“You think his past has caught up to him?”
“Nope. I think it’s for Mia. Armando is solid as a rock. But he’d do anything for his family.”
“That should worry you.”
“It does, but he’d sacrifice rather than cave in to them. If he had a choice, I mean.”
“Cocky as hell, right to the last, huh?”
“I’m guessing these guys know him. Trying to turn him. Fredo told me a little about it in Afghanistan this last tour.”
“Shit, Kyle. This is sounding worse by the minute.”
“Just what they do, Chief. They hit guys in their weak spot.”
“No way any team guys would do that.”
“They’re recruiting kids that have a beef with the military. Their way of getting even. Fredo says they don’t even care if the guys don’t speak Spanish. They want the military training.”
“What kind of a fucking world is it coming to?”
Kyle thought about the question and then answered Timmons. “I can’t stop them all. But we’re going to stop these bastards. No way they’re going to take Armando. He’d rather die than be used by those guys.”
“Then you better hope they don’t tell him his sister’s safe.”
Kyle knew either way would be bad news. It didn’t matter whether Mia was dead or safe. If Armando found out, he’d not worry one whit about his own safety, and might do something stupid.
Unless I can get there first.
Chapter 17
In bed, Christy opened her eyes and took stock of her room, of the sounds around her, and of the smells.
No coffee.
So the dreams about Kyle last night had been just that. Dreams. She’d gone to bed scared to death, but sleep came crawling, and with it the erotic dreams. Things they had done, things she wanted to do. Maybe if she fell back asleep, the dreams would all come back. She could be in his arms. He’d be kissing her.
She rolled her naked body to her side and hugged the pillow he’d slept on, needing just a hint of the man she knew she craved. The man she probably loved. The man she might never see again.
Fatal love. She knew it was a really bad idea to cling to something she could never have again.
She closed her eyes and willed the sun to go back down. Willed the world to swing back and replay Wednesday night. Every glorious detail of it. Every kiss. Every stroke.
Damn. Sleep was lost to her. Sunk to the bottom of the ocean like a lead anchor.
Several times in the night she’d awaken, having heard some sound. She’d hoped he’d somehow returned and would slide that wonderful hard body of his against her backside and let her melt into his arms as they pulled her to him. She could feel his kisses on her neck and shoulders, could feel him roll her over and spread her legs for him, could feel him coax her sex to make love to his fingers while he watched, until she was close to a climax, until she wanted him so bad she could not stand another minute without his shaft ramming inside her to the hilt. In her fantasy she knew he wouldn’t do it just yet. While she was spiraling into oblivion, he’d bend down and lap her juices, kiss the pink lips of her peach, and beg her to give his tongue entry.
And then he’d climb her and ride her hard, watching her, bending to kiss her neck and whisper in her ear, take the moans from her mouth with his own. He’d call her name, and she’d listen for the three little words he’d not said yet.
I am your willing prisoner, Kyle. Give me those little words and I’d gladly give you my life, too.
She opened her eyes. Her wet fingers remained between her legs as she gently massaged herself there, and then stopped.
I’m being stupid. I’m lost in some fantasy. Truth was, Kyle didn’t want anything more to do with her. She was a pit stop fuck on his highway to heroism. Why, she wondered, had she made an emotional investment with this man? Would it ruin her? Or would she recover?
And she knew it didn’t matter. She was going for broke. Whatever it took. She had no way to stop it.
Please come back to me. Give me another chance. I can handle it, handle whatever you can give me.
The room didn’t answer. Sunlight was a stubborn friend, unrelenting, unforgiving, and invading everything about the place. There would be no going back to bed.
Maybe he’ll show up this morning! The lingering worries from last night seemed like a distant memory. Things were much better, much safer in the light of day. She’d been ridiculous. Her imagination had gotten the better of her, she decided.
She bounded out of bed, ready to start a new mission, then ran naked down the hallway to the bathroom and turned on the hot steam shower. She shampooed, soaped, and shaved everywhere, working quickly as if he would arrive any minute. But she was thorough. She wouldn’t miss a hair or forget to wash a crevice or cave. The lavender conditioner sluiced down her skin, over her pert nipples, and made purple ribbons down her smooth legs and over those damned pink toes.
When she stepped out of the shower, she thought she heard a tapping sound. She dabbed her face with the fluffy peach-colored towel and listened. She heard the sound again, so threw on her old terrycloth robe that hung at the bathroom door hook and stepped to the hallway, rubbing her wet hair with the towel, and listened. Someone was tapping on her door.
Dashing to her bedroom, Christy put her pajama bottoms on and an oversized sweatshirt. Excitement brewed as she was sure it was Kyle. She wasn’t going to check the peephole, just open the door wide and kiss him to oblivion.
Thank God. He’s come to apologize.
“San Diego PD. Please open up.”
Her heart raced, and her mouth became parched. This wasn’t a very good sign. What had happened? She was going to say something, but all she could do was wheeze.
I’m having a panic attack!
“Just a minute. I’m coming,” she managed to call out weakly.
She opened the door to greet four officers—three men and a woman.
“We need to come in, ma’am,” the eldest of the males commanded as he held up his badge.
“Sure.” She stepped aside and the four burst into her condo hallway, then began a casual visual search of her living room and kitchen area. Before closing her door, Christy took a quick peek out toward the elevators and saw her neighbors, an elderly African-American couple wearing their slippers, standing just outside their door two units down. The man was in a robe, holding a drink in one hand and the paper in the other.
She waved to them both, having just met them a week ago. Mr. and Mrs. Jefferson. They didn’t move, but Mr. Jefferson shouted down to her, “They came here first.”
“Everything’s okay,” Christy replied. “Don’t worry. Another mistake.” She shrugged and that seemed to satisfy the couple, who nodded and went inside.
The older officer flew past her and into the hallway. He turned back to her. “Who are you talking to?”
“The neighbors you terrorized.” She enjoyed the words.
It wasn’t fair to take her anger out on the police, but since Kyle was MIA, she couldn’t scream at him.
Maybe he joined his friend. Two missing SEALs now.
“That kind of language is not smart, missy. I need you to get back inside. Now.” He grabbed her arm firmly but without violence, and wheeled her inside, slamming the door behind him.
Christy yanked herself free. This picture was all wrong.
“He’s not here, sir,” the policewoman said what was obvious.
“Who?” Christy asked, pouting.
“You know damned well who, young lady. Your boyfriend, that’s who.” The older officer was annoyed.
She snorted. The situation would be funny if it wasn’t so sad. Boyfriend? “He’s not my boyfriend.”
He leaned his tall frame into her bedroom, eyeing the tussled sheets.
Christy’s cheeks flamed and she looked down at her bare toes with the bright pink polish. Her eyes began to well up with tears. Damn, she was going to have to change the polish. Every time she looked at her
toes now, she cried.
She steeled herself, looking straight into the woman officer’s face, letting her tears spill over and trace down her cheeks. “It was a goodbye fuck.”
The woman officer’s eyes grew round and she gave a hint of a nod. Christy saw traces of some pain on her face. But immediately a mask developed and the woman looked away.
“So, where did he go?” The senior man had graying sandy blond hair and clear blue eyes. Despite his age, he looked to be in great shape. Well defined muscles and a proud carriage. More military than police. Christy wasn’t done testing the man.
“Out,” she answered.
The lead man looked up to the ceiling and shook his head, murmuring something. He sighed and gestured for her to sit on the leather chair she still thought of as Kyle’s.
“I’m Sergeant Mayfield, and these are officers Jones, Thiessen, and Woodward.”
The woman was named Woodward, Christy noted. Christy crossed her arms and legs as she sat, not about to offer them coffee, tea, or water. They’d have to beg for it. And even then, she’d think about it.
Once everyone was seated, Sergeant Mayfield began. “We are looking for a man named Kyle Lansdowne. We know that he spent some time here.”
“Yes. Is it a crime to date?”
“Look, I’ve reminded you before about your attitude. If you cooperate with us, there’s no need for you to get mixed up in this mess.”
“And I should believe you why?” Christy fluffed her drying hair.
“Unless you’d prefer to answer questions downtown. And of course, if you refuse, we could hold you.”
“What questions? I don’t know anything. I meet a cute guy, he came over here and we…you know…” She looked at the female cop, who immediately averted her gaze. “We had a good time. I’m single. But I don’t know anything about him.”
“Except you know what he does for a living,” Mayfield persisted.
“Yes. He told me that.”
“And why?”
Christy thought about their first meeting, and no way was she going to tell them.
“He returned some signs I had left at an open house. And he asked me out. Simple as that.” She measured Mayfield’s expression and found a hint of kindness there, not the bravado he was trying hard to portray. She addressed his ramrod chest. “Don’t you tell a girl what you do for a living?”
The three younger officers looked briefly to their sergeant, then away. One tapped his foot. Woodward looked out the sliding glass doors to nothing but blue sky, and the third one examined his fingernails.
Christy could see she’d wounded the older man in some way. He was probably a lot like Kyle. A loner, except for his brothers in blue.
Mayfield cleared his throat. “I want to know everything he told you. Start to finish. From the top, missy.” The look he delivered told her he could be nice, but only for so long. She’d better comply. She sighed, watching him pull out a notepad from his vest pocket.
“He’s looking for his buddy, his teammate. He’s gone missing, and Kyle thinks it isn’t voluntary. That’s all I know.”
“Where is he looking for him?”
“I’m sure I don’t know.”
“Who does he think has his friend?”
“I don’t know. He hasn’t said, and I don’t think he knows, either.”
“Why does he think the guy has been taken against his will?”
Christy had to think about what Kyle had told her. “Armando is his friend from the teams…” She could see Mayfield picked up on her words right away. “Armando’s sister is in some kind of trouble, and Kyle thinks Armando went to find her.”
She watched as he scratched notes in his notepad.
“These aren’t the bad guys here,” Christy continued. “Except for the fact that they are known for their one night stands. But in my case it was two, thank you very much.” She placed her palm against her heart and closed her eyes. She’d seen see by their squirming none of the officers wanted to be there. “I doubt he’ll ever come back here again, so you’re wasting your time questioning me. The bad guys are the ones messing with Armando’s sister.”
“No, missy, I’m afraid I can’t agree with you entirely,” Mayfield said.
“How so?” she asked.
“We’re not in Afghanistan. We’re in the U S of A, and here, we take care of the bad guys. Kyle and his SEAL buddies don’t get to act on their own just because they think it’s a good idea. They’re not supposed to interfere with local authority. They’re supposed to cooperate.”
The argument was valid. No one said a word. Christy didn’t want to look at any of them. But that same question had gnawed a hole in her stomach.
Mayfield flipped out a business card and passed it to her between two fingers.
“And now we got three dead bodies. Men brutally murdered. I think Kyle had something to do with those murders. That makes him one of the bad guys.”
An hour later, Christy nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard her cell ring. She didn’t recognize the number at all.
“Hello?”
“Christy? Everything okay?”
Kyle’s voice sounded far away. She worked to stay cold to him.
Self preservation.
“I think it’s a good idea if you leave me alone.” It was true, but so painful to deliver.
“I’d have to agree with you there. But things have escalated and I just want you to be very careful. We’re dealing with some people who have already killed. I don’t want you anywhere near them.”
“I would have liked a nice talk like this yesterday morning. Seeing as how you’re so concerned for my welfare. But the slam, bam thank you ma’am thing…”
“No. That’s not me.”
“Oh, really? You have a multiple personality disorder? One minute you’re fucking my brains out and the next…”
Careful, Christy. Don’t say something you’ll regret.
“Look, I’m sorry about how all this happened,” he said.
Christy lost it.“You know what, Kyle?” Here. It. Comes. Don’t do this, Christy! “I’d say as a lover, you’re probably an eight, eight and a half…” You’re such a bad liar. “But as a hero, and I thought all you SEAL guys were heroes, you’re a fucking zero.” She hung up.
She counted to ten. No return call. She took the battery out of her phone so she wouldn’t know if he tried to call her back. She ran for the shower, stepped in, and turned on the warm water, drenching her pajama bottoms and sweatshirt.
This is for the best. Kyle wanted to call Christy back—heck, he wanted to do way more—but, he knew this mission was probably not going to have a happy ending. He needed to walk away from Christy. Better to involve only those people who had fully signed on for that kind of danger. Let Christy live with the illusion that life was fair and filled with good people. Sure, she’d be nursing a broken heart for awhile, but that was being kind, he told himself.
Just focus on the mission. Don’t let it get complicated. Then throw everything into his workup for the next deployment.
If they don’t boot my sorry ass outta the Navy.
And that would depend on whether or not this mission succeeded.
Chapter 18
Mayfield was filling out reports from the interview with Christy Nelson that morning. She hadn’t been much help, and her attitude had been irritating at first. But he understood her motivation to protect a man she clearly trusted. He couldn’t fault her for being loyal. And more importantly, he knew she was honest. He’d believed her story about her SEAL. He’d known a few SEALs, even tried the BUD/S course during his ten-year stint in the Navy. But since he wanted to fly jets, he wasn’t too disappointed when he washed out. In the end, he’d had to give up flying, too, due to his eyesight.
The SEALs he’d met socially, in the Navy and through his line of work, stuck together and usually cleaned up their own messes. This was all too public and out of control. Something was wrong with the picture. It was star
ting to smell, too, as the body count was increasing.
This investigation was just not making sense and was going in circles. He’d watched the news report this morning about the late night fire, and it really worried him. That’s probably what prompted the call, before he could finish breakfast. He was asked to bring lots of backup, and be armed.
No, the deeper he investigated, the more things didn’t add up.
The task force, made up of members of the ATF, SDPD, and the San Diego Sheriff’s Department, plus a Naval Officer he’d never met before, had three murders to investigate now, and for some reason, he felt there would be more. That was definitely not going in the right direction. His superiors were screaming at everyone, indiscriminately, while publically and on camera telling the media they had utmost faith in their men and women and that the perps would be caught. The public was now aware of the Navy angle. He wondered how they had gotten wind of that particular fact. Feeling in the San Diego area ran either hot or cold for sailors. Not much left in the middle. He didn’t want those emotions tainting his investigation.
He looked up to see Sherriff’s Deputy Warren Hilber stride through the office doors and glamour the staffers and officers like he was a vampire at a sweet sixteen ball. Mayfield didn’t like him and he sure as hell didn’t trust him. Hilber’s sidekick of recent was that jerk-off from the Navy, Carlisle with a big fat III after his name, the one who wanted to join his force some day. Mayfield would never allow either the deputy or the Navy tin cop anywhere near his squad if he could help it.
Only, he wasn’t sure he could help it.
He knew they were coming in to see him. Every time he talked with Hilber, he felt like punching his lights out, effectively ending his own career. Something dirty about the man.
Warren knocked on Mayfield’s opened doorframe. And then he smiled.
Shit. Let the games begin.
“Come on in, fellas. You guys off today?”
“No sir, we’re just getting revved up. Got real close to catching that rogue SEAL and his merry band of men last night.” Warren was eager.
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