by Geri Krotow
Like the one he’d worked under General Grimes when Farid’s village had been ripped apart.
* * *
JOY FELT GUILTY being in her house getting ready for a bath when Brad’s undercover op, possibly his life, might hang in the balance. When there was a chance she and Brad had been manipulated by Farid.
Although her money was on a member of Farid’s extended family. Farid had been honest, judging not only by his testimony, but also that of others.
After being assaulted by events beyond her control for the past two days, all Joy wanted was a hot soak in her claw-foot tub with a huge mug of peppermint tea. The memories of her home being virtually broken into by Brad, and then of being awakened by the “police,” pitted her flight instinct against her need for comfort. She needed a retreat from the constant apprehension that had been her companion since yesterday morning.
The deep tub was one of the features that had sold the house to her, that and its private but sweeping view of Puget Sound. As water poured from the elegant brass faucet, she sat on the edge and tried to figure out how she could search for more personal information on General Grimes than would be available online.
She measured out bath salts and a scoop of dried lavender, which she’d purchased at the local lavender farm she’d come across during her house-hunting trip last year.
She could get in her car and drive straight to Emily’s place in Anacortes on Fidalgo Island.
But Emily wasn’t home; she was on her way to the book signing in Coupeville at the local yarn shop where they’d initially met. And Joy couldn’t ask Emily for help with this. It was too dangerous, too big.
There was Dennis, but she’d already involved him as much as she was going to. Brad was the person she really needed to talk to, but he was at General Grimes’s, and he’d stay there until he called her to get him. He’d made that much clear.
She’d have to keep what she knew close for now. Nothing she hadn’t done as a JAG, that was for sure. As an attorney she was expected to hold confidences.
To maintain the appearance of normalcy she’d act as if nothing was amiss and head down to Emily’s book signing. At least that would show anyone watching her—if anyone was watching her—that she had nothing to hide and no idea where Brad was.
The scent of the lavender drifted through the bathroom, and she stepped out of her clothes, eager to sink into the hot water. The immediate warmth soothed her, and she let her mind wander.
Vaguely recalling a conversation with the general about how he’d decided to go Marine Infantry, she remembered that he’d gone to college in Texas.
That was it! Her alma mater, the US Naval Academy, was always publishing summaries of what graduates were up to in Shipmate, its alumni magazine. Certainly someone like General Grimes would be a person of interest to his alma mater.
She soaked until her fingers looked like prunes, then got out and made herself another cup of peppermint tea. There was still time to do a little research before the book signing.
After she opened her laptop, she entered the college name and alumni magazine.
Bingo.
Clicking on the most recent issue, she scanned it for any mention of Grimes. Nothing. She bit her fingernails. She didn’t even know his class year. This was going to be a bitch.
Unless...
She typed in the title Grimes had held while in Afghanistan. The alumni website opened with the current commanding officer’s bio. She clicked on history and found Grimes’s entry. His biography was the usual droning on of all his military accomplishments, but it did mention that he’d graduated from college in 1979. She cross-referenced the year with the alumni magazine’s entries and started to go through each quarterly publication, beginning with the present issue and going backward until she reached the entry she’d been hoping for.
Instead of the usual excitement she felt as she closed in on a case, anxiety tightened its hold on her.
In an article dated four years prior, two full years before she’d interviewed Grimes in Norfolk, an entry by a college alumnus from a different year highlighted the most recent activity of General Jeremiah Grimes.
“Jeremiah is as tough as ever, kicking ass as the commander in charge of the entire region. He’s dodging recriminatory press coverage and doesn’t seem to take anything personally, unless one of his troops gets injured or worse. We are all honored to be classmates with a true national hero.”
Joy gnawed on her lip. The Grimes she’d interviewed had been intimidating and decisive. He’d also appeared bored, as if testifying on the witness stand was all in a day’s work for him. He’d been patronizing at times, such as when she’d asked him the same question twice, and told Brad he should stay in the Navy as a SEAL. “Tough it out to retirement” was what he’d said.
As far as Grimes was concerned, anyone remotely connected to the Taliban or any village they occupied was suspect. But even he had grudgingly admitted that Farid’s aid during the war had saved American and Afghan civilian lives.
Unfortunately, the Taliban had wanted Farid dead. So he’d befriended the American SEALs he’d met while preparing to take a college preparatory exam, the SAT, at the military base—the only safe place for a student to do so at the time.
Brad and his team had always had to be careful. Solicitations by enemy agents were widespread and could end with a dead American or allied troop. Brad had told her of a SEAL who’d made the mistake of falling in love with an Afghan interpreter, a woman later connected to the Taliban. He’d had to leave her behind during a firestorm of bullets and never heard from her again. He’d never been able to find out whether she’d made it out of the war zone alive. He couldn’t, not if he wanted to remain an American and a lawful SEAL.
Grimes’s testimony had been a worry for her, but in the end it had gone fine, and Brad’s defense of Farid had been flawless. Farid’s dream was to go to med school, and she knew he’d be the best of doctors. He was a natural protector, a rescuer. He’d witnessed the worst possible crimes by the Taliban and had wanted to do what he could to free his village and his family from their brutality. He wanted to save lives, an impulse motivated by his own experiences. She hoped his dream came true.
Grimes had never mentioned his contempt for the press to her during the trial questioning. Of course, it hadn’t been relevant, so why would he? And he wasn’t alone; most military leaders treated the press with caution. Today’s hero could quickly become tomorrow’s war criminal in the eyes of the media.
She clicked onto a page with the banner “Alumni in the News.” Scanning URLs that included Op-Eds, diplomatic links, social reports and athletic achievements, she took a closer look at the last link on the page.
“Alumnus at War: Reconciling Facts with the Press” by Jeremiah Grimes.
Her initial hope that she’d found something on Grimes faded to ashes as she read a bland four-paragraph editorial by the general, describing the difference between what he saw and what the press reported. It was nothing she hadn’t heard before. As a JAG she’d witnessed firsthand how reporters could take information she or the public affairs officer provided and twist it to represent what the reporters’ agenda, or their network’s, happened to be. This certainly didn’t indicate anything incriminatory against General Grimes.
Beyond a doubt, the general was solid.
Joy looked at her computer clock and closed her laptop. She had twenty minutes to get to Coupeville for Emily’s signing. The twenty-minute drive would give her enough time to construct a facade of excited exhaustion at starting her new career.
Hopefully, she’d hear from Brad before the night was over. They needed to determine if the unknown suspect, or suspects, might be from Farid’s village, and if they were, what was their relation to Farid?
Walking into the midst of the crowd at Whidbey Fibers reminded Joy that she’d finally found her home. A community where her life was predictable and never frantic the way it had been with her parents or in the Navy. Entering the we
ll-appointed space usually felt like receiving a warm hug, but tonight a low roar of conversation was punctuated by loud laughs and women’s raised voices. Joy’s typical calm eluded her.
The stacked wire baskets that lined the enormous back wall were filled with hanks of yarn in brilliant colors. They were an interesting contrast to the muted natural fibers for sale in old whiskey barrels on the floor. The owner, Winnie Ford, had increased her stock fourfold since Joy had started coming to the weekly knit-ins. Even new colors of her favorite selection of luxury cashmere yarn wasn’t enough to snap her out of her fixation on finding out who was behind the domestic terrorists.
“Joy! How are you doing, officemate?” Serena Delgado said, walking up to her.
* * *
“I DIDN’T KNOW you were a knitter, too, Serena.”
The dark-eyed beauty smiled. “I’m what I call a process knitter. I’m not good at finishing big projects. But so many of my friends come here, and Emily’s been my best friend since I moved to Whidbey with my son two years ago. I’ve also been getting hand-knit items from local knitters into the holiday spirit baskets they make up each year down in Angelville.”
“Wow. I need to take lessons from you in how to get connected in the area.” For a relative newcomer to the island, Serena had certainly become embedded in the community.
“Hey, Joy!” Winnie stepped up to offer Joy a mug of mulled wine. “This is Max’s secret family recipe. But if you don’t want wine, there’s hot cider over there, too.”
“Thanks.” She’d only have a sip or two since she was driving. Winnie’s eyes lit up at the mere mention of her husband, Max. Winnie had what Joy hoped for one day. A man she could count on to be home each night.
Not a former SEAL turned rogue FBI agent.
She sipped the warm wine and whistled. “Wow! This is awfully strong. I’m driving, so I need to keep my bearings. I’ll take the mulled cider, please.” The single sip she’d taken burned the back of her throat.
Winnie smiled and exchanged her mug for a cup of cider then went to greet another group of knitters as they came into the shop.
There were far more faces than the dozen or so at their knitting group. Joy liked that she could blend in without having to engage in major conversation, but she did have to make sure she said hello to Emily.
Working her way through the crowd, she spotted Emily speaking with a tall familiar male. She walked up to them.
“Joy, I’m so glad you made it.” Emily gave her a tight hug and whispered in her ear. “You look like hell. Bad first couple of days?”
“It’s only my second day and no, they’ve been okay. So far. Who’s your friend? Didn’t I see him this morning?” she asked in a low voice.
Emily pulled back, nodding.
“Joy, let me introduce you to Ben.”
The tall man smiled and thrust out his hand. “Ben Franklin.”
“As in ‘a penny saved is a penny earned’? Sorry. You must get that a lot. Nice to meet you, Ben.” She turned from him to Emily and decided that her original assessment this morning appeared to be correct.
Definite sparks flying here. The romantic kind.
“What’s going on?” Emily’s question caught her off guard and made her wish she’d asked Emily first.
Conscious of inquisitive eyes on her, including Ben’s, Joy let out a laugh she hoped would put an end to their speculation. “Just tired. Nothing more than starting a new job and a new life. Like I said, it’s been fine, but seeing the explosion from my balcony yesterday morning—that was rough.” She felt like a number one slime. Using a probable attempted murder or terrorist event to gain sympathy and distract from what she was really doing. She’d reached a new low.
“Oh, honey, that’s awful.” Immediately, it seemed as though all the women present had to offer their comments.
“I heard it’s another one of those PTSD cases.”
“Thank God they didn’t blow up any planes! My husband was on the flight schedule today.”
“The base is under the tightest security. I had to go to Walmart instead of the commissary for my groceries.”
Joy raised her hands and tried to smile. “I know! It’s been surreal these past two days, hasn’t it?” Talk about an understatement.
“Please take a seat. We’re about to get started.” Winnie clapped her hands and gestured to the rows of folding chairs set up for the occasion. Joy marveled at her authority and her grace. The group was geared up to go on and on about the explosion, and peppering Joy with questions about how much of it she’d seen. Winnie’s timing was perfect.
And of course, there was always the topic of Joy’s love life. Or rather, lack thereof.
“Are there any cute guys at the law firm?”
Joy made her way to a seat, hoping to put off answering.
Serena shook her head before Joy had to. “They’re all happily married. But Paul does have a single brother...”
“I’m not dating the boss’s brother. I’m not dating anyone. C’mon, ladies, you know I didn’t come to Whidbey to find a man.”
At their collective groan, she shrugged. “Not right away, that is.”
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Winnie stood at a makeshift podium. Joy noticed several new knitters, including two men, in the crowd, all identifiable by their knitting bags and the projects they worked on as they listened to Winnie.
“Emily’s getting quite the following since her patterns popped up on Ravelry,” Amy Miller whispered in Joy’s ear, referring to a social media site for knitters and crocheters. She took the adjacent seat. Amy, whose bright blond spiral curls framed a cherubic face, was one of the other single women in the knitting group. The two of them had spent a couple of nights out in Seattle at dance clubs.
“She’s worked so hard for this. I’m thrilled for her.”
Amy placed her hand on Joy’s arm. “How are you, really? You look wiped out. It must be hard changing careers. Or have you finally realized you’re going to get bored here?” Amy’s eyes reflected concern, and Joy felt a twinge of guilt.
“I’m not changing careers, not really. And like I’ve said a hundred times before, I’m done moving. This is where I want to be. The new job is great. I’m just having a slightly harder time adjusting to life after the Navy than I expected. And the explosion yesterday sure didn’t help.”
Winnie introduced Emily and thankfully put an end to Amy’s inquisition. Joy loved watching Emily share her passion and her enthusiasm for creating patterns and putting together her book.
Emily seemed so happy and content in her life, but Joy wondered if she ever felt lonely.
Maybe not with the scintillating Ben Franklin on the scene, she suspected.
Loneliness—not a stranger to Joy.
She’d never thought of herself as lonely. Growing up the child of two career diplomats, she’d appreciated the different countries and cultures they’d been posted to and made friends in each new place. Learning new languages was a challenge, and one she enjoyed. When it was time to go to college, Joy had known she wanted to make a difference in the world, but she also knew she didn’t want to move as often as her family had.
Yet she’d chosen to accept a full-ride scholarship from the Navy for law school once she’d finished the academy, and had loved her years as a JAG. But she’d hit a wall. After working with Brad on Farid’s case, she’d been faced with the reality that she was in her early thirties and if she hoped to settle down, have a family someday, she had to do something about it now.
The family might not happen, but she had control over the settling-down part.
If she didn’t start building the life she wanted, it might not happen, either. Traveling the globe was fine for her parents; they had each other and had married young, giving them a shared history that had sustained them through the toughest tours.
She smiled as she thought of her parents. She was supposed to visit them during the holidays at their latest and probably last Foreign Service posting—
Paris.
Emily finished speaking and after the applause died down, the guests stood to get in line for the book signing.
“Do you already have her book?” Amy almost spilled her drink as she leaned close to Joy.
“No, but I will tonight. I’m going to buy three and have her sign them.” She’d keep one and send one to her mother and the other to her aunt, a rabid knitter.
“You can say you’re fine all you want, Joy, but I know something’s up. Call me when you’re ready to talk. I’m here for you.”
She accepted Amy’s warm hug and tried to soak up the affection in spite of her serious case of the guilts. She couldn’t tell Amy anything remotely close to the truth.
Brad was the only person who knew what kind of trouble she was courting by going out on a limb for him.
Brad.
Why, why, why was the only man she’d felt a strong connection to out of reach? What was it with her? The men who were emotionally available, who could be reliable, steady partners, had no sexual appeal for her.
She told herself, yet again, that she didn’t want Brad or his crazy life.
Of course, he hadn’t offered her anything.
And why was she even spending time worrying about this? She had books to get signed and work to do at home. Emily ended her remarks and because she sat in the second row, Joy was able to get her books signed in short order.
“Em, I’m so proud of you! We’ll catch up next week.” When Emily had signed the three copies, Joy kissed her friend and took the books to the cash register to pay for them. Winnie had her assistant ringing up the books as she put them in a colorful tote emblazoned with the knitting cooperative’s logo. Whidbey Fibers had become its own empire in Puget Sound. Winnie had been a Navy wife who’d lost her first husband and married a second Navy man, Max. She’d managed to make a career for herself, while raising three beautiful girls. Winnie had it all—stability, family, a husband she obviously adored.
Don’t compare.
“What was that?” Winnie tilted her head and looked at Joy.
Crap, had she spoken out loud?
