Surviving the Fall (Hidden Truths Book 4)

by Brittney Sahin

  “Hell, no. That’s your department.” Michael scratched the side of his head as if he wasn’t sure what else to say. “I, uh, just found out that you have amnesia right before I came in here. Seeing you alive was a shocker—an amazing one—but then . . . shit, I’m so sorry. This must all be awful for you. But I’m going to find out who did this to you, I promise. The SOBs will pay.”

  Jake barely heard what Michael said. Instead, he sputtered, “We must be close if I was in your wedding.”

  Michael’s mouth went round as his eyes widened. “You remember? I thought—”

  “Not quite. I had a flash of memory—you were asking me to hold on to some rings.” Jake shrugged, which was a bad idea. It brought about a pain like being needled in the ribs with a hot poker. “That’s all I got.”

  “Oh. That’s something, anyway. Maybe the rest of your memories will come back soon.” The man’s voice was low and strained, and Jake wondered what emotions he was tucking away beneath his steely surface. Had the man ever shown an emotion in his life? Did he know how to laugh? Jake couldn’t fathom how he might have become friends with someone who was so aloof.

  “Every time a memory tries to resurface, it makes me dizzy and nauseous. I think I need a damn break from memory lane.” He blew out a breath.

  “Sorry . . . I had to come as soon as I found out about the explosion and—”

  “What is it that you do?” Jake couldn’t help but interrupt. His mind was spinning as he tried to make sense of the stranger—who wasn’t really a stranger—standing before him.

  It was all so damn odd.

  Michael smiled and shook his head. Well, at least the man was capable of a smile. “I do a little bit of everything.”

  Well, that wasn’t entirely helpful. “You have any clue what I’m doing in London, at least?”

  “Honestly, no. You’re one of the leading specialists on counterterrorism in the U.S., though. You head up the unit in Dallas.”

  Jake was beginning to miss football. A concussion sounded much easier to deal with. “How the hell did I end up in counterterrorism?” Oh, God. He started to shake, and his core squeezed.

  He grabbed the bowl and shoved it up to his face, but he knew his empty stomach would produce nothing. “Fuck,” he yelled, just as the nurse entered. He blinked away whatever memories tried to resurface. He couldn’t deal with them right now.

  “Oh no. Again?” Lisa was at his side, prepping a vial. “This will help.” She inserted a substance into the IV. “This should also calm you a little.”

  “Calm me?” Jake looked up from the pink plastic bowl. “What’d you give me?” His eyelids flickered shut a few times as his head grew light and everything became a little fuzzy. “I didn’t want that shit.”

  “You said no pain meds, but this is for anxiety.”

  “You think I’d want that?” he mumbled before resting his head on the pillow. The medication felt good, as much as he didn’t want to admit it. It helped ease the tension in his body.

  “Sorry.” As she disappeared from the room, he regretted yelling at her. It wasn’t her fault.

  Michael faced Jake again with a darkness in his eyes, a shield of armor protecting him from whatever emotions he didn’t want to reveal. But Jake didn’t have that luxury—everything was new to him. His memories cascaded to mind without his permission, absorbing him as though they were happening for the first time.

  “I don’t want to bombard you with too much right now. I’m just so damn thankful you’re alive. And I promise that I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  “Maybe I want to disappear back in time and forget the last twelve years.” Jake shut his eyes, hating how pathetic he sounded.

  “Get some rest—you need time to process all of this.” Michael placed a hand over his heart. “Hell, so do I.” His voice wavered a little as he spoke.

  Jake forced his eyes open, and Michael averted his attention to the floor. “Listen, Jake. You may not remember, but you’re like a brother to me. You saved me more times than I can count.”

  What did I save you from, if you’re not an agent?

  “The guys always joke that I’m the glue that keeps us together, but that’s just not true.”

  What guys?

  “You’re the heart of us all, and without you . . . well, shit, we need you. And I’m not gonna give up on you. None of us will.”

  Maybe the man wasn’t cold hearted, after all.

  Michael moved to the door and glanced over his shoulder at Jake before nodding goodbye.

  Jake pressed his hands to his face. But there was no time to process his emotions. The sound of shoes smacking against tile came nearer.

  “He shouldn’t have come here. The fact that he figured out your location means we need to scramble out of here faster than I’d like.” Trent was standing by the bed, arms folded.

  “That’s fine with me. I’m itching to get back home.”

  “You think you’re going home? Hell, do you even know where home is?” Trent shook his head.

  Thank you for rubbing that in my damn face. “And where am I supposed to go?”

  “Somewhere safe,” Trent grumbled. “We should probably get out of here tonight or by tomorrow, at the latest. You think you’re up for a flight?”

  No. But he wasn’t going to admit it. “I’ll be fine,” he said as the news station grabbed his attention.

  He scrambled for the remote at his side and increased the volume.

  “Still no updates on the explosion at the old abandoned textile mill just outside of London. Most certainly, American authorities will be investigating the matter in conjunction with the London PD, given the tragic death of the American at the mill. The American, whose name has yet to be relinquished, died during surgery at the hospital following the explosion. Our thoughts and prayers are with his family back in the United States.”

  Died during surgery?

  The female reporter’s words had the hairs on Jake’s arms standing. “We’re going live to footage now from our chopper—it looks as though the London PD is investigating a small cabin about two kilometers from the location of the blast.”

  There was an aerial view of a home surrounded by police cars and flashing lights, as well as vans and other news reporter vehicles. “It appears they brought in SOCO—scenes of crime officers—so we have to assume the London PD have found something in conjunction with the explosion.”

  “Fuck me.” Trent reached into his pocket and grabbed a cell phone.

  “You can say that again. Do people think I’m dead?” Jake tried to sit up in his bed, and his mind reeled once again. No wonder that Michael guy had looked like he’d seen a ghost.

  Trent lowered the phone in front of him for a moment while directing his attention to Jake. “As soon as we positively identified it was you, we requested the cover story about your death, and we asked for you to be moved into isolation.”

  “Does my family think I’m dead?”

  “Your name hasn’t been released, and we haven’t told anyone you’re even here. So, no. No one other than the bastards who did this to you think you’re dead. Michael’s got government contacts—that’s how he found out you were here.”

  “Oh.” He wasn’t sure how he felt about this. Why did people need to think he had died?

  “But this is why we can’t have you going back home to Dallas. We need whoever held you captive thinking you’re six feet under. I don’t want them coming after you again.”

  Chapter Seven

  Alexa sat on the white leather sofa in the sitting area off to the side of Laney’s desk. Her fingernails curled against her thighs as she tried to slow her pulse, staring out the window. Clouds were like steam puffs of fog hovering outside, hanging in the sky above the Thames.

  She still couldn’t believe Mr. New Year’s Eve was an FBI agent and the American involved in the explosion. How the hell can this be happening?

  Laney was on her phone, standing behind her desk. “I agree wit
h Special Agent Shaw on this—it’s a complete circus. Get the media out of there. And let’s have London PD removed, as well. We’re now working with Secret Service on the investigation, and we don’t need all of this news. The media is giving the terrorists step-by-step guidance on our every move.” Laney was quiet for a moment, and Alexa could hear a deep male voice snapping out words through the phone.

  “Of course it was terrorists who tried to blow up the American agent. What do you mean, we don’t know for sure . . . Give me a bloody break.” Laney crossed one arm over her chest, supporting her elbow as she held the mobile tight to her ear.

  If MI6 was now dealing with the explosion, Alexa hoped Laney would divert other resources and agents to the investigation. She needed to stay focused on @Anarchy to stop their next attack. Besides, Alexa couldn’t be involved in this—it was a conflict of interest. Well, Jake Summers didn’t remember her, but at some point, he might.

  Laney’s liquid brown eyes focused on Alexa as she removed her glasses. She shook her head, demonstrating her irritation for whatever government official in Parliament was pissing her off on the other end of the line.

  “Yes, I’ve thought about that. But the Secret Service and I have decided it is in our best interest to let everyone think the American died in the explosion. Besides, the request came from the White House.” Another pause followed by more male chatter on the line.

  Laney blew out a long-winded breath. “It’s not so simple. Whoever held the FBI agent hostage may have been planning a terrorist attack. I hardly doubt the attack was to hit an abandoned mill and only kill one person. I guarantee they were planning something else and this agent escaped. He may have knowledge that can help prevent the next attack.”

  Alexa tried to wrap her head around what she was hearing. She couldn’t imagine Jake Summers being tortured by terrorists—and how the hell did he escape? Or . . . had he? The whole situation was borderline insane.

  “If the terrorists think the agent died, they may still go ahead with their plans. But if they know he’s alive but don’t know he lost his memory, they’d cancel, right?” Alexa interrupted. She had a feeling that this was what the man on the other end of the line was arguing. And he had a point. Okay, so maybe Jake’s captors would come after him if they knew he was alive. But he could be protected, and at least they would have thwarted an attack.

  “Let me call you back.” Laney ended the call and tucked her mobile back into her pocket. She approached Alexa, who was now on her feet in front of the sofa. “Think about this, Alexa. This man might be our only lead to finding out what his captors have planned, but if they think he’s alive and they change their plans, his intel will be absolutely useless.”

  “Isn’t this risky? I mean, we’re relying on this agent to get his memories back fast enough to corrupt the plans of a terrorist group . . . and, hell, we don’t even know who had him or what their true intentions are.” Alexa folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. “I think we should let everyone think he’s alive and then use him as bait. Then they will be coming to us.” Oh, God, am I really suggesting to use Mr. Wonderful as bait? What is wrong with me? But the job had to come first. It always came first.

  “And you don’t think they’ll be expecting that?” Lines scattered across Laney’s forehead, making her look older than her forty-five years. Her normally smooth, mocha skin was tainted with streaks of worry. Still, her black hair remained perfect in a tight bun, as always, every hair pressed down in place. Alexa would have clawed at it with frustration on a daily basis if she had Laney’s job.

  “They who?” Alexa shrugged.

  “ISIS. Al Qaeda. One of the other many groups we have on our list,” she countered.

  “It’s obviously your call,” Alexa grumbled.

  “It is,” Laney sharply responded. “But I won’t drag you onto the case. Clearly, you don’t want to be involved. Besides, I need you working on the Anarchy case.”

  “Thank you.” And yet, some strange pang in her stomach had her placing her hands there. “Who will you put on it?” she asked. She couldn’t do it herself, but she wanted the best working the case. Her “perfect” man from last year—who apparently wasn’t perfect because he was a federal agent—well, his life was on the line.

  “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll have Seth run lead and work with Secret Service.”

  “He’s good, but—”

  Laney’s hands went to her hips. “Now you have an opinion?” She raised a perfectly arched brow. “And you still need to tell me what you learned from your hospital visit. I had Xander look into Sicily, but he came up empty so far.”

  “Can’t we just ask the Americans? Whatever happened in Italy must be connected to the bombing, right?” Alexa shrugged.

  “Well, you don’t need to worry about it, remember? You don’t want on the case.”

  Just what she needed—sarcasm from her boss.

  A knock at the door curbed Alexa’s response, which was probably for the best. Just because Laney had taken Alexa under her wing like a sister didn’t mean Alexa could snap at her. The woman was still her boss and the chief of the agency.

  “Come in,” Laney said.

  It was Sam, Xander, and Matt.

  “Hey,” Xander said, nodding Alexa’s direction.

  “Got anything?” Laney asked.

  “I think you’d both better sit down,” Matt said, his brown eyes, which had a touch of honey gold to them, met Alexa’s.

  Well, shit, that’s not good.

  Laney folded her arms across her chest, and Alexa mirrored her move. “Tell us,” Laney instructed.

  Matt nodded to Sam, who clutched his tablet tight between his hands and swallowed. “Well, remember I mentioned Reza was in Italy recently?”

  “I read your report earlier, but I’ve been busy.” Laney tipped her head for him to continue.

  “It took some time, but I finally decrypted the two messages Reza received. I haven’t been able to narrow down the source of the emails to a specific IP address, but the messages pinged off a router within two kilometers of the mill explosion site.”

  Sam’s brown eyes focused on Matt for a moment; Xander’s jaw remained locked as his eyes steadied on Alexa. She took in a long, deep breath.

  “I didn’t think much of the messages after I decrypted them—not until Xander mentioned Sicily.” Sam looked back at Alexa, and then to Laney. “The first message was sent on January fourth at ten p.m., and it said, ‘The Eagle has been received.’”

  “Eagle’s the code name Anarchy uses for American agents,” Alexa blurted.

  Sam nodded. “And the other message was sent January eleventh—five minutes before the explosion in London. It read, ‘The Eagle is loose.’”

  “Loose?” Laney shook her head in disbelief. “So, you’re saying you think Anarchy is responsible for kidnapping the American agent? And the agent escaped, that message was then sent, and the explosion occurred directly after?”

  Alexa’s fingers slipped up to her lips. She had thought the situation was messy before, but if the explosion at the mill was tied to the @Anarchy case . . .

  “Yes, we think that whatever attack Kemal Bekas is—or was—planning is somehow connected to the American,” Xander said.

  “And we’re basing this all off a few vague messages?” Alexa asked. She knew they were right to draw those conclusions, but she didn’t want them to be true.

  “We should confirm with the Americans that Jake Summers was in Italy when he was taken, but given that we know Reza was also there, and he received those encrypted messages . . .” Matt showed his palms. “I’d say it’s a safe bet.”

  Laney walked around behind her desk and pressed her fingertips to the metal surface. “Good catch, Sam. Now, what I need you to do is grab as many agents as you can to help you out—scour every transmission you can find going to and from Reza before and after those emails. I know you already checked, but look again. There has to be something we missed. Come back with something.�
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  “Will do, ma’am.” Sam gripped his tablet and hurried from the room.

  Xander nudged Alexa in the shoulder and her eyes widened, surprise flickering through her at the sudden turn of events.

  “Our main priorities are finding out why Anarchy kidnapped the Fed, and what they have planned next. And we need to be able to link this all back to Kemal Bekas so we have enough evidence for Parliament to give us the green light to take him down.” Laney’s eyes shifted to Alexa. “Looks like you’re on this case, whether you like it or not.”

  Alexa went over to the sitting area and sat back down on the sofa. “Okay. But,” her voice stuck in her throat, “there’s something I need to tell you all.”

  Matt and Xander exchanged looks and crossed the room to join Alexa. “What is it, Alexa?” Xander asked as he sat down next to her, his hand slipping to her back.

  “The thing is, I know Jake Summers,” she said softly, looking over at Laney.

  “You do?” Laney placed a hand over her mouth, and the light from her diamond ring caught Alexa’s eye.

  “I met him at a New Year’s Eve party a year ago in London. He never mentioned he was FBI.” Alexa bit her lip, not entirely comfortable discussing her sex life with her coworkers or boss. “We hung out for about a week and then he went back to the States. We never spoke again after that.”

  “And you’re only now telling me this?” Laney sank into her chair and rested her elbows on her desk.

  “Sorry. When I realized it was him in the hospital I was in shock, I guess.”

  “Alexa.” Xander’s voice pulled her attention. She peered at him over her shoulder; his eyes were focused on hers. “You think it was merely a coincidence that you met a year ago or—”

  “Why was he in London?” Matt interrupted.

  “He said his sister invited him for the holiday to meet her new boyfriend who lives here.” She looked down at her pants as her fingertips buried themselves in the soft material.