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“John and Esther Norris. Missionaries with a Tuareg tribe in Africa. They came back to the States because she had pregnancy complications four months ago. They arrived back with the Tuareg last week and were greeted with this.” He pointed to the aerial picture that showed nothing more than a flat square of smooth dirt. “The US Embassy told the Norrises they’d check into it.”
“Which means they’ve decided to ignore it for some reason.”
“You got it.”
“Which is where you come in, I assume. Who hired you?” she asked.
“Frank Bennett.” Deputy Director Frank Bennett had been a mentor to Gabe for fifteen of his sixteen years at the CIA.
“That’s a cruel joke, Gabe. Frank Bennett is dead. Even I heard that news, and I was in a third world country with very limited communications at the time.”
“He’s dead because he had information he wasn’t supposed to have.”
“And now you have it?” Grace asked, holding up the file in question.
He nodded. “That’s part of it. You haven’t seen the rest yet.” Gabe unbuckled his seat belt and went to the fridge to grab a couple of waters. He handed one to Grace and sat back down. “Are you curious enough to stay on board?”
She blew out an exhausted sigh. “You knew I would be.” Grace rotated her neck and used her water to wet a cloth napkin. She wiped the grime from her face and neck, and the action was unguarded for only a split second, but it was long enough for Gabe to see a glimpse of the vulnerability she kept hidden.
“Good,” he said. “Go take a shower, and feel free to use whatever is in the closet. Everything you need is on board. I’ll tell you the rest later. We’re a long way from London.”
“And why are we going to London?”
“Because that’s where ISF is headquartered.”
“ISF?”
“International Special Forces,” he said. “Your new employer. The rest of the team will be waiting for us there.” He held up a hand before she could argue. “Yes, a team. A five-man unit all hand selected. The others have been with me awhile. It took some time to track you down. Be nice. You’re the new guy.”
“Great,” she said, standing. “We’ll be one big, happy family.”
He waited until Grace went into the small bathroom and the shower turned on before he answered her.
“We were a family once,” he said softly.
He knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was tempting fate in more ways than one. Grace was a different person than she’d been two years ago—harder—colder—but she was still his wife.
He just had to pray to God that she might forgive him.
ChapterThree
London, England
Gabe was exhausted—his thirty-eight years felt closer to a hundred—but at least his life wasn’t tied to the CIA any longer. He was free. Of course, the reason he no longer worked for the CIA was that his life had turned to garbage, so he wasn’t sure the levels of bad canceled each other out in the long run. Garbage was still garbage, no matter how it was labeled.
If his cover hadn’t been blown two years ago, he’d still be accepting missions for the CIA. And he knew with absolute certainty he’d be dead. He was used up. A man could only live that way so long before he lost his soul or his life. He’d come close to losing both.
But now there was Grace.
He spent the flight back to London trying to keep his mind focused on anything but her, but it was impossible when he could smell the scent of his soap on her skin. All he wanted to do was hold her and chase away the memories of the last two years. He’d be lucky if she didn’t stab him in the back.
He shook his head at his foolish fantasies and got up to check on her, only to find her dead to the world in his bed—her hair lying like wet ropes against her pale skin and her body restless even in sleep. She wore a pair of his sweats that swallowed her whole, and her feet were bare and delicate.
Gabe covered her with a blanket and touched the curve of her cheek with his fingers. She curled into his hand, nuzzling against him. He couldn’t stop the pain that clutched his heart as he remembered how their daughter had always done the same thing. He turned and walked away before he could do something stupid like get in bed beside her and hold her.
Gabe took his own shower and changed into black cargo pants and a black T-shirt. He spent the rest of the flight buried in work and keeping his personal life locked away. And when Grace woke a few hours later—so they could refuel the plane and their stomachs—her hair was rebraided, she was dressed in the black jeans and green silk blouse he’d put in the closet for her, and she sat across from him without uttering a word, content to pass the time with a book she’d found on his desk.
It was dusk when they left Heathrow. A gloomy drizzle settled over the city and gleamed in the streetlights like dirty diamonds. Logan handled the black Mercedes with ease, weaving in and out of the London streets with familiarity. Gabe sat with Grace in the back seat, answering questions as she read through the files again.
