The woman let out a long-suffering sigh. “Here. Let me see.” She plucked it out of Grace’s hand and tapped out a series of keys on her computer. Then she shot Grace a look full of suspicion. “What are you doing with Bob’s key? I’m going to have to confiscate this unless you have some proof that you’re authorized to have this.”
“Do you remember anything else about the boy with...Bob?” The foreign name made her stomach churn.
Mark Stevens. Bob Moffitt. How many other names were there?
She put the picture in front of the woman again, and shot a quick glance at the nameplate on the edge of the counter. “Margery. The boy, my son, his name is Ryker...did he look...healthy?” Her throat fisted at the thought of him sick, hungry, on the run. “His asthma. Did he look like he was, um, having trouble breathing?”
“Oh, no. Nothing like that, honey. I gave him a lollipop and you should have seen him.” She waved in Grace’s direction. “He was bouncing off the cushions of those chairs.”
A sugar high. Butterflies took flight in her stomach. She pressed a trembling hand to her abdomen. She’d give anything to see Ryker in the throes of a sugar high right now, bouncing restlessly around the room with his charismatic bold grin.
But she’d take the second-hand image that filled her head for now.
“Did you say the boy’s name was Ryker?” Margery leaned forward with a glimmer in her eye.
Her throat squeezed. “Yes.”
“Now that you mention it, I do remember Bob calling the boy Ryker. It’s an unusual name.”
Grace sucked in a deep breath. Mark and Ryker really had come here yesterday. They’d stood in this exact spot. Her baby had sat on the same striped chair tucked into the corner.
She was close. So close to bringing Ryker home.
If the spark in Margery’s eyes and the softening of her sour expression was any indication, the lady was minutes from giving Grace the number to the storage unit.
She just had to close the deal.
Clenching her fist, she summoned all her anger, fear, and frustration and funneled them into a convincing lie.
“Damn him!” She slapped her hand on the countertop. “This is the second time he’s done this to me. Just taken Ryker and then up and disappeared. I have full custody, you know.” She nodded at Margery, noting how the woman had abandoned all pretense of organizing her files. “Bob may have taken everything else in the divorce, but not Ryker. No. He’s mine. And I’m sick and tired of Bob trying to take him, too.”
Margery’s eyes widened. “E—everything?”
“Oh, yeah. The house. The car—”
“The boat?” Margery’s knuckles whitened as she gripped the counter to lean closer to Grace.
Boat? What Bo—? She waved her hand in dismissal. “The boat too. And he hasn’t paid me a dime. No Alimony. No child support.”
“The rat,” Margery breathed. “I had no idea. Poor thing. Did he leave you for a younger woman?” Margery clucked. “It’s always a younger woman, honey.”
Grace shook her head. “Nothing like that. It doesn’t matter. Good riddance, I say. I just want my Ryker back.” Her voice wavered.
Lord, how she wished this entire mess was as simple as a custody battle. Why had Mark kept so much from her? She deserved to know the danger of his secrets. The cost of not knowing might still prove too great.
“As long as you’re here, though,” Margery said, “You might as well clean him out. I did the same to my ex when he decided to run off with some bimbo young enough to be his daughter.” She tapped the counter. “It was the most satisfying day of my life.”
“Oh, no. I couldn’t...”
“He owes you.”
“Well...” Grace tugged on her lip. “Which unit did you say was his?”
“Unit?” Margery grinned. “Honey, he doesn’t have one of those dinky units. He rents the entire building in the back. Turn right out the door and take the first aisle all the way down. You can’t miss it. I think he took the Enigma, but from the amount of insurance Bob’s put on that place, I image there’s still lots of goodies for the taking.”
Grace pocketed her son’s picture and snatched the cardkey off the counter. She’d done it. She’d pulled it off. “Thank you so much, Margery.”
“Oh. My pleasure, honey. My pleasure. Good luck to you.”
His arm throbbed like a son of a bitch, but the dull, constant pain reminded Keith why he was here. He shifted his stance, resting his hip on the hood of the Bronco. Not for the first time since he’d broken out of rehab, he wondered about the men in his A-team. Duck, Trigger, Mort, Pigpen, Ski—and those were just some of the ones that survived the explosion. An ache knifed through his arm and he swallowed, dialing it back to a manageable steady pulse. How had they all dealt with the bullshit that was no doubt slinging their way? They couldn’t believe the allegations lobbed against him. Couldn’t believe he’d risk their lives by setting real charges instead of blanks, could they? Even drunk off his ass he wouldn’t mistake the two.
And as soon as they found Mark, he’d prove it.
Grace stepped outside and lifted a hand to him. He’d watched her through the glass as she tenaciously went after the clerk inside. Oh, he couldn’t hear her, but her body language told him all he needed to know.
She fought for those she loved. He’d never known a woman so determined, so strong. Dedicated to her son in a way he couldn’t begin to grasp, yet admired all the same.
She intrigued him.
A brief smile touched her lips and put a glow on her cheeks.
Enticed him.
The light wind stirred her golden brown hair about her face. She smoothed it behind her ears. This morning it had been tousled about her head.
Oh, hell. That’s one place he shouldn’t go.
But went there he did, remembering her leg across his, her hand fisted in his t-shirt, her head on his shoulder. Even fully clothed, he’d felt her heat. Smelled that cinnamon and vanilla scent that should not have been sexy, yet, somehow on her, the combination caused his insides to tighten and fanned his lust from a small spark to a raging inferno.
To spare her an awkward explanation, he’d pretended like it was no big deal and promptly took a cold shower. But the tension still lingered and he wanted to act on it.
“You okay?” She tipped her head. “You’re not feeling feverish are you?”
He ran his gaze across her high cheekbones, those full, sensuous lips, then back up to her eyes that deepened with concern. “Maybe you should check.”
Her brow furrowed. “Um. Okay.”
She stepped forward and lifted her hand, her fingers grazing his forehead and sending a shot of pure desire through him.
He jumped off the Bronco’s hood and wrenched his head away. “What did you find out?”
She dropped her hand and deepened her frown. “Mark—or maybe I should say Bob,” she clarified with a grimace, “has rented an entire building here for the last few years.”
“Let’s go check it out.”
“Right.”
Grace took the lead, and he remained several paces behind her. He swiped his brow, noting how the sun speared straight between the rows of storage lockers. The brick building was up ahead on the left. As they neared, he noted the black square next to the reinforced steel door.
A keypad.
Shit.
“Please tell me you have the code for this.” He tapped the black box. “Damn.”
“I...Margery didn’t mention...” Grace smashed her lips together, making them appear bloodless. She released a loud pent up breath, and the blood returned, shading her lips in a soft, sexy pink. “I can do this.”
She swiped the card through the reader. The LED indicator blinked green and she punched a series of numbers on the keypad. The light flashed an angry red and held.
Shaking her head, she tried again with the same result. Her shoulders slumped.
“I can shoot the damn thing,” he offered.
> Her spine stiffened. “Would that really work?”
He shrugged. “Hell if I know. I just wanted to see that spark return to your eyes.”
The smooth skin between her brows crinkled, but some fire replaced the dejected look. “Ryker’s birthdate.” She nodded. “Got to be.”
She visibly held her breath as she stepped up to the keypad, and he found himself doing the same.
The indicator blinked green once Grace swiped the card and she rapidly punched three numbers into the pad.
Eight twenty three. August 23.
The light flashed once more then went steady, and the door unlatched with an audible click.
“Wait.” Keith held up a hand when Grace put hers on the door handle, and withdrew his pistol from the deep pocket of his cargo pants. “Let me check it out first.”
He pushed open the door with the toe of his boot and slipped inside before she had a chance to argue. Weak light filtered through the squat rectangular windows placed high on the wall.
When his eyes adjusted to the gloom he saw that the building was sparsely furnished. A couple of desks. Computer equipment. The other side of the room, separated by a low wall, looked like an empty car bay with a metal roll-up door.
He checked the perimeter, shaking out the shadows for his own piece of mind, and returned to Grace. “It’s clear.”
She gasped as she stepped inside. “What is this?”
A light switch housed near the door caught his eye and he flipped it. Track lighting flooded the room from all directions, illuminating the two high-tech computers.
“Looks like we found Mark’s office.”
She pressed a hand to her heart. “Office?” Dismay clouded her voice. She picked her way to a desk that held one of the computers and touched the monitor. “Here?”
“You didn’t know anything about this?”
He didn’t need to hear her answer. The troubled haze in her eyes told him Mark had kept her in the dark as much as he. Why had Mark never mentioned this ‘secret’ office to him? They’d been going full steam with their inside operation for close to a year.
“No.” She tipped her head back and squeezed her eyes shut. “Mark was never what you’d call forthcoming with details.”
“Why is that?”
As soon as the question popped out of his mouth, he wanted to reach out and snatch it back. What did it matter whether Mark had been God’s gift to husbandry or a shitty substitute?
He was...curious. Damn, what a stupid word. And why did it always make him think of that obnoxious monkey and the man with the big yellow hat? He blinked that weird childhood image from his mind and told himself he was better off not knowing too many details about Grace and Mark’s relationship.
After all, he knew what happened to the curious.
They unearthed secrets that were better left dead and buried.
“I don’t know,” she said with a slight jerk of her shoulders. Obviously, the fact that she was clueless about many of Mark’s activities didn’t sit well with her.
Nor him. He felt protective indignation churn his gut. What would make Mark divorce a woman who seemed generous, and giving, and capable of so much love?
Love.
He mentally snorted. Love? Since when did he believe in its existence?
Love was fiction, not fact. It was acceptance. Belonging. Ah, hell, it was fantasy. Nothing but fantasy.
At least in his world.
“I never knew him, did I?” She leaned across the desk and touched a shadowbox frame pinned to the wall. “I mean, I never knew he was in the military, never knew he did...” She gestured around the sparse room, “this.” Her hands fell to her sides. “Our marriage was all a sham.”
He stepped behind her, taking in the trio of photographs. Mark, Grace and Ryker smiled back at him, the perfect picture of Cleaver happiness.
“You loved him.”
There it was, that damn “L” word again. He’d have sooner bit off his tongue than let that question slip. But Grace had a way of making him want the very things he stubbornly refused to believe in.
She tipped her head. “Yeah. I did. When I first met him, he was...I don’t know, charismatic. Dynamic. He commanded the room when he walked in.” She wrapped her arms around her waist. “Now I know why. He had a commanding profession. One he never shared. What else did he keep from me?”
“Maybe nothing.” He rested his hands on her shoulders.
She stiffened against his touch. “I...I needed more from him. But after Ryker was born, Mark was even more illusive. His business trips became longer and more frequent, and he was increasingly remote. By the time Ryker turned three, I couldn’t ignore it anymore and asked Mark for a divorce.”
Grace sighed and pulled out of his grasp, absently rubbing at her brow. “I needed someone I could trust to always be there, you know? Someone that could look me in the eye and be honest, instead of putting distance between us when I pressed for answers. After Becca’s—,” stricken eyes sought his, “—Well, before I’d even met Mark, I spent five long years feeling isolated from the world. The last thing I expected was for him to make me feel more alone than I already was.”
She pivoted on her heel and crossed to the other side of the room, causing his bullshit meter to spike. Grace was keeping something from him. He didn’t want to believe she was capable of duping him, but several times now she’d censored her words and changed the subject. Why would she do that?
“He’s Ryker’s father,” Grace said, and there it was, that smooth change of subject that told him her previous words were off limits. “And he’s a good one. I know he’d die before putting his son at risk. There has to be a reason he kept this place a secret.”
Frustration slithered through his veins. “And what would that be?”
His question was far harsher than intended, but damn it, he didn’t want Grace to turn out to be just another one of those people who couldn’t be taken at their word. From the snap of her head he knew she felt the sudden chill.
Her eyes blazed. “I don’t know, Keith. You tell me.”
He crossed his arms and leaned a hip against the desk. “I’ve known the good ‘ole Bard for about a year. In all that time he never mentioned he’d once been married. Or that he had a son.”
Her lips trembled, twisted. She closed her eyes. “Why would he do that?”
The fragility in her voice crushed his chest. He was an ass. Of course Mark wouldn’t have discussed his personal life.
Keith pushed away from the desk and took Grace’s cold hands in his. “In Mark’s line of work...the hazards...” He rubbed her hands trying to infuse them with warmth. “Personal details don’t belong on the job. Ever. And in Mark’s case...he was the job. You know what I mean?”
“No.” Bewilderment filled the single word.
Every instinct he possessed warned him not to tell her too much. But her wounded eyes bombed that intuition straight to hell. “Everyone knew Mark worked for Defense Intelligence, but only a few choice people knew that Mark was part of the Gray Army.”
“Gray Army?” Grace yanked her hands out of his grasp. “What the heck is that?” She dragged her fist nervously across her mouth. “Is that like joining the Special Forces or something?”
“You don’t join the Gray Army. It’s by special invitation only. Accepting that invitation is the equivalent of giving up your own identity.”
Grace wet her lips, her eyes darted around the room. “Oh, God. I think I need a seat.”
“Good idea,” he said, because there was more he had to tell her. And she wouldn’t like it.
She lowered herself into the leather executive chair with deep, almost greedy, breaths. “Go on.”
“The Gray Army is specifically trained to pose as anyone, anywhere, at any given moment. Their missions are highly classified and require the men to go deep undercover. In short, they’re taught to...disappear.”
“As in forever.” Grace jaw went taut, the muscles in her nec
k pulled tight.
He shoved a hand through his hair. “If something goes wrong, yes.”
Her knuckles went white against the chair’s armrest. “Clearly this would classify as something gone wrong, right?”
The dead calm in her voice shook him up more than her hysterics would have. He knelt and pulled her close.
She wanted none of his comfort. “Give it to me straight,” she said, pushing out of his arms and leveling him with a steely look. “Mark was going to disappear for good.”
Don’t say it. What good will it do?
“Wasn’t he?” she persisted.
He swore. “Yeah, I think so.”
Now that she had the confirmation she wanted, her eyes went wide and filled with tears. Her jaw slackened. She twisted away from him and covered her face with her hands. “What about Ryker? Did he plan to disappear with Ryker?”
“I think Mark felt he didn’t have a choice. This man we’re after, he has an infinite number of resources at his disposal. And he’s not above using a child for leverage. No matter how secretive Mark was about you and Ryker...” He shook his head. “He probably thought Ryker would be safer on the run with him. That he could find a way to make everything right again.”
“And how long would he go on running?” She fisted her hands in front of her face. “With Ryker.”
“Indefinitely. If he had to.”
Her eyes blinked rapidly, causing her tears to spill down her cheeks. “So, there’s nothing here, then? Is there? No miracle clue to lead us to him and Ryker?”
The desperation in her eyes socked Keith in the gut. He tenderly wiped the wetness from her cheek.
“If Mark was using this place in secret, he was obviously gathering information against the asshole selling our nation’s security down the river. Maybe it’s still here.”
He moved toward the bank of computers and hit the power button on first one computer then the second. The monitor blinked to life, spouting out a series of computer jargon before it stopped with nothing more than a blinking cursor.
Her Own Best Enemy (The Remnants, Book 1) Page 10