Without a Trace Read online

  Copyright © 2020 by Michael Cross

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  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Without A Trace

  Michael Cross

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Author’s Note

  Also by Michael Cross

  Chapter One

  It’s just past noon when I roll into Minneapolis. I pull to a stop at a gas station to fill up and grab a couple bottles of water. Though it’s only been about seven hours on the road, it feels like it’s been a much longer stretch from Chicago.

  With the tank refilled, I pull the car to the side of the gas station and get back out. I’m not quite ready to go just yet—not that I even know where I’m going. But I want to take a few beats to get my head on straight. I’m tired and should probably get some sleep before I push on.

  I walk around the parking lot, stretching my legs as I down the first bottle of water. In the distance, I can see the Minneapolis skyline and realize I can pick out at least a few of the buildings I see. The Capella Tower, the IDS Center, and U.S. Bank Stadium, home of the Minnesota Vikings.

  I have no idea how I know their names just off the top of my head. I don’t recall ever visiting Minneapolis, but they just come to me like I’ve lived here all my life. I sigh and shake my head. That seems to be SOP for me these days: I just know things without knowing how I know them.

  The sky overhead is a bold shade of blue, interrupted by a thin smattering of wispy clouds. There’s a slight chill on the breeze, but it feels nice. Invigorating. The gas station’s lighted sign flashes the temperature. It’s sixty-one degrees. People are walking around in short sleeve shirts and shorts like it’s the middle of summer.

  I’ve just cracked the open second bottle of water when my phone rings.

  “I knew it was too good to last,” I groan.

  I lean back against the car and slip the phone out of my pocket. Seeing that it’s from a restricted number, I connect the call and press the phone to my ear, silently wishing that just for once, it would be a telemarketer. They’d be far more pleasant to deal with. Or at least, easier to ignore.

  “Need I ask why you’re in Minneapolis?” the High Priestess greets me in her rich English accent.

  “Need I ask why you feel the need to constantly check up on me?” I retort. “I’m starting to think you’ve got a crush.”

  “You wish.”

  “Not really. I prefer my women a bit less clingy,” I fire back.

  “Well you are certainly in a mood now, aren’t you?” she asks. “If I didn’t know you better, I would say you’re almost chipper.”

  “Good thing you don’t know me better.”

  She laughs. “You forget, I know everything about you.”

  “You know what’s on a piece of paper,” I tell her. “Not the same thing as knowing me.”

  I can hear her bristle on the other end of the line, even without a word. “But tell me, why are you in Minneapolis?”

  “Business.”

  “What sort of business?” she presses. “I did not send—”

  “My business,” I clarify. “I’m running a personal errand.”

  She laughs softly. “What sort of personal errands can a man with no recollection of his past run?”

  I remain silent for a moment, biting back the bitter, snarky reply hovering on the tip of my tongue. Lashing out at her in my frustration will accomplish nothing except making me feel good. At least for a minute. It’s not her fault that I’ve got holes in my memory big enough to drive trucks through. Sure, she tries to capitalize on it by using my lack of memory to control me, which is a massive pain in my ass. But she’s not the reason for the underlying condition.

  “Too soon?” she asks.

  “Just a bit.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I would say don’t let it happen again, but we both know that’s not going to happen,” I sigh. “So I’ll save my breath.”

  “Good.”

  The High Priestess, aka Delta, is my handler with an outfit I’m apparently beholden to known as the Tower. After waking up from a nine-month coma with zero memory of who I am or my life before the coma, Delta was there. Never more than a silhouette cloaked in shadows on a computer screen or a voice on the other end of the phone, but always there.

  Sad to say, she’s the closest thing I’ve got to a friend right now. Well, no, that’s not exactly true. There’s always Justice, the fiery, eager young woman I met in Chicago during my last op. Despite the fact that she’s like an annoying kid sister, I guess you could call her a friend.

  I’m still not sure how exactly I got involved in this. The Tower is an elusive, shadowy group that operates within the U.S. government, formed to combat an equally elusive and shadowy cabal known as the Hellfire Club. The two sides of this quiet war fight for control. The Hellfire Club is a cabal seeking to seize control of the government as a whole for the benefit of the wealthy elite. The Tower operates to thwart them. And ever since waking up, it’s been one op after another of subterfuge, intrigue, assassination, and espionage.

  That’s my life right now. It feels like a damn Jason Bourne novel.

  “So what are you doing in Minnesota, Echo?” she presses.

  “I told you, I’ve got some business to see to.”

  “Have your memories returned?”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling a screamer of a headache coming on. “Don’t you think I would have told you if my memories had come back?”

  There’s a slight pause on the other end of the line. I watch the cars and trucks rocket by on the freeway. Everybody scurrying about like cockroaches, on their way to do this or that. None of them understanding that there’s a secret war underway in this country. It may not be one of protracted battles or bombs raining down from above, but as I’m starting to learn, the aftereffects are potentially just as devastating.

  “Frankly,” she finally says, “I don’t know that you would.”

  I laugh softly. “I guess that’s a fair answer.”

  “So?”

  “So, nothing,” I respond. “Do you have an assignment for me?”

  “Not at the moment,” she says stiffly. “We are still planning our next move.”

  “Great. Then my time is my own,” I say.

  “Echo, that is not—”

  “Look,” I snap. “You told me the only way for this to work is for me to trust you, yeah?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Trust is earned,” I cut her off. “And it is also a two-way street. You want me to trust you; then you’re going to have to start trusting me.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning that when I’m not on the clock, you stop keeping tabs on me,” I say. “And learn to trust that when you call, I will be there.”

  Delta doesn’t speak for a long moment. I take another pull of my water, watching the people coming and going from the small convenience store. Businessmen and soccer moms, a tow truck driver, and a man with a small child, who’s looking frazzled. The soccer mom
’s got three kids in her mini-van and seems to be handling it with ease—she should give frazzled-dad some lessons.

  “I take it that you are in Minnesota following a lead to help you reclaim your memories?” Delta finally says.

  I drain the last of my bottle and toss it into the nearby trash can. “Well since you’re not exactly forthcoming with details, I figured I should look into things myself.”

  “Have you ever stopped to think that perhaps I am not forthcoming, not just because I enjoy tormenting you,” she notes, “but for a reason? Perhaps for your own protection?”

  I grin. “To be honest, the thought hadn’t occurred to me,” I shrug. “I just kinda figured you were the type who liked to pull wings off butterflies in your spare time.”

  “That got boring after a while,” she says.

  Although it was meant to be lighthearted, I hear what sounds like a touch of sadness in her voice. It’s almost as if she’s disappointed I would think badly of her or something. I clear my throat.

  “So what is it you think you’re protecting me from?” I ask.

  There’s a slight pause before she speaks. It was only a beat, but it tells me she’s about to lie to me. Or at least, not give me the entire truth. It’s one of her tells I’ve picked up on in the short time I’ve known her.

  “I did not say I was protecting you from something,” she says. “I just asked if you had considered it or not.”

  “Uh-huh,” I grunt. “Well, you’ll forgive me if I don’t feel like sitting around, waiting for you to dole out nuggets of information.”

  “I would not expect you to,” she replies. “Nor would I dissuade you from trying to learn what you can on your own.”

  “Oh no?”

  “Of course not,” she says. “I am willing to give you some latitude to do what you feel you must.”

  “Golly. Thanks for that.”

  “Echo, despite what you may think, I am not a monster,” she says. “I do not hold back your information because I enjoy torturing you. I do so for a reason.”

  “As you’ve said. And that’s fine,” I tell her. “But as long as you don’t get in my way or deliberately try to obstruct me, we’ll get along great.”

  There’s a moment of silence on the other end of the line. I’m just about to sign off when she speaks.

  “Have a care that you don’t open doors you’re not yet ready to walk through, Echo,” she says.

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  She pauses for a moment, though this time, it seems more like she’s taking a beat to gather her thoughts and say something carefully, rather than taking the beat to load up the lie cannon.

  “I only mean that on this journey of discovery you are on, you will inevitably come to some locked doors,” she says slowly. “And it is up to you to decide whether or not to open them. Just know there are some doors better left locked. For your own sake.”

  “Okay,” I say after a moment. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “And just know that should you need to talk, I am here for you, Echo,” she says. “As your handler, I do care for your physical as well as mental well-being.”

  “I’m touched,” I roll my eyes. “Can I go?”

  Delta sighs. “Go do what you must, but do not forget to check in.”

  “Why would I need to, when you’re checking up on me 24/7?”

  “You’d like to think you’re that important to me.”

  “Oh, I kinda think I am.”

  “You wish,” she says as she clicks off the call.

  I purse my lips and stare at the phone for a minute. Though laced with half-truths and deceptions, that may have been one of the more honest conversations I’ve had with her in the months since she dropped into my life. As strange as that may sound. And I could tell she was trying to get something through to me.

  I’ve learned that she can sometimes be exceedingly honest—at least when it suits her purposes. But I’ve also learned the High Priestess operates in a very gray area as far as the truth is concerned. I don’t believe she’s ever flat out lied to me, but she also tends to shade the truth.

  I can tell she was trying to get a larger point across with her locked door analogy. I think about it, drumming my fingers on the hood of the car. I turn it over and over again in my mind. Minutes pass. The sun starts to decline. I growl in frustration, still not knowing what it is.

  Still thinking about her cryptic words, I climb back into the car and head out. I need to find a place to catch a few hours of shut eye.

  Chapter Two

  After getting some sleep, I sit at the table in my hotel room with the computer open and several containers from the Chinese take-out down the street spread out before me. Also, on top of the table is the burner phone I found stashed in my safehouse in Chicago.

  I open it up again and stare at the one phone number listed, trying to make any sort of connection to it. I sit back in the chair with my chin in my hand, racking my brain. But just like before, I come up empty. I have no idea who will be on the other end of the line when I call.

  All I know is that this number is registered to a ‘Leonard Graves’ somewhere in Minneapolis. Justice helped me dig into it. But the more I turn that name over and over in my head; the more that sounds like a pseudonym. Any contact I would have ever had, whether in my time at the Tower or even way back in the Agency, would definitely be as capable of constructing new identities as I apparently was. I’ve called the number, if only long enough to get a location, but whoever was on the other line kept hanging up before I could get a word in. I imagine whoever it was, was never expecting a call after all this time. That is, if they haven’t ditched the phone already. For all I know, my contact could have discarded the number a long time ago, and this really could be just a completely random person.

  I pick up my personal cell—another burner Delta doesn’t know I have—and call up the only real contact I have in this one. I get to my feet and pace the room, back and forth, with the phone to my ear. It rings once, twice, three, and four times before the call is connected.

  “What?” she groans, her voice thick with sleep.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Sleeping,” Justice mutters. “You know, what normal people do at this hour of the night.”

  I glance at my watch and see that it’s after two and shrug. “In this line of work, you better get used to keeping odd hours,” I tell her. “There are no ‘normal people’ doing what we do. You are always on the clock, kid.”

  Justice groans again, and I hear her yawn. There’s a shuffling sound as I assume she gets to her feet. I listen as she takes a drink of water and then sighs.

  “Fine. I’m awake,” she grumbles. “What do you want at this ungodly hour?”

  “Needed to find out if you found anything on Leonard Graves.”

  “Did I call you?”

  “No, that’s why—”

  “Then it would be safe to say I didn’t find anything,” she says. “I can say that because I distinctly remember telling you that I would call you if I found anything.”

  “So definitely a false name?”

  “I dunno,” she sighs. “Did you seriously wake me up for this? I told you I would call you.”

  “Well aren’t you just a little ray of sunshine.”

  “Hey, you may be used to keeping these vampire hours, but I’m not.”

  I laugh softly. “Like I said, you better get used to it. This job doesn’t run on a schedule,” I tell her. “Things pop off at the strangest hours.”

  The weight of disappointment, though expected, is still heavy. If anybody could find out anything, it’s Justice. She’s great at what she does as far as tech goes. And I expect that she’s going to be a very good operator once she’s had a little seasoning.

  I look at the burner phone again, trying to come up with something I can do. Roll the dice and call the number, risking Leonard—whoever he is—either disappearing off the grid entirely or somehow
finding me. If this was someone I trusted enough to have as a contact in my safehouse, I’m sure he could come in handy. But I have no idea what I’m walking into here. And I hate to go into a situation completely blindsided.

  Besides all this, maybe this could be one of those doors Delta warned me about. What if I open those doors to my memory, and I don’t like what I find?

  That’s when it hits me.

  “Hey, do you think you’d be able to get another trace if I call this number?” I ask. “Not just to the network, but maybe a specific cell tower?”

  “Depends. You’d need to keep him talking for a bit,” she replies.

  “How long?”

  “A minute maybe? But even then, I can’t guarantee results.”

  I resume pacing again, walking back and forth, weighing the pros and cons in my mind. I know if I do nothing and don’t risk making the call, I’ll be in the same boat that I’m in now—which is going nowhere.

  “Okay, let’s do it,” I let out with a sigh. “Might as well give it a shot. I’ve got nothing better to do.”

  “Can I make a suggestion?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Can we do this at a time when the other person is more likely to be awake?” she asks. “Not sure two in the morning is conducive to you getting the answers you want.”

  I chuckle softly. “Yeah, sure. We can do that.”

  “Hallelujah,” she says. “Then call me back when the sun comes up. Actually, be sure the sun has actually cleared the horizon before you call.”

  “Fair enough.”

  I disconnect the call and set the phone down. The last thing I can afford to do right now is spook the person on the other end of the line. Not if I want to start getting some answers.

  “Okay, you ready?” I ask.