“I have authorization.” Wyatt rattled off a code that Stuart would recognize if he were legitimate.
“It’s a sealed group out of DC.”
Wyatt let go and turned away from him.
“How long have you been with the bureau?” Wyatt stuffed his hands in his pockets but didn’t turn around.
“Since after I finished my second tour.”
Wyatt turned back to Stuart, sat on the edge of the bed so they could look each other in the eye again. He leaned forward, put his elbows on his knees. “Who is Charley Randall?”
Stuart cocked his head but held Wyatt’s gaze. “Who?”
“The woman you met at Mind Benders tonight.”
Stuart shook his head. “Candie?”
“No. Charley.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about. I only met Candie.” Stuart shook his head again as if to regain his thoughts.
“I know she’s a shape shifter, and I know you know.” Wyatt said it through clenched teeth as his frustration grew.
Stuart’s eyes widened but adjusted within a split second. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You never were a very good liar.” Wyatt smirked as memories from their childhood surfaced.
Stuart mirrored his expression.
Wyatt softened. “Who is she?”
“Why don’t you tell me?”
Wyatt chuckled. “Learn that in the Army?”
“College. Got a degree in Psychology.” Stuart shifted in his chair. “Butt’s going numb, man. Can you untie me?”
“I could, but I won’t. Whose secret are you hiding?”
“All sorts of secrets.”
“I get that, but tell me about Charley.” Wyatt really only cared about her.
“Look, man,” Stuart shook his head. “You don’t want to know.”
“Yes, I do!” Wyatt stood and punched the air. “She told me she met you in South America when you were in the Army. She told me she would keep your secret. She told me you’d keep ours. She showed you who she was with a kiss.”
Stuart’s face remained blank, but Wyatt read abdication in his eyes.
“Tell me!” He let his hands fall to his side.
Stuart shook his head.
Wyatt flung his arms out in frustration.
“You know her better than I, how can you not know?” Stuart raised an eyebrow.
“Not know what?”
Stuart dropped his head, kicked the bed and tilted back up to Wyatt.
“What?” Wyatt moved his hands to his hips.
Stuart breathed in deep, let it out slow. “The woman who was Candie?” He shook his head as if he had to consider his words.
“Tell me.” Wyatt tried to keep the plea from his voice.
“That’s Mira.”
After two days, Wyatt still couldn’t get inside Charley’s files, and with each try, he encountered yet another set of blocks. Ever since Stuart had revealed her name, Wyatt had been mired in anger and confusion. He’d done what any self-respecting male would do-he’d flown home and pulled every string he could find.
The broad mahogany desk before him suited the style of his home office but not his mood, which lent itself to sharp and pissed. His fingers flew across the keyboard as page after page of information scrolled before him.
He punched the intercom of his phone. “Sheila!”
“Yes, sir?” She answered with as much politeness as usual, despite Wyatt’s repeated outbursts.
“Will you please do some translation for me? I’m sending the files now.”
“Yes, sir.”
Wyatt leaned back in his chair, thought of Charley or Candie or Mira-whatever her name. Stuart had relayed the same exact story Charley had about how they met, so at least that part had been true or as truthful as either wanted to be.
He leaned on his desk and put his head in his hands. He understood why her body had fit to his so well, why she’d been so familiar yet distant. He knew her yet didn’t. The woman he knew as Mira had become the biggest enigma in his entire career.
The knock on the door drew him away from his thoughts.
“Sir?” Sheila stood at the door. She waited until he nodded before she proceeded. “You have a visitor.”
He’d left his calendar clear but not for a guest.
“Who is it?” Wyatt scrubbed his head with his palm, regretting his gruffness. “I’m sorry, Sheila. I’m just not in the mood for company.”
“I understand, sir. But it’s your mother.”
Wyatt looked up. “My mother?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head.
As Sheila left, Wyatt rose and walked around his office-a quick dust check had to be in order. He knew his Mom wouldn’t mention it, but he really didn’t want to take the chance.
“Oh, well.” He sat behind his desk again.
The fact that little to none of his paperwork ever got printed kept his desk debris-free and at least clean-looking to the less observant.
“Wyatt!” His Mom held out her hands as she entered in front of Sheila.
He walked around his desk again. “Hey, Mom.” A nod to Sheila over his Mom’s shoulder as she embraced him, and Sheila disappeared.
“How are you, honey?”
“Fine, Mom. You?”
She patted his cheeks and smiled, her expression arranged into one he recognized well and filled him with happiness.
“You want to sit?” He held out one of the two leather-backed chairs that had come with the desk ensemble.
Katherine Jennings sat, her hands in her lap, one leg crossed over the other-as sweet and kind as ever she’d been. Her hair had yet to gray. Her eyes sparkled. Trim and fit, at a foot less than him, he still looked up to her. She shifted in her chair while Wyatt made his way back around his desk for the third time.
He sat with a thump and leaned back. “What brings you to the other side of town, Mom?”
She tilted her head, worried her hands, looked down at her feet and back up a number of times before she blew out a breath. “Well.”
Wyatt couldn’t help the smile. “Something going on with Dad?”
“No, no, honey. It’s not that.”
Her tone turned wary and sent Wyatt’s nerves fluttering. “Are you sick?”
“Oh no! No, honey, I’m fine.”
“Okay, Mom. Spit it out.” The shift from happy to worried only added to the strain that already weighed on his shoulders.
“Okay, well…” She sighed. “You remember that story I told you a long time ago?”
