Web of Secrets (Agents Under Fire) (22 page)

Becca didn’t verbally respond, but just stepped into the hallway. Connor followed.

“Is she always that rude?” he asked.

“Rude.” Becca seemed to ponder the question as they walked toward her cubicle. “More like single-minded without any social skills. We cut her a lot of slack because she’s so good at her job. Or maybe because she reminds us of how we used to be.”

“You were like that?” He jerked his head at the door.

She laughed. “Yes, until I got to Elise’s house. That’s where I learned basic social skills.”

“But the nail polish,” he said. “You didn’t wear anything that outrageous, did you?”

“Why, Connor Warren.” She looked up at him. “Were you a goodie-two-shoes growing up?”

He was taken aback by her question and stopped walking to stare at her.

“You were.” She came to a stop.

“Is that a problem?”

“Not at all. But I thought a guy with your looks would probably get into
some
trouble along the way.”

“With my looks?” he clarified.

“You know. Good-looking. The kind of guy girls fall all over. Maybe the football quarterback.”

“So you think I’m good-looking, do you?” He grinned as some sort of satisfaction settled in his heart.

“I didn’t think I’d managed to hide that from you.”

“You didn’t. But I just wanted to hear you say it.” He chuckled.

She socked him. If they hadn’t been in the hallway of the very formal and uptight FBI building, he’d have kissed her. Thankfully, they were surrounded by FBI agents, because kissing her again would be a big mistake.

Her phone buzzed. She dug it out. “It’s a text from Jae asking us to come back. Maybe she’s found something.”

“Could she really have located a lead that fast?”

“Jae’s done this for a long time and knows exactly what to look for, so yeah, she could.” Becca pivoted and marched back down the hall.

Connor had to hurry to keep up with her.

Jae sat in a chair, her back to the computer, her fingers bent. She spotted them and lifted a hand to blow on her fingertips. “Who’s the best analyst in the building?”

“You are.” Becca laughed.

“You know it.” Jae swiveled back to the computer. “Is this invoice for a storage rental unit what you were hoping to find?”

Connor looked at the screen and recognized the address for the storage facility not far away. “There’s no unit number.”

Jae looked up at him. “Now come on, detective. Don’t tell me you need me to go over there for you and get that information out of the attendant. Just say the word and I will, but . . .”

Connor laughed. Maybe under other circumstances, he’d take offense to her attitude. But after all the dead ends they’d run in to on this investigation, it was good to finally have a lead. This time, he’d cut the wonder kid some slack.

Chapter Twenty-Four

IT WAS TIME TO TAKE Lauren. Reginald couldn’t wait on the DNA report. His gut told him Rebecca Lange was indeed Lauren, and he couldn’t take the chance that the annoying detective who followed her like a shadow would discover his location. First, he’d have to prepare for an extended time away from his house so that he could follow her. Then he’d find the perfect opportunity to announce his presence.

He went to his bedroom, parted his clothes in the closet, and released the hidden door. He grabbed the flashlight mounted just inside and snapped it on, revealing his secret five-by-five space. His gaze immediately went to his father’s picture.

“Hello, Father.” He touched the gold frame. “We haven’t spoken in a while. Mother has been monopolizing my time.”

His father never talked to him as Mother did, but the frustration on his father’s face reminded him that his father had been hurt that Mother had kept them apart. Of course, she didn’t know about this space. It was a kind of shrine to his dad, who’d passed from cirrhosis of the liver five years ago. Reginald had constructed the room on one of his mother’s hospital stays for the heart condition that had ultimately taken her life.

He stepped up to the wall of rifles. “I think I’ll use the StG 44, Father. You always wanted to own one of these. Too bad I only found this one recently, or we could have fired it together. It’s as exceptional as you thought.”

He reached for the rifle, and memories of the times he’d spent with his father collecting and shooting guns played like a video in his mind. The time at the range. The hunting trips. Swap meets. Gun shows. Father and son together, the way it should be. Then Reginald had turned ten and it had all ended. Father had started sleeping around. There had been woman after woman . . . until Mother had caught him. She caught everything.

“Not this room,” he said proudly.

To build the room, he’d bumped into the attic space where Mother never went. She’d said she wasn’t afraid to go in there, but for some reason, the attic terrified her and it was the only chink Reginald had ever seen in her armor. Whatever her reason, it perfectly fit his plans and he loved having a secret from her.

“Poor Father. You should have been more careful like I was. Then she wouldn’t have thrown you out and told you never to come back.”

Reginald hadn’t seen this man who’d brought laughter and light to his life since that day. That was also when Mother had decided to start training him. He’d had to become serious, she’d said, or he would end up like Father. Alone and lost.

Reginald didn’t want that. He wanted a wife and family. A woman who could look beyond the scars and see him.

Lauren.
He so hoped she would be that woman.

He stuffed the rifle into a case, along with extra ammo. “The Glock, too, I think.” He lifted the gun from the peg. “And the knife you gave me, Father. It’s a must. I’ve used it for all the girls, and it would be fitting to do so for Lauren if it turns out she’s not the one for me.”

He finished packing his bag, then looked at his father. “You’d be proud of me, Father. I’ve done everything Mother has told me to do, just like you said before you left. Obey her in everything, and I couldn’t go wrong. Remember, that’s what you said before that last hug. The one that I didn’t want to end. You wanted to come back, but I know Mother wouldn’t allow it. I couldn’t follow in your footsteps. She had important work for me.”

He took one last look at his father and closed the door. He carried the bags to the foyer, then went to his office, where he located his other projects—the computer to stop Lauren’s car and the cell signal blocking device. He loaded them into a backpack, then added his laptop and iPad and put the bag by the door, too.

He straightened and looked around. There was nothing in the living room worth taking. He went to his room and packed clothing and toiletries, then stopped by the closet for several bars of Lava soap and the last nightgown on the shelf. He’d have to buy additional nightgowns—he had to continue his work. But he could do that later.

Right now, he could only think about Lauren. His sweet, sweet Lauren.

THE STORAGE FACILITY loomed large ahead, big and foreboding. But it wasn’t the size of the building that worried Becca—it was what the unit contained. If they actually found Orman’s files, Becca’s secret would likely be exposed.

So, should she tell Connor now or wait?

Orman had been very cautious with her information, not even trusting his partner, which was the reason they’d fallen out. She suspected he’d never put anything in writing either. If she confessed her past now, and Orman hadn’t included her in the files, she’d be telling Connor for no reason.

No reason, huh? You’re falling for the guy. If you tell him, it will likely push him away. Just what you want, right?

She’d thought that at first, but was that what she really wanted? If so, she couldn’t let him walk into the storage unit without telling him.

She glanced at him. He was oblivious to her inner turmoil, as he parked by the office, and they got out. Her nerves on edge, thoughts of exposing her past tumbled around in her mind.

He glanced at her. “You’re awfully pensive.”

She couldn’t tell him the truth so she said nothing at all.

They crossed a crumbling parking lot to the older building, his gaze fixed on her, questions alive in his eyes. He held the lobby door for her, but she ignored the questions and passed him to march up to the attendant’s desk.

She displayed her shield and hoped the man would honor her request without demanding a warrant. “I’m looking for the unit number rented by John Orman.”

The older gentleman who looked bored with his job eyed her for a moment. “No can do without a warrant.”

She laid the key on the counter. “I have a key for the unit. I’m not asking you to open it for me. Just point us in the right direction, and you won’t have violated any confidentiality agreement.”

He looked at Connor then back at Becca. “S’pose it wouldn’t hurt.” He moved over to an ancient computer and tapped a few keys. “Second floor, number 21.”

Becca smiled at him. “Thank you.”

“Just don’t tell anyone you talked to me.”

Becca took off before he had a change of heart and kicked them out of the building.

As they rode the elevator, she glanced at Connor who looked lost in his own thoughts. If she was going to tell him about Lauren, she’d have to do it before they opened the lock on the unit. She imagined what his reaction would be when he found out just how much she’d been keeping from him. She saw narrowed, angry eyes. Then she thought about how he’d look if he found out the truth from Orman’s records instead of from her. Narrowed, angry eyes, too, but also disappointment and something she didn’t want to think about.

She was better off breaking the news to him.

The door slid open and they walked down the hallway.
She put the key in the lock, turned it, and the padlock dropped open.

“Yes!” Connor pumped his fist.

She’d finally found the best lead ever in her search for Van Gogh and should be as excited as Connor. But all she could think about was that she would ruin his mood by telling him.

Maybe the locker was empty. She lifted the door to see file boxes neatly stacked in piles going all the way to the back of the space.

“Jackpot,” Connor said with enthusiasm as he started past her.

It was time.

Her heart sank, but she moved forward to prevent his access. He took a step back and studied her intently.

“There’s something I need to tell you before we start digging into these records.” The moment the words flew from her mouth, she wished she could take them back.

“You’re kidding me, right?” His eyes flashed wide. “We just spent thirty minutes in the car without a word and now you want to talk?”

“Yes.”

“What is it?” he asked impatiently, his attention on the boxes not on her.

“It’s about Lauren.”

He didn’t bother to look at her. “What about her?”

“I’m Lauren.”

His mouth fell open as he stared at her. “You’re what?’

“I’m Lauren. The girl Van Gogh took in ’99.”

His eyes narrowed as she’d imagined they would. “If this is some kind of a joke, Becca . . .”

“It’s no joke.” She lifted her shirt to reveal the scar by her navel. “I’m number five. I had the number removed, but there’s a scar.”

He stared at her navel, understanding slowly dawning in his eyes.

She dropped her shirt, moved her hair back and flipped over the top of her ear. “He started to cut my ear off. Here’s the scar from that, too.”

“Oh, man, you’re not making this up. You’re really Lauren.” He shoved his hands in his hair and turned, as if planning to leave. He took a few steps then came back. “You’re Lauren.”

Her heart racing, she nodded and took a deep breath before launching into an explanation. “After I escaped from Van Gogh, he came after me again. Detective Orman had stationed a patrol officer at my house, and he chased Van Gogh off. Unfortunately, he got away, but Orman knew he’d be back. So, Orman faked my death, changed my name, and found me a new foster home. All of it was done under the radar.” She dragged in a breath and held it as she watched him, waiting for his reaction.

“You’re Lauren,” he said again, clearly in shock. “It must have been horrible. Yet you seem to have gotten over it.”

“Got over it?” She shook her head. “How do you get over a man carving a number into your stomach? Slicing at your ear? Leaving your sister behind to be butchered by him?”

Connor’s eyes reflected the horror of what she’d once gone through.

She hadn’t been able to talk to anyone but Orman about this, and he’d been kind to her. But he’d also kept his professional distance so she didn’t lose it every time she visited him. But it was different now, here, with Connor. He shifted on his feet and looked at her as if he totally got her pain.

“I’m so sorry, honey.” He came close, peered into her eyes, and shook his head. “So sorry.” He drew her into his arms. “What a horrible thing to experience.”

It wasn’t the reaction she expected. . . . Where was his anger? His outrage. She deserved his anger, could handle his anger. But this kindness, compassion? No. She wasn’t prepared for that.

His strong arms tightened around her and, for the first time in her life, she felt safe and secure. She’d fallen for him despite her best efforts not to. His response told her he cared, maybe as deeply as she did. But that wouldn’t last. Couldn’t last. He would soon realize why she was only telling him now, and then the anger would come.

She pushed back. His expression was still filled with horror and questions.

“Why tell me now?” he asked, a hint of suspicion lingering in his tone.

And there it was. She stepped out of his arms and jerked a thumb toward the locker. “I thought Orman might have noted something in his files.”

“And you didn’t want me to find out that way?”

She nodded.

“Thank you for that.” His gaze bored into her as he watched for countless moments. “Would you have told me if we hadn’t found this locker?”

She wanted to lie. To tell him she’d have trusted him with her secret, but she shook her head and told the truth. “I doubt it.”

“I didn’t think so.” The questions and horror on his face warred with pain, and the pain won out. “I totally understand that you would want to keep this to yourself, but I have to admit, I’m disappointed. I thought we had something developing between us.”

“I know. Me, too. But I had to tell you the truth.” She wrung her hands. “Maybe in time I’d have told you. But just not yet.”

“Fair enough,” he said, but the hurt lingered as he gave her hands a quick squeeze. “I’m really sorry this happened to you, Bex. Really sorry.”

Tears pricked her eyes.

“We should get to the files,” she said quickly before she started crying.

Part of her wished he would push her to open up, but he gave a clipped nod and stepped deeper inside the unit. She followed him. He turned on the light. Boxes stood neatly stacked along one wall, the other held a murder board much like the one Becca had created in her apartment. This board contained greater detail than hers did and was arranged in chronological order.

Connor started at the beginning of the timeline, while Becca moved to the far end just before Orman’s death. She forced herself to concentrate on details, starting from the point at which she’d last talked to Orman. He’d jotted down a few notes after that date. The very last one read,
Molly time capsule-24b.

A time capsule? What in the world was that? And the number 24b, did it refer to a log page in a diary or file box?

She’d start with a worn three-ring binder sitting on top of the nearest stack. She flipped open to the first page. An index listed each box by number along with notes explaining the contents inside.

She flipped to 24b and read a note dated the week before Orman died.

Molly’s foster parents’ remodeled home. Found a time capsule hidden in the attic wall. Believe photos are retouched pictures of Van Gogh.

Becca suspected Molly had a secret hiding place—most foster kids did. She could have put a picture in there and wouldn’t have come back to claim it, in case Van Gogh was watching the house.

Becca quickly scanned the containers in search of the right box. There it was, near the back wall. She jerked three boxes onto the floor and pulled out number 24, wasting no time tearing into it.