She sat up a little straighter, straining to read his writing upside down. He’d written one word: Therapy?
She didn’t like that question mark. If he didn’t get the information they needed, she knew he’d come back to that, wanting details, and she had no intention of discussing it with him. Not with anyone, but especially not with the man whose arrogant manner and barely civilized appearance stirred something primitive inside her. Primitive and loaded with alarm bells. Exactly the kind of man who should never know the reason for her therapy.
“Then?”
It took her a moment to realize he was asking what Wally had talked about next. She shrugged. “His story idea again, and my early ones that he’d contributed to. He acted like he’d be absolutely tickled to see his idea made into a book.”
“Tickled?” Donovan winced at the word.
“Yes. He laughed.”
It was such a simple thing. But for a moment it had twisted her heart, taking her back to the days they’d spent at the small kitchen table, her father inventing a character and Jess drawing it, bringing it to life. Both of them giggling with delight. It was a memory as warm as sunshine, overflowing with affection and happiness.
The next moment the bubble had burst, revealing the man she’d spent fifteen years hating, the one who had broken his promise to always be there for her. The man who returned as the stranger who sat across the table spinning stupid stories about a rabbit and a wolf. A man whose once razor-sharp mind was now excited about a simple story idea.
“Could the story itself mean something?” Donovan mused aloud. “He kept going back to it.”
Avery gave a derisive huff. “A story about a rabbit and a wolf going to a housewarming party? Even our code phrases don’t involve animals or fairy tales. For something this important, you’d think he’d use a code we know. Or just say it in plain English, for God’s sake.”
Jess had to agree with her there. The story seemed to have no significance except what Donovan had first suggested, as a ruse to get her there. Mitch and Kyle added their nods.
Evan seemed to give it serious consideration, finally looking disappointed. “I’m afraid Wally was simply reminiscing. He loved Jessie, and he knew he was seeing her for the last time.” His gaze touched hers, apologetic and sad. “I remember him talking about those stories you wrote just before your mom left and took you with her. They were good memories for him.”
Great, she’d been ridiculing their friend’s fondest memories. Jess sank back in her chair, saying nothing and wishing this would just be over.
“Can we please move on?” Avery complained. Jess would have seconded it, except that Avery’s annoyed glare was aimed directly at her. “This Mossy Log crap is about to put me to sleep.”
Jess bristled. She’d admit to having more fears and insecurities than the average person, but she was on firm ground when it came to her knowledge of children’s literature; no one got to make fun of her books. “Sorry to be so dull,” she said, smothering it in sarcasm.
Avery’s flat stare was cool. “I’m sure you can’t help it.”
Bitch. The word banged against her skull, wanting out. She heard a muttered curse from Donovan, but ignored him as she narrowed her focus on Avery. “I didn’t realize you had difficulties with comprehension. Should I use simpler words?”
For a brief moment a static-charged stillness hung between them before Evan shot to his feet. “We’re done for tonight.” His stern look hit Avery first, then touched each of the others. “Be back here at seven tomorrow morning.”
Mitch got to his feet, throwing Avery a grin as he left. “Appreciate the entertainment.”
Avery looked away, avoiding eye contact as she stalked out of the room. In the uncomfortable silence that followed, Kyle trailed her out, pausing by Donovan. “We’ll figure it out,” he said, and left.
Evan turned to Jess. “I’m sorry, we’re all a little short of patience right now. We’ll start fresh tomorrow. Your bags are in a bedroom upstairs. Donovan will show you the way. Good night.”
She rose as he left, suddenly feeling out of place and lost. For once, Donovan waited patiently, not trying to hustle her along. It was the first time she’d seen him looking drained of energy and tired. Less dangerous. It gave her enough courage to take a jab at his team member. “What’s her problem?”
He glanced at Avery’s empty chair, his expression growing closed and defensive. “Leave it alone, Jess.”
She should have known better—they were a unit. No one would take her side here.
“Come on, let me show you to your room.”
Resigned, she followed him back toward the living room with the distinct feeling that she was an unwanted burden. “Why am I staying in this house?”
“It’s the only place you’ll be safe.”
“Do you all live here?”
“No. But we stay here during times like this, when we’re getting a team ready to go and need to work on it together.” He led the way upstairs to a branching hallway and turned left. Just inside the second doorway she saw her three suitcases in a neat line. “This is Wally’s old room,” he said. “The one he used when he stayed here. I imagine any personal items in here are yours now.”
She made a slow circuit of the room, ending at a small writing desk. It would have been perfect for a laptop computer, and she guessed he would have brought one with him. Only two items occupied the space now. She ran her fingers over a stone replica of Anubis, the jackal-headed ancient Egyptian god of the dead, then picked up a double picture frame with two portraits. She sucked in a sharp breath as she recognized her high school graduation photo, but didn’t have time to wonder how her father had obtained a copy. The other photo was even more shocking—an unposed, candid shot from her college graduation, taken on the lawn outside the auditorium as she laughed with her friends. It would have required a telephoto lens. She stared for several seconds before she was able to speak around the lump in her throat. “He…he was there?”
“Looks like.” Donovan slid open a drawer and pulled out a stack of letters. “You might be interested in these, too.”
The top one was addressed to her, with a red stamp slanting over one side: return to sender. It was too much, too fast. She didn’t want to look, yet couldn’t stop herself from sliding one shaking finger over the pile, exposing the next two envelopes. Both bore the same red postal stamp, with dates several months apart.
Donovan had been right; her father hadn’t rejected her. Unbidden, love welled up and filled her chest to bursting, along with an unreasonable anger at the situation and a deep regret that nearly broke her heart. Emotions bubbled like a volcano, threatening to spill over. If only she’d known…
She was torn between thanking Donovan for letting her know and hating him for hitting her with the agonizing knowledge of what she’d missed and the knowledge that he’d been the one to fill the void she’d left in her father’s life.
She was tired and too emotionally drained to look at the letters now. Placing them back on the stack, she noticed the lavender edge of the fourth envelope in the stack. The familiar color sent a cold shock through her and she fought a light-headed feeling as she picked it up. Her mother’s handwriting was unmistakable. She held the envelope as if it might burn her; if Donovan was right, it held the final betrayal by her mother, the one that had kept her father out of her life for fifteen years. The one that had severed the emotional attachment to her father that she was still trying to repair with her therapist.
She dropped the envelope and put her hand to her mouth. Without turning, she choked out, “Please go away.”
He did, without comment. She waited until he’d closed the door behind him to let the first whimpering sound escape her throat. More crowded behind it, but she refused to release them. She couldn’t do this now. Couldn’t face another trauma after the horrifying, exhausting day she’d had. Turning abruptly, she opened a suitcase and pawed through the contents, pulling out what she needed. Five m
inutes later she walked out of the bathroom, teeth brushed and ready for bed. She’d just pulled the covers back when a knock sounded at the door.
“Yes?”
As if it were an invitation, the door opened and Donovan stuck his head inside. His gaze flicked over her pajamas, summery but decent nylon shorts and top, then settled without expression on her face. “Forgot to tell you—be downstairs at seven.”
Evan had said it, too, but this time it registered. She glanced at the clock by the bed that read three minutes past two. “Seven?” she repeated incredulously.
“The sooner we figure out what Wally wanted us to know, the sooner we can get those hostages out. Once we have them, you’ll be safe, too. Then you can leave.” His gaze dropped to her body once more before he ducked out and closed the door.
She blinked at the door, feeling defeated and a little like a hostage herself. Deliberately ignoring the pile of letters on the desk, she got ready for bed and slipped beneath the covers. Reaching for the lamp beside the bed, her gaze was drawn to the letters again. How could she sleep not knowing? Damn it. In one quick motion she jumped out of bed, grabbed the lavender envelope, and slid back under the covers.
The letter was short and to the point.
Walter,
Please stop writing to Jessie. It is upsetting for her and only makes this time in her life more difficult. She does not wish to ever talk to you again, and I will not force her to answer your letters.
Margaret.
“Oh, Mom.” Jess breathed the words over a sob, then unable to prevent it, let the rest of the tears come. They were ripped from someplace deep inside, a backlog of anguish she couldn’t have stopped if she’d wanted to, and she used the pillow and downy comforter to muffle the noise. Ten minutes later she fell into an exhausted sleep.
…
Donovan left her as fast as he could, trying to escape the images in his head. He’d been doing a good job of treating her as a source, as the daughter of his friend and mentor, until he’d seen her standing there in her skimpy nightclothes. He would have expected something practical from Jess, like flannel, forgetting that a woman from the Deep South probably didn’t own flannel. What he hadn’t expected was clingy baby-blue nylon that revealed the pert buds of nipples and far more of her long, shapely legs than he’d been able to admire in a skirt. Inappropriate images slammed into his brain and wouldn’t leave.
Normally, he’d enjoy the fantasy. Any healthy heterosexual male would, especially one with his lifestyle of exhausting training missions and sudden overseas trips that left his sex life pitifully deprived. The past year had been especially hectic, with little time to even think about women. Jess Maulier would be a perfect fantasy in any circumstances, so being attracted to her was understandable. But every time he envisioned those shapely legs in high heels, or her feminine curves rocking some skimpy lingerie, he also flashed on Wally’s face scowling at him in disapproval. Jess was his friend’s daughter, and Donovan was exactly the kind of man Wally had wanted to shield her from—a man who attracted danger and courted death on a regular basis. If any woman was off-limits for Donovan, it was Jess.
Besides, he had a bigger concern than his out-of-bounds sexual fantasies, one that hadn’t been addressed yet. One that could kill them as surely as it had killed Wally.
Backtracking through the house, he wasn’t surprised to find Evan sitting in his office, kicked back in his chair and staring at the wall. He wondered if the director was mulling over the same problem that concerned Donovan. Falling into the chair across the desk from him, he waited for Evan to focus on him before asking, “How was Wally’s cover blown?”
Troubled lines creased Evan’s forehead. “I don’t know.”
It wasn’t what he’d wanted to hear. “What did Maya say?” Their informant in Egypt was the last Omega employee Wally had contacted before leaving the country, a move that indicated he knew his communications might not be secure.
“Not much. He stopped by her office at the Cairo museum and left an envelope in her drawer, the usual form of communication when he thought he might be watched. He didn’t say anything specific, so we know he was worried about implicating her if the message was intercepted. That alone says a lot.”
Donovan nodded, imagining Wally’s state of mind. Dread for himself and the hostages. Worry over getting a final message through without implicating anyone else. “What did the message say?”
“It was the usual bland letter thanking her for her help. The essence of it was that his research was complete and had already provided academic recognition.”
Research complete meant his assignment had been accomplished; he’d found the location of the hostages. But he’d been recognized. “Academic recognition? That sounds like he was recognized by someone affiliated with a university.” It didn’t make sense. “How could someone from a terrorist group recognize a college professor from a tiny Midwestern university?”
“Good question,” Evan agreed.
“The second one is even more puzzling—why would they follow him all the way back to his hometown to eliminate him when simply moving the hostages would be easier? When’s the last time you heard of a terrorist organization dispatching someone to do that?”
Evan shrugged. “Never.”
“Exactly.”
They stared at each other in silence. Donovan tried to imagine again what Wally could have discovered that would target him for immediate death. How could two hostages be that important?
Evan leaned forward on his desk, obviously disturbed. “Why the hell didn’t he just come here? He’d be safe, damn it. And he could tell us what he found without having to bury it in trivial bits of conversation.”
Donovan had asked himself the same question. “Maybe he didn’t want anyone to connect him to us. Because they don’t know about us, we still have a shot at rescuing the two hostages.”
“Trading one life on the chance that we can save two? That’s a hard choice to make.”
Evan wasn’t a field operative, so Donovan didn’t bother explaining that it wasn’t such a tough choice. They all went into a mission prepared to do whatever they had to in order to save hostages. Even die. “He must have thought we had a good chance at succeeding.”
Evan shook his head. “Then why did he make it so hard? He gave Jessie a message so obscure we can’t figure it out. Why not just tell her where the hostages are so she can tell us?”
It went to the core of what had been bothering Donovan for the past several hours, and try as he might, he had come to only one conclusion. It turned his stomach. “Because he didn’t want someone in Omega to know.” He flinched when he said it, unwilling to believe it even though he knew there was no other answer.
Evan stilled, studying him closely. “Are you implying we have a mole?” he asked quietly. “Someone who might give information to whoever is holding the hostages?”
“I’m saying Wally implied that, yes. It’s all I can conclude.”
“I don’t believe it,” Evan said flatly. When Donovan didn’t reply, his brow furrowed as he turned the idea over in his mind. Donovan gave him time; he’d had the same reaction. “I don’t want to believe it,” Evan amended. “That means you or Kyle or Avery or Mitch…”
“Or you or Maya or one of the guys working the computers and satellite relays, or guarding the house. A lot of people have access to information if they want it. We trust all of them to be on our side, with the same objective. Obviously Wally wasn’t so sure.”
“But he didn’t name anyone.”
“No. I suspect he realized there was a mole, but didn’t know who.”
“But he didn’t suspect you,” Evan pointed out. “You said he contacted you before he left Luxor, telling you to see Jessie if you needed more information.”
Donovan hadn’t understood the cryptic message at the time. Now that he did it was hard to be glad that Wally had trusted him, not in the face of the greater pain of losing his friend and mentor.
&nbs
p; Evan rubbed his chin as he watched Donovan intently. “I’d say Wally left this up to you. What do you want to do?”
“We don’t have much choice. We’ll limit Wally’s information as much as possible, keep it to you and the four of us on the team. I can’t withhold actionable information from anyone, not if we’re operating as a team. But I can watch for anything suspicious, like giving misleading reports or attempting to make contact with the locals.”
“Won’t that be hard to do, to keep track of what everyone is doing in the field?”
Damn near impossible. “What choice do I have? If there is a mole and I’m watching for a slipup, maybe he’ll give himself away. Or maybe, just maybe, Wally’s suspicion was wrong.”
Evan gave an unconvincing nod. “Maybe.”
Donovan didn’t believe it either. Wally had gone to a lot of trouble to hide the information they needed to find the hostages, even sacrificing his life. He must have stumbled upon something big. Something important.
Something he expected Donovan to figure out.
Chapter Six
They met in a conference room this time and started from the beginning: what was said, what topics Wally brought up, and everything he’d done, right down to the departing hug Jess had reluctantly allowed. Donovan had to admit Jess was as cooperative as possible, but two fruitless hours later she looked ready to quit.
“I’m sorry, I can’t think of anything else. It was all meaningless chitchat except for his idea for a book, which was pretty specific. Stupid, but specific.”
“And a mention of your first book,” he reminded her.
She nodded.
“It has to mean something.” He thought about it for the hundredth time, then turned to Evan. “Did Wally keep copies of her books here?”
“No, why?”
“I just want to see them.” Anything to help him figure out why Wally had pitched an idea for a new one.
“You still can,” Jess said, pointing to the laptop in front of him. “Look them up at an online bookseller. They let you look through the pages.”
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