Breaking Through (Book 2 of the SEAL TEAM Heartbreakers) (11 page)

“Still healthy. I’m trying hard not to hate his guts.”

“How about I hate him enough for both of us,” Russell said.

Evan laughed. “That’s the closest thing you’ve ever come to saying something that even remotely sounded gay.”

“So glad I’m finally picking up some of the nuances,” Russell said, his tone dry.

Evan’s smile was brief. He swallowed. “I’m sorry I pulled the pissy gay guy thing.”

“I’m not the one you owe an apology to.”
It would do no good for him to harp on it. Evan was an intelligent man. He knew what he needed to do. But his disappointment in his son’s behavior lay between them as unavoidable as the pall of sickness.

***

Tess studied Brett’s expression as they left the restaurant and strolled down to the beach. His features remained closed, unreadable. It was frustrating as hell.

Brett paused at one of the coupled lounge units owned by the hotel and raised the umbrella. He motioned for her to take a seat.

“Where did you grow up?” he asked.

“For a while, all over the country. But when I was ten, my parents divorced and my mom and I settled in New York.” She sat down, swung her legs up on the lounge, and relaxed against the back of her chair. “Who’s interviewing who, Brett?”

“I’m about to place my Naval career in your hands. I want to know something about you.”

Her pulse leapt and her eyes focused on his face.

He folded his tall, muscular frame onto the lounge and stared out across the ocean. Though he appeared relaxed, a muscle pulsed in his jaw. “Is your mother still living?”

“Yes, she’s an interior designer in New York. She remarried when I was twelve. He’s a very nice, very rich banker. His name is Milton Chase.”

“My mom’s visiting me and my sister. She arrived yesterday.” He glanced at his watch and frowned. “When my dad was killed in Desert Storm, she held the family together. She’s a tough lady. My sisters are, too. I can always count on them to have my back.” His gaze swung to her face. “Who has yours?”

Tess remained silent a moment. Her mother and stepfather would certainly stand up for her, but would her father?

No. The story always came first. Before birthdays, Christmas, or any medical catastrophe. Some day he’d die in a distant country, searching for something neither she nor her mother had ever been able to give him.

“If you need someone who’ll dig for the truth and damn the consequences, you can trust my father to follow through. But you can’t depend on him to care too deeply for anyone. Not even those of us who have a genetic tie to him.”

“I’m sorry.”

She deflected the feelings his sincerity triggered with a shrug. “I’m used to it.” 
Liar.
She swung her legs off the lounge and, leaning forward, rested her hand on his arm. “Why don’t we just cut right to the heart of it?”

The muscles in his forearm grew taut beneath her touch. The warmth of his skin seeped into her fingers. His pale blue gaze, lighter gray-blue around the pupil and darker around the rim of the iris, delved into hers. And when his lips parted, her gaze dropped to them. The structure of his jaw was undoubtedly masculine, his lips not too thick or thin. What would they feel like—
Whoa
—Hadn’t he just said he was being investigated for murder? She had no business even sitting close to him, let alone touching him.

She withdrew her hand and clasped her fingers together in her lap. She cleared her throat, though it did nothing to cut the regret settling like a knot at its base. “Whatever you tell me today will have to stay off the record until I have other sources willing to verify it. How difficult is that going to be?”

“Damn near im—” He paused and color crept into his cheeks. “Damn difficult.”

“You started to say impossible.”

“Yeah. There may be people in Iraq with information about what happened.”

“You don’t know?”

Brett shook his head. “I don’t remember what happened that night or the week before.”

“What are they saying you did?”

“Derrick and I had a protection detail. We delivered a kid home in the heart of a certain city. His father was an Iraqi big wig. Some kind of liaison with the military. The kid disappeared after we dropped him off. NCIS is trying to say we’re responsible for his disappearance. They’re sniffing around like we hurt the kid. Derrick’s history would give them an out, an easy way to placate the Iraqi and the State Department. The guys covering us were killed that same day. All eight. ”

Shock ricocheted through Tess. She pressed her fingertips against her lips. “So, you’re basically saying you can’t even prove you dropped the boy off.”

“Yeah. That’s what I’m saying.”

“What about Armstrong?”

“He won’t talk to NCIS. Which makes us both look guilty as hell, since he’s the only one with a memory.”

“He’s just playing it smart.” She pointed at him. “You shouldn’t say anything without legal representation, either.”

“I don’t think that will make a difference. My CO thinks someone’s pushing for a quick resolution.”

“Why not just find out what happened to the kid?”

“One kid in a sea of missing and displaced people? Communications are spotty, intel is too. It’s like looking for a newborn star in the next universe.” He looked out over the bay. “NCIS must have hit a wall or something and now they’re looking around for some passable theories. It’s been more than two months. The Iraqi government must be putting diplomatic pressure on someone.”

“The Navy has hundreds of thousands of dollars invested in your training, Brett. They’d be throwing all that away.”

“To prevent an international incident. To give an important contact in Iraq closure, and ensure continued cooperation. They give murderers in this country free passes all the time in exchange for their testimony. If you don’t think they’d burn me and Derrick both at the stake, you’re mistaken.” He sat up, and his knees brushed hers, then settled on either side of her legs. “In the SEALs you plan for the worst so you’re prepared if it happens. If you have a choice between rations and a full magazine, you take the bullets. I’ve not sat on my thumbs waiting to train, and I’m not sitting by while they tank my career and my reputation for an easy fix to a diplomatic problem.”

He leaned forward. His hands cupped her linen-covered legs at knee level, his thumbs rubbing back and forth across the top, setting off nerves she hadn’t even known existed. And though he seemed unaware of what he was doing, Tess felt every stroke through the fabric as though it hit bare skin. Her breath caught in her chest and swallowing grew impossible.

His gaze held hers, intent with outrage. “I have a clean reputation in the SEAL community. More than a few commendations. I’ve got proof if you need it. I may have a Swiss cheese memory as to the events of that day, but I know myself. I sure as shit didn’t touch that kid. And if Derrick—I’d have stopped him.”

Tess moistened her lips and covered his hands with her own before the urge to slide closer overwhelmed her. “Brett.” Fire blazed across her cheeks at the husky sound of her voice.

He released her and held his palms up in surrender. “Sorry.” His grin held rueful chagrin and more charm than she could ignore. “I wasn’t purposely putting a move on you. Not that I wouldn’t want to, when all this shit is over.”

She shook her head, more to clear her hormone-fogged brain than in denial of his statement. “What is it you expect from me?”

“You said you wanted an interview. I’m prepared to give you whatever information you need, without any of the secret stuff of course. In exchange, I want you to contact your father and put him on the scent of this new story possibility.”

“You realize that could blow up in your face? He won’t pull any punches.”

“Whatever happened to that kid, I had no part in it. That’s the only thing he’s going to learn about me. So, I’m good.”

He seemed so certain. Confident. But if he had no memory … She didn’t want him to be guilty of anything. But what if he was?

“What do you think happened?” she asked.

“I think the al-Qaeda or the Taliban scooped him up as soon as we left. They might have thought he could tell them something useful. Or they might have sent him to one of their induction camps to train him. Or both. Whatever happened, I don’t hold out much hope that they’ll ever find him. But if your father can keep the pressure on, some clue might shake loose.” He glanced at his watch. “My mom’s probably waiting for me.”

He rose and stepped clear of the lounge.

“When do you want to meet for the interview?” she asked. She accepted his hand to get up, and told herself it was just to be polite.

A slow smile built into a devilish grin as his palm came to rest on the small of her back while he urged her up the trail back toward the hotel. “How would you like to attend a barbeque? Doc, our medic, is throwing on some steaks tonight. The only thing is, it’s a family thing, and you can’t interview anyone. And you’ll have to come as my date; otherwise the guys will be circling you like sharks.”

It would give her some insight into their home life and his. “Sounds dangerous. But I think I can handle it.”

Brett chuckled.  “I don’t doubt it.”

CHAPTER 10

Clara spread her purchases out on the bed. Camera body, twenty-four hundred dollars, check. Zoom Wide Angle-Telephoto 24-70 mm lens, twelve hundred, check. 70-300 mm lens, three hundred, check. Speed light, four hundred and fifty, check. Spare battery, charger, and remote shutter release, one hundred-sixty, check. Two sixteen-gigabyte SD cards, eighty dollars, check. Sling bag for her equipment, one hundred-seventy-five, check. She’d spent nearly five thousand dollars, and the store had thrown in lens cleaner, some cloths, and a few extra lens caps. Thank you very much.

She lowered herself to the bed, breathed in the new plastic smell emanating from all the wrappings, and stared at the camera.
Five thousand dollars.
The hard knot of guilt that was lodged just beneath her breastbone twisted tighter. She had never bought expensive items for herself. When the kids were growing up, every dime went for keeping a roof over their heads and food on the table. Now she was alone, and she was still struggling with the mentality that she had to earn any small extra thing
she
wanted.

She should have waited until the emotional sting she’d suffered earlier had settled. Instead, she’d gone off half-cocked and spent damn near every dollar in her savings account.

What was I thinking?

That she needed something more. Had that been what the visit to Russell Connelly’s apartment was about? She flinched at the thought.

She had to look inside for what she needed, not to other people. She knew that. Understood that. But sometimes the loneliness was as smothering as the grief she’d felt after Joe died. She no longer had her children to fill her days and nights. She no longer had a job to bury herself in. Propping her elbows on her knees, she rested her head in her hands.

“Where do I go from here?

The instruction booklet for the camera lay in the box at her feet. She dragged it free from the refuse and flipped it open.

This was as good a place as any to start.

***

The thing he hated most about being in charge was paperwork.  He understood the purpose for it, but it still sucked.

When the phone next to Hawk rang he almost welcomed the break. But the whole time he was discussing the logistics problem for the upcoming training op, his mind was still on the missing paperwork from Brett’s protection detail in Iraq.

Hawk rubbed a hand over his face as his gaze traveled around the nondescript office he used when on post. A desk and chair, standard issue, two chairs for visitors, some filing cabinets. A phone. He could run his team from the field as well as he did from this office.

He’d been going over reports for hours trying to find one Derrick Armstrong might have written around April twenty-eighth. He couldn’t find a damn thing. So Armstrong hadn’t filed a report. Which didn’t help him or Brett one damn bit.

But there had to be logs of their communications with HQ during that time. In the sea of paperwork every mission and maneuver propagated, the chances of him finding it logged into the system were slim to none. Hell, it might be six months before the paperwork cropped up. It would take a federal court order and NCIS’s demands to get it done quickly.
Fuck.

At a knock on his office door, he glanced up with a frown. “Come in.”

He rose as the door opened and two men entered his office. No uniforms, military bearings, and all business. NCIS. The larger of the two closed the door behind them.

After the introductions, Scott, the shorter member of the team said, “We’re here to speak to you about two of your men, Lieutenant.”

Hawk motioned to the two seats in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”

Five minutes into the conversation, Edwards said, “We know you have an ongoing relationship with Weaver’s sister.”

“Yes.”

“You can’t afford to allow that relationship to encourage you to cover for him.”

Rage surged through Hawk, and his gaze focused on the man. “I don’t have to cover for Ensign Weaver. I’m sure you’re going to interview the other members of the team, if you haven’t already. They’ll agree Brett is as rock solid as I’ve just told you.”

“But Armstrong is a different story.”

“Ensign Armstrong started counseling right after we shipped home.”

“For anger management issues.”

“Yes. Attributed to PTSD.”

“What would have stopped him from directing those issues toward Sanjay al-Yussuf?”

“First of all, Ensign Armstrong’s issues seemed to center around jealousy directed toward his girlfriend, Marjorie. But he isn’t just the man who’s sitting in the brig facing charges stemming from that. Derrick often went into the villages and passed out candy and rations to the children. We all did, but he was more dedicated. He once carried an injured child five miles in from the field for medical treatment. He took issue with the al-Qaeda using children as suicide bombers. He spoke to me and the other members of the team often about it. If those feelings hadn’t kept him in check, Brett Weaver would have.”