Walk In My Shadow: A Gripping Romantic Thriller (Mirror Book 3): A Mirror Novel

by Stephanie Tyler

  It had been, just not in the way Ethan had hoped for. It was the final, backbreaking straw in their relationship. Abby knew she should've ended things long before that. The majority of her time was spent worrying about Ethan's safety, beyond relieved that he wasn't in her life on a daily basis.

  "Doing what?"

  "All he'd tell me over the phone was 'private sector.' I figured he couldn't talk much because the CIA was bugging his phone."

  Vance shook his head. "More likely, it was the stalker. Maybe Ethan was trying to throw him off the trail completely. Or lead him into a trap. Dammit, Ethan." He slapped a palm onto the steering wheel.

  She saw the pain etched in Vance's face. She'd felt that same kind of helpless anguish for Ethan…for Teige…for Jacoby. This was so personal for both Vance and her. "Let me in. All the way. They're trying to break me too. In for a penny, in for a pound." Her mother's favorite expression.

  "Then we have to talk." He pressed his lips together in a grim line, and then, instead of going inside, he put her truck in reverse.

  "Where are we going?"

  "Someplace public where no one can tape us."

  Chapter Twenty

  As Vance drove, he listened to Abby calling Jacoby and asking him to find Mary. It was a good idea. Jacoby could be trusted and he would find Abby's witness fast. Whether or not it would clear Abby? Vance had his doubts.

  But he had bigger things on his mind than her witness, which is why he took them an hour away from Abby's house, down toward the water. Why he circled for a while, looking for a busy place to eat.

  He chose a crowded, indoor/outdoor, casual seafood place with a busy parking lot. He parked so they could view the truck from their car and sat outside, in the middle of the crowds.

  It would be almost impossible for anyone to tape their conversation unless they'd set up a bug on the table well ahead of time, and once seated, he casually swept everything for bugs, including the old napkin holder and inside the salt and pepper shakers.

  "You're going to search everything that comes to the table, aren't you?" Abby asked.

  "Yes, unless it's food." Vance gave her a brief smile. The car ride had been quiet, music filled, as if both of them knew they needed to rest up, gear up for this discussion. "You start. Tell me what's at the crux of the issue for you."

  She nodded. "I'm frustrated at the fact that the CIA might've known Ethan was being stalked. I can't believe they wouldn't. So why couldn't the CIA profile the stalker?" she murmured almost to herself. "No, why won't the CIA profile him? Why can't they?"

  "And your theory?"

  She glanced at him, smiled like they were having a totally different kind of conversation and said, "Your stalker has to be someone you were both in contact with on a regular basis…as a friend or a supervisor, someone you trusted. Someone who had access to your files, including your meetings with psych, which meant this guy knows your deepest, darkest secrets and fears. He was able to prey on you that way. But I can't imagine you're the only ones. Still, it's practically impossible to know if this guy was—is—stalking other agents, since it's not exactly the type of thing you guys would be comfortable discussing freely among yourselves."

  Now, Vance leaned forward, still looking very much like he was having an extremely casual, yet intimate conversation. "Abby, you're in deep. Please, I don't want to tell you things you'll never be able to unhear."

  "I'm a tough chick."

  "I noticed. But this isn't about toughness. It's about self-preservation. It's about learning things that are above your pay rate."

  "Classified intel?"

  "Yes."

  "Haven't you already shared that?"

  "Tip of the iceberg and only so you can protect yourself."

  "But you're the one who needs the protection, Vance," she pointed out.

  "And you really think you don't? Come on, Abby."

  "Fine. I'm in trouble too."

  "Finally. I need you to think long and hard about this. Because what I'm going to tell you could haunt you."

  "Like I’m not already there. Vance, I'm in. This guy is fucking with people I love." When she realized what she said, her cheeks flamed hot, but she kept her gaze steady on his.

  He didn’t avert his either, but stared directly at her, a cross of emotions flooding through him at her admission…and the touch of a smile too.

  The waitress interrupted to bring the appetizers. He glanced around again and assured himself that they were momentarily safe from being taped—voice recorded, at least—then began to tell her his part of the story, keeping his voice low and firm. And hoping she could handle what he was about to throw at her.

  "I know you're questioning whether or not Ethan was really in the agency. He was. I am. But it wasn't just happenstance. We didn't just follow from the military there, because if that was the case, every single Special Forces guy would do it. The truth is we were being recruited, from a young age. People think shit like that doesn't happen but it does, more than anyone knows about. Guys primed for these jobs don't just grow from nowhere. Lots of us are legacies."

  Abby frowned, no doubt wanting to disbelieve and probably finding herself unable to do so. He figured that few things shocked her these days after all she’d been through, but this was…close. "So you and Ethan were on that list," she said finally.

  "Yes."

  "So if we can find out who had access to that list, who's been around for that long a time…"

  He leaned back. "Sounds simple, right?"

  "I'm guessing easier said than done."

  "Technically, these finders, and the Whitelist, don't even exist," he explained.

  "I can imagine what would happen if that intelligence fell into the wrong hands," she agreed. "Can you explain more about finders?"

  Vance nodded, took her hand in his and leaned in, like he was flirting. Which he’d much rather be doing than talking about this shit that was ruining their lives. "A finder is someone who's tasked with finding the new, best recruits for the alphabet agencies. It's a sister-type organization to the CIA and FBI, mainly… The men and women on this Whitelist…well, they're legacies, or the best of the best. They're considered precious commodities, and so is the list itself."

  "So do you know for sure that you were on it?"

  He nodded. "There'd be good reason to have me and Ethan in their system from an early age for several reasons. Dad was a former SEAL plus the Joint Task Force, Ethan was a language specialist plus his gift of second sight was well known, and I'm a weapons and martial arts specialist with proficiencies in undercover work."

  "So there's a finder…or more than one finder?"

  Vance shrugged. "It's not an exact science and there's not a job description on any of this. It's not supposed to exist. My guess is that there are a few high-powered finders and some lower-level agents sent out to scout and bring in initial reports."

  "So do you know anyone who might help with the list?"

  He hesitated. "I suspect I know a few. One's the doctor you met—Nita. She's a traveling doc, and she was in the field for a long time, like Knox was. She's back for a break—the CIA does that regularly because it's too easy to burn out in the field. I know she vets people for the Whitelist, but only from afar."

  "Probably the physical end of things," Abby mused.

  "I'd think. They have psychologists on staff, so I'm sure several of them are on the Whitelist committee as well."

  "Did she know Ethan?"

  "I'm sure they met."

  "Who else did he work with?"

  Vance ran his hands through his hair. "He was tight with three guys—two agency and one Mossad. They worked together a lot, were in each other's orbits for a long time. But trying to find any of them's like trying to catch shadows at night."

  "Where were you before all of this?" she asked.

  "Around."

  "God, that's so specific. Stop, I don't want you to get into trouble."

  He gave a small smile. "We're both th
ere anyway, I guess. Look, I ran one or two missions with Ethan, but that was a long time ago. The worse things got with the stalking, the more he took on jobs that required him to work alone. He began to isolate."

  "Did you work a lot with Knox?"

  "Yeah. We've been together since I went through boot camp. He was already a couple of years in the field, but back on base in order to get through med school. He said it was nothing compared to hell week."

  "I’m sure Teige would agree.”

  He snorted. “The Army’s version of training is way easier.”

  “I’ll make sure to tell him that.” She paused. “So Knox stayed in the military to finish med school while you were recruited?"

  "No, they tapped him to finish his schooling through the agency. Me, I went right into the field. Ethan blended best in the field, but turns out, my strength was undercover."

  "You don't say."

  He shook his head. "Hey, it's a skill. It's easy for me." Easier still, to get lost in the role of playing another person so he didn't have to deal with himself. His loneliness. His guilt for when the jobs seemed to pull more off-center than his conscience was comfortable with.

  Playing someone else helped ease those attacks of morality but couldn't erase them entirely.

  What he learned would always be a part of him, and that kind of intensive, on the job training wasn't something he'd ever forget.

  He was a weapon. The CIA would never let him forget it. Neither would his brain. And, until Abby, he'd figured he'd be going it alone.

  Now, he wanted desperately to protect her. Doing that would mean pushing her away. Ethan wouldn't want her involved in this.

  But Ethan wanted you to protect her…

  Had Ethan known the stalker's next moves? How frustrating that must've been, knowing the future before it unfolded and still unable to stop it.

  Still, Ethan had tried. If there was one thing he believed in, it was free will.

  "Those three men Ethan trusted," Abby started, pulling him out of his reverie.

  "I know their names. And yes, they're still in the field," Vance admitted. "I contacted them about Ethan's death. I thought they deserved to know. But I also had an ulterior motive."

  "You've been tracking them."

  "Not me. A friend," he said quickly.

  "And this friend?"

  "No doubts. He believes those guys are in the clear, but I want him on them, just in case."

  Abby nodded. "Because you think it could be more than one person since the stalker is here? I mean, the stalker's here—with you, Vance. Because of you. And staying away from the jungles, not running is the smartest—and safest—thing you can do."

  He didn't feel brave. He was angry, helpless, twisted up inside and strung tight as a bow. "You know too much, Abby. For your sake…"

  "Too much for the stalker's comfort or the CIA's?" she inquired in a crisp tone.

  "Both."

  "Good. I don't give a shit. I'm not planning on working with or for either of them."

  From experience, he knew how hard it was to say no to the CIA. They'd expect him to put a full-court press on her and recruit the hell out of her.

  He'd pretend he was playing along with that for as long as he could get away with it. The only question now was who was breaking him faster—the CIA, the stalker or Abby Daniels. "Are you regretting this?" he asked.

  "I'm regretting thinking about quitting the marshals," she admitted. "I'm not cut out for cloak and dagger. I'm much more into straightforward.

  He laughed. "Women are born with cloak and dagger skills, no matter how hard they protest otherwise."

  She socked him in the shoulder, or tried to, but he was too fast. He caught her wrist and then tugged her toward him. She didn't protest, was half out of her chair, kissing him, vaguely aware that the waitress was laughingly telling them to enjoy their food.

  "We will," Vance said, never taking his eyes off Abby, then kissing her again. She always smelled so good, like grapefruit and sunshine and fresh laundry and sweet peaches. All the good stuff in a shitty, shitty world. He kissed her, fast and fierce, unable to let his guard down fully in public. "Later," he murmured, more to appease his own body than her, but she smiled anyway.

  "Eat your lobster roll," she teased.

  "Much rather be eating other things."

  "Not appropriate work conversation."

  "Fuck work," he said irritably. Because it was always about work, and work was what got him into this mess from the start.

  Vance, I think this is about Project Whitelist.

  I thought that was a myth, E.

  Considering I've seen the list, not so much.

  Ah, Ethan. He shook his head to clear the sadness, if only for a few minutes and ate to distract himself from memories and sexual frustration.

  Several comfortably quiet moments later, Abby asked, "You have plans, don't you?"

  "Yes," he agreed.

  "I'm not going to like them."

  "No."

  They sat at the table, Abby absorbing the information she'd learned as they lingered over coffee. The place was a little less crowded, but they were still comfortably surrounded and the people around them turned over at a good enough pace for them to know if someone had been watching them.

  Vance had given the waitress a little incentive not to rush them along. She seemed a little infatuated with Vance, and Abby couldn't blame her. He still looked a lot like his Motorcycle Man cover that had drawn her in. A little dirty, a lot dangerous.

  He’d mentioned the men Ethan worked with as being like shadows in the night. She knew that Vance, if necessary, had that same kind of stealthy wraith. She had no doubt he was transformed in the field, because even though his Motorcycle Man persona had been spot-on convincing, having to simply sit and be wasn't easy for him.

  Now, she sipped her coffee, then asked, "How much does the CIA know about what you're doing?"

  "I honestly don't know. Look, when all this started…I was home for a couple of days—finished one job. Flew in for a debrief. I was due to fly out that afternoon, but the call about Ethan came in the morning. The box showed up a couple of hours later."

  And then he'd gotten wrapped up in all of this. He'd requested leave, but he was only given a brief period of time before he was brought in and offered a different kind of assignment. Recruiting. He'd known it was for the Whitelist, although that remained unspoken.

  He'd turned it down and told them he was taking a long leave first.

  They hadn't been happy to hear that, but they also hadn't wanted to lose him, so they reluctantly dropped it—with one caveat—he looked into Ethan's girlfriend. On behalf of the Whitelist.

  Since that suited his goals as well, he'd agreed.

  They told him that Ethan had been actively recruiting Abby for years.

  Vance didn't know what to believe anymore. "After this is done, I’m not going back to the CIA again," he said roughly.

  "Does the CIA know that?"

  "I've told them repeatedly since I interrogated you. They refuse to retire me. Keep giving me leave and telling me to 'Take your time thinking it over.'"

  "Do they think you're pulling a power play?"

  "I stopped trying to figure out what they think a long time ago." He thought about the list she'd made of alternate career opportunities and laughed, because his wouldn't look much different, or any less ridiculous. "Look, there's more you need to know."

  "Am I going to need a shot in this?" She pointed to her coffee.

  "I'm thinking yes." He was motioning to the waitress, waited until she poured some Irish whiskey into Abby's cup. "You can leave the bottle," he told her. When she giggled at him, he winked.

  When she walked away, Abby said, "You do have a way with women."

  "You were as hard to handle as I am," he told her.

  She took a couple more sips of the liquor-infused coffee. "Hit me."

  "For the Whitelist…we're not supposed to know we're on it, but t
here's no way around it sometimes, like if your parent is famous in his or her field." Vance gave a quick glance in her direction and the realization hit her like a physical blow.

  "Me?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady. When he gave the briefest of nods for confirmation, she swallowed hard. "Because of my father? And Teige?" Another nod from Vance. "Did Teige know?"

  "You'll have to ask him."

  Her brother must've, but he'd never let himself get completely drawn into that world. He'd always remained one foot in, one foot out…

  Until Kayla. She'd saved him as much as he'd saved her. And because of that, Teige had finally gotten out completely. Broken away from working for any agency. He worked for private clients, sometimes in conjunction with the agencies, but he wasn't beholden to any of them.

  She asked Vance now, "Have I been watched—followed—by whoever holds the Whitelist?"

  "Yes, but they were cautious with you."

  Abby didn't bother to ask why. She'd almost been killed. Watched her father die. And then she'd purposely avoided profiling, which would be a natural choice for her, since she wasn't in a nuthouse.

  Really, it could've gone either way. She'd learned that about most survivors. They either hid from the world or went into it full force to prove they'd won.

  She'd gone halfway on that point, avoiding the FBI like the plague. The CIA hadn't even been on her list of possibilities, so it didn't make sense. And she told the man in front of her so.

  "Because, Abby, you have abilities we look for in agents. And we certainly don't want to lose you to the FBI. We're quite competitive."

  "Did Ethan know about this? Was he trying to keep me out of the CIA on purpose?"

  "I don't know, Abby," he said honestly. "Unfortunately, we might never know that."

  "Then we'll have to learn enough to make up for that," she said fiercely.

  He leaned in and clinked the bottle to her cup.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  "I found her," Jacoby announced with little fanfare after he closed the door of Abby's house. Of course, he entered without knocking and almost gave her a heart attack. "Why are you pointing your weapon at me? I need a beer—got any?"