Secret Vows (Hideaway (Kimani))

by Alers, Rochelle

  Greer leaned forward, the motion seemingly robotic. “Mission Grove?” she repeated.

  “Yes, Agent Evans. Mission Grove,” Bradley said, placing both feet on the floor. Clasping his hands together, he sandwiched them between his knees. “We know you spent your childhood summers there with your aunt and uncle. We also know that you still keep in contact with your uncle even though your mother’s sister passed away three years ago.”

  “What does that have to do with me going undercover in Mission Grove, Agent Plimpton?” she asked when he paused and stared at the floor.

  A beat passed before Plimpton raised his head. “One of our agents was shot near the Mexico-Arizona border during a confrontation with drug smugglers. He managed to kill one of them, and when we recovered their weapons, we were able to trace them back to a man living in the Hood River Valley.”

  “Did you interrogate him?” Greer asked, her voice barely a whisper.

  “We couldn’t.”

  “And why not?” She’d asked yet another question.

  “We couldn’t because he died four years ago. What we did find out was that he’d had a break-in at his home the year before he passed away, yet reported nothing missing. We figured whoever broke into his house wasn’t looking to steal money or valuables but his identity. When I ran his name through the federal firearms database, I discovered hundreds of semiautomatic pistols and assault rifles purchased from gun shops in Vancouver, L.A., and as far east as Texas and Tennessee. We also traced at least a half dozen pistols used by several Seattle gangs back to a gun shop burglary in the Hood River Valley. There have also been a string of similar break-ins ranging from Portland to Mission Grove. Whoever is spearheading this operation has probably amassed an enormous arsenal, selling these illegal firearms to drug dealers. The DEA is dealing with the drug problem, but the sale of illegal firearms falls under our jurisdiction. We’ve selected you to identify the person or persons behind this because you’re familiar with the region.”

  “What I don’t understand,” Greer said, “is why break into someone’s home to steal their personal information? Why not do it electronically? Cybercriminals do it every day.”

  Plimpton shifted slightly when his right hand twitched noticeably. “The man wasn’t online. Whoever stole his identity must have known the victim personally.”

  She knew the states that didn’t require a permit to purchase firearms, although many required licenses needed to carry a concealed firearm. Oregon was one of those states. But if someone was buying guns legally, afterward reselling them to those who couldn’t pass background checks, then that had raised a red flag with the ATF.

  Greer listened intently when briefed about her new assignment. She would become a waitress at Stella’s. Her uncle, former Special Forces Robert “Bobby” Henry knew she and her brother were federal officers. “Have you told my uncle that I’ll be working at his restaurant?”

  Bradley gave her a subtle nod. “Yes. We had to give him clearance because we’re going to use his place for your base of operation.”

  Greer exhaled an audible breath. It made her feel better knowing that she didn’t have to lie to her uncle as to why she’d come back to Mission Grove for an extended stay. “When do I leave?”

  Roland crossed his arms over his chest. “You’ll have tonight to pack and clean out your apartment. A team of agents from the bureau are flying up to Portland tomorrow morning to join in the search for the three missing kids from a nearby campground. They’ll pick you up at four in the morning for a six o’clock liftoff. Don’t worry about your vehicle. I’ll have one of the agents retrieve it from your apartment building’s parking lot.”

  Pushing to her feet, she nodded like a bobble head doll. “I guess I’d better start packing.”

  Roland stood and extended his hand, smiling. “You take care of yourself out there.”

  She took his hand. “I will.” Walking out of the director’s office, Greer returned to her cubicle. It took fewer than two minutes to fill a cardboard box with her meager accumulation of personal items: a coffee cup, several paperback novels, a crystal heart-shaped paperweight and a miniature cactus plant.

  “Going somewhere, Evans?”

  Greer nodded. The auditor peering over her partition had a problem processing the word no when she’d told him she didn’t believing in dating her coworkers. But that hadn’t stopped him from seeking her out whenever she ate in the employee lunchroom. “I’m being transferred.”

  Harold Browning approached her, his hazel eyes widening in surprise. “When did you find out?”

  “Just a few minutes ago.”

  Harold’s sandy-brown eyebrows lifted. “You’re kidding, aren’t you?”

  She shifted the box to a more comfortable position as she picked up her handbag. “No, I’m not.”

  “Where are you going?”

  Greer wanted to tell Harold that she was going far enough away so she wouldn’t have to be annoyed by his persistence. “Portland,” she said instead of Mission Grove. “I have to go.”

  Harold looked as if he was going to burst into tears. He ran both hands over his thinning blond hair. “I’m going to miss you, Evans.”

  “I’m going to miss you, too, Browning.” She would miss seeing him leaning over the partition to her cubicle to greet her every morning and his puppy-dog expression whenever she chided Harold for asking her out. The CPA was as brilliant as he was annoying. He’d pursued her when he should’ve focused his attention on some of the other single women who’d made it known they were interested in him. Why, she thought, did people always want what they couldn’t have?

  Turning on the heels of her rubber-soled shoes, Greer headed for the exit, ignoring curious glances from special agents, investigators, technicians and support staff as they watched her departing figure.

  When she stepped outside, the summer heat hit her like opening the door to a blast furnace, making it difficult for her to draw a normal breath. It was mid-August, and the afternoon temperature was over one hundred degrees. She was going to Oregon, a place where she didn’t have to contend with triple-digit summer heat and hardly a drop of precipitation. Oregon—a spot where all she had to deal with were moderating temperatures and the invigorating feel of rain on her face.

  Even without asking, her prayer had been answered. Greer didn’t want to think about her next assignment once she identified who’d stolen identities to buy and sell firearms to criminals. It was always easier to think about the present, while concentrating on not blowing her cover. Working at her uncle’s restaurant would be like attending a kiddie birthday party. No pressure, no having to look over her shoulder or worry about her backup. All she had to do was keep her eyes and ears open.

  Getting into her compact car, Greer started up the engine. She waited for the vents to blow cooling air over her face before she shifted into gear and maneuvered out of the parking lot. She wasn’t given much time to pack; however, living in a furnished apartment definitely had its advantages. All she had to do was clean out her closets, dresser drawers, put up several loads of laundry and then pack everything in two large rolling duffel bags, one containing her service revolver, bulletproof vest, government-issue laptop, a case with an assault rifle and clips of ammunition. She’d learned to travel light with what she deemed the essentials. If it didn’t fit into the duffel bags, then she could do without it.

  * * *

  Early the next morning Greer turned off the air-conditioner. She took one last look around the apartment where she’d spent the past five months of her life, then walked into the bathroom. When her former supervisor had initiated her transfer with a recommendation to desk duty, he’d claimed she was close to burnout, and the department couldn’t afford to lose one of their best undercover special agents.

  She’d agreed and was grateful for the respite; there were occasions when s
he had a problem remembering who she actually was because she’d been so deep undercover. Looking at her reflection in the mirror over the vanity, Greer brushed her hair and secured it in a ponytail. The purplish tint had faded completely. She’d been tempted to dye it back to its natural shade, but her hair had undergone so many colors and styles during the years she’d been undercover as a special agent for the ATF, she was surprised it would grow to any appreciable length. There was a time when she’d shaved one side of her head. Then she’d affected twists, braids and extensions.

  The sound of the doorbell echoed in the apartment, and Greer left the bathroom to answer the intercom. She punched a button. “Yes?”

  “I have a four o’clock pickup for Ms. Evans.”

  “Come on up.” They’d sent a woman to meet her.

  She punched the button to disengage the lock on the downstairs door. Opening the door to her apartment, Greer stood off to the side. When she saw the man coming up the staircase, she launched herself at him. He wore khakis, a black golf shirt with the FBI logo over the breast pocket and black hiking boots. It was apparent her twin brother had been selected as a member of the team of agents going up to Portland to search for the three boys who’d vanished without a trace.

  “Cooper!”

  * * *

  Cooper Evans caught his sister in midair, holding her against his chest. There was no mistaking they were related. They shared the same golden-brown complexion and slanting light brown eyes; however, Cooper was taller, a more masculine version of his twin sister. He kissed her cheek. Her bare face made her appear much younger than a woman in her early thirties. The desert sun had darkened her complexion to a rich cinnamon-brown.

  “You seem to have fared well for a desk jockey.”

  Looping her arms around Cooper’s neck, Greer pressed her forehead to her brother’s. “Jealous, bro?”

  “Heck, no. I love being in the field.” He tugged playfully on her ponytail. “Let’s go. The others are waiting for us. During the flight, you can catch me up on what’s been going on since we last spoke to each other.”

  * * *

  Although she and Cooper exchanged texts a couple times each week, it was a rare occasion when they were able to talk on the phone, but never about their jobs. Greer again glanced around the living/dining area, then grasped the handle to one of her bags, but Cooper usurped her when he lifted both effortlessly. She left the keys to the apartment on the table in the dining area and walked out, closing the self-locking door behind her. A black Suburban with heavily tinted windows sat idling in the parking lot. Cooper opened the hatch, placing her bags in the cargo area.

  She opened the rear door, slipping onto the third row of seats beside a young attractive brunette who wore a windbreaker stamped with the letters identifying her as a special agent with the FBI. Other than the driver and their lone female agent, two other agents were fast asleep, soft snores echoing in the vehicle’s interior.

  The woman flashed a friendly smile. “Allison Singer.”

  Greer returned her smile. “Jane Evans,” she whispered, introducing herself, while not wishing to wake the other sleeping passengers. Legally she was Jane Greer Evans, but her father insisted on calling her Greer.

  Cooper got in beside Allison and settled back against the leather seat. The driver maneuvered out of the parking lot, accelerating and following the signs to the Sky Harbor International Airport.

  * * *

  The Learjet had lifted off at six, and Greer was rendered speechless when her brother revealed that in another three months he’d become a permanent member of the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team. This meant he would have to deploy on short notice to any location in the United States or internationally. Although she didn’t see Cooper as often as she would’ve liked, the thought of him leaving the country to confront the most complex threats was chilling.

  “Have you told Mom and Dad about this?” she asked him. Their parents had relocated from D.C. to a retirement community in Ashburn, Virginia.

  Cooper nodded. “I discussed it with Dad before submitting my application. He wasn’t overjoyed, but he did give me his blessing. What’s up with your transfer?”

  She told him about the illegal gun sales. Her voice rose in excitement when talking about working at Stella’s. The year they had celebrated their eighth birthday, their parents had sent them to Mission Grove to spend the summer months. They had learned to fly-fish, swim in the ice-cold lake, pick berries for the pies their aunt Stella made for the restaurant and, when they were older, how to hunt and survive in the woods. Greer and Cooper waited anxiously for the end of the school year to board a plane for the cross-country flight. They would always return counting down the months when they would again enjoy a short summer where they existed like wood sprites.

  Pressing his head to the back of his seat, Cooper closed his eyes. “You be careful. I don’t want anything to happen to you where you can’t marry or make me an uncle.”

  Greer landed a soft punch on her brother’s rock-hard shoulder. “I didn’t know you were a comedian. And you of all people should know I don’t want another husband. Been there, done that. Now it’s your turn.”

  “What about making me an uncle?”

  “There’s no way I’d bring a child into this world given my career. What about that nice artist you were dating?” she asked, steering the attention away from her.

  “We still see each other every once in a while.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. We’ve decided not to be exclusive because I can’t commit when I don’t know where I’m going to be next year.”

  “She wants marriage?”

  Cooper stared out the window of the sleek aircraft. “She wants marriage and kids. She claims her biological clock is ticking, and she doesn’t want to wait too much longer before starting a family.”

  “Do you love her?” Greer asked.

  His head came around and he stared at his sister. “Not enough to propose marriage.”

  “Then let her go, so she can find someone else willing to commit to a future with her.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  Greer’s eyes met Cooper’s. “I know I’m right. No woman wants to be strung along wishing and praying her man will step up and do the right thing.”

  Cooper and Greer continued their whispered conversation until the jet touched down on a private Portland airstrip. He kissed her goodbye, then followed the other agents to a Suburban, while Greer was escorted to a Ford SUV.

  The last time she’d seen her uncle was before her final undercover assignment. It was as if the light had gone out behind his bright blue eyes. It had been her aunt Stella who had helped Bobby adjust to civilian life, had encouraged him to open the restaurant and had taught him to cook the dishes that made Stella’s a favorite restaurant among locals and tourists.

  Waiting until the driver stored her luggage in the cargo area of the SUV, Greer slipped onto the rear seat. Opening her handbag, she took out her cell phone, scrolled through her contacts and punched the number to Stella’s. It rang twice before she heard a familiar gravelly voice.

  “Stella’s.”

  “Uncle Bobby, this is Greer.”

  “Where are you?”

  “We touched down few minutes ago. I should be there in an hour.” It was about fifty-five miles between Portland and the Hood River Valley.

  “Did you eat?”

  “I had a little breakfast.” Her little breakfast was a cellophane-wrapped sweet bun and a cup of coffee.

  “I’ll fix something special to welcome you back.”

  Greer smiled. “I’d like that, Uncle Bobby.”

  Ending the call and slumping lower in her seat, she closed her eyes and did what she should’ve done during the flight: sleep.

  Chapter 2


  Mission Grove, Oregon

  The flight attendant leaned over her lone sleeping passenger. “Wake up, Jason. We’ll be descending soon.”

  Jason opened his eyes, sat up and peered out the oval window. “Thank you, Carrie-Ann.”

  He’d asked the attendant to wake him a half hour before they landed so he could shower and change clothes. He’d flown over three thousand miles and not once had he looked out the window. When the Gulfstream G550 became airborne and the seat belt light extinguished, he’d reclined the seat into a queen-size bed. It’d become customary for him to sleep during the flight from Florida to Oregon. The three-hour time difference played havoc with his body’s circadian rhythm for several days, but sleeping around the clock the first day was the trick in keeping the effects of jet lag at bay.

  Coming to his feet, he walked into the bathroom, stripped bare and stepped into the shower stall. Turning on the faucets and adjusting the water temperature, he soaped his body with a shower gel anchored on a built-in shelf. Jason had surprised his parents when he’d announced that he’d bought property in Oregon near the Cascades on which he’d built a sprawling house he dubbed Serenity West. It was where he spent four to six months each year writing and recording new music. This year was different because he’d delayed traveling to the Pacific Northwest for two months.

  Once his father had relinquished the day-to-day operation of Serenity Records, an independent recording label, to Jason and his twin sister, he and Ana had continued the trend of discovering new and innovative musical talent. Ana handled contracts and all legal negotiations, while he worked behind the scenes as the artistic musical director writing, recording and editing music.

  Usually he left Florida the beginning of June, but when Ana had gone into hiding, it had become Jason’s responsibility to run the company. Once they had discovered there was a mole at Serenity passing information to a rival record company, he’d closed the office, relocating it from a high-rise office building to a freestanding structure outfitted with the latest high-tech surveillance equipment. He’d contracted with a security company to install cameras inside and around the perimeter of the building to monitor everyone coming and/or leaving. All employees were vetted, given electronic badges to swipe in and out, even if they went to their cars in the parking lot for any reason. The tight security was necessary to ensure the safety of everyone associated with the company.