where she’d hidden some plans she’d stolen from a dangerous arms dealer.

  “No more questions?” J.D. had pulled his rental off the highway and onto the road leading to the ranch.

  Should she kick him out now? No. He’d kept her safe the past few days, and she still needed...his protection. Of course, now she knew why he’d been so attentive—he was doing his job. Couldn’t let the bad guys get their hands on a prime witness, could he?

  “Can’t we just tell them?”

  “Tell who what?”

  “Tell Zendaris and his flunkies that I don’t know anything about the plans. They’ve already searched the apartment in D.C. They’ve searched my place here. They didn’t find anything or they wouldn’t have pulled that stunt last night. You’d think they’d just give up and go on to plan B.”

  The line of J.D.’s jaw hardened as he swung through the gates to the ranch. “Zendaris doesn’t give up, Noelle. He wants to question you, and then he’ll destroy you.”

  He threw the SUV into Park and they sat side by side, his words hanging in the air between them.

  “Should I leave Buck Ridge?”

  “Where would you go?”

  “I have some money. I could hide out somewhere, move to a different city.”

  “And be looking over your shoulder every minute of the day for the rest of your life?”

  “What would make Zendaris stop? What would make him leave me alone?”

  “A bullet between his eyes.”

  One look at J.D.’s chiseled profile, and she knew he’d want to be the one to do it. Hugging herself, she said, “I’m sure your agency would’ve done that by now if they could. Is he that untouchable?”

  “He’s hard to find, well protected, moves around a lot. We don’t have any good pictures of him. We suspect he goes out in disguise most of the time.”

  “Seems like you’d have more luck catching a shadow.” She drew a tic-tac-toe board in the condensation of the window. “If you can’t catch him, how are you going to stop him? When am I ever going to be free of his scrutiny?”

  “I know something else that would make him stop harassing you.” J.D. yanked the keys from the ignition.

  “Besides his death or mine? What? What would stop him?”

  “If we got our hands on those plans.”

  * * *

  J.D. HELD HIS breath as Noelle dragged her finger through three diagonal X’s on her game of tic-tac-toe. “Do you really think I know where they are? I thought you believed me.”

  “I believe you think you don’t know where they are.”

  She shook her head, and her dark ponytail swayed from side to side. “This is getting too confusing for me, and it has nothing to do with the bump on my head. I told you. I have no idea what Abby could’ve done with those plans. I didn’t know of their existence forty-five minutes ago. Heck, I didn’t even know Abby well, and it turns out I knew even less about her than I thought I did.”

  “You lived with her. You at least knew her habits, her hangouts, her moods.”

  She turned her deep violet-blue eyes on him. “Is this how Zendaris would question me?”

  Her barb pricked his conscience. “Trapped in an icy-cold car after just getting released from the hospital? Probably just his style.”

  Probably much, much worse.

  Punching a button, he unlocked the doors of the SUV and reached in the back for her bag. “Let’s get you warmed up inside. I’ll get you something hot to drink and another ibuprofen.”

  “That sounds about right.”

  This time she stayed in the car until he came around the passenger side and helped her from the vehicle. She clung to his arm when her boots hit the ground.

  “Are you okay?”

  “A little dizzy.”

  “I can’t imagine why.” He’d clobbered her with so much information on the drive back to the ranch, he’d probably induced another concussion.

  When they got inside the chilly house, he parked her on the love seat to the right of the fireplace and began stacking cords of wood on the grate. He lit some crumpled newspaper beneath the wood and straightened up, wiping his hands on the seat of his jeans.

  “Coffee, tea or...hot chocolate?” The me hovered on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t want to push things with her. When she’d discovered his lies, her eyes had flashed fire. She’d softened some when he had explained the situation to her, but her body language still screamed hands off when before her ready touch and luscious lips had invited him to explore further.

  “Tea is fine.” She waved a hand toward the kitchen. “There’s a kettle on the stove, and I keep tea bags in the cupboard to the left of the stove.”

  “I’ll find everything. Sit back and relax.”

  “And start thinking about Abby and her habits?”

  “Not right now. Give your brain a rest.” He didn’t want to elicit any comparisons with Zendaris from her again.

  When the kettle whistled, he poured the bubbling water over the tea bag in Noelle’s cup, where it turned a light green. He sniffed it and wrinkled his nose—bland and tasteless. He didn’t see the point in drinking the stuff even if it was supposed to be good for you.

  He returned to the living room, holding the steaming mug in front of him. “How long do you leave the tea bag in?”

  “About five minutes. Can you please get me a saucer?”

  He grabbed one from the cupboard and paused in the kitchen. “Do you want something to eat?”

  She dunked the tea bag into the water several times. “No, thanks. The hospital fed me, and I finished off that scone you brought. Don’t you want some tea?”

  “No.” He tapped the side of his head. “How’s the head feeling?”

  “It throbs wh
en the ibuprofen wears off, but other than that I’m okay.” She sipped the tea through the steam rising from the cup. “What if they had killed us last night? They wouldn’t be getting any answers.”

  “They knew precisely where to run us off the road. It’s not like we were going to tumble off the mountain at that spot, and I was driving a big truck. They wanted to shake us up.”

  “Do you still think they were planning to snatch me from the wreckage?”

  J.D. dropped to the floor at her feet. “Not if I had anything to say about it.”

  She hunched forward, elbows digging into her knees, black ponytail swinging over her shoulder. “Do they know who you are, J.D.? Do they know I’m being protected by a secret agent?”

  “Zendaris is aware of our agency. We’ve foiled his schemes before—in a big way, one that he’ll never forget. He knows we stole the plans. Up until a few months ago, he thought we still had them.”

  “But does he know what you look like? Does he realize you’re here in Buck Ridge?”

  “I’m not sure.” The fire crackled and spit out a shower of sparks. J.D. hitched up to his knees and prodded the logs with a poker. “He probably knows I removed the cameras from your house, but it doesn’t take a covert-ops agent to find a few hidden cameras.”

  “If he has his guys following me, then he has to figure your agency is doing the same thing.”

  “But he may believe we’re doing so at a distance. He knows our agency keeps a low profile.”

  She tilted her head. “What is Prospero, anyway? Something I would’ve heard of on the news? Something like the CIA?”

  “We’re deeper cover than the CIA. You won’t hear about us on the evening news or read about our exploits on a website.”

  Sitting back against the love seat, she curled her legs beneath her and dropped the tea bag onto the saucer he’d placed on the table next to her. “If you can find these plans, what will you do with them? What are they for?”

  “I’d rather not tell you.”

  “You already made that clear, but if you want my help finding those plans, you need to give me something to work with. How will I know what I was supposed to see?” She took another sip of tea, watching him over the rim.

  She was good. And she had a point.

  Dragging in a breath, he pushed off the floor and perched on the arm of the love seat. “The plans are for an anti-drone, a weapon that can take out our drone missiles, crippling their effectiveness.”

  “Oh my God. That’s big.”

  “You got that right. That’s why it’s so important that we find those plans before Zendaris does. He has the means to build the weapon and then sell it on the open market to any terrorist group or rogue regime that coughs up enough money.”

  “Where did he get them in the first place? Can’t the person who developed those plans just whip up a new set?”

  “The person who developed those plans is on our side now. He’s not going to be working for Zendaris, or any other weapons dealer or terrorist, anymore.”

  “Once you find and destroy those plans to keep them out of our enemies’ hands, that’s it?”

  “For now—until the next threat.”

  “I can help by trying to figure out where Abby stashed the plans.” She swirled the tea in her cup, gazing into it as if she could find the answer in some tea leaves. “Are they on paper? Computer disk? Flash drive?”

  “The plans weren’t on paper, so if they are now, she printed them out. She hacked into my coworker’s computer. She could’ve put the plans on a disk or flash drive. She could’ve made copies for all we know.”

  “That could get messy.”

  “I don’t even want to think about that possibility.”

  Noelle set her cup on the table and rose to her feet. “You’ve given me a lot to think about. Maybe something will come to me in the shower. I feel hospital-icky.”

  “Are you sure you feel okay to hit the shower?”

  “I’m not dizzy—except from all the info you told me about arms dealers and covert agencies and my unassuming, computer-nerd roommate.”

  He cupped her elbow. “Do you understand why I had to keep my identity a secret?”

  “Sure.” She broke away from him and called over her shoulder, “Maybe you should stay here...just in case.”

  “Of course. I’m not going anywhere.”

  She slammed the bathroom door on his last syllable.

  Sure didn’t seem like she understood.

  * * *

  NOELLE STOOD AT the bathroom mirror scraping at the edge of the tape holding her bandage. She tugged the tape from the skin of her forehead and peeled back the bandage. Still snowy-white. At least the bleeding had stopped.

  Leaning in closer to the mirror, she traced the stitches with the tip of her finger. The doc said she could let the wound breathe if she felt comfortable without the bandage, but she’d leave it on in the shower to protect her new stitches.

  She cranked on the water and shed her clothing, stepping out of her jeans.

  How had she gotten mixed up in something like this? Wasn’t one traumatic event per lifetime enough? She’d paid her dues. Let someone else have the drama.

  The warm water beat between her shoulder blades and streamed down her back. She closed her eyes, replaying scenes in her D.C. apartment with Abby.

  Abby hadn’t entertained at all. Noelle had met only one of her friends in the almost two years they’d shared space—a quiet, almost shy man who’d picked up Abby for a date.

  Abby had spent a lot of time in her bedroom, which she’d turned into an office with a bank of computers against one wall. The police had removed all those computers after she’d disappeared. Maybe that should’ve clued her in that Abby’s disappearance had a sinister aspect to it.

  This was the kind of stuff J.D. would want to hear about—Jared Douglas. He’d done a good job making excuses for his lies. How much of what he said and did was faked?

  His touches? His kiss?

  She turned off the shower without washing her hair, patting the damp bandage in place. Grabbing a towel from the rack, she stepped out of the tub and rubbed a circle in the condensation in the mirror.

  Abby’s computers... Surely the D.C. police had turned those over to J.D.’s agency. His agency probably ordered the police to remove them. Abby spent a lot of time on her computers.

  Her cell phone buzzed against the porcelain, and she snatched it before it vibrated into the toilet.

  She swiped the phone against the towel and glanced at the display—a text message from another unknown number. Her heart picked up speed and blood throbbed against her stitches.

  Had Ted picked up his new phone?

  Her thumb trembled as she hit the button to read the text. She read the words, blinked her eyes and read them again: We have your brother.

  Chapter Twelve

  Noelle grabbed on to the sides of the vanity and lowered herself to the edge of the tub. She miscalculated and slipped to the floor.

  It was a joke. It had to be a joke.

  “J.D.” She thought she’d whispered his name, but her scream echoed in the small, steamy bathroom.

  His footsteps pounded down the hallway, and he threw open the door. “What’s wrong? Did you fall?”

  He knelt before her, grabbing the towel puddled on the floor and draping it over her naked body.

  Her teeth chattered as she held out her phone toward him. “They have Ted.”

  “What?” He plucked the cell from her hand and brought it close to his face. He cursed and then hugged the towel around her body. “You’re shaking. Let’s get you out of here. Do you have a bathrobe?”

  “They have Ted.”

  “Maybe they do, maybe they don’t, but freezing in the bathroom is not going to help his situation.”

  She pointed to her pink terry-cloth bathrobe hanging on a hook on the bathroom door.

  J.D. stood up, still grasping her phone, and yanked the robe from the hook. He walked b
ack toward her, holding the robe open in front of him. “Can you stand up?”

  “I’m okay.” She wedged her back against the side of the tub and pushed to her feet. Her knees wobbled as she clutched the towel to her chest.

  J.D. folded her robe around her, and she struggled to fit her arms through the sleeves. With his arm around her shoulders, he led her from the bathroom back to the living room, where the fire still crackled. He shoved the love seat around to face the fire and nudged her onto the cushion.

  “Do you know how to reach Ted?” J.D. sat beside her and stilled her fidgeting fingers with his hand.

  “He was supposed to get a temporary cell phone and call me, but he never did. I didn’t even get the names of the people he was crashing with at the Buck Ridge Lodge.”

  “What about Pierpont? Do you think he saw him up there?”

  “I have no idea.” She covered her face with her hands. “It’s my fault. I should’ve let him stay here that night.”

  “If it’s anyone’s fault it’s mine for not warning you sooner. I have one way to solve this.” He tossed her phone in the air and caught it. “Text them back.”

  “R-really?”

  “Pretend you don’t know what they want. That seems like the safest bet right now. Anyone receiving a message like that would want to know what was happening.”

  “Y-you want me to contact them?” She drew back from the phone cradled in his palm.

  “Do you want to see your brother again?”

  She flinched. This was real, just like that gunshot in the gallery. Nodding, she pinched the phone between two fingers as though she were handling a poisonous insect.

  “Should I call or text?” She held her breath, waiting for the answer she wanted to hear.

  “Do you really want to send texts back and forth with these people? Do you want them to misconstrue anything you have to say? Call.”

  That was not the answer she wanted. “What if they don’t pick up?”

  “Then text, but you need to make the effort. Put yourself in the shoes of someone who knows nothing of the threats against her. Wouldn’t you want to call to find out what they want from you?”