Breaking Through (Book 2 of the SEAL TEAM Heartbreakers) (6 page)

He looked up to find Doc still waiting for his answer. “Against all odds, Brett came out of a coma. I’m not ready to write Flash off just yet either. Even if he was in over his head with gambling debts, and he took this route to cover them, there’s no real proof he did it. I can’t see him ditching the only family he has, his team. Not unless he had no control over what went down.”

“So you think maybe someone kidnapped him, or he’s on the run from someone?”

“He has skills. We disappear into a jungle for days at a time. We can survive in the desert with one canteen of water, a compass, and a KA-BAR. Why wouldn’t he be able to survive under the radar?”

The other instructor, Petty Officer Second Class Frank ordered, “Prepare for subsurface.”

The men straightened from their laid back positions in the pool.

“Go subsurface.” Frank’s voice bounced off the walls in an echo.

The men took a deep breath, pushed off the pool wall, and swam underwater the length of the pool. Doc and Hawk fell in alongside the swimmers until they surfaced and went heads back to rest again.

“But what about the blood in the car?” Doc asked.

“Not enough for him to be dead. Wounded yes, but not deceased. I saw that myself.”

“So, you think he’s alive?”

“Until someone shows me his dead body, that’s what I’ll believe. He’s a SEAL.”

The tension in Doc’s face relaxed. “You’re right. If they didn’t find a body, he’s in the wind.” He grimaced. “He had to be the one who smuggled the artifacts in, though. Right?”

“My gut says he did it,” Hawk said, though he flinched at the admission.

The feelings that acknowledgement provoked lay between them for several long moments. The whole team was still reeling from Flash’s disappearance and Derrick’s arrest. Every time he thought about the domino sequence of events that had led up to both, a painful ache settled in the pit of his stomach. These were guys he’d trusted with his life. How could they have both betrayed their team, and themselves?

“The only proof we had was that he helped pack Cutter’s gear, and that’s circumstantial,” Hawk said. “Anyone could have slipped the stones into Cutter’s bag between the time it was packed and the time we caught the transport home. But his disappearance points a finger. And the signs of a struggle inside his car point to more.”

Doc nodded and looked away. “You know that saying about how we never leave a fallen man behind? It feels as though we have. We should have pursued the investigation ourselves.”

“And we’d have all ended up in the brig for interfering in a federal investigation.”

“Better that than this damn limbo,” Doc muttered bitterly. He glanced at his watch then across the pool. “It feels like we’ve lost an arm.” He glanced at Hawk. “Know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Prepare for subsurface.” Petty Officer Frank’s voice carried across the pool once again. “Go subsurface.”

Grateful for the interruption, Hawk shifted his attention back to the men in the pool.

Doc slapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll see you later.” He sauntered toward the exit.

“Sure.” Hawk paced down the edge of the pool away from him.

“Hey, Hawk.” Doc’s called, his voice echoing across the distance between them.

He paused and glanced over his shoulder.

“My place, seventeen hundred, tomorrow night.” Doc continued talking while he walked backwards. “Steaks on the grill. Bring Zoe and some beer. I’ll call the rest of the guys and have them bring their girls.”

Maybe that’s what they needed, a good steak and some hang time with the other team members and their families. It couldn’t hurt. “Zoe’s mom is coming in.”

“Bring her. She can be my date. She’s hot.”

The image of his future mother-in-law, Clara, as a cougar dating Doc flashed through his head. Hawk laughed. “She’d eat you for breakfast.”

“I’d hope,” Doc shot back, his grin wide. The door slammed behind him.

Hawk laughed, and the smile lingered for several seconds. Until his thoughts shifted back to Flash.

He’d give NCIS time to do their thing, and if they hadn’t come up with some answers in a couple more weeks, he’d have a meeting with the rest of the guys, and they’d do their own investigation. As Doc had said, they never left a man behind.

CHAPTER 5

Brett’s gaze traveled from Captain Jackson’s face to the two NCIS agents. Damn, he’d thought the investigation into Derrick’s meltdown was finished. What else was there for them to ask about? So why had they sent the military police to pick him up? An edgy tingle started just between his shoulder blades, as though a sniper had him in his sights. What the fuck was going on?

“Do you have any objection to my staying, Ensign Weaver?” Captain Jackson asked.

“No, sir.”

“Why don’t you have a seat?” One of the agents, the one who had introduced himself as Agent Wright, motioned with a hand the size of a dinner plate to a hard-backed metal chair. The man was at least six foot six, and probably two hundred and fifty plus pounds, with café au lait skin, dark brown eyes, and hair cropped close to his head.

Though the urge to remain standing was strong, Brett took the seat.

“You were sent to Iraq in two thousand ten and served seven months there, correct, Ensign Weaver?” Agent Wright asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“On April twenty-eighth, 2011, you were assigned to a protection detail for a fifteen-year-old boy by the name of Sanjay al-Yussuf.”

The day of the mission. Shit.

“Can you corroborate that for us, Ensign?”

“No, sir, I can’t.”

Agent Wright’s brows rose and he glanced at his partner.

Agent Scott, five foot nine and about one hundred forty-five pounds, with shaggy light brown hair, was physically less intimidating than Wright. But his green eyes were sharp as he leaned forward in his chair. “Why not?”

“I was injured during a mission later that day. I was in a coma for a month afterward. My memory of anything that happened that week has been completely wiped out. The last thing I remember is training the week before for the mission on April twenty-eighth.”

Both agents leaned back in their chairs and continued to stare at him. “Do you have medical proof of this, Ensign?” Agent Wright asked.

“Contact Captain Russell Connelly at Balboa Naval Hospital. He was my doc until I was discharged. Dr. Ronald Stewart is my doc now.”

“You’ll sign a release?”

Brett shrugged. “After you tell me what happened to the boy.”

Wright’s eyes narrowed. “Why would you think something happened to him?”

“You wouldn’t be here asking questions otherwise. We traveled in caravans throughout the city. We’d have had cover front and back. Why don’t you just ask the other guys on the detail?”

“Because they’re dead,” Wright said, his voice flat.

No!
Each Humvee would have had a crew of four. Eight guys dead. “
Jesus.”

“You and Ensign Armstrong are the only survivors of that detail, Weaver. And he ain’t talking,” Scott said. “You got any idea why he’d refuse to tell us what happened that day?”

“No, sir.” Had something happened during the transport?

“He tried to kill you twice. And you don’t know why?” Scott asked.

Alarm bells clanged in his head. They were acting as though they had proof Derrick had tried to kill him. If he wasn’t talking—

“I can’t testify as to how I was injured during the mission later that day, Agent Scott. I don’t remember even leaving base. As to the incident at Lieutenant Yazzie’s house, I was standing between Derrick and his girlfriend and my sister while he threatened them with a loaded gun. He didn’t much care for the interference.” Bitterness edged his voice.

“If he’d done something to the boy, and he was afraid you’d talk—”

Prickles of shock raced down Brett’s throat into his torso, and then rage flashed deep into his gut. His face flushed hot. He met Wright’s stare head on. “No way, sir.
No fucking way.”

“Weaver—” Captain Jackson’s tone held a warning.

Ignoring Jackson, Brett remained focused on Wright’s face. “He’s a kid.
An unarmed civilian.
We wouldn’t have laid a hand on him.” He drew a deep breath, forcing calm, forcing his anger back. “Had there been any sort of altercation, the eight guys covering us would have reported it.”

“They never had the opportunity, Ensign.” Scott’s voice held a note of quiet finality.

So they’d been killed that same day.
Fuck. Eight guys. Jesus.
Brett drew another calming breath, trying to slow the harsh beating of his heart, and tamp down the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He turned his attention to Scott. “We don’t kill innocent civilians. Our mission there is to preserve the safety of innocent civilians and of our men. Al-Qaeda and the Taliban don’t agree with that. Our being there is reason enough for them to try to kill us. Plus they’re always on the lookout for new recruits, and they don’t give a damn whether the guys they pick up are interested or not. I’d be looking at the possibility the kid was kidnapped by one of the teams they have cruising the neighborhoods.”

“That possibility is being looked at, Ensign,” Wright said.

Brett relaxed a minute degree. “Good. I hope they find him.”

The agents rose. Brett did as well.

“You’ll be hearing from us, Weaver,” Scott said.

Was that a threat? Neither agent offered his hand. After a brief nod to Jackson, they filed out of the office, leaving a void behind them.

Jackson resumed his seat. Brett remained standing and faced him, waiting to be dismissed.

The silence hung between them heavy with tension. Brett searched the man’s expression and looked away.
No backup here.

“For what it’s worth, Weaver, I don’t believe you had a damn thing to do with that kid’s disappearance,” Jackson said.

Surprise held Brett immobile. “Sir.”

“What I believe, and what you can prove are two different things. Someone high up sent those two assholes here. Someone who wants answers and wants them quick. If I were you, I’d work on trying to remember all I could about that protection detail.”

Simple for Jackson to suggest. It would be easier to pull memories out of a black hole than his brain. Brett remained silent.

“Dismissed, Ensign.”

“Aye, sir.” Brett pivoted on his heel and marched from Jackson’s office. In the military, you were guilty until proven innocent. How could he fight that with a memory full of holes the size of mortar shells?

***

Russell lifted the cartons of Chinese food out of the bag and put them on the small kitchen table, releasing the aroma of ginger and peppers. His apartment was utilitarian but clean. He’d given Evan the master bedroom and bath in consideration of his condition. There were so many things going on with his son, and he hadn’t been aware of any of them. Why hadn’t Evan called?

“Are you having any intestinal distress?” he asked as Evan came into the kitchen from the hall. “I thought Chinese, since it’s pretty much steamed vegetables and rice, would be—”

“I’m good, Dad,” Evan said, cutting him off. “This looks fine.” He pulled out a chair and sat down.

Russell got clean plates and silverware from the dishwasher and set them on the table. “How’s your mother?” he asked as he got ice tea from the refrigerator and filled two glasses.

“She’s fine.” Using chopsticks, Evan placed an eggroll on his plate. “She and Carl took a second honeymoon in England a couple of months ago. She came back with pictures and souvenirs from every castle there.”

Evan grasped the container of fried rice, tipped some on his plate, then reached for the General Tso’s chicken.

“I’m glad she’s found someone who likes to travel.” Russell set the glasses down on the table and took a seat. He filled his plate.

“You mean travel together, don’t you,” Evan’s tone was an accusation.

Russell concentrated on his chicken and broccoli. “I couldn’t very well take you and your mother to a war zone, Evan.”

Gloria had ruthlessly implanted her feelings of bitterness, rejection, and disappointment from their ten-year marriage into their son. His deployment schedules had disrupted his visitation with Evan, and she had manipulated her custody status as a way to control and punish Russell for what she perceived as his marital shortcomings. She’d used Evan like a weapon until he’d moved out of the house to go to college. And by then the damage to his relationship with his son had seemed beyond his ability to repair. Why had she felt the need to drive a wedge between them?

Seeing the same bitterness in his son’s green eyes that he’d had aimed at him from Gloria’s over the years triggered a rage toward her he’d suppressed for most of their relationship. Evan was no longer a child. And if his condition was as dire as he suspected, it was time for him to make an effort to reach him.

“Why are you here, Evan?”

“You’ve been gone a while.”

No. He wasn’t getting away with that. “We saw each other six months ago, when I first got back. I’ve called numerous times and gotten your voice mail. You’ve never returned my calls.”

Evan stirred the food on his plate. “I was busy with several cases at first, then in the hospital for a time.”

“Did your mother know?”

Evan remained silent a moment, avoiding his gaze. “Yeah.”

“You could have asked her to call me. There might have been something I could have done for you.”

“I have doctors, I don’t need another,” Evan said, his tone sharp.

“I wasn’t speaking as a doctor, but as your father.”

“It’s a little late for that.”

Pain lanced through Russell, shoving him to his feet. He carried his plate to the sink, the food barely touched. Gloria had enjoyed thirty years of uninterrupted participation in their son’s life. He’d had to be satisfied with the scraps she and Evan would allow him. How pathetic was that? He couldn’t shake the need to hurry and make up for lost time.

“I’ve never spoken with anything but respect for your mother to you. I’ve never told you how I felt about the divorce. Or my feelings about having another man raise my son.”