“Hey,” he said as he pulled open the door and stared the captain’s killer in the face. The bastard looked the same as he remembered from Kabul—same shifty dark eyes, same shitty attitude. Trevor stepped aside to let the guy through. Monty had a black duffel bag in one hand. “Come in.”
“Where’s the flash drive?” Monty said, looking around the sparsely decorated apartment with an expression of disgust. “I need to get going.”
“Where’s the money?” Trevor countered. He’d told Monty he needed two million. Seemed a fitting amount seeing as how that was how much the dumbass had tried to filter through his bank account. “No payment, no files.”
Monty snorted. “You SEALs. Really on the ball, huh?”
“You’d know, asswipe. You’re one, too. Or you were, until you turned traitor.”
“Traitor?” Monty walked over to study an ugly painting of a pelican on the wall. He peered around all sides, then lifted the edge of the picture frame to look behind it. Searching for bugs. Maybe not so stupid after all. Then again, this wasn’t the FBI’s first rodeo either. All the surveillance equipment was well-hidden. This dude would never find it. Monty looked back at him. “Treason is such a gray area these days, isn’t it? And I wouldn’t look much further than the mirror if you want to see a traitor. After all, you killed your captain, right? Can’t get much more treasonous than that.”
“We both know I had nothing to do with that.” Trevor remained calm and relaxed, knowing that getting stressed and angry would only reduce his response time and slow his reflexes. “I’ve seen the video clips. Got ’em enhanced too. Can see your face plain as day pulling that trigger.”
Thank you, Maria and Steve.
Monty narrowed his gaze, the only sign that revelation had affected him at all was the tightening of his jaw. “All the more reason to get this over with and get out of this shithole country.”
“Nice.” Trevor’s flat tone said the exact opposite. He reached into the top drawer of the dresser beside him and pulled out the flash drive, holding it up in front of Monty like a carrot in front of a weasel. “Was this worth it? Killing an innocent man?”
An evil snicker escaped Monty. “You think your captain was innocent? Jesus, you really are as dumb as you look, aren’t you? He was just fine selling those maps to the highest bidder. Me. Of course, the fact I had dirt on him that would’ve cost him his job on his precious little SEAL team didn’t hurt either. He didn’t want to play anymore though. Said he was too close to retirement, the shit. So, I ended him. Best use of a bullet I ever had.”
Bingo.
Monty spit on the floor and Trevor squeezed the flash drive so tightly the plastic case creaked.
Yep. This asshole was definitely going down. The troops should be on their way now.
Still, he needed to buy a little more time, keep Monty distracted so he wouldn’t notice the men closing in. So Trevor went for the jugular. “You used to be a good man, a decent man, a SEAL. You don’t have to do this.”
“Shut the fuck up, goody two-shoes. You don’t know shit about me, man. I don’t need your life advice and I sure as hell don’t need your opinion.” He tossed the bag on the bed. “There’s your money, dude. Now give me the flash drive so I can get the hell out of here.”
Trevor had barely made the handoff when the door crashed open, blasting the knob through the sheetrock wall behind it.
“Hands up, Montgomery.” Agent Thompson stood in the doorway, disheveled and drenched from the rain, his gun trained on Monty.
“What the hell, man?” Monty took several steps back before shooting Trevor a vicious glare. “I should have known better than to trust you.”
Tim stalked into the room, followed by several MPs. “Always trust your gut, dumbass.”
“On the floor,” Thompson said to Monty. “Hands behind your head. You’re under arrest for the murder of Captain Andrew McArthur, United States Navy. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law….”
While the FBI agents continued reading Monty his Miranda rights and processing the scene, Trevor rolled his stiff muscles and shook out his limbs. It was over. The nightmare that had started weeks ago in the Afghan desert was finally over. Usually after completing a mission, he felt better about things. Not this time, though.
“Thanks for your help, bro,” Tim said as Agent Thompson yanked Monty up off the ground by the back of his shirt and pushed him against the wall to pat him down and handcuff him. “Between the evidence you and Maria provided and all this, we should have enough to put John Montgomery away for life.”
“Good.”
The next few moments happened like a slow-motion film.
Somehow Monty managed to get free from Agent Thompson and steal his weapon. He turned and shot two of the MPs, who slumped to the floor, then grabbed Thompson from behind in a chokehold, pointing the barrel of the gun at his temple. “Everyone stay back, or he dies. You know I’ll do it.”
The guy’s hysterical tone echoed off the bare apartment walls, his hand shaking wildly as he held the gun. “I’m not going to prison. I can’t. I’d rather die.”
“That can be arranged, asshole,” Trevor said, his gaze steady on Monty’s. “You know I’ll do it, too.”
He liked his odds against this crazy bastard. What he didn’t like was the fact two seamen were already down, still breathing but wounded badly. More might join them before Trevor could get the gun away from Monty. He decided to try diplomacy instead. “You’ll get a trial. You can plead your case. If you cooperate with the government, they may cut you a deal. Intel on your gun smuggling ring in exchange for clemency.” Tim gave him an incredulous look, but it was too late now. He had to keep going with the story he was spinning if he was going to have any chance of convincing the man to turn himself in. “Monty. Come on. Put down the gun. The more people you hurt, the worse it will be for you in the end.”
Monty didn’t buy it. His body tensed, and Trevor prepared to lunge to disarm him, but then Monty cocked the trigger of the gun against Agent Thompson’s temple. “Hand me the flash drive and the money. Slowly.” His finger jiggled on the trigger and he pressed the gun harder against Thompson’s head. “Do it, or he dies.”
Agent Thompson’s eyes locked with Trevor’s. Trevor didn’t know the guy, hadn’t really paid much attention when he’d been in his office earlier. He did remember seeing a picture on the agent’s desk, though—a wife, a kid. Thoughts of Maria and Camille roared back to his mind with a vengeance. What would they do if they got the call that he’d died in some tacky apartment trying to be a hero? Or what if they got that call next month? Next year? Three years down the road, telling them he’d died in action? He loved his country, loved his job as a SEAL, but he loved them more.
“All right, all right. I’ll do it.” Trevor held the flash drive up in one hand and took a step toward the bed and reached for the bag of money with the other, just as sirens rent the air. More footsteps pounded up the stairs as the windows shattered behind him and red and blue lights blazed into the room.
“Shit!” Monty released Agent Thompson and turned to run out the door. He didn’t make it far.
Torso bent, Trevor charged into the guy’s back, grabbing his arms and forcing the gun upward, bullets pinging through the ceiling and ripping through the drywall, sending splinters and insulation raining down around them.
“Everybody stand down!” Trevor shouted, as he wrestled Monty to the ground. Fighting him tooth and nail, getting his right arm free, the asshole got another round of shots off at the door.
“Get back!” Tim shouted as the first local police officers crested the top of the steps.
And then Monty was aiming the gun at his own head. He must have thought death would be better than prison.
“Dammit!” Trevor lunged for the weapon, fingers wrapping around Monty’s wrist, slamming it down, just as he pulled the trigger. The bullet went sailing past the guy’s head, in fron
t of Trevor’s eyes, into the sheetrock near where Tim had been standing just moments before.
Jesus. Enough was enough.
Trevor slammed Monty’s wrist against the floor again, finally knocking the gun loose. He swept the pistol clear, then rolled the guy over before pinning him down with a knee and elbow to his back.
“Here!” Agent Thompson said, handing him a pair of handcuffs.
Trevor slapped them on Monty, then stood. Only to get his second shock of the night.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he said to Maria. “Where’s Camille?”
“Your mother’s watching her,” she said, looking every bit as unsettled as he felt. “You didn’t think I’d let you solve this case without me, did you? Steve pinged the GPS on Agent Thompson’s phone to get your location.”
Anger battled relief inside him. “You shouldn’t be here. You could’ve been hurt or killed.”
“And you couldn’t?” She walked into the apartment and gave it a cursory glance. “We were partners in this case. I don’t generally leave my jobs until they’re done.” She looked over at Tim. “Is he cleared of all charges?”
Tim nodded.
“And he’s approved to return to his SEAL team now?” Maria continued.
Tim nodded again.
“Good.” She gave Trevor a once-over, then turned away. “Now, we’re done. Have a nice life, Trevor Daniels.”
With that she walked out, taking his heart and any happiness he might’ve had in the future with her.
Thirty-Two
The following week, Trevor sat in the courtroom as Monty’s initial arraignment hearing got underway. When the murder involved one of their own—even if he had been discharged—military justice moved swiftly. Trevor resisted the urge to brush at nonexistent lint on his coat. It felt both good and strange to be back in uniform after everything that had happened. Agent Thompson sat at the far end of the conference table and did not look happy. Trevor couldn’t see why. He’d just delivered the Navy the true murderer of Captain McArthur and a major player in a worldwide weapons smuggling ring, gift wrapped and tied with a big red bow. The guy should’ve been ecstatic.
During a brief break in the proceedings, Trevor made his way over to talk to the guy.
“There are still a lot more bad guys out there on this case,” Agent Thompson said.
“True”—Trevor glanced over to where Monty sat with his attorney, looking smug as usual—“but at least it’s a start. You put enough pressure on him, he’ll cave.”
“Maybe. The sting operation the agency had planned would’ve captured them all at once. We were coordinating with Interpol and—” the agent started.
“Take the arrest,” Trevor said. “And take the credit for it, too. I’m out.”
He had enough to deal with getting his life back in order these days and getting up to speed on the new mission his SEAL team was preparing for. Not to mention trying to move on from what he’d shared with Maria and Camille. Let JAG and the FBI handle Monty. He didn’t need another headache.
Tim was out in the hall, pacing.
“What’s going on?” Trevor asked.
“Montgomery wants to strike a plea deal. He’ll agree to testify against the others in his smuggling ring if Agent Thompson can get the U.S. Marshall’s office to agree to put him in protective custody.”
“He killed Captain McArthur,” Trevor argued. “He put the lives of millions of innocent people at risk because of his actions.”
“I’ll make sure he serves his time, one way or the other.”
Trevor didn’t trust the vague answer but took what he could get. He and Tim walked to a secluded corner. “I, uh, talked to Dad a week or so ago, during the investigation I was doing with Maria.”
“And?” Tim asked.
“Did you know it was a one-time thing? His tax fraud, I mean.”
“I had the background check from hell to join the JAG corp. Yeah, I knew.”
“Why didn’t you say anything to me?” Trevor frowned.
Tim sighed and leaned back against the wall, his dress whites gleaming in the sunshine filtering through the windows nearby. “I guess I thought you knew. Would it have made a difference? You two never seemed to get along well anyway. Major animosity.”
“Hell yeah, it would’ve made a difference. I spent my whole life thinking our dad was a career criminal. But it turns out he was a mostly good guy who made one mistake.” Trevor shook his head and exhaled slow. “It was one day, one mistake. God. Can you imagine what it would be like to beat yourself up for the rest of your life because of the consequences of one stupid decision?”
“Huh, imagine that.” Tim gave him a pointed look. “Sound familiar?”
Trevor blinked at him several times, taking that in.
There were no comparisons. His situation with Maria and Camille was different.
Isn’t it?
“You have a choice to make, bro,” Tim said, his expression serious. “You can go back to your life with your SEAL team, traveling the world, fighting for truth, justice, and the American way. Or you can stay here and fight for what’s most important to you. Both of them are valid choices, but each one requires a different kind of courage.” He smiled. “Time to decide which one you’ve got.”
Trevor sank down onto a wooden bench against the wall, staring at the shiny marble floor beneath his feet, his mind churning. “Thanks, man. For your help during the investigation and for having my back during the sting. I owe you.”
“Yeah, you do.” Tim chuckled, then straightened. “Hearing’s reconvening. I need to get back in there. You coming, bro?” He started backing toward the courtroom.
“Uh, not yet. I just need a minute.” Trevor sighed and retrieved his cell phone from the security desk as his brother disappeared back through the door to the hearing. The screen showed two missed calls from his mother from the day before and one new voicemail message. From Maria.
His heart rate kicked up several notches. He stared down at the reminder glowing on his screen, not sure he could bear hearing her voice again. He missed her so badly, he ached. And Camille—her cute gurgles, her bright laughter, her wonderful baby smell. There was a hole in his heart the size of his tiny daughter that would never be filled if he stayed out of her life, the way he’d planned.
A different kind of courage….
Fine. Time to man up. He took a deep breath and hit the Replay button. But instead of Maria’s voice, he heard muffled noises, like the recording was coming from inside someone’s pocket. Had it been a butt dial? Nose scrunched, he held the device away from his ear and glanced at the screen again. Still playing. Huh. He listened again, and this time picked out the sounds of a TV show in the background—The Bachelorette—and a familiar gurgling noise.
Camille.
The longer the message went on, the more he was able to pick out things. Maria must’ve accidentally dialed his number. Her low murmurs to their daughter rocked him to his core.
By the time the message ended and Trevor had turned his phone back in to security, he was an emotional wreck inside, more confused than ever about what to do. Part of him still thought that things were better off as they were, that Maria would move on, find a better man them him, have a better life than he could ever provide for her. Camille was so young, she’d never even remember him. She could move on too, could call another man her father one day.
And wasn’t that just like a sledgehammer to the heart?
His need for order returned as his stress levels skyrocketed. He tugged and pulled on his uniform before heading back into the hearing, needing the rules and regulations of his Navy to keep him sane at the moment.
Back inside, Trevor slipped into a seat at the end of the row where he’d been before. Tim was at the conference table now, with Agent Thompson to his right and one of the MPs from the raid at the apartment on his left. Across from them were a tribunal assembled of various members of the JAG corps, the judges for the case, and the off
icers who’d interrogated Trevor at the beginning of all this. They were still questioning Monty, who was on the witness stand while his attorney sat at another conference table perpendicular to the others.
“And Captain McArthur?” one of the officers said. “Why was he there? How was he involved?”
As Monty went through his spiel again, Trevor tuned out, continuing to turn the odd message he’d received from Maria over and over in his head.
Then a guy who looked vaguely familiar leaned forward from the row behind him. “Chief Petty Officer Daniels, can I have a word?”
“Uh, sure.”
They quietly left the hearing for the hallway again, and the guy turned to Trevor with an extended hand. “We’ve seen each other in passing on the base but haven’t been formally introduced. Captain Edward Markowitz. Well, formerly captain. I retired from the SEALs last year.”
Trevor shook the guy’s hand. He was older, maybe in his forties, dark buzzcut hair and brown eyes. Dressed in a civilian sport coat and trousers. “What can I help you with, Captain Markowitz?”
“I know you’ve been through a lot lately and I’d heard some rumors you might be considering leaving the military.”
“Oh, well…I hadn’t really—”
“No pressure at all.” Markowitz smiled. “I just wanted to mention to you that after I retired, I started my own security firm in Norfolk. Most of my guys were military, some former SEALs. If you decide the Navy’s not for you anymore and you need work, give me a call. The guys on your team speak very highly of you and your brother, Tim, gave you a glowing recommendation.”
Huh. Trevor frowned. “Everything’s kind of up in the air at the moment.”
“Sure. I understand completely. When I finally made the decision to retire, it took me months to get my head on straight again. But my offer stands. If and when you ever decide you’ve had enough of this”—he motioned at the general surroundings—“there’ll be a place for you at my company.”
Saving the SEAL Baby Daddy Page 17
