Recovered secrets, p.13
Recovered Secrets, page 13
Grace fired first.
The man toppled to the ground. She couldn’t be sure if he was wounded or dead, but their lives were on the line and she had to defend them.
Hollis jumped on the rails attached to the back of the four-wheeler, facing the killers. “Get the rifle off my back!” Grace screamed as she gave it full throttle, heading for the road at the back field.
Patsy scrambled and ripped the rifle off her back.
They were halfway down the road when Grace heard the sound of a vehicle.
“We got company,” Hollis bellowed.
Grace fishtailed and weaved, sending mud flying.
“Steady, Grace!”
The pop of the rifle sounded and Grace glanced back as a black SUV veered off the muddy road and into the field. Guess they’d retrieved their hidden vehicle.
Taking the short window of opportunity, Grace turned into the opposite field and backtracked. They’d need the truck. A four-wheeler on a highway wasn’t going to cut it in a car chase—or get them to Cottonwood in one piece.
Grace kept the four-wheeler as steady as possible. No sign of the men yet. Maybe the mud had them stalled out or stuck in the field.
As they neared Hollis’s truck, Hollis jumped from the moving four-wheeler to secure their position—crazy how instinct told her that. Grace slammed on the brakes at the truck and practically slung Patsy from the ATV. “Get in!”
She opened the driver’s-side door and shoved Patsy inside.
Hollis appeared and Grace bounded inside next, sitting in the middle. Hollis got behind the wheel and Patsy handed him the keys and he cranked the engine, then peeled out of the yard. “Well,” he said, “that was quite the adventure.”
Grace didn’t know how he could be so calm and collected. She was a bundle of nerves ready to implode. She’d stayed in control under pressure but that was her exterior. Three men nearly killed them! One got a shot off on her.
“Grace, how’s that wound?” he asked as he barreled down the gravel road and onto the highway. No sign of the killers.
Shoving her shirt over her shoulder, she inspected it. “Superficial. I don’t think it needs stitches. Maybe a few butterflies.”
He grunted and that’s when she noticed some bruising around his right eye. “You okay?”
“I’ve been through worse. Patsy? You gonna make it over there?” he asked.
She only nodded and Grace held her hand and squeezed. “I’m so sorry about your friend. We...we can’t go back. But we can call the police.”
Patsy sniffed and wiped a tear with her free hand. “I’m used to losing people I love and not being able to say goodbye.”
She must know about her sister’s death. Grace’s heart reached out for her. That would be unimaginable.
“I’m fairly certain those weren’t Hector’s guys. Which means they were likely trained agents. So...why do the people I once worked with want me dead? Any ideas?” she asked Patsy. “You know this Clive Epps that I worked for. Would he want me dead?”
Patsy rubbed her temples. She might be frazzled and not in the confiding spirit, but Grace needed answers. Her life—Patsy’s life and even Hollis’s—were in jeopardy.
“This whole thing is crazy. Where to even begin?”
“How about with why you were working with Hector Salvador?” Hollis asked, his voice low, wary and authoritative. He glanced in his rearview, then the side mirrors. Making sure they weren’t tailed.
Was Patsy a bad guy too?
“I was forced to. My sister had cerebral palsy and needed special care. He threatened to kill her if I said no and if I said yes, he’d make sure she had quality care. I didn’t have a choice. You know what he’s capable of.” A muffled sob escaped and Grace put her arm around her.
“I’m so sorry about your sister,” Grace whispered. “We just found out she’d passed.”
“Thank you. I couldn’t stand not knowing how she was, so Judith went several months ago—to check on her. As discreetly as possible. I couldn’t risk her getting caught. For all I knew Clive or Hector had Peggy under surveillance. That’s how we found out she’d died a couple of months prior, but I couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t put Judith in a dangerous position.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes.
How awful.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Hollis said. “I’ve lost loved ones too, but I can’t imagine not being able to be there when they...”
“Thank you,” Patsy murmured.
“How long did you work for Hector and in what capacity?” Hollis asked and continued along the interstate, keeping careful watch.
“I’d been there almost a year when you came, Lucy. I was creating the toxin that nearly killed you.”
“I’m actually going by Grace now.”
“Grace,” she said. “Then you were going by Valentina. I knew you looked familiar when you arrived on the compound, but I couldn’t place you. It had been awhile since I’d seen a photo of you. But as time went on, I realized you were Henry and Lucinda’s daughter. Imagine my confused state.”
Grace glanced at Hollis. “How did I end up on a compound with Hector to retrieve a toxin from someone my parents knew? The world isn’t that small.” Was it?
Patsy sighed and leaned her head against the seat. “I knew your parents before they were married. Your father was a CIA agent, working bioterrorism at the time. They put together a task force comprised of agents and civilians. Geneticists. Pathologists. Biochemical engineers. That’s how I met your mother. And your father. And Clive. He and Henry were colleagues on the task force—and best friends.”
Grace shook her head, working to process everything. “My dad was a spy? Everything we read said he was a data analyst.”
“No, honey. That was his cover.”
Clive Epps could be the man who had been with her at the funeral. She described him to Patsy.
“Sounds like Clive.”
“Did I tell you who I was when I came to the compound?” Grace asked.
“No,” Patsy murmured. “You had no idea who I was and like I said, at first, I didn’t know you. It was only after a few weeks that it hit me. I suspected why you came and that Clive probably recruited and personally trained you.
All this crazy knowledge, skills... Clive had taught her.
“How did we escape?”
“A man you knew came to the compound and you two got into a fight—physically. You torched the lab, took the research and we ran. He found us again in Miami. We lost him and took a private plane from there to Jackson, Mississippi, then you stole a car and we drove to Starkville where you had your farmhouse—you said no one, not even Clive, knew about it. You said once you confirmed the truth, you’d come for me.”
Then she must have gone to Natchez after hiding Patsy and was intercepted by Peter Rainey near Cottonwood. Why would she be going to her mother’s birthplace? To stash more research? Spread it out? “What truth?” Grace had stolen a car? Fought a man in Colombia and Miami? Who? Peter Rainey?
“That Clive was responsible for the death of your parents.”
* * *
Hollis had driven the rest of the way to Cottonwood holding Grace’s hand. After Patsy dropped that bomb, Grace had clammed up. Stopped asking questions. Completely retreated inside herself. She was on information overload and hanging by a thread.
Poor woman hadn’t even had time to deal with the three possible agents attempting to kill her—kill them all—earlier at her safe house.
He was waiting for her to implode and then explode. But so far, she hadn’t. Instead, she’d trembled silently, and Hollis couldn’t pull over and give her the solace she needed—couldn’t embrace her. Instead, he’d called Cord and filled him in. He would call the authorities in Starkville. Questioning was inevitable, and statements would have to be given.
Hollis parked in Cord’s driveway. He’d offered to put all three of them up and with what happened on the farm, Hollis wanted to keep this mess as far away from the inn and Tish as possible. The image of Judith Ryland falling to the ground replayed in his head.
Cord met them on the porch. He eyed Grace then gave Hollis a look. Yeah, he was thinking the same thing. She was a mess. “I might have some hot tea from when my sisters visited. Would you ladies like any?”
Patsy smiled. “Yes.”
They made introductions. Grace remained silent. Her hair was matted with mud, and her face and clothing were filthy. “We’d like to clean up first, if that’s okay,” Hollis said.
“Of course.”
“Thank you,” Grace said and slipped her shoes off outside the front door. Hollis and Patsy followed suit and Cord led them to separate bathrooms.
After getting clean and dry, Hollis butterflied Grace’s cut on her arm, but they barely spoke.
Cord had set out tea bags and a pink tea kettle sat on his stove.
Hollis raised an eyebrow.
“My sisters’. Scout’s honor.”
Hollis chuckled and helped himself to coffee, foregoing tea.
“It’s an herbal blend. They said it was relaxing.” Cord shrugged as if he didn’t believe a word and would never consider finding out for himself.
Patsy and Grace poured themselves a cup. Grace added honey and then they sat across from one another. Hollis sat at one end of the table and Cord took the remaining chair opposite Hollis.
“Grace, do you want to talk?” Hollis asked.
She stared vacantly at the steaming cup of herbal tea with a fruity scent. “I don’t understand. Why would Clive Epps want my parents dead? In my memory, we loved each other and he was terribly grief stricken. I need the story from the beginning.”
Patsy sipped her tea. “I’ll tell you like I did in Bogota. Your mother and I became fast friends and she and Henry had a whirlwind romance. One for the books, Lucy—Grace.” She ran her finger around the edge of the thick brown mug. “Our mission was—is—classified. I can only say it was bioterrorism and we were working on a cure together. Once the assignment was over, Lucinda moved to Washington, DC, and married your father. I went to Bogota studying yellow fever with the CDC. Sometimes came back to Atlanta. Clive climbed the ranks in the CIA. Made powerful connections. Henry continued to work with him and then on other bioterrorism task forces. Lucinda and I kept in touch over the years.”
“What makes you think Clive tried to kill my parents?”
Patsy licked her lips and stared into her cup. “Your mother confided in me that Henry was afraid Clive was involved in nefarious and traitorous activity—selling bioterrorist weapons to the highest bidder for personal gain.”
Hollis folded his arms and studied Patsy. He couldn’t confirm or deny this story. But Grace was lapping it up.
“Not long after she confided that information, they died in the plane crash. I thought when I saw you at Hector’s your mission was to eliminate me. Clive might be taking out everyone involved in that original task force who could accuse him of corruption, treason, terrorism. After a while, I confided in you about who I was and what I knew. You confronted Clive and he denied it all, but then that man came...he tried to kill you. I think Clive sent him to kill us both and retrieve the research and toxin.”
“What exactly is this toxin? You’ve told me side effects but evaded much more than that. And don’t say classified. I almost died because of it.” Grace slid her cup of tea away; it was clearly not doing its job to calm her.
“It’s a toxin with a water hemlock base. It produces cicutoxin. Hector wanted it turned into an aerosol to spray on rival cartels’ poppy harvests. It would cause their buyers to become sick and they’d lose trust and come to Hector. But in higher concentrates—like you were blasted with and ingested—it would cause all the side effects plus foaming at the mouth, seizing before going into a coma and ultimately death. If this got into the wrong hands and was sprayed on agricultural crops in high concentrations then ingested it would kill millions of Americans and could easily crash our economic system.”
Hollis and Cord both heaved a sigh. “Did Hector want it for that too?”
“No, he’s a businessman. He’s not interested in murdering potential clients or causing an economic crash. He was only concerned with knocking rivals out of the drug trade. That’s why I kept things from my assistants as much as possible. They had no clue what we were really doing—what I was being forced to do.”
Hollis wished he knew if Patsy was telling the whole truth—or even half the truth. If Grace believed the one man she trusted had betrayed her and killed her parents, then it would make sense for her to take Patsy and the research and run until she knew if Clive was diabolical or Patsy was a liar. Stashing the doctor and the toxin research—and possibly some of the toxin—in different locations was smart. That may be why she’d been running all over the country—not just to get away but to throw those after her off.
“If Peter Rainey was also a CIA agent on your team, and Clive sent him to kill you and take the research, he may have been the one to dose you with the toxin. That may have been the way he betrayed you,” Hollis said.
Grace rubbed her temples. “Patsy, could you identify the man who came to the compound—who chased us to Mississippi?”
“Absolutely.”
Hollis grabbed his cell and showed Patsy the photo he’d taken of Peter Rainey. “Is this the guy?”
“Yes,” Patsy said and shuddered, then covered her mouth. “That’s him.”
That confirmed Peter Rainey was indeed a CIA agent and a colleague of Grace’s. But he’d been clipped before he could help her or finish off what he’d started two years ago when he thought he’d killed her. Since the attacks on Grace hadn’t let up, Hollis leaned toward the fact that Peter Rainey may have been coming to her aid somehow. That he was sorry for his betrayal, which could’ve been the attempted murder of her, and had figured out something was all lies and would have shared it had he not been assassinated.
A boom of thunder shook the house. Rain pounded the roof, cutting into his thoughts and reminding him the town was in danger if this weather didn’t let up.
“Where are we on evacuations?” Hollis asked.
Cord waved him off. “That can wait for now...holding steady. This can’t. What else do you know, Dr. Sayer, that can help us?”
Gripping the mug with both hands, she slowly shook her head. “I wish I had something. Grace was going to confront Clive. When she didn’t return, I thought he’d killed her. Or that man who came after us had found and killed her.”
Grace stood and paced the kitchen floor. “I thought of that too. Would someone I might be involved with or engaged to try to kill me?” She shook her head. “I think that earliest memory might have been an undercover operation together.”
“Possibly,” Hollis said. He wouldn’t be upset about it, that’s for sure.
Patsy yawned.
Cord stood. “I have a guest room upstairs. Second door on the left. If you need anything, let me know. I put more fresh towels in the bathrooms.”
Patsy excused herself.
Cord cleared the cups and leaned against the kitchen counter. “Have you called the CCM team since you’ve discovered this new information?”
“No,” Grace said. “I just need...to process it all.”
“I’m going to bed, if you need anything, Grace, just knock,” Cord said, and Hollis refrained from letting it irritate him. If Grace needed anything she could knock on Hollis’s door.
Cord retired to his room on the west end of the house.
One lamp in the living room glowed.
Grace collapsed on the couch and curled her feet underneath her. She took out a pad of paper and the silver pen she’d been carrying around since the first attack; she flipped a few pages and scribbled, continuing where she’d left off earlier.
He wasn’t sure if she’d want company or not...but he did. He sat beside her leaving an inch or so of space between them. Leaning in slightly, he skimmed her list. She was adding to what she knew and what they suspected. She hadn’t filled in the column of more questions, but it was longer than either of the other two lists.
“Now that it’s just us, what are you thinking?” Would she be honest? Transparent. He wanted her to—to open up and lean on him.
“I’m thinking...the only person in this whole world I know I can trust without a sliver of doubt, Hollister, is you.” She slowly locked onto his gaze, her eyes full of moisture. “You had my back today, and I knew—I knew that it was gonna be okay. No matter how much of my old training kicked in, no matter how terrified I was, I knew if you were with me, for me...it would be okay.” She laced her fingers with his as if they were meant to be intertwined. “Tell me it’s going to be okay,” she whispered.
He’d been telling her. He meant it, but more than anything he wanted to show her. Her words ballooned in his heart, warmed shadowy, cold places. Would she...would she let him kiss her?
She held his gaze, searching. Her thumb rubbed the tender spot between his index finger and thumb, sending a thrill along his spine.
He made a slow descent, giving her time to change her mind, to tell him to stop—that it was a mistake and he’d misread her signal, misread her need to connect—not to just anyone but to him.
As he cupped her cheek with his free hand, grazing his thumb along her high cheekbone, she shivered and gasped.
That was all the answer he needed, and he carefully, tenderly met her lips. They were as soft, sweet and wonderful as he’d imagined—the rare times he’d given himself permission. Her fingers slid into his hair, raining goose bumps from his head down his back. Leaning farther into him, Grace slipped her fingers from his and embraced him, holding tight, clinging to the promise he poured into her—to always have her back. To protect her. To fight alongside her. To always be honest with her.
