Withholding Evidence (15 page)

His lips flattened. “No.”

Whereas a minute ago she’d felt fluttery and doe-eyed, now tension had entered the room and stood between them, as tangible as another person.

A knock on the door sounded, breaking the silence but leaving the tension intact. Sean had arrived.

C
HATER
T
WELVE

W
ITH
T
RINA ENSCONCED
in the safe house and guarded by Sean, Keith had chosen to burn his antsy energy by taking over the Ruby surveillance detail. It was only two in the afternoon, yet a week’s worth of events had happened since he’d woken up in bed with Trina this morning.

He’d settled in an upstairs bedroom of an abandoned, boarded-up house a block away from Ruby’s apartment. The house was one of many in the run-down neighborhood; clearly Ruby had fallen on hard times after his stint as a vaunted naval aviator. Keith trained his high-powered scope on Ruby’s front window and brought him into crisp focus.

But Keith was distracted. His mind raced as he considered what other sources Trina might tap for information on the Somalia op. No one on his team would talk. Except Owen.

And Owen was no longer in rehab.

Shit. A conversation with Trina wouldn’t be good for Owen or for Keith. Probably not for Trina either.

Hell, it would be bad for Josh and everyone on his team.

For the first time, it crossed his mind to tell her. She’d understand the implications. But this went far deeper than typical relationship trust—and they’d only known each other for a short time. No way. Kicking that hornet’s nest could serve no purpose. She didn’t need to know. She
couldn’t
know. This wasn’t something that could be filed away and forgotten, like the old cabinet Trina had told him about.

He’d been promised by the powers-that-be the op would never be declassified—there wasn’t even any sort of written record at all—because if someone opened up this baby sixty years from now, there were likely to
still
be repercussions.

The Pentagon knew what happened, and they’d covered it up nicely. Why the op had been tossed to NHHC for analysis in the first place made no sense—and he had a feeling that was where they needed to be looking. He suspected someone wanted a new narrative—and they were sidestepping the official channels to get it. Hoping for an inaccurate—and public—report that couldn’t be corrected because the truth had to remain buried for every country involved. Problem was, there was only one person who could play scapegoat if any portion of the truth came out.

Keith could well find himself wearing goat horns—and the woman who would crown him was the same woman he was falling in love with.

T
RINA HUNG UP
the phone. She hadn’t expected to get through to the former SEAL so quickly. She’d run into a dead end when she tried to track him down two weeks ago. But today, when frustration with Keith’s attitude pushed her to try one more time, he’d answered the phone at his aunt’s home.

Even more shocking, the man was eager to speak with her, and he was in the DC area. Now to convince Sean to take her to the interview.

Sean crossed his not insignificant arms and leaned against the wall. “Not gonna happen.”

“If we meet at the Navy Yard, it’ll be secure. You can sit in on the entire interview.”

“No. I can’t. I don’t have your security clearance. You know it. He knows it. I sit with you, and your interview goes nowhere. So it’s not. Going. To happen.”

“Then we’ll meet in the conference room in Building One. You can be right outside the door.”

“Keith would kick my ass if I took you there.”

Well, Keith wasn’t here, was he? No, he’d left minutes after Sean arrived, without bothering to explain where he was going. He’d just kissed her—admittedly, it had been a spectacular kiss—but still, he’d left, leaving all the tension between them with her, where it filled her gut and wreaked havoc in her mind. “I am not an object Keith owns, nor am I a prisoner without freedom. If you won’t take me, I’ll call a cab.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m trying
not
to be stupid. I’m trying to get my bodyguard to take me to my office so I can complete an assignment issued by the Pentagon.” She glanced at her watch. This had been one long-ass day, and it was only two fifteen. She’d woken up in bed with Keith, which had been perfect, the best morning after.
Ever
. But the day had seriously gone to hell from there, culminating in Keith making it clear he was withholding information. And with everything that had happened, she’d begun to wonder if he was withholding evidence.

She might be falling in love with him, but she was still pissed. He could just
tell
her what she needed to know, but he’d refused, repeatedly. He didn’t seem to get the fact that a report on Somalia could do some good—maybe even save the lives of other SEALs. So she did what any self-respecting historian would do—she found a former SEAL from his unit who was ready to talk.

“I’m calling Keith and telling him where I’m taking you.”

“Call him. But he’s not my keeper.” Trina grabbed her purse—the only thing she had, because she hadn’t returned to her apartment before coming here—and headed for the door.

She waited in the passenger seat of Sean’s sedan. He joined her a minute later. “Keith’s pissed.”

“Tell him that makes two of us.”

“I will not do that.”

She snorted. “Today isn’t going as you expected, is it?”

He tapped on the steering wheel. “Hardly.”

“Yeah. Same here.” She settled back in her seat and tried to ignore the heartache that increased with every breath.

“I don’t like Building One for the meet place—and Keith doesn’t either. We’re going back to the DOJ.”

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll call Curt and Lieutenant Bishop to make arrangements while you drive.”

Thirty minutes later, they passed through the security screen and entered the Justice Department, where they were led to a private conference room. Sean stepped outside when Lieutenant Owen Bishop arrived.

Bishop was about the same age as Keith, but tall and skinny with hollow eyes. Clearly combat hadn’t been good for him. He suffered a world of nervous tics. It was a hot summer day, stifling in the paved city, but Bishop wore a long-sleeved shirt, buttoned at the wrists.

Between his choice in clothing, the twitches, and his anxious start-and-stop speech pattern, it wasn’t a huge stretch of logic to guess Bishop was self-medicating—most likely with heroin—but she suspected other substances were in the mix. He wasn’t the first veteran she’d interviewed who’d turned to drugs to fight PTSD, and her heart broke for him even while wondering if his account of the Somalia op would be reliable.

But she’d taken this risk and very possibly screwed up her developing relationship with Keith in pursuing this interview, so she might as well see it through. Dammit, she hated it that Sean was right about her behaving stupidly. She should have known no fit SEAL would agree to an interview.

Sorrow for the man who fidgeted at the table filled her. His service to his country had resulted in trauma that led to pain and mental breakdown, which he’d failed to remedy with drugs. And now the man, who was once the best of the best, was a shell that symbolized the lowest of the low.

A junkie, full of self-loathing, with compromised mental acuity.

She set her digital recorder in the center of the table and pressed the Record button. “Why don’t we start with the day your team arrived in Mogadishu?”

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTEEN

S
ONOFABITCH
.

Keith should have covered Owen’s aunt’s house like Josh asked him to do. Once again, he’d let Owen down, Josh down. Hell, he’d let his whole team down. Keith’s gut reaction was to leave and sit in on Trina’s interview with Owen. No way would he talk if Keith were sitting right there. His relationship with Trina would be over—no way would she forgive him for sabotaging her interview—but dammit, it was over when she arranged to interview Owen. He doubted he’d be able to forgive
her
.

She’s just doing her job.

No. It would never be that simple. Because what had happened in Somalia was anything but simple, and whoever had set Trina to researching it had to have an agenda. Unfortunately, as far as he knew, the person who had approved the assignment was the attorney general’s wife. And at the time of the Somalia op, her uncle had been the vice president of the United States.

Andrew Stevens had certainly known what happened that day. The question was, did Mara Garrett? Had she given Trina this assignment, knowing full well the ramifications?

He couldn’t imagine why she would do that, but he didn’t know Mara, and he didn’t know Curt. Rav’s friends or not, they could have an agenda.

Pressure built in his head. Curt Dominick was personally overseeing this entire investigation. For all intents and purposes, he
was
the Justice Department. Keith had no way to sidestep the attorney general.

He had to have faith Dominick was one of the good guys, but he wasn’t quite there yet. Now Trina was headed to the DOJ, and there was nothing he could do about it. Sure, that meant the questioning wouldn’t happen in Garrett’s realm, but her husband’s might not be any better. He should have suggested Rav’s house. Except Rav was in the middle of a contentious campaign. The last thing he needed was a woman who had been a bomber’s prime target and a drugged-out former SEAL on his doorstep.

Shit
. Keith didn’t know what to do about his spotter. It had taken him months to get Owen into rehab—half the guys from the team had pitched in to cover the enormous fees—and now he’d bailed after a little more than a month into the six-month program.

He loved the guy like a brother…and at times resented him like a brother too.

And that didn’t even take into account the guilt of being the cause of Owen’s condition.

Had Trina contacted Owen and convinced him to leave the program? That would be…reprehensible. Unforgivable. The woman he was involved with couldn’t want her history book that badly. Unless he’d misread her completely.

How well did he really know her? Shit, now he was questioning everything, delving into the places where he was most vulnerable.

Movement inside Ruby’s home made him shake his head. Dammit. He wasn’t focused.

Ruby answered a phone call, then stood in the window with the phone to his ear. Keith wished Alec didn’t have rules against Raptor hacking cell phones and listening in, but that was the type of thing the former CEO had done, and it was sort of illegal…and unethical. But this guy knew something, and Keith considered ethics overrated when it came to the bastards who had tried to kill Trina, not to mention blowing up his house.

The man left the window. Minutes ticked by. More than anything, he wanted to go to the DOJ and haul Owen out of there before Trina could delve into the heart of his reason for self-medicating. But Keith had stupidly sent the guy on surveillance home, and now there was no one else to watch the front of the house. Another Raptor operative had the rear fire escape and windows covered. There were no other exits. This was a two-man job, and it would take at least an hour for Keith’s replacement to get here if he wanted to leave and intercept Owen.