Long Road Home(8)

“Hold off on the agents, Tony. I need…I need to find her first and figure out what the hell is going on. Have you discovered who was behind the explosion yet?”

“No, sorry. I’m working on it. I’ve got all my feelers out, and I haven’t been able to pick up anyone off our nasty list who’s within a hundred miles of where you are.”

“Okay, thanks, man.”

“No problem. I’ll let you know if something turns up. In the meantime, go find your girl.”

Manuel hung up and slipped the phone back into his pocket. Your girl. Maybe she had never been his. Whatever force had conspired to shove a two-year-old baby girl into his life twenty-three years ago was now tearing her from him. But for twenty years she had been his. His best friend. The one person apart from the Trehans who truly belonged to him.

He had to find out what had happened in those three years she was missing. That was the key to getting her back. And if he could get her back, he would damn sure never let her go again.

For now he was going to take Tony’s advice. She was no longer someone who meant the world to him. She was just like any other target he had to hunt down. And he’d never failed yet.

His cell phone rang again, and he looked down at the screen in annoyance. Sanderson.

“Boss man,” Manuel acknowledged.

“Manuel, Tony told me what happened.”

Manuel waited for Sanderson to continue, hoping he’d make it quick.

“I know how long you’ve looked for Jules. I know how it must feel to find her after all this time. But you need to be careful. Things aren’t looking good so far. She’s mixed up in some bad shit.”

Manuel’s stomach tightened. “What are you saying, Sanderson? Just spit it out, for God’s sake.”

“I’m saying it doesn’t appear she’s an innocent victim here. If you find her, I want you to bring her in.”

Manuel stood in silence, stunned by Sanderson’s order. “Bring her in? What the f**k for?”

There was a long pause. “I’ve allowed you a lot of latitude in your search for Jules, and now that you’ve found her, it appears she could be a person of interest to the CIA. I want you to bring her in.”

Manuel cursed again and realized his earlier fears were well-founded. Thank God he hadn’t had Tony call the local police or other agents.

“And Manuel, that’s an order.”

Jules opened her eyes, surprised to see light creeping underneath the bed. Damn it. She’d slept the entire night. She carefully lifted the edge of the bedspread and peered out. The door to the bedroom was still closed, and a quick look around the floor told her she was alone.

Cautiously, she edged out from underneath the bed, stretching her aching muscles. Judging by the brightness outside, it was well past eight. She cursed again. How was she ever going to get around without someone seeing her?

She glanced around the room, looking for clothing she could put on. The hospital scrubs, while ideal to get her out of the hospital, were now a flashing beacon.

Were the homeowners home? She hadn’t heard any noises in the house. What day was it anyway? She tried to focus, her head still pounding viciously. It was Saturday. She groaned. Everyone in the neighborhood would be home.

The window in this room was large enough for her to go out so she wouldn’t have to chance moving through the house. Tiptoeing across the carpeted floor, she was just about to slide open the window when the doorknob rattled.

Jules froze. The door swung open, and she met the startled gaze of a middle-aged woman carrying a laundry basket. The woman let out a shriek then dropped the basket. Could things get any worse?

“What are you doing in my house?” the woman demanded, hands on her hips. Her blonde hair, the product of one of the many bottles Jules had found in the bathroom, was teased and piled high on her head. Her T-shirt was stretched tight across an ample bosom and in big red letters read Jesus Freak. Oh yeah, things could definitely get worse.

Jules arched an eyebrow, surprised by the woman’s approach. No hysterics. No run to the phone to call 911. No, this woman was pissed and obviously not in the least intimidated by Jules.

“I’m sorry,” Jules said softly. “I needed a place to rest.” She purposely twisted her hands in front of her, adding to her pathetic air.

“You poor dear,” the woman said, surprising Jules by pushing forward into the room. “Are you hiding from a man? Did he do this to you?”

It took Jules a moment to realize the woman was referring to her battered appearance. Was she nuts? She had no idea who this intruder was or if she was armed or dangerous. She should be calling 911, not acting like an over-concerned mother hen.

“I had an accident,” she said truthfully. “I couldn’t stay in the hospital. Someone is looking for me. I just needed a place to rest. And now I have to be going.”

“Have you eaten? Because you look too thin,” the woman said, ignoring her statements.

Jules loathed her weakness. She should have just taken the woman out, removed any liability to herself. A year ago, she wouldn’t have thought twice. She would have just acted to protect herself.

But she hated the person she’d been even more than she hated her current fragility.

“I appreciate your concern, ma’am. But I really should be going. I’ve imposed on you far too much.”