Forgive and Forget (17 page)

“These look like surveillance photos.”

Joe glanced at Tom. “How do you know?”

“Look at the time stamps. Then there’s the angles and the distance. It’s obvious whoever took them was trying to stay out of sight. Also, none of the men in this picture seem to be aware they’re being photographed. Bookkeeping software, surveillance photos, paperwork. Someone’s been gathering intel on these guys.”

Joe glimpsed at the spreadsheet and froze. “Wait a second. There.” He pointed to the screen, a chill going up his spine. “Romero and McCrea. Those were the names of the detectives who came looking for you a few weeks back.”

“These names all look familiar.”

“Well, we know two of them are detectives.” Whatever this list was, it couldn’t be on the up and up. He was right not to trust those two.

Joe opened the web browser and typed one of the names from the list into the search. It came back with hundreds of hits. They stared at the screen.

“That guy’s a judge.” Joe couldn’t believe it. Was this….

“If I’m not mistaken,” Tom said gravely, “I think this is a list of people on the take, and I’m willing to bet the men in these pictures are on this list.”

Before Joe could ask why Tom would have all this, the buzzer rang. Tom swiftly removed the SD card and shut the laptop. He placed the card in the case, and Joe took it from him.

“What are you doing?” Tom asked him.

“It’s a safe bet that whoever’s after you is after this. It’s better if I hold on to it until we can get it to the proper authorities. I don’t know who that is yet, but we’ll figure it out.” The buzzer rang again, and Tom slid out of the booth. Joe followed. He headed toward the door that led downstairs.

“Joe, I think you should stay up here,” Tom advised him.

“The last guys didn’t knock. They broke in. If I don’t answer, it’ll look suspicious. I’m going to check who it is. It might be the cops. Someone might have heard the disturbance and called them.”

“And if they’re on that list?” Tom asked, following Joe downstairs.

“Then I don’t know, but you need to stay out of sight.”

Tom grabbed Joe’s arm before he could reach the bottom step. “I’m not leaving you to face who knows what alone.”

“Just stay here. If I need you to go all Jason Bourne on their asses, I’ll shout.”

Tom didn’t look convinced. “Okay, fine. But be careful. I’ll be waiting.”

Joe gave Tom a quick kiss before walking out into the kitchen and then through the doors into the café. The place looked like a warzone. Taking a deep breath, Joe approached the front door and prayed whoever was on the other side was someone they could trust.

“MR.
Applin?”

Joe cautiously opened the door, relieved when no one tried to kick it in. Instead, he saw two men in dark suits and a huge black Suburban parked out front. “Yes?”

“We’re with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. May we have a word with you?”

The FBI? Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Had there been any agents on that list of Tom’s? Not like they would know. It wasn’t like bureau agents went around with name badges. These guys only showed up when there was real trouble, and most of the time they did so under the radar. “Could I see your identification? You can’t be too careful these days.”

“Certainly.” The taller of the men pulled out a black wallet and flipped it open. “I’m Agent Baker, this is Agent Johnson.”

Why were agents always called Johnson? Joe opened the door and let the men inside. “What can I do for you, gentlemen?”

“We have reason to believe you may be in danger.” Agent Baker looked around the café with a frown. “Is everything okay, Mr. Applin?”

“Yeah, um, we had a break-in. I was out getting some groceries. They must have run off when they realized there was nothing to steal. Unless flour has suddenly become priceless, there’s nothing of value here.”

“Have you called the police?” Agent Johnson asked, his expression unreadable. The man looked like he was carved from stone.

“Not yet. I just got home.” Joe rubbed his arm and looked around. “I’m still a little shaken up about it.”

“It’s possible this wasn’t your typical break-in,” Agent Baker said. “We’ve been hunting a suspect who we believe is working for one of the local drug cartels as a hired gunman. He’s exceptionally skilled and extremely lethal. Our sources tell us he may have stolen something from his bosses, and now they’re after him. We’d like to get to him first.”

“And you think he’s close by?” Joe asked innocently.

Agent Baker cocked his head to one side as he studied Joe. “Mr. Applin, you seem like a good man. Hardworking, just trying to make a living. This lowlife preys on good people like you. Manipulates them, uses lies to get them to help him, to hide him. Then, when he has no more use for them, he gets rid of them. This guy has local authorities after him, the federal government, criminal organizations, and it’s only a matter of time before he brings it all down on whoever’s helping him.”

Joe stared at them. “And you think
I’m
helping him?” He let out a small laugh. “I bake pies. The most excitement I see around here is the morning rush for extra-strong coffee.” He motioned around him. “This isn’t a typical day for me, Agent Baker.” Baker…. “Agent Baker, were you ever an officer for the NYPD?”

“No, sir. Chicago. It’s a common surname.”

“Oh. Right.” It was a shot in the dark. He thought maybe there was a chance it had been the man who saved him, but Joe would have thought he’d feel something familiar if it had been.

Agent Johnson pointed toward the end of the café. “Would you mind if we took a look around?”

“No, of course not. I’ll turn on the lights to the rest of the shop so you can get a better look at everything.” He motioned around him. “Help yourself. I can make you some coffee in the meantime.”

“No, thank you. We won’t be here long.”

Joe gave them a nod and casually headed to the back just as Tom came down the stairs. Joe rushed over.

“Joe?”

“The FBI is here.” His heart was pounding fiercely, and his hands were shaking. These weren’t just some hoodlums. How the hell were they supposed to face the FBI?

“What?”

“They’re saying you’re a gun for hire. That you worked for a drug cartel and now you’re on the run because you stole something from them.” So much of what the agents said made sense, and what reason did they have to lie? And yet….

Tom shook his head. “That can’t be true.” He looked uncertain, and Joe hated that he felt a little scared. If Tom wasn’t who they said he was, he would have been sure, wouldn’t he? He would have denied it, felt it deep in his gut. Joe was terrified by the fear in Tom’s eyes.

“Tom?”

“I…. No, it can’t be.” Tom gently cupped Joe’s face. How could those be the eyes of a cold-blooded killer? “I’m not a murderer. I know it’s my word against theirs, but you have to believe me. Joe, you know me.” He placed Joe’s hand against his chest over his heart. “In here. You know I’m not a killer.”

Joe leaned in and kissed Tom. It was quick but deep and filled with as much passion as Joe possessed. “I’m sorry, Tom.” He pulled Tom against him and whispered in his ear, “The garden. Run.”

Tom looked up past Joe to the kitchen, his eyes going wide. Joe spun around and bolted, slamming through the swinging kitchen doors and into the two agents. The three of them went tumbling through, landing on the floor in the café. Joe scrambled to his feet, stunned to find Tom still standing in the kitchen.

“Run!”

Tom snapped out of it and took off toward the side exit. Joe ran out the front door of the shop, crying out when several men grabbed Tom the moment he landed on the other side of the fence.
No!
They’d been waiting for him.

Joe made to go after Tom, to do something to help him, but he was apprehended by Agent Baker. “Please don’t hurt him! I know you think he’s a killer, but he’s not,” Joe begged the agent holding him, his heart splintering as Tom struggled against his captors.

“Joe!” Tom slammed his shoulder into one of the men holding him and broke into a run, but he didn’t get very far before he was tackled to the ground. He hit the cement with a thud, and Joe flinched at the obvious pain it caused him. Despite the men struggling to detain him, Tom was more concerned about Joe than his own dire predicament.

“Let go of him, you son of a bitch!” Joe said.

They dragged Tom to his feet, and he fought fiercely as he tried to reach for Joe. Their fingers brushed against each other’s, and Joe’s eyes filled with tears.

“You’ve got the wrong man! He’s not a killer. I know he isn’t!”

“Joe, you can’t—” A blow to his stomach cut Tom off, and he doubled over with a growl. Oh God, what were they going to do to him?

Agent Baker shook his head. “You’re a good man, Mr. Applin. He’s trying to get your sympathy. That’s what he does. Prey on the kindhearted.”

“He’s not a killer!” Joe spat out. “You don’t know him like I do! Please, can we talk about this?” His heart was torn to shreds as Tom struggled against the agents. Every time Tom screamed his name, another piece of Joe’s heart was ripped from his chest and his eyes burned from the tears he held back. Did they have to be so rough?

“Agent Baker, please.” Joe grabbed the man’s wrist when Tom stopped fighting, his eyes wide as he looked from Joe to Agent Baker. Something in Tom’s face, in his eyes, the way he stared at the other man made Joe still. Then he heard it.

“Joe, that’s not Agent Baker! He’s—” Tom’s words died on his lips as the group of agents threw a black bag over his head and hauled him off his feet, rushing him to the backseat of a black Suburban that pulled up to the curb.

They were taking him away. What if Joe never saw him again? It couldn’t end this way. They were wrong. Tom wasn’t a killer.

The cocking of a gun snapped Joe out of his trance, and someone kicked the back of his legs, forcing him onto his knees. What the hell was going on? The world seemed to slow as Agent Baker aimed a gun at him. A shot rang out and Joe flinched. Tom screamed his name, and a car door slammed. Tires skidded and more tires screeched to a halt. Joe’s pulse was racing. Had he been shot? He looked down at himself, feeling his chest. He was so confused.

“I’m okay,” Joe said, his voice almost a whisper. He looked down at the man writhing in pain on the sidewalk, a puddle of blood forming under him.

Half a dozen men in suits came running, and two of them took away the man on the ground. A tall fair-haired man flashed a badge at Joe.

“I’m Agent Geoffrey, FBI. Mr. Applin, I need you to come with me. We’ll talk on pursuit.”

“Pursuit?” Joe grew more confused by the moment. Another agent handed a wallet to Agent Geoffrey, who flipped it open and nodded. “I don’t understand. Why was Agent Baker going to shoot me? And why did you shoot him? Isn’t he one of yours?”

“I’ll explain in the car. Trust me.”

Joe pushed himself to his feet. “To be honest, I don’t know who to trust anymore.”

Agent Geoffrey met his gaze as he helped him up. “Mr. Applin, if you want to save your friend, you’ll come with me right now.”

What choice did he have? Joe quickly climbed into the back of a large black Suburban. The tires screeched as they took off, sirens blaring and lights flashing. Joe swiftly buckled up. At this time of night there wasn’t as much traffic, but it was still busy. Joe held on to the door for dear life as the line of black vehicles sped north through the city, running red lights and avoiding other cars, along with pedestrians. He sure hoped they didn’t get killed on the way to save Tom. Speaking of
they
….

“All right, Agent Geoffrey, what the hell’s going on? Why did those men take Tom?”

“Mr. Applin. That man we shot was not Agent Baker. The real Agent Baker is the man who was just kidnapped. The man you’ve been calling Tom. It’s likely the men looking for Liam suspected he was hiding at your shop and were attempting to draw him out by using his name.”

“What?” Had he heard right? No, it wasn’t possible.

“Tom’s real name is Liam Baker, and he’s a federal agent. We’ve been searching for him for weeks.” Agent Geoffrey let out a deep breath. “You did one hell of a job hiding him. Though we still don’t know why he didn’t make contact, or why he chose you.”

“Oh my God,” Joe gasped.

“Don’t worry,” Agent Geoffrey assured him. “Liam will buy us some time until we get there.”

“Liam? Oh, right.”
His name is Liam….

“He’s been in tough spots before.”

Joe ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head. “What if he can’t buy himself time? What if we get there too late and they kill him?” This was so much worse than he thought.

“Really, Mr. Applin. Liam’s highly experienced.”

Joe shook his head. “Liam might be, but what about Tom?”

“I don’t follow.” Agent Geoffrey tapped at his earpiece, speaking to someone on the other end. It looked like they were heading up Henry Hudson Parkway. Didn’t they understand? Didn’t they
know
?

“The reason Tom—I mean, Liam—didn’t get into contact with you is because he lost his memory.” It was all falling into place. His training, his skills, the precision with which he did things, the way he retained information down to the tiniest details, the events leading up to Joe finding him. At least from what Joe could piece together.

“Come again?”

Yeah, it sounded crazy even to him, and he knew it to be the truth. “When I found him, he couldn’t remember who he was. Not even his name. What if he can’t remember his training?”

Agent Geoffrey was stunned. “Are you telling me Liam has
amnesia
?”

“I know how it sounds, believe me, but it’s true. I found him in the garden next to my shop. He was bleeding from a blow to the back of the head, but he refused to go to the hospital, begged me to help him, and wouldn’t let me call the cops. Kept saying he’d end up dead.”

“That’s because Liam was working undercover, posing as a hired gunman for a local drug cartel. We’ve been after them for months, but every time we received information on a shipment, we’d find nothing. Someone was tipping them off. They were always a step ahead. Liam was familiar with the territory. So he was sent undercover. The last message we received said he had what we needed, but somewhere en route to drop off the package, he disappeared, fell completely off the grid. We worried he may have been made.”