Distorted

by Christy Barritt

  Tennyson shook his head, snapping himself out of his trancelike state. The idea that Torres could be alive was enough to push Tennyson to the brink of . . . of what? Of uncontrolled anger? Of pulse-pounding fury?

  But the fact remained that all this was probably for nothing. Torres was dead.

  “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but I saw him kill himself with my own eyes,” Tennyson said through gritted teeth. “That man is dead. Burned to death at his own hands. An extensive autopsy was done and verified it was him.”

  Grant shrugged as if unconvinced. “A burned corpse is hard to identify, especially since they can’t do genetic testing without a family member to compare his DNA to.”

  “We brought his remains back with us to the States for the top forensic anthropologist in the country to examine.”

  “I’m just saying that Torres and his network are powerful. They could have paid someone to fake the results.”

  Tennyson balled his hands into fists. “Everything confirmed it was Torres. His build, his height, his age. His teeth even.”

  “I just thought you’d want to know.”

  Tennyson narrowed his eyes. “Mallory didn’t start her tour here by mistake, did she?”

  Grant’s eyes lost some of their glimmer. “No.”

  Grant had come with an agenda, Tennyson realized. An agenda that included running into Tennyson and having this conversation.

  “How’d you connect me with her, anyway?” He’d refused to do any interviews on the subject or even let his name be leaked to the media. He didn’t want publicity. He’d just wanted to do his job.

  “Mallory often talks about the man from SEAL Team Six who rescued her. I knew about Trident. That Kade Wheaton was a SEAL. I did a little research and made some astoundingly good guesses.”

  Tennyson speculated there was more to the story than that, but he had other more pressing questions. “Why would you want me? There are plenty of bodyguards out there looking for work.”

  “Mallory is very particular about who she trusts, especially when it comes to men. I thought you’d be a good fit. We pay well.”

  “This isn’t about money.”

  “Then make it about doing the right thing.”

  Grant’s words hit him like a jab in the heart, but Tennyson had never been one to make an emotional decision.

  “I’m not a bodyguard,” he finally said.

  Grant shoved a slip of paper into Tennyson’s hand. “Think about it. I haven’t mentioned this to Mallory yet.”

  Tennyson froze. “She doesn’t know you’re trying to hire a bodyguard or about the e-mail from Torres?”

  “I monitor her e-mail, so I made sure she didn’t see the one from the man claiming to be Torres. She has been getting other troubling messages, but I don’t believe the senders are one and the same. I didn’t want to shake her up right as this tour was kicking off. Plus, a possibility like that could undo every ounce of therapy she’s had. The only reason she can sleep at night is because that man is dead. Until we know something for sure, I decided to keep it quiet.”

  Grant stared at him until Tennyson finally nodded in agreement. The man’s explanation made sense—he supposed.

  As Grant sauntered away, Wheaton rejoined Tennyson. His gaze trailed after the man. “What was that about?”

  “He claims Torres is still alive. Said he got an e-mail from him and—he didn’t say this outright—wonders if he’ll come after Mallory.” Tennyson scanned the room until his eyes landed on Mallory as she smiled at a reporter, looking cool under pressure. Unaware of the potential danger around her. Of the news that could turn her world upside down.

  If it was just the e-mail, Tennyson might dismiss it. But Grant had intimated that the sender had known details about what had happened the night of the raid. The fact disturbed him.

  “What do you think?” Wheaton asked.

  “My mind is still turning right now.” Tennyson’s jaw tightened. “I saw the man die, Wheaton.”

  “Is there a chance Torres could have arranged the whole scenario?”

  Tennyson wanted to deny it, but he couldn’t. “I’ve learned to never say never.”

  Wheaton’s hands went to his hips, and he followed Tennyson’s gaze to Mallory. “You know, we’re still a good three or four months out from being ready to get this new arm of Trident off the ground. If you wanted to take the job, the timing just might work out.”

  “I’ve already committed to helping you.” Even as he said the words, desires warred inside him. If there was any possibility Torres was alive . . . Tennyson needed to see justice served.

  “I appreciate your dedication. But let the decision be yours. I know how Torres affected you.”

  Affected him? He’d turned Tennyson’s life upside down. Taken him into an abyss of vengeance and bitterness. He’d only recently started to climb out.

  And he couldn’t let himself go back there. Not without more proof.

  No, there were plenty of other qualified people who would do a better job, who wouldn’t be frozen like he was by memories of the past that tried to surface and remind him of his impossible choice.

  Even if this whole scenario did capture his interest, Mallory would be better off with someone else—anyone else—besides him.

  After a dinner of local clams and French fries, Mallory arrived back at the Cape Thomas rental house. The town was small—so small that there were hardly any hotels. The ones that were here claimed to be filled to the max. Savannah had said something about harvest season and migrant workers.

  It didn’t matter to Mallory. She liked the solitude this house on the bay brought with it. She’d stayed last night, and she’d stay tonight, before moving on down the road to Norfolk. Pit stop number one was almost behind her.

  She and Grant were the only ones staying here tonight, even though the house was big enough for ten people. Originally, there was supposed to be a whole team with them, including Grant’s assistant, an aide for Mallory, and various others at different points of the tour.

  Right before Mallory had left, she’d decided that she’d be more comfortable with a small group. Specifically, she’d be more comfortable with just Grant, who’d become somewhat of a father figure to her. Being around too many people made her feel neurotic. Large crowds caused her calm facade to crumple as her mind scrambled to remain in control.

  Currently, Grant was on the phone with someone, so Mallory decided to step outside for some fresh air. Freedom was something she’d never take for granted again, and the Chesapeake Bay glimmered at the back of the property, a temptation she couldn’t ignore. She pulled on a sweater as her feet hit the deck.

  The darkness was beginning to sink its teeth into the evening sky. As she glanced up, hoping to see the moon, she saw a bolt of lightning across the water instead. There was no rain or thunder or wind. Not yet, at least. Instead, she had a front-row seat to the storm in the distance.

  The weather had been turbulent lately, as cold and warm air masses collided, and the season changed from winter to spring. Growing up, she’d loved thunderstorms. Now, not so much. Now, the storms seemed so ominous, a reminder of the things in her life that were out of her control.

  Despite that, she stepped farther away from the house and the safety it offered. The balance between craving freedom and needing safety was delicate, at best. She’d yet to master it. Paranoia too often reared its ugly head.

  A wooden walkway led from the steps of the deck to another deck overlooking the water. She inched toward it, hesitation urging her to go back, and stubborn determination pushing her forward.

  Lightning cracked the sky in the distance again, and Mallory drew in a sharp breath. The violence and power in that one act of nature almost seemed like a sign for her to retreat.

  But that was silly.

  Nothing but woods led to the place. There was no danger out here. No reason to feel scared.

  Of course, that’s what she’d also thought that night at
the swanky Caribbean resort where she and her parents had been vacationing. She’d felt untouchable then. She’d never be that naive again.

  But knowing Dante was dead did a lot to allay her fears.

  Here, on the banks of the Chesapeake Bay, the water didn’t feel like an impenetrable wall preventing her from escaping. Here, it reminded her of peace and solitude.

  As she leaned against the railing, the breeze picked up, indicating the storm was blowing closer. Her thoughts crashed back to her reunion with Tennyson hours earlier.

  He’d been even more mind-blowing in reality than she’d imagined. In her mind, he’d been the bigger-than-life hero who’d rescued her from the consuming darkness. She’d thought of him often, yet she only had a vague memory of his exact features.

  The man could have stepped off the screen of a superhero movie. Captain America maybe? He was lean and muscular. His eyes were wise and kind. He was brave and put his life on the line for others.

  There really were men like him out there. Men who were truly heroes and who deserved that honor.

  Or had she simply put the man on a pedestal?

  She glanced across the water as the storm continued to seize the air and promise a violent awakening.

  Why had Tennyson been in Cape Thomas? Coincidence? That had to be it.

  Except she didn’t believe in coincidences. Had Grant purposely chosen this location to start the tour? Why would he have done that? Was it because he’d hoped Tennyson would be here?

  The wind gusted again, and as it did, the hair on Mallory’s neck prickled.

  Her spine stiffened. What were her instincts trying to alert her to? Was danger lurking close by?

  She glanced around. The only light she saw came from the windows of the house behind her. Otherwise, it was darkness.

  She swallowed hard, fighting the fear that wanted to consume her.

  Over the past couple of weeks, she’d been sensing that she was being watched. She hadn’t told anyone. They’d think she was paranoid. If they were too concerned about her, this whole tour could be canceled.

  This circuit was the only thing that was keeping Mallory going. Knowing that she could take her heartache and redeem it by helping others had given her a reason to go on. She didn’t want to alert anyone that paranoia could be kicking in.

  And paranoia was the only thing these feelings could be attributed to. After all, who would be watching her out here in the middle of nowhere?

  Sure, she’d gotten some strange e-mails from a man she called Nameless. But those messages were most likely harmless, written by an overzealous admirer. The sender had wanted to feel how soft her skin was. To gaze into her eyes all day. Thought the two of them were destined to spend forever together.

  Grant monitored her inbox, sending all pertinent e-mails to a second inbox that had been set up for Mallory. She’d requested to see those anonymous messages. Part of her hadn’t wanted her to read them, but she had anyway.

  There had been a few fans who’d been slightly aggressive after she did an interview on the national news program Yolanda. One had cornered her at the airport, wanting an autograph. Another had tried to sequester her at a restaurant, ignoring her efforts to leave and essentially blocking her path. But those incidents had been isolated.

  That only left . . . Torres’s network, Inferno. But why would any of them want to watch her? She knew nothing. The men had spoken in Spanish when she was around, and she could hardly understand a word of it.

  No, the only reason one of them would be watching was if she was a threat . . . which she wasn’t.

  Which meant she was paranoid.

  Just then, a stick snapped in the distance.

  She froze.

  Something was out there. Something hiding in the darkness.

  CHAPTER 3

  It’s nothing, Mallory. An animal. A deer maybe.

  She forced herself to pivot. She faced the woods to her left, looking for a sign of where the sound had come from.

  Everything had gone silent again.

  She desperately wanted to get back inside to Grant, yet she felt frozen with fear. Was someone watching her?

  Panic clawed at her throat.

  No, Mallory. It’s just an animal. Those days of living in fear are behind you. Now it’s time to move on. You’ve crested that peak.

  She drew her sweater closer.

  She needed to head back. Now.

  Just as she took a step, another crack sounded.

  That had definitely been a stick breaking. Was someone out there?

  She glanced in the direction of the noise.

  A glimmer of something caught her eye. Based on the height and size . . . had those been glasses? Binoculars? Night-vision goggles?

  She didn’t know. But she ran.

  And she knew she couldn’t speak of this to anyone. Not even Grant, who was already acting concerned.

  Grant would call her therapist. Her therapist would say Mallory wasn’t fit to do this. Some people already thought she was rushing things, even if she knew she wasn’t.

  Without this tour, her life would go back to being without a purpose. She couldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t let her paranoia undo all the good work she’d already done. For the first time in years, she felt like she was really alive.

  She had to ensure the past didn’t try to draw her back and permanently wreck her future. Her therapist had warned her about it. He’d told her stories about people who’d gone through major trauma and who jumped into the limelight too quickly. One had ended up in a mental institution. Another was now addicted to drugs and alcohol, a cycle that had started as she’d tried to numb the pain.

  Mallory had agreed to check in with her therapist every month. She’d also agreed to allow him to get updates from Grant on how she was acting.

  Telling Grant that she thought she was being watched? That she kept thinking she’d seen a dead man?

  It would only make her look weak and delusional.

  She couldn’t let that happen.

  No, she refused to let Dante strip anything else from her.

  Tennyson stared out the window of his new office, a space with a brilliant display of the Chesapeake Bay just beyond a few trees at the shoreline. He should be working on some notes, but all he’d been able to think about for the past twelve hours was Mallory Baldwin and Dante Torres.

  His watch beeped—he’d set an alarm—and the sound pulled him from his preoccupation. He had to head back to his place and pick up some food he’d forgotten to bring in for Wheaton’s surprise birthday celebration at the office.

  He stood, but before he could exit, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen, and his heart stuttered.

  Admiral Kline.

  It had been a long time since he’d spoken with him. Since Claire’s funeral, for that matter.

  He sat back down as he put the phone to his ear. “Admiral, thanks for returning my call.”

  “Good to hear your voice, Tennyson. What can I do for you?”

  Just hearing the man’s deep, commanding tone took Tennyson back in time, but he couldn’t let that happen. He had to stay focused. “I just heard a rumor. I wanted to find out if you knew anything about it.”

  “Rumor about what?”

  “Dante Torres.” As silence stretched on the phone line, Tennyson absently straightened the few personal items he had on his desk: a medal the navy had bestowed upon him for bravery after his last mission, the now well-used Bible he’d received at his baptism, and a photo of his family back in Indiana.

  “What about him?” the admiral finally asked.

  “I heard he might still be alive.”

  The admiral scoffed. “Alive? You and I both know better.”

  “So you haven’t heard anything to the contrary?”

  “No, why would I? We both know he died that day.”

  “That’s what I thought also. I figured the rumor had no merit.” But how had the sender of that e-mail known that Torres killed himse
lf with gasoline and a lighter? No one would have known that except for the SEALs there that day and Mallory. The fact bothered him.

  Admiral Kline let out a deep sigh. “There is one thing.”

  Tennyson tensed. “What’s that?”

  “There’s rumor that Inferno is reorganizing. That there’s a new leader at the helm. We don’t know who this person is yet. But there’s been a lot of underground chatter.”

  “Is that right?”

  “I’m not saying that person is Torres. Of course. But there has been some activity surrounding Inferno lately.”

  Inferno reorganizing? The thought caused acid to pour through Tennyson. He couldn’t even stomach the idea.

  Tennyson chewed on the admiral’s words during the short drive to his house. He didn’t know anything either—if he was telling the truth. Tennyson felt certain that the admiral would tell him if he knew something. They both had a stake in the situation. If Torres was alive, Admiral Kline would be the first to hire Tennyson to hunt the man down. After all, the man had killed his daughter. Claire.

  A few minutes later, Tennyson pulled up to his temporary home. It was small—a little cottage on the Chesapeake Bay, less than nine hundred square feet. But it was perfect for him. He was renting it for now, until he could move in to more permanent quarters at the new Trident facility.

  Before he went inside, he walked toward the high embankment over the water. A set of wooden stairs led to a sandy beach below. He drew in a long breath of fresh air, trying to clear his thoughts.

  Should he have said yes to Grant’s request for a bodyguard? He couldn’t deny that the idea ignited something in him. But Mallory would be better off with someone not linked to her past, who didn’t hold the secret that he did. And Tennyson wasn’t sure he could stomach working for Grant. Besides, Wheaton needed him here.

  Put it behind you, Tennyson. Move on.

  The things that he’d seen and done as a SEAL would always be a part of him, though. They’d made him who he was today. As much as he tried to forget the past, it was always there, hovering just a little too close for comfort. Taunting him. Reminding him of what he’d lost.