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

by Teresa Reasor

  Reeling from the woman’s words, Tess swallowed and managed, “I’m so sorry.”

  “She’s not in any pain. If she were, I wouldn’t be able to bear it. I’m just making her as comfortable as possible and giving her as complete and enjoyable a life as I can. We both are.”

  Tess nodded. She gathered her purse and stood to go. “I think I have as much information as I need. I appreciate you seeing me and being so open about your situation and Lisa’s. I promise not to share the more private things we’ve talked about. I’ll send you a copy of the article when I’m done with it.”

  “Thank you.” Shelly rose to see her out. “I hope it does some good for other families.”

  “I hope so, too.” Tess shoved her notebook into her bag.

  Tess texted Brett, who was waiting outside in the car. When Shelly opened the door, he was standing at the bottom of the wheelchair ramp that ran parallel to the house.

  Tess shook Shelly Gooding’s hand and said good-bye.

  “Tough interview?” Brett asked.

  Tess’s nodded. Her composure dissolved and her breathing hitched while tears ran down her cheeks.

  Brett frowned and hurried her to the car. He held her for a brief moment before opening her door and urging her inside. He went around and got in. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  Tess looked through her purse for a tissue. “In a minute.” She kept her head bent to keep Brett from seeing how upset she was.

  Brett put the car in gear and backed out of the driveway. He drove down to the next block, then pulled over. She was grateful he gave her time to beat back the sobs and the tears that insisted on falling.

  “Their daughter is dying. Her kidneys are failing.”

  “Jesus!” he breathed.

  “She’s completely disabled. Like an infant.” She told him everything she and Shelly Gooding had talked about. “I don’t want Brian Gooding to be involved in the Brittain Group thing. And he may not be. But I really think he had something to do with Alan Osborne’s death. He was obsessed with the man, and then, a year after Osborne gets out of prison, he dies suspiciously in a motel room of alcohol poisoning?”

  “You can’t do anything about the choices people make in their lives, Tess. Especially after they already acted on those decisions. If Brian Gooding did play a part in either of these things, he made the decision to do it.”

  “You didn’t see Lisa Gooding in that bed and you didn’t see the heartbreak in Shelly Gooding’s face. They never had a chance to move on with their lives after the accident. Gooding was obsessed with the fact that Alan Osborne was still alive, still living a life, while his daughter wasn’t. Now that the man is dead, Shelly says he’s better.”

  “You aren’t responsible for policing Brian Gooding’s actions, Tess. If the police ruled Osborne’s death an accident or a suicide, they obviously didn’t think there was anything suspicious to follow up on. Just because you have a gut feeling about something, doesn’t mean you have to pursue it. You can walk away from this story.”

  Could she walk away and live with her suspicions about Gooding?

  “Lisa and Shelly Gooding wouldn’t make it without him. It takes everything both she and Brian have to keep going. If something were to happen to him—” She was silent a moment. “But three people have died because Chanter wanted a bid, Brett.” The horrible tug of war inside her cramped her stomach with dread, and she pressed a hand against it.

  She needed to do the best job, the most impartial job she could as a reporter and concentrate on covering the story.

  Brian Gooding loved his wife and daughter. Though they were divorced, he still cared for them financially, physically, emotionally. The factors keeping them apart were so painful she couldn’t even think about them without wanting to weep again.

  Seeing their suffering first-hand only pointed out the inconsequentiality of her own situation. Why was she allowing something as unimportant as a job to drive a wedge between her and Brett? And she was doing that. She was holding back from him at a time when she should be reaching out to him for support and comfort. Despite the fact he was operating in bodyguard mode and ready at a moment’s notice to step between her and a bullet, a bomb, or any other kind of threat. What did that say about her as his future wife?

  She was holding him responsible for a decision that was already inevitable.

  It had to end.

  But just for a moment she wanted acknowledgement for the accolade the offer represented. She focused on his face. She searched for the words.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‡

  The best thing to do when you were emotionally compromised during an op was to get right back into the action. He’d been there himself. “Okay. Where to?” Brett put the car in gear and looked over his shoulder to pull into traffic.

  Tess hesitated and he glanced in her direction.

  She took a deep breath, a frown knitting her brows, eyes moving back and forth as if she was thinking something through. A second later her expression relaxed. “Back to the grocery store.” She brushed her hair back from her face. “I did some research on Ronald Gordon in preparation for my interview. He’s fifty-five and has worked for the same corporation for the last twenty-five years. He has two grown children. But what is most interesting is he has a nephew who’s been in rehab and jail numerous times. The last time he was arrested for robbery but hasn’t gone to trial yet. His family bailed him out.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “A social media site.”

  “Do people—” he stopped, “Why would they put personal info like that out there for everyone to read?”

  Tess shrugged. “I went to his wife’s page and hooked up with her.”

  “You have a social media page?” Brett couldn’t imagine it.

  “I do now. She doesn’t know me, but she accepted my request.”

  Brett shook his head.

  “I looked at some of her pictures. She had some of the nephew sitting at a table in the yard. It had a caption with it, so I had his name. With his name, I found a newspaper article about him being arrested several times and charged. So I went on line and accessed public records and got his sentencing details. He’s got a record for writing bad checks, has stolen from his family, and broken into homes and businesses. He’s just turned twenty-one. If he’s arrested again he’ll do hard time, especially since this time the guy stuck a gun in someone’s face. If he was the one who did the robbery, he’s escalating. He might kill someone next time.”

  “You could get a job as a private detective, Tess.”

  “No, thanks. The only reason I do background checks on some of the people I interview is a fellow reporter got burned last year when he did a series of interviews with someone who, as it turned out, wasn’t who he professed to be. When people started coming out of the woodwork to identify the guy it pushed Max’s credibility into the dump. What I’d like to know is why Daniel’s public defender didn’t even attempt to find out any of these details. He’d have access to more information than I do, and could easily have discovered the same things. If he presented this information plus the mask thing, and the fact Daniel had no money or gun, the cops wouldn’t have a case.”

  “So, you think Gordon’s nephew did the job and Gordon blamed Daniel, knowing his brother’s a gangbanger and thinking the cops would be on board with that scenario?”

  “His nephew is the same general height and build. I’m holding off making a judgment, though, until I interview Daniel and Gordon.”

  “Confronted by a guy in a mask with a gun pointed in his face, a regular guy wouldn’t be looking at anything but the weapon. Unless there was some recognizable identifying mark, or gesture that stood out to help him identify the gunman.”

  “He either noticed that something or he has some other motive for fingering Daniel. I don’t know. I hope I can figure out if Gordon has an agenda, or if he truly believes Daniel did it.”

  “Do you need me to be bad cop
in the room or make myself scarce?”

  “I won’t know until I meet Gordon.” She rested a hand on his thigh. “I kind of like having you as my sidekick to talk things through with. I’m getting spoiled.”

  Brett laid his hand over hers. She deserved a little spoiling after their months of separation and the lingering aftereffects from the bombing. She was more emotional right now. Or had she always been but hidden it from him? How many times had she cried over the people she wrote about in the safe, isolated, confines of her car and never shared it with him? With anyone?

  But he couldn’t imagine her doing anything but writing and reporting. She’d even gotten up in the middle of the night and written stories. She loved her job.

  How many times had he thrown out a brief, dismissive comment when she shared some detail or observation about a story she was working on? And why had she let him get away with it?

  Because she was used to receiving the same treatment from her father. Used to being abandoned for months at a time by Ian, and now by him. On top of it, he had been serving her up the same bullshit Ian did. Jesus.

  He couldn’t do anything about his absences, but he could do better than Ian Kelly about everything else.

  And now that he was aware of this huge screw-up, what the hell else had he missed?

  He remained silent for a moment. “I think you’re doing exactly what you are meant to do, Tess.” He glanced at her. “I understand now why you can write about people the way you do. You just take them in while you’re talking to them. I know that probably causes moments of pain, like with the Goodings.”

  “Sometimes. I have to force myself to keep my distance.”

  “It isn’t distance you keep, honey. I don’t know exactly what it is. You just reach right in and find the heart of them—of their story. I know I don’t say it often enough, but I am proud of you, of your writing.”

  A smile, slow and warm, lit her face, and he was glad he’d said it. “Thanks, Brett.” She glanced away, then returned her attention to him. “Is there some reason you’re buttering me up?”

  He laughed. “No. But come to think of it—”

  “What?”

  “I sort of invited all the guys from my new unit to the wedding, if they’re back in time.”

  “Okay.”

  “We’ll probably need to call and let someone know we’ll have a few extra.”

  “No, I settled on an even two hundred to leave us a few more spots just in case.”

  “Good.” He grinned. “Rosenberg thinks you should be a Victoria’s Secret supermodel.”

  Tess laughed. “No, thanks. I like being behind the scenes, not the center of attention.”

  “You know you’ll be front and center on our wedding day, right?”

  She grinned. “I guess I can endure it for a few hours.”

  “You may want to invest in some steel toed high heels. If they come, they’ll all want to dance with the bride.”

  Tess smiled. “I’ll try not to maim any of them, either.”

  Brett chuckled. “They’re tough, they’ll be okay.”

  *

  Fifteen minutes later, when they pulled into the grocery store parking lot, Tess attempted to set aside the emotions from the Gooding interview, which were still tying her stomach into knots.

  Brett hadn’t denigrated what she did for a living, but in the shadow of his own job, he’d never given her reason to believe he thought it was as important, either…until today. In the last couple of days, he appeared to be finally getting it, getting her.

  Though the stories she’d written two years ago had helped him and his team, they’d been overshadowed by her father’s international scope. She’d been basking in her father’s reflected glory for so long, she just wanted some of her own.

  The three stories she was working on right now could prove important to her career. If she couldn’t do Washington, she could damn sure do San Diego. If she discovered proof Brian Gooding had been involved with a man’s death, she’d have to report it to the authorities, as well as write about it.

  Brett was right, she couldn’t be anyone else’s conscience. But damn she didn’t want Brian Gooding to be a bad guy.

  Brett got out of the car and came around to open her door. He’d left the bulletproof vest behind today and, since he’d finally been able to pick up some clothes from his apartment, had opted for a navy sports coat to cover the bulge of his shoulder holster. Despite the civilian apparel, the way he stood, the controlled way he handled himself, still shouted military, or cop.

  Once they passed through the door to the store, two checkers tracked their progress to the customer service department. One was the woman she’d given her business card to the first day. She made a subtle motion with her hand and Tess cut in that direction to speak to her. “Buy a pack of gum,” the woman said under her breath.

  Tess picked out a pack of gum from the racks at the woman’s station and laid it on the conveyer belt. She slipped a dollar bill from her purse. The woman pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and extended it to Tess with her receipt and change. “I’ve been waiting for you to come back. Rosalie said she would talk to you on the phone. But she’s afraid to meet with you face to face. She doesn’t want it to get back to Mr. Gordon that she spoke to you.”

  “It won’t, I promise. Thank you.”

  The woman nodded, then turned to her next customer.

  The man crowded Tess, and she glanced behind her with a frown. She caught a flash of dark hair and eyes and a slight build.

  Tess tucked the pack of gum, note and receipt into her jacket pocket and returned to Brett. The two of them moved on to the cage-like structure that housed customer service. A heavyset woman with a thick swath of dark hair pushed aside the paperwork she was working on and approached them. “Can I help you?”

  “I’d like to speak to the manager, please,” Tess said.

  “Is it something I can take care of for you?” she asked.

  “No. I’d like to speak directly to Mr. Gordon.”

  The woman eyed Brett with a frown, then nodded. “I think he’s at the back of the store, I’ll buzz him.”

  “Thank you.” Tess leaned back against the counter and smiled at the set planes of Brett’s face while he scanned the aisles for any threat. She slipped her fingers through his and was rewarded with the one-sided quirk at of his mouth.

  “I think this is your guy,” he said he tilted his head toward a stocky man walking toward them.

  “Yes it is,” Tess said, recognizing him from his wife’s social media page.

  Gordon shoved his glasses up his nose as he approached, his gaze shifting from Tess to Brett and back again.

  Reaching them, he asked, “May I help you?”

  “Mr. Ronald Gordon?” Tess asked, just to make an official identification.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Tess Kelly from the San Diego Tribune.” She offered her hand.

  The man’s jaw tensed but he shook her hand.

  “This is Brett Weaver, my associate. We’d like to interview you about Daniel Delgado, if you have time.”

  “The police have told me not to speak to anyone about the robbery.”

  “I’m not asking to speak to you about the robbery, sir. Only Daniel.”

  Gordon’s brown eyes shifted back and forth again. “What is it you want to know about him?”

  “What kind of employee was he?”

  Gordon’s gaze went to the woman working behind them in the customer service cage. “I think we need to move this to my office upstairs.”

  Though she was focused on whatever paperwork she was working on, Tess noticed the woman glanced up at her with raised brows.

  “That will be fine, sir,” Tess said.

  Tess followed Gordon to a door positioned just behind customer service and then up narrow stairs. Once they reached the landing, the stairway opened into a hall with several offices. He paused outside one of the doors and gestured her inside. Brett w
aited for her to find a seat and for Gordon to move behind his desk before he took the seat closest to the door. The room was little bigger than a closet, and had a desk and a filing cabinet.

  “I’d like to ask some things about you, first, just for background,” Tess began before leading him through a series of questions about his own employment with the store. Gordon relaxed in his chair and eagerly talked about his history with the grocery store chain.

  “Now about Daniel. How long has he worked here?”

  “Since his sophomore year of high school.” Gordon folded his hands on his blotter, arranging his face in a pious expression. “He was a good employee. He hasn’t called in sick in a year, and he’s never late.”

  “I heard the robbery suspect wore a mask.”

  “Who told you that?” Gordon demanded, his jaw taking on a pugnacious tilt.

  Tess studied his expression. “If the suspect was masked, how did you identify him?”

  “I can’t talk to you about the robbery.”

  “Since you identified Daniel, why do you think he would rob the store he’d worked for over a year?”

  “Money, I suppose.”

  “How often do your employees get paid?” Tess asked.

  “Every two weeks.”

  “Since the robbery occurred on a Friday night, on the thirty-first, wouldn’t he have just gotten his paycheck?”

  “Yes, but robbing the store would have brought him much more.”

  Interesting choice of words. Would have…or did? “How much trouble do you have from the gangs in the neighborhood, Mr. Gordon?”

  “Not much. A lot of their family members work here. That provides some protection from them. Though it doesn’t keep them from coming in and spreading a little fear now and then.”

  “Daniel isn’t a member of any gang, is he?”

  Gordon slid forward on his seat. “I don’t believe so, but it’s well known in the neighborhood his brother is. He’s been arrested numerous times.”

  “I looked into his brother. Why do you think he’s never done any time?”

  “I think his gang buddies cover for him so the cops can’t get the evidence they need. I’ve heard the gang even pays his court fees when he’s arrested.” An underlying thread of rage hardened his words.