Travis had to admit, as the only sibling on the East Coast, he was the frequent recipient of motherly concern. His sister, Lisa, lived in California with her husband and two kids.
“Have you talked to Lisa lately?” Travis asked to deflect the focus from himself.
“This morning actually,” his mom replied. “We’re both wondering when you’ll meet a nice girl and settle down.”
“Mom—”
“It’s been three years, Travis,” his mom said. “I know you loved Sarah so much. Do you think she would want you to continue grieving for her like this?”
“Mom, I don’t know—“
His mother’s face turned grim. She reached for his laptop at the other end of the table, turned it around to face them, and touched the keys to take it out of hibernation. There, as a screen saver, were pictures of Sarah. Tears suddenly filled his mother’s eyes. “Please, Travis. You’re alive. She’s dead. Don’t do this, son.”
Anger surged through his veins. This was his life. His fucking choice to grieve.
He gave a mirthless laugh and threw his fork on his plate. “Is this some kind of intervention?”
“Take it however you want. I’m a mother concerned for her son.”
“This. Is. My. Life.”
“You’re my son.”
His mom couldn’t begin to understand how it was to lose the love of his life. Her telling him that Sarah was dead was making his conversation with Nate last night sound like a dream. And in the cold light of day, he panicked for a moment that it was. He lost his appetite, pushed the plate away, and stood up.
“I need to get to the office.”
“It’s Saturday.”
“I’m flying out of DC tomorrow.”
His mom sighed, knowing better than to ask him where he was heading. She rose from the chair, walked over to him, and hugged him tightly.
“I just want to see you happy.”
“I will be,” Travis said in what he hoped would be a prophetic statement.
*****
Caitlin sat in the special interest section of the American Embassy in Berlin. She still wasn’t sure why she had come here and was surprised she hadn’t been hauled away in handcuffs after she told the guard who she was—a fugitive wanted by the U.S. government. The guard had looked at her as though she had lost her mind. He barked into his shoulder radio and waited for instructions. It didn’t take long before she was promptly photographed and fingerprinted. Afterward, she was led into a small room without windows and told to wait. Half an hour later, she was taken to this section—someone from the Office of Consular affairs wanted a word with her.
Her first instinct before coming here was to head straight for Russia, where there were tenuous extradition laws with the U.S. However, some of the men who were after them had spoken Russian.
Jase explained that the CIA covert group gunning for them frequently used Russian mercenaries and ex-KGB agents. But her main reason for coming to the embassy was because she was tired. Tired of running. Tired of hiding and tired of getting shot at. She was ready to take the risk. She knew why they were after her, and if she could just get the right people to hear her case, she would be safe. It didn’t help that the sum of her memories was three years. And what she knew was only from what Jase had told her. Amnesia sucked.
Damn Jase for deserting her. She was pissed at him, as well as worried. His whole left side was drenched with blood in the short time he was shot. Jase. Stupid. Stupid. Jase. Didn’t he say they were stronger when they stuck together? She should have seen the signs. They hadn’t been intimate for over three months, but she had noticed him withdrawing from her six months ago. They had been living more as roommates than lovers. He was preparing to let her go.
And what the hell had he meant when he said he wasn’t the one she loved? Of course, she loved him. Even if friendship was all that was left between them that still counted as love, right?
She tapped her foot impatiently. There were ten people ahead of her, and she wondered what their stories were. She managed to buy some decent clothes at a shop in the village where she had holed up for two days. The backpack Jase had thrown out for her was packed with bare essentials, such as cash in different international currencies. She also had two other passports but left them at the hotel along with a sub-compact 9mm.
A lady, who looked to be in her forties, stepped out of one of the offices and walked up to the line of seats.
“Ms. Caitlin Kincaid?”
Startled that she was called ahead of the others, Caitlin stood up apologetically and raised her hand.
“Here.”
“Follow me, please.”
They walked further down the hallway and made a right toward a bank of elevators. A Marine joined them. Security.
“Um, are you going to detain me after all?” Caitlin asked in a resigned voice.
“No, dear, but we want to ask you a few questions.”
Right, Caitlin thought snidely. With armed security?
They got into the elevator and went down a floor. When the woman motioned her to enter a room, Caitlin noticed that her female escort also had a side arm.
“Ms. Lopez will be with you in a minute.” The woman smiled stiffly and closed the door.
Ms. Elena Lopez was the assistant to the Consul General. She appeared to be of Spanish descent. Caitlin paused. How did she come up with that? She frequently had flashes of observation when her mind became vigilant of her surroundings. What usually followed wasn’t pleasant. Caitlin took several deep breaths to calm down. She felt vulnerable without Jase.
“Can I get you anything, Ms. Kincaid?” Ms. Lopez inquired.
“The water is fine.” Caitlin nodded to the plastic tumbler beside her.
“How long have you been in Germany?”
“Five months.”
“And before that?”
“Provence for six months.”
“You move around a lot.” Ms. Lopez raised a brow.
“Yes,” Caitlin said. “Do I need to lawyer up?”
“What made you say you were a fugitive from the U.S. government?”
Caitlin pursed her lips. “I thought I was cleared. That there were no warrants for my arrest.”
“There aren’t. But around half an hour ago, the embassy received a call from a person belonging to an important branch of the government who wants to speak with you, and I’m trying to determine if I should protect you from him.”
Her heart lurched. “They don’t always do things legally, do they?”
“You’re smart, Ms. Kincaid. So, what is the supposed crime you’ve committed?” Ms. Lopez asked.
“I’ve been told that I’ve laundered money for organized crime. It was supposed to be a setup, but the operation derailed, agents undercover were compromised. We became an embarrassing liability, and we were disavowed.”
“We. Someone else worked with you? You worked for the government?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Ms. Kincaid, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me everything.”
“I don’t remember,” Caitlin repeated. “I was in an accident after everything went down. I . . . I have amnesia.”
Elena Lopez looked at her dubiously and shook her head. “Do you think this is funny, Ms. Kincaid? If I turn you over to this person, you’ll disappear forever and not in a good way.”
“Can you protect me?”
“Absolutely. But only if you give me sufficient reason to put the weight of our office behind you.”
There was a knock on the door. The same woman who led Caitlin to the room walked in and handed Ms. Lopez a piece of paper. Shock registered on the assistant consul’s face, which she quickly schooled to a bland mask.
“Do you know a Travis Blake?”
Caitlin shook her head.
“How about a Nathan Reece?”
“No. What’s this all about?” Caitlin asked. “Do they know me?”
Ms. Lopez stood up and looked at her. “
I’ll try to get to the bottom of this. From no warrants to three people asking to see you, something tells me you’re in big trouble, lady. While I go sort this out, you better rethink your amnesia story.”
*****
“Where the hell are you?”
“I’m getting into my rental,” Travis replied as he dumped his suitcase into the cargo area of his vehicle. His charter arrived forty-five minutes ago at the Berlin International Airport, and after clearing paperwork, he was glad the Mercedes SUV was already waiting for him. He tried to recall if Germany drove on the right or left side of the road. “You have any news?”
“Sarah showed up.”
He froze at Nate’s words, his hand gripping his phone tight. Words failed him as though a piece of shrapnel had severed his vocal chords. His surroundings receded just as the words sunk in, and all he heard was his breathing and the roaring of his pulse in his ears.
“Travis? Shit, man. Shouldn’t have sprung this on you. Travis!”
“Where?” Travis managed to choke out when he realized he’d zoned out on Nate.
“U.S. Embassy. Her fingerprints were run against the FBI wanted list.”
“Why the fuck would they do that? She’s not a criminal or a terrorist.” Protective instincts kicked into high gear as he reined back the million emotions rushing through his system. Compartmentalize. Years as a SEAL had taught him this.
“Someone thinks otherwise,” Nate replied. “Get in your car, Travis, and get the fuck over here. Someone from the CIA, Lewis Adler, wants first dibs on talking to Sarah. I’m trying to hold him off with all I’ve got, including calling in some favors at the agency. I suggest you do the same. Call Porter.”
Travis slammed into his car, programmed the GPS for the American Embassy, and was thankful that it was only twenty minutes away. He navigated his way out of the airport and took out his phone to call Benjamin Porter. It was 5:00 a.m. on the east coast. Fuck. He made the call.
Nate was already waiting for him at the main entrance located on the north side of the building. Travis had to park some distance off because the embassy was built to protect against car bombs. The short-term street parking behind the embassy wouldn’t cut it since Travis had no idea how long this whole business was going to take. Despite the relative calm he tried to exude on the surface, his insides were threatening to explode with hope and excitement as he pictured an emotional reunion with Sarah. Travis tried to ignore the nagging anxiety of why she had not contacted him all these years, and the only thing he could come up with was that John Cooper had kidnapped her and held her captive. His gut clenched at what she might have experienced at his hands. He never trusted Sarah’s drifter friend. And why hadn’t she contacted him immediately once she was clear of that motherfucker? It didn’t matter. He was here now to take her home.
Nate had a smirk on his face when he spotted him. That was a good sign. Looked like Porter pulled through for him after all. The admiral wasn’t too pleased to receive an early morning call, but when he realized what was at stake, the man assured him that he was on top of it.
“Ms. Lopez is talking to Ben Porter right now,” Nate informed him as they walked past the guards.
“Ms. Lopez?”
“Elena Lopez is the assistant to the consul general and is in charge of Sarah’s aka Caitlin Kincaid’s case.”
“Caitlin Kincaid? What are you talking about?”
“Ms. Lopez is insisting that the woman they have in custody is Caitlin Kincaid,” Nate informed him as they got into an elevator. “I had to pull in several documents from our database, including your marriage certificate and some pictures to prove that Caitlin Kincaid and Sarah Blake are the same person.”
“Aren’t the fingerprints and pictures enough?”
Nate stared at him incredulously, and Travis felt heat crawl up his neck. With the work they do, he should know better. Only DNA analysis, with full-proof chain of custody in place, was the only reliable method of establishing identity. Travis just wanted to get this over and have his wife back.
A woman was waiting for them when the elevators slid open. Her eyes appraised Travis critically, much like putting him under a microscope.
“I believe you’re Travis Blake,” the woman said. “I’m Elena Lopez. I’m in charge of Ms. Kincaid’s case.”
“Sarah Blake,” Travis bit out.
“I’m going with what’s on Caitlin’s paperwork,” Ms. Lopez said coolly. “I’ve established that you have the right to talk to her first. Mr. Adler is not pleased, but you have many friends in Washington that have vouched for you. I will be with you in the room. That’s non-negotiable. At the first sign she feels threatened, you will be removed immediately. Am I clear?”
Travis was tempted to tell the woman to fuck off, but Nate shot him a look to shut up. His friend was right; he shouldn’t let his infamous temper delay or ruin his reunion with Sarah.
His heart pounded wildly against his sternum when they reached the last room at the end of the hallway. Ms. Lopez opened the door to reveal its lone occupant.
Sarah. His Sarah.
There was not a fucking doubt.
Same long blonde hair with streaks that reminded him of warm honey. His eyes focused on her face, and the first inkling that something was wrong triggered the alarms in his head. It was the same beloved face, the same gorgeous hazel eyes, but instead of love and fucking joy, what was reflected in them was suspicion and enmity.
“Ms. Kincaid. This is Travis Blake and Nathan Reece. Do you know them?”
Why wasn’t she jumping up and rushing into his arms? Travis thought with rapidly deflating hope.
Sarah sat back and crossed her arms on her chest in a defensive posture.
Her next words shattered his world all over again.
“So which agency are you guys from?”
CHAPTER TWO
Shock. Pain. Confusion.
These were the first emotions that hit him. What Travis wasn’t prepared for was the feeling of betrayal and anger, followed by a strong wave of possessiveness. This woman looking at him as if he were a stranger would know by the end of the day who he was to her.
“I’m your husband, Sarah.” His voice was calm.
He was irritated by the way her body jerked at his statement, and how the distrust in her eyes turned into full-scale suspicion.
“Who the hell is Sarah?”
“You. Are,” Travis bit out.
Sarah gave a scornful laugh. “You guys would stoop to just about anything.” She turned to Ms. Lopez and said, “You told them I have amnesia, and they suddenly cooked up this story?”
“You have amnesia?” Travis whispered, his mind reeling with this new revelation. This changed everything. Fuck. What if she didn’t want to come home with him?
“Don’t pretend—”
“I haven’t informed them of your memory loss,” Ms. Lopez said quietly.
Sarah suddenly looked flustered, unsure.
“This . . . this . . . doesn’t change anything,” she said in opposition to his own thoughts. “I don’t know him. He’s not my husband. I have a boyfriend.”
Travis swore a blood vessel popped in his head.
“You’re my goddamned wife!” he roared at her.
“I have a boyfriend,” Sarah repeated coolly. “A. Lover.”
Travis took an angry step forward and said, “Who? John Cooper?”
“Who the heck is John Cooper? I’m telling you, asshole, I’m not your wife. I don’t know any of the names you’ve just mentioned.”
“Jase Locke.”
At this, her eyes widened like saucers and fear veiled over her once defiant demeanor.
“What do you know about Jase?”
“He’s dead.”
“No!” Sarah whispered in horror.
“Damn it, Travis.” Nate was furious. Travis didn’t blame him, but at the moment, he was beyond caring. He wanted to hurt her the way she was hurting him.
“Who is Jase Locke?” Ms
. Lopez demanded.
“John Cooper aka Jase Locke is the man who took Sarah from me,” Travis said coldly, turning his eyes on his reluctant wife. “You—are—Sarah—Blake.”
“Jase, what happened to Jase?” Sarah’s eyes were brimming with tears, inflaming his anger to an ugly breaking point.
“Outside. Both of you,” Ms. Lopez ordered him and Nate. “Now.”
“Tell me what happened to Jase!” Sarah screamed after them, her face crumpling in anguish by his one statement that her lover was dead.
“He was found dead three days ago. Murdered. That motherfucker deserved everything—”
“Goddamn you, Travis,” Nate shouted. “Enough!”
His friend grabbed his arm and dragged him out the door. Travis was consumed with bitterness and betrayal as he watched his wife break to pieces in front of him.
He couldn’t comfort her. She was crying over another man. Fuck. He couldn’t breathe.
Travis stumbled out of the room, jerked his arm out of Nate’s grip, and stalked up the hallway. Finding an empty room, he entered it, and paced around like a caged tiger.
“Are you out of your ever-loving mind?” Nate yelled at him. “Jesus Christ, Travis! Could you be more cruel? I thought you loved Sarah, but you’re nothing but a fucking asshole.”
Crack!
Travis stared blankly at his friend who staggered back a few steps.
He fucking hit Nate. I’m losing it.
Travis found himself taking deep inhalations. He felt like an IED had exploded in his chest, tore his insides to pieces, and had opened the floodgates of every single emotion that he had tried to hold at bay for the past three days.
“She was with someone else,” he said hoarsely. The words grated on his throat like sandpaper.
Nate took a couple of tentative steps toward him. “We don’t know the whole story, buddy.”
“How the fuck could she do this?”
“You need to get a grip. She doesn’t remember you or your life together.”
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