Dead Ringer Read online

  “That does sound dreary. Weren’t all the college jocks chasing you?”

  “Hardly. Those guys don’t hang out in the library. The ones who did find me, I didn’t have time for.”

  “We’ll have to do something about your boring life.”

  She couldn’t suppress a laugh. “I think you already have.”

  “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

  She became lost in the moment with the woodsy scent of his nearness, coupled with the romantic atmosphere and music, until the song ended.

  He took her hand and led her back to the table. “Come on. Let’s quench our thirst.” His fingers trailed down her arm as he held out her chair.

  “Traci, is that you?” A dark man, obviously drunk, staggered across the dance floor towards her. “I told Clive that was you.” He stumbled, almost fell, and then righted himself. As he drew closer, he hiccupped and put his hand over his mouth. “Oops, I see you’re with your hubby. Too bad.” He turned around and staggered away. “Call me. You still have my number?”

  

  The spell was broken.

  “Come on. I’ll pay the check, and we can leave.” Thomas’ jaw tightened. He settled the bill and held her coat.

  The two drunks waved as they left.

  He always avoided going out with his wife for just this reason. She had enjoyed the celebrity.

  But Mercy obviously didn’t. Her back had stiffened when the drunk approached, and she leaned closer to him as if seeking protection.

  When they were in the taxi, he gave their destination.

  “I apologize. Perhaps I should have known better than to risk dinner in a public place.”

  “Don’t apologize. It couldn’t be helped, and I enjoyed the evening until...”

  At the hotel, Fergus had already put Daniel to bed and retired himself.

  Thomas said a reluctant good night and went to bed, still feeling Mercy in his arms, seeing her smile, the scent of sandalwood and vanilla in her hair, as he slipped into a restless sleep. As he drifted between awareness and sleep, he realized. He was beginning to think of her as Mercy.

  A sharp clap of thunder startled him awake. He glanced at his watch. Two AM. Over the storm’s intensity, he heard moans coming from Mercy’s room.

  He threw back the cover, not stopping to grab his robe, and opened the door to her bedroom. In the light filtering through the half-open drapes, he could see she was alone. Her head made agitated movements from side to side on the pillow, whimpers escaped her lips.

  A nightmare.

  He crossed the room and sat on the side of the bed, shaking her gently. “Mercy, wake up. You’re having a bad dream.”

  Her eyelids opened. She sat up abruptly and then pressed her head against his bare chest. “Don’t let him touch me. Make him go away.” She trembled, and he felt her heart beat against his own, racing like a wild animal in flight. He held her until the tremors stopped, speaking soothing words in her ear as he would to a frightened child.

  Her arms went around his neck, and she tilted her head upward. “Thomas, help me. I’m so frightened.”

  The invitation was too much to resist. His mouth covered hers, and the kiss deepened. She responded with an awakening passion. With a quick jerk, she broke away, breathing hard. “Thomas...I can’t...I’m not Traci.”

  “I never thought you were.”

  She lay back against the pillows.

  He pulled the cover up under her chin and felt her gaze follow him as he left her room.

  He came away with one conclusion. The woman in that room was Mercy Lawrence. The passion he felt for her was certainly physical, but more than that, emotional, and something deeper he couldn’t find the words to describe. He crawled back into bed, and watched the lightening flash through the drapes. It was a long while before he fell asleep.

  

  London, England

  Saturday, May 27

  The following morning Thomas ordered room service and was on his second up of coffee when Mercy emerged dressed and ready to leave. Thomas watched her face as she sat down at the breakfast nook.

  “It’s my turn to apologize,” she said softly. “I’m sorry about last night.”

  He waved it off. “Does that happen often, what happened last night?”

  “Which part?”

  “You know what I’m talking about. The nightmares.”

  She shook her head and glanced out the window at the cloudy, gray day. “No, not too often. But they’re always horrible.”

  “Did you tell your doctor in Houston about the dreams?”

  “It didn’t occur to me.”

  Fergus and Daniel came into the room.

  Daniel picked up a piece of toast.

  Fergus grabbed a cup of coffee. “Ye ready to leave, lad?” he asked Thomas.

  “Have you both had breakfast?”

  The Scot nodded. “An hour ago. The boy’s a bottomless pit these days.”

  “Then let’s head out.” He wasn’t finished with this discussion with Mercy, but it would have to wait until he returned from Saudi Arabia.

  11

  Wallace Island, the Aegean Sea

  Sunday, May 28

  Sunday afternoon, Thomas came downstairs with his bags.

  Mercy and Daniel waited in the entryway.

  Mercy placed her hand on Daniel’s shoulder. “Say good-bye to your father. He’s going to be away for a while.”

  Daniel jumped into his arms and gave him a long hug. “Bye, Daddy.”

  He gave his son a tight, lingering squeeze. “Take care, and be a good boy.” He turned to Mercy. “I’ll send the plane back. You’ll need it for supplies and in case of emergencies. Fergus will look after you both. He’ll keep me posted.”

  She gave him a wavering smile. “Strange. For some reason I want to tell you to be careful.”

  He put the boy down. “I always am.”

  Somehow, a good-bye kiss seemed appropriate. He leaned down and touched her lips with his own, soft and pliant. The excitement was still there, only better.

  She didn’t pull away.

  That surprised him.

  Her sapphire gaze stared into his, as if looking for answers. Answers he didn’t have. All they had between them were questions. If she wasn’t his wife, where did they go from here?

  Aboard the plane, Thomas took his seat by the window, buckled up, and gazed through the window. His family stood on the terrace, Daniel bouncing like a rubber ball and waving with abandonment. The taste of the kiss lingered on his lips, and it would haunt his dreams.

  Odd that she picked up on the dangerous aspects of this trip. Something Traci would never have done. This woman was an enigma. More evidence Mercy was who she claimed to be.

  After the plane took off, Thomas released his seatbelt, stood, and removed his jacket. Smoothing his shirt over his abs, he examined his waistline for love handles and found none.

  Soft, huh? Paul Redford needed his eyes checked.

  

  After Thomas’s plane lifted off, Daniel wandered back inside.

  Mercy watched the plane disappear into the setting sun. Knots of tension squeezed her stomach. A successful executive, he shouldn’t have to worry about anything more dangerous than a paper cut. But instinct warned her that Thomas headed into danger, as certainly as the evening sun would soon disappear into the sea. Her concerns were merely conjecture at this point. She could only guess why his destination was Saudi Arabia and didn’t know how long he would be away. But the premonition of impending danger lingered.

  She stepped inside to join Daniel and Nanna in the dining room.

  Dinner that evening consisted of shrimp scampi, baked potatoes with all the trimmings, and cauliflower with cheese sauce. Not a green vegetable anywhere on the horizon.

  Mercy shuddered when dessert arrived. Bread pudding loaded with butter, sugar and heavy cream. She could feel her arteries clogging.

  Edda’s meal planning had too much fa
t. It wasn’t healthy for anyone over a long period, especially anyone Nanna’s age, and Daniel had just had heart surgery.

  Mercy passed on the dessert and folded her napkin. Everyone considered her mistress of Wallace Island, and beginning tomorrow, she would act like it. She would assume responsibility for menu planning—add lean meat, vegetables, and fruit to their meals. It wouldn’t endear her to the kitchen staff, who still held grudges over Traci’s past antics. Like it or not, she still carried the mantle of Traci’s sins. However, the job needed doing.

  If Edda resented her intrusion, so be it. She would just have to get over it.

  

  Wallace Island, the Aegean Sea

  Monday, May 29

  The next morning, Mercy proceeded with meal changes as planned. She called Edda into Thomas’s office after breakfast.

  In her early forties, Edda was pretty, blonde hair, blue eyes, nice tan, and trim figure. But there was harshness in her countenance. She seldom smiled and seemed to prickle whenever Mercy was near. Only Thomas seemed able to coax a light into her icy gaze.

  “Have a seat, Edda. I wanted to speak to you about menu planning.”

  Edda lowered into the chair, her mouth drawn into a grim straight line.

  “I’ve decided we need to go to healthier meals, more fish and lean meat, vegetables and fruit. Nanna and Daniel need less fats and carbohydrates in their diets, as I’m sure we all do.” She waited for a response from the housekeeper, and when none came, she continued, “I’ve planned meals for this week, beginning with lunch today. I kept it simple.” Mercy handed Edda the packet of menus. “I’ll give you each week’s meal plans a week in advance after this week. I apologize for the short notice.”

  “There have never been any complaints before. Mr. Wallace always complimented me on their excellence.”

  “Our meals have been delicious, Edda, and I’m sure they will continue to be. But they should also be good for us. If you have any questions, I’ll be happy to answer them.”

  Edda’s back stiffened. “I’m not sure we have the produce—”

  “I took the liberty of checking with cook to make sure the food supplies were available.”

  Edda huffed away without a word, her glare could have lit a match.

  Mercy approached lunch with trepidation. She shouldn’t have worried. Lunch consisted of the cold baked chicken, Caesar salad, and fresh strawberries she’d requested. She must remember to thank Edda.

  Traci had burned a lot of bridges, and it was up to Mercy to forge some kind of working relationship with the housekeeper and the staff.

  She should have felt a boost of self-confidence, having won a minor skirmish, but she didn’t. The solemn expression on Thomas’s face as he boarded the plane and the wrinkled frown on Fergus’s craggy brow constantly ran through her thoughts.

  Nanna caught Mercy’s gaze across the table. “What’s gotten into Edda? She looked like a thundercloud earlier.”

  “Probably just stress. Managing a house this size is a big responsibility.”

  Daniel looked across the table at her. “Mummy, does Edda think you have magical powers?”

  “I don’t think so, Danny. Why do you ask?”

  His tiny brow wrinkled. “I heard her tell Cook the princess witch thought she could wave a wand and turn the kitchen upside down. Stella asked Edda if she meant you and she said yes.”

  Mercy almost snorted water through her nose. Time for a change of subject. “Nanna, have you or Fergus heard from Thomas?”

  “No,” Nanna said. “But he usually only calls twice a week to check in, unless something important comes up.”

  Daniel tugged on her sleeve. “Mummy, may I be excused? Fergus is taking me exploring.”

  “Sure. Just be careful.” Probably an unnecessary caution. The island was one of the safest places in this hemisphere, and he would be in Fergus’s charge.

  As Daniel left the dining room, Nanna glanced at Mercy. “Speaking of Fergus, the man has had permanent frown lines embedded in his brow since Thomas left. I can’t help but wonder if Thomas is on some mission for the Americans again.”

  Mercy halted her fork in midair. “What do you mean, mission?”

  “Surely, you knew your husband was in the CIA before you were married.”

  Was that what the meeting in Paris had been about? The thought that Thomas would confide in Nanna, rather than in her, hurt. “No. Did Thomas tell you?”

  Nanna took a sip of water and relaxed against the chair’s back. “Fergus told me about it right after I moved here. Fergus was a commander in the Royal Regiment of Scotland’s Black Watch unit. The elder Wallace hired him when Thomas was small, a kind of bodyguard, companion, and mentor all rolled into one.”

  Mercy let what Nanna had said sink in. Thomas with the CIA? Apparently, before he married Traci. That explained his caginess about where he would be going and for how long. That first day in Bermuda, he’d had a dangerous look about him, and she thought he might be FBI. So why not CIA? But why would he suddenly accept an assignment now?

  Fergus’s background didn’t surprise Mercy. His military bearing and watchfulness flagged him as more than a chauffeur. A pent-up bundle of energy ready to spring in an instant, despite his age.

  “I believe you’ve solved the puzzle, Nanna. Thomas is on a mission, a dangerous one.” Whatever the assignment, it involved Paul Redford, and the meeting in Paris.

  Mercy could only imagine what Thomas might face. The visions that flashed through her mind did nothing to quiet her unease. She’d asked Father Joseph to dinner that evening and looked forward to entertaining a guest. His lively wit would take her mind off Thomas.

  Father Joseph arrived promptly at six thirty, handsome in a black polo and slacks. As a non-Catholic, she hadn’t realized priests dressed in casual clothes.

  They sat on the terrace waiting for Edda to announce dinner.

  The sun lowered into the sea leaving behind a breathtaking purple horizon. Cool breezes floated in from the water. Only the soothing sounds of waves caressing the sand filled the night air.

  Nanna broke the spell. “Have you heard from Father Paul since his return to Rome?”

  Father Joseph pulled his gaze from the view. “Yes. He is undergoing tests. He was in renal failure. Unfortunately, he had to go on dialysis. That is hard on anyone, and especially someone his age. It was kind of Mr. Wallace to offer to take him on the plane.” The priest’s voice was as soothing as hot tea and honey. “It made the trip easier on the good father in his frail condition. He won’t be returning to the island.”

  “I’m sure Thomas was glad to help. I’m sorry about the diagnosis. Does this mean you’ll be staying on as pastor?”

  “I’m awaiting word from the Church. If not me, then they’ll send a replacement. Although, men surrendering to the priesthood are fewer every year.”

  She glimpsed the sadness in Father Joe’s eyes and wondered if it had anything to do with his posting on the island becoming permanent. “If there is anything we can do for Father Paul, let us know.”

  “Thank you. Everything that can be done is being done. His age precludes his getting placed on a kidney donor list.”

  “If you need to travel to see him, I’m sure we can help,” Mercy said. “I know there are few travel accommodations off the island.”

  “That’s kind of you. I may take you up on your offer.” His gaze roamed over the garden and the ocean view. “You truly have a paradise, here, Mrs. Wallace. The garden is beautiful.”

  “Please, call me Mer...er...Traci. It is lovely, isn’t it?” Mercy’s gaze traveled over the imposing arches and the intricate architectural details of the villa. It must have taken years to build. Just shipping in materials and workers represented an engineering miracle on a Mediterranean island.

  “How long have the Wallaces lived on the island?”

  Nanna gave him a thoughtful glance. “Since the 1930s, as I understand it. Thomas’s grandfather built the villa back whe
n prices were much lower. His son Edward, Thomas’s father, hated the isolation and never lived here. Thomas however, loved it. When he became of age, he moved in. It has been his primary residence ever since.

  “Thomas’s mother didn’t like living here year round. But she often came for vacations before her death four years ago. She doted on Daniel.”

  The priest turned his attention to Mercy. “Nanna tells me your husband is not a religious man.”

  Mercy smiled over her glass of chilled juice. “My husband and I don’t discuss his religion. You’ll have to ask him. However, he’ll be away for a while. We’re not sure how long. I would appreciate your prayers for his safe return.”

  “Of course. I’ll light a candle for him in the chapel. Is he away on business?”

  A maid entered the terrace through the archway and announced dinner, saving Mercy from having to tell the priest she didn’t know where her husband had gone or what he was doing.

  12

  CIA Training Camp, North Carolina

  Monday, May 29

  Duffle bag in hand, Thomas stood on the steamy black tarmac of a private airstrip, carved out in the middle of a forest of fifty-foot pines. He hadn’t packed much. He wouldn’t need much. Running shoes, underwear, and shaving kit would suffice. The facility provided training gear.

  He leaned against the aircraft stairs, waiting for his ride. The pilot stood nearby, smoking his third cigarette, anxious to get back into the air. They’d exhausted the topic of American sports teams, which Thomas had little knowledge of.

  Insects dive-bombed the aircraft lights in an ancient ritual of suicidal frenzy, their noise loud in his ears. This historic ground spoke to his American heritage. Here in this dense forest of soaring pines, Indian wars, the American Revolution, and the Civil War had been fought.

  He’d spent many summers with his maternal grandparents near Charlotte. His grandfather, a history buff, instilled in Thomas the proud heritage of his American ancestors. Gramps led him through famous battlefields, reciting the bravery and tenacity of an untrained revolutionary army, outgunned and outmanned, who had fought against the best-trained military force in the world at that time, and the ragtag band had prevailed. It still inspired Thomas.