LITMIR.BIZ

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to have a will of their own. For the first few weeks after his wife’s murder he’d asked himself why it couldn’t have been him. Why her? An angel as surely as he lived and breathed. His angel. That was what she had been.

      Or so he had thought. Slowly but surely, as the investigation into her death had played out, he had learned that he’d never really known his wife at all. She had led a double life. Beautiful, devoted wife to him, to all appearances; obsessive-compulsive adulteress when no one was watching.

      That old familiar knot formed in his gut. How could he have studied and worked to heal the human mind when he hadn’t recognized for a moment that his own wife was a habitual liar and cheater? Not once had he suspected her extramarital activities, and yet there had been dozens of men during their five-year marriage. The wife of one had hired a thug to kill the woman who had lured her husband into temptation.

      Nothing Patrick did or felt could change the facts. He couldn’t let those painful memories distract him from the present and drag him back into that pit of agony and depression he had slowly risen from two years ago. Wallowing in self-pity and doubt would accomplish nothing, then or now.

      He had started over. He had a life here at the Colby Agency. Patrick liked his work. For the most part he kept to himself after hours. No family ties, no social obligations. He didn’t need anything else. Nor anyone else.

      He trusted no one outside his colleagues at the agency. Even that fledgling bond was strictly in the professional sense. His personal life would remain his alone. If he didn’t venture into that trust territory, he wouldn’t have to worry about being deceived.

      The intercom on his desk buzzed, dragging him from the painful past. Mildred Ballard’s voice followed. “Patrick, could you come to Victoria’s office? She has a new case she’d like to discuss with you.”

      “Thank you, Mildred, I’ll be right there.”

      Work was the one thing he depended on now. He could trust his work. It never let him down.

      The stroll to Victoria’s office was uninterrupted. Most of the investigators on staff were engrossed in cases, with no time for idle chatter. Admittedly, the entire staff operated more like a large family, but that atmosphere of camaraderie never got in the way of solving any case. Meeting or exceeding the client’s needs and expectations was paramount to Victoria Colby-Camp.

      That was another thing he liked about the agency; no corners were cut, no underhanded business tactics were used. Top-notch investigative work was the order of the day. Patrick was surrounded by the best of the best in the field of private investigations. The Colby Agency’s reputation was unparalleled. No one lied. No one cheated.

      “She’s waiting for you,” Mildred said as Patrick approached.

      Mildred Ballard had been with Victoria for two decades. Through thick and thin, both would say. As the personal assistant to the woman in charge, Mildred ran a tight ship. She missed nothing and kept everyone in line. Mildred was outranked only by Ian Michaels and Simon Ruhl, Victoria’s seconds in command.

      Patrick nodded in acknowledgment of Mildred’s broad smile and entered the private office of Victoria Colby-Camp. Lucas Camp, Victoria’s husband, rose from one of the chairs flanking the massive desk as Patrick crossed the room.

      “Victoria.” Patrick looked from his boss to the man whose very presence still intimidated most, even him at times. “Lucas.” He extended his hand. “How was your trip?”

      Lucas shook Patrick’s hand with the same confidence his bearing conveyed, despite the ever-present cane that assisted his less-than-perfect stride. “I accomplished my mission.”

      And that was all he would be getting from the mysterious Lucas Camp. The man was a CIA legend, though his activities had been and still were cloaked in secrecy. Retirement had done little to slow him. He still worked in an advisory capacity for the government and spent every possible moment with his wife—the woman he had waited twenty years to call his own.

      That Lucas Camp was present for this meeting carried a great deal of significance. Patrick was definitely intrigued.

      “I wouldn’t have expected anything less,” he stated as both he and Lucas settled into the comfortable wingback chairs.

      “Here’s Windy,” Victoria announced. “Now we can get started.”

      Patrick glanced toward the door as Windy Millwood entered the room. He frowned momentarily, but he almost immediately schooled his expression. He was, after all, merely a profiler. He should have anticipated there would be an investigator sitting in. Disappointment niggled, but he pushed it away. When Victoria thought he was ready to get in the field and take on a case, she would say as much. She wasn’t one to mince words, nor was she indecisive.

      “Sorry I’m late,” Windy said. “I was waiting for a fax.” Paper in hand, the tall brunette strode to the chair on the other side of Lucas and settled into it. The formal bearing of her military days had carried over to her civilian career.

      Male investigators outnumbered females five to one at the Colby Agency, but not one, male or female, was more prepared and well trained than former Marine Captain Windy Millwood.

      “Now that we’re all here,” Victoria began, “let’s bring Patrick up to speed.”

      Lucas began. “Yesterday afternoon one of the regulars at the soup kitchen brought in a sort of Jane Doe.”

      “Sort of?” Patrick inquired.

      Lucas appeared to consider for a moment how to respond, before continuing. “She had a name, but no recall of who she was or where she came from.”

      As Lucas explained the circumstances of the client’s only memories, Patrick found himself increasingly intrigued. He had to confess that waking up covered by a sheet and lying on a gurney outside a morgue door was not an everyday occurrence.

      “Her driver’s license is a match. Social security number, too,” Windy confirmed as she passed the page to Lucas. “But that’s where it ends.”

      Lucas handed the fax to Patrick. “What about the address on the license?”

      As Windy explained that the residence recorded on the license was occupied by and belonged to someone else, Patrick considered the blond woman in the DMV photo. Sande Williams. Young. Twenty-eight, according to the birth date shown. Blue eyes. Petite in size.

      “Did you visit the residence?” Patrick looked at Windy. “Perhaps Ms. Williams is a friend or relative of the occupant.”

      “I thought we’d go together,” Windy suggested.

      “Patrick,” Victoria interjected, drawing his attention to her, “you’ll be working this case with Windy. Considering the client’s apparent amnesia, I felt you would be an asset on this one. I’ve been waiting for the right opportunity to get you into the field. I believe this is the perfect case.”

      Anticipation fired in every neuron. “I agree.” Patrick had been awaiting this opportunity as well. That the client had special needs falling within the scope of his former profession was definitely a bonus.

      “It might not be a bad idea to take Ms. Williams along on your visit to the residence,” Lucas suggested. That he made the statement to him rather than Windy surprised Patrick, since she was unquestionably senior. “If the client has ever lived at that address the encounter could trigger repressed memories.”

      No doubt, but there could also be hazards related to such a bold move. “With all due respect, Lucas, I’d like to interview the client before taking that step. Just as a precaution.”

      “Of course,” the older man replied. “The mind is your specialty.”

      “The two of you can get started,” Victoria recommended, “and the research team will continue to dig for information on Ms. Williams.”

      “I’ll have a colleague of mine check under a few rocks to see what he can come up with,” Lucas added.

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