too. He’d refused to speak to him alone and ignored him when they were in the same room together. Grimes gave the impression of being a big fat egoist who’d managed to complete a successful career in the Marines but not through being open-minded. He’d especially resented it when a SEAL team who worked under him wasn’t required to report directly to him.
Brad was certain that Grimes would’ve been content to see Farid sentenced for the crimes he’d been accused of. Crimes he didn’t commit.
He picked up the remote and turned on the television, finding the news channel with ease. Military intelligence was tight with security, but some parts of the truth were bound to leak out.
As an anchor talked about the need for parents to vaccinate their children, Brad walked into Joy’s kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Fancy little yogurt containers, almond milk, a bin full of green leafy veggies. Skinny girly stuff. He looked in the freezer, hoping for some protein.
Score! The package of chicken breasts was thawing in the microwave before any sense of shame at scarfing her food could stop him. Opening cabinet doors and drawers, he found a frying pan, utensils and a plate.
“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
