Double Vision (Unknown Identities #2)

by Black, Regan

  She stared, slack-jawed at the picture of Renata. Blindfolded, bound wrist and ankle to a metal chair, with a dark cloth blocking any clues to the location, she faced the camera. The words "Please cooperate" were printed on a sign propped in her lap.

  "Oh, my God."

  Jeremy gathered his phone as Torry returned. Accepting the espresso, he sipped, and then complimented Torry with such enthusiasm Selena nearly vomited into her latte.

  When Torry headed back to the kitchen, she nearly threw her cup at Jeremy's face. "That's fake." It had to be. Despite the stylish citrine ring on the middle finger of the right hand, she refused to believe that woman was her cousin. "You hired someone to pose in that chair." He probably convinced the woman it was an amusing prank.

  "Did I? I'm surprised you're willing to take that chance."

  Selena leaned across the table, putting as much steel into her voice as she could muster. "No one has reported her missing."

  "Your cousin once boasted about her very flexible schedule with the Italian diplomatic corps. Plans can change dramatically from one day to the next. Hour to hour sometimes, I believe she said. Who can tell if she isn't where she is supposed to be? Wasn't she on a flight to Madrid a few days ago?"

  She was. And wearing that ring. Selena felt the blood drain from her face. She struggled to breathe. The keys to Renata's apartment were in Selena's purse so she could check the plants and take in the mail while her cousin traveled.

  Good grief, it was only a watch. A Rolex, but still a watch. Why was the man over-the-edge crazy to get it back?

  "Do you need some irrefutable evidence your cousin is in peril? I could arrange it, but it's messy and I don't believe either you or she would appreciate it."

  She pinched her lips together and shook her head. It was just a watch. Even if that wasn't her cousin in the chair, Renata would forgive her for the theft if it meant neither one of them ever had to see Jeremy Galloway again. "You've made your point."

  "Have I indeed?"

  She managed a tiny nod despite the tension gripping her neck.

  "When and where I want it delivered?"

  She slumped back in her chair, defeated. "You're holding all the cards."

  "And your cousin too." He chuckled at his sick joke. "Let's meet in your showroom at one a.m. Will that work for you?"

  "Tonight?"

  "Yes." He stared at her for another few seconds. "No police, no outsiders, or Renata pays the price. Just you, me and the watch."

  She hated how small he made her feel. It was a wonder there wasn't a puddle of slime pooling under his chair. Even if she could get a cop to listen, the local police couldn't determine if Renata was living it up in Spain or a tied to a chair in a dark, featureless room. She didn't think he would respect the loophole if she dared call on family for help. No, the easiest way out was to give him what he wanted.

  "I'll get you the watch," she said. "And I'll let you keep it as long as Renata is at the exchange."

  "Ah, then we have a deal." He offered his hand to shake on it, but she kept her hands folded in her lap. "She expressed a desire to be rid of my company."

  "Good. Me too." She thought her molars might crack from the grinding. "Now leave," she hissed.

  "I'll go just as soon as I've finished this excellent espresso." He sipped again.

  She wanted to snap off the pinkie he raised so properly. She'd been through the etiquette classes too. Never once had she imagined the tedious training would prevent her from launching a personal assault.

  "You are a lovely girl. Your family must be so very proud."

  Another threat? She carefully, deliberately inhaled and exhaled through her nose. "Tonight's exchange will end our association."

  It wasn't a question and they both knew it, but he tilted his head as if giving the idea some thought. "That should be acceptable."

  Should be? It damn well would be. She'd find a way to make sure they never crossed paths again. There had to be a way to save Renata. There had to be someone she could contact without him finding out.

  "Your phone has been cloned. Your computer is being monitored." He set the espresso cup with a quiet clink against the tabletop. "Do as I've asked and do not think to double cross me, Selena. I don't believe you could live with the consequences."

  His eyes were cold and hard. Cruel. Whatever his manners or background, in this moment, he let her see his complete lack of compassion or mercy. Here she was sharing coffee with a ruthless criminal, a man who made it clear he wouldn't hesitate to kill Renata or anyone else to get his way. She squeezed her toes inside her boots to still her quaking muscles.

  He stood up with a bright smile. "Until tonight, my dear." Reaching for her hand, he lifted it to his lips and brushed her knuckles with his lips.

  Selena wanted to jerk free of the contact, but couldn't risk the questions that would raise. She barely kept herself together as he walked out of the deli, blending in with the pedestrians on the street, like a snake sliding away into tall grass.

  She rubbed her arms and closed her eyes, wishing she could hit a rewind button on her life.

  Chapter Two

  New York City, 2:40 p.m.

  With the lunch rush over soon Adam Maxwell could retreat to a more serene location. The city was too full of holiday cheer and he couldn't wait for Santa's arrival so the extra happy would be done. He needed a few hours of undisturbed quiet away from the ever-shifting sea of humanity.

  He wasn't jealous. A man who'd never had a family didn't know what he was missing. He was just being practical.

  The holiday hype gave people a false sense of security. Something he'd frequently exploited in his previous career and his new role as well. The pickpocket at the crosswalk was exploiting that same holiday ignorance right this minute. The victim, a well-dressed businessman in a wool overcoat would be surprised to find he'd treated someone to a very happy holiday.

  "Fraud alert," Adam mumbled. If only the fraud alert he was waiting for would hurry up and arrive. He glanced down to the cell phone attached to the food cart, but so far, the account he was monitoring remained legit.

  "Come on. I know you're on the hook," he said through teeth clenched against the cold weather. It beat the hell out of the previous days of rain, but without a blanket of snow, the sudden winter-like temperature was inconvenient, not cheerful. "Just make contact already."

  From behind dark sunglasses, he watched the pedestrians scurry through the cross-walks as the light changed. He preferred to look through them, rather than at them. Better yet if he could make his unruly brain see the passing humanity as one large mass of thermal energy.

  It helped, but the respite was always short lived. The moment one individual moved apart from the others, his mind locked on to that person, assessing and evaluating. Clothes. Grooming. Possessions. Taking in the subtle details most people ignored he could assess where a person had been and where they were headed with a high rate of accuracy.

  Too bad his skills couldn't be anything as simple, as beautifully random, as guesswork.

  Damn. The woman in dark, patent leather boots with three inch heels hurried across the intersection. She was too far from the others to blend in. Even if she hadn't been his target, Selena Vaccaro would have caught his full attention now.

  Today her hair was pulled into a high, sleek ponytail. She smiled at the iPhone sporting a new, holiday-patterned case, and then looked up toward her showroom window. Ah. Definitely a text message from someone on her staff. They sent her sales updates whenever she was away on other business.

  He had to admit, the full lips were sexy, stained with a dark lipstick. From his vantage point it looked like the color matched the polish on her fingertips peeking from her fingerless gloves. Her toe nails would match as well. She was that kind of woman. Today, her jeans were faded, but he could tell the professionally distressed denim had been custom tailored.

  He closed his eyes, tried to turn it off. Hopeless.

  The jacket, collar tu
rned up against the weather, looked as pristine as the shoes. He recognized big money without the aid of the file he'd been given on her. It hadn't been noted specifically in the file, but she must have good hired help at home. No one could keep that gloss on leather in a New York City winter without help.

  What the hell was he thinking? Clearly a week undercover in the Garment District was a week too long.

  Two men shuffled up to the cart. "Anything left?" The bigger of the two men blew into his chapped hands.

  "Sure." He reached into the warmer. Adam welcomed the distraction. "Anything new for me?" he asked as he handed over two paper sacks full of the day's leftovers. The homeless pair kept him informed of any activity behind the showroom and helped him keep tabs on Vaccaro's employees.

  "Not really," the shorter man said. "That fancy boy what works there just stepped out for a smoke is all."

  Adam knew from the searches from Vaccaro's business computer that the 'fancy boy' was looking for a way to quit smoking whenever he wasn't busy with customers.

  When his homeless assistants wandered away, he spotted Vaccaro striding into her showroom. Guess she'd had lunch elsewhere today. Probably at some posh little café with another up-and-coming designer eager to grab some space in her elite showroom.

  He gave the woman credit for running a successful business without any obvious ties or help from her well-connected family. But that didn't mean she wasn't up to something far more dangerous and a lot less legal in her free time. He just needed to catch her in the act.

  And he would.

  Assigned here by a man he knew only as Messenger, Adam had been told other operatives had tried and failed to connect Vaccaro to a covert operation out of Europe hired to acquire a chip containing advanced medical nano-technology that had mysteriously ended up on a black market auction block.

  If she had it, or knew where it was, she certainly wasn't in a hurry to complete the sale.

  All of the skills that had propelled him to the top of the food chain as a spy had been magnified to a nearly unbearable level after his months training with the Unknown Identities program. He was counting on those enhanced skills empowering him to succeed where the others had failed.

  A well-dressed businessman with a signature confidence approached Adam, stopping just past the food cart. "Walk with me," he ordered in his smooth, cultured voice.

  Even if Adam had any real holiday plans, Messenger's appearance so close to an active operation meant a dire end for all events with a potentially happy outcome.

  "Happy Holidays," Adam replied. He raised a hand, catching the attention of the homeless pair. With simultaneous nods, they signaled their agreement to keep an eye on the cart.

  Taking the phone that monitored Vaccaro's business computer activity, Adam fell into step with Messenger. Beneath the dark coat, the suit was a familiar, slightly lighter hue, but the tie, rather than a classic stripe, sported a pattern of holiday ornaments.

  Another bad sign. Deviation in any way wasn't Messenger's MO. The man showed up, assigned a task, and disappeared. The characteristic suit and tie were as much a uniform as anything. When Adam completed the assigned task, money showed up in his bank account. It sounded like an ideal system for an out-of-work spy when Adam had signed on seven years ago.

  It had been by far a better system than being wrongly imprisoned for treason.

  But after assuming so many aliases and occupations that he no longer remembered his own name, Adam's opinion had changed.

  It wasn't so much that he was weary although densely populated areas like this one posed certain challenges. No, it was the ticking clock in the back of his head and the nagging warning that the justice he sought against the spy who'd framed him would never be realized.

  He smothered all outward signs of his reaction to those memories. He'd entered the program to escape, yes, but he'd had a goal as well. Messenger promised one day Adam would have his shot at revenge.

  That promise was the only reason Adam continued to play Messenger's games. His agreed commitment to the program had been five years and as much as he wanted to move on with his life, he wanted to settle that old score first. He sensed Messenger understood that and without the unique resources of the UI program, Adam didn't harbor much hope of getting even and getting away with it.

  Maybe this task would turn out to be the one he'd been waiting for. Despite all he'd overcome along the way, Messenger remained one of the very few things that scared Adam.

  "Looks like business is slow," Messenger observed.

  "On the contrary. You just missed the lunch rush."

  "My loss." Messenger raised one eyebrow. "How are you tolerating the assignment, Double Vision?"

  As codenames went, Adam had heard worse. "I'm well, sir. And you?"

  "I've been better."

  That was a shock. He hadn't expected a real reply. Messenger never said anything personally revealing. "How can I help?"

  "Have you served anyone of interest to me this week?"

  "No one more interesting than Vaccaro."

  "I see."

  Damn. He hadn't meant to say it quite like that. Vaccaro was interesting on several levels. Her beauty and style were readily apparent, as was her intelligence. But she was best known in the neighborhood for her kindness according to the homeless people assisting him.

  Adam kept his eyes straight ahead. One benefit of talking with Messenger was that it required his full attention. While he registered details of people on the street, the exchange kept him from being overwhelmed.

  "Everything of interest I sent on to you, per our agreement." He couldn't recall missing anyone or anything meeting the general parameters Messenger laid out. With his overactive brain, Adam noticed all the details about his customers and most of Vaccaro's. He picked up cues most people didn't even know they were sending.

  Add in the snippets of overheard conversations and the most recent Internet searches conducted on the computer inside her showroom and he still hadn't gained anything conclusive on Vaccaro's involvement with the stolen nano-technology.

  "Right." Messenger reached into the inner pocket of his coat and withdrew a cell phone. "She's been busy today."

  Adam took the phone, half afraid that stuck in his role as a food vendor he'd somehow missed the exchange Messenger had him watching for. He bit back the sudden urge to defend himself until he had more details.

  "Go on and take a look."

  Wary, he pressed the power button and flipped through the images on the screen. Vaccaro leaving her apartment, wearing the clothes she had on today. The photographer caught her crossing the street, a smile on her face. He'd noticed she was one of the few people who smiled in the city.

  Whoever had taken these had been very close and remarkably clever. There was a shot of her at the deli owned by one of her uncles. How the photographer had gotten so close and not been caught was a mystery.

  But Adam forgot composition and covert skills when the next picture came up. A man had joined her at the table. Not some random stranger: Jeremy Galloway. The man who had pinned a deadly intelligence leak on Adam's head and singlehandedly ended a stellar career with the CIA.

  He clenched his teeth against the harsh emotions shivering through his system.

  The man in the picture was the opportunity Adam had waited for. His unspoken Christmas wish come true. Growing up in the orphanage, wishes were useless. The prayers required before meals, bedtime, and at weekly services had been offered by rote, without any hope of an answer.

  "He's using his own name."

  Adam barely controlled his furious outburst. Galloway's audacious habits hadn't changed. "Has the exchange been made?"

  "No. Neither the expected buyer nor the money have moved."

  Good. He glanced up at Messenger. "I can handle this my way?"

  "You've been most helpful in the past, Double Vision," he replied. "I'll send what we have. Do what needs done to secure the data and plug the leak."

  Adam smiled
at the carefully veiled permission to exercise lethal force. If he'd heard sweeter words he couldn't recall them. Throughout his service to the program, he'd accomplished the tasks given, regardless of the personal fallout. Now his patience would be rewarded.

  This holiday season was working out after all. He didn't even need to ask for a lead. Galloway had met with Vaccaro in public. Adam just had to stay on her until she met Galloway's demands. A notoriously impatient man, Galloway would insist that Vaccaro cooperate quickly.

  Messenger cleared his throat, holding out his hand for the phone. When it was safely back in his inner coat pocket he turned to walk back the way they'd come.

  The raw intuition Adam had relied on as a spy whispered across his senses with a jolt of anticipation. Change was in the offing. Would it be good or bad this time? He wasn't sure he cared as long as Galloway paid the price for his crimes all those years ago.

  They'd reached the vendor cart when Messenger spoke again. "You know," his gaze raked Adam head to toe and back again, "I would have thought you would have done more with your time here in the Garment District."

  Adam did a double take. Messenger had just insulted his wardrobe. Like food vendors could afford Armani. Still, the unexpected insult offered Adam something he rarely experienced: surprise.

  "Yes, sir. I'll rectify that before the mission is over."

  "I'm sure Miss Vaccaro could help guide you."

  "Right." Two surprises in less than a minute. It was a banner day. A district bustling with last minute shoppers would be hell on his senses this time of year, but Messenger was right about working that angle to get closer to Vaccaro.

  The man's instincts on when and where to move in the process of a case were almost as uncannily accurate as Adam's.

  "Our best intel is the data has been smuggled in a piece of jewelry, quite possibly in her showroom. Any loose ends are your responsibility, Double Vision."

  Adam nodded, keenly aware that meant anyone who didn't need to know about the job needed to stop breathing before they could talk. Prior to entering the UI program he hadn't killed at all, but thanks to Galloway's set up, no one believed it.