In the Dark Read online

  “You’re glad to be back,” he guessed.

  “I didn’t think I’d make it,” she admitted thickly.

  The plane continued to descend. Luther talked about his first visit to D.C. with his family when he was only seven. He’d gotten lost in the National Air and Space Museum. “They found me in the flight simulator,” he added, drawing a wondering smile from her. “I spent all my money mastering the simulation drill.”

  “Why didn’t you become a pilot?”

  “I am a pilot. Even SEALs need aviators,” he explained. “They sent me to aviation school. It was a dream come true.”

  “Lucky you,” she said, “getting to realize your dreams.”

  “You will, too,” he answered, responding to the wistfulness in her tone. “You said Kevin’s writing his dissertation, right? He’s almost done.”

  “Yeah, but I still have to convince Uncle Caleb to let me go. He tends to coddle us,” she sighed.

  “What does he do over at DIA?”

  “He’s the director,” she surprised him by responding.

  She turned a wary gaze out the window, hands tight on the arms of her chair, as their plane descended into Andrews Air Force Base. Not until it came to a shuddering stop did she relax, unfurling her fingers. She smoothed them on her lap. “Thanks for talking me down,” she said without looking at him.

  “You’re welcome.” He felt a peculiar kinship with her then, like he’d known her for a long time.

  He wished he felt nothing for her at all.

  “Stay behind me,” Luther instructed Hannah as they left the MAC terminal en route to the long-term parking lot.

  Westy placed his body between her and the terminal building, hand resting casually on the butt of the SIG Sauer P226 that he’d revealed at the customs checkpoint. Seagulls wheeled overhead, warning of impending foul weather. A warm breeze molded their clothes to their bodies as they hurried toward the cars.

  I’m home! Hannah marveled, lifting her nose to the brackish scent of the Potomac River, intermingled with the smell of car exhaust, vague ethnic scents, and maturing oaks.

  “Pick it up,” Luther urged, and she lengthened her stride, reminding herself that she wasn’t safe.

  As they approached a big blue pickup with a quad cab, Luther pulled her off to one side while Westy proceeded forward, dropping to scan the underbelly of the vehicle. Hannah’s scalp prickled. Surely the Individual wasn’t one step ahead of them.

  He wasn’t. Westy gave the all-clear, and five minutes later they were on the highway, headed south. Hannah heaved a sigh of relief and settled deeper into the leather seat, which she shared with the luggage. The skies opened up, dumping rainwater over their vehicle as they merged into interstate traffic. Luther kept a deft hand on the steering wheel, flicked open his cell phone, and hit a button.

  “It’s against the law here to drive and talk at the same time,” Hannah informed him.

  He handed the cell phone over the back of the seat. “I’m not talking to Valentino. You are.”

  Hannah took the phone just as a smooth voice sounded in her ear. “Valentino.”

  “This is Hannah Geary,” she said, a little discomfited to be speaking with a man she didn’t know, who probably knew a lot about her.

  “Miss Geary.” Valentino sounded surprised. “How’re you feeling? Lindstrom painted a pretty harrowing picture of your extraction.”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “I’d like to know what’s going on, though. Why did the Individual target me?”

  The silence that followed made her feel like she’d spoken out of turn. “He and your father worked in similar circles,” he admitted.

  “Who is he?” she pressed.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you that. Perhaps you have some idea.”

  “Me? Until today I’d never heard of him.”

  “Did General Pinzón happen to mention who supplies his weapons?”

  “I never actually had a conversation with the general,” Hannah answered, feeling her throat grow tight. She would have to tell Valentino that she’d killed Pinzón. “Is my brother in danger?” she asked, switching topics abruptly.

  “We have two agents shadowing Kevin’s every move. There’s no reason to believe he’s a target.”

  Hannah’s grip on the phone tightened. “They’d better keep a close watch on him,” she warned with a protective shudder.

  “I’ll pass that along,” he reassured her. “How are you holding up?”

  “Fine.”

  “I apologize for leaving you with the SEALs. I owe them a favor, and this helps to screen my investigation.”

  “No, that’s what I want,” she assured him.

  “Good. I have to leave the country for a couple days, but between their training and yours, I’m sure you’ll be safe.”

  So he knew she’d once been CIA. “I have to tell you that I killed the general,” she blurted, before she lost the nerve. It wasn’t easy to say the words out loud. She was conscious of Luther’s sympathetic regard through the rearview mirror.

  Valentino was shocked into silence.

  “In self-defense,” she added, breaking into a clammy sweat.

  “I’m sure it was necessary,” said the agent, recovering. A thoughtful silence preceded his next statement. “We should expect an act of reprisal,” he warned, on a note that made her shiver. “Take every precaution to conceal yourself. Don’t contact anyone you know, not even your brother. I’ll have my agents relay that you’re safe.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I need to talk to him,” said Luther over his shoulder. He’d driven the truck off the highway, bouncing them into the nearest parking lot.

  “Yee-haw,” Westy exclaimed.

  Hannah relinquished the phone. As Luther spoke to Valentino, she reassessed him. Could she trust these men with her life?

  Appearing at the poolside, Luther had looked nothing like the black phantom that he’d been last night. In civilian clothing he resembled something off the cover of Sports Illustrated—six and a half feet of solid muscle. She’d been drawn to him instantly, and not just because he was good-looking, with dark hair and deep blue eyes. Nor was it the blue button-down shirt, jeans, and casual shoes that in conjunction with his military haircut made him look honest, clean-cut, and squared away. It was the integrity in his eyes that made her like and trust him instantly.

  She liked Westy, too, though his auburn beard made him look more like a biker than a SEAL. Despite his tough exterior, Westy’d shown consideration in buying her the peach sundress she wore. He made the ideal NCO, answering Luther’s orders without question, putting himself at risk by searching the truck.

  Her instincts told her she was absolutely safe with these men, despite Valentino’s disturbing prediction of reprisal. Between their training and hers, they ought to be able to keep one step ahead of the Individual.

  “I’d like to search Hannah’s car.”

  Luther’s request recaptured her attention. He glanced over his shoulder as he relayed Valentino’s reply. “He says they searched your car thoroughly and found nothing.”

  Hannah cringed as she considered what a thorough search entailed. The car had been a gift from Uncle Caleb. “We ought to look anyway,” she advised.

  “Permission to search the vehicle again, sir,” Luther requested. “Yes, sir. She says she also has a copy at the office.” He listened and looked back at her again. “Valentino says an undercover agent searched your office. They found the copy in the shredder.”

  Hannah pulled a look of disappointment. She’d run that copy through the shredder herself just in case her office was searched. But no one could have found the information she’d taken great pains to conceal, only Valentino didn’t need to know that. Keeping an ace in the hole was one of the basic tenets of the CIA.

  “I suppose that’s it, sir,” Luther concluded. Then, “Roger. Out.” He put the phone away while backing them out of the parking lot. “We need to change your appearance first
thing,” he said, stepping on the gas.

  “I don’t have any money,” Hannah realized. “I had to leave my purse in the car.” Oh, what a headache. Someone was probably maxing out her credit cards and she was helpless to stop them.

  “It’s not a problem,” Luther said.

  Westy glanced over his shoulder and gave her a long look of surprise. “You don’t know who he is, do you?” he inquired with a peculiar smile.

  “What do you mean?” Hannah demanded. “Luther?”

  “Can it, Chief.”

  With a shrug, Westy turned front. He crossed his arms over his chest and set his jaw.

  Hannah looked back and forth between the two men. She was certain she had missed something, but she’d be damned if she’d humble herself by asking. Apparently Luther was something more than a SEAL and an aviator. She’d keep her ears peeled until she discovered what.

  Neither man spoke again until they pulled into the multilevel parking garage at Tyson’s Corner, one of Virginia’s most prestigious indoor malls. Luther found a parking space close to a main entrance. He gave brief instructions to Westy, then escorted Hannah inside.

  The mall was practically empty on this weekday afternoon, with teenagers just beginning to drift in, their school day done. Luther and Hannah entered side by side, looking like a couple on a shopping spree while Westy shadowed them at a distance. Hannah lost sight of him immediately.

  She paused before the mall directory and located a cosmetics shop. “This way,” she said to Luther, who stepped into place beside her. His expression appeared relaxed but his eyes scanned the area alertly, missing nothing.

  “You can leave this to me,” Hannah assured him as they entered the shop. She approached the saleswoman setting up a makeup display in a glass cabinet. “Hi,” she said, brightly, “my husband and I are going to a Halloween party next month . . .”

  The saleswoman expressed delight with Hannah’s plan to disguise herself as “the other woman.” She drew Hannah toward the rear of the store to try on wigs. Hannah glanced toward Luther, who’d found a chair by the exit and was pretending to read a magazine.

  After several false starts, Hannah found a winner. The ash-brown, shoulder-length wig transformed her from a redhead to a light brunette. It fell to her shoulders in soft, natural-looking layers.

  “Let’s get rid of these freckles,” the cosmetologist suggested, layering Hannah’s face with foundation. She applied a heavy makeup around her eyes. Glancing in the mirror, Hannah hardly recognized herself.

  “What do you think?” she said, returning to Luther half an hour later.

  He stood up, slowly, his gaze critical as he took in her new look. “Very effective,” he said.

  “This is just a start,” she informed him. “I need glasses and a wardrobe.”

  He crossed to the cashier’s counter and handed over a credit card. Hannah wondered if the FBI was funding this shopping spree, or whether Luther himself was paying for it. He signed his name on the credit card slip, telling her nothing.

  She resolved to wait.

  Leading the way to the optometrist office four stores over, Hannah selected a pair of prescription-free lenses with silver frames. Luther paid again, casting her a sidelong glance as she continued to shape shift on him.

  “You’re having fun,” he observed as they left the shop on a mission to buy clothes.

  “A little,” she confessed. Half the fun was watching him watch her. “SEALs wear camouflage; operatives wear disguises. There’s not much difference in what we do.”

  “That’s true,” he said thoughtfully.

  “Which way now?” She glanced toward the department stores at either end of the mall.

  “Hechts has the best fall sales.”

  Hannah sent him a wry smile. “Now that was a telling statement. You must have a wife or a girlfriend who loves to shop.” She was openly fishing, now.

  His expression hardened subtly. “No, I don’t,” he said, leading the way.

  Ooh, ouch. Hannah caught up to him. He’d obviously had a wife or a girlfriend recently or he wouldn’t have responded that way. Her step felt curiously lighter. Knowing Luther was single made this outing feel more like a date and—wow—she hadn’t had a date in years!

  “Do you even see Westy?” she inquired, using the glass at the front of the stores to see behind them.

  “Not right now,” Luther admitted. “And we’re not going to see him till he wants to be seen. But then again, neither will anyone who might be following us.”

  Being reminded of the Individual took the fun out of adventure. This wasn’t a date. These were steps she had to take to protect herself from a powerful and unknown entity.

  Entering the department store, she stopped before the Ladies section and eyed the conservative fashions with distaste. “Here we go,” she said, plunging in. “This is going to cost a fortune. I don’t even own underwear.”

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Luther’s conjecturing gaze drift over her.

  “You can help me,” she told him. “See this look?”

  She held up a satin blouse with a hideous ruffled collar and balloon sleeves. “This is what you call frumpy. I’m looking for frumpy in size ten, long.”

  He backed away with his hands up. “I think I’ll have a seat over there,” he said, gesturing to a set of waiting chairs.

  “Coward,” she called. Fortunately, there was plenty of frumpy clothing to choose from. Five minutes later, she carried her selections to him, draping the items on the seat beside him.

  “You’re done already?” he asked, in disbelief.

  “I still need shoes and underwear,” she answered, heading toward the lingerie and footwear departments. “Be right back.”

  She chose two pairs of shoes: gray pumps that went with everything and tennis shoes in the hopes that she’d get some regular exercise. Breezing through the lingerie department, she was hit by a perverse impulse to rattle Luther’s equanimity. The key to altering one’s identity, she reminded herself, was to feel like a different person, right down to the undergarments. Her new alter ego just happened to wear the sexiest lingerie imaginable, unlike Hannah whose taste ran toward cotton and jog bras.

  She bore down on Luther with her scandalous selection. “All set,” she announced.

  His deer-in-the-headlights look made her ribs ache with the urge to laugh. He turned away abruptly, and she trailed him to the checkout counter, biting her lower lip.

  “Do you need any jewelry?” he asked, fixing his gaze on an earrings display.

  “Oh, yes,” she said, selecting big, gaudy earrings to complement her new wardrobe.

  “How about a watch?”

  “No, I think that’s enough,” she said, reluctant to impose upon him further. “How am I going to pay you back?” she lamented when the cashier named a price well above the one she’d tallied mentally.

  “You already are,” he said, and she realized he was thinking of Lieutenant Renault’s predicament. She hoped she didn’t let him down.

  “Where’s that photo booth Westy wants me to use?” she asked as they reentered the mall.

  “Across from the public restrooms. You can change in there.”

  She took the pumps, undergarments, earrings, and a shapeless dress into the restroom with her.

  Luther stood next to the water fountain holding the rest of her bags. No sign of Westy anywhere.

  But then, “Excuse me.” There he was, bending over the water fountain. He’d been in the restroom, one step ahead of them.

  Luther grinned in appreciation.

  “Know what it means when a woman shows you her underwear?” Westy asked, smirking as he wiped his mouth.

  Luther’s smile faded. “It means she intends for you to pay for it,” he countered cynically.

  “Means she’s hot for you,” Westy corrected him.

  Luther grunted noncommittally, though his heart beat a little faster. The thought of Hannah hot for him was intriguing—he coul
dn’t deny it. She was beautiful, even with a dowdy wig and glasses on. More than that, she was fun to be with—quick, witty, and unpredictable. But not for an instant would he get involved with a woman who couldn’t wait to pack her bags and run off to a foreign country to do intel. He knew the kind of woman he was looking for, and Hannah wasn’t it.

  Movement in the corner of his eye had him glancing toward the restroom. If he hadn’t been with Hannah for the last hour, she could have walked right by him and he wouldn’t have noticed. She looked about a decade older than she really was, wearing a shapeless baby-blue dress with lace trim, big pearl earrings, and nondescript pumps. Wispy brown hair framed her bespectacled face.

  She walked right past them. Even her walk was different, not loose-limbed and confident as it had been before, but stiff and contained. She looked like the nuns back at his Catholic high school. But then he thought about the sexy lingerie she had on . . . and, oh boy, he couldn’t get his thoughts to surface again.

  Hannah was headed for the mini-photo booth. He caught up to her, taking a bag out of her hands. “Westy needs you to pick a name,” he relayed. He fed the booth a five-dollar bill and drew the curtain for her. “Make sure you’ll answer to it.”

  “I know the drill, Lieutenant,” she drawled, pushing the button and taking her picture. She regarded the digital version on the screen, privately amused that she could look so geeky, and selected it. The machine cranked out a strip of photos. She handed the strip to Luther and stepped out.

  “So who are you?” he asked, glancing with approval at the picture.

  “Rebecca was my mother’s name. Hearing it always makes me turn my head.”

  “Last name?” He pulled a pen from his shirt pocket.

  “Lindstrom,” she said, half teasing.

  He looked at her sharply.

  “If I’m family, you’ll be able to get me in and out of restricted areas more easily,” she reasoned. “I can be your little sister.” She smiled at him, innocently.

  His gaze skated over her, betraying less-than-brotherly thoughts. “Rebecca Lindstrom,” he repeated. “Date of birth?”

  She used her mother’s month and day, keeping her own year.