The Agent's Secret Past Read online

  Dressed as she was coupled with the plummeting temperature and the shock of seeing her BOQ in flames had to have an adverse effect on her. Even in the half-light, her face was noticeably pale and drawn.

  He glanced down at her bare feet.

  Time to make a command decision. “My BOQ is just across the clearing. We can continue to talk there.”

  He shrugged out of the thick fleece he’d grabbed on his way outside and slipped it over her shoulders.

  She shook her head. “That’s not necessary.”

  “Maybe not, but humor me.”

  Their eyes locked for a long moment.

  Colby wanted to shake his head at her obstinacy. Someone needed to inform Ms. Miller that taking healthy measures to protect herself wasn’t a sign of weakness.

  What did she have to prove?

  He took her arm.

  She glanced down at his hand and then raised her gaze. “Really, I’m okay.”

  “Maybe, but the temperature is in the forties. You’re not dressed for the cold. Neither am I.”

  He turned to the MP. “Sergeant, I’m in apartment 103, the first door on the left, should anyone need to question either Special Agent Miller or me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Colby motioned Becca forward and was somewhat surprised when she followed his lead. As tough as she had tried to be over the past few days, he had expected opposition. Not that he wasn’t relieved.

  Shock was a nasty complication that often went unnoticed. From the knit of her brow and the ever-so-slight slump to her usually ramrod-straight spine, Becca had been affected by the middle-of-the-night attack.

  Who wouldn’t be? To go from a near sleep to a race for your life could try the best of men—or women.

  Glancing over his shoulder, he took in the seeming chaos as the on-post fire company worked to control the inferno that resisted their attempts at containment. The military police, post engineer, fire marshal and fire chief would survey the damage and photograph anything suspect. As much as Colby would have liked to check the property himself, someone needed to get Becca inside and out of the cold.

  Tomorrow, the fire marshal and his entourage would sift through the rubble in hopes of uncovering the cause. More than likely, an accidental malfunction from a leak in a gas line or a faulty pilot light coupled with some type of spark.

  At the far side of the grassy knoll Becca stopped and glanced over her shoulder at the blaze.

  Colby heard the sharp intake of air as she shook her head.

  “Was it Jacob?” she whispered.

  He leaned closer, not sure if he had heard correctly.

  “What did you say, Becca?”

  Her eyes widened as if she had forgotten he was there.

  So much for making a positive, first impression. Something his sisters would have teased him about mercilessly, if they found out.

  Which they wouldn’t.

  “Did you say ‘Jacob’?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “I didn’t say anything.”

  But she had. A man’s name. Did she associate Jacob—whoever he was—with the explosion?

  If so, Colby would keep watch in hopes she would eventually reveal more information. Maybe then he’d know what secrets she kept hidden behind her hauntingly hooded eyes and tantalizing reticence.

  TWO

  Becca hesitated for a moment before she stepped into Colby’s BOQ and flicked her gaze over the leather couch and matching chair bathed in soft light from a floor lamp. A newspaper and stack of fitness magazines were arranged on the coffee table next to a collection of framed photos. She moved closer, her eyes drawn to a picture of a group of girls standing around a much younger Colby in uniform. The family resemblance couldn’t be ignored.

  “These must be your sisters?” she said.

  “All five of them.” She could hear the smile in his voice as he headed for the kitchen. “They insisted on a picture before I deployed to Afghanistan the first time.”

  A bittersweet moment for sure. Pride for their brother was tempered by the reality that he might not come home from war. Photos were something tangible to hold on to when all else was gone.

  Graven images, the Amish called them. Her father had railed when she and Katie had come home with a snapshot a friend from town had taken of both of them. Her father had torn the picture into tiny pieces that Becca had tried to glue together later that night after he had gone to bed. If only she had that picture now. Instead, she had to rely on memories that faded with time.

  “How do you take your coffee?” Colby called from the other room.

  “With a little milk, if you’ve got it.”

  “Creamer okay?”

  “Perfect.”

  A biography of General George S. Patton sat on a side table along with a number of training manuals. Military plaques and memorabilia hung on the wall next to citations for an army commendation medal, a meritorious service metal and two bronze stars. Impressive to say the least.

  Not only was Colby good-looking but also competent, although she’d realized that the day they’d met. He’d been focused on business and not with making idle chitchat, for which she’d been grateful. Coming into a new unit was stressful. Having to keep up a flow of chatter made it even more so.

  Turning, she noticed an open laptop on a desk in the corner. A plasma screen TV and two bookcases, stacked with three-ringed binders, filled the corner of the room and balanced the rather stark but comfortable furnishings. She approved of his uncluttered decorating style. Her own preference leaned to basic needs with few extras, which probably stemmed from her upbringing.

  She accepted the coffee Colby offered and wrapped her hands around the mug, thankful for the warmth of the thick stoneware. After taking a sip, she gazed through the window at her own quarters visible in the distance. The once-sizable structure was now only a shell of steel support beams and charred debris.

  Her hold baggage, containing the majority of her household items, wasn’t due to arrive from Germany for another two weeks. The fire had destroyed only what she had brought in her luggage. All of which could be replaced.

  “These might help.” She turned to find Colby holding out a pair of heavy socks.

  “Thank you.” Accepting the offering, she quickly settled into a nearby chair and slipped the thick woolen coverings over her bare feet. “I didn’t realize I was so cold.”

  “You were bordering on shock, which worried me.”

  “I appreciate your concern and the coffee.” She smiled. Yet her attempt to remain upbeat was only halfhearted. The reality of what had happened tonight clamped down on her shoulders and wouldn’t let go.

  “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, bu
t 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—”