Mission: Memory Recall. Virginia Vaughan
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at Bethany’s credentials instead of looking directly at her—while she explained the situation and asked for his help. Technically, he didn’t have to offer any assistance to her since the CIA wasn’t supposed to be operating on US soil, but most law-enforcement agencies shared so many common experiences that camaraderie was generally expected and usually given.
When she was finished, Mills leaned back in his chair and surveyed her. “I’ll agree to this on several conditions, Agent Bryant. One, you don’t interfere with our investigation into the shooting and, two, you offer up any and all information you know about it.”
She nodded. “Of course. I will.” That was a given.
“How long do you think you’ll need to house this prisoner of yours in our facility?”
“Not long at all. One night. Maybe two at the most.”
“Fine. My last condition is that my detectives want to question him about what he knows about the shooting without interference from you or the Agency. I don’t want to hear that we can’t solve a shooting in our own community because the CIA deems it sensitive information.”
“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem, Sheriff. In fact, I would love to be kept informed about any information your detectives garner from Marcus.”
“I’ll let them know.” He stood and shook her hand. “It’s hard to believe that we had a fugitive from the CIA living right here in our community and no one knew it. Keep us updated and we’ll do the same.”
She left his office and was met by Detective Mercer, who told her they were still going through evidence and wouldn’t be talking with Marcus for several more hours.
Bethany took the opportunity to dial the number for Rick Eaves, her CIA department supervisor, to update him. When he answered, she spilled the news about finding Marcus.
She heard his sharp intake of breath. “Marcus Allen? You really found him?”
“I did. He’s alive. He was working as a fry cook in a town called Little Falls, Texas.”
“I’m in shock, Bethany. I confess I thought you were just chasing shadows. Are you certain it’s him? Maybe it’s just someone who looks like him.”
She remembered staring up into Marcus’s achingly familiar green eyes and mentally shook her head. She would never forget his face. “It’s him. I’m certain of it.”
“Okay, then we need to plan our next move. Do you want me to call in a team to bring him in?”
She’d gone against Agency protocols by not calling in a fugitive recovery team. But then, she hadn’t been acting in an official capacity, either. “That’s not necessary.”
“This is a dangerous man, Bethany. He’s been on the run for years. There’s no telling what he might do if you confront him.”
She grimaced, bracing for his reaction. “I already have.”
“You did what? Are you insane? You know our standard operating procedures for capturing fugitives.”
She couldn’t help the indignation that arose inside her. No one had believed her and now she was catching flack for being right. “I wasn’t operating under an official capacity, remember? I didn’t think I had the resources of the Agency to help with this.”
Rick took a deep breath as if realizing she was right and then continued in a calmer tone. “What happened?”
“Nothing. He claims to have amnesia. He says he doesn’t even know me.”
“Amnesia? Are you seriously buying that?”
She wanted to assure her supervisor she didn’t, but the image of Marcus’s green eyes looking at her so earnestly for answers as he’d sat across from her flashed through her mind and she couldn’t form the words. So instead of responding to his question, she moved on to the next issue. “We have another pressing problem. A sniper fired into the diner just after I approached him.”
“They’re trying to kill him before he can talk to us.”
Her mind spun at that notion. “Who is trying to kill him?”
“Bethany, you don’t think he’s been on his own all this time, do you? He must have been working with someone to stay under the radar.”
She didn’t bother reminding him that Marcus hadn’t managed to stay under her radar. “I haven’t gotten to officially interrogate him yet, but I will soon.”
“You do that. I’m going to start making preparations to get you both back here as soon as possible. I’ll call the Marshals’ office. I assume the locals will hold him until they arrive?”
“Yes, I’ve already spoken to the sheriff. He wants answers about this shooting just as much as we do.”
“Don’t let them take over. He’s our prisoner, not theirs. Make sure they know that. Do you want me to call the sheriff?”
“That’s not necessary. I can handle it.”
“Okay. I’ll be in touch once the arrangements for the Marshals are under way.”
She hung up but instead of feeling proud of herself for finally capturing Marcus after all these years, she felt as if she’d just been scolded by her supervisor. And it rankled because she’d accomplished something no one else at the Agency had been able to do.
Rick Eaves and the rest of the CIA had underestimated her and now she’d proved them all wrong.
She should have felt vindicated. So why then did it feel like her heart was breaking?
* * *
The local cops paraded him inside like a common criminal. He didn’t like it, but he allowed it because Bethany was right about people wanting to question him. And maybe they could help him recover some of his memories.
Their sheriff offered his help and had a deputy escort Marcus to a jail cell. He sat on the cold, hard seat and waited. None of this had gone as he’d anticipated. He’d certainly not expected to be sitting in a county jail awaiting transport to CIA headquarters.
He closed his eyes and lifted a prayer to God. Surely, He hadn’t brought him all this way to make him a prisoner. Bethany had called him a traitor to his country. He didn’t feel like one, but how could he really know for sure?
Flashes of the past hit him. Gunfire and running. Pain bursting through him. A woman staring up at him, awaiting a kiss—He jolted awake at that last image, realizing he’d dozed off. The woman reminded him of Bethany, like it could have been her sister, but her eyes had been different, a deep brown color instead of the vivid blue, and her face and hair had been hidden under a tunic. But the resemblance was uncanny. He wiped his face, trying to rub away some of the fogginess that clouded his memories.
“What are you thinking about so intently, Marcus?” Her voice came this time not from his memory but from behind the wall of bars separating them. Her eyes were once again their bright glory blue.
“You, actually.” He stood and approached her. She held the answers to all his questions. “How do we know each other? I mean, I know you’re a CIA agent hunting me, but are we more than that?”
She chewed on her bottom lip in a telling fashion. “Why would you ask me that question?”
“I keep seeing this woman flashing before my eyes.”
“So you admit you remember me?”
“I guess I do. It’s just a glimmer, but I remember seeing you.” And kissing you. What was that about? “But the woman looked different...the eyes?”
Bethany gave a weary sigh. “They’re called contact lenses, Marcus. You know very well that I wear them when I’m on assignment.”
Her words flowed back to him, words she’d spoken years and several thousand