Withholding Evidence (12 page)

T
RINA COULDN’T CONCENTRATE
on work Tuesday morning. Her mother would say she was twitterpated. And she’d be right.

The night with Keith had been nothing short of amazing. Just thinking about how he’d arranged it took her breath away. Memories of the sex was enough to make her combust, but thoughts of the connection behind it made her knees weak. In her experience, hot, perfect men like Keith eschewed relationships for flings with women who were taller, prettier, and bustier than she was, but he clearly wanted her—repeatedly, in fact—and there had been more going on than two people getting off together.

She could fall head over heels for him and wasn’t even freaked out by the idea. Truth was, it might already have happened, but it was too soon to even consider the L-word.

It was still early in the morning when Mara looked over the cubicle wall in her best Kilroy impersonation, sparking the idea of writing a paper on the significance of Kilroy graffiti to the war effort during World War II. But unlike the cartoon figure, Mara had a Cheshire cat grin. And Trina couldn’t help but return it.

“Sorry I had to bail last night,” Mara said without an ounce of sorrow in her tone.

Trina responded with her own grin. “I forgive you.”

“I figured you might,” Mara said, then continued down the corridor.

Trina gathered a notebook and digital recorder. She had to interview Walt’s Desert Storm vet, a former navy aviator. Walt had originally scheduled the interview for last Tuesday, the day after the explosion, but she wasn’t fit for work. When she didn’t show for the interview, Walt took it upon himself to reschedule, and Trina didn’t have the energy to fight him on it when she returned to work. Now it was too late to back out.

Instead of taking the Metro, Sean gave her a ride to the coffee shop near Union Station. There was something to be said for having a permanent bodyguard with a car. Plus he was a nice guy, good-looking—his ebony skin, big muscles, and a great smile reminded her of the football player Russell Wilson in looks and physique—and good company when she wanted someone to talk to but also unobtrusive when she wanted to pretend she didn’t have a babysitter.

Sean sat two tables away in the crowded coffee shop and gave no indication they were together. Trina settled into a seat across from Lieutenant Brian Ruby, noticing right away that his body language was all wrong. He was hostile or agitated. He kept his head down, barely acknowledging her when she introduced herself.

With a frown, she set her digital recorder on the table between them and hit Record. May as well begin. “Lieutenant,” she said, “in late fall of 1991, you were transferred to a temporary assignment with a UN peacekeeping force, a post-Desert Storm coalition. According to my colleague’s notes, you left that six-month assignment after only three weeks. The record is scant at best. Can you tell me why you left before completing the assignment?”

She had walked into this interview with less background information than she liked. Walt had given her the man’s service files last week, but they’d been incomplete. Distracted by replacing her lost computer files, she had forgotten to follow up on the missing documents and had foolishly entered this interview cold, with little more than starting questions drafted by Walt.

Ruby leaned forward. His gaze darted around the room, then he said loudly, “Blow me, and I’ll tell you everything.”

Trina bolted to her feet, her face flushing as she caught the startled stares from the couple at the next table. “Lieutenant,” she said through clenched teeth, “this interview is being recorded. You aren’t doing yourself any favors.”

“Listen, honey, I’m just asking for the same service you give your other interviewees. Did Hatcher tell you everything you wanted to know?”

Her stomach went cold. Her name had been in the news with Keith’s after the explosion, and Keith had insisted the official press release state she was there to interview him, to prevent anyone who was after him from thinking she was important to him. But any number of Falls Church officers and FBI agents knew the truth. They’d both been honest about where they were and what they were doing at the time of the first explosion. Which meant either someone had talked or Lieutenant Ruby had tossed out the accusation simply to offend her. Neither option sat well. She plucked her digital recorder from the table and grabbed her purse.

Ruby glanced around the shop again and raised his lip in a sneer. “What’s wrong, honey? You don’t want word to get out that you’ll fuck for information? I suppose that could be a problem for you. Then you might have to blow the older guys too, not just the young SEALs.”

A hand on her arm gently nudged her aside. She turned, almost expecting to see Keith, but her champion was Sean, who planted his hands on the table and leaned into Ruby’s face. “Apologize to Dr. Sorensen.”

“Are you the guy she’s fucking now?” He met Trina’s gaze. “You sure do get around.”

Sean grasped the front of the lieutenant’s shirt and yanked him to his feet as Trina rocked back on her heels. “Apologize to the lady.” Sean’s voice was low, carrying more than a hint of menace.

“Lady, my ass. She’s just another whore and a government hack. I’m sick of bitches like her.”

Sonofabitch
. What the hell had Walt set her up for?

The tables around them cleared. One woman appeared to be calling 911. Not your typical morning at Starbucks. “Let him go, Sean. He’s not worth it.” She’d been saying that a lot lately.

He sighed. “I know. But, damn, it would be so satisfying.” He released Ruby, and the man dropped into his seat. Ruby, a former naval officer and only about ten years older than Sean, was no slouch, but he was still no match for the Raptor operative in his prime.

Back in Sean’s car, Trina buckled her seat belt and flopped back into the seat. “I wish I knew what just happened there.”

“What was the interview supposed to be about?”

“Walt’s questions were about UN Security Forces post-Desert Storm.”

Sean pulled out his cell phone and hit a speed dial button. After a moment, he said, “Keith, something strange just happened… No. Trina is fine. She’s right next to me. She was just interviewing a dickhead pilot who”—he looked apologetically at Trina—“implied she had sex with you to get you to talk.”

“He more than implied,” Trina said, loud enough for Keith to hear. She had to admit, she was jealous Sean was able to call Keith. She didn’t even have his phone number.

“My gut says there’s more going on here. The guy was a dick, sure, but he came spoiling for a fight and armed with your name.” Sean paused. “Will do.” Then he hit the End button and tucked his phone away. He put his car in gear and pulled into traffic.

“Where are we going?”

“To your office. We need to talk to Walt.”

K
EITH WATCHED
L
IEUTENANT
Ruby with a riflescope from a vantage point nearly a block away from the man’s apartment in the Anacostia neighborhood. The man arrived home minutes after Keith took his position. He appeared twitchy, ready to bolt. Keith would bet good money his bag was packed; he was just waiting for his moment.

He needed to know why this bastard had insulted Trina, and why he had mentioned Keith specifically.

Ruby looked furtively out the window, and Keith wondered if he had gone soft or if he was just stupid. Backlit behind thin curtains, he might as well have painted a target on his face.

Keith plucked out his phone and dialed. “Something stinks about this, Rav. Ruby is a tool.”

“After work, Sean is going to bring Trina here. Her roommate Cressida too. I don’t like the security at her place, and I’m starting to wonder if this could be about her, not you.”

“A safe house is a better idea. You’re knee-deep in a campaign. Too many people coming and going.”

“She can’t join you, Keith. Not until we determine who the intended target is.”

Keith held back a sigh. “I know that. I meant a different safe house.”

“I’ll see what I can arrange.”

Down the street, Ruby checked the roadway in front of his apartment again. “I think Ruby is going to rabbit.”

“I’m sending an operative to take over surveillance. I don’t like you leaving the safe house. Give me thirty minutes.”

“I can take care of myself. I used a surveillance detection route. No one followed me.”

“The point of a safe house is to hide.”

Keith grimaced. “I was going insane hiding.”

“Then go back to the Virginia compound and use the shooting range again.”

He’d spent two days at the compound last week, sighting in a new M110 rifle and Sig handgun, replacements for the ones he’d lost in the blast. He’d blown through hundreds of rounds to fight the frustration of knowing there’d been zero progress in the investigation of the explosion. The idea of more target shooting held no appeal. “No, thanks.”

“After your replacement gets there, come in to the office. Lee is coming in to map out the computer issues at the Alaska compound. We can bring you up to speed on the issues at the same time.”

“Fine.” Keith hung up and watched. Waited, all the while feeling uneasy. Anxious. At least going in to Rav’s office would give him something to do. Ten minutes passed, then his phone vibrated. Hopefully Sean had located Walt Fryer.

No such luck. His caller was Josh Warner, a member of his SEAL team, and one of the few men who was more family to Keith than his biological brothers. He’d considered moving back to the San Francisco Bay Area when he left the service, but after his visit with his dad, he’d accepted that there was no reason to call California home anymore, and in fact, keeping the width of the continent between him and his father could only be a good thing. So he’d settled in Falls Church, and the fact that Josh lived in the DC area played a role in that choice.

“We’ve got a problem,” Josh said.

Keith was more alarmed by Josh’s tone than his words. After serving in the SEALs together, the problems they’d faced had ranged from a crappy dinner in the mess hall to calling for air support because insurgents had them pinned. Josh’s tone said this wasn’t a mess-hall sort of problem. “What’s going on?”

“The rehab center just called me. Owen left.”

Keith swore. “And they let him?”

“They couldn’t stop him. He’s voluntary.”

“But they’re supposed to call you before it gets to that point—”

“Someone screwed up, that’s for sure. But the administrator said everything was going fine. Owen was doing fine. Participating. He was one of the model patients. Then he got a phone call and just…flipped out.”

Dread snaked up Keith’s spine. “Who called him?”

“That’s the strangest part. No one knows. Whoever it was, they knew the password, so the rehab center let Owen take the call.”

“Shit.” Only a very small list of people knew the code word, but unfortunately, Owen’s aunt—who had medical power of attorney over the former SEAL so she had to be kept in the loop—was one of them. She was a sweet woman, with the best of intentions and only love for her broken nephew, but she also had no clue what could be at stake, and if convinced it would help Owen, she’d give up the password. He felt nauseated, but he had to ask, “Was the caller a woman?”

“You’re thinking of the historian who contacted all of us? I thought you and she were on better terms after the explosion, and that she knows none of us will talk about Somalia.”

If the situation didn’t suck so badly, he’d smile at the phrase “better terms.” He adjusted his scope when he caught another glimpse of Ruby in the window. “We’re on very good terms. But I still have to ask, was the caller a woman?”

“Yes—at least the nurse thinks so.”

That doesn’t mean it was Trina.

“Did he say where he was going?” Keith asked.

“No. I’m going to head north and question the staff in person. I’ll let you know if I hear anything. Can you stake out his aunt’s house?”

Keith closed his eyes. Any other time, Owen would be his first priority. Shit, the one time one of his SEAL brothers
wasn’t
his first priority, look what happened to Owen. If Keith hadn’t needed to cover his own ass, Owen wouldn’t be in the mess he was in now. Guilt or no guilt, Keith couldn’t watch over Owen. Not today. “I’ve got a bit of a situation myself. And it involves the historian and possibly the explosion.”