by Leslie North
Sighing, Mark turned back to the vehicle again.
It had been too long since he’d gotten laid. That had to be it.
He tinkered with the wires on the distributor cap some more.
Besides, he had enough on his plate with his security training business and making sure his mom’s and his sister’s restaurants ran smoothly. Then there was the fact all his recent relationships ended up the same anyway. Most of the women he’d dated since leaving the Navy said he was too demanding, said that his standards were too high, and that he was looking for a saint, not a girlfriend.
Much as Mark hated to admit it, Leila hadn’t been lying. He did have trust issues. And given Geneva’s line of work and her persistence in wanting to interview him, those weren’t likely to go away anytime soon. He frowned and fiddled with a few hoses, then straightened. “Try to start it.”
“Seriously? You think you fixed it that fast?” Geneva gave him a skeptical look, but slid in behind the wheel just the same. Mark stepped back as she cranked the engine. The SUV started right up. She leaned out the open door and gave him a small, reluctant smile. For some reason, his afternoon brightened considerably. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Mark closed the hood then wiped his hands on his neoprene shorts. “Easy fix. Couple of crossed wires. Like I said, get it checked out before you leave Ortega though.”
Geneva exited the vehicle once more and stood beside him, the car still running. This close, he caught a whiff of her perfume on the afternoon breeze—orange blossom and cloves on a sun-kissed woman. The sea wind stirred loose strands of her hair around her face, making her look softer and younger than the hard-edged, hard-boiled reporter she tried to portray. “Are you sure you won’t change your mind about letting me interview you?” she asked, narrowing her gaze. “I won’t let up until you do, you know. This story needs to be told. The US military is failing these guys.”
“Well, at least that’s a new angle from the one I heard from the other reporters. All they seemed to care about was exploiting these guys’ families and pasts. Splashing their pain and suffering all over the front pages.” Of course, they’d all been upfront about their motives too—selling more papers. But from the brittle edge to Geneva’s tone, this sounded more personal to her, which made the whole prospect more worrisome. “Why is this so important to you?”
She gave him some serious side-eye, that flicker of darkness reappearing in her gaze again before vanishing. “I’m patriotic.”
“Right.” A mix of intrigue and trepidation gurgled inside Mark. He sensed a deep core of pain beneath Geneva’s surface, which she seemed to try to cover with a stiff layer of pessimism and prickliness. Still, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to trust her completely, and these guys she wanted him to talk about were his comrades, they’d fought side-by-side in more warzones than he could count. And sure, the country’s VA system needed a huge overhaul, no doubt about it but to prove their deaths had been more than suicides would take time and finesse. So far, all she’d shown him was her talent for spouting off sarcasm and bullshit with the best of them.
“Man, you ready to head back home?” Jace yelled as he and Vann exited the diner and walked over to Geneva’s SUV. “We got that class downtown at five for the highway patrol.”
“What kind of business do you run?” Geneva asked, smiling sweetly at Jace. The guy was an adorable mutt. His nickname in their SEAL unit had been Heinz 57 because he was part Eskimo, part Irish, German, and even a little English and Chinese thrown in for flavor. Whatever his ethnic heritage, the ladies dug Jace and he dug them right back. Mark couldn’t suppress a hint of jealousy.
“Brothers In Arms Security runs eight-week courses for law enforcement and business professionals,” Vann answered, his voice the equivalent of a brick wall, his secrets guarded tighter than Fort Knox. His stoic expression did little to hide the blatant suspicion in his black eyes. “But since you’re a reporter, you probably already knew that, Ms. Rios.”
“You told him?” She glanced at Mark.
He shrugged. “What? Like it’s a secret?”
“Glad to see I was the topic of conversation over your lunch.” Her tone said the exact opposite. She gave Mark a sour look. “So, you train cops and tycoons. To do what? Blow more money on silly classes they don’t need?”
“The first half of our course deals with situational awareness, how not to be a target,” Jace said, seemingly oblivious to the undercurrent of tension sizzling in the air. “The second half of the course teaches basic survival skills on everything from kidnapping to environmental emergencies. Even viral doomsday scenarios.”
“Like a Zombie Apocalypse, you mean?” she asked, her tone smartass.
“It’s not as far-fetched as you’d think,” Mark said, forcing himself to remain patient. “As a reporter I’d think you’d know never to knock something before you experience it yourself.” He eyed her up and down then narrowed his gaze, issuing a challenge. “If you’re so gung-ho to write this story, why don’t you join us for tonight’s class? If you think you’re up for it.”
“But, man, we’re—” Jace started before Geneva cut him off.
“Yeah?” The spark of determination in her eyes made the zing of awareness buzzing inside Mark flare hotter. He tamped it down deep before it got out of hand. There was too much riding on this now, too much time and effort on his part put into investigating the deaths and proving they weren’t suicides, for him to start thinking with his cock instead of his brain. No way would she go through with his class tonight. She’d learn her lesson and be on her way home, and Mark would once again be alone here in Ortega, happy as a clam. Just the way he liked it.
“You got yourself a deal,” she said, surprising him. She held out a hand for Mark to shake, and then turned back to Jace. “Five pm, you said?”
“Yep. Make sure you wear sturdy boots.” Jace started toward the company’s camo Hummer parked near the front door of Scoops. He opened the passenger door, grabbed a notepad and pen from the glove compartment, and then scribbled down an address for her as he returned to their group. “Tallest building in downtown Ortega. You can’t miss it.”
“Great. And I’ve always got my boots on.” She lifted what looked like an expensive, custom-made hiking boot in Jace’s direction and smiled before glancing at Mark. “Not sure what boots and tall buildings have to do with anything, but okay.”
“You’ll find out, Ms. Rios.” Vann lingered a moment longer, appraising Geneva with a narrowed gaze. Mark would lay good money Vann would run a full background check on her before the night was over. Nice to know his buddies had his back.
“Mark, you coming?” Jace asked as he climbed behind the wheel of the huge camo-colored Humvee.
“Nah.” Mark glanced at Geneva then waved at the guys. “Go ahead. I’ve got that errand to run. I’ll meet you there later.”
5
The courthouse in Ortega had been built in the late 1800s and featured the typical Spanish style so prevalent in California, right down to its red tiled roof and white stucco walls.
Mark jogged up the short flight of steps and into the hacienda-esque lobby area. The public records office was near the back of the building, so he started down the long tiled hall, saying hello to several residents as he passed.
He’d stopped by his house to shower and change first before heading over there. If he made good time, he hoped to get copies of the death certificates and take them back to the compound to go over with the guys. Luckily, when he walked into the public records office, there was no line and the cute clerk he’d been hoping would be on duty sat at her desk behind the counter.
Mark took a deep breath and plastered on what he hoped was his most charming smile before striding confidently up to the counter. “Hello.”
The clerk’s eyes widened slightly as she looked at him, a slight blush rising in her cheeks. He put her at late twenties, close to his own age, maybe a little older. No ring that he could see. Perhaps once this w
hole mess with the mysterious deaths was over, he’d come back and ask her out. Ortega was small and despite a lot of tourist traffic, finding cute, eligible local girls to date was harder than you’d think.
She cleared her throat and ran her hand down the front of her pink top before pushing to her feet. That’s when he saw it. A fairly prominent baby bump. Okay, maybe dating wouldn’t be an option. Not that he was against a relationship with a single mom, but he guessed a brand new romantic entanglement was the last thing on her mind right now. She stepped closer to the counter. “How may I help you today?”
“I need to see a couple of death certificates, please.” Mark rattled off the names then waited while she typed them into her computer. Most of the bigger cities had made all this available digitally, but little Ortega was still catching up with the modern era.
“Yes. I see those here.” She glanced from her screen to him, her smile falling into a frown. “These have been popular items lately.”
“Really?” Mark fished his wallet out of his back pocket. He’d like to say he was surprised, but given the media coverage over Rick and Jon’s deaths, he wasn’t. He sniffed and leaned his forearms on the counter and glanced at the clerk’s name placard. Louise. “Lots of reporters, huh, Louise?”
“Yeah.” She stood and pushed her chair in. “It will take me just a minute to pull these. You can have a seat if you want.”
“Great. Thanks.” Mark walked over to a pair of chairs against the wall and plopped down into one. At least this would give him a chance to sort through some of his emails. Lord knew he hadn’t had a chance to even open his laptop since last night. Most of what filled his inbox was junk or more birthday wishes. The junk he trashed. The birthday wishes he filed away for later.
Once his mailbox was cleaned out, he tapped over to his Internet browser. Ortega might still be in the dark ages, paperwork-wise, but they’d at least installed free Wi-Fi in all their public spaces. Brothers In Arms had pitched in a large donation to help with that too. With his thumb, he typed in National Tribune into the search box and hit Enter. Soon his screen filled with links to the newspaper’s website. Clicking on the main page, he hit the Staff button on the top menu. There, under a Reporters tab, he found Geneva’s pic and a short bio. Nothing he didn’t already know, but it would be good to keep tabs on her in case she published something about him or Ortega on the fly. Finally, he found the sign-up page for their daily email newsletter and entered his work address.
“Here we are,” Louise said, returning from a back room. “So sad what happened to them.”
“Yeah.” Mark stepped up to the counter once more and briefly scanned the two certificates to make sure they were the right ones then handed them back to Louise. Time to turn on that charm again. “They used to work for me. We served in Afghanistan together. Like brothers. I own Brothers In Arms.”
“Oh dear.” Louise put a comforting hand on his forearm. “I recognized you the minute you walked in here, Mr. Rogers. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks.” Mark exhaled. “I don’t suppose there’s any way I could get copies of these without you recording it. A copy of the autopsy reports would be amazing too.” If the cops got wind of what he suspected, they’d take over the case and all his hard work would drown in a sea of government red tape.
Louise blinked. “Normally copies of the certificates are ten dollars each and I’d have to process the transaction through the computer. The autopsy reports would require you to fill out a request then a few days for us to process.”
“I know.” He nodded and frowned down at the counter top. “I just thought with all this media frenzy, we could avoid any more sensationalism and profit over their deaths. Their families have been through so much already.”
The clerk’s brows drew together and she swallowed hard. “You’re right. You and your guys do so much for this town. It’s the least I can do. Hang tight a minute.”
“Sure thing.” Mark watched while she took the death certificates back into the file room then returned a few moments later with a sealed manila envelope in her hand.
“Here you are, Mr. Rogers. I think you’ll find everything you need in there.”
“Thanks, Louise.” He smiled. “When are you due?”
“December,” she said, her expression glowing. “My fiancé’s in the Marines. He gets out in November, so just in time.”
“Perfect.” Mark tapped the edge of the envelope on the counter then turned to leave. “Thanks again, Louise.”
“Any time, Mr. Rogers.”
Mark hurried back out to his black Jeep Wrangler and climbed into the driver’s seat to head toward the Brothers In Arms compound on the edge of town. There were still about an hour before they needed to leave to get downtown to set up for the night’s class and he wanted to go over these certificates with the guys.
He, Vann and Jace had pooled their money together and purchased the forty-acre property after they were discharged. The compound was huge and had everything they needed—beach access for water rescue training, flatlands for desert scenarios, foothills for hiking and wilderness training, even an old, two-story, Victorian-style farmhouse near the edge of the vineyards bordering their property. That farmhouse was where Mark lived. There were also separate buildings for their office, storage, and even a small arena area where they had students practice their hand-to-hand combat skills.
Twenty minutes later, he pulled up into his parking spot in the gravel lot of the compound and climbed out of his door-less vehicle. Jace and Vann were outside the storage building loading up the back of the Humvee with gear for the class.
“Hey, man,” Jace called raising a hand in greeting. “You stop at the courthouse?”
“Yep,” Mark said, passing by them and heading into his office.
The guys soon joined him.
He ripped open the top of the envelope and found the two death certificates inside along with the thick autopsy reports. He handed Rick’s set to the guys and started perusing Jon’s himself. “See if you find anything suspicious in there.”
Unfortunately, after an hour of searching, he’d found nothing out of the ordinary in Jon’s report. Per the findings, the guy had shot himself in the head on the coastal cliffs then tumbled down the side of the rocks into the Pacific. All the findings were consistent with that, including his plunge into the ocean afterward. No weird bullet angles, no trace of alcohol or drugs in his system at the time of death. No nothing.
Shit. Mark scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed.
His instincts told him neither Rick nor Jon would ever kill themselves like that.
Granted, he was no pathologist, but he knew the doctor who served as Ortega’s medical examiner and the woman was thorough. Still, there had to be something they were missing. He glanced over at Vann and Jace. “You guys find anything?”
“Not really,” Jace said. “The trajectory of the bullet from Rick’s gun is right logistically to support a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.”
Leave it to the mechanic to highlight the engineering portion of the case.
Vann continued to scowl down at the autopsy report in his hands. “There’s no drugs of any kind found in Rick’s system.”
“Yeah.” Mark rubbed his hand over the top of his head. His hair was starting to grow back in again. He’d need another shave soon. “Same here with Jon’s. Nothing to go on there.”
“No.” Vann looked up, his dark gaze concerned. “I mean there were no drugs in his system, but that’s not possible. I know for a fact he took at least three prescription meds daily. One painkiller for his back injury. One to lower his cholesterol. And one for anti-anxiety for his PTSD. There should’ve been trace amounts of all three in his system at the time of his death.”
“Maybe they don’t screen for regular medications?” Jace offered.
“No.” Mark frowned. “Dr. Gerber told me once that toxicology done post-mortem screens for everything, that way they can rule out a fatal
overdose.” He sat back in his seat and crossed his arms. “Do you think maybe Rick just didn’t take his meds that day? If his levels were off, that might indicate why he was off mentally.”
“Even if he missed a day, there should still be traces in his bloodstream.” Vann handed the report to Mark. “My guess is the bloodwork, at least, was faked.”
“Fuck.” A rush of both relief and dread flooded Mark’s system. Relief that there was a shred of proof he was right that the deaths weren’t suicides. Dread that if they pursued this, they’d be opening a whole can of worms where the cases were concerned and exposing themselves as targets to whoever was responsible. “We can’t say anything about this to anyone right now. Not until we’re sure.”
“Right.” Jace nodded. “We need more proof.”
“Agreed,” Vann said. “What’re we going to do now?”
Mark stood and walked to the windows on the far side of his office. Geneva had already made the connection between the two dead SEALs and his business. She was smart, tenacious. Wouldn’t take much more for her to connect the rest of these dots either. Much as Mark hated to admit it, the safest thing for him to do was to keep her close and monitor her activities. He’d worked too hard for too many years to build Brothers In Arms into what it was today. He damned sure wouldn’t let it all come crashing down because of some nosy reporter raising suspicions about his former employees’ mental stability. Yes, those guys had issues after they’d come home, but hell no would they have killed themselves. First though, he needed to make sure he could trust her. Mark glanced back over at his buddies and grinned. “Don’t know about you guys, but I’ve got a building to tackle.”
6
“Lean back and let go of the scaffolding,” Mark said from above, his smile reassuring.
Geneva wanted to; she did, except when she’d accepted his invitation tonight, she’d expected to watch a bunch of ordinary people being put through what amounted to a boot camp. Never in a million years had she imagined hanging over the edge of a ten-story building in downtown Ortega.