Bound by Secrets (Deadly Isles Special Ops Book 2)

by Amy McKinley

  A small table sat between two patio chairs complete with ottomans along one side, and a barbeque stood at the other corner. There was a leafy plant near the railing, and I pictured mornings with coffee out there. This place was perfect, and I knew my parents would love it.

  “This is beautiful.” I shifted so I could see him as well as the spectacular view. “Why do you want to leave it?”

  Jaxon stood with his hands in his pockets and a forlorn expression I’d rarely seen on him before. “It’s an expense I don’t need, and since I can’t see myself working as a cop, my brothers and I were talking about starting up a business on the island my family owns.”

  I remembered a conversation he and I had had a long time ago. His mom’s family was very wealthy, and the island’s ownership had been handed down on his mom’s side for generations. Jaxon and his brothers were not hurting for money.

  When Kieran had come back, he couldn’t stop talking about it. I’d wanted to go, but I was only in junior high then, and Jaxon looked at me more like a kid sister than anything else. It wasn’t until freshman year that I’d caught him staring at me with a confused expression. It was enough to give me hope, and I found every opportunity I could for our paths to cross. That was the year that I got to go to the island. It was where we held hands for the first time. When nothing came of it, I’d been crestfallen.

  Dislodging from the bittersweet memory, his comment about a business finally registered. “I thought your brothers were still in the Navy.”

  “Tyler is. But Xander got out not long ago. He’s on his honeymoon right now, but he’ll be back in a couple of weeks, and that’s when I’m moving.”

  “Ah, okay. In three weeks, when my parents are here?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  I glanced around, not seeing the supplies I would need. “Did they pick out the paint colors?”

  He motioned for me to follow him to a door off the kitchen. It was a small laundry room, and a couple of cans of paint were in the corner, along with brushes and rollers. Drop cloths were folded and stacked on top of the dryer.

  “I jotted down what they want where. I’ll help when I’m home, but if you can get the rooms taped off and stack any pictures on the back wall in here, or even in my closet, that would help.”

  “Sure.” I nodded.

  “I’ll bring up a ladder from the storage unit in the garage in a little while. I’m going to make some dinner before I have to run back to the station for about an hour. Are you hungry?”

  I shrugged. “What are you making?”

  “Sandwiches. Turkey, bacon, tomato, and avocado.”

  “Okay, but let me help.” That was good. I needed to concentrate on tasks rather than how I was in a confined space with him.

  He got out a frying pan and the ingredients. As the pan heated, we layered the bread. I had a choice of provolone, Swiss, or goat cheese. I went with provolone.

  “This reminds me of the time we made an entire loaf into sandwiches with everything we found in the meat and cheese drawer in your house.” Jaxon chuckled. “And Kieran tried to eat four at once.”

  “Oh, wow, that was such a mess. He spewed them all over the place. You used mayonnaise. He always hated that.”

  “Yeah.” Jaxon put the sandwiches in the pan. “I’d forgotten that little fact.” He cooked our food then set it onto plates. We carried our meal to the couch. He clicked on the news but turned the volume way down. “I hope you don’t mind. I wanted to see if there was anything further about the attack this morning.”

  “I don’t mind.” Any distraction from how close he was sitting to me was good. I picked up my food and took a bite. “You can cook! This is really good.”

  He finished chewing then grinned. “I’ve got a couple of tricks up my sleeve.”

  I didn’t want to think about what else he did well—that was dangerous territory. We ate in silence and watched the news. I couldn’t help but glance around his home. There were pictures of Kieran and him, and of his brothers hanging out on the beach. The brothers were all gorgeous, but Jaxon was the one who always caught my eye, even though Xander was the one my age. An old family picture with the three boys and their parents was next to a recent one taken of Xander with his wife on the beach. They looked happy, and with a pang to my heart, I realized how much I still wanted what it appeared he had.

  “Tell me about what you’ve been doing these past few years.”

  “Not much to tell.” I shrugged, setting my plate on the coffee table. “I write book reviews for the Honolulu Star-Adviser and Kirkus Reviews, and I freelance for the New Yorker too.”

  “That’s a good fit. If your nose wasn’t buried in a book, you always had one nearby.”

  “Hmm.” I didn’t want to comment. It wasn’t anything new. He and my brother used to tease me from time to time. A couple of minutes passed as we ate in silence and watched the news.

  “Are you going to the bonfire tonight?”

  Pain lanced through me again, so fresh from the imagined conversation I’d had with Kieran in his room, where we’d discussed that very topic.

  Why won’t Jaxon stop pushing? I lashed out. “Can we not talk about things that relate to high school? We knew each other in the past. There isn’t any reason to revisit it.” I knew I was overreacting, but I could only take so many memories of Kieran in one day. I didn’t think the loss of my brother would ever cease to gut me.

  “I’m not going to stop, Kayla, because we never resolved what happened between us that night.” His voice dropped to a deep murmur, but its impact wasn’t any less for it. “We need to talk about it.”

  Goddammit! I whirled on the couch to face him. This entire week is a shit show. “We need to stay away from certain topics, or we won’t be able to live together. Anything with my brother is at the top of that list.”

  “I can’t do that, Kayla. Kieran was my best friend.”

  I blinked furiously, clearing my vision as much as I could. All I did lately was cry. “It’s better that we don’t talk about that night because not only did you fail my brother, but I did too. It’s something I can’t come to terms with. We were selfish.”

  With the pad of his finger, he swiped under my eye. I jerked away from his touch, turning to stare at the TV instead. It took a second for my brain to process what I was seeing. It was a picture of Stephanie, my coworker from the paper and Roy’s ex-girlfriend.

  “Oh God.” I couldn’t tear my focus from the TV, but I sensed Jaxon’s full attention.

  I was chilled to the bone at the reality of what the broadcast meant and how it could have related to me. As the gravity of the situation settled like a noose around my neck, I closed the distance between Jaxon and myself. I gripped his hand, and when he lifted his arm to make room, I pressed tightly into his side.

  She’d been found dead.

  6

  Jaxon

  The need to go back to work for an hour or so tore me from Kayla’s side not long after she’d learned of her coworker’s murder. Once she’d insisted she was fine, I went into the office. It took less time than I thought it would. Paperwork done, I hurried to return. The bonfire was that night, and I would be there with her during the second emotional rollercoaster she’d have to ride that day.

  The mere possibility of Kayla staying in my condo reanimated the vision of her I had all those years ago, lying in my arms, skin on skin. I never wanted to let her go, and I shouldn’t have. We were young back then, lacking the advantage of maturity. Things would be different this time around. I would make sure of it.

  As I merged into traffic on my way home, I revisited the conversation I’d had earlier with Jack Davis, a former SEAL who my brothers and I knew. He’d returned my call and had given me information that connected the dots in ways that alerted every part of me to take action.

  His contacts from the CIA and FBI had come through. A small militia group mistakenly recorded as dismantled years ago were suspected to have been behind the attack bro
adcasted on the news this morning. They called themselves Mahrib Allah and were a mix of Iranian and Venezuelan soldiers who believed they were the hand of Allah, doing His work. Although they were a small cell, they were powerful.

  Tensions were high with Iran and Venezuela teaming up. The delivery of Iranian oil tankers to the El Palito port in Venezuelan was supervised without interference, even though there were rumors that nukes and various weapons were on board then smuggled into the country for a joint attack against the US. The SEALs were sent to ferret out the weapons’ location to keep diplomatic relations intact.

  Over the past several months, the news and the military publications I subscribed to had been discussing captured images of an Iranian tanker at the Venezuelan port. The government had issued a threat against the US, warning us not to get involved. To avoid a war, we’d complied. But there were severe concerns.

  The vendetta for this group had crossed the line when they struck on US soil. I needed to know more. Xander couldn’t talk about mission-specific details, as I hadn’t been part of the latest missions he’d participated in.

  Distracted, I let myself into the condo. Kayla was on the couch, watching the news. With a brief hello, I continued to go over all the information I’d gleaned regarding the multiple explosions.

  “Are you all right?”

  Her voice snagged my attention. I shook my head. “The explosions. I’ve been thinking about what that means for my parents.”

  Kayla sat with her legs tucked under herself. I paced, having a hard time curtailing the need for action. All five of the victims’ names from the explosions ran through my head. It was a small miracle there weren’t more fatalities, based on where the murders occurred.

  “How can I help?”

  Her voice eased my mind, halting my trek around the living room. “All three men that were killed were former Navy SEALs. Two of the victims were their wives.” I shared the details with her from the profiles of the victims. “There is a militia cell we suspect, but what we haven’t figured out is how they’re getting data on the former SEALs. It’s not as if they were all struck in their homes.” Then I gave voice to what worried me most. “It’s the same team my dad served on.”

  “Oh, no.” The color leached from her face. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’ve called. My dad is aware of the threat. We don’t know the details of the tracking and kill strikes surrounding the former SEALs, especially since there isn’t collateral damage to others—meaning the murders are specific. The message was meant to be uncontested with the addition of misleading bodies.”

  “Jax, I’m so sorry. Please let me know how I can help.” She twined her fingers together, wringing them in obvious worry. “Had the other SEAL families followed a routine?”

  “That’s the first thing we checked. The Greers were home. The Barstows’ daughter was home ill with her child, and her parents were in her flower shop hours before they were due to open it. The Vincents were in their car, having left an early breakfast in central Honolulu. It’s the two not at home who were the odd men out, so to speak.”

  “But the men all served together?” She tilted her head to the side, and I paused, momentarily distracted.

  It was enough to jostle other details into focus about the case. The targeted hits went deeper, tying into a recent mission—an excursion I was aware of because I’d also participated in one to Colombia and Venezuela, where my team leader, John, had been killed. Xander and now Tyler would have been sent on similar missions, as the unrest was very real.

  “They did,” I said. “Same unit. Another disturbing fact is that the Greers’ son was recently killed on a mission that Xander was on. The vendetta had to be based around something the former SEALs did. A mission carried out. Most likely from South America or Iran.” Fingers of white-hot fear skated along my spine. My parents—all of us were at risk if they were going after SEALs. Maybe not just the ones on the retired members’ team—not if Kyle and John were both killed. I didn’t share that detail with Kayla. My immediate concern was my parents and the other members of the older team because their brothers had been struck down on US soil.

  The pieces were connecting. My gut instinct said the two teams had to be connected to Mahrib Allah’s vendetta.

  “Why Iran?” Kayla leaned forward. “Does this have anything to do with the news report about the Iranian oil tanker docking at a Venezuelan harbor?”

  I gave her a quick recap of my suspicion about what the tanker had carried and the threat issued from the Venezuelan president, should the Navy have gotten involved.

  “But”—her eyes widened—“that means you’re in danger. And your brothers.”

  I held her gaze and nodded.

  She stilled. “Oh God, Jax.” Tears misted her eyes before she blinked them away and picked up her phone. “I wonder…” With a tap of her finger, she opened her Facebook app, typed in “Susan Barstow,” scrolled through her timeline, then did the same with Kathy Vincent. Then she handed me the phone.

  “Both Susan and Kathy posted about what they were doing early that morning. If the militia was following the wives on social media, their movements were well documented,” she said.

  Everything in me hardened. I typed in mom’s name. Goddammit. There were so many pictures of her and dad on the boat. Nothing from the past few days, luckily, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be or that they weren’t already being tracked. I knew a drone could easily find them and drop a very precise bomb.

  My parents were in danger. I hit redial on Dad’s number. He hadn’t picked up before, but I would call until he did.

  “Your parents are on the boat.” Kayla would have heard from her dad. “I can get the Coast Guard to warn them. I still volunteer with them. I could go too.”

  “I don’t want you in danger. Going to the boat puts you in harm’s way.” I turned to the sliding glass doors and the view of the tumultuous ocean as soon as I heard Dad’s groggy voice—alive.

  “Dad. Delete Mom’s social media. The recent explosions may be from tracking their targets’ accounts.” I knew he would be up to date via Navy and military articles he was on top of and the news he watched every morning and evening through a satellite feed on the boat. I recapped what Kayla and I had discussed and her discovery about the possibility of how the militia group had found their marks.

  By the time we hung up, we’d formed a plan about planting false leads about where they were and what they were up to. Their location would ping from those locations with the help of Chris Shaw, a member of the Gray Ghost team, who I would also involve.

  After talking with Chris, the next step was to go to the station and update Nolan. He was the lead detective, so I had to turn over details and let him run with it. My connection to the case also was a clear sign to turn the data over. But I needed a minute alone with Kayla before I left.

  After I hung up, I rounded the coffee table and drew Kayla to her feet, wrapping her in my embrace. “Thank you. You may have just saved their lives.”

  7

  Kayla

  After blotting my face dry with a towel, I stood in front of the sink and reapplied my makeup. Jaxon waited for me in the other room. He’d insisted we go to the bonfire together after he held me as the newscaster reported the details, or lack thereof, regarding Stephanie’s death, while I’d fallen apart in his arms.

  She was found along the harbor, near a fish processing warehouse and down the road from some local clubs. Other than that, nothing else was known.

  Stephanie and I had barely known each other, but we had worked at the same newspaper, exchanged pleasantries, and dated the same guy—which was alarming.

  We’d crossed a line from distant to something more. When Jaxon confided about his fears over the explosions and included me in searching for a solution, we shifted away from the bitterness I’d harbored. It was a lot to process.

  I was getting ready for the bonfire and taking my time while Jaxon waited for me. There was
n’t much I could do about my swollen eyes. Eye drops took care of the redness, and foundation hid the remnants of the faded yellow-green bruising along my cheek and neck, which he’d stared at too long with a hard, unreadable expression.

  My eyeliner pencil slipped from my fingers and clattered in the sink. Shit. I hunched over the counter, hanging my head. I was confused. In Jaxon’s arms, everything felt right. But nothing good had ever come from the two of us being together, no matter how much I wanted things to be different.

  The one and only time we had been together, my brother died. And if I gave in again, I feared that Jaxon would die.

  What I was doing wasn’t fair to him. I was putting him in harm’s way, and I wanted to keep my problems all to myself, even though that was selfish. And from the way he looked at me, I knew I had to confess everything soon but not that night. I couldn’t take much more.

  One last check in the mirror to make sure everything was covered that needed to be, and I shoved away from the sink then opened the door. I had on an old pair of jean shorts, a stretchy blue-gray V-neck, and an oatmeal cardigan because I couldn’t shake the chill after learning about Steph.

  Jaxon had insisted on going together after I fell apart, and I was more than okay with it. When I entered the living room, he leaned against the frame of the open sliding glass doors, letting the outside in. Without the TV on, the sound of the waves filled the space. It was peaceful and made me long for simpler times. Maybe that was what I could find now that I was single again.

  He turned at my approach, his gaze heating as he gave me a slow perusal from head to toe, closing the distance between us. When he slipped his hand in mine and pressed a kiss to the top of my head, I soaked up the warmth of his touch, promising myself that he was a friend, not an enemy or a lover, and I could exist in the simple gesture.