only one who was still working for the agency. After the fiasco in Vladistan, she had requested a move back into Sector Analysis. Griff had tried to talk her out of leaving, but the transfer had gone through.
Then Cabot had been killed, and the elite antiterrorist team he’d assembled stood down. Since she hadn’t been a member long enough to have participated in any of the black ops missions the EST was famous for, Paige couldn’t represent any threat to security, and she had been allowed to stay in the CIA.
The other agents, however, had been destroyed—at least on paper. And then they had been carefully resurrected. Recreated as totally different people, their original identities erased. Their agency records had been purged, so that no one could ever trace those men, or what they had done, back to the agency.
In most cases, their names had been changed and they had been relocated. At least a couple of them, like Jordan Cross, had had their physical appearance altered as well.
Now she was looking at the agency’s file on Joshua Stone, a man who had been presumed dead before the team was disbanded. It had been reactivated, brought back to life less than four months ago. Then nothing had been added to the folder, so maybe…
Paige closed the file and backtracked. There was no “list all” feature on these kinds of secure files, so when she reached the main directory, she typed in the date when the designation on Stone’s file had been changed. Then her hands hovered over the keyboard as she stared at those numbers, almost afraid of what she might find. Finally, holding her breath, she hit Search.
And was bitterly disappointed when there were no results, other than in the folder she had just closed. There was no other file with a matching date in this entire section of the records. There shouldn’t be any recent dates, of course, since the team was no longer in existence, but that didn’t explain why someone had changed the designation of Josh’s folder.
She couldn’t be wrong about this. It fit. It made sense. Maybe she was just rushing the bureaucracy, giving them more credit for efficiency than they deserved. After all, it might have taken them a while to decide what to do.
She typed in the following day’s date. And when there were no results for that one either, she typed the next date in the blank. Then the next, working methodically now.
And finally, ten days after somebody had brought Joshua Stone’s file back to life, there it was. A matching date. In the middle of all the inactive folders of a now-defunct, highly secretive special operations team was a brand new file. A new name. But not a new man, Paige knew with absolute certainty.
“Joshua Stone,” she said softly. “Fancy meeting you here.”
NOT MUCH DOUBT, Paige thought, her eyes focused on the man seated across the crowded restaurant. Not much doubt left at all, despite the obvious physical changes.
This was the closest she had come to him. Close enough to study his features. However, even at a distance, his mannerisms had seemed heart-stoppingly familiar. The set of his head. The understated, almost elegant power of his body. Something about the way he used his hands. Even their shape.
She knew in her heart that this was Joshua Stone. The blue-black hair was threaded with gray, and then there were the scars, slightly reddened as if they were still fairly new. One crossed his right brow, causing a break in its thick black line. The other ran from the corner of his lips, slanting downward across his chin to disappear under his jaw.
Even the structure of the bones seemed slightly altered, as if they had been broken and then put back together, the fit not quite as perfect as it had once been. His nose had definitely been reshaped, molded into something less arrogant. The result was no less compelling or attractive, but it was different.
She had been trailing the man who called himself Jack Thompson for almost two days, but she hadn’t approached him. She had told herself that she wanted to be sure she wasn’t mistaken. That this wasn’t some kind of bizarre coincidence. That’s what she had told herself, although she had known the truth about who he was, almost from the moment she had seen him again.
Now there were no more excuses. The only thing left in doubt was what she wanted to do about what she’d discovered. Because she knew that no matter what Griff Cabot had believed three years ago, Joshua Stone wasn’t dead.
She didn’t know where he had been during those years, but there was no mystery about where he’d been the last couple of months. He had been living in Atlanta, working for one of the international brokerage firms headquartered here. Paige had wondered if the company was a front for the CIA or if it was simply a legitimate business that had some reason to cooperate with the agency by placing one of its ex-agents—an operative the CIA wanted to hide—on its payroll.
She didn’t suppose that really mattered. It was just something to think about instead of all the other things she’d been trying not to think about since she’d discovered Joshua Stone wasn’t dead.
She looked down at the unappetizing salad in front of her, wondering why she had ordered it. Because other than eating, there isn’t any excuse for being here.
Josh had eaten in this small neighborhood café both of the nights she’d been trailing him. He had stopped in on his way home from work. Having tried it now herself, she couldn’t say much for his choice.
She poked at a piece of lettuce with her fork, finally spearing it, along with a piece of ham and a small slice of cheese, on the tines. She dipped the combination into the watery looking salad dressing, and then raised the fork to take a bite. She looked up as she did, directly into Joshua Stone’s eyes.
She wondered if he felt anything remotely resembling the jolt that had given her, even from across the room. She looked down quickly, but she was forced to admit that this must have been what she was hoping for when she had come in here tonight. Hoping he would notice her. Hoping he would make contact, despite whatever rules the CIA had set up for his relocation.
She supposed that what the agency did with members of the EST worked like Witness Security. Contact with anyone from their former life would be forbidden. Even with a former partner.
She realized that she was still holding the forkful of food halfway to her mouth. Pretty telling, she supposed, but after all, Josh should understand. It wasn’t often one was confronted with a ghost.
She wondered what he was thinking. That this was an accident? A fluke? Or that the agency, maybe even Steiner himself, had sent her?
She put the fork down on her plate, unable to make herself take that bite. And then slowly she raised her eyes again, prepared now to make contact with his.
Josh was eating, his concentration seemingly on the newspaper that was folded to fit beside his plate. Just as if he hadn’t seen her.
But he had. There was no doubt in her mind about that. Which must mean that he didn’t want to acknowledge her. Not in so public a place. And he was probably right about that.
She knew where he lived. She could approach him at his apartment building. Or maybe on his way home, which was even safer, because it would give him the opportunity to decide where they should talk.
As she was thinking all that, the question she had been trying to deal with was still stirring in the back of her mind. For the past three years, she had tried not to think about Josh Stone because she had believed he was dead. Had he ever, during all that time, thought about her? After all, he had always known where to find her. Which must mean…
She
