Fatal Vision: SEALs of Shadow Force, Book 5

by Misty Evans

  Salisbury went from a snarling demon to wagging and wiggling so hard, Colton nearly lost hold of him. He set the dog down and Salisbury took off after Connor as the man headed for the kitchen.

  “Shelby?” Connor called as he walked through the dining room. “Special delivery!”

  “Connor?” Shelby squealed from the kitchen. “Oh my God, look what the cat dragged in.”

  There was laughing and Connor told Shelby she looked good. Salisbury barked again, happily this time.

  Colton shook his head and flipped the safety back on his gun as he joined them.

  “My deadline isn’t up,” he said to Connor, and then, “Why didn’t you tell me you were on your way this morning?”

  “What deadline?” Shelby asked.

  Connor set the black duffel on the floor and flopped into Colton’s seat at the kitchen table. He grabbed a piece of bacon and started munching. “The only way to get this security system to you first thing this morning was for me to deliver it.”

  “Bullshit,” Colton said. “Beatrice could have overnighted it with one of the carriers.”

  Connor shrugged, finishing the strip of bacon. “She was afraid it might get damaged in transit.”

  Colton silently called bullshit a second time. Beatrice didn’t believe he could handle himself and this situation. She’d sent Connor to babysit him.

  Wasn’t that fucking priceless?

  Connor pointed at the nearly empty French press. “How’d the coffee turn out? Looks like okay by the piddly amount left. Can I have what’s left? Airline coffee sucks.”

  “What deadline?” Shelby asked again.

  Colton, fuming, turned away from her and went to the French press. He poured the last of the liquid into a cup for Connor and set it in the microwave to heat. “Nothing, Shel. Don’t worry about it.”

  Connor leaned over and unzipped the bag, pulling out the security system receiver and a couple of window sensors. “Our boss has a job for Colton when he gets back, so she’s given him a deadline.”

  From his peripheral vision, Colton saw Shelby eyeing him. “This comes first,” he told her over his shoulder. “I’m not leaving until I know you’re safe.”

  “Colton, if you need to get back to work…”

  He swiveled. “I don’t. Everything’s cool.”

  He shot a glare at Connor, telling him not to argue, but he could see in the way Shelby narrowed her eyes, that everything was not and she was going to interrogate him later.

  “Well,” she said to Connor, “while I’m thrilled to see you, I feel terrible that you had to personally fly to Oklahoma just to bring a security system. I can’t believe your boss would go to such expense.”

  The microwave dinged and Colton handed the steaming cup to his friend, who was about to be on his shit list. “Drink your coffee and be on your way.”

  Connor blew on the hot liquid and motioned at the black box on the table. “Beatrice said to help you get this set up.”

  “I don’t need help.”

  “I’m here, you might as well put me to work. Or I can run Shelby to her PT today. She is still under a doctor’s care, right?”

  Shelby tried to hide a smile. Colton crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m doing her physical therapy.”

  Taking a sip of the too-hot coffee, Connor choked it down. “Not bad. So let me get this straight. You’re playing bodyguard, physical therapist, and you’re investigating who shot Shelby, all on your own.”

  “And fixing the bathroom sink,” Shelby added.

  Colton huffed. “Yeah, so?”

  “Come on, man,” Connor said, exasperated. “Let me help.”

  “No.”

  “Colton!” Shelby shot him a chastising look. “Connor came all this way. Don’t be rude.”

  Colton leaned on the counter. “He came because our boss ordered him to keep an eye on me.”

  Connor took another sip of the coffee and stood, grabbing the receiver off the table. “I’m not leaving until I get this security system installed, so suck it up, Bells. You want to argue with someone, call B.”

  He slapped Colton on the back as he walked by, leaving Colton steaming harder than the microwaved coffee.

  Shelby raised a brow. “Have you lost every last one of your manners?”

  What manners? He’d never had many to begin with.

  Shelby pushed herself to standing and grabbed her walker. She tested out her ankle, seemed satisfied, and turned her back on him. “I’m going to sort through my mail and see if I have any notes on my laptop about the case. Go help Connor, and try to be civil.”

  “Shelby…”

  She held up a hand, her eyes snapping when he reached for her. “You’re a one-man army. We get it. I like my independence and autonomy too. I hate asking for help or relying on anyone, but one thing I’ve learned since the shooting—we need other people, Colton.”

  Her hand landed on his heart and stayed there for a moment, the heat of it soaking into his worn-out body. “This once?” she said, looking up into his eyes. “Stop being a bullheaded SOB and accept your friend’s help. Do it for me if you won’t do it for yourself.”

  She turned away once more, setting her walker for the dining room.

  The sting of her words bit at him as if an invisible dog were at his feet nipping his ankles. The real dog panted as he stared up at Colton, tail swishing and ears perked like usual.

  Yeah, she’s like that. Always putting me in my place.

  As if the dog understood, he wagged harder.

  Discreetly, Colton watched over Shelby as she walked slowly but determinedly into the dining room. The blinds were drawn but she didn’t flip on the light. Her irritation at him had fostered one bonus—she was fired up enough to step-by-meticulous-step walk the room to open each blind and let in the morning light.

  He had to bite his lip not to yell at her to stay away from the windows because he knew she wouldn’t listen. Luckily, this part of the house faced the side of the property along the driveway and looked over wheat fields that stretched out for miles.

  She seated herself at the long, rectangular table—one he had built himself as a wedding gift to her. She was so goddamn beautiful in that light, her blond hair shimmering, her skin porcelain.

  As if she felt his gaze, she shot a glance over her shoulder and saw him watching. He quickly turned away and got busy making a fresh pot of coffee.

  Because judging by the way this day had started, it looked like he was going to need it.

  Chapter Eight

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  WHILE HER LAPTOP’S dead battery charged, Shelby sorted through two piles of snail mail her mother had neatly stacked for her.

  As Colton and Connor worked on installing the new security system, she paid the recent utility bills, got her cable turned back on, and tossed the ball for Salisbury.

  She’d seen the emotional leakage on Colton’s face in the kitchen—he actually wanted Connor to stay. The fact Connor had come to Oklahoma, regardless of whether or not their boss had ordered it, meant a lot to Colton.

  Connor was lying about Beatrice sending him. He’d most likely volunteered, but knew Colton wouldn’t send him away if he believed Beatrice had ordered it.

  Ah, the world of micro-expressions. No matter how long she studied it or how much she sincerely tried not to use her skills on others, the truth always revealed itself.

  Colton brought her fresh coffee and her cell phone shortly after she sat down. After he went upstairs, Connor snuck in under the guise of checking the locks on the windows to tell her how happy he was she was okay. She asked about his new girlfriend and the guy nearly burst with eagerness to tell her about Sabrina Merinos.

  Colton yelled down from upstairs and Connor hustled out, giving her a squeeze on her shoulder as he passed by.

  Shelby sat back in her chair and smiled, happy for the man. It was a wonderful thing to be in love,
to feel that spark.

  She touched her lips. The kiss from Colton earlier had certainly lit her up. She could still feel the buzz in her system. Reliving the moment, her body reacted all over again.

  Eighteen months had been a damn long time without him in her life, without him there to kiss her like that, to hold her and make her feel like she was the only woman in the world for him.

  Of course, she could see that on his face. Even now, after all of their arguments and the divorce, he was still in love with her.

  If only that were enough.

  She could see past all of his facades, his lies. He used them to protect himself, to keep from getting close to people who had time and time again let him down. She couldn’t blame him for shielding himself. Everyone needed some form of emotional protection.

  She’d found hers at a young age, having a father like Jack for a parent. The man had many sides, many faces—different ones for his family, his followers, the camera. Her natural ability to read people had developed from reading him, learning the micro-expressions others never noticed.

  Her dad was a good man, a sincere one, even if at times his demeanor was overbearing and downright frustrating. He bordered on being a bully when he believed he was right. And Jack Claiborne always right.

  Shelby eyed her laptop. The light had changed to green a while ago, letting her know it was fully charged, but she’d felt a clawing uncertainty. Every time she’d reached for it, a spike of pain shot through her right temple.

  Now or never. Regardless of what her brain didn’t want to remember, she had to find the truth.

  Her paper file on the veteran murders seemed woefully incomplete. Sure, the autopsy reports were missing—she remembered that. But she had a specific way of running an investigation, a system for filing her evidence, notes, and logging timelines. The folder on the table in front of her seemed to lack her usual organization. Where were her interview notes? Her Detail Report?

  The DR was really a half-baked tool she used in every investigation. Partial descriptions that jumped out at her, facial expressions during interviews that didn’t jive with what the person said, anything that stuck in her brain, from times to bits and pieces of stories.

  Sometimes she would list nothing but a word that kept circling her brain. All of those little tidbits looked like worthless words and numbers on paper, yet often when she linked them all together, they triggered something in her brain that led to her solving the case.

  It wasn’t a procedure the FBI had taught her or would condone, which was why she always kept the Detail Report in her private file, but it worked for her. Even before the shooting, her brain had worked differently than most people’s—and one thing she had learned as a preacher’s daughter was that she had to use the gifts God had handed her.

  So her gift for reading people’s faces, as well as the one that allowed her to see connections between trivial facts, were to be used for a higher purpose.

  There had been times as an FBI agent when she doubted the existence of a benevolent God. All she knew for sure was that she was here to counteract the evil in the world. Her father was too. He had his religion to guide him. Shelby had her gifts.

  She entered her password, watched the opening screen emerge, and ignored the messages about all the updates her computer needed. She had 1057 emails. Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, Twitter…wow, she’d missed a lot.

  They would all have to wait another day.

  Where is it?

  She clicked through several files. Where was the smoking gun?

  Opening a folder labeled Paperback Novel, she scanned the contents. The novel didn’t exist, only files containing her research on investigations. She’d known other agents who’d been careless about their laptops, ending up with them stolen or hacked, personal notes on investigations suddenly in the hands of people who could use the info as blackmail or sell it to others who might do worse.

  Shelby was extra careful, using several layers of encryption and never labeling anything with the actual case name. If someone were to hack through all her security, they’d see random notes on ‘characters,’ ‘locations,’ ‘backstories,’ ‘plots,’ and miscellaneous…all elements of a fictional tale.

  She also used code names for her characters—the real life victims and perpetrators of the crimes she investigated. If anyone did put two and two together and figured out the details in these files were real, they’d still have a lot of work to do to link them to real cases.

  She opened Three Dog Night, the name she’d given the veteran serial murder case “book” and began reading.

  Twenty minutes later, she’d scanned through the case’s to-do list—another item that had been missing in her paper file. The one thing that stood out to her was to visit Irello Serevs.

  Irello Serevs. Lori Evers.

  It was a silly ruse, but one she enjoyed. She’s always wanted to be a code breaker for the FBI and in a way she was with her behavioral analyses of people’s faces. But since she couldn’t actually do it for the Bureau, the least she could do was create her own codes for cases.

  In the file was a list of questions about Wyatt Evers and his time in the military. Shelby did a search for Lori’s phone number, picked up her cell and dialed.

  LANGTON, EVERS, EDMUNDS. Three men he’d known, worked with. All involved with Connor’s rescue, all dead. Not just dead—murdered.

  Shot by a sniper.

  The same one that had hurt Shelby.

  Only, he’d left her alive.

  Not a kill shot.

  Why?

  To most people, it looked like it had been, but if the sniper had wanted her dead, he wouldn’t have grazed her skull—he would have put a bullet into her brain, just like he had all three veterans.

  Could it be a different shooter?

  Colton had circled the subject every day, over and over again, in the past three months. Now, he had more intel, but no more answers than before.

  His gut told him it was the same guy, only he had a different agenda with Shelby.

  “All entry sensors are in place,” Connor said, coming into Shelby’s bedroom. “Everything is linked to the main base. Try your phone app and see if it works.”

  Colton had been installing the bedroom sensor when he’d noticed the window lock was loose. These old houses. He’d taken a screw driver to the hardware and everything was locked up tight again, the sensor in place.

  Pulling out his phone, he tapped buttons to link his Rock Star Security app to the base’s secured-access software. As the app went through its paces, checking each sensor and the newly installed keypad, he tapped his thigh.

  Three of his fellow brothers-in-arms had been taken down on the streets of their own country. From Shelby’s research, the string of killings had started with Colton’s childhood friend, Bard. As soon as he had a chance, he wanted to do his own investigation. Connor could stay with Shelby while he did some digging. Maybe he should ask Beatrice if she had contacts inside the Navy that could get their hands on the three autopsies.

  The app finished synching with the system and a large round digital face appeared on his screen. “System installation and interface complete,” a sexy woman’s voice, complete with a British accent, said. “What would you like to do next, Shinedown?”

  “Run metrics of system, Vesper.”

  “My pleasure, Shinedown. One moment please.”

  Vesper was Emit’s baby, but he’d initially named it R2-D2 LXR Version 3. The Star Wars geek humor didn’t hold weight with Beatrice and she’d immediately changed it, deciding the soft, sexy voice sounding more like a James Bond femme fatale, was better than a squat robot. Colton had to admit he liked Vesper a hell of a lot more as a name than R2-D2.

  While the software did its job, he picked up his screwdriver and found Connor in the doorway, staring at him.

  “What?”

  “Any leads on the shooter?”

  Connor didn’t know about Shelby’s case, but he did know Colton wo
uldn’t leave her again until he’d hunted down whoever had targeted her. “None.”

  “How can I help?”

  His instinctive reaction was to shut down this conversation, send Connor back to DC. Whoever was taking out the men on the rescue taskforce that had saved Connor might also be after him.

  Mind your manners, Shelby’s voice sounded in his ears.

  “System diagnostics complete,” Vesper announced.

  He might be foolhardy and stubborn at times, but he wasn’t stupid. Shelby was right; Connor was here and could help. Colton would be a moron if he didn’t use him. “I need to go into town and ask some questions. Can you stay here with Shelby? Keep an eye on her for me?”

  Connor’s phone dinged with a text. He glanced at the screen and smiled. “Sure,” he said to Colton. “Take your time. I’ve got it covered.”

  Colton slapped him on the back as he passed. “I’ll get you back to Sabrina as soon as possible.”

  “Nah, it’s good.” The kid was reading his screen, the goofy smile growing larger. Yep, they were doing more than texting. “She’s just…well, you know.”

  Connor was happy and that was good. He deserved some happiness after what he’d survived at the hands of 12 September.

  As if Connor read Colton’s mind, he looked up from sexting with Sabrina and grabbed onto Colton’s arm. “I owe you man. You saved my life and got me the job with SFI. You know I’ll do anything to help you and Shelby.”

  “Save it.” Colton stopped on the landing of the stairs. “You don’t owe me anything.”

  Connor’s voice dropped a notch. “I almost died at the hands of those bastards. I would be dead if you, Shelby, and the taskforce hadn’t tracked them down and rescued me.”

  “We’ve covered this a dozen times already, McKenzie.” Connor would crap his pants when he found out that three of the men on his rescue were now dead. Especially Evers. “You would have done the same for me. We’re square, Irish. All I need you to do is keep an eye on Shel for me while I do a little digging.”

  The easy answer was that 12 September had sent the shooter to take revenge. But the easy answer was rarely the right one. 12 September wasn’t subtle—they didn’t pick off their enemies one-by-one. They blew them up, mowed them down, and then blatantly took credit for it.