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  Two women came jogging up the paved path towards where he was lurking in the shadows, the sound of their sneakers hitting the pavement breaking the silence. They ran by him without a glance and Damon realized that he was completely hidden in the shadows. Still listening to the fading sound of the runners, he straightened up as another figure came along the path. He recognized Harry's silhouette in the light cast by the intermittent park lights and Damon waited in the shadows patiently. He glanced around again in the night, his senses tuned, listening for the least sound out of place. It was dangerous to meet in such a public place.

  Harry was a tall man, standing six feet in bare feet. He had been bald as long as Damon had known him, and the baldness suited him. He had broad shoulders and a thick neck and, even in his advanced years, he was still imposing. It wasn't just his position as an old spy that made him imposing. The man himself was a barely controlled force that never seemed to rest.

  Damon stepped forward as Harry approached. He walked upright, yet carried a cane that he leaned on from time to time. He claimed it was an old injury that ailed him, but Damon was secretly of the opinion that Harry just liked to have an extra weapon at his disposal. The old rascal was still as fit as ever. Damon knew for a fact that he had been seen running the indoor track at one of the hotels in Brussels just last year.

  “Hawk.” Harry reached out and shook Damon's hand firmly. “I'm glad you could make it.”

  “You didn't leave me much choice, sir,” Damon answered with a grin, grasping Harry's hand. “It's good to see you.”

  “Good to see you.” Harry nodded and let go of Damon's hand. He motioned with his cane and Damon followed him along the path. “Let's walk for a bit. I heard you were in Mexico for a spell. How was the weather?”

  “Hot,” Damon retorted dryly. Harry chuckled.

  “I heard three of the Cartel heads were killed in a fire in the foothills out there.” He glanced at Damon. “Of course, you wouldn't know anything about that.”

  “Only what I heard on the plane coming back,” Damon replied blandly. “Unpredictable, those cartels. Always arguing over something.”

  “That's the truth,” Harry agreed with a grin. “How does it feel to be back in the states?”

  “With all due respect, Harry, I doubt you brought me out here for small talk,” Damon answered. Harry shook his head.

  “No,” he agreed on a sigh. He stopped walking and looked around. “Let's sit,” he said, spotting a bench a little further up. Damon nodded and they headed for the bench. Once seated, Harry stretched out his long legs with a sigh and propped his cane against the bench next to him. “Don't get old, Hawk. It's no fun.”

  “I'll keep it in mind, sir,” Damon answered with a grin.

  Harry looked at him.

  “How's our girl holding up?” he asked bluntly.

  Damon sat back. He had suspected that Harry wanted to talk about Alina. Harry had trained them both when they were in the training facility for the Organization. Even though he had moved on now to the Dept. of Homeland Security, he kept in close contact with both Damon and Alina. He had always been more interested in their emotional well-being than their physical health. When he contacted Damon earlier and suggested a meeting, Damon knew it would be to discuss Viper.

  “She's good,” Hawk said. “She's having dinner with Michael O'Reilly right now.”

  “Mike O'Reilly of the Secret Service?” Harry asked. Damon nodded and Harry stared ahead thoughtfully. “He was an old family friend, wasn't he?” he asked suddenly.

  Harry had a memory like an elephant. Hawk knew this, but was surprised all the same.

  “Yes. He was her brother's friend, a fellow gunnery sergeant in the Corps,” Damon answered quietly. Harry nodded.

  “Yes, of course,” he mused. They were silent for a moment. “She's going to use him for information?”

  “That's the plan.”

  “That might not be such a good plan,” Harry murmured. “He's too close to her. Tell me, how was she in New Jersey?”

  Damon glanced at him.

  “She was fine,” he answered. “There was some confusion, I think. She was face to face with her past, but she handled it well. She stayed focused.”

  “Did she open up at all?” Harry asked.

  Damon thought back to the few glimpses he had seen of a woman he didn't know, the woman he privately dubbed the Jersey girl.

  “I think so,” he said slowly. “She softened a little. Once or twice I think I saw the real her, but who can say? I saw glimpses of a woman who was a stranger to me.”

  “Good.” Harry nodded. “I had hoped that being faced with her past would remind her of who she really is. She was beginning to forget, I think. How is she now? Still soft?”

  “No.”

  Damon shifted on the bench to face Harry and Harry looked at him sharply.

  “You're worried,” he stated. “What's wrong?”

  “She...” Damon paused, trying to find the right words. “There's a lot of anger there. It's very well hidden, but she's not being as objective as I've always known her to be.”

  “You think she's letting her anger rule her judgment?”

  “Let's just say, I think her anger is interfering with some of her judgment,” Hawk said slowly. “She's fixated on the target and not seeing much else right now.”

  “Ah.” Harry nodded suddenly in understanding. “She's angry that they came after her.”

  Damon nodded and Harry was silent.

  “You'll need to keep a close eye on her,” Harry said quietly after a long silence. “She's too well-trained to let anything jeopardize the mission, so don't worry about that. What we need to be careful of now is that the softness in her doesn't disappear completely. Perhaps the gunny isn't such a bad thing after all.”

  “How so?” Damon demanded. “I think he is a huge risk.”

  “Viper has always been partial to huge risks. They're her life's blood. She needs them to breathe,” Harry retorted with a slight chuckle. “I meant that Michael O'Reilly may be just what she needs to remind her of that past life of hers.”

  “I'm not sure why you think that's such a good thing,” Hawk said. “Harry, I love you, and you know I respect your psychology, but I need Viper.”

  “And you shall have Viper,” Harry assured him. “That's all she knows how to be now. But when this is all over, Viper needs to remember who she really is. There is so much anger buried inside her, and it will be very easy to allow it to consume her. If that happens, Viper will only ever be what she is right now.”

  “What you helped make her,” Damon felt compelled to point out. “What we all are.”

  “Yes, but with her it was always different.” Harry waved his hand in the air. “With the rest of you, it was work. It was impersonal. With her, there was always more. I knew all that anger had the potential to consume her one day.” He glanced at Damon. “I'm glad you're with her now. If anyone can help her not lose herself, it's you. You always had a special bond, the two of you.”

  “I don't know why I'm surprised you know that, but I am,” Damon said ruefully. Harry grinned.

  “You hid it from everyone else, but not from me. I saw how you two looked at each other when no one was looking,” he said. “Keep her close, Hawk. I would hate to see her disappear into the Organization and become a drone like so many others. When I saw her last month, I saw that she was on the brink. She was reminded of herself in New Jersey, and she's fighting that now. It's not a fight she can win. Our humanity is something we should never lose. I'm afraid for her.”

  “I'll do what I can,” Damon said doubtfully.

  Harry nodded, then grasped his cane and used it to pull himself up.

  “That's all I have ever asked of you,” he said, turning to face Hawk as he stood next to him. “And you have always exceeded all my expectations.” He held out his hand and Damon grasped it firmly. “Go. Help her take this traitor down. Then, do me a favor? Take her away. Take her somewhere sunny
and warm. Get her drunk on the beach. Help her let go of some of that anger.”

  “I can promise you the first one, but not the second,” Hawk answered with a grin. “Traitor, no problem. Viper? That's a whole other war.”

  “And you're the only one to fight it, my friend,” Harry retorted, turning to leave. “Just don't forget her right hook,” he added over his shoulder. “She still has the deadliest right hook I've ever seen.”

  Hawk laughed and watched Harry disappear into the night before turning to walk away thoughtfully.

  “What hotel are you staying at?” Michael asked Alina as they stepped out onto the sidewalk outside the restaurant. “I'll give you a ride back.”

  “I'm not. I'm staying with a friend, actually. She lives in Arlington.” Alina lied smoothly, turning to face him.

  “Well, I'll save the you the cab fare,” Michael said with a smile. “I'm parked a block over.”

  “No, really, it's okay,” Alina told him. “I'll just grab a cab. Thank you so much for dinner. You were right. The prime rib was amazing.”

  “I'll never steer you wrong when it comes to steak,” he answered. “No pun intended.” He reached out and took her elbow, guiding her away from the door as another couple emerged. “I probably shouldn't ask, but are you going to the cemetery tomorrow?”

  Alina looked up at him in surprise. It was the anniversary of Dave's death the following day, but she didn't think anyone except her family would remember. Michael's lips twisted at her surprise.

  “He was my brother too, Lina,” he said softly.

  Alina's lips and throat went suddenly dry and she inhaled sharply as her eyes became unexpectedly moist.

  “I'm sorry.” She cleared her throat in confusion and brushed her hair off her forehead. “Of course he was.”

  Michael's eyes narrowed at her obvious fluster. She had been nothing but calm and confident all evening. Now, suddenly, her cheeks were flushed and he noted that her hand was shaking when she brushed her hair away. He frowned and reached out to take her hands. They were trembling.

  “Hey.” He pulled her closer and tried to look in her eyes. “Hey!” Alina looked at him reluctantly and he saw the shimmer of tears then. “Aw, hell. I didn't mean to upset you,” he muttered awkwardly. A choked laugh escaped her and Alina shook her head.

  “You didn't,” she told him with a watery smile. She took a deep breath and forced the sudden onslaught of emotion back. “I...I don't know where that came from, actually. I'm fine now.”

  “You're sure?” Michael peered down at her suspiciously and Alina smiled at him.

  “I'm sure,” she assured him. “And to answer your question, yes. I was planning on going to the grave tomorrow. Why don't you meet me there and we can get some lunch?”

  “I don't want to intrude,” Michael said hesitantly, but Alina shook her head.

  “It's not intruding,” she told him. “I would like the company, if you can make it.”

  “Of course,” he agreed with a smile. “I have something in the morning, but I can be finished by noon. Why don't we say noon and then we'll get lunch?”

  “Sounds good,” Alina agreed.

  She looked toward the street for a cab and Michael let go of her hands to go to the curb and flag one down. When it pulled to a stop, he opened the door for her. Alina paused before getting into the cab.

  “Thank you again,” she said softly. “I really enjoyed myself.”

  “Well, you don't have to sound so surprised,” Michael said with a grin. “I've been known as a good dinner date on occasion.”

  Alina laughed and leaned forward to kiss his cheek.

  “And you are,” she assured him with a wink before getting into the back of the cab.

  Michael pushed the door closed and stepped back to watch the cab pull away from the curb. When he turned to walk away, a smile was playing on his handsome face.

  Chapter Seven

  John lifted his binoculars to his eyes and let out a disgusted sigh before dropping them again. He was at Arlington Cemetery on a self-imposed stake-out, seated on a bench with a bottle of water and a paper. He had arrived as soon as the cemetery opened at eight o'clock and settled himself down under a tree on a rise. The position afforded an excellent, and distant, view of the plot where David Maschik rested, but the overcast sky was becoming increasingly darker as the morning wore on. John glanced at it with a frown. The weather this morning had called for rain and his umbrella was next to him, but he was really hoping that he wouldn't need it. He was irritated enough already.

  He had come all the way down to Virginia to start his hunt for Alina. If she was still in the States, which John doubted, he had every confidence that she would visit her brother's grave on the anniversary of his death. In fact, he had been sure of it.

  After sitting on the bench for almost four hours, John was forced to admit that he wasn't sure of anything anymore.

  He had been watching nothing less than a parade for the past few hours. It had started at quarter past eight, and was showing all indications of continuing throughout the day. Women of all heights, shapes and sizes were coming, one by one, to visit Dave's grave. They all wore light-weight, beige raincoats and they all had the same red Phillies baseball cap on their head. Some had a ponytail going through the back, while others had short hair. They all carried the same umbrella and they all laid a single rose on the tomb. The only thing that seemed to vary was the color of the rose. White, red, yellow and pink all mixed together as the morning wore on.

  Some of the women had a man with them, some were alone, and some came in pairs. There was never more than one party at a time and they stayed just long enough to place the rose and have a moment of silence. Their faces were shadowed by the baseball caps and they managed to constantly have their profiles in silhouette. It was a parade of women, any and all of which could have been Alina. And yet, John was sure that none of them were.

  A drop of water splashed on his paper and John looked at the sky again with a scowl. This was getting him nowhere, but it was the only lead he had on Alina. John watched as the raindrops continued to fall here and there. He was protected under the thick branches of a huge old tree, but he knew if it turned into a downpour, he would have to seek shelter so as not become conspicuous. Sighing, he watched as the distant figure in front of the grave opened her beige umbrella and moved away with her head bent, just another visitor paying her respects. John's lips twitched in spite of himself. He wondered if this parade was played out every year on this date. Somehow, he wouldn't be surprised if it was.

  “Two points, Lina,” he murmured. “It's brilliant, I'll give you that.”

  The retreating figure disappeared from view and two more appeared from the opposite direction. This time it was a man and a woman. John raised his binoculars again. The man was tall and dressed in jeans and a Yankees cap, while the woman was about Alina's height and dressed in the uniform of beige raincoat, Phillies cap and umbrella. He couldn't see any features as the man blocked her partially from view.

  John dropped the binoculars again. This was how it had been all morning. No clear views, all the women wearing the same thing, and now they would all start putting their umbrellas up to further conceal their features.

  John sipped his water. He would continue to wait it out.

  He had no other choice.

  Alina glanced at her watch as Michael pulled his truck into Arlington Cemetery's parking garage. They were right on time. They almost hadn't been. His meeting was canceled, but when he called to arrange to meet earlier, Alina told him she had a last minute meeting with a client. Possible timetable crisis averted, he picked her up outside a hotel in the city at twelve. She got into the truck wearing a beige raincoat and a Phillies cap. When he saw the cap, he grinned but didn't say a word about it.

  “This is the closest parking to his plot.” Michael pulled into a spot on the second level and cut the truck's engine. “Even so, if it starts to pour, we're gonna get soaked.”


  Alina smiled and held up her beige umbrella.

  “I came prepared,” she said cheerfully. “Anyway, a little rain never hurt anyone.”

  Michael looked at her, his eyes twinkling.

  “Spoken like a true sailor,” he replied, leaning over to open the glove box.

  She expected him to pull out an umbrella. Instead, he pulled out a navy baseball cap. Closing the glove box, he sat back and settled the cap on his head. She burst out laughing when he took his hands away, revealing the Yankees logo.

  “Dave's going to spin in his grave when you walk up to it wearing that,” Alina told him.

  Michael winked at her.

  “Not at all,” he retorted before getting out of the truck. “He bought it for me.”

  Alina was left speechless. Somewhere deep inside her, in a place that she had forgotten long ago, something fluttered. It was surreal to her to be talking to someone who was as close, if not closer, to Dave as she had been herself. It was even more disconcerting to see a hat that Dave bought long ago, before an insurgent put a bullet in his head. The mere fact that Michael carried it with him in his truck spoke volumes about his relationship with her brother. It also spoke volumes for the kind of man he was.

  And she was trying to manipulate him for information.

  Michael opened the door for her, pulling her out of her reverie. Alina climbed out of the truck and he slammed the door shut, beeping the truck alarm on. She adjusted her cap and they walked through the parking garage silently, heading into the cemetery. Alina glanced up at the sky and watched the dark clouds rolling in with satisfaction. The weather was cooperating nicely. Between the caps and the umbrellas, anyone watching would have absolutely no idea if she had been to the grave or not.

  And she knew they were watching.

  “Looks like we just might need that umbrella,” Michael commented, glancing at the sky. Alina nodded.

  “Do you visit here often?” she asked as they walked along the path through the cemetery. Michael shrugged and stared straight-ahead.