Three thousand miles away, Tristan dropped his cell phone over his heart and felt his heartache wane.
"Well, I'll be damned," he murmured. Absence really did make the heart grow fonder.
Yesterday Juliet had done her best to get rid of him. Yet today—or was it tomorrow already?—she was missing him, whether she wanted to admit it or not. Professional curiosity wasn't her only reason for calling in the middle of the night. He'd heard a faint trace of longing in her voice when she'd asked if he was coming home. Hell if it didn't make him want to fly straight back to her. But he couldn't do that. He had promised his aunt he would visit his mother's grave with her tomorrow.
It was going to kill him, but he had to spend at least one more day in California before heading back. His previous persistence had scared Juliet into pushing him away. He was better off playing it cool, giving distance the chance to make her heart grow fonder. By the time he did go back, perhaps she would have warmed to him a little.
He fell asleep hugging that hope to his heart.
* * *
Saturday mornings, Hilary left her laptop in her computer bag. On this particular Saturday, she slept in, rousing around ten. An hour of leisure passed while sipping coffee and poring over the newspaper. Finally, she dressed in figure-hugging Spandex and a neon-colored tank top. Drawing plenty of attention to herself, she took a brisk walk in the park not far from her apartment, all the while scoping out potential boyfriends while avoiding guys with dogs. Sure, they made easy targets. Unfortunately, Mitzie hated dogs, which eliminated a good sixty percent of all males under the age of thirty-five. If Hilary didn't love her cat so darn much, she'd get a lot more dates.
Having no success attractive love on this particular morning, Hilary returned from her walk to shower and eat lunch. At two, she stuck her new credit card into her purse and headed for the door, intent on purchasing the lingerie she'd been eyeing at Tyson's Corner Mall. Her hand was on the door when she heard the distinct tone that meant someone was asking to Skype with her.
Her pulse leaped. Stuart Rudolph? Snatching the phone from her pocket, Hilary took one look at the Maine Coon cat preening himself on the screen and decided her outing could wait. She tossed her purse on the nearest chair and hunted for Mitzie.
The black and white calico was nowhere to be found.
Hilary raced into her bedroom, dropped to her knees and peered beneath the bed. Not there.
"Mitzie!" she called. Stu was likely to give up if she didn't answer. With no cat to put on the screen, she would have to show her face.
Dear God.
She cast a quick glance toward the mirror to assess her appearance. Her charming yellow blouse flattered the glow achieved during her earlier walk. Her spiked hair stood up just right. She had recently applied her makeup and lipstick, so why not? Accepting the call with a press of her thumb, Hilary smiled brightly at the camera and said, "Hello, Stuart."
The Maine Coon looked up as if to answer her greeting, but only silence followed.
"Are you there?" Hilary asked, checking their connection.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm here," a deep voice with a faint northern accent came through the phone speaker. "Is that really you?"
The view on her screen panned from the cat to a handsome young man wearing a bemused expression. With dark expressive eyes, a lean face and a cleft chin, he looked nothing like any techno-geek she had ever met. Hilary sank into the same armchair where she'd tossed her purse.
"Who else would it be?" she asked with a nervous giggle.
"I pictured an older lady," he said, sounding and looking dazed.
She touched the short red strands of her pixie cut. "My hair color must be blinding you."
"No, I like it. You're really pretty." He looked away as if appalled by the words that had come out of him.
The compliment, so artless and sincere, made Hilary's face heat. "Thank you," she replied. "So what's up? Did you find something?"
She'd be shocked if he had. She'd stayed late at the office the night before, searching the web ad nauseam, only to admit defeat around midnight.
"Yep. Let me show you." As she watched, he carried his phone across what appeared to be his bedroom. She caught sight of a Star Trek poster on the wall.
"Wait, you a Trekkie?" she asked, pouncing on the telltale clue.
"What?" The question seemed to startle Stuart. He glanced self-consciously toward the poster. "Yeah. No. Not really." And he repositioned the camera so that all she could see was his strong jaw and broad chest as he sat down in a computer chair.
Hilary's gaze locked on the swell of pectoral muscles clearly visible under the clingy fabric of his unfashionable sweater. The man clearly spent as much time working out as he did surfing the web.
"OK, check this out," he said.
She couldn't see his keyboard, but she could hear the keys clicking a mile a minute suggesting he typed even faster than she did.
"I've been searching for the emblem Goebel inked onto the back of his artwork. No luck finding any of his pieces. But look what I found painted on a mural in the Mission District of San Francisco."
He hit a final key, then turned his phone toward his computer monitor. Hilary squinted as his camera brought the new image into focus.
"There. Do you see it?" A long, finger appeared to point out an illustration integrated within an elaborate vignette. "That's Goebel's emblem, right there."
He moved his phone even closer, and suddenly she could see it for herself—exactly as it had looked in the illustration Tristan found.
"There's the hammer, the compass, and the circle of wheat, all surrounded by a twelve-point star."
A frisson of excitement shot through Hilary. She jumped up from the armchair and headed for her laptop, still stored in her computer bag.
"What's the Mission District?" she asked, setting the laptop on her dinette table and turning it on. With her phone propped against the screen, they could see each other as Stuart turned his camera back around.
"It's a neighborhood in San Francisco, primarily populated by Latinos but known for its art community."
"Art?" Hilary waited impatiently for the laptop to boot.
"This emblem is part of a huge mural started during the Chicano movement in the 1970s."
"Explain the movement," she requested as she logged in.
"Hispanic artists used their paintings to raise awareness of civil rights issues, police brutality, lack of social services, and so on."
"The same way Goebel used art to convey his Marxist philosophies. What's the URL?" she asked.
Following Stuart to the website, she browsed the photos of a long wall completely covered in bright vignettes of people acting out their daily struggles with police, powerful companies, and land owners.
"Wow, the murals are incredibly colorful." The bright yellows, reds, and blues appealed to Hilary. "I wonder how the Stasi emblem ended up painted there."
"Right. Who painted it and why?" he agreed. "Was it some random artist wanting to commemorate Marxist history or could Goebel have commissioned it? Maybe he painted it himself, claiming ownership of the entire mural, the way he owned his art collection."
"That's a little farfetched." Hilary brought him back to reality. "You just said the Chicano movement started in the 70s when Goebel was still in East Germany heading up the Stasi. He didn't disappear from prison until 1992."
"True, but since he was offered asylum in the States, he could've painted it after he came here. We need to find out, at least."
A memory niggled at Hilary. Didn't the man who matched Juliet's composite sketch also live in San Francisco? What were the odds of the same city popping up in two separate searches? Hilary crossed her arms beneath her breasts as she thought.
Stuart's gaze predictably went to the cleavage she'd created.
She hid a knowing smile. Keeping men off balance was her forte. Back in college, the other girls had called her a tease, but what was the point of having giant boobs if you c
ouldn't put them to good use or have them admired? "You're staring," she commented.
He jerked his gaze up guiltily.
"It's OK." Hilary smiled at Stuart invitingly.
"Sorry," he mumbled, as a ruddy color crept across his cheekbones.
The temptation to rattle his cage rode Hilary hard. The panicked look in Stuart Rudolph's eyes warned her not to. She would move a little more slowly lest she scare the man away. She reconsidered the web page.
"Who owns the wall?" she asked.
"I checked. The city has ownership, but a nonprofit called The People's Eyes gained approval to paint whatever walls they wanted within eight city blocks."
"The People's Eyes," she repeated. The intriguing name had her typing it into a Google search bar to learn more. "Says here the director and founder is Renata Blumenthal, age fifty-nine. Isn't that a German name?"
"German and Jewish," Stuart confirmed, proving he'd already asked himself the same question.
"Goebel was Jewish, too." Hilary scratched her chin thoughtfully.
"There are lots of German Jews in the world," Stuart pointed out. "On the other hand, the fact that she's fifty-nine means she was in her twenties at the end of the Cold War."
"The same age as Anya Ausfeld," Hilary noted. "I think I need to call this Renata Blumenthal and ask about the emblem."
He inclined his head toward the camera. "Don't tell her what you're looking for. Make her share what she knows first."
His cautionary statement accompanied by the hardening of his expression betrayed the warrior in him. Hilary's pulse fluttered. "Right," she agreed. "Life is like a game of chess. You don't want to reveal your strategy too soon."
Stuart brightened. "Do you play chess?"
"I'm great at it," she avowed, leaning closer to her screen.
"Your eyes are an interesting color," he blurted.
Was he trying to flirt? He'd offered the words the same way he'd told her she was pretty, like he couldn't control what came out of his mouth.
Hilary leaned closer to her phone and blinked at him. "You think?"
"They're also really big." His gaze dipped toward her breasts again.
"Well, thank you. Your eyes are like dark chocolate. I like to melt it and drizzle it on—"
"You could call Blumenthal," he cut in, changing the subject on a nervous note. "Tell her you're an art student and ask about the emblem."
Hilary's lips twisted in momentary defeat. The poor man hadn't had much practice flirting, had he? "I could," she allowed, "but I don't know a damn thing about art."
"Me neither," he admitted.
"I'll put Juliet up to it," she decided. Unwilling to end their conversation just yet, Hilary added, "Watcha up to this weekend?" It was a shot in the dark, but maybe she could talk him into meeting her in person.
"Uh...," he cast around for an answer. "Not much. Just hanging around online."
"On a weekend?" Hilary scoffed at the mere idea. "Has anyone told you that you need to get a life?"
"My teammates have suggested it. They say I need to get a hobby."
"I can think of a hobby you'd like." Batting her eyelashes, Hilary gave him time to draw his own conclusions. "You know, if you're ever up in Northern Virginia, we could get together," she suggested, "and watch reruns of Star Trek."
His dark eyes glowed with interest. "You like Star Trek?"
"Love it. I've watched every episode of every Trek series, and now I'm a fan of the movies. The special effects just keep getting better. Did you notice in the last movie how a bubble formed around the Enterprise when it moved into warp speed?"
A smile lit up his face, turning him so handsome that Hilary's breath hitched. "I saw that," he exclaimed with boyish enthusiasm. "It was like space was bending around the ship which, if you've ever read Miguel Alcubierre's theory of faster-than-light warp drive, is exactly what happens. Are you into the special effects?"
"Ah, sort of." Having never heard of Alcubierre's theory, Hilary steered Stuart's focus elsewhere. "Mostly it's the characters that do it for me. Jim and Spock have a serious bromance going on in the movies."
The crease reappeared on the SEAL's high forehead.
He'd obviously never heard of a bromance. "You know, that deep, emotional bond between men. Being on a SEAL team, you have to know what I mean."
"Bromance," Stuart repeated the term on a dubious note.
"Oh, come on. It's not what it sounds like." Hilary tossed her head back with a laugh. "It's just intimate—and totally arousing from a woman's perspective. You know how we women feel about intimacy."
Her words rendered him mute. She watched his Adam's apple bob.
"Anyway," Hilary heaved a sigh of long-suffering, "I'd better call my boss and tell her what you found. Thanks for your help, Stuart. I'll let you know what comes of this."
"Yeah." He visibly roused himself. "No problem. Anytime."
"Talk to you later?" Hilary asked hopefully.
"Sure," he agreed.
As she went to end the call, Hilary saw Stuart's gaze slide one more time toward her breasts. Melting back into her chair, she fanned her hot face.
"Oh, my," she exclaimed. "One day, I am so going to ride that stallion."
The shrill ring of her cell phone startled her out of her fantasies. She glanced at her caller ID and read Juliet's name. "What's up, Jules?" she answered. "I was just about to call you."
"On a Saturday?" Juliet sounded highly skeptical.
"Yep. I've been talking to Tristan's friend, Stuart. We've discovered a lead. But tell me why you called first."
"I need your help finding someone."
"Wouldn't be the first time," Hilary muttered, thinking of Juliet's inability to find a date. "Who it is?"
"Tristan's birth mother is dead. She died two weeks ago of an overdose."
Hilary clutched her heart at the awful news "Get out. That's terrible!"
"Yeah, but Tristan met his aunt who gave him the name of his biological father. In '88, his father was a Marine lieutenant based at Camp Lejeune. I've found traces of his existence on the web, but there's nothing current. He doesn't have any social media accounts. Can you find him?"
"Pfff. Of course I can," Hilary asserted. And if she couldn't, she was fairly certain Stuart Rudolph could.
"What's the new lead you found with Tristan's teammate?" Juliet demanded.
"Stuart found Goebel's emblem on a mural in San Francisco." Saying Stuart's name like they were already a team made Hilary feel good.
"Seriously? San Francisco?"
"Yep."
"Isn't that where the match from my composite lives—Hans Coenen?"
"It is. And I'm finding that a bit of a coincidence."
"So am I," Juliet replied. "We need to dig more on him."
"The mural is located in the Mission District and owned by a nonprofit group called The People's Eyes, run by a woman named Renata Blumenthal."
"That's a German name," Juliet said, sounding more excited by the moment.
"Jawohl," Hilary replied.
"OK, I know it's the weekend, but I really need you to show me that mural. And I need your help finding Tristan's father. Please come to the office?" Juliet's tone became persuasive.
"Ugh." Hilary threw herself back into her chair and sulked for a second. She'd have to wait another day to buy that bra and panty set. "Fine," she finally agreed. "But I want time and a half, and I still want Sunday and Monday off. It's a federal holiday," she tacked on stubbornly.
"Deal," said her boss, albeit reluctantly.
"See you in twenty."
Packing up her laptop, Hilary wondered if Stuart Rudolph had Columbus Day off. And what were the odds of convincing him to meet in person?
Chapter 8
"What to look for first?" Juliet wondered out loud.
Hovering over Hilary's shoulder, she bit hard on her lower lip, impatient to uncover information buried by time. The office building echoed with Saturday morning silence. Every othe
r professional was away enjoying his or her three-day weekend. While she'd never make money parking herself in her office today, Juliet had to find Tristan's father as much as she had to find her parents' killer. Enjoying a holiday break was not an option.
"Let's start with Tristan's father," she decided, eager to make amends for sending Tristan to California two weeks too late. "It's Gary Sigmund, spelled the normal way. He'd be around fifty or so. I already tried the white pages, PeopleFinder, and Intelius."
"And you think he's still in the military," Hilary recalled.
"Right. Because he has no social media sites. Armed services personnel are discouraged to post anything online about themselves and their loved ones. Not a good idea in today's social climate. So it's possible Sigmund's still active duty."
"In that case, he ought to be in the personnel directory on the Navy Marine Corps Intranet," her assistant deduced.
Juliet frowned. "I'm pretty sure NMCI is a classified site."
"Oh, it is. But I have a password," Hilary stated breezily.
Juliet cut her an appraising glance. "Let me guess. You slept with that bald guy in your building, the government contractor?"
Hilary rolled her eyes at Juliet's disgusted tone. "You are such a prude. That's why you're working in your office on a Saturday while the hunk who wants to be your boyfriend is zip-lining in Santa Cruz."
"Shut up." But it was true. Not five minutes earlier, Juliet had received a video clip of Tristan whooping with exhilaration as he soared through a misty forest of redwood trees. Envy seared her anew. He'd appended a message that whale watching was next on his list, an adventure Juliet had craved since she was five.
"Are you in yet?" Juliet consoled herself with the reminder of Tristan's loss. He was obviously trying to distract himself from the tragedy of his birth mother's death, not arouse her jealousy.
"Almost. OK, I'm in. Checking the personnel directory now for Gary Sigmund." Hilary typed the name into the search bar.
Juliet tapped a toe as she waited for the results.
"Oh, he's here all right." Contact information appeared on Hilary's screen.
They both leaned closer to read it.
"Looks like Gary Sigmund is a colonel now, and he teaches at the Naval Postgraduate School in Monterey," she added.
Hot Target (The Echo Platoon Series, Book 4) Page 10