Coffee. He needed something to push the fog out of his brain. He made his way downstairs to the kitchen using his phone to light the way.
As he pulled a mug from the cabinet, a footstep behind him spun him around. He hefted the mug, ready to let it fly like a missile until his eyes landed on Brooke. She stood there, hair tousled, eyes wide. She had on sweats and a T-shirt and looked adorable.
He lowered his arm. “Sorry.”
“I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just thirsty.”
He opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. He handed it to her and took another look at her. “You’re not sleeping.”
“No.”
“Have you even tried?”
“Um. No.”
Because she was afraid she’d wake up screaming. “Drink your water and come on.”
She uncapped the bottle and took a long swig. “Where are we going?”
“The sitting area in your wing. The couch is comfortable and there’s a great selection of movies.”
“Oh. Okay.”
He returned his mug and took her hand. She followed him to the sitting area, and he sat on one end of the couch and patted the cushion next to him. With only a slight hesitation, she sank onto it. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and picked up the remote. “Favorite movie?”
“Well, it’s not my all-time favorite, but I feel it’s appropriate.”
“What’s that?”
“One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.”
He barked a short laugh. “I’d say it’s very appropriate. And I know we have it because my sister is a huge classics fan.”
Soon, he had the movie playing. “Now, I want you to let your eyes close when they feel heavy.” He took her hand. “If you start to get restless or make noises, I’ll wake you up.”
Brooke shifted to look up at him. “What about you? You have to sleep.”
“I actually did and I’m wide awake right now—which is why I was in the kitchen getting ready to make a pot of coffee.”
“Nightmare?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I got a phone call. Nothing to do with you, so don’t worry about it. Just rest, okay? You need to or you’re not going to be alert.” And that could be deadly for her.
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
With a sigh, she settled against him and focused her gaze on the screen. Within minutes, she was completely relaxed, her breathing even. Asher leaned his head back and closed his eyes even while he made a list in his head of everyone who had access to military-grade bomb materials.
He didn’t like the list at all.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
Brooke woke slowly, not wanting to give up the feeling of comfort. Peace. Safety. All of those thanks to Asher, whose strong arm was around her, keeping her snuggled up against him, her head still resting on his shoulder where she’d leaned against it last night. Or early this morning.
“Asher?” she whispered.
“Yeah?”
“You awake?”
“Yeah.” Amusement tinged his answer. “Are you?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Okay, can you shift a little? I can’t feel my arm.”
She gasped and lurched into a sitting position.
“Well, you didn’t have to move quite that fast, but thanks.” He held his phone in the other hand. From what little she could see, he’d been scrolling through his texts.
“I fell asleep,” she said.
“About three seconds after the movie started.”
A laugh escaped her. “I didn’t dream.”
“That’s because you were too busy snoring.”
“What? I don’t snore!”
“You do, but it’s a cute sound.”
She gaped, then gave his arm a light punch. He leaned over and kissed her nose, moved lower, and she went still. “Don’t you dare kiss me.”
He pulled back, frowning, looking a little hurt. “Um . . . okay. Ouch.”
“At least not until after I’ve brushed my teeth.”
The hurt faded, replaced by amusement. That also faded. She stood and Asher caught her hand. The sad look in his eyes stopped her. “What is it?”
He pulled her back down next to him. “I got a call last night from one of my buddies. Mitch Sampson.”
“The Paul Bunyan guy?”
A smile flickered for a nanosecond. “He’d be so proud of that reference. But yes.” He groaned and rubbed his eyes. “There’s no easy way to say this.”
“What? Just say it.”
“He called to tell me that Captain Newell’s wife was murdered the night before last.”
“What?” she whispered. “No. Oh no.”
“Yeah.” He waved his phone at her. “I was just reading updates from him. I’m not sure where he’s getting his details, but he’s passing them on to me.” Another groan. “This is awful. Newell’s got two kids. Monica and Phil Junior.”
“But . . . why kill her?”
“Looks like a random break-in. The kids were in their rooms asleep. Yvonne was up late, cleaning the kitchen, it looks like. She had a light on over the sink, but the rest of the place was dark. The guy probably thought she was asleep too. He broke the glass on their back door and was inside in a flash. Apparently, Yvonne saw him. He took her outside, placed the gun to her head, and pulled the trigger.”
“Because she could identify him?”
“Probably.”
“But wouldn’t the shot have alerted the neighbors? Woken the kids?”
“The kids said they never heard anything. Neighbors either. If that’s the case, then he had to have been using a suppressor.”
Brooke shook her head. “I didn’t know her, but I remember Captain Newell from our brief encounters. I’m so sorry.”
“I am too.” He closed his eyes for a brief moment. “I’m going to head over to his house. He should be landing any minute now.”
“Those poor kids.” She hesitated. “Would it be weird if I came with you? To be there for them and you?”
He reached for her hand and gripped her fingers. “There’s no one I’d rather have by my side than you.”
And she couldn’t think of any place she’d rather be. “But isn’t that sort of defeating the purpose of me being here at your parents’?”
“Maybe,” he said softly, “but I can’t help thinking this isn’t random—that it has something to do with the case. No matter where we turn, everything keeps pointing back to Kabul. Having your insight may be helpful. And . . . it won’t hurt for you to be there in the event that he might need you and your expertise.”
She thought about that. “You think he’d even acknowledge that I might be able to help him? This soon anyway?”
“Well, if not him, then his kids. It’s possible they may need someone to talk to. His family means everything to him, and he’s not going to know how to help them.”
Brooke drew in a breath. “All right. Can you tell me a little about him? His personality? His mind-set?”
Asher looked away and frowned.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I’m realizing I don’t know how to answer that. Let me see . . . his personality and mind-set. Captain Newell is an extremely private person. He can come across as a hard man, crass and blunt and difficult to get to know, but underneath that exterior is a man who cares. At least I think so. He’s always been professional, an excellent leader, brilliant in his assessment of a mission and what needed to be done to complete it successfully, but he’s not one to mix professional and personal lives. His daughter was really sick about a year ago. Maybe ten months ago? I can’t remember. He never said what was wrong with her. The only reason I knew she was ill was because I overheard him on the phone with his wife telling her everything would be okay and that he’d be on the next flight home. I asked him if I could do anything. He just said his daughter was in the hospital and his wife was overreacting
. But he went home. Was back two weeks later saying nothing. But he was more quiet than usual, more withdrawn from the rest of us. I guess he got tired of us harassing him about what was bothering him, because he finally told us that his daughter was sick. Said he didn’t feel like sharing the details, but the doctors were handling it and she’d be fine. He said his wife was amazing and keeping him updated, but for now, everything was being taken care of and we needed to focus on the reason we were there. And that’s the last I heard him say anything about her other than to let us know she’d recovered and was doing well.”
“Okay, that helps me get a handle on his personality,” she said. “Very private, doesn’t share easily, driven in his profession but loves his family.”
“Nice summary. Accurate. Like I said, he’s a hard person to get to know, but he’s always put his unit first. If one of us had a problem, we could go to him and know he’d do his best to help us—and he usually took care of the issue.”
“You have a lot of respect for him.”
“I do. And I care about him and his family. That’s why I think having you there would be emotionally helpful for them.”
“Okay. I’ll do whatever you think is best.”
“I’ll call Caden and let him know. Maybe he can arrange some protection with the local officers.”
“Sure. I’m just going to jump in the shower and put myself together.”
“You look put together to me. I don’t see anything you need to improve on.”
“Asher . . . um . . . never mind.” She patted his cheek, feeling the rough morning whiskers under her palm. “You’re sweet. Clueless, but sweet.”
“Hey, what does that mean?”
“I’ll see you in about twenty minutes.”
Poor guy looked completely confused. Then he shrugged. “Okay. Meet me by the front door?”
“If I can find it.” She headed for the bathroom, the momentary lightness fading with the heavy sorrow she felt for the grieving family.
Fifteen minutes later, she decided she’d set a new record for getting ready and stepped out of the bedroom, crossed the sitting area, and let herself into the hallway.
Only to come face-to-face with Nicholas James. He shot her a tight smile and looked her up and down in a way that made her skin crawl. But she lifted her chin and met his gaze.
“Good morning, Nicholas.”
“What do you see in him?”
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “A lot. Kindness, compassion, strength, determination, loyalty . . . do I need to go on?”
A funny look crossed his face. “I’ve never seen what you’re talking about.”
“Have you looked? Or have you just been so jealous of him that you’ve been blinded to the fact that he’d love to have a relationship with you?”
His jaw dropped before he could snap it closed. “Me? Don’t make me laugh. I’m his brother, but he has to go to the ends of the earth to find complete strangers that he calls brothers. So, right. I’m not buying that. He’s a loser. Always was and always will be.”
Brooke debated the wisdom of arguing with the man, but everything in her rose up in defense of Asher. She stilled. Thought. “Okay. What makes him a loser in your eyes?”
Again, Nicholas looked like she’d taken him by surprise. “Well, um . . . he joined the Army. Who does that unless they have no other option?”
“A lot of good men and women who believe their country is worth fighting for?”
He rolled his eyes.
“Like my father,” she said.
A sneer twisted his lips. “So that’s it. The only real man is a guy who wears a uniform?”
“No. A real man is one who cares more about the people he loves than himself. Asher saved my life. More than once. He’s saved countless lives. Those of women and children and other men who, through no fault of their own, have been born into a world of violence and misery. He gave up a lot to be a part of something bigger than himself in an effort to bring peace to an area of the world a lot of people don’t care about. I find that honorable and admirable. I have a lot of respect for him.”
A hint of something flashed in his eyes, and for a moment she saw into the depths of his heart before he covered it with a grunt of disgust. “You’re just like every other female who’s ever crossed his path. Doing whatever it takes to get his attention, not just because of his bad-boy attitude and appearance, but because of who our father is. Oh yeah, don’t think I don’t know that you and everyone else sees dollar signs when they look at him. Well, let me tell you this—I’m the one who’ll inherit. I’m the one with the future. I’m the one with self-control, not a freak who can’t even be in the same room when a loud noise goes off. You really should get away from him while you can.”
Brooke struggled with the dual desire to lash out at the man and the need to feel sorry for him. “Wow. You’ve got a lot of deep-seated issues when it comes to Asher, don’t you? Have you ever thought about talking to someone about those?”
He snorted and let out a guffaw. “Me? Talk to someone? You’ve got to be kidding. I’m not the one jumping at every little sound.”
“Let me ask you this, Nicholas.” She did her best to keep her voice even. He was a man who found his self-worth in tearing others down, pushing buttons, and getting a reaction. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
“What?”
“Has Asher ever hit you?”
He frowned. “What?”
“Just answer the question.”
“No, he’s never hit me. At least not since we were teens.”
“Then I’d say he’s exhibited an amazing amount of self-control. You might want to think about that.”
She brushed past him and made her way to the front door with only one wrong turn.
From Asher’s parents’ house in Charlotte, North Carolina, to Captain Phillip Newell’s home in Greenville, South Carolina, it was only about an hour-and-a-half drive. Brooke shot him a frown. “Wait a minute. Isn’t their house a crime scene? Why are they still able to stay there?”
“The crime scene people got what they needed and let them come back.”
“Oh.” Her frown remained, and he could almost hear the wheels of her brain spinning.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.”
“Something.”
“Well, it doesn’t make sense. Who goes to break into a house prepared with a suppressor for his weapon? That just sounds weird to me.”
“I know. It sounded weird to me too.” He shot her a quick glance. “Let’s just reserve judgment until we have more details, okay?”
“Sure.”
Asher pulled to a stop at the curb of the stately brick home with the manicured lawn.
“Wow, he does well,” she said.
“Yvonne did well. Actually, they did well together. She was the manager of a fairly large bank in downtown Greenville. Add in the captain’s salary and yeah, they can afford a house like this.”
He glanced behind them, noting three police cars. Nothing subtle today. He wanted it plain to anyone watching that it was going to be hard to get to him or Brooke. Caden had called ahead and let the detective in charge of Yvonne Newell’s murder case know they were coming.
Gavin stepped out of his truck and headed their way. “Just in time.”
“Yeah,” Asher said. “Let’s do this.”
Asher took Brooke’s hand and led her past the neighbors congregated on the edge of the property. Some were genuinely concerned, others were rubberneckers. Family and close friends were inside.
He didn’t bother to knock on the door but slipped inside, with Brooke following right behind him and Gavin bringing up the rear. Asher stood in the foyer and guessed there were about twenty people in the house. He had no idea who was family and who wasn’t, but most looked military. He let his gaze land on each person, looking for a familiar face, and finally found one in George Slocum. “Hey,” he said to Brooke, “I’m going to talk to George for a few
minutes. Why don’t you see if you can find Monica or PJ?”
“Sure.”
“But please, whatever you do, don’t leave the house. In here, I feel like you’re pretty safe, but the minute you step outside, anything could happen.”
“I won’t go outside.”
“Good. I’ll be right in this area if you need me.”
“Asher?”
“Yeah?”
“Go. I’ll be fine.”
Asher nodded, then caught Gavin’s eye, and they walked toward one of the men they’d served with under Captain Newell. “George, how are you?”
“Doing okay. Stunned that this happened.”
“We all are. Is he here yet?”
“Yeah. Been here for about an hour. He’s in the den with his kids. He’ll be glad to see you. You always were his favorite.”
Asher raised a brow. “That’s the first I’ve heard of it.”
Gavin snickered. “He’s right.”
“Shut up.”
“Trust me,” George said, “I know what I’m talking about. You could say things to him that none of the rest of us could get away with.”
“Right.” After giving the man a mock salute, he turned and made his way through the throng of people and into the den. He spotted the captain on the sofa with his seventeen-year-old son, PJ, sitting next to him. Phil Junior was a carbon copy of his father. Military haircut, razor-sharp blue eyes, and the physique of an athlete. His sister, Monica, was nowhere to be seen.
Newell’s red-rimmed eyes met his and widened a fraction before he stood with an outstretched hand. “James? Black?”
“Sir,” Asher said. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am.” He shook the man’s hand and nodded to PJ. “Hello.”
PJ bobbed his head in return, his lips tight, shoulders rigid.
“I got your text,” Captain Newell said. “Meant a lot. Thanks.” He cleared his throat. “Black, good to see you. Civilian life seems to agree with you.”
“Most days.”
Newell turned to his son. “Where’d your sister go, PJ?”
“To her room. Said she couldn’t handle one more person giving her a hug.”
The man sighed. “Yeah.”
“Brooke Adams is with me,” Asher said. “Thought it might be a good idea to bring her in case anyone wanted to talk with her.”
Collateral Damage Page 21
