Scorched

by Laura Griffin

  “He’s in the head, sir.”

  “Find him and get to the briefing room, ASAP.” The CO’s gaze landed on Gage. “Brewer, come with me.”

  Gage straightened his shoulders as he followed his commanding officer back across the hard top. His mind raced. The op had been flawless, but the expression on Hallenback’s face told him something was wrong.

  Gage followed him inside the base’s main headquarters and down an air-conditioned corridor lined with black-and-white photographs of aircraft carriers. Gage had never been in here before, but the ball of dread forming in his gut far outweighed his curiosity.

  Hallenback stopped outside a closed door and turned to face him.

  “Some people here to see you.”

  “Sir?”

  “They’re with the FBI. Be direct. Be brief. And don’t hesitate to stop the meeting if you want legal advice. I’ve got someone I can call.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and passed it to Gage. “Clean up your face before you go in there. I’ll be down the hall.” He nodded curtly and walked away.

  Gage took a second to process the orders. His ears were still ringing from the helo ride and he was covered in grime. He wiped his face and stepped through the door.

  Two civilians stood in the windowless conference room. In dark suits and white shirts they looked like his-and-hers ads for Brooks Brothers.

  The man stepped forward and offered a handshake.

  “Lieutenant Brewer.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Take a seat.”

  The woman lowered herself into a chair at the end of the table and politely crossed her legs, leaving five empty seats. Gage took the one on the other end.

  The man sat in the chair directly to Gage’s right. “Do you know why you’re here, Lieutenant?”

  “No idea.”

  Gage dropped the “sir.” Fuck this guy if he couldn’t even be bothered to identify himself.

  “We’re with the FBI,” the woman piped up. “I’m Special Agent Elizabeth LeBlanc and this is Supervisory Special Agent Gordon Moore.”

  Gage watched the blonde talk, but his real focus was Moore, who was clearly the one in charge. The agent was six feet, one-eighty. His demeanor came across as relaxed, but his gaze was sharp.

  He leaned back in his chair now and looked Gage up and down. “You ever met an agent, Blake Reid?”

  Shit.

  “In Texas, two summers ago,” Gage said. Same time he’d met Kelsey. “Why?”

  “And do you remember the circumstances of that meeting?”

  Gage gritted his teeth. He glanced at the woman—LeBlanc—who had her pencil poised above a yellow legal pad.

  “I was in West Texas helping out on an archaeological dig.” This was total bullshit. Gage had been guarding the dig, at Joe’s request, after Kelsey’s team had run into trouble with some of the nastier elements along the border. Joe had sent Gage down there on a quick PSD assignment, maybe thinking a little personal security detail would be a good break from combat.

  Turned out to be not much of a break, though, as Kelsey’s workers stumbled into evidence of a terrorist cell trying to infiltrate the United States. Blake’s counterterrorism team was called in to head them off, which—despite numerous fuckups—the feds managed to do.

  With Gage’s help.

  He stared at the two feds before him now. They were watching him closely.

  “All due respect,” Gage said sarcastically, “what exactly is this about?”

  The woman looked at Moore, who was trying to stare a hole through Gage. Gage folded his arms over his chest and stared right back.

  The woman cleared her throat. “Agent Reid—”

  “Blake Reid is dead,” Moore said flatly. “Where were you, Lieutenant Brewer, on Monday night?”

  Gage’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t blink.

  “You’re telling me someone killed him?”

  He nodded.

  Shit. Gage glanced at the BlackBerry sitting on the table near the woman. He wanted to call Kelsey.

  “Why don’t you walk us through your whereabouts since Sunday?” Moore said, very low-key.

  Unbelievable. They thought he was a suspect.

  “Lieutenant?”

  “I was here Sunday.” Gage’s mind was still reeling and he looked at that phone again. It was Thursday. Why hadn’t Kelsey called him? She had to be devastated. Unless—

  “What time did you arrive—”

  “Where’s Kelsey Quinn?” Gage demanded.

  Moore just looked at him.

  “Blake Reid’s fiancée—where is she?”

  “Ex-fiancée, from what we understand.”

  Gage slapped the table. “Where is she?”

  Moore stared at him, and Gage’s blood ran cold.

  “We were hoping you could tell us.”

  CHAPTER 4

  “She’s missing?”

  The lieutenant’s alert level went from code yellow to code red in the space of a heartbeat. It was remarkable to see. Elizabeth watched from the other end of the table as the SEAL leaned forward in his chair and got right in the face of a senior FBI agent.

  But Gordon seemed unfazed.

  “No one’s seen Dr. Quinn since eight-fifty P.M. Monday when she paid the parking attendant at the San Antonio airport.”

  Brewer shot to his feet. “That was three days ago!”

  “Sit down, Lieutenant. We need you to answer some questions.”

  The man stood there, face taut, hands flexing at his sides. He towered over Gordon, and Elizabeth could tell there was some sort of battle going on in his head: Should he walk out of here or cooperate?

  He darted a look at the clock and then lowered himself into the chair. But even seated, he looked no less menacing, and Elizabeth had no trouble imagining this man snapping someone’s neck with his bare hands.

  But she didn’t believe he’d snapped Blake’s. It didn’t add up.

  “Walk me through your last few days,” Gordon said. “Start with the weekend.”

  “I was here most of the weekend training.”

  “What time did you leave the base Saturday?”

  “About 1930.” The SEAL shot a look at Elizabeth as she scribbled that down. “Went to a bar. Met up with some friends. Had a few beers, went home.”

  “What time?”

  “About 2300.”

  “Were you alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “And then?”

  “Went home, hit the rack, got up about 0500. Came to base for training all day. Went home about 1800, watched TV and went to bed.”

  “So Sunday, you basically worked and went home, is that correct?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Is it uncommon for you to work weekends?”

  “No.”

  “What about Monday?” Gordon asked.

  The man darted yet another look at Elizabeth’s phone. He cast a glance at the clock.

  “Got up about 0500, went for a run.”

  “How long?”

  “Twelve miles.”

  Twelve miles? Holy crap. Elizabeth jotted it down.

  “Got here at 0800. Had a planning session with my team and left the base about 1300. Spent some time packing. Then watched some baseball and went to bed.”

  Gordon eased forward. “Packing for what?”

  The man hesitated. “I’ve got leave coming. I was planning to go down to Cozumel, do some diving.”

  “And when did you plan to go?”

  “This afternoon.”

  The room got very quiet. Just the sound of her pencil scraping against the paper. Pretty convenient timing for an international trip, but Elizabeth didn’t look up from her notes.

  “Back to Monday,” Gordon said. “Did you see anyone Monday night or Tuesday morning?”

  “No.”

  “Anyone at all who can corroborate your whereabouts?”

  “No.”

  “Tell us more about Monday night. Did you cal
l anyone? E-mail anyone? Leave your apartment for any reason?”

  “I didn’t get online, no. I was by myself, like I said, watching the game.”

  “And you didn’t call anyone?”

  “No.”

  “Anyone call you?”

  “No.” He glanced impatiently at the clock.

  “What about Tuesday morning?”

  “Reported to base at 1100.”

  “Eleven in the morning? Is that unusual?”

  “We work unusual hours. Sir.”

  Elizabeth caught the contempt in his voice but didn’t look up. This guy clearly didn’t like FBI agents—a fact she felt sure wasn’t lost on Gordon.

  “I was here until late Tuesday, until late Wednesday, and then back before dawn today. Check the base records if you want.”

  “We have,” Gordon said. “We spent most of yesterday, in fact, going over your background.”

  The SEAL’s face hardened. He stood up. “That case, I won’t waste any more time on this. I’ve got a meeting with my CO.”

  “One more thing, Lieutenant. I wouldn’t be taking any trips out of the country if I were you.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “Just some friendly advice.”

  He scowled and walked out the door.

  Elizabeth’s shoulders slumped as the tension in the room disappeared. She glanced at Gordon.

  “You don’t really think he’ll leave the country, do you?”

  “Not the traditional way,” he said. “We’ve got his passport flagged.”

  She glanced down at her notes. For some reason she still didn’t comprehend, Gordon had handpicked her for his team on this. Out of all the available agents in the San Antonio field office, he’d chosen her. Why? She wasn’t sure. She assumed he wanted her opinion, but she felt strange offering it to such a seasoned investigator. So since their arrival yesterday, she’d basically acted as his silent assistant while he checked in with the local field office and conducted preliminary research on Gage Brewer. Unfortunately, that research hadn’t yielded much. Brewer didn’t have a criminal record, and his military record—what they’d been allowed to see of it—was exemplary. They’d also learned that besides being Gage’s ex-girlfriend, Kelsey Quinn was the niece of Gage’s former commanding officer.

  Elizabeth studied Gordon’s pensive expression and debated whether to offer her opinion. Maybe she should keep her mouth shut. But then again, what was the point of her being here if she didn’t at least attempt to provide insights?

  “There are some holes in his timeline,” she said. “But still this doesn’t feel like a fit to me. You’re thinking some kind of love triangle?”

  “Kelsey Quinn’s unexplained disappearance coincides with Blake Reid’s murder. That tells me she’s either involved in the crime or a victim herself.” He checked his watch and stood up. “I’ve got to get back to the local office. I want you to keep tabs on Brewer. He’ll be leaving here soon, and I don’t want him out of your sight.”

  Elizabeth stood and collected her notes. “So . . . you don’t want me to help search for Kelsey Quinn? I thought finding her was high priority.”

  “We don’t need to find Kelsey Quinn. If she’s alive, Lieutenant Brewer will find her for us.”

  • • •

  Kelsey was missing.

  Blake Reid was dead.

  The two facts didn’t get any less grim the longer they rattled around in Gage’s head.

  Gage pulled his pickup into an empty space at his apartment complex. There were plenty to choose from because most of the tenants had already left for work. He checked his watch and took the steps leading to his apartment two at a time. Kelsey had been MIA for almost sixty hours, and he didn’t have a minute to waste.

  It was possible he was too late already.

  Gage went straight to the computer in his bedroom and logged on.

  “Come on, Kels,” he muttered as a torrent of messages flooded his in-box. He hadn’t checked e-mail since Tuesday, and a desperate part of him was holding out hope that maybe she’d reached out.

  Did you hear about Blake? Yeah, even though I wasn’t planning to marry him anymore, I’m still racked with grief over it. Thought I’d head to the beach and drown my sorrow in a bottle of tequila, just FYI.

  But no such message appeared in his in-box. As had been the case for months, he didn’t have anything from her—just a crapload of junk mail and a note from his brother. It was what he’d expected, but still it sucked. Kelsey’s radio silence was just one more shitty piece of news to add to the growing list of Really Shitty News he’d learned about today. Way, way down on that list was the fact that Gage, evidently, was suspected of involvement in Blake’s death. The feds had made that clear. And although Gage had no doubt his story would hold, he wasn’t happy to know that the lead detective in the case was wasting his time.

  Sure, Gage was capable of killing Blake Reid. He’d even fantasized about it a time or two when he’d been shitfaced drunk and loaded with resentment. But Gage hadn’t killed him. And Kelsey couldn’t kill him. It wasn’t in her nature. Even if the rumors were true and Blake had been cheating on her, Gage couldn’t picture her putting a bullet in the man’s gut.

  Which meant someone else had killed him.

  And now Kelsey was missing, which meant that either she was somehow complicit in the murder or she’d been abducted—or worse—by Blake’s murderer.

  Another possibility—that Kelsey had been spooked by something and gone into hiding—was what Gage was counting on. The odds were long, but he was betting on it, anyway.

  Gage got a strangled feeling in his chest. Why hadn’t she reached out? If she was alive, why hadn’t she tried to contact him? Even with all the shit they’d been through, he’d always thought that deep down she knew she could depend on him. But maybe she didn’t know. Maybe that run-in back at O’Malley’s had sealed his fate. He’d been an asshole, and she’d finally written him off.

  Gage hoped that was it. The other explanation—the likely explanation for her silence—was too hard to think about.

  He shook off the dread. He needed to be positive. He needed to be proactive. To accomplish his objective he needed to believe, with every fiber of his being, that she was still alive.

  He checked his watch again. Time to move. Every hour that ticked by put Kelsey in more danger. Not that she couldn’t take care of herself. She was smart, and if she was on the run, then she’d managed to elude the FBI for several days, which meant she’d done a better-than-average job of covering her tracks. But Gage suspected the person who’d killed Blake was better-than-average, too. And Kelsey was a scientist, not an operator. If and when Blake’s killer caught up to her, she didn’t stand a chance.

  Gage stripped off his filthy clothes and jumped in the shower, going over the plan he’d formulated on the drive home from the base. He scrubbed off the dirt and sweat and greasepaint clinging to him as he went over every detail. He got out of the shower and felt himself stepping into combat mode even as he pulled on civilian clothes.

  Gage unlocked the file drawer of his desk and grabbed his passport. He took his escape-and-evasion kit from his closet and shoved it into the roomy pocket of his cargo shorts. The kit contained a bare minimum of supplies he would need for a little E&E. Gage jammed his feet into sneakers and nestled his blue-and-orange Chicago Bears cap on his head. He grabbed his personal firearm—a SIG nine-mil—and tucked it in the holster at the small of his back, where it would be concealed by the loose-fitting button-down he wore over his T-shirt. An extra magazine in his pocket and he was good to go.

  Gage glanced around his bedroom one last time as his cell phone buzzed from its spot on the desk.

  Damn, maybe it was the feds calling him in for another interview. He should have turned it off.

  But maybe it was her. He grabbed the phone.

  “Brewer.”

  “Yo, you ready?”

  “Just leaving,” he told Derek, who’d agreed to d
o him a favor. Anything you need, man. Consider it done. Gage would have said the same to him, but given all the factors in play here, he felt obligated to give his friend one last out.

  “You sure you’re up for this?” Gage asked. “It could get messy.”

  Silence stretched out, and Gage could tell he’d insulted him.

  “Vaughn?”

  “Fucking 1100,” he answered. “And don’t be late. This isn’t how I planned to spend my day off.”

  • • •

  Lieutenant Brewer was definitely leaving.

  Elizabeth watched him toss the duffel bag in the front seat of his truck, then fire up the engine and go tearing out of the parking lot.

  “Subject is on the move,” she said into her phone. “Heading north on Palmetto Avenue.”

  “I got him.”

  Elizabeth waited a few seconds before pulling out of the lot across from Brewer’s apartment building. She couldn’t see the backup car, but that was probably a good sign. SEALs were highly trained in evasive maneuvers, and she had no doubt that if Brewer spotted the tail, he’d be able to ditch it in a matter of minutes.

  The trick was to keep him from spotting it.

  Elizabeth moved through traffic, allowing a good distance between her vehicle and the black pickup. Fortunately, Gordon had placed enough importance on this task to provide her with not only a backup agent, but also a decent vehicle from the local office’s motor pool. The white SUV she was driving was old enough and crappy enough not to stand out as an unmarked police unit.

  Much less fortunate was the fact that Gordon had entrusted her with this task in the first place. She didn’t understand why he’d wanted a newbie agent—even with help—to keep tabs on their prime suspect.

  But he hadn’t asked for her opinion—he’d simply given her the keys, along with explicit instructions: Don’t lose him.

  Despite the uneasiness niggling away at her as she tailed Brewer’s black pickup onto Interstate 5, Elizabeth was determined to follow orders. She planned to be on him like a tick until he led her to Blake Reid’s ex, who held the key to his death.

  If she wasn’t already dead herself.

  Brewer veered into the left lane and picked up speed. They were heading north, and she wondered if his destination was the airport. An afternoon flight maybe? Was he hopping a plane to rendezvous with Kelsey, wherever she was? But the airport exit came and went with Brewer doing seventy in the left lane.