SEAL Together: Silver SEALs Series

by Jordan, Maryann

  Eric continued sitting in the chair for a few more minutes, his mind filled with various aspects of this mission. He had no idea at this moment if he was getting any closer to finding out the information that Silas wanted. Hearing his phone ding with the incoming email containing Lydia’s address, all other thoughts left his mind, and a satisfied smile curved his lips.

  * * *

  This was not what Eric had expected, nor what he liked. While his visit with Chester had been friendly, his interview with the FLA had so far rivaled his most serious cloak and dagger missions.

  He was picked up in front of his hotel by a taxi driver whose instructions were to take him to a particular bar just outside of town. Left out front, he waited as per the instructions, then another person picked him up in a dark SUV with tinted windows. Climbing into the back seat, he was instructed to place a blindfold over his eyes.

  The drive took almost fifteen minutes before the SUV came to a stop, and he was told to stay put. He could hear the driver alight from the vehicle and the sounds of footsteps as they walked around to his door. Once his door opened, a firm, but not painful, hand on his arm guided him out. With the barest amount of light from the bottom of the blindfold, he could see that he was walking on asphalt.

  Moving through a door, he continued down a tiled floor. The blindfold was taken off after he entered a room, and he found himself in a comfortable office. A door opened and, much to his surprise, a man walked in wearing a mask, the type found in a Halloween store.

  “Good afternoon,” the man said, chuckling as he spread his hands out to the side. “I realize all of this subterfuge appears to be over the top, but our work is so important and there are those who find our methods unacceptable.”

  Surprised that the man used a digital voice changer as well, Eric asked, “Unacceptable or illegal?”

  “Both, I should say.” The man sat down behind a small desk, and said, “I know you represent a scientific press, so I find it interesting that you want an interview with the Foundation for Liberating Animals.”

  “I’m trying to gain a deeper understanding of the NBAF, and to do so it also behooves me to understand those who are against it. I have spoken with Chester Thompson—”

  The man made a rude noise, biting out, “A ridiculous and feckless exercise on Mr. Thompson’s part.”

  Lifting his eyebrows, Eric said, “Before you begin your explanation of your organization, perhaps you would be good enough to give me your name.”

  “John Doe. After we speak today, you’ll understand why I use the name. My work is important, but as I said earlier, I don’t feel bound by society’s laws.”

  Nodding slowly, he said, “Okay, so tell me why your work is important. Let’s start with that. I’ve read that you have no problem with the theft of animals, vandalism, coercion, and other methods to, in your words, liberate animals from researchers.”

  “Yes, we believe in direct action in pursuit of animal-rights and will take any method necessary to free animals where we can.”

  “It’s also said that you’re considered to be terrorists.”

  “We desire to overshadow any debate on the need for using animals in any type of research. It may be as simple as creating fear so that a scientist will stay silent and, doing so, will help to turn public opinion against the research.”

  “So, are you admitting that you consider yourself to be a terrorist?”

  “If by terrorist you mean do we invoke terror? Then yes, I believe the word terrorist could apply. Although, we prefer animal activist.”

  “How organized is your organization?”

  “I can tell you that we are active in over forty countries, but if you’re asking if we have an email list and newsletter, the answer is no,” John Doe chuckled. “We go to great lengths to cover our tracks.”

  “What do you want my readers to take away from this article?” Eric knew he was playing a part but found himself truly wanting to know the answer to this question.

  John Doe was quiet for just a moment, then sighed heavily. “We are the ones who are considered to be terrorists at worst, criminals at best, but all we strive to do is save the innocent.”

  “With new laws in place for research facilities, do you still feel relevant?”

  “Man has a great capacity for cruelty,” John Doe said. “We will always be relevant.”

  Eric countered, “Surely you do not think cruelty applies solely to acts against animals. After all, your organization has been linked to attacking people, firebombs, blowing up buildings—”

  “In the pursuit of what is right, there will always be casualties,” John Doe stated, his voice harsh.

  “So, it is fine to harm humans, just not animals?”

  The room was silent, no answer forthcoming.

  Changing the direction in the interview, Eric asked, “With your group being so international, do you get money from other governments?”

  John Doe sat very still for a long moment and Eric did not think he was going to answer the question. Finally, John said, “We get donations from a variety of sources and do not turn down any assistance in the pursuit of our cause.”

  As the interview came to a close, he was taken back to his hotel the same way in which he was brought. Bypassing Chris’ room, he walked directly to his, finding his thoughts tangled in his mind. Moving directly into the shower, he stood under the hot spray of water. With his hands pressed flat against the tile, he allowed the water to pelt his back.

  Having dealt with other types of terrorists when he was a SEAL in Afghanistan, he knew that to terrorists, their cause was right and just, regardless of their methods. Both John Doe and Chester Thompson admitted to not turning down money that was offered to further their cause.

  Climbing out of the shower, he toweled off and pulled on fresh clothes. Hearing a knock on his door, he opened it to Chris, and said, “Keep digging on the money trail from the FLA and Chester’s group. While Chester, at least, sounds like a sane man, I can tell you the FLA will stop at nothing to try to shut down the facility here. And keep digging to see what link we can find between any of our journalists and groups that may be paying the protesters money.”

  “Sure, boss,” Chris said.

  He shoved his feet into his boots, his wallet into his back pocket, and grabbed his leather jacket. “I’m heading out.”

  “Going to find that pretty vet you were asking me about?”

  Shooting a look over his shoulder at Chris, he grinned but did not reply.

  11

  Lydia stood with one hand on the refrigerator door and stared at the contents, wishing something would jump out and fix itself for dinner. It was not that she did not have food to cook, but after the last several days, the desire to cook for just herself no longer held any interest.

  If she were honest, it had been hard to think of cooking for just one since Caroline had left for college. Empty nest was real, and it was a bitch.

  She considered calling her, then looked at the clock on the stove. No, Caroline is probably at dinner with friends. Or studying. Or on a date. That last thought gave her pause as she thought back to when she was Caroline’s age and already pregnant. While she was never sorry that she had her, she truly hoped her daughter was better with birth control, wanting Caroline to finish college first.

  She was still standing with the refrigerator door open, when she heard a knock on the front door. Not expecting anyone, she moved through the short hall and opened the door. Stunned, she observed Eric standing on her front porch. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him, but she pushed that feeling to the side, drawing upon her irritation at him.

  “What are you doing here?”

  He opened his mouth to answer, but she spoke before he had a chance.

  “And how did you know where I lived?”

  Once more, he opened his mouth, but was unable to speak.

  “Wait,” she bit out, throwing her hand up. “I don’t even want to know. I don’t even care. As
far as I’m concerned, you can turn around and leave.”

  “I just wanted to see you.”

  His simple words had the effect of dousing her fiery thoughts with water. She had only spent one night with him, but his face was as familiar to her as someone she had known for years. The intensity of his blue-green eyes staring back at her, and she faltered in her resolve to kick him out before he ever came in.

  As she silently considered her options, he continued to stand on her front stoop with his hands shoved in his jean pockets which, she had to admit, fit him exceptionally well and had her heart skipping a beat at the memory of him out of his jeans. His dark shirt was tight across his chest, and she sucked in a breath, feeling the lack of oxygen to her brain. Lifting her gaze back to his face, the vulnerability she witnessed made her want to wipe away his uncertainty.

  She sighed, the desire to spend more time with him winning out over the desire to send him on his way. Stepping back, she opened the door wider and waved her hand to the side. “Okay, Eric, you can come in.”

  A smile crossed his face, and her heart skipped again. A sudden thought popped into her head, and as he entered her house, her hand moved up quickly, her palm on his chest, halting his progress. “Wait.” Her eyes narrowed, and her gaze hardened. “Is this a social visit or are you wearing your journalist hat right now?”

  “There is nothing journalistic about my visit,” he promised, his gaze holding hers. “This is all personal. You want the truth? Here it is. We had a night that meant something to me. I know we said it wouldn’t go beyond the night, but it was special. I just wanted to see you again. I can’t stand the idea that we parted the way we did. Talking with Chester, I was just doing my job. I’m not out to hurt you, Lydia. Not in any way.”

  Her heartbeat rushed as she heard the sincerity in his voice and read the intense look on his face. Her breath left her lungs slowly, and she nodded. No longer able to pretend differently, she said, “Yeah…I know. I felt the same.”

  His face broke into a wide smile as he continued into her home, hesitating in the small vestibule.

  “Do you want something to eat? Or maybe something to drink?” she asked.

  He opened his mouth and then snapped it shut quickly again, as though uncertain how he should answer.

  A giggle slipped out, and she said, “This isn’t a test, Eric, I promise. There is no wrong answer.”

  His smile replaced his uncertainty, and he replied, “Then, if you’re having something, I will too.”

  “I was actually in the process of staring into my refrigerator hoping that the chef genie would appear and make something out of whatever the food genie had magically left in there.”

  Barking out a laugh, he said, “Well, why don’t we take a look together and see what we can find.”

  Not having a reason to deny his suggestion, she nodded silently and turned to walk into the kitchen. Once there, she reopened the refrigerator door and stepped back. Throwing her hands out to the side in her best game show hostess pose, she quipped, “Make yourself at home. If you can fulfill the role of either food or chef genie, I’ll be grateful.”

  Eric stepped forward and bent, peering into the refrigerator. Straightening, he also opened her freezer door. Turning suddenly, he said, “Why don’t you have a seat, and let me take care of this. You’ve been working hard with all of us around and were down an assistant, so I know you’re tired.”

  Lydia stared at him for a few beats but, once more, only saw sincerity on his face. Refusing to spend any time trying to analyze his motives, she focused on his words and knew he was right. She was tired. Nodding, she offered a small smile, and said, “I’ll take you up on that offer.”

  Instead of leaving the kitchen, she sat at the kitchen counter on one of the two stools. He did not seem to need her assistance, so she remained quiet, at first trying to avoid looking at him and then finally giving in to the desire and watching.

  As Eric bustled around her kitchen, she saw that his gaze drifted over to her as well. After he buttered a large frying pan, he took out some of the deli ham, the half onion that was wrapped in plastic wrap, and a bag of frozen peas from the fridge and freezer. Nuking some of the peas, he chopped the ham and onion. Opening her refrigerator once more, he grabbed four eggs and a block of cheddar cheese that she was sure had mold on one side.

  “I don’t want you to think that I’m a terrible cook,” Lydia said, surprised that she did not want him to think poorly of her. “My life situation has changed recently, and I find cooking to no longer be something that I enjoy as much.”

  He looked over his shoulder as he scrambled eggs and offered a smile. After trimming the mold, he grated some of the cheese. Within a few minutes, he was plating an omelet split in half between them. The scent was delicious, and her mouth watered.

  Jumping up, she opened the refrigerator and said, “I’m not sure what you want to drink. I don’t think beer or wine would go with this.”

  He lifted an eyebrow as the corner of his lips twitched. “Is that milk still good?”

  “Yes. I tend to be a big cereal eater, so I buy milk often.”

  “Then milk it is,” he said. “In fact, milk will be perfect.”

  They sat down at the small table tucked in the eating nook of the kitchen. Taking her first bite, Lydia closed her eyes and moaned. “This is so good.” Opening her eyes, she stared directly at him. “It’s exactly what I needed. Thank you.”

  He shook his head. “You don’t have to thank me, Lydia. I understand why you were upset with me and I just couldn’t walk away with you thinking the worst of me.”

  She swallowed her bite, then shook her head. “I was sitting here watching you cook and thinking about my actions. I’m the one who owes you an apology, Eric.” She saw him about to protest, and said, “No. Please, let me finish.”

  He inclined his head slightly, and she continued. “When I was in vet med school, I was not sure which specialty I wanted to pursue. I considered small animal, but to be honest, I didn’t want to spend my days seeing one cat or dog right after the other. I was never a horse person, although I like horses. But,” she grinned and shrugged, “most veterinarians who specialize in equine have been around horses most of their lives.” She chuckled slightly, and added, “The rest of us consider equine veterinarians to be a little…uh…different. Horse people are just all about the horse.”

  Lydia took several more bites, the warm food settling her stomach and easing her tension. The mood in the kitchen was calm and, just like when she had first met Eric, his attention was riveted on her.

  “I had friends that were more into research or government veterinary medicine and planned on doing their internships in that. Neither of those options appealed to me, and I needed to get finished so that my financial obligation was over, and I could start making money. I discovered that I enjoyed the outdoors, working with farmers, and cattle, sheep, goats, and pigs were great to work with. So, I decided that large animal veterinary medicine was for me. After working for several years, I wanted to do an internship here at KSU’s vet med school.”

  She looked down at their empty plates and leaned back in her chair, “Oh my goodness, I’m just talking about myself but haven’t gotten around to my apology.”

  “That’s okay,” Eric said, leaning back as well. “I love hearing you talk about your work.” He stood and collected the plates, and she jumped up to assist.

  “Here, let me,” she insisted, and took the plates from him. Rinsing them off she placed them in the dishwasher as he rinsed out the pan. Uncertain as to what he wanted to do, she hesitated as she dried her hands on the dish towel.

  “Why don’t we sit some more, and you can keep telling me about your work,” he suggested.

  Agreeing, Lydia led him into the living room, and he settled on the sofa while she plopped into her comfortable chair.

  “Anyway, the point I was eventually getting to, is that no matter what area of veterinary medicine you specialize in, res
earch is a huge part of what we do. Animals are not only our pets, but they are the livelihoods of many. Just like with human medicine, we have to study animals to know how to care for them, treat them, and keep them healthy.”

  “And the protesters?” he asked, his eyes holding concern.

  “I get it,” she said, her voice rising slightly. “Chester Thompson is a rancher, and he cares about his land and his stock. He wants to make sure that it’s safe.” She sucked in a ragged breath and dropped her gaze to the side for a moment, gathering her thoughts. Lifting her chin, she stared directly into Eric’s face, and continued. “But he does not understand, or accept, that the study going on at the NBAF is so secure, that his protests are foundless.”

  “During her introduction, Dr. Hughley was explaining that all the floors that go deep underground are where the dangerous diseases are studied.”

  Nodding, Lydia agreed. “The facility was built with every precaution in mind. It’s like the sci-fi movie, Andromeda Strain. What I do with the healthy animals is on the ground level, but there are five levels deep into the ground, each level with its own containment system. The job that I do is to simply work with healthy animals and make sure that they continue to be healthy. I draw blood from them to be used in research, no different than when a human has blood drawn for testing. But to someone like Chester, his protest began in the typical way. Signs, chanting, writing letters to Congressman. I feel that now that the NBAF is functional and working, he’s stepping up his protests and getting nasty.” Shrugging, she added, “That’s his right, but I don’t have to like it.”

  “And when you saw me with him, that hit a nerve.”