The Business of Strangers

by Kylie Brant

  Ria could feel her blood rushing in her ears, feel the heat of it pounding through her system, sparking fire in its wake. How long had she waited for those words, for that threat of discovery? How long had she dreaded hearing at long last that someone had discovered her secret? At least one of them.

  “No. I’m not.” There was a disconnected part of herself, one that seemed numb to the emotion crashing and churning inside her system, that saw the irony rife in the moment. In following the first solid lead she’d had in years, she’d blown the cover that had served her so well.

  She consoled herself by remembering that if Jake was really involved in an elaborate scheme with Colton, nothing she told him was going to come as any surprise to the other man.

  “So who are you really?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out.” Ria got up with her plate of food and put it in the microwave to warm. The act gave her something to focus on besides Jake’s penetrating stare. “The more you tell me about this Colton, the more I believe he might be the one who can explain everything to me.” The microwave dinged, and she removed her plate, strangely loath to turn around and face him again.

  But she couldn’t put it off forever. Returning to the table, she sat, forced herself to eat. The food tasted like sawdust in her mouth.

  “Something tells me that Colton isn’t interested in having a conversation with you.” He went to the fridge and helped himself to one of the beers he’d left the last time. He set one in front of her, as well, after twisting the top off for her. “Take it,” he ordered, as she started to shake her head. “You’re going to need it.”

  He took a long pull from his bottle, returned to his meal. But she didn’t fool herself. His mind hadn’t stopped working the entire time. “People adopt new identities to disappear or because they can’t remember their own. Which was it for you?”

  “Both.”

  The bluntly uttered word, her matter-of-fact voice, was chilling. Jake remained silent, waiting for her to go on. He knew what the information brokers had dug up on her, and what he’d guessed. But he wanted, more than was comfortable, to hear her offer him a piece of the truth. Given the way she’d lived for the last several years, honesty from her would hold far greater value than the rarest of all the black market antiquities he dealt in.

  “Six years ago I washed up on a tropical beach with two bullets in my back and no personal memories of my own. I’ve spent all this time working to discover why someone wanted me dead.” Her gaze was direct. “Colton offers me the best chance yet to get those answers.”

  “Colton offers you a good chance at a body bag,” Jake answered grimly. “Did you go to a hospital? See a doctor? Amnesia usually is temporary, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t have amnesia. At least not the kind that’s going to be reversed. I think I was injected with something, a designer drug of some sort. Both of the assassins that were sent after me carried a vial of serum and a syringe in a bag. I had…a friend give one of the vials to his friend, who was interning in the University of Iowa Hospital labs several years ago. When he injected a small amount into a lab rat, it no longer remembered where the water bottle was. How to push a tab for feed.” Her smile was wry. “I’ve always felt lucky I can still remember how to make pancakes.”

  Jake could feel his chest going tight at the calm recitation. He laid his fork down on his plate. He could no longer even feign an appetite. “Maybe there’s an antidote. Or maybe hypnosis could—”

  She shook her head impatiently. “Don’t you get it? There’s no antidote because the drug isn’t on the market. Someone designed it for a specific task. I’m living proof of its effectiveness. I’ve tried hypnosis. Twice. My memories start six years ago. It’s like I didn’t even exist before then.”

  Ria stopped, horrified at just how close she’d come to voicing her greatest fear. Because, of course, if she had no hopes of regaining her memory, and her current identity was a sham, it was easy to wonder, in the darkest hours of the night, whether she really existed at all on any level that mattered. She’d combed the databases for missing persons dozens of times. No one had missed her.

  And if Colton succeeded in killing her, she had to question how many would miss Rianna Kingsley, as well.

  With the exception of Benny, she’d made acquaintances in the last six years, but no friends. She’d had working colleagues with whom she shared experiences and mutual respect, but none she’d kept in touch with once she’d left Colorado. She’d had lovers, but none had been allowed close to her in any way that mattered.

  But Jake Tarrance was proving the exception. He’d not only been her lover, but right now he was the only person in the world she’d given this much information to. There was no trust, but there was necessity. The last two times someone had come for her, she’d run. She had the tools to run again, but this time she wasn’t going anywhere without answers.

  And the man sitting across from her was going to help her get them.

  “What about the bodies?” Jake’s question interrupted her thoughts. “Were you able to identify them?”

  She shook her head. “The only thing they had in common was the tattoo.”

  “So three of you are accounted for. Where are the other three or four?”

  “If I knew that, I’d know it all.”

  He leaned back in his chair, studied her. “You must have started working some angle after your interview with Stanton. What are you looking at?”

  Her brief hesitation told him she still wasn’t sure of him. He wasn’t offended. Under the circumstances, she’d be a fool to put her faith in a man like him.

  “I’m working the army angle.”

  He nodded. It’s what he would have done himself. “I can get one of my forensic technicians to get personnel files for the time period in question. We could…” He stopped, noting the slight smile on her face. “You’ve done that.” The statement wasn’t a question.

  “I know a—ah, forensic technician—too.”

  Admiration bloomed. Despite the seriousness of her plight, this might be the one and only time he admired a woman’s mind. If he didn’t also have a bad case of raging hormones for her body, he’d really start to worry about himself.

  “What have you come up with so far?”

  She hesitated, then, as if coming to a decision, rose. “Come upstairs, and I’ll show you.”

  It didn’t escape his notice that she deliberately stayed behind him as they made their way down the hallway and up the stairs. And it struck him then that they were two of a kind. He knew she had reason for her wariness. He’d heard her story. He’d touched the scars on her back, scars he’d later attributed to an injury sustained in the line of police duty.

  She might not have honed her instincts in the mean alleys of his New York City neighborhood, but she’d endured more than any other person he knew of, and had come out on top. It did no good to wish, for just a moment, that his mother and sister had had even an ounce of Ria’s mental toughness.

  He’d learned by the time he was eight that wishing never changed a damn thing. Only action could do that. The two of them, it seemed, knew that when life ambushed you, you could accept it or fight back.

  He and Ria were both fighters.

  “The first door on the right.” There were three doors upstairs. One, he figured, would be a bathroom. The space she directed him to had been set up as an office. Even upon first glance he could tell that what money she had spent on the place had been for the equipment in that room.

  It wasn’t, however, the room he found himself wishing to be invited to. He was tantalized by the thought that her bedroom was just a few strides away.

  It might as well be miles. It would easy for her to engage in sex with someone who didn’t know her, someone who didn’t understand at least a little about her. But true intimacy—that would be impossible. Her defenses would be impenetrable.

  They were alike in that regard, as well.

  “Looks like you did some
serious damage at Best Buy.” He paced the room, noting the top-of-the-line computer and peripheral equipment. Like every other part of her house, it lacked any personal stamp. There were no photographs, pictures, or even the useless pretty things women seemed partial to having around. He had a feeling that the most personal part of her life was encased in that computer.

  She went to a sheaf of papers she’d left on the desk. “I’ve got two hundred three army listed as dead within three months of my landing on Santa Cristo. When I widen the search to twelve months the number jumps to five hundred seventy.”

  His brow creased. “Six years ago. About the time our government was involved with the uprising in Swahana?”

  “We had army personnel stationed in eight countries. Five of the locations saw some combat.” She sank into the desk chair, swiveled to face him. “My next step is to start looking for similarities between these records. Then I can narrow the search.”

  Jake nodded, shrugged out of his navy wool jacket. Beneath it he wore a white sweater and well-worn jeans, both of which accentuated his muscled build. Because her eyes wanted to linger, she trained them firmly on the papers in her hand.

  Circumstances dictated that they work closely together, at least for a while. Given the situation, she even preferred to have him where she could watch him. But she had to wonder what was wrong with her system that it still responded to him, as strongly as the first time she’d laid eyes on him. There was a connection there she wished she could reject.

  Since it couldn’t be denied, it would have to be ignored.

  “Let’s concentrate for now on the smaller list. What would be the easiest? Start a database with different columns for each item to match?”

  She nodded, went to the computer and opened up the appropriate application. Quickly she typed in column headings for names, date of service, cause of death and date. Then she got up. “I’ll read the material to you and you type it.”

  When she noted his expression she gave a half smile. “There’s not room for any other furniture in here, so I’m saving you from sitting on the floor all night with a magnifying glass. Some of this print is pretty small.”

  “We’ll trade off. Start with the women. It would be easier to see if we can find a couple of men whose date of death matched one of theirs.” He went to the computer and she gave him a chance to sit before beginning. “Showalter, Sarah M. Pfc. Date of service…”

  Hours later, Ria rolled her aching shoulders and mentally admitted that age could trump physical fitness every time. If she and Jake hadn’t taken turns every half hour or so, by now she’d be in a permanently hunched position. She scrubbed her burning eyes with the heels of her palms, dislodged a contact lens, and had to go in gentle pursuit to right it again.

  Jake was printing out their completed product, and as she watched the pages spit out of the printer, she felt a familiar flicker of anticipation. How many times had she felt this close? A hundred? A thousand? Each time she’d gotten a lead that had seemed viable at first, tugging on it had eventually led nowhere. But remembering that couldn’t dampen her eagerness. Couldn’t douse the hope that this time might be different.

  She slid a glance at him, unwillingly noting the way his sweater contrasted with his dark coloring. The scar that ran from the corner of one eye down his cheek was nearly as light as the sweater. It looked old, as though it had toughened and weathered with his face for a lot of years.

  “When did you get that?” With a shock, she realized she’d voiced the question out loud. She didn’t expect him to answer. Certainly she’d never given the truth on the rare occasions she’d been asked about the old wounds on her back.

  He touched the scar. “This? When I was fifteen. My stepfather was a handy mechanic when he wasn’t drunk. That wasn’t often. This time he used a tire iron. It was the last time he ever hit me, though. The last time he ever beat my mom.”

  His tone was flat, his face expressionless. But Ria could guess at the rest of the story. Compassion bloomed. “He’s dead?”

  “I killed him.” His gaze was steady on hers. “Spent three years in juvie for it, because my mom was pretty pissed at me. It didn’t matter to her that he beat her senseless every time he drank, and was threatening to kill her that time. He was her meal ticket, and I took that away.” His mouth twisted. “That’s when I learned that everyone has their price. She’d traded her kids and her self-respect for groceries and rent.”

  Jake began to gather up the papers with swift sure movements. And Ria sat there, all too able to imagine the scene as he’d described it. She’d been involved in enough domestic calls to know how easily they could become deadly. And she’d never left one without worrying about the children in the home. The scar on his cheek was likely only the most visible of those he carried.

  “You had brothers and sisters?” She was unfamiliar with this compulsion to know more. Given her need for privacy, she’d always scrupulously respected that of others. Maybe it was because Jake already knew more about her than anyone else. Or perhaps it was part of the fascination he held for her. Facts could often be used to defuse mystery.

  “I had a sister. She’s dead.”

  His tone said he wasn’t going to offer more. But the bleakness in his eyes made Ria sorry she’d pushed. She’d been tortured for the last six years by the loss of any personal memory. He’d been tortured for far longer by memories he couldn’t forget. It would be difficult to say which of them was worse off.

  “There are highlighters in the middle desk drawer.” Her throat was full, so she cleared it. “We can use them on the matches in each column.”

  He opened the drawer, took out two and tossed one to her. “Where were you when you were found? You said on an island.”

  The question pulled them out of personal territory. Their task provided a buffer that she seized on gratefully. “Santa Cristo. It shares the island with Puerto de Ponce.”

  “I believe they mentioned that in sixth grade geography.”

  Ignoring his wry tone, she went on. “Six years ago Puerto de Ponce was experiencing civil war.”

  “One of many.”

  It was true enough. Santo Cristo was still a third world country by anyone’s definition, but it had lush jungles and white sand beaches that had become a mecca for tourists. Puerto de Ponce shared little of that natural beauty. Its side of the island was rocky and mountainous, and the poverty rate was among the highest in the world. Time after time in history guerillas had risen up to try and overthrow the government. Whether they succeeded or failed, little had ever changed for the country’s people.

  “I always considered that I might have been headed for Puerto de Ponce.”

  Jake looked up from the sheet he was marking. “So you’ve always figured you might have been military?”

  “Not necessarily.” She still held out that hope, of course. It would be bitter to discover that she was one of the thousands of mercenaries who hired out to whichever group could afford them. Or worse, part of a group intent on descending on the area to exploit its misery.

  “What about Red Cross? You could have been affiliated with it, or any one of a number of international relief organizations.”

  “I checked that out. I wasn’t. And the only medical knowledge I have is basic first aid.” She didn’t bother to mention that few relief workers had the type of other skills she possessed. Setting the marker down, she rose to stretch her legs. “I haven’t exactly been sitting on my hands for the last six years, you know. I’ve checked the civilian missing persons databases. I’ve followed leads on possible meanings for the tattoo, as well as the artist. I speak several languages, so I checked out universities with graduates obtaining multilingual degrees. High school academies focusing on languages. Special schools of American children overseas, diplomats and embassy personnel reported kidnapped….”

  The frustration of her search sounded in her voice. “Every time I’ve reached a dead end.” And some avenues had never been open to her. If s
he’d been working covert intelligence, her name would have to be on file somewhere. But she’d never risk Benny’s future by asking him to try to hack into Langley’s vast database. She didn’t doubt he’d relish the task, but the chance of him getting caught far outweighed her need, especially when it was just guesswork on her part.

  “I’ve researched it. There was no openly sanctioned military involvement with Puerto de Ponce at that time. We had no military personnel in the area. Our government took a hands-off diplomatic approach.”

  “But Stanton thought the group was army.” By the understanding in his voice, she knew Jake was realizing just how thin this lead was. It was based on the very shaky word and selective memory of an immoral convict.

  A convict who’d been killed shortly after he met with Ria.

  Right now, it was the best lead she had.

  They worked silently for a time, engaged in the painstaking work. When they’d finished, they exchanged pages and began to discuss the areas where the personnel matched. “More than a third of the males reported dead were trained as Rangers.”

  “That makes sense, I guess.” Ria had noted the same thing. “Special Forces are the first to be sent into any combat situation. They’d be involved in the most dangerous missions.”

  “But women can’t be Rangers, so that can’t be the link.”

  “Military remains a patriarchal system,” she said dryly. “Women can receive the same training as men, up to a point. No branch allows females in the special ops programs.”

  “Given that, I guess we should look for ways any of the males here connect with the females.”

  “The fact that they went to Stanton as a group suggests they were teamed together for some sort of assignment. I have to figure that the tattoo depicts something about the nature of that mission.” She reached for the bottle of now warm beer she’d brought up with her, and drank. “But I keep butting up against the fact that a woman isn’t normally going to be tapped for a dangerous assignment.”