Claimed by the Secret Agent (8 page)

“I kept going. Mrs. Cox signed my report cards and wrote excuses when I was absent. I never gave the teachers any reason to contact my parents. Also, I became the ugliest kid in the seventh grade on purpose. Dulled my hair, gained as much weight as I could and never smiled.”

“Why? Why on earth did you do that?”

“That was my protection against interference from any quarter. Teachers and counselors looked right through me. Boys didn’t bother me. Only when I was through community college did I let myself go blond and smile again. I stopped blacking my teeth and lost thirty pounds. The university met a whole new girl who was prepared for anything and old enough to handle it.

“You blacked your
teeth?
” Grant asked in a near whisper.

She shrugged. “Hey, I figured nobody wants to kiss a girl with rotten teeth.” Her grin emphasized their brilliant whiteness now.

Grant tried to smile at her attempt at humor, but he couldn’t. He only wished he had known her then. She had needed a friend, someone to defend her.

She would never be without one again if he could help it. “See what you missed by not knowing me back in the day?”

G
rant didn’t know what to say. There was no making it right, no matter what he said, but he wished he could tell Marie how much he admired her courage and determination.

“I’m guessing you had a rough time playing with the big boys after you joined the Company, right? Had an even rougher time with that bastard you planned to marry. None of them ever really saw the real you, did they?”

“My choice. I didn’t let them,” she replied.

He moved closer and sat down next to her on the bed, not caring that she drew back. “It was because they never bothered to scratch the surface. Just like those teachers and counselors.”

She laughed a little. “And I suppose you have. I shouldn’t have told you all that. Can’t imagine why I did.”

Grant closed his eyes. “You’re a complex woman, Marie. I know there are facets I haven’t seen yet. I expect it would take a lifetime. And I’d like to—”

“Stop!” she ordered, and pressed her hand over his, where it rested between them. “Look at me, Grant.”

He met her gaze squarely.

“I’m not this defenseless little blonde you have to shelter. That’s my cover. I use it when I need to but not right now. This is me: I have a black belt. I’m an expert shot. Even the most seasoned agent can be taken by surprise in an unguarded moment, and that’s what happened to me. Not because I’m helpless or incompetent. I did get away from him.”

Grant saw her point. “You’ve been underestimated a lot, and maybe I was guilty of that, too. I admit I’m a little chauvinistic at times.”

“You think?” she asked with a wry laugh.

Grant watched her go back to working on the sketch. She had been surprisingly open about her past. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? She wanted him to know her.

In all fairness, maybe he ought to let her know him better, too. Maybe that was the key that would open that heart she had locked away so long ago.

He took a deep breath and began. “There was this girl in Germany when I was in ninth grade. Beautiful, blond, small, a lot like you. I was so crazy about her. One day she just up and vanished without a trace. Left everything behind. The Polizei and the Criminal Investigation
Division convinced her family she’d simply run away with some boy, but I knew better.”

“Because you were the boy and you didn’t have her?”

“No, I had a crush on her, but she barely knew I existed. It’s just that she was seventeen, had everything going for her and no reason on earth to run away. She was taken.”

“You were sure of that?

He nodded, not adding how hard he had tried to use psychometry to verify it but was never able to get his hands on anything of hers. “I obsessed over it, my not being able to persuade everyone to keep looking for her.”

“Any ransom demands?”

“None. There was no word from either her or the kidnapper, and a year later her family rotated back to the States. Everybody just wrote her off.”

“Everyone but you. Did you look further after you grew up?”

“Pretty intensively for a couple of years after I graduated. Still no trace,” he admitted. “I finally recognized the obsession for what it was, plain old guilt. I figured she was probably dead.”

“That must have been hard for you to accept,” Marie said, compassion softening her voice.

“It was. Maybe I projected some of her qualities onto you at first. When I first saw your photo in the file, it reminded me of her. You’re really nothing like her, of course. Sorry if I—”

“Tried to play knight in shining armor? It’s a guy thing, I guess. At least with the nicer guys. Haven’t met a lot of those, unfortunately. Don’t worry about it.”

“I won’t. Poor little Betty Schonrock has nothing at all to do with the way I feel about you now. That’s all
your
fault.”

“Then I’m glad I told you how deviously deadly I can be. Now you know I’m not a wimp.”

That was the last thing in the world he’d think. If anything, she was too daring. But what if she hadn’t dared? He shuddered to think what might have happened to the child she had been. Or as a woman in that warehouse tied up on a cot and facing only God knew what.

“You’re a survivor, that’s for sure,” he said, feeling an inordinate amount of pride in her resourcefulness, courage and independence.

“Okay! Here he is. What do you think?” she asked, handing Grant her sketchbook.

He took it and laid the side of his palm on the page where her hand had rested.

For a long moment, he didn’t even see the picture. The residual energy of hope and yearning she’d left with the sketchbook was so strong it nearly took his breath away.

Beneath all her calculated preparedness, training and determined self-confidence was a little girl desperate for someone to love her and care what happened to her.

She had no earthly reason to believe anyone like that even existed, and he had no way to convince her that he was the one.

His gaze met hers as he looked up from the sketchbook. “You never cease to amaze me, Marie Beauclair.”

She tossed her hair and preened comically, making him smile. “You’re crushing on me, Tyndal!”

“Like a ninth-grade geek? I’m sort of past that stage, I think.” Way past that. This felt more like the real thing.

Marie felt unaccountably good. Maybe Grant was right. She had never told anyone but Mrs. Cox about that episode with her stepfather or her mother’s accusation. Even that had been an edited version. She probably shouldn’t have told Grant all of it, but at least she’d made her point to him quite clear. She was no victim, and even as a kid she’d proved that. At least to herself.

It bothered her still that she hadn’t reported it all to the police, but she’d been bluffing about the evidence and the diary. The most her stepfather would have gotten was a few years in jail, even if she had convinced them she’d been touched inappropriately. She had known that was an iffy proposition.

Well, it was over and maybe she’d scared the man so much he’d never tried it again with anyone else.

Grant had explained his whole attitude with that story about the girl. She wished he’d been able to resolve his early trauma as neatly as she had done her own. What really had happened to little Betty? she wondered.

Grant had gone to interview Pieter’s grandfather while she tried to find more information on the Internet about the old clinic. It had been a sanatorium during its last incarnation, as Grant had guessed. No names of staff were included. And no reference to Dr. Shapur there or anywhere else.

The sun was down and it was nearly nine o’clock. Marie logged off, showered quickly and dressed in her
dark jeans and black shirt. She pulled her hair back and slipped on her cap. Grant wasn’t leaving her behind. She’d wait in the car if necessary, but she was going.

Just as she finished checking her weapon, Grant came in. “Mercier called while I was downstairs. You were right about Shapur. He’s Iranian, a physician and a member of the shah’s old retinue, ousted in the seventies by the new regime. He disappeared out of Paris shortly after they went into exile there.”

“Maybe he came to work for Dr. Shute and just stayed on after the old guy died,” Marie guessed.

“Yes, he had a work permit and attained citizenship. The clinic was closed down, and Shute retired in the early nineties, the few patients left moved to a facility in Rotterdam.”

“And since then?” Marie asked as Grant began changing his clothes.

“Nothing. Taxes have been paid on the place. That’s about it.” Grant seemed oblivious to the fact that she was there, watching him. Or maybe he was showing off; she couldn’t tell. At any rate she didn’t look away. The sight of his bare chest set her hormones dancing, but she stifled the response.

Even as she thought it, he turned and smiled. Marie quickly looked away, determined to focus on the mission, not his spectacular pecs and abs.

“So how do we play it tonight? Park down the road, hoof it to the clinic and sneak in?” she asked.

He paused, obviously thinking about it. She had expected him to jump right on that
we
and make it clear she was to stay out of things. He looked worried but he
nodded. “You’ll be the lookout, while I gain entry. We’ll stay in touch with the ear mics.”

“All right!” Marie barely controlled her elation. He was trusting her to participate. She’d had her arguments all ready for him, and now she didn’t even need them.

He cleared his throat, then added, “I want you to stay well hidden and keep watch from near the road, where I’ll park the car.”

Marie gave a grunt of disgust. “Grant! What is it with you? Do you treat the women you work with this way?”

“I haven’t worked with women. I told you I work alone,” he said evenly, barely a hint of defensiveness in his voice. He pulled on his jacket and fished the car keys out of his pocket.

“It’s because I’m a woman, though, isn’t it?”

He shrugged one shoulder, an admission of sorts.

“How do you get away with being so chauvinistic?” she demanded, throwing up her hands in frustration.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry if it makes you angry.”

“It makes me mad as hell! You don’t think I’m capable of anything!”

“No, it’s not that,” he argued, shifting restlessly. “I just can’t stand the thought of you getting hurt. Or worse.”

She pushed past him and went out the door. “Well, get over it. I’m going in with you, at least up to the house, where I can help if you’re outnumbered.”

“No. We need someone near the turnoff to keep watch.”

“This is not your call.”

“It
is
my call! I’m running this op, Marie. You’re with me only because of Mercier’s insistence, but I can override that if you get in the way!”

They argued all the way downstairs. Pieter met them in front of the desk and stepped in their way. “I couldn’t help overhearing.” He made a wry face, meant to look ingratiating, which it did, Marie thought. He was cute and he knew it.

“You were loud and I overheard you. Look, I know you are an American agent, sir. Grandfather told me about the badge. Something nefarious is going on at that old clinic he spoke of, isn’t it? I would like to be of help.”

“Absolutely not,” Grant said.

Marie turned to Grant. “He could keep watch by the road.”

“We can’t involve civilians, Marie. You
know
that,” Grant said. “Besides, we don’t know what’s going on out there. If I had any real evidence that anything was, I would call in the local police. We’re only doing reconnaissance at this point.”

Pieter straightened his shoulders and raised his chin. “I wasn’t always a civilian. I did my military service.”

“He qualifies as an agent of opportunity, and we do need another pair of eyes and ears,” Marie reminded Grant. “Give him a mic and station him near the turnoff.”

“Yes, do!” Pieter insisted. He was obviously hungry for a little excitement in his life.

Grant hesitated, then stared straight into Pieter’s eyes. “You have a vehicle?”

“I do. Shall I follow yours?”

“Yes, and follow my directions to the letter. This is a kidnapping we’re investigating. More than that I can’t
divulge. Whatever you see, hear and do must remain confidential or you’re liable to international censure, stiff fines and prison. Understood?”

“Yes, sir. Will I need a weapon? I have one.”

“Under no circumstances are you to go armed, and I did not hear that admission of owning an illegal firearm.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“If you hear any disturbance at all—shots or shouts, any commotion at all—do not approach the conflict. Get back on the main road and call the police immediately. Will you do that?”

“I will. Give me two minutes to get rid of the white shirt and find something dark to wear.” He looked over his shoulder at them. “Wait for me!”

Pieter looked like a kid on Christmas morning. Grant looked like a man on death row. “I hope we don’t regret this.”

“He’ll be fine,” Marie assured him. “You made his day.”

Pieter returned in a flash, dressed all in black, and followed them out to Grant’s vehicle, where he was fitted with an ear mic and given instructions on how to operate it. Grant smeared dark cammo paint on his own face, then hers and finally, after a moment’s hesitation, he striped Pieter’s.

She smiled to herself, liking Grant enormously for that small consideration.

To Marie, Grant snapped, “You get your orders on the way. Let’s roll.”

She’d just bet she would get orders. Grant had definitely morphed into commando mode. She understood
the ramifications of that. He was in charge and she was subordinate. At least in his mind.

Grant quickly dismissed his qualms about letting Pieter come along. It was a done deal, and he’d probably come in handy by warning them if a car approached. Should be safe enough. After all, that’s where he had planned to park Marie to keep her out of trouble.

Now he’d have to find a relatively secure place near the clinic to have her hide out and keep watch. It shouldn’t take him that long to scout around inside the place and see what he could find.

If they were holding Cynthia Rivers there, he’d find her. If not, maybe he’d discover some clue telling where she was being held. The main thing right now was to get her back alive.

Everybody with a badge was looking for Onders, so he would be captured eventually. Hopefully, he would give up the identity of the other guy, the one who had kidnapped Rivers. Grant was convinced Onders hadn’t done that one. The old man was the wild card. How did he fit into this?

Earlier on the phone, Mercier had theorized that the terrorists were using the old doctor as a front and were keeping him alive in case anyone came there to check on the place. He had warned there might be a whole gang of them, but Grant didn’t think so.

Forty minutes later Pieter, his old Volvo and Grant’s vehicle were secluded in a small grove of trees across the road from the cutoff to the clinic.

Marie didn’t object when Grant led her on foot up the
long drive and to the east wing. There, the shrubbery grew high enough for her to stand behind it unobserved. “Stay here,” he ordered. “Call me if you see anything out of the ordinary. “We’ll rendezvous in one hour or maybe less if I’m successful. If I’m not back by then, phone the police.”