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Stephanie rounded the corner of the Warden's House and walked toward the front of the prison. She had just finished going through the haunted walk again, this time looking for anything that would shed some light on the appearance of Rodrigo's arm inside the prison. Aside from discovering that Alina assaulted one of the actors last night, she had learned absolutely nothing. Stephanie decided against mentioning that she knew the mysterious woman who had repositioned the actor back into his cell with such efficiency. She got the distinct impression that he enjoyed the encounter a little too much.
John was just coming down the front steps with another agent, giving him instructions as they walked, and she smiled slightly. He dwarfed the other man by at least half a foot, and his demeanor was intimidating. Stephanie knew he enjoyed hazing the newer agents. She tolerated it because it amused her, and she couldn't deny that it got results. John had zero tolerance for mistakes, and the new agents learned quickly not to make them. He terrorized them, but they learned a lot under him.
Stephanie's mind wandered back to when she first found out that Alina's ex-fiancé was going to be her partner. She hadn't been thrilled, to say the least, but John turned out to be an excellent agent. He had grown on her over the year and a half they worked together, and they settled into a comfortable partnership. He looked over now, catching sight of her as he reached the brick pathway in front of the prison.
“Lunch?” he called. “You can drive.”
“Yes!” Stephanie replied, joining him as the junior agent went on his way. “I'm starving.”
“Any luck with the maze in the back?”
“Not a thing,” she informed him. “There's no access to the prison from the haunt unless you're one of the actors, and even then there are only two doorways into the prison. Because of the way the walk is set up, no visitor could get access to the lower prison door. The other door is at the top of some steps and kept locked.”
John sighed as they walked down the path toward the road. The entire front of the prison yard was taped off and news crews were loitering on the sidewalk, looking for an interview. John ignored them as they walked toward Stephanie's brand new Mustang. When her car was blown-up two months before in Washington DC, she cheerfully used the opportunity to upgrade from a charred six year old Maxima to a maroon red, Mustang GT. It was just over a month old, and Stephanie's pride and joy.
“The museum is closed and locked during the haunt, so there's no access from the front either,” he muttered. “How the devil did they get in there?”
“Karl says the prison is haunted,” Stephanie told him as they ducked under the caution tape. She beeped her car unlocked and they moved to it quickly as some of the press started toward them.
“Agent Walker, is it true...”
“There will be a press conference later,” Stephanie cut off the press agent as she crossed the sidewalk. “Until then, we have no comment.”
“Can you confirm that a human limb was found in...”
Stephanie and John got into the car, slamming the doors shut and cutting off the question. John glanced at her.
“Of course the prison's haunted,” he said. “Aren't they all?”
“Yeah, but Karl swears this one really is,” Stephanie replied, starting the engine. It came to life with a growl and she pulled away from the curb. “The motion detectors went off last night on the second floor.”
“What?!” John exclaimed, looking at her. She nodded.
“Yep.” Stephanie stopped at a red light on the next block and glanced at him. “Ask me what he did.”
“Something tells me I'm not going to like it,” John muttered.
“He turned off the alarm and looked at the surveillance monitor.” Stephanie hit the gas as the light turned green. “When he didn't see anything on the monitor, he didn't go up to look.”
“Some guard.”
“He says those particular motion detectors go off all the time on their own.” She looked at him. “It's common for them to get tripped and there's never anything there, so he didn't think anything of it last night.”
“What time did it go off?” John asked.
“Once around two-thirty and again around four.” Stephanie shook her head as she slowed for another red light. “Usually it doesn't happen twice in one night, so he went up and checked the second alarm, but nothing was there.”
“Not even the arm?”
“He didn't look,” she said disgustedly. “He said he checked the hallways and open cells, but didn't look in the Dungeon because it was locked.”
John was silent for a long moment, absorbing the information. He stared out the window with a frown.
“So, the arm was put there either at two-thirty or four,” he finally said slowly. “We don't know how they got in, how they got out, or how they unlocked the cell.”
“Right.”
Stephanie drove through downtown Mt. Holly and turned right at the end of High Street. They were both silent as she drove past the new prison and courthouse on the right, then past the run-down housing that characterized Mt. Holly. This town was comprised of a strange mix of historic elegance and depressed poverty. In an attempt to increase revenue, the town employed a lower sales tax rate than the rest of the state, but it didn't appear to help. It was a community struggling on the verge of collapse and, like most communities of that nature, the distinction between the Historical section and the rest of the town was startling. Where one block was well-kept and affluent, the next block was bordering on slums.
“What does Karl think happened?” John finally broke the silence as they headed out of the town and toward the bypass. Stephanie glanced at him, her lips twitching.
“Karl is a bit of a romantic, I think,” she murmured.
“I told you he was a ladies’ man,” John said with a grin.
“Oh, he is!” Stephanie agreed with a laugh. “He's a heart-breaker alright, but that's not what I meant by romantic. He believes in things that are not quite...realistic.”
“He thinks a ghost put the arm there?” John demanded incredulously.
“Let's just say that, according to Karl, it wouldn't be the first time physical items have appeared in places where they were never put.”
“You've got to be kidding me,” John muttered. “So a ghost got hold of Rodrigo's forearm and placed it in the Dungeon?”
“Halloween is in five days,” Stephanie reminded him with a grin. “Did you really expect anything less?”
“Haunted prisons and disembodied limbs? You're right. I should have seen this coming,” John answered, shaking his head. “Where are we going for lunch?”
“There's a Sonic on Rt. 38,” Stephanie said, turning left onto the bypass. “This is turning into a corn-dog kind of day.”
“Forget corn-dogs,” John retorted. “If this keeps up, it's going to be a vodka kind of day!”
Alina stared at the search results on her laptop thoughtfully and her eyes narrowed as she sipped her water. She had run the license plate on the putrid green crossover when curiosity got the better of her. The man loitering in Hawk's parking lot this morning could have been anyone, but she felt instinctively that he had been watching Damon. While she knew Hawk could take care of himself, Viper's hunting instinct had taken over.
The search results, however, were not quite what she expected. The crossover was registered to a female. Her name was Jessica Nuñez, and a corresponding search pulled her alien registration photo.
Alina was staring at the pan de muertos customer from the bakery.
She frowned and set her water bottle down on the coffee table, picking up the laptop and sitting back on the couch. Her fingers moved swiftly over the keys as she pulled up several different databases and punched in Jessica's name. Within minutes, Viper had information coming in on Ms. Nuñez from several different sources. She had emigrated to the US eight years ago and settled in New Jersey after a short stint in Arizona. Her reason for moving to the Northeast was clear: her husband took a job with Rutgers University as a professor of Mexican History and Culture. They settled into a normal, quiet life and had no citations against them, not even for a parking ticket. The couple had a son aged seven, and a daughter aged four. Jessica worked with the Burlington County Board of Social Services and they volunteered at an animal shelter. The Nuñezes were the perfect residents.
So how had her vehicle ended up in Hawk's parking lot?
A loud beep sliced through the silence of the house and Viper's eyes shot up to the plasma above the mantle. Part of the front security quadrant, the entrance to the driveway out by the road, was flashing red. A black F150 turned into the trees from the road and Alina frowned, closing her laptop quickly. She pointed a remote to the plasma, turning it off, and stood up. Grabbing her laptop, she carried it into the front of the house and deposited it on the desk in the den. She glanced out the front window to the gravel driveway, waiting for the truck to come into view. A few moments later, it broke through the trees and rolled to a stop in front of the house. Alina watched as a tall, broad-shouldered man got out, looking around as he slammed the door closed. Shaking her head slightly, she went to the door.
“Are you lost?” Alina called, stepping out onto the front porch.
Michael O'Reilly looked every bit as handsome as he had two months ago in Washington, DC. His hair was a little darker, the red more pronounced, and his freckles were fading. His eyes, however, were just as sharp as they had been the last time she saw him, and his face creased into a grin when he saw her.
“Apparently not,” he replied, walking toward her. “I thought I might be when the trees never seemed to end.”
“You're not supposed to know where I am,” Alina told him, holding her hand out to him in greeting. He grasped it firmly.
“It took some doing,” Michael admitted, his hazel-green eyes glinting down into hers warmly, “but never underestimate a determined Marine.”
Alina's lips twitched despite herself.
“I never do,” she told him. “Do you have GPS in that truck?”
“Yes.”
“You better pull it around back then,” Alina said. “No offense, but I'll have to reprogram it before your location can be tracked. Oh, and I'll need your phone too.”
“Is that really necessary?” Michael asked. The look he received made him grin. “Ok, ok! I'll pull around back. You don't have an interrogation hut back there, do you?”
“Getting worried?” Alina asked, her eyes laughing at him.
“With you? Always.”
“Don't,” she advised, as she turned to go back into the house. “I won't hurt you until you tell me how you found me.”
“Well, that's comforting,” Michael muttered as he went back to his truck. Her laughter followed him.
“You're the one that hunted me down,” she retorted. “Welcome to the dark side.”
Michael watched from his seat on the deck as Alina crossed the lawn from the driveway. She had settled him down with a Yuengling Lager before disappearing into his truck, armed with a small electronic notebook and a box-shaped device that looked suspiciously like a scrambler.
“Do I want to know what you did?” he asked her as she joined him on the deck.
Alina set the notebook and box down on the banister, sinking into the Adirondack chair next to him.
“Probably not,” she answered. “Suffice it to say, there is now no evidence anywhere that you were ever here.”
“So you could kill me...”
“And no one would ever find the body,” Alina finished for him. Her brown eyes met his and she smiled. “It's good to see you again.”
“You know, I'm not so sure how I feel about seeing you now,” Michael retorted, his grin belying his words.
Alina laughed and stretched her legs out, leaning her head back against the chair.
“I've been trained to be invisible,” she murmured, glancing at him from under her lashes. “By default, anyone who comes into my world must be as well.”
“So everyone who comes here...”
“Has no satellite evidence that they were ever here,” Alina told him. “Of course, they don't necessarily know that,” she added and Michael laughed.
“I can't imagine Ms. Walker's partner would take kindly to that,” he murmured. “He didn't strike me as having much of a sense of humor. How is Ms. Walker and company?”
“Doing well!” Alina answered. “They've been promoted and work mainly with anti-terrorism cases now.”
“And you?” Michael looked at her. “How's the 'consulting' business?”
“It's fine,” Alina said guardedly, glancing at him.
“That's a nasty cut you have on your face,” Michael said softly.
Alina's dark eyes glinted briefly as they met his.
“Rock climbing,” she lied smoothly. “My hand slipped and I hit a jagged piece of rock.”
Michael's eyes narrowed and his lips twitched.
“Rock climbing?” he repeated doubtfully.
“Mmm.”
“If that's what happens when your hand slips, I'm glad your foot didn't slip,” Michael said, sipping his beer.
“How did you find me?” Alina asked after a moment of silence.
“Not easily,” he answered. “The only reason I finally did is because I know something about your past.”
Alina was silent again, gazing out over the backyard.
“Why?” she finally asked. “I was going to keep in touch. I believe I told you that when I said goodbye two months ago.”
“I promised your brother I would look out for you,” Michael retorted. “I believe I told you that when we said goodbye two months ago.”
Alina looked at him and was forced to laugh. Michael had been in the Marines with her brother, and he had made a promise to him that he would keep an eye on Alina if anything ever happened. When Dave was killed in Iraq, that promise was put on hold for ten years when she disappeared into the military and Michael was unable to locate her. When their paths crossed again two months ago, Alina knew she was inviting a piece of her past back into her life permanently. She just hadn't expected it to be quite so persistent.
“If you're going to try to be a big brother, I think I'll have to re-evaluate our association,” Alina decided.
“Hardly that,” Michael said with a grin. “I'm just checking up on you to make sure you're not dodging any friendly fire this week.”
“Well, I appreciate that.”
“You know, I heard something from a friend in Mossad yesterday you might find interesting,” he said, crossing his ankle over his knee and looking at her. His eyes were suddenly sharp and penetrating.
“I find it interesting that you have a friend in Mossad,” Alina retorted.
“I'm Secret Service.” Michael shrugged. “We have friends everywhere.”
“Except the US.”
“Keep it up, buttercup.”
“Tell me what you heard from Mossad,” Alina told him, grinning.
“Someone attacked a Taliban camp a few days ago,” Michael said slowly, the laugh fading from his face. “Mossad thinks it was a US operative.”
“Really?” Alina raised an eyebrow and suddenly wished Michael's eyes weren't quite so penetrating. “Why do they think that?”
“He wouldn't say. He did say whoever did it either had no fear, or was insane.” Michael glanced at her and Alina was silent, a faint smile hovering around her lips. She was looking back at him with just a touch of interest on her face and Michael couldn't get any kind of read on her. “They allegedly went in alone at night and rescued a British prisoner from the center of the camp.”
“How terribly heroic,” Alina murmured. “Who was the prisoner?”
“That is all very hush-hush and I don't have a name,” Michael answered. “All I know is what I heard from the rumor mill: that it was someone high up in the British SIS.”
“In that case, I doubt it was a US operative,” Alina said decidedly. “MI6 takes care of their own.”
Michael shot her a sharp look and his lips curved reluctantly.
“You're right,” he agreed. “Mossad must have bad information.”
“I'm not saying that,” Alina replied calmly. “All I'm saying is it's highly unlikely the British Secret Intelligence Service would call on the US for assistance with a rescue of one of their own.”
“Unless, of course, the operative was one of a select few in the world capable of doing it, and was already in the region,” Michael murmured silkily. Alina's eyes narrowed abruptly and she shot him a look from under her lashes. “But that would be too coincidental,” he continued smoothly, “and SIS would had to have known the operative was there. What are the odds of that?”
Alina was uncomfortably aware of those sharp hazel-green eyes glancing at her again.
“Remote,” she agreed.
Michael nodded and they were silent for a moment.
“Next time you go rock climbing, let me know,” he said suddenly. “I haven't been in a while, but I still know a few good spots.”
Alina met his gaze squarely.
“I'll keep it in mind.”
Michael nodded and finished his beer.
“I'm headed up to see my folks in Brooklyn,” he told her, setting the empty bottle down on the deck. “I'm on vacation for a week. Will you be here? Or are you traveling this week?”
“I should be here, unless something comes up,” Alina answered with a smile.
“I'm assuming I'm free to come and go, now that you've worked your magic on my truck and cell phone?” Michael asked, raising an eyebrow questioningly.
Alina laughed.
“Yes, you're free to come and go,” she told him. “Just do me a favor and don't get yourself followed.”
“Yes, because my mother might follow me down from Brooklyn,” he retorted. “You know how Irish mothers can get.”
“Hey, I have to be careful.” Alina shrugged. “I'm still in somewhat hostile territory.”
“I guess I can understand that. I suppose I would feel the same way if our government had come after me,” Michael said slowly. “I'll be careful.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Although, if my mother finds out about you, she just might follow me down after all.” Michael winked. “She's a Giants fan.”
“Give her my condolences,” Alina replied dryly.
Michael laughed and was just standing when they heard the sound of tires on gravel from the front of the house. Alina sighed imperceptibly as she stood up.
“Sounds like you have more company,” he commented. “You know, for someone who's trying to lay low, you seem to be having a busy day.”
Alina glanced at him, her dark eyes dancing.
“I don't understand it,” she said. “I try to be reclusive, and yet you people won't leave me alone!”
Michael grinned and they watched as a silver BMW pulled up behind his truck, effectively blocking him in.
“It looks like Brooklyn will have to wait a little longer,” he murmured, watching as a honey brunette got out of the car.
“Looks like it,” Alina agreed with a sigh. “And she can talk.”
“Do you have any more beer?”
Angela slammed the door to her car closed, looking at the truck. She waved and started across the lawn toward the deck. She was dressed in jeans and a sweater with sheepskin boots on her feet. Her hair was pulled into the perfect ponytail and a Coach bag was thrown over her shoulder. Angela was Fall Casual today, with designer sunglasses on her face, and Alina bit back a grin.
“Am I interrupting?” Angela called as she came across the grass. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd drop by!”
Alina blinked. Angela hated coming here. She said it was the middle of nowhere with too many trees and bugs. There was no way she was just “in the neighborhood.”
“Not at all.” Alina waited for Angela to reach the deck before answering. “This is an old family friend of mine. Michael, this is Angela Bolan. Angela, this is Michael O'Reilly.”
“Nice to meet you!” Angela held out a hand and Michael grasped it.
“A pleasure to meet you,” he murmured.
“I was expecting to find Mr. Hunk O' Mysterious here,” Angela said, propping her sunglasses on top her head and looking at Alina. “Did you scare him away already?”
“Do you really think it's possible to scare him?” Alina asked, uncomfortably aware of the curious glance from Michael out of the corner of her eye.
“I think you're fully capable of scaring Mike Myers and Freddie Kruger without breaking a sweat,” Angela retorted cheerfully. “So 'fess up. What did you do?”
“I didn't do anything!” Alina exclaimed, feeling like she had been caught in a spotlight at night.
“Are you the Secret Service agent that helped clear up the misunderstanding down in Washington?” Angela dropped into a chair and turned her attention suddenly on Michael.
“Uh...” Michael glanced at Alina, looking like a deer in headlights and she felt some satisfaction in his discomfort. It was nice to be out of the hot seat. “Yes?”
“Wonderful!” Angela set her purse on the deck and smiled at him. “Stephanie told me all about you. She didn't mention you were so big, though. You look like a Marine.”
Alina bit back a laugh. Angela managed to make the word Marine sound like both a compliment and an accusation at the same time.
“That's because I am,” Michael replied, leaning against the banister and crossing his arms over his chest. “I served with Dave, Lina's brother.”
“Oh, this is that Michael!” Angela exclaimed, turning her bright green eyes back on Alina. “Didn't he get you plastered on Jameson after Dave died?”
“Ok.” Alina turned to go into the house. “I think beers all around. Happy hour is coming early today.”
“What did I say?” Angela asked innocently.
“I don't think plastered is an accurate description,” Michael said thoughtfully as Alina disappeared into the house without a reply. “I think she went from sober to comatose in a few shots. She bypassed the plastered level altogether.”
“That's entirely likely,” Angela said with a laugh. “Lina never did handle whiskey well. I remember that episode. She was hungover for two days after that night.”
“I think I was too,” Michael admitted with a grin. “You must be one of the two friends she mentioned that night.”
“Stephanie is the other,” Angela told him. “Ironic, you being the agent to save Stephanie's life in Washington, don't you think?”
Michael glanced at the brunette settled comfortably in the chair, gazing up at him with a smile on her face. He wondered what, exactly, she had been told about Washington. Obviously, not the truth.
“Well...”
Michael paused in relief as Alina stepped back onto the deck, three bottles of Yuengling in her hands. She caught the look he sent in her direction and raised an eyebrow slightly.
“Angela, why does Michael look uncomfortable?” she asked, handing him one of the beers. He took it thankfully.
“I don't think he looks uncomfortable,” Angela said, accepting a beer. “I was just saying how ironic it is that he ended up being the agent to save Stephanie's life down in Washington.”
Alina glanced at Michael in sudden understanding.
“Ahh,” she murmured, sinking into the other chair and sipping her beer gratefully. Angela was always good for keeping things interesting, she would give her that. She cleared her throat and looked at Michael. “Stephanie told us how you tracked down the person who killed her friend down there. What was her name again?”
“Gleason,” Michael answered, having a hard time keeping a neutral expression on his face.
“That's it,” Alina agreed smoothly.
“I think it's so funny how it turns out to be such a small world,” Angela told them. “I mean, you working on that and then being in a position to help Stephanie and John, and all the time being an old friend of Lina's. Funny how things work out.”
“That's the truth,” Michael agreed, sipping his beer.
A cellphone started ringing and Angela sighed. She set her beer down and fished through her purse for her blackberry.
“Excuse me,” she said, pulling it out and looking at the screen. “I have to take this.”
She got up and went down the steps. As she strolled across the grass, Michael took the opportunity to look at Alina sharply.
“What was she told?” he demanded in a low voice.
“I was never in DC,” Alina answered, her voice just as low. “We told Angela that Stephanie went down there to get some answers on her dead friend and you were already investigating. When attempts were made on Stephanie's life, you put her and John into a safe house and found the person trying to kill her.”
“And Johann?”
“She doesn't know the two are related.” Alina got up and joined him at the banister, watching as Angela spoke on her phone near the trees at the edge of the grass. “In the Spring, when Johann and the Engineer were here, Angela was shot. She took a bullet through her shoulder and it went out her chest. She doesn't know who the bullet was meant for or why, and she doesn't know I was anywhere near Washington, DC two months ago.”
“Does she know what you do?” Michael turned to face Alina, leaning on the banister and watching her with his penetrating gaze. For the first time since he'd known her, Alina avoided making eye contact with him.
“She doesn't need to know what I do,” she told him, her voice low and steady. “As far as she knows, I do security consulting and it involves a lot of traveling. That's all she needs to know.”
Michael studied her thoughtfully for a moment before lifting his beer to his lips and turning his attention back to the woman on the phone near the trees.
“So I'm the hero in Angela's version of Washington,” he said after a moment.
“Something like that.” Alina glanced at him, a faint smile on her lips. “It was the least I could do.”
“Oh, you still owe me,” Michael informed her. “But at least now I know I'm not the only one you lie to.”
“Ouch,” Alina murmured. “Low blow, but fair.”
“And Mr. Hunk O' Mysterious?” Michael asked as Angela turned back toward the deck. “Am I right in guessing the SEAL's a-shore?”
“You know, I'm starting to think maybe settling in New Jersey wasn't such a good idea, after all,” Alina muttered with a sigh. “I don't think I like the scrutiny.”
Michael burst out laughing and turned to her.
“Honey, there's nowhere you can go where you can hide from us now,” he told her ruthlessly. “For better or worse, you're stuck with all of us.” He glanced at Angela, watching as she tripped across the grass toward them in her designer clothes. “Is she always like that?”
Alina grinned. Her eyes shifted to Angela and a glint of something resembling fondness crossed her face. In an instant, the look was gone and, if Michael hadn't been watching her so closely, he would have missed the flash of emotion altogether.
“Oh, you haven't seen anything yet,” she informed him.