Forget Me Not

by Fern Michaels

  “Well, yeah. I’m not planning on living in sin. How would that look to all their fans if the mother of Izzy, Bizzy, Lizzy, and Dizzie lived in sin? Look at me, Luke! Did you really think I’d put my business before you? Wait, let me rephrase that. Do you think I can’t operate a business successfully and carry on a relationship? Shame on you if that’s what you thought.”

  Right that second, Luke didn’t know what the hell he thought.

  Lucy leaned forward. “And you still haven’t kissed me, yet here we are, talking about the future and kids, college, and make-believe animals. I bet if I stuck my tongue in your mouth and took a deep breath, I could suck your tonsils right out of your throat.”

  What the hell! “Go ahead. You just try it!” Luke blustered as he wondered if he should tell Lucy he had had his tonsils taken out when he was ten years old. Nah. Let her find out the hard way.

  Angie chose that moment to bound into the room, then stopped in her tracks as she bellowed, “You guys ready for lunch?”

  “Kill her right now! If you don’t, I will,” Lucy snarled.

  Luke rolled over and over on the floor, holding his sides.

  In spite of herself, Lucy burst out laughing. “I guess your tonsils are safe. For now.”

  “Promises! Promises!”

  “You need to know something about me, Luke Kingston. I never break a promise. If you don’t believe me, just ask Angie.”

  In the kitchen, Lucy looked at the table. It looked pretty the way it was set, with patterned Fiesta dishes. Sitting in the middle of the table was a bowl of something that looked and smelled great. “What is it?” she asked.

  “Something Mrs. Smith froze just for us. Kind of like that stuff you cooked in your Crock-Pots. Just eat and enjoy it,” Angie muttered.

  “I thought you were going to start wearing a whistle around your neck,” Lucy grumbled.

  “I will as soon as I can lay my hands on one. Will you just eat already and tell me what you were doing in there that has left you so cranky?”

  “I was getting ready to suck Luke’s tonsils out of his throat because he didn’t think I could do it.”

  “That’s way too much information for me to handle,” Angie said, dipping the big spoon into the mess in the colored bowl. “Way too much.”

  Lucy offered up a sweet smile.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The Boston Brahmin known as Julian Metcalf removed his ski jacket and tried to settle himself. His three cell phones were within easy reach. Three goddamn cell phones! Who the hell needed three cell phones? He hated them. Sometimes all three rang at the same time. When that happened, he had to fight with himself not to throw them on the floor and stomp them to pieces. Just another hissy fit to prove to himself he was done with the spook business.

  He craned his neck to see outside the small window of the plane. A crew was deicing the plane’s wings. Twenty minutes. He wondered how icy the runway was. He didn’t like flying, never had. If the plane crashed and he died, there would be no one to mourn him. The reason he had never entered into any long-term relationship with a woman, and so had never had any children, was that he was married to his job and refused to inflict the kind of life he led on any woman, regardless of how understanding she would be. So he had scrupulously guarded his heart to avoid the pain that would come from walking away from anything other than casual relationships.

  But that day, he was going to do something he’d never done before in all the years of his career. He was going to say the hell with everything, tell the truth, then hand in his resignation, which he’d typed out the night before. His plan was to close up shop and ride off into the sunset, find an island to buy, learn how to strum a guitar, and sit on his ass for the rest of his life. Well, maybe not exactly sit. He’d do some fishing, start drinking those cocktails that came with little umbrellas in them, and eat whatever the hell he pleased. And if some wonderful woman found him, he’d allow himself to be dragged off to her hut. He might even take back the name that was on his birth certificate.

  One way or another, he was going to make it happen. Ten years in the business world, followed by another ten as a low-level operative in the agency and another twenty-two years in his current role, was way too long to stay in a job that gave him nothing but ulcers, migraines, and sleepless nights. He was done.

  Metcalf sighed. He could see the snow crews moving off. They’d be whizzing down the runway any minute now. He buckled up and closed his eyes. Takeoffs were the worst, with landings coming in a close second. Hyperventilating at thirty thousand feet came in third. He was not flying material in the same way he wasn’t marriage material. These days he didn’t know what the hell he was. He closed his eyes and hoped for the best.

  Two hours later, Julian Metcalf climbed behind the wheel of a Chevy Suburban that he knew was souped up to the gills and was bulletproof. All he really cared about was the four-wheel drive to get him through the snow. He turned on the engine and waited for the heater to kick in. His three cell phones were within easy reach. The special one, the one that the Brightons called on, buzzed. God, how he hated talking to them. But his orders were to call them, orders he hadn’t obeyed.

  Since he was just hours away from retiring, he decided to get his last licks in and be damned. Let someone else handle the Brightons.

  “Metcalf,” he said curtly.

  “I thought you were going to call us last night,” Fritz Brighton snarled. “We sat up and waited. Don’t you have any consideration for how we feel?”

  Not one damn little bit. Metcalf wondered if the kind of attitude he was hearing was part of Fritz’s bedside manner. “I was busy, Fritz. I thought I made it clear to you on more than one occasion that my world does not revolve around you. I have a heavy caseload, and as important as you and Helene are, you are still two of twenty-seven. Not to mention that you are retired and safe, which is more than I can say about the other twenty-five agents I have to look out for.”

  “Every time we call, you’re busy. Helene and I want to know what’s going on, and don’t try bullshitting me, either.” Metcalf could hear Helene jabbering in the background, but he couldn’t make out the words. And that, he decided, was probably a good thing. “Why do we suddenly have all this extra security? Just tell me that,” Fritz Brighton demanded.

  Okay, you son of a bitch, I’m going to tell you. “Because we’re afraid you’re going to do something stupid, like try to run. Running is not acceptable. You refuse to believe your doubles died in a tragic accident. Fine. I can live with that. You refuse to believe you are safe. Fine again. But by refusing to believe what we tell you, you become dangerous in our eyes. You made a deal, and you can’t change it midstream. We’ve gone over this a dozen times, and nothing has changed, Fritz, nor will it change anytime soon. Possibly never. That’s another way of saying you made your bed twenty-two years ago, and no matter how uncomfortable you now find it, you are going to sleep in it.”

  “Don’t give me that crap. Things have changed. Our doubles are dead. We had to find that out on the Internet. And you’re right. We don’t believe you. When were you going to tell us? We want to see our daughter. This is the thanks we get for putting our lives on the line for our country. Well?” Fritz Brighton screamed so loud, Metcalf had to hold the phone away from his ear.

  Metcalf struggled for patience. Please, God, just let me get through this one more time, and I swear I will never ask for another thing the rest of my life. “You were told on day one that there would never be thanks or accolades or favors granted in this line of work. You and your wife said you understood that. You signed papers to that effect. You both willingly, and I stress the word willingly here, gave up your rights to your daughter for the good of your country. Our part of the bargain was to see to it that she had a good life. Do I have to remind you it was Helene who came up with that idea, and we agreed? We did our part. Lucy had the best schools, the best medical care that money could buy. She was never out of our sight. She turned into a beautif
ul, wonderful young woman. She’s self-reliant, she’s independent, she’s caring, she’s kind, and she has carved out a life for herself. She buried you and your wife. Actually, she thinks she had you cremated. Let it go, Fritz.”

  “We will not let it go. She found out, didn’t she? That’s what this is all about. What the hell did you tell her about us?”

  “Nothing yet, but I’m sure being as smart and innovative as she is, she figured some of it out on her own. You sold her out at the age of ten so you and your wife could lead what you thought were going to be the glamorous lives of spies. You loved every minute of it. Don’t deny it. Now that you’re in the bull pen, you want back what you gave away. Sorry, Fritz. It’s too late. That bus left the depot twenty-two years ago, and you were not on it.”

  “Glamorous? Is that what you said? Getting shot in the stomach at Orchard Towers in Singapore! Almost dying. That was glamorous? Getting knifed on Burgos Street in Manila was glamorous? And let’s not forget that set-to in Pattaya, Thailand, when Helene and I were jailed for sixty-two days.”

  “Part of the job, Fritz, just part of the job. You forgot to mention all those lovely state dinners, meeting all those foreign celebrities, living the high life, doing your surgeries on the fly, and let’s absolutely not forget all that money you and your wife socked away. You must be right up there with Warren Buffett these days.”

  “You bastard! We gave up our lives for you people. We agreed to spy for you. We almost lost our lives a dozen times. All we want to do is see our daughter. Is that too much to ask?”

  “Well, yes, Fritz, as a matter of fact, it is too much to ask. We never, as in never, never, never, disturb the status quo. You are where you are at the moment. You have a good life, a life people just dream about. You live on a palatial estate. You have servants to wait on you hand and foot. You have a fleet of fancy million-dollar cars. You dine on the best food money can buy. You both wear clothes that cost a normal person’s salary for a year. We still allow you to do consulting work in your chosen profession. The medical community still thinks you’re top dog in your field. It’s not our fault you developed arthritis and can’t perform surgery any longer. We arranged it so you could still consult as much as you like. So stop whining and man up to our agreement.”

  “We will not follow your orders any longer. We’re done, finished.”

  “You will follow our orders. If you don’t, I will personally crawl up your ass and chew my way out. Do you understand me, Fritz?” When there was no answer, and Metcalf finally realized he was listening to dead air, he shrugged and pressed the OFF button. He didn’t think it likely that he’d be hearing from the Brightons anytime soon. Certainly not before he turned in his resignation and destroyed the cell phone they had to call to reach him.

  Metcalf shrugged out of his ski jacket. He was warm now, toasty, actually. He had one more call to make before he headed out to Freehold. He made it, and his message was curt. “Move them now! Don’t take your eyes off them and confiscate their passports.”

  Ah, how sweet it is, Metcalf thought as he put the car in gear. Just hours away from retirement. Hours. He thought about the Brightons then and wondered again about how they could have just given up their daughter the way they did. How does a parent do that? How do they justify it?

  They did it for the good of their country was their explanation. But he had never believed it for a minute. They’d been absolutely giddy when they were told by Chuck Carpenter that the agency had come up with doubles to impersonate them back in the States. From that day on, they had never once, as in not a single, solitary time, asked about their daughter. Not until the day they saw that the doubles had been killed.

  Metcalf supposed, if the story of the Brightons ever got out, that there would be those who would stand on their side and say they had sacrificed their daughter for the good of the country. But he and Chuck Carpenter knew they’d done it for themselves, because the Brightons were selfish, egotistical people and deserved one another. A sad ending, as far as he was concerned.

  Now he was headed toward his last mission. To try to make things right for a young woman so she could make peace with her life.

  Metcalf turned on the stereo and cranked it as high as it would go. He was old enough to appreciate and sing along to the words of “Pretty Woman,” and he didn’t feel one bit foolish.

  Forty minutes later, Metcalf turned down the stereo so he could hear what the GPS had to say to him. He winced at the robotic voice. He would be glad when he was on his island and didn’t have to deal with all this crap. His two feet would take him where he wanted to go, and if they didn’t, then he’d sit on his ass and get a good sunburn. He started to whistle, knowing that with each passing minute, he was that much closer to finding the special island that would finally, finally give him some peace.

  “Car’s coming,” Angie said.

  “He’s forty minutes early,” Luke observed.

  “Early is better than late,” Lucy said.

  When the knock sounded on the front door, and even though they expected it, all three of them almost jumped out of their skins.

  “I’ll do the honors,” Lucy said, leading the way to the front door. She opened it and looked up at the tall man with the snow-white hair. She thought he looked like an angry lion until she held out her hand and introduced herself, along with Luke and Angie. That was when she changed her mind. He was more like a gentle lion. This was a man with a heart, she decided, and wondered how in the world she knew that. And she had the feeling she’d met him before, or at least seen him somewhere. The wild-looking white mane of hair was what was triggering the memory. Damn, where was it?

  That was the moment when Lucy realized she could no longer read minds. Her eyes widened as she tried to remember the last time she’d been able to do that and simply couldn’t remember. Her circuitry had righted itself, and she hadn’t even known it. That meant she was normal again and clicking on all cylinders. Yippeee!

  Luke reached for Metcalf’s jacket and hung it up.

  Angie asked their guest if he wanted coffee. He surprised everyone by saying he would love a cup of good, strong black coffee.

  “Then you came to the right place. Is the kitchen okay, Mr. Metcalf? It’s where we spend most of our time.”

  “The kitchen is fine.” Metcalf tried to remember the last time he’d actually sat in someone’s kitchen, or even his own, and couldn’t come up with a time or a place.

  Angie poured. Metcalf sampled it and nodded his approval. He looked around the table and knew no one wanted chitchat, so he got right down to it. “It might be easier if you ask me questions. I can fill you in. Then, hopefully, I can explain everything to your satisfaction.” He looked over at Angie. She looked to him like a true loyal friend. His gaze went to Luke, and he decided he was a stand-up guy and in love with Lucy Brighton. And then he really looked at Lucy Brighton’s emerald-green eyes and knew he could not tell this young woman a lie of any kind. Anything other than the truth, and she’d see right through it. He wondered if she read minds. Such a stupid thought.

  “Who did I have cremated? I know they weren’t my parents,” Lucy said bluntly.

  “First things first. You aren’t in Kansas anymore, Dorothy. This is as real as it is going to get. You’re right. They weren’t your parents. They were your parents’ doubles here in the States. Who they were isn’t important.”

  Lucy fixed her gaze on Metcalf’s. “Now, that’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Metcalf. They were people. They must have family, who, I’m sure, want their remains. That makes them important to them and to me. Or did you and your people dummy up some ashes and pass them off as the doubles’?”

  “I guess I should have said their names aren’t important. Their families have been notified. We didn’t know about the cremation until after it was done. That’s one of the reasons we wanted to talk to you, to ask for the remains so we can turn them over to their relatives.”

  Lucy digested the words and accepted th
em. “Where are my parents, my real parents?”

  “There are some things I can’t tell you, and that is one of them. Suffice it to say that it has to do with national security. I hope you can understand that. Actually, it is the only thing I can’t talk to you about. What I will say is that your parents are safe and will remain safe for the rest of their lives as long as no one does anything foolish. Inviting you into their lives will only endanger them, and I am sure you don’t want that.”

  “Were my parents spies?”

  “Yes. Very good ones, as a matter of fact. I think they were the best of the best. We gave them both the best legends. Do you know what that means?”

  “Phony backgrounds that would stand up against any kind of questioning,” Angie blurted out.

  “Yes, but they had impeccable credentials to begin with. Both of your parents were doctors, still are, but your father at the time was world renowned. He wore two hats, Lucy. He spied for us as Dr. Fritz Brighton, and then he spied for us under his legend, as did your mother. This country owes them a lot.”

  “Why did they send me off when I was ten? Is that when all of this started?”

  “I think you know the answer to that, Lucy. Yes, they sent you off, and I want you to know that from that moment on, we had eyes on you twenty-four/seven. Your real parents were sent weekly progress reports, pictures that were taken that you never knew about. The doubles were just there as backup. In their reports, there was always a postscript that said they thought you knew they weren’t real, because you drew away from them, that there was no intimacy of any kind, not even a peck on the cheek. Is that true?”

  “Yes. They were like cold fish. They were polite and cordial, but they didn’t want to be around me any more than I wanted to be around them. You were at my high-school graduation, weren’t you?”

  “Yes, front row, center. I’m surprised you remember me.”