Double Vision (Unknown Identities #2)

Double Vision

Unknown Identities #2

By Regan Black

“Dark, gritty, sexy suspense with one hell of a hot hero!”

--
USAToday bestseller Debra Webb on
Bulletproof

Double Vision

Published by Getaway Reads, LLC

Copyright 2013 by Regan Black

Cover art by Karl Warren

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this book can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without the express written permission from the author.

Dedication

For Peggy Webb, who so eloquently and consistently reminds me

of
the perfect, intrinsic talents waiting within each of us.

Hartford, Monday December 23, 9:42 a.m.

"
Hey, John? Have you ever spent Christmas in New York?"

John Noble
took pride in the fact that he'd already stopped jumping when the shadows voiced weird questions, knowing it was only his new partner of sorts, Ben Thompson.

This morning he sat at the small table in the corner of the hotel room
sharing coffee with Amelia Bennett. She didn't even look up from the research she was conducting on her new laptop. He'd worried Ben, or rather his odd, stealthy maneuvers, would bother Amelia, but she was quickly adjusting to their life and new associate quite well.

It hadn't been a full
day yet, but he knew with a bone-deep certainty that every day of his new life would be better than the last.

"No," he said to Ben.
He tapped the table near Amelia's coffee cup. "What about you?"

She
nodded absently. "Years ago. Grandma's idea," she said, eyes on her screen. Though they hadn't specifically discussed it, she seemed to know intuitively that Ben didn't like people looking directly at him. "New York is great over the holiday season. Why do you ask?"

"I tagged End Game's car
, remember?"

"Yeah."
John shook his head at Ben's irreverent term for the elite assassin who had so recently been tasked to kill Amelia. "But I didn't know you'd been hanging close enough to tail him." He didn't know how he'd had the time.

The shadows shifted with Ben's careless shrug. "He bothers me.
I want to keep track."

John looked to Amelia who arched her
auburn eyebrows in silent agreement. End Game would still be relentlessly gunning for all three of them… if he knew they were alive.

Amelia patted John's knee under the table, then dipped her head to her screen. "Your decision," she said under her breath.

He peered at her monitor, skimming the news article with an early December dateline featuring several dignitaries arriving at the UN plaza for a summit on world health. Nothing stood out as problematic until Amelia moved her mouse toward a familiar face in the background.

"Gabriel."
The man he'd known as Messenger. The same man who, years ago, had recruited him into the Unknown Identities program as an alternative to prison time and a dishonorable discharge from the military. The training and experimental procedures had nearly killed him and he bore the scars from the missions they'd sent him on – missions that haunted his nightmares.

Thro
wing salt in the wound, with the assistance of Ben and Amelia, John finally had confirmation for his suspicions that the program had manipulated events that landed him in prison, just to keep him indebted and in service. Until he'd broken free yesterday, letting Gabriel believe his team had succeeded in killing both John and Amelia.

A smart man would have walked away with that fresh start. But J
ohn had met others in the early days of training with Unknown Identities and he wanted to find them, to give them an alternative to being used for various UI plots and schemes. If Messenger and End Game were in New York City, they should probably go check on things.

"Your decision," she repeated gently.

"We can't be sure he's there now. That was a few weeks ago and he was just in Boston with us yesterday."

"
True," she agreed. "But if End Game is there now..."

John
had been with UI long enough to know Messenger kept a tight leash on his most volatile assassins. He stood and paced the short length of the hotel room. He and Amelia were safe. Ben was officially still part of the UI program, which made him safe for the moment.

Were they ready to get involved?
It felt too soon to risk being spotted by either Messenger or End Game. They'd barely had time to catch their breath after escaping from Boston. They didn't have all the facts, no real idea what Messenger was up to. He stopped, looking first at Amelia, then at Ben in the shadows, planting his hands on his hips. They were all breathing – free at last – and others were still trapped in the UI web. That was the crucial point.

There
was
serious risk in nosing around New York City. Hell, as long as the UI program was in play, there was risk everywhere for all three of them and who knew how many others.

"Go on," he said to Ben. "See what you can find out."

"You got it, man."

"We'll be a few hours behind you."

"Right."

The door to the ad
joining room opened and closed seemingly of its own volition.

Amelia shivered. "Not sure I'll ever get used to the way he does that."

"He's an extreme situation," John said, resuming his seat beside her. Whatever they'd done to Ben's system, he could use his environment like a chameleon, moving about virtually unseen.

"And you're not?" She brushed her soft fingertips over
the most recently healing scar at his hairline.

He leaned in close and kissed her nose. "The way you dredge up
obscure information, I'd almost believe you were specially programmed too."

"That sounds like a challenge, Mr. Noble."

"Can't be any worse than what we just survived," he teased.

Her
auburn eyebrows arched again. "Tempting fate already?"

"I
think of it as expecting a Christmas miracle." He pointed to the screen. "Messenger wasn't at the United Nations building by accident. Show me what you've got so far."

Her eager smile only c
onfirmed what he already knew: he was the luckiest man alive.

New York City 9:55 a.m.

Selena Vaccaro walked into the deli and savored the rich aroma of sizzling bacon. She waved and sent a bright smile to the plump older man behind the tall glass counter. In his late fifties, her Uncle Torry had enough energy for three men.

He would have risen with the sun to fill the display with pastries and thick slabs of hearty breakfast casseroles. In another hour, the fare would change to lunch selections with sandwiches, salads, and rich desserts.

She was forever amazed by the miracles he performed in his kitchen here and at home. Her culinary skills were rudimentary at best, something that had her ancestors rolling over in their graves, according to her uncle.

"The usual, my dear?"

"Just the latte," she said, peeling off her fingerless gloves. "I ate at home."

His dark eyes, framed with deep laugh lines swept her from head to toe. "Those crusty bars you eat are no kind of meal," he declared.

Selena came to the end of the counter and pressed a kiss to the graying whiskers on his round cheek. "No worries, Uncle Torry." She busied herself tucking her sunglasses into her purse, anything to avoid further eye contact. "I have a brunch meeting." With the jerk who seemed determined to ruin her holiday happiness.

Pushing the troubling thoughts away, she checked her phone for messages. She'd been ordered not to show any distress and she didn't realize until right now just how difficult that would be.

Torry extended his arm toward the small table closest to the counter. "Have a seat then and pretend you still have time for us little people."

"I will always have time for you." When her parents heard her plans to move to New York City for the sole purpose of launching a gallery style fashion showroom, the reactions had been lukewarm. They thought it was an excuse to toss aside her expensive education in favor of an endless, frivolous shopping spree.

Uncle Torry, however, had understood. He'd been on her side, offering a soft shoulder for her worries, hearty lasagna to fuel long late-night hours, or empty vows of vengeance when someone let her down.

Having Torry in her corner meant she'd never been entirely on her own in her business venture, never alone in a new country and the vibrant, sleepless city of New York.

Until now.

The trouble she was facing now, she couldn't share with him without compounding the risk. Always daring and a little too carefree, her cousin Renata had managed to find trouble once more: this time in the form of Jeremy Galloway, an obsessed ex-boyfriend with a flair for the dramatic.

If only Selena could determine
if the man was simply spoiled or truly crazy, she might be able to assess the sincerity of the dire threats he'd made against her and her showroom. If only Renata would return Selena's phone calls.

She was pulled from her grim thoughts when Uncle Torry delivered her latte personally, bringing a cup of espresso for
himself and settling into the opposite chair.

"Tell me about this brunch."

He had sensed her concern. Smiling, she scooped away the dollop of whipped cream he insisted on adding and set the spoon on the saucer. "It's just a girl thing." She couldn't tell him she was making arrangements with someone who might be trying to steal from her cousin.

"Ah, good.
Here I thought it was work putting that furrow in your brow." He pointed, then laughed. "If you're only concerned with shoes and such I will save my lecture on the importance of enjoying the holidays."

"
Aww
. You know I love that lecture." She reached into her purse. "I brought you a little holiday fun."

He frowned, refusing to accept the slim box wrapped in festive paper with reindeer prancing and dancing across a snowy field. "Bring that to Christmas dinner."

She shook her head, exasperated. "You should open it now. Trust me," she added, her excitement blooming.

"Fine."
Reluctantly, he took the gift. "I will open it if you promise you will be at Christmas dinner."

"Of course I'll be there." Provided she wasn't in jail for breaking and entering. She sipped her coffee to mask her discomfort with the potential fib.

She'd never lied to Torry and hated to start now, but her current trouble wasn't something she could share. With anyone. For a week she'd been going through the motions, hitting all the expected clubs and parties, trying to act normal, but she couldn't wait for this to be over.

In reality, her brunch meeting with Renata's ex wouldn't be nearly as much fun as the girl time she lied about. The note that had been slipped under her door this morning demanding the meeting had been accompanied by a picture of her assistant Tom taking a smoke break behind the showroom. Someone had drawn a circle with a slash over Tom's knees.

It didn't take a genius to understand the ugly threat.

And she was lying to herself if she thought Renata's ex wasn't serious about having someone hurt Tom. She couldn't wait for him to leave her alone, for him to call off the man he had following her every move.

But she'd made it clear she would
not
go searching through her cousin's apartment for the watch he claimed he'd left behind. Not without Renata's permission. Especially since his description matched the watch Renata said she'd received as a gift from her boss.

The thing her parents had feared most had finally come true. Selena was in over her head with this guy. He'd been so smooth
, with his elegant manners and soft Irish accent. Then he'd shown her a relentless edge under all that sophistication and polish, until now she didn't know what to do but cooperate.

She glanced to where she had her phone propped on her knee. Still no word from Renata and her meeting was in less than thirty minutes.

"Selena?"

"Sorry, Uncle Torry."
She wrapped her chilled fingertips around the warm cup. Daydreaming."

"You don't usually do that with such a scowl."

"Oh," she fluffed her bangs over her forehead, and gave him a bright smile. "I have a new designer interested in showcasing his work, but he strikes me as a problem-child in waiting."

"You will figure it out." He reached out and patted her hand.

She relaxed a bit in the wake of his confidence. She did have an affinity for her gallery work. Too bad her negotiating skills failed her on the Jeremy problem. "Now, quit stalling and – and open it."

The man Jeremy had watching her strolled by the window.
She wanted to jump up and scream, but she managed to sit still and sip her coffee, ignoring Torry's quizzical look.

Now who had a flair for drama? This would not be her last coffee with Torry. The simple answer was to cooperate with Jeremy, and beg Renata's forgiveness later, but her intuition warned that caving in would only lead to more trouble.

"Silent Night on a tie?" Torry's deep laughter filled the restaurant and his face glowed with delight as he admired the hand-painted silk tie she'd chosen for him.

"I commissioned it just for you," she said. No matter what happened in the next few days, she wanted Torry to know how much she appreciated his love and devotion to her endeavors. "Now do you see why I insisted? You can wear it to mass."

"And I will. This year and all the years to come." Torry got to his feet, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as he went to show off his gift to his crew and customers. "My niece, she is a genius with gifts!" he declared to one and all.

With a bright smile, she let him brag about her eye for fashion and her showroom a few blocks away. But her mind was fractured between her dilemma, the man who'd passed by the window, and the newest customer strolling into the deli.

Jeremy Galloway. Damn his eyes.

It was the first time she'd seen him dressed so casually. Other powerful men might appear casual and more approachable in jeans and a sweater, but not this one.

She forced herself to stand tall and meet him with her professional smile as he walked straight to her table. "Selena. How lovely you look today." He caught her hands and greeted her in European fashion with a kiss to either cheek.

The move, his proximity made her feel dirty and she mentally adjusted her schedule so she could go home and change.

He'd walked right into a place he wouldn't know about without the help of the man following her. It had been a risk, but if she'd strayed from her morning routine with Torry, her uncle would have been worried and come to her showroom looking for her. Until right this moment, that had felt like the bigger risk.

Selena took a deep breath, seeking some semblance of calm. She was seeing threats and danger lurking in every shadow. Maybe Jeremy didn't know Torry was part of the Vaccaro family. And maybe pigs had started flying.

Thank God for the confidence boost of her high-heeled boots. Not to mention the makeup skillfully applied to hide her weariness from Uncle Torry. If one thing had been drummed into her it was the intrinsic value of poise and composure.

By birth she was an heiress, but no matter the last name, she'd been raised in Sicily. That kind of upbringing came with a certain awareness of both the bright and the dark edges of the world.
An awareness her unwelcome companion had clearly underestimated.

He'd made a serious tactical error if he thought showing up here would intimidate her or change her mind. No. He'd only managed to piss her off. By everything good and holy, she would not let this bastard get away with this power play.

"Who is your friend?" Torry hurried over. "Is he the designer?"

"No," she smiled graciously, covering the blend of temper and fear simmering in her blood. "Torry, this is Jeremy Galloway. He's expressed an interest in expanding my showroom," she improvised. She turned her full-watt smile on Jeremy. "I didn't expect to see you until after the first of the year." Too bad she couldn't be so lucky.

"I'm eager to come to terms," he replied smoothly.

Torry interrupted, urging Jeremy to the counter for a coffee and breakfast on the house. If her uncle only knew half of it, he'd have Galloway tossed to the curb. Jeremy turned down breakfast, ordering an espresso, no doubt to win over Torry.

"This is not a good idea," she said when Torry was out of earshot.

"Oh, I can't believe that," he said, taking the chair Torry had vacated. He crossed his legs and leaned back as if he owned the place. "I was told you received my note this morning."

"I did. But I haven't heard from Renata yet."

He smiled and she wondered how she'd ever seen the expression as urbane rather than reptilian. "Ah. I thought you might need a bit of additional motivation."

"I have plenty of motivation, thank you." She raised her latte to her lips, pleased when her hand held steady. The idea of spending the holidays in jail was plenty of motivation to keep putting him off. No matter that she had Renata's keys, or that she was in fact the only person in the city who did, she wasn't going to steal from her cousin for this spoiled brat.

"You've threatened my business and worse, my employee.
Being a trash-talking bully isn't the way to get what you want."

His eyes widened and a creepy half-smile slid across his face.
"Would you like some proof that I
will
follow through on my threats?"

"No," she
said, dread seizing her throat with a cold fist.

"
Good. That saves me time. I will take delivery of the watch this evening. No sense in further delays."

She shook her head. "Impossible." She wasn't ready to cave in to his demands. "I'm not
giving you so much as a piece of lint from her apartment until Renata signs off on this."

He nodded. "You've been remarkably determined on that point." With a cold efficiency he slid his cell phone across the table.

She stared, slack-jawed at the picture of Renata. Blindfolded, bound wrist and ankle to a metal chair, with a dark cloth blocking any clues to the location, she faced the camera. The words "
Please cooperate
" were printed on a sign propped in her lap.

"Oh, my God."

Jeremy gathered his phone as Torry returned. Accepting the espresso, he sipped, and then complimented Torry with such enthusiasm Selena nearly vomited into her latte.

When T
orry headed back to the kitchen, she nearly threw her cup at Jeremy's face. "That's fake." It
had
to be. Despite the stylish citrine ring on the middle finger of the right hand, she refused to believe that woman was her cousin. "You hired someone to pose in that chair." He probably convinced the woman it was an amusing prank.

"
Did I? I'm surprised you're willing to take that chance."

Selena leaned across the table, putting as much steel into her voice as she could muster. "No one has reported her missing."

"Your cousin once boasted about her very flexible schedule with the Italian diplomatic corps. Plans can change dramatically from one day to the next. Hour to hour sometimes, I believe she said. Who can tell if she isn't where she is supposed to be? Wasn't she on a flight to Madrid a few days ago?"