by Foster, Geri
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Three Months Later
Kate sat at her nice but boring desk job and sorted papers. She was close to exploding. She’d been out of the hospital over two months and heard nothing from Brody.
Her father had taken on the persona of a mother hen and insisted she move back home with him until she was better. She’d been cleared for work a month ago, but sitting at the office wasn’t her idea of real work.
When she woke up at the hospital, she’d expected Brody to be there waiting, but he wasn’t. Only her father greeted her. The disappointment had stunned her. All this time she thought she and Brody had something special.
Apparently not.
She’d tried calling him, but he wasn’t taking her calls. So, after numerous attempts she gave up and decided to immerse herself in her work.
That didn’t help because a desk job bored her to death. She’d just met with her supervisor and insisted he either put her back on assignment, or she’d quit. He finally agreed to return her weapon and badge.
Jim Taylor with the FBI came over to her desk wearing a visitor’s badge. They had known each other for years, even worked together on a few assignments.
Tossing a police mug shot on her desk, he settled back in a chair. “Don’t you have a guy in federal custody who claims to have witnessed a murder fifteen years ago in Texas?”
Glancing down, she puckered her lips. “You mean Eugene Barlow?”
“Yeah, that’s the guy.”
“What about him? We didn’t put much stake in his statement because he’s a druggie, and his very long rap sheet ranges from petty assault to armed robbery to forgery.”
“We got a guy who claims Barlow is telling the truth and he knows where the body is buried.” Taylor stood and turned to leave. “Want to go for a ride? I’m going to check it out.”
“God, yes. Take me away,” Kate said, grabbing her jacket and heading for the door.
They drove for an hour and fifteen minutes before turning off 35W. They cruised through the small town of Cleburne and on to the little town of Long Horn, population 3,241.
Taylor met up with two other agents. He got out of the car only to return within minutes. As he slid behind the wheel, he said, “It’s up here, close to an old abandoned mill.”
As the car pulled up, Kate saw that the ME and the local police had been at work. A perimeter had been cordoned off by yellow tape. A large, blue canopy covered the excavation site.
As they approached, the stench of decayed flesh slammed into Kate. No one who ever smelled a rotting corpse could forget the stench.
The skeletal remains lay on a black, unzipped body bag. The ME carefully traced the corpse with a magnifying glass.
A policeman approached, “Can I help you?”
Taylor flashed his badge, his neck stretching to see behind the officer. “We’re the ones who called in the tip.” Taylor thumbed toward her. “This is CIA Kate Stone. One of her prisoners gave up the information.”
“Well, we don’t know much. The body is going to the forensic lab in Fort Worth.”
Kate spotted something. “Excuse me,” she said, stepping under the police tape. “Can I have a word?” Kate called out.
The ME looked up. “Who are you?”
“My guy witnessed the murder,” Kate said. “What is that black thing next to those rags?”
“It looks like an old lunch box.”
Kate pulled a pair of latex gloves out of the tissue box and asked, “Have you ID’d the body yet.” Lifting the box carefully, she set it on a nearby portable table.
“No, just that it’s a male in his mid to early forties. At first I thought the cause of death was by asphyxia. Then I noticed this clean cut on the spinal column. This man was likely stabbed to death.”
Kate released the two hinges that kept the box closed and shoved back the lid. It quickly became evident the article was indeed a lunchbox of some sort. There were moldy bits of food still wrapped in plastic along with a rotted Twinkie and a rusted thermos.
Kate started to remove the gloves, and leave when a pocket watch fell from the examining table to the ground. Kate picked it up, brushed off the dirt, and flipped the lid open.
Her breathing stopped and her eyes widened.
***
Two weeks later Kate walked into Falcon Securities and approached a very pretty young woman who smiled and asked if she could help her.
“Is Brody Hawke here?”
Blond tinted brows pulled together. “Who wants to know?”
“Kate Stone, CIA.”
“One moment, please.”
Kate didn’t expect Brody to be sitting in an office, but she knew Frank would see her, and she’d learn all she needed from him. And she was right. Frank walked out of his office and offered her a big hug.
“Come in, Kate,” Frank said. “It’s wonderful to see you up and around.”
“Thank you.”
“How have you been?”
“Let’s cut the crap, Frank. Where is Brody?”
Frank’s eyes widened. “He’s on an assignment in Istanbul.”
“Why hasn’t he taken my calls?”
Frank lowered his head and moved to sit behind his desk. “Your father is a real pain in the ass.”
“I agree.”
“He called me when it was determined you were on the mend. The SOB told me he knew that Brody had kidnapped you. Also if he ever came near you again, he’d take down this agency.” Frank leaned back and templed his fingers. “To prove his point, he sent a butt load of lawyers in here. He was ready to file charges unless Brody agreed to the restraining order.”
“You’re kidding me, right?” Kate asked.
Frank banged his desk. “Hell, no, I’m not kidding. All that shit tore Brody to pieces.”
“Why would he fall for that?”
“Your signature was on the petition.”
“I didn’t sign anything.”
“The suit came from you.”
“No, it didn’t. My father is the biggest manipulator in the world. He’s been that way all his life. You should have called his bluff, Frank.”
“How was I going to do that?” Frank asked. “First question out of a judge’s mouth would be ‘did your agent kidnap a CIA agent.’”
“Is that why Brody is avoiding my calls?”
Frank shrugged. “I can’t read his mind.”
“When’s he due back?”
“This afternoon.”
“It’s very important he calls me. I have some information he will definitely want to hear.”
Kate left and went straight to her father’s home. Fuming, she got out of her car and slammed the door as hard as she could. She marched into her father’s den and kicked over a chair. He stood, and his mouth fell open.
“You’re one sorry bastard,” she said.
When her father sputtered, she held her hand out like a traffic cop. “Shut up. Don’t say a word to me. Not ever. Don’t tell me you were doing it for my own good. Don’t say you were trying to protect me. Do not do it, Dad.”
She left the room, went upstairs, and packed a bag. Her father waited at the bottom landing for her. She pushed past him and left her father’s house. Shoving the car into reverse, she squealed out of the driveway and drove to her own home.
The place was musty and in need of a good dusting, but it felt good to be home again. Never would her father have the chance to direct her life.
She opened the refrigerator and took out a Diet Coke. When she turned around, Brody stood in the doorway. He looked wonderful. More handsome than she remembered. God, she’d missed him.
Her heart fluttered in her chest. “Hi,” she said.
“Frank said your father put out that restraining order.”
“He did. I wouldn’t do that. I don’t want to be away from you ever again, not for as long as I live.”
Brody took one step forward, and Kate ran the rest of the way. She kissed him and tasted his wonderful sweet
ness. Something she’d missed for so long. His scent kicked her hormones into over-drive, and Kate wanted him so badly she ached.
Finally they broke apart. “I thought you might die.”
“I thought I would too. But not seeing you hurt more than two bullets to the chest.” Kate said.
“You know I would’ve been there.”
“I know,” she whispered.
“I’ll always be there, Kate, if you’ll let me.” He brushed her blond hair back behind her ears.
She stepped away but continued holding his hand. “I have something I want you to see.”
His brows wrinkled. “What?”
“Years ago I had a snitch who kept telling me he’d witnessed a murder. I never believed him and kind of blew him off. Then this FBI guy, Taylor, took me to the gravesite one of his guys on death row mentioned.”
“Okay,” Brody said.
Leading Brody to the sofa where she’d tossed her purse, she reached in and pulled out the plastic bag. Taking a deep breath, she held out the time piece. “Does this watch look familiar?”
Brody opened the bag and emptied the watch into his palm. Fingering the small latch, the case opened to reveal a picture of him, his two sisters, and his mother. “This belonged to my dad. We bought it for him the Christmas before he disappeared.”
“Brody, your father was murdered.” She touched his arm. “The story we’ve got so far says he tried to stop a woman from being killed.”
“My dad did that?”
“We finally found the woman. She verified the story.” Kate ran her hand up and down his arm. “Your father didn’t leave his family. He’d was killed trying to defend a helpless woman.”
“My mom...”
“The body will have to be identified. But at least now he can have a proper burial.”
“Where is he?”
“Coroner’s Office in Fort Worth.”
He handed her back the evidence, knowing it would be a part of the investigation. A mixture of emotions crossed his features. “I never imagined.”
“I’m glad you know he didn’t just leave you and your family. He loved you and was only doing what any decent person would’ve done.”
“I need to contact my mother,” Brody said, rubbing the back of his neck. “My sisters too.” He blinked back tears. “You have no idea what this means to my family.”
“Let me know if I can help.”
He kissed her briefly then left. Emptiness encased Kate, leaving her alone and adrift. She knew Brody would come back when his head was straight. She only hoped that wouldn’t take forever.
***
Kate had just turned off the lights and sat on the edge of her bed, when she heard a noise. She took her gun from beneath the pillow and moved up against the wall, waiting.
The muffled sound of footsteps crept through the living room, and then onto the wooden planks leading toward her bedroom. Kate turned and braced herself in the doorway. “Asshole,” she shouted. “I’m a federal agent, and I’m armed.”
“No shit, Sherlock.” Brody’s voice carried through the quiet house.
Kate lowered the gun and grinned. “I should shoot you, you know.”
He reached for her and pulled her against his chest. “I know, but you won’t.”
“Can’t you just knock?”
He held her by the shoulders and looked down at her. “Now, how romantic would that be?”
“Excuse me?”
“This is kind of a repeat of the first time we met.”
Kate laughed. “Oh please, don’t remind me of that.”
“How about I remind you of a promise I made?”
“Promise?”
“Yeah, that tropical get away where we can get to know each other better.”
Her eyes widened. “I do remember that.”
Brody grinned, slipped an envelope from his pocket, and waved it in the air. “Well, I’ve got the tickets. Our flight leaves at eight in the morning.”
“I have to check with my boss and...”
“Screw it. Let Zoe take care of everything. I love you, Kate. Do you want to get married on a beach?”
“Married?” Oh my God!
He took something else from his pocket, “I also bought this.”
It was a small, black velvet box, and Kate knew what was inside. Her heart sped up, her stomach churned and breathing became impossible. “Are you doing what I think you’re doing?”
Brody shrugged. “I don’t want to be too predictable. But yeah. Will you marry me, Kate Stone?”
She felt her whole world expand and along with that, love seared her heart so deeply she felt the warm presence of hope.
“You’re pretty sure of yourself,” she said, with a smile. “I mean, the beach, the wedding, the ring. Kind of blows a girl away.”
Brody leaned down and nibbled her bottom lip. “My back up plan was to just kidnap you.”
She laughed. “Oh no, once was enough. We’re doing this my way. All you have to do is ask, and I’ll gladly marry you, Brody Hawke.
Brody put the ring on her finger and kissed her with all the love and passion she’d ever hoped for. When Brody had broken into her home and kidnapped her four months ago, how could she have ever imagined she’d be here now, in his arms and soon to be his wife?
Her mother’s dying words came back to her as she had cradled her mother’s hand while cancer chipped away at her body, her mom had whispered last one night, “Love always waits in the shadows.”
Bonus: A sneak peek at the next Falcon book:
Out Of The Night
CHAPTER ONE
Abby Williams shuddered as she marched down the bleak corridor of Lubyanka Square in the old KGB building that rained terrow in the hearts and minds of every Russian citizen. Not a good place for an American to be.
The grim surroundings of peeling plaster, grimy, gray cinderblock walls and dim light shrouded her like body bag. A worn strip of unpainted concrete, created by thousands of footsteps, ran the center of the passageway.
A chubby Russian guard named Boris Gurov, ushered Abby to cell block number five where the Federal Security Service of Russia held Falcon Securities agent, Tony Archuletta prisoner.
Her escort stood two inches shorter than her five feet nine and out weighted her by a good hundred pounds. His dull brown hair appeared greasy, thin and in need of washing. She inwardly shivered when his beady little eyes gobbled her up like a late lunch. After getting a whiff of his foul breath, she decided to keep her distance. Didn’t Russians believe in brushing or was there a shortage of toothpaste?
The hollow echoes of their footsteps, along with the chilling sound of keys clipped to a braided steel chain fastened to Boris’s waist, pulled the hears on the back of her neck.. The belt struggled to hold the guard’s stomach within the waistband of his uniform pants.
Abby planned to keep him so busy checking her out to notice the obvious. Her didn’t wear a military issued garb, her shoes were Nine West and the papers on the clipboard in her hand were blank. To solidify the charade, Abby flashed the guard a cheesy smile and hoped he didn’t wet his pants.
Boris eyed her carefully arranged cleavage. “So where are you taking the prisoner?” Boris asked in Russian.
“I have orders to take him to GRU headquarters where he is to undergo further interrogation.”
The tubby guard grunted and puffed out his chest. “The Aquarium. That will do you no good. I know this American. Nothing can break him.”
“I have never seen a man who could not be made to talk.”
Abby stopped at the appropriate cell, pivoted into a military turn and faced the prisoners. She kept her features calm, her demeanor cool and eyes focused. Looking inside she wondered how the Russian government got away with treating human beings like animals.
The stench of the place alone could gag a cockroach. Those poor bastards housed behind the steel bars looked more like prisoners of war than the everyday run-of-the- mill criminals.
“Tony Archuletta step forward,” she commanded.
Falcon Securities CEO, Frank Hamilton, had sent her to retrieve one of their own from the Russians before he broke under interrogations.
Their plan was simple. She’d dress like a Russian military officer, put him in the car and deliver him to the American Embassy. A simple snatch and grab.
As a reporter, Abby wouldn’t normally do this kind of thing, but she wanted a look inside Lubyanka and they didn’t give walking tours in this area.
She’d actually been in England when her boss called with the assignment. The mission originally fell to a female Falcon agent, but she’d been shot during a clandestine assignment. Not fatally, but enough to take her out of action for a few days.
When the men in the cell continued to ignore her, Abby allowed her eyes to search the faces of the captive men. She counted four and they all looked ghastly. They were covered with filthy open sores, their bodies malnutrition, and wearing little more than rags. Abby choked back a sob of anguish at the horrific conditions the poor men suffered.
Her gaze fell upon the man she’d come to rescue. Her heart sped up and her breathe froze in her throat. Hunger, excitement and longing rose up in her. She hadn’t seen him in eighteen months, two weeks and three days, but it felt like two lifetimes.
His dark steely gray eyes cut deeply, holding her hostage while she struggled to keep calm.
Maybe he was just being clever. At least she hoped. But this act of his disturbed her. Still no one could play a role than Tony. A t thirty-two, he was practically a legend.
If he’d recognized her, he knew enough to play along, and not blow the mission.
“He does not understand Russian?” Abby asked, knowing Archuletta was a linguist expert.
“He understands everything. He is just being a shithead. That is all.” The guard took out his wooden stick and slapped it across the bars. “Don’t make me come and get you, Archuletta.”
The other cellmates hunched their shoulders and slowly crept away as if distance might save them from the guard’s brutality. Even sitting, the Falcon agent appeared taller than the others. Predatory and dangerous, he looked mean and hard. Bare to the waist and dirty, he still had a warrior’s bearing.