His Secret Life

by Webb, Debra

  “No.”

  At least it was an answer.

  “Sounds like you and your uncle weren’t that close.”

  “We’re not discussing my past.”

  Well, at least he was consistent.

  “The landscape isn’t that stimulating,” she offered. “Conversation would be nice.”

  Instead of answering, he turned on the radio.

  Great.

  She drove another few miles, then turned the radio off. “What happened to your wife?”

  He’d been married. That much she was sure of. Maybe he still was.

  “She found someone who gave her what I couldn’t.”

  Jane had to think a moment before responding to that announcement. “She cheated on you?” Might as well take it all the way.

  “Yes.”

  The tall, silent types could sure as hell be a pain in the butt.

  “Someone you knew?”

  “What?”

  She met his questioning gaze. “The other man. Someone you knew?”

  “My uncle.”

  A bad, bad feeling welled in Jane’s gut. “What did you do when you found out?”

  “I wanted to kill him.”

  Please let that mean he hadn’t.

  He may be dangerous.

  Funny thing was, he didn’t feel dangerous…not like that anyway. Maybe dangerous to her sanity. She’d never met a man who made her glad to be a woman the way he did. Fate sure as hell had a warped sense of humor.

  “But you didn’t,” she prodded when he didn’t say more.

  “No.” He turned to stare out the passenger window. “I decided to do something worse.”

  Surely he didn’t kill his wife.

  “I thought about killing her, but I couldn’t see myself living with the guilt.”

  He had a conscience. That was good.

  “What could be worse than killing one or the other?”

  “Sending his two sons to prison.”

  She sent him a sideways glance. “How did you do that?”

  “That’s one of those things we’re not going to talk about, remember?”

  Wow. He definitely knew how to get even.

  He’d told her he had been a research scientist. “You were a part of the family business?”

  Silence.

  Ding-ding-ding. She’d nailed that one. His silence screamed yes.

  “Your uncle and cousins were dirty,” she went on, building a theory. “You’d suspected as much for a while, but didn’t really want to believe it. Until your rage at your uncle blocked all other emotion.”

  “Two years.”

  She sent him another of those inquiring looks.

  “That’s how long I’d been in denial. I saw things. Questioned things. I think I knew all the time, but I didn’t want it to be true.”

  “You turned him in. And the FBI put you in Witness Protection.” Dear God, that was the answer. That was why he had no warm, fuzzy feelings for the bureau. They had failed him somehow.

  “They set me up. That’s what they did.”

  No wonder he despised the bureau. “Not all FBI agents are like that. The bad ones are the few.”

  “I knew as long as my name was somewhere in their system that I was vulnerable.”

  She could see his point. “So you took yourself out of the system.”

  “That’s right.”

  “What made you decide to come to Plano?” It wasn’t exactly one of those places that popped to mind when one considered places to spend the rest of one’s life. At least not unless one had grown up there.

  “It was close enough to Chicago that I could drive in on Sunday afternoons and enjoy the city.”

  “You like Chicago?” She studied him as long as she dared to take her attention off the road. He stared forward, his expression lost in the past.

  “The last vacation my parents and I took as a family was to Chicago.”

  That very well could be one of the only good memories he had. “It’s a great city.”

  More of that silence fell between them.

  She’d learned more than she’d expected to. Whatever Ian’s reasons for warning her that he might be dangerous were likely trumped-up stories to make him look like the bad guy his uncle and cousins were.

  “What’s the real reason you aren’t married?” he asked, his question as random and abrupt as hers about what happened to his wife.

  “Like I told you before—” she hated when people asked this question “—guys don’t look at me and see wife material. I’m too…plain.”

  He laughed. “What are you talking about?”

  “Plain.” Why didn’t he let this go? “You know, plain Jane? That’s me. That’s what the kids always called me.”

  “You are not plain.”

  They’d had this conversation before. “Was it money or kids your uncle gave your ex that you couldn’t?”

  “Both.”

  Wow. “You can’t have kids?” She tried as long as she dared to read the dark expression on his face.

  “I didn’t want to have kids.”

  “You don’t like kids?”

  “I don’t want to talk about this.”

  Okay. It wasn’t like she really needed to know about that part of his past anyway.

  “Did you have a home back in Silver Springs?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happened to it?”

  “Probably owned by the bank.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  “Yeah, well. Life sucks that way sometimes.”

  She had to agree with that assessment. Ever since her father had died when she’d been twenty-two, she’d known that life was unfair. Otherwise a fine man like him would never have left this earth so early.

  “Would you mind grabbing me one of those granola bars?” She wasn’t really hungry, but eating always seemed to induce conversation. A few more key questions and she would have his story.

  He reached for the bag in the back. Opened the wrapper and peeled it back before handing the snack to her. She munched on the crispy bar and considered that they were only about half an hour from downtown Chicago now. Maybe they needed to start looking for a room.

  She had plenty of room at her place, but going there was out of the question. If the men had been watching her car, they would also be watching her place. Especially when it became clear that they weren’t going to find him by any other means.

  “When you disappeared, did someone help you?”

  “I learned how to do what needed to be done on the Internet.”

  Wasn’t that how everyone got their advice and answers these days?

  “I was very careful. It would still be working if I hadn’t gotten involved in that accident.”

  That had to be tough. He’d worked hard to build an existence after the harshest betrayal.

  “But you did the right thing.”

  “Yeah.”

  He didn’t sound so convinced, but that was more likely his weariness talking.

  “We should get a room, take showers and grab some decent sleep. Being tired is the number-one reason humans make mistakes.”

  “Pick one,” he said by way of agreement.

  “Once we’re settled, I need to make a couple of calls.”

  “We’ll see.”

  That lingering distrust hadn’t quite dissipated.

  Maybe if she kept prompting him she would get to the real answers she needed.

  He’d sent his two cousins to prison. His uncle was probably pissed beyond all reason, even now four years later. But none of that told her the charges. Had they been defrauding their own company?

  “Does that look okay to you?” She indicated the chain motel up ahead.

  “Fine.”

  Jane turned into the lot.

  “Don’t park too close to the entrance,” he instructed.

  She chose a spot several slots away from the main entrance and shut the engine off before turning to her passenger. “We can�
�t exactly get the room in either of our names.”

  He passed a wad of cash to her. She took it, didn’t bother asking where he’d gotten it. From one of the envelopes she’d taken from his mailbox most likely.

  “They’re going to want to see ID,” Jane reminded him. “Cash they’ll probably take, but we’ll still need a driver’s license.”

  “Use your persuasive skills.” He reached out, touched her cheek where it was bruised. The feel of his fingers on her skin made her shiver. “Your husband is beating you. You had to get away but he can’t know where you are.”

  This guy was good.

  Good at making her feel things she hadn’t felt before.

  Good at escape scenarios.

  And lying.

  Chapter Twelve

  Benson was right. The clerk, female and inordinately sympathetic, gave Jane a room with no ID and no credit card. Just cash.

  She could take a moment to call Ian. Benson wouldn’t dare come looking for her. But she couldn’t use the shooter’s cell phone.

  Moving back to the counter, Jane leaned forward. “Is it possible for me to use a phone?”

  The clerk glanced around. “Sure.” She indicated the phone on the desk. “Just dial eight for an outside line.”

  Jane chewed her lower lip. “I was hoping to use one that wouldn’t give away my exact location.”

  “Oh.” The clerk blinked, thought about the request for a moment. “You could use my cell.”

  Jane breathed a big sigh. “That’d be great.” She smiled, ordered her lips to tremble. “I’d really appreciate it.”

  “Not a problem.” The clerk glanced around the lobby to ensure that no one was waiting for her attention. “Give me a minute.”

  She moved to the other end of the counter and dug around underneath. When she returned to where Jane waited she passed the cell across the counter.

  “Thanks.” Jane moved away from the front desk. She quickly entered Ian’s number. Scanned the front entrance for any sign of Benson.

  “Michaels.”

  “It’s Jane. I can’t talk long.”

  “Give me your location.”

  “Good Night Inn. About twelve miles west of downtown. Benson has found some contact here who can provide him with a new identity. At least a temporary one. He’s keeping the details to himself.”

  “His name is Trace Beckman,” Ian informed her. “Four years ago he rolled over on his two cousins, Bradley and Kenneth Beckman.”

  “Are you talking about Beckman Technology?” She remembered seeing something about it in the news. The company was accused of selling military technology to an organization with suspected terrorist ties.

  “That’s the one.”

  “Holy cow.” Well, he’d said he was a research scientist.

  “Shortly before the trial started his soon-to-be ex-wife was murdered. The case remains unsolved.”

  “Benson or Beckman was a suspect?”

  “Yes. The details get blurry after that. He may have cut a deal considering his testimony was the sole way to convict his cousins.”

  “I get the feeling he believes the feds double-crossed him when it came to the Witness Protection bit.”

  “His file reads as if protection was never offered, but that would be extraordinarily unusual.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Watch your step. We have the elder Beckman under surveillance. My contact at the bureau believes the uncle is the one to watch in this.”

  “Thanks, Ian.” Jane surveyed the entrance once more. “I’ll be in touch. If it’s essential that you contact me, call Benson’s cell.” She rattled off the number she’d heard him give his contact.

  Jane returned the cell phone to the clerk. “Thanks.”

  The clerk nodded. “Take care of yourself. You know,” she said when Jane would have walked away, “there are people who can help with abusive spouses.”

  Jane patiently waited through the woman’s suggestions, thanked her, then hustled out to the car. Benson—Beckman—was likely getting antsy by now.

  “The room’s around back.” She slid behind the wheel. “Ground floor.”

  “Took you long enough.”

  Jane backed out of the parking slot. “Persuasion takes time, Benson. You gotta make your story real.”

  He made a noncommittal sound, but didn’t take his eyes off her as she drove around to the back of the building.

  Suspicious. Another step back on the matter of trust.

  At the room Benson took the key from her and opened the door. A shower was the first order of business. She hoped he would be as much of a gentleman about who went first as he had been about holding the door.

  Two double beds. She breezed through the room, tossed her purse and keys onto one of the beds. It smelled fairly clean. Bathroom looked clean. This would be a pleasant change after sleeping on that filthy floor last night.

  “You want to shower first?”

  She turned to him. “Thanks. I’ll definitely take you up on that one.”

  “I’ll order some food.”

  “Awesome.” She was starved. Jane headed for the bathroom but hesitated. “When are you calling your contact?”

  “Tonight.” He placed his weapon on the night table between the beds. “We’ll make arrangements to meet. He only conducts business in person.”

  She backed toward the bathroom door. “Five minutes. That’s all I need.”

  Part of her hated to go into that room and close the door. He could leave. Just take off and disappear. But he’d had opportunities to do that already.

  Still, she stalled in the doorway and stared longingly at the bed where she’d left her keys.

  Even if she took the keys into the bathroom with her, if he was going, he would find a way.

  Trust.

  She couldn’t expect it from him if she didn’t show the same.

  Put your money where your mouth is, girl. She stepped fully into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. A twist of the faucet handle got the water flowing from the showerhead. After kicking off her shoes, she peeled off her socks and blouse, then wiggled out of her slacks. She had no choice but to put those clothes back on. If she washed them in the tub, chances were they wouldn’t dry overnight. Not to mention that would leave her naked.

  She’d just have to deal with soiled clothes.

  The panties and bra were another story. She climbed into the shower wearing both. When she had savored the hot water flowing over her body long enough to feel relaxed, she dragged off the wet panties and unhooked the soggy bra. Using the tiny soap bar, she washed both. Rinsed and squeezed her undies thoroughly, then hung them over the shower curtain rod. Next she smoothed the soap over her skin. Her ribs were still sore, as was her cheek. But the hot water went a hell of a long way in making her feel so, so much better.

  And her hair. God, if she weren’t so tired she could massage her scalp and hair all night.

  But she’d promised Benson five minutes.

  She was relatively certain she’d used up that allotment several minutes ago.

  Shutting off the water, she shoved the curtain aside, stepped out and grabbed the towel. Scrubbing her hair with the towel, she reached out with her free hand and swiped the steam from the mirror. The bruise on her cheek was not so bad. More in her hairline than on her face.

  He’d said she was attractive. Cute. But she wasn’t. She was plain. Ordinary. Anyone could see that. He was the one who was attractive.

  What kind of woman would push away a guy who looked like that? Not that looks were everything. Clearly he was a good guy. He’d risked his life to rescue a stranger and her son. Why hadn’t his wife appreciated his compassion?

  He’d saved Jane’s butt that night at his house, when he could certainly have run…escaped his pursuers much easier without her in tow.

  Had she thanked him for that?

  She had returned the favor today…but her mother would say that wasn’t an actual thank-you, it w
as just doing the right thing.

  Quickly pulling on her slacks and blouse, she grabbed the towel and dried her hair a little more. Then she cleaned up her mess and slid her undies to one side. There really wasn’t any place to put them where he wouldn’t see. Big deal. They were adults. She imagined he’d seen plenty, probably far more frilly and feminine than her serviceable bikini briefs.

  “Whatever.” She opened the door and shivered when the cool, conditioned air rushed over her. “It’s all yours.”

  She stopped a few feet from the door. The room was empty.

  Her gaze swung to the bed where she’d left the keys.

  The keys were gone.

  Jane rushed to the door. Locked. She twisted the lock and wrenched open the door.

  The car was gone.

  He was gone.

  TROY SAT in the parking lot of the supercenter. All he had to do was make the call, get a rendezvous location and go.

  He could get his ID and be out of here well before dark. That would be the easiest route to go.

  But would that really end this thing?

  Only until he was outed again.

  He would have to watch his every move, avoid getting close to anyone, for the rest of his life.

  Life. That was no life.

  What was he doing?

  Troy stared at a woman climbing out of a minivan a few parking spaces away. She shoved the sliding door open and helped her kids out. The three strolled across the parking lot to the store’s entrance.

  Normal.

  It had been so long since he’d had anything remotely normal in his life….

  He shifted his gaze to the cell phone on the console.

  If he’d made the call already, he could get what he needed and be headed out of here.

  Why hesitate?

  He thought of the waitress…his friend…Patsy. His actions had caused her death.

  No matter how he analyzed it, the answer was the same. His being in Plano—his hiding out—caused her to lose her life.

  How did two rights make a wrong?

  He’d cooperated with the FBI and stopped the travesty his own family had wielded. He’d given up his life in order to do that.

  Then just when he’d figured he would spend the rest of his life slinging hash…he’d been faced with another choice. Protect himself or save two lives. Or, at least, attempt to.