Briggs hoped that was the end of the conversation and mercifully it was.
“Well, here you go, sweetie. Have fun, and I’ll see you when you get back. Do you know what time?” She gave him a hug and followed him to the door.
“I have no idea, but I will call you and let you know if I can.”
The door closed behind him. Briggs was already exhausted from fighting back the fear of exposure. He was quickly walking toward the dock when his mother’s voice came at him, piercing and excited.
“Scott! Wait!”
His panic meter moved a level higher and almost made him sick to his stomach. He turned to see her holding out a set of keys. The keys to the Shearwater.
“You’ll need these, eh?” She winked and seized the opportunity to kiss him on the forehead. “Are you feeling well? You’re a little sweaty.”
“No, I’m fine. I’m just in a hurry.”
For what, he just wished he knew.
The power of the Shearwater was amazing and addictive. Briggs had never in his life captained such a machine, even though he’d spent the majority of his life on the water—in boats or falling out of them. The throttle begged for the caress of his hand and teased him to push it as far as it would go. The speedometer read fifty-eight miles per hour at only half throttle, its hull barely touching the water. The paddle controls mounted on the steering wheel allowed him to trim the jack plate and the motor without removing his hands from the wheel. It was a good thing too, because just glancing down at the gauges was a distraction that could cause him to lose control of the incredibly fast boat. He flexed his left index finger and adjusted the trim tabs, then used his right index finger to lift the jack plate, allowing the motor to rise and the hull to plane even higher out of the water.
The wind blasted at his face and the water whistled beneath the long lines of the lower hull. Once he got the hang of the controls, he felt confident enough to max out the throttle. A push of his right hand instantaneously launched the boat to seventy-eight miles per hour as the powerful Mercury outboard motor roared to life. Talk about power. Damn! It was all he could do just to hang on to the steering wheel while he firewalled the throttle.
He let out a scream of elation, not caring if he could be heard. All the anxiety and pressure that was knotted up inside him was being released to the wind behind him. Gone. For now.
The rush was intense, similar to the adrenaline that would course through his veins during combat, only this time without bullets flying in his direction. In combat, staring into the face of death and winning, the electric charge of being in control of something so deadly and dangerous, was exhilarating. Now, with the power of this magnificent boat in his hands, he wanted to push it to the max. He wanted to stretch out as far on the edge of it as he could, on the very edge of control.
Briggs arrived at Trust’s yacht a little late. He waved as he approached, still tweaked from the exhilaration of the ride.
“Sorry I’m late,” Briggs said as he eased the Shearwater up to the back of the massive yacht. Trust smiled as he placed his foot on the gunnels of the boat in order to bring it to a total stop before he stepped into the bottom of it.
When Trust was in the boat, Briggs pointed in the direction of one of the seats. “I brought a thermos full of coffee and a bag of sandwiches. There’s plenty for you too.”
Briggs then put the boat in reverse to slide away from the stern of the yacht. There was a slight hint of fog hanging just on top of the water with no wind to hasten it away. Briggs stayed focused on that and it kept him calm. He was sure he would feel nervous or at least pissed off because of what Trust had done to his house. I should take you out into the Atlantic as far as I can go and shove your ass overboard, he thought. Then Trust started up the first of many conversations, and his tone was soft and quiet, respectful of the awakening morning, and Briggs settled into the comfort of the moment.
Trust and Briggs fit together in the boat. Never got in each other’s way, never crossed the line, and only spoke in terms of excitement when one of them hooked a fish. It was exactly how it was when he fished with his father. They were like two professionals conducting business on such a level that there was no need for the clutter of irrelevant chatter. Briggs was surprised that he was starting to like Trust, but the distrust was ever present, hanging like the fog around them. This man had bugged his house and invaded his privacy, and more importantly, the privacy of his family who was not involved in any way.
They spent the entire morning fishing from one spot to the next between Morehead and Beaufort. They even managed to hit a few spots by Shackleford Banks, and Briggs made sure they were clear of the lighthouse at all times. Briggs didn’t like being under constant surveillance by Check. Either he trusted him or he didn’t. If Check was going to spy on him, Briggs was going to make sure he’d have to work for it—hard.
They stopped fishing around noon and drove back to the yacht for lunch. Trust informed Briggs he had organized a feast for them on the top deck. As they approached, a beautiful girl appeared and called for the bowline of the Shearwater. Trust tossed it to her. Standing on the dock, she smiled, caught the line, and tied it up. She was remarkably attractive, standing about five-foot-three, with short brown hair and glistening, tanned skin. Barefoot, she wore white shorts and a light blue T-shirt with a picture of the yacht on it, and its name, Sereniteit—Dutch for serenity—with a setting sun in the background. A hooker? Briggs couldn’t be sure. She didn’t seem like one, but it was more likely than not, he supposed.
She hugged Trust as he stepped off the Shearwater and onto the dock. “Did you have fun, Uncle Shelby?”
Wrong-o.
Trust hugged the girl and turned her to meet Briggs. “Scott, meet Jenny, the daughter of my captain, David Haynes.”
“Happy to meet you,” Jenny politely smiled in his direction.
Briggs felt his face flush when he touched her hand.
Trust said proudly to Jenny, “Scott served in Iraq with my nephew Jeff. And Jenny, let’s see,” Trust placed his arm across her shoulders and started walking down the dock, “your father and mother have worked for me twenty-one years, and you were born a year after they started, so that makes you twenty. Am I right?”
“Yes, Uncle Shelby, and I know what you are getting at, so don’t try to be so coy.”
“Coy?” he replied.
“I know all about the party.” She winked and started walking up the stairs to the big yacht, stopping on the third step to abruptly look over her shoulder. Briggs flinched—caught—because he was staring at her ass so intently he might have set her shorts on fire. Surely she caught him. He grimaced.
“It’s a small boat you know,” she said just before she sprinted up the last few steps.
Whether or not Trust noticed Briggs’s discomfort, he didn’t let on.
“That’s one smart kid,” he said. “She is headed back to Texas for her junior year at Baylor University. She stays on the boat whenever she can. I adore her and enjoy having her around. But as smart as she is, she does not know—I don’t care what she thinks she knows—that I have a brand new BMW waiting for her in Texas.” Trust chuckled. “It really is hard to pull anything over on her, so I’ve got it all set up to be sprung on her back in Texas.”
They continued up to the aft promenade deck, where lunch was waiting on the table.
“Did you like the dinner last night?” Trust asked Briggs.
“It was extremely good.”
“Good. Then you’ll really like lunch. It was prepared by Jenny’s mom, Samantha. As you have witnessed, she is an incredible chef. She is also responsible for this.” Trust slapped his belly with both hands, laughing.
After lunch, Briggs handed Trust the keys to the Shearwater, expecting that Trust would have the limo take him home. Trust put the keys back in Briggs’s hand.
“It’s yours to use while you’re on leave. Enjoy it.”
It was only as he walked back to the boat that Briggs realiz
ed that Trust had not mentioned the favor he supposedly wanted to ask.
Briggs pulled the Shearwater up onto a sand bar on Shackleford Banks and walked several yards away from it, just in case. He knew he had to move with sober precaution at every moment. He pulled the new phone out of its protective Ziploc and called in.
“So how did it go today?” Check asked.
“It went well.” Briggs’s reply was short and curt.
“That’s it? You sound a little down. What’s up?”
“Hell no, I’m fine,” he said, knowing his frustration was showing. “The day with Trust was actually pretty great.” Again, he did not elaborate.
After the day he’d spent with Trust, Briggs had questions about Check and what this whole mission was really about. Trust still hadn’t asked him for anything, including this favor that Check had talked about. The whole day he and Trust had only spoken about fishing and family. While Briggs was on the yacht, he never saw a hint of weaponry of a military type. He thought he would at least have a sense that something was awry, but he’d felt nothing but relaxed and happy the whole day. Things just weren’t stacking up the way Check had said they would. In fact, to the best of his knowledge, the only goons with guns were Check and his men.
Briggs had to say something so Check wouldn’t sense the suspicion and doubts that were creeping into his mind. “I basically got out-fished by the guy in my own water. That’s hard on a hightider. It cut into my ego deep. He never snagged a hook, lost a hook, nothing. He even caught the first fish, the biggest fish, and the last fish. Helluva fisherman. Didn’t see that one coming.” Briggs ran his fingers through his hair. “That’s really about all there was to it.”
Briggs left out a few details on purpose. We’ll see how closely I’m being checked by Check.
Check gave him kudos for playing it cool and building confidence with Shelby Trust, and the two ended their call.
Scott pulled up to Anita’s dock in the Shearwater a little after four o’clock. Sweetie was spending the weekend with her father in Morehead, so the two of them slipped away for a private afternoon on Cape Lookout. They stayed until almost dark, lying on beach towels and talking about their lives as they always had. Briggs felt that their time together was growing short. In less than a week, he would be returning to Iraq with the Marine Corps. It seemed liked there was so much to say and not enough time—ever.
“I know this is a silly question, but are you going to be okay while I’m gone?” Briggs asked, lying on his back with his hands behind his head.
“Yes, I’m going to be better than all right. I have a lot of people looking out for me. It’s you that I worry about.”
She stood up, shook the sand out of her bikini bottom, and tossed her head to one side, sweeping her long, blonde hair behind her shoulder. Briggs stared at her, entranced. She was stunning and incredibly shapely. If anything, her being a mom had enhanced her sensuality. She was more beautiful than ever. She had always turned heads, but now she possessed an incomparable look of maturity. For as long as he had known her, men would try to flirt with her. She always ignored them, fiercely loyal to him, but she was never rude, except when she was pushed too far by someone’s unwanted advances and would flash them a look that would explode granite. A class act in every way.
She dropped down in the sand next to him, landing on her knees. Her full, firm breasts bounced, almost popping out of her bikini top. She leaned into him and kissed him full on the lips.
“That’s not fair,” Scott mumbled out of the side of his mouth as he continued to kiss her back.
“What’s not fair?” she asked.
“Jiggling the girls in the face of a defenseless man.”
She laughed, a magical sound, and pulled him to his feet. “Come on, my big, strong Marine. It’s time to head home. I’m getting hungry. “
He dropped her off at her dock and ran the boat back to his house so he could get cleaned up for dinner. He took the long way back to his dock because he couldn’t resist the urge to scratch the itch of danger. The Shearwater clung to the top of the shallow water like skin stretched across a tight muscle. He pushed the powerful vessel to maximum throttle and skipped it across the water. The slight chop on the bay added to the euphoria and enhanced the danger, occasionally launching the boat two feet in the air. It leaped long, straight lines for thirty feet or so, warning of its flight by the sound of the over-revved engine. Scott was so quick on the throttle that the boat slid back into the water like a long, razor-sharp knife, barely making a splash or a sound. He possessed incredible reflexes that served him well both in combat and in dangerous play.
For the next few days, Trust’s boat became his release from the pressures that were quickly building upon him, around him, and in him. Between his situation with Check and Trust and the urge to break his personal vow of celibacy, he would have gone nuts if not for the boat. He was sure of it. Scott’s nerves were jumpy.
Check called him after dinner, and Briggs excused himself from the couch where he and Anita were watching TV. His mother was out for the evening, and they had the house to themselves. They’d been lounging comfortably in each other’s arms, wrapped in a large blanket with their feet on the coffee table.
“Can I call you back later?” Briggs asked as he walked into his bedroom.
“All okay?”
“You bet.” Briggs wondered if he already knew that.
“Okay then. Just check in tomorrow at noon unless you need me sooner for some reason.”
Briggs closed the phone and tossed it on his bed.
“Who was that?” Anita asked. She was standing in the doorway, blanket wrapped around her.
He imagined she had nothing on underneath it. Immediately, he was aroused. “Uh, that was the duty check-in on the base. I forgot to call and let them know I am alive, so my buddy covered for me.”
Another lie, first of many to come, he thought morosely. Anita lay down on the bed and he settled in beside her. They fell asleep in each other’s arms. When they awoke, it was two o’clock.
“I need to be at work in the morning,” Anita grumbled sleepily.
They gathered her things, and he walked her to her car and kissed her good-bye.
As her car’s lights swept across the wooded area in front of the house, Scott caught the hint of a reflection just inside the wood line. He maintained a poker face, watched until Anita was out of sight, then turned and walked back into the house. When the door shut, he sprinted through the house and out the back door. If there was someone at the wood line wearing night-vision goggles, they would be night blind for about ten minutes after being hit by Anita’s headlights. That would allow Briggs plenty of time to get to the far side of the property and slide into the woods behind the bastard.
Briggs crept along the area where he saw the reflection, moving so slowly his shadow cast by the moonlight flowed like silk floating on water. It took him about fifteen minutes to close in on the location at the base of a large privet bush, but he was too late.
All he found was a can of brown spray paint.
He stared at it for a long time before throwing it toward the house, his curses of frustration filling the air.
Defeated, he hung his head and drooped his shoulders like a giant sunflower lost without the sun. He kicked the spray can toward the recycle bin, again and again, until it was close enough for him to pick it up and toss it in.
“I’m headed straight for the nut bin,” he said as he returned to the house.
The following day, Briggs called Check to report in, and to his surprise, Check told him that for the time being, he only needed to call if he had something significant to report. Briggs figured that meant one of two things: either Check was backing off to relieve some of the pressure, or Check had so much surveillance on him now that he didn’t need to talk to him every day. Either way, Briggs was learning the game as he went along.
After his mother had left later that morning, Briggs searched the house for the devic
es that had supposedly been planted. He found nothing, though he wasn’t sure what he was looking for. Still, a wire was a wire. He peered into the internal workings of his computer, his television set, AC vents, lamps, anywhere that might hold a surveillance device or microphone. Not finding anything was worse than finding something, he determined. He was out of his element at this point, and he felt helpless. He sat on the corner of his bed and stared out the window. He took a long breath and released it, slow and ragged, and then stiffened with a realization.
Maybe they’ve hidden cameras in the trees!
He knew any cameras would be facing the house, so he walked up the beach along the wood line and cut back into the far side of the woods. Looking high up in the trees, he had fairly quick success finding the first camera. After that, finding the others was easy. He looked for the marks on the pine trees from climbing spikes. Then he climbed the various trees, examined the cameras, careful not to be seen on the business end of the cameras.
Now that he knew what he was looking for, he felt back in control, empowered. Questions lingered in his mind: Who did these cameras belong to? Check or Trust? Some other player in this game he did not know about yet? He was impressed at how cleverly the devices had been set. There were no footprints on the ground, no broken limbs on the trees. They even used spray paint on the trees so the spike marks would not be easily recognized—except they had been. That was where the brown spray paint can had come in; someone had made a careless mistake and left it there.
He returned to the house the same way he came, but carefully, much more carefully. He might have missed a camera.
His phone rang as he stepped through the back door.
It was Trust.
Briggs’s pulse shot up like a rocket launched into the air. Busted, he thought, his heart racing. Calm down. It’s just a coincidence, you jumpy freak, he chided himself. He was so amped up that he decided to just let the call go to voicemail. He would wait for the message and then listen to it, giving himself more time to cool out. He was a terrible liar. He didn’t want to go there if he didn’t have to.
Shadows at War Page 15