Marcus summoned more strength than he knew he had, reached back to grab the guy and then slung him across his shoulder. He hit the ground with a thud and a groan while Marcus scrambled to stay on his feet at the near loss of air supply.
Air Supply. He loved the band Air Supply.
He shook his head. Stop it and focus. Fight now. Answers later.
His attacker was dressed all in black, his face hidden by goggles and a sand scarf. It was a look familiar to Marcus; the guy resembled a bandit from the Old West. Marcus himself had dressed like that before for undercover work.
Unfortunately, his attacker didn’t stay down. He leaped to his feet, ready to attack again.
Marcus faced him, unable to shake the familiar look of him. He couldn’t see his face because of the sand scarf and goggles, but he knew the look, the stance, even the weapon of choice—a .300 Win Mag sniper rifle. Powerful and precise enough to shoot across a long distance. In other words, the perfect sniper’s rifle.
The masked figure lunged and Marcus engaged him, surprised to find he matched him move for move. He acted on instinct, the efforts coming naturally to him. He didn’t even have to think which move to make because his muscles seemed to know before his mind did. Finally, the assailant drop-kicked him and Marcus hit the ground and rolled. When he turned over to get to his feet, his attacker lowered his gun and held it to his head.
“You should have stayed dead, Marcus,” the clad figure stated.
But before he could shoot, another gun fired, this time from behind him. The bullet didn’t hit him but he jerked and spun around to face the new shooter from his spot on the ground.
Marcus spotted striking blue eyes belonging to none other than Bethany, the CIA agent, her weapon raised and firing. Man, she was gorgeous. The attacker hopped over the side of the building and vanished. She raced to the edge and looked over as Marcus crawled to his feet.
She turned back to him, irritation glowering on her face. “He’s gone.”
“Apparently so.” Marcus walked to the perch where the sniper had left his weapon and gear. He glanced through the scope. The diner had indeed been the target. But why and who had targeted them?
He heard the click of a gun safety releasing behind him. “Get away from that.”
He glanced back and saw Bethany with her gun now aimed at him.
“I’m just checking it out.”
“I said move away from it,” she insisted, so he did. If she wanted to play things her way then he would let her for now.
Lowering her weapon, she picked up the sniper rifle and glanced through the scope.
“The diner was the target. Or rather, someone inside the diner.” She picked up the gear bag and dug through it. “There’s no identification.”
“He wouldn’t have any,” Marcus offered and she glanced up at him with those probing eyes. “Despite what people commonly believe, snipers don’t work alone. They need someone to watch the wind and environment as well as, in this case, people coming to intercept them. In this case, if he hadn’t been working alone, he never would have left his stuff behind. We’re looking for a single sniper.”
“I’m familiar with sniper protocols,” she snapped, a comment that made him wonder why he was familiar with them. Had he been a sniper?
The person to ask was standing in front of him and there was no time like the present. After all, he’d made this journey to find answers.
“Back at the diner, you told Marie you knew me. Was that true? Do you know who I am?”
She looked up at him, surprise shining in her eyes. He held his breath. This was the moment he’d waited for, prayed for, even trekked across the Middle East for.
She straightened and raised her gun at him again, this time startling him enough to cause him to take several steps back.
“I do know you. You’re Marcus Allen. And you’re under arrest for treason and desertion.”
* * *
Bethany saw surprise color his face and felt more vindicated than she had since she’d first realized he hadn’t died that night in Afghanistan.
“I think you’re making a mistake,” he stated. “You’re seriously arresting me?”
Technically, she didn’t have the authority to arrest him, but she could and would detain him until he could be placed in custody. And, officially, she knew there were no active arrest warrants for Marcus Allen because as far as the US government was concerned, he’d died in Afghanistan two years ago.
“I know exactly who you are. I’ve been tracking you for the past two years.” She took out her CIA credentials and flashed them once again. “You’re on the government’s radar.” Maybe she was overstepping her bounds here. Technically, he was only on her radar, but he didn’t need to know that.
He looked downtrodden. “I’m a criminal? I thought when you told Marie you knew me, that you actually knew me.” He glanced at her derisively. “You’re nothing but an agent looking for her next prey.”
She sighed and lowered the gun. “You’re being a little melodramatic, aren’t you, Marcus? Of course I know you.” He’d made certain he’d be remembered when he’d made her fall in love with him then run out on her and everyone else.
The bitterness of realizing she’d been duped still stung Bethany because she had fallen for Marcus. She’d fallen hard for the handsome soldier with the broad smile and easygoing manner. The few weeks they’d spent together before the ambush had been the best of her life and she’d been just as devastated when she’d thought he’d died only to discover she’d been used as a means to an end.
Her face radiated heat at the reminder of the fool she’d been for him. She’d cried for this man when she’d thought he died! Then to discover he’d not only survived but had had a hand in the ambush had nearly done her in. Only her anger and quest for revenge had kept her going. Now he was standing in front of her and, more than wanting to know why he’d betrayed his country, she wanted to demand to know why he’d betrayed her. But she couldn’t focus on that now. That wasn’t the important part of why she’d tracked him down. Betraying his country was by far the more critical issue.
“What have I done that the CIA is hunting me?”
“You’re a US soldier who went missing and was presumed killed in action. I have a duty to bring you in through the proper channels. Everyone is going to want to talk to you, to hear your story.”
“But I don’t know my story.” He grunted and spun away from her, his shoulders tense. “How can I tell anyone what happened when I don’t know myself what went down?” He turned back, looked at her and shook his head. “But you don’t believe me, do you?”
“That you have amnesia?” she scoffed. “Come on, Marcus, drop the act. We both know you’ve been in hiding for nearly two years.”
“I wasn’t hiding.”
“Whatever it was, I’m taking you in. The only question is how we’re going to do this.”
He saw her clutch the gun then hung his head and sighed. “You won’t need that.” He held out the rifle in his hand to her, butt first. “I’m not a fugitive and I’m certainly not dangerous.”
“But you are under arrest. Let’s go. You’ll pay for the crimes you’ve committed against your country.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I—I don’t even know—”
His lack of recognition hurt more than she cared to admit, but she didn’t let it show. “What? You don’t recognize me? That’s fine, Marcus, but I certainly remember you.”
“All I know is I woke up injured, with no memory of how it happened or who I was. The only reason I know my name is because the people who cared for me told me they overheard others calling me Marcus.” Exhaling roughly, he rubbed a hand across his face. “They told me the CIA was after me, so I went into hiding, but I couldn’t stand the hiding anymore. I came here trying to find answers to who I am and what happe
ned to me. Then you showed up and the shooting started.”
Bethany was about to call him out on his fanciful tale, but the sincerity in his face stopped her again. Before she had a moment to steel herself from his eyes, the rooftop door burst open and six men dressed in local police attire, with weapons raised, stormed onto the roof.
“Stop right there,” one of them called. “Drop your weapon and step away from it.”
She did as the officer commanded and sank to the ground, carefully placing her gun on the rooftop. It was better to cooperate with the authorities because she knew they would eventually get everything sorted out. Marcus, too, raised his hands over his head and followed the officer’s instructions.
“My name is Bethany Bryant,” she called out. “I’m an agent with the CIA. If you’ll look in my jacket pocket, you’ll find my credentials and identification.” She’d given up field work for a desk job after the ambush in which she’d thought Marcus had died, but still maintained her field agent status.
The officer who searched her glanced at her CIA credentials then passed them along to his boss, who nodded and ordered her released. “We were responding to shots fired into the diner. Can you tell us what happened here?”
“I’ve been tracking this man on charges of treason and terrorist activities. I’d just made contact when the shooting started. It looks like someone was trying to take him out before he could talk to me. I’d like to have him placed in a jail cell and under close guard to await the arrival of Federal Marshals to transport him to Langley to stand trial. And, be careful, he’s highly trained and skilled in matters of combat.”
Bethany watched his face as the officers led him away. He looked resigned to being arrested. He didn’t struggle when they cuffed him or moved him along.
She was right beside him when the local police walked him through town and the man and woman from the diner approached, expressions of worry lining their faces. “Marcus? What’s going on? What’s happening? Why are they arresting you?”
“It’s okay, Milo. It’s all a big mistake.”
Marie approached Bethany and grabbed her arm. “Why are you arresting Marcus? You saw, he was the one who was helping get people to safety when the shots started. He’s a good guy.”
Bethany pulled her arm away. “I’m sorry, but you have no idea what kind of man Marcus Allen really is.”
She saw the looks of doubt on their faces. They didn’t believe her, but she didn’t hold it against them. She knew personally how easy it was to be fooled into thinking Marcus Allen was one of the good guys.
Two
Sheriff Ken Mills was a burly man who epitomized the stereotypical small-town Texas sheriff. But he sat and listened—staring at Bethany’s credentials instead of looking directly at her—while she explained the situation and asked for his help. Technically, he didn’t have to offer any assistance to her since the CIA wasn’t supposed to be operating on US soil, but most law-enforcement agencies shared so many common experiences that camaraderie was generally expected and usually given.
When she was finished, Mills leaned back in his chair and surveyed her. “I’ll agree to this on several conditions, Agent Bryant. One, you don’t interfere with our investigation into the shooting and, two, you offer up any and all information you know about it.”
She nodded. “Of course. I will.” That was a given.
“How long do you think you’ll need to house this prisoner of yours in our facility?”
“Not long at all. One night. Maybe two at the most.”
“Fine. My last condition is that my detectives want to question him about what he knows about the shooting without interference from you or the Agency. I don’t want to hear that we can’t solve a shooting in our own community because the CIA deems it sensitive information.”
“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem, Sheriff. In fact, I would love to be kept informed about any information your detectives garner from Marcus.”
“I’ll let them know.” He stood and shook her hand. “It’s hard to believe that we had a fugitive from the CIA living right here in our community and no one knew it. Keep us updated and we’ll do the same.”
She left his office and was met by Detective Mercer, who told her they were still going through evidence and wouldn’t be talking with Marcus for several more hours.
Bethany took the opportunity to dial the number for Rick Eaves, her CIA department supervisor, to update him. When he answered, she spilled the news about finding Marcus.
She heard his sharp intake of breath. “Marcus Allen? You really found him?”
“I did. He’s alive. He was working as a fry cook in a town called Little Falls, Texas.”
“I’m in shock, Bethany. I confess I thought you were just chasing shadows. Are you certain it’s him? Maybe it’s just someone who looks like him.”
She remembered staring up into Marcus’s achingly familiar green eyes and mentally shook her head. She would never forget his face. “It’s him. I’m certain of it.”
“Okay, then we need to plan our next move. Do you want me to call in a team to bring him in?”
She’d gone against Agency protocols by not calling in a fugitive recovery team. But then, she hadn’t been acting in an official capacity, either. “That’s not necessary.”
“This is a dangerous man, Bethany. He’s been on the run for years. There’s no telling what he might do if you confront him.”
She grimaced, bracing for his reaction. “I already have.”
“You did what? Are you insane? You know our standard operating procedures for capturing fugitives.”
She couldn’t help the indignation that arose inside her. No one had believed her and now she was catching flack for being right. “I wasn’t operating under an official capacity, remember? I didn’t think I had the resources of the Agency to help with this.”
Rick took a deep breath as if realizing she was right and then continued in a calmer tone. “What happened?”
“Nothing. He claims to have amnesia. He says he doesn’t even know me.”
“Amnesia? Are you seriously buying that?”
She wanted to assure her supervisor she didn’t, but the image of Marcus’s green eyes looking at her so earnestly for answers as he’d sat across from her flashed through her mind and she couldn’t form the words. So instead of responding to his question, she moved on to the next issue. “We have another pressing problem. A sniper fired into the diner just after I approached him.”
“They’re trying to kill him before he can talk to us.”
Her mind spun at that notion. “Who is trying to kill him?”
“Bethany, you don’t think he’s been on his own all this time, do you? He must have been working with someone to stay under the radar.”
She didn’t bother reminding him that Marcus hadn’t managed to stay under her radar. “I haven’t gotten to officially interrogate him yet, but I will soon.”
“You do that. I’m going to start making preparations to get you both back here as soon as possible. I’ll call the Marshals’ office. I assume the locals will hold him until they arrive?”
“Yes, I’ve already spoken to the sheriff. He wants answers about this shooting just as much as we do.”
“Don’t let them take over. He’s our prisoner, not theirs. Make sure they know that. Do you want me to call the sheriff?”
“That’s not necessary. I can handle it.”
“Okay. I’ll be in touch once the arrangements for the Marshals are under way.”
She hung up but instead of feeling proud of herself for finally capturing Marcus after all these years, she felt as if she’d just been scolded by her supervisor. And it rankled because she’d accomplished something no one else at the Agency had been able to do.
Rick Eaves and the rest of the CIA had underestimated her and now she�
��d proved them all wrong.
She should have felt vindicated. So why then did it feel like her heart was breaking?
* * *
The local cops paraded him inside like a common criminal. He didn’t like it, but he allowed it because Bethany was right about people wanting to question him. And maybe they could help him recover some of his memories.
Their sheriff offered his help and had a deputy escort Marcus to a jail cell. He sat on the cold, hard seat and waited. None of this had gone as he’d anticipated. He’d certainly not expected to be sitting in a county jail awaiting transport to CIA headquarters.
He closed his eyes and lifted a prayer to God. Surely, He hadn’t brought him all this way to make him a prisoner. Bethany had called him a traitor to his country. He didn’t feel like one, but how could he really know for sure?
Flashes of the past hit him. Gunfire and running. Pain bursting through him. A woman staring up at him, awaiting a kiss—He jolted awake at that last image, realizing he’d dozed off. The woman reminded him of Bethany, like it could have been her sister, but her eyes had been different, a deep brown color instead of the vivid blue, and her face and hair had been hidden under a tunic. But the resemblance was uncanny. He wiped his face, trying to rub away some of the fogginess that clouded his memories.
“What are you thinking about so intently, Marcus?” Her voice came this time not from his memory but from behind the wall of bars separating them. Her eyes were once again their bright glory blue.
“You, actually.” He stood and approached her. She held the answers to all his questions. “How do we know each other? I mean, I know you’re a CIA agent hunting me, but are we more than that?”
She chewed on her bottom lip in a telling fashion. “Why would you ask me that question?”
“I keep seeing this woman flashing before my eyes.”
“So you admit you remember me?”
“I guess I do. It’s just a glimmer, but I remember seeing you.” And kissing you. What was that about? “But the woman looked different...the eyes?”
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