Familiar Stranger (20 page)

"Mom! You won't believe this, but I think we met this man!"

Cara turned. "When?"

"This morning. At the airport. Henry fell out of Rachel's backpack as we were getting off the plane and a man came out of the crowd and gave it back. I swear it was the same man, right down to those silver strands of hair over his ears."

Cara's heart started to pound. She should have known that David would find a way to look at his daughter's face—just in case he— She stifled a sob, unable to finish her own thought.

"Oh, Bethany, are you sure?"

Bethany looked intently at the other two snapshots, then nodded. "Positive." When she looked up, she knew something was wrong. "What?

Cara hesitated.

"Damn it, Mother, I knew something was wrong from the start. Talk to me. Who is he? What has he done to you to make you cry?"

"His name is David Wilson, and I'm crying because I'm scared. The first time he left me to fight a war." She inhaled on a shaky breath. "And he left again because … because for him, that war has never ended."

Bethany's heart started to pound. She heard her mother's words, but they didn't make sense. She knew the man who'd been staying with her mother was named David Wilson. She'd heard her mother call him David, and they'd heard his last name when the incident had made the news. Her biological father's name had been Wilson, but he died in Vietnam. Hadn't he? What had her mother just said about the first time he left her? She started to shake.

"Mother?"

Cara felt guilty for the confusion on Bethany's face and when she heard the tremble in her voice, she reached for her hands, holding them close against her breast.

"That man … the man you saw in the airport … the man who saved my life … is your father."

Bethany's face crumpled and she staggered backward to a chair, her voice barely above a whisper.

"But you said he was dead."

"We all thought he was dead," Cara said.

"Where … why…?"

Cara sighed. "It's a long, terrible story, my darling, and it's not mine to tell. When David comes back, he will tell you himself."

Bethany looked up, the yearning there on her face for Cara to see.

"Will he come back?"

Cara smiled. "Yes, I believe he will."

"How can you be sure?" Bethany said.

Cara held out her hand. "Because he put this on my finger."

Bethany took one look at the diamond and burst into tears.

Cara knelt, cradling her daughter in her arms.

"Don't cry, darling. It's actually wonderful, you know. It's a miracle that David and I have been given a second chance for happiness."

"I'm not crying because I'm unhappy," Bethany sobbed. "I'm just crying, okay?" Then she clutched Cara a little tighter. "Oh, Mom, he has to come back."

Cara closed her eyes momentarily, refusing to give in to the fear.

"Yes, darling, I know just how you feel."

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seat belts and put your seats and tray tables in their upright positions. We will be landing in a few minutes and there will be personnel at the gate to help you with flight information should you be traveling on to other destinations. On another note, the time in our nation's capital is now one oh five p.m. The weather is hot and sunny, ninety-five degrees with a slight westerly breeze. Enjoy your stay and thank you for flying with us."

Ignoring the flight attendant's spiel, David glanced out the window as the plane began its descent. From where he was sitting, he could pick out several landmarks, the most noticeable of which was the Washington Monument. The spire was like a finger pointing the way to heaven—or away from hell. In this city, it was always a toss-up as to which one was in power at the moment. A sense of timelessness hit him as he looked down at the great white dome of the nation's Capitol. Since its inception, so many people had dedicated their lives to making certain that the nation maintained itself as a democracy, while others had spent fortunes trying to manipulate and control it. David had seen both sides and right now wasn't too enamored with either. All he wanted was to enjoy what was left of his life—and he wanted to do it with Cara. God willing, it would happen.

By the time the plane touched down, he had the entire situation mapped out in his mind. He would send Frank another e-mail. The meeting would take place. And he knew just where it would happen. A little bit of Vietnam—the place where it all began.

The park surrounding the Vietnam War Memorial was spacious and at the right time of night fairly deserted. There was plenty of cover. Plenty of places where a man could stand without being detected. Frank's name was on the wall. He wondered if Frank had ever seen it, but he knew it was a hell of a feeling to know that the rest of the world had given up and forgotten you. It was the closest a living man could come to knowing what it was like to be a ghost—that the only tangible evidence of your life on this earth was a name engraved on black stone.

But David had something more now than he did the last time he'd come to this city. He had Cara again, and he was going to have his daughter. Almost a year ago he'd come to D.C. and left a rose at the wall beneath his brother's name. Now he was coming back to kill him. It was a nightmare of unspeakable proportions.

God help me.

He shuddered, and as he thought of what lay ahead amended the thought to, God help them both. If only Frank would have a change of heart. If by some miracle he would simply appear and turn himself in, David would be ecstatic. There was nothing he felt he needed to prove—to himself or to Frank—and he so desperately wanted to be free of the past.

"Sir?"

David looked up. The flight attendant had her hand on his shoulder, smiling down at him.

"Yes?"

"I have instructions to tell you that you will be met." It didn't surprise him. The President was doing his part to help bring an end to this, too.

"Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome, sir. As soon as the plane lands, I will escort you to the door of the cockpit. You will be the first to exit."

He nodded again, ignoring the curious stares from the other first-class passengers.

She walked away, taking her seat at the front of the plane and preparing herself for the landing, as well.

A minute or so later, the plane was on the ground and taxiing toward the terminal. His flesh crawled, much in the same way it had in the jungles of Vietnam.

It was beginning.

As promised, the moment the Fasten Seat Belt sign went off, the attendant was at his seat. He stood, retrieved his bag from the overhead bin and moved toward the cockpit.

A short, heavyset man who'd been sitting across the aisle from David grumbled just loud enough to be heard about some people getting privileges when they'd all paid to fly first class. But when he met David's gaze, the grumble stilled.

For David, that man was nothing more than a fly in the ointment of his life. By the time his foot touched the exit ramp, he was forgotten. David emerged into the terminal with his bag on his shoulder and immediately found himself flanked by another duo of suited men. He didn't know their faces, but he knew who'd sent them.

"Sir, Federal Agent McCauley. May I take your bag?"

He lifted it from David's shoulder without waiting for an answer.

"I'm Federal Agent Matthews. This way, sir," the other said. "We have a car waiting for you."

David nodded. There was no reason to chitchat. They didn't expect it and he wasn't in the mood.

The ride to the hotel was smooth and silent. Every now and then he would glance out the window from his seat in the back of the car, absently admiring the lush, green beauty of the surrounding forests. When they crossed the river, his pulse accelerated. The closer he came to the Wardman Park, the closer he came to his destiny.

A few minutes later they reached the hotel. Before he could get out, the agent on the passenger side was out and opening his door while the other agent took his bag from the trunk.

"This is as far as you go, men," David said. "I can handle it from here. Thank you."

"Yes, sir. You're welcome, sir," they said, and then disappeared as quickly as they had appeared.

David turned toward the hotel and started inside, only to be met at the doorway by another man, this time an employee of the hotel, who promptly relieved David of his bag again.

"Sir, you've already been checked in. If you'll follow me, I'll escort you to your suite."

David had been here before and barely glanced at the elegant lobby or the open bar beyond. As they turned left at the hallway to go toward the bank of elevators, a woman suddenly jumped up from a nearby chair and grabbed his arm.

"Hey! Long time no see," she said, and tried to give him a kiss.

David grabbed her arms, gently but forcefully preventing the move.

"I'm sorry. You have mistaken me for someone else," he said, and tried to walk away, but she persisted.

"No need to act like that," she said. "I kept our little secret."

David frowned. He wasn't in the mood for this.

"Lady, I don't know who are you, so if you will please excuse me, I'm on my way to my room."

"Come on, Larry, this isn't funny," she muttered.

"My name isn't Larry," he said and pulled out of her grasp.

She frowned and then furtively glanced around before pulling a pair of glasses from her shoulder bag. The moment she slid them up her nose, her expression changed.

"Oh, my! You're not Larry. Larry's eyes are brown." Then she giggled. "Sorry. My mistake."

David was already walking toward the elevator.

"Everything all right, sir?" the man asked.

David nodded. "A case of mistaken identity."

As the elevator doors slid shut, David realized the woman was nowhere in sight. He frowned as a warning went off in his head and then moments later shrugged it away.

At the moment David was entering his room, the woman was in a stall in the women's bathroom with her cell phone to her ear, waiting for her call to be answered.

"This is Sheila. He's here." She waited, listening intently to the man on the other end of the line, then she smiled. "You're welcome," she said. "If there's ever anything else I can do for you … well, let's just say … you know where to find me."

She hung up, strode out of the bathroom and out of the hotel, hailed a cab. Having done her part, she disappeared from David's life.

* * *

Frank Wilson shoved his cell phone in his pocket, silently cursing the weather for causing the delays. He was still at the Chicago airport and David was already in D.C. He bolted up from his seat and strode to the window. Outside, the black wall of thunderstorms still hovered overhead, while intermittent flashes of lightning continued to strike. As he watched, one bolt suddenly came out of nowhere, striking so close he was momentarily blinded by the flash.

Covering his face, he turned away, his gut in knots, his body shaking. It was too reminiscent of the fire that had nearly consumed him. When he started to return to his seat, he realized someone had taken it, which just added to the unsettled mood he was in.

Cursing beneath his breath, he headed for a newsstand a short distance away. He bought another paper and then ambled toward a restaurant, finally finding himself a seat at the bar.

"What'll it be?" the bartender asked, as Frank slid onto the bar stool.

"I'll have a dark lager and a hamburger."

"Coming up," the bartender said, and walked away.

Frank opened the paper and began to read. A short while later, his food arrived. He ate for sustenance, not pleasure, hardly noticing that the meat was dry and the bread too soft. When it began to fall apart in his hands, he shoved the plate aside and sat sipping his beer instead.

It wasn't until the man at his right laughed abruptly and made a comment to a friend about a real-life Dirty Harry that he began to listen. As he did, he realized they were discussing a recent incident in a small town in upstate New York. At that point, memory clicked, and he remembered hearing part of it on the news the night before. But it wasn't the incident itself that had captured his interest. It was the name of the man who had been credited with the rescues. He continued to eavesdrop.

"Yeah, it was a hell of a deal," the man was saying. "Walked into this supermarket with a handgun and took down three thugs who'd taken eleven people hostage."

His friend made a comment Frank couldn't hear, but when the man next to him answered, the hair suddenly rose on the back of his neck.

"Oh, hell, isn't that the truth," the man said. "I got the same name as him, but I sure don't have the balls to pull something like that. But here's the kicker, Joe. You know what my wife said? If she'd married that David Wilson instead of me, she probably wouldn't fall asleep during sex."

Both men laughed, but Frank's focus had moved past the joke. Granted, David Wilson was a very common name, yet he couldn't help wondering how many men with that name could pull off such an incident and walk away without a scratch. That kind of skill came from combat—and special forces training.

He dropped the newspaper and strode out of the bar, his mind racing. Could it be? Would David do something so brash as to call attention to himself in this way? And why would he resume using his real identity?

The moment he asked himself the question, he knew.

Of course.

David had walked away from SPEAR. He would have had to anyway since his identity had been compromised. But why upstate New York? What could he have possibly been doing there if he was so focused on their meeting? Frank's mind was racing.
What would I do if I thought I was going to die?

I would want to see Martha.

The answer startled him. But David didn't have a Martha. He'd never married, and their parents were dead. To Frank's knowledge, he didn't have a personal tie on this earth.

At that point, he froze, then inhaled slowly. There was a flaw in that thought

To his knowledge.

That's where Frank's mistake had begun. Just because he didn't know about any personal ties didn't mean they didn't exist. It occurred to him then that he'd never really explored that side of David's life. He'd been so busy trying to find him, then take him down from within SPEAR, that he'd never thought about investigating him from a personal angle.