Placing her hand on the mouse, she moved the cursor to the dock at the bottom of the screen and clicked on the internet icon. A picture of some expensive sports car Charlee didn’t recognize filled the screen. Connor loved checking out concept cars and learning about all the specifications. No other tabs were open, so Charlee checked the browsing history.
Nothing. As if he had deleted it in anticipation of her checking it, and wanting to keep whatever he was looking at a secret from her. She figured it was adult sites. Teen boys were curious about sex—some viewing of porn was probably not something to be concerned about. If that was indeed what he was hiding from her.
Something told Charlee that was not everything he was researching on his computer, but without a browsing history there was no way for her to discover what it was. And that bothered Charlee more than she thought it would.
She hadn’t thought he would always tall her everything that was happening in his life, but for a few months he had been pulling away from her. His attitude was terse and gruff on the best of days. Add in his sudden desire to spend time with his father—something he had detested for the last couple of years, and Charlee was more than a little concerned about her son.
A car pulled into the driveway, and Charlee watched Connor and her ex get out and walk toward the back door. Charlee darted from the room and closed the door behind her. She descended the stairs to the bottom floor and entered the kitchen.
Peter leaned against the counter looking far too comfortable in her home than she liked. He represented a part of her life that she would just as soon forget. If she had her way, the man would never set foot in her house again. But for Connor’s sake, she played nice with her ex…for the time being. And as much as she wanted to enjoy the last few years Connor would be home, she secretly could not wait until there was no reason to have any contact with his father.
“You’re back,” she said to Connor.
“Yeah,” Connor said. His eyes drooped and shoulders slumped.
Charlee glanced at her ex to see if she could pick up on any tension between the two, but Peter just shrugged.
Great…another night with moody Connor.
She loved her son. But his mood swings were exhausting.
“Do you want something to eat?” she asked. “I can make mac and cheese.”
“Not hungry,” he said and headed toward the stairs.
“There’s a basket of clean clothes in your room. Please put them away,” she called after him. Then, considering how he usually “put clothes away”, she added, “in the dresser and closet, not on the floor.”
His door closing was all the answer she received.
“Have you noticed a worse than usual attitude in him lately?” she asked Peter.
Frowning slightly, he said, “Not anything out of the norm for a teenage boy.”
“He just seems a little…I don’t know…tightly wound. He’s doing things he has never done before.”
“Such as?” Peter asked.
She stalled a moment, wondering if she should venture down this road with Peter. It was hit or miss as to whether she was going to catch him on a day he wanted to co-parent or obstruct. She tried to keep in mind that he was just as much a parent to Connor as he was, and deserved to know about her concerns. “He cleared out his browsing history.”
Peter’s face paled. “What the hell are you doing on his computer?”
“Well, his moods have changed dramatically, he is withdrawn, and appears to be tired all the time. I wanted to see if I could glean anything from what he was doing online.”
“You shouldn’t be going through his computer. It is a violation of his privacy.”
“And I’m trying to make sure he is not into something that he doesn’t understand—that’s what a parent does, Peter. Sometimes, it’s more than picking him up, taking him out to eat, and spending money on him. Parenting is not about being best friends with your kid.”
“I forgot—you’re mother of the fucking year. Don’t lecture me on being a parent, Charlee. The kid is acting like a normal teenager. Leave him the hell alone.”
“God, you’re such an asshole.” She grabbed a kitchen towel and cleaned a spot on the counter.
“And you’re a bitch.”
She looked up at him and forced a smile and pointed at the door. “And you can leave now.”
Peter blew air from his puffed out cheeks. “Always a pleasure seeing you, Charlee.” He walked out the door and slammed it behind him.
Prick.
How she had managed to stay married to that man for as many years as she had was still a mystery—and a regret.
Chapter Nine
Riley Bray glanced up as John entered the tactical operations center, known as the TOC. The lone CIA agent—and the only female—on the team, Riley had earned John’s respect through her intelligence and dedication to the team and the mission. Along with Lieutenant Commander Lance Knight, they were John’s seconds-in-command and he trusted them implicitly.
“Heard you had an eventful night,” Riley said.
John slumped into the chair next to where she sat. “That might be the understatement of the year.” He finished off the last of his coffee. “I’m trying to decide if Andropov being attacked in the parking lot of a restaurant I was at is a coincidence or not.”
“You worried the RRA has made you as the CO of The 13?” Riley asked.
“”Worried might be too strong—more intrigued at the timing and wondering how it all fits together.”
Shuffling through some papers, Riley pulled out a sheet and handed it to him. “Andropov was staying at the hotel across the street. It’s conceivable he was walking to the restaurant to eat dinner, and was jumped.”
“What’s law enforcement saying?”
“Varies between a hit and a mugging gone wrong,” she said.
“And what’s your take?”
She exhaled loudly through her nose. “I think it is a hit made to look like a mugging gone wrong.”
“Explain.”
“Andropov’s wallet was still in his pocket. Cash and credit cards inside. It didn’t appear there had been any attempt to get to it, either.”
“Maybe the killer was interrupted before he could get to it.”
“True, but that’s not the only issue.” She handed him a copy of a photo of the dead man from the crime scene. “He was stabbed in the gut several times—”
--“Which would account for all the blood.”
“Yes, but you said the man that found him said he thought Andropov had hit his head. Did you happen to see blood around his head?”
“Some, but I was more interested in finding a pulse, and didn’t really survey the area except to check for weapons.”
She pointed to a pool of blood at the back of the man’s head. With the floodlights illuminating the scene, the amount of blood was more visible than it had been the night before. John was always amazed at just how much blood the human body held.
“This would indicate some type of trauma to the back of the head.” She placed a close up shot of the back of Andropov’s head. “The ME found a hole at the scene, and has since determined it is a gunshot wound.”
“Appears Dr. Andropov pissed someone off,” John said. “Anyone taking credit for the hit?”
Riley shook her head. “Not yet, but my money is on RRA involvement, given the subject of the lectures he has been giving lately.”
“That would make sense.” John handed the crime scene photos back to Riley. “Taking the credit would bolster support within the organization.”
“And aid in recruitment.”
John had watched many terrorist recruitment videos. The violence they promoted was disturbing. The fact that young men would be enthralled enough to want to join an organization whose sole purpose was to exterminate friends, family, and neighbors made John question the young. He knew it was an unfair assessment—most young adults were good, upstanding kids. But for some who were looking for a way to
fit in, terrorism offered the ability to find retribution against people that have wronged them in the past.
“I need you to take a look at the background of the man who found Andropov in the parking lot,” John said.
Riley glanced at the police report in her hand. “Peter Finch?”
“Yeah. I saw him in the restaurant before we left.”
“We?” Riley quirked an eyebrow.
“I was out to dinner with a woman I met--Charlee Finch.”
Recognition hit Riley’s eyes. “Related to Peter?”
John nodded. “Ex-wife.”
“Well, now I understand the question of whether this was just a coincidence or a set-up.” Riley stared at John for a long moment. “Can I ask how you met Ms. Finch?”
“Dr. Finch,” John corrected. “Phd at the U in Providence. She ended up sitting next to me at Andropov’s lecture.” John leaned back in his chair and ran his hand over his bald head. “After the lecture, I found her in the parking lot. Her car wouldn’t start, so I gave her a ride home.”
“The argument against this being a coincidence is getting stronger,” Riley said.
“Which—in light of what we do here—makes it imperative that I know who these two are, and if I am being used.”
“I’ll get right on it.” Riley gathered Andropov’s file and headed into her office.
Somehow John needed to reconcile how he felt about Charlee. There were some definite red flags surrounding how they had met, the death of Andropov, and her ex-husband’s appearance. But the thing that stuck in John’s craw was her lying to him about her ex’s physical confrontation outside the restaurant restrooms.
But—even with all the warning signs—he was drawn to the woman. The attraction between them was distracting, yet welcome. And that was the problem. John should cut his losses and stay away before he was drawn in too deep. But his heart was fighting his common sense—and winning.
He just hoped he survived falling for the woman.
Chapter Ten
Charlee held up the carafe of coffee and tipped it toward Connor. “Want a cup?”
He nodded so she pulled another mug from the cupboard and filled it.
She wasn’t sure she wanted her son to drink coffee at such a young age. For some reason it made her feel as if he was going up too fast and she was desperate for him to remain a child a little while longer. Not a rational thought, but then, love was often irrational.
“What are you plans today?” she asked as she took a sip of coffee.
“Donovan wants me to spend the night at his house tonight. Dad said he would pick me so I can stay with him tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow’s a school night?” Peter usually didn’t have Connor stay over during the week because it was difficult to get Connor to school and get to work on time.
Connor shrugged. “He says it won’t be a problem to get me to school.” He stared into his mug.
Something didn’t feel right, but she didn’t say anything. How could she? Peter was finally taking more of an interest in spending time with Connor. And, truth be told, she was enjoying some time to herself—especially if it meant she had more time to spend with John.
She was both excited and wary of the way she felt about John. He was so unlike anyone she usually was attracted to. Even though she lived in a military town, she really never considered dating anyone in the military. But there was something about the way John carried himself and exuded confidence and strength that was a total turn on. Of course, the way he filled out his uniform, dark skin over taut muscles, and those molten chocolate eyes had awoken her near dead libido.
“Are you okay?” Connor asked.
Charlee shook the visions of John and what his bare chest and naked body might look like from her thoughts. “Yeah, fine…just thinking about something.”
“Must’ve been good, you have a ridiculous smile on your face,” he mumbled.
Heat scorched her neck and face. She cleared her throat and changed the subject. The last thing she needed was to verify to her son that she was having a dirty daydream. “Do you need me to drop you off at Donovan’s?”
“No, his mom is picking me up and taking us out for burgers.” His phone dinged and he checked it. “They’re just pulling into the driveway.”
“Okay, have fun, honey. Love you,” she called out to him. The front door closed without a response. “Love you, too, Mom,” she muttered under her breath with a sigh.
“What to do, what to do?” She rarely had nights to herself. She walked into the living room and looked for the remote, knowing she really wasn’t in the mood to watch TV. Her gaze landed on her e-reader, and she remembered she had downloaded a new mystery. Grabbing the tablet and a glass of red wine, she ascended the stairs intent on filling the bathtub and submersing herself in a good book.
At the top of the stairs, she noticed Connor’s bedroom door was open. A rarity since he had become a teenager. Overnight, he went from being a boy who told her everything to a teenager who demanded she respect his privacy. The door had closed on a lot of things since then, but he was most adamant that his door remain closed and his room off limits.
She had reminded him that he was still a minor who lived under her roof and that she would respect his privacy, but he had no right to demand anything until he turned eighteen and started paying rent. That hadn’t gone over well, but they had struck a deal that she would stay out as long as there was no reason for her to go in.
She placed her hand on the door knob and started to pull it closed when she heard the ding of the computer. Someone was sending him a message. She swung the door open and stared at the screen. A message box popped up.
Sidling up to the desk, she read the message from someone named Dmitri.
You should see this.
Charlee clicked on the link, and a video began to upload. The screen was dark, but Charlee could hear the swooshing sound of material as someone walked across a darkened parking lot. The person must have rigged a camera to record what was happening. Or perhaps it was a Go Pro video camera, like the one Connor had been begging for as a Christmas present.
A large man came into focus. He turned and faced the camera. Charlee gasped. Andropov stared at the man.
“Dr. Andropov,” the unknown man said.
Andropov’s eyebrow shot up. Apparently he wasn’t expecting anyone to know him. “Yes?”
The dim light in the lot was enough to illuminate the blade of a knife in the hand of the man. He thrust it into Andropov’s belly and pulled it out. A gruesome sucking sound mix with the garbled cry from Andropov. His eyes were wide with shock. Again the blade went deep into his gut, over and over, until Andropov dropped to his knees and fell to the ground. HIs hands grasped his belly, as if he could prevent the blood from pouring out through the deep cuts.
The man knelt beside Andropov. His free hand grabbed a handful of Andropov’s white hair, and he yanked the elderly man’s head back. Andropov stared into the camera, his eyes wild. Tears streamed down his face.
“Who are you?” he asked, the words hoarse and just above a whisper. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because you are a traitor to your country and your people. And traitors deserve to die alone, in a cold and desolate place, far from home and loved ones.”
The man shoved the knife into a sheath attached to his ankle and pulled a gun from his jacket. Placing the barrel against Andropov’s head, he pulled the trigger.
The sound of the gunshot was muted by the silencer. Charlee covered her mouth to muffle the her own scream. Andropov’s head snapped forward. The man released his hold and allowed the dead man’s head to bounce off the asphalt.
The scene faded to black.
Charlee stumbled back and hit the edge of Connor’s bed. She sat and stared at the blank screen for a few minutes, attempting to come to terms with what she had seen.
Moving to the desk, she pulled out the chair, and began looking through Connor messages. Dmitri had sent othe
r videos to Connor over the past few months. Charlee clicked on another link. Inhaling deeply, she tried to prepare herself for what may come.
A man dressed in black from head-to-toe stood in front of a Russian flag.
“For decades, the United States has sought to keep Russia from taking it’s rightful place amongst the leaders of the world.”
Charlee watched as a group of men were executed. Their bodies twisted and fell backwards into a trench.
Tears streamed down Charlee’s face. “What are you doing watching these videos, Connor?” She asked under her breath.
And who the hell is Dmitri?
Charlee’s rang three times before she answered it. “Hello?”
“Hey, Charlee, it’s John.” He could hear the sound of traffic in the background and it sounded as if he was on speakerphone. “Are you driving?”
“Yeah, I’m in Providence.” No further explanation was provided. Not that he was owed any, but she seemed guarded. A little distant even.
“Just getting there or on your way home?” he asked.
“Um—” She sounded confused by the question. Or was she taken back by him asking what might be a personal question.
“I’m only asking because I was going to invite you over for dinner tonight.” Still no response. “I know it’s late notice, but I wasn’t sure when I was going to get done with work and didn’t want to have to cancel if something came up and I wasn’t able to get out of there.”
He shook his head, marveling at how he rambled on like a young buck fumbling to talk to the prettiest girl in the class. He didn’t get tongue-tied or nervous around women. It was usually the opposite. So what was it about Charlee that had him twisted in a knot?
“No, it’s not that,” she chuckled. “I’m so new to this whole dating thing that I didn’t even stop to consider that I might be able to do something with my free night other than work.”
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