you don’t think he’s been on his own all this time, do you? He must have been working with someone to stay under the radar.”
She didn’t bother reminding him that Marcus hadn’t managed to stay under her radar. “I haven’t gotten to officially interrogate him yet, but I will soon.”
“You do that. I’m going to start making preparations to get you both back here as soon as possible. I’ll call the Marshals’ office. I assume the locals will hold him until they arrive?”
“Yes, I’ve already spoken to the sheriff. He wants answers about this shooting just as much as we do.”
“Don’t let them take over. He’s our prisoner, not theirs. Make sure they know that. Do you want me to call the sheriff?”
“That’s not necessary. I can handle it.”
“Okay. I’ll be in touch once the arrangements for the Marshals are under way.”
She hung up but instead of feeling proud of herself for finally capturing Marcus after all these years, she felt as if she’d just been scolded by her supervisor. And it rankled because she’d accomplished something no one else at the Agency had been able to do.
Rick Eaves and the rest of the CIA had underestimated her and now she’d proved them all wrong.
She should have felt vindicated. So why then did it feel like her heart was breaking?
* * *
The local cops paraded him inside like a common criminal. He didn’t like it, but he allowed it because Bethany was right about people wanting to question him. And maybe they could help him recover some of his memories.
Their sheriff offered his help and had a deputy escort Marcus to a jail cell. He sat on the cold, hard seat and waited. None of this had gone as he’d anticipated. He’d certainly not expected to be sitting in a county jail awaiting transport to CIA headquarters.
He closed his eyes and lifted a prayer to God. Surely, He hadn’t brought him all this way to make him a prisoner. Bethany had called him a traitor to his country. He didn’t feel like one, but how could he really know for sure?
Flashes of the past hit him. Gunfire and running. Pain bursting through him. A woman staring up at him, awaiting a kiss—He jolted awake at that last image, realizing he’d dozed off. The woman reminded him of Bethany, like it could have been her sister, but her eyes had been different, a deep brown color instead of the vivid blue, and her face and hair had been hidden under a tunic. But the resemblance was uncanny. He wiped his face, trying to rub away some of the fogginess that clouded his memories.
“What are you thinking about so intently, Marcus?” Her voice came this time not from his memory but from behind the wall of bars separating them. Her eyes were once again their bright glory blue.
“You, actually.” He stood and approached her. She held the answers to all his questions. “How do we know each other? I mean, I know you’re a CIA agent hunting me, but are we more than that?”
She chewed on her bottom lip in a telling fashion. “Why would you ask me that question?”
“I keep seeing this woman flashing before my eyes.”
“So you admit you remember me?”
“I guess I do. It’s just a glimmer, but I remember seeing you.” And kissing you. What was that about? “But the woman looked different...the eyes?”
Bethany gave a weary sigh. “They’re called contact lenses, Marcus. You know very well that I wear them when I’m on assignment.”
Her words flowed back to him, words she’d spoken years and several thousand miles ago. “Because who would believe an Afghani woman with blue eyes?”
She stared up at him, those same eyes flashing with anger. “So you do remember?”
He rubbed his eyes, pain shooting through his head as he tried to concentrate. “I don’t know. Maybe.” He saw the doubt on her face. “I’m not lying to you, Bethany. My past is a blank slate. You have no idea how frustrating that is. I remember how to walk, talk, drive a car, shoot a gun, but when I try to recall who I am or where I come from or what I’ve done, there’s nothing.”
“We’ll see. The CIA has methods to obtain information.”
“I’m sure they do.”
She waved her hand at the camera and the electronic lock released. “I have a few of my own methods right now. Will you follow me to the interview room?”
He allowed her to cuff him and lead him down the long hallway then turn right into an interrogation room. When they entered, Marcus saw what looked to be the content from the shooter’s nest.
“What’s all this?” he asked.
She motioned toward the weapon. “You tell me. Everything has been unloaded, of course.”
“Of course.” He picked up the rifle and checked the mag. “This is a .300 Win Mag sniper rifle with long-range scope. The most accurate sniper’s rifle on the market.” He glanced at the other equipment on the table. It was all top-quality gear. “Aside from the working on his own part, I’d say our sniper is a professional assassin.”
She nodded. “I agree. And you let him get away. Who’s after you, Marcus?”
He sighed, already weary of her not believing him, and sank into a chair. “Why do you think he was after me? You were in that diner, too, as were a handful of patrons. Any one of them could have been the target.”
“That’s highly unlikely. You’re a fugitive on the run. I feel certain you were the mark. Besides, he didn’t target anyone else as they were fleeing the building, only you.”
“Well, I haven’t been targeted until today. Believe me, nothing like this has happened to me before you arrived in town. I was hoping you could provide me answers, but it seems you provided a lot more than that.”
Anger flashed on her face. “Are you implying that I led someone to you who wanted you dead?”
She stood and walked to him, opening a folder. “Are you aware that all but six of your army ranger team died in an ambush in Afghanistan two years ago? All including you...or so everyone believed.” She leaned over him, speaking directly into his ear. “You had us all fooled, Marcus. They all thought you’d died that night on that mountain. These men were your teammates, your friends.”
He glanced at the file. “I didn’t lie to anyone,” he insisted.
“Then tell me what happened over there.”
He dug through his memory, but only flashes came. Firefights. Cries of pain. And the soft skin of lips caressing his. She was all jumbled up in there, but even those fragments didn’t provide the answers he needed. “I—I don’t know. All I know is I was injured. The first thing I remember clearly was waking up in a hut. The villagers took care of me and treated my wounds. They sheltered me. But they kept saying I was in danger, that someone was hunting me, that someone in the CIA was after me.”
“Why weren’t
