Returning to Eden (Acts of Valor, Book 1): Christian Military Romantic Suspense

by Rebecca Hartt

  She held him closer. “I believe you. But I’m still going to worry about your safety.”

  “Fair enough.”

  His assurances were interrupted as his cell phone did a dance on the bedside table. Wondering who would be calling this late in the evening, Jonah extracted himself from Eden’s embrace and reached for it.

  “It’s Master Chief. Probably wants to talk about tomorrow. Hello?” he said, taking the call.

  “Jaguar, I’m sorry for calling this late. I just got word of some tragic news.”

  Rivera’s announcement, coupled with his odd tone, made Jonah push himself up to a sitting position.

  “What is it?” He braced himself for a blow.

  “Lowery was found dead in his apartment this afternoon. He lives in the BOQ’s on base. One of his neighbors overheard a gunshot and called the MPs. He apparently shot himself.”

  Shock, sorrow, and even guilt raked Jonah’s heart.

  “Dear Lord,” he muttered, aware Eden was digging her nails into his biceps. She had apparently overheard. “Does he have any children?”

  “No, thank goodness, no children,” Rivera answered.

  Jonah closed his eyes and sighed. “Wow, I did not see this coming.”

  “It’s sobering,” the master chief agreed.

  “I wonder if the CO knows yet.”

  “He does,” Rivera said. “He’s the one who notified me.”

  “You think he still wants to meet with me tomorrow?”

  “He didn’t mention canceling.”

  Jonah considered the reason for Lowery’s suicide. “Jimmy must have realized that I’d seen him, and his number was up.”

  “That’s likely, but you shouldn’t blame yourself.”

  “No. No, I don’t,” Jonah assured him.

  “There is one other possibility,” Rivera murmured, hesitantly.

  “What?”

  Rivera kept quiet for several seconds. “I’d rather not say until I have more evidence.”

  The ominous words stripped Jonah of the peace he’d been enjoying only moments earlier.

  “Okay,” he said, trying to guess what was going on in Rivera’s head.

  “Things will work out,” Rivera reassured him.

  “They have so far,” Jonah agreed.

  “Well, you may not need any more security detail,” Rivera stated, “with both Hammond and Lowery dead.”

  Jonah had almost forgotten about his teammates, who were elsewhere in the house, as quiet as mice.

  “Should I send Theo and Bambino home?”

  Expecting Master Chief to say yes, Jonah was surprised to hear him say, “Not just yet. I want to look into something first. What time do Saul and Lucas take over in the morning?”

  “Oh-eight hundred hours.”

  “Take Saul with you to your meeting with the CO,” Rivera advised.

  Why? Jonah wanted to ask, but he didn’t want to force Rivera into explaining himself.

  “All right,” he said, trusting the man’s counsel.

  “Good. Sleep well, then.” Rivera hung up on him abruptly.

  Puzzled, Jonah slowly put his phone down.

  “You okay?” Eden pushed herself up to sit beside him.

  Putting his arm around her, he sent her a forced smile. “Sure.”

  “You’re not blaming yourself for Lowery killing himself, are you?”

  The question confirmed she’d overheard Rivera’s news.

  “No.” Jonah pulled her closer, loving the way her skin felt against his. “He had to know when he started leaking intel that there’d be hell to pay if he was caught.”

  “It seems so sudden, though,” Eden reflected.

  “Not really. He’s probably been worried sick ever since I showed up at the hospital. Last night was his last, desperate attempt to get rid of me. When things didn’t work out the way he’d hoped, he decided to take his life rather than face the repercussions.”

  “You’re probably right,” Eden agreed.

  Jonah tucked a tendril of her hair behind her ear. “I don’t want this news to ruin our first night together.”

  To his delight, she kissed his jaw and then his neck. “It won’t. In fact, I know just how to take your mind off any bad news,” she murmured with a demure downward sweep of her lashes.

  “Oh, you do?” His blood raced with anticipation. “Show me then.”

  Chapter 20

  Over the grinding of the garbage disposal, Eden heard her phone ring. Miriam looked up from wiping down the kitchen counters. Flipping off the disposal, Eden dried her hands hastily on a kitchen towel and reached for her cell phone. The caller’s name caused her a pinch of dismay.

  As soon as Jonah had left with Saul half an hour earlier, she’d decided to leave Dr. Branson a voicemail informing him how wrong he’d been about Jonah’s diagnosis. She knew if she didn’t get it off her chest, it would eat at her.

  Unfortunately, the good doctor was calling her back. Since only a coward would avoid a frank discussion, she drew a breath and answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Mrs. Mills, I got your voice message,” Branson said on an earnest note. “I’m actually very pleased to hear I was wrong about Jonah having PTSD. However, the danger you described may be related to something that’s been bothering my conscience for a while, now, and I’d like to talk to Jonah about it. He’s not answering his phone, however. Is he there?”

  Eden distanced herself from Miriam, who was openly eavesdropping.

  “No, he’s off skeet shooting with his commander,” she explained as she shut herself quietly in her bedroom.

  “Oh. I see.” Dr. Branson sounded perturbed to hear it.

  “What did you want to tell him?” Eden prompted.

  “Could you…could you just ask him to call me?” the doctor stammered.

  “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you told me,” Eden insisted. “We’ve become close again. I’m not going to leave him.”

  “Oh!” The doctor’s tone shifted toward hopefulness. “Well, I’m very happy to hear that.”

  Eden nudged him again. “It has to be important for you to call on Labor Day.”

  Branson heaved an audible sigh. “You’re right. In our last session, Jonah asked me if I’d spoken to his commander about his progress, and I told him no. But the truth is his CO’s been monitoring his recovery very closely.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “He asked to read all of my clinical notes on Jonah.”

  Eden frowned. “Well, maybe he just wants to know if Jonah’s well enough for active duty.”

  “That’s what I thought. And Spitz was the one who found me this job, so I felt obligated to do as he asked.”

  “Spitz?”

  “That’s what we called him in high school. We’ve known each other for years. I’m sure you’re right. That’s got to be Spitz’s motive. Still, I owe it to Jonah to tell him the truth. Please have him call me. I’d like to apologize in person.”

  “I will,” Eden promised. “Thanks for calling.”

  Hanging up, she pondered the doctor’s words as she returned to the kitchen.

  Miriam looked up from stowing the spray bottle under the sink.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Eden walked straight through the kitchen and out onto the deck where Lucas was securing tiki torches to the deck’s railing using plastic zip-ties.

  He straightened to his full height with an enquiring smile.

  “How’s it going?”

  “I’m not sure,” she responded. Tipping her head way back to talk to him, Eden relayed the gist of her phone call with the psychiatrist.

  “What do you think?” she asked, wanting an impartial opinion.

  The lieutenant’s eyes had narrowed. “That’s not exactly ethical on either man’s part.”

  “My thoughts exactly. What’s more, if Commander Dwyer is retiring, why is he so interested in Jonah’s memories returning?”

  A crease appeared between L
ucas’s eyebrows. “You’re right. That doesn’t make sense.” Consternation hardened his handsome features. “Oh, no. What if Lowery wasn’t instigating the leaks to The Entity? What if he was acting on Dwyer’s orders all along?”

  Eden blinked at Lucas in confusion. “Why would Dwyer leak intel from his own squadron?”

  Lucas’s face hardened. “Who knows? But we can’t ignore the possibility that Lowery was simply Dwyer’s lackey, and look what happened to him.”

  Eden felt the blood drain from her head. “We need to get through to Jonah, but he may have turned his phone off.”

  Lucas whipped out his cell phone.

  “I’ll call Saul,” he said, his voice grim. “Don’t worry,” he added, seeing the dread Eden couldn’t hide, “Saul won’t let anything bad happen to Jonah.”

  Pulling into the nearly empty parking lot at Spec Ops Headquarters, Santiago Rivera frowned to see only two cars parked out front, and not the ones he expected, either.

  Jaguar had said he was meeting the CO of Blue Squadron at oh-nine hundred hours this morning, yet neither man’s vehicle was present. The silver Jeep belonged to the duty officer, Ryan Larsen, who had to sit by the phone while everyone else had the day off. And the seafoam-green SUV belonging to the Spec Ops secretary made no sense whatsoever. Lucas’s fiancée, Monica Trembley, definitely had the day off.

  As Santiago neared her vehicle, her back-up lights flared and her SUV reversed swiftly out of its parking spot. It pulled away, making a wide berth of Santiago’s old beater. Nonetheless, he caught a glimpse of Monica’s set features as she zipped toward the main road, refusing to make eye contact.

  What was that about?

  Parking swiftly, Santiago let himself into the building and hurried to Larsen’s desk in the main room.

  “Hey, Master Chief.” The young man’s eyes rounded with surprise.

  Santiago planted himself in front of him, crossed his arms over his chest, and considered the new SEAL’s pallor.

  “Where are the CO and Jaguar?” he demanded.

  Ryan appeared baffled. “Not here,” he stated the obvious.

  “What was Miss Trembley doing here?”

  Ryan turned an interesting shade of pink.

  “She needed to get into the CO’s office, Master Chief,” he replied a tad too quickly.

  Santiago glanced down the hall to Dwyer’s office. His own office and the CO’s were connected via a door with a simple turn-lock on the CO’s side.

  “Did she say why?”

  “No, sir.”

  He looked back at the anxious third class. “Does Miss Trembley outrank you, Larsen? Is that why you let her in without the CO’s permission?”

  “I got his permission.” Larsen gestured toward the landline phone next to him. “He called at oh-seven hundred hours this morning and told me to unlock his door for her. You can check the call log if you want.”

  Santiago let his arms fall to his sides. The seed of suspicion that had dropped into his head last night sprouted insidious roots.

  “No,” he said tersely. If the CO had given verbal permission for his secretary to enter into his office, then Larsen hadn’t violated any policies. He might well have succumbed to Monica’s flirting, however. Poor Lucas! Maybe he should have a talk with him.

  Walking straight to his office door, Santiago unlocked it and flipped on the lights. The door between his office and the CO’s was properly shut. Still, Monica could have easily turned the lock from the CO’s side and let herself in.

  Crossing to his desk, Santiago prayed his suspicions were wrong as he unlocked the drawer where he’d stored Blake LeMere’s journal. It was immediately apparent someone had rifled through the drawer, then taken what they were looking for.

  Santiago’s heart beat faster. He doubled-checked that the journal was, in fact, no longer there before shutting the drawer quietly. Copies of all the keys for office furniture were kept by none other than Monica, whom the CO had cleared to enter his office.

  The doubts that had entered Santiago’s mind after relaying the news of Lowery’s suicide to Jaguar solidified.

  Lowery taking his own life right after Santiago went to Dwyer with damning evidence could not be a coincidence. Santiago’s acute intuition told him the truth—the CO had made certain Lowery would never testify one way or the other. And now the original diary, critical in detailing how Lowery had leaked intel, was gone.

  Breathing harder, Santiago’s thoughts flew to Jaguar, who was even then with the CO—somewhere. He’d assumed they would meet at headquarters, but on a holiday weekend, Dwyer had obviously chosen a different location.

  Spinning toward his door, Santiago hurried from his office, casting a disapproving glare at Larsen, who was still looking red in the face. He ran straight for his car to get his hands on his cell phone, as none were allowed in the building. He had to warn Jaguar lest the CO take drastic measures to keep his lieutenant quiet. If he couldn’t get to Jaguar, then he could at least reach out to Saul.

  “You look good, Jonah,” the CO declared as they helped themselves to two shotguns and a box each of shells from the equipment room.

  “Thank you, sir,” Jonah said, donning his eye protection. “I feel good. Thanks for having me out today. I haven’t gone shooting in…I don’t know how long,” he finished with a rueful laugh.

  “Memory is still an issue, huh?”

  Dwyer nodded his thanks at the one employee in the lodge, a retired SEAL by the name of Bob. The man had unlocked the lodge door for Jonah but refused to let Saul in with him. Clearly, the CO considered Lowery’s betrayal a private matter, not something everyone on the squadron ought to be privy to.

  Jonah could see Saul through a window, sitting on the hood of his car in the parking lot, scowling. Then again, Saul, whose shooting skill had given him the codename Reaper, would make even the CO look like a lousy shot. Little wonder Dwyer hadn’t asked him to join them.

  He hastened to assure his CO. “I’m remembering more and more, sir.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Dwyer gestured toward the exit. “Let’s go.”

  Bob darted forward, holding the door for him. Nodding his thanks, Dwyer stepped outside first. On this federal holiday, he very nearly resembled the civilian he would soon become, dressed as he was in jeans and a light-blue polo. But the military was ingrained in him, as evidenced by the fact he’d expected Bob to hold the door.

  Pausing to survey the large field, which included two skeet ranges, a wobble stand, and even an archery range, Dwyer said, “What do you say we do the five-stand range?”

  Positioned at the farthest end of the field, the five-stand range consisted of a long, covered platform from which to shoot and up to a dozen unique wooden traps scattered about the field. The traps launched clay pigeons from every conceivable angle, either one or two at a time.

  No doubt the CO wanted to see if Jonah had lost his edge. He wished, with a pang of regret, that he’d found some time to do a little target practice prior to their meeting. Then again, when the CO had asked him to meet him at the Oceana Skeet and Trap Range, Jonah hadn’t realized he’d be invited to join in a round of shooting.

  “Sounds good to me, sir,” he replied.

  Propping his shotgun over a broad shoulder, Dwyer struck out in the direction of the distant range, past the wobble stand, where Jonah had shot skeet once a long time ago. Bob, like a proper NCO, flanked Dwyer on his left side, just a couple steps behind him. Jonah quickened his step to fall in on the CO’s right side.

  The long grass whispered against Jonah’s soles, filling the rather tense silence as they covered a distance of about a hundred yards. Casting a glance at his contemplative commander, Jonah ignored the phone buzzing in his pocket—probably Dr. Branson again, reminding Jonah of his Tuesday appointment.

  At that moment, Jonah was fixated on his immediate objective—convincing Dwyer he was fit for active duty. Dwyer would bring that up when he was good and ready. Better to focus their talk on Lowery.


  “I imagine Lowery’s death shocked you as much as it did me, sir,” he began.

  Dwyer cut him a sharp look. “Yes, it did. Hard to wrap my mind around it.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jonah agreed. “Master Chief showed you Blake LeMere’s journal?”

  “He did.”

  The man’s tone did not invite more conversation. Jonah guessed he might not want to bring up Lowery’s treachery in front of Bob.

  “Nice day for shooting,” Dwyer added, confirming Jonah’s guess.

  Jonah looked around, clearing his thoughts with a deep breath. Only a few fat clouds floated overhead. The breeze kept the sun from overheating them.

  “Yes, sir, it is,” he agreed, wondering when the CO was going to bring up Jonah’s return to active duty.

  By the time they arrived at the five-stand range and mounted the wooden platform, Jonah had broken into a light sweat. From there, they surveyed the field. It was littered with wooden traps of various sizes positioned willy-nilly around the open range. At the far end of the facility, the range butted up to an eight-foot, chain-link fence with signs hanging every twenty feet warning of live artillery.

  Conscious of how far he’d walked from Saul and the parking lot, Jonah suffered a sudden twinge of vulnerability. There was nothing to see on the other side of the fence, only a thick line of bushes, then an open field dotted with pine trees.

  Lowery’s dead, Jonah reminded himself. So was his cohort, Officer Hammond. Jonah didn’t need to worry either one of them was lurking nearby, intending to shoot him. All the same, he hefted his shotgun, glad to have at least one weapon, since he’d stowed his SIG under the seat of Saul’s car—no open carry on the military base.

  “Have you played five-stand before, Jonah?”

  “No, sir. I have not.”

  Dwyer cocked an eyebrow at him. “You sure about that?”

  Jonah hesitated. Maybe he had, during that year he couldn’t recall, the same year he’d married Eden.

  “We played once before, you and I,” Dwyer informed him with a rueful smile.

  Jonah blinked, digesting both the news he’d done something he couldn’t remember, as well as the fact Dwyer had obviously been testing him in bringing him out here.