With a sigh, she closed her laptop, allowing herself to experience the feeling of loss and panic she always felt at the start of a case like this. If she didn’t, it would fester, leaving her thoughts unclear, her brain fuzzy.
She caught sight of the time on her phone, and remembered her plans. Drinks with a couple of girls she’d met the previous Saturday at a local yoga class when she’d ended up in the back row with them. She, Leigh, and Penny had laughed as much as they’d meditated. That was what she needed, to go out with new friends and shake off the melancholy.
Then she’d return to the file and give these women her full attention.
They deserved nothing less.
* * *
Cabe took another sip of his beer and listened half-heartedly to Six and Mac’s conversation. A year ago, his two best friends probably would have been talking about the relative hotness of every woman who walked past. Tonight they were talking about … billing. Friday night in San Diego’s Gaslamp Quarter had always been a good time, but since Six had met Lou, and Mac had reunited with Delaney, things had definitely taken a turn toward low key. He was happy for his friends. Happy they’d found someone who’d made them has happy as he’d been with Jess.
As always, Cabe watched the crowd. A couple were quietly arguing in the back corner, all glares, folded arms, and hand gestures. He kept an eye on them. The guy was big, but the woman was feisty and appeared to be holding her own. Something told him that she wasn’t in any danger, but he’d keep an eye on the situation. A first date was taking place to his right. There had been an awkward-handshake-meets-kiss-on-the-cheek moment when they’d first met, after which she’d blushed and he’d apologized. Now they were sitting very close, fingers entwined. The bouncer was openly discriminating against men. By Cabe’s reckoning, he’d let in three women to every guy, which meant the bar was filled with women dressed to the nines.
None of whom his friends particularly seemed to notice. Since setting up Eagle Securities and dealing with all the complications that came with running a special ops firm, when they did have a precious few minutes outside of the office, they still ended up talking about work.
Visas, weapons shipments, overseas lawyers … the list was endless.
“I’ve been thinking about Monday’s op,” Cabe said. They’d spent the day reviewing why the op had gone wrong, and the flaw had been their intel.
“Yeah. It’s gnawing away at my gut too,” Mac said.
Six nodded in agreement.
Cabe leaned toward the center of their table so he could lower his voice. “The CIA obviously haven’t tapped into the right seam of people willing to be informants for the kind of deal that keeps them out of prison.”
“So, your suggestion is…?” Six asked.
Cabe knew what he was about to suggest would take money. Lots of money. But it was going to be essential. “We start to build our own. Increase our investment in intel collection. People, systems, contacts. I’m done with relying on other people.”
Mac let out a low whistle. “I hear you, but that’s going to take a serious cash injection.”
Cabe nodded. “I know. But I think we’ve got to start.”
“We can increase our fees. I’m telling you, the price on the Syria contract is too low,” Six said. “Increase our rate and it’s pure profit. I was talking to the head of an infrastructure and engineering service out there who said they’re paying fifteen percent more for their contract security than we’re charging.”
“We have an option to review that contract in four months, so we’ll do it then,” Cabe said. “But we should talk about growth. We had a plan and everything kind of exploded. We need to build a new plan. Examine the risks of running full tilt. See if we should back off expanding boots-on-the-ground operators, and increase our backroom setup.”
“At least you two are consistent,” Mac said, chuckling. He took a sip of his beer. “Six has never been able to find the brake, and Cabe, you could overthink a bowl of ramen. Do you remember when we set Eagle Securities up? When we were doing security-guard training to pay the bills? Did either of you really think that a year later we’d have three teams and twelve active guys?”
“Yes,” Six said, slamming his pint glass onto the table. “We should fucking celebrate that.”
“As starts go, it’s been pretty incredible,” Cabe said. “No more having to ask Louisa to borrow money so we could grow—or, for that matter, eat.”
Six frowned. “Yeah, fucker. Not like I would have ever taken a penny from her that we didn’t pay back.” Six’s fiancée was incredibly wealthy and generous, but Six had always been vigilant about making sure she was paid back. One hundred percent, plus interest. “Speaking of which, I think I’m going to go grab her from your place, Mac, and take her home.”
“Well, if you’re leaving, I’ll walk with you. Delaney will give me shit if you show up for Lou and I stay out. We’ve barely seen each other this week thanks to the new article she’s been working on.”
Cabe shook his head. “Whipped. The pair of you,” he teased, and buried the envy he felt. He’d had that once.
Had is why they were here. To distract him. Today would have been Jess’s birthday, and they hadn’t wanted Cabe to drown his sorrows alone. She would have turned thirty today, and he had no doubt they would have spent the day doing something adrenaline-filled, like skydiving or climbing one of the seven summits … something she’d always wanted to do. Something he would never have let her do alone because their adventures were the thing he loved most about their life. Together they had been unbeatable in the face of any physical challenge. But their plans had been torn apart on an Afghan roadside, destroyed by an IED while Jess had been on a routine patrol. When they’d first started dating, he’d worried about being the one killed. It had never occurred to him that he’d be the one left behind. The engagement ring he’d given her was still sitting on top of the dresser in their apartment.
They’d never gotten the chance to achieve their five-year plan. The one that involved them both leaving the military behind, the one that saw them start Eagle Securities, the one that saw them married. Fuck, they should be trying for kids right about now.
Cabe rubbed a hand across his face.
Their plan.
He just didn’t have it in him to build a plan with someone else. He knew, had known from the way Jess had looked at him when he’d gotten down on one knee while on vacation in Maui, that this kind of love came around once in a lifetime.
As weeks went, this one was turning out to be a piece of shit.
Mac slapped him on the back. “You cool if we head out?”
Cabe nodded. “Yeah, thanks for the distraction.”
Six hugged him. “Since meeting Lou, what happened to Jess has become much more real. I’m so sorry, man.”
Cabe swallowed hard as he nodded.
He watched his best friends leave the bar to go to their women. Goddamn. He should probably go home, but it was the last place he wanted to be. Too many memories. Everything too close. He should move into a new apartment. He’d looked four times, even found a perfect rental in Mac’s building, but when he’d sat with the contract in front of him and a black pen in his hand, he hadn’t been able to make himself sign.
Anxious to chase thoughts of Jess from his head, he walked to the bar and ordered a double Macallan. He closed his eyes and took a sip. If he got drunk enough, he could probably catch a few hours’ sleep.
A woman laughed, a light sound. If he’d been feeling poetic, he might have made comparisons to the tinkle of wind chimes.
“Three more margaritas, please?” The faint scent of the ocean reached him, but it was the husky voice that had him opening his eyes. A young woman with spectacular light blonde hair whom he’d noticed sitting with friends across the room earlier stood next to him. As she ordered and got her credit card from her purse, he had a moment to take in her profile. Long eyelashes almost brushed her cheeks as she blinked. Skin that had appe
ared unblemished at a distance looked even softer up close. So soft that he wanted to run the tip of his finger along her cheekbone and his thumb across those pillowy lips.
And while he hadn’t meant to stare, from his height and the way she was leaning up against the bar, it was impossible to miss the white lace of her bra and the curve of her breast. He shook his head. It was only human of him to notice, but it was Jess’s goddamn birthday. He should have a little more respect. For Jess and the woman standing next to him.
His phone buzzed in his pocket and he reached for it. The text was from his mom, asking how he was doing. It was the fourth one she’d sent him today, but it tugged at his heart. She’d loved Jess just as much as he had. Today was hard for her too.
Suddenly, his phone was knocked out of his hand and sent skimming along the bar as the woman next to him crashed into his side. Immediately he reached to stop her fall while holding his hand out to push the boisterous drunk who was stumbling next to them away from her. “You okay?” he asked.
She turned to face him. “I’m good. Thank you for catching me,” she said, smoothing her dress before running a hand through her hair.
Cabe held her gaze and loosened his grip on her hip until he was sure she was steady, then reluctantly let go to grab his phone and slip it back into his pocket. “My apologies. I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
Now that he was looking at her straight on, he could see that his original assessment was correct. Those lips, currently fighting a smile, were delicious.
“I think I should be apologizing for turning you into the human equivalent of a bowling pin,” she replied. Blue eyes the color of aquamarine sparkled with humor and then flared in interest as she lowered them to his chest, then his arms, then back to his face.
Cabe took a sip of his whiskey. She was tall, maybe five-eight or five-nine. The red sundress she wore accentuated her waist; the cream heeled sandals, her legs. “I’m pretty sure that honor belongs to him,” he said, nodding in the direction of the drunken idiot who was now dancing like a lunatic, all waving arms.
“I guess that makes us both bowling pins then. Which is super pathetic, because you look absolutely nothing like a bowling pin.”
He couldn’t help but grin. “Let me get this round.”
The blonde laughed. “Amy,” she said, offering him her hand.
Cabe took it, savoring the way her skin felt against his as he shook it. He loved the feel of a woman, loved the way Jess had always … damn. He needed to stop thinking about her. “Cabe,” he said.
Guilt teased the corners of his mind. He felt disloyal talking with another woman, especially an attractive one who sparked his interest. But in the last twelve months, he’d needed … something. It was hard to define. He still loved Jess just as much as he always had. But he’d felt lonely. No, not quite lonely. Definitely horny—which was probably as shallow as it sounded. The first time he’d slept with someone else, he’d been out in Sierra Leone, providing security for a charity that was building wells. And during a layover in Paris on his way home, he’d met a museum curator. A flirtatious conversation about whether Van Gough or Cezanne was the better artist had turned into dinner followed by eight hours in his 7th arrondissement hotel room. But by the time he’d boarded the plane home, his body had felt tenser than ever. Guilt had a way of turning great sex into the equivalent of lactic-acid buildup.
He pulled out a couple of bills from his wallet and paid the bartender. “Why don’t you drop those drinks with your friends and then come back?”
She tilted her head to one side, and if he had to guess, she was assessing his motives. “Give me one minute.” Amy picked up her drink along with the others, rather than leaving it on the bar with him. Smart move.
Her hips swayed as she walked, and he was sure it wasn’t deliberate or for his benefit. It was the sway of a woman who was confident in her femininity. Jess had been more reserved in the way she presented herself. Years of military conditioning to not draw unnecessary attention to herself around men. She’d been more athletic. They’d run every day together when they were home. Hell, she could beat him over eight miles.
Past tense.
Had been able to beat him over eight miles.
And today was her birthday.
Standing here in a bar trying to pick up a woman suddenly felt seedy, obvious spark or not.
Amy had just reached her table. Her friends looked in his direction, and Cabe suddenly felt like a fraud. He placed his unfinished whiskey on the bar and, as her friends turned their attention back to Amy, slipped quietly out of the bar.
CHAPTER TWO
Amy squinted in the early morning sunshine despite the sunglasses she wore as she pulled onto the I-5 and headed toward work. The three margaritas with Leigh and Penny hadn’t been the best of ideas, but she’d had a lot of fun talking with the women and getting to know them. Leigh worked at the Marriott Hotel as an event coordinator, and Penny was a vet. The two of them shared an apartment a block south of her own. They’d been friends since high school, and Amy had found it entertaining that the two of them could finish each other’s sentences.
It had been a fantastic evening … until she’d met him.
After the harassment had started, Amy’s interest in finding a boyfriend had plummeted to zero. Friends had tried to set her up, and an old flame had gotten back in touch over Facebook to ask her if she had any interest in reconnecting after four years of being apart. But no one had sparked her interest, even after it was all over and she’d moved here.
Until last night.
Her stomach rolled, and she grimaced in embarrassment. It had taken her just a minute to bring her friends the drinks, but when she’d turned around, he was gone. Not realizing that his disappearance was permanent, she’d waited at the bar for him, assuming he’d gone to the bathroom. He’d been cute … no, he’d been more than cute. He’d been handsome. Dark brown hair just a touch on the messy side had framed a face with a strong jaw and a smile that had given her goose bumps. Plus, he had a very muscular physique and dwarfed her five-foot-eight, which didn’t happen all that often. But when he hadn’t returned fifteen minutes later, she’d given up waiting and returned to her friends where she’d then labeled him a jackass.
She’d felt a spark when he’d taken her hand. And his eyes … There had been something in the way he looked at her. She’d seen a playfulness there that she’d wanted to explore. His disappearance made no sense. She’d gone through all the possible explanations in her head, compassionate ones where he’d had a family emergency he didn’t want to share with a stranger to ones where he was simply an asshole. A completely attractive and well-built asshole.
Amy’s phone rang, the distinctive sound of Fleetwood Mac’s “The Chain” filling the car through the speakers. She shook her head to clear away thoughts of the asshole and pressed the button on the wheel to answer.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Amy, sweetheart. Just picked up the message about the car from yesterday. It was nice to hear your voice. And because I miss you, I wondered if you’ll be coming home for Christmas.” Floyd Murray was a worry-wart. And a planner. The worst possible combination. Right now, she could picture him in his bathrobe, smoking a big fat cigar, his old-school week-to-view diary in hand. The brown leather of the nearly twenty-year-old diary cover was battered and scuffed and stained, but it had been the last gift her mother had bought him before she’d disappeared.
Amy looked at the temperature on the dash and smiled. “Dad, it’s seventy-six degrees and the last day in August. I just started at my new office. Let me settle in before I request vacation.”
The hiss and crackle of her father’s cigar was reassuring. She’d long since given up trying to persuade him to quit. There was as much of a chance of that happening as of her becoming a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader—no matter how much she loved their white boots.
“You can’t blame a man for trying to lock down a visit with his baby girl,” he said gruffly.
>
“You know you can always come see me,” she said with a laugh. It wasn’t like he couldn’t afford it. Floyd Murray had won eight World Series of Poker bracelets and had won the Main Event twice, beating the record of his father, who’d won six bracelets yet had never managed to win a Main Event. Grandpa Murray had always blamed his lack of success on “that damn Doyle Brunson.” Only a handful of players had ever won as many titles as Doyle, recognized internationally as one of the greatest poker players of all times, but Grandma Murray always whispered with a wink that after his children had been born, Grandpa Murray hadn’t wanted to leave home quite as often to go play.
“I might just have to do that. I had a great night at Bobby’s last night,” he said, referring to the exclusive high-stakes poker cash game that was played in the famous “Bobby’s Room” at the Bellagio. “You want a piece of that in your Christmas stocking, you’d better be home on the twenty-fifth. Otherwise you’re getting zip.” Her father laughed, and the sound made her homesick.
Amy grinned as she pulled into the FBI parking lot. “I know you don’t mean that and I don’t need your money,” she said, knowing her father was teasing. “I gotta go, Dad. I just got to work. Don’t forget to follow-up with Dr. Hamill about your cholesterol test.”
“Yeah, yeah. Have a good day, sweetie.”
“You too, Dad.”
She hurried to her desk. She’d once read a book that said the first hundred days of a new job were the most important. In practice, it felt like such a short time to build a network and create a good impression. Still on her to-do list was to find a new mentor.
The FBI had been her dream since the days and weeks that followed her mother’s disappearance. Special Agent Hank Zarrados hadn’t given up the search. He’d kept that file open for years, following up on every lead, no matter how implausible or small. Nobody had believed that Serena Murray had just upped and left her loving, close-knit family. Amy knew it for sure because as an adult she’d personally gone through all the publicly available sources, back to every single person and witness she could legally identify to interview them herself to make sure nothing had fallen through the cracks. They’d all confirmed that Serena Murray had loved her life, her husband … and her daughter.
Deep Cover_A Love Over Duty Novel Page 2
