“You changed out of the sexy wetsuit,” he commented eyeing the sundress she’d switched into after arriving at the hospital.
He offered his hand and she took it. “I thought this might be a little more appropriate for a hospital visit.”
“You always look beautiful in anything you wear. Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” She brushed his hair back from his forehead. “How are you feeling?”
“A little dopey.”
“No pain?”
“No. Not yet.” He rested the back of her hand against the light brown patch of hair in the center of his chest.
Her hand tingled with the contact. She’d had the opportunity to touch him and hadn’t taken it. She’d been a fool. She swallowed and dragged her gaze up to his face. “I know you’ve faced violence in the past, but I couldn’t believe how calm you were.”
“We’re trained to keep our head under pressure. Is there someplace you can stay tonight besides your apartment?” he asked.
“You really believe this guy was after you?”
“He didn’t shoot anyone else and he called my mother a whore. Until they tell me otherwise, I’m going with that. I’ve been seeing you on a semi-regular basis. I want you someplace safe.”
Was he right and this man was after him? Or was it just paranoia from his PTSD? It wouldn’t hurt to be a little cautious. “I have a friend at work I can stay with for a few days.”
“Good.”
She had to tell him. If the story broke and he didn’t know ahead of time, he’d think she’d used him and his mother for copy. “Your mom took a picture of the man, Brett.”
He paused as though to absorb that. “Jesus.”
“The police confiscated her camera.”
“I’ll have to get her another. They’ll keep it as evidence until they catch this guy.”
“Getting her another might be a good idea. The press is here in droves. Even the national television news.” She swallowed against the knot that rose in her throat. “And my editor has been calling every few minutes. He wants me to cover the story.”
His features hardened, and he released her hand. “You can’t put our names in the paper, Tess.”
“The FBI has asked me to hold off on that, but I have to write the rest.”
He focused on her face, but he didn’t say anything.
“I don’t want to do it, Brett, because I’m too close to you and to what happened, but he’s insistent. I didn’t want to do it without warning you.”
“Consider me warned.” He looked away.
He was shutting down on her, just as he had done the night her father interviewed him. “I have to do this, Brett.”
“All right.” He drew a deep breath and shook another ice chip from his cup into his mouth. “But I don’t have to like it.”
“If they gave you orders to board a plane to be shipped off to some Godforsaken country to be shot at, you’d beat everyone else to the runway,” she said her throat tight. “But when I’m faced with following orders too, you’re angry about it.”
“My job doesn’t infringe on your privacy, Tess.”
She balled her fists at her sides. How could he say that? The articles she’d written had been just general information, not the in-depth interviews with him or Master Chief O’Hara she’d wanted. She’d not written a single word he hadn’t shared willingly or that could be construed as intrusive to his privacy.
The door opened and four men crowded into the room.
Blinded by tears, Tess pushed through the wall of policemen and out into the hall. For hours she’d been harassed by her editor and other reporters as she waited for him to get out of surgery, then out of recovery. She’d finally turned her phone off so she could worry in peace.
Overwhelmed, she leaned against the wall outside the room. Her composure crumbled and tears streamed down her face. Several moments passed as she struggled to compose herself. Determination replaced the hurt, and she pushed away from the wall. She had a job to do whether Brett liked it or not. And better she did it herself than trust another journalist, who might decide the scoop was more important than people’s lives.
Brushing away the tears, shoulders straight, she marched down the hall to the automatic doors that separated the surgical unit and the waiting room. She strode into the waiting room where Clara and Zoe sat with Russell. “I need to go,” she said. “Is it okay if I take the car and drop my board off at the apartment? Then I’ll deliver the car wherever you need it dropped.”
“It’s nearly ten o’clock at night, Tess. Take the car and we’ll work out the logistics of pick-ups and things tomorrow. You’ll need to go get your car at Sunset Cliffs. Maybe you can pick me up tomorrow morning early and we’ll handle it.” The bruise discoloring Clara’s jaw looked angry and red. The one on her cheekbone showed the imprint of the barrel of the gun. With her arm in a sling, she looked battered.
“It wouldn’t be a good idea for you to be behind the wheel of a car in your current condition, Clara,” Russell said. “You have a slight concussion. Tomorrow you’ll be sore and the bruising will be worse.”
Zoe said. “I’ll take care of the car . Tess and I will meet early, ride out to Sunset Cliffs together and I’ll drive the car back.”
Exhaustion dragged at Tess. After hours of waiting and worrying over Brett during his surgery, she just wanted to go home and have a good cry. “Thanks, Zoe.”
“I have to go into the office now.” She gathered her bag and slipped the strap over her shoulder. “My editor is expecting me to write the story up tonight, and they’ll submit it for publication in the early edition. I promise I won’t be putting in your name or Brett’s. I’ll just say the FBI has requested the identity of the victims be kept confidential until their families can be notified.”
“Thank you,” Clara said, a troubled frown marring her brow.
“I’ll walk you to the car,” Russell offered.
“With the way the press behaved when we got here, I think that’s an excellent idea, Russell. Thank you,” Zoe said, her tone laced with outrage.
“What happened?” Clara asked, frowning.
“They couldn’t understand why Tess was coming up with us when they were confined downstairs.”
“Because I’m one of their fraternity and I had an inside track, or they thought I did. I really don’t want to write the story, Clara. I’d gladly hand this one off to someone else.” Once written, it would be the death knell to a relationship that probably never had a chance anyway. An ache settled in her chest that didn’t let up.
“Better you than someone else who is just out for the scoop, no matter what it might cost us,” Clara said.
“I’ll try to convince my editor of that. I’ll call you in the morning about the car. Under the circumstances, it might be better if I stay away.”
“I don’t think Brett will be pleased if you don’t come to see him,” Clara said and began to tear up. She wrapped her arms around Tess and gave her a squeeze. “Thank you for helping.”
Tess felt her own eyes glaze with tears and pulled back as soon as Clara released her. “I’ll speak with you tomorrow.” She exchanged cell numbers with Zoe.
A panicked breathlessness took over when she started down the hall with Russell. What if something happened to Brett while she was gone? “Brett will be okay, won’t he?” Her voice shook and tears were close again.
Russell hesitated. “There are always risks because of the nature of the injury, but Brett is young, strong, and healthy. He should make a full recovery. He’s in good hands here.”
She tried to take comfort from his words, but the soul-deep sense of loss was crushing her heart.
***
Fuck-fuck-fuck. The words screamed through his head. While he’d been in surgery, she’d been conducting business as usual. He’d done the same thing when a teammate was injured. Life went on, no matter what catastrophic thing had happened. But she’d shrugged it aside so easily. And let him
know exactly how important he was to her. He was just a fucking story.
An ache ripped through him with as much power as the bullet that had struck him. He ran a hand over his jaw and struggled to control his expression.
“Do you feel up to a few more questions Ensign Weaver?” The NCIS agent who spoke was one of the ones who had interviewed him in Captain Jackson’s office.
Brett dragged in a breath and focused his attention on the man. “Sure, Agent Wright.”
“When were you first aware that you were being fired on?” he asked.
“When a small section of my surfboard exploded inches from my face. And then again when a round hit the water just behind me.
“When did you realize you were hit?”
“When I made it out of the water onto the beach and my side was bleeding like a sonofabitch.”
“How many rounds did you hear?”
“Just the one that hit my board. The surf drowned out the sound of the discharge. But I felt the velocity of a round hit the water behind me. I thought he shot another round at me while I was on the beach, but my mother said the weapon discharged toward the street when she fell on top of him. That round and the next were the only two I heard.”
“There were six rounds fired.”
So he’d had five in the clip and one in the chamber. An M-15 or a Barrett XM-109 maybe. The possibilities are numerous. Jesus, I should be dead.
“We recovered the twenty-five millimeter shell casings atop the cliff and the round in the sand down on the beach was found with a metal detector before the tide came in. We think he was using low velocity to suppress the sound.”
“It seems to have worked.”
“We haven’t had time to analyze the picture of the shooter. But we’ve printed one off for you to look at.” Wright stepped forward and handed him the photo.
Brett studied the picture.
“Would you have any idea who he might be?” Wright asked.
“No. My mother said he spoke Farsi.” Brett looked up and he scanned the three men’s faces. “Who have you got in Iraq investigating the incident we spoke about recently? And who would they have given my name to?”
Despite his dusky coloring, Wright’s cheeks darkened and his jaw tensed. “No one, Ensign Weaver.”
“No one is investigating? Or no one would have given out my name?”
“No one would have mentioned your name.”
“Just what the hell are you guys talking about?” The FBI agent asked.
“Agent Wright can explain it to you,” Brett said his gaze never wavering from Wright. His heart beat hard against his ribs, and his face felt hot with rage. “It’s strange that you approached me a month ago and now I’m dodging bullets, Agent Wright. Not just me. My mother. My mother! What the fuck do you think might be going on?”
Wright looked as though his six foot six inch frame might explode at any moment. He focused on an area just past Brett’s shoulder. “We don’t know that the two instances are related.”
Brett raised one brow. “Surely you’re not that obtuse.”
Wright’s gaze leaped to his, and his jaw pulsed. He started to say something, but nurse Farmer stepped into the room. “Time’s up, gentlemen. Ensign Weaver has just been through a trauma and had surgery.”
The group started to file out.
“Agent Wright.” Brett said as the man reached the door. Wright stiffened and turned, reluctance in every movement. “You know who Tess Kelly is?”
“She’s a journalist for the San Diego Tribune.”
“She’s also Ian Kelly’s daughter.”
Wrights brows rose and his expression clouded.
“You know the only guy I wouldn’t want on my ass besides a SEAL would be an award-winning journalist. Tess is his baby girl, and I’ve been seeing her.”
“Don’t you think that might be a bad call, considering?”
“Not if I’m innocent, which I am. If things go down badly because someone took a shortcut and didn’t do their job, it won’t hurt to have an international watchdog on my side.”
“Meaning Kelly?”
“Yeah. And one other thing. My team has sort of adopted my sister and mother as part of their extended family, especially since my sister and my commanding officer, Lieutenant Yazzie, are so close. Since you don’t believe there’s any connection to my being shot and your investigation, I’d suggest you do one thing.”
“What’s that, Weaver?”
“Spend a little time on your knees praying nothing happens to my family while I’m in here unable to protect them, because Lieutenant Yazzie and the team are due back soon.”
***
“I shot him,” Tabarek crowed in exultation.
“He is dead?” Yasin stared out the window at the courtyard outside his home office. The yard was hard-packed dirt with patches of scruffy grass here and there. How did he feel about a man’s life being over? He felt numb. It was as though the pain of Sanjay’s disappearance had cauterized his emotions into emptiness.
“No. But he was taken to the hospital bleeding badly and his whore mother was taken as well.”
“His mother?” Was Tabarek’s jihad extending to the man’s family?
“The whore attacked me while I was shooting her son.” He laughed.
Sweet Allah save us. “We did not speak of attacking the families of these men, Tabarek.”
“They have taken our families, why would you not want them to pay for that with their own?”
“We are talking about innocent women and children.”
“No, this woman gave birth to a murderer. Besides the whore can identify me.”
Yasin sank into the chair behind his desk and rested his head in his hand. “I wanted the men who killed Sanjay dead, not their families.”
His tone grew rough with rage. “I want more. I want them all to suffer, as we have suffered. They are infidels. Why would you care about them?”
“I did not say I care about them. But their women and children have done no one harm.”
“They harm me just by living. My own family is dead because of them.” Tabarek’s voice rose, growing so loud Yasin held the phone away from his ear.
Tabarek’s family was dead because they had chosen to follow a different path than those peaceful Muslims who lived the Koran as it had been written.
He was being drawn deeper and deeper into a pit. How had he allowed his own beliefs to become so twisted?
“You are losing focus, Tabarek, and putting yourself and the others in danger. You have allowed your passion to rule your intellect, and it will be your undoing.”
The man remained silent for a moment. “That is easy for you to say, safe in your home with your family.”
“No one is safe. There is no family who has not been scarred by what has happened in our country.” The Americans have been scarred, too. If only they had not harmed my child. Tears burned his eyes and fell in large drops to stain his pants. He wiped them away impatiently. “You must stick to the plan, Tabarek. Kill the men you went there to kill and come home.”
“I cannot reach the one. He is protected by his prison walls. So someone else will have to take his place. Perhaps his commanding officer. It was he who ordered the bombing and played a part in your son’s death. What was his name?”
Would this never end?
“What was his name, Yasin?”
He remembered the man reassuring him that his son would be safe with his men. Anger and pain blended together to form an unbearable ache in his chest. “Captain Jackson.”
“Do you know his full name?”
“Stewart Jackson.”
“I will find him and he will pay for what he has done.”
The phone went dead.
CHAPTER 25
Yasin hit the off button, disconnecting the call.
“What have you done?” Levla’s voice came from behind him and he started.
How much had she heard? “What do you mean, Levla?”
&nb
sp; Her dark eyes widened with fear. Her hands clawed at her skirt. “You were talking to someone about killing. You told a man to kill someone.”
She’d heard too much. He rose to his feet and faced her. “He is going to kill the men responsible for Sanjay’s disappearance.”
Levla staggered and pressed a hand over her mouth not quite stifling a groan. “No. Blessed Allah, no.” Tears flowed down her face. “This cannot be. This cannot be.”
How could she not want them punished? “They killed my son, Levla. No one has seen Sanjay since they took him from the base. He is dead by their hand.”
She shook her head hard enough that her hair fell forward over her shoulders. “Nooo—No! He did not die by their hands.” She fell to her knees and rocked in pain. “He died by mine.”
***
“For the second time in your life, you’ve received a miracle, Ensign Weaver,” Dr. Talbert said.
“I know that Doc.”
Dr. Talbert leaned his six-foot frame over the railing of the bed and pointed at Brett’s bandage. “The bullet had to be a low velocity round. It entered here just beneath your ribs and exited just above your hipbone. It skimmed just beneath your skin, ripped open a fissure nine inches long, and tore out the subcutaneous fat layer. Had you sustained a direct hit you would not be sitting here with me right now.”
Jesus. The doc made it sound as though he’d gone out and gotten shot on purpose. “I didn’t do this to myself, Doc.”
Talbert’s brows rose. “I’m sorry if I sounded as though I were blaming you for your injury, Ensign.” He drew a deep breath. “I only meant to point out how very fortunate you are.”
“Inshallah, as they say in Afghanistan. God’s will.”
The doctor nodded. “Obviously He was looking out for you. We removed particles of your wetsuit from the wound track and repaired the injury. You’ll have an ugly scar, but in terms of tissue loss, the muscles were spared any major damage. You should recover pretty quickly.”
Breaking Through (Book 2 of the SEAL TEAM Heartbreakers) Page 24
