Free Special Agent's Perfect Cover by Marie Ferrarella Page A

missing informant, were twins, and at first glance, the two men did look alike. But while Micah was a natural for his chosen line of work, a methodical, keenly observant man of few words who could terminate a man’s existence with a minimum of moves, Samuel was outgoing, gregarious and not only played up but relied on his looks.
    No matter how you dressed him up, Samuel Grayson still reminded him of a snake oil salesman. And from what he’d heard, Grayson actually was selling something. Grayson had his people collecting, bottling and preparing half liter bottles of “healing” tonic water.
    The water in question came from the creek behind the community center. Legend had it that the water had immense healing powers and that, some said, it actually had some of the elements of a fountain of youth in it, as well.
    Bottles of this “healing water” were placed on sale—“offered” at twenty-five dollars a pop—in the community center. The water that flowed in the creek was no longer available to the citizens of Cold Plains except through Grayson. He had seen to that, buying the land on both sides of the creek and turning it into private property.
    Not only were bottles placed on sale independently, but they were also on sale at the weekly seminars that he gave. Regular attendance was mandatory if those in his flock wanted to remain in good standing with both Grayson and the rest of the “community.” Purchase of the bottled water was mandatory, as well. And with each purchase, Grayson’s coffers became a little fuller.
    The man had a hell of a racket going for him, Hawk couldn’t help thinking. He could understand how a lot of the people who lived here had gotten ensnared. They’d been trapped by dreams of well-being and contentment that Grayson seemed to be able to market so effortlessly. The people of Cold Plains had had so very little to cling to, and Grayson dealt in hope. Albeit unrealistic hope, but when a person was truly desperate, any hope was better than none at all.
    That was their excuse, he thought, dismissing the other citizens he’d seen herded into Grayson’s “meeting center.” But what was hers?
    Carly had never been a woman to wallow in self-pity or one who allowed herself to be sidelined or defeated by dwelling on worst-case scenarios. When they were growing up, she had always been the one to buoy him up, to make him feel as if he could put up with it all, because there was a better life waiting for him—for them—on the horizon.
    Granted she’d dashed it all by telling him that the one thing he had clung to—that she loved him—was a lie. But even that wouldn’t explain why she had been transformed from an independent, intelligent young woman to an obedient, mindless robot.
    He couldn’t have been that wrong about her, Hawk told himself.
    Finally climbing out of the car, Hawk resisted the temptation to slam the door in his wake. Instead, he merely closed it, then strode over to her front door—just the way he had done so very many times in the past.
    He ached for things that lay buried deep in years gone by.
    Hawk rang the bell—and heard nothing. No one had ever gotten around to fixing the doorbell, he realized. It had been broken when he used to call on her.
    Some things never changed.
    Too bad that other things did.
    Raising his hand, he knocked on the door. Then goaded by impatience, he knocked again. He’d just raised his hand to knock for a third time when the door finally opened.
    Carly, with her hair pinned back from her face, stood in the doorway. She wore frayed jeans and a T-shirt that had seen one too many washings.
    She’d never looked more beautiful to him.
    He saw surprise, instantly followed by uneasiness, pass over her face. Her eyes darted from one side to the other, as if checking the area. Then rather than asking him what he was doing here or what he wanted, she ordered sharply, “Get inside,” and stepped to one side to give him access.
    All but yanking him