Page 4 of Double Take (Cosmic Mates #5)

Faith came to stretched out on her settee. In the chair across from her sat her very-much-alive husband, his brows drawn into an uncharacteristic, worried frown.

It’s him. It’s really him. How is this possible? Where has he been? How did he find me?

She’d identified his body at the morgue! There’d been a funeral.

“You—you—” With dread, she sprang upright to stare at the husband she’d once loved and then grown to fear and hate.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “You passed out.”

He’s the one. He’s the one you’ve been waiting for, whispered that inner voice to her shock and dismay.

Mark was not the one.

If he assumed he could waltz in and resume their marriage, he could crawl back under the rock where he’d been hiding. She had a death certificate, and he could stay dead! “What the hell is going on?”

A muscle ticked in his cheek, and his lying brown eyes looked tormented.

Up to his old tricks. Well, I won’t be fooled this time.

“Where have you been? Who was that at the morgue?” she said and then dropped her jaw when Rusty, the cat who’d come with the cottage, jumped up and settled on his lap. Instead of flinging it off, he let the cat stay and stroked his striped ginger fur. Mark hated cats. He was the type of monster who’d drown kittens for kicks.

“That was Mark Hammond. Your husband is dead.”

“Then who does that make you?”

“His clone. My name is John Bragg.”

“His clone?” She snorted. “Oh, that’s a good one.” He must really have a low opinion of her intelligence. She supposed he had reason to think her stupid, considering how long it took her to realize what a cold, manipulative, lying SOB he was.

“Cloning has been occurring for decades,” he said.

“Yes, it has.” But for animals, not humans, although one company advertised it would extract and store your child’s DNA, so you could grow a replacement in the tragic event the first one died. Commercialism at its crassest.

She curled her lip. “First of all—who would bother to replicate you?” One man like him was more than enough. “Second, for the sake of argument, let’s assume you are a copy—you’d still be a child. My husband would be forty-one. Excuse me, but you look way older than five years old, older than forty-one even.”

Haggard. Heavy scruff darkened his jaw. Red rimmed his brown eyes. His full lips had yet to crack a smile. After she’d had the misfortune to get to know him, she’d discovered her husband never smiled out of genuine goodwill or friendliness. But mocking, plastic grins? Those were his trademark.

“The government has developed an accelerated cloning process. I became a mature adult a year before your husband died.”

She jumped when the tea kettle shrieked. “I was going to have a cup of tea. I’d offer you one, but I know you don’t drink it.” Who wants to drink dirty water? he used to say.

“I’d take a cup.”

Like drinking tea would convince her of anything. She knew her own husband. Oh, how she wished she didn’t.

“Especially if you add a shot of whiskey,” he added.

Whiskey didn’t sound like a bad idea under the circumstances. “Do you take anything else in your tea?”

“Just tea.”

She fixed two cups then carried them into the parlor, along with a bottle of scotch. She plunked the bottle on the low table in front of him, and he added a shot. She poured a measure into her own cup.

She raised the fortified tea to her mouth. “This proves nothing.”

“What do you mean?”

“You drinking tea.”

He took a sip. “What would it take to convince you I’m telling you the truth?”

“A DNA test?”

He shook his head. “Our DNA are the same. I’m a genetic replica.” He stroked the cat, who closed his eyes and basked in the attention. Rusty’s behavior seemed to support the outrageous contention. Animals had avoided Mark, instinctively recognizing a threat. They were a lot smarter than she had been.

“So, you have no proof.” Nerves jangling, she took another sip of tea. Enjoying a cup in her cozy cottage at the end of the day relaxed her. Unfortunately, her late husband’s return from the dead was a problem neither whiskey nor tea could fix. “Why are you here? It’s been five years.”

“At the risk of being repetitive, I’m not Mark Hammond.”

“Right,” she said sarcastically. He did relish his mind games. Love bombing, backhanded compliments, guilt-tripping, gaslighting—she’d fallen prey to them all until she wised up. “For the sake of argument, let’s say you are John Bragg. Why seek me out at all?”

He glanced away. A muscle ticked in his cheek. He met her eyes again. “I needed to see you…to know that you’re okay.”

“Why?”

“Why did you take down your Cosmic Mates profile?”

She blinked. “You know about that?”

Rusty vacated his lap and sauntered away. Mark-John finished his tea in a single gulp. His gaze shifted to the scotch. He set the cup in the saucer with a finality. “Dark Ops kept tabs on you.”

“Dark Ops?” She arched her brows.

“The branch of government Hammond worked for, that I work for. The branch that cloned him.”

“He was an accountant.”

Although he’d lied about working for UH & M, his university diploma with his bachelor’s in accounting had hung on the wall in his home office. He had a couple of T-shirts he occasionally wore at home. One had said, “Accountants work their assets off,” and the other had read, “Accountants never die. They just lose their balance.” How prophetic the latter had been.

The times she’d called him at Underwood, Herr, and McCullough, the receptionist had put her through to him, until that last day when she’d been told nobody by the name of Mark Hammond had ever worked for the firm. In hindsight, she realized that although he’d shared anecdotes about his colleagues, she’d never met any of them. If he didn’t work for UH & M, where had he gone every day? What were his business trips?

“I’ve never heard of Dark Ops,” she said.

“You aren’t supposed to. Only those with a need-to-know are aware of its existence. Even the president doesn’t know.”

That got her attention. “The president doesn’t know?”

“It allows for plausible deniability. Dark Ops can work outside the law, and the chief executive can claim ignorance and deny involvement.”

“Then who provides oversight of the agency?”

He spread his hands. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

This tall tale was the kind of bullshit a man looking to get laid would tell a girl at a bar . I’d tell you what I do— wink, wink, but then I’d have to kill you. Of course, he’d be a brain surgeon-spaceship pilot-movie producer.

She folded her arms. “So, this top-secret government agency that the president isn’t aware of cloned my husband, and you’re him.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Hammond was a skilled operative with critical connections in the underworld. People hated him, but they feared him.”

Had he ever realized that was how she felt?

“Dark Ops planned for a backup in case something happened to him.”

“And you’re telling me this because…”

“I need you to know that I am not Mark Hammond.”

“Why?”

“Because your late husband was a bastard.”

That was something they could agree on, but she’d heard enough bullshit. She stood up. “You need to go now.”

“Please…”

“Please, nothing. Get out.”

His face seemed to sag. “Can I see you again…another time?”

“No.” She strode to the door and flung it open, waited until he got up, and stepped onto the porch.

He’s the one. He’s the one.

Had she considered her inner voice wise? She was a moron.

“Seeing how you’re not dead, I intend to initiate divorce proceedings,” she said and then winced at her stupid admission. Never show your hand to the enemy. The last time she’d tried to divorce him, he’d blocked her.

Maybe the previous time had been a coincidence. She’d only tried three attorneys. And this was Terra Nova, not Earth. She might have a better chance of getting an attorney here. She was pretty sure she could get a no-fault dissolution of marriage, but if she needed a reason, she had plenty to choose from—abandonment, adultery, mental cruelty. Being a lying sack of shit probably wasn’t grounds, but it should be.

“You can’t do that.”

“Watch me.”

“Your husband is physically and legally dead, and you have no idea the heap of trouble you’d unleash.”

“You’re threatening me? You asshole!” She slammed the door in his face.