Under the Sheets (Capitol Chronicles Book 1)

by Shirley Hailstock

  Several hours later, he got the final okay. Grant, who should have been able to calm himself during the wait, was as tightly wound as a spring and in no mood for a stowaway.

  The man watching him hadn’t answered his ques­tion. Reaching into his inside pocket, he took an identification folder out and dropped it on the wood-grain shelf separating two oversized seats. The leather pouch made a dull thud as it flopped onto the shelf. Grant stood in the front of the cabin near the door. He lifted the pouch and read the cards inside. Not tonight, he sighed, pushing his cap further back on his head. After everything else, he didn’t need an impromptu inspection.

  "I already have security clearance for this aircraft and for flying government officials. I don’t deal in drugs, weapons, contraband or illegal aliens. The FBI knows that, so why are you stowing away on my plane, Mr.. . .Winston?" he consulted the I.D.

  "Jacob," he said from the bar where he’d begun, without permission, to mix drinks.

  Jacob. Grant froze. It was the last word he’d heard Brooke utter before he’d turned and slammed her door.

  "I was there," Jacob confirmed Grant’s unspoken suspicion. "And I’m not with the FBI. My purpose was to get you out of her life." He finished mixing the drinks and offered one to Grant. "Scotch and water," he said. Grant made no move to accept it. Jacob set the glass down and re­trieved his I.D.

  "I don’t want a drink. I’m flying out of here in a few minutes. What I want to know is why you’re here and how soon you’ll be gone?"

  Jacob picked up his own drink, a whiskey and soda, no orange juice tonight. He needed courage for break­ing the rules—even if it was Dutch. He took a seat facing Grant, propped his ankle over his knee and sipped the icy drink.

  "I’m here to talk to you about your wife," he finally answered.

  Tension grabbed hold of Grant at the mention of his Robyn. Grant took a seat. "What do you need to know about my wife? She’s dead. She died five years ago in an accident. It’s all in my records. And to tell you the truth, I’m in no mood to talk tonight."

  "She told you then?"

  "She?" What was he talking about? Told him what? Grant watched the agent. Unease crept up his spine. He didn’t know why.

  Jacob knew what he was doing was against policy. It was a flagrant disregard for rules, and he lived by rules. But he’d made this decision. "I’m not very good at being gentle," he said. "So I guess I’m just going to have to give it to you straight."

  Grant sat forward in the chair—waiting.

  "The woman you’re flying off to see, Brooke Johnson. . ." Jacob had a copy of Grant’s flight plan.

  "What does Brooke have to do with Robyn?" Grant seized the question before Jacob could continue. His hands were suddenly cold. He was going to confront Brooke with the similarities between her and his wife, and now this man had connected them, too.

  "Brooke is Robyn."

  The statement was spoken quietly, but to Grant’s ears, it was like cannon fire. He felt like he’d been punched in the stomach and then had an elephant sit on him. He couldn’t catch his breath, and he was para­lyzed in his seat.

  "Robyn. . .is. . .alive?" His voice croaked as he asked the question.

  Jacob took Grant’s hand, pressing the cold glass against Grant’s palm. "Yes," he paused. "The accident five years ago was staged."

  Grant threw the drink down his throat and swal­lowed it. The cool liquid stung his mouth, then radiated warmth as it coursed through his chest and into his stomach. Its heat relieved some of the pressure. Yet, Grant couldn’t concentrate. He put his hand up and stopped Jacob when he tried to speak again. Then, he had to get up. He needed to relieve the pressure that was threatening to suffocate him. Yet, he was un­sure of the strength of his legs. It couldn’t be true. He clutched his chest, taking long gulps of air as he stum­bled to the bar for support. The confined space seemed devoid of air. Going to the door, he sucked the oxygen into his lungs, but it wasn’t enough. His hands and feet were suddenly freezing. He knew what it meant to have cold fear. He paced back and forth in an at­tempt to focus on something that would make sense of what he’d just heard. But nothing came, and he found himself covering the same strip of carpet time and again.

  Suddenly, rage consumed him. He’d been right. He wanted to throw something. Anger at the absent Robyn filled him. His body seemed to coil and snap. Finding the glass still in his hand, he threw it at the bulkhead. The exercise acted as a catalyst. It broke the tension. He collapsed onto a seat. Ja­cob moved to sit next to him. He placed another drink in Grant’s hand. He drained it.

  "How?" Grant finally asked. His face was a pale ashy color, and Jacob thought he was going to pass out, but after several moments, he began to focus on reality.

  "Five years ago she was a material witness in a federal case. When the case was over, she went into the Witness Protection Program."

  "Five years ago?" Grant’s brain refused to register. He could remember nothing.

  "Before you were married, Robyn Warren worked for the FBI. She worked in an area she called the Assassination Bureau."

  "She worked there after we were married, too. She said she liked what she did, especially working with the computer." He began to calm, but feeling didn’t immediately return. His body was numb.

  "In the process, she uncovered a group called the Crime Network. We don’t know where they were based. But they only dealt on the highest levels. Robyn identified a mob hitman whose photograph she had seen. All previous reports said he was dead. But she saw him, and through her research she uncovered the plot to kill a man called Anthony Gianelli."

  "Gianelli, I remember the name." Grant thought for a moment.

  "When you were released from Lebanon, his trial was just ending. He was sentenced on the day you returned to Washington. Media attention for the re­lease of the ten hostages pushed him off the front page."

  "What did Robyn have to do with Gianelli?"

  "Gianelli sponsored a modern day massacre. The plot was to assassinate massive numbers of racketeers in major cities across the United States at the same time. She uncovered the plot and the Network in time to prevent them from carrying it out. As it happened, her research also led her into the highest levels of government. In capturing Gianelli, records were un­covered which put many of his connections behind bars including some high ranking members of the FBI. Gianelli was tried and convicted, and the organization was uncovered. Their leader was also convicted, and the Network disbanded."

  "Then why would her life be in danger?"

  Jacob left his seat. He poured himself another drink. "Did she tell you that?"

  "She told me nothing, except not to see her again. And that her life and Kari’s life could depend on it."

  "We know someone or some group is looking for her."

  "But if this guy, Gianelli, was put in jail, and it was his plot to massacre other families, why would anyone still be after Robyn?"

  "It isn’t the mob," Jacob said, returning to his seat. "It’s the Crime Network."

  "Didn’t you say you disbanded the group?" Grant moved to the bar and made himself another drink, half of it disappearing in one gulp.

  "We did what we could, but we knew her life would always be in danger. The number of departments she reached was many and varied. And there was always the possibility of parole or release. In the past five years, discreet inquiries have been made about Robyn Warren-Richards. Some references to Brooke Johnson have also been intercepted. But so far we haven’t been able to find out who’s doing it. But whoever he is, he knows the system."

  "What does that mean?" He resumed his seat in front of Jacob.

  "Everything is computerized these days. But the man accessing information can penetrate deeply into our files and those of some outside data banks. Robyn was one of the people who figured out how hackers were getting in to view sensitive data. Of course, the holes she found have been plugged, but a new one opens for every one we close."

  "How are you controll
ing it?" Grant asked, taking a swallow of his drink.

  "Robyn’s file does not exist on any of the comput­ers, but she does have a file. It’s kept secured, accessible by very few individuals, and they must have top secret security clearance."

  Grant was quiet for a long time. This man wasn’t here telling him this for no reason. He wanted something. "What do you want from me?"

  "Five years ago, Robyn made the decision to go into the program alone. Now, you have to make a de­cision. In order for us to continue protecting her, she and Kari must continue living their lives as they have in the past."

  "Kari!" Grant stood but supported himself against the seat back in front of him. "She’s my daughter?" He asked the question slowly as if each word took all of his breath.

  Jacob nodded.

  Grant dropped his head onto his arms and took sev­eral deep breaths.

  "Robyn found out she was pregnant after she went into protective custody," Jacob explained.

  "Damn her, damn her!" Grant shouted, hitting the cushioned chair. "Why the hell didn’t she tell me? How could she take my child away and never let me know she was alive?"

  The sound of Jacob’s glass crashing into the mirror over the bar snapped up Grant’s head. "Damn you!" Jacob took a menacing step toward Grant. "Robyn Richards gave up her existence so nine men could go home to their families. Nine men, whom she didn’t know, could resume normal lives. She gave them back to mothers and wives who loved them. They don’t even know her name or that she played any part in their release. And she gave you the right to do the one thing you would die without—fly."

  "What are you talking about?" Grant interjected when Jacob stopped for breath.

  "The government pressured her into testifying by using you as a pawn. You were a prisoner in Lebanon. They knew that, and you know the policy concerning terrorists."

  "The United States government does not negotiate with terrorists," Grant quoted the same policy Robyn had quoted years earlier when David had told her about Grant’s plane.

  "Robyn Richards loves you so much she went through pregnancy alone. Then, the trauma of a new face and new identity. She settled in a town where she had no friends. She had to be careful of her words, look over her shoulder, and watch for double meanings in every stranger’s conversation. All of this she did for nine unknown men. And her husband, a man whose past had been so unhappy, except when he was flying, that she couldn’t take his love for the sky away from him. And you want to damn her."

  Grant stared at the man before him. His eyes wid­ened in understanding. Jacob Winston was in love with his wife.

  "Robyn’s in love with you," Jacob said.

  "Then, why did she go alone? Didn’t she know I’d choose her over flying? Didn’t she realize she meant more to me than any airplane?"

  "She understood. She also knew about Project Eagle."

  Grant stared at Jacob not moving.

  Jacob read his reaction. Grant had shut down his responses as any good agent would do.

  "I didn’t tell her." Grant was adamant.

  Jacob ignored the comment. "She knew when she made the decision."

  Grant knew what Robyn would have done given the facts of his part in Project Eagle. He’d flown away that day with the chip concealed in his uniform. He was to meet his contact in France. It was set up, and it was a friendly reunion. When it was over and he found out the full magnitude of the system he’d saved, it was overwhelming. If someone had told Robyn only a fraction of what he was doing, she would have made no other decision.

  "She did it out of love," Jacob told him. "The kind you read about, where one person sacrifices every­thing for the other. Most love is never tested the way yours and Robyn’s has been. I admire her greatly for what she did."

  "So what happens now?"

  "There are two choices open. You can join her in the program. We’d have to give you all new identities, including Kari."

  "Kari’s only four. She wouldn’t understand what would be happening to her."

  "I agree," Jacob nodded. "You’d have to move to a new town and begin again."

  "Or?" Grant prompted.

  "Or we could relocate Brooke and Kari." Jacob held back the fact that they may have to do that anyway. The net closing in on Robyn was getting tighter, and so far, he had few clues as to who was trying to find her.

  "What about this person trying to find Robyn. . .Brooke?" Grant was confused as to which name to use.

  "There’s always the chance something could alert him when the process takes place. But we’d take extra precautions."

  "I see." Grant needed another drink. His capability to fly tonight was gone.

  "Five years ago, Robyn had to make this decision alone, Grant. Now, it’s your turn to decide whether you can go on living as you have since returning from Lebanon and let Robyn remain in her own life, or join her in the program."

  "I either uproot her life or give up my wife and child." Grant dropped into the nearest seat. "It’s a hell of a decision."

  Jacob walked to the barstool opposite Grant. "It’s the same decision she had to make."

  "Let me think about this." Grant felt as if the world had fallen on him. He’d been in love twice in his life and with the same woman. Now, she was the last per­son on earth he had a right to see. For her own safety and that of his only child, he had to decide to live without them or have them make another change. What would this change do to Kari? Brooke had a business, a partner, a life she’d made for herself. He’d worked around the clock to get his service off the ground. She must have done the same. What would she think if he wanted her to give it all up and start over?

  Chapter 17

  Grant woke up, reaching for Brooke. An agonizing groan had him grabbing his pillow and hurtling it across the room when he opened his eyes to find the other side of the bed empty. How was he going to survive this grieving? It was worse than when he thought she was dead. To know she was alive and he was barred from seeing her, holding her, making love to her, was a sadistic decision. He couldn’t live like this.

  Swinging his feet to the floor, Grant hung his head in his hands. It throbbed with a blinding intensity. The sheets were twisted and tangled as if he’d battled de­mons in his sleep. The headache had been with him for over a week, since the night Jacob Winston had invaded his airship and opened his eyes to the real danger he could cause his wife. His wife. He couldn’t really believe Robyn was still alive. For five years, he’d lived without her, finally coming to terms with her death. Finding out she was alive was like opening a wound.

  And Kari.

  He had a daughter, a child he wouldn’t be able to see grow up. A wife and a child, all he’d ever wanted.

  Jacob had given him no choice. For their safety, he had to leave them alone. Grant made his decision. He’d made several decisions, and each one was as quickly reversed as the first. Pushing himself up, he went to the bathroom. He swallowed two pain pills before turning on the shower. Cold water hit him, dousing the flames that the dreams of his wife brought and making him realize there was no place in her life for him and no place in his daughter’s life for the father she didn’t know she had.

  Twenty minutes later, he was dressed and on his way to the airport. He was busier than he’d been in months. There was little time to think of Brooke or Kari during the day, but his nights were full of them.

  "What have we got today, Adam?" he greeted the chief mechanic outside the hangar of Richards’s Air Service. Grant’s face sported a cheerful smile even if it was painted on.

  "Emergency." Adam’s clear face was set in austere lines. "I’ve been trying to reach you. You’ve got to get a beeper, Grant, or at least a car phone."

  "What is it, Adam?" Grant cut off Adam’s tirade on current technology.

  "Frank’s wife called. He’s in the hospital—appen­dix."

  "How is he?" Grant frowned.

  "He’ll be fine. . .but he won’t be able to take his flight. I need you to deliver a group t
o the Niagara Falls Air Force Base."

  Grant’s eyebrows went up along with his pulse rate. Brooke’s features surged into his memory. Niagara Falls was only a stone’s throw from Buffalo. "Don’t tell me the air force has run out of planes." Sarcasm edged his voice.

  "Apparently, they have," Adam said. "This is a group of reporters following the president, who’s de­cided to make a stop at the training facility in Niagara Falls."

  "Isn’t there anyone else who can make the run?" Grant didn’t want the temptation of knowing he could turn around and find Brooke in his line of vision.

  "I’m afraid not. It has to be someone with a high security clearance."

  "What about Chuck?"

  "Chuck’s not due back until midnight."

  Grant suddenly remembered Chuck was in Dallas at a training class.

  "We’ve got contracts up to our kazoo and more coming in everyday," Adam reminded him. "Every pi­lot we have is busy. I don’t know what’s happening, but at this rate we’re going to have to begin turning business away." Adam smiled at that. Grant returned it with genuine affection. He remembered when they’d joked about being so busy they could be discriminat­ing about their contracts.

  Adam had been with him since they both left Trans-Global. He was the best mechanic Grant had ever seen, and he believed in the air service enough to work as hard as its owner to make it a success. Adam had no official title. He did everything and any­thing that needed doing.

  "I guess it’s you, buddy." He punched Grant’s shoul­der with a soft fist. This is routine for you. You must have made ten to twenty flights to that area in the past year.

  He nodded, not speaking but forcing down the reason for his trips. "I’ll have to wait for them." The unconscious thought was spoken aloud.

  "Yeah," Adam said. "They’re due back tomorrow night. Frank made a reservation at the Hilton. Do you want me to change it?"