Page 2 of It's Always Been You

A backpack was tossed out; she watched as it tumbled down the ditch.

Caitlin ran toward the car knowing Jase had already rolled up all the windows. She had a brief image of herself climbing through the broken rear windshield.

She angrily tried the door. Locked.

She banged on his window. He was staring straight ahead, his jaw working convulsively. Finally, he lowered his window an inch.

“What are you doing?” Caitlin shrieked.

“I’m a dead man walking, Caitlin,” Jase said sadly. “They could still leave you alone. But they want me dead.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“There’s a village about two miles up,” he continued without answering her question. “Hide there for two days, and then go to the American Embassy in Berlin.”

Caitlin was confused. “They’ll arrest me.”

Jase sighed, his shoulders slumping. “No, they won’t.”

“I don’t understand.” Fear started clawing up her throat. There was a grim resoluteness on his face—one she had never seen before. “Open the fucking door, Jase.”

“I didn’t mean for it to end this way between us,” he whispered.

“You’re scaring me.”

There was a suspicious sheen in his eyes. He lowered the window, reached out with his good arm, pulled her head down and kissed her. Just as quickly, he let her go. “It’s time for you to stop running. I’m not the one you love.”

With that cryptic message, the man who had been her rock for three years left her by the side of the road.

Travis Blake staredat the stack of résumés before him and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. For every ten he received, only one deserved a call. He had been interviewing applicants for the past two days, and only three had made the cut. Blake Security Inc. had made its name by providing high-quality security services. Each client had different needs and each client’s profile was individually assessed by any of his five team managers before they made recommendations in terms of manpower and equipment requirements. Most of his clients were politicians and foreign dignitaries. He frequently received assignments from the Secret Service, and his deep connections within the CIA and FBI didn’t hurt either.

In just two short years, he had cultivated a client list of the who’s who in Washington DC. Repeat business and word of mouth had quickly turned his security company into a multimillion-dollar enterprise.

“Will that be all, Travis?” a lilting musical voice spoke from the entrance of his office. Emily was his personal assistant. She was married to Edward Shephard, one of his team managers and a former Navy SEAL just like Travis. Emily did everything from office management to logistics, and Travis was thankful that he had her to take care of the mundane activities that went with running a business. With the rapid growth of BSI, Ed had been grumbling to Travis about hiring an assistant for Emily, who was consistently putting in almost sixty hours a week.

Travis glanced up at Emily, his eyes cutting over to the clock on the wall. It was 8:00 p.m. on Friday night.

“Yes, Em. Thanks. Sorry for keeping you so late.”

“If you need me to stay, Travis, I can.”

“No, I’ll be bugging out soon,” Travis lied. “Go on home. Ed’s arriving tonight, right?”

“Yes, his flight arrives at nine.”

“Enjoy your weekend.”

Emily hesitated at the door. A troubled look crossed her face, and it seemed like she was about to say something, but changed her mind. “You too, Travis. See you Monday.”

After Emily left, Travis leaned back in his chair and sighed, thankful that Emily had not lectured him again about finding a girlfriend. His eyes drifted to the photograph on his desk—a picture of an achingly beautiful woman with long blonde hair and the most amazing hazel eyes. Sarah . . .

No. He would not allow himself to think about her tonight. He’d done enough of that this morning when he’d sat in front of his laptop at 2:00 a.m. and looked for her. If anyone knew of his predawn habits, he would lose his business and would be committed to an asylum. A man looking for his dead wife—if that didn’t scream of insanity, he didn’t know what else would. Three years ago, his mind had buried her. She was in a closed casket. All logic dictated that the DNA result and autopsy hadn’t lied. But his heart and soul had refused to accept that the putrid flesh the authorities had recovered, which Travis had banished beneath six feet of earth, was his Sarah.

Travis stood up and walked to the liquor cabinet to pour himself some Scotch.

Not a single day. For three years, not a single day had passed without him thinking of her. Although the ache in his heart had dulled with the passage of time, it could sometimes still spike to an unbearable pain. Like this week—tomorrowwould be their wedding anniversary. They would have been married for five years. He’d only had her for two.

But there was a method to his madness. A little over two years ago, while working security for a senator, Travis had managed to take down an assassin. The coroner had sent him pictures of all the man’s markings to determine if he belonged to any organization. He had many tattoos, including one on the sole of his foot that looked like the infinity symbol. Sarah had the same mark in the same location. She’d told him she had done it as a form of teenage rebellion.

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