Deadly Disclosure

“Is that it? Are we safe?” She kept her whisper so soft she could barely discern her own voice.

“I think so.” Derek’s hoarse whisper tickled her ear, and another tingle traversed her spine, this one for different reasons but still full of apprehension. “Let me grab my phone.”

The glow of the screen illuminated his face and the grim set of his mouth. With the tap of an icon, the phone’s flashlight illuminated their part of the garage.

“Are they gone?” Derek lowered his arm, and a chill immediately set in to Hannah’s shoulders. “How did they find us?”

“I don’t know yet, but I think you need to call your parents and let them know we’re coming. If you go see them in person, they might want to make sure their security is in order.”

“What? No. I need to spring it on them in person. See their reactions for myself. That’ll get to the truth of the matter. And not to worry, their security is always top-notch. Besides, that truck is gone. We lost him.”

He laid a hand on her arm, but this time it felt restrictive. “I still think you should call.”

She shoved herself up to her feet. “It’s not up to you.” An angry tone entered, and she stopped herself. She didn’t want to be that person. With a deep breath, she tried again, this time more level. “I will drive myself to my parents’ house if I need to, leaving you here at the funeral home.” She gestured around the darkness. “Rather, in the garage.”

Maneuvering in the dim light of his phone flashlight, she tiptoed around him and toward the driver’s door. “Hannah.” His tone was warm and wrapped around her like a thick quilt.

A quaver crawled up her throat, and she swallowed hard to tamp it down. “I’m sorry. It’s just so much to process. You’ve never found out anything like this—that you’re adopted.”

“No.” He stepped closer. “You remember. I was raised by my aunt and uncle after my parents were killed. But I’d like to think I have a little idea of what you’re feeling. Confusion. Betrayal. Curiosity.”

“Oh, Derek. I do remember. I wasn’t thinking.” She had known he was living with an aunt and uncle, and he had mentioned, all those years ago, that his mom and dad had passed away. But she didn’t know any more than that. There was clearly more to Derek Chambers than she had realized. She placed a hand on his arm, a zing in the darkness striking to her core. “I’m sorry. We didn’t talk about it much.”

She sensed, more than saw, his shrug. “It didn’t seem important at the time. I wanted to think about us and our future, not my past.”

“Then you really do know what I’m feeling. You understand the importance of getting the truth.”

“Yes. I do.” A steely determination had crept into his tone.

She stepped again toward the driver-side door. “So, who’s driving?”

* * *

Derek glanced at the sign that read Union Street as he turned back onto the side street that seemed to widen out in the next block or so. He’d settled Hannah into the passenger seat, and now he was following her directions as she got her bearings in a town she didn’t know all that well.

The scent of gasoline and death lingered in his nostrils from the funeral home’s garage. Maybe it was just his imagination, the idea of the scent of death. Maybe it was a memory from witnessing the murder of his parents. But even if it was, he still wiggled his nose in an attempt to eradicate the aroma before he could be inundated with images he had struggled to forget.

His cell phone vibrated next to his hip, and he grabbed it from the holster on his belt. A square popped up on his incoming-call screen. His supervising agent’s code name for himself. So newly graduated from the academy that the protective plastic coating was barely pulled off his badge, Derek knew he’d have to check in frequently.

He glanced at Hannah, relieved that she didn’t seem to be paying attention to his phone. Being around her again made him jittery, and he didn’t want to mess up in front of his supervising agent. “Go.”

Square’s voice was hoarse in his ear. “Secure?”

“For now.”

“Did you acquire the subject?”

The subject seemed a harsh way of communicating about the complex yet feminine woman who sat beside him. “Yes.”

“Is there knowledge?” Square was asking if Derek had informed Hannah of her adoption and the identity of her birth father.

“Affirmative.”

Hannah looked over at him, a question in her wide, brown eyes. Derek shrugged but didn’t respond, an attempt to convey nonchalance. Hopefully, it would calm both of them.

“Location?” The supervising agent would check in regularly with Derek for his first two years as an official FBI agent. But since Derek had just arrived in Heartwood Hill that afternoon, it seemed a little soon for an update. Perhaps that was because the supervisor had been unable to accompany him. Whatever he had to do to comply, though, Derek was willing. He was living his dream, and nothing would stand in his way, not even the beautiful creature who sat in the vehicle with him.

“Sliding into home base.” It was summertime, and that meant baseball. Square would understand that Derek had Hannah in transit to her parents’ house.

“Okay. Play ball.” His supervisor ended the call, and Derek understood that he was to proceed but with extreme caution.

Hannah flipped her brown waves over her shoulder. “Everything okay?”

Derek ran through what she must have heard from his end of the call. It wouldn’t have been anything out of the ordinary. “Yeah. Just checking in.” She understood the danger, of that he was sure. No need to dwell on it.

As he continued to follow Hannah’s directions, the drive wound them through small starter homes to an area of ethnic grocery stores and soccer fields to an upscale mall and eventually to a section of town where Derek guessed the houses were a million dollars or more.

“How long has it been since you’ve been home?” Despite the gloom of the evening, Derek still saw luxurious, large yards with winding drives, profusions of flowers and statues of footmen holding lanterns at the end of driveways.

“Probably too long, but law school has kept me busy.” She pointed to the right. “Turn here.”

“What do your parents know? About us? Did you ever tell them anything?” Derek had had his own private conversation with Mr. McClarnon, but Hannah’s father had strictly instructed him not to breathe a word to Hannah. For years, he had carried the torment inside of him and now he was to walk right into the presence of the man who had ended it all. And his own daughter didn’t know.

Hannah tossed a startled look at him that quickly morphed into a soft haze, as if she was remembering the good times they had shared. “No. Nothing.”

“That was probably wise. What would be the point?” He took in her rich brown hair, her coordinated black-and-turquoise sweater outfit, her designer bag. He didn’t know the brand names, and maybe that was the point. He was quickly realizing that he would do anything to protect Hannah, but that also brought the pain of the knowledge that there was zero chance for a relationship. She was beautiful and smart and caring and seemed perfect for him. But he had a career now, the one he had dreamed of since the time his parents were murdered.

How could he ask her to leave her family for him when they had so much to offer and so many resources to provide for her? What kind of jerk would he be if he expected her to give up the love of her parents and brother and sit in a tiny apartment alone, while he went out on mission after mission after mission? He exhaled roughly. Besides, when it came down to it, he wasn’t good enough for her anyway.

Derek pulled into the long cement lane that led to the McClarnon mansion. A gardener was pushing a wheelbarrow toward the back, probably to the garages and outbuildings, ready to go home for the night. The house loomed larger than life, gables peaked into the clouds and three separate chimneys pierced the night sky. Large beveled windows reflected his SUV’s headlights as he pulled up next to a wide set of stone steps flanked on either side by ornate, carved handrails.

Broken cement steps had marked his childhood, steps that had led to a run-down house owned by his aunt and uncle. They had, he supposed, graciously allowed him a bedroom that was probably less than half the size of Mr. McClarnon’s dressing room. Certainly, finding out she was adopted was a shock to Hannah, but at least she had parents who truly loved her and provided for her exceedingly well. His aunt and uncle had made it abundantly clear that he was a burden, just as Mr. McClarnon had not minced words when he had told Derek he was not worthy of Hannah’s attention.

Derek swiped a hand over his forehead. Tiny beads of perspiration had popped up at the prospect of meeting Mr. McClarnon again. Truly, he’d rather go toe-to-toe with a bank robber than that man. But facing him was unavoidable.

Hannah was out of her side of the Escape before Derek could emerge and come around. Just as they reached the front door, it opened. A man held it wide for them. He was dressed as formally as Derek would have been for the high school prom, if he had ever gone, in a black tie over a starched white dress shirt. A gray vest was buttoned from top to bottom under a black morning coat, and a thin stripe ran down his gray trousers. If memory served, this was the same butler who had ushered him into Mr. McClarnon’s presence nearly a decade ago.

“Good evening, Miss Hannah. Welcome home.”

“Hello, Carson. I assume Mother and Father are in their usual occupations for a Monday evening?”

A sideways glance from the butler crawled over Derek, but he forced himself to stand tall. What kind of FBI agent would he be if he allowed himself to be intimidated?

“Are they not expecting you?”

“Not exactly, but it’s urgent.” She swept past Carson, who stepped back quickly to allow her space. Derek followed, stretching out to the full inch he had over the man. As they hurried down the well-appointed hallway toward the sitting room, he fought to maintain that height. He would need it in the coming moments.

As they walked, he surveyed the area. Despite what little he knew about the home and what was normal for the McClarnons, it didn’t seem that anything was out of order, or that the shooter or his cohorts, whoever they may be, had been around. Still, he knew better than to let his guard down and would continually monitor their surroundings for any potential threat of danger.