Midnight Remembered

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Josh was eating, his concentration seemingly on the newspaper that was folded to fit beside his plate. Just as if he hadn’t seen her.

But he had. There was no doubt in her mind about that. Which must mean that he didn’t want to acknowledge her. Not in so public a place. And he was probably right about that.

She knew where he lived. She could approach him at his apartment building. Or maybe on his way home, which was even safer, because it would give him the opportunity to decide where they should talk.

As she was thinking all that, the question she had been trying to deal with was still stirring in the back of her mind. For the past three years, she had tried not to think about Josh Stone because she had believed he was dead. Had he ever, during all that time, thought about her? After all, he had always known where to find her. Which must mean…

She turned her head, looking out at the street through the rain-streaked plate glass window beside her. Which must mean, she continued doggedly, no matter how painful she found the conclusion, that Josh had consciously made the decision not to try to see her again.

That decision would have nothing to do with whatever rules the CIA had set up for his disappearance. Joshua Stone didn’t play by the rules. Few of Griff’s agents ever had. That characteristic was almost a requirement for the EST. If Josh had wanted to contact her, he would have. And since he hadn’t, she would have to assume he hadn’t wanted to.

She could deal with that. She could deal with almost anything, she decided, feeling anger build again, as long as whatever was going on with Joshua Stone and the CIA didn’t get her called into Steiner’s office for the third degree. Or didn’t make the agency bug her apartment.

She wanted an explanation for those two things. A truthful explanation, which she would never get from Steiner. Eventually, she damn well would get it from Josh Stone. After all, she thought with a trace of bitterness, he at least owed her that.

While Josh finished his dinner, and he didn’t hurry over the meal, Paige drank the rest of her coffee, savoring both its warmth and the subtle stimulation of the caffeine. She couldn’t keep her gaze from touching on him occasionally, and after a while she stopped trying.

His eyes were still locked on the newspaper he had brought in with him, acting as if he were completely unaware that Paige was sitting across the room. Of course, Josh was better at this game than she was. He always had been.

As soon as she saw the waiter bring his bill, she signaled for hers. She handed her server a ten, without taking the check he presented and waving away his attempt to make change. She slipped into her coat and headed straight toward the door, making no effort either to avoid or to pass near Josh’s table.

He had made it clear by meeting her eyes that he was aware of her. And he had made it equally clear, by ignoring her, that he didn’t want them to be seen together.

When she stepped through the door, she realized the rain that had plagued the Georgia city for most of the past two days had finally stopped. However, it must have dropped ten degrees while they’d been eating. She turned up the collar of her coat, holding it around her throat with one gloved hand.

She began to walk the three blocks to Josh’s apartment, her eyes searching every foot of that distance for somewhere she could wait for him. It would need to be out of public view and yet within hailing distance of the sidewalk where he would pass. An alley or a recessed doorway. Actually, anything hidden or relatively sheltered from the eyes of passersby would do.

She could always wait beside the steps that led up to the front entrance of his apartment building. That was almost as public as the restaurant, however, and she suspected Josh wouldn’t be any more eager to be seen with her there.

Finally, having found nothing better, she went down the short flight of stairs that led to the basement entrance of his building. She leaned against the damp concrete block wall, not fighting the memories the feel of it evoked, and looked up at the steps he would have to climb to reach the front door.

She wasn’t sure he would notice her standing down here. And she still wasn’t sure she would speak to him if he didn’t. Actually, she admitted, she wasn’t sure about much of anything.

Except that Joshua Stone wasn’t dead. And that he had never sought her out during the three years that had passed since she had last seen him that night in Vladistan.

WHEN PAIGE finally heard footsteps, unconsciously she pressed more closely against the wall, her body hidden in the shadows as she listened. The footsteps passed by the front entrance and then by those that led down to the alcove under the stairs where she was hiding. She looked up in time to watch the man whose steps she’d been listening to walk by. It wasn’t Josh, and she took a breath in relief.

Maybe he had stopped off somewhere on the way home to do some shopping or an errand. Or maybe he wasn’t coming home because he suspected she would be waiting for him. And maybe a whole hell of a lot of other things, none of which she would have answers to unless Josh gave them to her. He obviously didn’t plan to do that unless she approached him and asked for them.

What was wrong with her? she wondered suddenly. What was she doing here, waiting for a man who had made it clear he didn’t want to see her? For some reason, she closed her eyes, fighting the sudden sting of tears. And she couldn’t understand why she had this ridiculous urge to cry.

After all, the reason she was here wasn’t personal. Their former relationship had impinged on her professional life. She was convinced that someone had bugged her apartment because of her association with Josh Stone, and she wanted to know why. She wanted answers that made sense. Answers from him.

The footsteps that approached this time didn’t move past the entrance. She opened her eyes, ears straining to follow them. When they started up the front stairs, her heart jolted again, as strongly as when Josh had met her eyes across the restaurant.

And those reactions, after three long, silent years, made her furious. Not at him, but at herself. Using that anger, Paige stepped out of the shadows, looking up at the man climbing the stairs. At the man she had known as Joshua Stone.

Perhaps he noticed the movement. Or maybe the intensity of her stare made some kind of psychic impact. Whatever drew his attention, Josh looked down, again right into her eyes. Despite the distance between them, she could see his widen. Then they narrowed slightly, just as they used to when he was trying to figure something out. And this one shouldn’t be too hard.

She didn’t say anything, and neither did he. Their gazes held for maybe twenty seconds, and then he came quickly down the stairs he had just climbed. He glanced over to where she was standing a couple of times as he made the descent. To keep an eye on her? Afraid she’d disappear? she wondered, not even bothering this time to deny the corrosive bitterness she had fought during the last two days.

But disappearing wasn’t her act. That’s what he did. What he had done, she amended. He had just…disappeared.

Josh walked over to the top of the flight of steps leading down to the covered basement entrance where she was standing. He stood a long moment, unmoving, still looking at her.

“You were in the restaurant,” he said finally.

She nodded, not trusting her voice to sound anywhere near normal. And, damn it, she wanted it to. She wanted it to sound calm and rational and unemotional.

“Were you waiting for me?” he asked.

How about for three years. Which wasn’t completely fair, she admitted. Most of that time she had believed Josh must be dead. So that didn’t constitute waiting, exactly. Besides, they had made no commitments. Not even…

“Is something wrong?” he asked. “Are you in trouble?”

“Steiner’s asking questions about you,” Paige said.

Despite her fear that her voice might betray her reaction to seeing him again, to being this close to him, the statement had sounded perfectly natural. Cryptic, perhaps, but at least she didn’t think her tone gave away her inner turmoil.

“Steiner?” he repeated, as if puzzled by the reference.

“He took over when…” Paige stopped, suddenly unsure, maybe because of that seemingly genuine puzzlement, exactly what Josh had been told.

“You know about Griff,” she said, not phrasing it as a question. If this was an agency hide, and everything she had found in the computers indicated it must be, then of course, Josh would know about Cabot’s death.

They became aware at the same moment that someone was walking toward them. A man and a woman were approaching, moving toward him. Josh turned his head, openly watching them, which surprised her.

The couple walked passed the entrance, deeply engrossed in their conversation. Josh waited until their voices could no longer be heard before he looked down at Paige again. Even in the dimness, his eyes were as blue as she remembered them.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “Those names don’t ring any bells. Maybe you’ve got me mixed up with somebody else.”

She supposed she should have been expecting that denial, but she hadn’t been. Maybe he was part of some witness security deal, with the formal constraints that imposed, but he was also her partner. Her lover. Or he once had been. And he owed her more than this. They all did. From Steiner on down.

She had been lied to throughout this entire deal, and it infuriated her. She’d spent so many damn hours during those three years regretting the things she had done. Regretting even more the ones she hadn’t done. Too many hours lost out of her life to be fobbed off with this crap.

“I don’t think so,” she said almost mockingly. “I don’t think I’ve got you mixed up with anyone else.”

He took a breath, his lips pursed slightly. She tried not to remember what they felt like moving over her skin in the darkness. Tried and failed, and for some reason that made her even more furious.

“Look—” he began again, his voice still reasonable, not reacting to the obvious anger in hers.

“Your name is Joshua Stone,” she said, interrupting whatever lie he intended to offer. “You were a member of Griff Cabot’s External Security Team. You and I were on a mission in Vladistan when you disappeared. That was three years ago. And then, less than four months ago, they put you back into the computers as Jack Thompson. I’ve seen the file, so ‘You’ve got me mixed up with someone else’ won’t work, Josh. Not with me.”

“Vladistan?” he repeated, and she wondered why he had picked that out of all the rest. “In…Russia?” he questioned.

“A republic of the former Soviet Union.” Paige corrected. She sounded like some geography professor.

“Who is ‘they’?” he said, ignoring the lesson. “Who put me back into the computer?”

He had asked those questions in exactly the right tone. As if he really didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. Of course, Josh had always been good. So damn good at everything.

“The company,” she said. That was the nickname for the CIA that almost everyone who worked for the agency used.

“Debolt?”

Which was the name of the firm he was working for here in Atlanta. Again the tone of his question held exactly the right note of confusion. She laughed, mocking his skill. The sound of her laughter almost prevented her from hearing his next question.

“After the accident?” he asked. “Is that what you mean?”

“What accident?”

The word had shocked her for some reason, jerking her out of her very satisfying anger. But the concern in her repetition was the wrong response, and she regretted it as soon as she had given it voice. She had wanted to convey her absolute certainty that she knew who he was and knew that he was lying to her. And then she had bit on that ploy like an amateur.

“The wreck,” he said. “Is that what this is about? Insurance or something? If so, maybe you’ve got the right guy but the wrong name.”

There was enough information there, and the tone reasoned enough, that she had to stop and think about what he had said. Accident. Wreck. Insurance. Wrong guy. Except, of course…

“Not Debolt,” she said again, rejecting the scenario he had just dangled in front of her. “The CIA. And you know what I’m talking about, Josh, so let’s stop playing games. Maybe you’re only doing what they told you to do, but don’t expect me to buy it. Maybe I didn’t spend as many years in special ops as you did, but I spent long enough to know how to do a computer search. Joshua Stone dies, and Jack Thompson is born. It’s all there. Right in the External Security files for anyone who wants to look for it. And I think that means you’ve got a problem.”

He said nothing for a long time, his eyes still considering her face. Trying to read it, maybe? She didn’t care if he was. She was telling the truth. A truth he needed to hear. If she could find him, then a lot of other people could as well.

“I think you’d better come in,” he said. “We need to talk.”

The strongest emotion she felt when she heard that invitation was satisfaction. She had forced him to listen to her and to stop making those ridiculous denials. She started up the basement steps, expecting him to lead the way over to the street-level set of stairs and up to the building’s front entrance.

Instead, he stayed where he was, watching her face until she reached the top. When he still didn’t move, she stopped beside him, looking into his eyes. She didn’t know what she had expected to find in them. Embarrassment that he’d tried to put her off like that? Admiration that she hadn’t bought that cock-and-bull? Maybe even some memories.

They held none of those things. They were interested. Reflecting the same deep intelligence she remembered so vividly, but nothing else. Not even, it seemed, an admission that they had once been more to one another than professional associates.

“I take it I’m supposed to know you,” he said.

Just when I was about to give you some credit, Paige thought. Her mouth tightened in frustration. She broke contact with his eyes, looking past him, focusing on the row of cars parked across the street. An exercise in gathering control, like counting to ten. And then it became something else.

“They’re taping us,” she said, her eyes coming back to Josh’s. “Someone in a car across the street is filming us.”

“Filming?” he repeated, turning around and staring at the car that was parked along the opposite curb, its motor running.

What Joshua Stone had just done was against everything Paige had been taught when she’d been brought over to Special Ops. Griff’s people were carefully trained. They had to be because the things they were called on to do were not only dangerous, but potentially embarrassing for their government as well.

And one of the cardinal sins was to have your picture taken. To have your face caught on camera. That was especially true while you were on a mission, but the rule applied at any time. Any place. And Joshua Stone, the best agent she had ever known, had just blatantly violated it.

As shocked as she had been by his turning toward the man who was video recording their meeting, she was even more surprised when he began walking toward the car. The camera was still pointed toward them, still filming. Josh stopped at the near curb and looked both ways before he stepped out into the street, not even seeming to hurry.

Was he going to ask them to stop shooting? Or was he going to try to get the tape? Which called into question, she supposed, just who Josh thought the two men in that car might be.

Paige’s guess was that they were from the agency. Either they had followed her here, which probably wouldn’t have been too difficult, despite the routine precautions she had taken, or they had already been running surveillance on Josh.

She couldn’t quite figure out why they would be doing that. Why would the CIA be keeping tabs on one of their own? Especially on someone who was no longer working for them? That almost made it seem…Almost made it seem…

Her mind was racing again. And even as it did, Josh reached the car. He opened the door and said something to the man with the camera. Paige was too far away to hear the words, but the man lowered the recorder and looked up at Josh, answering him.

She was already fumbling to open her purse where her weapon was, her hand moving almost without her volition. She had started toward the street when Josh reached out to take hold of the camera, as if he intended to wrest it from the man who was apparently reluctant to give it up. Paige began to run, closing the distance between her and her former partner.

Her gun was in her hand, but she prayed she wouldn’t have to use it. If the men in that car were fellow agents…

And then the guy with the camera came up out of the front seat, still holding onto it with one hand. With the other, he was reaching into his pocket.

Paige’s heart rate accelerated, knowing she was going to have to make a decision about whether to shoot within the next ten seconds or so. It was a decision she didn’t want to have anything to do with. One she didn’t have enough information to make. And one that would inevitably be influenced by what had once happened, a long time ago, between her and Josh Stone.

She stopped, gripping the semiautomatic with both hands, willing them not to shake. She drew a bead on the chest of the man who was struggling with Josh over the camera.

Her concentration, however, was on his other hand. And then, moving almost in slow motion, that hand began to come out of his pocket, bringing something with it.

Chapter Three

This isn’t supposed to be happening, Jack Thompson thought.

He couldn’t even begin to explain why he had come over to confront the two men. When he had seen that camera, for some reason he had been overcome by an overpowering wave of anger.

The doctors had warned him. They had said that a tendency to impulsive and risky behavior was a fairly common result of head trauma. He hadn’t paid much attention, because up until now he hadn’t sensed any lack of restraint within himself.

Up until now, he thought grimly, aware that the guy he was struggling with for control of the camera was reaching into his pocket with his other hand. And he knew with cold certainty, a feeling which tightened all the muscles of his stomach, that the cameraman was going for a gun.

Something Jack wished he had. He could almost feel the solid, reassuring weight of a weapon in his hand. Except he didn’t have a gun, and he couldn’t remember ever having touched one. Couldn’t consciously remember, he amended, because somehow he knew that he had. And he wanted to again. Right about now would be a real good time.

The fumbling hand finally emerged from the side pocket of the guy’s coat. And he hadn’t been wrong, Jack thought, seeing what it held. He wished to hell he had been. He also wished that he hadn’t started this. What could it possibly matter that someone was videotaping him while he was talking to a woman? A stranger. It sure wasn’t worth getting killed over.

He willed his fingers to release their grip on the camera they were struggling over. The unexpected loss of opposition unbalanced the cameraman. He staggered backward, crashing into the open door of the car. Both hands rose automatically, almost shoulder high, as he tried to regain his balance.