Love Inspired Suspense June 2015 - Box Set 2 of 2: Exit StrategyPaybackCovert Justice

by Shirlee McCoy

  As soon as Maggie settled into the little reading corner he’d set up for her in the office area, Heidi returned to full business mode. He appreciated her work ethic, and he didn’t want to give her the third degree, but he did want to know what was going on, if she’d made any progress, how she was settling in. All questions he couldn’t seem to find an opportunity to ask during the day.

  As they left the Friday meeting, he found himself alone with her in the hallway. “What do you think?” Blake asked.

  “I think we have great potential here, Mr. Harrison.” She flashed him a smile. “I noticed a glassed-in area above the production line. Is there an observation deck?”

  “Yeah. It’s been there for years but we never use it anymore. With everything automated, there’s not much need.”

  Her eyes flashed. “No one goes up there?”

  “Not that I know of. But the windows are one-way glass, so from the factory floor, you can’t tell whether or not anyone’s there.”

  “Could you show me?”

  “Now?”

  “Do you have somewhere else to be?”

  “No. Let’s go.”

  They wound through the back of the warehouse. The door screeched and groaned when he opened it. He batted at a few cobwebs as they climbed. The stairs emptied into a small conference room with three large windows. From this vantage point, he could get an angle on all four production lines from beginning to end.

  Heidi walked from one window to the other. After a few passes, she paused. “Where is he?” Heidi leaned close to the glass.

  “Who?”

  “Markos.”

  He moved to the far window, scanning the new line. Nothing.

  “Do you see him?” Heidi asked from the opposite wall.

  “No.”

  She blew out a breath, frustration evident on her face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’d rather him not know we’ve been up here. But if I don’t know where he is, I can’t avoid him. I wouldn’t want to risk leaving right as he’s walking past the door.”

  She tapped a few buttons on her phone. Shook her head in disgust.

  “What is it now?”

  “According to this, Markos is at home.”

  “No, he isn’t—”

  “I know. He left his coat at home. The one I have a transmitter on.”

  “Oh.”

  “And I’m not live-wired into my team at the moment, either, so I can’t ask them to locate him.”

  Yeah, nothing out of the ordinary about this conversation. Nothing at all.

  “I’ll have to wait,” she announced a minute later.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I’m going to wait until he comes back on the floor. Then I’ll be able to go out through the warehouse and he won’t know I’ve been up here.”

  “Right.”

  “You can go.”

  “Wouldn’t it make more sense for me to stay, too? That way if anyone sees us leaving, I can explain that I was showing this to you.”

  She shrugged. “Yes, but I’m not going to hold you hostage. You own the place. You can go anywhere you like. No one would question you if you get caught leaving. They might want to know why I’d been up here.”

  “Right.”

  She stood in front of the middle window. “Are you sure they can’t see me?”

  “Positive.”

  “Aren’t you going to go?”

  “I’ll wait.”

  She leaned against the window frame, peering out the one-way glass into the production area. “It could be a while.”

  “It shouldn’t be.” Mark shouldn’t be away from the plant floor for more than a few minutes. And if he was, then Blake would like to know that himself.

  “Suit yourself.”

  Her eyes narrowed and darted as she observed the activity on the plant floor.

  Ten agonizing minutes passed in complete silence. He didn’t think he’d ever been in a room with anyone who could go more than a few seconds without speaking, coughing or clearing their throat. Not her. If he believed in extraterrestrials, he might suspect her of being an alien life-form. Not much human in her. He blew out a long breath.

  She turned her head and made eye contact through the shadows. “Sorry,” she said, turning back to the window. “I’m trying to take advantage of the time by memorizing the process. It’s fascinating to watch.”

  “Yeah,” Blake said. “Fascinating. The word I use for it every day.”

  She threw him a cheeky grin. “That’s because you’re used to it. There’s something riveting about the way you can take a pile of something that is, sorry to say, useless, and turn it into something functional and practical. It’s beautiful.”

  “I’ve never heard anyone wax philosophic about the extrusion process.”

  She huffed and widened her eyes in false shock. “I don’t know why not. Everyone I know does.” She laughed. A soft, muted laugh, but a laugh all the same.

  She turned away from him again. He preferred that she stay facing him, laughing with him. At least she’d talked to him, broken the silence. “You said you were trying to memorize the process. How?”

  “I have a photographic memory.”

  “Of course you do.”

  She ignored his snide remark and continued. “I may not understand everything I’m seeing, but if I can watch the process from beginning to end a few times—watch it the way it is supposed to go—then I would notice if something was amiss.”

  “Okay.”

  “Enough about me.”

  Um, no. Not hardly.

  “Tell me something about yourself.”

  “Why would you need me to tell you anything? I’m sure you have a nice thick file. Couldn’t you look it up?”

  “Your file is a little flat.”

  He would have been offended, but he caught the twitch of her lips and the way she’d cut her eyes over to him for a split second.

  “Are you—are you teasing me?”

  “I’m trying. You’re making it extraordinarily difficult.”

  “Sorry.”

  She laughed again. Soft and low. But she didn’t say anything else.

  He tried to see her as he had a few moments earlier. The way he’d been thinking of her all week. Cold. Calculating. Clinical. All he could see now was a dimple below the surface of her cheek. She had a quick wit and a ready laugh, given the right circumstances. If he answered her question, would she open up again?

  He tried to think of something that wouldn’t be in his file. She’d already know his name, birth date, where he went to college. And Lana. She’d know all about Lana. Every gruesome detail of that train wreck. But there had to be more.

  “Okay, here’s something you don’t know about me.”

  “Lay it on me.”

  “I love science fiction. Fantasy. That kind of stuff.”

  “Nice try, but I knew that already.”

  “They have that in my file?” Who were these people?

  “No.”

  “Then how—”

  She looked away from the window and then stared at a point on the wall. Her brow puckered and her eyes fluttered closed. “Boxed sets in your den. Blu-rays. Lord of the Rings. Firefly. Star Trek—old and new. Star Wars.”

  She turned and smiled. “You’re reading The Chronicles of Narnia to Maggie. And in chronological order, no less. Kudos, by the way.”

  “Um, thanks.”

  “And you have a tiny TARDIS on your key ring.”

  He’d forgotten about the Doctor Who key chain Caroline had given him for Christmas.

  Heidi smiled. “I don’t need a file to tell me you have a geek streak.”

  A geek? Two could play this game. “It takes one to know one.”

  She raised her hands in mock surrender and grinned. “Touché.”

  SEVEN

  When she turned back to the window, silence wrapped around them. She could hear him breathing. She tried to ignore it and concentrate o
n the process. If only she could stop her mind from slipping to the man sitting behind her.

  That had been happening a lot, and it needed to stop. It would be easier if she could still see him as a suspect. After all, he had hired a man with a shady background. She’d had to consider the possibility that he was in on whatever it was that the Kovacs had planned. But it hadn’t taken long for her to abandon that theory.

  Even after the entire Harrison family had been cleared of suspicion, she’d assumed Blake would be like many of the men she’d encountered over the years. Men who had no clue how fortunate they were to come from good homes, stable families. Men who disrespected their mothers, neglected their children and never took responsibility for anything or anyone.

  She knew not all men were like that. Her foster dad, the one she claimed, had been the first man to shake her deep-seated opinions about men. Then Uncle Frank. Later, Max.

  Yet her tendency to assume the worst in men remained.

  But after spending time around Blake, watching him interact with his family, play with Maggie, take care of all his normal duties, plus his dad’s responsibilities—oh, and deal with her, the engineer/undercover agent—she couldn’t help but be impressed.

  She was even—and oh, how she hated to admit this—a little in awe.

  Blake Harrison set a high bar. Family man, crazy intelligent, gracious employer, good sense of humor and a face she’d caught herself staring at more than once.

  He cleared his throat. “You have a file about me and superior observational skills. I’m not likely to come up with anything you don’t already know. Why don’t you tell me something about yourself?”

  Her breath caught. He never failed to surprise her. She could ignore his request, but she didn’t want to be rude. She didn’t want to ignore him. She wanted to tell him. She wanted him to know the real her.

  “Fall is my favorite time of year.” Once she started, the words tumbled out. “The leaves are vibrant, the temps perfect. Still enough daylight to enjoy being outside. I love it. And I love ham sandwiches. With mayo and mustard and American cheese. That’s it. Meat and cheese. No tomato. No lettuce. And white bread.” She had to swallow hard before continuing. “The way my foster mom made them.”

  She smiled at him. “How’s that?”

  “Not bad.”

  “Not bad?” She filled her voice with indignation. “I thought that was pretty good.”

  “It was, but…”

  “But?”

  Blake dropped his head. She got the impression he wrestled with what to say.

  “I’m sorry, but I never know how much you say to me is the truth. Part of it? None of it? How much is your cover and how much is you? It’s impossible for me to know.”

  Heidi’s stomach twisted at his words. This was why it didn’t pay to open up to people. Even when she told the truth, they didn’t believe her. Why did she bother? And why on earth did she want this man to know her anyway?

  She’d spent all week with her head down and her mind focused on the mission. She didn’t have time for interpersonal relationships of any kind and keeping Blake Harrison at a distance would be safer for everyone.

  So why did it feel as if a piece of her had shriveled up, crawled into a corner and started crying?

  “Heidi, I’m sorry. I was out of line.”

  She could see the regret on his face. Time to get those walls back up. “No. You’re quite right. It’s a fair question. Intuitive, in fact. Don’t apologize.”

  He moved toward her, his pace measured.

  What on earth?

  She refused to move, keeping her expression impassive. He edged closer. What was he trying to do? Pick a fight? He had to know if he invaded her space, he wouldn’t walk away unscathed.

  And he did know. She could see it in his eyes. He knew she might take him down at any moment, but he kept coming. She held her ground.

  He stopped a foot away. “I’ll keep apologizing until I remove that look from your face. I feel like a jerk.”

  “Don’t.”

  “Don’t apologize, or don’t be a jerk?”

  “How about both?”

  He stepped between her and the glass, blocking her view of everything but him.

  She refused to budge. From where she stood, she could read the brand stamped into the buttons on his shirt. Funny. As a rule, she had no tolerance for physical proximity. She preferred to keep enough space around her to throw a punch or a well-placed kick. Closed-in spaces, throngs of people, made her uncomfortable.

  Being this close to Blake made her uncomfortable, but for different reasons. If she looked up, their faces would be mere inches apart. What if he tried to kiss her?

  Kiss her? As if he wanted to kiss her.

  “I am sorry.”

  His soft words rang with sincerity and regret, and something she couldn’t quite get a handle on. She needed him to give her some space.

  “Apology accepted. Now could you please move? I’m trying to learn something here.”

  “Fine.” He went back to his chair. “I like country music.”

  She focused on breathing.

  “I prefer Krispy Kreme to Dunkin’.”

  Well, who didn’t?

  “I’d never left this continent until three years ago. I had planned to go on a tour of Europe after college, but that never happened.”

  “Why not?” The words popped out without permission and she couldn’t get them back. She wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t answer. They’d strayed into intimate territory.

  “Life. Married a crook. Had a baby. Wife went to jail. You know. Life.”

  She knew enough about life. “Life has a way of messing with you.”

  “Yep.”

  This time, the silence was free of tension. It didn’t last as long, either.

  “I’d never have pegged you for a sci-fi fan. I’d have thought you were into foreign films—”

  “Please.”

  “Opera?”

  “No.”

  “French food?”

  Was this what people thought about her? She should let it go. But when she looked at Blake Harrison, she didn’t see anything more than genuine curiosity. No agenda other than friendship. Friendships were a rare commodity in her world.

  She walked to another window and watched the process from a new angle. Might as well tell him the truth. “I lived with a family when I was eight. The mom was from Honduras. She made the most amazing food. It’s still my favorite.” That family had been great. She might have stayed with them, had it not been for the breast cancer that took the mom too young.

  She paused for a few seconds. “I like all kinds of music, but when I want to relax, I listen to Sinatra.”

  She leaned against the glass. “I love movies, but I hate going to theaters. Dangerous places.” Great. Scare the man off from movies forever. “I mean, they aren’t, but I get claustrophobic. It’s dark. I’m not supposed to carry a weapon. It’s loud. I can’t hear if someone’s sneaking up behind me, and it’s a shame because I do love a good movie with a huge tub of popcorn dripping in butter, and a great big Coke.”

  “No Junior Mints?”

  This was what made Blake Harrison appealing. She’d bared her soul, and instead of digging deeper into the stories she wasn’t ready to tell, he decided to quiz her on her choice of movie candy. He made it difficult for her to keep her perspective. “Sour Patch Kids.”

  “Right.”

  Something caught her eye. What was that? She rushed to the opposite window, waved Blake over. “There he is. That door, two over. Where does it go?”

  “It’s a back entrance to the warehouse.”

  “He’s been in the warehouse this whole time? What’s he been doing?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Why had he been in the warehouse? She’d have to spend some more time in there next week. Maybe he’d hidden something.

  She turned to Blake. “Guess it’s safe for us to get back to work. Sorry for keeping yo
u cooped up in here.”

  “No problem.”

  He held the door for her. As she passed him, he touched her elbow. The tingle that shot through her arm made no sense at all and she paused.

  “Thanks,” he said in a husky whisper. “It’s nice to get to know you better.”

  The wistfulness in his words made her wonder if maybe friendships were a rare commodity in his world, as well. But why would that be? A guy like Blake Harrison shouldn’t have any trouble making friends. But maybe he did. Maybe his work and home life left little room for outside relationships. The insight surprised her and made her want to reach out to him even more than before. “I hope you understand… It’s a fine line, the one I’m walking, being me, but not me. I don’t have the luxury of opening up with everyone, but when it’s you and me, it will be the real me.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Why had she said that? He might want friends, but she wasn’t the kind he needed. Better try to warn him off. “You might not like the real me.” There was no “might.” He wouldn’t. The real Heidi was scarred and damaged and broken. No one wanted to deal with that.

  *

  Two days later, Blake eased into his porch swing and set his mug of decaf in the cup holder built into the arm. He tapped the news icon on his iPad and scrolled through the latest reports. Typical Sunday night.

  Yeah, right. He couldn’t even kid himself. His usual Sunday evening routine included a little ESPN, maybe a few tech magazines or an episode of Doctor Who.

  In the days since Heidi’s arrival, he’d become obsessive about checking national and international news. Not that he knew what he was looking for. Some clue, some hidden report about a crime family, something that might jump out at him and tell him why Mark Hammond—he still couldn’t think of him as Markos Kovac—had chosen to move to North Carolina. But the reports contained the usual celebrity scandals, political gaffes and a scathing opinion piece on how badly the meteorologists bumbled the hurricane season predictions.