It's Always Been You (2 page)

The bottom fell out of his gut at the graphic pictures before him. “What the fuck?”

“The fingerprints threw up alarms in the CIA database,” Nate said grimly. “Luckily, I was working out of their station in Frankfurt. I hauled ass to Berlin. That man is John Cooper . . . or was.”

“John Cooper died with my wife,” Travis said, his voice turning hoarse. “How can he be alive?”

“Or recently dead?”

Travis stared at the picture of the man he had hated with every fiber of his being. John Cooper’s blood had been found at their house the night Sarah had died. Their bodies had been found together.
 

“He was killed execution style?”

“That’s the initial report. They’re still doing the autopsy.”

“I’ll take the next flight out.”

“Travis, let me handle this. I’m already here. Use me.”

“No!” Travis snapped. “If Cooper is . . . was . . . alive, Sarah—”
 

“Can you just leave?”
 

Travis hated the challenge in Nate’s voice because it was true. He had shit to wrap up.

“Give me forty-eight hours. I’ll charter a flight out.”

“There’s something else. I’ll see what I can dig up from here, but Cooper had three passports on him. His American passport says his name is Jase Locke. The other two passports were German and Russian with different names. And Travis?”

“Yeah.”

Nate sighed deeply, twisting the knot in Travis’s gut further.

“What, Nate?”

His friend hesitated another beat before saying, “John Cooper had the same tat on the sole of his foot.”

“Fuck! Are you telling me that—?”

“I’m pretty certain now that specter agents are real.”

“Including Sarah?”

“I’m sorry, man.”

“I couldn’t find a single fucking shred of substantiated evidence of their existence, Nate. They’re fucking urban legends of the CIA. Ghosts.” Also probably why they were called specter agents.

“Much like the Delta Force, man. The government once denied they exist,” Nate said. “You’re tight with Admiral Porter. What does he say?”

Benjamin Porter had been one of the high-ranking naval commanders when Travis had been a SEAL. It turned out the admiral was a top-level recruiter for the CIA Special Activities Division, which was a euphemism for Black Ops.
 

“He wouldn’t confirm or deny.”

“Son of a bitch,” Nate muttered. “Look, I’ll keep you posted.”

“Nate, watch the embassies.”

“I will. Chances are, if Sarah’s alive, she would hold the same passports.”

If Sarah is alive
.

Travis ended the call. His mind was in a daze and he wanted to jump on the next flight out to Berlin. He stared at the stack of résumés before him again.
Fuck
.

*****

The sounds of pans in the kitchen woke him. Travis was chest down on his bed, his face smashed into a pillow. He looked up at his alarm clock and groaned. It was noon, and the only person who could be in his kitchen was his mom, Lillian Blake. His mom had called him last night to let him know she was dropping by this morning, so he left the alarms off.

Pushing up from the mattress, he stumbled into the bathroom, splashed water on his face, and brushed his teeth. Travis stared at his reflection. His blue eyes were bloodshot, and three days’ worth of stubble outlined his jaw. Throwing on some clothes, he made his way to the kitchen. The smell of bacon hit him. And his stomach actually grumbled. He hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday, that is, if one could consider candy bars food. He grimaced when he noticed the empty wrappers had disappeared from the dining table where he had left them. After leaving the office, he came home only to continue pounding away on his laptop until 6:00 a.m.
 

Lillian Blake was a reed thin, elegant woman of sixty. She was of average height, had pale skin, and chestnut hair. He was a carbon copy of his dad. Travis was slightly taller at six-three, but the dark hair and blue eyes were all Daniel Blake.

“Hey, sweetie.”

“Mom.” Travis gave his mom a hug and a peck on the forehead. “You never told me why you wanted to see me this morning.”

“Emily gave me a call last night.” At his scowl, his mom added, “She’s worried about you, Travis. She says you’ve been working too hard, and you’re not eating right.”

“I’m thirty-five years old, Mom.” Travis poured himself some coffee. “I have a company to run, and I can take care of myself.”
 

“Trav—”

“Emily should stay out of my fucking personal business. She should be thankful I’m keeping her man and her in style.”

“Travis Blake.”
 

He was careful not to curse whenever Lillian Blake was around because even at his age, his mom could shrivel his balls with just a look and a censuring tone. But sometimes, like right now, he could slip.

“Sorry, Mom. Look, her concern is duly noted,” Travis said to appease her. “Now, is the bacon ready? I’m hungry.”

His mom smiled at him indulgently and fished the bacon from the pan, transferring the strips to a paper-lined plate. “Take the pancakes to the table, sweetie.”

Travis had to admit, as the only sibling on the East Coast, he was the frequent recipient of motherly concern. His sister, Lisa, lived in California with her husband and two kids.
 

“Have you talked to Lisa lately?” Travis asked to deflect the focus from himself.

“This morning actually,” his mom replied. “We’re both wondering when you’ll meet a nice girl and settle down.”

“Mom—”

“It’s been three years, Travis,” his mom said. “I know you loved Sarah so much. Do you think she would want you to continue grieving for her like this?”

“Mom, I don’t know—“

His mother’s face turned grim. She reached for his laptop at the other end of the table, turned it around to face them, and touched the keys to take it out of hibernation. There, as a screen saver, were pictures of Sarah. Tears suddenly filled his mother’s eyes. “Please, Travis. You’re alive. She’s dead. Don’t do this, son.”

Anger surged through his veins. This was his life. His fucking choice to grieve.
 

He gave a mirthless laugh and threw his fork on his plate. “Is this some kind of intervention?”

“Take it however you want. I’m a mother concerned for her son.”

“This. Is. My. Life.”

“You’re my son.”
 

His mom couldn’t begin to understand how it was to lose the love of his life. Her telling him that Sarah was dead was making his conversation with Nate last night sound like a dream. And in the cold light of day, he panicked for a moment that it was. He lost his appetite, pushed the plate away, and stood up.

“I need to get to the office.”
 

“It’s Saturday.”

“I’m flying out of DC tomorrow.”

His mom sighed, knowing better than to ask him where he was heading. She rose from the chair, walked over to him, and hugged him tightly.

“I just want to see you happy.”

“I will be,” Travis said in what he hoped would be a prophetic statement.

*****

Caitlin sat in the special interest section of the American Embassy in Berlin. She still wasn’t sure why she had come here and was surprised she hadn’t been hauled away in handcuffs after she told the guard who she was—a fugitive wanted by the U.S. government. The guard had looked at her as though she had lost her mind. He barked into his shoulder radio and waited for instructions. It didn’t take long before she was promptly photographed and fingerprinted. Afterward, she was led into a small room without windows and told to wait. Half an hour later, she was taken to this section—someone from the Office of Consular affairs wanted a word with her.

Her first instinct before coming here was to head straight for Russia, where there were tenuous extradition laws with the U.S. However, some of the men who were after them had spoken Russian.

Jase explained that the CIA covert group gunning for them frequently used Russian mercenaries and ex-KGB agents. But her main reason for coming to the embassy was because she was tired. Tired of running. Tired of hiding and tired of getting shot at. She was ready to take the risk. She knew why they were after her, and if she could just get the right people to hear her case, she would be safe. It didn’t help that the sum of her memories was three years. And what she knew was only from what Jase had told her. Amnesia sucked.
 

Damn Jase for deserting her. She was pissed at him, as well as worried. His whole left side was drenched with blood in the short time he was shot. Jase. Stupid. Stupid. Jase. Didn’t he say they were stronger when they stuck together? She should have seen the signs. They hadn’t been intimate for over three months, but she had noticed him withdrawing from her six months ago. They had been living more as roommates than lovers. He was preparing to let her go.
 

And what the hell had he meant when he said he wasn’t the one she loved? Of course, she loved him. Even if friendship was all that was left between them that still counted as love, right?

She tapped her foot impatiently. There were ten people ahead of her, and she wondered what their stories were. She managed to buy some decent clothes at a shop in the village where she had holed up for two days. The backpack Jase had thrown out for her was packed with bare essentials, such as cash in different international currencies. She also had two other passports but left them at the hotel along with a sub-compact 9mm.

A lady, who looked to be in her forties, stepped out of one of the offices and walked up to the line of seats.
 

“Ms. Caitlin Kincaid?”

Startled that she was called ahead of the others, Caitlin stood up apologetically and raised her hand.

“Here.”

“Follow me, please.”

They walked further down the hallway and made a right toward a bank of elevators. A Marine joined them. Security.

“Um, are you going to detain me after all?” Caitlin asked in a resigned voice.

“No, dear, but we want to ask you a few questions.”

Right
, Caitlin thought snidely.
With armed security
?

They got into the elevator and went down a floor. When the woman motioned her to enter a room, Caitlin noticed that her female escort also had a side arm.

“Ms. Lopez will be with you in a minute.” The woman smiled stiffly and closed the door.

Ms. Elena Lopez was the assistant to the Consul General. She appeared to be of Spanish descent. Caitlin paused. How did she come up with that? She frequently had flashes of observation when her mind became vigilant of her surroundings. What usually followed wasn’t pleasant. Caitlin took several deep breaths to calm down. She felt vulnerable without Jase.

“Can I get you anything, Ms. Kincaid?” Ms. Lopez inquired.

“The water is fine.” Caitlin nodded to the plastic tumbler beside her.

“How long have you been in Germany?”

“Five months.”

“And before that?”

“Provence for six months.”

“You move around a lot.” Ms. Lopez raised a brow.

“Yes,” Caitlin said. “Do I need to lawyer up?”

“What made you say you were a fugitive from the U.S. government?”

Caitlin pursed her lips. “I thought I was cleared. That there were no warrants for my arrest.”

“There aren’t. But around half an hour ago, the embassy received a call from a person belonging to an important branch of the government who wants to speak with you, and I’m trying to determine if I should protect you from him.”

Her heart lurched. “They don’t always do things legally, do they?”

“You’re smart, Ms. Kincaid. So, what is the supposed crime you’ve committed?” Ms. Lopez asked.

“I’ve been told that I’ve laundered money for organized crime. It was supposed to be a setup, but the operation derailed, agents undercover were compromised. We became an embarrassing liability, and we were disavowed.”

“We. Someone else worked with you? You worked for the government?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Ms. Kincaid, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me everything.”

“I don’t remember,” Caitlin repeated. “I was in an accident after everything went down. I . . . I have amnesia.”

Elena Lopez looked at her dubiously and shook her head. “Do you think this is funny, Ms. Kincaid? If I turn you over to this person, you’ll disappear forever and not in a good way.”

“Can you protect me?”

“Absolutely. But only if you give me sufficient reason to put the weight of our office behind you.”

There was a knock on the door. The same woman who led Caitlin to the room walked in and handed Ms. Lopez a piece of paper. Shock registered on the assistant consul’s face, which she quickly schooled to a bland mask.
 

“Do you know a Travis Blake?”

Caitlin shook her head.
 

“How about a Nathan Reece?”

“No. What’s this all about?” Caitlin asked. “Do they know me?”

Ms. Lopez stood up and looked at her. “I’ll try to get to the bottom of this. From no warrants to three people asking to see you, something tells me you’re in big trouble, lady. While I go sort this out, you better rethink your amnesia story.”

*****

“Where the hell are you?”

“I’m getting into my rental,” Travis replied as he dumped his suitcase into the cargo area of his vehicle. His charter arrived forty-five minutes ago at the Berlin International Airport, and after clearing paperwork, he was glad the Mercedes SUV was already waiting for him. He tried to recall if Germany drove on the right or left side of the road. “You have any news?”

“Sarah showed up.”

He froze at Nate’s words, his hand gripping his phone tight. Words failed him as though a piece of shrapnel had severed his vocal chords. His surroundings receded just as the words sunk in, and all he heard was his breathing and the roaring of his pulse in his ears.

“Travis? Shit, man. Shouldn’t have sprung this on you. Travis!”

 
“Where?” Travis managed to choke out when he realized he’d zoned out on Nate.

“U.S. Embassy. Her fingerprints were run against the FBI wanted list.”