The Agent's Secret Child

“If you think I can go into this and not be part of taking down Calderone—”

“This isn’t about Calderone,” Mitchell snapped. “This woman, Julio Montenegro’s wife…Frank has reason to believe she might be Abby Diaz.”

The words dropped into the quiet room like boulders. He was too stunned to breathe, let alone speak.

“Abby is dead,” he whispered at last. He ought to know. He’d been one of the six-member FBI team that had gone into that building on a routine investigation, not knowing Tomaso Calderone was waiting for them. They’d walked into the trap and Abby had died in the explosion and fire that followed, along with two other FBI agents.

Mitchell took a puff on his cigar and continued as if Jake hadn’t spoken. “Julio Montenegro recently contacted the FBI with a deal. He said he had proof that Abby Diaz was alive. He had rescued her from the fire that night. She was burned, but survived.”

“No.” Jake shook his head adamantly. “I saw her body after the fire.”

“You saw a body. What if the charred remains found after the explosion weren’t Abby’s? Julio claims the body was that of woman who worked for him. Three bodies were found in that fire. We just assumed the female was Abby.”

“Abby, Buster McNorton and Dell Harper,” Jake said, more to himself, than Mitchell. He could never forget.

“As we understand it, Julio kept Abby under wraps, hiding her as his wife in the small town where he lived in Mexico, until he was ready to make a deal. That deal was a trade. The FBI would help him get citizenship and into a witness-protection program in the States in exchange for FBI agent Abby Diaz.”

“Why would he keep her six years?”

“Maybe he needed time to build himself a nest egg,” Mitchell suggested. “He must have gotten greedy, though, and finally got caught.”

He shook his head. “This woman can’t possibly be Abby.”

“Jake, if there is any chance that Abby might still be alive, you owe it to yourself to find out. Frank has already ordered that the body in Abby Diaz’s grave be exhumed for identification.”

He swore, pulling off his Stetson to rake a hand through this hair. “Dammit, Mitchell, I don’t want this. I don’t want Abby dug up. I don’t want—” Cold fury filled him. “I don’t want to relive Abby’s death all over again. Nor do I want to do Frank’s bidding for him. This feels like a trap. Or something Frank dreamed up to advance his career.”

Mitchell puffed on the cigar for a moment, studying him. “They knew about the two of you.”

Jake’s gaze jerked up. He didn’t have to ask who knew.

“They’ve always known.”

Jake wanted to laugh. He and Abby had thought they were being so discreet. Hell, they were FBI agents, trained in deception. But it seemed they hadn’t fooled anyone. Especially the people they worked for.

“Because of the affair you had—”

“It was a hell of a lot more than an affair,” Jake snapped.

“—Frank wants you on this case. As her former FBI partner and lover, you are the one person who’ll know whether or not this Isabella Montenegro is Abby Diaz or an imposter.”

“Of course she’s an imposter. I can tell you that without even seeing her.”

“Jake, we have confirmation that Isabella Montenegro was burned in a fire and had to have plastic surgery. She’s the right size, about the right age—”

“Come on, Mitchell. You aren’t buying into this, are you? Someone wants me to think Abby is alive, that this is my…kid.”

He’d actually believed that no one had known about Abby’s pregnancy. But obviously someone had. And now they were trying to use it against him.

“It explains the fake phone call from the little girl. Don’t you think if Abby were alive she’d have gotten in touch with me?”

His boss worried the lighter in his hand like a stone for a moment before he spoke. “Abby might have defected.”

“Bull,” Jake growled, getting to his feet again. “You didn’t know her. You don’t know what we had together. We were getting married. Dammit, Mitchell, we were going to have a baby.” The words were out before he could call them back.

Mitchell nodded and frowned. “That’s what I was afraid of. Jake, this child with Isabella Montenegro, she’s about five years old and—”

“No, dammit. If Abby was alive, she’d have contacted me,” he said adamantly. “Especially if she’d given birth to our baby.”

“She might have reason to believe you betrayed her,” Mitchell said, the words seeming to come hard to him.

Jake looked at the man, speechless.

“Abby might believe you set her up to die in that explosion,” his boss said. “She might have been given some sort of evidence—”

“No!” Jake cried. “She’d have never taken the word of a man like Calderone.”

“What if the evidence came from the FBI?”

Jake stared at him. “What are you saying?”

“Part of the deal with Julio was proof not only that Isabella Montenegro was Abby, but that she’d been the target the night of the explosion. Julio said he knew who’d tried to kill her and why. According to Frank, that evidence points to you.”

“You don’t really believe—”

“It doesn’t matter what I believe,” Mitchell said, cutting him off. “The point is, this woman might believe that you’re a killer. A man who set up his partner and lover six years ago to die. That could explain why, if she is Abby, she didn’t contact you.”

“That’s crazy,” Jake said. Abby was the target? It didn’t make any sense. Two other agents had died that night as well and another was injured. “Why? Why would someone want to kill Abby?”

Mitchell squinted through the cigar smoke. “Maybe only Abby knows that.”

He shook his head. “Wait a minute. If Frank really believes that I was the one who set up Abby, then why would he want me on this case?”

“Frank doesn’t believe you had anything to do with Abby Diaz’s death. Or alleged death. You’re the obvious person to send. Like I said, you, of all people, will know if this woman is Abby.”

Mitchell slid a sheet of paper across the desk.

Jake watched him, his mouth suddenly dry.

“This is the faxed photo Julio sent Frank,” Mitchell said. “It’s the Montenegro child and her mother. I think you’d better take a look, Jake.”

The black and white copy of the photograph was blurry, the resolution poor and the paper even worse. But Jake felt his heart lurch, his breath catching in his throat, the pain sharp and bright, blinding.

He stared down at the woman. Frank was right. Isabella Montenegro looked enough like Abby Diaz to make him ache. But that was the point, wasn’t it? To make him hurt. To make him doubt himself. To make him desperately want to believe Abby was alive.

But was it possible? Could this woman really be Abby? Or an imposter, designed to draw him back into something he’d spent six years trying to forget?

He shifted his gaze from the woman to the child in the photograph. His pulse pounded just at the sight of the little girl. He felt his eyes burn, his heart slamming against his ribs. Oh God, could it be possible? He couldn’t take his eyes from the child’s face. There was something about her. So small, so sweet. And so scared. He could see it in her expression.