Secret Vows. Rochelle Alers
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personal items: a coffee cup, several paperback novels, a crystal heart-shaped paperweight and a miniature cactus plant.
“Going somewhere, Evans?”
Greer nodded. The auditor peering over her partition had a problem processing the word no when she’d told him she didn’t believing in dating her coworkers. But that hadn’t stopped him from seeking her out whenever she ate in the employee lunchroom. “I’m being transferred.”
Harold Browning approached her, his hazel eyes widening in surprise. “When did you find out?”
“Just a few minutes ago.”
Harold’s sandy-brown eyebrows lifted. “You’re kidding, aren’t you?”
She shifted the box to a more comfortable position as she picked up her handbag. “No, I’m not.”
“Where are you going?”
Greer wanted to tell Harold that she was going far enough away so she wouldn’t have to be annoyed by his persistence. “Portland,” she said instead of Mission Grove. “I have to go.”
Harold looked as if he was going to burst into tears. He ran both hands over his thinning blond hair. “I’m going to miss you, Evans.”
“I’m going to miss you, too, Browning.” She would miss seeing him leaning over the partition to her cubicle to greet her every morning and his puppy-dog expression whenever she chided Harold for asking her out. The CPA was as brilliant as he was annoying. He’d pursued her when he should’ve focused his attention on some of the other single women who’d made it known they were interested in him. Why, she thought, did people always want what they couldn’t have?
Turning on the heels of her rubber-soled shoes, Greer headed for the exit, ignoring curious glances from special agents, investigators, technicians and support staff as they watched her departing figure.
When she stepped outside, the summer heat hit her like opening the door to a blast furnace, making it difficult for her to draw a normal breath. It was mid-August, and the afternoon temperature was over one hundred degrees. She was going to Oregon, a place where she didn’t have to contend with triple-digit summer heat and hardly a drop of precipitation. Oregon—a spot where all she had to deal with were moderating temperatures and the invigorating feel of rain on her face.
Even without asking, her prayer had been answered. Greer didn’t want to think about her next assignment once she identified who’d stolen identities to buy and sell firearms to criminals. It was always easier to think about the present, while concentrating on not blowing her cover. Working at her uncle’s restaurant would be like attending a kiddie birthday party. No pressure, no having to look over her shoulder or worry about her backup. All she had to do was keep her eyes and ears open.
Getting into her compact car, Greer started up the engine. She waited for the vents to blow cooling air over her face before she shifted into gear and maneuvered out of the parking lot. She wasn’t given much time to pack; however, living in a furnished apartment definitely had its advantages. All she had to do was clean out her closets, dresser drawers, put up several loads of laundry and then pack everything in two large rolling duffel bags, one containing her service revolver, bulletproof vest, government-issue laptop, a case with an assault rifle and clips of ammunition. She’d learned to travel light with what she deemed the essentials. If it didn’t fit into the duffel bags, then she could do without it.
* * *
Early the next morning Greer turned off the air-conditioner. She took one last look around the apartment where she’d spent the past five months of her life, then walked into the bathroom. When her former supervisor had initiated her transfer with a recommendation to desk duty, he’d claimed she was close to burnout, and the department couldn’t afford to lose one of their best undercover special agents.
She’d agreed and was grateful for the respite; there were occasions when she had a problem remembering who she actually was because she’d been so deep undercover. Looking at her reflection in the mirror over the vanity, Greer brushed her hair and secured it in a ponytail. The purplish tint had faded completely. She’d been tempted to dye it back to its natural shade, but her hair had undergone so many colors and styles during the years she’d been undercover as a special agent for the ATF, she was surprised it would grow to any appreciable length. There was a time when she’d shaved one side of her head. Then she’d affected twists, braids and extensions.
The sound of the doorbell echoed in the apartment, and Greer left the bathroom to answer the intercom. She punched a button. “Yes?”
“I have a four o’clock pickup for Ms. Evans.”
“Come on up.” They’d sent a woman to meet her.
She punched the button to disengage the lock on the downstairs door. Opening the door to her apartment, Greer stood off to the side. When she saw the man coming up the staircase, she launched herself at him. He wore khakis, a black golf shirt with the FBI logo over the breast pocket and black hiking boots. It was apparent her twin brother had been selected as a member of the team of agents going up to Portland to search for the three boys who’d vanished without a trace.
“Cooper!”
* * *
Cooper Evans caught his sister in midair, holding her against his chest. There was no mistaking they were related. They shared the same golden-brown complexion and slanting light brown eyes; however, Cooper was taller, a more masculine version of his twin sister. He kissed her cheek. Her bare face made her appear much younger than a woman in her early thirties. The desert sun had darkened her complexion to a rich cinnamon-brown.
“You seem to have fared well for a desk jockey.”
Looping her arms around Cooper’s neck, Greer pressed her forehead to her brother’s. “Jealous, bro?”
“Heck, no. I love being in the field.” He tugged playfully on her ponytail. “Let’s go. The others are waiting for us. During the flight, you can catch me up on what’s been going on since we last spoke to each other.”
* * *
Although she and Cooper exchanged texts a couple times each week, it was a rare occasion when they were able to talk on the phone, but never about their jobs. Greer again glanced around the living/dining area, then grasped the handle to one of her bags, but Cooper usurped her when he lifted both effortlessly. She left the keys to the apartment on the table in the dining area and walked out, closing the self-locking door behind her. A black Suburban with heavily tinted windows sat idling in the parking lot. Cooper opened the hatch, placing her bags in the cargo area.
She opened the rear door, slipping onto the third row of seats beside a young attractive brunette who wore a windbreaker stamped with the letters identifying her as a special agent with the FBI. Other than the driver and their lone female agent, two other agents were fast asleep, soft snores echoing in the vehicle’s interior.
The woman flashed a friendly smile. “Allison Singer.”
Greer returned her smile. “Jane Evans,” she whispered, introducing herself, while not wishing to wake the other sleeping passengers. Legally she was Jane Greer Evans, but her father insisted on calling her Greer.
Cooper got in beside Allison and settled back against the leather seat. The driver maneuvered out of the parking lot, accelerating and following the signs to the Sky Harbor International Airport.
* * *
The Learjet had lifted off at six, and Greer was rendered speechless when her brother revealed that in another three months he’d become a permanent member of the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team. This meant he would have to deploy on short notice to any location in the United States or internationally. Although she didn’t see Cooper as often as she would’ve liked, the thought of him leaving the country to confront the most complex threats was chilling.
“Have you told Mom and Dad about this?” she asked him. Their parents had relocated from D.C. to a retirement community in Ashburn, Virginia.