by Karen Anders
Now there was Amber.
But that wouldn’t help now. She was heading to her well-deserved vacation and he would be going back into active combat duty. He was adamant about not keeping a woman on a string while he was serving. It wasn’t fair to her.
“I’m sorry, Tristan,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not all about James,” he rasped out, and he wanted to bite his tongue.
Her arms tightened. “What is it, Tristan?”
He turned around and faced her, leaning into the table for support. He hadn’t opened up to anyone about this. Not his family, not his buddies, not even Doc Cross. The doctor had prodded and he’d pushed, but Tristan had kept saying he was over it and it wasn’t affecting him. Now he was realizing that Doc Cross did think this was one of the issues he needed to resolve. Suddenly he’d gone from thinking he could handle it to losing it.
She didn’t say anything, just let him have his space. Let him make the decision to share this with her. It was tough to talk about it. Always had been, but with Amber, she just seemed to make everything complicated and easy at the same time.
“That kid got to me.” He blinked several times. “It’s hard, Amber, to make friends in this type of life.”
She nodded, moving her hand from his waist and sliding it up his chest. “I’ve never been in combat, Tris. I’ve seen the ravages of war with the clients I served as a JAG lawyer and as an NCIS agent, but not firsthand.”
“It’s a singular and a group experience. Everyone else in combat is going through the same thing. The gamut of emotion, fear, sense of duty, fear, determination—then there is the individual experience. Fear is, of course, something you train yourself to handle. You have to. Before I was a sniper or Recon marine, I was a fresh face, a full-of-himself guy who thought I’d make a difference. That was important to me.”
“Did something happen to change that?”
He closed his eyes, his throat working, and Amber sidled closer, her presence more of a calming one. “Almost fourteen years ago, after basic, I was assigned to guard the US consulate in Banyan. It’s a small, cold town adjacent to Latvia.”
He shifted and she settled against his hip, her face turned up to his. Her phone buzzed and he glanced down as she pulled it out and checked it. But when she returned it to her back pocket, he swallowed hard.
He felt as if he had an entire rock pile in his gut. “I was observant. I rarely missed things that other people overlooked. There was increased unrest in a town over from the consulate. Anti-American type of unrest and I wasn’t quite sure if it was terrorist or just dislike.” He ran his hand through his hair and looked away. “It wasn’t my job to make decisions about the security of the ambassador. Contrary to popular belief, marines aren’t really stationed at embassies or consulates to protect diplomats. They are there primarily to protect secret information—embassy buildings often process classified information, and many host CIA personnel, as well. Marines are there to protect—and if necessary, destroy—any classified information so it doesn’t fall into enemy hands. Foreign officers are told in their initial training not to think of the marines as their personal bodyguards in case of an attack.”
She regarded him with a skeptical look on her face. “I see. So you couldn’t stop...”
“No. I couldn’t. Not at first. It was my mission, Amber. I had to carry it out to the letter before I was free to do anything else.”
It had been something he’d learned through training, but it wasn’t put to the test until Banyan. Then it had become stark reality. “It’s easy in theory. You fulfill your mission. You know what that is and it’s in granite. But, in practice, to let people die for documents... Not so clear-cut in the heat of the moment.”
“Oh, Tristan. That must have been so hard.”
“People died, Amber, including the guy I’d bonded with at basic. He was a good guy and I had to...” He stopped talking, his jaw taut, and she wrapped her arms around his neck.
For a moment he couldn’t speak, as he let the heat of her compassion warm that cold, cold part of him. “It was part of my job to protect anyone in the consulate, but when the attack started, I was holding them off so that documents could be destroyed.” Damn, but that had rankled. It was his mission there, but he was bothered by the thought that even a split second in getting to the ambassador and the people who had died might have made the difference. “There weren’t enough of us. I had suggested to the guy responsible for protecting the ambassador that he should beef up security. He thought I was inexperienced and talking out of turn. He told me to do my job and he would do his.”
“That’s not on you, Tristan.”
She was right there. “No, but I have to reconcile my actions, Amber. My mission required me to ignore my buddy while he died on the other side of the door, a door that I couldn’t open.”
It warred with leave no man behind and protect your platoon member’s back. He’d had no choice. “When the documents were destroyed, I tried to protect the ambassador. I was alone and wounded at the end and...although the documents were destroyed, I lost the ambassador and three other people. Once help arrived, I was not looked at...kindly by NCIS. They cut me no slack. It was more like I was being interrogated instead of being interviewed. After that, I couldn’t continue in the corps as a marine security guard. I applied to and was accepted into sniper training, then into recon.”
“You’ve been through so much and I have so much respect for you. I know it’s hard to think that James died tragically, but, Tristan, it’s not your fault. Just like the consulate deaths aren’t on you. You did your duty during that event. You don’t have to keep feeling you need to atone for those deaths.”
He gave her a curt nod. She said the same thing Doc Cross said. But eighteen months ago he was a different guy. Stressed-out, combat weary, his barriers all in place. Maybe not so much anymore. James had a hand in breaking them down, and Amber disarmed him like no other person he’d ever met in his life.
Feeling he was stepping across a very dangerous line, and sharply aware of how hard his heart was pounding, he covered the hand on his chest. The feel of her was almost enough. Almost.
His heart lumbering, he tightened his hold, rubbing the back of her hand. “Thank you, Amber.” He didn’t want to let her in, but he felt that it was just too late. She was already there and he was only asking for trouble.
“That was Dr. Thompson on the phone. Must be about Randall Mayer’s autopsy.”
This time when they stepped into the morgue, Amber stopped dead. Dr. Thompson was sporting a huge black eye and favoring one arm.
“What happened?” Amber asked.
He forced a smile and said, “I was clumsy and walked into a door. I’ll be fine.”
It looked more to her that someone had punched him.
“What do you have for us on Randall?”
“He died two days ago, approximately an hour after he tried to run you down.”
“Cause of death?”
“Hypothermia.”
“Could you please send the report to my email?”
“Of course. You’ll be leaving?” His eyes flicked to Tristan, then back to her.
“Yes, the ballistics on Mayer’s rifle matched the bullet fragments you found in Connelly.”
“Looks like this is wrapped up. Have a safe trip back home.”
“I’m actually heading to Aruba for a vacation.”
“Even better.”
They left the morgue. “I guess we’ll never know what happened on the mountain, although why James was up there in the first place still bothers me. You’ll get your house back. You won’t have me messing up your kitchen making my pancakes.”
He gave her a sidelong glance. “I love your pancakes.”
Her cell rang and she looked down at the number, bu
t it abruptly cut off. Must have been a wrong number. She tucked it in her jacket. “I’ll leave you the recipe.”
“It won’t be quite the same,” he murmured.
“No...it won’t,” she replied.
* * *
Back at his town house, Amber went upstairs to her room and pulled out her suitcase. She started stuffing everything inside without thinking about it. Everything for her vacation was at the bottom of the bag. She should be happy, grateful, relieved. She was going back to her life. Getting a vacation she richly deserved. But, instead, she felt miserable and a little hollow.
It bugged her that the resolution to Connelly’s death seemed so senseless, and it didn’t sit well with her not to have answers as to why Connelly had been up the mountain in the first place. Where had he been for forty-eight hours?
Then there was Tristan. They had got close. She wasn’t going to deny that. Both emotionally and physically. At first he’d been a closed-off grump, one of his mechanisms to keep people at bay. Now he seemed to be pulling back into himself.
She experienced a rush of hurt, and she closed her eyes, making herself take a deep breath. What had she expected him to do? That was who he was, and it was how he lived his life. And she had gone along with it. Mostly because getting involved with him was simply beyond temptation. She had to acknowledge right here and right now that he hadn’t been some kind of rebound guy. Not like she’d thought he was—someone who found her desirable and had soothed the humiliation of getting dumped.
She wasn’t sure what she even expected him to do. He was in the service and he intended to remain in the service. He wasn’t going to give up anything for her and how could she expect him to. They barely knew each other. It was irrational. Her life was in DC and she was going back to it. NCIS was everything she wanted, and she’d come to that decision later in her life. This was the work she wanted to do, even on the days when it was hard to take.
His life was on the battlefield, a man driven to reconcile past actions in a life-and-death situation that had a gruesome outcome. He had fulfilled his duty then and it had cost him dearly. She wouldn’t judge him or his actions.
She knew what she was getting into when she’d slept with Tristan and knew it wasn’t going to go anywhere. So, she couldn’t feel any regret about it and she didn’t. What she regretted was meeting him under these circumstances where the situation felt impossible. It was her own fault for falling for him. She rubbed at her temple. It was okay to admit that because she was aware of how true it was.
Feeling completely drained, she tucked a loose wisp of hair behind her ear, folded the last of her clothes and zipped her case shut.
She checked her phone and saw that her flight was on time. She called the hotel one last time to confirm her reservation and then lay back on her bed.
She heard his bedroom door close. After a few moments, she pulled her report up on her laptop and spent the rest of the evening working on it. She’d email it to Chris in the morning and the case would officially be closed.
Tomorrow she would finally be sitting at that bar in the warm waters of that amazing pool. She was going to bake the chill out of her bones and get some perspective on Tristan Michaels. She would enjoy her vacation as best she could, even through the heartbreak of leaving him forever.
Chapter 12
When she got up in the morning, Tristan was gone. She did some yoga and then ate a light breakfast. She checked once more to make sure her flight was still on time. She’d have to leave here at noon to make it. She had about four hours to kill, so she set herself up at Tristan’s kitchen table, made herself a cup of coffee and brought her report up on her laptop to go over it one more time.
She tried not to let Tristan’s absence bother her. Even though it felt as if he didn’t care, she knew he did. Men didn’t withdraw for no reason, and she was well aware that Tristan dealt with people on a regular basis by keeping himself tightly closed off. He wanted distance between them, which meant he felt the need for that distance. Which then meant he cared about her.
Well, it didn’t matter one way or the other. She was leaving.
While she was in the process of checking all her contact numbers, Dr. Carl Thompson’s number snagged her attention. She stared at it for a moment, then realized why it seemed familiar. She reached over and grabbed her phone and brought up her call log. It was the number from yesterday afternoon that had abruptly cut off.
She hit Redial and there was no answer. She left him a voice-mail message, then hung up. When she got to the section on her report where she indicated she’d requested the roster of the Sportsmen Unlimited list, she discovered after checking her email that she hadn’t received it. She picked up her phone and dialed. Ken Marshall answered.
“I’m tying up loose ends, Mr. Marshall, and I see that I haven’t received the roster for the members of your group.”
“Are you sure?” he said. He sounded...nervous.
“I’m positive. I’m assuming you’re not going to make me get a court order for a simple list, Mr. Marshall.”
“No, no. Of course not. I’ll send it to you immediately.” He hung up and, after a few minutes, her email dinged with the list. She pulled it up and perused it. But her mind kept going back to the sound of Ken Marshall’s voice. She opened her browser and pulled up the national organization and clicked on the list of members. Her eyes scanned until they snagged on a name that jumped out at her.
Sean Garza.
Her gut twisted and her senses tingled. Garza was in the same hunting group as Mayer. Why wouldn’t he have mentioned that? He’d seen the renewal form in her hand and had asked about it.
She picked up her phone and dialed Ken Marshall back. He answered, and she said, “Why is Sean Garza’s name not on your list but he’s listed as a member on the national list?”
“Oh, um, must have been a mistake.”
“Other than being members of the same group, what was the extent of the relationship between Deputy Garza and Mr. Mayer?”
There was silence for a moment. “They were hunting buddies.”
“Friends?”
“Yes, close friends.”
“I see. You will want to fix your roster, Mr. Marshall.”
“Yes, thank you.”
For a minute after Amber disconnected the call, she sat there. So the vibes from Garza weren’t unfounded. There was something...underhanded about the man, something that rubbed her the wrong way that had little to do with his ego.
He’d found the rifle and the car. He had been pushing the investigation toward a friendly-fire theory. And he hadn’t mentioned that he knew Mayer well and, in fact, had hunted with him.
Her phone rang and she answered. “Amber, it’s Colonel Jacobs. Morgan has brought to my attention that you asked him to gather data on our statistics for service members that have gone AWOL. He found an alarming number and checked the numbers against the national statistics and found it to be abnormal. He then checked for disappearances regarding all of our service members and found that to be also alarmingly high. This wasn’t caught because there was a command change from last year to this year. I’m going up the chain of command on this and will get to the bottom of it.”
“I’m running some leads on this case, and I’m going to postpone my flight and stay here a few more days to run this information down. I’m going to call my boss and clear it with him.”
“Please keep me apprised of your progress.”
“Please thank Corporal Morgan for being so thorough on this, sir.”
“Will do.”
When Chris’s face popped up on her screen, she took a deep breath.
“Amber, what’s up?”
“I just called the airlines to postpone my flight, and Josh and I from hotel reservations are now really best friends.”
; She heard Vin chuckle in the background. “Why are you postponing your vacation again?”
“Chris got me into this mess. ‘One day,’ you promised me.”
“I know. I know. So, what’s going on?”
“There’s been a development.”
When she told him about the AWOL report she’d requested and the results, along with Garza being buddies with Mayer and showing up on the list of members in the Sportsmen Unlimited group, Chris got that investigator expression on his face. The one that said she was onto something. “Do you have a theory?”
“Not at the moment, but I have a few leads I want to check out.”
Chris ran his hands through his hair and sat back. “I want you to be careful.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you want me to send someone else out there?”
Amber stiffened. Was he replacing her because he didn’t think she could do the job?
“No, sir. I will finish out this assignment.”
“All right. Do you have any more information?”
“Not at this time. I wanted to check in with you and get your permission to keep this case open.”
“You have it. I will touch base with the director. If there’s nothing there, let me know and get on that plane. Otherwise, check in regularly.”
“I will.”
“Make sure you do, Amber,” he said firmly.
“I will, sir,” she said. Then before he could disconnect the call, she said, “I need to ask you a question. Why was an agent from the East Coast assigned to this case? Don’t give me some bull that the other qualified agent is on vacation. Mrs. Connelly mentioned her brother Rick, and the field chief for this area just happens to be Richard Barlow.”
He sighed. “He’s the kid’s uncle. He wanted to recuse himself and his personnel from this investigation, and the director deemed it prudent to assign someone from here.”