Body Double (3 page)

He nodded, extended a hand. “Mark, please.”

“Amanda.” She shook his hand and liked the feel of his grip. Not too hard, but solid and firm enough to assure her she could depend on him. She’d always judged a man by his handshake and Captain Mark Cross passed.

“We’re being watched. Get in the car.”

She resisted the urge to look around, stowed her case in the back seat and then slid into the front beside him. “Safe?”

“Yes. I swept the car for listening devices. It’s clean.” He slid the gearshift into Drive, hit the gas and drove away from the chopper’s landing pad.

“Who’s following you?”

“I don’t know—yet. Two cars. Two men. Civilian clothes. They locked on to me right after Kate called and they’ve been running a rolling-parallel maneuver, tracking me ever since.”

So his office phone was bugged and the men tailing them were professionals. “You know Kate personally?”

“We worked together for a time before she got assigned to S.A.S.S. and we became close friends.” He grunted. “Actually, we’re more like each other’s surrogate family. Neither of us has any.”

“So you adopted each other. Nice.” She turned the topic. “You think your shadows are connected to me, then?”

He spared her a glance. “That would be a logical deduction, Amanda.”

“You’ve already got a theory. I see it in your face.”

“It’s pretty clear someone doesn’t want us sharing information on our absences.” Turning into a half-full lot, he parked the car near a tall building with no windows—the vault: a site for top-secret work. “We need a place to talk freely.”

“Suggestions?” She assumed he’d recommend the vault. Vaults always had extensive security, including white-noise devices to prohibit communications being intercepted by unfriendly forces.

He didn’t. “At this point, I’d prefer total isolation. Unfortunately, that can’t be assured here.”

Surprise had her skeptical. “Not even in the vault?”

“Not even there.” His steady gaze didn’t waver. “My boat is safe, if you have no objections to being isolated on it with me.”

She wasn’t sure if she should be insulted or honored that he’d asked. If he assumed she had been raped during her captivity, then his consideration was noble. If he assumed she feared him, then it was insulting to her operative skills. Unable to decipher his intentions, she elected to give him the benefit of the doubt and let the matter slide. “I have no objections.”

Her lack of hesitation surprised him. “You’re pretty trust
ing for a seasoned S.A.S.S. operative. Anyone can put on a uniform, Amanda. I haven’t proven who I am to you.”

Questioning her abilities. How typical. “You look exactly as you do in your dossier photo, Captain Cross. And you don’t have to prove who you are, I know.” Her temper rose just enough for her to want to knock him down a notch. “You were with Delta Force, pulling Black World operations, transferred out when you went missing for three months and your security clearance was lowered. You’ve won two Purple Hearts—one in Afghanistan and one in the second war with Iraq—and you’ve got a total of sixteen bronze stars. You’ve been at Providence Air Force Base for over a year, trying to find out what happened to you during your three-month absence and finally using that law degree you picked up somewhere along the way to prove two men in your unit are innocent of murder. You believe them. No one else does—the evidence is overwhelming, which in my mind brings the reliability of your judgment into question. You like to boat, to saltwater fish, and you listen to country music—station 105.5 mostly. You’ve never been married, you’re thirty-two, heterosexual, you don’t smoke, drink only socially, and you date heavily, though you never see the same woman more than six times—which in my mind also brings the reliability of your judgment into question.”

She popped on her sunglasses and turned to look at him. “I don’t trust at all, Captain Cross.”

“Apparently, I misjudged you.”

Damn right. “Allowing underestimation is an extremely effective weapon.”

“We’re on the same team.”

“That’s yet to be decided, and frankly I’m not eager to take you on.”

“Why not?”

“You’re high liability.” Glancing over, she frowned into the
side-view mirror. “You’ve misjudged your shadows, too. That’s three judgment errors, Captain, and the third is about to cost us both a great deal.” She nodded behind them, where two cars were parked side-by-side. “They’re edgy, and if you don’t get out of this parking slot in the next few seconds, they’re going to shoot us.”

He darted his gaze to the rearview mirror, saw the men she’d been watching raise their guns. “Damn.”

She expected him to reach for his gun. He didn’t. “You know you’re being followed, and you’re not even armed? What moron trained you, Cross?” She sighed. “Keep your head down and I’ll take care of it. When I signal, cut around and pick me up on the street.”

Amanda checked her weapon, got out of the car and walked straight toward the sedan. The driver tossed a look of surprise at the Lexus’s driver, clearly unsure of what to do in a direct confrontation. She didn’t recognize either of them. Just before reaching the black sedan, she veered out of reach, passed the passenger window, and then kept walking, pretending not to notice them. When she cleared the car and gained the protection of the Jeep parked one row over, she turned and fired, shooting out the sedan’s back tires. The driver dived for the floorboard, and the black Lexus returned fire then screamed out of the parking lot, leaving half his tires on the asphalt.

Hearing another set of tires squeal, Amanda turned and ran for the street, hugging the parked cars for protection. Moments later, Mark skidded to a stop, flung open the passenger door.

Three shots fired. A bullet grazed Amanda’s upper arm, hot and hard. It stung and burned. Grabbing her bicep, putting pressure on the wound, she dived into the car, grabbed for the door and slammed it shut. “Go, go, go!”

“You’re hit.” Mark stomped the gas, heading for the base gate.

Blood soaked her sleeve and ran down her arm. Amanda rolled her eyes at him. “Very observant, Cross.” Maybe she’d been wrong about that handshake after all. “Just get to the boat, okay? They’ll be right behind us.” The Lexus had already doubled back.

“You need a doctor.”

“I need a first-aid kit,” she corrected him, feeling the first serious wave of pain wash through her. “It’s a flesh wound.”

“There’s a kit on the boat.”

Her arm started throbbing; she felt it in her temples and fingertips. The adrenaline rush weakened and pain slammed through her. She broke into a cold sweat, seeing spots. “Then kindly move your ass and get me to it.”

With a little luck, she’d still be conscious. Without it, she’d be at Cross’s mercy. He could choose to report it.

You will not give him that opportunity, Princess. You will stay conscious. You will endure the pain, and you will not pass out.

“You’re really pale, Amanda.”

She glanced into the mirror. The two men were behind them, both in the black Lexus. “Damn it, they’ve caught us,” she shouted. Totally irritated, she stretched over and slammed her foot down on the accelerator. “Will you drive?”

Amanda twisted on the seat, took aim and blinked hard, trying to clear the spots from her eyes. She put one bullet through the Lexus’s windshield, then another one in its front right tire. The driver hit the brakes hard. The car screeched, skidded, its tires churning smoke. The driver lost control. The car careened off the road, over the shoulder, and onto the grass, where it fishtailed to a stop.

A cloud of dust enveloped the car and Amanda collapsed back on the seat, her head spinning, the spots blinding her. She fought against passing out, but there was no way she could avoid it. Her body was too worn down from captivity
and the tomb, too vulnerable. The darkness was coming at her from all sides and sucking hard. “Cross. I think I’m going to…”

“Well, I’ll be damned. You’re human, after all.”

A
manda awakened on a 26-footer with dual 150 Yamahas mounted on the stern. She lay sprawled on a bench seat and twisted her neck to check out her surroundings.

Mark Cross sat at the wheel. They were surrounded by water—the Gulf of Mexico—and a finger of land with tall bumps of buildings to the north looked small and distant. Her arm throbbed and she looked down at it. It was bandaged.

As if sensing she was up, Cross glanced back over his shoulder, then slowed the boat and let it idle and drift. “You okay now?”

She nodded, embarrassed. “Yeah.”

He reached into a cooler under the seat, pulled out two bottles of water and then passed one to her. “We have privacy out here. When you’re ready to talk about your experience, let me know.”

She took the bottle. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Excuse me?”

He was serious. “Why should I be willing to put my life and career in your hands by telling you anything?” Unscrewing the cap, she took a long drink. The cold water felt good sliding down her parched throat. “I’m here to
get
information not to give it.”

He sat down opposite her, stared for a long moment. With a breathy sigh, he reached under his left slacks leg, removed a gun strapped to his ankle, then set it on the seat beside her. He paused, measured her nonplussed response, then removed a second gun from his right ankle and set it beside the first one.

She showed no reaction.

His challenging gaze locked on to hers, he stood up, shoved a hand down the front of his slacks, withdrew a third gun and then set it on the seat beside her. It brushed her thigh and the metal was warm from his body.

Finally, he spoke. “Allowing underestimation
is
an effective weapon. There’s value in knowing the strengths and weaknesses of your allies, as well as your enemies.”

So he’d been testing her abilities. Respect for him welled in her, as did amusement. Her handshake test had been on target after all. “Sound policy.”

He chewed at his inner lip. “Look, we share the same unique problem, Amanda, whether or not you want to admit it. I know you were missing for three months.”

“Kate wouldn’t dare reveal that.”

“She would and she did. To me, where revealing it was safe,” he said. “Kate was terrified for you, and I supported her like any decent brother—surrogate or otherwise—would.”

“Just like she supported you?” Amanda asked, gaining insight. He and Kate were really close. Family. Inside, she felt a little ache. She didn’t have that.

“Yes,” he admitted, then stared down for a moment before looking back into her eyes. “We were both missing for three
months and we don’t know why, Amanda. We both need the truth. The only reason I haven’t been dumped on my backside is because I have an advantage.”

She looked at him, questioning.

“Secretary Reynolds,” Cross continued. “He knew me well and he trusted me. That’s the only reason my career isn’t in the jeopardy yours is in. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think about those three months, or worry about what happened during them. Will what I said or did be the reason people are killed?” He lifted his shoulders. “I don’t know. I need to know, Amanda. Just as much as you do.”

Empathy streamed through her. She knew this hell, this doubt and fear, and saw all her deepest feelings reflected in his eyes.

“So, do we work together to find the truth, or not?”

Their gazes locked and the truth settled over Amanda like a shroud. Whether or not either of them wanted it, they shared a bond birthed in fear and doubt, and it created an intimacy between them she’d never felt before in her life. An intimate bond that she never would have allowed herself to feel, much less admit existed. But this refused to be denied. This…connection.

“We do.” Amanda nodded, totally intrigued by Mark Cross. “Absolutely.”

“Good.” He swallowed a drink of water. “You look hungry. Are you?”

“Yes.” She’d been eating practically nonstop since her return, but still couldn’t seem to stay full for more than an hour.

“Let’s go to the galley and fix some lunch.” He moved toward the metal stairs, his long body casting a shadow on the white deck.

Amanda followed him, glad to be out of the relentless sun. The glare was strong; inviting a wall-banger of a headache she wanted to avoid. When they sat down, she said, “So tell me about your experience.”

He opened a picnic basket and pulled out fried chicken, potato salad and baked beans. Then a bowl of fresh fruit: strawberries, raspberries, blueberries and kiwi. “I’d just finished a high-risk rescue mission and was starting my leave. I had three months, including use-or-lose days, and things were relatively quiet at the office, so I decided to binge and use all the time off at once. I planned a whale of a vacation. I’d take the boat down to the Bahamas and cruise the Caribbean, being totally decadent.”

Decadent she could believe. The man oozed testosterone. But a man who lived by a self-imposed, six-date limit didn’t get decadent with the same woman for three months. “Alone?”

“Yeah.” He seemed uneasy about the question. “I like my privacy.”

“Me, too.” She gave him the lie. They didn’t get close to people outside of work because it took too much effort. It was easier to avoid relationships than to live lies and make excuses for unexplained, extended absences and some of the “dark side” mission requirements that came with the job. She popped a tangy raspberry into her mouth, and immediately wanted another. “So what happened?”

“Day three, I went to sleep on the boat in the Bahamas.” He scooped potato salad from a carton onto his plate. “I woke up on my boat, thinking it was the next morning, only it wasn’t. Three months had passed, and I wasn’t in the Bahamas or anywhere in the Caribbean. I was docked at my home port in Destin.” He shook his head, obviously reliving the disbelief he’d felt then. “I have no idea how I got there, or what happened during the three missing months. No memory of any of my vacation after the first three days whatsoever.”

Unlike her own experience and yet similar, too. Kunz could be responsible. Mark’s incident had GRID’s pseudo-signature. He had chosen not to conceal the truth about his three-
month absence, to tell Secretary Reynolds the truth, admitting he had no recall of that time and the security breach his blackout created. That put his life and career squarely in the secretary’s hands.

Amanda rubbed her temple, considering all the angles. In the end, Kunz letting Mark go didn’t make sense…unless he
wanted
Mark to be honest with the secretary. Or unless Kunz deliberately took the risk because those risks were unavoidable.

Mark remembering nothing of that three months, her remembering nothing of it…It was certainly possible he, too, was a Kunz victim. The odds of them experiencing the same thing for any other reason were astronomical.

“What about you?” Mark asked. “What do you remember?”

She dabbed at her mouth with a paper napkin. “I was inserted undercover on a mission and exposed—I don’t know how—and then I was taken hostage and tortured.”

Mark stopped eating, leaned forward, giving her his full attention. “You remember what happened to you?”

“No, not really. I remember bits and pieces of being tortured and drugged and someone told me I’d be sealed in a tomb. I’m not sure who. I heard one voice in my head, but I see two different men.” She shrugged. “The next thing I remember is waking up in the tomb. The brick mortar was still wet but it took a while to get out—maybe a few days. When I did escape, I found out I was in a different country and three months had passed from my last call-in. I thought it had only been a few days. Now, I’m not real sure when the things I remember took place.”

“No other memory of that time at all?”

“None. Blank slate.” She stabbed a chunk of potato. “The only thing I’m certain of is that I wasn’t in that tomb for three months. No rations. Beyond that, I don’t have a clue.”

He sighed. “Who held you hostage?”

She munched on a strawberry before answering. “What is your security clearance now?”

“Above yours.”

She gave him a level gaze. “Unless you’ve been elected president, that’s not possible.” Her job required open Intel access.

He held her gaze, and then decided to trust her. “My clearance being lowered was for public consumption, Amanda. To protect my unit and me. Whoever did whatever was done to me had to be put on notice that I was out of commission, that all my access codes and the intelligence I had access to was obsolete.”

She believed him. “Okay,” she said. “So where are you now?”

“I answer directly to Secretary Reynolds.”

The secretary of defense.
Major clout.
That worked for her. “GRID held me,” she said. “Thomas Kunz.” She imaged a photo of him in her mind: black hair, brown eyes, and a sharp face full of angry angles. Something niggled at her, as if Kunz’s image wasn’t quite right, but it persisted so she didn’t fight it. “You?”

“I don’t know,” Mark said. “I haven’t been able to find any connections.”

“What about similarities between you and the other two men in your unit?” Sitting across the table from him, she bit into a piece of chicken that was tender and juicy.

“We’re all attached to Intel and assigned to Providence Air Force Base. But that’s it. Totally different backgrounds, missions, training. Hell, we don’t even share common hobbies.”

“Are you familiar with GRID’s organization, Mark?”

“Not really, no. I’ve seen it named on the Watch list, but I don’t know anything about it. The records are sealed. Access is on a need-to-know basis. Officially, I have no need to know.”

“The designation is necessary,” she assured him. GRID was kept out of the news, out of the typical information-sharing channels, because discussing it only increased its ability to market its services to unfriendly forces. “It’s the largest group of intelligence brokers in the world. They’re experts on U.S. personnel, resources and classified intelligence,” she told Mark. “The organization has only one known criterion for selling intelligence to anyone—payment must be in U.S. dollars.” Talk about adding insult to injury.

“So the obvious link—intelligence—is the link between our incidents?”

“That’s my guess.”

He quietly absorbed that information. “And you think GRID is also responsible for the absences of the two men in my unit?”

“Anything is possible, Mark.” She wished to hell it wasn’t, but facts were facts. “I think it’s worth investigating and making a final determination.”

His eyes glazed, unfocused on some distant memory far outside the boat’s cabin. “I interviewed extensively on the two men—Sloan and Harding. No one knew much about Sloan. He’d just reported for duty here and hadn’t had much time to interact, but people from his old unit and all his records claim he’s an exemplary soldier. No incidents of him losing his temper enough to hack a woman to death. And no evidence of post-traumatic stress, which is what the prosecutor’s medical officer is claiming as the reason for his memory blackout.”

There it was again. That god-awful word,
blackout.
A shiver shot up her backbone and set the roof of her mouth to tingling.

Mark went on. “Reactions were different with M.C.—Major Harding.”

“How so?” She took a long drink of water to wash down
a bite of potato salad. Sweet relish would have been better in it than dill.

“Several people I interviewed said they had noticed small inconsistencies in his behavior before and his behavior after his absence. Nothing they could finger exactly, just little things. Apparently, those differences carried over at home, because his wife, Sharon, made an appointment with the OSI office to discuss something
troubling
her about him.”

An alert went off in Amanda’s mind. Spouses didn’t make appointments to discuss matters troubling them. Those kinds of discussions negatively impacted careers. They talked to friends, other spouses—ones who couldn’t wreck their marriages, their spouses’ careers, and their livelihoods. “Interesting.”

“It certainly might have been, if she had kept the appointment. She died the night before in a car accident. Her brake line had been cut. Within twenty-four hours, her husband was arrested for her murder.”

Even more interesting. “What was Major Harding’s security clearance at the time of the murder?” A chilling thought simmered in Amanda’s mind.

“Top secret.”

Just as she feared. “We need to talk to him, Mark,” she said, crushing her napkin and clearing the remnants of their picnic. “Sooner than later, if possible.” Amanda was seeing a pattern. A very disturbing pattern that could rock the entire world of military intelligence. “Can you get me in to see him?”

“No problem.” He reached over and dabbed at her chin with a napkin. She started and he stilled, suddenly uncomfortable. “A seed,” he said. “From the strawberries.”

“Oh.” She swiped at her mouth. “Thank you.”

“Sure.” He rinsed their plates at the sink. “Do you want to stow your gear at the VOQ first, or go straight to the jail? I made you a reservation and arranged for a rental car.”

“Thanks.” Registering for her room at the Visiting Officers’ Quarters could wait. “To the jail, please.”

“Okay. I’ll have the car delivered there.” He dried the dishes and stowed them in a cabinet over the sink. “We’ll bypass the harbor, in case your shadows are hanging around, waiting for us to get back.”

The air force standard-issue sedan was parked at the harbor dock. “What do we use for transportation?”

“We leave the boat at my house, pick up my Hummer, and go from there.”

He had a Hummer, a house on the water, a huge boat. “Your pay grade must be a lot higher than an S.A.S.S. operative’s.”

“It’s the same.” He didn’t look at her, but the corners of his mouth drew down and he shifted, clearly uncomfortable.

“Really?” She hiked an eyebrow but restrained herself from asking the question.

“Don’t get diabolical on me, Amanda. I’m not on the take and I didn’t inherit a fortune.”