TWO

      Battling guilt, Hawk silently followed Jillian into the living room and began making a fire in the wood-burning stove to heat up the cabin. He hadn’t meant to frighten her, but given the way she’d bolted out of the room, he knew he must have. He’d worked hard over the past several months to remain nonthreatening. To provide help without getting too close.

      But discovering Lizzy was his daughter had changed things. He’d wanted to peer down at her tiny face while she slept. He’d wanted the right to bend down to kiss her forehead and whisper good-night.

      Unfortunately, his life, the life he should have had, remained far out of reach. Maybe forever.

      Not that it should matter. There were more important things to worry about at the moment. Like who’d sent professional assassins to Jillian’s home. To kidnap them? Or kill them? Kidnapping he could understand, because it would be a way to use Jillian and Lizzy as leverage against him. But killing them made no sense.

      It occurred to him that if his real identity had been uncovered, then the assassins would have come directly to his house, not Jillian’s. Which meant his current identity was safe.

      For now.

      Yet he knew his recent probing into Rick Barton’s past had not gone unnoticed. Senator Barton was a powerful man in Washington, DC, but very few knew the truth about how Barton had climbed the ranks. Hawk must have gotten close enough to discover certain information about Barton to trip someone’s suspicions.

      Almost two years had passed since he’d begun to remember his past, yet it also felt as if it had only happened yesterday. His memory had more holes in it than Swiss cheese. He hadn’t even remembered Jillian right away. Memories and images had come to him in bits and pieces.

      He was the only special ops soldier who knew the truth about what happened in Afghanistan, and even then, he didn’t have a good memory to guide him. The other members of his team who’d been with him that fateful day were gone. Powerful men had tried to silence him once. They wouldn’t hesitate to do it again. It was up to him to expose the truth.

      Too bad he had no idea whom he could trust.

      When he finished with the fire, he stood. “I’ll make coffee.”

      Hawk went into the kitchen and opened the cabinet that housed the coffee maker. He filled the carafe with water and added scoops of coffee from the can he kept in the freezer. As the coffee dripped, he did a quick mental inventory of his house back in Brookland. He had no doubt that at some point the professional hit men would go back to the scene of their failure, eventually identifying him as the one who’d helped Jillian and Lizzy escape.

      They wouldn’t find anything personal at his place. He didn’t have a home office, preferring, instead, to work in the small space he rented in the strip mall not far from where he lived. The only information he kept at his office was related to his clients. All of his personal paperwork, most of which had been expertly forged two years ago, was kept in a safe deposit box at the bank.

      For years, he’d thought his secret was safe. Until now. How long before the hit men put two and two together to figure out that Hawk Jacobson was really James Wade?

      Based on the extensive governmental resources he believed Barton had at his disposal? Not long.

      Feeling grim, he realized they’d be forced to move locations first thing in the morning. And go where? He had no clue.

      “I can’t drink coffee this late,” Jillian said. He glanced over to find her standing on the other side of the room, her arms crossed over her chest as if she didn’t dare get too close. “But I think we need to call the police. Now. Tonight.”

      He didn’t answer, mostly because he wasn’t sure what to say. He wanted, needed to tell her the truth, but this didn’t seem like the proper time or place.

      She wouldn’t appreciate his view that going to the authorities could very well be like stepping on a rotten log, allowing professional hit men to pour out like termites.

      “Calling the police is what normal people do,” Jillian insisted. “Just because you happen to be a private investigator, it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t let the authorities know that two men came into my house with weapons with the intent to kill me.”

      “Actually, we don’t really know what they intended to do.”

      She scowled. “I’m pretty sure they didn’t intend to play nice with their guns.”

      It was a good point. He decided to probe further. “Does the name Senator Barton mean anything to you?”

      She blinked in confusion. “Senator Rick Barton? Not really. I mean, I know he sits on a committee related to the Department of Defense, but I can’t even tell you what state he’s from or what he looks like.”

      “He sits on the Armed Services Committee,” Hawk corrected. “He’s a senator from Virginia and happens to be good friends with Todd Hayes, the current Secretary of Defense.” He waited for some sort of recognition to dawn in her eyes, but she only shrugged.

      “Yeah, okay. That sounds right. I’m not totally up on all the players in our government, but whatever. I don’t see what either of those guys has to do with your decision to postpone calling the police.”

      “Powerful people in high places can convince the cops to turn a blind eye to what might be happening under their nose.” He hesitated, the holes in his memory making it difficult to say anything with certainty. All he remembered was seeing Major Rick Barton deep in the hills where he wasn’t supposed to be. He sensed there was more but couldn’t bring the fragments of his memory together into a full picture.

      Now she looked annoyed. “Oh, come on—” She abruptly cut off what she was about to say when Lizzy began to cry.

      “Mommy!