The Borrowed Ring

She glanced at her wallet and her cell phone, then stuffed them into her tote. Now she was leaving with everything she'd brought with her, she thought. Everything except her heart.

Greg waved a hand toward the exits. “Okay, let's see about getting you on your way—”

“B.J.? Are you okay?”

The sound of her name made her turn to face the man who crossed the lobby toward her looking both worried and relieved. A tall, slender man in his early fifties, his dark hair was lightly frosted with gray, and his left eyebrow was neatly bisected by an old, thin white scar.

Had she not been clinging so very tightly to the tattered remains of her pride, she might well have burst into tears at the sight of him. As it was, she walked into his arms and rested her cheek tightly against his reassuringly solid chest. “Uncle Ryan.”

“Do you know how worried we've been about you? Your mother's about ready to call out the National Guard.”

“How did you find me? No, never mind. I don't care. And I'm not even really surprised. I'm just glad to see you.”

Her mother's brother tilted her face up to his, studying her with concerned eyes. “You're all right?”

“I'm fine,” she assured him. Physically, it was the truth. Emotionally…well, she would be fine, she promised herself. Eventually.

“What's going on here, anyway?”

B.J. looked over her shoulder, wondering if Greg would be more willing to answer questions for her uncle than he had been for her. But he hadn't waited around to be questioned by either one of them. He was no longer standing where he had been only moments before, nor anywhere else in the lobby, as far as she could see.

“I'll tell you what I know on the way home,” she said to her uncle, drawing away from him. “Let's just get out of here now, okay?”

“Have you got everything you're taking with you?”

She hugged her tote more tightly against her. “There's nothing left for me here,” she murmured and turned toward the exit.

Apparently sensing that B.J. wasn't in the mood to talk, Ryan didn't push her for answers or conversation during the long flight back to Dallas. He had arrived in the private jet that belonged to D'Alessandro and Walker Investigations, so they had plenty of room to stretch out and be comfortable.

B.J. stared out the window, watching the ground passing beneath them, wondering if they had flown over Daniel.

Shouldn't she be feeling more like herself now, as they drew ever closer to home? She had on her own clothes, sat with the uncle who had known her since she was barely more than a toddler, was headed back to the extensive family who knew her and loved her.

So why did she still feel so very different from the woman who had left Dallas only a few short weeks ago?

“B.J.?”

She glanced toward her uncle, who sat watching her from the other side of the plane. “Yes?”

“Is that something you want your mother to see you wearing before you have a chance to explain what you've been up to?”

She didn't know what he meant at first. Following the direction of his nod, she glanced down at her hands. She flushed when she realized she had been pensively spinning the gold band on her left ring finger.

How could she have forgotten Daniel's ring? Or the diamond bracelet on her right wrist? She stared at them, feeling her own identity slipping away again, leaving her confused about who exactly she had become.

“I—it's a long story,” she said, her right hand closing over the ring to hide it from her uncle's view—and her own, as well.

“I figured it would be. We've got some time, if you want to talk.”

How could she possibly explain how she had gotten so thoroughly swept up in Daniel's crazy charade that she was now having trouble remembering which parts had been real and which only make-believe?

Instead she asked, “What did you find out about Daniel Andreas?”

“Not much,” Ryan admitted. “There's very little documentation about him for the past ten years.”

“Is there any chance he's a federal agent?”

“Maybe. If so, he works undercover.”