Stranger in my Arms (11 page)

Breathing heavily, Merrick rolled off Alex and pulled her to his chest. “Loving you, baby. Loving you,
and
your life.”

CIA Headquarters…Langley, Virginia

A
rare smile deepened the network of lines crisscrossing William Reid's weather-beaten face within seconds of the door closing behind a man who he'd believed he would never see again. His smile faded as one of the three telephones on his desk rang; reaching over, he picked up the receiver.

“Reid.”

“Come to my office.” The command was sharp, the caller's tone brusque, no-nonsense.

“I'm on my way.”

Pushing back his chair and coming to his feet, he put on his suit jacket, left the office and made his way to one several doors away.

“He's expecting you,” said the dour-faced woman who guarded her boss's office like a Secret Service agent assigned to the presidential detail.

Carl Ashleigh stood by the door to his inner office. It wasn't often William saw the man wear a suit jacket unless he was scheduled to meet with the director.

“Let's go for a drive.”

William, or Bill to the few friends he'd acquired since coming to the CIA from the FBI, followed his supervisor like an obedient puppy. It wasn't until they were seated in Ashleigh's gas-guzzling Yukon, maneuvering toward McLean, Virginia, that Ashleigh initiated conversation. He'd become used to the eccentric younger man who would order him to his office, then make him wait before granting him an audience.

“Is he coming back?”

William stared out the side window at the passing countryside. It was the first week in March, and winter appeared to have finally loosened its grip on northern Virginia.

“I assume you're talking about Grayslake.”

High color suffused Carl's face, his pale blue eyes standing out in stark contrast. “Who the hell else do you think I'm talking about? Did he not spend the past two hours in your office?”

“Yes.”

“What did he want?”

“He wants back in.”

“What did you tell him?” Carl asked.

“I told him that he would have to go through the same protocol as if he were a new hire. He'd have to pass a physical, a psychological and of course obtain security clearance.”

“What's he asking for?”

“Training.”

Carl slowed the Yukon, turning onto a local road and coming to a complete stop behind a copse of pine trees; he left the engine running. Releasing his seat belt, he shifted on his seat and stared at William Reid. The man was only fifty-six but Carl thought of him as a dinosaur, a holdover from a past era with his military crew cut, cuffed trousers and wing-tipped footwear. William had given the Bureau fifteen years of fieldwork before transferring to the CIA as a desk jockey.

“Slow down his paperwork.”

“What!” The single word exploded from William Reid's mouth.

The fingers of Carl's left hand drummed nervously on the steering wheel. “I want you to keep him on hold for a while.”

William ran a hand over hair that looked like the bristles on a stiff brush. “How long is awhile?”

“Six months. Assign him to sniper training. With his background as a Marine Corps scout he'll do well there until we're ready for him.”

William gave Carl a long, penetrating stare. “What's up?”

Carl's pale blue eyes narrowed, and he wondered how much he could tell his assistant without compromising the details of a joint meeting of agencies that included the FBI and the CIA. Biweekly meetings between the two directors, corresponding assistant directors and federal prosecutors had become akin to a world economic summit.

“We may need him for a special assignment.”

“It can't be a field assignment,” William insisted.

“I know that!” Carl said angrily.

William did not visibly react to his supervisor's outburst. “Grayslake is going to become suspicious if we take too long to approve his rehire or if he's assigned to something he hasn't requested.”

Ashleigh stared out the windshield. “He wants back in, and that means he'll accept whatever we offer him. And if he makes it known that he's unhappy, then bust him down to a file clerk.”

Carl hadn't been cleared to brief his assistant on Operation Backslap, but with Merrick Grayslake's possible return the initial strategy would have to be modified. Once Grayslake was given security clearance Reid would be briefed on an investigation certain to send elected officials scrambling to hire the best defense attorneys not only to salvage their political careers but to avoid going to prison.

William shook his head. “He's not going to go for that. If we lose him a second time, you and I know that he's never coming back.”

“If you have a better plan, then you'd better tell me right here, right now.”

The older man stared at his supervisor. “You know I don't have one.”

Carl snapped his seat belt, put the vehicle in gear and maneuvered back onto the road back to Langley. The return drive was accomplished in complete silence, and when the two men returned to their offices both knew someone higher than them had determined Merrick Grayslake's destiny the moment his written request to return to the Company was received.

 

Merrick scrolled through his cell-phone directory and clicked on a name. “I'm in your neck of the woods,” he said when hearing the deep-voiced greeting. “Can you spare me a few minutes?”

“Sure. What's up, Gray?”

“I'll tell you when I see you.”

“I'll be here.”

Merrick disconnected the call and shifted into a higher gear. Forty-five minutes later he parked his vehicle two blocks from Michael and Jolene Kirkland's house.

Making his way along the tree-lined streets in the D.C. suburb with opulent and historic colonial and Georgian-style homes, he recalled his meeting with Bill Reid. Merrick had been forthcoming when he revealed that he was more than ready to return to the CIA as a training specialist.

Turning a corner, he walked a block with only six structures in the charming cul-de-sac, most large, imposing, claiming spacious front lawns and, in the warmer weather, flowering shrubs. Michael's house stood apart from the others. Its simplicity was a Frank Lloyd Wright Japanese-inspired design. A broad sheltering roof with generous overhanging eaves and windows set with colorful geometric shapes radiated warmth, beckoning him closer. A waist-high slate wall was covered with a profusion of climbing vines. A gate made of iron pipe painted a Cherokee-red stood open, welcoming him.

Merrick strolled up the path, but as he walked up the six steps to the front door it opened and Michael Kirkland stood in the doorway, casually dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt.

He extended his hand, pulling Michael close in a strong embrace. “How's it going, Kirk?”

Michael Kirkland was an imposing figure. His exposed muscled arms were brown as berries. Tall, broad-shouldered and slim-hipped, former U.S. Army captain Michael Kirkland was as physically fit as he'd been when he graduated from the U.S. Military Academy at West Point a decade before. His face was as remarkable as the rest of him: close-cropped raven-black hair, clear green eyes that shimmered like precious gems in a sun-browned face. Men and women were drawn to his perfectly symmetrical features that were as delicate as a woman's.

Merrick's friend had resigned his commission and now taught classes in military law and military history at a private military school in northern Virginia. Merrick knew Michael's decision hadn't been an easy one, but now as a husband and prospective father he appeared content with the turn his life had taken.

Michael returned the rough embrace. “How long are you staying?”

Pulling back, Merrick shook his head. “I'm not. I plan to drive back to Bolivar tonight.”

Lifting his sweeping black eyebrows, Michael stepped aside and beckoned Merrick into his home. “Come in. Don't tell me you've been holding out on me.” Merrick walked into the living room of the two-story converted carriage house decorated with Asian and Southwest–themed furnishings.

Michael Kirkland stared at his friend, unable to believe the transformation. When he'd reconnected with Merrick six months ago, he'd found him long-haired, bearded and gaunt-looking. Not only had Merrick put on weight, but he always could've easily passed for a D.C. businessman or politician in his tailored suit, imported footwear and conservative haircut.

Merrick flashed a smile, not replying to Michael's accusation that he was hiding something from him. He followed Michael into a room that was an exact replica of a Japanese teahouse. Octagonal in shape, its walls were made entirely of screened-in glass windows. Two of the eight sides were open to take advantage of the crisp air. A low lacquered table, surrounded by large black and jade-green floor cushions, were set up in the middle of the room.

Merrick owed Michael his life from when he found him lying facedown in the street, bleeding from a gunshot wound to the abdomen. Doctors had repaired his spleen but were unable to save his left kidney. The police recorded the incident as a mugging, but Merrick knew he'd been set up, though he was unable to prove it.

“Where's Jolene?” he asked Michael.

Michael folded his tall frame down to the futon, motioning for Merrick to do the same. “She flew to Chicago to see her parents. And because she's at the end of her second trimester she said this will be her last trip until the baby comes.”

Stretching out his legs, Merrick stared at an indoor pool built into a corner. The gurgling water created a soothing mood, trickling over rocks and pebbles concealed by a profusion of bamboo shoots and water lilies.

“Do you know what you're having?”

Michael shook his head. “No. I'd like to know, but Jolene wants to wait.”

“Does this mean you do everything your wife wants?” Merrick teased.

“Hell, yeah,” Michael said, smiling, “but within reason of course. I know enough when to advance and when to retreat.”

“Marriage shouldn't be a military campaign, Michael.”

The brilliant green eyes in a rich brown face glowed. “With Jolene and me there's never a military campaign. I give in to her because she's carrying
my
baby. Speaking of women, what's up with you, Gray? Do you have a little honey hidden away in your mountain retreat that has you running back to spend the night?”

Standing, Merrick removed his suit jacket, placing it over the arm of the futon and wondering how Michael would react if he told him that he was dating and sleeping with his first cousin.

Would he approve?

Disapprove?

Concluding his relationship with Alex was much too new and much too fragile, he decided not to say anything. “No,” he answered truthfully. His
honey,
as Michael called her, was currently touring an archaeological site in Mexico's Yucatán Peninsula.

He missed her, missed her more than he thought he would miss a woman. And the missing had nothing to do with making love to her; that was something he could do with any woman. But Alexandra Cole had become much more to him than any woman.

Waking up with her beside him, their sharing meals together, taking long walks, discussing any- and everything were things he'd never experienced with a woman. Alex's spontaneity, her outgoing personality and her lust for life were refreshing changes because he tended to take life much too seriously.

“No, I don't,” Merrick said, answering Michael's query. “But it is something I am considering.”

Leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest, Michael gave Merrick a long, penetrating look. “Who is she?”

“I'd rather not say at this time.”

Respecting his friend's right to privacy, Michael nodded. One thing he knew about Merrick Grayslake, and that was he was a very private person, and if he'd felt comfortable revealing the identity of the woman with whom he was involved, he wouldn't have hesitated telling him.

Michael glanced at his watch. It was after three. “Can you hang out long enough to have dinner with me?”

Merrick flashed a rare smile. “Sure.”

“Do you want to go out or would you prefer me to throw something together?”

“We can eat here.” Whatever Michael threw together was certain to equal or surpass any restaurant meal. Alex had revealed that it was a family tradition that all the men were taught to cook. The rationale was they would never have to depend on a woman to eat.

Michael pushed to his feet. “I'll take out a couple of steaks to defrost. When I come back, you can tell me why you left the mountains to talk to me. Do you want anything to drink while I'm up?”

“No, thanks.”

 

“I'm going back to the Company,” Merrick announced when Michael returned, his voice completely void of emotion.

Michael went completely still as an expression of shock froze his features. “You're kidding, aren't you?”