Undercover Soldier

by Linda O. Johnston

  “So what?” he said. “You’ve got it, or at least all I can talk about.”

  She sighed. The conversation with Ragar that day had suggested a lot more to Sherra but hadn’t answered anything.

  “So here’s what I think, with some blanks that still need to be filled in. You discovered that one of the contractors—and I’m going to guess it’s All For Defense—was doing something really wrong and you felt compelled to deal with that. Confronting them, exposing them, whatever.”

  “Why do you mention All For Defense?” Brody snapped.

  Sherra looked out the passenger window as she smiled. The sun was going down, but it was still light enough to watch the roadside landscaping roll by.

  She hazarded a brief glance at him once she’d pasted a solemn expression back on her face. “Just guessing, but you showed I’m right.”

  He leaned over the wheel without confirming or denying that she had guessed correctly.

  Sherra’s research, when she’d started looking into the reported death of Brody McAndrews, had yielded that he helped to supervise military contractors where he was stationed in Afghanistan. There were quite a few contractors. A lot had presences in the D.C. area, of course, for ease of offering their services to the government.

  All For Defense was perhaps the largest, involved overseas with projects from building roads and airfields to instructing local civilians how to build infrastructure and buildings.

  They’d been restoring and resurfacing the road blown up in the explosion that killed one Brody and injured the other. Data on that situation had initially triggered Sherra’s inquiries into what really had happened, since, despite the reports, ID numbers and other information did not point to Brody McAndrews as the decedent.

  Sherra leaned back, still thinking. The highway here, from Virginia to Maryland, was well maintained—unlike what she assumed roads were like in Afghanistan except, perhaps, right after work was done on them. Until they were blown up.

  All For Defense’s connection to what happened was tenuous. The improvements they’d been constructing in that area were destroyed. That didn’t reflect well on them. Everyone, even civilians, were supposed to remain vigilant in a war zone and recognize explosive devices, preferably before they went off.

  But that wasn’t enough to point fingers toward the company as somehow being guilty in what happened. They had been, at worst, negligent.

  Yet All For Defense was a name Sherra ran into more than once. She’d seen a lot of others, too. But Brody’s reaction had told her she’d scored a hit the first time.

  “So what do you do in your undercover work now at All For Defense?” she asked Brody as casually as if she inquired whether he had enjoyed the appetizers they’d eaten.

  “Don’t go there, Sherra.” Brody didn’t look at her as he spoke in a tone suggesting a struggle to maintain his temper.

  “I’m under orders, like you, to pretend I’m someone else,” she said quietly. “To lie about who I am and why I live in that house with you. I’m also supposed to act like the man who was actually killed was the survivor, if his family shows up. Any investigation they’re conducting, if at all successful, is likely to reveal to them that there’s someone allegedly named Brody Andrews who’s still alive, even if he’s undercover on some assignment.” Her eyes teared up unexpectedly, and she swallowed hard. “I understand what they’re going through, Brody. You and I weren’t close anymore, but I felt so much pain when I thought the dead man was you. Brody Andrews’s family must be full of hope and confusion. They’re encouraged to believe he’s alive but refusing to contact the people he loves, who love him. I won’t tell them what I’ve learned. I understand national security and all that—but my silence will be more to protect myself…and you. Those poor people, though…”

  She couldn’t talk anymore, not right now.

  “Sherra.” Brody’s voice was gentle now. “I’m so damned sorry you’re involved in this. If I could have kept you out of it, gotten someone else to convince you to stop your damned personal investigation, I would have—”

  “My damned personal investigation is who I am, Brody.” Sherra was glad he’d said that. It upset her enough to exchange sorrow for anger. “You couldn’t have kept me out of it. And since I’m involved, you’ve got to be honest with me and answer what I ask. And all this discussion about Brody Andrews’s family… What about your family, Brody? I knew them when we were together—your parents, your brother. They seemed so nice—especially compared with my messed-up situation. My grandparents wouldn’t care if they heard I was dead, but your family must be suffering if they believe you’re gone. Don’t you have any love for them now? Don’t you have any conscience?”

  * * *

  Brody winced. Yes, he loved his family. It had been months since he had spoken with any of them, and he hated that.

  But he also knew that telling them the truth now, before everything was resolved, could wind up resulting in the awful situation they believed to be true: his death.

  Worse, it could imperil them, too. He was already angry enough that Sherra was in danger. No one else should be involved.

  No one else he cared about.

  “No,” he responded coolly to Sherra. “I don’t have a conscience. Is that what you want to hear?”

  “Of course not. But—”

  “Then we’re good.”

  He reached the highway exit and flipped on the turn signal. A good thing. This conversation was definitely a distraction to his driving.

  Sherra remained silent. He shot a glance in her direction and saw, in the waning light, how pained her expression looked.

  At one time, he’d have been glad to learn that she cared enough to mourn his death.

  Only, reports of his death had been greatly exaggerated for a reason: to protect him as he continued his campaign for the truth. No one should be looking for nosy Brody McAndrews now—and Private Brody Andrews was information-free and harmless.

  But Sherra had figured out the truth.

  “Did you think about effects on others when you started this, Brody?” The words were so low that he might not have heard them if they’d still been on the highway, with its road noise.

  He slowed for a yellow traffic light but didn’t look toward her. He had thought about it—and he’d also been surprised about the intentional cover-up of the ID of the soldier who’d died. He thought it might even be illegal.

  But doing things this way had been determined to be for the greater good, and he had to agree.

  “Actually,” he said, “I did. I thought about the effects of my doing nothing, how many people might be injured or killed because of ongoing poor workmanship. How many others were being robbed by government graft, the bribes being made by AFD, who was accepting them, and—”

  “Then it was AFD,” Sherra said. “And what you learned over there had repercussions not only with civilians, but also with our government.”

  “You can draw your own conclusions.” He paused, then added, “Part of what soldiers are trained for is to act for the greater good. Protect yourself, sure—but most of all, protect others, especially those who can’t protect themselves.”

  “Very noble,” she said. “But Brody, even knowing your reasons, that doesn’t eliminate the hurt. I know now that you’re alive and that you’ve made some difficult choices, and at least I have some answers now. Your family…well, I can’t equate myself with them. When I learned you were reported as dead, it was a shock. But we were over way before then. Your family must be in real pain.”

  She was right. He couldn’t argue with her.

  Saying nothing, he made a turn at yet another traffic light, the last before they started onto the smaller residential streets to their rental home.

  Where they would be together again that night, pretending to the world as if the
y were husband and wife.

  They remained silent, and he finally pulled into the driveway, pushed the button to open the automatic garage door and drove inside.

  In an abundance of caution, he closed the door again before they exited the car. Sherra was out of the passenger side before he stepped onto the concrete floor of the garage. She didn’t look at him as she used the key he gave her and opened the door.

  She was clearly upset. Undoubtedly angry with him.

  It was better that way. They’d keep their distance tonight. He would be able to make more calls. Stay alert.

  Not let his private parts rule his sense for a change.

  But he knew that what she had mentioned would continue to bother him.

  What did his family think about his reported death?

  * * *

  A while later, they were in the living room watching a reality television show with competing singers. They each sat at an end of the plush but fraying sofa. The dull rust-colored draperies were drawn shut. That meant Sherra couldn’t watch lights reflected on the inlet water outside, whether from other homes or the moon or stars. The charm of the place was off-limits at the moment.

  Which made perfect sense, since the point of being here was to hide from the rest of the world.

  Including Brody’s family.

  Sherra’s, too, of course—what was left of it. Her parents had died in an accident when she was ten years old. Her maternal grandparents had assumed the duty of childrearing—and never let Sherra forget what a burden she was.

  These days they usually spoke by phone every couple of weeks. Her grandparents acted cordial, if not caring. Glad she was on her own, relieving them of the martyrdom of their role in her childhood—though they continued to trumpet to the world all they had done for their poor, orphaned granddaughter.

  She hadn’t really thought much, till now, about how they might handle her current disappearance. She doubted they’d give a damn, if they even noticed.

  Their attitude had been one reason it had been so easy to fall for Brody, way back when. He had actually seemed to give a damn about her. For a while. Until he’d joined the military.

  “So what’s next, Brody?” she finally asked after a contestant finished her shrill rendition of a modern pop song and the show segued into a commercial. “When can I go home?” Her current home, where she had a life, and a career she enjoyed.

  He aimed the remote toward the TV and muted it, then looked at her. His amber eyes were as void of expression as if emotion was foreign to him. Sherra knew better—or at least he’d had emotions before.

  Maybe that was part of what was wrong now. He might still be one hot guy in bed, might even enjoy that, but when it came to caring about anything but his damned mission he batted zero.

  That was a major turn-off…yet it still hurt that he stayed so far away in the same room. Physically and, yes, emotionally.

  “I’ll do what Ragar wanted—let him find someone to stay with you while I return to my assignment. The sooner I get all the answers I can, the sooner we’ll bring down everyone involved with the killings in Afghanistan. Then you won’t be in danger anymore. That’s when you can go home.”

  She hated the idea of having a watchdog guard her. But without her around bothering him, Brody would undoubtedly succeed. Yet even if he caught the people he was after, would there be others who’d want revenge on their behalf?

  And even if she could go back to her real life, could she deal with having seen Brody again so briefly, then having him exit her life again as if he were as good as dead?

  She stood abruptly. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”

  She eased toward him, intending to give him just a good-night peck on the cheek.

  He rose, too, clicking the remote to turn off the TV. “Good idea.”

  Was that a hint that he’d like to go to bed with her? She looked into his face as he regarded her, too. A flash of something shone in his amber eyes. Recognition of how close she suddenly was?

  Something hotter?

  She drew closer. So close she could have thrown her arms around him.

  He didn’t look away for a long moment. Her insides grew molten.

  But he walked away. “Good night, Sherra,” he tossed over his shoulder. And he was gone.

  Sherra stared after him toward the door to the hallway. Damn the man!

  And damn her own stupidity in allowing herself to want him. It was over.

  * * *

  Brody refrained from slamming the bedroom door behind him.

  It would be a show of emotion at a time when he intended to feel nothing at all.

  Damn the woman for goading him about his family. He’d considered them from the first, but felt he had no choice except to deceive them. Not if he wanted to avenge Brody Andrews’s death, and also survive.

  Not if he wanted to make sure that the devils who’d killed Andrews were dealt with so they couldn’t harm other innocents.

  He’d intended things to go a lot faster. And he certainly hadn’t wanted to endanger Sherra—no matter that she’d done that herself.

  He crossed to the bed and began removing his clothes, ready for a hot shower to bathe away as many of the day’s aggravations as possible.

  Stripping his clothes off reminded him of Sherra. The way she had looked at him in the last moments before he abandoned her in the living room.

  He’d had to. No matter how much he wanted to make love with her that night.

  As he threw his clothing into his open carry-on bag, he noticed where he had left his smart phone: on the nightstand beside the queen-size bed covered with a worn blue comforter.

  He thought of some of the phone numbers programmed into it. His parents’. His brother Sean’s.

  Sean was in the military, too. Special Forces. He sometimes left on missions where he couldn’t report in for a while—but he had always managed to return, then tell their parents all was fine.

  Brody would do that, as well. Soon—if he could get back and complete his undercover assignment.

  But he wasn’t in Special Forces. His family understood him to be in a nearly regular military unit, although the Corps of Engineers was at least a little elite. But it was also transparent to some degree. As a result, for now, his family had to believe he was gone. That was the only way this could work.

  Wasn’t it?

  Crossing the hardwood floor, he approached the table and picked up the small electronic unit. All he needed was to push one button and call Sean. Reassure his brother and tell him what was happening.

  Sean would understand. He would also be able to hint to their parents that all was not as it seemed—without breaching national security. Wouldn’t he?

  Brody slammed the phone back on the table. That was wishful thinking. Even hinting to their parents could make them start asking questions as Sherra had. That could endanger them.

  Same thing with Sean, though his brother would undoubtedly be discreet. But this wasn’t an ordinary enemy Brody was after. It consisted of people who were supposed to be allies… .

  He tore off his shorts, threw them on the floor and stomped toward the adjoining bathroom.

  He needed that shower. Now. Alone.

  But the thought of Sherra in that same house, also alone… He shrugged it off.

  She was the cause of his current state of mind.

  He had to stay away from her.

  Chapter 11

  The next morning, Sherra rose early. It wasn’t as if she’d slept much that night. Not while knowing Brody was only a few feet away, just down the hall.

  He might as well have been on the other side of the globe.

  Too bad he wasn’t. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel like a prisoner. She’d be able to return to her own condo. He
r life.

  Not entirely, though. She would never forget this interlude with Brody.

  She threw back the covers and practically leaped out of bed. This was not what she wanted to think about.

  Not again.

  It was a new day. What could she accomplish?

  The room she’d chosen was small, as much in need of redecorating as the rest of the house, with a light, musty odor despite an overlay of sweet disinfectant. It was so different from her pleasant condo that she could never, even under better circumstances, consider it home despite the lovely water views outside.

  It had its own attached bathroom, at least. She showered, dressed, strode into the hall and looked around. The door to Brody’s room was still closed, and she saw no sign of him. He must still be sleeping.

  Or avoiding her.

  It was a Saturday, a good thing. She was not AWOL from her job that day. Somehow she would find a way to return to it Monday, Brody’s commands notwithstanding.

  She’d have to be careful. She wasn’t a fool. Someone had attacked her for a reason—connected with Brody.

  Brody. Startled, she gasped as his bedroom door opened.

  He strode out, dressed in jeans and another muscle-hugging T-shirt in a dark green that didn’t resemble olive drab. And no wonder. He probably wouldn’t wear anything like a camo shirt or fatigues here, where he was supposed to be a construction guy with nothing to do with the military.

  The way it fit reminded her of the hard body beneath. She didn’t want to think about that. Or be reminded about how she had craved being with him last night.

  “Good morning,” he said as coolly as if he addressed a stranger who’d emerged from a nearby room in a motel.

  “Good morning,” Sherra repeated, hiding her hurt. “I’m on my way to the kitchen. I’d be glad to fix us something for breakfast, depending on what’s there.” They’d gone out for fast food the previous day when they’d risen after a night of lovemaking and early morning quarreling.