Deadly Sight (11 page)

“Oh, come on. Surely you’ve got a few skeletons in your closet that you’d be mortified if anybody found out about. Everyone’s got them.”

She frowned. “Not really. My life’s an open book.”

The idea of living that way made him shudder. He’d been carrying around his secrets for so long he couldn’t imagine laying the burden down. Not to mention his work was all about keeping secrets. But those were different. They dealt with national security and didn’t touch him personally. He said slowly, “I wouldn’t know how to begin letting go of my secrets. They’re part of who I am.”

“Memories are part of who you are. Secrets are merely memories you can’t or won’t share with anyone else.”

“Some secrets have the power to hurt other people and are best left unshared,” he countered.

“Agreed. But some secrets hurt the person who’s keeping them the most. They eat at you from the inside out.”

She said that almost like she knew about his most carefully guarded secrets. Surely Jeff hadn’t— Gray cut the thought off cold. His old friend would never betray him in that way.

Bile rose up in his throat. Oh, but he’d betray Jeff Winston, wouldn’t he? Sam had one thing right. Sometimes secrets burned their keeper a whole lot worse than the other guy. What had he been thinking to agree to spy on Jeff?

Easy. He hadn’t been thinking at all. He’d lived in a fog for years, feeling nothing, caring about nothing and no one. He’d just gone along from day to day existing, but not really living. It had been so much safer that way. And then Sam had to come along with all her energy and sex appeal and make him
feel
again. Damn her, anyway. Except even as he cursed her, he knew it for the lie it was. He couldn’t hate her for stripping away the fog. He just hated the man she’d revealed.
The shell of a man he’d become
.

Chapter 8

S
am watched Gray out of the corner of her eye. He looked about ready to shoot someone. She subsided, alarmed. Long experience with men and their violent tempers had taught her to back the heck off when they got that murderous look in their eyes.

They drove all the way back to the house in silence, and when they pulled into the driveway, Gray made no effort to come around and get her door for her. Truly alarmed, she followed him into the house in trepidation. She shouldn’t have pushed him. She’d just wanted to give him an opening to bring up the subject of his family’s murder if he wanted to. Instead, he’d gone icy cold with rage.

Clearly he wasn’t ready to talk about the tragedy. But he really ought to. Sharing grief was one of the best ways to come to terms with it. She knew that one well enough from personal experience. Would Gray never be ready to talk about the loss of his family? She had a hard time believing he’d ever be whole unless he did. What a loss it would be if he refused to heal. He was a wonderful man. He deserved a little happiness. Heck, after what he’d been through, he deserved a whole lot of happiness.

Gray retreated to his bedroom, and she declared herself an official idiot to have driven him into his shell. She couldn’t help the guy if he wouldn’t talk to her at all.

She parked in front of the television and put on a vintage sitcom. She watched mindlessly through the night, envying the people prancing across the screen their vacuous, uncomplicated lives. Wistfully, she recorded
The Andy Griffith Show
Gray had promised to watch with her.

When dawn broke, she roused herself to cook breakfast. One of the few things she could make was pancakes, and she threw together a batch. She indulged herself and made a berry compote to go with them and topped the whole thing with a small mountain of whipped cream.

“I thought you couldn’t cook.”

She jumped as Gray materialized behind her. “I can’t in general. But I do make pancakes. Want some?”

“Sure.”

She moved to get up and he waved her back into her seat. “Eat yours while they’re hot. I’ll cook my own.”

He also fried bacon and scrambled a few eggs while he was at it. She stared at his plate heaped with food as he slid into the chair across from her. “Hungry there, Sparky?”

He shrugged. “I worked up an appetite running around in the woods.”

Silence fell around them. She cast about for something normal to talk about to fill the awkwardness. “So. What’s on your agenda for today?”

He glanced up grimly. “Calling Jeff Winston.”

“Want me to make the call?”

“No. I’ll do it. We go back further, and he can’t fire me.”

Jeff would never fire her. Not only was she part of Code X, but they were family at Winston Enterprises. Everyone there looked out for each other. Which did make her wonder, though, why Jeff had sent her out here completely unprepared for her emotionally wrecked partner.

She’d stood up to carry her plate to the sink when a knock on the front door startled her. It was barely 8:00 a.m. Who on earth would be here at this time of day? Granted, lights were on in the house and someone was clearly awake, but this wasn’t a civilized time for a visit.

Gray was already moving down the hall with lethal grace. A pistol appeared in his hand. Where had
that
come from? He opened the front door fast, seizing the element of surprise, no doubt. “Can I help you?”

She frowned and drifted down the hall behind him. A male voice murmured something inane about welcoming them to the neighborhood and making sure they were familiar with the restrictions of the NRQZ. She saw Gray stow the pistol in the middle of his back. He must have some sort of concealed holster in the waistband of his pants.

She yanked out sunglasses—a light brown pair that could pass for regular glasses at a glance and made her eyes look brown if no one peeked around the edges—and slammed them on as Gray stepped back from the door, saying, “Come in.” He waved the man in to the living room ahead of him.

Oh, God. She recognized the visitor. He’d been with the group chasing them around the woods last night. This was one of Proctor’s men.

She made a production of stepping into the living room. “Good morning,” she sang out breezily. “I’m sorry we just finished breakfast, or I’d offer you some pancakes.”

She moved to perch on the arm of Gray’s chair. She noted that he’d maneuvered their guest onto the deep, low couch. The guy would be at a disadvantage if it came to leaping up and getting the drop on Gray. She slid a hand behind her back and spelled out Proctor in American Sign Language. She had no idea if Gray knew it, but it was worth a try. Gray lounged in the chair beside her, but there was nothing remotely relaxed about him. It probably took knowing him well to see that, however.

“I’m Jim Swenson,” the man announced. Sammie Jo noted the clay ground into the fibers of the man’s jeans. It wouldn’t be visible to the normal eye. She checked his fingernails and saw subtle traces of red clay there, too.

“I’m Grayson Pierce and this is my fiancée, Samantha.”

“What brings you to this neck of the woods?” Swenson asked.

“Same thing that brings most folks,” Gray drawled. “The radio quiet zone. We’re looking to get away from the gadgets and interference in our lives.”

“Y’all like the outdoors much?”

“Yup. Pretty country around here.”

“Y’all hike? Ski? Camp?”

“All of the above,” Gray answered easily.

Poking around about camping, were they? Gee. Subtle much? Swenson launched into a lecture about what sorts of emissions were prohibited in the radio quiet zone. He finished with an explanation of how to apply for permission to use various restricted devices. But the man’s eyes were not still while he talked. His gaze shifted all around the room and took in every detail, almost as if he were some sort of trained observer.

Gray finally interrupted Swenson abruptly. “Look. Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? I work for the U.S. government and I need to talk to Wendall Proctor. Can you make it happen?”

Sam gaped in shock. But she was no more shocked than Swenson, who stammered, “I beg your pardon?”

What on earth was Gray doing? He’d hated her idea of approaching Proctor directly.

Gray leaned forward. “You heard me. Tell Proctor I want to talk to him.”

“Uhh, what government agency do you work for?” Swenson asked.

“If Proctor wants to know, he can ask me directly.” Gray stood up, indicating in no uncertain terms that this interview was over. Swenson rose as well and made his way to the front door in obvious confusion.

Sam and Gray stepped out onto the front porch as the man walked to his vehicle in a daze. She glanced at the guy’s pickup truck and spotted something on the passenger seat as the guy climbed in that made her frown.

As the truck drove away, Gray herded her into the house without comment. He headed for the kitchen and she followed, stunned. He sat down at the table and gestured her to a seat across from him. She sat.

“Go ahead,” he announced.

“And do what?”

“Demand to know if I’ve lost my mind.”

She snorted. “I don’t have to ask. I know you have. What made you change your mind?”

“Last night. I don’t want armed men pointing their guns at you. This way, I can approach the compound and draw all of Proctor’s attention to me. You can stand off and be safe.”

“This is about my safety?” she exclaimed. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” he answered matter-of-factly.

“Gray, I really can take care of myself. And I don’t need you to put yourself in the line of fire on my behalf. In fact, I’d strongly prefer it if you didn’t.”

“Too late. Proctor’s going to be all over me in a half hour or so.”

“This is nuts. Let’s get out of here. We’ll find another way to figure out what Proctor’s up to.”

“Nope. I’m seeing this through.”

“Don’t I get any say in this?” she demanded.

“No. You don’t.”

“Gray, if you have a death wish this isn’t the way to do it. Don’t throw yourself on your sword for me!”

He went still. “I beg your pardon?”

Crud. She’d almost blurted that she knew everything, that she’d found out about Emily and the kids. But the dangerous glint in his eyes warned her off at the last moment. God, she hated secrets! And if she planned to keep hers, she’d better distract Gray fast. “I saw something on the seat of that guy’s truck. A file. With a Top Secret jacket.”

“What in the hell is one of Proctor’s guys doing with something like that?” Gray responded, blessedly distracted. Her tactic had worked.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I saw the title, though.”

“Which was?”

“Does the word
Echelon
mean anything to you?”

The effect on Gray was shocking. He went utterly still. It was as if the man in front of her abruptly turned to ice. He’d heard the word
Echelon
before. And furthermore, he knew exactly what it signified. She’d bet her life on it.

“Okay, Gray. Spill. What is it?”

Nothing. He didn’t even blink.

“It sounds like the code name for some sort of government operation. You’ve already announced to Wendall Proctor and company that you’re government, so that cat’s out of the bag. What’s Echelon?”

He stood up quickly and took his keys off the hook on the kitchen wall. “I’ve got to go.”

“Go where?” She followed him out the side door to the driveway and the Bronco. She glanced down the street and saw something that made her blood run cold. She grabbed his arm when he would have ignored her.

“Listen to me, Gray. There’s a man parked about four blocks down. He’s got binoculars, and he’s watching us. You’ll be tailed wherever you go.”

That finally broke Gray’s bizarre fugue state. “What does his car look like?”

“It’s a white Cadillac. Circa 1970. Looks like crap.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m going with you,” she announced.

“No. You’re not,” he retorted sharply.

“So you’re going to leave me here alone to face Proctor’s men when they come calling?” It was a mean ploy, playing on what had happened to his family when he’d left them alone. But panic fluttered in her chest and she couldn’t think of anything else to get through to him. What in the heck was Echelon, anyway?

He exhaled on a groan like she’d just sucker punched him. Which, in point of fact, she had. “Dammit, Sam. I have to go. But I can’t take you, and I can’t leave you here by yourself.”

“How about I follow you in the Ladybug? I can run interference with your tail.”

He shook his head. “Too dangerous.”

“Like throwing yourself under Wendall Proctor’s bus isn’t dangerous?” she exclaimed under her breath.

Gray stared hard at her, obviously frustrated. “How about you go to Miss Maddie’s place? Stay with her until I get back.”

The idea made sense. Miss Maddie had declared herself an early riser and was no doubt awake. For that matter, the woman had probably seen their visitor and was watching their heated conversation this very minute.

“Okay, fine.” Sam relented reluctantly, but she also felt bad about having used his family’s murders to manipulate him.

“Promise me you won’t be alone until I get back,” he begged in quiet desperation.

God, the pain in his voice was almost more than she could stand. She could see the agony tearing at him in his black, dilated gaze. He was thinking about
her
right now. His dead wife.

“I promise. Nothing will happen to me while you’re gone.”

Relief entered his gaze, but on its heels came confusion. Darn it. He was smart enough to wonder at her particular choice of words. She
had
to be more careful with what she said.

“Go into my bedroom,” he instructed. “On the floor of the closet, in the back, there’s a box. Get the pistol out of it and put it in your purse. You do know how to use a gun, don’t you?”

“Yes, and with my eyesight, I’m a ridiculously good shot.”

“I’ll wait here until you get back,” he announced.

She nodded and did as he’d said. She loaded a clip in the weapon and stashed a second clip in her purse for good measure. Sure enough, Gray was sitting in his truck when she came back outside. He pointed at Maddie Mercer’s house and she nodded. She gave him as cheerful a wave as she could muster and tromped across the dew-laden grass to the retired teacher’s home.

Gray started the Bronco and made a slow production of backing out of the driveway as she knocked on their neighbor’s door.

“Why, hello, dear. Lover’s spat?” Maddie asked sympathetically. “Come in and tell me all about it.”

Sam smiled bravely as the Bronco accelerated behind her. Where was he going? What had her mention of the word
Echelon
made so blazingly important for him to do this very second?

* * *

Gray would have driven blindly were it not for the white Caddy behind him. As it was, he had to lose the car before he did anything else. Since he’d already announced to Proctor that he was a Fed, it did no harm to demonstrate his government training. He floored the Bronco and threw the vehicle through several offensive driving maneuvers that shook the Cadillac off his tail in about two minutes flat. The good news was the driver behind him couldn’t use a cell phone to call in reinforcements.

Still, to be safe, he spent a few extra minutes evasive driving to be certain his tail was clean. When he was sure he was no longer being followed, he headed for Shady Grove. The guards recognized him today, but still made him go through the same security checks as before.

In a few minutes, he was seated in the little room again, staring at the secure phone. Who, exactly, did he plan to call? By rights, he should report in to Brighton at NSA headquarters. But he’d rather call Jeff Winston. Torn, he stared at the black phone for long, agonizing seconds. Where did his loyalty lie at the end of the day? With his friends or his job? Both had been there through the worst days of his life.

He picked up the receiver, determined to do his duty. To call his boss. But Sam’s laughter rang in his ears, and memory of her gazing at him in compassion and caring came to him. He’d thought he’d divorced himself entirely from the human race. But maybe not. Maybe he’d had it wrong all along. Maybe in the final analysis it was people who made life worth living.