Soul and Blade (21 page)

He leans in, kissing me softly again. “We take it day by day. My brother and father will be cleared of this. They won’t be charged. They will plead out and testify in privacy that they have witnessed what they have. But on the off chance that there are damages assessed later in civil court, they are both stepping away from the baronetcy.”

“And adding me and my past to it, that seems like the right choice?”

“You are an orphan named Jane Spears who lost her family in a tragic accident. Kindly people in an orphanage raised you. You have a brilliant military career and everyone who knows you loves you. You are a better candidate than any one of my family members.”

I give him a look. “You created that lie.”

“It’s the truth. Check the records.” His green-gray eyes sparkle with humor and hope.

“No one will ever dig up Penny, the hooker who was left for dead?”

“No one but you and me and Antoine. No one else knows. It’s been seventeen years. Records of minors are sealed, and besides, no one knew your name. The moment you looked at the documents, Antoine destroyed them. He had to actually dispatch a team to burn handwritten records. The pictures are gone. There is no record of you existing. Antoine stole the pictures from your mother’s house. She doesn’t even have a school picture of you, and the yearbook photos only go to thirteen. After that you were gone. At thirteen you look like any kid with a bit of an ethnic bloodline. Trust me, this has been wiped. It was only ever saved for you to see if, at some point, any of this came back to haunt you or you remembered anything. The files can’t even be retrieved now.” He kisses my cheek. “Your name is Jane Spears, Master Sergeant. You have created this life that you have.”

I step back and process all of that. It makes sense, even to my doubting brain.

22. WEDDING DRESS

I
hurry up the steps to the door and look back at Angie. She shakes her head. “I think ya might be off base by being here. Ya pissed Georges off by canceling the wedding. Lady Townshend said he was very angry.”

I disregard her words—I love France, I always have. We have been here on missions a few times and it’s always made me happy. I love pastries and coffee and late dinners at small bistros.

I open the door and walk in, mesmerized by the beautiful dresses. I was so out of sorts in Manhattan, no wonder I didn’t notice the dresses.
But here they are laid out simply and the design is the art. There is no fancy shop and fancy staff. There is one lady. “
Bonjour!” she greets us and smiles.

I smile. “Hi. I’m Jane Spears.”

“I am Celeste.” It takes her a second to realize who I am, but when she does, her eyes widen. “Spears? You are here for za dress. You came for it?” Her English is still understandable through her thick accent.

“I did. If that’s okay.”

“But of course. Georges was certain you would come.” I love the way she speaks—with the accent of perfect Parisian French. She hurries to the back and returns with the massive dress bag and hanger. She nods at the changing room. “We are very ready for your fitting.”

There are no ladies or underwear or anything. I hurry to the room and step in. She comes with me, obviously. I undress, feeling less awkward with her than I did with the other ladies. She is efficient and fast at helping me into the dress. She doesn’t coddle me or gush. She doesn’t give two shits about who I am. This is a job and I appreciate that.

It’s nice not having Dash’s mom here either.

As the saleswoman clasps the last hook at the top of the back, she spins me around and straightens everything, fluffing out the dress. She smiles and steps back. There are no mirrors in the room so I have no notion of what she is seeing.

She opens the door and walks out, into the main area. Angie lifts her hand to her lips. Tears fill her eyes. I walk out, swishing the entire way. When I turn, my lips part as tears fill my eyes. “I’m a princess,” I whisper like a moron. But I can’t even help myself. I am a princess. For once I am fit for the social class I am marrying into.

The dress has a white satin choker round my throat—then sheer material down the chest to the heart-shaped neckline. Lace and pearls cover the sheer fabric of the bodice so my skin is visible, but the design is so heavy that the scars are not.

The bottom puffs out like a ball gown. The design of the corset is continued down the middle of the pleats in the front, and the firm pleats continue around the rest of the skirt in white satin and lace. She lifts my hair, revealing the back. The pearl buttons start at the choker and go all the way to the skirt. The sheer material is also heavy with design in the back so the scars are covered in the same way.

I am covered head to toe, but I feel beautiful and sexy. “It’s perfect.”

Angie walks to me, nodding. “More than.”

The French lady smiles. “Georges will be so pleased. He made it perfectly. It’s
magnifique
.”

I smile wide, suddenly eager to wear it in public. It’s a feeling I didn’t expect. I want Dash to see me in it and for him to be proud to be marrying me.

She leads me back inside, starting the daunting task of undoing the buttons. “Your scars are very thick. You have been at war? Georges said it was war.”

“I have. I have been at war a few times.”

“Zis one here, it’s bad.” She runs her nail along the thickest of them on my back. No one has ever touched my scar that way before, out of curiosity. I don’t show them to people because I don’t want pity, but she doesn’t have that in her tone. She sounds like she admires me.

I remember the moment I got the scar and smile, lost in it for a second. “I was twenty-two when that happened. I was in Afghanistan and a man had worn a bomb into a building. I followed him, stalking him. I was just trying to figure out where the remote detonator was for him to blow the building. The moment I had him in my sights, a man leaped from a doorway and stabbed me in the back. I broke his neck and managed to kill the man with the bomb before he detonated it. I defused the bomb, but then I passed out from loss of blood. I woke up in the infirmary. The Afghan people had saved me. They knew I had saved their lives. So they carried me out to my team and told them what I had done.” She doesn’t feel sorry for me and that makes me proud of the scars. Proud of them in the way a man would be.

She looks over my shoulder. “You are very brave for a girl.”

I laugh and nod. I love that statement. We’re all girls in a shop like this.

Her cheeks flush. “I just mean—”

“I know. It’s true. Not a lot of girls show how brave they are.”

“But we are all brave, you zink?”

A peaceful smile crosses my face as I relive all the moments that equaled heroism in my head. They do not all belong to me, but they start with a small girl climbing through a dirty window. “I do. I have met the bravest girls in all the world. Girls who died to save other girls. Girls who would kill to stop a monster. Girls who turned and ran into the fight instead of away from it. I have met them all.”

“And you are all of zem?”

My wide smile returns. “I guess so—well not the girl who died obviously. But I have been in the position to have to be all of them. That changes you. You cannot escape who you will become when it comes down to your life or someone else’s.”

“I believe zis is true.” She pulls the dress down and lets me step out of it. I pull on my clothes as she bags it up again. “We will ship it to za wedding. Georges is invited, so he will dress you.”

“
Merci
.” I smile.

She bows slightly and carries the dress from the room.

We leave without escaping the French way of hugging and kissing strangers. She waves after us as we hurry down the street.

“I hope ya get an amazing cake. English cakes really are some of the best, but wedding cake is always shite.”

That puts a look on my face. “Really?”

“Shite.”

I nudge her the way Angie always nudges me. “How are things with Charles?” I say his name with a snooty affect.

She sighs and says his name like she is saying her very favorite thing. “Charles. He is amazing. I could love him. Easily.”

I think she already does but doesn’t want to be the first one to say it. It isn’t like she hasn’t been burned before.

My cell phone rings, and when I pull it out, I wrinkle my nose. “Hey?” I don’t know why Antoine would be calling me.

“I have something. I don’t know what you want to do with it, but I have it.”

“What do you mean?”

He sounds funny. “It’s a name. That facial recognition program, I ran your guy from the store, the one who followed you out the night you were attacked.”

My insides tighten. “Yes?”

“His name is Denis MacDougal. He’s a baby broker. His face didn’t flag in the system, because he’s never been caught. But he has been under surveillance for a while for tax evasion. So he flagged with the IRS. I have an address. It’s in Montana.”

My mouth is dry but I manage to speak, just manage. “Send it.” I look at the text on my phone. “Get one of the ladies to book me on a plane home to Missoula. Have Cami meet me there as well as the ground team for backup.” I hang up the phone and turn, giving Angie a look. “I have to go home.”

She pouts. “We need French lingerie for yer wedding. It’s a must.”

“The dress actually comes with it. I tried on the lingerie in New York. Remember?”

She nods, but I can see she is not really recalling. Her memory is not detailed like mine is. “No. But I trust ya remember. Ya remember everything, and that would have scarred ya for life.”

I laugh, still unsettled by the phone call. “Yeah, it did.” I hug her and flag a cab. “I will see you in London, then.”

“At the church!” She sings her words, knowing I hate that.

I get in the cab the moment it stops. “You’ll be all right, right?”

She waves me off. “I’ll get the Métro back to the hotel and see ya in a few weeks.”

“The airport,
s’il vous plaît
.”

The driver nods as I dial Dash. I don’t want to keep things from him.

“Hello, my love.” He sounds more English now than American. It’s a bit funny watching the layers of lies peel away.

“Antoine call you?” I ask softly.

“No.” He sounds confused.

“He called me. He found something in Montana.”

He pauses. “Montana? I can’t even imagine what it is. Is it something to do with Rory? Please lie and tell me it has nothing to do with Rory, or his past.”

“No. It’s a broker, someone avoiding taxes who has been under the scrutiny of the IRS.”

“Are you lying and telling me this because I told you to?”

I laugh. “No.”

The cabbie’s eyes watch me in the rearview. I smile at him, not letting myself suspect he’s also a spy and listening to me for something other than jollies. The paranoia of the mind runs has got to end.

“A broker? Is this code or did you actually want to invest money or something?”

“He deals in babies.”

Dash is silent for another moment. “Dear God, how did he find him? Antoine scares me sometimes.”

“I know. I’m headed there now. Ground team support and all.”

“Jesus, Jane. This is serious. Are you going to take him down with people watching?”

“Yes. I will take him like the scum he is, like any other mission.”

“Only this one is personal.”

“Very.” I nod, and look out the window as the city passes by. “So I have to be careful.”

“I will meet you. Let me get Mrs. Starling to pop over to the house and stay here with the kids.” His words make me smile as I hang up and look out the window some more.

I’m glad he’s coming. He can’t come to the mission, that would give away too much, but he will be there for the after part. And I won’t be alone.

23. A DOG’S LIFE

D
o we have any idea of ETA?” Cami speaks into her mic, but gives me a look before she glances around the bush we have been hiding in so the surveillance guys can do their job.

Dwayne, the giant wanker, as Cami calls him, murmurs into the earpiece, “We got movement, but I can’t trace what it is.”

“So what is the plan?” Cami asks.

I bite my lip, looking at the dark farmhouse in the middle of the huge field. The bushes and trees we are hiding in are the only real cover. The two military guys behind me standing guard are huge and might be seen easily, but I don’t want to go in without them. I don’t know how I will react to such a personal mission.

I nod my head at the small house. “We take the house silently—take him into custody if that’s him that they are sensing in the house. We wait for Antoine to verify his identity and then we hunt down the evidence. There’s no warrant and we are interrupting an IRS investigation, so we need to be silent and fast and efficient.” I turn and look at the two men behind me. “Cami and I will go for the home office; you two search the entire residence. I don’t want a couch cushion left unturned. Check for hiding places, wall paneling, and heat sources.”

Cami lifts one of her perfectly manicured eyebrows. “IRS isn’t going to be pissed at us?”

“They will be if we don’t hand them their case on a platter.”

“Then we better get the platters ready.”

Antoine laughs too hard at the cheesy joke. I roll my eyes, but Cami smiles. “Like that one, did ya?”

“I did,” he says softly so we can all hear.

She grins at me, but I roll my eyes. “Focus. We have one shot at this. And he’s been a career criminal. He is ready for this. He’s ahead of the game.”

Cami nods, no longer smiling at all.

“You are good to go. There’s no movement,” Antoine mutters. “Dwayne is showing the person inside as localized to one area.”

I make a forward motion and we all burst from the bushes, where we have been sitting for an hour waiting for the sun to completely go down. Criminals get amazing sunsets in Montana.

If it weren’t for the night-vision goggles, I wouldn’t be able to see a damned thing. It’s blindingly dark. We enter the farmhouse from the back door after disabling the alarm with the weird magnetic thing Antoine tried explaining.

A dog barks, but I can tell it’s confined to one room. I would bet my money on that room being the one we are seeking. “We’ll take care of the dog. You guys search.” I grab the fire extinguisher off the wall next to the oven and carry it with me as the two men leave and start the search.

“What’s that for?” Cami whispers.

I lift a finger to my lips. The movement detected in the house was not a man, but a large dog. I nod at the door we have just come in. “Be ready to open that.”

Cami stares at me, not saying anything. I carry the extinguisher to the room with the barking dog. I crack the door, spraying the extinguisher at the massive beast. He cowers, pissing on the floor. In the dark I can smell it and also see it with my night-vision goggles. I spray again, making him whimper. I kick the door open wider and step back. He runs past me. “
Now
!” I shout and Cami opens the door. The dog runs yelping from the house.

“What did you do to him?” She asks like she’s upset.

“I scared him. I didn’t hurt him. I don’t like hurting animals. But this is a dog whisperer in a can. It always scares the piss out of them.”

She looks at the puddle on the floor and nods. “I see that.”

“The dog was holed up here, which makes me think this is the room.” We both start searching the small office. I place the remote access pad on the computer.

Cami finds something and holds it up. “A list of names and dates. It doesn’t say anything else.” I stare for a moment before finding the date with a name next to it.
Wendy 11/27/98
. That is two weeks after the attack on me.

This is the man who attacked me. “Take a photo and see if the timeline matches other abductions.”

Cami takes the photo and sends it directly.

“Got it. Hold tight and give me a couple minutes. I made a list of baby abductions a while back.” Antoine sounds excited.

I give Cami a look, and whisper, “This is the very thing I adore about working with Antoine. He’s obsessive-compulsive when it comes to fine details like these. And a genius with numbers, patterns, and probabilities. I like competent people.”

We spend the next several minutes checking the office thoroughly.

Cami looks at the doorway. “How much more is there to look at?”

“The other two have it.” I point at the computer. “It’s likely he doesn’t have anything here. Antoine will be in his bank records and from there we might find the answers we are looking for.”

Antoine confirms what I have just said. “His bank records have been pulled by the varying teams following him. He has a few suspicious deposits early on. Back in November of 1998, for example, he deposited twenty-five thousand dollars over the course of a month. Several small deposits. I think he thought that he could escape the eye of the IRS with small deposits. Like he could say he sold several things. Or something like that.” Antoine speaks like he is distracted by something else.

“In ’98 did he escape their notice?”

He pauses before speaking. “He did. He wasn’t flagged for four more years. He slipped away somehow. There are no notes on the account because it’s so old. He went under the radar again for a while, but got noticed last spring making some large purchases, too large for his income. They’ve been building a tax evasion case against him for several months and are going in for the kill. I think that’s our best bet for a trial too. Black-market baby sales won’t get him a lengthy prison term. That lawyer who got caught a couple years ago in San Diego got five years and served one. But tax evasion in the United States is worse than killing a cop.”

“Maybe we should take care of the problem.”

“Ha!” he shouts, ignoring my idea. “I got it!” He chuckles into our ears as we stand there awaiting the news so we can formulate a plan. “His bank accounts aren’t in the United States. When he caught the eye of the IRS in 2002, he started using offshore accounts under different names, that’s why they lost him in the system. His incomes there all have names on them, weird ones like Rose or Kennedy or Jameson. And they are all wire transfers. I bet he thinks he’s invincible because he uses offshore accounts. All I have to do is link those accounts to his ones here and the IRS will have him. The names of every person who transferred him money from 2002 to today are there. And he has a lot of money, far more than he can account for. If the accounts are linked, then I can prove the money came from people who adopted. The list of baby abductions only has four matches, but the people who adopted the babies will have records of the adoption. They might not even realize they went about it illegally.”

I sigh, annoyed that I won’t have the answers I want, but then Antoine speaks softly, in my ear only. “The largest deposits he made in November ’98 were several checks cashed from a lady named Wendy Cassopolis. She lives in Maryland. She has a daughter who is seventeen named Whitney Cassopolis. I have just texted you the address.”

“Do we have enough to get this guy?”

“We have enough for the IRS to get him. I can fudge some shit and make it look like he hid his trail a little, but not nearly as well as he thinks he did. The moment I finish these changes, they will have him. The adoption dates will match the payments and he will owe at least seven hundred thousand in back taxes.”

“He cut the baby from one girl, Antoine. Cut her baby from her belly.”

“There is no way to prove that unless you remember.”

It’s disheartening but I agree. “Okay, let’s go then. Tell the team to get out of here before he comes home.”

Cami interrupts me from the doorway. “Should we get the dog back?”

“No. Let him know we are coming for him.” I close the door to the office and walk from the house, putting the fire extinguisher back on the wall.

The four of us stalk quietly across the field. The dog is nowhere to be found.

I wish the man had been there. I wish I had killed him.

When we get to the trees we were hiding in, we run for the road as a team, back to the vehicles and the rest of our company.

“No movement, Master Sergeant,” one of the guys says in my ear as I approach. “No surveillance detected either.”

“Odd,” Cami says and climbs into the Humvee, catching her breath and giving me a look. I have to wonder if she suspects there is something more to the story about why we are here. She’s a smart cookie and we never work a lot of American soil. Add to that the fact we never work cases like these, and I have to assume she is suspicious.

We always work the ones in which no one cares about a trial or evidence. We are the branch of the government that shoots first and answers questions later.

I sit in the front passenger seat on the way back to Missoula. And maybe it’s the scenery in Montana, the openness and huge skies, or maybe it’s the fact I am nearing the end of something, but I am nostalgic.

I am lost in the ending of a person who saved me.

The Humvee stops outside my hotel and I nod at Cami. “See you soon. Don’t forget to get the reports on this filed. Make certain we have something special to give the IRS so they don’t come looking for answers.”

I stroll into the hotel, leaning against the wall as the elevator goes up, and in the mirror opposite me I stare at the different-colored eyes I have. I can’t help but wonder where I got them.

When the elevator dings, I stroll to the door I have been daydreaming about entering all day.

He opens it before I even lift my hand to knock. He grins and flashes that crooked smile. “Why, hello.”

A soft sigh falls from my mouth when I see his face. He is like going home, no matter where it is. He offers me his hand and a look. “How was it?”

I drop my hand in his and let him lead me inside. “Well, it was a bust in one way and not in another.”

“What do you mean?” He closes the door and pulls me to the bathroom of the fancy suite, where he has already filled the bath.

“I think we found what we were looking for, but I don’t know if the evidence is enough. I don’t know if he will suffer the way he should.” I can smell the scented salts and start to melt in anticipation of the feel of that hot water.

“Did you find anything about the child?” he asks as he peels my shirt and pants from me, helping me into the water before he undresses and climbs in after me.

“Yes.” I turn and lie back on his chest, relaxing into him and the huge tub. “The woman who possibly adopted my daughter is named Wendy Cassopolis. She lives in Maryland. Whitney is the girl’s name. She’s seventeen.”

“What’s the bad part?”

“He wasn’t there, the broker. His house was eerily calm. No heat sources except a damned dog, no hiding places, no nothing. So we searched with a fine-tooth comb, and barely came up with a way to frame him for the crimes he has actually committed, but covered up.”

“What a disappointing way to end it. I suppose you wanted to break his neck?” He dunks a cloth in the water and squeezes it, pouring water over my chest.

“Yup, though I like knives better than neck-breaking. But I would have done that.”

He lifts a finger as a disappointed tone fills his voice and his body tenses. “Wrong answer. I want to hear that the only thing you wanted was to see him cuffed. Which you will. Even if Antoine has to make something up about it all and frame the man, he will see time for what he has done.”

It isn’t comforting. Not like watching the man bleed all over the carpet and his eyes lose the light of a soul.

That is a fine ending for a foul man.

But I keep that to myself.