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“The apparent explosion happened...”
He ran into the front room and stared at the television. A live video stream of the search and rescue efforts filled the big screen, showing additional SAR units launching from NAS Whidbey.
“The cause of the explosion is unknown, but the possibility of a homemade bomb hasn’t been ruled out. NCIS at NAS Whidbey reports that they are receiving many anonymous tips and that they will follow up on all of them. No body has been recovered at the scene, but officials have received indications that there was at least one victim.” The reporter droned on with no further details as to why a “bomb” had gone off in the middle of the water off Whidbey Island.
With one of their colleagues missing and Brad gone, as well, what would the domestic terrorists do now? None of the cell members he’d met had struck him as overflowing with initiative.
They’re just the puppets.
He knew it was always a possibility—that bigger forces were manipulating events, to make them look like simple homegrown terrorists. That was why he’d been sent in. To figure it out.
Technically, he’d failed on a basic mission. Infiltrate the enemy. Observe, collect information and report back. Instead, he’d been backed into taking one of them out and bringing the entire undercover op to a halt. He’d reviewed the timeline over and over during the past two hours, and he kept coming up with the same result. If he hadn’t acted, the SAR efforts could be for Navy pilots. His hunger dissolved, and the chicken breasts suddenly seemed as appealing as cardboard. Only years of training carried him through the task of preparing a substantial protein-rich meal.
As the meat sizzled in Joy’s unmarred pan in her too-clean kitchen, he forced himself to regroup.
Brad thought he’d experienced it all when he served as a SEAL for fifteen years. The fear, excitement, pride in a job well-done—all those emotions were as familiar to him as his uniform.
It was a sad day for him when he left the active-duty Navy, although he’d known it was time for him to transfer to the reserves. His body had had enough of the sleepless nights while on mission, enough of the wear and tear of hauling a hundred pounds of gear through places so remote he was sure another human being wouldn’t leave a footprint there for at least a century afterward.
By the time he’d left for good, a full year after he’d finished all his spec ops, he’d been disillusioned, betrayed by his blind faith in his career and the illusion that he had a personal life.
When his ex-fiancée was brutally murdered in the suburbs of Virginia Beach while he was only twenty minutes away in Norfolk, he’d been afraid that somehow the bad guys from downrange had found him. That they’d sought out a soft spot, a way of retaliating for defending Farid. He’d been working alongside Joy Alexander at the time of Marci’s death, and Joy had provided a failsafe alibi.
He wouldn’t—couldn’t—have done it differently. Farid had helped convict the man who’d betrayed not only Brad’s SEAL team but also an entire village. Within hours of Farid’s being freed, Marci had been murdered. Despite his paranoia, the two weren’t connected, except in Brad’s heart. And his suspicious, overworked, war-weary mind.
Guilt sliced into his gut whenever he thought about Marci. None of the counselors or his superiors had been able to convince him that he couldn’t have prevented her death.
He’d become involved with her initially because he was still in rescue mode; it was how he’d operated as a younger man. He’d wanted to save Marci from the shitty family she’d grown up in, but when her prescription drug habit had gone beyond the recreational phase, he lost any sense of control over her addiction. He’d found her passed out countless times from her favorite cocktail—Xanax and Pinot Grigio—and after a wrenching soul search, he’d had to end the relationship.
As painful as it’d been to tell her he was leaving and why, she’d shown no remorse.
In fact, within weeks Marci connected with someone else—a man who could be there every night for her and love her without the drama and strain Brad’s lifestyle inevitably brought to their relationship. Turned out her new boyfriend was also an addict and got her hooked on what led to her murder.
Heroin.
The death had been ruled a homicide by stabbing. In fact, Marci’s throat had been slit with one of Brad’s deadliest knives. He hadn’t realized she’d stolen the weapon until it was too late. She’d probably taken it to trade for more drugs.
The killer had almost certainly been her drug dealer. Because of the knife, Brad could easily have been implicated in the murder, but since he was with Joy at the time, he was cleared. He’d had a solid alibi—Joy Alexander and her entire staff. They’d shared dinner with the JAG team the night after they’d closed both cases successfully.
If he’d ended it earlier with Marci, and if Marci had lived, would he have sought out Joy sooner?
He’d never know.
He flipped the chicken and watched it sizzle as he told himself he needed to eat, but his hunger had disappeared. He told himself that he wouldn’t lead Joy into any deadly traps if he could help it.
Joy’s home phone rang and he stilled, listening to see if he could tell where it was coming from. He noticed the caller ID the minute he found the phone on the far kitchen counter. It was a local number, the name unfamiliar to him. He waited for it to go to voice mail.
“It’s me. Don’t pick up, and don’t stress. I’m using a friend’s cell phone. Just make sure you delete this right away. I got onto the base, and I should have the files we need by tomorrow, or the day after at the latest. We’re putting other people at risk here, and we’ll have to work fast once we have the data. I’ll be home by six if my new job goes as I expect it to.”
Joy hung up and the machine immediately blinked that she had a new message. Brad played it once more before he deleted it.
He wished it was that easy to wipe out his feelings for her. He couldn’t go through another relationship that went nowhere. Joy was in nesting mode; she’d gotten out, bought a place and made it hers. The furniture, the plants, all the art on the walls...
His work would never allow him to settle down, much less include a partner in his life. It was too risky.
Joy deserved better.
CHAPTER FOUR
“THAT WAS QUICK.” Serena Delgado, the firm’s most recent hire before Joy, spoke from her desk, which was positioned across from Joy’s. They shared a spacious office set off by rich wood trim and a startling view of the Cascade Mountains.
“It was a simple last-minute crossing of t’s and dotting of i’s. You know, medical stuff.” Joy held back a grimace at her clumsy cliché. “They’ll probably call me in again over the next day or so. The Navy moves at its own pace.”
Serena typed on her keyboard before replying. “My experience was more with the Army, but from what I’ve seen on base when my son or I go to the clinic for our medical care, the Navy is pretty efficient.”
Was that a tone of disbelief? A glance at Serena allayed Joy’s paranoia. Serena had a large stack of files at her elbow, eyes glued to her computer screen. She was just making small talk to help Joy feel welcome.
Joy hated lying, and Serena’s generosity made her guilt that much worse.
I’m going to hell for this.
“I agree with you about their efficiency, but separating from the Navy is an administrative function with a lot of hoops to jump through. Just when I think I’m done, I get another phone call to come in and take care of yet another piece of paperwork.”
“I know all about military red tape and paperwork, trust me.” Serena’s attention was entirely on Joy.
“Oh?”
“My husband was killed on active duty. In the war. The Army was wonderful to us, but the process was long. If I hadn’t had such a good CACO, Pepé and I would still be waiting for our benefits to kick in.” Serena referred to the Casualty Assistance Calls Officer, the military person who took the surviving family of a deceased active duty member through the complexities of survivor benefits.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Serena. I trained as a CACO when I was on board the Abraham Lincoln.” And she’d been grateful she’d never had to serve the duty of being a surviving family member’s sole link to the military during a time of such grief. Many of her friends had been CACOs and had found it emotionally taxing.
“It was a while ago, and Pepé and I have a good life here.”
“You said you were Army. Where were you stationed? What brought you to Whidbey?”
“The short version is that I’m originally from Texas. I had a long-lost relative here, and she and I reconnected. I inherited her home when she passed away. But initially I’d learned about Whidbey when Pepé and I attended a resort for Gold Star families on San Juan Island. You might have heard of it—Beyond the Stars. I fell in love with the area and started to research the feasibility of staying. And then, of course, there was Aunt Dottie... Anyway, I was looking for a new life for Pepé and me, and this proved to be it.” Serena restacked a pile of papers on her desk. “How about you, Joy? Are you planning to stay on Whidbey?”
“Yes. I’ve bought a house out on West Beach with just about all my life’s savings. My last tour was here. I requested it after coming up to Whidbey for a weekend break from the carrier.”
“Is there someone special here? Someone who gave you a reason to stay?”
The flush that was heating her face was impossible to stop. Until this morning, she would’ve answered with an unequivocal “no.”
Before Brad pushed open her kitchen door and pressed his body against hers...
“Um, no. No one special here. I made the move on my own.”
“That’s brave.”
“No braver than moving here after such a huge loss—with a child.”
“Touché.”
They shared a moment of quiet commiseration before Serena’s gaze went back to her screen. A few seconds later she spoke again. “Believe it or not, we almost met last year. I’m involved with someone you know.”
“Oh? I thought you looked kind of familiar.”
“We didn’t exactly meet but we were both at the Fords’ Christmas party. Winnie pointed you out, but I never got the chance to talk to you.”
Recognition dawned. “You’re with Jonas, aren’t you?”
It was Serena’s turn to blush. “Yes. We’re engaged and getting married at Thanksgiving. He told me you and he had briefly dated, and I didn’t want it hanging between us. He thinks the world of you.”
Stunned at the revelation, Joy stared at Serena. They were complete opposites physically. Joy had a boyish figure, and Serena was all curves. Serena’s hair shone black and straight, while Joy’s was strawberry blond and curly.
If Serena was Jonas’s type, Joy had never stood a chance.
Her laughter surprised her as much as it did Serena. At the wariness on Serena’s face, Joy said, “Please don’t take this the wrong way—but I’m relieved! I blamed myself for not being able to make it work with Jonas. We never got past the dating part, you know.” A kiss on the cheek was all she could give Jonas without reminding herself he wasn’t Brad.
Because, even then, thoughts of Brad were still with her, months after the last time she’d seen him.
“I didn’t even bother to ask him to recommend me to Paul.” Paul, her boss, was Jonas’s older brother.
“Jonas didn’t give me details about you two, and I’m not fishing for any. I just thought you should know.” Serena looked so happy, Joy knew it was the truth.
“There aren’t any details to tell you. We went out a few times. That was it. He’s a good man. You’ve got a keeper there.”
“Yes, I do.”
“I promise I won’t be such a chatterbox every day, Serena. Don’t let me interrupt your work.”
“It’s nice having you here, Joy.”
“Thanks.”
Joy settled into her chair and braced herself, trying to focus on her new cases without letting her mind wander back to Brad.
“Don’t worry about Paul, by the way. He’s the most easygoing boss I’ve ever had. As long as the work gets done and we satisfy our clients.”
Serena’s fingers were on her keyboard and her eyes on her screen as she spoke. Joy liked a woman who could multitask.
“Have you ever not done that?”
Serena’s luminous brown eyes blinked before her attention rested on Joy again.
“No, not yet. But there’ll be a first. There has to be. There’s always something waiting to go wrong.”
Serena had no idea how astute her observation was. In Joy’s case, something very large had gone wrong, or at least thrown her off her game. Possibly on an international scale. Involving terrorism.
Joy dove gratefully into her work. She felt a flash of regret that she couldn’t appreciate this day in its entirety, but she kept going. There’d be time to enjoy her new job later. After she’d helped Brad and his worries were behind him. Behind both of them.
Would that be it? Would Brad go back into the netherworld of her fantasy life, only a memory?
More likely she’d find herself in a deeper emotional pit than the one she’d been in after Norfolk.
As tears threatened to spill, she blinked and opened the top file on her stack. Usually she had no problem dredging up enthusiasm for her cases, no matter how menial. But she’d been a fool to think she could become invested in anything with the worry of Brad’s predicament looming.
But Brad’s problems were just that. His. She’d help him and then he’d leave. He wasn’t the settling-down type. And Joy was done with moving, as much as she was done with men whose work took them around the world.
She’d had enough of it as a child with all the State Department moves her Foreign Service parents had made. They were currently posted to France for the second time.
“Oh, Joy, I forgot to mention there’s a fresh pot of coffee in the break room. I’ve been making it every day after lunch, but now that you’re the most junior staff member, perhaps you’d like to take over?”
“Sure.”
Only someone as nice as Serena could point out so sweetly that Joy was the current low man on the totem pole.
Concentrating on something as mundane as coffee would keep her from drowning in the chaos that Brad had brought into her life mere hours ago.
* * *
JOY KEPT HER trip to the grocery store after work as short as possible, but she couldn’t skip it. Not with Brad needing to eat. She hurried through the crowded aisles, wondering what to feed a trained killer. Did that make her an accomplice to murder? He’d had to “take out” the man in the boat. The SAM shooter. Would he have to kill anyone else on this particular undercover mission?
Stop it.
He’d be hungry after a day at her place. She’d planned to get Indian takeout tonight, to celebrate her first day back at work. Instead, she was harboring a probable fugitive and wondering if she should stock up on canned goods in case they had to hunker down.
“Excuse me.” She pushed her cart through the pasta aisle, throwing boxes of elbow macaroni into the basket. From the dairy cooler she took a half gallon of milk and some cheese, then made her way to the meat case, where she picked out the leanest ground beef she could find. She hadn’t eaten red meat regularly in years, but she suspected Brad would wolf it down.
And she could freeze the leftovers for hearty meals later.
Later?
Her life had gone from controlled and serene to preparing for the apocalypse with the explosion of a small fishing boat. Only because she’d witnessed it.
Oh, and because Brad had scaled the West Beach cliff to her house.
“Credit or debit?”
“What?” She looked at the empty belt where she’d placed her groceries.
“Credit or debit?”
“Debit. I mean cash.” Digging in her wallet for the extra cash she’d withdrawn while she was on base, she sent up a silent prayer of thanks. The withdrawal from the ATM had been a last-minute decision, just in case.
Just in case she had to go off the grid with Brad. She shook her head. Her imagination was getting the best of her.
A gust slammed into her as she pushed her cart through the parking lot and to her car. Good thing Brad had made his climb before the winds picked up.
She almost laughed aloud as she loaded the groceries into her trunk. She’d never done anything remotely illegal before today, which was in direct contrast with going back on base and requesting files she had no official business having. She was the lowest of the low in the eyes of the military justice system. A traitor, even.
The drive home seemed unusually long as sheer exhaustion washed over her.
Cold dread at her decision to allow Brad respite in her home didn’t help. Sweat broke out on her forehead, and she tightened her hands on the steering wheel.
She had no desire to dig deeper into her own psyche, to examine whether her fear was simply the result of her situation. Or was it because the man of her dreams was finally in her life again, in her home? Unlike real life, dreams were safe. Maybe she should ask him to leave...
No, no, no! She’d made her decision and besides, this wasn’t permanent. These circumstances had to be more straightforward than either she or Brad thought; the most seemingly complicated scenarios were often far simpler than panic or anxiety blew them up to be. Case in point—Farid. He’d been a kid who’d wanted to save his village and gotten caught in a firestorm of political and military brass. His stint in prison had ended, rightfully so.
If she had anything to do with it, the files would help her put Brad’s problems behind both of them within forty-eight hours.
Once inside her garage she killed the engine and hit the button to lower the garage door. Only after the door was firmly closed did she get out of the car and grab the groceries from the back hatch.
“Hello?” She walked into the kitchen and stopped, listening for any indication that Brad was still there.
“Over here.” He walked in from the sun porch wearing a USS Abraham Lincoln baseball cap she recognized as hers.
“Is that all my clothes you’re interested in, or am I going to find you’ve been through my underwear drawers? Please tell me you aren’t wearing my Wonder Woman panties, too.”
Brad’s eyes narrowed but his reply was calm, unruffled.
“I make it a policy never to cross-dress while on mission.”
His humor made her smile, but she noticed that his eyes remained wary. She’d missed him, missed his joking. Their banter.
“Just as well. Cross-dressing could complicate things at the moment.” She took in the papers strewn on the sofa and his boots next to the end table.
“I thought you were going to lie low. Aren’t you worried about someone seeing you from the sun porch?”
“With this hat on and sitting between your two potted palms? No chance. Everyone’s focused on the area of the explosion, trying to determine if it was a terrorist action.”
“What have they been saying on the news?” She put the perishables in the fridge and pulled out a baking dish, saucepan and frying pan. It might be bland and predictable, but her homemade macaroni and cheese spiked with the ground meat was an easy dish to make, and she suspected Brad would appreciate something that resembled comfort food. She could use a warm meal, too.
“Nothing much.”
He maintained eye contact with her.
“I couldn’t check the news at work, and I didn’t want to ask anyone while I was running errands. I figure the less I comment, the better. No need to draw any unwanted attention to myself.”
At least until Brad was out of her house and off on his next FBI adventure. Because he would leave. She wanted him to leave.
Sure you do.
She set the cheese grater on the counter and wrestled her measuring cups out of the gadget drawer.
“Well, there’s nothing new. The media’s dropped hints that base officials think it could be at worst a domestic terrorist, or possibly a disenfranchised vet. The reports say that NCIS, FBI and local authorities are looking into the backgrounds of several suspects.”
“You still believe you’re going to get nailed for this, don’t you?” She melted butter in a saucepan and stirred flour into it then slowly added milk.
“I have no doubt I would if I came forward now. I’d be cleared in short order, but meanwhile, the press might leak my name or photo, and the terrorists would gain the upper hand. I have to wait. If you get me the information I’m hoping for, by the time I make contact again I’ll have the case wrapped up. Here, let me help.”
Brad made short work of grating the Gruyere and cheddar.
Trying to appear casual, she quickly added the cheese to the simmering milk. The water she’d put on for the pasta started to boil, and the meat was browned.
“I know I’m just a lawyer, even if I’m a former JAG. My job in the Navy was to support you and other operators. Admittedly, I haven’t experienced anything close to what you have. But do you think you might be a little paranoid after your time as a SEAL? After going through the trial and then... Marci’s death?”
There—she’d dragged the ugly, wrinkled, stinking elephant into the room.
“That’s in the past.”
She dumped the entire box of elbow noodles into the roiling water. Brad needed his carbs. Maybe, right now, she did, too.
“It’s not in the past if it’s still haunting you today.”
“What do you want from me, Joy?”
How about your hands on me, your lips on me, your undying affection...
“I want you to look at this objectively. You’re hiding out in my house because you had to shoot a terrorist before he could launch a SAM at one of our aircraft. And you’re undercover, which makes it even more interesting. You found out that they’re targeting General Grimes. You don’t want to blow your cover or let it out that the Bureau infiltrated the cell. I get that. But you could’ve had me call your boss, for heaven’s sake. I mean, really, Brad, what’s with all the drama?”
His eyes widened an instant before they narrowed, and he pushed back from the counter he’d been leaning against. His body vibrated with anger.
The man did have feelings.
“You think this is drama? That I’m making this up? I’ll grant you, I’ve seen more than the average GI or SEAL, and I’m more messed up for it. I’ve lost more, too, including any chance at a normal life. But I’m in this for the greater good, Joy, not for myself. I haven’t turned this into some blown-out-of-proportion video game. Real lives are at stake, and I’m not going to stop until I take these bastards down.”
He stood inches from her and she reached out, placing her hand on his chest. His heart thumped under her fingertips, and she longed to embrace him, to hug away the hurt.
“I do believe you, Brad. I just wanted you to say it out loud.”
His expression softened as anger gave way to incredulity and then relief. “You never doubted me.”
“I worked with you for six months. I saw you risk everything for a man you barely knew. I was there when you were accused of your ex-fiancée’s murder when you had nothing to do with it.”
He reached out and traced her cheek with a shaky finger. “You never doubted me,” he said again.
She drew in a shaky breath. “Oh, I had my share of doubts. I wasn’t downrange with you and Farid. I had to double-check everything you told me—for your sake as well as his. And for my own sake. We all had everything to lose, and one man’s freedom to gain. I’m not a saint, Brad. There were times I wanted you to be less of a man than you were. Than you are. It would’ve been easier, that’s for sure.”
She needed all her effort to keep her gaze on his chest, away from his eyes. When his finger moved from her cheek to her chin and tilted her face up, she tried to will her emotions away.