transport bound for Langley AFB. They were scheduled to arrive at 9:00 PM local time. Even though she’d slept for five hours on the plane, she was still tired. She’d begun to think that she’d never regain her old energy, but now that she was headed back to work, she hoped that recovery might be faster. The irony did not escape her.
As she gazed out the window, Kate wondered whether he’d be there when she deplaned in Virginia. Part of her wished she’d never lay eyes on him again, but then she’d never find out what had really happened a year ago in East Germany. It was the quest for this truth that kept her going. That…and revenge.
After they landed, Kate made her way into the waiting area, searching for a likely candidate to pick her up. Not spotting anyone, she kept walking, lost in thought.
“Kate Taylor?”
Spinning around, she automatically reached for the weapon she wasn’t carrying.
Damn, I am getting sloppy, letting my attention drift like that!
“Shit,” she spit out angrily at the young man in the nondescript grey suit. “Don’t come up on me like that!” She refused to admit it was her fault.
“Sorry,” he said with a slight shrug. “I’m Morgan. Holder sent me. I’ve got a car waiting outside.”
Glaring at him for a moment, she deposited her small bag at his feet. “You might as well carry this,” she said truculently. Then she brushed past him and headed for the exit. The man picked up the bag and caught up with her, and they marched out of the building and to the curb, where an official-looking black sedan was parked. Kate shuddered; she’d sat in too many black sedans recently, and none of them had taken her anywhere she’d wanted to go.
While they rode through the dark streets, Morgan glanced a few times in the rear view mirror. His passenger was in her forties, maybe five-foot-eight, and almost too slender, with very short, reddish-brown hair and pronounced cheekbones. He decided that the feature which would make her stand out in a crowd was her eyes. Framed by incredibly long, thick lashes and topped by perfect brows, they were so green that a person might mistakenly think she was wearing tinted contact lenses. At this moment she wore no makeup and looked extremely tired. Still, the package he was delivering was attractive…extremely attractive.
After about fifteen minutes, he drove into the garage of an apartment building on a residential street, parked the sedan, and retrieved her bag from the trunk. By the time he reached her side, Kate was standing impatiently next to the car. “Come on, let’s go,” she ordered.
Squelching an annoyed sigh, Morgan put his hand behind her back, intending to guide her toward the elevator. He was stunned when she flinched at his touch and made to slap his hand away before catching herself. She stared at him for a moment, a flustered look on her face, then hurried past him without a word. They rode the elevator in uneasy silence to the third floor and found number 307, where he unlocked the door and handed her the key. Pushing by him, she went in and found a one bedroom apartment, furnished in what she immediately labeled early K-Mart style.
Ugly, but at least it doesn’t smell like smoke.
“Kitchen’s stocked, and there’s a package on the bed,” he explained as he set her bag down.
Perking up at his last words, Kate walked eagerly to the bedroom and ripped open the package to find a Glock 17 with two holsters, along with two knives and sheaths.
Well, Holder, this you got right.
She laid the weapons on the bed and returned to the living room. “I guess that’s it,” she said. He was headed out when she remembered to thank him.
When he closed the door behind him, Kate remained standing in the middle of the living room, so exhausted she didn’t feel like moving. Finally rousing herself, she toured the apartment. It was bad, but no worse than others she’d had over the years. She was headed for the kitchen to find something to eat when she spotted an envelope on the breakfast bar that divided the two rooms. She stared at it for a second before walking past and into the kitchen, where she wandered around, checking her stock of food and drinks.
She’d planned to scrounge up something to eat, but the envelope had ruined her already meager appetite, so she returned to the living room, picked up her bag, and went to the bedroom to unpack her belongings. She didn’t have much. When they’d arrested her in Leipzig, she’d had to leave everything behind. She’d meant to replace her entire wardrobe in the last few months, but she’d only succeeded in buying a few things.
The bag was almost empty when she spied two items she hadn’t packed tucked in the bottom. She sucked in a breath and clamped her eyes shut. When she opened them again, the framed photo and tiny blue t-shirt were still there. She lifted both out of the bag, not knowing whether to curse or thank her friend for secreting them there. After staring at the picture for a few moments, she sighed and stood it on the bedside table. Then she raised the t-shirt to her nose, drinking in its sweet aroma, remembering the baby in her arms, fragile, precious. Tears formed behind her eyes. Emotionally and physically drained, Kate lay down heavily on the bed. She could have fallen asleep then and there, but the envelope in the kitchen was calling to her, demanding attention.
Wearily she pushed herself up and put the t-shirt in the bedside table drawer, where she also stowed the Glock and the knives. With a quick glance at the picture, she trudged into the kitchen, snatched the envelope off the counter, went to the living room, and sank down onto the couch. Still she waited, staring at it as if it held her death sentence.
Shit. I’m acting like a total coward. Open the damned envelope. Get on with it.
Ripping it open, she unfolded a single piece of paper. As she’d expected, it was from Holder, ordering her to be at Headquarters at 8:00 AM Thursday for a briefing on her new assignment.
Tomorrow!!? And nothing about what’s next?
“Fuck you” were the words that sprang to mind.
With a sigh, she asked herself rationally what else he could have said. He’d already informed her she’d be reassigned to Latin America, despite her protests that she was a Central European specialist, knew next to nothing about Latin America, and hardly spoke Spanish. “Hogwash” had been his response. Then he’d repeated the main reason for her reassignment: She’d been compromised in Central Europe and couldn’t go back without endangering herself and other agents.
Tossing the letter on the coffee table, Kate rested her head on the sofa and closed her eyes. She was about to doze off when she shook herself awake. As she was rising off the lumpy sofa, she saw that something had fallen out of the envelope onto the floor. Bending stiffly, she picked up three pieces of paper: a government identification card, an insurance card, and a federal weapons’ permit. As necessary as these documents were, to Kate they felt like claws seizing her, clutching her to this place and this time. Her throat tightened, and tears gathered once more.
Inhaling in a deep, shaky breath, she started for the bedroom and sleep. On the way, a hunger pang reminded her that she hadn’t eaten in a long time, and she veered off into the kitchen, where she made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, grabbed a diet soda, and plopped herself on a bar stool. While she ate, she heard the silence around her, and it hit her: This was the first time she’d been completely alone for…what…more than a year? Ever since they had put her in…that place. She was drifting back in time, and she shook herself, refusing to go there.
The sandwich and soda were
