“And we’d have all ended up in the brig for interfering in a federal investigation.”
“Better that than this damn limbo,” Doc muttered bitterly. He glanced at his watch then across the pool. “It feels like we’ve lost an arm.” He glanced at Hawk. “Know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Prepare for subsurface.” Petty Officer Frank’s voice carried across the pool once again. “Go subsurface.”
Grateful for the interruption, Hawk shifted his attention back to the men in the pool.
Doc slapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll see you later.” He sauntered toward the exit.
“Sure.” Hawk paced down the edge of the pool away from him.
“Hey, Hawk.” Doc’s called, his voice echoing across the distance between them.
He paused and glanced over his shoulder.
“My place, seventeen hundred, tomorrow night.” Doc continued talking while he walked backwards. “Steaks on the grill. Bring Zoe and some beer. I’ll call the rest of the guys and have them bring their girls.”
Maybe that’s what they needed, a good steak and some hang time with the other team members and their families. It couldn’t hurt. “Zoe’s mom is coming in.”
“Bring her. She can be my date. She’s hot.”
The image of his future mother-in-law, Clara, as a cougar dating Doc flashed through his head. Hawk laughed. “She’d eat you for breakfast.”
“I’d hope,” Doc shot back, his grin wide. The door slammed behind him.
Hawk laughed, and the smile lingered for several seconds. Until his thoughts shifted back to Flash.
He’d give NCIS time to do their thing, and if they hadn’t come up with some answers in a couple more weeks, he’d have a meeting with the rest of the guys, and they’d do their own investigation. As Doc had said, they never left a man behind.
CHAPTER 5
Brett’s gaze traveled from Captain Jackson’s face to the two NCIS agents. Damn, he’d thought the investigation into Derrick’s meltdown was finished. What else was there for them to ask about? So why had they sent the military police to pick him up? An edgy tingle started just between his shoulder blades, as though a sniper had him in his sights. What the fuck was going on?
“Do you have any objection to my staying, Ensign Weaver?” Captain Jackson asked.
“No, sir.”
“Why don’t you have a seat?” One of the agents, the one who had introduced himself as Agent Wright, motioned with a hand the size of a dinner plate to a hard-backed metal chair. The man was at least six foot six, and probably two hundred and fifty plus pounds, with café au lait skin, dark brown eyes, and hair cropped close to his head.
Though the urge to remain standing was strong, Brett took the seat.
“You were sent to Iraq in two thousand ten and served seven months there, correct, Ensign Weaver?” Agent Wright asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“On April twenty-eighth, 2011, you were assigned to a protection detail for a fifteen-year-old boy by the name of Sanjay al-Yussuf.”
The day of the mission. Shit.
“Can you corroborate that for us, Ensign?”
“No, sir, I can’t.”
Agent Wright’s brows rose and he glanced at his partner.
Agent Scott, five foot nine and about one hundred forty-five pounds, with shaggy light brown hair, was physically less intimidating than Wright. But his green eyes were sharp as he leaned forward in his chair. “Why not?”
“I was injured during a mission later that day. I was in a coma for a month afterward. My memory of anything that happened that week has been completely wiped out. The last thing I remember is training the week before for the mission on April twenty-eighth.”
Both agents leaned back in their chairs and continued to stare at him. “Do you have medical proof of this, Ensign?” Agent Wright asked.
“Contact Captain Russell Connelly at Balboa Naval Hospital. He was my doc until I was discharged. Dr. Ronald Stewart is my doc now.”
“You’ll sign a release?”
Brett shrugged. “After you tell me what happened to the boy.”
Wright’s eyes narrowed. “Why would you think something happened to him?”
“You wouldn’t be here asking questions otherwise. We traveled in caravans throughout the city. We’d have had cover front and back. Why don’t you just ask the other guys on the detail?”
“Because they’re dead,” Wright said, his voice flat.
No! Each Humvee would have had a crew of four. Eight guys dead. “Jesus.”
“You and Ensign Armstrong are the only survivors of that detail, Weaver. And he ain’t talking,” Scott said. “You got any idea why he’d refuse to tell us what happened that day?”
“No, sir.” Had something happened during the transport?
“He tried to kill you twice. And you don’t know why?” Scott asked.
Alarm bells clanged in his head. They were acting as though they had proof Derrick had tried to kill him. If he wasn’t talking—
“I can’t testify as to how I was injured during the mission later that day, Agent Scott. I don’t remember even leaving base. As to the incident at Lieutenant Yazzie’s house, I was standing between Derrick and his girlfriend and my sister while he threatened them with a loaded gun. He didn’t much care for the interference.” Bitterness edged his voice.
“If he’d done something to the boy, and he was afraid you’d talk—”
Prickles of shock raced down Brett’s throat into his torso, and then rage flashed deep into his gut. His face flushed hot. He met Wright’s stare head on. “No way, sir. No fucking way.”
“Weaver—” Captain Jackson’s tone held a warning.
Ignoring Jackson, Brett remained focused on Wright’s face. “He’s a kid. An unarmed civilian. We wouldn’t have laid a hand on him.” He drew a deep breath, forcing calm, forcing his anger back. “Had there been any sort of altercation, the eight guys covering us would have reported it.”
“They never had the opportunity, Ensign.” Scott’s voice held a note of quiet finality.
So they’d been killed that same day. Fuck. Eight guys. Jesus. Brett drew another calming breath, trying to slow the harsh beating of his heart, and tamp down the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He turned his attention to Scott. “We don’t kill innocent civilians. Our mission there is to preserve the safety of innocent civilians and of our men. Al-Qaeda and the Taliban don’t agree with that. Our being there is reason enough for them to try to kill us. Plus they’re always on the lookout for new recruits, and they don’t give a damn whether the guys they pick up are interested or not. I’d be looking at the possibility the kid was kidnapped by one of the teams they have cruising the neighborhoods.”
“That possibility is being looked at, Ensign,” Wright said.
Brett relaxed a minute degree. “Good. I hope they find him.”
The agents rose. Brett did as well.
“You’ll be hearing from us, Weaver,” Scott said.
Was that a threat? Neither agent offered his hand. After a brief nod to Jackson, they filed out of the office, leaving a void behind them.
Jackson resumed his seat. Brett remained standing and faced him, waiting to be dismissed.
The silence hung between them heavy with tension. Brett searched the man’s expression and looked away. No backup here.
“For what it’s worth, Weaver, I don’t believe you had a damn thing to do with that kid’s disappearance,” Jackson said.
Surprise held Brett immobile. “Sir.”
“What I believe, and what you can prove are two different things. Someone high up sent those two assholes here. Someone who wants answers and wants them quick. If I were you, I’d work on trying to remember all I could about that protection detail.”
Simple for Jackson to suggest. It would be easier to pull memories out of a black hole than his brain. Brett remained silent.
“Dismissed, Ensign.�
�
“Aye, sir.” Brett pivoted on his heel and marched from Jackson’s office. In the military, you were guilty until proven innocent. How could he fight that with a memory full of holes the size of mortar shells?
***
Russell lifted the cartons of Chinese food out of the bag and put them on the small kitchen table, releasing the aroma of ginger and peppers. His apartment was utilitarian but clean. He’d given Evan the master bedroom and bath in consideration of his condition. There were so many things going on with his son, and he hadn’t been aware of any of them. Why hadn’t Evan called?
“Are you having any intestinal distress?” he asked as Evan came into the kitchen from the hall. “I thought Chinese, since it’s pretty much steamed vegetables and rice, would be—”
“I’m good, Dad,” Evan said, cutting him off. “This looks fine.” He pulled out a chair and sat down.
Russell got clean plates and silverware from the dishwasher and set them on the table. “How’s your mother?” he asked as he got ice tea from the refrigerator and filled two glasses.
“She’s fine.” Using chopsticks, Evan placed an eggroll on his plate. “She and Carl took a second honeymoon in England a couple of months ago. She came back with pictures and souvenirs from every castle there.”
Evan grasped the container of fried rice, tipped some on his plate, then reached for the General Tso’s chicken.
“I’m glad she’s found someone who likes to travel.” Russell set the glasses down on the table and took a seat. He filled his plate.
“You mean travel together, don’t you,” Evan’s tone was an accusation.
Russell concentrated on his chicken and broccoli. “I couldn’t very well take you and your mother to a war zone, Evan.”
Gloria had ruthlessly implanted her feelings of bitterness, rejection, and disappointment from their ten-year marriage into their son. His deployment schedules had disrupted his visitation with Evan, and she had manipulated her custody status as a way to control and punish Russell for what she perceived as his marital shortcomings. She’d used Evan like a weapon until he’d moved out of the house to go to college. And by then the damage to his relationship with his son had seemed beyond his ability to repair. Why had she felt the need to drive a wedge between them?
Seeing the same bitterness in his son’s green eyes that he’d had aimed at him from Gloria’s over the years triggered a rage toward her he’d suppressed for most of their relationship. Evan was no longer a child. And if his condition was as dire as he suspected, it was time for him to make an effort to reach him.
“Why are you here, Evan?”
“You’ve been gone a while.”
No. He wasn’t getting away with that. “We saw each other six months ago, when I first got back. I’ve called numerous times and gotten your voice mail. You’ve never returned my calls.”
Evan stirred the food on his plate. “I was busy with several cases at first, then in the hospital for a time.”
“Did your mother know?”
Evan remained silent a moment, avoiding his gaze. “Yeah.”
“You could have asked her to call me. There might have been something I could have done for you.”
“I have doctors, I don’t need another,” Evan said, his tone sharp.
“I wasn’t speaking as a doctor, but as your father.”
“It’s a little late for that.”
Pain lanced through Russell, shoving him to his feet. He carried his plate to the sink, the food barely touched. Gloria had enjoyed thirty years of uninterrupted participation in their son’s life. He’d had to be satisfied with the scraps she and Evan would allow him. How pathetic was that? He couldn’t shake the need to hurry and make up for lost time.
“I’ve never spoken with anything but respect for your mother to you. I’ve never told you how I felt about the divorce. Or my feelings about having another man raise my son.”
He turned to face Evan. He looked frail, ill. If the disease was raging through his system he’d only grow weaker. Their time might be too short to peel the bandage off slowly. He’d waited twenty years for Evan to allow him into his life.
“I don’t suppose you remember any of it. You were only eight. Your mother waited until I was in a war zone to file for the divorce and sole custody.” She was dating Carl before I deployed. Something I didn’t know until I got back nearly a year later. “She and Carl were married a week after the divorce became final. I was still in Iraq.”
“The court system didn’t care about my military status or the legitimate reasons behind my absences. They awarded her sole custody, but gave me visitation rights. When I returned home, I filed for more frequent visitation, and she played the military card. My household wasn’t a stable environment. I was an absentee father. There were guns in the house, and she was worried about supervision. And then she tried to get me to sign over my parental rights so Carl could adopt you.” When I refused, she launched her campaign to undermine my rights any way she could and to keep me from seeing you. He looked into Evan’s pale features. “And she had the best legal advice money could buy, her own husband.”
“But you never relinquished your rights.”
“No. I’d have never done it. You’re my son.” His voice cracked on the last word. He glanced at his watch to cover the loss of control. “I have a meeting at the hospital. I won’t be long. I’ll be off for the next few days. We’ll have plenty of time to talk.”
Evan drew the ice tea glass closer and cradled it between his hands. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”
“Your mother has always been important to you, Evan. I didn’t want you caught between us, then or later. By the time you started college—” I’d lost you. “A pattern had been set, and … you didn’t seem interested in changing it.”
“Is there any proof?”
Russell flinched, then ground his teeth. Was it the lawyer in him coming through? Or was he truly his mother’s son in every way?
Russell strode from the kitchen, turned left down the hall to the master bedroom, and went to the closet. From a shelf above the clothes bar, he dragged a cardboard box down and laid it on the dresser. He removed the lid and withdrew a thick file bound together by brittle rubber bands. The faded pages represented more pain than anything else he’d ever experienced. The dissolution of his family, and the loss of his child. Tears shoved a knot the size of a soft ball into his throat.
It was indisputable proof that every word he’d spoken was true.
Was Evan strong enough to handle it?
Evan shuffled through the door.
Too late to back down now. Russell stepped forward and extended the file. “Here’s your proof.”
CHAPTER 6
Where was Brett? He was supposed to be back hours ago. Typical man. None of them had any sense of time.
Zoe eyed her mother as she poured a cup of coffee in Brett’s small kitchen. The aroma of the casserole she’d prepared permeated the room. Instead of enticing her, the smell made her nauseous. Was this the beginning of morning sickness?
“So, is there any news you want to share with me?” Clara asked as they sat down at a kitchen table barely big enough for four.
Had she sensed something? Or was it the marriage thing again? “I think my interview went very well this morning. They said I should hear back by the end of the week.”
“Good. How are things with Hawk?”
“He’s wonderful. He hasn’t gotten his orders yet, but the team is training again. They never truly stop. He thinks they’ll be going to Afghanistan next. He’s filling in for one of the instructors today whose little boy is sick.”
“He’s a gem, Zoe.”
“Yeah, he is.” She met her mother’s gaze. “I love him so much, Mom.”
Clara smiled. “I’d have never guessed. What’s up with your brother?”
“He’s started getting in shape again. He’s running and swimming. And he’s taking a language class, one of the
Afghan dialects.”
“But?”
“I think he’s having trouble with someone at work.”
Her mother’s features settled into a frown. “Do you know who it might be?”
“He doesn’t say much about what happens on post. None of them do.” Zoe drew a deep breath. “I guess that’s a good thing. I’d worry more if I knew everything they did.” An instant memory flashed through her mind of Hawk, his cheek swollen and his eyes enflamed, after being hit in the face by a Simunitions round. It could have been so much worse.
Though her stomach roiled, she cleared her throat and continued. “If I had to hazard a guess, it would be his commanding officer. He’s been dragging his feet about assigning Brett to duty.”
“But you just said a minute ago that he gave him an assignment.”
“A public speaking engagement in front of two hundred women.”
“Oh—” the word came out in a whoosh of air. Her expression grew fierce. “That asshole!”
Zoe laughed. “That was my take on the whole thing, too. I texted Brett right after my interview. He said everything went fine.” Her eyes strayed to the clock. “That was two hours ago.”
“He’ll be here in a minute. And what about Hawk? Will he be joining us for a meal?”
“Yes, he will. But he may be a little late.”
“I’m anxious to see him.” Clara grew quiet a moment. “I saw Dr. Connelly at the airport.”
Instant interest had Zoe’s brows rising. “Oh, how was he?”
“He looked fine. A little tired. He was picking up his son.” She cupped the tea in her hands as though warming them.
Zoe took a sip from her cup. “I didn’t know he had a son. I knew he was divorced. All the nurses would primp a little before he came on the floor. Even the younger ones. He’s older, but still a hunk.”
When Clara’s cheeks grew pink, Zoe studied her.
He’s very ill. The son, not Dr. Connelly. He looked so frail, so thin.” Clara reached out to lay a hand over Zoe’s. “I mentioned we’d have them for supper one evening. Would it be all right with Hawk if we invited them to his house instead of here?”
Breaking Through (Book 2 of the SEAL TEAM Heartbreakers) Page 5
