Conard County Spy (5 page)

He turned to her, clearly making some kind of mental shift. “Glasses? Oh, the disguise.”

“Yeah. I got them at medium strength, so I don't think they'll give you much trouble. I mean, all they do is magnify, and your eyes will look bigger, so you'll look different. Are you going to stop shaving, or do we need to change your face somehow?”

“Growing a beard would be the easiest answer,” he admitted. “I've already missed two days, if you can't tell.”

Well, she could, but she wasn't going to say anything about it. She kind of liked the growth anyway. In her opinion, a clean-shaven man only meant beard burn for her tender skin if she got into any heavy kissing. She flushed a little, wondering why her thoughts insisted on heading in that direction with Trace. He was attractive, yes, but as soon as his problem was solved, he'd be gone. Maybe sooner, from the way he'd been talking just last night.

She gave herself a mental shake and reminded herself she had more important concerns.
They
had more important concerns.

“You wanna give a sling a try?” she asked. “I have one left from when I broke my arm eight years ago.”

“Skiing accident?” he asked.

“Nothing so romantic,” she admitted. “I slipped on ice. No interesting story to tell, just an admission of idiocy.”

That at least brought a charming smile to his face. “I'd have to be stupid myself to think you're any kind of idiot. Well, let's try that sling. Maybe I'll be able to stand it.”

She paused after taking a step toward her bedroom. “So it's not just your hand?”

“It's mostly my hand. That's where the bullet hit and shattered everything. I'm not sure why my whole arm hurts, though. The doc said something about referred pain.”

“Does the glove help?”

“All it does is keep me from disturbing strangers.”

Now that was freaking sad, she thought as she continued to her bedroom. She found the sling on the shelf in her closet, way in the back. It was one of those things she hoped she'd never need again, but it had cost too much to ditch. Once, she'd lent it to a friend.

She hoped he could wear it, because it would help with the cover story. And who was she to be thinking in terms of cover stories? She shook her head at herself and tried not to think about how abruptly her life had changed in just twenty-four short hours. She was simply doing what needed doing.

The sling was big, more than enough to cover his arm from above the elbow past his hand. She loosened it completely and let him work it onto his arm. Once it was on, it was impossible to tell if his arm was in a cast or wrapped. Then she lifted the strap over his head and shoulder and began to tighten it. Soon they had his arm against his chest.

“Well?” she asked.

“It doesn't feel any worse,” he answered. “That's the most I can ask for. It'll do. Great idea, Julie.”

She smiled. “Good. I thought about lightening your hair, but you have too much red in yours. I'd make you look like a carrottop, and that would look so weird with your skin tone.” There was a hint of olive in his complexion. “You'd look like someone needed to put a clown nose on you.”

He laughed at that. “Talk about drawing attention.”

“Exactly. There are other things we can do later if you want. A little putty to change your jaw. Maybe some glue to add lines to your face. Your decision. I think the beard and the glasses will be the biggest thing. That, and the fact that nobody's going to give a damn that I have an old friend visiting.”

He was still moving around her small living room, as if confinement didn't suit him. She settled on one edge of the couch and let him pace. “Will Ryker be able to keep you informed if he learns anything?”

“I'm sure he will. He'll probably have to call your phone, though. Mine's somewhere around Denver, dying.”

“Denver?” He had her full attention now. “Why? Or can't you tell me?”

He stopped pacing, hesitating visibly. After a moment, he sat down. “I guess you deserve to be filled in as much as I can. You're in it up to your neck now.”

“That would definitely be appreciated.”

One corner of his mouth lifted. “I always hated being in the dark. Unfortunately, I often was. And right now I'm pretty much in the dark, so I can't offer you much. Suffice it to say, Ryker put my phone on a truck heading to Denver yesterday, then some friends of your sheriff crashed my car somewhere along the same road.”

She drew a sharp breath. “You think someone's tracking you electronically? Who would...” She trailed off as more lights went on in her mind. “Oh God. I don't like what I'm thinking.” The kind of organization that could track one man that way? It couldn't be just anyone.

“Neither do I,” he said frankly. “We don't know for sure—it's only a possibility, but one we can't afford to ignore.”

“That's what put Ryker in high gear, isn't it? What he suspects?”

“You could say so.”

She stared down at her hands, absorbing it all, then said quietly, “I don't think I like the people you work for.” In fact, between this and Johnny's death, they'd be easy to hate. She never wanted to hate anyone, but she had been steadily discovering her capacity for it since Johnny died.

“Right now, I don't, either. But again, we don't know for sure. All we know is that someone is after me. Could be anyone. We simply took evasive action so I couldn't be tracked easily.”

She nodded slowly and realized that the dark world she had always known was out there somewhere, a world she had so far successfully avoided, now sat in her apartment with her. She knew those jobs needed doing; she wasn't a fool. But it had never been something she wanted to participate in. Now, as he had said, she was in it up to her neck. For Marisa. For the people Marisa loved. Well, she'd just have to survive this brush with the ugly side of the world.

“I'm sorry, Julie. We never wanted you involved.”

“I kind of involved myself,” she admitted. Slowly she raised her gaze, trying to smile. “There are threats, and there are threats. I'd like to think that people who are working for me, for my country, aren't being exposed to them by the very people who should be protecting them.”

“We'd all like to think that. And most of the people I've worked with would never dream of doing something like this. But there are always some... Anyway, maybe that's not what's happening. We'll find out.”

“How?”

He looked rueful. “I'm supposed to think, according to your sheriff. He says that information can look very different in light of a new perspective, and he's right. So somewhere locked inside my head is the answer. Who wants me dead? And why? I'll figure it out.”

She bit her lip, forgetting her own shock and feeling sorrier for him than she could say. Wounded, cut loose and left to his own devices. Not a pretty picture. “It must be awful, knowing someone wants to kill you.”

“I've been here before.”

She studied him, knowing he probably had been. It was almost beyond imagining. “You ever think about quitting?”

“I'm in line for disability retirement right now.”

She nodded. “Then what?”

“Well, that's a good question. But right now I need to survive this.”

Indeed he did. Rising, she went to get more coffee, seeking to settle her upset and keep a cool head. It was the only way she could be helpful now. “How's that sling doing? And can I help you with your thinking?”

“The sling is great. I actually believe it might be helping. Less blood running to my hand. As for the thinking part, I'd have to reveal...”

“Operational secrets,” she interrupted. “I get it. I've heard it before. So I'm living with a ticking time bomb, nobody knows when it might go off, and I'm not allowed to know a thing about it.”

“Pretty ugly,” he agreed, frowning a bit. “Are you aware of compartmentalization?”

“Not exactly.”

“It means nobody, absolutely nobody, is given any more information than what he or she needs to complete a job. We do that because the flow of information can be dangerous, so we limit it. For example, in all the years I've known Ryker, I couldn't tell you most of what he's done. A few ops we worked on together, yes, but nothing else. It can be frustrating at times, but you get used to it because you understand the reason for it. It protects people and saves lives.”

She thought about it. “That requires an awful lot of trust, that you're being told all that you need.” It was a way of life that would surely drive her crazy in short order.

“Yes, it does.”

Her gaze met his as she put the pieces together. “Somebody's betrayed your trust.”

“Maybe. No way to know for sure, so we're covering all bases.”

She wouldn't be able to stand living like that, but here she was, right in the middle of it. Which left only one question she could ask, and she wasn't sure she wanted the answer.

“How many people want to kill you, Trace?”

He rose from his chair and began pacing again. “Let me make something clear, Julie. I never hung anyone out to dry. I took care of my assets and my operatives. They were helping me, and they deserved everything I could do to keep them safe. So a few days ago, I'd have said nobody wants to kill me. Clearly I was wrong. Somehow, somewhere, I put someone in a position that is driving them to seek vengeance. That's what I need to figure out.”

She thought that'd be enough to keep anyone burning the midnight oil. She could barely imagine how many people he needed to remember, how many situations he needed to reevaluate. After a few moments, she carried her coffee to her desk.

“While you cogitate, I need to plan a week's lessons.”

He simply nodded, wandering into his own thoughts again. She forced herself to pull out her plan book and tried to find the mental space that gave birth to her ideas for the coming week. It wasn't going to be easy with a caged lion pacing behind her.

The benchmarks were already laid out in her plan book, for each day and each week. All she needed to do was come up with some ideas for reaching them that would keep her students excited and not bored. She glanced over to the side and saw the stack of workbooks she'd purchased and decided that maybe it was time to introduce them. The kids liked workbooks because they provided measurable progress as they moved through them, and then when they had finished, they could take them home to show off their accomplishments. They would certainly help with her planning for the week.

Drumming her pencil on the desk idly, she stared out the window, noting that even the next building had vanished in the blowing snow. Full whiteout: a good day to be inside, even if Trace was pacing around behind her.

Or maybe because Trace was pacing around behind her. She rather liked him, little though she knew about him. He'd only told her a bit, but it had been enough to gain her respect.

She hated, though, to think of the world he had lived in for so long. Just this instance made her wonder about all the rest of it. She was sure whatever he did was nothing like the movies, and she cherished no illusions of Tom Cruise doing fanciful things as part of
Mission: Impossible
. The work was probably extremely stressful and often unpleasant.

But she wondered how he had come to this point, depending on a friend and people he didn't know. And why. He'd never tell her the why, she was certain, but the very fact that he lived in a world where someone wanted him dead was chilling enough.

He was an attractive man, though. Not a standout; women wouldn't crane their heads as he walked down a street, and that probably aided him most of the time. But he was still attractive, to her at least, and she wished she could have met him under ordinary circumstances. She'd love to get to know him better, and maybe even have an affair with him. He
did
get her motor humming, although exactly how she had no idea. Ryker hadn't affected her that way, not even once. And the few men around here that she'd dated, well...those had been a flash in the pan. The doldrums had settled in quickly. It was nice to once again feel the sparkle of attraction, even though she imagined nothing would ever come of it. He was totally preoccupied with survival, and she'd be selfish to think of anything else.

But... She smiled secretly. Maybe a one-nighter would answer a lot of other questions. As a teacher she had a reputation to think about, but she'd noticed the town tended to turn a blind eye when she dated. Folks here weren't cruel, and most weren't judgmental as long as people didn't flaunt their peccadilloes. Quiet little affairs...more than one person had whiled away a winter that way. She almost laughed, considering the truth of that. It wasn't as if all the married couples in this county were always faithful, but no one wanted to be at fault for causing marital problems. Unless, of course, it was their own marriage. Then the mess could hit the fan big-time.

The phone rang, and she reached for it. She kept the base set on her desk and cordless extensions in her bedroom and kitchen. Every time she picked up one of these phones, she remembered her mother walking around the house trailing a twenty-five-foot phone cord coil that always managed to twist and knot. Phones had come a long way.

“Hello,” she answered and heard Ryker's voice in response.

“Hey, is our friend around?”

“Where else would he be?” she asked wryly. “He's wearing a hole in my rug. Do you want to talk to him?”

“Can you put us on speaker? You might as well hear this bit.”

“Ooh, I feel privileged,” she retorted, and heard him laugh.

He said, “She who shares the noose gets a piece of the action.”

Then she punched the speaker button and said, “You're on speaker.” She turned and saw that Trace had come to stand right behind her. A slight sweat had appeared on his brow, probably from pain.