Paula Graves - Secret Keeper

He crossed to the door, favoring his right leg. His right knee looked a little larger than his left, straining against the faded jeans he wore. Bum knee?

He spoke in low tones to someone outside the door. The other voice sounded male as well, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying. Wade closed the door behind him and returned to her side, pulling his chair closer. His dark eyes were deadly serious.

“Two men from the Air Force Office of Special Investigations are downstairs asking to talk to you. It’s up to you. If you want to talk to them, fine. If you want to wait until you’re feeling better, that’s fine, too.”

The last thing she wanted to do was face an interrogation by the A.F.O.S.I. But all she’d be doing was putting off the inevitable. “You can tell them I’ll see them.”

Wade nodded and stood. Reaching into his pocket, he drew out a narrow wallet. He removed a card from one of the inside pockets and handed it to her. “That has my cell number on it. You need to talk to me about anything, you call. Understand?”

His urgent tone made her stomach hurt, but she nodded, wincing at the flare of pain in her head. “Are you leaving?”

He shook his head. “I’ll be just down the hall. Call that number, and I’ll come running.”

As he disappeared through the doorway, she released a slow, shaky breath. She wasn’t used to feeling weak and vulnerable. She hated it. But her world had upended in the span of a few minutes—or, more accurately, three missing weeks. She had to find her feet again.

She had to find out what happened to her parents.

A brief knock on the door preceded two men dressed in dark suits who entered the room in tandem. They filled the small space with an air of authority, introducing themselves as Braddock and Hartman from the A.F.O.S.I. Braddock, who was taller, darker and leaner than stocky, sandy-haired Hartman, did most of the talking. Hartman stood slightly behind the other man, holding a small duffel bag. Annie eyed the bag with curiosity.

“We need to know everything you can tell us about the incident in Georgia,” he began without further preamble.

“I can’t tell you anything,” she said carefully. “I have a head injury and I don’t remember any of it.”

Braddock’s eyebrows inched upward. “Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

The two men exchanged a look that gave her the creeps.

“Could I see your identification?” she asked.

Their gazes snapped to her. Braddock’s tense expression melted into an engaging smile. “Certainly.” He reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket.

Annie tensed, an image flashing through her muddled brain. A needle, glistening in the glow of a single, bare bulb. A tiny droplet of moisture trembling on the point before it fell.

Panic seized her insides, threatening to turn them to liquid.

The man withdrew his hand. It held only a flat black wallet. He flipped it open and showed her an official-looking name badge. Arthur Braddock with the Air Force Office of Special Investigations. Looked legit.

So why couldn’t she shake the feeling these guys were anything but what they claimed to be?

“What is the last thing you remember before waking up?”

“I was standing at the luggage carousel at the Chattanooga airport,” she answered.

“And you remember nothing else?” Braddock sounded skeptical.

“I have vague memories of being in the emergency room earlier tonight, I think,” she answered carefully. She didn’t mention the image of the needle, mostly because she didn’t really trust these two men. But the truth was, she did have some memories of being examined in the emergency room. They’d cut off her clothes. Poked and prodded and X-rayed. She had a vague memory of being in a cool, white cavern—a CAT scanner?

“Why were you and your parents in Georgia?”

“Vacation. We like to get together once or twice a year.”

“Just the three of you?”

“We had plans for lunch with my aunt Phyllis on Thursday.” Her mother’s sister lived in Gainesville, Georgia. They usually tried to meet her for lunch or dinner at least once during each trip. Annie guessed they hadn’t made it to lunch, if the last time she and her parents had been seen was on the nineteenth.

“Your aunt is the one who reported you missing,” Hartman said.

Braddock looked at the other man. Annie got the feeling he’d prefer that Hartman stay quiet.

“I really don’t have anything else I can add,” Annie said.

“I think you probably know more than you realize. We’d like to take you back to Quantico with us. There’s a hospital on base that can see to your medical needs, and the staff psychiatrists can help you work on recovering more of your missing memories.” Braddock’s voice was gentle and encouraging, but Annie realized, with alarm, that she didn’t believe a bit of it.

These people were not here to help her.

“We’ll need you to sign the transfer papers for the hospital, so they’ll release you. We can transport you tonight.”

Don’t go with them. Whatever you do, don’t let these men get you alone. The voice she heard in her head wasn’t her own. It was her father’s, the low, gravelly coastal Carolina drawl she’d always loved so much.

“I don’t have any clothes—they cut them off of me in the E.R.”

“We’ve brought you some clothes to wear.” Hartman put the duffel bag on the bottom of her bed and stepped back.

“You thought of everything,” Annie murmured. She faked a smile. “Okay, then. I need a few minutes alone to get dressed,” she said quietly. “That will give you time to finalize the transfer with the hospital staff. Then I’ll sign the papers, and we can go.”

Braddock and Hartman exchanged glances. “Okay,” Braddock said with what she supposed was meant to be a gentle smile. The expression looked predatory.

To her relief, they left the room, closing the door behind them. She slumped back against her pillows, her pulse pounding a cadence of agony in her head. With shaking hand, she reached for the phone on the small bedside table and pulled it onto the bed next to her.

Opening her hand, she looked at the slightly rumpled card she’d held in her tightly clutched fist during the meeting with Braddock and Hartman.

Wade Cooper. Cooper Security.

She picked up the receiver and dialed the number.

Wade Cooper answered on the first ring. “Cooper.”

“They want to transfer me to a hospital in Quantico,” she said without preamble, keeping her voice low, in case the men were just outside the room, listening in.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” he asked.

“No,” she answered flatly. “I think you need to get me out of this hospital. Right now.”

Chapter Three

Two men in dark suits flanked the door to Annie Harlowe’s room. Annie had said they’d told her they were going to coordinate the release papers with the hospital, but Wade had a feeling they already had plans for how to remove her from the hospital without going through any channels. If she was right—if these men were imposters—the last thing they’d want to do was deal with hospital red tape.

What he needed was a distraction.

He slipped back inside the waiting room. “Two men guarding her door. Possibly armed—can’t tell from a look.”

Aaron and Melissa had joined the three of them, arriving just as Annie was calling Wade. He felt a hint of relief at having his younger cousin around for whatever came next. His position as a deputy, not to mention the Smith & Wesson M&P 40 he wore in a belt holster beneath his green Chickasaw County Sheriff’s Department jackets, added a heartening amount of heft to their makeshift rescue operation.

“We need a distraction,” Megan said.