Page 4 of Laura's Truth

People shouted at him, but he kept moving forward. They couldn’t hurl any insults worse than those already flying around in his head. He was weak. A dumbass weakling who’d found a previously undiscovered ethical streak at the wrong time. Apparently returning to the States had made him soft, sympathetic. Chivalry had no place in this business. But he couldn’t hit her, couldn’t damage that face with a punch, though he knew she could take it. And more.

On top of that, he was burned, as much so as the tourists whose pasty-white skin would be fried lobster red by the bright sun. The temporary identity he had put together for this operation was well and truly toast. Even if, by some miracle, they didn’t already know his target, with Carpenter and the Army working together it would only be a matter of time.

Drew bumped into another man, dropping his phone into the guy’s pocket. He kept moving, his easy stride belying the desperate, frantic thud of his heart as he wound his way to the escape route he’d plotted long before arriving in the city.

With certain dread he walked on, knowing any minute he’d go down with a double-tap of small caliber bullets in the base of his skull. Officer Talbot wouldn’t ask questions, wouldn’t hesitate to remedy what she surely considered an error of fate.

Instead of breathing easier with every passing moment that he remained alive, his tension mounted. He hid at the fringes of a walking tour passing by a church, peeling off before the guide could ask to see his ticket. Easing through an open gate he found himself in the thick, cool shade of a cemetery. It was like a miniature rain forest, the tall trees embraced by vines and ferns crowded among the monuments and headstones.

It was an appropriate place to wait for her to find him.

***

Laura Talbot fumed, embarrassed that her mark had put her on her ass before she could blink. Worse, she was still sitting on her ass, stunned by the now-confirmed reality that Garner had managed to successfully fake his death in the middle of a combat zone. With a trusted team of special operations soldiers providing his security.

Flashing her ID badge, she rolled to her feet, leaving her apologies and a Cypress Security business card with the owner as she chased after Garner. Ross had promised to take the heat for any damages or bad publicity. Now she’d find out if he meant it.

She held her .22 caliber pistol up and ready as she eased her way through the tight office, storeroom, and out into the alley. Nothing like being a sitting duck, she thought as she left the minimal cover of the alcove sheltering the back door. No bullets came at her, no mad rush of Garner’s solid body.

She stalled, not even able to convince herself the pause served as part of an intelligent, professional assessment. Garner being alive and stateside scared the crap out of her. Accepting that fact was an essential first step in getting past the fear, she decided.

Keeping the gun low now, she marched down the alley, hoping she was on the right trail. The man still had moves. Good ones, she thought, her diaphragm burning from the blow he’d delivered. Reluctantly, she put a tally mark on his side of her mental scoreboard. Two points really, for winning two skirmishes in less than ten minutes. But unless her instincts were more than rusty, there had been fear in his face when he’d recognized her.

Which meant he was a man. Not a ghost, not an illusion. Not a doppelganger unfortunate enough to have similar features. Drew Garner was alive. For now. She’d happily change his status just as soon as she knew what illegal purpose had brought him to Charleston.

She holstered the gun and boosted herself up to check the dumpster, then the recycling bins nearby, for a phone or anything else he might have unloaded in his escape. But she found nothing.

The perfunctory searches were a long shot. Garner wouldn’t leave such obvious breadcrumbs. She looked up and down the street, but didn’t see him. At more than six feet tall with blond hair instead of the brown she remembered, he should’ve stood out in the crowd. But she couldn’t spot that sunlit hair or the dark ball cap he’d worn in the market.

She swore and tucked her weapon out of sight. Hazard of working solo, she thought darkly. The only bright spot was now Ross Carpenter owed her a favor. She called the number, pleased when Ross picked it up on the first ring. “Two wrongs don’t make a right,” she said. “It’s really him.”

Ross swore.

“Preaching to the choir,” she said.

“Do you have him contained?”

“Not yet. I lost him after the first contact.”

“Not surprising, considering.”

The words, meant to soothe, only irritated her. “Could you send me some help? We can’t ignore him.”

“I don’t have anyone to send.”

“Bull.” Her teeth clenched as she bit back a scathing rant. “Why not lead by example and get your ass down here?” Her suggestion was met with a prolonged silence. “Don’t you dare tell me you want to walk away from this.” She paced down the street, her gaze slicing through the shifting humanity in search of her target.

Ross’s sigh filled her ear. “That’s not it.”

“What then? Embarrassment? Shock? There’s plenty of that for both of us to enjoy once he’s contained.”

“I saw the man die,” Ross murmured.

Out here on a very public street wasn’t the place to remind him she’d signed off on the body and wrapped up her investigation based on his account and the grim evidence in the body bag.

“And you reported it. We went by the book the whole way through.” It was the best comfort she could offer. Not that it made any difference when he’d called her yesterday. There weren’t any indicators Garner had staged his death. Nothing suggested he might have survived the attack. Whatever Ross decided, Laura would move forward on her own, determined to solve the riddle of Garner’s survival if nothing else. The man—hell, the CIA—owed them that much.

“Where’d you find him?”

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