She shifted the cane her physical therapist had insisted she use for another three weeks and glanced down the road to the right and then to the left. With some effort, she pushed aside the uneasy feeling in her gut and noted the subtle changes to the landscape and the unfamiliar vehicles.
She supposed any neighborhood would have its share of changes over a decade, but Stafford’s close proximity to Quantico Marine Base and its commutability to the Pentagon tended to influence a higher-than-average turnover rate. She had always thought her dad a bit crazy to have moved there, choosing to commute an hour each way to the Pentagon before he retired so she and her siblings could grow up in suburbia.
Stafford wasn’t exactly white picket fences, but it was home to soccer games and marching bands, safe streets, and a number of stay-at-home moms.
She couldn’t say why exactly she felt the need to come here now to hide among the familiar streets and unfamiliar faces. She fought against the image of Salman that tried to form, refusing to let the frightening events of last month take hold. Instead, she pulled her suitcase out of the back of the vehicle and hobbled inside.
* * *
Noah Cabbott stood in his doorway, remote in one hand and car keys in the other. Overtime. On the opening day of March Madness.
Less than three minutes to go in the game he had been waiting all week to watch and he had to leave for work. There was a time-out, and Noah hurried into the garage, hoping to find the game on the car radio so he could catch the end of it on his way to Lorton. The main reason he had agreed to cover tonight’s stakeout was so he would be home for the game, but he hadn’t counted on double overtime.
Normally, he was lucky enough to work a pretty regular nine-to-five workweek. Unfortunately, his newest case wasn’t cooperating with his preferred schedule. He fiddled with the stations for a moment, finding the right one just as the game resumed. He groaned aloud when his team missed a three-pointer and continued to trail by two.
He pulled out of the garage slowly, making sure there weren’t any kids playing in the street. He watched the Harkins boys race down the sidewalk on their bicycles before they disappeared around the corner. Probably late for dinner again.
Though some people might find it odd for a bachelor to saddle himself with a big house in a family neighborhood, Noah knew he needed this sense of community. He had also wanted someplace big enough to hold the various pieces of furniture from his childhood home, a way to sort of recapture the past.
For a brief moment, he let himself remember his own childhood and the way he and his two younger brothers had spent their days exploring the woods near their home. Rain or shine, rarely did they head back home until they heard their father whistle from their back porch. The familiar ache settled beneath his heart as he thought of his own family, and he tried to focus on the sportscaster’s voice.
A quick turnover and basket tied the game, and Noah gripped the steering wheel tighter. He started down the road, barely aware of the pear and cherry blossoms now scenting the air and the streaks of red and orange in the western sky.
His team scored again to take the lead as he passed the Webers’ house. He was three houses past it when the problem registered in his mind. He glanced in his rearview mirror and noticed a vehicle parked in the Webers’ driveway.
His heart rate picked up, a different kind of adrenaline from what he’d experienced with the basketball game pumping through his veins. He swung his car to the curb across from the Hendersons’ house and turned to study the black SUV that was most definitely out of place.
The Webers had left on their mission only three weeks ago and had asked Noah to look after the place for them. He was definitely watching their house now. What would they think if their FBI neighbor let them get robbed less than a month after they handed him their house key?
Noah climbed out of his car and approached the house in the fading light. The street was quiet now, the kids who had been riding by a moment ago apparently now safely inside their home.
Staying on the sidewalk, he strolled casually toward the suspicious vehicle. It was backed into the driveway, and the garage door was open.
Relying on his training, Noah reached for the weapon hidden beneath his jacket inside his shoulder holster. Cautiously, he entered the garage and approached the door leading to the house.
The door was slightly ajar, but he didn’t notice any sign of forced entry. Before he could consider how the intruder had made it into the house so easily, he heard a thud, like something heavy had dropped onto the floor inside the house.
His grip tightened on his gun, and he silently counted to three. Then he reached out with his left hand, pushed the door open wide in a quick burst, and took aim. “Freeze!”
* * *
A bag of flour went flying and exploded onto every surface. A carton of eggs crashed to the floor. Only her training kept Kelsey from screaming out. Instead, she froze, her heart racing. They couldn’t have found her. Not yet. Not here.
Her mind raced with possibilities, avenues for defense or escape. The gun holstered at her ankle, the knife block on the counter, or even the can of black beans that had fallen to the floor. Anything to protect her from the threat facing her. Then the man spoke again in a deep, all-American voice.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?”
Slowly, she pivoted away from the counter where she had set her groceries and held her hands cautiously out to her side. Her eyes landed on the weapon first, a Glock 22. Not the weapon of choice for Salman and his associates. That fact didn’t stop her mind from sending her back to the moment a bullet had gouged into her leg.
She drew a breath and struggled through the memory. She knew Salman and Medrano’s men preferred guns that relied on the quantity of bullets the shooter could let loose in a quick burst, not ones that required training and precision. Slowly, logic worked its way through her brain and overtook her panic.
She forced herself to shift her gaze to the man holding the pistol. When she saw the blond hair and blue eyes, she swallowed a sigh of relief. Besides the fact that his coloring was clearly not Middle Eastern, his stance was too disciplined to have been learned in one of Salman’s training camps. Quite the contrary. He looked like he could be the poster child for her shooting instructor at the farm, the CIA’s training facility.
This man clearly wasn’t associated with Salman or Medrano, so why was he in her parents’ house pointing a gun at her? Convinced now that she was facing a government type, Kelsey answered his questions with one of her own. “Who are you?”
“Noah Cabbott, FBI.” His eyes narrowed, and he looked confused as he glanced around the kitchen, apparently noticing the white dusty film that now covered every surface within a five-foot radius of Kelsey. Then he looked at the three bags of groceries still on the laminate countertop and scowled. “I’m going to ask you again. Who are you? And what are you doing here?”
“I live here.” Kelsey forced herself to look him in the eye, forced herself to offer the truth. She had to remind herself of that truth, that she wasn’t really Taja Al-Kazaz as she had claimed for the past two years. Instead, she offered her real name. “I’m Kelsey Weber.”
“Weber?” He lowered his gun fractionally. “You’re Bruce and Lynnette’s daughter?”
“Yeah.” She reached up and ran her fingers through her hair, a white cloud of flour raining down onto her shoulders. “That’s my picture over there on the mantel.”
Noah turned to the scatter of pictures on the mantel and then looked back at Kelsey as though trying to reconcile the woman standing in front of him with the skinny little girl wearing a pink bicycle helmet. In the photograph, Kelsey’s sandy-colored hair was tied up in ponytails and her two front teeth were missing. Over the years, her hair had darkened to a deep chestnut brown. Not that he would know that at the moment, since she and her brown hair were covered with white.
“I am so sorry.” Noah holstered his weapon and took a tentative step forward. “Your par
ents asked me to keep an eye on the house, but they didn’t say anything about you coming to visit.”
“They didn’t know.” Kelsey looked down at the disaster area. Her cane had fallen to the floor, and it too was flour coated. “What a mess.”
He glanced at his watch and appeared to go through a quick internal debate before he said, “Let me help you clean this up. It’s the least I can do.” Before Kelsey could respond, he moved to the short hallway that housed the small laundry room and retrieved a broom and a dustpan.
Curious as to how this man knew his way around her parents’ home so well, she studied him openly. He stood just under six feet, and he looked like someone who would be just as comfortable in a gym as he was wearing a suit. The charcoal gray jacket he wore concealed his weapon nicely, making Kelsey think it had been tailored rather than purchased off a rack.
Noah set the dustpan on one of the kitchen stools and started sweeping the floor. He shot her an apologetic look. “I guess I owe you a bag of flour.” He grimaced when he noticed the eggs splattered on the cabinets and floor. “And a dozen eggs.”
“Don’t worry about it.” She could hear the faint accent in her voice that came from not speaking English for so long. Kelsey reached for a dishrag and started wiping down the countertop. With some effort, she forced some American ease into her voice. “I was just stocking up since Mom obviously cleaned out the pantry before they left.”
“She gave a bunch of stuff to a young family from church,” Noah said. “They moved into the ward right before your parents left.”
Kelsey looked up at his casual mention of the Church. She couldn’t remember the last time she had heard religion mentioned out loud, except for the frequent praises of Allah that were expected several times a day within Salman’s home. “You’re LDS?”
“Born and raised.”
Kelsey looked down at his left hand, expecting to see a gold band on his ring finger. Noah looked to be about her age, late twenties, but she noted that his finger was bare.
Amusement lit his face. “No, I’m not married. Much to your mother’s disappointment.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply anything,” Kelsey said quickly, acutely aware of how awkward it could be to have everyone assume she should have married long ago. “I just figured if you went to the family ward, you would have a family.”
“Nah. I just got tired of feeling like I was in a meat market.” He shrugged. “I’m sure you know what I mean.”
Kelsey didn’t answer. She couldn’t very well tell him she hadn’t been to church in more than two years because she had been living undercover as a Muslim woman. Instead, she busied herself with unloading and dusting off her canned goods and cereal boxes. She turned toward the cabinet behind her and stumbled.
Annoyed that she couldn’t accomplish even the most basic tasks without the aid of her cane, she leaned down and plucked it off the floor. She used the dishrag to wipe the flour from it and then shifted her weight so she could slide the cereal into the proper cabinet.
“Are you okay?” Noah asked from behind her.
“Yeah.” Kelsey glanced back at him to see the confusion on his face as he studied the cane she held. “I had a little accident last month, and the physical therapist wants me to use a cane until my leg gets stronger.”
“Are you in much pain?” His voice held concern, but she was relieved that pity didn’t accompany it.
“Not really. It’s just cumbersome to get around sometimes.”
“That must have been tough on your parents to find out about your injury right as they were preparing to leave on their mission.”
“They don’t know about it.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Maybe you should tell them.”
“I don’t want to worry them,” Kelsey admitted. “If my mother finds out I’m using a cane, she’ll feel like she needs to come home and take care of me. I don’t want to be her focus while she and Dad are serving a mission.”
“Don’t you think it would be better for her to hear about your injury from you rather than from someone else?” Noah asked. “The population may have grown a lot here in Stafford, but it still feels like a small town. It won’t take long before someone sends them an e-mail and asks how you hurt yourself.”
Reluctantly, Kelsey acknowledged the truth to his statement. “You’re probably right.” She sighed. “I’ll send them an e-mail after I get this mess cleaned up.”
Humor laced his voice. “I think that would be wise.”
She looked at him, a little irritated by both his playful tone and his assumption that the task would be simple. The thought of lying to her parents, of assuring them that her “accident” was just a minor problem to overcome, tore at her. For so many years, she had managed to tell them enough of the truth to satisfy their need to be part of her life but omit the facts that would worry them. Or worse, endanger them. Now she was faced with learning to get past nightmares she couldn’t share and trying to heal before those nightmares could catch up with her.
“Is something wrong?” Noah asked as though he sensed the change in her mood.
Kelsey shook her head and held out a hand to take the broom from Noah. “Thanks for your help, but I’m sure I can finish up here.”
He stopped sweeping and turned to stare at her. “I can spare a few minutes before I head into work.”
“I don’t want to keep you,” Kelsey insisted, acutely aware that this was the first time in years that she had been alone with a man.
She saw the look of puzzlement on his face before he said, “I really am sorry about all of this. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
“That’s okay. Really,” Kelsey assured him as he handed her the broom.
“I guess I’ll see you later.” Noah reached the door before he turned back to face her. “By the way, church starts at nine on Sunday.”
Kelsey nodded and watched him disappear through the doorway. A smile played on her lips as she considered his last words. For the first time in years, she could go to church on Sunday. Here in the United States, there wasn’t anyone to stop her.
Chapter 3
Noah pulled to a stop at the red light leading into the warehouse district in Lorton, Virginia. For a night that had looked so promising an hour ago, it had quickly taken a downhill turn. Kelsey had seemed understanding enough about why he had felt the need to pull his gun on her, and he had hoped his blunder would remain their little secret for the next fifty or sixty years.
Unfortunately, Patty Henderson hadn’t seemed quite so eager to sweep the incident under the rug. In fact, she was known to be the one person in the neighborhood who always knew everything about everybody.
She had apparently seen him draw his weapon and enter the Webers’ house. Eager for news, she had intercepted him on the sidewalk near his car. After scolding him for scaring poor Kelsey to death, she had admitted that she had thought the SUV parked in the driveway belonged to Kelsey and suspected that perhaps she had come home for a visit. It might have been nice if she had shared that knowledge with him before he had stormed into the Webers’ house.
When he turned on his car radio, he remembered the game. Impatiently, he waited several minutes for the latest sports updates only to find out his team had lost by one point.
Not surprisingly, traffic resembled a parking lot on I-95, even though he had presumably been going against rush hour. Instead of being ten minutes early like he had originally planned, he was now going to be fifteen minutes late. He glanced down at the clock on the dashboard. Make that twenty minutes late.
He shook his head in disgust. Devin Byers had been working this case since the beginning, and he had lectured Noah just yesterday about how critical it was that everyone be in position before Medrano’s men changed shifts. The first of four text messages on his phone indicated that Devin had hit panic mode before Noah had even left Kelsey’s house. Noah had responded to let him know he had been unavoidably detained, but that hadn’t prevented Devin from se
nding him a new message every five minutes.
Noah’s phone chimed, and he gritted his teeth. He knew how important this assignment was, just as he also realized what was at stake. A possible terrorist attack on American soil.
The up-and-coming arms dealer, Ruben Medrano, had surfaced on the FBI’s radar nearly two years before, when someone in intelligence had tipped them off. Noah wasn’t sure what other government agencies were possibly involved in the investigation, but he did know his part was critical to the operation as a whole.
If the money trail was any indication, Medrano was getting ready for something big, and Noah and his fellow agents needed to find out what.
Noah habitually scanned the area as he drove. He looked down a narrow side road and noticed a single, nondescript storage facility on it. And just as he was about to scan the other side of the road, he noticed the two plain-white delivery trucks idling in the parking lot beside the facility. Despite the visible exhaust coming from the tailpipes, Noah couldn’t see anyone inside either of the vehicles.
He studied the scene a moment longer. Tonight’s stakeout was planned to keep an eye on a facility two blocks away that one of Medrano’s men had supposedly rented. They’d probably chosen this location because it was well away from the main traffic patterns.
Thinking the trucks were oddly suspicious, Noah committed the two license plate numbers to memory before he continued past the street. As soon as his vehicle was safely out of sight of the white trucks, he grabbed his cell phone from the cup holder in the center console. Devin picked up on the first ring.
“Where are you? You were supposed to be here almost a half hour ago.”
“Have you spotted any activity at your location?” Noah asked, ignoring his partner’s accusing tone.
Deep Cover Page 2