Page 4 of Finding Amanda

Amanda’s long pause gave him hope, right up until she said, “That’s not necessary. The FBI can’t do what I can. He needs to be stopped.”

“Obviously. But what if he’s already in prison?” Not thestrongest argument, but Mark needed something. “I mean, why go through with it if he is?”

“If he’s already in prison, then he can’t hurt me, right?”

“Well, yeah, but then, why do it? I mean, if he’s already been discovered?”

Amanda sighed. “I’m not discussing this with you. I know you want me to pretend like none of it ever happened. You’ve made your feelings very clear. But I’m publishing the memoir. I have to go.”

Sure she did. Because sitting in stop-and-go traffic was so taxing that she couldn’t talk on the phone at the same time. Mark rested his head on the steering wheel. “Fine.”

“Bye, Mark.”

“Wait.” She didn’t hang up, which he decided to take as a good sign. “I love you.”

A pause. “Right. Okay then. Bye.”

Mark slipped the phone into his shirt pocket and tried to pretend it was no big deal she hadn’t said it back. Not today. Not in at least thirty-four days. Did love really slip away that easily? He maneuvered back onto the road.

Ten minutes and half a cup of bitter gas-station coffee later, he turned into the driveway of his latest project—an eighteenth-century home that would have been better off without the seventies-era updates of avocado appliances, orange-and-gold linoleum, and cheap carpet stapled over hardwood floors. The new owners planned to fully remodel the old place. That should keep him busy.

He parked the truck and stepped out, reaching back in for his coffee before slamming the door. He took a sip, in no hurry to start another work day. At least it was Friday, and he had a weekend with the girls to look forward to, the first since he and Amanda split.

He checked his watch, a G-Shock Amanda had given himon their first anniversary to replace the Timex he’d broken in Afghanistan. The sound of tires on the asphalt startled him. It was too soon for his crew to arrive, and the guys weren’t known for being early. But the dark sedan that parked in front of the house didn’t belong to any of his workers.

The man’s gun bulged under his dark suit jacket as he approached. His striped tie set off the white shirt. Mark raised a brow. “Bet that tie was in style when you bought it. How’d you find me?”

“Would you believe I installed a GPS tracker under your hood? I keep up with your every movement, thanks to this.” Retired Lieutenant Colonel Christopher Sapp tapped the smart phone holstered to his waistband.

Mark smirked. “Sure you do.”

Chris cracked a smile.

Mark had teased Chris endlessly when he’d been promoted, certain his friend had worked so hard to achieve the rank of lieutenant colonel just so he wouldn’t have to retire and be referred to asMajor Sappfor the rest of his life.

Chris glanced at the house, lingering on the recently-delivered lumber piled in front of the garage. “I saw your truck turn down this road on my way to work. Thought I’d stop by and say hi.”

“I knew I should’ve taken the back way. Aren’t you going to be late?”

“The Bureau will survive without me for another half hour.”

“Must be nice. If I’m not here, my guys will putter around, accomplish nothing, and still expect to be paid.” Mark tried to ignore his friend’s scrutiny as Chris leaned against the truck and frowned.

“No offense, but you look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

“A week? Try almost five.”

His friend flinched. “Already? Any updates?”

Mark scuffed his work boot against the asphalt. “Nope.”

“Amanda’s determined to do it?”

Mark nodded, drained the last sip of his coffee, and set the empty cup on the hood.

“And you still don’t know what’s going on?”

“She doesn’t talk to me anymore. Did you find out anything?”

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