Free Past Sins by Debra Webb Page A

look that different. A little older and thinner maybe. More gray hair. Nothing significant. He actually looked pretty damn good for a man closer to sixty than fifty. He wore an elegant robe over comfortable-looking pajamas. He’d taken the time to put on house slippers and smooth his hair before leaving his room. Hamilton was never one to be caught with his trousers down. He probably had a weapon somewhere on his person. Maybe two.
    “Hello, Vanessa.”
    The chill of danger, however familiar, whispered through her. Vanessa. That had been her name before. The name she’d been given at birth. Vanessa Clark.
    “Hamilton,” she acknowledged, instinctively moving to a posture of full attention.
    His hands tucked casually into the pockets of his robe, he descended a couple of steps. “The key card you used is biometrics, new technology. The card itself recognizes the fingerprints of the carrier. Though it allowed you access, it also sent a warning to the head of security.”
    “Interesting.” She should have known he’d have that base covered.
    “I assume you have a good reason for breaking cover.”
    “I didn’t break cover.” She suddenly felt like a recruit facing her instructor after having made a stupid mistake in training. “My code name was reactivated.”
    Two more steps disappeared behind him. “Someone activated Sheara?” He sounded sincerely surprised.
    “That’s right.”
    The frown that furrowed his brow looked genuine enough. “I sunk that code name along with your last assignment and complete personnel file when you died.”
    “Yeah, well, someone resurrected me.”
    He paused, eight treads up from her position. His right hand moved from his pocket to caress his chin thoughtfully. She’d watched him do that a million times. The familiarity felt almost surreal.
    “No one at the Agency, I’m certain.”
    Two more steps down.
    “No one else knew I was alive.” Her pulse slammed wildly. He understood that she’d just openly accused him: the apprehension was right there in those wise gray eyes.
    “Absolutely no one,” he agreed. “I personally made sure of that.”
    She angled her head to stare directly up at him. “How do you suppose this happened?”
    He moved down the final step. “That’s what we’re going to find out.”
    Profound relief gushed through Olivia. She’d felt as if she was in this all alone when that call had come. She’d relied heavily on the idea that she could count on Hamilton. Thankfully her instincts had been right.
    “You look exhausted. How about some coffee?”
    “I could use the caffeine.”
    It was 2:00 a.m. when Olivia sat down at the deputy director’s kitchen table and watched him prepare a pot of imported coffee. His taste had always run to the exotic. He rambled on about the post–9/11 changes in the Agency. He despised reporting to a higher administration. In his opinion the nuisance was not only a waste of time but debilitating on numerous levels.
    Olivia had known when she’d read about the shake-up in the federal agencies that Hamilton wouldn’t approve. But it was a different world now—change was inevitable.
    When he joined her at the table with two cups of steaming black coffee, she gave him the rest of the story, including the one piece of evidence she had on who might be behind her unwanted resurrection: the Phantom.
    “I didn’t realize he was still around. He certainly hasn’t worked any joint operations with us since that last assignment he coordinated with you.”
    “Don’t remind me,” she muttered as she sipped her coffee. The warm brew soothed as it slid down her throat, the robust flavor promising a serious caffeine kick.
    “The way I see it,” Hamilton began, “you and your friend should disappear until we’ve cleared this up. I’ll conduct my own under-the-table investigation. Make sure this didn’t somehow come from us, though I’m very doubtful of that possibility.”
    So was Olivia. She didn’t know how the