His Secret Life

“Just get out of the car, Benson.”

He got out, closed the door and took a couple of steps. But he stalled. Decided there was one thing he had to do. He rounded the hood and opened up the driver’s side door.

Jane glared up at him. “What?”

“Get out of the car.”

She didn’t argue, but got out. She folded her arms over her chest and lifted her chin defiantly.

If he took a second to think about it, he would have probably realised what a stupid move this was.

But he didn’t think about it. He dropped his bag and kissed her.

Kissed her long and deep.

She leaned into him and his body reacted.

How long had it been since he’d kissed anyone like this?

He didn’t know…didn’t care.

She tasted warm and soft…sweet. Just like he’d known she would.

His arms went around her, pulling her closer, tucking her hips against his. She made the sweetest sound.

But he had to go…

Available in June 2010 from Mills & Boon® Intrigue

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by Rita Herron

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by Ann Voss Peterson

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by Jessica Andersen

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Desert Ice Daddy

by Dana Marton

A Voice in the Dark

by Jenna Ryan

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Terms of Surrender

by Kylie Brant

His Secret Life

by Debra Webb

His Secret Life

by

Debra Webb

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Debra Webb was born in Scottsboro, Alabama, to parents who taught her that anything is possible if you want it badly enough. She began writing at age nine. Eventually, she met and married the man of her dreams and tried some other occupations, including selling vacuum cleaners, working in a factory, a day-care centre, a hospital and a department store. When her husband joined the military, they moved to Berlin, Germany, and Debra became a secretary in the commanding general’s office. By 1985 they were back in the States and finally moved to Tennessee, to a small town where everyone knows everyone else. With the support of her husband and two beautiful daughters, Debra took up writing again, looking to mysteries and movies for inspiration.

You can write to Debra with your comments at PO Box 64, Huntland, Tennessee 37345, USA, or visit her website at www.debrawebb.com to find out exciting news about her next book.

Chapter One

Colby Agency, 2:00 p.m.

Victoria Colby-Camp collected her purse and prepared to order the car. Picking up her granddaughter at school would definitely be the highlight of this day.

After spending a good portion of the morning at the E.R. with J.T. and Eve, then dealing with that unnerving call from the bastard behind the abduction attempts, Victoria had long passed exhaustion.

She needed Lucas at her side. The government contact that served as a liaison whenever Lucas was on assignment had been unable to reach him or any member of his team. The reason, of course, was classified. Victoria had put off reaching out to Lucas again as long as she dared.

She could no longer presume the threat to her granddaughter was minimal. With that call, the danger had escalated to a new level.

This threat was not linked to Lucas or one of his personal enemies. The past had come back to haunt the Colby Agency once more.

An associate of Errol Leberman, the archnemesis of the Colby name, was behind the threat. Victoria had not recognized the caller’s voice. He had refused to give his name, pushing Victoria into a corner and limiting her options to the single one she had hoped to avoid. Reaching out to Jim.

The past few years her son had taken great strides in settling into a normal, happy life. Jim and his wife, Tasha, were immensely happy and their daughter, Jamie, thrived. This extended vacation to the remotest regions of Africa was the couple’s first getaway. Victoria had not wanted to disturb their escape. Her son so deserved to take a real vacation for the first time in his life. To experience an adventure that was for pure enjoyment and not related to his work.

But the caller and the situation had left Victoria no choice.

As she’d been forced to reach out to Lucas, her people had been attempting to reach Jim all day.

Recent political unrest had concerned Victoria as to their selection of this safari for their getaway. Tasha had great empathy for the country and its many woes. She had chosen the place for that reason. Jim had agreed. Victoria had reminded herself that her son was more than capable of taking care of himself and his wife in any situation. There had been no need to worry.

But that had been before. Before rumors surfaced that Jamie Colby was a target. Before they had been ambushed and three people had lost their lives.

Before the call.

Victoria shuddered as memories of Leberman and the horrors he had used against the Colby name crowded into her thoughts. Anyone associated with him would be every bit as evil and twisted. Worse, they would go to any lengths to accomplish their mission.

The possibility of their success terrified Victoria.

She swallowed back the emotions that constricted her throat. Victoria never allowed anyone or anything to shake her confidence and determination to this degree.

But this absolutely shook her to the core.

Perhaps she was not as strong as she once was.

Her office door opened, snapping her to attention.

“We have Jim on the line,” Ian Michaels announced.

Simon Ruhl came in behind him, closed the door.

A mixture of relief and anticipation seared Victoria’s senses. “Finally.”

They moved to the conference table, where Ian activated the conferencing system. “Jim, Simon and I are in Victoria’s office. Are you in a position to speak at length?”

“For as long as the connection lasts,” Jim granted.

Emotion surged upon hearing her son’s voice. Victoria smiled even as tears welled in her eyes. “Jim, it’s good to hear your voice.”

“What’s wrong? I can hear the worry in your voice, Victoria.”

Victoria had hoped at some point her son would feel comfortable calling her mother. But that hadn’t happened yet. Years of brainwashing and bitterness had made any sort of intimacy on a normal level difficult. Still, their relationship was close, solid.

“There’s a situation,” she explained, annoyed that her voice quavered. “We had hoped to contain the threat without interfering with your vacation, but that has changed now.”

“Tell me,” Jim commanded, his tone fierce, “that my daughter is safe.”

“Jamie is safe,” Victoria hastened to assure him. “She is unharmed and having a grand time being the center of attention. We have the maximum security measures in place. For now, all is under control where her welfare is concerned.”

“There’s been a threat against her,” Jim surmised.

His voice had lost all inflection. When threatened he closed out all emotions, a tactic he’d learned after years of abuse. Agony twisted in Victoria. She would give most anything not to have to do this to him.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “Ian is going to bring you up to speed.”

Surprised, Ian shifted his attention to her and Victoria nodded for him to take the reins. She did not trust herself to maintain her composure.

She looked away as Ian launched into the details of the threat to her granddaughter. More of those stinging emotions burned in her eyes. Inside, where no one could see, she trembled.

For the first time in a very long while she was afraid. Uncertain of herself. The past year her agency had worked hard to pull together a reconnaissance division specifically for finding the missing. How could her agency possess such talent and still be vulnerable to this kind of threat?

The answer was all too clear.

Leberman, an evil man with extensive power, had reached out from the grave and done this to her family. The years of torment…the struggle to overcome the misery he’d elicited in her life even now sent dread welling inside her.

The bastard.

“Victoria.”

She blinked, returned her focus to the two men seated at the conference table with her. “Yes?” She mentally scrambled to catch up. Had Ian asked her a question? What had she missed?

“Jim is ready to listen to the recording.”

She nodded. “Of course.”

Ian gave Simon a nod. Simon initiated the playback of the recorded call.

Victoria clasped her hands in her lap, held on tightly as the sinister voice filled the room. Ten million dollars was the price for calling off the abduction of Victoria’s granddaughter. But she knew that no amount of money would guarantee Jamie Colby’s safety. The threat had to be neutralized at its core.

When the recording had reached an end, the silence thickened for several moments before Jim spoke.

“His name is Clayton Barker. He operated the mercenary camp where I stayed for two years. Do not underestimate him. If he’s behind this…”

Victoria heard talking in the background. One voice sounded like Tasha’s.

“Jim?” A new kind of tension quivered through Victoria. The background conversation sounded clipped, tense.

“Look,” Jim said, apparently moving away from the conversation in the background since the voices faded. “I’m coming home. I don’t know how long it will take. There’s been some trouble here.”

More of that paralyzing fear streamed through Victoria’s veins. “Related to the recent shift in the political climate?”

“Yes,” Jim confirmed. “We thought we were safe but trouble has moved into this area. We were already preparing to move out before your call was patched through. Tasha and I will head back to Kenya and get on the first flight back home.”

“Can we get a helicopter to your location to facilitate your departure?” Ian suggested.

“Won’t work. The government has shut down all air traffic in the area. We’ll have to try getting out in the jeeps. If that doesn’t work, we’ll do it on foot. I will get there, one way or another.”

“Jim.” Victoria worked at keeping her voice even. “Are you and Tasha safe for now?”

“For now.” His tone was grave.

Adrenaline fired through Victoria and she snatched back her crumbling resolve and courage. “Listen to me, Jim,” she said, her voice stronger than before, “you take care of yourself and your wife. Make your way back here, but don’t take unnecessary risks. All of us are working on this situation. We will find Barker and we will do whatever necessary to stop him. Jamie will be protected. Do not doubt that for a moment. You have my word.”

Her resolve buckled for a minute, but there was no way Victoria Colby-Camp was going to be undone by a degenerate like Barker. She would prevail. She looked from Ian to Simon. She had the best of the best behind her.

“I know you’ll do all you can,” Jim said, “but I can’t risk that it might not be enough. I’m coming back. Nothing here will stop me.”

The call ended with one last plea from Victoria for him to take care.

He needn’t worry, she would not let him down.

Not again.

As much as she understood that her son loved her and that his words were not a reflection of her failure, she knew what his statement meant.

Victoria had done all within her power to keep Jim safe as a child.

And it hadn’t been enough.

Chapter Two

At 4:20 p.m. Victoria’s final appointment for the day arrived. Stuart Norcross settled into a chair flanking her desk.

“I know we just spoke on Friday,” he began, “but I’m anxious to see how your investigation is going.”

Victoria picked up the file Mildred had placed on her desk. “Completely understandable, Stuart.” She smiled. “Your wife and son are safe thanks to this man and you’d like to be able to properly show your gratitude.”

“Precisely.” Stuart settled back into his chair, the tension in his regal frame receding marginally.

Stuart Norcross was one of Chicago’s leading entrepreneurs. Despite the struggling economy, Stuart had taken his custom personal chef service nationwide. Having devoted most of his life to building his business, he had only in the past few years taken time for a true personal life. He’d met and married a wonderful woman and they’d had their first child just two years ago.

Victoria checked her notes. “His name is Troy Benson. Jane Sutton, one of our investigators specifically trained for finding the missing, has located Mr. Benson and is preparing for contact. I expect to have feedback no later than tomorrow afternoon.”

“Outstanding.” Stuart smiled, his relief palpable. “I knew I could depend on your agency, Victoria.”

“Thank you, Stuart. We pride ourselves on thorough, efficient work.”

Stuart inclined his head and studied her a moment. “Do you have any idea as to why Mr. Benson left the scene so suddenly?”

One week ago Stuart’s wife, Reese, had visited an old friend in Meriden. Driving back to Chicago late that evening in the pouring rain, their son asleep in his car seat, Reese had braked hard to avoid a dog and lost control of the vehicle. The car had plunged off the road and into a dangerously deep ravine. Thankfully a thicket of small trees had stopped the vehicle before it crashed headlong into the rocks below. Badly injured, Reese had realized that the protection of the trees wouldn’t last but there was nothing she could do. The sound of splintering wood and straining metal had warned that if she and the baby didn’t get out of the car in a hurry, they would surely plunge to the bottom any second.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a man appeared. He rescued the baby from his car seat and barely got Reese out of the driver’s seat before the car broke through the trees and pitched to the bottom of the ravine. After checking their injuries and calling for help, the man disappeared during the chaos of the police and rescue personnel’s arrival on the scene.

“Not just yet,” Victoria explained. “We believe the man is using an alias.” At Stuart’s surprised look, she added, “There could be any number of reasons that have nothing to do with criminal activity. A former celebrity.” She flared her hands. “A recluse for purely personal reasons. That’s why we’re going to take a cautious approach from this point forward. Though I understand that you’re very grateful for what Mr. Benson did, it would be in your best interest to know who this man is and what his motives for seclusion are before moving forward with a meeting between the two of you.”

Stuart nodded. “I suppose you’re right. I certainly don’t want to endanger my family by becoming involved with a man with a troubled past.”

“Unfortunately,” Victoria offered, “it goes with the territory, Stuart.” She knew this all too well. “Wealth and power can sometimes prove a magnet for those seeking easy money. Self-protection is essential. If we uncover disturbing details perhaps it would be wisest to show your gratitude anonymously through my investigator.”

“So his name is definitely not Troy Benson? How did you find him?”

“My investigator, Jane, used the description your wife gave of the man who rescued her to start the search. Since the man was thought to be on foot that night, our first assumption would be that he lived nearby. Along that deserted stretch of road, there are only a few scattered communities. The occasional farm, but not much else. We focused on anything within walking distance.”

“Reese vividly recalls catching a glimpse of someone as her car spun out of control,” Stuart confirmed. “She believes he was, indeed, on foot.”

“That being the case,” Victoria went on, “we assumed that the man was likely from somewhere nearby. Jane checked the surrounding communities until she found someone matching the description. He goes by the name Troy Benson and he works at a diner in Plano.”

“If your investigator hasn’t spoken to this man yet, how can she be sure it’s him—other than the description my wife gave, I mean? This Troy Benson could simply be someone who looks like the man who rescued my family. Is she sure it’s him?”

Again, Stuart’s anxiousness was showing. He wanted this man found, but he also wanted to find the hero he had created in his mind. “Reese stated that the man who rescued her cut his left forearm as he pulled her from the damaged car, correct?”

Stuart sat forward a little. “Yes. Yes, she did. Does this Troy Benson have an injury consistent with what my wife recalls?”

“He does. Jane has him under surveillance and is hoping for an opportunity to lift a latent print. We can have a friend at the bureau, as well as our Chicago PD liaison, run the print through the systems to see if he shows up in any databases.”

“You’ll keep me informed?” Stuart asked, his expression clearly crestfallen.

“Absolutely.”

Victoria’s client stood, sighed. “The waiting game it is, then.”

“It won’t be long,” Victoria assured him. “Trust me, Stuart, Jane will work as quickly as possible.”

When Stuart had taken his leave, Victoria stood for a long moment staring at the door that separated her office from the small private lobby where Mildred greeted clients and took care of Victoria’s calendar.

Waiting was the hardest thing to do.

A person’s whole life was spent waiting on one thing or another. For Christmas to arrive. To find love. For the safe birth of a child…to live without fear.

Waiting was all Victoria could do for now as well.

Chapter Three

Plano, Illinois, 4:30 p.m.

The Sunshine Diner was filled to capacity as usual. Jane selected the only vacant stool at the counter to facilitate a better view of the kitchen’s serving window.

An apron-clad Troy Benson set two plates on the serving window ledge and announced, “Order up.”

With his shirtsleeves pushed up, the bandage on his left arm was visible.

“You ready to order?”

Jane dragged her attention from the window to the waitress who’d stopped on the other side of the counter. “I’ll have the special.” Burger and fries. A girl couldn’t go wrong with the basics.

The waitress, Patsy, scratched the order on her pad, flashed a smile and headed over to post the order on the cook’s wheel in the service window.

Benson glanced at Jane as he tugged her order from the wheel. Jane held his gaze, wanting him to know she wasn’t here for the food. She’d come in and out the past couple of days. She felt certain he realized she was watching him, but he hadn’t gotten nervous just yet.

She’d been cautious with her questioning of the locals. Not wanting to spook him, she’d resisted talking to the waitresses or the busboy in the diner.

Benson drove a beat-up old truck. The license plate was registered to a Troy Benson, originally from Michigan. His driver’s license went back four years. No work or credit record for six years prior to that. Mainly because the man, the real Troy Benson, with that Social Security number had some nine years ago entered a private extended-care facility in Michigan after a tragic automobile accident. Since the facility wasn’t funded by government insurance, there was no reason for any government agency to be suspicious of the use of the Social Security number some five years later. While the real Troy Benson withered away in Michigan, this pretender had started a whole new life in Illinois.

If Jane could get this guy’s prints, it would be reasonably easy to determine if he had a criminal record or if perhaps he was in Witness Protection. There had to be a motive for his having taken an alias and living such a low-profile life. A low-profile life, according to the few people she’d questioned, that he went to great extents to keep very personal.

After work Benson drove his ancient truck to an equally aged farmhouse on Grissom Spring Road. He had no friends, no social life that anyone she’d asked was aware of. He had simply blown into town, driving that old truck, four years ago and had been working at the diner since.

He didn’t look like a short-order cook.

Tall, well-muscled, mid-thirties, blond hair, blue eyes. Damned good looking. A little glimmer of warmth swirled beneath her belly button. Any woman would have to be in a coma or dead not to notice how handsome he was. But guys who looked like that never took a second look at Jane.

Plain Jane.

Her nickname in grade school had followed her into adulthood. She hadn’t bothered attempting to dispel the unflattering moniker. She liked wearing jeans and T-shirts when she was off duty. Even on duty she stuck with serviceable slacks and conservative blouses along with practical shoes. And she hated makeup and all the hair fuss that most women took great pride in skillfully sporting.

If that, along with her generic brown hair and eyes, made her a plain Jane, then so be it.

“Here ya go.”

Patsy settled a stoneware plate in front of Jane. “Thanks.” Jane considered the burger and fries. “How about some coleslaw?” What she needed was a small enough item touched by the cook that she could take with her. And return it, of course, once she’d lifted the necessary prints. She’d noticed some side orders, coleslaw in particular, were served in bowls small enough to suit her requirement.

“Sure thing.” Patsy strolled back to the window. “Need an order of coleslaw, Troy.”

Benson flicked another of those suspicious glances from the waitress to Jane. Troy disappeared from the window for a moment and returned with a small, single-serving-size stoneware bowl of slaw. Patsy immediately placed the side order in front of Jane.

“Great.” Careful not to touch the little bowl with her fingers, she dug in. She was starved. Though she’d been in the diner earlier this afternoon, she hadn’t ordered anything but coffee until now. As she ate, she covertly kept an eye on Benson. The waitresses were hustling to refill drinks and take orders since the evening crowd was slowly drifting into the diner.

The bustle of the kitchen staff was also obvious beyond the serving window. While the waitresses were preoccupied with their evening rush, Jane pulled a couple of plastic sandwich bags from her purse and picked up the bowl, using one of the bags as a barrier between her fingers and the stoneware. With her movements hidden beneath the counter now, she slipped the empty bowl into the second bag and tucked it into her purse.

With a quick check to ensure that no one was paying attention, she grabbed the side order bowl left by the customer who’d abandoned the stool next to her and placed it by her plate. No need to call attention to the fact that she’d taken the bowl.

Patsy strolled past, slowing long enough to refill Jane’s soda.

Her phone vibrated. With another perusal around the diner, Jane reached into the pocket of her pants and pulled out her phone to check the screen. Text message from Ian Michaels. Rendezvous with MW 5:00?

Jane responded with a suggestion of five-fifteen. OK flashed on the screen. The newest member of the Colby Agency’s staff, Merrilee Walters, would come by the Plano Hotel at five-fifteen to pick up whatever Jane had been able to retrieve that might provide Benson’s prints.