“Sam,” she said, her voice husky with desire. “Your phone.”
“What?” His passion-fogged mind wrestled to keep up with words.
“Your phone is buzzing. Can you ignore it?”
His phone. Buzzing. With a message.
Damn it.
Not now, not now, his brain chanted as he hoped the text was something simple. He received countless memos. But this wasn’t his regular phone. It was his second, for official business. His instincts told him the news would be bad, and for Annie’s sake he needed to know sooner rather than later.
He reached into his pocket and thumbed through the code to read… A series of numbers scrolled across his screen. A code, rather than words, in case his phone was compromised.
A code he knew meant only one thing.
He cursed the timing and his duty. This was not the way this evening was supposed to end. He jammed his phone back in his pack and clasped Annie’s arm with purpose rather than passion.
“Sam? What’s wrong? Where are we going?”
He couldn’t believe all that he was giving up tonight. But he didn’t dare look at her right now or he would forget all about his job.
“I don’t have time to explain, but I know who you are. Your identity has been compromised. Melanie Carson, I work for Interpol and I need to take you into protective custody.”
Chapter 13
Stella sat in the middle of her bed, legs crossed, rocking back and forth. A small corner of her brain registered that she was in shock, so she let Jose take over. They’d been lodged at a hotel near the airport, a blah place with plenty of amenities and none of the local flavor.
If she’d been in her right mind, she would have voiced how much she hated it and Jose would have grinned, then offered to distract her. Or checked them both into someplace more exotic. But all of that would have been wasted on her. She was too numb to feel or register anything other than the surreal discovery that everything she’d believed about her childhood, the memories that had shaped her, had all been lies.
He locked the door and closed the blinds, creating a cocoon for her to process, to grieve. She’d come to Africa to find out about her mom, but she’d never expected to find this. Her mind was still reeling with the fact that her mother had lied about everything. Stella forced steady breaths in and out, willing her heart to slow.
Smith had pulled her off the case the second he’d realized her mother was involved. But involved how? What had she been doing here? Stella’s image of her mom grew all the more complicated. Her mom hadn’t been on Peace Corps missions. Her mother had been serving the government in some capacity. Her mother had been doing exactly what she did, probably since before Stella was born.
And her mother had died in the line of duty rather than on some random road trip from village to village between goodwill missions.
The truth had rocked her to the core.
Jose opened a water bottle and set it on the bedside table before he sat on the edge of the mattress, not talking, just waiting. Giving her space to deal with mind-blowing information at a time when she was already on shaky ground.
How was she supposed to sift through it all? She was such a mess she could hardly lift the water bottle from the end table. Hand shaking, she brought it to her lips. Three gulps later, she wasn’t any steadier. The words welled inside her without any organization at all. No surprise since the walls of logic had been blasted away.
“My mom was in and out of my life so often when I was a kid. We made big memories when she was home.” She squeezed the bottle, the plastic crackling in her hand, water sloshing up and over. “It was like being with her was always a huge party.”
“What about your dad?” Jose took the bottle from her hand. “Wasn’t that tough for him, her being the good guy while he managed the daily grind?”
He spoke with an understanding that pierced through her fog, making her think of him as a kid and teenager, taking care of himself while his parents ignored the real problem. The only time he’d had anyone on his side was during that time his grandmother lived with them.
“I honestly don’t recall my father complaining.” But then she questioned her perceptions today. Big time. “He really tried. He shared lots of stories about my mom when she was overseas… and after she died… to keep her alive in my mind. She was artsy. My dad kept all her crafts, even after she died.”
“He cared about her.”
“I believe he did, but tonight I’m not sure I trust my instincts anymore.” She pressed her palms to her temples. “I missed the signs from Harper. I obviously didn’t have a clue about my own mother…”
He clasped her wrists, thumbing her pulse. “Remember what you said earlier? You’re not a robot. You’re human and you did the best you could. Your best helped us catch Sutton Harper before he hurt anyone. And your best found the answers about your mom in spite of all the odds. From where I’m sitting, you’re mighty damn amazing.”>Her words damn near set his skin on fire, to think of her identity out there, exposed. It was one thing for Sutton Harper to have a vague sense of her as an agent in the area. But for enemy intelligence agencies and governments around the world to know specifics, to have her on their radar…
His brain grasped on one bit of hope in her words. “You thought your name was on the list? But it wasn’t?”
She shook her head, braid swinging like a pendulum. “It doesn’t say Stella Carson. It says Melanie Carson. It’s my mother’s name.”