“Everything necessary and then some. I’ll be waiting on that sketch.”
“My artistic talent leaves a lot to be desired, but I think I can get a fair likeness.”
“We’ll try to match it with ID photos and get you some to compare. Don’t use your personal credit cards while you’re here. You have your cover ID with you?
“Always,” she told him.
“Good. You can use that. If Odin’s working from the inside, he could have resources to pick up an obvious paper trail.”
“You think he’s an agent who’s flipped?”
“Entirely possible. He found out where Will was.” Jack pulled out his wallet and handed her a stack of bills. “Mad money. That’s all I have on me, but I’ll wire more to Roanoke in Grayson’s name tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” she said as he turned to go. “See you, Jack.”
“Soon,” he replied.
None of them ever said goodbye. It seemed too final or something, as if they didn’t expect to meet again. Funny how they all adhered to that without ever having discussed it.
She followed him to the door and locked it, checked on Will and found him still sleeping peacefully, then went to find the kitchen and that coffee she had smelled.
Grayson offered her a mug as soon as she walked in. “Welcome to paradise,” he said with a lopsided grin. “Hungry?”
Holly nodded and he gestured to a plate of sandwiches on the table. She grabbed one and began to munch, realizing she hadn’t eaten anything other than a package of peanut butter crackers since breakfast.
“Got any soup for our patient?” she asked.
“Sure, but he looked like he was down for the count. Want to give me a rundown on what we’re dealing with?”
Between bites, Holly outlined what had gone down and why they were here. Then she added, “Chances are there’s nothing to worry about. I know you’ve had training, but I’d like to know if you have any field experience.”
Grayson smiled. “Yeah, I do. Anything happens, I’ve got your back.”
He looked capable, Holly thought, as she observed him more closely. She guessed he was around sixty, maybe even older, but seemed in pretty good shape. Not a large man, hardly taller than her own five-five, Grayson moved with the tensile grace of a man trained to strike.
His graying hair was buzzed short in the old military style, the line of it receding just above his temples. His broad features resembled carved mahogany. He wore a dark, close-fitting knit shirt and camouflage pants. His wide feet were bare and heavily callused.
“The way you were looking at that boy in there. He means something to you besides an assignment, right?”
Holly delayed her answer as she drained her mug of coffee and set it down. Then she looked the old soldier square in the eye. “Right. We’re on the same team. And we’re best friends. Got a problem with that?”
He shook his head. “Don’t let’s get off on the wrong foot now,” he said, holding up one hand as if warding off an argument. “I just hope you won’t let personal stuff cloud your judgment if worse comes to worst.”
She met his frowning gaze with one of challenge. “My professional and personal objectives are one and the same here—to keep that man alive at all costs. He’s very important to me, yes. But he’s also vital to the success of future missions.”
Grayson pursed his lips and nodded. “I see. You’ll keep your head.”
“I always keep my head,” she replied. But Holly felt a little angry with Grayson for planting the seed of doubt in her mind. Nonsense, of course. Hadn’t she remained perfectly detached when Will was threatened in the hospital? Hers had been a textbook response when the shooter appeared.
Will surfaced with a raging thirst. His skin felt like shrink-wrap. “Water,” he said, hating the croak that emerged.
A few seconds later, a cool cloth bathed his face. Crushed ice chilled his lips. He opened his mouth, dying to drink something. Anything.
He felt a straw and grabbed it with his lips. The delicious trickle of cold streamed down his parched throat and pooled in his stomach. He seemed aware of every cell in his body soaking it up.
“Easy now,” crooned a voice near his ear. Holly.
He reached out to the voice and his palm met her face. He slid his fingers over her cheek, touched her ear, threaded them through her hair.
Holly’s was clipped almost as short as his own, lying in little black satin wavelets close to her head. Neat, efficient and sexy as hell. He wasn’t supposed to think sexy, not about her, his muzzy brain reminded him.
“Where are we?” he demanded.
“At a safe house not far from Roanoke,” she explained, taking his hand in both of hers as she leaned close. “You remember what happened?”
He recalled bits and pieces. There had been trouble. “Some of it,” he admitted. “The hospital. A helicopter.”
“I’ll fill you in on the details later. Just so you know, Solange sedated you. You aren’t permanently addled.”
Addled didn’t begin to describe how he felt. Will turned his head from side to side, struggling to take in his surroundings, but the room was dark. Or he was blind. He remembered the blurriness he had experienced before. “It’s night,” he said.
“Yes.”
“What night?”
“Friday,” she told him. “Well, Saturday morning early. About four o’clock. Be daylight soon.”
“Holly?”
“Yes, Will?”
“I can’t see.” He forced the words from between clenched teeth. The thought scared the absolute hell out of him, but he was trained to conceal his emotions. He did so now. No point getting panicked, he told himself. It wouldn’t help and might even hurt.
“I know, you told me in the hospital, but your eyes will be fine. It’s temporary.” A hopeful lie. If she had any basis for it, Will knew she would have explained in detail.
Her voice held a note of desperation. Or maybe not her voice. That sounded calm enough, now that he thought about it, but he strongly sensed her overwhelming concern. It scared him more that she tried to conceal it than if she’d stated her worry openly.
He forced his lips to stretch into a semblance of a smile. “Thanks for sticking around.”
“Now where else would I be, you doofus?” He heard her sigh, a slight breath of sound. She patted his hand.
“Well, I guess you might have to be my eyes for a while. Sorry.”
She was talking, but Will stopped listening. All he could think about was getting out of bed and back on his feet. How he would manage that, feeling the way he did, he didn’t know how yet, but he would find a way.
There was something he needed to remember, something that haunted him, but his train of thought kept breaking. He hoped to God it was the medication causing the terrible sense of foreboding.
Morning arrived, just as his grandmother had promised when he fell asleep. That had been a dream, he realized now. Grandmother was gone, died when he was sixteen.
So his mind was refusing to function fully at the moment. At least he was aware that it wouldn’t, and things seemed to be coming back to him bit by bit.
Sunlight flooded the room, but the shape of objects in it remained nebulous as hell. Colors were fugitive, fragmented.