Off the Grid

by Monica McCarty

  She rolled her eyes. “Like you don’t already?” She pushed him off her. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. Now you’ll be impossible—more impossible,” she corrected herself.

  There wasn’t much room in the twin bed, so he got out to push the two beds together and tossed the condom in the wastebasket while he was at it. She didn’t object when he slid down beside her and tucked her in against his chest.

  Might as well save time. He was pretty sure she’d end up wrapped in his arms anyway.

  Seventeen

  Kate missed Percy’s big party.

  After Colt’s proclamation about Rear Admiral Morrison’s suicide, she’d been too upset. Had their meeting with the rear admiral sent him over the edge? Was his suicide an admission of guilt? Who else knew? Did this mean Scott and the others were in the clear and could come out of hiding?

  She voiced all but the last question to Colt. He didn’t know, but they spent the next few hours trying to find out, using both her connections and his.

  They hadn’t come up with much more than they’d already had. Colt learned that the investigation was being kept quiet so far—the circumstances seemed cut-and-dried. She found out that the rear admiral had cleared out the last of his bank accounts a few days earlier, but she still hadn’t been able to locate any accounts that were in the green. By her calculations he was more than two hundred grand in the hole. That gorgeous home they’d visited on the golf course? Mortgaged to the hilt and purchased at the height of the market about five years ago. If he’d tried to sell the property, they’d have been underwater.

  Colt left before Percy got home from the party, which was a good thing, as Percy was furious enough. Seeing Colt would have made that stiff-upper-lip facade crack even more.

  She’d embarrassed Percy by not showing up and more so by not calling with an explanation. Did she realize how that looked?

  Kate could explain the first but not the latter. She could have called; she just hadn’t thought of it.

  Which in a way was worse.

  He’d been worried. Although not worried enough, she realized, to call her.

  They’d argued. Did she understand his position and the duties that she was agreeing to as his wife?

  Of course she did. But that didn’t mean those duties would take precedence over her own work.

  When Percy hadn’t agreed, she’d been floored. Apparently, he thought they did take precedence.

  When he decided to sleep on the couch downstairs, Kate didn’t object.

  Things had been better in the morning—he’d apologized for losing his temper—but when he left for work, he told her that if she was having second thoughts about their marriage she needed to be honest with him—and herself.

  She knew he was right. She’d fought long and hard to get over her heartbreak with Colt, and she desperately wanted to make her relationship with Percy work. Maybe a little too desperately. Had she worked too hard? Percy was a good man. In so many ways he was everything Colt wasn’t—kind, loving, respectful of her job and life. She cared about him deeply, but . . .

  There shouldn’t be a “but.”

  Kate pushed the errant thought away. She couldn’t think about it right now—not with Hurricane Colt confusing her. She was meeting him first thing the next morning to plan out their course of action. If Mrs. Morrison alerted the police to their visit, it wouldn’t be long before the investigators came knocking and wanted to know why they’d met with the rear admiral hours before he’d killed himself. They needed to come up with a plausible explanation and get their story straight.

  Fortunately, he’d agreed to put off his trip to Russia until everything was sorted out.

  But today she had to clear her tracks. She’d gotten rid of all the surveillance programs she’d had on the rear admiral’s electronics last night, but she wanted to make sure she got rid of any trail at work, too. She was well aware of the fact that what she was doing might be construed as illegal—destroying evidence—but as her surveillance had been unsanctioned, that ship had probably already sailed. Besides, protecting Scott came first.

  To that end, she spent most of the afternoon and into the night looking into the reporter and her source at the DoD. Kate needed only half that time, and a glance at the pool car logbook, to connect the dots.

  She saw the name of the woman who’d requested the car and driver on the date in question and couldn’t believe her eyes. Nor did she believe in coincidences.

  When she walked into the coffee shop the next morning after only a few hours of sleep, Colt must have realized she was upset. He stood and reached for her as if he still had a right to touch her without realizing what he was doing. As soon as he did, he dropped his hand.

  The tightening in her chest wasn’t as easily disposed of. That protective look, the concern, the I’ll-make-all-your-troubles-go-away certainty had always taken the edge off what was bothering her. It had made her feel as if they were a team. She’d counted on him in a way she’d never allowed herself to count on anyone before.

  She’d forgotten how much she missed that. But she couldn’t let herself get confused. He’d shown her who he was; she had to believe him.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. “What did you find out?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “But we need to go see my godfather.”

  * * *

  • • •

  The last place Colt wanted to go was Castle Murray—or whatever the hell the general’s “estate” was called. But he understood Kate’s insistence when she explained what she’d found: the general’s longtime assistant had requested a car on the same night Brittany Blake had met with her “source.”

  What he hadn’t understood was Kate’s reaction to his question about how she’d learned of the reporter’s source at all. It had clearly jellied her. She’d claimed that she and Brittany had crossed paths when she and Colt were married and become friends. But to Colt’s knowledge, Blake and his sister had been estranged for a long time.

  He was almost certain Kate was lying to him.

  But the question of why would have to wait. Jeeves, or whatever the hell the butler’s name was, welcomed Kate at the door with a smile and a fond kiss on the cheek. He acknowledged Colt with a pursed mouth and a slight inhaling of his nostrils, as if something unpleasant had just been stuck under his oversized nose. Unlike the last time Colt was here, they were admitted to the inner sanctum of the general’s private office immediately.

  “My dear!” Murray said, rising from his seat behind the desk. He came around to give Kate a big hug. “What a pleasant surprise.”

  The last was said with a sharp glance toward Colt. Clearly it was a surprise to see him as well, but not a pleasant one. Colt was supposed to be in Russia. And the general probably wasn’t happy to see him with Kate, either.

  But the old guy needn’t have any worries on that account. Colt and Kate were working together because they had to. Nothing more. If Colt had any regrets about his “karma” dig from the other day, he wasn’t going to admit it—even to himself. All he’d done was establish the lines of the playing field.

  Whatever unwanted feelings and attraction had been resurrected by being around his ex didn’t matter. That grave was buried under six feet of ice. It would take a hell of a lot more than a raging hard-on to chip through it.

  Although it was an impressive hard-on.

  It was that damned dress. His eyes had nearly popped out of his head when she’d answered the door the night of Percy’s party. Kate had never dressed sexy when they’d been married. He probably wouldn’t have let her walk out of the house in a dress like that—it would have been ripped off her well before she left the bedroom. The slinky red silk had clung to every slender curve. Her hips. Her ass. Her tits. She might as well have been poured into it. He’d had to move to the opposite side of the room after he’d caught a few too many
glimpses of creamy skin in the low-cut gown when she’d leaned forward at the computer.

  She wasn’t wearing a bra.

  He’d always loved her breasts. They weren’t big, but they were big enough and perfectly round and firm. Way too firm for a woman of almost thirty-five. But it was the delicate softness of the skin that had always gotten him. It had been fucking unreal. Flawless. Still was from what he could tell.

  “Wesson,” the general said with a rotting-fish curl of his mouth.

  “Sorry for barging in on you like this,” Kate said after the general released her. “But it’s important.”

  The general indicated the two chairs opposite his desk for them to sit.

  When he’d settled back in the chair behind his desk, Murray said, “What’s this about?”

  Kate got right to it. “Janet.”

  He seemed taken aback. “My secretary?” The twenty-first-century term was “executive assistant,” but Janet O’Brien had been with the general for so long, she probably had been hired as a secretary. “Did she do something wrong?”

  Kate gave him a hard look. “You tell me. Did she pass confidential information to Brittany Blake on her own accord or because you asked her to?”

  If the general was surprised by the allegation, he didn’t show it. He barely blinked. “On my request,” he said. “How did you find out?” He shot an accusing glance to Colt, obviously assuming he was to blame for Kate’s involvement.

  Maybe he was, although not about this. Colt intended to find out how she’d learned about the reporter’s source himself.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Kate said. “What does matter is why you would do such a thing. I thought the government and military wanted to keep Team Nine’s mission secret.”

  “They do,” the general admitted.

  “But you don’t,” Colt finished for him. “You want the truth to come out.”

  Kate had obviously suspected why as well. “This is about TJ, isn’t it?” TJ, or Thomas Junior, was the general’s son, who’d been shot down by the Russians a few months ago when his plane had “accidentally” veered into Russian airspace. “You couldn’t convince President Cartwright to retaliate against Russia for shooting down his plane, so you used the press to do your work for you and try to sway public opinion.”

  Having clearly spent too much time in the political arena, the general decided to split a few hairs. “The reporter was already on the right track—I just helped her along a little.”

  “By leaking classified information?” Kate challenged. “If anyone finds out, it could put an end to your career and any hopes you have for the vice presidency.”

  The general shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. With all the mudslinging that goes along with political campaigns these days, it’s hard to find the line between truth and fiction. And most of my supporters would be in favor of military action against Russia.” His expression darkened. “They shouldn’t be allowed to get away with what they’ve done—to my son or Retiarius Platoon. Those boys deserved better. They deserve justice.” On that point, Colt actually agreed with him. “Ivanov is probably laughing his ass off. He got away with killing fourteen SEALs and no one is going to say a damned thing—not the Russians or the Americans.”

  Kate frowned. “Russians?”

  Colt knew what he meant. “After the plane was shot down, Ivanov vowed to declare war on the US if there were any more ‘incursions.’”

  Kate nodded. “I remember. So, it’s in Ivanov’s interest, too, that the truth not come out. Pride might force him into a war he doesn’t want.” She gave her godfather a sharp glance. “This is your way of tweaking his nose as well.”

  The general didn’t deny it. “You shouldn’t have involved her in this,” he said to Colt.

  “I wouldn’t have needed to if I’d thought you’d agree to see me without her help.”

  Kate obviously didn’t appreciate being talked over. “She is sitting right here and didn’t need permission from either of you. I want to find out what happened to Scott and the rest of Retiarius, too.”

  The general frowned and looked between the two of them, obviously taking note of Colt’s reaction at the mention of the other man.

  “Scott?” the general asked. “You mean Lieutenant Commander Taylor? I didn’t realize you knew him.”

  “Oh, she knew him really well.” Colt couldn’t resist adding with more than a snide undertone, “She and Taylor were very close—wouldn’t you say, Kate?”

  Kate didn’t flinch. There wasn’t a tinge of a guilty flush on any part of her cheeks. She turned to look at Colt, her expression perfectly composed. “Yes, we were. He was there for me when my husband wasn’t.”

  Turned out, Colt was the one who flinched. He didn’t flush with guilt, but he might have felt a prick of it along with the knife that slid right between his ribs.

  Guess she wasn’t denying it anymore. Why did he suddenly feel sick? That shit was dead and buried. But she was twisting him up in all kinds of angry knots again, and he didn’t like it. For three years he hadn’t felt anything. He liked being impenetrable. It was the way he’d been before he met her.

  Turning back to her godfather, Kate added, “We found out we had a lot in common. My father and his mother used to summer near each other on the Cape.”

  Colt hadn’t known that. But he wasn’t surprised. Taylor’s blood was as blue as Kate’s. In other words, the type “to summer.” He didn’t know much about Taylor’s family history other than that they’d been loaded.

  “I’m sorry,” the general said to Kate, sounding as if he meant it. “I didn’t realize that. But I would rather you weren’t involved. It could be dangerous. There are a lot of people who might not want the truth to come out.”

  “If you knew that, then why did you involve Brittany Blake? You could have made her a target.”

  “She made herself a target. She wasn’t going away—with or without my help.”

  “Not like the woman in Iowa,” Colt said, watching the general’s reaction.

  But it was Kate who looked at him sharply. “The woman who claimed one of the missing SEALs got her pregnant?”

  Clearly she thought he’d been holding out on her.

  Maybe he had, but he’d only just seen the bank statement, and it hadn’t been foremost on his mind after the rear admiral’s suicide. Colt nodded. “I assumed the government paid her off to keep her quiet.”

  If the general knew about it, he wasn’t giving anything away. “It wouldn’t surprise me. She was creating a ruckus like the reporter, but why do you think she was paid off?”

  “Five thousand dollars landed in her bank account a few days ago, and she’s taken down her social media posts.”

  “That’s not much of a payoff,” Kate said.

  “Maybe not for you,” Colt said. “But it was for her.”

  Colt hadn’t meant it as a dig, but he could see she’d taken it that way. But when he’d been growing up, five thousand would have seemed like a fortune.

  “Any idea where the money came from?” the general asked.

  “Not yet,” Colt said.

  Seeing Kate’s increasingly annoyed expression, he was glad when the general asked, “Have you found out anything else about what happened to Retiarius? Any proof that the missile the Russians claimed was a test was actually directed at them?”

  Colt exchanged a glance with Kate. Apparently the silent communication thing was still intact, as she understood that he would leave what they shared up to her.

  “Not directly,” Kate said. “But we thought we might have a lead in how the mission was compromised.”

  “You mean how the platoon was detected by the Russians?” the general asked.

  Kate shook her head. “I don’t think they were detected.”

  Murray understood what she meant right away. “You think they
were betrayed?”

  “You don’t sound surprised,” Colt said.

  The general gave him a hard, don’t-piss-me-off glare. “I’ve been in this business too long to not have considered every angle, including espionage or an inside job from one of our own.” He turned back to Kate. “What did you find?”

  “I assume you’ve heard about Rear Admiral Morrison’s death?” Kate said gently, aware that the two men were friends.

  He nodded somberly. “I was informed yesterday.” Realizing where she was going, he said adamantly, “His suicide had nothing to do with this.”

  “He was in debt,” Colt said. “Lots of debt.”

  Murray’s glare in his direction grew darker. “I know.”

  “You did?” Kate asked, clearly surprised.

  “A few people in command have been aware of his gambling problem for some time. Measures were taken.”

  Colt knew what that meant. Morrison would have been watched and probably compartmentalized. Meaning he wouldn’t have been given sensitive information until it was need-to-know. Probably at the last minute for this op.

  Kate must have realized what it meant as well and couldn’t hide her relief. Colt knew the timing of their visit to Morrison had been weighing on her. They hadn’t put a gun to his head; he’d done that on his own. But she clearly hadn’t seen it that way.

  It was a good thing she didn’t do fieldwork. Guilt didn’t fit into the job description.

  “If you were thinking that he sold the platoon out for money, you are way off base,” the general said. “Ron killed himself because he was more than two hundred grand in the hole and just lost the only money he had left in the bank on a ‘can’t miss’ bet that—no surprise—missed.”

  “We went to see him that afternoon,” Kate said. “To question him about Retiarius.”

  The general swore. “You should have told me.” He gave Colt a look that told him whom he blamed. “The police will want to talk to you, but I’ll see what I can do to put them off for a while.”