Locked, Loaded and SEALed

by Carol Ericson

  “Now that I have the newspapers, let me take a look to see if he wrote anything on them.” She smoothed out the papers on her lap and flipped over each page, her gaze scanning the black-and-white print.

  “There’s nothing out of the ordinary here.” She tucked the first paper under the other two and skimmed through the next one, and then the next. She slumped in the seat and sighed. “Nothing.”

  “Let’s get some lunch.” He drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel. “I’m driving in the opposite direction of Boston. Anywhere you want to go?”

  “How can you think about food after the day we just had?”

  “Look at it this way—you never know when you’re going to need energy to jump out of windows and swing from balconies.” He patted his flat belly. “I need sustenance.”

  “I hope that’s the last jump I take from a window for a while.” She looked out the window and studied the road signs. “Lexington. It’s less than an hour away.”

  “Lead the way.”

  She gave him directions to a small lunch place with some booths for privacy. She didn’t know what Austin’s next move was going to be and maybe he didn’t either, but they needed some time to figure it out—unless his shadowy superiors had already figured it out for him.

  He parked the car down the street from the restaurant and ducked his head to read the street sign out the window. “We’re near the Lexington Battle Green.”

  “Haven’t you ever played tourist here before?”

  “A long time ago. When I was in middle school our class took a trip here. I’ve been back a few times, but never did the full round of tourist stops.”

  “I guess it’s not going to happen this time either.” She grabbed the newspapers and got out of the car, slamming the door behind her.

  They found a booth in the corner of the restaurant, and she ordered lemonade and a turkey wrap while Austin got a beer and a burger.

  When the waitress delivered the mug, she tapped the side of it. “Aren’t you technically on duty or something?”

  “No clue. Do you think I’ve done something like this particular mission before? Sleuthing is a little out of my comfort zone.” He took a sip of beer through the thick foam. “Does it bother you when people drink around you?”

  “Not as long as they maintain control. I hate drunks.”

  “I promise I’ll control myself.” He raised his glass. “Let’s have a look at those papers again.”

  She picked them up from the seat next to her and plopped them on the table. “I did notice one thing about the newspapers.”

  “What?” He turned the first paper around to face him.

  “They’re not current papers. All three are from different dates in the past couple of months.”

  “That’s significant.” He shoved his beer away and positioned the two other newspapers on either side of the first one, lining them up. His head swung from side to side as if watching a slow-moving tennis match. He flipped over the first page of the paper on his right, and then smacked the table.

  “Did you see something?”

  “All three of these papers—” he tapped each one with his finger “—have the same story.”

  “They do?” Leaning on her elbows, she hunched forward. “I guess I wasn’t looking for that. What’s the story?”

  “They’re stories about a symposium here in Boston on terrorism, or rather preventing it.”

  “That makes too much sense.”

  The waiter returned with a plate in each hand. “The burger?”

  “Right here.” Austin slid the papers to the side and tapped the table in front of him.

  When the waiter left, Austin put his condiments on his burger and took a big bite.

  “You’re unbelievable.” She reached across the table and snatched one of the papers. Her gaze tripped across an article on the lower right-hand side of the page, and she read aloud. “‘Leading terrorism experts and advocates for at-risk youth are meeting to discuss methods for reducing the risks of home-grown terrorism.’”

  Austin held up his finger as he took another bite of his burger. He wiped his mouth, gulped some beer and then smacked his lips. “Sustenance—now I can think.”

  “What do you think? Sounds pretty harmless to me.” She trailed her finger along the lines of the rest of the article. “Sounds like a brainstorming session on keeping disaffected youth from being attracted to terrorist organizations. Hey, I’m familiar with one of the sponsors—Boston’s Kids. I did some volunteer work with that group. They do good work, nothing sinister there.”

  “When is the symposium?”

  “This week, just a few days from now.” She picked up her turkey wrap. “What was Patel’s interest and why did he think Dr. Fazal would be interested?”

  “Since I don’t know who Patel is—yet—I can’t tell you. Fazal is connected because he fingered a terrorist for us—a big fish. Maybe Patel was trying to warn Fazal about something, a warning that the guys who killed both of them don’t want out there.”

  “About this symposium?”

  “Is there a list of attendees in that article?”

  “Nope.” She started to reach for the next paper, and he stopped her.

  “Eat.” He took his own advice as another fry disappeared into his mouth, and then he grabbed the newspaper. “This article discusses security for the event, nothing about the guest list.”

  “And the last one?”

  He slid the paper in front of him with one finger. “Bingo—a list of attendees, or at least some of them.”

  “Why does that matter?”

  “One or more of these members might be a target.”

  “Do you recognize any of them?”

  “A few names. One of these guys wrote a book we had to read. He knows his stuff.”

  “Is that what you think this is about? Do you think someone at the symposium or the whole symposium is at risk?”

  “That’s what it looks like to me. Why would Patel be carting these papers around with him? The information that he gave Fazal or that his killers think he gave Fazal must involve this symposium.”

  “But still nothing concrete.”

  “We know more than we did an hour ago, and I have something more to report, which justifies my continued assignment.”

  “Why do you think Patel brought this intel to Dr. Fazal instead of contacting US intelligence?”

  “Maybe Fazal was the only way he knew how to reach us.”

  “Then why didn’t Dr. Fazal report it? Patel had been hanging around for almost a week before Fazal’s murder. Nothing, right?”

  “There are big chunks of the story we don’t know. I’m hoping those fingerprints can give us Patel’s identity, and I’m going to be reporting this latest information about the symposium. Maybe we already know something about it.”

  She held up her wrap. “I think you’re on to something with this sustenance thing. I feel better already, and I’m not even half done.”

  “Finish up.” He dipped the end of one fry into a puddle of ketchup. “Sustenance also includes some fresh air and a clear mind. We’re going to take a stroll into Minute Man National Park and delve into a different war from the one we’re fighting now—because make no mistake about it, Peter Patel launched us into battle without firing a shot.”

  * * *

  WHEN THEY GOT back to the hotel, Sophia slipped away to the hotel shop to look for a frame but found some new pajamas instead. She needed them, anyway.

  Austin spent the rest of the afternoon working, and she tried to keep busy with patient files. But she’d had enough.

  She put away her laptop and bounced on the edge of the bed, watching Austin hunched over his laptop. “Did you submit the symposium presenter names, too?”

 
“Symposium, presenters, location, security measures. The FBI may already be working with the Boston PD on this, but I have no insight into what they’re doing.”

  “I couldn’t find a frame in the hotel shops. Do you think I’ll have some time tomorrow to go out and buy a new frame for my picture?”

  He glanced up. “You’re not a prisoner, Sophia.”

  “You mean, I can walk out of this hotel any time I want and do whatever I please?”

  “Not exactly.” He paused, his fingers poised over the keyboard of the laptop. “Is there someplace special you want to go—other than picture-frame shopping?”

  “Other than picking up where my life left off?”

  Tipping the chair onto its back legs, he folded his hands behind his neck. “You can’t go back to work yet, can you?”

  “I have no patients, really. All of mine were Dr. Fazal’s. They’ll be seeing another doctor now and if they want to continue to see me as their physical therapist, we’ll have to work through their new doctors.”

  “You’re anxious to get back to your social life, your...friends. I can understand that, but you need to be careful who you contact right now. Fazal’s killers could be watching people, you know.”

  “Oh, God, that would be awful. It’s bad enough they got to Ginny.” She glanced at her phone, where another message from Tyler had come through. She’d already explained about the death of her close friend. He could wait a few days. She’d even given him her cell phone number so he didn’t have to keep messaging her through the Spark app.

  She skimmed her fingertip over his message. She and Tyler had seemed to hit it off over coffee. Maybe once all the craziness subsided, they could reconnect. She stole a glance at Austin, back on his laptop.

  Would Tyler measure up to Austin? Would any man? What other man could compete with someone who protected you from terrorists out to kidnap you? Austin would be a hard act to follow, but if she ever hoped to get into a relationship in the real world, outside of the fantasy one she was currently inhabiting with a larger-than-life navy SEAL, she’d have to get back out there and date—and Tyler would be her first.

  She responded to his message that she’d be attending a memorial service for her friend on Tuesday and she had several loose ends at work to tie up, but they could reschedule their date later.

  He replied immediately with a thumbs-up emoji, and she wrinkled her nose. She could never imagine that tough guy in the chair over there ever using an emoji.

  Clearing her throat, she tucked one edge of her phone beneath her thigh. “Do you ever use emojis when you text? You know, those little...”

  “I know what emojis are. I use them all the time when I text my nieces and nephews—even my sisters.” He stopped typing and raised his eyebrows. “Why do you want to know?”

  Her shoulders rose and fell. “Just wondering.”

  “Why do I feel like I just failed a test?” A little horn trumpeted from his laptop, and he glanced down. “Email from Ariel.”

  A knot tightened in her stomach. Every time Austin’s superiors communicated with him brought the threat that they could be yanking him off the assignment—yanking him out of her life. She licked her lips. “What’s it about? I mean, if you can tell me.”

  “Yes.” He pumped a fist in the air. “There’s a match for the fingerprints. Peter Patel is actually Waheed Jilani from the same province in Pakistan as Dr. Fazal, near Peshawar. He must’ve been friends with Hamid back home.”

  “Do they have any idea what he was doing here or why he contacted Dr. Fazal?”

  “No, but the area where they’re from? It’s a hotbed of terrorist activity, so maybe he heard something about a plot involving the symposium in Boston.” He dragged a hand through his hair and mumbled, “Oh, my God.”

  “What?” She launched herself from the bed and crowded in next to him to see the laptop.

  He snapped the lid shut. “Waheed Jilani’s eldest son was just murdered—today.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Austin gripped the edge of the laptop. God, he hoped Sophia hadn’t seen that picture of Jilani’s son. What the hell had the man done to warrant that outrage?

  What information could he possibly have?

  Sophia doubled over and then sank to the floor at his feet. “What is going on? What did Patel have?”

  “Jilani. I don’t know, but it has to be something important.”

  “And these guys, these—” she waved her hand at his computer “—killers think I have it or know it?”

  “It must be something concrete because they wouldn’t know one way or the other if Jilani told Fazal anything and if Fazal told you. It has to be an object, something they’re looking for and can’t find—even after tossing Fazal’s office.”

  “And my apartment.”

  “If we could find it, we’d remove the threat. Game over.”

  “God, I want this game to be over.” She drew her knees to her chest and folded her arms on top of them.

  He placed his hand on top of her head, the soft strands of her hair like velvet beneath his fingertips. “We’re getting closer. We know Patel’s true identity, and we know the information has something to do with the symposium. I’ve passed the information along, and at least the FBI can up the security levels surrounding the event, although...”

  “There has to be more, right? It can’t just be a threat to the event.”

  “That’s what I was thinking. A simple threat is too easy. Jilani could’ve told Fazal or even reported it to the Boston PD.” He flipped up the lid of his laptop and logged out so that there was no chance Sophia would see that picture of Jilani’s son. “I’m thinking the reason he didn’t go straight to US intelligence with his information is because of the threat to his family.”

  “It didn’t work, anyway.” She’d rested her forehead against her folded arms, and now her head shot up. “We have to find whatever it is he gave Dr. Fazal. We owe it to him, we owe it to Dr. Fazal and now we owe it to Jilani’s family.”

  Austin stretched his legs in front of him and slumped in his chair. “Are you going to try to get into the justice business?”

  “If that’s what you want to call it. People should have to pay for ruining other people’s lives.”

  “Do you think your mother paid enough for ruining yours?”

  “Locked away for almost twenty-five years? I suppose so. Who knows? Maybe her crime saved both of us. If she and my father had kept on like they were, she would’ve OD’d anyway and maybe I’d be dead, too. Foster care wasn’t fun and games, but at least I’m alive.”

  “That’s one way of looking at it.” He nudged her hip with the toe of his shoe. “Are you hungry?”

  “Not at all, but you don’t have to tell me you are.”

  “I’ve been eyeing that room-service menu and a bottle of ibuprofen.”

  “Sore from your tumble on the balcony?” She rolled her shoulders. “I’m feeling it, too.”

  He stood up and stepped over her, reaching for the menu. “Would you like something to drink with your ibuprofen?”

  “There’s already hot tea in the room and a soda machine across the hall. I’m good.”

  “You’re more than good.”

  “Excuse me?” She lifted one eyebrow.

  “I’ve put you through hell since the moment I got here, and you’ve hit every curveball out of the park. Not sure how this would’ve gone down if you’d been someone different.”

  If Sophia had been a different woman, he’d probably be back on duty right now. Would he have fought so hard to stay on this assignment if Dr. Fazal’s coworker hadn’t been a black-haired stunner with hard eyes and tremulous lips?

  Those lips quirked into a crooked smile.

  “Something funny about that?”

 
“Kind of.” She rose from the floor and stretched her taut body, which did a number on his blood pressure.

  “You don’t do well with compliments, do you?”

  “It’s just that I spent so much of my youth wishing I was someone else, and here you are telling me I’m just who I need to be.”

  “I’m sure you heard that from Hamid, as well.”

  “Yeah, I met him about twenty years too late. He’s the father I should’ve had, and he’s the friend I should’ve had for a lifetime.” She touched the cracked frame.

  “Do you want to buy a new frame for the picture tomorrow morning before the memorial?”

  “Will we have time?”

  “So far, I have nothing planned. You?”

  She balanced a fist on one hip. “Is that a joke?”

  “I thought maybe you needed to go back into the office, deal with more paperwork, patient referrals?”

  “I do, eventually. Ginny did all the heavy lifting, calling the patients.”

  He picked up the phone’s receiver. “I’m going to order something from room service. Are you sure you don’t want something?”

  “I’ll make myself some hot tea later. All the excitement and the late lunch made me tired.”

  He pressed the button for room service and closed his eyes while the phone rang. If he was lucky, Sophia would fall asleep and he could try to forget his attraction to her for a few hours. If he was really lucky, she’d stay away and he could continue to drink in the way her hair kept slipping over one shoulder and the grace of her lithe body as she moved about the room.

  For one amazing minute today, he’d had that body stretched out on top of his own. With her lips inches from his mouth, he hadn’t even noticed the sharp pain stabbing him between the shoulder blades when he’d hit the leg of the chair on the balcony. He sure felt it now.

  He ordered himself a steak, a twice-baked potato and some asparagus.

  “Do you mind if I hit the shower before my food gets here? I’m going to aim that shower spray between my shoulder blades for a little relief.”

  “You can always go down to the hot tub.”

  “As inviting as that sounds right now, I don’t want to wander around the hotel—just in case. When you went out earlier, I had second thoughts.”