Stolen Secrets. Sherri Shackelford

leg beneath her and rested her cheek against the back of the seat. Jordan shifted. He was too cramped to get comfortable. Westover had jammed the driver’s seat as far back as the vehicle allowed, crowding Jordan’s knees.

      Road construction had narrowed the highway to one lane, and a mile of headlights extended into the distance. Jordan angled his body to buy himself some leg room and stretched his arm across the seat.

      Slowed to a crawl, Westover made annoyed noises and slapped his palm against the steering wheel. Karp kept his attention focused on a sheaf of papers in his lap. The minutes stretched out in silence and the hum of the engine was strangely soothing after what they’d been through that morning.

      Soon Lucy’s breathing grew deep and even. Jordan wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but the next thing he knew, she was nestled into the crook of his arm. Conscious of his audience, he stiffened, but there was nowhere to go. Instead, he forced himself not to notice the soft brush of her hair against his skin or the way her head nestled perfectly in the nape of his neck. He ignored the jolt of awareness when she splayed her hand against his chest.

      Karp swiveled in his seat. “Let her sleep. She’s still got a long day ahead of her.”

      Westover’s curious gaze appeared in the rearview mirror. “Anyone else think it’s odd that her fiancé was killed and now someone is taking potshots at her?”

      “Yeah.” Jordan’s gut twisted. “It’s worth a second look.”

      The day of the bombing had started like any other. They were about to wrap up their surveillance, and Jordan was restless. Sometimes that happened at the end of a job. Sitting in the same room day after day, week after week, didn’t bother him until he knew it was almost over. That was when the walls started closing in around him.

      Brandt had understood. He’d urged Jordan to visit the local market. It was their third assignment together, and he knew that Jordan always picked up something for his dad before going home.

      Grab a silk scarf for me, will you? Jordan recalled the last words Brandt had said to him. Something with embroidery. Lucy’s favorite color is blue. Wanting to select the perfect shade, Jordan had lingered over the task.

      “Everything about this is odd,” he muttered into the heavy silence. “Why target Lucy in the first place?”

      Seven years on the job and not one of his installations had ever been discovered. Not until that day. And Brandt had paid with his life. What had they done wrong?

      “Was there anything odd before the bombing?” Karp asked. “Anything that might be connected?”

      A faded scene tugged at the edges of Jordan’s memory. The night before, he’d seen Brandt speaking with a woman in the hotel lobby. When he’d interrupted them, Brandt had said she was visiting from out of town and needed some advice on where to eat. Except something hadn’t rung true about the story.

      Jordan shook his head to clear the memory. Was he reading into the chance encounter to assuage his own guilt?

      “Maybe,” he said with a glance at Lucy. “I’m not sure if it means anything. We can talk more later.”

      Karp adjusted his seat belt. “Here’s our working theory based on what little we know so far. Someone impersonating Lucy made a deal and didn’t deliver. Only the person on the other end of the deal—we’ll call him the buyer—doesn’t know he’s been double-crossed. Which means he’s pressuring the real Lucy to come through. Chances are, the fake Lucy has gone underground. Which means we have the perfect opportunity to set a trap.”

      “I know what you’re thinking,” Jordan said, unease skittering down his spine. Setting a trap meant leaving bait. “Not an option.”

      The duplicate engagement ring weighed heavily in his pocket. A second Lucy. A second ring. What other secrets were in store for them?

      “It’s the only way,” Karp said quietly. “Either you’re with us, or I’ll find someone else to take your place.”

      Lucy’s platinum hair shimmered in the afternoon sunlight, and her subtle jasmine scent surrounded Jordan.

      His head throbbed. “You know my answer.”

      He didn’t like it—but there was no way he’d abandon her.

      Because the only bait they had was Lucy.

       THREE

      Lucy stared at her kitchen counter. Something wasn’t right.

      She’d purchased the hundred-year-old house in a diverse area of town the year after she’d paid off her student loans. The compact two-story featured a living room, kitchen and sunporch on the first floor, along with two dormered bedrooms on the second floor. Real estate was an investment, or so she’d told herself. In truth, apartment living was claustrophobic, and she enjoyed gardening.

      Jordan appeared in the doorway. “We don’t have much time. Take only the essentials.”

      She hadn’t been able to look him fully in the eye since waking in the car. What sort of person fell asleep in front of strangers? He’d handled the whole awkward encounter with brisk efficiency, but she hadn’t felt such an acute sense of embarrassment since junior high.

      The other agent, Westover, had tossed her a speculative glance—which she’d ignored. He was probably wondering what Brandt had seen in someone like her.

      She pictured the spouses at the NSA Christmas party as perfect carbon copies of each other—thin, expertly coiffed women with honey-blond hair, designer cocktail dresses and seats on the hospital fund-raising board. The kind of women Lucy’s mom wanted her to emulate. When she’d said as much to Brandt, he’d laughed and said they didn’t have an office Christmas party.

      Pulling her attention back to the present, she concentrated on the black-and-white-checked tile of her kitchen floor. “I’ll be quick.”

      Only a few hours had passed, but it might as well be an eternity. Everything was the same, yet everything felt different. Probably she was letting her imagination run away with her. Who could blame her after this morning?

      The agents had taken great pains to ensure everything appeared normal. They’d retrieved her car from near the coffee shop, and Jordan had driven her here. Karp and Westover were parked around the corner in case someone was watching the house. Given the photo she’d received, they were right to be cautious.

      Though she tried to convince herself otherwise, the sense of unease lingered.

      “Something isn’t right,” she said, her gaze fixed on the far end of the room. “But I can’t put my finger on what’s out of place.”

      Jordan’s posture changed ever so slightly. There was a sharpness to his gaze and his shoulders stiffened.

      “It’s probably nothing,” he said casually, too casually for his shift in stance. “It’s the stress. Messes with your head. You’ve been through a lot this morning.”

      Feeling as though she’d gotten the wrong notes for an important meeting, Lucy frowned. “Yeah. Stress.”

      Jordan stepped closer. “No place is safe these days.”

      She murmured something innocuous that was meant to signal her agreement.

      If he was trying to warn her, there was no need. After this morning, she was well aware of the danger.

      Hypervigilant now, she searched for the source of her unease.

      With Jordan close behind her, she cautiously opened a kitchen drawer. “This isn’t how I left things.”

      Reaching around her, he carefully pushed the drawer shut.

      “I was just trying to help,” he said, the heat