Locked, Loaded and SEALed

by Carol Ericson

  “Presence of mind? I felt like I was losing my mind. I didn’t even remember I’d done it until you talked about not knowing his identity.”

  “You did do it, and I think that’s amazing. I’m impressed.” He shook out a napkin from the coffee area and placed it on the table by the window. “Put it here.”

  “Can you lift the prints from the phone?”

  “Me personally? No, but the local FBI office can do it for me. I’ll contact them tomorrow, and we can find out who Patel is and his connection to Dr. Fazal.” Austin circled his finger over the phone. “Where are his prints?”

  “I pressed the pads of his fingertips against the screen at the top. I’ve just handled the phone by the edges and haven’t touched it since I brought it out just now. Will that work?”

  “Not only will it work, it’s brilliant. Really quick thinking on your part.”

  “Like I said, it was more like I was on autopilot.” She coughed. “As you’ve probably figured out from researching my background, I’ve had a lot of contact with the police over the years.”

  “I don’t know as much about you as you seem to think, but from what I do know, if you had a lot of contact with law enforcement it wasn’t your fault.”

  She wedged her hands on her hips and tilted her head. “You don’t strike me as the type of person who would make excuses for someone’s bad behavior.”

  Usually he wasn’t, but his impression of Sophia had done a one-eighty since he’d met her and spent some time with her.

  “Some excuses carry more weight than others.” Shoving his hands into his pockets, he braced a shoulder against the window. “Do you remember much...about your father’s death?”

  She blinked, and her face tightened.

  For a minute he thought she was going to tell him to go to hell, and maybe he deserved that for prying. Had anyone but the therapists ever asked her about that afternoon when she was four years old?

  “Interesting that you should ask that now.” She caught a strand of her dark hair and twisted it around one finger. “When I smelled the blood pooling around Patel, and before, when I smelled it in Dr. Fazal’s office, it reminded me of that day more than anything.”

  “I’ve heard smell is one of the strongest triggers for memory, so that makes sense.”

  “Yeah, except for most people it’s the smell of apple pie and Mom’s old perfume that tweak those memories.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I was in the bedroom when my parents started arguing.”

  “Was your father abusive? I know your mother didn’t get off on self-defense because, well...”

  “Yeah, she’s still in prison.” Sophia dropped onto the bed and fell backward. She continued as she stared at the ceiling. “My father wasn’t abusive, unless you call it abuse when a drug pusher yells at his wife for using his product.”

  His hands curled into fists. Her father was abusive—abusive for creating that kind of world for a child. “Is that what they were arguing about?”

  “Yes, but this time he miscalculated. My mom was already high...and desperate for more. When he denied her and called her a junkie, it was the last straw. She grabbed his gun, which he kept handy for drug deals, and shot him twice. Then she had all the crank she wanted. I’m sure she would’ve OD’d if a neighbor in the apartment next door hadn’t called 911 when she heard the gunshots.”

  “Is that when you came out of the bedroom?”

  “He was lying on the kitchen floor. My mother didn’t even try to keep me away from him. The first cops on the scene told me I had blood on my dirty bare feet.” Sophia spoke in a monotone, as if she were recounting the plot of a TV show and not her life.

  He joined her on the bed, sitting on the edge. “God, I don’t even know what to say. How you got to the point in your life where you are now after a beginning like that is a testament to your fortitude and spirit.”

  She rolled her eyes to the side, catching him with her gaze. “I had a lot of speed bumps on the way—running away from foster homes, fights, shoplifting—but not drugs, never drugs.”

  “Do you ever see your mother?”

  “She’s only about twenty-five miles away in Framingham.”

  “That means you do see her?”

  “Once in a while. She’s clean, remorseful, got her GED and found God.”

  “Sounds like progress.” He toed off his running shoes and stacked a few pillows against the headboard. “Is she getting out anytime soon?”

  “She got twenty-five to life. She’s coming up for parole soon.”

  “Will you be there for her?”

  “Was she there for me?”

  “No.” He eased back against the pillows. “I’m not implying you should let her into your life. Just asking.”

  She slid from the bed and grabbed the remote. “Do you think there’s anything on the nightly news about Patel’s murder?”

  “It’s past eleven. If the local news had the story, we probably missed it.”

  Sophia clicked on the TV anyway, probably to get away from his probing questions.

  The Boston-area news had already switched from hard news stories to the warm and fuzzy human-interest ones—and there was nothing warm or fuzzy about a man getting his throat sliced on a bench across from the Old North Church.

  Austin yawned. “I’m going to wrap it up. Once I get the go-ahead to bring your phone in for dusting, I’ll take it to the office, and if the FBI can’t find a match in the national database, the prints can be sent to Interpol—thanks to you.”

  “Do you think they’ll give me a medal?”

  “I think I can arrange for that.” He winked at her.

  “Actually, all I want is to be safe in my own apartment again.”

  “I think I can arrange for that, too.”

  She placed the remote next to the TV and started pulling cushions from the sofa bed. “Do you think the Boston PD will be able to identify Patel from his fingerprints?”

  “Not if he’s a foreigner. If they can’t ID him, they’ll send his prints to the FBI, anyway. We’ll just get the information faster this way. Like I said before, my operation is not going through the normal channels.”

  “But you think the FBI will take the prints from the phone, anyway?”

  “Someone there will receive special orders to do so.”

  “I always figured there was a conspiracy between law enforcement agencies that went completely over the general public’s head. In a way, I feel vindicated.”

  “The general public probably doesn’t want to know what’s going on.” He jumped up to help her pull out the sofa bed. “I don’t know why you’re getting this bed ready. This is mine.”

  “This is your room and you’re quite a bit bigger than I am, so you should get that comfy king-size bed.”

  “Shucks, ma’am. That wouldn’t be the chivalrous thing to do.”

  “Hey, if you insist. You don’t have to twist my arm.” She turned from the sofa bed and opened her suitcase, emerging with a bag dangling from her fingertips. “Can I have the bathroom first, too?”

  “Of course. I’ll get my bed ready.”

  “I’m kinda liking this chivalry thing.” She swept past him and clicked the bathroom door behind her.

  Clenching his jaw, he pulled out the couch and smoothed his hands across the sheets. If she could read his real thoughts on the matter, she’d rethink everything about him.

  Because he wanted nothing more than to lay Sophia across that king-size bed and explore every inch of her body—with his tongue.

  What would she think about his chivalry then?

  Chapter Ten

  The following morning, Sophia emerged from a sound sleep, one twitching muscle and one thought at a time. With her body fully stretched out and her mind fu
lly aware of last night’s horrific events, she lifted her head to peer at Austin splayed out on the sofa bed.

  A tickle of guilt played out across the back of her neck as she eyed Austin on his stomach, his leg hanging off the side of the bed, his arm flung over his head and the sheets tangled about his body as if he’d been wrestling with them all night. He probably had.

  She scooched up to a sitting position, her eyes gradually becoming accustomed to the gloom of the room. With the sheets shrugged from his broad shoulders and twisted around his waist, he looked like a Greek god who’d fallen to Earth for a nap between battles.

  On her hands and knees, she crawled to the end of the bed to get a better look, and got an eyeful of his smooth, bare back, strong enough to carry the weight of the world’s safety—or at least her own.

  He cleared his throat and thrashed his legs, the sheet bunching and scooting farther down his back.

  She released a small sigh when she saw the edge of his black briefs. Not that she was hoping for a glimpse of his bare backside, but it would’ve considerably brightened her morning after a bad night in a series of bad nights.

  Her gaze traveled from his buttocks, teasingly concealed by the sheet, over his smooth back and across those muscled shoulders until it collided with a pair of green eyes. She couldn’t see their greenness in the dim light, but she knew the color by now. She’d gotten lost in that color a few times.

  The heat surged in her cheeks, but he wouldn’t be able to see the blush any more than she could see the color of his eyes. “Oh, are you awake? I—I thought I heard your phone go off.”

  “My phone’s over there.” He rolled onto his back and flung his arm out to the side. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Why?”

  “Isn’t it early?”

  She twisted around to see the glowing numbers of the alarm clock. “It’s seven twenty. Is that early?”

  “I guess not.” He rubbed his eyes. “It’s so dark in here.”

  “Those drapes do a pretty good job of shutting out the light, and I think we’re facing west.”

  Closing his eyes, he made a halfhearted kick at the sheets wound around his legs. “Seems earlier.”

  “I’m sorry. You didn’t have a very good night’s sleep, did you? Bed’s too small for you.”

  “That’s not why. I can sleep in any condition, and have. This sofa bed is heaven compared to some of the mattresses I’ve endured—and some of the rock ledges that have doubled as mattresses.”

  She held her breath waiting for him to explain why he’d had a restless night. Could it have been because she was in the bed two feet away from him? No. A man like him? A woman like her? Just no.

  “Did you sleep well?”

  “I was exhausted. I don’t think I slept so much as passed out.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Do you want the shower first since I had first dibs last night?”

  “You go ahead.” His legs finally free of the sheets, he stretched and all the muscles in his body rippled. “I’m going to make a few phone calls and see where we can take your cell to get those prints.”

  She peeled her tongue from the roof of her dry mouth. She really wanted to hang around to see him in his briefs, but she didn’t want to be too obvious, so she crawled out of the bed and shuffled to her suitcase.

  As she crouched beside her bag, she tugged at the hem of her T-shirt. She really needed to buy herself some new pajamas.

  She dug through her clean clothes and pulled out a pair of black leggings and an oversize sweater. At least it had a wide neckline that exposed one shoulder, so she wouldn’t be completely lacking in sex appeal.

  She hugged a camisole to her chest and shook her head. Sex appeal wasn’t required for submitting the fingerprints of a dead man. Had she lost all perspective?

  A soft noise behind her caught her attention and she cranked her head over her shoulder. Her eyes widened and her pulse throbbed as she took in the sight of Austin strolling to the window in nothing but his black briefs. Right now, this was the only perspective she wanted.

  Before he could catch her checking him out again, she staggered to her feet, her clothes bunched in her arms, and scurried to the bathroom.

  Once in the shower, she got a grip and returned to reality. She and Austin were in a bubble right now—a bubble of fear and uncertainty. Other than Dr. Fazal, she’d never had a protective male figure in her life. She had to separate her emotional connection and dependence on Austin from the real reason he was acting as her guardian.

  He had a job to do, and once the CIA or whoever was pulling his strings had decided he’d done as much as they needed, they’d yank him off the case and send him back overseas.

  She had to prepare for that eventuality and stop having ridiculous thoughts about him—and his body. She still had Tyler Cannon, her Spark date, waiting for her, and maybe a few more connections to check out once she was able to use her phone again.

  She finished her shower with her feet on the ground and her head out of the clouds. After towel drying her hair and pulling her black camisole over her head, she tucked her sweater under her arm. Forget the sex appeal.

  She marched back into the room, her glance sweeping past Austin, entering a text in his phone. At least he’d had the decency to cover all those flexing muscles with a white T-shirt and his jeans from last night.

  He looked up from his phone. “Wow, I bet you look good in that red color.”

  “This?” She held up the sweater she’d been ready to dump back into her suitcase. “Yeah, I like red.”

  She stuffed her arms into the sweater and yanked it over her head. It was a just a sweater, not a shimmering cocktail dress.

  “I made contact.” He held up his phone. “The CIA’s sending me to a guy, Melvin, in the Massachusetts Department of Justice. He’ll lift the prints and send them to the FBI first for a check against the national database. If there’s no match there, he has a connection to Interpol and we can see if we can get a fingerprint database from Pakistan.”

  “That sounds like a long shot. Does Pakistan even have a database with fingerprints?”

  “I don’t have a clue. That’s not our area.”

  “What are the police going to find when they search for Patel’s identity?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he’ll have fake ID. What I do know is that I’ve already contacted the agency that’s running the show out here and indicated that I need to get into Patel’s homicide file.”

  “They can do that?”

  “They have computer guys—and one amazing woman—who can hack into anything.”

  “Who is they, Austin? Who’s calling the shots for you other than the navy?”

  “I can’t tell you that, Sophia.”

  “Would anyone, including me, even know this organization?”

  “No.” He slid open the closet door and pulled some clothes from a few hangers. “We’ll get going as soon as I’m done.”

  “Take your time.” She parked herself in front of the full-length mirror on the closet door and ran her hands through her damp hair.

  She caught his eye in the mirror. “What?”

  “You do look good in that color.”

  He slammed the bathroom door, and she smiled at her reflection in the mirror—a big, silly grin that spelled trouble.

  * * *

  WITH HER CELL phone back in her possession and clutched in her hand, Sophia took the seat across from Austin in a small breakfast café across the street from the Commons. “Do you really think Melvin will have an answer on those prints at the end of the day?”

  “It’s a rush order, and Melvin seems like a competent guy.” Austin shook open the plastic menu. “He’ll get to the national database, anyway. It’s going to take longer for Interpol to get back to him—even with
the CIA pressuring them.”

  She turned her coffee cup upright and smiled at the waiter. When he’d filled her cup and Austin’s, Sophia continued. “The CIA knows about your assignment, but you’re not reporting primarily to them, are you? The CIA is not calling the shots here.”

  “Why are you so interested?” He peered at her over the top of his menu, wiggling his eyebrows up and down.

  “It fascinates me—the dark, twisting corridors of power.”

  “You make it sound...nefarious. It’s all done to protect people like you—” he tipped his menu toward the other tables “—and the people in this restaurant, and the people waiting for their tours to begin in Boston Commons.”

  She rolled her eyes. “If you say so.”

  He hunched forward, opened his mouth and then must’ve thought better of it. “I think I’m going to have the pancakes. You?”

  “I’m not a breakfast person.” She cradled her coffee cup with two hands. “Maybe some toast.”

  As they gave their order to the waiter, Austin’s phone vibrated on the table. He ignored it until their waiter left, and then he grabbed it.

  “Not the fingerprints yet.”

  He shook his head. “Almost better. The initial police report on Patel’s murder.”

  “Are they still calling him Peter Patel?”

  “They are.” He swept his fingertip across his phone’s display. “Which means he must’ve been carrying fake ID.”

  “Have they made any connection between him and Dr. Fazal?”

  “Not that I can see, but when we get back to the hotel I’ll bring the report up on my laptop.” He placed the phone beside his coffee cup and tapped the screen twice. “I got what I wanted right now though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The hotel where he was staying.”

  “Have the police been there yet?”

  “I’m sure they have, but it doesn’t mean I can’t check it out.”

  “We. We can check it out. I’m not sitting around in that hotel waiting for you. Besides...” She dropped her lashes and ran the tip of her finger along the rim of her cup. “I—I just feel safer when I’m with you.”