Montana Secrets Page 4

  “And I’d lost my memory and couldn’t name the traitor, either.”

  Barker nodded. “That’s why we forged you a new identity as Trace Gallagher. Prince Asim gave you a home and a job as a bodyguard in the palace. We wanted to keep you safe until your memory returned.”

  “But that’s crazy,” Ryan said with a laugh. “I’ve been living openly in Bahira and wandering freely throughout the city ever since my rehabilitation from my injuries. Anyone from the embassy would recognize me immediately.”

  Barker’s keen eyes filled with sadness. “Have you looked in the mirror since your memory returned?”

  Ryan shook his head. “I haven’t had time to do anything since I told Asim I’d remembered. His bodyguards rushed me here.”

  Barker pointed to a door off his office. “There’s a mirror in the bathroom. You’d better take a look.”

  With trepidation, Ryan shoved to his feet and entered the bathroom. Bracing himself for an appearance maimed from injuries, he faced the mirror head-on.

  A stranger stared back at him.

  Not a horribly disfigured stranger as he’d feared, but definitely not the face of Ryan Christopher.

  This man’s cheekbones were higher and more pronounced, almost as if he had Native American ancestry. His once-broken nose had lost its characteristic bump and was straight and movie star perfect. The cleft in his chin had disappeared. Even his hair, once short and wavy, had grown out straight, fine and thick. The only familiar feature in the face was his eyes, the same greenish-brown that he remembered.

  The face gazing back at him didn’t belong to Ryan Christopher. It was Trace Gallagher’s, the man he’d thought he was the last five years.

  Shaken, he stepped into Barker’s office. “What the hell happened to me?”

  “Sit down.” Barker’s usual rough tone was filled with compassion. “You’ve had quite a shock.”

  Gratefully, Ryan sank into the chair he’d occupied earlier and ran his hands over his unfamiliar face as if searching for his old self. “Was this change on purpose?”

  “Not exactly.”

  Ryan raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  Barker sighed and scrubbed a rough hand over his short-cropped hair. “Immediately after the bombing, the triage team had given you up for dead. That’s when Prince Asim stepped in and took over.”

  “Asim? Why?”

  “You saved his life. He said if you hadn’t rushed him and the ambassador from the office and closed those heavy doors behind you, he would have been killed. You were between the prince and the blast, and your body took the brunt of the explosion that otherwise would have struck Asim.”

  As hard as Ryan tried, he couldn’t remember any of what Barker described.

  “Within minutes after the bombing,” the colonel continued, “the prince’s driver rushed you to the trauma unit at the local hospital. Asim refused to accept the opinion of the trauma team there that you were beyond help. He flew you, attended by his personal physician, in his private jet to the best hospital in Cairo, where a crack team of emergency doctors managed to stabilize you.”

  “That still doesn’t explain my face.”

  “The force of the explosion smashed you facedown onto the marble floor. To put it bluntly, the bones of your skull cracked like the shell of an egg thrown onto a sidewalk.”

  Ryan winced. “I don’t recall the Egyptian hospital.”

  “You wouldn’t. You were in and out of consciousness and pumped full of painkillers. Once your condition improved, Asim had you moved to Switzerland.”

  Ryan grunted with remembered discomfort. “Switzerland I remember all too well.”

  “Asim hired the best reconstructive surgeons in the world to rebuild your face.”

  Ryan’s frustration flared. “If they were such experts, why don’t I look like myself?”

  “With a few more operations, you can have your old face back. But once we realized your memories were gone, we decided to leave you with a different appearance and new identity for your own protection. You’re probably not aware of it, but even your voice is different, caused when your vocal cords were seared by the heat of the blast.”

  “We decided to give me a new identity?” Ryan said. “Who’s we?”

  “The head of counterterrorism at the Pentagon. He wants to nail the traitor and his terrorist friends responsible for the bombing. You’re our best hope.”

  Ryan felt a sudden icy chill. “What did you tell Catherine Erickson?”

  As if reluctant to face him, Barker walked to the window and stood gazing at the desert glare with his hands clasped behind his back. “We told her you were dead.”

  Ryan leaped to his feet. “You had no right to do that!”

  Barker pivoted to face him, gray eyes flashing. “If she hadn’t believed you dead, she would have been in terrible danger. The terrorists could have tried to trace you through her. Then they would have killed her, fearful you’d told her their identities.”

  Ryan’s already shattered world broke again. For five years, Cat had believed him dead. Had she gone on mourning, or had she managed to pick up the pieces and go on with her life? For all he knew she was married now, had children.

  With someone else.

  His anger at the terrorists blossomed and swelled. Losing his identity had been one thing. Losing Marc had been a horrible tragedy. Losing Cat, as well, was too high a price.

  The colonel’s expression softened. “I’m sorry, Trace. Telling her you died in the blast was the only way to keep both of you safe.”

  “Why do you keep calling me Trace? My name’s Ryan.”

  “Ryan Christopher’s a dead man.”

  “But I’m not—” Barker’s implication suddenly hit him. “You think the terrorists are still looking for me?”

  Barker shook his head. “Ryan Christopher’s death was officially reported. He received several honors and commendations posthumously. There’s no reason for anyone to doubt that Ryan Christopher’s dead—as long as you remain Trace Gallagher.”

  Stunned, Ryan said nothing.

  “As Trace Gallagher with Ryan Christopher’s memories,” Barker added, “you can be of tremendous service to your country.”

  “How’s that, sir?”

  “I’ve said too much already.” Barker reached for his phone. “I’m booking you a seat on the next transport back to the States. There’s someone at the Pentagon who wants to talk to you.”

  DERRICK HUTTON gazed at the crowded intersection in New York City’s Little Italy, but he saw nothing of the traffic and crowds bustling below and ignored the delicious aromas of tomatoes, olive oil and cheeses drifting from the pizzerias and the street vendors. The wheels spinning in his brain took all his attention as he tried to put the pieces of the latest puzzle together. His contact in the American Embassy in Bahira had just called with an interesting and possibly disturbing tidbit of information.

  Trace Gallagher, an American who’d worked for years as Prince Asim’s bodyguard, who’d also been injured in the successful embassy bombing five years ago, a man Hutton had never heard of during his tenure in the embassy, had been secreted out of the country on a military transport yesterday headed for Washington, D.C.

  This morning, Hutton had received a call from his Pentagon informant. Trace had been taken directly to the Pentagon upon arrival in Washington and was undergoing a series of tests and debriefings. The informant had promised to call back when he had more details.

  Questions nagged at Hutton like an itch he couldn’t scratch. Why the sudden Pentagon interest in a civilian like Gallagher? Was it coincidence that the man had been in the embassy when the bomb, intended to kill the prince, had detonated? According to local gossip, the prince had spared no expense to keep the man alive.

  What was so special about one bodyguard out of dozens?

  Why the sudden rush to return Gallagher to the States?

  Hutton didn’t have the answers, and not knowing placed him at loose ends.r />
  He hated loose ends.

  Odds were Gallagher’s return had nothing to do with the Pentagon’s ongoing attempt to locate Hutton’s terrorist cell, but Hutton couldn’t afford to be careless. Diligence and attention to seemingly unimportant or unrelated details had kept him alive so far. He couldn’t slip up now, not with plans for the next attack almost ready for fruition.

  When his informant reported in again, Hutton would learn all he could about Gallagher. If the man was a threat, Hutton would simply have him eliminated.

  He allowed himself a rare smile. Death was always the best way to tie up loose ends.

  THREE WEEKS after Snake Larson’s unwelcome visit, Catherine Erickson gazed across the empty desks of her classroom to the windows that framed the towering Cabinet Mountains. Snow still crowned their peaks, but carpets of wild daisies edged the roadsides, and on the lower mountain slopes choke cherries, serviceberries and huckleberries were beginning to ripen.

  June would be arriving in a few days. June, the time for brides and weddings, the month she would have married Ryan if he’d lived. In the last few years, summer had become a season she struggled to get through, fighting anew the pain of loss. Only her adorable Megan, Ryan’s child, helped her to survive her grief.

  Remembering, she glanced to the back row by the window. The old wooden desk she’d occupied as a student, where she had carved her initials with Ryan’s and circled them with a heart, had been replaced a few years ago with more modern furniture with unyielding mica surfaces, but Cat felt the same ache, the same undeniable longing she’d experienced as a sixteen-year-old with her first crush.

  No matter how hard she tried to convince herself, she couldn’t come to grips with Ryan’s death. Losing her brother had devastated her, but at least with Marc she’d had some closure.

  God, how she hated that word.

  After nursing Marc for nearly a year, watching him waste away in a coma, she’d been almost relieved when he’d died, freed of his suffering. When he’d regained consciousness briefly before his death, she’d been thankful for the opportunity she’d had to tell him she loved him, to show him baby Megan, to say goodbye.

  She’d had no such time with Ryan. The first she’d heard of the catastrophe had been the arrival of the Marine officers and the chaplain to inform her and her father of Ryan’s death and Marc’s injuries. Maybe if she could have said goodbye, could have at least laid Ryan’s body to rest in the family cemetery on the hill above the ranch, she could accept that he was gone.

  As things stood now, five years after his dying, she still felt connected to him by some slim, tenuous but indestructible thread that wouldn’t let go. Her stubborn heart insisted on waiting for a man her head told her would never return. But her heart refused to listen.

  Like a broken video recorder, her life was stuck on pause. She couldn’t move forward until she could free herself from the past. But the past wouldn’t let her go.

  “Catherine? Got a minute?”

  She glanced up with a start to find Todd Brewster standing in front of her desk. “Sure.”

  The principal of Athens High was a good-looking man with the build of a college wrestling champion who had managed to keep in shape into middle age. The cuffs of his dress shirt rolled to his elbows, his loosened tie and open collar and his tousled blond hair indicated he’d had another busy day.

  Smiling blue eyes in his boyish face looked at her. “You were lost in thought.”

  She patted a stack of papers piled neatly on the corner of her desk. “End-of-school burnout. The last exam is marked, the last grade averaged. I’m ready for vacation.”

  “That seems to be the general consensus around here,” he said with a warm grin, reminding her how much she liked him, how well-respected he was by both students and faculty. In the three years since he’d arrived at Athens High, he’d won the admiration of the entire community—and her undying friendship.

  The only problem, she thought with a sigh, was that he wanted to be more than friends.

  “How about having dinner with me tonight?” he said. “We can celebrate another successful year.”

  “I doubt I’d be good company. I’m really tired.”

  He didn’t press her, one of the many attributes she liked about him. “Another time then. But I want us to talk seriously soon. And I don’t want Snake Larson causing you any more problems.”

  “How did you know about that?”

  “I saw Gabriel at the café a couple weeks ago. He filled me in and asked me to keep an eye out in case Snake showed up here at school.”

  Cat nodded with understanding. Ever since Todd had revealed an interest in her, her usually reserved and unassuming father had decided to play match-maker, and Todd had been his willing accomplice. Her dad had loved Ryan like a son, but with Ryan and Marc both gone and Gabe not getting any younger, he worried about leaving Cat and Megan alone.

  “Dad put the fear in Snake,” she said with more confidence than she felt. “He’s nothing but a bully. All hot air and no action.”

  Todd shook his head, his eyes worried. “Rumor has it he saw plenty of action in Billings. He’d have come home earlier if he hadn’t been serving time for assault. Got into a brawl over a woman.”

  “I’ll be careful. Don’t worry.”

  “You know it’s more than worry.”

  The warmth in his voice was unmistakable, and for the first time, Cat felt tempted to accept Todd’s standing proposal of marriage. Alone, overwhelmed with responsibilities for the ranch and family, she realized Todd Brewster would make an ideal husband, a man she could always rely on, a man she could trust, a man whose company she enjoyed. Most compelling of all, he’d make a wonderful father for Megan.

  But was he a man she could love?

  Not as long as her heart belonged to Ryan Christopher.

  “You still miss him, don’t you?” Todd had an uncanny ability to read her thoughts.

  Cat nodded, unable to speak past the threat of tears that often caught her unawares at the mention of Ryan.

  Todd reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. “He was your first love. You’ll always miss him. But you have to move on.”

  “I know.” She blinked back the tears and forced a smile. “Can I take a rain check on that dinner?”

  “You bet. Just name the date. I’ll see you tomorrow night at graduation.”

  He gave her hand another gentle squeeze and left the room.

  With the same nostalgia she experienced at the end of every school year, especially when she thought of her seniors, who wouldn’t be returning in the fall, Cat went through her checklist. She’d marked her students’ final grades on the standard computer forms, completed her textbook inventory and supplies requisitions for the fall semester, cleaned the ancient slate blackboards with lemon oil and cleared the top of her desk. All that remained was to straighten the rows of desks and close the tall windows.

  Starting at the back of the classroom, she had shut half of them when she heard footsteps at her door. At first, she thought Todd had returned, but the figure backlit by the hall windows was too tall for the principal. Her pulse stuttered when she feared for an instant the tall man might be Snake Larson.

  Then she recognized the broad shoulders and slender hips of the dark silhouette, a figure etched indelibly on her mind and heart, and she grabbed the nearest desk to keep her knees from buckling beneath her.

  Dizzy with hope, joy and disbelief, she finally found her voice.

  “Ryan? Is that you?”

  Chapter Three

  Kalila.

  Ryan gritted his teeth to keep from speaking his special name for her aloud and stepped into the artificial brightness of the classroom’s fluorescent fixtures.

  As he did, the hope and joy lighting Cat’s face dulled suddenly to disappointment. When she’d called his name in recognition, relief had flooded through him. She had known who he was, so keeping his identity secret was out of his hands. As he saw it, he had no choic
e but to let her know he was really Ryan.

  His own mirror, however, should have made him realize what her face told him now.

  She was looking at a total stranger.

  Struggling to hide his emotion, he felt ripped between duty and desire. He couldn’t react, couldn’t show her how wildly happy he was to see her again, couldn’t sweep her into his arms and tell her how much he still loved her, how much he’d missed her, how sorry he was about Marc’s death. How concerned he was for her safety.

  No, he had to think of himself as Trace Gallagher or he’d blunder and give everything away. One slip could prove fatal not only to him but to Catherine, as well. He had to be Trace Gallagher in every respect, act the part to the nth degree for his mission to succeed. Having to treat the woman he loved with remote politeness galled him, but he had no choice. Failure was unacceptable, because failure meant Marc Erickson’s killer and the terrorists who had murdered ninety-eight others would go unpunished, and he would be placing Cat’s life in danger.

  Drawing on all his military discipline to tamp down the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him, resisting with every fiber of his being the desire to rush to her and hold her close, assuming a detachment he didn’t feel, he stepped into the classroom.

  “Miss Erickson?”

  Confusion replaced the disappointment in her summery blue eyes, but even wearing a puzzled expression, she was more breathtakingly attractive than ever. She’d matured in the last five years, at twenty-seven looking less like the ponytailed teenager he’d first met and even more like a woman than the person he’d last seen at twenty-two. An irresistibly alluring woman. Her underlying air of sadness and loss etched her face with character and lent her an aura of mystery and gravity that made her even more desirable.

  He silently cursed his fate. She should have been his wife, and he had to treat her like a stranger.

  “I’m Catherine Erickson.” She sank onto the nearest desk and clasped trembling hands in front of her. “Forgive me if I seem a bit shaken. I mistook you for someone else. A trick of the light, I guess.”