Double Agent. Lisa Phillips

caught her before she hit the floor and lifted her into the cradle of his arms. She weighed more than he thought. Tall and slender, Sabine was lean with muscle. Strong. The woman might have an iron core, but his heart had been in his throat since he’d been on her doorstep and heard her cry out over the sound of wind and rain.

      After he had kicked the door in and pounded up the stairs, he’d been scared to death he’d find her dead on the floor. Instead, Sabine had put up a valiant fight against her assailant. Now rather than being outside searching for the guy who’d had the audacity to put his hands on Sabine—Doug had seen the marks on her throat—he carried her upstairs.

      Doug set her down on the bed and removed her boots. Her ankle was puffy and swollen, but her breaths were deep and steady. He wrapped her in the comforter, turned on the bedside lamp and left the door ajar in case she cried out.

      He sighed and lowered himself to the top step in the dark. He had to get a handle on his emotions. He couldn’t freak out like that every time Sabine was in danger.

      Pictures lined the wall, all the way down the stairs. He didn’t need light to see the images of Ben at Little League or Ben wearing a tux as he walked Sabine down the aisle. She was divorced now. Ben had revealed that much about his sister, though none of the actual details—so long as you didn’t count the way his lip curled when he mentioned Sabine’s now ex-husband.

      All Doug wanted was to find out who had killed Ben and why. After that he wouldn’t have to wonder where she was or what she was doing...or if she wondered the same thing about him. Or what that sadness behind her eyes was.

      His phone hummed. “Richardson.”

      “You got her?” The voice was gruff and full of authority, the voice of his commanding officer, Colonel Hiller.

      “Found her fighting off an intruder in her house. Soon as she comes around, we’ll be on our way.”

      There was a noncommittal noise. “She okay?”

      Doug stood. He stretched out his back and made his way down the stairs. “She took some hits, but mostly she’s just exhausted.”

      “I’m not surprised. That girl’s one busy little beaver. Been up to all kinds of things since Sergeant Laduca died.”

      Doug’s heart clenched at the memory of Ben bleeding out in his arms and forced himself to focus instead on his commanding officer’s words. “She has?”

      “Stuck her nose into classified records, for one thing. Girl’s got a lot to answer for. The least of which being who she works for.”

      Doug found a diet soda in the fridge. It would have to do. “She’s CIA.”

      “Not according to anyone I spoke to. Once upon a time, sure. They hired her, trained her and sent her on missions. A half dozen years ago she went off the grid. Disappeared, and the only thing she left behind was a pool of blood.”

      “She’s some kind of rogue ex-CIA agent? Are you serious?” Then he remembered who he was talking to. “Excuse me, Colonel. I’m just having trouble assimilating this. She was kind of stuck-up about the CIA thing. If she works for someone else, she must be the best actress in the world.” He thought for a second. “Did you tell the CIA we found her?”

      “They’re not stupid. Mostly. They’ll figure out why I was asking about her, even though I did my best to keep it to vague questions. Hopefully it’ll buy us time.”

      Doug tapped his finger on the side of the sweating can of soda. He wasn’t going to tell Sabine what they’d found out. He’d probe instead with the hope that she would share of her own volition. Had Ben known she was a rogue agent? Doug had to get to the bottom of this before it all broke loose.

      If she had betrayed the CIA and gone to work for the enemy six years ago, the CIA would have her on all kinds of watch lists. To have hidden her location and still be going on missions, fooling everyone left, right and center, meant she must be an exceptional spy. That or she worked for some very bad people...with very deep pockets.

      A rogue CIA agent?

      Doug sighed and ran a hand down his face.

      “Get some answers, Sergeant Major. I expect to hear from you bright and early.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “And call your dad.”

      Doug groaned.

      “The old man knows you’re back in the States. He’s expecting your call.”

      The line went dead. Colonel Hiller wasn’t one for goodbyes or any kind of politeness that could be expected from a fellow human being, but his record as an officer was so impressive; he was already a legend at forty-six. He’d earned his rank the hard way, from the ground up—ground soaked with his own sweat and blood.

      Doug found a can of soup in the cupboard and set about heating it up on the stove. He scrolled through his contacts, found “Andrew” and pressed Send, intending to leave a voice mail.

      “General Richardson’s residence.”

      Doug smiled at the sound of the housekeeper’s voice. “Hey, Jean. I take it he’s still up since it’s after midnight, yet you’re answering the phone.”

      The fluffy middle-aged lady laughed like Doug’s old Sunday school teacher. “How are you, honey?”

      “I’m doing fine, Jean. Thank you.”

      “Well, you know I worry about you. Did you get those cookies I sent?”

      “I did, yeah. They were good. The guys loved them.” He’d made sure to set aside some of the two dozen for himself.

      “I should think so.”

      Doug laughed. The lightness in him stretched and grew, even with such a small connection with someone who had nothing to do with the war he seemed to always be fighting.

      “My grandmother’s secret recipe. Did you know she fought her way out of Nazi Germany with nothing but her recipe card box and her knitting needles?”

      Laughter built up in his chest but didn’t spill out. “That’s a good story. You should stick with it.”

      “I’ll do that. I’ll put you through to your dad now, honey.”

      “Thanks, Jean.”

      There was a pause, and then a man’s voice came over the line. “That you, son?” It was a voice that had both commanded troops and yelled at his teenage boy to straighten his room.

      Doug sighed. “Yeah, Dad, it’s me.”

      “It’s about time. Did you think I’d settle for you checking in over voice mail forever?”

      Doug’s chest tightened until it ached. He should pay the old man a visit soon. “It’s late. I should probably let you get to bed.”

      “Don’t even try it. This is a momentous occasion. I actually got you on the phone. You think I’m just going to let you say goodbye in two seconds? Besides, isn’t there something you want to tell me?”

      Doug sighed, loud enough for his dad to hear. Of course he’d make him say it. “Happy birthday.”

      “You want to make it happy? You show up at my birthday party on Saturday. You wear a tux. You smile. You tell me that you’re letting this whole business go.” His voice broke. “I want to see you get on with your life, Douglas. Find a woman. Get married, and make me a grandfather already. I’m getting old.”

      Before the general was finished, Doug was already shaking his head. “I would if I could, but I can’t. Not until I find out who killed Ben.”

      “It’s not just me. You know it’s what your mother would have wanted.”

      “Oh, sure.” Doug sighed. “Bring up Mom and how she’d be so disappointed in my behavior.” His dad did it because