Covert Christmas Twin

Students rushed toward the aisle, filling the stairway leading to the public exit at the top. Kendra dodged them, fighting the stream. To her left, the student who had prompted the professor’s smile stepped down from the first row.

Kendra held back a gasp as their eyes met. She recognized the olive skin, the eyes that matched a stormy sky and the soft smile that suddenly disappeared. His name escaped her, but she knew him. There was no time for a reunion to figure out where, though. She darted across the classroom floor and out the door.

A musty hallway lit by only three fluorescent lights assaulted her sinuses and provoked the start of a tension headache. At the far end, Beverly Walsh hustled toward the exit door. “Professor,” Kendra called. She couldn’t yell out “Mom” yet. That would be too weird.

Beverly shoved the crash bar and as the door swung open, bright sunshine flooded the hallway. Then she disappeared from sight. Kendra hesitated for the briefest of seconds, second-guessing her instincts. Logically, how would Beverly know Kendra was her daughter if she hadn’t seen her since birth? Maybe there was another reason she was running away that didn’t have anything to do with adoption.

Kendra bolted forward, pumping her arms, until she burst out the door a few seconds after the professor. She squinted against the sunshine. The Florida campus was dotted with trees so thick it would be easy to hide. She didn’t spot any students so it seemed to be a rarely used exit, although it was the first Monday morning after Thanksgiving, a prime skip day.

Strands of blond hair swung out from behind a tree. The professor’s swinging hair had given away her location. Even if this woman wasn’t her mother, Kendra wasn’t used to people running away from her unless they had something to hide. She broke into a jog, and with long strides, gained on the professor.

“Get down!” a man’s voice yelled from behind.

A shot rang out from above. Bark chipped off the tree and flew into her face. Kendra held up both arms to block the flying bits of wood from hitting her eyes. She dropped to the ground, rolling behind a tree.

She popped up on one knee, facing the direction of the shot, and reached behind to pull out her own gun. The sun made it difficult to see clearly, but she spotted the shadow of a man in an open window on the top floor. A glint of reflection, most likely a scope, pointed her way.

She raised her weapon and aimed. Another bullet sounded before she could pull the trigger. She flinched, remembering all too well what it felt like for a bullet to pierce her flesh. This time, the pain never came.

The man dropped from the open window. Kendra hadn’t shot him, hadn’t had a chance to fire. She whipped her head around to prevent seeing the gunman hit the pavement, only to find the man she’d recognized in class putting away his weapon. His military stance helped the name rush to the forefront of her mind—Joe Rose, FBI behavioral analyst unit officer.

The professor appeared in her periphery, then rushed past her, toward the broken body on the ground. She bent over and searched his pockets until she pulled out the man’s phone. She pocketed it and rushed toward Kendra while beckoning Joe with her index finger. “Well, this is a fine mess you’ve gotten us into.”

Her green eyes flashed as she met Kendra’s gaze. “Put away your weapon! You’ve already caused enough trouble walking into my class without warning. Would you like a sign that says, ‘Please kill me’?”

Beverly walked a few more steps, her gait short but unbelievably fast as she rounded another tree. She spun around. “We need to get out of sight now. This place is about to explode with people and law enforcement.”

Kendra blinked, a flood of hurt and confusion threatening to slow her down, but she rushed after Beverly as if on autopilot. Joe reached her side and pointed at a building up ahead, past another set of trees. She wanted to ask him a million questions but held her tongue. Nothing made sense. She didn’t understand enough about what had just happened to even form an educated question. They rounded another building just as sirens reached their ears.

“Someone found the body already. Great.” Beverly shook her head. “We’re on borrowed time, then. Would it have killed you to use a silencer, Joe?”

“It may surprise you to find out I don’t carry one, Beverly. I thought it’d be best to save Special Agent Parker’s life instead.” His voice remained calm and collected despite the professor’s irritated tone. He turned to Kendra and smirked as if the expression could be a form of greeting. “I’m hoping to find out why she’s here.”

“I assume Kendra’s figured out I’m her mother. She practically waved a banner back there informing everyone else, too.” Her eyes flashed but only glanced at Kendra for half a second. “Let’s hope you haven’t already put a target on your head.”

Kendra kept up the pace but felt like she’d entered some alternate universe. She shook her head and stopped abruptly. “Excuse me. Did I miss a memo? Did I black out and not hear, I don’t know, how you know who I am?” She bit out the last few words.

Beverly sighed, disappointment drenching her every feature. “Let’s get somewhere secure and then I’ll brief you.”

“Brief me?” Except Beverly had already taken off, booking it so fast she was out of earshot. Kendra turned to Joe. “Is my mo—” She almost choked on the word mother. Her brain refused to digest that she’d actually found her after all this time. Or, perhaps Kendra wasn’t sure the woman deserved the title. “Is Beverly Walsh a Fed?”

Joe shrugged, a sympathetic smile on his face. He reached for her hand and led her after the speed-walking Beverly. “I’m afraid it’s a little more complicated than that.”

In any other scenario, Joe Rose would’ve wanted to take Kendra to a coffee shop and properly catch up on their lives. But, seeing as he’d just shot a man who had tried to kill her, it was probably best to take Beverly’s lead and keep moving.

It’d been years since he’d last seen Kendra, back in their training days at the FBI Academy. Work Hard, Play Hard seemed to be her motto back then. If his analysis proved correct, it stemmed partly from an inner drive Joe couldn’t relate to and a fierce desire to prove something. To whom, he didn’t know.

The years—or perhaps the job—had taken an obvious toll on her. She looked the same—it wasn’t that—but her eyes reflected a deep weariness as well as a guarded nature he didn’t remember being there before. She looked leaner, stronger physically, yet more vulnerable. Perhaps he’d spent too much time studying lately and was reading too much into her appearance. She had, after all, just met her birth mother and narrowly avoided being killed.

Kendra tugged slightly on his hand, and only then did he realize he was still holding hers. He silently prayed for wisdom and protection, then gave her fingers a light squeeze and let go. Beverly’s speed walk could beat many runners, but she turned—a good twenty paces ahead of them—and made the universal symbol for “stop” with her hand. Joe slowed, no longer attempting to catch up. She gave him a nod of approval and disappeared around a corner. He felt certain he knew where she was headed.

“I appreciate the help, but you’re not my analyst and this isn’t a mission, so you don’t need to lead me by the hand,” Kendra said. “In fact, I don’t really understand why you’re here, so I hope you’ll explain that, as well.”

“Of course.” He shrugged. “It wasn’t intentional. I’m a pastor now. I mean, I’m transitioning to become one full-time. I’m taking steps to leave the Bureau, at least.” He cringed, trying to figure out how to back up and explain better.

She halted. “What?” Her gaze darted ahead, and she seemed to notice that Beverly had disappeared from their line of vision. “Great. I’m losing her.”

“Beverly wanted us to split up. There could be eyes watching her.” Joe stepped into a side alley. “I think she’s going to her place, her real place. She has a town house for show, but I’ve been to her actual house once. It’s probably best we go a different way to meet her.”

“I have a million questions that won’t wait and—” She placed her hands on her hips and regarded him. “Why do I have the feeling you already know what I’m going to ask?”

He took a deep breath. It felt like lying not to admit what he knew. “I found out recently about you and your twin sister, Audrey. The circumstances for you meeting Beverly today aren’t ideal, but—”

She took a step backward and bit her lip before a mask of nonchalance dropped in place. “How did you find out I have a twin? I didn’t even know until a few months ago, and ever since then, the FBI has been diligent in making sure no one else found out. So I know whatever you’re doing here with my—with Beverly—isn’t FBI-sanctioned. Why are you here, Joe?”

His recent training taught him how to handle many a delicate moment, but this discussion felt like entering an unmarked minefield. He exhaled, trying and failing to imagine what meeting Beverly had to be like for her. “You should know that even though Beverly seems like a hard woman, I know for a fact she cares more than she’d ever admit. Beyond that, answering your question right now is a little tricky. I’m not sure it’s my place to really—”

She grabbed his shoulder and turned him until they were face-to-face. “It’s about me, Joe. I think it’s my place to know. Start talking.” Her cheeks reddened slightly and she let go and took a step back. “Please. It’s not a pleasant sensation to feel like you’re the last to know who your own mother is.”

He studied her face, missing the smile that had been on her face so often back at Quantico. “Like I was trying to tell you, I’m actually in the process of resigning from the Bureau. I took an extended leave that’s about to be permanent.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Why? You have a great reputation.”

“That’s nice to hear, but I found it just wasn’t for me. I came here to utilize the theology—”

Kendra placed a hand on her hip. “Joe, how many degrees do you have now?”

He collected degrees like most people did books, although he mostly stuck to the fields of psychology and sociology. “Only five. I’ve been auditing your mo—” He caught himself before saying mother. “Beverly’s classes. Actually, she was the one who made me realize I wasn’t ready to completely cut ties with the FBI. So after I tender my resignation, I’ll apply to continue with the FBI on a volunteer basis.”

“Volunteer? You can’t volunteer for the FBI.”

“As an FBI chaplain.”

She pulled her chin back and frowned. “Huh?” The sirens grew louder as the sound of revving motors got closer. She pointed to his arm. “Walk with me.”

He did as she asked. She grabbed his hand with her right and walked with him, head down, as if they were a couple strolling. “Until I know what’s going on, I think it’s best to leave the police out of the loop. Look up and act surprised by what’s happening.”

Three police cars zoomed past them. The air crackled with the chaos that came after a shooting. Joe wasn’t ready to process that he’d been the one to fire a bullet that had taken a life, even if he only did it to save a life.

Another cruiser slowed ever so briefly as the officer in the passenger side glanced at them. They were looking for the shooter, but Kendra’s face showed the perfect amount of confusion and concern that he knew the officer would assume they were just bystanders. His suspicion was confirmed as the officer shook his head and they zoomed away, likely to check all the nearby alleys.

“Covert work comes naturally to you, doesn’t it?” He couldn’t help but wonder if she pretended to be part of a couple with a lot of agents.

Kendra dropped his hand. “I don’t mean to be rude, but can you get to the part about my supposed mother telling you about me?”

Another reminder it wasn’t time to catch up. “Yes. She’s made brilliant discoveries in the field of behavior analysis, she’s an excellent professor and—” he peeked around the brick building before rounding the corner “she’s also watched very closely by hired guns, like the one who tried to kill you.”

He pointed ahead to a blue Victorian house that from the outside appeared to be falling apart. The porch sagged and the landscaping, while trimmed neatly, contained more weeds than grass. Even the windows were covered in grime from years of neglect. They would have to cross the street, in the open, to reach it. “I really think I should let her have a chance to explain the rest. You won’t have to wait much longer.”