Compromised Identity

by Jodie Bailey

  “That would be too weird to be for real.”

  “True, but I’m trying to think outside the box.” Sean rocked back in the chair. “Most soldiers I know really aren’t fond of mixing their Army lives with their social lives. Well, unless they’re hoping the uniform will get them some mileage with a woman.”

  “There’s that. But a dating site based on your service? That’s sort of abuse of the uniform, at least to me.” Curiosity wanted to ask if Sean had ever used whatever his considerable credentials had to be to get “mileage,” but she kept her mouth shut. What he did in his off time was none of her business, but she couldn’t deny feeling disappointed in him if he ever had. Somehow, he didn’t seem the type, and she fervently hoped she was right.

  “So we recognize two of the photos, Murphy and your unwelcome guest from yesterday. I didn’t see Channing’s photo in there last night, but then again, I only flipped through them.” Sean sat forward and clasped his hands on the desk. “Have you been through them all? Seen if there are more people you know?”

  Jessica shook her head. The sight of Murphy’s face staring up at her had stopped everything. “I’ve studied about a dozen. There’s probably two times that many left for me to check out.”

  “But none of the others so far were soldiers in your unit or even people that you recognized?”

  “No, but I wasn’t here very long before the brigade left. That’s how I drew Rear D. Not enough time since my last deployment. I knew a lot of people in passing, but not well. Murphy stood out because he was always riding the line right on the edge of trouble.”

  Sean ran his thumb along the side of his index finger, thinking. “Two laptops stolen from each unit. One of yours stolen, and an attempt to steal this one. Terrorist chatter spiked each time. A keystroke tracker and a back door on your desktop. Two people willing to kill you rather than let you reveal what they’re doing, even though other witnesses saw them. A soldier whose gear is hers, but her clothing isn’t. Another soldier who tries to attack you, then breaks into your house. And a dead soldier with no apparent link other than this picture on Channing’s phone.” Sean sat back and threw his hands in the air. “I’ve got nothing.”

  “Are we sure they’re all related?”

  “No. But they all link back to that phone and Specialist Channing, who hasn’t been seen since Monday. What do you know about her?”

  “Nothing other than what’s in her file. This is her second duty station, her first deployment. She’s been in a couple of years and she just got here, going over as a replacement in the unit. Channing grew up a foster kid with no family. Like I said, I only know that because she listed her Designated Person on her DD-93 as a friend from basic training.”

  “You’ve called the friend?”

  “Battalion did. Friend hasn’t heard from her in a couple of months. Just said Channing is a good soldier who was excited about finally going overseas to see some action.” Quite a few young soldiers who weren’t battle tested thought war was excitement and romance, the stuff of movies and video games. They learned fast that real life didn’t have a rewind or a reset.

  Jessica shook off a shudder, trying to focus on the problem at hand instead of the trauma she’d seen in the past.

  If Sean thought this whole thing made a mess in his brain, Jessica had no way to describe the chaos in hers. He was likely used to twists in investigations. For her part, she had no experience whatsoever in riddles like this one. Bullet wounds, she could patch. Shrapnel, she could stop the bleeding. Computers and cell phones and random events? There wasn’t any logic to any of this, nothing she could put her hands on and fix. It made her head pound harder than the dull ache she’d had for days.

  Sean exhaled loudly, then snapped his fingers and sat straighter. “You said there’s a Casualty Assistance Officer with Murphy’s family?”

  “With his great-aunt in Iowa.” Jessica sat up in her chair and leaned forward, eager to get some momentum and end this nightmare that had clawed itself into her daylight. “You have an idea?”

  “We want to try to find any link between Channing and Murphy. Forward that photo and one of Channing to whoever the officer is. I’ll set up a list of questions for him to gently ask the aunt, take his time, work them in. She’s grieving and we don’t want to push too hard, especially if Murphy is innocent, which he could be. Being a photo on someone’s cell phone doesn’t constitute a criminal act.”

  Jessica nodded and pushed up out of the chair to find the commander and identify the Casualty Assistance Officer. “Anything else?”

  Sean pulled in a deep breath and started to speak, but his phone vibrated on the desk. He glanced at the screen, then at Jessica, and picked it up. “Turner.” His jaw set tight and he nodded, listening. “Shoot the file to my email. I’ll be there within the hour.” He hung up without saying another word and stood, shoving the phone into his pocket. “I’ve been cleared to talk to the man from your house.”

  Jessica stood, too. “I’m going with you.” She wanted to look that man in the eye and ask him why. Why did he want her dead?

  “No.” Sean’s denial held the weight of cement, the gravity so heavy it wouldn’t even let her fill her lungs. “I’m not putting you in a room with him until I know who’s behind this and what they’re capable of.”

  “But—” He couldn’t deny her the opportunity to face the man who’d tried to kill her.

  “No.” Sean rounded the desk and looked down at her, the ghost of his earlier emotion shadowing his face and softening the lines around his mouth. “I need you safe.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and lingered there for a second.

  His touch sent a twinge down her spine, like electricity from a lightning bolt, but she wasn’t going to let that distract her. She stepped back, putting as much distance between them as she could in the small space. She could be attracted to him all she wanted, but she wasn’t going to let momentary emotions knock her off course. “Half an hour ago, you didn’t think this very office was safe. You thought I needed you hounding my steps everywhere I go. Which is it? You can’t have it both ways.” It wasn’t that she needed him to take care of her, but she’d use any leverage she could to force him to take her along. The man lying in that hospital bed was after her, and she wasn’t about to be left out of the loop now. “You seemed to think I’m only safe when you’re around, remember?”

  The slight flare of his nostrils told Jessica she’d hit her mark. Either that or he didn’t like her pulling away from him. He tightened his jaw and looked over her head, likely trying to gather his composure. He acquiesced with a loud sigh, snatching her jacket from the back of her chair and holding it out to her. “Fine. Let’s go. But you’re not stepping foot into that room unless I give you the okay.”

  She smirked at his back as he walked out the door ahead of her. That was fine. She’d managed to change his mind once. She shouldn’t have any problem doing it again.

  * * *

  Sean walked up the hallway of the small hospital in Clarksville, still mentally kicking himself twenty minutes after leaving Jessica’s office. Why had he kissed her, even on the forehead? There was absolutely nothing professional about that. Something about her undid his reserve and kept him from thinking straight. From now on, he had to stay six feet away from her at all times. Six full feet. Touching her was definitely off-limits from here on out. Just the thought of his impetuous stupidity made his neck burn. There was no telling what she was thinking about him right now, and it would be a wonder if he wasn’t sitting in sensitivity training by this afternoon.

  Jessica hadn’t given him a clue to her thoughts, either. She’d been silent the entire ride, watching the trees fly by along the highway. He couldn’t blame her. If he was the one standing in her shoes, he wouldn’t talk to him, either.

  Stepping into the elevator, he tried to breathe through his mouth. All hospit
als were interchangeable, at least when it came to his nose. The antiseptic smell of medicine and floor cleaner gave off a scent more like death than healing. It all but choked him. Too much like sitting at Ashley’s bedside when infection from a bullet wound nearly took her. Too much like his own recovery, and the concern he’d lose his arm, or worse, his mind. His pulse spiked. He swallowed the visions and balled his fists to keep from grabbing on to the rail along the wall.

  “I’d still like to go in with you when you question him.”

  Jessica pulled him out of his own mind, and the distraction was more than welcome, even if it led to a heated discussion. “We went over this. You get to come because you promised to stay out of sight. If he sees you, I don’t know what he’ll do. We have no idea who—”

  “And if he sees me, he may talk.”

  Sean wanted to take her by the shoulders and make her look at him. And he would, too—if he wasn’t afraid to touch her. “No.”

  “But—”

  “You step back and you stay quiet.” He infused all of his authority into the words, and they grated harsh against his ears. Although he hated to do it, he was in charge and that was the one thing she couldn’t argue with.

  Her jaw tightened as the muscle at the corner of her eye twitched. She straightened her posture. “Understood, Staff Sergeant.” She shifted, putting extra inches between them.

  With that action, Sean lost something with her he might never get back. Camaraderie. Trust. The beginning of whatever insisted on pulsing between them.

  All for the better. He had to maintain focus if he had any chance of healing himself. Rather than strengthening his walls, everything about her tried to tear them down.

  A uniformed officer stood outside the door to the hospital room, while a man in civilian clothes spoke to a nurse nearby. Sean could read the training by the way he stood. A detective.

  Sean waited for the nurse to walk away before holding out his hand. “Staff Sergeant Sean Turner.” He turned toward Jessica, who had her focus firmly locked on the detective. “Staff Sergeant Dylan.”

  “Detective Ken Altman.” The man stepped forward and pulled his hand from the pocket of his black jacket to shake Sean’s, then Jessica’s. He paused. “This guy broke into your house?”

  She nodded but didn’t speak, probably shoving Sean’s directive back in his face.

  Altman turned to Sean. “I don’t understand all you’ve got going on here, but somebody high up wants this guy secure. I’m going to need to see some ID before you can go in.”

  Sean understood, even felt relief at the seriousness with which local law enforcement was handling this. The last thing he needed was their one solid suspect escaping. He pulled his military ID from his wallet and handed it over. “What have you gotten out of him?”

  “Not a word.” The detective scanned Sean’s ID and handed it back. “He hasn’t spoken, not to anyone. He just stares at us. Makes me wonder if he can speak English.”

  “He lawyered up?”

  “No. When I say not a word, I literally mean not one word.”

  “He’s more afraid of someone else than he is of us.”

  Detective Altman tapped the side of his nose. “You got it. What are you thinking?”

  “I’m still putting pieces together.” While he wanted to cooperate, Sean held his information close. If the military felt the situation merited his unit’s involvement, it meant no one outside could be trusted, no matter what badge they carried. It was only when necessary that others were informed, as with the instance when the FBI hostage rescue team had been called in for him.

  It couldn’t get that far this time.

  “Maybe he’ll talk to you.” Detective Altman stepped aside. “Want me to come with you?”

  “Let me go alone. Maybe seeing me will spook him.”

  Altman snorted. “It oughtta. You’re the reason he’s in here in the first place.”

  Sean didn’t reply. He simply stepped around the officer at the door and pushed through without a glance at Jessica. She would take him down with a glare.

  It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the small interior room. Their suspect lay on the bed with his eyes closed, but as Sean drew nearer, he opened them. While the man tried to appear relaxed, the lines around his mouth tightened, tension stiffening his neck. His uninjured arm lay by his side, a handcuff firmly attaching him to the rail.

  Sean didn’t give an inch. It was clear the guy remembered him. The question was would he talk.

  “Found something interesting today.” Sean pulled Channing’s phone from his pocket and flipped it over in his hands. He watched carefully, searching for signs of recognition, but there were none. The guy was younger than he’d first thought, no more than twenty-two, and if he knew anything about the former contents of the phone, he was skilled at schooling his reaction.

  Okay, let him play mute. There were plenty of ways to bluff information out of him. “Found your picture on the cell phone of a suspected terrorist. Care to explain before I let Homeland take a shot at federal charges?”

  No fear. Only a smirk laced with arrogance quirked their suspect’s lip. Whoever this kid was, he thought he could get away with his scheme.

  Or he didn’t care.

  Time to raise the stakes. Sliding the chair closer, Sean pocketed Channing’s phone and retrieved his own. He scrolled through it, letting the quiet weigh heavy. From experience, the brain could only take so much silence before the need to fill it became overwhelming, before the mind spun out of control imagining scenarios far worse than real life could ever provide.

  Except for those rare times when real life exceeded every conceivable nightmare.

  Sean fought a grimace and endured the silence for ten long minutes, staring at nothing on his phone as he waited for his subject to crack.

  The man on the bed stared at the ceiling, occasionally yawning.

  But the silence told Sean more than words ever could, and the information it fed him chilled his blood more than any threat.

  This kid was trained and trained well. Getting him to crack would take more than Sean’s skill and likely more than they could legally throw at him. Training like that only came in camps that drew die-hard recruits with a hard-core hatred of America.

  Camps that indicated this might be larger than he’d contemplated.

  Sean flipped to the file the detective had emailed and stared at the words on the screen, choosing his strategy carefully. “I’ve got a buddy who used to be in Special Forces. He tells the story about this warlord they were searching for in Afghanistan. He’d fired up this new terror cell and it was on track to outpace al-Qaeda. Everybody was after this guy, but he never left a trace. He was a ghost. And then...they grabbed him in a cave near the Pakistani border.

  “Know how they found him?” Sean blew up the file on the screen, reading through the information, letting the pause stretch. “Jelly beans.” He chuckled, still genuinely amused by Tate’s story. “Guy had this crazy addiction to American jelly beans. He’d order them off the internet and have one of his men ferry them in. Once our guys figured out the source, all they had to do was follow the candy. Weaknesses can get us.” Boy, did he know that.

  “There’s another guy.” Sean rested his elbows on his knees, staring at his mark as he drew out the story. “Had an affinity for something a little harder than jelly beans. Vodka, was it?” He made a show of glancing at the phone, watching the man out of his peripheral vision.

  One eyebrow twitched, and the muscles in his jaw tightened.

  There it was. Sean had the kid right where he wanted him. “Seems that guy forgot that when you fake an ID at nineteen and the cops catch you, they fingerprint you and put you into the system. Six years was a long time ago, so maybe the guy forgot. Or maybe he was cocky enough to think he’d never get caught
again. What do you think, Kyle Randall?”

  Randall’s eyes narrowed, filled with the kind of malice Sean had only seen one other time in his life. It was the kind of hatred that came from a desperate person who knew time was short. The kind of hatred that would do anything to save itself.

  Sean fought to keep his heart rate level. His nightmares couldn’t invade this moment. Too much was at stake. He swallowed hard, willing down a fear that would turn the tables before he got the answers he sought.

  Needing a minute to pull himself together, he stood and paced to the door, looking out the small window to reassure himself that Jessica was safe, that backup was outside. When he saw Altman and Jessica talking in the hall, he steeled himself and turned back to Kyle Randall, who was watching with an expression that said he knew he was about to fall prey to the dogs.

  “Right now, Kyle, we’ve got several agencies checking into your background, because we suspect you’re into something big. If I were going to guess, I’d say we’re going to find a passport. And on that passport, we’re going to find you’ve made some extended trips overseas. And when we find those trips, we’re going to turn you over to another agency that won’t be as nice as I will be if you start talking right now.”

  Sean stepped closer, staying just out of arm’s reach. “To me, you’re the small potato that can point me to the whole field. To Homeland, you’re a terrorist who tried twice to attack a female noncommissioned officer. You’ll like my deal better than theirs.”

  Randall stared at Sean a long time before he sniffed and sank against the pillow. “Can you find out when they’re serving lunch?” He stared at the ceiling, smirk firmly in place.

  Sean didn’t flinch. The kid had definitely been trained well. He wasn’t afraid of one thing Sean threw at him. Deciding to give it a rest for the moment so Randall had plenty of time to think, Sean turned and walked for the door. His fingers brushed the handle as Kyle Randall spoke again.