Escape To Sunset: One Night Stand Romance-Hiding From The Mob (Sunset SEALs Book 4)

by Sharon Hamilton

  “He’s so wonderful, Kiley. Not a big partygoer and just a solid guy. All the Team guys like him,” said Aimee.

  Martel agreed.

  “Well, we’ve really just met.” Kiley hoped they would drop the subject. “Like you, Martel, we’ll have to just see how it goes. It’s going to be hard to maintain a relationship with someone when we’re both so dug into our jobs.”

  “I enjoyed being up there.” Martel reached for another French fry and dipped it in catsup. “Portland is a great city. But I can’t see a Hawaiian boy living in the dreary rainy winters in Oregon,” she added. “Florida would be a much better fit.”

  “San Diego,” said Kiley. “I think that’s where he wants to be. He has to be near the beach.”

  Martel agreed.

  Aimee’s eyes sparkled. “I think the two of you make a cute couple. I can see you living here. I’m keeping my fingers crossed for both of you,” she continued. “I’m hoping Team 4 is in your future! Yours too, Martel.”

  “Amen to that,” Martel said as they toasted their white wine.

  Kiley liked the idea more than she wanted to let on.

  Aimee drove them back to her house where Kiley said her good-byes and walked along the beach until she came to the access path that led to her place. With a persistent wind blowing off the gulf, the beach was sparsely populated. The fat tire motorized bicycle brigade had swollen to four, all of them men and all but one silver-haired, riding their bikes in flip-flops and swimming trunks.

  Kiley tried the sliding glass door onto the patio and was reassured to find she’d remembered to lock it before she left. She went around and entered through the front door.

  Inside the house, she put away her things and unboxed one of the cell phones, turning it on. Then she removed the sim card from her old phone, cutting it with scissors and flushing the pieces down the toilet.

  She dialed Carmen.

  When the reporter’s voicemail came on, Kiley left a short message.

  “Hey there, it’s me. I’ll try you at the office. This is my new phone number.”

  She left a brief message for Jason before she called the paper asking for Carmen.

  The receptionist didn’t recognize Kiley’s voice, which was a lucky break. She was transferred to the features desk, and again, she heard Carmen’s voicemail. “Okay, quit playing hard to get, Carmen. I’m here. Waiting for your call.”

  When she didn’t hear from the beat reporter after an hour, she called her editor.

  “Kiley, I’m glad you called…just a minute while I close the door.”

  Corbin Newman’s voice was heavily laced with stress. He’d never taken the time to close his door on their prior calls.

  “Is everything okay? I was actually calling for Carmen—”

  “There’s been a development, I’m afraid,” he interrupted. His breath sounded constricted and the pitch of his voice was a little higher than normal. She heard fumbling as he’d put the phone to his ear while walking from the office doorway. The familiar squeak of his rolling desk chair told her he was now ensconced behind his desk.

  “Tell me, Corbin. What’s happened?”

  “Carmen’s missing.”

  It took a couple of seconds before Kiley could fully comprehend her editor’s words. Something at the back of her brain screamed a denial. Her Aunt Itoldyouso was standing in the distance with her hands on her hips, shaking her head.

  “Since when?”

  “Since yesterday. I didn’t want to call you to worry you further, after our last conversation, but was just going to call you this morning when we still hadn’t heard from her. I have Fred and Doris headed over to her place now.”

  Fred was their head of security. So Newman suspected foul play.

  Kiley instinctively scanned the patio and the beach beyond in both directions through the still-locked and closed sliding glass door. Nothing caught her eye. She ran to the front door and double locked the deadbolt and door handle. Her fingers felt clammy, and she sweat poured from her armpits. The familiar thump, thump-thump of her elevated heartbeat made her teeth rattle.

  “Talk to me, Corbin.”

  “We’re stumped, Kiley.”

  “So how do you know she’s missing, then?”

  “She was to do an interview with KRVR. The article hit the papers yesterday—”

  “I thought it was coming out Friday.”

  “We upped it. There was interest, you know, rumors of the article coming out. I can smell a request to cover up news a mile away. KRVR left me a message late yesterday afternoon when she didn’t show up for the taping. It was going to be their lead story on the evening news, and the old lady was furious with me, like it was my fault.”

  The public radio station was owned by the ex-wife of a wealthy Oregon state representative. She ran the station like her own private fiefdom. Kiley could only imagine how Rosalie Conden had boxed his ears. He was probably still sore.

  “So what did they say then, on the newscast?”

  “Oh, they announced they were doing some investigative reporting on your article, didn’t mention anything about Carmen, thank God, and just indicated there would be more coming. Rosalie had her toy-boy do it, the anchor, what’s-his-name.”

  “Charley Gleason.”

  “That’s the one. It made me nervous to look at him deliver his script. It’s got me spooked, Kiley. Are you sure you’ve not heard from her?”

  “Positive.” Kiley had forgotten to check for messages before she destroyed the sim card, and she swore at her aunt, mentally. “What’s the feedback on the article?” She inhaled deep and waited for an answer.

  “Oh geez, like a bomb went off. We’ve been doing nothing but fielding phone tips all morning. I had to hire an extra receptionist to handle the volume. And then there’s the mayor. Haven’t returned his call yet. I spoke to the chief, briefly, and promised we’d cooperate fully when I located either you or Carmen. He wants a call back from you, especially. They’re all talking about it in the bullpen.”

  “And Martin? I’ll bet he’s chomping at the bit.”

  “I haven’t seen him.”

  That gave Kiley an idea. “Go check Carmen’s desk. Make sure she didn’t leave her story files behind.” It had always annoyed Kiley that Newman didn’t allow them to lock their files, not that a zero-skilled person couldn’t pry open a desk drawer. But there had been accusations of some “lifting of the jewels” as Corbin had phrased it during one office meeting when it came up. His answer was, “Take everything home with you unless you need it locked up in my safe.”

  He always considered it sheer stupidity if a staffer lost out on a scoop because they’d been careless to leave things so easily accessible.

  Newman gave Kiley the cell phone number of Chief Rayburn. Just before they signed off, he barked, “Oh shit. I’m getting a visit from the mayor as we speak. Call me back after you call the chief, okay?”

  “But—”

  “Just do it, Agnes.” His tone changed as Kiley could hear sounds that the door to Corbin’s office had opened. In a syrupy-sweet voice he continued, “I’m sure he’ll come home by tomorrow. I’ll help anyway I can. Um, I have to go now, Agnes. Don’t worry. Your cat will come home. You’ll see. Bye.”

  The line disconnected.

  Kiley stared into the phone like it was the end of a lifeline that had been cut from her arms. Carmen was missing. Jason was clear across the country or halfway around the world by now. Aimee and Martel were probably still at Aimee’s house, making plans to paint one of the bedrooms upstairs. People passed by in the distance, but their images were blurry. Then the outline of the glass door became wavy as she realized tears were streaming down her cheeks and dropping onto her chest.

  Her fingers were stiff and cold as if the wind was blowing through the glass. She touched the warm wetness of her tears on her shirt. How she wished they were tears of joy, how she wished those huge arms of his could grab her, hold her until she stopped shaking.

&nbs
p; She’d been grinding her teeth while she was thinking. She’d felt so safe being all the way on the east coast, far away from the dark danger lurking in the streets and alleyways of Portland. She had allies, but none of them were truly available. She considered her options, and as she thought about it, she began to feel better.

  I told him I could handle it. That’s what I promised. That’s exactly what I’ll do.

  Kiley knew she needed to reach out to Jason. But she didn’t want him to worry, because once again, she told herself, You’ve got this. You can handle it, Kiley.

  She grabbed her cell and dialed Jason’s number again, hopeful he’d pick up, even though he’d told her he wouldn’t. After three rings, it went to his voicemail, just like before. The sound of his voice, though canned, still ran her libido around the track and left a deep cavern inside her that hurt as she experienced the reality of the distance between them.

  The beep on the message made her jump.

  “Jason, this is—” What was she doing? Of course he’d know who it was. “Kiley here. Say, I forgot to tell you I’ve got some news, and it’s not good. But I’m taking charge of the situation. Nothing for you to worry about. If you get a chance, please call me back. I need a little advice. But don’t worry.”

  She hung up, afraid she’d begin to sound emotional. That was the last thing she wanted to show him. But in her haste, she didn’t say anything about hoping he landed safely or to stay safe himself. It was all about her.

  “Argh!” she screamed as she pulled on her hair.

  She toyed with the idea of calling him back and correcting the last message. But that would sound pathetic. She searched her options and came to the conclusion she only had a limited few, and most of them were dangerous.

  Then she remembered the phone number to Jason’s LPO’s wife, Christy. But she hadn’t saved the contact information before cutting up the sim card.

  Some investigative journalist you are. Losing important information!

  The unexpected news about Carmen and everything else had rattled her. She stopped chastising herself and vowed to ask Aimee and Martel later on.

  Calm down. All will be well. Keep it together, Kiley. You can do this. You can do this!

  Her last remaining piece of hope she spent on one last call to Carmen.

  “Please call me back, Carmen. I’m worried about you. I just need to know where you went and who you talked to. If you can hear this—”

  “Hello?” a male voice answered, interrupting the message she was leaving.

  “Who is this?” she asked. Her heart leapt to her throat.

  “Who is this?” he asked. The voice sounded familiar.

  “Martin? Is that you?”

  “Kiley. So you’re back from vacation then? You sure left a shitstorm here. When are you coming back to the office?”

  The coldness returned, freezing her tongue to the roof of her mouth. Her stomach lurched again, this time nearly making her heave. She didn’t have any answers for him. She. Had. Questions.

  Sucking it up, she forged ahead, “How did you get Carmen’s cell phone? And does Newman know about this?”

  “I’m at her place now. I’m with Fred and Doris. Well, I was here already, but they’ve just arrived. Say, we’re real worried about—”

  “You broke into Carmen’s house?”

  “She left the back door open. It wasn’t hard. Kiley, are you back from Florida? There are so many people who want to talk to you.”

  “No. But I’m coming.”

  “That’s good. I think that’s really good. Fred’s calling the police. He’s found something—”

  The line went dead.

  Again, she stared at the keypad, once again cut off from—from a friend. An ally? Or did Martin have something to do with Carmen’s disappearance since he hadn’t reported in? Maybe he’d taken Carmen’s notes.

  She was running out of people to trust. Martin knew about her being in Florida, like Carmen said. Everyone knew.

  Kiley remembered what Jason had told her, “Stay busy. Stay with people in our community.” Maybe it was time to include Aimee, Martel, and Andy in what was going on in Portland, fully brief them before she returned there. Her editor had been right. Someone needed to know where she was and what she was doing. Someone who could do something about it. By default, that would be Andy and the girls.

  But first, she dialed the number Newman had given her for Chief of Police Rayburn and left her message.

  “This is Kiley Worthington, investigative reporter for the Columbia Passage. My editor has told me you want to speak to me. I will be flying back to Portland tomorrow, and I’d be happy to answer any of your questions when I get there. I’ll check in with you when I land. Thank you, and I hope we can work together to help clean up a couple of things I’ve uncovered in the course of my investigation. I’ll explain everything when I see you tomorrow or whenever. Thanks. Bye.”

  She quickly made online reservations for a direct flight from Tampa to Portland, paying an enormous amount for the ticket. She’d call her landlady tonight and see if she could get an extension on her stay or some sort of early cancellation discount. If that didn’t work out, she figured she could always stay with either Martel or Aimee when, and not if, she returned to the gulf. She’d ask them later on this afternoon.

  By tomorrow, she’d be in Portland, and she’d start facing her fears head-on. She’d share her notes with the police, hopefully retaining the anonymity of her sources, and help them find those ten girls and wherever Carmen was holed up. She knew those notes held the answers they needed to complete the mission. Maybe Carmen was just in hiding, keeping herself safely stowed away from harm. She hoped that was the case, though unlikely.

  Part of her was excited for this new adventure. The rest of her was filled with the physical pain of missing Jason, almost like an addiction. But it didn’t stem from fear. It came from somewhere else. He’d instilled in her the confidence to quit running and start crashing through the waves like one of those rubber boats he talked about. With Jason on her side, the odds were in her favor.

  You got this, remember?

  She knew he’d be proud of how she was handling things.

  Chapter 11

  The entire team took the State Department passenger plane to JFK Airport, but from there they were split into three groups of roughly twenty men. Jason was glad he was traveling with Damon, T.J., Coop, and Kyle. Sven was also to be on their hop to Gran Canaria. Each airline took a slightly different route, but they all had only one stopover. Flight times ranged from seventeen to nineteen hours in length. This was the grueling part for Jason.

  As luck would have it, they barely had enough time to grab a quick bite to eat before their plane began boarding. The others would be close behind, within a few hours. Several First-Class tickets were available, and the Team opted to give Jason one of them, due to his size. Tucker Hudson scored the other, for the same reason.

  The “old man,” as they called Tucker, was easy to get along with. Nearly as big as Jason, he was firmly packed and could have done professional wrestling, he was so fit. His run times beat almost everyone on the squad. Jason respected his quiet demeanor, especially under fire.

  “How’s the little one, Tucker?” The older SEAL was starting all over again, at forty years of age.

  The plane had leveled off, and they’d just been served their drinks.

  “Kimberly’s getting huge. Almost walking now.”

  “No shit?”

  “I know. Time has just flown by. Seems just last week she was born. She’s a strong kid. Got tree stumps for legs and, man, can those little legs kick.”

  “I’ll bet,” chuckled Jason. “I’d expect nothing less.”

  “Some of Brandy’s friends have boys that are dwarfed compared to her. We’re always trying to be so careful she won’t fall on one of the kids in her playgroup. I think she’s twice their size.”

  “I’ll bet Brandy’s happy being a mom.”

&
nbsp; “Oh yes. She’s already got her waitlisted on two preschools and has signed up for baby swim and baby gymnastics. Personally, I think it’s a bit much, but Brandy was always a big gal, you know, and she doesn’t want Kimberly to not know how to move her body. She wants her to be graceful, if you catch my drift.”

  Jason knew if he had a daughter some of the same issues would come up. “Daikon legs, they say in the Islands.”

  Tucker squinted at him a bit and then decided not to explore the term further.

  “Whatever. But I doubt she’ll be a ballet star,” Tucker said, finishing off his drink.

  The thought of having a daughter born with huge calves and “cankles” had never entered his mind before. “She’s just probably self-conscious. See, in my culture, being big was actually something that was highly prized. The girls were beautiful when they were young, but our women get bulky fast.”

  “Yea, but they could beat the shit out of anyone who messed with their kids, I’ll bet.”

  Jason nodded. “Very true.”

  They were served another scotch.

  Tucker leaned over and whispered, “Frankly, they should just leave us the tray of little bottles. Everyone else is having wine or beer.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. It is a shame to waste all that booze, isn’t it?”

  “Damn straight,” Tucker grumbled.

  “Funny how some people worry about body image so much. In my family, the men got skinny and small and the women got huge. Kind of a role reversal thing,” Jason told his buddy.

  “Women are more highly prized in your culture, then?”

  “It depends. I think it’s more about size than gender. I had two Samoan sisters who used to beat the crap out of me every chance they could get. My dad and grandfather thought it was funny, and it wasn’t, really. Grandpa would whisper to me, ‘Hit her back,’ and I never could for fear my grandmother would cast a spell on me. They did it because they outweighed me by double.”