Married To A Stranger

by Connie Bennett

  The Charleston Chamber Orchestra provided a musical background so soft and delicate that it didn’t drown out conversations or the sweet tinkling of the central fountain. It was an exquisite setting for the small gathering, which was comprised mainly of the wealthy year-round island residents, a few friends from the mainland and a handful of hotel guests. As the evening progressed, the President seemed to grow increasingly at ease, like a man who was gradually shedding the weight of his work and assuming the new role of vacationing golf fanatic.

  Liz Jermain was making a concerted effort to stay in the background. She was tucked away in the darkest corner of the courtyard, watching everything going on around her. It was such an impressive party that she was almost ready to admit that all the hard work and aggravation had been worthwhile.

  “You’re not mingling, dear. You should be rescuing the First Lady from Katherine Burkhoff.”

  Liz smiled as her grandmother approached, looking positively radiant. Even at eighty, Elizabeth Jermain Bradshaw was one of the most beautiful women Liz had ever seen. Tall and regal, with silver hair and pale blue eyes, she was the epitome of Old World elegance and breeding.

  Liz slipped her hand into Elizabeth’s and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I think the First Lady is holding her own for the time being. It’s the President who needs rescuing from her husband. You know how furious General Burkhoff is about the San Sebastian arms embargo.”

  “Indeed he is. Men do love their wars,” Elizabeth said. “That’s why only women should run the world.”

  “Well, I won’t argue that.” Liz squeezed her grandmother’s hand again. “This is a lovely party, Nanna. I don’t think the gardens have ever looked more beautiful.”

  “Thank you, dear, but if it’s such a marvelous party, why aren’t you enjoying it?” Elizabeth asked. Her voice was mild, but when Liz looked into her eyes she went immediately on guard. She could always tell when her grandmother had something on her mind.

  “I am enjoying it—from a distance. I’ve been in the thick of things for weeks, you know. I deserve a rest.”

  “You’ve been miserable for weeks,” Elizabeth countered. “And it has nothing to do with all the preparations for the President’s vacation. Would you care to tell me what’s going on?”

  Liz sighed with exasperation. “We have the President at Bride’s Bay. Don’t you think that’s enough to distract anyone?”

  “I didn’t say you were distracted, dear. I said you were unhappy. There’s a big difference.”

  “I’m fine, Grandmother,” she said, praying for patience. This was vintage Elizabeth Jermain. She’d had any number of opportunities to question Liz in private, but she chose to do it in a public setting because she knew that the good manners she’d drilled into Liz would prevent her from storming off in a huff. “Not everyone handles stress as effortlessly as you do.”

  “Why thank you, dear, but it’s the source of your stress that concerns me. I think it has little to do with the President, and a great deal to do with the young man you’ve been working so hard to keep hidden.”

  “The relationship wasn’t hidden, Grandmother. It was private,” she said quietly. “And it doesn’t matter now, because it’s over. I’m sorry, Nanna, but I have no intention of discussing this with you. If you’ll excuse me—”

  “There you are, Betsy! I couldn’t imagine where you’d gotten to!” The Judge was bustling toward them, cutting off Liz’s immediate avenue of escape. “What are you two lovely ladies gossiping about?”

  “The Burkhoffs,” Elizabeth replied promptly, letting Liz off the hook. “And I was just about to ask Liz for an update on that dustup with the Hopewells. I’ve never received a satisfactory explanation for why she was so upset the other day when she called and asked for your assistance.”

  “Neither have I,” Liz said. “It’s obvious that they’re not what they seem, but every time I ask Tom Graves about them, he says it’s nothing to worry about.”

  The Judge took his wife’s hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. “I have it on good authority that it’s a matter of national security, which means that it’s a little mystery for which we’ll probably never see the solution.

  “Come on, Betsy,” he said, leading his wife out of the corner. “Let’s go rescue the President from General Burkhoff. They can argue about San Sebastian during their golf game tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  JENN SIPPED her coffee and punched the “enter” key on the laptop computer in front of her on the balcony dining table. Another page with a photograph of a hotel guest she didn’t recognize appeared on the screen, and she studied it for a long moment, trying to visualize the man with darker hair or a mustache, or no hair at all. She still didn’t recognize him, and she yawned as she pressed the “enter” key again to clear the screen and bring up another photo.

  Considering how little sleep she’d been getting lately it felt very early to her, but the gardens below were already buzzing with guests on their way to one facility or another, or searching for mementos from the President’s dazzling but uneventful reception. The souvenir hunters were surely doomed to be disappointed, because the garden had been returned to normal yesterday, leaving no trace of the elegant party that had taken place thirty-six hours ago.

  In a way, Jenn understood how the souvenir seekers felt. She would have given anything to have a keepsake from the event, but the memento she wanted was a concrete image of a face to associate with the Raven. Despite her diligence at the party, she hadn’t seen anyone she recognized, and the same was true of the hours she and Adam had spent yesterday afternoon studying the faces of the spectators and guests who’d been cleared to watch the President play golf from a well-supervised distance.

  The only thing that had stirred any memories at all was when Adam had invited Arthur Rumbaugh and Loreen McKinley up to the suite last night to talk about operations they had worked together. She’d had her first fully formed, concrete memory, one that was more than a fragmented collection of images. When Loreen had talked about how she’d saved Jenn’s life in Beirut eight years ago, Jenn had remembered the whole thing—crawling through a bombed-out hotel, her cover as a reporter completely shredded. She remembered playing a life-and-death game of hide-andseek with the terrorists, who were holding three British hostages, and how Loreen had smuggled her out of the country into Israel.

  Most of all, she remembered how elated she’d been at the end of that long, exhausting journey when she’d seen Jake Carmichael’s worried face waiting for her at the last checkpoint. She remembered throwing herself into his arms and feeling safe, as though nothing could harm her as long as he was holding her—feelings not terribly different from the ones she’d experienced a few days ago in his arms before she’d discovered the truth.

  Jenn hadn’t told Adam how complete the memory had been, but she was still haunted by the emotions it had evoked.

  “Having any luck with the guest list?”

  Jenn drew herself back into the present and advanced the screen to another photograph. “Not yet.”

  Adam was fresh out of the shower, clean-shaven and fully clothed. “I heard you pacing the floor between three and four o’clock this morning,” he told her as he took his seat at the breakfast table. “Did your nightmare come back?”

  Jenn refilled her coffee cup and slid the carafe across the table to him. She was beyond lying to him at this point. “Yes. It came back. Nothing new, though, just a few images that were a little more concrete than the last time. But I still can’t bring Majhid’s words into focus. I know he told me something, and I’m certain it’s important, but I can’t quite make it out.”

  “You will,” he assured her.

  They lapsed into silence as Adam ate his breakfast and glanced through the morning newspaper, which was heavily laced with photographs of the President playing golf. There were pictures of him teeing off, crouching on the green to line up a shot, driving a canopied golf cart, wiping his brow with his “lu
cky" towel and chipping out of a sand trap. There was even a photo taken after the game depicting him shaking hands with the winner—General Burkhoff.

  Jenn had studied all the pictures first thing this morning, looking for anything that might stir a memory, but to no avail. She continued with her computer search while Adam read the paper. Silences like these seemed to be the hallmark of their new relationship. They were operating under a flag of truce, and Jenn was actually managing to be civil most of the time.

  When the quiet of the morning was shattered by the sound of shouting below the balcony, Jenn’s heart slammed into her ribs as Adam got to his feet and peered down at the garden entrance to the hotel.

  “What is it?” Jenn asked, joining him at the rail.

  “Just the press making a nuisance of itself as usual. Looks like the President is headed for the club-house.”

  Jenn relaxed and returned to her chair. “He probably wants to get an early start today because he found out that it’s too hot to play golf in the afternoon around here, even with a stiff ocean breeze.”

  “No, he’s probably getting an early start so that he can lose two rounds of golf today, instead of just one.”

  Jenn smiled at his joke, then caught herself and sobered. At times like these it was too easy to let her guard down. “Who’s he playing golf with today?”

  “He and the First Lady are taking on Senator Martin and his wife. Do you want to go out and work the crowd again?” he asked her.

  “I suppose so. I’m almost through the guest files,” she said, tapping the computer screen. “I want to take a shower, then look through the employee files before I go downstairs, though.”

  “I thought you studied the employee files yester-day.”

  “I did, but that doesn’t mean anything. I never know when something is going to shake loose up here,” she said, tapping her forehead.

  “All right. I’m going down to the command post to check on the President’s itinerary for this afternoon,” he said as he folded the newspaper and tossed it onto the table. “Should I come back for you in about an hour?”

  “That’ll be fine.”

  “Okay. See you then.”

  He started for the parlor, and Jenn found she wasn’t quite ready to let him go. “Adam…”

  He stopped and turned expectantly. “Yes?”

  There was something she had to know. “That incident in Beirut that Loreen and I were talking about last night…”

  He seemed to tense a little as he nodded. “What about it?”

  “You were the control on that operation, weren’t you?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “Did you remember that or did Loreen tell you?”

  “I remembered.”

  “That’s wonderful,” he said with a reserved smile. “Your memory flashes seem to be getting more substantial.”

  “Yes.” She hesitated a moment, then plunged ahead. “Adam, you said you proposed to me eight years ago in Malta.”

  He tensed a lot this time. “That’s right.”

  “And the incident in Beirut was eight years ago,” she reminded him. “Which came first?”

  “Beirut,” he answered. “After you were almost killed, we rented a sailboat and took some time off together to explore the Maltese Islands.”

  “And that’s when you asked me to marry you?”

  He nodded. “I wanted us both to quit fieldwork and settle down in something sane stateside so that we could raise a family. Have a normal life. You said no.”

  “You mean you gave me an all-or-nothing ultimatum?”

  “That’s one way to look at it.”

  If he’d used that dictatorial tone he was so fond of, Jenn could easily imagine what her reaction had been. “Did we ever work together again?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I took the Internal Investigations job right after that,” he replied. “I knew that as long as you were working in the field you’d continue to take chances like the ones you’d taken in Beirut. I was the one who sent you in there and I didn’t want to ever have to do that again.”

  She tilted her head to one side as she studied him. “Did you ever find your normal life?”

  Adam shrugged. “Sort of, I guess. Working Internal Investigations doesn’t make me the most popular guy in the Agency, but the hours are usually pretty regular and I still get to travel a lot. I even do some undercover work from time to time.”

  “Did you ever get married and take a crack at that family you wanted?”

  “Almost. I was this close—” he held his thumb and forefinger an inch apart “—to the altar once.”

  “What went wrong?”

  “I realized she was just a carbon copy of you. She deserved better than being used as a substitute, so I let her go.”

  Jenn didn’t know what to say. He was tugging at her heartstrings, and part of her wanted to believe that he’d really loved her that much. Another part suspected that his portrait of himself was pure manipulation.

  The part that wanted to believe must have allowed her sympathy for him to show, because he chuckled and moved a little closer to the table. “Don’t feel sorry for me, Jenn. I haven’t been pining my life away for the last eight years, gambling, drinking and keeping disreputable company to assuage my broken heart. In fact, I was pretty sure I’d gotten over you until this situation came up.”

  His wry smile faded. “Then I walked into that hospital room and saw you sitting there so pale, so vulnerable, almost too weak to move and more frightened than I’d ever imagined you could be…” He shook his head at the memory. “But you were still cracking wise, still using that sharp tongue as your first line of defense. In that first ten minutes every reason I’d fallen in love with you came flooding back, and I was hooked again.”

  Jenn’s doubts slipped a little further away as trust kept trying to creep in. She decided she’d gotten enough answers for one day. “Thank you for your honesty,” she said, giving him the benefit of the doubt. She started shutting down the computer. “I’m going to take my shower now. I’ll see you in about an hour.”

  Adam recognized the dismissal, but he wasn’t ready to let this moment pass. He’d been doing a lot of soul searching, and he’d realized a few things he wanted Jenn to know. “Can that wait just a minute?”

  She hesitated. “I suppose so. Why?”

  “Because I need to tell you you were right the other day in the briefing room,” he answered. “I did manipulate you more than was necessary. And I did want to earn more than just your trust. I think deep down I think I wanted to see if I could make you fall in love with me.

  “I wasn’t trying to be cruel or pay you back,” he added hastily. “I just wanted to see that look in your eyes again.”

  The tender look in his eyes was nearly Jenn’s undoing. “What…look?” she managed to ask.

  Adam reached out and gently brushed a wisp of hair off her cheek. “Believe it or not, Jenn, you did love me once.” He withdrew his hand. “I’ll come back in an hour or so and see if you’re ready to hit the golf course again.”

  Jenn nodded and sat very still as he left the suite, fighting the urge to cry and trying to figure out why on earth she’d refused his proposal of marriage eight years ago. How could she not have loved him? How could she keep lying to herself now, pretending that what she felt for him was hatred?

  She had to get her memory back. Because it was the only way she would ever be able to separate the Jacob Carmichael who’d asked her to marry him from the Adam Hopewell who’d made her fall in love with him. It was the only way she’d ever figure out what was real, and how much of what she was feeling she could trust.

  She had to make herself remember.

  FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER showered and dressed, Jenn had just finished drying her hair when she heard the door chime, followed almost immediately by a brisk knock. She hurried through the suite, checked the security peephole and was shocked to see Anthony Vernandas impatiently raisi
ng his hand to pound on the door again.

  She opened the door quickly and stepped back to admit him. “Mr. Vernandas. This is quite a surprise. Adam didn’t tell me you were coming.”

  “He doesn’t know yet.”

  “Has something happened?” she asked, concerned.

  “No. Well, nothing of consequence, anyway,” he replied as he moved into the room. “Our colleagues in the Secret Service have gotten their knickers in a knot because they feel that we’ve got too many of our own operatives on site. They seem to believe we’re attempting to trespass into areas of presidential security where we don’t belong. I just came down to smooth a few ruffled feathers.”

  “I see. Please have a seat. I can offer you coffee… or juice?”

  “Nothing, thank you. I won’t be here long. This is a beautiful suite,” he observed as he placed his briefcase on the divan. “Mine is nice, but not half as luxurious.”

  “You were able to get a room?” Jenn asked with a touch of disbelief. “From what I’ve heard, the resort was booked solid for this period months in advance. How on earth did you and all the rest of your people like Rumbaugh and McKinley get rooms?”

  “Ms. Lambert, if we could persuade a U.S. senator like Sam Luccacio to vacate this suite, making it available for you, we can certainly find ways of altering the vacation plans of other guests. You’d be amazed at how many people are willing to change their plans because they’ve won a free week in Hawaii or Florida.”

  Jenn let her skepticism show. “You got a U.S. senator to give up this suite for a free trip to Disney World?”

  “No. But the principle was the same. He got something he wanted, but it required a commitment of time that forced him to give up his vacation, so we got what we wanted.”

  Once again, Jenn found the scope of this operation mind-boggling. “I’ve put a lot of people to a great deal of trouble, haven’t I?”