Seal Team 16 06 - Gone Too Far

by Brockmann, Suzanne

  “What about on base?” Alyssa said, wanting to keep him talking as she moved closer. Closer. “There must’ve been women she at least associated with?”

  He scratched his beard as he thought about that. “There was a wives group on the base, but it was for everyone on base, not just the SEALs, and I guess that wasn’t good enough for Mary Lou. But Team Sixteen doesn’t have anything official. We’re still a relatively new team, most of the guys aren’t married, and the ones who are . . . Mike’s and Kenny’s wives always go out of town when the team goes wheels up. And these are people who are dealing with a bicoastal relationship. I didn’t feel like I could call them up and ask them to form a support group for my wife. Although, shit, Mike and Joan didn’t even get married until after Mary Lou left for Florida, so really it was just Ken’s wife, but—”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know, Lys. Out of the guys in the team who are married, most are enlisted, and, well, I hate to say this, but Mary Lou didn’t exactly help people to like her. I know Meg Nilsson—Johnny’s wife—and Teri Howe, who’s married to the senior chief, they got together with Mary Lou for awhile right after we got married. I think it was weekly or maybe . . . I don’t know. But then they stopped coming over, and when I asked why, Mary Lou made all this noise about how Teri’s husband was only enlisted so she shouldn’t have been invited, and then Meg kept trying to force all this information on counseling down her throat, and she’d done enough of that in rehab, so . . .

  “I really don’t know what I could tell anyone in an interview. Mary Lou spent all her time taking care of Haley, and doing, jeez, I don’t know what. Reading, I thought. She had some bullshit job that she insisted on getting at the McDonald’s on base—”

  “Which gave her access—”

  Sam laughed his disbelief. “You don’t honestly think—”

  “I think her prints were on a weapon used in a terrorist attack. I think you need to come to Sarasota with me. I think we need to get there as quickly as possible.” Alyssa moved closer to him, reached into her back pocket, praying he didn’t figure out what she intended to do. . . .

  “I’m sorry,” he told her.

  “I am, too,” she said, and, moving swiftly, handcuffed his left wrist to her right.

  “Claire on line one,” Maddy’s voice came through on Noah’s intercom.

  Noah picked up the phone. “Hey, baby.”

  “What in the name of heaven has Roger gotten himself into?”

  Oh, shit. “They came to visit you, too?”

  “When you say it like that, it sounds almost reasonable. Visit. Right. What they did was come into the nursery school, right at drop-off time. I had parents waiting to talk to me. What was I supposed to say? ‘Excuse me while I’m questioned by the FBI?’ I mean, wouldn’t you be a little nervous about putting me in charge of your four-year-old child?”

  Claire was the administrator of the nursery school at their church, and they were running a six-week summer program that started this morning. It wasn’t a high salary position. In fact, Noah had figured it out once, and, with all the extra time she put in, she was earning well below minimum wage. But Claire loved doing it, that was for sure. And if it made her happy, it made him happy.

  Although, he really wished that program hadn’t started today. She had meetings into the afternoon—no chance for their lunch.

  “Believe me, no one’s going to fire you for cooperating with the authorities,” Noah told her. “And if they do, you can finally get a real job.”

  “Thanks so much, Noah. That's so comforting and supportive.”

  “What did they ask you?”

  “A whole bunch of questions about Mary Lou,” she told him. “Did I know her, were we close, when was the last time I saw her, had we ever visited the Starretts in San Diego. And Roger. My God. They wanted to know his state of mind. Is he violent. Has he ever been violent. And what about his temper. I didn’t know what to say. I mean, yes, he does have the tendency to burn hot, but I’ve got a mean temper, too. And it flared up a bit when they had the audacity to ask if he’d ever expressed any anti-American sentiment. Can you believe that? What kind of question is that to ask about a man who’s spent over a dozen years risking his life for his country?”

  “It’s the same kind of question they asked me,” Noah said. “Did they tell you to contact them if he calls or shows up?”

  “Yes, they did.” Claire paused. “I may have lied to them a little bit when I told them I would.”

  Noah laughed.

  “Nos . . .” There was something in her voice that made him stop laughing.

  “Yeah?”

  “Is it possible that Roger really killed Mary Lou’s sister?” she asked him.

  He didn’t hesitate. “No.”

  “Think about it,” she said.

  “I don’t have to.”

  “Remember that story you told me?” she said. “About that fight Ringo got into where you thought he was going to kill that kid. What were you—in eighth grade?”

  “Yeah. And he didn’t kill Lyle. God, what was his last name?”

  “Only because you stopped him.”

  Noah sighed. “Claire, I know him.”

  “I’ve read about certain kinds of medication that servicemen have to take when they go overseas—pills that prevent malaria—that can sometimes result in psychotic episodes.”

  “Morgan,” Noah said. “Lyle Morgan. What a fool. He thought his being bigger would keep Ringo from swinging at him.” He laughed. “He didn’t know Ringo.”

  “Doesn’t it creep you out just a little bit that he’s been trained as a killer?” Claire asked. “You know, I read that SEALs can do things like break necks and snap spinal cords. And fire shotguns.”

  “I know,” Noah said. He’d once wanted to be a SEAL. He’d read all those books, too. “But lots of people know how to use a shotgun.”

  “I don’t,” she said. “And—hold on a sec . . .”

  He could hear her muffled voice talking to someone who had come into her office.

  “I’ve got to go,” she told Noah.

  “Ringo didn’t kill Janine,” he said again.

  “People change,” she said.

  “Not that much.”

  Sam couldn’t believe it. She’d actually handcuffed them together. “Oh, for . . . Come on, Alyssa.”

  “Get in the car,” she told him, pulling him with her as she went in through the passenger’s side and climbed over the parking brake.

  It was either get in, or resist and end up hurting her.

  “Please, please don’t do this,” he said, hoping quiet begging would get him farther than another temper tantrum. Or than making a pointed comment about exactly how they’d ended up—naked and covered in chocolate syrup—the last time she’d handcuffed herself to him.

  But she already had the car in gear and the tires moving before he’d shut his door.

  “They just want to ask you questions,” she told him, clearly uncomfortable with the warmth of his arm and hand so close to hers. If she drove with both hands on the top of the steering wheel, his hand was dangling, the weight of it surely making the cuffs cut into her wrist. But if she drove with her right hand down at the bottom of the wheel, that put his hand in her lap.

  Which was fine with him. Or she could put her hand in his lap—also fine with him. She did neither, instead resting her hand on the gear selector between their two seats.

  “Just questions,” Sam repeated. “You want to make a guess at how long it’s going to take them to ask me all those questions?”

  “I’ll do everything in my power to—”

  “Four months,” he said. “If I’m really lucky. Longer—like forever—if they get the idea into their pinheads that I’m somehow involved.”

  She was silent because she knew what he was saying was the truth. They already thought that Tom Paoletti was involved.

  “Alyssa,” he said. “Have a heart. If you bring me back, I’m going to be l
ocked in some room, answering those fuckwads’ questions, while somewhere out there Mary Lou is hiding from Janine’s shooter. Who is probably an al-Qaeda trained terrorist. I need to find her—I need to find Haley. Don’t do this to me. Please. I’m begging you.”

  She was silent, and he used the time to pray. Please God, if there was ever a time he needed a little divine intervention it was now.

  “I’ll talk to Max,” she finally said.

  “Oh, great. Thanks—this is after you tell me you have absolutely no influence over him. Which I find very hard to believe, by the way.”

  Her temper flared, too, as she took the entrance ramp onto Route 75 south. “Believe what you want, Lieutenant. I’m doing the best I can in an impossible situation.”

  He was Lieutenant again. Which meant he was so screwed. Sam or even Roger would have had at least a slim chance of talking her out of bringing him in, but not Lieutenant Starrett.

  No, Lieutenant Starrett was going to jail. Directly to jail. No passing Go. No collecting his ex-wife and daughter.

  God damn it.

  “You know, a good blow job can be pretty goddamn influential,” he shot at her. “And if you’re at all uncertain, you could probably get some valuable pointers from Jules.”

  Her voice rose. “Why do you say things like that?”

  The air-conditioning was cranking, gale forces howling from the vents in the dashboard. But despite the heavy winds inside the car, her words seemed to hang suspended between them, as palpable as the warmth of her arm next to his.

  “I don’t know,” Sam admitted, his anger suddenly deflated. And he really didn’t. What was wrong with him? “I just . . .” He shook his head. What could he say? “I’m an asshole. I’m sorry.”

  “You purposely antagonize me. You find my buttons and you jump on them with both feet.”

  His crack had struck one of her “buttons.” Was it possible . . . ?

  “Whoa. You don’t really think I meant that, do you? About getting pointers from— Lys, sex with you was incredible. You could teach a master class. You know, you did things to me with your mouth and tongue that I still—”

  “Stop,” she shouted. “You just don’t get it, do you? I do not want to talk about sex with you in any way, shape, or form. I do not want to reminisce about anyone’s mouth or tongue, thank you so very much. We did things together that . . . that . . . God, that I’m ashamed of! If I could, I would go back in time and erase it all. Completely.”

  Well, shit.

  Sam almost let that one shut him up. He almost turned away and just sat and stewed in silent misery. But if stupid things he didn’t really mean could come out of his mouth, then surely the things that came out of Alyssa’s mouth could be things she didn’t really mean, too. Right?

  Evisceration. It was entirely possible that if Alyssa was ashamed of anything, it was that she’d let herself care enough about him to be eviscerated when he’d said good-bye. And it took a shitload of caring to warrant an evisceration.

  “I want to go back in time, too,” Sam told her quietly. “I want to walk into your apartment in D.C. and take you out to dinner.” He wanted to go on that dinner date they’d planned, instead of doing what he’d done—show up to tell her he couldn’t see her again, that he was going to have to marry Mary Lou.

  Alyssa was silent for a good long while then, just driving, her eyes glued to the road, her mouth a tight line. Sam waited, silently praying. For what, he didn’t really know.

  She finally glanced at him, her face and eyes showing signs of fatigue and strain. “We can’t change the past,” she said. “We both made choices that we can’t undo.”

  “Mine’s been undone.”

  That got him another look, this one filled with a crapload of disgust and disdain. “You think it’s that easy? Poof, you’re divorced. Poof, you’re suddenly back in my apartment, in my life? Dinner date with Alyssa, take two? You can show up if you want, Roger, but I won’t be home. You’re two years too late, and I have moved on.”

  This wasn’t helping. Getting her all pissed off over the sins of his past wasn’t likely to make her want to start over with him. And, even more important right now, it wasn’t going to make her want to give in and set him free. Although, he was back to being Roger.

  “How’s Nora?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject.

  Alyssa narrowed her eyes at him, obviously trying to predict where this new topic was going. “She’s fine.”

  Jules had told Sam that Alyssa spent a lot of time with her sister, Tyra, and her little niece. The very niece who had been born the very same day he and Alyssa had first made love.

  They’d gone together to visit Tyra and the baby in the hospital. And afterward Alyssa had cried from relief and emotional overwhelm. Sam hadn’t thought she was capable of that kind of breakdown. She’d always come off as Superwoman, with nerves of steel, and ice water running through her veins. Ice water. Man, he’d been so wrong about that.

  “She must be, what, now? Three?” Sam asked.

  “Almost,” Alyssa said.

  “Imagine how you’d feel—how Tyra would feel and—” Oh, crap. What was the husband’s name? Sam focused hard and pulled it out of his ass. “Ben.”

  Alyssa gave him another look. “And now am I supposed to be all impressed that you remember my sister’s and brother-in-law’s names?”

  “Yes, ma’am. But it’s okay if you’re not. I’m impressed enough for both of us.” Sam laughed at the expression on her face. Oh, come on, Lys. She was working every muscle in her face so that she wouldn’t smile—just because she was still pissed off at his blow job comment. He really had to learn to keep his mouth shut. “Imagine how freaked out they’d be if they didn’t know where Nora was. Imagine how freaked you’d be.”

  “Yes, I would be. And unlike you and Haley, I’ve actually seen Nora in the past six months.”

  Ouch. She’d cut him in two with that one, but like that robot in Alien, he wasn’t going to just lie back and die.

  But it was time to try another tack. He pulled the conversation and his bloody torso forward with his arms. “Lys, I swear to you, just let me find Haley and then I’ll turn myself in.”

  “The entire FBI is searching for her,” she told him. “Along with local law enforcement agencies. Believe me, by now Mary Lou is the subject of the biggest manhunt of the decade. We will find her, and soon. Even without your help.”

  “Is that supposed to comfort me? The biggest fucking manhunt of the decade is supposed to reassure me?” The implications of that made his head spin. He hadn’t even considered . . . “Holy shit, do the APBs actually list her as armed and dangerous?”

  Alyssa clearly realized that she’d only managed to make him more upset. “I haven’t seen them. I don’t know—”

  “You goddamn well do know,” he countered hotly. “What’s SOP for an alleged terrorist?”

  “Okay, you’re probably right. Since her prints were on an automatic weapon—”

  “Fuck!” This was far worse even than he’d first imagined. “This is insane! Some FBI hotdog is going to spot her and go after her, weapon blazing.” And Haley could well be hit in the cross fire. Jesus, he had to get out of this car. He had to go and find them, now. He had to talk Alyssa into letting him go, or he was going to have to use force or threat of force to get her to release him. Way to get back into her good graces . . . But he had no choice. “No way is Mary Lou armed or dangerous!”

  “Maybe she’s not, but you know as well as I do that she could very well be with someone who is. I know you’re probably getting tired of hearing this refrain, Sam, but her prints are on that weapon. We know at some point she . . . interacted with someone who wanted the President dead.”

  “Why don’t you just say what you’re thinking?” Sam shot back at her. “At some point, Mary Lou was screwing around behind my back with some terrorist scumball.”

  “That’s not what I’m thinking.”

  “Well, it should be. I
t’s sure as hell what I’m thinking. I find it far easier to believe than the idea that she, I don’t know, somehow targeted me from the start. Is that really what you think? Like, she’s a terrorist? So she picks me up in a bar and purposely gets pregnant so I’ll marry her and . . . what? She didn’t need me to gain access to the Navy base. She just needed that job at the Mickey D’s.”

  Alyssa glanced at him. “I think when we get to Sarasota, there are going to be a lot of questions about how and where and when you met her,” she said.

  “The Ladybug Lounge,” Sam told her flatly. “During a night of heavy drinking and piss-poor judgment, just about two fucking awful months after you broke my heart.”

  Alyssa didn’t take his bait. She didn’t even blink at the implication of his words. “So you did pick her up in a bar. Or did she pick you up?”

  “She definitely hit on me. But it wasn’t because she was a terrorist. She was, you know . . . Jesus.” This was embarrassing to admit. “A groupie.”

  SEAL groupies would sleep with anyone in the teams just because they were in the teams. All he’d needed to make Mary Lou want to take him home was a SEAL trident pin and a dick. Alyssa didn’t say anything. She didn’t comment, didn’t snort, didn’t do anything other than drive.

  “Why don’t you just say it?” Sam said. “I’m pathetic. I know it.”

  She shook her head, laughing slightly. “Maybe you should just wait and tell this to the task force. You’re going to have to tell it again anyway, and I’m not sure I really want to know—”

  “Actually, I’d like you to know.” Sam paused. What was the best way to say this? “She was . . . the exact opposite of you, Alyssa.”

  “Okay. Thank you. I’m no longer not sure. I definitely don’t—”

  Sam spoke over her. “I went home with her that night because I was trying to, I don’t know, exorcise you, I guess. I mean, she was drunk. That was maybe kind of similar to that first night you and I got together.”