In his office next door, Sawyer was on the phone with Lane Myers—a guy from Hazard Falls who Grant had been a year ahead of in school. Myers had gone into the Marines, and his team had worked side by side with Sawyer’s SEAL Team Four on a number of missions. After four tours, Myers had returned to his hometown and went into law enforcement. While Sawyer wouldn’t be too forthcoming, at first, with the reason he was inquiring about any strangers asking about Blair Hadley in the small town lately, Grant knew they were going to have to trust Myers with the truth. He hoped the guy could keep a secret. Grant would do anything to keep his family safe from his own past, but he would do it from a covert standpoint and with people he had faith in. Letting Blair and Drake know he was alive was a last resort—he just prayed it didn’t come down to that.
Drake finished staining the six-foot dining room table he’d been working on. Tomorrow, he’d start adding several layers of varnish. In the meantime, he had eight chairs lined up on a platform, each awaiting their coats of cherry stain to dry. He was ahead of schedule with the pieces and would call the client on Tuesday, when he knew for certain the set could be delivered by next weekend. But, for today, he was done working. After a shower, he and his family would head over to a barbecue at the Red River Ranch.
The Triple R was owned by Drake’s longtime friend, Shane Wilson, his husband, Tucker, and their wife, Paige. Yup, the trio had a ménage marriage, as weird as that may sound to some people. Drake couldn’t understand how a guy could share his woman with another guy, but it worked for them and that was all that mattered. It probably helped that Shane and Tucker were in love with each other in addition to loving their wife. That probably freaked out the bigots in town more than the ménage did. It wasn’t the first shared marriage with a woman for the men either. Their first wife, Sarah, had died a little over three years ago, leaving behind the two widowers and a six-year-old daughter, Arianna. When Paige Merritt had been hired on as a house manager and the little girl’s nanny, Shane and Tucker had fallen in love with her and she with them. Now they had a new baby to add to the mix—Ashley Sarah had gotten her middle name from Arianna’s mother.
Using a rag and some turpentine, Drake scrubbed a few spots of stain that had gotten on his forearms, just above the rubber gloves he’d been wearing. Once that was done, he did a quick survey of his workspace and made sure everything was in order before closing up and heading toward the house. He’d almost reached the side porch when the family dog, a Labrador/border collie mix named Roscoe, began barking, alerting Drake to a white SUV coming down the driveway. With its red and blue light bar on the roof, it was easily recognizable as belonging to the police department.
Drake waited for the vehicle to stop and saw that Lane Myers was the driver. He strode over as the lawman climbed out and gave Roscoe an ear scratch. “Hey, Lane. What’s up?”
The man wasn’t wearing his usual working uniform of dark trousers and a white, button-down shirt, with a loaded duty belt. Instead, he was dressed in comfortable jeans, a T-shirt, and cowboy boots. He was still armed, but the handgun, his shield, and his cell phone were the only things attached to his belt. A pair of handcuffs were most likely at the small of his back.
Lane held out his hand to Drake. “Not much. Just checking out a report of a suspicious vehicle in the area. Have you seen anyone out of place?”
Strangers in a small town tended to stick out like a Great Dane in a pack of Chihuahuas. “Nope. Anything wrong?”
Lane seemed to hesitate a moment before answering. “Probably not. Just keep an eye out.”
“Yeah, sure. You heading to the Triple R?”
“I’ve got a few things I have to do first, but I’ll be there later.” For the first time since his arrival, Lane smiled, although it didn’t seem to go all the way to his eyes. “I’m looking forward to Lou turning me down for a dance.”
Drake burst out laughing. Betty Lou Davidson and Lane had dated in high school, but something had happened between them, and Lane had gone off and joined the Marines. Since his return to Hazard Falls a few years ago, Lou had been trying to convince everyone, including herself, she hated the man, but it was obvious she was fighting a losing battle. People all over town were placing bets for when she would finally cave—of course, they kept that fact from her or they’d never get served in the restaurant she owned, Bar None. “You’ll wear her down yet. I don’t know why she doesn’t just give up and admit she’s into you.”
“She will, someday. In the meantime, I’m enjoying the thrill of the chase.”
Behind Drake, the screen door to the house opened, and he turned to make sure it wasn’t little Michael trying to stage one of his famous escapes to play hide and seek. But it wasn’t any of the kids—it was Blair, and she looked terrified. The blood had drained from her face. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth was opening and closing without any sound coming from her lips. Her entire body was shaking, and she looked like her knees were about to give out.
His stomach dropping, Drake ran to her side. “Blair! What’s wrong?” He helped her to the rocking chair next to the door, and she collapsed into it. Drake fell to his knees in front of her. “What is it, baby? Are the kids okay?”
He was about to stand again and run inside to search for his children, when Blair’s faint voice reached his ears. “L-look.”
“What?” Confused, it took him a second for his gaze to drop from her drawn face to her trembling hand. He grabbed the phone she held out to him and stared at the screen. Within seconds, he was as pale as she was. “Oh my God.”
“What is it?” Lane asked with concern. Drake hadn’t even heard the man join them on the porch.
Trying to comprehend what he was seeing, Drake shook his head and showed Lane the image on the screen. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that’s Grant—my dead brother.”
Chapter Five
Fourteen hours later . . .
Ian parked the rental car in front of the two-story farmhouse, next to a sheriff’s department’s SUV, and glanced around, noting a large pen with a bunch of chickens in a side yard. “Hazard Falls kind of reminds me of Bannerman’s place in fucking Iowa. How people put up with roosters cock-a-doodling every morning is beyond me.”
In the passenger seat, Carter snorted. “Nothing beats fresh eggs in the morning, dude. My sister has a bunch of chickens.”
“Another reason why I’m staying away from Montana, besides the snow and sub-zero winters.” Turning off the engine, he opened the door, climbed out, and met Carter by the hood. “Let’s get this over with. God, this is going to fucking suck.”
“It already sucks.”
As they approached the front door, it opened, and Ian recognized the Marine he’d served a few tours with. “Myers, it’s been awhile.”
The tall, brown-haired man stepped outside, letting the door close behind him, and held out his hand. “I wish it was under better circumstances, Sawyer. Good to see you though. How are things in Tampa?”
“Good. No offense, but I want to wrap things up here pretty quickly. My wife just made me a father.”
Lane grinned. “Well, damn. Didn’t see that coming. Congrats.”
“Thanks.” He gestured between the two men. “This is T. Carter—don’t ask what the T stands for. Carter, Lane Myers.”
They shook hands, then Lane sighed heavily. “Look, Drake and Blair are going to take this really hard.”
“What have you told them so far?” Carter asked.
“Very little. I said I’d called a few contacts I had in law enforcement back East, and someone familiar with Grant’s service and death was coming here to talk to them. They keep going back and forth saying maybe it’s Grant or maybe it’s a doppelgänger, but either way, they can’t figure out why someone sent Blair the photo.”
Ian frowned and ran a hand through his short, black hair. “Neither can we, but I guarantee, whatever the reason, it isn’t good. Trust me, we’ll do what we can to figure it all out and make sure your friends and
Grant are safe.” Yesterday, he’d arranged for two retired Navy SEALs and two retired MARSOC Raiders, who lived within driving distance of Hazard Falls, to keep an eye on the Hadley farm. As of twenty minutes ago, none of the men covertly hiding around the perimeter of the four-acre property had seen anything out of the ordinary. Ian and Carter had also talked Grant out of not telling his family he was alive. Someone was forcing his hand, and, like it or not, the man had to come clean and face his past.
“And Grant?” When neither of the other men immediately answered, Lane raised his eyebrows. “I’m not a small-town hick cop, Sawyer.”
“Never said you were. Small town?” He looked to his left and then right. “Yeah, it doesn’t get much smaller than this. But hick is definitely not a word I’d use for you—I’ve seen you in action. Now, if you want, I can come up with a new nickname for you—I’ve got a twat-roster I’ve been keeping, and I add to it all the time.”
A shake of his head was accompanied by a knowing grin. “A twat-roster? No, thanks. I remember some of the nicknames you came up with in ’Stan—I’ll pass.” He paused. “So, where is he?”
“Nearby, waiting to make his grand entrance. I would’ve hired a band for the occasion but couldn’t swing it on short notice.” Ian nodded toward the house. “Are we ready?”
The corners of Lane’s mouth dropped again as he nodded. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”
Turning on his heel, he led them into the house. “Their kids are with friends for the day—I thought it would be best they weren’t around.”
They followed him into a large, comfortable living room. A couple stood from where they’d been sitting on a couch. Ian recognized Blair Hadley from the photo that’d been sent to Grant. There was a slight family resemblance between Drake and his brother—it was in their facial structure. Drake was about two inches shorter than Grant but weighed about the same. His brown hair was a few shades lighter than Grant’s, and instead of hazel, his eyes were the color of deep moss. Blair was a pretty woman with blue eyes and pale blonde hair that came to the top of her shoulders. She stood about five feet five, and her feminine curves were probably the result of her three pregnancies. They reminded Ian of the curves Angie had acquired while carrying his child—damn, how he loved them.
The couple’s matching looks of confusion probably had to do with the fact that Ian and Carter were dressed in cargo pants and jeans, respectively, and black T-shirts. That, paired with Carter’s long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail and the goatee Ian had been sporting for the past two weeks, they looked nothing like the well-kempt government agents the Hadleys had most likely been expecting.
A Border Collie mix sniffed both men before flopping down in the attached dining room as Lane introduced everyone. “Blair, Drake, this is an old military friend of mine, Ian Sawyer, and this is T. Carter.”
As Drake shook both their hands, Blair’s gaze bounced from one man to the other. It finally settled on Ian. “You’re not with the Secret Service, are you?”
“No, ma’am,” he responded, indicating for them to sit on the couch again while he claimed one of two leather recliners. Carter took the other one, and Lane remained standing. “I’m a retired Navy SEAL. I own a private security business that has classified government contracts.” That was more than he usually told strangers, but, today, it had a purpose.
Her gaze shifted to Carter, who leaned forward, setting his elbows on his knees. “I work for the government, but not the Secret Service.” He wouldn’t say who he worked for either but let them draw their own conclusions.
“I—I don’t understand . . .”
Drake’s eyes widened as he quickly figured it out. “Grant didn’t work for the Secret Service, did he? He worked for the CIA. I always suspected—”
“CIA?” Blair looked even more confused. “What—what? How . . . What are you talking about?”
Carter let out a deep breath. “I’ll tell you as much as I can, but please understand I might not be able to answer some of your questions—I might not be allowed to answer them. And what I do tell you today, cannot leave this room.”
“So, you’re CIA too?” Drake asked.
“No, I’m not, but I work with their agents on occasion. That’s how I knew Grant; we crossed paths often in Asia and the Middle East. As you can imagine, his ability to speak several languages made him a huge asset to the government.”
A small smile appeared on Drake’s face. “He was always good with foreign languages—how he picked them up so easily when I could barely pass Spanish 101 had always been a joke between us.”
Carter nodded and continued. “Right before he disappeared, he’d been undercover in Asia—I’m sorry, but I can’t be more specific than that—and his cover was blown. We’re not sure how. I’d been the closest US operative to his last known location, so I scrambled to try to find and extricate him. Again, I can’t give you many details, but I found out he’d been abducted and taken out on a boat. When I tried to catch up to them, I saw them toss a body overboard, tied with heavy weights. I was on my own, and by the time I could get to the spot, the body had disappeared. The trench was far too deep for me to recover it, even if I had SCUBA gear with me—which I didn’t.” He swallowed hard. “Please understand, I did everything I could to confirm or refute that it was Grant. The investigation that followed led the CIA to be ninety-nine percent sure it was him.”
“But it wasn’t him, was it?” Blair’s lips trembled as a tear rolled down her pale cheek. Drake put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer.
Carter’s voice was filled with remorse. “No, it wasn’t. It was a ruse in case anyone was watching—they probably swapped Grant with some homeless guy or someone who wouldn’t be reported missing. It was over six years before we discovered the truth. We found out through a CIA contact that Grant was being held in a prison camp. With the help of Ian’s teams, we went in and pulled him out.”
“Oh my God. He—he’s really alive?” With a trembling hand, she pointed to a cell phone sitting on the coffee table. “That’s real-really him in that photograph?”
Standing, Ian gestured to the phone. “May I?”
Drake nodded and picked up the device. He entered a code and then handed it to Ian. The photo on the screen was definitely Grant. Ian could tell it had been taken recently because Grant was standing in front of a commercial construction site Parker’s company had just started working on. He showed the photo to Carter. “That was taken no more than two weeks ago.”
“When did you rescue him? And where has he been since then? Why weren’t we told before now?” The questions rushed from Blair’s mouth as more tears flowed.
Carter grimaced. “Almost two years ago. The first few weeks he was recovering at a military hospital in Germany. Since then, he’s been living in Tampa, Florida, working in construction for a friend of ours.”
Stunned, Drake repeated his wife’s last question. “Why weren’t we told before now?”
“That was Grant’s decision. At first, he hadn’t wanted anyone to see him in that condition—emaciated—but then . . .” The covert operative didn’t finish his sentence, clearly letting the couple figure it out on their own.
Grant’s brother blanched. “Oh, God. He found out Blair and I were married, didn’t he?”
“Yeah. When he was finally well enough, he asked about Blair. I had to tell him the truth—it would’ve been worse if he found out on his own. I told him about your wedding and your kids. He knows Trevor is his too. Grant thought it was best if you weren’t told.”
Drake jumped to his feet, his anger taking hold. “Best! Best for fucking who? I don’t believe this! I—”
“Drake, calm down,” Lane said. “Just calm down. I know this is hard on both of you, but it’s got to be hard on him too.”
“I’m not saying what he did was right or wrong, but, please, think about it from his point of view,” Carter added, sympathy and understanding in his tone. “The woman he loved and planned to spen
d the rest of his life with thought he was dead. She’s now married to his brother, and they have three kids. He told me that, for six years, Blair was the reason he fought to stay alive. At the time he made the decision not to tell you, he wasn’t strong enough to see the two of you together—to see the life he could have had. It took him months to recover from what he’d gone through.”
A shuddering sob ripped from Blair’s chest, and her husband sat next to her again, pulling her into his arms. The other men gave the couple a few minutes to compose themselves. Finally, Blair looked at Carter with wet, bloodshot eyes. “How did you know all of that about us? How did you know about Trevor?”
“I had someone keep an eye on you,” the spy confessed. “Out of guilt, I guess. For years, I felt I’d failed Grant; I hadn’t been able to save him. To atone for it, I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“You had someone watching me? Us?”
She glared accusingly at Lane who held up his hands in defense. “It wasn’t me, Blair. While I’ve known Ian since I was in the Marines, I just met Carter today. And I only found out Grant was alive after you received the photo.”
“It wasn’t Lane,” Carter confirmed. “It wasn’t anyone who lives in Hazard Falls. A retired operative lives nearby in Garden City. It wasn’t hard for him to find out how you were doing. It’s a small town—people talk and don’t always check to see who’s eavesdropping. He wasn’t watching you for all those years—just in the beginning, and then I had him get me an update after we landed in Germany and got Grant into the hospital. I knew he was going to ask questions, and I needed to know what to tell him.”
“Around the same time you received that photo . . .” Ian interrupted, putting the conversation back on track and pointing to the phone he’d put back on the table. “. . . Grant received one of you and Trevor.” Pulling out his own phone, he brought up the image Brody had forwarded to him and showed it to the couple.
Don't Shoot the Messenger: Hazard Falls Book 2 Page 3