Page 6 of Double Take (Cosmic Mates #5)

“Mark might not be dead,” Faith said as soon as she got to work in the morning.

“What do you mean?” Amity drew her brows together in confusion.

“He might still be alive,” she repeated.

“Mark… your husband ?”

“Do we know any other Marks?”

“What makes you think he’s alive?”

“He came to see me at the cottage last night.”

“Get out!” Amity exclaimed.

“Actually, that’s what I told him.” Faith’s lips quirked.

“How is that possible? That’s wonderful! Isn’t it? What happened? Where has he been all this time? Who got cremated, then?” Amity peppered her with questions. “Are you okay? Where is he now?”

Not so wonderful, and she wasn’t okay, but the cremation question had bedeviled her all night long. If not her husband, whose body had she seen at the morgue? How could she have mistaken a stranger for him? Besides, the funeral director had given her his engraved wedding ring.

Could the crazy clone story be true?

Amity cocked her head. “Wait a minute. You saw him in person, but you said he might be alive. You’re not sure?”

She bit her lip. “It might have been his clone. He calls himself John Bragg.”

“His clone ?”

“He’s a dead ringer.” Certainty the man had been her husband had eroded as the evening wore on and the particulars reeled through her mind. The body at the morgue. The personalized wedding ring. The funeral. His five-year absence. Her cat’s reaction.

The idea of a body double seemed preposterous—except, it would explain a few things. “Rusty liked him. He liked Rusty.”

“So?”

“Mark wasn’t kind to animals, and they knew it. They avoided him.”

Amity scowled. “He was mean to animals?”

He’d once kicked a stray cat outside of a restaurant—and laughed. His actions had so horrified her, it had flipped the script of their marriage, killing her love for him and opening her eyes to other red flags she’d ignored. She’d said something to him, and he’d claimed it had been an accident—the cat had darted in front of his feet. But no. He’d approached the cat with deliberate intent.

After the incident, she’d noticed how dogs and cats would slink away from him.

What kind of person went out of his way to hurt an animal? If there had been any indication he would do that, she never would have married him. She wouldn’t have married him if she’d known a lot of things. Another late-breaking realization—she hadn’t been unobservant; he’d deliberately misled her.

“I never knew that.” Amity’s mouth turned downward in disapproval.

“But John liked Rusty.”

“ If he’s John. Why would Mark have himself cloned?”

“He didn’t. Dark Ops did. It’s some sort of secret government agency he supposedly worked for.”

“Again, why?”

“We didn’t get into it.”

Amity pursed her lips. “You weren’t happy together, were you?”

Faith had maintained a facade of being a happy couple, first assuming she had imagined the flashes of meanness then naively hoping with love and patience, he would change. She’d wised up but had been too embarrassed to admit what a huge mistake she’d made. And he still had everyone else snowed. Who would believe such a mild-mannered, nice guy was a nasty human being? How could she admit to her friends she’d lied to them, her marriage was a sham, and she’d been pretending to be happy? And then he’d died—well, maybe —and etiquette said you didn’t speak ill of the dead.

She wearied of the pretense, of lying to her best friend, to everyone. “Mark turned out to be a different person than I thought.”

“You two seemed so loving, but I had doubts.” Amity surprised her.

“You did?”

She nodded. “The PDA seemed over the top. Couples confident of their relationship are too busy living their lives to engage in showy public displays. He seemed to need people to notice his affection—and yours sometimes looked forced.”

“I guess I wasn’t as good an actress as I thought.”

“No, you were. I doubt anyone but me noticed. We’ve been friends a long time. I could tell when your affection shifted from genuine to”—her mouth twisted ruefully—“fake.”

The bell over the door tinkled, and they both turned as the subject of the conversation entered.

He’s the one. He’s the one you’ve been waiting for.

Her inner wisdom had gone nuts.

“Wow,” Amity whispered. “I’ll be a two-headed alien dog.”

In rough canvas pants and a relaxed brown pullover, “John” dressed more casually than her ex/late husband, but then he had been pretending to be an accountant. Another day’s worth of beard darkened his jaw, and his hair was combed differently, but he was still the spitting image of her late husband.

“You remember Amity Landers, don’t you?” She gestured to her friend. Her eyes had narrowed, and she seemed to be giving him a thorough scan.

“Remember, no. But I know of her.” He stepped forward to extend his hand. “I’m John Bragg.”

“The body double.” Doubt ladened her tone, but she shook his hand.

“Faith filled you in.”

“It’s a pretty tall tale.”

“I guess it is,” he agreed before turning to Faith. “I don’t want to interrupt your work, but I hope maybe we can talk.” Interrupting her work had never bothered him before. He’d had little respect for her time or her art, considering it a self-indulgent, frivolous hobby.

As it happened, she had no new pottery pieces in the works, and it would take weeks for the new pieces to dry before they could be fired. No customers arrived yet. “No time like the present…I suppose.”

“Have you had breakfast? We could go to the café across the street.” His mouth quirked into a grin. “Your friend can keep an eye on me.”

Her stomach fluttered in an unexpected, unwelcome way.

His smile seemed self-deprecating, genuine. His voice held a deeper, warmer intonation than she recalled. Part of the act? Or was he really a clone?

Gah! I’m not starting to believe him, am I? If this was a stunt, and she fell for his bullshit, she’d never forgive herself. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

She’d moved on with her life but hadn’t gotten closure. She desired to find out what her husband had been doing during their marriage.

Faith glanced at Amity.

“I’ll watch the shop.” I’ll keep an eye on him , was what she meant.

They left the studio, crossing the street to the café.

The morning air held a chill, and overnight dew coated tables and chairs outside, so, on tacit agreement, they entered the tiny restaurant and seated themselves by the window—in view of Amity, watching from across the street.

“She takes her role as protector seriously,” John commented.

“Yes, she’s a great friend.”

A waitress took their order for coffee and two banana nut muffins. A niggle of significance flashed, but it vanished into the mental ether before she could latch onto it. “So,” she said.

“I shocked you.”

“To say the least.”

“Thank you for agreeing to talk with me.”

“You’re going to do most of the talking,” she said.

“You have questions.” He nodded.

The waitress set two coffees on the table. Faith added a spoonful of sugar and a dash of cream to hers. John did the same. Did he model her behavior to try to build a rapport and convince her he wasn’t Mark? Her husband drank his coffee black.

She glanced across the street. Amity was still glued to the window. Faith sipped her coffee. “Hypothetically, let’s say you are a clone. Why did you come to see me? You don’t know me.”

“To impersonate Hammond, I had to study his habits, and that included getting to know the people in his life.”

“Having a few biographical facts about a person isn’t the same as knowing him or her,” she pointed out. “We’d never met before last night.”

He dropped his gaze and raised his cup to his lips. An electrified portent sizzled. The hair on her nape stood up. Her breath caught in her throat. “We haven’t…have we?”

“Once.”

“When?” But she knew. “The art gala.”

“Yes.”

Mark had acted differently that night—sweet, caring—his affection and warmth seeming genuine instead of performative. He’d looked at her like she was the sun, the moon, and the stars all rolled up into one. The gala had come before the cat incident, but she’d already begun having doubts about their marriage. Those doubts had melted away under his heated gaze and loving touch. She’d fallen in love with him all over again.

She would have slept with him, if he hadn’t departed on another “business trip.” When he’d returned, he’d been the same old asshole. The change had been so severe, she’d been left reeling. So, maybe it hadn’t been Mark at the gala, but John. But why would a body double have been so warm and attentive? If he’d truly wished to imitate Mark, he would have acted the opposite.

What kind of mind-fuck games was Dark Ops playing? What gave them the right to substitute another man for her husband?

She pressed her lips together.

“I’d say I’m sorry, except I’m not. I…enjoyed spending that evening with you.”

“It wasn’t right!”

“You’re angry,” he said.

“You think?” She glowered.

The waitress set muffins on the table, refilled their cups, and departed. The café had been generous with the nuts. Large chunks of walnut poked out of the muffins. Faith couldn’t eat. She watched as he took a big bite. Chewed. Swallowed…the banana nut muffin.

“The muffin has nuts!” Deathly allergic to nuts, Mark had gone into anaphylactic shock once after inadvertently eating some. He would never order a banana nut muffin. “You are a clone!”

He flinched as if she’d hurled an epithet. “You believe me now.”

She sat in silent contemplation for a moment. “He really is dead, and I don’t need to file for a divorce.”

“No, you don’t.” He sounded relieved.

“The gala—why were you there?”

“Hammond needed to be in Russia, and he had to meet with a Chinese spy at the gala.”

“I should have known he wouldn’t have gone just to accompany me.”

“ I would have gone to the gala just for you.” His gaze heated.

Her stomach fluttered. She looked away for a moment then focused on him. “When you left for the business trip ”—she made air quotes—“where did you go?”

“Back to base. Going home with you wasn’t allowed.”

Apparently, Dark Ops had a modicum of ethics. She remembered the heavy, sexual tension, the mutual arousal. There had been too many people around, but they’d stolen a few searing kisses and copped a feel in the hallway. Her face heated in remembrance, and she had to check herself from touching her lips. I kissed this man.

She took a big gulp of cold coffee.

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

“Because I wasn’t the one who put it up.”

He arched his eyebrows.

“Amity did. She thought it was time for me to move on. I made her take it down.”

“You’re not over him?” he asked roughly.

“I got over him while we were still married,” she said. “That doesn’t mean I want to marry a stranger.” Been there, done that, didn’t like it much.

“What do you want?” John asked.

To meet what’s on the horizon waiting for me. That would sound stupid. “To make pottery. To live my life. To be happy.” To love and be loved in return.

“Your pottery is beautiful. You have a good balance of creativity and function. People can appreciate the beauty and use it in their everyday life.”

She blinked, wariness returning.

“You don’t believe me?” he said.

“Mark made a lot of flattering comments about my art before we married. Afterward, he was far less complimentary.”

“I mean what I say. I bought one of your pieces.”

“Which one?”

He made a flowing gesture with his hands. “A blue-green oval bowl that curls up at one end like a wave. It reminds me of the ocean.”

She dropped her jaw. “You bought that?” He was the anonymous buyer who’d purchased her favorite piece? A funny lump formed in her throat.

He nodded. “It’s sitting on the dresser at the inn.”

“You brought it with you?”

“I brought everything important with me.”

“That was my favorite piece,” she said.

“Mine, too. I like all your stuff, but I love that particular piece.”

The rush of pleasure left her feeling awkward. She took a tiny nibble of her muffin, and he finished off his. The waitress warmed up their coffee with a refill. “Thank you,” she said and then narrowed her eyes. “You said Dark Ops kept tabs on me. They knew about my Cosmic Mates profile.” It hadn’t even been up for very long. “Why?”

He hesitated. “Because of the precariousness of the situation.”

“What situation is that? I’m no threat. I’m a nobody.” Why would they be monitoring me?

“Hammond was like Schrodinger’s cat. They needed him dead and alive, but you looked in the box.”

“That’s as clear as mud.”

“Sorry, physics analogy. It takes years to cultivate the kind of contacts he had. If Dark Ops lost Hammond, they would lose his informants, too. Normally, when an operative dies, his replicant assumes all aspects of his life. But you had started digging into Hammond’s background. Learning he wasn’t an accountant, you were on the verge of blowing his cover.

“If I had taken his place as your husband, you would have kept digging, raising questions, possibly exposing Dark Ops and Operation Double Take, the cloning program.”

True. She wouldn’t have stopped. She’d only begun investigating when he’d died.

“So, they allowed Mark Hammond, accountant , to be dead so you would cease your investigation. But operative Mark Hammond—aka John Bragg—still exists. The underworld believes the execution failed, but that he retired his alter ego as the accountant.

“However, that puts me in a dicey position. I need to stay out of the public light.”

She glanced around the café, filled with customers. “You’re in public now.”

“And Dark Ops would not be happy about it, although the risk of exposure on Terra Nova is practically nil. Even lower than in Patagonia. Only you and Amity would recognize me.”

“Patagonia?”

“When I applied for furlough, I told them I was going to the Patagonia region of Argentina.”

“How long are you staying?”

“That depends on you. I got approved for five weeks’ leave. I have three weeks left.”

“How does it depend on me?”

“Because I came to see you.” His gaze smoldered with a heat she felt clear down to her toes, and his meaning became clear. Her stomach fluttered, and her nipples tightened. Electricity of sexual attraction buzzed in the air. Her passion for Mark had died when her respect and love for him did. This man looked and sounded like him. How could she be reacting to her husband’s body double? Hadn’t she had enough punishment? But like people could tell identical twins apart, now she could see the differences in micro-expressions, gestures, posture, language, tone.

Her face suffused with heat, and air suddenly seemed in short supply. She drew in a ragged breath. After what Mark put me through, I must be crazy to contemplate…

Contemplate what? He hadn’t made any advances or proposals. She wet her lips. “What are you suggesting?”

“I’d like to see you again.”

“Like...a date?” She glanced across the street at the shop. Amity had finally vacated her post.

“You can call it that. I would like to spend time with you.”

She’d be insane to consider it. John had been created to be Mark. What if the self-effacing, accommodating Mr. Nice Guy’s congeniality was an act? Mark had fooled her for a while, too.

Except, the circumstantial evidence looked conclusive. Rusty liked him. His behavior and personality had been different the night of the gala. He could eat nuts. He’d purchased her favorite piece of pottery.

“You’re only here for three weeks. Then what happens?”

“Then I return to Earth and…my job.”

Could he really flip a switch, John today, Mark tomorrow? Did she dare risk spending time with someone who changed personalities as easily as he changed his clothes?

Some women repeatedly hooked up with the same type of man and wondered why the relationships didn’t work out. Could she find anyone more like her ex than an exact genetic match? Besides, she wasn’t interested in a relationship right now. Nor did she wish to date.

She’d put her disastrous marriage behind her. She had a new life and a growing pottery business. Why complicate a good thing?

Except, his open, honest, vulnerable face urged her to give him a chance. And it would be short-term. He’d be gone soon anyway. However, she needed to be smart, logical. Use her head. Don’t rush to a decision.

He’s the one.

“Let me think about it,” she said.

* * * *

“How did it go?” Amity grinned smugly when Faith returned to the shop.

“You should know. You pretty much watched the whole thing.”

“You seemed chummy.”

“We talked, that’s all.” But hadn’t it seemed like more than that? Like they were establishing a connection?

“Was it weird being with someone who looks like Mark?”

“At first. His personality is totally different. It was like being with Mark’s twin brother.”

“How are clones different from identical twins anyway?”

“Twins share the same DNA from two parents. A clone is formed from the DNA of a single individual.”

“Are you going to see him again?”

“He’s leaving in three weeks,” she replied.

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“The answer is, I don’t know. I need to think about it.”

“What is there to think about?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “They say insanity is doing the same thing but expecting different results.”

“You said he’s not the same.”

“How do I know that for sure?” She’d been fooled once. How much of Mark’s personality had he inherited?

“By going out with him again!” Amity sounded exasperated.

He’s the one.

“Aren’t you curious to find out how different he is? Think of it as scientific observation.”

She shot her friend a speculative glance. “Maybe you’re the one who’s curious .”

“Well, yeah. But Mark was your husband. You knew him far better than I did. And John is interested in you—not me.”

She remembered the warmth of his gaze, his undivided attention. He’d sought her out. It wasn’t like he’d been in the neighborhood, or they’d run into each other by happenstance. They’d been on different planets.

“I think it might be a violation of the girl code for me to date a dead ringer of your husband,” Amity continued. “ Besides… ” She paused dramatically and then broke into a huge grin. “I got a match through Cosmic Mates!”

“You did? When? You didn’t tell me that!”

“It just happened. My tech-tab dinged while you were at the café. A man is interested in meeting me.”

“What does he look like?” Most of the men who joined Cosmic Mates were aliens.

“He’s really good-looking. Dark-brown hair. Brooding eyes.”

“When will you get to meet him?”

“He’ll be here in four days.”

“That’s soon. That’s”—she did a calculation in her head—“during the craft fair.” There was an annual arts-and-crafts fair in Glen Lea. She’d paid for a booth in hopes of introducing the shop and her pottery to a new clientele.

“Oh, shoot! I forgot about that! He said he’d take the next space flight to Terra Nova, and I didn’t connect the dates. I’ll try to contact him and reschedule.”

“No, no.” Faith waved her hands. “Meeting your Cosmic Mates match is important. He’s coming from another planet! I can handle the craft fair on my own.”

Manning a craft booth solo was a bit of a challenge because she had no one to spell her if she needed to eat or use the bathroom. However, other vendors were usually good about keeping an eye on your booth for a few minutes. “It will all work out,” she said.

“Are you sure?” Amity asked hopefully.

“Absolutely! Love before business.”

“Well, it may not be love. I’m only meeting him for the first time. But, since I’ll be in town, I’ll keep the shop open. We won’t lose business here while you’re away.”

“Perfect!” Faith said. “So, let me see him. Show me his picture!”

Amity’s eyes lit up, and she leaped to the counter to get her tech-tab.

I hope this works out for her, that this man turns out to be everything she desires. Her friend had begun to despair of ever meeting Mr. Right.

“Here he is!” Amity presented her tech-tab.

Her mystery man had three profile photos. He looked exactly as she’d described him: dark, handsome—and brooding. He wasn’t smiling in any of the three photos. But he was undeniably attractive. “He doesn’t look alien at all!” Faith said.

“That’s because he’s human!” Amity gestured to his profile stats.

“I’m so excited!” She hugged her friend. “I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.”