Undercover Soldier

by Linda O. Johnston

  She smiled warmly. “Just thinking about my meeting with the condo manager. Good thing you own your own house. I have to negotiate every darned thing I want to do with my place, but the good thing is that they sometimes have to negotiate with me, too. Right now, they’re going to do some exterior work near my balcony so we need to figure out the timing.”

  If she were really going to meet with the manager, she would also bring up that additional security she had promised herself. In fact, she planned to attend a condo board meeting to propose it. Soon.

  Once she got Brody to leave without her.

  “Let’s go,” she told Miles, tugging her purse strap over her shoulder. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

  “Anytime,” he said.

  * * *

  “You know,” Miles said half an hour later as he pulled his small sedan to the curb in front of Sherra’s condo building, “I’d be glad to come in and help you talk to your building manager.” He turned toward her with a tentative smile on his narrow lips. His pale blue eyes sagged at the corners, so he looked sad even when he was smiling.

  He hadn’t come the most direct route but had driven out of the way, along one of Bethesda’s main retail streets, and suggested that they stop at a major coffee chain for a chat.

  Sherra had gently reminded him of the timing of her fictional meeting, and he hadn’t made any further detours.

  “I appreciate the offer.” She gave him a big smile in return. “But I’d better do this myself. I’ve got a fairly good relationship with our manager, so I’m sure it’ll go fine. See you tomorrow.” She picked up her purse from the car floor and opened the door. “Thanks again.” She exited before Miles could say anything else.

  “You’re welcome,” he called from behind her. “Anytime.”

  Sherra couldn’t help a small, fond grin that he couldn’t see as she kept her back to the car. She walked along the concrete path toward the entry to the wide three-story building she called home. At either side were elongated planters filled with colorful but sparse flowers—peonies and other spring bloomers. It was toward the end of the season for them, late in May. The building custodian would soon replace them.

  If she’d really been meeting with the condo manager, she’d ask what was next.

  Although she heard traffic on the street behind her, Sherra didn’t see anyone else around. Not surprising. This was a neighborhood where most residents worked outside their homes. It was even a little early for school kids to be getting back.

  Even so, after being assailed in her own unit yesterday—even though it had only been by Brody—she admitted to herself that she felt a little spooked.

  And no wonder. Brody had scared her afterward, too, with his talk about the supposed danger in what she’d done—even beyond the risk she’d consciously undertaken by delving into official government records.

  She had already taken out her key. She used it to open the condo building’s entry door, then made sure to close it behind her—a concession to her promise to herself to stay wary.

  The elevators were off to the right, but she instead headed to the open doorway of the mailroom, with its rows of lock boxes for each unit, their facades drab and functional. From the same key ring, she pulled out the key for her box and opened it. Removing a few envelopes and advertising flyers, she skimmed through them, then wadded them into her purse.

  She decided to take the steps, as always, to the second floor. The elevator was fast enough, but the small bit of additional exercise always gave her a sense of self-satisfaction. Plus, it saved time since she didn’t have to wait.

  Even so, she looked up and down after opening the door to the stairway, again in an abundance of caution.

  The stairway was quiet. So was the gray-carpeted hall when she opened the door onto her floor.

  Why, then, did she feel so nervous? Because Brody had sneaked his way into her unit yesterday? That was a one-time deal. She’d see him long enough later to—

  What was that? She had stopped outside the large beige door to her unit that looked like the five others on this floor. Did she hear something inside?

  She waited, listening. Heard nothing. Even so, she considered just leaving. What if—

  The door burst open. She screamed as two male forms, grappling with each other, spilled into the hallway. One was Brody—still in the shirt, slacks and glasses she had seen him in before. “Hold it, you SOB. Tell me—”

  His words were cut short as the other man, on the floor on top of him, aimed a fist at Brody’s jaw. He grabbed it before it connected, though—even as the other man kicked wickedly at him. His boot-clad foot collided with Brody’s upper thigh.

  The assailant was dressed all in black, but his tight shirt hugged muscles that appeared almost as substantial as Brody’s. He wore a ski mask over his face. He seemed to be getting the upper hand.

  Brody rolled out from beneath the other man as Sherra, trembling, reached into her purse, looking for her phone to call 9-1-1. Instead, her fingers connected with what she had gone out at lunchtime to specifically buy at a chain hardware store near her office: a can of pepper spray. After the nervousness that Brody had generated in her, she’d wanted something with her for some degree of protection.

  Something she could even use against Brody, if he made the mistake of sneaking into her unit again.

  Before she could pull it out, the attacker turned and leaped to his feet, facing Brody in a crouched position, as if ready to spring. Brody came at him, but the guy grabbed Sherra’s left arm, dragging her in front of him like a shield. “You’re coming with me, bitch,” he growled and started backing down the hall. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

  Sherra struggled, but his grip was like unbreakable wire and his arm clamped in front of her, around her waist. Brody came at them but the guy moved Sherra between them.

  “Let her go, you SOB,” Brody spat. He reached behind him and to Sherra’s surprise—or not—he pulled out a small gun. He held it the way she saw law enforcement officers aim on TV: two hands, braced and ready. Could she duck enough for him to fire and hit her attacker?

  “Shoot it and you’ll hit her.” The man sounded almost triumphant. But how did he plan to get her out of here?

  Sherra didn’t want to know. He held her too closely for her to use any self-defense moves she was aware of, like kicking back at his crotch. If he managed to get out of here with her—well, that couldn’t happen.

  She hadn’t hung on to the pepper spray, damn it. But she still clutched her key in her right hand. It might be her only chance. Not quite a nice, pointed kitchen knife, but if she were lucky…

  Glancing down, she saw with relief that the guy’s sleeve ended at his upper wrist, and his gloves were short. A spot of vulnerability.

  She looked briefly into Brody’s furious amber eyes, nodded slightly, then used the sharp edge of her apartment key like a knife, reaching underneath to rake it as deeply as she could into the softer skin at the bottom of the man’s wrist.

  He shrieked in pain or fury or both, but her effort had clearly been effective. Blood squirted over her and the floor. He yanked her to face him, and she used the key again, aiming toward his enraged eyes. Despite the mask, she got the corner of one before he let her go and yanked a door beside him open. The door to the stairway.

  Brody pushed by her, aiming the gun. Over his shoulder Sherra saw the man leap over the railing and swing onto a lower part of the stairway. There was blood all over, but she didn’t know if it was from the wound she caused or if Brody also had hit the man hard enough to draw blood.

  By then, the assailant had pulled a gun, too. There was a loud shot, and a bullet ricocheted around them. Brody shoved her behind the door.

  “He’s getting away,” Sherra protested.

  “Stay here.” Brody headed back
into the stairwell, pulling the door closed behind him.

  Sherra was terrified for him. He was armed, but so was the assailant. Would Brody be all right?

  Surely she hadn’t come to realize that he was alive, only to lose him again while he protected her.

  Sitting on the floor, tears running down her face, she reached into her purse, pulled out her phone and called 9-1-1.

  Chapter 5

  He hadn’t caught the bastard. Brody fought to contain his fury as he climbed the steps back to where he had left Sherra.

  He’d seen the guy jump into a black SUV like thousands of others on local streets. No license plate. That might make the vehicle obvious if cops were looking for it, but Brody had no doubt that the jerk would put the plate back on whenever he stopped. Or, more likely, stick a stolen plate on instead.

  Brody had already appeared in public with Sherra at her workplace, so the fact that Jim Martin knew her shouldn’t be a problem—although an armed and angry Jim Martin might be, since his assumed persona was somewhat geekish. Even so, the attacker wasn’t likely to have recognized him.

  Brody shoved open the door to the hallway where he had left Sherra. There was blood on the wall and floor, including the rug near her door. She wasn’t there. His heart wrenched sideways, though he realized she was undoubtedly safe inside her unit. Preferably with the door locked.

  But there was always the possibility that the SOB who’d attacked her had an accomplice waiting. Damn it. He should have considered that before hauling ass after the jerk he’d seen.

  Brody rapped heavily on the door. He heard a noise on the other side. Good. She wasn’t just opening it without knowing who was there. “Sherra, it’s me,” he called. Was it her? Was she alone?

  The door opened, and there she was, brown eyes damp and stricken. He didn’t know who initiated it, but in moments she was in his arms. “Oh, Brody, I was so worried he’d hurt you.”

  He barked out a surprised laugh as he pulled her back into the unit, then shut and locked the door. That was her reaction—when the guy had broken into her apartment to wait for her, then tried to carry her off? Worry for him?

  “He got away,” Brody told her.

  “I’m glad you didn’t just shoot him on the street,” she said against the front of his shoulder, where she rested her face. “Too many witnesses. Too many questions. But… I did call the cops. They’re on their way.”

  Brody pulled back from her. “Not good.” He stared, trying not to let his sudden anger wash over her. “I just want to get you away from here.”

  Her breathing was heavy as she chewed on her lips. “I guess…well, I’ll go with you. For now. But I will come back here. Soon. And to do that, to make sure my neighbors stay safe, I need to let the authorities know what happened here—even if I don’t tell them why.” She stepped back, and the expression on her pale but lovely face hardened. “Not that I know why. Not really. But you’ll tell me if I go with you. Do you promise, Brody?”

  “I’ve told you enough already,” he said stiffly.

  “Not hardly.”

  A buzzer sounded. “That’s someone wanting to get into the building,” Sherra said. “If it’s the police, I’ll let them in, then we’ll talk to them. Both of us, so you can help direct the conversation. But you will tell them something credible, Brody. Otherwise, I’ll do it—and you might not like how close to the truth I keep it.”

  * * *

  Brody was certainly a good liar. Sherra had to hand it to him. He came up with a story that the cops seemed to buy into, about a guy who had broken into the building apparently to steal from the residents and just happened to break into her unit while Brody, in his Jim Martin persona, was there. His gun had disappeared, probably hidden temporarily in her apartment.

  They sat in her living room to talk. How odd—as if she were having a party, with a couple of uniformed cops as guests. She offered them drinks—only water. They took her up on that as they made notes while talking mostly to Brody. Her turn would come, but Brody monopolized them for now. He was creating the story she would need to confirm.

  A crime scene team was on the way, presumably to gather fingerprints and blood samples. Would they identify the intruder?

  Brody sat close to Sherra on her sofa, pressed gently against her side. She didn’t want to feel his physical presence as reassuring, but it was.

  Unsurprisingly, the older cop, sitting on Sherra’s yellow floral chair, was the one asking questions. The stolid expression on a face lined with wrinkles suggested he’d heard it all before but was doing his duty by listening once more.

  “So you were already in this apartment when the door opened?” Officer Arlen said.

  “That’s right. I thought it was Sherra at first.” Sherra hadn’t seen an expression this innocent on Brody’s face since they were both high school kids and he’d said hello to her grandparents when he picked her up for their first date.

  He had strongly hinted to the cops that Sherra and he were more than good friends. That was why he’d happened to be around when the guy entered her unit.

  Sherra wasn’t about to tell them the truth about their relationship. Their nonrelationship—notwithstanding their lovemaking the night before. But was Brody’s approach in her best interests, and not just his?

  She glanced over her coffee table toward the chair from the kitchen where the younger cop sat. Officer Evans was female, hair clipped at the nape of her neck, eyes wide and the expression on her attractive, deep-toned face made it clear that she, at least, gave a damn. She seemed to eat up Brody’s story, dewy-eyed over the sort of dorky guy—Brody was still in his hunched-over undercover mode, wearing glasses—doing his all to protect his sweetheart. Even attacking the intruder, knocking him to the floor and grabbing the gun he felt in the bad guy’s pocket.

  That was a safer story for Brody’s cover than admitting he had a weapon of his own.

  But, his story went, the intruder actually carried two guns. Hence the fact that they shot at each other in the stairwell before the intruder got away.

  Then it was Sherra’s turn. “I really don’t know much except that I was so scared for Jim. He protected me, the way he pounced on that guy, then followed to make sure he left. The gunfire—I was so afraid Jim would be hurt.”

  “Not enough blood to indicate he shot the guy,” Officer Arlen said. “Looks like it was all from the fight in the doorway.”

  Sherra wondered if any might be Brody’s but saw no wounds on him. His DNA was probably in the system because he was a soldier, but she’d no doubt he would want to hide his identity this way, too, if possible.

  Eventually, a crime scene tech came in and took their samples.

  “We may have more questions,” the male cop said as they got ready to leave.

  “Anytime, Officer.” Brody sounded sincere. But when he shut the door behind them he looked at Sherra and growled in a low tone, “This was a farce. One that could blow my cover for what I really need to be doing here. We should have left before the cops arrived. Better yet, you shouldn’t have called them.”

  “The entry door from the garage had been jimmied open, you know.” She strode back into the living room, and he followed. She didn’t sit, though. They were about to have a confrontation, and she wouldn’t put herself at a disadvantage. Instead, she picked up the chair from the kitchen and returned it. “The condo manager, maybe residents, too, would have asked a lot of questions. They’d have realized something happened here and sent the cops looking for me if I simply disappeared.”

  She’d have to actually get in touch with the manager now, as she’d claimed to Miles—and make sure the board soon voted on upgrading the condo’s security facilities. Substantially.

  Not to mention getting the blood cleaned up.

  “They wouldn’t have found you.” He leaned a
gainst the kitchen doorjamb, sounding so confident that she shuddered inside. Did that mean he’d have done something to ensure their failure?

  “I’d still have to explain when I came back here,” she said softly, hands still on the back of the chair she’d carried. She forced herself to glare defiantly into his angry amber eyes.

  “Who said you’re coming back?”

  She waited a beat, not deigning to answer. Of course she was coming back, if she even went with him now at all. Then she said, “You know, you could tell me what a great job I did backing up your lies to the authorities. How I helped you keep your cover, even though you’ve hardly told me anything about why you even have a damned cover.” She had crossed her arms over her chest, and saw his gaze travel that direction. She was still in the blue dress she had worn to work but wished she’d put on an oversize sweatshirt.

  “You did a great job backing up my lies to the authorities,” he parroted in a tone that almost sounded amused. Good. Were things between them easing up again? His next words, though, confirmed otherwise. “Now grab a suitcase and put enough clothes in to ensure you won’t need anything for a while. If you do, we’ll have to buy it.”

  She stood still, refusing to obey his orders.

  “That guy could come back. Bring reinforcements. It’s not me they’re after, Sherra.” No humor in his tone now. In fact, his words, spoken so seriously, sent tremors of fear through her.

  She needed more information. A lot more. And she would come back here, she promised herself.

  But for now… “What’s the climate of where we’re going?” she asked. “So I can know what to bring.”

  * * *

  Their destination wasn’t far in distance. In attitude, it was farther, at least the way Brody had planned it.

  With Sherra in the passenger seat, he drove toward it now, along I-95, in his rented SUV. He’d had good reason to assume that the man he had chased from Sherra’s condo had played games with his license plate. It was what he, too, had done. This vehicle wasn’t easily identifiable by sight, either, since there were so many matching ones on the road. He had also masked the logo that showed that this belonged to a major car rental company.