Murder Mix-Up. Lisa Phillips

      Empathy shone in his eyes. He said, “It’s been just me and Nicholas for years, though we have some extended family. He and I should probably talk more, but once you get in the habit of not picking up the phone it’s hard to change things.” He stretched his arms up over his head, then twisted left and right. “How about you and your dad?”

      “He passed away two years ago.” The words were choked.

      Portia didn’t wait for Declan to offer her condolences. She needed to focus on the case anyway, the way she’d been keeping her attention on her job since her dad had passed. What was the point in expending the energy to grieve, letting all the feeling swallow her whole, if it wasn’t going to change anything?

      “Agent Armstrong,” she called out to Chris as she walked back to her desk. “Get me Corporal Stringer on-screen in MTAC.” It was probably about breakfast time in Afghanistan.

      Their Multiple Threat Alert Center was a twin to the one at the Quantico office of NCIS. It was basically just a fancy name for a room where they gathered intelligence and could make secure communications.

      “Sure thing, boss.” The kid’s Southern drawl sounded almost sarcastic. She eyed the probationary agent, and he shot her a grin. She sighed. Did he take anything seriously?

      Lenny sat at his desk, across from Chris, frowning at his colleague.

      Portia wandered over. “It’s late.” She spoke to Lenny in a low tone. “If you want to take off, we can hold down the fort. Catch you up in the morning.”

      She could likely use his help, but Lenny needed to be home as much as possible. Working this case late into the night might help with the time zone in Afghanistan, but it wouldn’t help Lenny make sure his mother got to bed.

      Lenny gathered his things and said good-night. Anna wandered over and clicked the remote that worked the TV screen between Chris’s and Lenny’s desks. “Update?”

      Portia nodded. “Please.”

      “I dug into the military record for Corporal Nicholas Stringer,” Anna said.

      Portia held her hand up. “The driver’s license ID for the marine based in Washington, or the real one for Declan’s brother out of California?”

      “Both.”

      “Okay,” Portia said.

      “As for the real Nicholas, there isn’t much but standard stuff. I found some interesting things on the Washington one I punted to Squire.”

      Declan took a step closer to them. “Squire?”

      Portia glanced at him. “Our forensic technician.”

      Anna continued, “Squire has the bullet, the shell casings and the deceased’s clothes, so it might take a while, but I’m having him look into a lease. Someone is renting an apartment in Tacoma under the name Nicholas Stringer. I think our dead guy had his ID for a few weeks, at least. Long enough to make a life here.”

      Portia nodded. “Social media?”

      Anna said, “I had the same thought. I ran his photo in an online search and got a hit that indicates this is bigger than one fabricated ID. A single social media profile with the deceased’s picture and the name Nicholas Stringer. A couple of video shares was all he posted.”

      Portia felt her eyebrows rise. “It’s a dummy account?”

      “Set up two months ago. Before that, no digital footprint.”

      “Some presence is less suspicious than no presence at all.”

      Declan said, “What does that mean?”

      Portia pointed to the profile Anna had put on-screen. “Someone who wants to stay hidden can stay off the internet, right? Just don’t sign up for those accounts and you’re anonymous. But it’s so uncommon these days that it’s actually kind of suspicious.”

      “Because most people have social media accounts now.”

      Portia nodded. “So they create a dummy profile. Just enough activity it gets a search result, but doesn’t give anything personal away. He wanted to be seen online using Nicholas Stringer’s ID.”

      “How about you?” Declan lifted his chin. “Are you on these sites?”

      “Most cops have a fake profile.”

      “That doesn’t answer my question.”

      This time it was Portia who lifted her chin. “Then I guess we’re even.”

      Anna cleared her throat. “Uh...okay. So I’m going back to my desk now.”

      Portia glanced at the agent and caught her smiling as she walked away. Declan opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off when Chris called down from the top of the stairs at the far end of the room.

      “Stringer. Your brother will be on the line in T-minus two minutes.”

      Declan headed for the stairs. Portia followed, and at the bottom step he turned to her. “Are you planning to listen in on my call?”

      “I’ll give you privacy if you need it, but I also have questions for your brother that are pertinent to this investigation.”

      He looked at her like he didn’t know if he believed her. Whether he did or not, she was about to get an answer to her question. One way or another she would find out what Declan was hiding.

      “It’s routine,” she assured him. “And while your brother is at least safe from a murderer over in Afghanistan, I need to know whether you’ll continue to be in danger here.”

      Declan shook his head and climbed the stairs. “He’s safe in the line of fire, and I’m the one in danger?”

      “We can protect you.”

      “It’s usually me standing between the gun and the president, doing the protecting.”

      “With a team of people, all currently occupied with that job. So you let us do this for you.”

      He stood with his hand on the door handle of the secure room. “And if I don’t need you to do that for me? What if I can protect myself perfectly well?”

      “Never hurts to have help.”

      He went inside. Portia winced, realizing she actually agreed with him. She would go it alone and take care of herself every single time. Maybe she and Declan Stringer were more alike than she’d thought.

      * * *

      They were nothing alike. The thought stuck with him while he donned the headphones and sat at a desk in their secure room. The video chat loaded on-screen.

      Declan didn’t make a move without the backup of other Secret Service agents. Yes, he believed he could protect himself alone. But only because his instinct was to return to his team and that safety net.

      Could he really do that?

      If he brought danger back to the White House, he’d be putting lives in jeopardy. As a Secret Service agent, he couldn’t do that. If he was going to maintain operational security on duty this needed to be cleared up before he went back to DC.

      The screen flickered and Nicholas’s face was there. Not happy. “What’s up?”

      “Hey, Nick.” Declan’s throat closed. He cleared it. “Good to see you. It’s been a long time.” The awkwardness was compounded by the fact Portia was listening to everything.

      “There a reason why I hit my bunk for half an hour and then got woken up to exchange small talk with you?”

      Apparently not much had changed. Nicholas was still mad about the fact their family’s history had been tarnished. And despite it being no fault of Declan’s—the two of them had been kids when their father broke the law—Nicholas still unloaded all his frustration