The Agent’s Secret Child Page 10

  She hugged herself and looked up at the heavens, asking the one question that had haunted her since she’d learned of Jake Cantrell’s existence.

  “Wishing on a star?” he asked from behind her.

  Startled, she swung around. His broad shoulders filled the doorway, blocking out the faint glow of the light he’d left on inside. Slowly he stepped into the starlight.

  “Abby.” His fingertips found her face, warm and gentle.

  She lost herself in his look, in his touch, stepping into his powerful embrace as if opening a familiar door.

  His kiss was both soft and seductive, passionate and potent. He traced her lips with the tip of his tongue. She opened to him, breathless, heart pounding, body aching.

  “Jake,” she whispered against his lips. A plea.

  He pulled back just enough to look down into her face. Then he swept her up in his arms and, opening the screen door with the toe of his boot, carried her into the bedroom and laid her carefully on the bed.

  “It’s been a long time,” she whispered as he joined her. Starlight filtered in through the curtains along with the sweet warm scent of the night breeze.

  His gaze touched her face gently. “How long?”

  “Six years.”

  He frowned. “You don’t mean—”

  “Julio was never a husband to me.”

  He drew her to him. “I wish I could say I was sorry,” he said huskily. Then his lips dropped to hers and he took her mouth with a hunger that could only match her own.

  Frantically they made love, stripping away clothing to get to bare skin, kissing and caressing, wrapped up, locked together, unwilling to relinquish even a naked inch of the other’s body until the moment when they lay spent, hearts pounding in unison.

  Abby sighed and looked up into his handsome face. “Jake.” Her one question had been answered. She remembered him…them. Their shared passion. This had been the one feeling she’d recalled, the feeling she hadn’t trusted. She’d been afraid to trust it, for fear it had never existed.

  They made love again, this time, slowly, seductively. She explored his body, he explored hers. The night waned outside the window, they reveled in rediscovering what they’d thought they’d lost forever.

  How could she question any longer who she was? Or that Jake had been the man she’d shared such passion with? How could she still wonder if he’d been the one who’d tried to kill her?

  She lay curled in his arms, sated and satisfied, feeling blessed. Feeling lucky. Both feelings scared her. She’d learned with Julio never to feel safe. Never to let her guard down. With Jake, could she and Elena learn to feel safe again?

  She left the warmth of his arms to check on Elena. The child slept, Sweet Ana beside her. Abby covered her with the thin blanket and padded back across the hall to Jake.

  He must have seen the worried look on her face.

  “You and I are the only ones who ever knew about this place,” he said. “If we aren’t safe here, Abby, we aren’t safe anywhere.”

  She nodded, fearing the latter was true as she got back into the bed, back into his arms. But she couldn’t shake the worried feeling that this wouldn’t last. Couldn’t last.

  “Tell me about the last six years,” he whispered against her hair. “Please.”

  She stared up at the fan turning hypnotically above them, the air cool on her naked skin. “Elena and I were virtually prisoners. I tried to leave once.” She hesitated. “Julio caught me and Elena. I knew then that he’d kill us both if I tried again. I also knew he was involved with Calderone. I hoped pretending would keep Elena safe.”

  He didn’t say anything for a long time, just held her. “I’m sorry. Why do you think he pretended to be your husband for all those years?”

  She shook her head. “I guess he planned to use me and Elena to get him out of Mexico with Calderone’s money.” Why did she feel it was much more than that? “I suppose once he realized I had amnesia and was pregnant, it was an easy way to keep an eye on me. Plus he had his own built-in housekeeper and cook.”

  She saw Jake’s jaw clenched with anger and changed the subject.

  “Tell me about my life. The key has to be in my past and you’re the only one who can help me.”

  He told her about a strong, capable, sexy, interesting, unique woman named Abby Diaz and she had to laugh, knowing that no such woman had ever existed, except in Jake’s mind. Or maybe his heart.

  She tried to imagine even a scaled-down version of that woman, that life, but still couldn’t.

  “Has any of your memory come back?” he asked.

  “Just feelings more than actual memories. Images.” She frowned. “I keep seeing an older, blond woman, a striking woman.”

  “Crystal Jordan. Frank’s wife. We spent quite a lot of time at their place. The four of us and some of the other agents.”

  She frowned, trying to pull up something that seemed just on the edge of her memory. But gave up after a moment and closed her eyes, her head aching.

  “Give it time, Abby.”

  “I might not have time,” she whispered. “Jake, there is someone in my past who I can’t trust, who might still want me dead—and I won’t even recognize him when he comes for me.”

  “What about the man on the train? You still can’t place him?”

  She shook her head. “I just know that he was shocked to see me. He definitely recognized me, and it surprised him.”

  He told her about the six-agent team that had gone into the building the night she disappeared, then described the agents.

  “Buster McNorton was older, a veteran, experienced and levelheaded,” he said summing it up.

  “He’s one of those who died?”

  Jake nodded. “The other agent who died was Dell Harper.”

  She felt a small stir of memory. “Dell?”

  Jake seemed to be watching her closely. “Dell Harper was the quiet type. Average Joe. You were closer to him than anyone else on the team.”

  That surprised her. “Really?”

  He looked away. “You were on his baseball team. You always said he was like the little brother you never had.”

  She studied Jake, sensing something she couldn’t put her finger on as she tried to picture Average Joe Dell Harper. “Was Dell married?”

  He shook his head. “I think I heard something about a fiancée once. But I guess she was killed in an accident.” He seemed to hesitate. “You were always real protective of him. He might have told you about it.”

  She said nothing, wondering if she’d heard something in Jake’s voice. Jealousy?

  “Frank and Reese Ramsey stayed with the Bureau,” Jake continued. “Both have moved up. You remember Reese?”

  She shook her head. She didn’t remember any of this. It seemed as foreign as the stories Julio had told her. She wondered if she and Jake would have still been with the Bureau if that night hadn’t gone so badly.

  “Reese is a nice guy. Smart, easygoing, dedicated, but not like Frank.”

  “You don’t like Frank?” she asked, surprised considering that he’d just told her they’d spent a lot of time with Frank and his wife, Crystal.

  “I used to, but everything changed when you—”

  “Were lost,” she suggested, using his words.

  “Yeah.”

  “Frank was with us that night?” she asked.

  He let out a sigh. “Frank had gone around to the side of the building with Reese. You and I were taking the front.” He looked up, his gaze meeting hers for an instant. “I’m not sure what happened. One minute you were behind me. The next you’d gone around to the back after Buster and Dell.”

  A chill raced over her skin like a long-legged spider. She shivered. Why had she gone with Buster and Dell instead of staying with Jake? She wouldn’t have disobeyed orders, would she? She snuggled into him, suddenly terrified.

  “You think Frank ordered me to go with Buster and Dell?”

  He said nothing, just pulled her c
lose and kissed the top of her head.

  “If that’s true, then what are we going to do? That would mean that Frank—”

  His cell phone rang, startling them both. He looked at her for a long moment, then he reached for the phone where he’d left it beside the bed. He acted as if he knew who was calling. A man they both suspected they now had to fear.

  Chapter Ten

  But it wasn’t Frank Jordan’s voice on the other end of the line. “Jake?”

  “Reese.” He sat up, glancing over at the clock beside the bed. Two-fifteen in the morning. What was Reese doing calling at this hour?

  “Do you have Isabella Montenegro and her daughter with you?” Reese said without preamble, his tone hurried.

  “Yes, what—”

  “Jake, you’re in danger.”

  He almost laughed. He’d been in danger since the moment he took this assignment.

  “You need to get the woman and child to us as soon as possible,” Reese was saying. “Tell me where you are and I’ll send—”

  “Reese, what’s going on?”

  “Jake, you’ve been set up. The woman isn’t Abby Diaz. Your life is in danger as long as—”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded.

  “The fingerprints you sent us from the handcuffs,” Reese said. “They aren’t Abby Diaz’s.”

  He felt the blood rush from his head, the earth drop beneath him as if he were suddenly marooned in outer space. He glanced over at her, lying beside him on the bed. She looked up at him, fear in her eyes.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  “That’s not possible,” he said into the phone.

  “Abby’s dead, Jake. We exhumed the body. It’s her. There’s no doubt. You’ve got to bring the woman in. And the kid. And you have to hurry.”

  He fought for breath, his mind screaming, no!

  “Jake, it’s a trap. Don’t be a damned fool. Wherever you are, get the hell out of there. Now. Before it’s too late. I’ll send men to meet you. Just tell me where—”

  He closed his eyes. “I’ll take care of it myself,” he said and clicked off the phone, dropping it to the floor.

  “Jake,” she whispered beside him. “What is it?”

  He didn’t look at her. He couldn’t. He got up and pulled on his jeans. “It was Reese Ramsey. I sent him the handcuffs you used to cuff me at the station. He checked the prints.” He turned then to face her. “He says they aren’t Abby Diaz’s prints.”

  She stared up at him, looking stunned, confused, then dropped her gaze to the crumpled bedsheets.

  “The body they exhumed from the grave,” he continued. “It’s been positively identified by the FBI as Abby Diaz’s.”

  She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears as her gaze rose again to his. “The person who called, he’s the one you said you trusted?”

  Jake nodded, sick at heart. And scared. He tugged on his shirt, his flesh still alive with the feel of her, his body already aching for her.

  “Of course, it’s a lie,” he said quietly. “Someone falsified the report. There’s no other explanation.”

  She nodded, her eyes on him. “Frank?”

  “He’d have the authority.” He stood, fighting the need to flee, fighting the question that haunted him. If he didn’t believe what Reese had told him about Abby, then why did he believe the part about the trap, about being in immediate danger?

  “I think we’d better get out of here,” he said, feeling the weight of his words, the implications weighing on him.

  “I’ll get Elena.” She rose and dressed quickly, no longer looking at him.

  He watched her leave the room, his heart hurting, the pounding too loud. Reese had to be wrong. About everything. He hadn’t even realized how hard he’d been listening until he heard the sound outside. A sound as distinct as a heartbeat and as ominous as a gunshot. Someone tried the back door.

  If we aren’t safe here, we’re not safe anywhere. His words had come back to haunt him.

  MOONLIGHT MADE a silver path on the tile floor as she padded quickly across the hall to Elena’s room. She felt numb. All except her heart, which seemed to struggle with each labored beat. Not Abby Diaz.

  Jake’s words had stunned her. Not Abby Diaz? Just when she’d finally found herself? Just when she’d found Jake and the passion she’d remembered from before?

  It was one thing to want to take away her new-found strength, to take away her identity, to take Jake and the love she’d once shared, but to take her child, to make her believe the babies had been switched and that Elena wasn’t hers—because Elena was so obviously Jake Cantrell’s daughter.

  She looked down at her daughter. Elena lay curled in the narrow bed, burrowed deep in the blankets, only the top of her dark head showing. Anger made her weak. Who was playing with her life like a puppeteer, pulling her heartstrings? If only she could remember the past. The answer had to be there. The person behind this. The person responsible for trying to destroy her.

  But what made her heart ache was what she’d witnessed in Jake’s eyes. She’d seen that moment of doubt. That moment of distrust.

  As she reached down to pick up her daughter, a shadow moved across the window on the other side of the curtain. She froze as the outline of one man, then another, crept along the side of the house. Hurriedly she scooped Elena up, covers and all.

  Elena’s eyes widened as she came awake.

  “Shhh,” she whispered to the child. “Not a sound.”

  She started out of the room, desperate to get back to the bedroom and Jake. But as she reached the hall, Elena in her arms, Elena cried out. “Sweet Ana! I dropped Sweet Ana!”

  Then the air exploded with the crash of shattering glass and splintering wood as the house was breached.

  She looked up to see Jake framed in the bedroom doorway across the hall, a gun in his hand. She heard him call a warning. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught movement. Shielding Elena, she ran toward him.

  Jake got off one shot before he took the bullet. She felt it whiz past her, saw it strike him, his head jerking back, and watched in horror as he went down.

  She lurched toward him but was grabbed from behind before she could reach his side or the weapon he’d dropped to the floor next to him. Elena was pulled from her arms and she was dragged backward. The last thing she saw was one of Ramon’s men kneel beside Jake and shake his head.

  She started to scream. But a hand closed over her mouth and nose, the cloth wet and cold, the smell strong and blinding. Her knees gave way beneath her. And she fell, dropping into blackness as if falling down a deep, dark bottomless well.

  ABBY WOKE to the dark and the silence and the pain. So much like six years ago when she’d awakened in the Mexican hospital. Only this time, she knew what she’d lost. This time, she remembered too much.

  “Elena?” she whispered as she sat up and felt around on the cold floor for her daughter. “Elena?”

  She felt nothing but the rough adobe of her prison. Panic seized her as she stumbled to her feet, windmilling her arms in the blinding blackness. “Elena!”

  Her knuckles scraped the wall. Pain shot up her arm, but her real pain centered in her pounding heart. She took slow, deep breaths, but they came out as sobs. Where was Elena? Her baby? What had they done with her?

  Elena was gone. Jake was dead. Shot dead. Jake. Oh, God. Jake. Had he died believing her an imposter? Part of a plot to get him killed?

  She closed her eyes against the thought. Someone with the FBI had falsified the fingerprint and autopsy reports. It had to have come from the top. Frank. But why?

  She fought the urge to scream. But screaming wouldn’t bring Jake back. Hysteria wouldn’t help Elena. She had to think of her daughter now. She dropped to her hands and knees, her legs too weak to hold her, her head hurting too much to think of anything but her child.

  She felt her way around the room. It was small, no more than a cell, and completely empty. The walls were adob
e like the floor, rough and cold to the touch. On one wall, she found a door, thick and made of wood. She put her shoulder to it. It didn’t budge.

  She sat back down on the floor, dizzy from the darkness and the chloroform or whatever they’d used to knock her out. She felt cold and nauseous, sick soul-deep. Jake was dead. Elena lost. Defeated, she wrapped her arms around her knees, laid her head down and cried.

  The sound of the bolt scraping in the lock on the other side of the door made her lift her head. Hurriedly, she dried her eyes, wishing she had something to use as a weapon. The door slowly swung open, bringing with it the night breeze. And light. She blinked. A man stood silhouetted in the doorway, holding an old-fashioned lantern. He shone the light into the room, blinding her. She heard his sharp intake of air.

  “Get her out of there,” he ordered in Spanish.

  His voice was at once familiar—and frightening, because she couldn’t place it. She got to her feet, pulling herself up the rough wall, shielding her eyes from the light. Two men came into the room and, taking her arms, dragged her out into a hallway of sorts. Some of the walls had eroded away, leaving dark holes open to the night.

  She only half feigned the weakness that made it hard for her to stand. They held her up in the light of the lantern. Slowly, she lifted her head.

  He stood only inches away, studying her. When she dared look up into his face, she was afraid she’d know him and afraid she wouldn’t.

  He was tall, with brown hair and a kind face. But his angry expression and the intense look in his dark eyes made her recoil inwardly. She told herself she’d never seen him before. But the look in those eyes assured her it was not mutual.

  “My God,” he said in English. “Abby?”

  “Where is my daughter?”

  He seemed taken back by her tone. “Don’t worry about her. She’s fine. Being well cared-for.” He shook his head, his gaze studying her face with astonishment. “Jake must have been shocked when he saw you.”