Trev thanked him and directed the cabdriver to drop him by the police station. The fact that she'd left the car at the hotel puzzled him. Why had she gone there? Had she stopped by her apartment first—or not at all? Would she check in at the office today—or was she already flying off to some unknown destination?
He glanced at his watch. Almost eight o'clock. The office might already be open. As the cab pulled into the police station lot, Trev dialed her office number. "Jennifer Hannah, please."
"I'm sorry," said the receptionist, "but she was called away on a family emergency early this morning. I'll be happy to transfer you to Phyllis."
He hung up, tossed a large bill to the cabdriver and hurried into the station to reclaim his car. He then sped all the way to her apartment. Parking at a wild angle on the curb outside her quadruplex, he noticed that her car was still there, parked exactly where she'd left it two days ago. Maybe she hadn't left yet.
Hope hammered in his chest, throat and temples as he strode up the walkway and rapped on her door. No one answered. He knocked again. "Jen? It's me. Trev. Open up."
No reply.
"Jen!" He beat on the door again, louder this time. Perhaps she was simply being stubborn and ignoring him … while packing to leave town—
"Hey, stop making all that racket!" yelled a scowling older woman from the doorway of a nearby apartment. "She's not there, so go away."
"How do you know she's not here?"
"That's none of your business."
He gritted his teeth, his patience wearing thin. "It is my business. I'm her husband. I have to talk to her."
"Her husband?" Her gray brows shot up in surprise, then converged over a frown. "She's not married."
"We've been separated. But I have to talk to her. It's an emergency. Did you see her leave this morning?"
She narrowed her eyes at him, and after an appraising moment said, "No, but I'm her landlady. She called me an hour ago. Said there's a family emergency out of state. Maybe it's the one you're talking about. She told me she'll be sending movers to pack up her stuff, and she'll mail me her key."
Sick, frantic anxiety squeezed him nearly breathless. She'd already left. Unless, by some miracle, he caught her at the airport. He had to try.
With an absent murmur of thanks to the woman, he returned to his car. As he reached for the door handle, a figure sauntered out from a nearby cluster of trees—a man wearing a baseball cap, sunglasses and a navy-blue jacket over jeans. A man as tall as Trev, and somewhat huskier.
"Excuse me, but, uh, I couldn't help overhearing." His low, raspy, nasal voice sounded northern. "You lookin' for Jennifer Hannah?"
"Yeah." Though every muscle in his body had tensed, Trev saw no sense in denying it. He'd been shouting her name and beating on her door only moments earlier. Maybe the guy was from the U.S. Marshals Service or the FBI, working to protect her.
Or … maybe not.
With his hands in the pockets of his windbreaker jacket, the man leaned closer, and in a confidential whisper, said, "So, you're her husband, huh?"
Trev didn't have time to answer, or to act. Something hard, metal and round dug into his back, near the tail of his spine. In utter disbelief, he realized it was a gun, probably still concealed within the guy's pocket.
"Let's you and me go somewhere and talk."
The cold, clear purpose in the man's seemingly friendly voice left Trev no doubt. He wouldn't think twice about pulling the trigger.
* * *
11
« ^ »
Jennifer left Trev's car at the hotel in Sunrise because she believed it would be safest in the crowded, well-lit parking lot until the police found it. She then called a cab to take her to the airport. She wouldn't return to her apartment. Trev might look for her there. After the horrible things she'd said to him, she knew he'd no longer want her, but she wouldn't risk the possibility that his protective instincts would get him further involved in her situation.
Besides, she couldn't face leaving him again.
From the airport, she called Dan Creighton, her security supervisory inspector. "I've been recognized, Dan. The woman I went to high school with approached me and asked if I was Carly. I told her I wasn't, but I'm not sure she believed me. She knows my father's history, and that Carly is probably living under an alias somewhere. I believe she's suspicious."
Dan instructed her to catch the first flight to D.C.
Three hours later, he and two other federal agents met her at the gate in Dulles International Airport. Dan, a tall, portly man in his late fifties with thinning reddish hair, a limp from a bullet he'd taken years ago, and a warm, fatherly way about him, hooked his arm around her in a comforting squeeze. He'd been her anchor through the storm, her only confidant for seven years, the one person in her life who knew the truth about her identity.
Though she felt an undeniable affection for him, she knew he believed in playing strictly by the rules of the Program.
You follow the rules, you live. You don't, you die. Simple as that. He'd also made it clear that if she broke the rules, she could be dropped from the Program and left to fend for herself. That thought frightened her.
And now she had broken the most rigid rule—interacting with a person from her past. She couldn't let Dan know, not only for her own sake, but also to keep Trev safely uninvolved.
As Dan escorted her through the crowded airport, flanked on either side by plain-clothed marshals, he told her that his wife had sent home-baked cookies, which would be waiting for her at the apartment. He then talked about his children as he helped her into a windowless van, the kind she remembered from her first trip to a safe house and her initial ride to the orientation center.
They were headed there again—the Witness Security Safe Site and Orientation Center, the heavily guarded compound somewhere in Virginia. Only when they were comfortably ensconced in the backseat of the van did Dan talk business. "Have you remembered this woman's name, Jennie?"
Jennifer shook her head. "No, I'm sorry. I've thought and thought, but can't recall her name. I should have asked her, but I was hoping to avoid conversation altogether."
"We'll try to get a yearbook from your high school years. Until we can find her picture, we'll work from a sketch. A police artist will take a description from you. We want to investigate the situation and make sure there's nothing more at work here than coincidence."
Jennifer murmured her thanks. She hated to lie to Dan about her nonexistent schoolmate, but saw no other way to explain her need for a new identity. She hoped they'd be unable to locate a yearbook.
Dan went on to assure her that he was arranging for a crew to pack up her possessions in Sunrise. "We'll have your things shipped to headquarters, and once you've rented an apartment in St. Paul, they'll be forwarded to you. Except, of course, for anything that bears the name Jennifer Hannah. Can't have clues lying around that would connect you with the blown cover."
The thought of federal agents sifting through her personal items on a search-and-destroy mission should have disturbed her. At one time, it would have. Now she didn't much care. She felt frozen in ice, as if nothing could touch her. She suspected it was better this way.
Otherwise, the pain of leaving Trev would be unbearable. She wouldn't think about the past they'd shared or the future they wouldn't share. What could the future possibly hold for her but emptiness? Long, gray, lonely hours … without Trev. Or family, or friends. She had no alternative, though. She could allow herself no loved ones.
Dan stayed to see her settled into the neat, one-bedroom apartment within the compound. The living room opened onto a small concrete patio surrounded by high walk—rather like a prison yard, Jennifer imagined. Before leaving her for the day, Dan gave her information to study—the background story invented for the person she would become; videos of the city where she had supposedly grown up; and literature about St. Paul, where she would live. He also supplied a book of names to help in choosing a new alias.
&nb
sp; She couldn't bring herself to begin the process of becoming someone else, though. The protective shell around her heart had begun to crack, and the pain of leaving Trev, of hurting him, racked her. Aimlessly she wandered about the apartment and stared outside at the walled patio, consumed by the desire to leave, to return to Trev, to pretend that life could go on in a normal fashion.
She knew better. The danger would always plague her. And though Trev used to love her, he no longer did. She'd killed his love with ruthless lies. It's better for him that way.
Now he can move on to a new love. That prospect brought her no comfort.
Later that afternoon, a sharp knock sounded at the door, and Jennifer admitted Dan into the apartment. She hadn't been expecting him. One look at his face told her something was wrong. Had he somehow discovered that she'd lied about the woman from her high school?
"We have a problem, Jennie. Come, sit down." With a guiding hand at her shoulder, he ushered her to the sofa, where they both sat. She'd never seen him looking so troubled. Foreboding filled her. "I hope you understand how important it is to be completely honest with me. I can't protect you if I don't have all the facts."
Her stomach constricted. "Yes, of course I know that, Dan."
His gaze drilled into hers. "Do you know a man by the name of … Trev Montgomery?"
Her heart rose and fell so sharply, she felt faint at the surge. "Trev Montgomery? Um, yes … I've met him." At Dan's persistent stare, she reluctantly went on, "He—he's a builder who recently moved to Sunrise. I met him Friday, at the new hotel." She could barely hear her own voice over the drumming in her ears. "Why do you ask?"
"It seems he was at your apartment this morning, looking for you."
"Well, he—he had mentioned the possibility of me helping him set up his office."
"He was taken at gunpoint."
Her world went silent—deathly silent—then spun around and lurched into sickening chaos. "What?" she cried, leaping to her feet. "Taken at gunpoint! Oh, no. Oh, no, no!" The trembling started in her legs and hands, and spread to every part of her. "Trev. Oh, my God, Trev…"
"Jennie." Dan stood and caught her by the shoulders. "Calm down. Let me finish."
But terror was pulsing through her in cold, relentless waves. Gunpoint. Trev. How had this happened? Who had taken him? What was he going through? Or was he—was he—
"He's being held," said Dan in a slow, deliberate voice that cut through the terrifying whirl of her thoughts, "by your father."
She stared at him, uncomprehending. "My father?" When the concept finally sank in, her eyes widened in disbelief. "He's being held at gunpoint by my father?"
"Vick believes him to be a hitman sent to find you."
"A hitman!"
"You've got to be extremely careful about people you meet, Jennie."
"But Trev isn't—"
"Whether he is or isn't, Vick has him, and is demanding to talk to you. Will you speak with him?"
Dizzy with alarm and thoroughly bewildered, she nodded emphatically. Dan leaned toward the phone on the living room table, lifted the receiver and keyed in numbers. "Vick? I'm putting you through on the speakerphone."
Within moments, her father's gruff, nasal voice boomed from the speaker. "Carly?"
"Yes, Daddy, I'm here," she cried, sinking down onto the sofa, her hands clasped against her breast. She'd seen her father only twice in seven years—and then, only for brief, furtive meetings in randomly chosen places. Had the stress of living in hiding finally pushed him beyond rational thought? "Do you have Trev? Is he okay? You didn't hurt him, did you?"
"Hey, slow down, girlie. Yeah, I've got him, and no, I haven't shot him. At least, not yet. I found him at your apartment, trying to wheedle information out of your landlady."
"He's not a hit man, Daddy! He's no threat to us at all. You've got to let him go."
"Not until I get the whole story on him."
"What were you doing at my apartment, anyway? You haven't visited, or answered my calls, or let me visit you for years. Why now, all of sudden, are you—"
"I told you, I don't want you hurt if someone fingers me. Better that you keep your distance. But when I heard from Dan that you recognized some gal from the neighborhood, I got worried. Seems too coincidental. Figured I'd go check out your place myself. See if I recognized anyone who might be trouble."
"With a gun? You brought a gun?"
"What, you think I'm crazy enough to go unarmed? You and me are human targets, babe. Of course, I got a gun. And it's a good thing, too. I caught this guy in the act of trying to track you down. Get this—he told your landlady he's your husband."
Jennifer's breath caught, and she glanced at Dan, who sat watching her closely. What should she do, what should she say? Damn Trev for not listening to her! She'd told him to keep their association secret. If only she could think above the thudding of her heart.
"He's sticking to the story, too. Says he wants to see you. I'm thinking I should send him back to his family in a box. Know what I mean?"
Her hand fanned across her mouth. She didn't know if her father was capable of lolling someone or not. He'd grown up in a rough part of New York City where the dons of organized crime were worshiped as heroes. He was proud to say they'd considered him a real "stand-up guy" from the time he was twelve.
"Daddy, do you hear yourself?" she admonished, fighting against her rising fear. "You're threatening a man's life. You're not a murderer. You wouldn't—"
"I don't have much left in this world except you, Carly, and I'm not going to let someone whack you. This guy knows what you look like now. He also knows anything else you've told him. He's a threat. A loose end. The only reason I haven't finished him off is because he thought I was trying to whack you, which makes me think maybe he wasn't."
"Please let him go. He's not trying to kill me, and he's not going to tell anyone what I look like. He's … he's—"
"He's your husband, ain't he? He showed me this picture. Looks an awful lot like you in the bride dress, Princess."
Her vision blurred with sudden tears, and she couldn't speak.
"The photo is either real, or he doctored it—which would mean he's got some serious scheme in mind. Sending him back to his people full of holes might slow down the next yahoo they send after us."
"The photo's real," she confessed in a tight, agonized whisper. The surprise registering in Dan's gaze only made her more aware of what the admission meant for Trev's future. "I married him seven years ago. But it was under a false name, and the court has declared me dead, so—"
"I'm bringing him in," said her father.
"Bringing him in? You mean, here?"
"Of course, there. He's your husband. He's supposed to be taking care of you. We Palmieris don't believe in divorce, and no court is going to declare my little girl dead, just so this guy doesn't have to honor his vows. Dan, come get us. We'll be at the usual place."
"No, Daddy, no, you don't understand—"
The line went dead. She stared at the phone, feeling shaken and spiritually bruised.
"We're going to bring them in, Jennie," Dan said. "Before we allow Trev any contact with you, though, we'll run a background check to make sure he's not tied in with organized crime. Considering the fact that he hasn't whacked Vick yet, I'm assuming he's not."
"Of course he's not!"
"It's my job to make sure. You can fill me in on everything you know about him to speed the process along." Pulling a small recorder from his pocket, he quietly questioned her, drawing out all the facts about their marriage, including her alias as Diana Kelly. He then clicked off the recorder and rose from the sofa. "If you don't want to see Montgomery, that's your prerogative, but it's clear your cover's already blown with him."
"I do want to see him." She had to see him. She had to make sure he was okay. She also had to explain to him that as her acknowledged husband, his life might be in jeopardy. Unless they could somehow make it clear to the world that their ties
had been permanently broken.
"There wasn't any woman in Sunrise from your high school, was there," Dan deduced.
Biting her lip, she shook her head.
His stare shone with patent disappointment in her. They'd been close allies. Her deception clearly hurt him on a personal level. "I don't understand why you lied—about any of it."
"Because I didn't want Trev's name in your files. He's a good, decent, hardworking man, and he doesn't deserve the kind of trouble that I've brought him. I'm sorry I lied to you, Dan—but don't you see? Once he's named as the husband of Carly Palmieri, the possibility exists that my father's enemies will learn about him … and go after him." When Dan failed to respond by comment or expression, she held out her hands in a plea for understanding. "If you were in my position, Dan, would you want your wife's name in those files?"
A flicker of emotion rippled through his gaze. She hoped it had been comprehension. He then let out a long, weary breath and tightened his lips. He didn't, however, answer her question or assure her that her fears held no merit. After a lengthy pause, he asked in a reluctant tone, "Did you initiate contact with Montgomery, or … identify yourself to him in any way?"
"No," she replied, aware that he was asking if she'd broken the most important rule of the Program. She couldn't forget that he was, first and foremost, a seriously dedicated US. Marshal entrusted with grave responsibility. "He recognized me. In the hotel lobby." She wouldn't tell him that she'd spent the night with him … and nights thereafter. She couldn't afford to be ejected from the Program. "I don't know what gave me away."
His reddish brows drew together in a frown.
"I swear to you, Dan, it's the truth." Despite all she hadn't told him, it was.
With a curt nod, he left her.
She spent the next two hours pacing. If only Trev hadn't gone to her apartment! It had been bad enough fearing for her father's life and her own. She couldn't stand fearing for Trev's, too.
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