Page 47 of Safeguarding the Witness

“Not all that interesting,” Spence said. “Nothing heroic. Just day-to-day military action.”

She shot him a sidelong glance. “Disappointing. I thought you hooked up with a gang of superheroes to defeat an alien menace.”

He sipped his wine again. “I was deployed in the Middle East, riding in a Hummer that hit an IED. I got hit by shrapnel. A nasty slice. Not life-threatening but the cut impaired my vision so much that I was no longer acceptable for regular duty. That’s the story.”

“You left out the best part,” said the chef who prepared the meal. “You carried one of the more seriously injured Rangers a mile and a half to where he could get medical treatment.”

“I guess I did.”

“And you were awarded the Purple Heart.”

“Guess I was.” He shrugged. “And I was offered a desk job. No thanks.”

She gazed at him with renewed respect. “Sounds heroic to me.”

“Then I won’t tell you the boring part about how many surgeries and treatments I’ve had to restore vision. My left eye is never going to be 20/20.”

After helping to clear the table and indulging in a perfect, creamy cannoli, she had a second cup of coffee. Earlier, she’d refused wine because she wasn’t sure how it would interact with being drugged. The caffeine made her feel alert, but she was also becoming aware of uncomfortable bruising on her ribs, legs and the wrist Julio had clamped in his grip.

Thinking of that creep—whom her sister had somehow fallen in love with—reminded Mollie that she hadn’t yet had a bath to wash away the disgusting memory of Julio’s touch. And that of Marshal Youngblood. Suddenly feeling filthy, she turned toward Spence. “Is there anything else we need to do tonight?”

“Jamison will contact us when he has a connection to the undercover agent who filmed the yacht explosion. He’s still in Mexico somewhere.”

“Does he have a name?”

“Yeah, but we’re not going to hear it. Jamison said we can call him Kiki. He’s been in deep cover for nearly eight years. Kiki isn’t spying on the Peligro Cartel anymore. They aren’t really functioning, and Kiki’s talents can be better used elsewhere.”

She didn’t expect the FBI to share their intelligence with her, but she had to ask the painful and logical question. “When did Kiki know my sister and Julio were still alive?”

“According to Jamison, there have been rumblings for a couple of years. After the explosion, they changed their names and established a relatively legitimate business, buying and selling property. Living off the profits from Peligro.”

“So, now my sister is a real estate broker? That would have been nice for me and Dad to know, especially since she’s been in touch with him. Maybe she could have hooked us up with a time-share in Cancun.” She clenched her jaw. It didn’t do any good to gripe at Spence. “When is this Kiki person going to call?”

“When it’s possible. Jamison will give us as much advance notice as possible.”

“Let me know. In the meantime, I’m taking a bath.”

She finished her coffee and went upstairs to her bedroom, stretched out on the pale blue comforter and stared up at the blank ceiling. The buzz from caffeine activated her brain. Thoughts crackled inside her head like popcorn.

In a matter of hours, her life had changed drastically. Mollie had gone from being an unimportant employee in a Denver garden shop to the potential owner of an art gallery in Salem. Thanks to her inheritance, her debts were no longer a problem. She’d met a strong, gallant man who excited her, and it seemed like he felt the same way about her. For the first time in years, she considered the possibility of a relationship.

Slowly, she exhaled, allowing these factors to swirl around inside her. So many possibilities. So much to look forward to. Still, none of it counted for anything if she couldn’t reconnect with her twin.

Madison was alive. I always knew she’d come back. But they hadn’t spoken, hadn’t stared into their identical eyes, hadn’t joined together in a hug that would complete them both. She desperately wanted her sister to be part of her life again.

There was a tap on her door. “It’s Spence. Can I come in?”

“It’s not locked.” She bolted upright on the bed. “Did you get the call from Jamison?”

“Not yet.”

He crossed the room in a few strides and sprawled in the over-stuffed chair beside the window. The curtains were drawn to block the night and, she supposed, to protect from drones and snipers. “What’s up?”

“There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

Though Mollie was out of practice when it came to relationships and dating, she recognized the phrase and the tone. She’d heard it before when a guy she’d been dating wanted to break up. Or when he wasn’t happy. Or when he wanted a change. Brusquely, she cut to the chase. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”

“We’ve had some lies and half-truths between us. I want that to end. In the interest of full disclosure, I should explain what happened when I met Madison.”