Building Ties
Book 4 of the
A SEAL TEAM HEARTBREAKERS
Teresa J. Reasor
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Building Ties
COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Teresa J. Reasor
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Tracy Stewart
Edited by Faith Freewoman
Teresa J. Reasor
PO Box 124
Corbin, KY 40702
Publishing History: First Edition 2014
ISBN 13: 978-0-9886627-8-0
ISBN 10: 0-9886627-8-7
Kindle Edition
Dedication
To all those wonderful people who keep the home fires burning.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Books by Teresa Reasor
Connect with the Author
Chapter One
‡
Mary Stubben was scared. Really scared. Tess Kelly didn’t need any special reporter skills to recognize it. Mary’s hands shook visibly as she spiraled her napkin into a thin tube. Twisted shreds of paper littered the small table in front of her.
Tess had done her usual quick character study, and nothing about Mary’s appearance, demeanor, or background even hinted that she was an attention-seeker. In fact, just the opposite. Her beige blouse and skirt did nothing to enhance her petite figure and the neutral shade leached the color from her fair skin. Her medium brown hair tucked under her chin like a brown football helmet, and her face was as clean of makeup as a five-year-old’s.
Despite her mousy appearance, this soft-spoken, nondescript secretary knew everything about what went on in the office of Chanter Construction, and she wanted to talk about her suspicions.
During their phone conversation the night before, Tess had noted the fear in Mary’s voice, so she chose a time when the downtown San Diego Café Curiosite’ would be less busy, so they could talk freely. Hoping to make Mary more comfortable, she’d selected a table to one side of the restaurant, hidden from direct view of anyone coming in the front door. It hadn’t helped. The woman was so shut down, so frightened, the charming atmosphere of the unique Café—its glass-fronted display cabinets full of antique jewelry and knickknacks, the eclectic, oddball furniture—was completely lost on her.
A waitress swung by their table, scooped up the shredded paper, asked if they needed anything else and dropped a fresh stack of napkins next to them.
Tess waited for her to wander away before asking, “Was Mr. Frye aware of how many bids they were competing against for the Ellison project?”
“Yes. Thirteen.” Mary stirred her cold coffee but didn’t attempt to drink any. “But he knew their stiffest competition was Hamilton Construction and the Brittain Development Corporation.”
“How did he plan to outbid them?” Tess asked.
“He couldn’t afford to undercut them. He could only propose an amount equal to Hamilton’s or Brittain’s. No one but the planning commission knew what the bids were, because they were sealed and confidential. But they did release the names of the corporations who were competing.”
“So he knew who his competition was, but not how much they bid, no details of their proposals?”
“Well, he wasn’t supposed to.” Mary scrubbed at an imaginary spill on the table. “Somehow he found out how much the bids were. I heard him talking to Mr. Sullivan.”
Tess drew a quick breath. Who in the planning commission had he paid off? “When was this?”
“A month ago. When Mr. Sullivan started coming around the office.”
“Who is Mr. Sullivan?”
“Henry Sullivan. He says he’s a private detective, and he may be, but there’s something about him that raises the hair on the back of my neck when he looks at me.”
“And?”
“They went into Mr. Frye’s office and stayed in there a long time. When Mr. Sullivan left, there was a look about him. He seemed excited.”
“When did you find the report?”
“Two weeks later, just before the accident at one of the Brittain Construction sites.”
“You said you were going to bring me a copy of the dossier.”
Mary bit her lip. “It’s an investigative report on Hamilton and Brittain.” Mary started folding a fresh napkin into smaller and smaller squares. “Mr. Sullivan found out Mr. Hamilton was having an affair with one of the girls in his office. There are explicit photos of them in the file. I think he’s dropped out of the bidding now. But there wasn’t any dirt on Mr. Brittain.”
Tess covered Mary’s hand. “Do you believe Frye had something to do with the accident, Mary?”
“I’m afraid he did. But I didn’t find anything in the office to prove it.”
Tess caught her breath. The woman had put herself in a dangerous position. If her suspicions were correct, she could lose her job, but also, if Frye was as ruthless as she described, she could be in physical danger as well.
Mary withdrew her hand from Tess’s and rifled through her purse. She pulled out a small flash drive shaped like a rubber bracelet with a logo on it and slid it across the table. “I know Mr. Frye’s computer password and copied this information one morning before he came into the office.”
Tess’s heart skipped a couple of beats. Hopefully Mary had covered her tracks. “Why haven’t you gone to the police, Mary?”
“And tell them what? I suspect my boss might have sabotaged a construction site and caused two men’s deaths? That he might have blackmailed Mr. Hamilton? Without hard evidence they wouldn’t listen to me.”
“Why did you come to me?”
“I read the articles you wrote about the terrorist attack on that family. I knew since you had taken on a terrorist, you wouldn’t be afraid to look into Mr. Frye’s background and follow whatever trail you uncovered.”
If Mary only knew. It had taken Tess weeks to get over the incident. The injuries Captain Jackson had sustained from the invaders’ brutal beatings still horrified her. And Tess could only imagine how his wife, Marsha, was recovering after being terrorized for three days, and threatened with rape,
while knowing that at any moment she might be forced to watch them murder her husband and child. The lead terrorist, Tabarek Moussa, had even dropped their baby into the deep end of their pool and then stood there, watching him drown. Thank God Brett had been there. Captain Jackson, Marsha and baby Alex had only survived because of him. They were all working to put the experience behind them.
“I didn’t really take a terrorist on, Mary. My fiancé did.”
“But you were there. And you helped him.”
“I just did CPR on the baby.”
“You still kept your head in an emergency, and you stood up to someone even though you must have been scared.”
Tess had found Brett’s gun in the car and followed him into the house with it when he didn’t reappear. She hadn’t had to use it, thank God. Brett had been the real hero. Facing Moussa unarmed. Fighting him in the water. Where did he find that kind of strength and courage?
And where had Mary Stubben found the courage to sneak around her boss’s office and ferret out information? They both had more bravery than she did.
“Are there key people in Mr. Frye’s organization he depends on? Certain foremen and workmen he hires consistently on important jobs?”
“Yes.”
“If he hired someone to sabotage the Brittain site, they’d either be someone really close to him, or someone he’s never hired before.”
“They vet every person. Anyone with a record, their referral has to go directly through Mr. Frye.”
“Is there any way you can send me a list of people recently hired? And the key people he keeps on his payroll all the time? Only if you can do it without putting yourself in the line of fire, Mary.”
“I can do it. I have to pull together info like this all the time.”
“Okay. Please be careful. Once you send me the information, I’ll do a thorough background check on Mr. Frye and the employees, as well as this P.I., Henry Sullivan. And I’ll do some digging about the accident at Brittain Construction. I have some contacts who might be willing to give an opinion about how it happened.” Tess studied Mary’s anxious features. “But I want you to be careful. If your boss catches you snooping, you’ll certainly lose your job. If he’s as ruthless as he sounds, he might get physical or even take legal action against you.”
“Two men lost their lives in that accident, Ms. Kelly. If Mr. Frye did have something to do with it, someone needs to be told.”
“Take your suspicions to the police, Mary. Then you’ll at least be on record, and they might look into it. The accident is still an open investigation.”
“If I go to the police, Mr. Frye might learn it was me who reported it, and I’ll be in the same boat. It’s better if you investigate. You’re a public figure. He won’t be able to come after you.”
Obviously Mary had an exaggerated view of Tess’s importance at the newspaper. But it couldn’t hurt to look into Mary’s allegations. And, since she’d been transferred to crime news, her stories were getting wider readership.
If she found anything she could always go to the police herself.
Mary gathered her purse and stood. “I’ll keep in touch. And if I find anything else, I’ll email you.”
Tess stood as well, and offered her hand. She was startled to realize how much smaller Mary seemed standing next to her. It intensified Tess’s concern. “Be careful, Mary. I’ll keep you posted on my progress.”
Mary’s handshake was brief, her grasp cold. “Thank you. If it looks like I need to find a new job in a hurry, I’d appreciate a heads up.”
“I understand.”
Tess watched Mary weave her way through a group of new customers and disappear out the café door while a niggling uneasiness settled in the pit of her stomach. She toyed with the rubber bracelet flash drive Mary had given her, staring at the logo from a local bookstore. She tucked the flash drive into her pocket. She’d check its contents once she had some privacy at the office.
Saraphina Rollins, the coffee shop manager, stopped by Tess’s table just as she gathered her things to leave. “Hey Tess, I didn’t want to interrupt your conversation, but before you leave, I wanted to say hi and thanks again.” They’d spoken at length after the shop was burgled some months before.
Tess smiled. “I’ve been covering stories in another part of town and haven’t been around in a while. Things going okay here?”
“Better than okay.” Saraphina’s large, expressive eyes sparkled in her beautiful, café au lait face. “At first people came in because they were curious about the break-in. Now they’re coming in because they like our muffins and lunch specials. So I guess there’s an up side to every situation. Is that handsome hunk you’re engaged to home yet?”
“No. Not yet.” She hadn’t heard from Brett in almost a week. Was he okay? All she wanted was to know he was alive and well. Worry over his well being warred with the pressure the wedding represented.
“He’s cutting it close, isn’t he? Isn’t the wedding in just a few weeks?”
“Yes. He’ll make it.” She hoped. But there was never a guarantee. SEALs’ lives revolved around deployments and training rotations. After eighteen months of being engaged to a SEAL, she was going into this marriage with her eyes wide open, but it would be hard to take if Brett missed the wedding. “Brett’s never let me down,” she said, as much for her benefit as Saraphina’s.
Saraphina smiled. “Then you’re doing the right thing. Not many of us can say that about our guys. It’s good to see you.”
“You too.”
After paying the tab, Tess left the café. She shoved the worry about Brett’s continued deployment aside, and thought about her meeting with Mary while she walked to catch a trolley to the parking structure. She got into her car, locked the doors, and spent ten minutes writing detailed notes of the interview while the conversation remained fresh in her mind. Then she called to check in at the office and let them know her next stops. She wove through the downtown San Diego area, hit the I-5, and headed south for an interview in National City.
Her concern for Mary’s safety slipped to the back of her mind, to be replaced by another worry; yesterday’s offer from the Washington Post. Her call with the managing editor had lasted more than an hour.
They wanted her. She hadn’t even applied. The offer had come out of the blue because, the editor said, they’d read her coverage of the hostage situation at SEAL Captain Jackson’s house the year before. Her article about Senator Rob Welch and his connection to some shady political maneuvering related to a SEAL team deployment might have had a little to do with it, too.
Had her father also had something to do with it? She’d tried to call him right after her conversation with the editor, but Ian was out of the country and his number was out of the service area. Not an unusual occurrence. But she needed to talk to him about the offer.
She couldn’t take the job, of course. Brett was based in San Diego, and Washington was on the other side of the country. But the idea that the Washington Post wanted her… Every time she thought about it, her heart rate shot into the stratosphere and she couldn’t catch her breath. It was flattering, exciting, and terrifying all at once.
What did she have to be terrified about? She wasn’t going to accept. She was getting married in three weeks. And Brett’s permanent duty station was here. She had to stay with him. To be associated with a major publication like the Washington Post—it was her dream job. And it would once and for all prove to her father she was a serious journalist.
She loved Brett. She’d known all along she would have to make some sacrifices because of his work. She could freelance for any number of publications. She could cover national news from anywhere in the country and maintain her home base here with Brett. She was young. There would be other opportunities.
But what if there weren’t? She pressed a hand against her throat, where a knot tightened. What if she never got to cover a major story because of this decision? There was no guarantee she would even if she took the
D.C. job. The thought eased her panic, and she could finally settle down enough to plan the next interview on her schedule.
Three hours later she was headed back to the office. She turned her phone back on and the instantaneous beep alerted her to a voice mail. She glanced at the screen and opened the message when she saw Mary Stubben’s number.
“I think someone followed me when I left the café,” Mary whispered. “Or it could just be my imagination. But I’m afraid. I’ve sent you the information you needed. It includes background checks on the employees as well. I’ve deleted every email I’ve sent you from the server, just in case. I found something else, too. I’ll get it to you as soon as possible.” Then Mary gasped. “Talk to you later.”
Tess pulled over quickly and keyed in Mary’s number, letting the phone ring for more than a minute. No one picked up. Her earlier fears resurfaced with a vengeance, and she keyed in Mary’s name, and found her home address. Tess started the car and merged into traffic, fighting the urge to break the speed limit. An image of Mary shredding the napkins, her hands trembling, rose up to torment her. She needed to check on her right now. If something had happened to Mary, she’d never forgive herself.
Chapter Two
‡
The more you sweat in training, the less you bleed in combat. The saying was at the forefront of Brett Weaver’s mind as he crept down the hall behind Petty Officer Martin Swan. Swan reached the door, swung around the narrow entrance into the room, and fired. Brett double-timed in behind him and covered his quadrant of the interior space. Spotting a paper target representing one of the cartel members in the midst of photos of the hostages, he fired. Three more SEALs rushed in, and for a millisecond the sound of discharging automatic weapons was deafening.
“Clear!” Swan yelled.
“Clear,” Brett echoed, as did the other team members.
Brett breathed in the familiar smell of spent gunpowder, wood and rubber lingering inside the structure they called the glass house. He eyed, with satisfaction, the image he’d double-tapped between the eyes. One bad guy down in the midst of several innocents. Now if only the actual op went as smoothly tomorrow.
Building Ties (Military Romantic Suspense) (SEAL Team Heartbreakers Book 4) Page 1
