Long Road Home (11 page)

In this climate, terrorists weren’t tolerated at all. You didn’t even so much as hint that you were sympathetic to such causes or you’d draw the ever-omnipotent eye of Big Brother.

And where did that leave him? CIA agent aiding and abetting a known terrorist cell member. Jesus, it didn’t even bear contemplating.

He checked his watch. They still had an hour before he needed to wake her so they could catch their flight. He walked into the bathroom to call Tony.

“I was just going to call you,” Tony said.

“What’s up?”

“I have the info you requested. NFR’s recruitment tactics.”

Manuel burned with anger over the mere mention of their
tactics
. They were no better than animals.

“They’re pretty tame when compared to most radical groups,” Tony continued on. “Basically their M.O. is to approach a subject, outline the group’s objective, leave a way to contact them and disappear.”

“What else?” Manuel asked.

“That’s it. It’s up to the individual to either contact or ignore the invitation. They aren’t into forced recruitment. It doesn’t make for loyal followers.”

Bile rose in Manuel’s throat. Had Jules lied to him? Had she taken him on the ride of his life? No, she wasn’t that good. No way in hell that anguish had been feigned. “Are you sure you aren’t mistaken, Tony?” he asked. “Are there any documented cases of more persuasive means?”

Silence fell over the line. “What are you saying, Manuel? Was Jules forced into the NFR?”

Manuel sighed. “I’m not sure what the hell I’m saying. Jules has a slightly different account of her induction into the NFR.”

“You believe her?”

He paused. “Yeah, I do. Something doesn’t add up. Her story matches what you said to a point. Some guy approached her in France. Fed her a bullshit line about who her real parents were then left her with an envelope and told her to call him the next day. Only that’s where the similarities end.”

“What do you mean, exactly? And what’s the deal with the parents? Didn’t you say the Trehans adopted her?”

Manuel frowned. He wasn’t ready to tell Tony what had happened to Jules. Not until he was able to figure it out. The whole story. “Yeah, she was told her real parents were Frederic and Carine Pinson.”

“Hmm. I’ll do some checking. Maybe I can come up with something.”

“Thank you, Tony. This just keeps getting more complicated.”

“No problem. But Manuel, you need to be careful. If she’s who you say she is, you’re going to have to keep a low profile. The higher-ups already want you to bring her in. They’ve been looking for a line into the NFR for a long time now. They wouldn’t hesitate to use her if they could. And if they couldn’t…well you know what we do to terrorists.”

“See what you can find out about the people the NFR has assassinated in the last three years,” Manuel said. “I need to know everything I can about Jules’s involvement.”

“Will do,” Tony promised. “Now get on the plane, and for God’s sake, when you get to D.C., keep out of sight. Sanderson’s about to have a coronary wondering where you are, and if he smells you in D.C. you’ll be up shit creek without a paddle.”

Manuel laughed. “Thanks for the heads-up, Tony. And thanks for helping me,” he added after a long breath.

“Not even going to dignify that with a reply.”

Manuel slid the phone back into his pocket. He walked into the bedroom, mulling over what Tony had related. Part of Jules’s story made sense. But the rest was just plain bizarre.

He seethed imagining her at the mercy of the man who’d hurt her. He knew without a doubt she’d told him the truth. But… There was always a
but
. Had she told him the
whole
truth? Had she left out any part of the story?

He sat down on the edge of the bed, resting his hand on her head. Was she still trying to protect him? How could he get her to give up that absurd notion? Whatever she thought, he wasn’t going to let her get herself killed just to save his ass. He wasn’t some junior agent out for a joyride. He could take what the NFR could dish.

She stirred, rustling the covers. A soft moan escaped her lips, and he stroked her hair, wanting so badly to take her in his arms and keep her there. Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, she looked confused and very much afraid. Then she smiled a slow, sleepy smile, relief pouring over her face.

Unable to help himself, he leaned over and kissed her soft, delectable lips. “Good morning.”

Jules savored the feel of his lips, his touch rapidly dispelling the tenuous grip her nightmares held her in. As he drew away, she shifted, feeling a throbbing in her shoulder.

Frowning, she sat up and flexed her arm, rotating it around. Fleeting images assailed her mind. Memories of being drugged, held down, a hand in her hair, shoving her face into a pillow, searing pain in her shoulder, soft laughter above her. She squeezed her eyes shut, wanting them to go away. She hadn’t analyzed those events since that awful day in France, choosing to shove the brutal memories to the far recesses of her mind. Only now that she had recounted them to Manny, they burned brightly in her head.

“Jules, are you all right?” Manny reached out to stroke her cheek and she flinched away.

The skin burned on her shoulder, the ache intensifying. She reached back, trying to remember the significance. So much of that day had been buried. Northstar, yanking her to her feet, telling her to clean herself up. Who was the other man? The one who’d raped her. Their voices intertwined in her head, both evil. She dug her fingers into her temples, desperate to make the pain go away.

Who
was
he? She tried to picture him, but all she could feel was pain, overwhelming fear.
Wait
. She’d seen him one other time. During her training. God, those days were fuzzy, a mixture of pain and humiliation. She’d been shoved facedown on the couch, someone straddling her body. Voices in the background,
his
voice, instructing. Searing pain in her shoulder, nausea welling up in her throat. Something cold poured over her skin. Then blackness. Nothing. She couldn’t remember.

“Jules!” Manny’s voice was firmer this time.

She struggled from the darkness closing around her. Her breath came rapidly, and then she knew she was going to be sick.

She bolted from the bed, shoving Manny aside. She raced to the bathroom and lunged for the toilet. No sooner had she stumbled to the floor than her stomach lurched and heaved.

Strong hands encircled her waist, picked her up and locked her to Manny’s side. He helped her bend over as she heaved violently, his hands never loosening their hold.

His fingers stroked back her hair as he waited for her to finish. He didn’t speak, and she was grateful for the silence. Her head couldn’t take the slightest noise at the moment.

When her turmoil subsided, she slumped weakly against him, wiping the back of her mouth with her hand. He left her for a moment, and she heard the trickle of water. A second later, he handed her a plastic cup so she could rinse her mouth out. Then, without a word, he swept her into his arms. He tucked her head under his chin and just held her.

He walked back into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her even closer to him until there was no space between them. Silence settled over the room, so much so that she could hear her own heart beating. It pounded wildly in her chest, and she was sure he could feel the thundering against his body.

But still he said nothing. Gradually she began to relax in his arms, until she sagged limply against him. The burning in her shoulder intensified though, and she could smell blood. Her blood. Was it a memory? What had they done to her? They’d stripped her of all dignity, but it hadn’t been enough. Would it ever be enough?

She shifted to relieve the discomfort in her back. Manny loosened his hold, and she eased away from him. She kept her eyes downcast, not wanting to see anything reflected in his gaze. Pity. No, she didn’t want to see pity there. The last thing she wanted was for Manny to feel sorry for her.

“I’m going to go take a shower,” she mumbled.

She stumbled back into the bathroom and turned the shower on full force. After stripping away her clothing, she stepped under the icy spray, gasping as her body numbed. She forced herself to remain under the cold, needing the shock to clear her head. She had to get it together. Where was the calculating assassin when she needed her?

After several more minutes of self-punishment, she stepped from the shower and toweled herself off. She stood naked in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection. She tried hardening her features, her eyes, anything to regain the tough shell she’d worked so hard to perfect. But all she saw was a fragile, scared mouse.

The tingling in her shoulder nagged her until finally she turned around, looking back over her shoulder into the mirror. But all she saw was the small tattoo Northstar had forced her to get. Was that what she was remembering?

She shook her head in confusion. No, she distinctly remembered getting the tattoo, but the other images made no sense. The tattoo, while uncomfortable, wasn’t that painful. The things she remembered—her blood, the painful cutting—weren’t from the tattoo. But it felt like the same spot. That whole period was one long, drug-induced haze.

Maybe she was missing something. She contorted her body to once again look in the mirror but saw nothing but the coiled snake stamped on her shoulder.

Looking in the mirror had not been something she spent time doing in the last three years. Her entire back could be painted purple and she wouldn’t know it. She turned back around, wondering if she should ask Manny to check it out.

He’d think she was nuts. Probably already did.

She thrust her arms into a simple T-shirt, not bothering to put on a bra. Then she collected the jeans Manny had bought for her and pulled them on over her still-damp legs. Even though Houston was a great deal warmer than Colorado and New Mexico, she put on the warm-up jacket and zipped it partway up. It gave her the appearance of added protection, even if it was only an illusion.

She glanced back in the mirror. “Don’t screw this up, Jules,” she said fiercely. “Stop acting like a ninny and get with the program.”

She stood there, staring at her determined reflection until she felt some of the uncertainty melt away. She was doing this for Manny. For the parents she’d failed. For them, she could set aside the paralyzing terror and shame.

Finally satisfied that she’d put herself back together, she opened the door and stepped into the bedroom.

Manuel immediately noticed the change in Jules. Gone was the terrified, shaken angel, and in her place stood a composed, confident woman.

She met his gaze, her eyes coolly assessing him. Her stance was almost arrogant, and her attitude was take-charge. “Are all the arrangements made?”

He nodded, at a loss as to how to handle this change in her. “Our flight leaves in an hour and a half so we need to get going.”

She nodded and collected her bag. She took out her Glock and the HK 94, checking to see that both were loaded. She jammed a new magazine into place and engaged the safety. It was obvious she knew her way around firearms, and it made him damned uncomfortable. He didn’t need reminders of the way she’d lived for the last few years.

“You can’t take those with you,” he said, folding his arms across his chest.

Her lip curled. “You think? Gee, I didn’t know that.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So what are you doing with them, then?”

“Making sure we get to the airport in one piece,” she muttered. “I assume you have a drop-off point for your Beamer? I mean, it wouldn’t do for the average pencil-necked security guard to get his hands on the Bondmobile.” Sarcasm dripped heavily from her voice. “I’ll leave the guns with the car. The rest goes with me.”

He almost laughed. Until he remembered why she was working so hard to put on a strong front. His gut tightened. “The Bondmobile gets dropped off outside the airport perimeter. We’ll take a shuttle in.”

She finished shoving her stuff in then slung the too-large bag over her thin shoulder. She looked up at him, her eyes reminding him of iron prison bars. Impenetrable.

“Let’s go then,” she announced, looking like she was ready to take on the world.

He didn’t like that look. It gave him the distinct impression she was up to something that would turn his world upside-down. More than it already was.

Chapter Thirteen

Manuel maneuvered the BMW onto the beltway and accelerated into the middle lane. Jules leaned back in the seat, her expression stoic. What he wouldn’t give to know what was going on in that head of hers. And then again, maybe he was better off not knowing.

He changed lanes in anticipation of the upcoming exit. Traffic had eased as the morning rush hour was abating. As he slowed to get off the beltway, the car lurched crazily forward, snapping his head back against the seat.

“What the—?”

Jules recovered quickly and twisted around. “That son of a bitch hit us!”

Manuel checked the rearview mirror just in time to see the grille of a Hummer ram into their back bumper again.

Jules swore loud and long.

“Anyone ever tell you what a potty mouth you have?”

She glared at him and climbed halfway over the back of the seat.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded as he accelerated and veered over two lanes in an attempt to shake their pursuer.

“Making sure those assholes don’t kill us.” She hauled her Glock out of her bag and rolled her window down.

He reached over and yanked the hood of her jacket back, causing her to tumble toward him. “Use your head, damn it. You can’t have a shootout in the middle of Houston.”

She glared at him. “Who said anything about a shootout?” She scrambled forward once more and leaned out the window. Taking careful aim, she squeezed off two rounds.

Manuel saw the Hummer sway erratically and skid to the side. She’d blown out both front tires. He jammed his foot to the accelerator and surged forward.

The Hummer recovered and stayed close behind the BMW as Manuel weaved in and out of traffic.