Building Ties (Military Romantic Suspense) (SEAL Team Heartbreakers Book 4)

by Teresa Reasor

  “What does she think happened?”

  Tess took a breath. “She believes that Jonathan Frye may have blackmailed Jason Hamilton, the CEO of Hamilton Construction and forced him to drop out of the bidding for the Ellison Project. He was having an affair with one of the girls in his office and Frye’s P.I., Henry Sullivan, found out about it. She also believes that Frye may have been responsible for the accident at the Brittain Development site.”

  Taylor stared at her, his expression avid. “Who is this woman?”

  “Someone close to Frye. An employee. She gave me copies of the P.I.’s reports on both men, as well as reports on all the other people competing against them for the contract.” Tess scooted to the edge of her chair. “I’ve been doing a background search this morning on Frye, Sullivan, and some of Chanter Construction’s other employees, as well as following up on the info Sullivan gathered on the others. The man is good. But some of what he’s gotten, he had to have an in with several different agencies or a really good hacker. It’s very personal information.”

  “Why hasn’t she gone to the police?”

  “She’s afraid. If she’s right and Frye learns it was her….” Tess let that hang. “At the moment it’s a collection of suspicious coincidences.”

  “I don’t believe in coincidence,” Taylor said leaning forward in his chair. “Why would he target Brittain and Hamilton?”

  “They’re the only two companies whose bids were even close to competing with his.”

  “How did he know that?”

  “Someone from the city Planning Commission office emailed him a list of the bids.”

  Taylor straightened from his normal slouch. “That alone would be enough to get his company thrown out of the competition. Whoever emailed him the list could be fired. Why hasn’t she contacted someone from the Planning office?”

  “And what if the person she contacts happens to be the one who sent the list to begin with? She really is afraid to reach out to anyone.”

  “But you,” Taylor deadpanned.

  “When readers see your name all the time in the paper, they get the idea you’re trustworthy,” Tess replied. They also thought she was bulletproof.

  “As much as I’d like to recommend you sit on this and do some more research, I think you need to send the info you have to the police.”

  “If I do, and the police launch an inquiry, Frye will know it was Mary who passed the info on to me. It could put her in danger.”

  “Or it could just cost her the job.”

  True. But Tess got an anxious vibe every time she thought about Mary Stubben. “Let me do more research and see where it leads first. If I think her suspicions might be true, I’ll send everything I have to the police right away. If I find it’s just a crazy conspiracy theory, I’ll back off.”

  She leaned further forward. “We’re talking about releasing information about three of the biggest construction companies in the area. Even sending it to the police doesn’t guarantee it will stay in-house until they do a thorough investigation. Look at what’s happened to the Brittain Corporation since the accident. All three of these companies employ a lot of people. If any of them are forced to close down, it will affect hundreds of people.”

  “Regardless of what happens, Frye’s corporation needs to lose the bid because he had inside information,” Taylor said. “That would be news enough.”

  “He didn’t know until the bids were already in. It was unethical, and it could cost him the contract, but it isn’t illegal for him to have the information after he’s already submitted his own bid. Unless he’s conspiring to beat out the competition through blackmail and murder.”

  “Unless,” Taylor repeated with a frown. “I want to be apprised of everything you do, Tess. Everything. I may want our lawyers to look at it when you’ve gathered enough info.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now, what else are you working on?”

  She held back the Daniel Delgado story until she did her interview and additional research to see if there really was a story there. “I’ve turned in the human trafficking story and the drug dealer who killed a family of four.”

  “Okay, I have a couple more things that came in an hour ago.” He wrote information down on a pad, tore it off, and handed it to her. Taylor studied her for a long moment. “Be careful, okay?”

  Brett had said the same thing. For the thousandth time, she wished he’d come home. When Taylor seemed to expect some reassurance she said, “Always.”

  Her cell phone rang and she excused herself and stepped outside the office to take the call. “Tess Kelly.”

  “Ms. Kelly, this is Detective Scott Buckler from the San Diego Police Department. Since you called Ms. Stubben several times since yesterday, I wanted to return your call.”

  Tess leaned back against the windowed wall of her editor’s office. For a moment, she struggled to breathe. Her voice sounded weak when she was able to speak, “Something’s happened to her, hasn’t it?”

  “I’m sorry to say it has, Ms. Kelly. Ms. Stubben was killed in a hit and run accident on her way home yesterday. A large SUV forced her car into the concrete bridge support and she was killed instantly.”

  Tess’s throat worked as she tried to swallow. Her eyes burned with tears. “I think we need to talk,” she managed. “Are you at the Broadway Division?”

  “Yes, I am. What time would you like to come in?”

  “I need to pull together some information she gave me. Give me half an hour, say four o’clock.”

  “I can come to you,” he said.

  “I work in a newspaper office, Detective. I don’t think you want to come here.”

  “So you’re that Tess Kelly.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve read some of your stories. I’ll be here at my office waiting for you.”

  “Give me your email address and I’ll forward some documents to you before I leave the office.” She grabbed a pen and paper off a nearby desk and jotted down his address.

  Tess hung up, but continued to lean on the desk. The urge to cry nearly overwhelmed her, but she beat it back. Crying wouldn’t bring Mary back, but she could give the police everything Mary shared, including her suspicions, and it might make a difference. When she was certain of her composure, she shoved into a standing position and marched to her editor’s door.

  He motioned her in and she pushed the door open.

  “Mary Stubben, my source at Chanter Construction, was killed in a hit and run accident yesterday a few hours after our meeting.”

  Taylor’s heavy-jawed features blanked in shock.

  “I have a meeting with the detective in charge of her case in an hour,” Tess broke the silence.

  “Jesus,” Taylor breathed.

  The reality that Mary’s death might be related to her suspicions hung between them.

  Taylor collected himself. “I’ll have security walk you to your car. Would you like one of them to drive you to the police station or ride with you?”

  Tess shook her head. “I think I’ll be fine. I’ll be going downtown. But I would appreciate having someone walk me to my car.”

  “Done. Let me know when you’re ready. I assume you’re turning everything over to the cops.”

  “Copies of everything she sent me, as well as Mary’s original flash drive.”

  He nodded. “This could be just a coincidence.”

  “I thought you didn’t believe in coincidences.”

  Taylor shook his head. “I want a security guard to ride with you, Tess.”

  Brett would want that too. “Okay” she said. “Give me a few minutes to compile everything. I’ll call you from my desk.”

  Taylor nodded. “I’m sorry, Tess.”

  “Me too. She was small, mousy, and had a soft voice. She was afraid. I could see that. And she was upset about the men who were killed in the accident.” An ache settled in her chest as she turned away to pull open the door.

  Back at her desk, she forwarded t
he files Mary emailed to Detective Buckler, and then loaded the files from the flash drive onto her computer, and emailed those to him as well. She compiled the research she had been doing, including the articles she’d run across, into a file but decided to hold that one back. He’d do his own investigation and find the same information. She didn’t want to plant suspicion in his mind in cases where nothing could have been going on. She called Taylor from her desk phone and put the flash drive into her purse.

  Five minutes later a security guard came into the newsroom and she gathered her purse and rose. “Tess Kelly,” she introduced herself as she approached him.

  “Sam Cather, Ms. Kelly. Mr. Taylor said you needed someone to ride to the police station with you.”

  “Yes. Did he explain why?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Are you sure you want to go with me?”

  He smiled. “I think we’ll be fine, Ms. Kelly.”

  All she could do was give him a choice. “You’re sure?”

  He nodded.

  At four o’clock the parking lot echoed nearly deserted. Their steps sounded gritty and loud in the late afternoon sunlight. A man dressed in a dark gray business suit got into his car. She caught a glimpse of a bright orange sticker on the bumper when he pulled through the parking slot and turned toward the exit. His brake lights flashed when he rolled to a stop, then screeched out of the parking lot and merged into traffic.

  Halfway across the lot, Tess tugged her keys from her purse and hit the button on the key fob to unlock her car.

  Sound hammered against her eardrums. Air rushed at her. Her car levitated, and fire and heat shot out from beneath it. The body flew apart. Tess was lifted off her feet from the blast and thrown backwards. She hit the asphalt shoulders first, hard, knocking the wind from her. A large piece of metal, blackened with heat, landed to her right. She rolled away from it and covered her head.

  The security guard writhed upon the ground to her left, holding his jaw. Blood streamed down his face.

  Chapter Four

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  From the drop site, Brett took point on the hike. The reassuring weight of his M 91A2 sniper rifle hung from his shoulder while he periodically checked the coordinates with the GPS and his compass. The constant buzz of insects and the call of night birds covered the sound of their movements through the tall grass, while a quarter moon illuminated their path. The damp, raw smell of greenery permeated the air.

  His body armor trapped the heat generated by his activity, causing a sheen of sweat to cling to his skin. A short distance outside the village they paused to report in to their extraction team. After making contact, he took advantage of the break to drag a black sweatband from one of his many pockets and roll it around his head, then clamped his Boonie hat over it.

  Although their faces were painted and their individuality blurred, he’d learned each man’s walk, the way they arranged the tack on their utility vest, everything about them. Seeing a telltale bulge in the back pocket of Ashe’s pants, he shook his head. They called the man “Book” because he was always reading. But to bring a novel with him on this op… Brett shook his head. The man’s optimism appealed to him. He grinned to himself.

  “It was working fine before we left the chopper,” Swan complained in a whisper.

  Book tossed aside his Boonie hat and clamped a penlight between his teeth while he went to work on Swan’s COM system.

  Brett moved in to take a closer position to the group and caught the end of Lieutenant Harding’s radio check. He’d stay in touch with Senior Chief at base camp in case any kind of last-minute intel surfaced before they hit the building.

  They settled in for a half-hour wait. Brett squelched the urge to pace. There were so many things he loved about being a SEAL, but he hated the waiting. Two hours tops and this operation would be over. He was eager to see the end of it. He’d be that much closer to going home. To being with Tess.

  When Harding murmured, “Take us out, Cutter,” into his COM, he eased quietly to his feet, used his compass to re-confirm his bearings, and moved northeast toward their target location.

  After a twenty-minute hike, they reached a stand of trees. In the distance, the dull glow of two lit windows appeared. The uneven skyline of a small strip of buildings came into view a few minutes later. They wove their way through the copse, circling the perimeter of the village, looking for their target.

  When they maneuvered around a curve in the valley’s topography, the church came into sight. Located at least half a klick from the village, the structure appeared to be the only two-story building in the area and looked in worse condition than aerial surveillance photos had led them to expect. The roof had collapsed into the second floor, and only part of a small bell tower remained intact. No way could the sentries use the roof or upper floor as a lookout. Even as the thought came to him, movement caught Brett’s eye. He signaled for the men to take cover.

  A sentry appeared, rifle slung across his chest, walking the perimeter. Brett eased into the tall grass to hide until the tango passed. As soon as the man moved out of sight, Brett fell back to join the squad.

  “After the women bring the food, Cutter, you take out the guards on duty, then we’ll breach the building,” came Lieutenant Harding’s low-voiced command.

  “Roger that, sir. Let’s hope they stay out here instead of joining the rest for breakfast.” If their intel was right, with four targets down after Brett completed his assignment, they’d have six tangos between them and the hostages.

  Moving slowly, and aware of every sound, Brett attached the silencer to his M 91A2 and opened the bipod. While they waited for the women to show up with the food, he studied the slow rounds the four men made along the perimeter. He signaled to Arrow and they moved west into heavy brush to set up.

  As daylight crept over the ridge, Brett got a good look at the building from his position diagonal to the church corner. Nestled back against the hillside, the structure, with its faded beauty, exuded a poignant sadness. The façade’s curved lines and shape reminded him of the Baroque structures he’d seen in Europe, its patterned brickwork lending a rolling movement to the roofline. A broken, dry fountain stood in the courtyard.

  It was a shame the church had been taken over by drug runners and thugs. Perhaps once they took out this nest of assholes, the villagers could reclaim the structure and restore it to its original purpose.

  At zero-four-fifty two women from the village walked up the path, both carrying heavy baskets on their backs. They knocked on the door and an armed man came to the entrance. They exchanged baskets, leaving the ones they carried and taking the others away.

  For seven long minutes the women traveled back down the valley toward the village until they were finally out of sight. “You’re good to go, Cutter,” Lieutenant Harding muttered over the COM.

  Brett’s heart raced. He took several deep breaths to calm himself while he waited for the first sentry to make his pass. He needed to space the targets so when he took the first one out the next would not stumble upon his fallen comrade and raise the alarm.

  The first target wandered right into Brett’s scope. The man cradled his M-5 machine gun against his side at the ready. Brett waited for the tango to pass around the shadowed side of the church, breathed in, then out, and pulled the trigger. The bullet passed through the suppressor, making a distinctive pffft sound, and struck the man in the side of the head. The target sprawled facedown in the tall grass, quietly disappearing from sight.

  “Target one down.” One minute later, Arrow murmured, “Next target approaching northwest corner.”

  Brett swung the rifle in that direction and sighted the tango. The man spotted the first one lying in the grass. His head whipped around and his rifle came up as he looked for a threat. He zigzagged toward his downed comrade. Brett pulled the trigger and the target fell nearly on top the first tango.

  “Target two down,” Arrow said, his tone dispassionate, professional. Nearly two minute
s passed before he murmured. “Target three approaching.”

  The next man had barely cleared the northwest corner of the church when Brett took him out.

  “Target three down. Target four approaching north side.”

  Brett swung the rifle toward the front of the church, waiting for the next man to walk around the façade. The tango strode across the uneven pavers at the entrance of the church. Armed with a machine gun, more observant, more wary than the other three, he scanned the surrounding area. He looked directly toward their position.

  Brett froze.

  He waited for the man’s attention to shift away. He shut down any personal reaction as he looked into the target’s face through the scope. The tango was three quarters of the way across the front yard when he spotted the third sentry’s body. He turned to run and Brett fired. The man’s skull shattered a millisecond before he toppled sideways.

  Arrow laid his hand on Brett’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze, a signal for good job. “Target four down,” he reported to the waiting team.

  Lieutenant Harding’s voice came over the COM, “Breach is a go-go-go-go.”

  The squad charged from the cover of the tree line and up a slight incline to the front door. They paused for half a second, then rushed the entrance.

  Brett turned his attention to the inbound helicopters, ETA ten minutes. Ten minutes could be a lifetime if the extraction went hot.

  “We’re taking up a defensive position to the north,” Brett reported into his COM. He and Arrow hoofed it to the other side of the church. If the enemy staged a charge up the valley, the two of them would hold the line until the extract team arrived to pick them up. From there they could also take out any squirters who escaped the building. They had reached the fountain when gunfire erupted inside the church. The desire to run toward the action was nearly overwhelming, but Brett fed info to the pilots headed their way and held his position.

  Four men appeared at the narrow bottleneck of the path, all unarmed. Brett fired at the ground in front of them, kicking up dust. The men sprinted back the direction from which they’d come.