occasion came almost at the same time that her son found his way back to her. Jim Colby had been missing for twenty years when he came back into her life. So many miracles had happened that year.
Victoria’s life had come full circle now. Her family was safe and happy and she was back in the city she loved.
“You’re ready to go?” she asked, when Lucas remained in the doorway.
“No hurry. I could stand here forever just looking at you.”
“Lucas, you’re too kind.” Even after all these years as man and wife, she could feel her pulse react to his voice, as well as the compliment. “I’m ready.”
Tomorrow was another day at the Colby Agency offices and she couldn’t wait to see what it held.
Savannah, Georgia
Thursday, April 7, 8:05 a.m.
“Morning, Frankie!”
Francesca Leone, Frankie to everyone who knew her longer than a few minutes, smiled on her way to the office she shared with two other people. It wasn’t much more than a converted storage space, but she didn’t mind. She’d worked in tighter quarters during her time with the navy. Life in Georgia had been good to her. Landing this job as an analyst with the Savannah Police Department gave her a healthy, long overdue sense of renewed purpose.
The past eighteen months had been an arduous journey personally and professionally. An act of terrorism and the resulting injury had ended the navy career she’d loved. For too many months, her life had narrowed to a pinpoint focus on surviving the physical trials, only to be assaulted by the emotional upheaval that followed. She hadn’t realized how much of her identity had been tied to her military service until it was gone. But here she’d found a fresh start and was building a strong new foundation, far from the looming shadow of her father’s name and the constant worried gaze of her mother.
Feeling her back aching a bit from yesterday’s extended run, she eased into the desk chair, setting her mug of tea to the left of her computer monitor and locking her purse in the bottom drawer. When her computer booted up, she wasted no time getting to work. A string of recent robberies crossed several precincts, and it was her job to find any connections to help the detectives create a list of suspect traits.
Although the work didn’t rank as high in the elements of danger and thrill as her former SEAL team missions, she found tremendous fulfillment when her contributions helped close cases.
She was making notes on the similarities between thefts when her desk phone rang, and she picked it up. “Leone.”
“Francesca Leone?”
She didn’t recognize the quiet male voice on the other end of the line. “Yes.” Pausing to glance around when someone called her by her proper name was a purely instinctive reaction. “How can I help you?”
“I worked with your dad on several operations,” the man explained.
Her heart stuttered in her chest. It never seemed to beat properly when the topic of her dad came up. She bit her lip, refusing to deliver the coarse response on the tip of her tongue.
“I considered him a friend,” the caller said into the prolonged silence.
And yet she noticed he didn’t offer her a name. She wasn’t an idiot. Since her father, General Frank Leone, had been accused and convicted of treason, no one claimed any kind of link to him. This couldn’t be an old friend who’d lost touch or wanted to leave the general’s daughter with a memorable photo.
Smelling a setup, she decided the caller must be a reporter sniffing out a new story angle. Unfortunately for him, there weren’t any. It had been over a year since the verdict, and her review of every available shred of information had yet to yield any solid intel that could remove the terrible stain on her dad’s career. “What do you want?”
“First, I’m sorry for your loss.”
Her hand fisted around the receiver, but she didn’t take the bait. Her father had killed himself ten months ago, shortly after the verdict came down. While she wasn’t over it, she never let that weakness show—to strangers or friends.
“I just need a few minutes of your time,” the caller said. “Your father trusted me with something you should have.”
Curious now, she checked the urge to slam down the phone. “All right.” A face-to-face chat was the fastest way to determine if there was anything legitimate about this guy. “And your name?”
“When we meet,” he replied.
She’d anticipated that response. Odds were he wouldn’t have given her a real name, anyway. “How will I know you?”
“I’ll know you.”
Of course he would. Growing up on various army bases around the world with two parents who rated the highest possible security clearances, Frankie valued caution and understood paranoia. “Fine. Meet me at Bess’s Diner in the historic district in an hour.” That would give her plenty of time to drive by and get her head on straight.
Fifty minutes later she sat in her car, studying a man leaning against a bike rack in front of the diner across the street. Short, graying brown hair; late forties, early fifties maybe. Assuming he was the caller, she was pleased he didn’t give off the hum of urgency she’d learned to expect from reporters. While nothing about him struck her as familiar, in her experience the best covert agents were comfortable hiding in plain sight. As she climbed out of her car, she inconspicuously snapped a couple of pictures with her phone. If the man really knew her dad, he’d know about her mother’s work, and her own abbreviated career, as well.
Or maybe this wasn’t the guy at all, she thought when he didn’t react as she crossed to his side of the street. She didn’t acknowledge him as she aimed for the diner door.
“Miss Leone.” His voice proved she had a few instincts left. “Thanks for following through.”
“Sure.” She stopped, kept her stance easy and her hands loose at her sides while she waited for him to make the next move.
“Name’s John,” he said, extending a hand. “Your father was a good friend of mine.”
John. She nearly asked if the last name was Smith or Doe. Not that it mattered. Anyone openly admitting to being General Leone’s friend had bigger secrets than a name. She suddenly wished she had something more to go on than his pictures in case she needed to track him down after this meeting. His was one of those nondescript faces that would be hard to remember. This close, she could see that his eyes were brown, as well. Straight nose. No scars. The kind of face that would blend in with the crowd.
They walked into the diner and found a booth. She noticed he took the side facing the door. If this guy didn’t have covert operations training, he’d read all the right books. When the waitress approached, John ordered coffee and Frankie ordered hot tea with honey. She wasn’t in the mood for anything, just wanted something to keep her hands busy while she listened to whatever John had to say.
“Your dad and I go way back,” he said.
