Building Ties (Military Romantic Suspense) (SEAL Team Heartbreakers Book 4)

by Teresa Reasor

  They took the stairs to the third floor and walked up the incline toward the car. At the shuffling sound of a footstep behind them, Brett spun, his hand going to the Sig beneath his jacket.

  A bang echoed through the structure. An all-too-familiar ping just ahead of them triggered Brett’s instant survival response. As two more shots were fired, he pushed Tess between the cars and at the same time he pulled his weapon.

  Gunshots came from above them. Alonzo was returning fire.

  Alonzo called out, “Are you hit?”

  He scanned Tess for any injury. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks pale, but she wasn’t hurt. “We’re okay,” he yelled back. He chambered a round in his weapon. “Get back against the wall, Tess, behind the car as far as you can. Dial 911.”

  She scrambled to do as he said. With her covered, Brett eased forward and looked around the car bumper for any movement. Everything remained quiet. Nothing moved. A few seconds later the sound of running feet came from down the incline, and a thin figure in jeans ran around the curve. The stairwell door they’d just come through clattered shut below them.

  Brett came up to a half crouch and started around the car. Tess gripped his jacket from behind.

  Alonzo ran from his car to join them, gun in hand. “It was a man, dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and a ski mask. He ran back down the slope.”

  “Stay with Tess. I’ll see if I can catch him.”

  “No. Brett. Please.” She was white, shaking like crazy, and clung to him, her grip tight.

  With difficulty he quelled the nearly irresistible urge to follow the shooter and—. He reached for her instead. “Okay, honey. It’s okay.”

  He guided her behind the cover of the closest vehicle and held her. Once she’d calmed, he looped an arm around Tess’s waist and urged her into the rental car.

  Alonzo followed them and took up a defensive stance just behind the rear quarter panel, gun in hand.

  Brett gave him a grateful nod.

  Adrenaline continued to zing through his system, and his heart pounded. He tried a deep, slow, in-and-out breath.

  “Are you okay?” Tess asked.

  He nodded. “Are you?”

  She shook her head and averted her face. “Every morning when you start the car, I wonder if it’s going to go up in flames like mine did. Just walking from the apartment to get into it, I break out in a cold sweat. I want this to end, Brett.”

  He reached for her. “I do too, honey.”

  “He could have killed either one of us.” She sounded close to tears.

  “But he didn’t.” He brushed her temple with his lips. “This will pass, Tess. You just have to get through this moment to the next.”

  “That’s what you do when you’re in SEAL mode?”

  “Yeah. That’s what I do.” God, he hated that she had to experience this.

  She leaned forward and rested her head in her hands, her elbows braced on her knees. “The only easy day was yesterday.”

  He rubbed her back, offering the only comfort he could. “That’s what we say.”

  She looked up at him, her brown eyes almost black against the creamy smoothness of her skin. “Well, it sucks.”

  *

  The police in this district were going to know them both by name by the time they caught the person or persons after her. Detectives Hart and Buckler had shown up as the patrol cops were taking their statements. Alonzo surrendered his weapon, since he’d returned fire.

  “We’d like for you to come have a seat in our car so we can talk about some options, Ms. Kelly,” Buckler said, his tone quiet.

  Tess exchanged a glance with Brett. He gave a shrug. They settled into the back seat of the detective’s unmarked car and closed the doors.

  “It’s clear this man, whoever he is, isn’t going to go away until he’s caught. And we just learned that Homeland has bowed out of your investigation. So I guess you were both right about terrorists having no part in your attack.”

  She stifled a sound of impatience. So now they wanted to get involved. “The FBI is still investigating.”

  “They aren’t investigating this. We’ve already called the parking structure owner and requested a look at the camera footage here and the level below. We’re already pulling footage from street cameras. And we’re canvassing the area for anyone who saw the shooter inside the structure or leaving the building.”

  Tess nodded. At last someone was sharing something with her.

  “We’d like to put you in protective custody until we catch the shooter, Tess,” Hart said, his dark brows drawn together in a frown.

  “No. It could take weeks for you to catch this guy, and I’m not sitting inside my apartment going crazy while you do it. I’m going to Washington D.C. tomorrow with Brett, and we’re getting married in ten days and going on our honeymoon. I have a life.”

  Hart frowned. “You got lucky this time, Tess.”

  Brett shifted beside her, and gave her knee a gentle squeeze. “We’re going to D.C. tomorrow morning. We’ll be gone until Friday. No one knows we’re going except our families, Tess’s boss, and my commanding officer. We’ll take precautions to make sure we aren’t followed to the airport. That gives you guys almost seventy-two hours to catch this fucker before we’re back. If you haven’t caught him by then, we’ll revisit this discussion.”

  The detectives exchanged a look. “Okay,” Buckler answered for them both.

  Brett nudged her with his elbow. His blue gaze insistent.

  Tess grimaced. “I interviewed Hamilton today. He admitted to me he’d been blackmailed into dropping out of the Ellison Project bid. I encouraged him to contact you. I’d let him stew a few hours, then give him a call.”

  “It wasn’t against the law for Frye to investigate his competition. Morally repugnant, but not illegal,” Buckler pointed out. “And we didn’t have evidence he had used the information in an illegal way. If Hamilton calls us, it will create a link between him and Frye that will allow us to investigate.”

  “A phone call and a little pressure aren’t an investigation, Detective,” Tess said with an impatient sigh. She ran fingers that still shook through her hair, pushing it back from her face. “It occurred to me this might not be the only time he’s done this. You might want to check the records of other building projects he’s been involved with and put out some feelers.”

  “We’ll take care of Hamilton and Frye.” There was a strained note of patience in Buckler’s voice. “We can provide you a couple of uniforms as a protection detail until you leave for the airport in the morning.”

  Tears threatened again. When would all this end? “I’d appreciate it. I think Alonzo deserves a day off after getting shot at.”

  “We’ll need a detailed statement from both of you about what happened here. You can come by the station and write it when you get back from D.C.,” Hart said.

  The sooner she got it down on paper the better. She didn’t want a single detail to slip her memory. “I’d rather go to the station and do it now.”

  “Tess—” Brett started.

  “No, I want this behind me.” She wanted the son-of-a-bitch to go down for attempted murder.

  “Now, is there anyone else you can think of besides Frye who might have a reason to do this?”

  “No,” she said.”

  “What about Gordon?” Brett suggested.

  “Gordon who?” Buckler asked.

  “Ronald Gordon. I’m doing a story about Daniel Delgado.”

  Silence reigned for ten seconds.

  “Shit.” Brett breathed the word. “I guess we know who’s been investigating the grocery store holdup.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ‡

  I’m going to lose her to this place. From the moment their plane touched down in Washington D.C., dread took root and wound its way through Brett’s gut. They picked up their rental car and took the scenic route to the hotel to get the lay of the land though traffic was heavy. The late March weather was crisp
, and the cherry trees D.C. was so famous for were only at bud stage with a few blossoms here and there.

  How could California compete with the national capital? The place had a regal feel to it. Huge buildings, stretching a block each, emulated ancient Greek and Roman architecture. The business of their nation was conducted within the walls of many of them. History was carved into every street corner.

  He’d get through this somehow. He’d transfer to Virginia, and they’d only be two hours apart. They’d meet in the middle somewhere as often as they could. As much as he kept repeating those things, a sense of loss clung to every thought.

  “I’ve been here three times and I’m always awed by the Capitol building,” Tess commented.

  “We’ll have to go to Rome someday, so you can see where the idea for the design came from. St. Peter’s Basilica is unbelievable.”

  “I’d love to go to France and Italy. I’ve never been. I turned down an opportunity when Dad invited me to meet him in Paris. But at the time he was covering a story and I was only seventeen. Mom was worried I’d end up in a hotel room alone or wandering the streets while he went off on the trail of something big.” She turned toward him. “Can you do that? I mean go out of the country?”

  “Well, I have to fill out paperwork. Uncle Sam wants to know where I’ll be and when I’ll be back, just in case. But yeah, I can apply for leave if I’ve built it up, and go as long as things aren’t running hot or we’re not up for a deployment.”

  “Doesn’t having Uncle Sam control your every move aggravate you sometimes?”

  It was the first time she’d said anything negative about his job. Coming on top of this trip and the interview and tour she’d be doing tomorrow, he felt more than a pinch of pain. “Yeah, it does sometimes, honey. But I signed up to be there if I’m needed.”

  He parked beneath the hotel portico to unload the baggage. The fifty-three degree April temperature seemed more like thirty as the wind whipped through. They rushed to unload the trunk. “Go on inside and I’ll deal with the car,” he urged as Tess stood by clutching her sweater tight around her.

  “Living in a moderate climate has made my blood thin,” she complained, and rolled her suitcase inside.

  He filled out the paperwork and accepted the slip to have the vehicle parked, then wheeled his bag inside. Tess stood at the check-in desk, signing the paperwork and accepting their keycards.

  She hooked her bag and tugged it along behind her to join him. “Let’s change into some warmer clothes and get something to eat.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” While he’d taken a power nap on the plane, she’d put the finishing touches on the Daniel Delgado story. “Are you going to send Taylor your Delgado story?”

  “Already done. I did that while they were signing us in.”

  Brett shook his head in wonder. She could multitask with the best of them. But at least she wouldn’t have part of her attention snagged on something undone.

  They took an elevator up to the seventh floor. After wheeling her suitcase into the cream and blue room, Tess pulled back the drapes and looked out at the city. “It’s a beautiful place. Or at least this part is.”

  Brett stowed their bags on the luggage stand. “I’m sure it has its seedy sections like everyplace else, but it is impressive.”

  “And cold.”

  Taking that as an invitation, Brett looped his arms around her and tugged her back against him. He nibbled her earlobe, felt her shiver, and his body responded. “I could warm you faster if you were naked. Skin to skin contact works better to raise the body temperature.”

  “Opportunity knocks,” she said with a laugh. “I wish you hadn’t said that about all men being lechers. It’s stuck in my brain.”

  “You’re still tempted, though.”

  She tilted her head back against his shoulder. “Always with you, but I’m also starving. Aren’t you?”

  “I’m a guy, so I’m always hungry for one thing or another.”

  Tess laughed.

  He nipped the muscle between her neck and shoulder. She caught her breath and pressed back against him in response, and her hand gripped his thigh. Then her stomach growled loudly.

  Brett laughed and bent his head to rest his cheek against her. “Where would you like to eat lunch?”

  “Hard Rock Café.”

  “Bundle up and we’ll go. Do you want to go to Union Station or take a taxi?”

  “A taxi. Then I’d like to be a tourist for a while and just walk the National Mall. We didn’t get to see anything last time we were here. I love going to the Natural History and the Air and Space Museum. You don’t think anyone followed us here, do you?”

  He hated the edge of anxiety in her voice, even though she tried to make the question sound casual. He’d been especially vigilant since the break-in, and hadn’t been aware of anyone following them since hiring Alonzo and Armando. Neither had the men. So how had the shooter known where they were? And had it been someone hired by Frye, or was it someone associated with the Daniel Delgado situation?

  The two policemen on protection detail had driven them to the airport and dropped them off. Brett had made a point of scanning the cabin on the plane for anyone who looked familiar. “No. No one followed us, honey. You can relax. Okay?”

  She smiled and turned to nestle against him. “We could pretend this was a pre-honeymoon trip and order room service.”

  He wanted to say yes, but, except for going to do interviews for her job, she’d hidden at home, and now she needed to get out. He hadn’t figured out a way to talk to her about the nightmares. Having experienced something similar, he understood how hard it was to face PTSD and ask for help.

  “Once you said Hard Rock, I had my heart set on some Rockin’ Wings and a burger.”

  She hid her face against his shirt for a moment then looked up at him. “I’m being a coward.”

  “No, honey. You’re being cautious, which is a good thing. Do you really think I’d let you do anything if I thought you’d be a danger? No one but family, police headquarters, our police escort and HQ knows about this trip. And no one followed us to the airport. I’m sure of it.”

  “Okay.” She forced a smile. “I want some spinach-artichoke dip and flatbread, too.”

  “Maybe we’ll order the starter combo and get a sample of each of them.”

  “I’m going to be that meatball I complained about. I’ll never fit into my dress.”

  “You just tried it on yesterday. You can’t become a meatball in twenty-four hours, but I’ll still love you if we have to lace you into it.”

  Tess laughed the sound natural and light-hearted. Good. She was finally beginning to relax.

  *

  The restaurant was packed, but they didn’t have to wait long for a table for two.

  Tess knew Brett kept the conversation light and directed away from any of the conflicts at home. She was grateful for his understanding. Being shot at had shaken her. How did Brett face the possibility of being shot, especially since he’d already experienced a bullet wound? He’d covered her with his own body, protected her while Alonzo had returned fire. And she’d been more terrified for him than she’d been for herself and Alonzo.

  Brett ordered the wings and burger and she the spinach-artichoke dip and a burger as well. Replete with good food, they left the Hard Rock Café and walked to Ford’s Theatre to do a tour of the building. “I’m always surprised at how small it is compared to our modern theaters.”

  “And it still has an atmosphere of history and tragedy, doesn’t it?” Brett said.

  “Yes, it does.”

  The sun had come out and warmed the late March air, but it still felt brisk as they walked west to the International Spy Museum on F Street. In the Secret History of History section they viewed some of the James Bond-like historic tools of the trade. Brett narrowed his eyes at the rectal tool kit in one window. “I didn’t think there would be anything I wouldn’t do for my country, but I’d really have to think a
bout sticking that up my ass.”

  Tess laughed. “You risk your life going into battle and you’re worried about that?”

  “All I can say is it’s great not to live in the sixties.”

  She laughed again. “I think the lipstick pistol would be pretty cool.”

  He grinned. “If they ever come out on the open market, I’ll make sure you get one.”

  “You and your guns.” Tess bumped him with her hip.

  “I only have one gun, Tess.”

  She laughed. “Weapons.”

  From there they spent the next few hours wending their way through the Smithsonian exhibits, at the Air and Space Museum, and the Museum of Natural History. There was so much to see and they weren’t in any hurry. They held hands and talked. The taut feeling of fear that had plagued her since her car had been blown apart eased, and for the first time in a while, Tess felt safe.

  It was nearly four when they moved on to West Building of the National Gallery of Art before it closed. They decided to start at the top and work their way down to the first floor. Tess paused before an Andrew Wyeth painting of a window, the curtains blown inward by a breeze. She was amazed at how delicate the lace looked. “What kind of art do you like, Brett?”

  “Realistic stuff. I’m not into abstract, though I like some of the sculptures.”

  “Classical? Impressionistic?”

  “Classical paintings always seem too refined, too steeped in technique. But I do like the Photo Realists. Anyone who can obsess over every brush stroke and come up with a painting that looks like a photograph has to be acknowledged. The Impressionists were okay. The way they experimented with light and movement was interesting. I went to an exhibit of Edwin Roscoe Schrader’s paintings in Los Angeles a few years ago. Caught hell from the guys for it. I was impressed with how he could use a brush stroke for a person and you’d just see it. His style was impressionistic.”

  She was stunned. “Were you dating an artist at the time?”

  “No. I was dating one of the caterers who provided food for the reception.”

  Tess laughed. But she was still surprised he had some knowledge of art. But why should she be? He was a college graduate, had a degree in engineering, and had chosen to serve his country instead of pursuing a job in his field.