The Agent's Secret Past

“Give me a minute to thaw out, then I’ll head back to my BOQ,” she told him.

“You won’t be able to salvage anything tonight, Becca.”

“Except the clothes that are still in my car.” She laughed at her own foolishness. “I stopped at the commissary after work and lugged the groceries inside when I got home, but I failed to go back for the laundry I had picked up earlier. My gym bag’s also in the trunk along with a pair of running shoes.”

“What about your weapon?”

She ran her fingers over the purse still strapped to her shoulder. “I grabbed my Glock and purse before I ran. CID badge, military ID card, car keys. Everything I need is inside.”

“Sounds as if you were expecting trouble.”

Colby’s comment struck too close to home.

When she didn’t respond, he raised his brow expectantly.

Becca stood, needing to distance herself from his penetrating gaze. She walked into the kitchen and placed her mug in the sink.

“I’ll drive you to your car,” he said when she returned to the living room.

“Thanks, but I can walk.”

“Not in this weather.” He glanced at her feet. “I’ve got a pair of slippers that should fit you. They were a gift from my grandmother, but they’re too small for me. The leather soles will protect your feet until you get the gym shoes from your car. You’ll also need a jacket.”

He disappeared down the hallway and returned with sweatpants and a hooded sweatshirt she pulled over her flannel pajamas. The slippers were roomy but warm.

“Maybe the fleece will be enough,” she said, regarding the bulky coat he offered.

He shook his head. “You need more insulation if we’re going to be outdoors for any length of time.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll wear my Gore-Tex. It’s with my training gear in the back bedroom.”

She shrugged into the jacket that smelled like sandalwood and lime and waited as Colby located his military outerwear and car keys.

Although she appreciated Colby’s help, she needed to keep up her guard. No matter how nice or how good-looking he was, she didn’t want anyone to complicate her life.

Her gaze returned to the window and the smoldering ruins beyond. Involuntarily, she shivered, regretting her youthful infatuation with Jacob Yoder when the Amish drifter had first stumbled into her life. How eagerly she had given her heart to him, not knowing he had taken up with an older woman—an infirmed Amish widow whose farm he coveted.

Bitter tears had stung Becca’s eyes when she’d learned of their marriage. Even more difficult was her father’s insistence that Becca help Jacob’s sickly wife with housekeeping chores.

Jacob paid her father nicely for her services, and her needy datt turned a blind eye to what Jacob really wanted.

Her stomach soured, recalling when Jacob had lured her to the barn. She’d fought him off and narrowly escaped. Knowing her father would never believe her own innocence, she had run away from Jacob, her father and her Amish roots.

Two years later, her sister’s phone call forced Becca to return home, but she arrived too late to save Katie or her datt.

With a heavy heart, Becca turned from the window, hoping to distance herself from the niggling concern that too often hovered close at hand.

Jacob was dead.

The case was closed.

But if that were true, then why did some inner voice keep warning her that Jacob Yoder was still alive?

* * *

Acrid smoke hung in the air around Becca’s BOQ as Colby parked his green Chevy near her Honda and waited as she slipped on her shoes and shrugged off his suggestion to stay in the car. Worried though he was about her well-being, he admired her determination to get to the bottom of what had caused the explosion.

Together they crossed the street to where Sergeant Flanders stood next to his squad car.

“What’s the latest?” Colby asked, raising his voice over the drone of the fire engines.

“We haven’t been able to get close to the building, sir, but we’ve done a preliminary search of the surrounding wooded area and plan to retrace our steps after daylight. The post maintenance company has been called as well as the fire marshal, staff duty officer and post engineer. General Cameron was notified.”

Becca stared over her shoulder at a second residence still under construction on the next street. “Has anyone searched the other building?”

“Not yet, ma’am.”

She nodded to Colby. “Let’s check it out.”

Stopping at his car, Colby grabbed a Maglite from the trunk and handed a spare to Becca. “We might need these.”

Flashlights in hand, they hustled across a narrow strip of green space and cautiously rounded the front of the structure. A utility van sat at the far end of the parking lot. The side panel decal read Peachtree Construction.

“Why would someone leave their truck in an isolated parking lot overnight?” Becca gave voice to what Colby was thinking.

“Time to have a look-see.” He shone his flashlight through the windshield. A ladder and tools were visible in the rear. An insulated coffee mug sat upfront in the console cup holder.

The doors were locked.

Becca raised her cell and relayed the Fulton County tag number to CID Headquarters. “Run the plates. Find out who the truck belongs to and get me an after-duty hours contact number for the company.”

After disconnecting, she and Colby entered the second building through an open doorway. Their flashlights illuminated inner walls that were framed but lacked drywall.

Colby pointed to his left. “You go that way. I’ll head right.” Neither of them spoke as they made their way through the maze of two-by-fours. The only sounds within the building were their muffled footfalls on the concrete-slab floor and the wind that blew through the open doorway.

They met up at the far end of the structure. A rustle caused them to turn their lights on a rodent scurrying for shelter.

“That’s one culprit we don’t need to follow.” Colby chuckled and then flexed his shoulders, hoping to ease the growing tension in his neck.

“I keep thinking that abandoned maintenance van might be important,” Becca said as they exited the building and retraced their steps to the fire scene.

Sergeant Flanders looked up as they neared. “Find anything?”

“One of the construction vans,” she said. “We’re running the plates and getting a phone number for the company. Probably an Atlanta-based firm that landed the building contract.”

“Any sign of the driver?” he asked.

Colby shook his head. “We searched the building. It’s clean.”

“Maybe the guy caught a ride home with a buddy.”

The fire chief hustled toward them. He was tall with serious eyes that stared at them from under his helmet. “The fire’s contained. I’ll have some of my guys keep watch throughout the night. We don’t want any hot embers to rekindle. One of my men is checking out something he saw in the unoccupied apartment on the bottom floor.”

The chief’s tone caused Colby’s gut to tighten. He sensed the entire investigation was about to change.

A younger man in full turnout gear approached the chief. “There’s a problem, sir. We found a body in the rubble.”

Colby turned to look at Becca. This time she didn’t avert her gaze. Instead she stared back at him.

“Was it Jacob?” she had whispered earlier.

Did the dead victim have anything to do with Becca?

* * *

“Hurry up and wait” was a standing joke in the army, although there was nothing funny about waiting for the medical examiner to arrive on site. After inspecting the body, he scheduled an autopsy for the following afternoon.

Crime-scene tape surrounded Becca’s quarters. A name tag found on the victim identified him as the project manager for Peachtree Construction Company.

At this point, foul play couldn’t be ruled out, but the most likely explanation was an accidental gas leak. Either the project manager had entered the unoccupied apartment suspecting a problem or had caused a malfunction once he was inside.

Becca kept thinking of what could have happened had she not awakened. Dark thoughts she had no reason to mention. Certainly not to Special Agent Voss, who hadn’t left her side since the explosion.

His presence played havoc with her internal calm. She needed space and a few moments to compose her tired and confused mind. The reoccurring dream of running from Jacob Yoder continued to haunt her. She sighed in an attempt to distance herself from the memory.

“Something wrong?” Colby asked.

Becca shook her head.

“You need some rest.”

“I’m fine.” A statement she had uttered too many times tonight. She wasn’t used to having someone underfoot, although she did appreciate his concern.

“The chief reserved a room for you at the Lodge, Becca. It’s time you headed there.”

Special Agent in Charge Craig Wilson had arrived onsite shortly after Arnold’s body had been uncovered. The CID commander now stood talking to the post provost marshal and Special Agents Jamison Steele and Brody Goodman.

Wilson was a tall African-American with broad shoulders and an innate ability to hone in on pertinent information that often solved a case. The high regard with which he was held in the entire CID was one of the reasons Becca had accepted the Georgia assignment. She could learn much under his direction.

Tonight she feared her credibility had been compromised. Wilson kept telling her to get out of the cold, yet he hadn’t mentioned the temperature to Colby nor to the other CID personnel on scene.

Maybe it was the oversize coat she wore and the baggy sweatpants that made her seem needy. Something she never wanted to be.

Wilson slapped the provost marshal’s back and nodded to Jamison and Brody before he walked purposefully toward where Becca stood.

“I’ve assigned Brody the lead on the death investigation.”

She nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“You were the only occupant of the BOQ, Becca. Any chance the explosion was targeted at you?”

“I’m not sure, sir.”

“Has there been something in the past, a person who’s given you trouble, someone who threatened to do you harm?”

“There was an incident in my youth, sir, but that person died some years ago.”

Wilson rubbed his jaw. “It might be prudent to run down anyone you’ve arrested in the past few years, especially those who were incarcerated. Let’s ensure you can account for anyone who might have a grudge to bear.”

“Yes, sir.”

The chief glanced at Colby. “Becca’s new to post and doesn’t know the surrounding area. Look into the explosion, Colby, and ensure it doesn’t have anything to do with her past.”

“I can handle it, sir,” Becca objected.

Wilson’s eyes narrowed. “Of course you can, but this might get personal. I want Colby to watch your back.”

“But, sir—”

“Time for all of us to call it a night,” Wilson said before she could state her objection. “The military police will guard the building. The crime-scene folks plan to go over the area as soon as the fire marshal gives them the okay. In spite of the investigation, General Cameron wants every available unit on post to participate in the half marathon tomorrow.” He paused and stared at Colby. “You signed up to represent the CID?”

Colby nodded. “Yes, sir. Becca did, as well.”

Wilson turned to her. “No need for you to run, if you don’t feel up to it.”

“I’m fine, sir.”

“Then I’ll see you both after the race.”

As Wilson headed to his car, Colby touched Becca’s arm. “There’s nothing more we can do tonight. I’ll drive you to the Lodge.”

She shook her head, frustrated at being coddled by not only Colby but also the chief. “Thanks, but I can drive myself. Besides I’ll need my car in the morning.”

The half marathon had been organized as a way to foster good relations between the town and military community, one of a series of events scheduled for the upcoming year that had the post commanding general’s full support.

Colby smiled. “The least I can do is follow you home.”

She shook her head. “Really, it’s not necessary.”

Either the tone of her voice or her narrowed gaze caused him to take a step back.

He raised his hands, palms out, and shrugged. “Of course, you’re fine. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Colby turned and headed to his car, leaving her standing in the parking lot. Hot tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them back and fisted her hands. For some reason, she hadn’t wanted him to leave.

THREE

Only a little farther!

Becca pushed harder, her focus on the finish line. One more hill to climb to complete the 13.1K run, her first competition since she had arrived at Fort Rickman.

The cheers of the people lining the streets melded into a single roar that accompanied her up the incline. At the crest of the hill, she sucked air into her lungs, appreciating her body’s response to the need for more oxygen.

The finish line lay fifty yards ahead.

Her time was good. Not good enough to win, but nothing to be ashamed of, either.

One last sprint. She kept her eyes on the goal. The Freemont running club official said something over the loudspeaker. Probably her number.

Her footfalls pounded the pavement.

Left, right, left, right...

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

Everything faded into a blur.

Push. Harder. Faster.

She broke across the finish. Cheers erupted around her. Her body relaxed, and her pace slowed. She loped through a roped-off chute that would take her to one of the running club volunteers.

“Rebecca.”

Someone from the sidelines called her name. A deep voice she knew too well. Fear tightened her spine.

She whipped her head to the right, the direction from which the voice had sounded, and stared into the crowd, searching for a face she would never forget. The face of a man—no, a monster—who had destroyed everything and everyone she had ever loved.

She scanned the bystanders—wives with babes in arms, parents and grandparents waving at their favorite runners, shopkeepers and community leaders supporting the town’s first attempt to host the sporting event.

Surely her ears were playing tricks on her.

She would never forget the deep, almost soothing quality of his voice that persuaded even those most determined not to succumb to his diabolical charm.

Evil packed in a handsome face and muscular body.

Goose bumps pimpled her flesh. Despite the exertion, she shivered.

Someone shoved a plastic cup into her hand. “Water?” the guy asked.

She switched her gaze to the man and his outstretched hand. An older gentleman with kindly eyes.

Not Jacob.

“Great run,” the man offering water enthused.

Nodding her appreciation, she took the cup and headed farther along the narrowing chute, still studying the crowd, unable to abandon her search.

She had heard Jacob’s voice.

A high school volunteer checked the clipboard in his hand and marked off her number.

He pointed her toward the refreshment area. “Sports drinks are available at the table ahead. Burgers and dogs are on the grill when you feel like eating.”

She downed the water, tossed the glass in a nearby trash receptacle and slipped through the crowd of those who had already finished the run.

“Good run.” Another voice, one she also recognized.

She turned to see Colby approaching her, his angular face still flushed. His group had started ahead of hers.

“With so many runners, I didn’t think I’d see you this morning.” His smile was warm, but his eyes were serious as if he were searching her face for some sign of weakness. He’d worn the same intense expression last night when he’d found her on the knoll immediately after the explosion.

“No reason to pass up a good race,” she offered, hoping he wouldn’t push for details.

“You were pretty worn out last night. You should have slept in.”

She reached for another cup of water on a nearby table. “I could say the same for you.”

He nodded. “You’re right, but no reason to pass up a race.”

She smiled in spite of herself. “You heard Chief Wilson last night,” she offered as further reason for participating today. “He wanted everyone to support the event.”

Once again, she flicked her gaze to the crowd. “Did you hear anything new from the fire marshal?”

“Only that he’ll check the site this morning. The Atlanta construction company provided the name of the project manager. Ralph Arnold.”

“The truck belonged to him?”

Colby nodded. “The Freemont chief of police asked for a court order to search the trailer he rented in town. They expect it to be signed by noon. I’ll head that way later this morning”

“Give me the address. I’ll meet you there.”

“No reason to take two cars.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll pick you up at the Lodge, say at eleven o’clock. We can stop by your old BOQ first and still arrive at Arnold’s place ahead of the local police.”

Glancing at her watch, she nodded. “That works for me.”

Becca needed to buy a few items she’d lost in the fire, including a pair of flats to wear with the civilian clothes worn by the CID, instead of a military uniform.

Maybe Colby was right. She was pushing too hard, but it was the only way she knew how to operate. Move forward. Don’t look back. Don’t think of what could have been. Don’t allow anyone to get too close.

Then she glanced at Colby, seeing again that questioning lift of his brow. She would have to be extra careful to guard her past when he was around. For some reason, he seemed to sense the disquiet she carried in her heart.

After saying a quick goodbye, she turned toward the crowd, hoping her abruptness signaled her desire to be alone.

Coming back may have been a mistake.

Supposedly Jacob was dead and buried.

But Colby Voss was very much alive, and although the two men were polar opposites, they both posed a danger.

Jacob did because of the memories that tangled her dreams and impacted her life. Colby Voss was a danger in a completely different way, but she needed to guard against his charisma and his show of concern for her, just the same.

As she made her way through the crowd, her focus shifted back to Jacob.

He was dead.

She hoped.

* * *

Colby pulled to a stop at the red light, thinking of the warning signs that had flashed through his mind since he’d met Becca. If only she would lower her guard around him just a bit. Case in point, last night when she’d refused his offer to follow her to the Lodge.

Stubborn pride is what he called it, although not to her face. In truth, it was possibly her dislike of appearing weak or fear of revealing too much about herself. Now that Wilson had tasked them to investigate the explosion’s tie-in with her past, Colby hoped to find a way to work with her and not against her.

Frustrated though he had been last night, he had hung back until she left the BOQ parking lot and had followed her to the Lodge. He’d made sure she arrived at the transient billets safe and sound and watched as she scurried inside. Lights came on in an upstairs room, and he’d seen her at the window before she closed the drapes.

Relieved to know she was safe, he’d driven home. Sleep had eluded him, and he’d spent a great portion of the night focused on Becca Miller and her determination to take care of herself.

Strong women were a challenge, to say the least.

He’d made that mistake once before and still carried the scars. Not physical, but painful nonetheless.

Foolish of him to have thought Ellen would change when they were both deployed in Afghanistan. Her independence and desire to go it alone had forced him to transfer to another forward operating base.

A mistake that haunted him still.

No matter how hard he worked to move on, the reality of what had happened was never far below the surface.

Meeting Becca had brought those memories to light again. Unresolved issues, his sister called them, but then she knew him too well. As much as he treasured their close sibling relationship, he didn’t appreciate her uncanny ability to recognize his struggle.

Surely Becca Miller couldn’t sense the undercurrent of his life. He prided himself on his outward control and on being a law enforcement officer who got the job done.

Turning into the lodge parking area this morning, he saw Becca standing in front of the building. She glanced impatiently at her watch.

He checked the dashboard clock. One minute past eleven. Did she think he was late?

Pulling to a stop, he reached across the passenger seat and opened the far door from the inside. Equal footing was what she wanted, which he would give her. Becca was a fellow army investigator. End of story.

So then why did he breathe in the flowery scent of her shampoo and take a second deep breath as if to ensure what he smelled was real and not his imagination?

He reached forward to help her click the seat belt in place. Their hands touched, sending a ripple of electricity up his arm. Nothing about Becca was his imagination. She was tall and slender, lean in a fit way but not too skinny, with a graceful neck and shoulder-length brown hair streaked with auburn.

She turned and greeted him, but his focus honed in on her green eyes, tired but bright.

“Did you get something to eat?” he asked.

“A couple power bars.”

“You want some coffee. Maybe a burger at the drive-through?”

“Only if you do.”

“I ate earlier at the race.” Not that he couldn’t eat again, but they were on a tight schedule, and he didn’t want the Freemont police to arrive at the project manager’s trailer ahead of them.

“Dental records should come in later today to officially ID Ralph Arnold’s body,” he told her as he pulled onto the main road and headed to her former BOQ.

“Have they contacted the next of kin?”

“A wife who lives in Marietta, just north of Atlanta. She talked to her husband yesterday evening. He was working late and had hoped to finish sometime before midnight and then drive home for the weekend.”

“Now he’s dead.” Becca tsked. “I feel for the wife. Did they have kids?”

“Two boys.”

“Growing up without a father will be tough.”

Colby had to agree. “The question we need to answer is what was he doing in the vacant apartment?”

The fire marshal and two MPs were searching Becca’s BOQ when they pulled into the quad parking lot.

“Find anything?” Colby asked after he and Becca had introduced themselves and flashed their identification.

“Nothing yet, but watch your step.” The marshal pointed to the burned rubble covering the floor. “No way of telling if Mr. Arnold caused the problem or tried to fix what was amiss when he arrived.”

“Wouldn’t he have called in a gas leak and notified the fire department?” Colby asked.

“More than likely,” the fire marshal said. “And if he’d used his cell when he was inside, a spark from his phone could have caused the explosion.”

The marshal was a slender guy with bushy eyebrows. He glanced at Becca over the top of his glasses.

“After you smelled gas, Special Agent Miller, you told the MP last night that you exited through the rear of the building.” He pursed his lips for a long moment. “Why didn’t you use the front door?”

“My first thought was to get out. The back door was closer.”

“Then you called CID Headquarters instead of 911?” the marshal pressed.

She nodded. “The number was programmed on my phone. I knew the person on duty could and would notify both the fire department and the military police immediately. Emergency operators ask questions that can delay the process.”

The marshal raised his bushy brows. “We have an excellent emergency response system at Fort Rickman.”