Debby Giusti - The Agent's Secret Past

“Except the clothes that are still in my car.” She laughed at her own foolishness. “I stopped at the commissary after work and lugged the groceries inside when I got home, but I failed to go back for the laundry I had picked up earlier. My gym bag’s also in the trunk along with a pair of running shoes.”

“What about your weapon?”

She ran her fingers over the purse still strapped to her shoulder. “I grabbed my Glock and purse before I ran. CID badge, military ID card, car keys. Everything I need is inside.”

“Sounds as if you were expecting trouble.”

Colby’s comment struck too close to home.

When she didn’t respond, he raised his brow expectantly.

Becca stood, needing to distance herself from his penetrating gaze. She walked into the kitchen and placed her mug in the sink.

“I’ll drive you to your car,” he said when she returned to the living room.

“Thanks, but I can walk.”

“Not in this weather.” He glanced at her feet. “I’ve got a pair of slippers that should fit you. They were a gift from my grandmother, but they’re too small for me. The leather soles will protect your feet until you get the gym shoes from your car. You’ll also need a jacket.”

He disappeared down the hallway and returned with sweatpants and a hooded sweatshirt she pulled over her flannel pajamas. The slippers were roomy but warm.

“Maybe the fleece will be enough,” she said, regarding the bulky coat he offered.

He shook his head. “You need more insulation if we’re going to be outdoors for any length of time.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll wear my Gore-Tex. It’s with my training gear in the back bedroom.”

She shrugged into the jacket that smelled like sandalwood and lime and waited as Colby located his military outerwear and car keys.

Although she appreciated Colby’s help, she needed to keep up her guard. No matter how nice or how good-looking he was, she didn’t want anyone to complicate her life.

Her gaze returned to the window and the smoldering ruins beyond. Involuntarily, she shivered, regretting her youthful infatuation with Jacob Yoder when the Amish drifter had first stumbled into her life. How eagerly she had given her heart to him, not knowing he had taken up with an older woman—an infirmed Amish widow whose farm he coveted.

Bitter tears had stung Becca’s eyes when she’d learned of their marriage. Even more difficult was her father’s insistence that Becca help Jacob’s sickly wife with housekeeping chores.

Jacob paid her father nicely for her services, and her needy datt turned a blind eye to what Jacob really wanted.

Her stomach soured, recalling when Jacob had lured her to the barn. She’d fought him off and narrowly escaped. Knowing her father would never believe her own innocence, she had run away from Jacob, her father and her Amish roots.

Two years later, her sister’s phone call forced Becca to return home, but she arrived too late to save Katie or her datt.

With a heavy heart, Becca turned from the window, hoping to distance herself from the niggling concern that too often hovered close at hand.

Jacob was dead.

The case was closed.

But if that were true, then why did some inner voice keep warning her that Jacob Yoder was still alive?

* * *

Acrid smoke hung in the air around Becca’s BOQ as Colby parked his green Chevy near her Honda and waited as she slipped on her shoes and shrugged off his suggestion to stay in the car. Worried though he was about her well-being, he admired her determination to get to the bottom of what had caused the explosion.

Together they crossed the street to where Sergeant Flanders stood next to his squad car.

“What’s the latest?” Colby asked, raising his voice over the drone of the fire engines.

“We haven’t been able to get close to the building, sir, but we’ve done a preliminary search of the surrounding wooded area and plan to retrace our steps after daylight. The post maintenance company has been called as well as the fire marshal, staff duty officer and post engineer. General Cameron was notified.”

Becca stared over her shoulder at a second residence still under construction on the next street. “Has anyone searched the other building?”

“Not yet, ma’am.”

She nodded to Colby. “Let’s check it out.”

Stopping at his car, Colby grabbed a Maglite from the trunk and handed a spare to Becca. “We might need these.”

Flashlights in hand, they hustled across a narrow strip of green space and cautiously rounded the front of the structure. A utility van sat at the far end of the parking lot. The side panel decal read Peachtree Construction.

“Why would someone leave their truck in an isolated parking lot overnight?” Becca gave voice to what Colby was thinking.

“Time to have a look-see.” He shone his flashlight through the windshield. A ladder and tools were visible in the rear. An insulated coffee mug sat upfront in the console cup holder.

The doors were locked.

Becca raised her cell and relayed the Fulton County tag number to CID Headquarters. “Run the plates. Find out who the truck belongs to and get me an after-duty hours contact number for the company.”

After disconnecting, she and Colby entered the second building through an open doorway. Their flashlights illuminated inner walls that were framed but lacked drywall.

Colby pointed to his left. “You go that way. I’ll head right.” Neither of them spoke as they made their way through the maze of two-by-fours. The only sounds within the building were their muffled footfalls on the concrete-slab floor and the wind that blew through the open doorway.

They met up at the far end of the structure. A rustle caused them to turn their lights on a rodent scurrying for shelter.

“That’s one culprit we don’t need to follow.” Colby chuckled and then flexed his shoulders, hoping to ease the growing tension in his neck.

“I keep thinking that abandoned maintenance van might be important,” Becca said as they exited the building and retraced their steps to the fire scene.

Sergeant Flanders looked up as they neared. “Find anything?”

“One of the construction vans,” she said. “We’re running the plates and getting a phone number for the company. Probably an Atlanta-based firm that landed the building contract.”

“Any sign of the driver?” he asked.

Colby shook his head. “We searched the building. It’s clean.”

“Maybe the guy caught a ride home with a buddy.”

The fire chief hustled toward them. He was tall with serious eyes that stared at them from under his helmet. “The fire’s contained. I’ll have some of my guys keep watch throughout the night. We don’t want any hot embers to rekindle. One of my men is checking out something he saw in the unoccupied apartment on the bottom floor.”

The chief’s tone caused Colby’s gut to tighten. He sensed the entire investigation was about to change.

A younger man in full turnout gear approached the chief. “There’s a problem, sir. We found a body in the rubble.”

Colby turned to look at Becca. This time she didn’t avert her gaze. Instead she stared back at him.

“Was it Jacob?” she had whispered earlier.

Did the dead victim have anything to do with Becca?

* * *

“Hurry up and wait” was a standing joke in the army, although there was nothing funny about waiting for the medical examiner to arrive on site. After inspecting the body, he scheduled an autopsy for the following afternoon.

Crime-scene tape surrounded Becca’s quarters. A name tag found on the victim identified him as the project manager for Peachtree Construction Company.

At this point, foul play couldn’t be ruled out, but the most likely explanation was an accidental gas leak. Either the project manager had entered the unoccupied apartment suspecting a problem or had caused a malfunction once he was inside.