Compromised Identity

Sean waved an arm toward the sports car and yelled to the police. “That’s them! Go!” The car hesitated, and then took off in pursuit. Satisfied the officers had things in hand, Sean turned his attention to the woman he was supposed to be keeping an eye on.

Jessica Dylan sagged against the chain-link fence, fingers laced through the metal as she watched the car roar away. The instant she realized he was watching, she straightened and tugged the hem of her jacket, her face rearranged into an impassive mask.

This was a soldier who wanted him to know she was fully in control. No victim here.

Before he could reach her, the two soldiers who’d raced from the building swarmed her, but Staff Sergeant Dylan waved them off. “I’m fine.” She turned on two of the younger soldiers, eyeing them with an expression Sean hoped he never saw aimed in his direction. “Explain to me how Specialist Channing got into the company building when it was locked.”

Must be staff duty. And one of them had made a huge mistake. For their twenty-four-hour shift, those guys were responsible for manning the area and making sure everything stayed safe and low-key. From walking the battalion to answering the phones, they were the first line of defense. Sean would like to know the answer to how this all went down right in front of them, as well.

One of the soldiers stepped forward and Sean angled to read his name. Specialist Thompson. “I had stepped away to take a message to Captain Alexander. My runner was at the desk.”

Staff Sergeant Dylan tipped her head toward the younger soldier, a Private Meyers. “So you let her in?”

“She needed to drop something off in your office, so I let her in and came back to my post. I didn’t think it was a big deal.” Private Meyers kept his gaze just over Jessica’s shoulder.

Sean couldn’t blame the kid for not looking at her. He was facing a world of hurt leaving the desk unmanned and giving access to a soldier on the very day trouble went down. Sean stepped closer, drawing Staff Sergeant Dylan’s attention again, and she stepped away from the other soldiers to approach him, left hand extended, the only indication she’d been through trauma: a slight tremor in her fingers.

“I’m Staff Sergeant Jessica Dylan.” She grasped his fingers tightly in hers, her hand chilled from the elements and likely mild shock. “Thanks for stepping in.”

Something was wrong. Sean released her hand and eyed her carefully. “Most people I know extend their right hands, Staff Sergeant. Are you injured?” The way she angled her shoulder slightly back was a telltale sign. He looked past her to the two soldiers trudging back toward their post. “Private Meyers, call for an ambulance.”

“Meyers.” Jessica Dylan pulled herself taller and turned her back to Sean. “Do not. I’m fine.”

Meyers and the other soldier hesitated, and then seemed to choose their own chain of command over the random stranger, turning to walk back toward the building. Only Private Meyers cast an uncertain, slightly amused glance back at them.

She whirled on him so fast she wavered on her feet. “I don’t know who you are, but I said I’m fine.” Her eyes swept the rank on his chest, and she seemed a little prideful to find it equal to hers: Staff Sergeant.

Holding his hands up in surrender, Sean took a step back, giving her space before she took out her anger and fear on him.

“I’m fine, by the way. Just took a dive into the wall shoulder first. I’ll have it checked out, and I’m sure it will be bruised tomorrow but none the worse for wear.” She met his eyes with authority. “Again, thank you. I don’t know what made you do it, but I appreciate the help.” Without looking back, she turned and walked away.

The help? He took two steps to follow her, then stopped, unsure whether he should reveal his mission yet or not. Based on all he’d seen in the past five minutes, that man would have killed her. Without Sean, Jessica Dylan would be dead.

TWO (#ulink_3799abda-3b6e-5514-a395-5dbc9d3e3511)

Shoulder throbbing with a very new and totally unwelcome kind of pain, Jessica sank to the wooden bench by the side door in her house and bent to unlace her boots, wishing the pain meds would kick in and give her relief.

“At least the doctor said nothing’s broken.” Her roommate, Angie Hunter, slipped off her shoes and kicked them under the bench.

Jessica had to dodge to keep her ankle from being pierced by heels so tall that airport security would likely consider them weapons. “At this point, I think I’m past caring.” She’d toughed it out in front of everybody, not wanting to get carted off in an ambulance like a weak female, but the pain had finally driven her to make sure the injury wasn’t more than it seemed. All she needed was a pointless injury to sideline her career. The doctor at the emergency room had assured her nothing was torn or broken, but he had told her to take it easy for a few days. Hopefully, his prognosis on how long the pain would last was wrong.

Stowing her boots under the bench, Jessica followed Angie into the small kitchen at the back of the house, letting a deep breath of the familiar spicy scents wash over her and ease some of the weirdness from her day. This room, with its cheery yellow walls and white cabinets, was her happy place, the one spot in the whole world where nothing could touch her. Running her hands along the cool granite of the counter, she thanked God again for leading her to a roommate who had gourmet decorating tastes, if not gourmet cooking skills.

“Hungry?” Angie pulled open a cabinet door and stood staring into the contents as though she knew what to do with them.

“You’re cooking? I’ll pass.” Jessica leaned back against the counter. No matter who was cooking, food didn’t sound appetizing with the pain in her shoulder twisting a knot in her stomach. Or maybe that knot had more to do with the fact Channing and her cohort were still out there somewhere, having eluded the MPs and slipped off post before the order came through to tighten security at the gates.

“I make a mean can of tomato soup, I’ll have you know.” Thumping the can on the counter, Angie reached up and pulled her blond hair into a ponytail, securing it with a hair band she slid from her wrist. “You should eat something.”

“I’m good. All I want is a shower and my bed.”

“Maybe you’ll dream about your mystery protector.” Two years younger than Jessica, Angie thought everything was romantic. Knowing her, she was wishing she had been the one facing down a bad guy while a handsome hero rushed to save her.

Reality was nothing like the fantasy. Jessica would roll her eyes, but she was afraid she’d fall asleep halfway through. “I’m good. Thanks.”

“Just tell me he was cute, and I’ll go dream about him for you.”

“I was a little too busy to notice.” Sort of. In spite of the situation, forgetting how blue those eyes were when he trained them right on her was not easy. And he had that dark blond kind of hair that was just a little bit longer than it should be, so it sort of mussed on the top as if he’d dragged his fingers through it.

Well, okay. So a girl could think a guy was handsome, especially if he was in the process of saving her life. Why lie? “Fine. He was the sort you’d think was gorgeous. Broad shoulders and all.” Jessica shoved off the counter and headed for her room, where the joy of sweatpants awaited and this conversation ended. “And to make your dreams even better, I’m pretty sure he wasn’t a regular Joe from down on the line, not the way he handled himself. But just remember, for all we know, that exterior hid a whole tangle of crazy.” Somehow, she doubted that. The way he took authority and dove at her attacker said there was more to him than a man who was simply in the right place at the right time.

“All I heard in that jumble of words was you noticed the color of his eyes.” Angie’s laugh followed Jessica up the hall to the stairwell. “Maybe you’ll see him again.”

“Doubtful.” At least she hoped not. Any man who stepped on her authority the way he had didn’t sit right with her, even if he had saved her life.

Jessica climbed the stairs and shut the door on Angie’s amusement, then leaned back against it, letting her body relax for the first time in hours. If she didn’t have work to do, she’d crawl into bed right now and will the world away for the rest of the night.

Even though she’d hedged with Angie, it wouldn’t be a bad thing to see her anonymous defender again, at least so she could thank him for putting himself in danger on her behalf. If he hadn’t been there...

Shuddering, Jessica forced herself to move. Going there now would just solidify the image and unfurl it in her nightmares later. Not that she needed much help. Even if she didn’t have recurring dreams about her last deployment, the decor in her bedroom would agitate her. Why Angie had seen fit to go Gothic in here with deep red walls and heavy dark wood furniture was a mystery Jessica had never felt like solving. She was just happy to live off post.

Changing into track pants and a sweatshirt, Jessica gathered her uniform to toss it into the laundry. Every time she bent to pick up clothes from the hardwood floor, her shoulder pounded a reminder it had only been a few hours since she’d done battle with one of her soldiers, who’d now gone missing.

She snatched up her uniform bottoms, unwilling to think about this day anymore.

Something hard clattered to the floor and slid beneath the dark gray bed skirt. Kneeling to reach with her uninjured arm, Jessica retrieved the object and held it up.

Private Channing’s cell phone, the one that had fallen from her backpack when she swung it at Jessica’s head. Sinking all the way to the floor, Jessica powered up the device, praying it held enough charge to give her a clue as to what was happening with her disappearing soldier and the attempted theft of yet another laptop.

The phone chimed to life with just under a quarter of its battery showing. Almost immediately, texts popped onto the screen, vibrating the phone and chirping to the point Jessica nearly shoved the thing under a pillow. When the noise finally stopped, over a dozen texts waited.

It was probably an invasion of privacy to read them, but since the girl had lost the phone while swinging a backpack at Jessica’s head, privacy really ranked low at this point.

Jessica clicked on the first message. It was nothing but letters and numbers strewn together in a random pattern. Each and every message read the same way, though they came from two different telephone numbers.

Sitting back against the bed, Jessica let the device hang from limp fingers between her knees. It was almost like a child had typed text after text right under their parents’ noses. Private Channing didn’t have any children and no family that Jessica could remember seeing in her records when she’d arrived last week to prepare for rotation overseas. The woman was a foster child, her next of kin listed as a friend she’d met in basic training.

Lifting the phone again, Jessica clicked out of the messages and hesitated only a moment before going to email. The slight pain in her shoulder urged her past any sense of contrition for snooping.

No new emails, but dozens of already-opened ones sat in the queue, each with an attachment.

Why stop now? Jessica clicked on the first one. No message, but the attachment opened to reveal an official Department of Defense photo of a young male soldier. The next three emails were the same, with dozens more behind them, all sent within the past six weeks. Face after face flicked by, none of them bringing a name to mind, one or two of them vaguely familiar, though it could have been they bore resemblance to a famous person...or her exhaustion was kicking into overdrive.

Jessica turned the phone off and pulled herself up. Likely, Channing had found some weird dating site that catered exclusively to the military. There were worse things young soldiers had done with the Internet, that was for sure.

She slipped the phone into her backpack and pulled out her personal laptop, wanting to sleep but knowing her keyed-up mind wouldn’t let her. Lately, her father had started pushing the Green to Gold option on her, hinting he’d like her to take advantage of the Army’s program that allowed her to go to college on their dime and become a commissioned officer.

It was tempting, earning her father’s respect, but she’d have to temporarily leave behind her status as a medic. The thought burned in her chest. She was already sidelined for a year, watching the home front, helping soldiers transition into and out of the Army, working with the families... Would it be worth it, walking away from her dream career for an even longer stretch of time, simply for the possibility of making her father proud?