The Stranger She Knew

By Gayle Wilson

MEN of mystery

Three men with secret identities and hidden agendas sworn to protect and tamed by love.

Husband, Lover Stranger

Secret Agent Jordan Cross had a new chance, and a new face. But if he no longer recognized the man in the mirror, some relentless enemies and one small family did.

Three years ago, Kathleen Sorrel's husband vanished, leaving her and their two babies on the run, with danger dogging their every step.

Now the man she'd married was back – or was he? His eyes promised the love and protection he had once denied her. Her heart asked the most urgent of questions – was she a fool to believe her husband? Or a fool to believe this was her husband?

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Jul 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781460857915

Gayle Wilson

Gayle Wilson is a two-time RITA Award winner and has also won both a Daphne du Maurier Award and a Dorothy Parker International Reviewer's Choice Award. Beyond those honours, her books have garnered over fifty other awards and nominations. As a former high school history and English teacher she taught everything from remedial reading to Shakespeare – and loved every minute she spent in the classroom. Gayle loves to hear from readers! Visit her website at: www.booksbygaylewilson.com

Book preview

Prologue

By the way, your brother-in-law stopped in today.

The comment impacted like a sledgehammer to the gut, but Kathleen Sorrel, long accustomed to hiding her feelings, didn’t react—at least not outwardly. Instead, her hands, which had been guiding her son’s arm into the sleeve of his jacket, completed that task and moved on to the next, competently fitting the two halves of the plastic zipper together.

No one watching could possibly have guessed that the safe, secure world she thought she had built in this tiny Southern community had just exploded. Struggling to maintain her composure, Kathleen didn’t try to formulate an answer. She didn’t even raise her eyes to the day care worker’s face, afraid they’d reveal her shock.

Miss Judy, she thought, dredging up the woman’s name from the orientation visit she’d made here six months ago. Not Jamie’s or Meg’s teacher, but a helper, she remembered. Right now Miss Judy seemed to be in charge of overseeing the late-afternoon rush of departing children.

Kathleen’s mind had seized on solving the identification problem because it had been too frozen to deal with the other. Numb with anger that they would come into the center. Sick with fear—a fear she had almost managed to forget in the quiet tranquillity of these last few months.

Finally she succeeded in making the ends of the zipper connect and, pulling the tab upward, she closed the green corduroy jacket over Jamie’s tummy and chest. The coat was a hand-me-down from Meg, still a little too big, but Jamie would grow into it over the winter. Kathleen had learned to buy things that were unisex, so both children got the benefit of wearing them.

Sorry, Miss Judy said. "I guess that should be your ex-brother-in-law."

The woman’s voice was softer. Far less cheerful than when she’d made her initial announcement about the unexpected visitor. Kathleen gave her credit for reading body language, which probably meant Miss Judy was also good with the kids. And that was nice, of course, but her own children wouldn’t be around long enough to benefit from her skill.

Kathleen finally raised her eyes to the woman’s face. On their way up, they brushed over the wind-chapped cheeks of her two-year-old. Maybe checking to be sure that he was unaffected by what had just happened. A mother’s glance for reassurance.

Jamie reached for the pin Kathleen had put on this morning, a small silver cat that curled against the collar of her navy blouse. It was almost hidden by her coat, but Jamie loved the pin, and his fingers stretched toward it just as they had when she had put him into his car seat at the beginning of this day.

Which seemed to have been a hundred years ago. A lifetime ago, at least. Someone else’s lifetime.

And exactly what did my brother-in-law want? Kathleen asked.

She congratulated herself on the calmness of her voice, and on the lack of sarcasm when she repeated the lie he had told them. Brother-in-law. But after all, she was holding Jamie, and she could see Meg, her red jacket and long black hair a distinctive combination in the sea of children.

Her daughter’s head was bent forward, the top of it almost touching the silver-blond bangs of her best friend. Apparently, they were sharing little-girl secrets. Safe, Kathleen told herself. Both the children were safe. That was all that mattered. At least for the moment.

Nothing really. Just... Miss Judy paused, shrugging slim shoulders. He was looking us over. Checking things out for your husband, he said. Ex-husband, she corrected, a slight flush of color beginning to seep into her cheeks. "Just making sure that we were... a good facility, I guess. He didn’t ask to see the kids. We would have called you if there had been anything like that. But...I mean, people come to see the school all the time, Mrs. Pearson. Parents. Grandparents. Prospective customers. We don’t keep those kinds of people out."

Those kinds of people. The ordinary words echoed in Kathleen’s head. You really don’t have any idea about the kind of people you let in here today, she thought, but she said nothing, her copper-penny eyes meeting the apologetic blue ones of the worker throughout her flustered explanation. Finally the woman seemed to run down.

I’m sorry if you’re upset, Miss Judy added after a moment of strained silence.

I’m not upset, Kathleen lied.

She picked Jamie up, settling him on her hip with the ease of long practice. He was certainly capable of walking to the car on his own, but she wanted out of here. Wanted to get them out of here. Right now, the sooner the better.

Meg, she called.

Her daughter turned at once, waving goodbye to her friend before she skipped over to join them. Meg was generally obedient, because she wanted everyone to be pleased with her. She didn’t like anger or disagreements. Just like her mother, Rob used to say. Maybe too much so, Kathleen thought.

Mrs. Pearson?

Kathleen had reached the door, its frame festooned with taped-up pumpkins the children had made, their bright green leaves and stems glued on, not always in exactly the right place. Escape had been so close she could almost taste the bite of the outside air, could almost feel its cold comfort against the heat building in her cheeks, but obediently, she turned back in response to the worker’s call.

He didn’t do anything, Miss Judy said. He just took a look around. Honest.

Just took a look around, Kathleen repeated mentally. Just an innocent visit to a small, private day care center.

He seemed like a really nice guy, the woman added, her voice sincere. She was still trying to make everything all right again.

Kathleen nodded, fighting the nausea that was pushing into her throat, because she understood, even if this woman didn’t, that her world would never really be all right again. She opened the outside door and, her hand on Meg’s shoulder, she guided her daughter through it and out into the twilight, carrying the pleasantly heavy weight of her son on her hip.

Her eyes scanned the graveled lot in front of the old Victorian house, which had been transformed several years ago into the Wee Folks Play School. She found nothing out of the ordinary, just normal sights and sounds. Children’s laughter coming from inside, the noise they made loud enough to reach out into the twilight.

Another mother had just gotten out of her car, slamming its door in her hurry to get into the warmth of the building. From the fenced-off playground, Kathleen could hear the creak of wooden swings pushed by the wind. Gusts rippled the black puddles of rainwater that stood in the shallow depressions the children’s feet had made.

Nothing out of the ordinary, she thought again. Nothing that was any different from any other fall afternoon when she had picked her children up here. Nothing to be afraid of.

But by the time she deposited Jamie in his car seat, Kathleen’s hands were shaking. There was no one to see, so the discipline she had practiced in the building began to splinter. To disintegrate into a thousand and one pieces, each sharp, jagged and terrifying.

Mommy? Meg questioned softly.

Kathleen fought off the tears that had begun to burn behind her lids. There was no sense in frightening the children. No sense in letting them see how upset she was. No sense in disrupting their lives any more than she knew she would have to.

Kathleen was their security. She understood that. She was the absolute center of their world, and she was determined that no matter what Rob had done, no matter what she felt about its effect on their lives, she would never let the two of them know how shaky that center could sometimes be.

So when she lifted her gaze to her daughter’s face, her smile was back in place. Uneasiness was still in the wide gray eyes looking up at her. Little-girl eyes that sometimes seemed far too adult for their age.

Are you crying? Meg asked, her voice full of concern and a touch of shock. She had never seen her mother cry. Or rage. Or do any of the things Kathleen had wanted to do during the last thirty-four months.

Something in my eye, Kathleen said. The wind.

Meg nodded, but her eyes clung to her mother’s face, doubtful. Seeking assurance that all was indeed still right in her five-year-old world.

How about Mickey D’s for supper? Kathleen asked, keeping her strained smile in place through sheer willpower.

Hamburgers? Meg said, her voice skeptical.

You and I haven’t shared an order of fries in a while. And I thought maybe a milk shake, she offered, sweetening the deal.

Chocolate? Meg questioned, apparently hardly able to believe her luck, but willing to take advantage of any weakness her mother displayed.

I think that can be arranged. Are you buckled up?

Yes, ma e9781459251243_img_8127.gif am, Meg said, patting the shoulder strap.

Good girl, Kathleen said automatically.

She closed the back door, her eyes circling the area around the car again. There was not one single thing that shouldn’t be here. Nothing out of the ordinary. An ordinary little Arkansas town on an ordinary fall evening.

She opened the driver’s side door and slid in behind the wheel. Her eyes moved up to the image reflected in the rear view mirror. Jamie’s head had already begun to droop, long, doll-like lashes drifting downward over his cheeks. He’d be asleep before she got out of the lot, and she knew from experience that he’d sleep all the way home.

Meg was looking out the window, examining the gathering darkness. As Kathleen watched, her daughter blew on the glass, using her breath to fog it. With one small finger, she drew a pumpkin, lopsided and asymmetrical, but obviously a pumpkin, especially when she added the stem.

Happy Halloween, Mommy, she said, her eyes turning to meet Kathleen’s in the mirror. I forgot to tell you.

Happy Halloween to you, too, sweetheart, Kathleen said, her heart squeezing with how much she loved them. They were her whole world, and she would do anything to keep them safe. Anything, she promised silently.

When we get home, will it be time for trick or treat? Meg asked.

Trick or treat. Kathleen supposed it was appropriate this had happened today. There seemed to have been few treats in the last three years. A lot of tricks, however, just like this one.

That’s really all it was, her logical side argued. With its reemergence, she was beginning to get control of her terror. This had simply been their way of reminding her they were still out there. That they knew where she was. That they were watching. And waiting.

This time, she thought with a tinge of satisfaction, it had taken them over six months to find her. She was getting better. One day she would succeed, and then, she prayed, it would finally be over. And as long as Rob stayed away from them, she could keep Meg and Jamie safe. She would keep them safe, she vowed.

Mommy? Meg’s voice came from the back seat, questioning her delay in starting the engine or her lack of response to the question about trick-or-treating.

We’ll see, she said, trying to decide if that childhood pleasure would be possible now. She hated to disappoint her daughter, but she couldn’t be sure that they were through with this particular trick.

Kathleen didn’t want to give them an opportunity to frighten the children again. She didn’t intend for Jamie and Meg to grow up in fear. She had ample cause to know exactly how stressful that was. And if they missed trick-or-treating, she’d think of something that would make up for it. She was good at that—at compensating for all they were missing.

But at least they were safe, she reminded herself. Just as long as Rob stayed away from them. Surely he must understand that. No matter what else her husband had done, no matter how disillusioned she was with the person he had become, Kathleen couldn’t believe the man she had once loved, the man she had married, would do anything to endanger his own children.

But of course, he already had, she thought, rage at his greed and stupidity boiling up unexpectedly within her. She resolutely tamped it down, because dwelling on that was worse than useless. It was something she couldn’t change, no matter how much she wanted to.

What she had to concentrate on was keeping the children safe and staying one step ahead of the people who were looking for Rob. Just one step, she vowed. That’s all that was necessary, and then eventually... Eventually it would all be over. One way or another, she thought, it would be over.

Ready to roll? she asked, relaxing the death grip she’d taken on the steering wheel. Her moment of anger had helped. Buoyed by her renewed determination to worry about nothing but protecting her children, Kathleen found her hands were no longer trembling when she put the key into the ignition and started the car.

IT WASN’T A BAD FACE. It was, Jordan Cross acknowledged, even an interesting one. The problem was it wasn’t his face. Only now, he supposed, it really was. So he’d better start getting used to it.

Jordan took a deep breath, watching the man reflected in the mirror do the same. The inhalation lifted wide shoulders and expanded a muscled chest covered by a faded navy sweatshirt. His body, at least, was the same. As was the blue-black hair. And his eyes, slate-gray and calm, staring out at him from that stranger’s face. Remarkably calm, considering.

What do you think? the plastic surgeon asked. His question was neutral, but his tone was definitely self-congratulatory.

Jordan supposed that the surgeon had a right to the smugness he seemed to feel. He had done exactly what he had been told to do—subtly restructure a face that had suddenly, and dangerously, become too well-known. Too familiar to the enemy.

Enemies, Cross amended. He had certainly made a few of those in his years with the CIA, especially during the last decade, when he’d been a member of Griff Cabot’s External Security Team. But the enemies who had necessitated this transformation he’d made recently, in his last unofficial and unsanctioned mission, during which he had willingly risked both his life and his career for a friend.

Actually, he acknowledged, for two friends—one living and one dead. Griff Cabot’s senseless murder had set off the chain of events that had led to this transformation.

Griff’s death had changed them all, of course. All the members of his team. They had been closer than brothers, a bond forged in shared danger, in having to depend on one another, sometimes for their very lives. And their respect for Cabot had kept that bond strong.

Griff’s had been the intellect that created the whole concept of the team and its simple mandate. The External Security Team’s job was to seek out and destroy the madmen whose mania for global domination or terrorism threatened the free world.

Standing guard over those we love. That was their mission, Griff had always told them, and it was a goal worthy of its cost.

Only Griff really knew the individual price each of them had paid for belonging to the team, perhaps because he knew them so well. And Griff, too, had paid a steep, personal price, Jordan thought, remembering Cabot’s loss of Claire Heywood.

When one of those madmen had targeted Griff for assassination, the team had taken its revenge. Lucas Hawkins, who had been best suited for the task, had pulled the trigger that brought down Griffs murderer. But the act had been done on behalf of the team. For all they owed Griff. Something he, personally, couldn’t begin to repay, Jordan acknowledged.

And that’s why, only a few days later, as the flashbulbs exploded around him, Jordan had been holding a rifle on the rooftop of an airport building in Mississippi, announcing to the world that he was a CIA operative.

In that one operation he had acquired a lot more enemies—not all of them his. And due to the publicity resulting from that utterly reckless piece of derring-do, those enemies had all learned exactly what Jordan Cross looked like.

Or what he had looked like. Up until the agency determined that this was the best way—the safest way—for Cross to deal with having had his cover blown.

At the thought, a small, ironic smile lifted the corners of the alien mouth in the mirror. He hadn’t had his cover blown, of course. He had done that himself. His choice, and one he had made willingly. To help a friend. To pay a debt.

Whatever the virtue of those motives, the results had been the same. His face, the real one, had ended up plastered under a few thousand newspaper banners. His name had been tied to events he’d had little or no part in, and his identity had been inextricably mixed up with the deeds of a CIA assassin code-named Hawk. The friend for whom he had taken the heat that had led to the creation of the man reflected now in the mirror.

"I think there’s not much left of me," Jordan said softly.

I thought that was the whole idea, the surgeon responded, smiling. "I did warn you."

I know. But still...it’s a little disconcerting.

To face a stranger in the mirror?

Cross nodded. That was exactly it. To find a stranger’s face looking back at him. And to know that for the rest of his life that would be the case.

You’ll get used to it, the doctor promised, his voice still touched with amusement. Soon that will be the face you expect to see when you look in a mirror.

Jordan nodded, still studying his reflection. The differences were subtle because they had tried to keep it as simple as possible. The surgeries had been spaced out over a ten-week period. And finally, today, the doctor had removed the bandages from the last of them. There was still some swelling and bruising, but the basic likeness that had emerged from under the bandages was fairly clear.

There had been changes in the bone structure, but those had deliberately been kept to a minimum. The nose, of course. And the shape of his chin. His hairline had been permanently changed. The cheekbones seemed more prominent, but that might simply be because of what they had done with the skin that covered them. Because of these procedures, Jordan now looked younger than his thirty-nine years.

That, too, had been part of the plan. The papers they’d provided to go with this new face gave his age as thirty-four. That fit with the relative smoothness of the skin around his eyes and with the lessening of the slight creases age and experience had cut into the lean cheeks.

A stranger’s face. If, as they said, a man’s face revealed his character, then Jordan Cross was no longer here. This face seemed virtually unmarked. Not the face of a man who had had his particular experiences. But perhaps those were something else better forgotten. Or, Jordan admitted, at least hidden.

He supposed, however, that the doctor was right. He would get used to it. To the face. To the fact that he didn’t work for the agency any longer. To the dissolution of the elite External Security Team he had been a member of the last ten years. Eventually he’d get used to it all.

A new life. An opportunity to start over. To make different choices and to head in a totally different direction. All at the government’s expense.

The small smile again touched the corners of the stranger’s mouth. His mouth, he thought, commanding his senses to make the mental adjustment the surgeons had physically created. His face. His life—new, unfettered by the past. A chance to do it all again. There weren’t many people who were given that opportunity, he acknowledged. And there were probably a lot who would give everything they owned to have it. Jordan Cross, however, hadn’t been one of them.

Am I free to go? he asked, turning away from the mirror. He had seen enough for one day. Had enough to deal with.

Whenever you want, the surgeon said.

Thanks, Cross said. He held out his hand. The doctor’s felt smooth and soft against his own callused palm.

Do you know yet where that will be? the surgeon asked.

To tell the doctor anything about his intentions would be a breach of security. His own security. That’s what this metamorphosis was all about—to allow Jordan Cross to disappear. To melt into another man’s body. Another identity. One with no connection to his own. And, of course, he didn’t owe the doctor any explanation.

I don’t have a clue, Jordan said, and watched the surgeon’s smile widen.

He was probably imagining that answer to be an evasion, Jordan thought. The logical one that his situation certainly called for. It wasn’t. It was simply the truth. Because Jordan really didn’t have any clue at all about what would come next.

BUT I DON’T WANT to leave, Meg said, her soft voice plaintive, verging on tearful.

I know, Kathleen agreed, folding another of the garments she had taken from the dresser drawer in the bedroom the children shared. But we have to. So... She hesitated over the meaningless platitude she was about to offer.

She understood what Meg was feeling. She, too, had loved this town. Her secretarial job was the best she’d had in any of the scattered locations they’d lived in: She liked her boss, a young attorney with a small, but growing practice. He had been especially understanding of Kathleen’s situation because he had children of his own, and a working wife.

And the rental house Kathleen had found, though tiny and old, was well maintained. It even had a fenced-in yard and a swing set. It had all been perfect.

Maybe that was why she had relaxed her guard, why today had shaken her so much. Kathleen had wanted so much to believe things could work out that she had begun imagining this situation would be