Blind Fury

by Gwen Hernandez

  She smoothed a hand over the thin material, working up the nerve to tear the thing open. Getting posthumous mail was creepy. When Rob had carefully sealed and addressed the envelope, he’d been planning to come home for good.

  She ripped open the top and paused. A profound sadness pulled at her as she thought of her strong, handsome brother preparing this envelope the previous week. He’d been ready to quit Claymore and start a new life. Now that would never happen. With a deep breath, she shook off the melancholy and removed a sheet of paper and a small brown envelope that felt like it contained a spiral-bound notebook.

  The letter was brief. A quick hello and a request to put the inner envelope on his desk. He reiterated his readiness to come home and signed off. That was it.

  She stared at the manila envelope for a minute, not sure she should open it. It seemed like intruding, even though it really didn’t matter anymore. Slowly, she peeled back the flap and removed an ordinary blue notebook of college-ruled paper.

  When she glanced over her shoulder, she saw that Mick was watching an MMA fight on the big screen with the sound muted. He was still showing respect for her, for this final moment she had with Rob. She opened the cover. The first page was blank, but a small square had been stuck to the inside cover with 100-mph duct tape in olive drab. No self-respecting PJ would travel without the green duct tape, and her brother had apparently been no exception, out of the military or not. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she gently peeled away the sticky strip.

  She gasped at the sight of the memory card beneath. Could this be the key to the danger they were in? She opened her laptop, logged in, and inserted the card into the slot on the side, drumming her fingers as her computer scanned it for viruses.

  While she waited, she flipped through the notebook, but the few pages Rob had filled with neat block letters contained only mundane entries about the heat, the sand, the food, and games of poker with the guys. Nothing about his missions or his plans for the future.

  Setting the notebook aside for the moment, she opened the memory card files on her computer and scrolled through the photos. The first few—taken a month earlier according to the date stamp—showed Rob and Mick standing in front of a dusty supply truck, guns strapped to their thighs, sunglasses shielding their eyes from the bright sun.

  Standard look-how-badass-we-are stuff. The kind of pictures that ended up on Facebook or circulating the Internet with derogatory subtitles.

  Rob had looked good. Strong. Healthy. Alive. Breathing through the tightening in her throat, Jenna clicked on the next photo.

  This image was different. Two men in profile leaned toward each other in conversation, their heads close, as if whispering. The image was grainy, as if the photographer had taken it from a distance. One man’s head was wrapped, his shoulders draped with cloth, the other sported the standard Claymore uniform of a polo shirt and cargo pants. She didn’t recognize either of them.

  The next picture was clearer. It showed the same men from the previous image, along with another Claymore contractor, standing next to a crate of rifles. Following that was a photo of a crate filled with rectangular cellophane packages of yellowish-white powder. Drugs?

  Unease skittered down the back of her neck. The remaining pictures were more of the same.

  What were the photos for? Had the men been involved in breaking up a drug ring? The DEA used private security contractors in Afghanistan to help with drug raids, but she didn’t think Claymore played any part in that. But then, Rob usually couldn’t tell her what he was doing, so what did she know?

  Nothing.

  “Mick. Can you take a look at this?”

  He was at her side before she even finished her request, as if he’d been waiting for her to call him over. “What is it?” He looked over her shoulder, then slid the notebook to her right and sat down next to her.

  “Have you seen these pictures before?” She angled the computer so he could see the screen. “What do you think?”

  In silence, he worked his way through the images, his jaw clenching tighter with each subsequent image. He sighed and looked up at her. “It looks like he was keeping track of illegal shipments in and out.”

  “Guns and drugs,” she said, her heart picking up its pace as another thought occurred to her. “You don’t think he was involved, do you?”

  “Hell no,” Mick said. “Rob wouldn’t get mixed up in something like that.”

  Relief kicked in. She didn’t want to believe her brother would turn to smuggling either, but it was good to know that Mick agreed with her. They were the two who had known him best.

  He blew out a breath as he ran through the photos again. “Why didn’t he tell me?” He massaged his forehead with his fingertips.

  “I didn’t know either.”

  “Yeah, but I was there.” Anger laced through his deep voice. Or hurt. Probably both.

  “Maybe he was trying to protect you.”

  He looked up and scowled. “Clearly I wasn’t the one who needed it.”

  Jenna took a deep breath and pushed on, hoping to distract both of them. “Do you know the guys in the photos?”

  “Yeah, Rizzo and Dolph.” His tone of voice left no doubt about his dislike for the men.

  “Are you sure Claymore wasn’t helping the DEA or something?”

  “The DEA is working with a different company. Besides, if my team was in on it, I would have been knee-deep in the raids. This is something else. An inside job.” He tapped the notebook. “Anything in here?”

  “Nothing helpful. It looks like he started a journal but didn’t write in it much.”

  She thought about the official story about Rob’s death. Afghanistan was a dangerous place, but she couldn’t ignore the timing. Especially not in light of the attack on her home.

  Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she studied Mick’s handsome profile and worked up the guts to ask him a question she dreaded. “Do you think there’s any possibility that Rob was murdered?”

  His head shot up and he stared at her. His expression changed, as if something was clicking into place for him. “I never thought…” But then, like a light going out, his face went blank. “When you’re killed in a war zone, they don’t call it murder.”

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” She stood, her whole body trembling. “It’s a simple question, Mick. Yes or no?”

  He closed the notebook and covered it with his large hand. “I’m not sure.” His voice was suddenly unsteady and he wouldn’t meet her gaze.

  “You were there,” she said. “How can you not know?”

  “A firefight is chaos.” The muscle in his jaw jumped. “I was there, and Rob was shot. What else is there to say?”

  “You know something else,” she said, unable to believe that he would shut her out like this. “What if the guys who came to my house were looking for these pictures?”

  He considered her argument for a few seconds, his face progressing from doubt to resolve. “It’s pretty extreme to destroy a house just to cover up a small-time smuggling operation, isn’t it?”

  “Not if murder is involved,” she said, frustration clear in her voice. “You’re being intentionally obtuse.”

  “Jay, the incident is still under investigation. I can’t give out any details about what happened.”

  “Even if it might shed some light on what’s going on now?”

  He shook his head.

  “Why else would someone be after me?” She’d assumed the State Department’s investigation was a routine cover-your-ass kind of thing to make sure Mick’s team hadn’t used undue force, but what if there were more to it than that?

  “I don’t know.” He slid off the stool and combed his fingers through his hair. “The investigators are working on it. Until they figure everything out, I’ll keep you safe. That’s what matters.”

  Jenna bit back a scream of frustration. Why was he lying to her?

  One thing was becoming clear. If she
wanted to find out what had happened to her brother and figure out who was responsible for upending her lackluster but stable life, she wasn’t going to get help from Mick. She’d have to do the legwork on her own. She gave a loud sigh, kept her eyes on her hands, and nodded to herself as if reaching a difficult decision. Which she was, because from now on she would be at odds with the one person who was doing the most to help her.

  “You’re right. I’m seeing conspiracies everywhere.” Sliding the notebook out from under his fingers, she held it close to her chest. Lying was not her strong suit, so she stuck to the truth. “It’s just hard to let go.”

  His shoulders relaxed and he pulled her into his arms. “I know, but sometimes there’s nothing else we can do.”

  But he was wrong. In her head, she was already making a list.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ON SATURDAY EVENING, TARA opened her front door and smiled at the glazed look on Colin’s face. Apparently he liked the tight red dress that plunged low in front and even lower in back. Or at least the message it sent.

  “Hi,” he said, handing her a small bouquet of pink roses, already in a vase with water.

  “You’re so sweet.” She placed the vase on the hall table before stepping out to join him, locking the door behind her. Flowers were a very good start.

  Somehow, she’d managed to keep her panties on last night. It hadn’t been easy. The man had a persuasive tongue, especially when he used it on that sensitive spot at the base of her neck. But she didn’t want to keep making the same mistake over and over again, and in her experience, sex on the first date was always a bad idea.

  Unfortunately, she had enough experience with it to have learned that lesson.

  A little challenge would let him know she wasn’t easy, giving him a reason to ask her out again. But one look at Colin in his tailored pants and button-down shirt and she was a goner. If she didn’t get into those khakis tonight, she might self-combust.

  He descended two steps and turned back to face her at eye level. She drank in his woodsy scent and lost herself in the lust in his dark eyes. His hand snaked around the back of her head and gently pulled her to him as he pressed his mouth to hers.

  He teased and licked and nipped until she was panting, too aroused to be concerned about the neighbors walking their dog on the sidewalk below or Mr. Farmer who was surely watching from his window next door.

  “You’re sweet,” he said, his voice rough as he tangled his hands in her long hair. “And tonight, you’re mine.”

  Sunday morning, Mick woke up early. The light shining around the edge of the blinds was still pale and gray. He had now slept two nights in a row on his futon. Actually, sleep might be too generous a term to describe the half-conscious state in which he’d spent the night. Jenna was right about the cheap mattress being lumpy, but that wasn’t the problem.

  The problem was the woman sleeping in his bed. Without him. And not just because he ached to join her there. He couldn’t stop thinking about the photos. Or Jenna’s questions. Mick couldn’t answer them, but he couldn’t bring himself to outright lie to her either.

  She’d played like she was going to drop it, but he wasn’t convinced. Even if he hadn’t promised Rob not to tell her, he wouldn’t want her to know the truth. And it was dangerous for her to know. He was sure that if he gave her even the tiniest thread of truth about that day, she would never let go until she unraveled the whole story.

  Unable to lie down any longer, he got up and started the coffee, then went online and started searching. There was someone he wanted to track down in light of yesterday’s revelations. Given the new evidence Jenna had found, he was rethinking everything he’d seen on the day of Rob’s death. He couldn’t ignore the possibility that Rob had been murdered, which meant that he and Jenna were in big trouble.

  An hour later, Jenna joined him, sipping coffee and nibbling on a bagel while she made phone calls to her insurance company and filled out a request for copies of Rob’s death certificate from the Office of Vital Records. She needed certified copies to close down his accounts.

  The bracelet Mick had given her encircled her wrist, a shiny reminder of a man they’d both loved. It was comforting to see her wear it. The tiny chip inside ensured he would be able to find her, even if she got mad enough to walk out on him. Or, God forbid, someone took her. His hands curled into fists. He’d die before he let that happen.

  He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. She’d be fine. They’d be fine. He turned his mind away from the danger they were in and focused on Jenna.

  If not for the sad reason for it, he would have laughed at the image of her sitting at his breakfast bar surrounded by a neat stack of lists, a brand new laptop, and her cell phone. The woman could out-organize him any day. She had a list for notifications, one for potential furnished apartments, another for things she needed to buy—with columns for short-term and long-term—and a master to-do list to keep all of her other lists straight.

  At the moment, she was busy transferring her notes into the MacBook she’d picked up at the mall. “I think that’s all I can do until tomorrow,” she said without looking up at him as she marked tiny checkboxes on the screen. “Is the dryer done?”

  “Yep. I dumped the clothes on the bed.”

  “Thanks.” She slid off the stool and rubbed the spot right over her heart with the heel of her palm. “I could really use a run.”

  He knew the feeling. Nothing unknotted his chest like a hard workout. “That sounds good. You change first.”

  She emerged from his bedroom a few minutes later, a simple act that stirred up all kinds of fantasies he couldn’t afford. At least the loose-fitting shirt she’d bought covered up enough of her skin for him to focus on potential threats instead of her ass.

  Ten minutes later they were on the trail that snaked past his building. Mick was used to running hard and long. Hell, he could never have made it through pararescue training otherwise. But, damn, Jenna’s pace was killing him. She’d run cross-country at Virginia Tech, and apparently she could kick his butt.

  She pulled farther ahead of him, and he had the feeling she was deliberately trying to avoid conversation. That would be okay if he could keep up without dying. After six miles of lung-busting torture, he called out in desperation, “Stop!”

  She gave him a startled look and halted next to the asphalt trail. “What—”

  He bent over and rested his hands on his knees, feeling like a fish out of water, starved for oxygen. “I just need a minute, okay?”

  “You mean a big, bad PJ can’t keep up with little old me?”

  He ignored the barb. “Is this helping? Because I may collapse if you keep it up.”

  Her face darkened and she looked away.

  “I’m sorry, Jay.” He certainly wasn’t helping. “I wish I could make this whole mess better. If there’s something I can do…”

  She stared him down, her lips compressed into a tight line. And somehow, she wasn’t even breathing hard anymore, while he still felt like an asthmatic in need of an inhaler. “You can tell me what really happened out there.”

  Shit. How long had she been waiting for that opportunity?

  “I want to know the truth,” she said quietly, her eyes full of pain. “Everything.”

  He shook his head. “That’s the one thing I can’t give you.”

  Tara squinted at the bright sun that tumbled through a gap in her bedroom curtains. Without even turning to look, she could tell Colin was no longer in bed. If he had been, she would have been hard-pressed not to roll toward him the way the mattress sagged under his weight. In fact, at one point last night she’d been afraid the whole bed would come crashing down. She’d entertained thoughts of buying a firmer mattress if things worked out between the two of them.

  It was a good memory, tempered by the fact that the house was now silent. He hadn’t stuck around for the morning after. Tears threatened. She knew better. She knew that jumping into bed after two dates was too
soon. She knew that once men got what they wanted, they left.

  But she’d really liked him, and thought he felt the same way. That’s what she got for believing men thought with anything but their dicks, that a little sweet talk and flowers meant he was after something more than an easy lay.

  Her phone rang, and her foolish heart leapt with the hope that he might be calling to apologize or explain why he’d left so early. Okay, maybe not early. It was almost ten according to the bedside clock, but still. He could have kissed her goodbye or left a note on the pillow.

  She ran into the kitchen, clutching the bedspread around her for warmth, and snatched up the receiver before it went to voice mail. “Hello?” She tried in vain not to sound breathless.

  “Hey, it’s Jenna. Did I call too early?”

  Tara slumped into the counter, unwilling to admit to herself how devastated she was that it wasn’t Colin. “No. I’m up.”

  Coffee called to her, so she took the bag out of the freezer and measured it into the coffeemaker. Startled by the sound of the front door opening, she jumped, spilling fresh grounds all over the granite and onto the floor.

  “Is everything okay? Did you and Colin go out?” Jenna’s voice filtered through her buzzing brain as if through water. Tara barely registered her friend’s question because she was too busy smiling at the bear of a man who’d just walked in her front door with two paper coffee cups and a bag of bagels.

  “Tara?” Jenna prompted.

  She dropped the bedspread and watched Colin’s eyes darken with lust. He set breakfast on the table and reached her in two strides, spinning her so she was bent over the counter, one large hand warming her bare breast. With a low groan, he nipped at the back of her neck and trailed his fingertips up the inside of her thigh.

  It took every ounce of control Tara had not to whimper when he removed his hand to unzip his pants. Before she lost her senses altogether, she managed to squeak out, “I’ll call you later. The date’s not over yet.”