Книга - Navy Justice

Navy Justice
Geri Krotow


Undercover lover A quiet, civilian life on Whidbey Island sounded great to navy lawyer Joy Alexander. But when navy SEAL-turned-FBI agent Brad Iverson shows up on her doorstep bruised and bleeding, she realizes it's not so easy to leave the past behind. Even harder to forget are the feelings she once had for Brad.Brad's on an undercover operation, one that's targeting potential terrorists…and unintentionally bringing danger to Joy. They'll have to work together again, except this time it's not only justice they're after–it's survival. If they make it that far, they won't waste a second chance at love.







Undercover lover

A quiet, civilian life on Whidbey Island sounded great to navy lawyer Joy Alexander. But when navy SEAL-turned-FBI agent Brad Iverson shows up on her doorstep bruised and bleeding, she realizes it’s not so easy to leave the past behind. Even harder to forget are the feelings she once had for Brad.

Brad’s on an undercover operation, one that’s targeting potential terrorists...and unintentionally bringing danger to Joy. They’ll have to work together again, except this time it’s not only justice they’re after—it’s survival. If they make it that far, they won’t waste a second chance at love.


“Come here, Joy.”

His tone indicated that his thoughts were elsewhere.

“Have you heard a word I’ve said?” she asked.

“Come. Here.”

She heard him pat the sofa cushion next to him.

“Brad...” She allowed herself to feel how exhausted she really was.

“I’m not going to kiss you. Promise.”

Why not?

She took two short steps and lowered herself onto the sofa. Brad reached for her waist and pulled her down beside him.

She could feel the heat of his body through the thickness of her terry robe. He might not want to kiss her but she wanted to kiss him. Badly.

“Lean your head against me.” He wrapped his arm around her, and she put her head on his shoulder. After a few minutes she realized he was serious—this wasn’t going to be a lovemaking session.

“Brad? What exactly is this about?”


Dear Reader (#ulink_3c0d6921-639b-5603-82cd-05fb0de09300),

First, a big thank-you for purchasing this book, the next Whidbey Island title. The success of this series is all due to your incredible support and encouragement.

Ever since Joy Alexander was briefly introduced in Navy Christmas, I knew she had to have her own story. Joy is a former navy JAG who picked Whidbey Island as the place to settle and begin her civilian career as an attorney after a decade in the navy. Her plans for a quiet retreat into the community are overturned when a former work colleague, Brad Iverson, shows up at her kitchen door the same morning she’s starting her new job. Brad quickly becomes a big part of her life, just as he did when they worked together on a case to free a Guantánamo Bay prisoner who was wrongly accused of terrorist activity.

I like to explore how heroes and heroines react under different circumstances. For instance, Joy and Brad first met when she was an officer and he was enlisted; anything but a professional relationship wasn’t allowed. When Navy Justice opens, they’re both civilians. Nothing is keeping them from a relationship—except their inner conflicts. And, of course, a bad guy or two!

This has been the most challenging book to write in the Whidbey Island series so far, but also the most rewarding as Joy and Brad have to dig deep to find the right answers for themselves and the possibility of a life together.

For the latest on the Whidbey Island series, and my new series for Mills & Boon Romantic Suspense, Silver Valley PD, please sign up for my newsletter at www.gerikrotow.com (http://www.gerikrotow.com). I’m also on Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest, and I blog regularly at the Mills & Boon Superromance authors’ site, www.superauthors.com (http://www.superauthors.com). I hope to hear from you soon!

Peace,

Geri Krotow


Navy Justice

Geri Krotow






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Former naval intelligence officer and US Naval Academy graduate GERI KROTOW draws inspiration from the global situations she’s experienced. Geri loves to hear from her readers. You can email her via her website and blog, www.gerikrotow.com (http://www.gerikrotow.com).


For Margaret Mitchell, the best aunt a girl could hope for.


Contents

Cover (#u85bf9fd3-8ce5-5fe9-a413-d8d39191e0c1)

Back Cover Text (#u37c89a15-f21d-54fc-a5f6-5966479e66da)

Introduction (#ue28df920-3596-56cb-96d0-e36abb1f3744)

Dear Reader (#ub24f45da-1f63-53e1-babe-c3ec8c71c254)

Title Page (#u26135332-2a5e-5c5e-a717-e6e6a3fc50ff)

About the Author (#u8a559950-4282-59c1-a945-c82e31f36a80)

Dedication (#u82d37b97-0ebc-5cbe-bfc5-7439dbb5931c)

CHAPTER ONE (#ub8a8a499-e101-5db7-8dc3-dd7592e6a0f0)

CHAPTER TWO (#uf058be39-0d7f-533f-921c-7360d520ca2f)

CHAPTER THREE (#u5ba1befb-1396-5a16-a90b-46645aeac519)

CHAPTER FOUR (#u12684fe6-0377-5935-8a41-424ac690c133)

CHAPTER FIVE (#u5cfd4b5b-d288-57bc-a5db-1179e7b98224)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

Joy’s Mac and Gruyere for Brad (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_9a689f02-1605-5f3e-9710-5a00310166d9)

0615 Monday Morning Whidbey Island, Washington

JOY ALEXANDER FORCED herself to ignore the clock and leisurely sip her morning coffee. She had more than an hour until her first day at the law firm—her first civilian job after a decade in the Navy. Since the law office was seven minutes away, tops, and she’d already showered, she could afford to enjoy the view a bit longer.

Five minutes. She waited for the satisfaction she usually felt when she thought about her new life, her new career. But this time she didn’t feel it. Had to be first-day jitters, that was all.

The blue of the water changed to gray as the Strait of Juan de Fuca glistened in the morning light. Even though she’d planned to make the switch to civilian life for the last three years of her career as a Navy JAG, right now it felt as though it’d happened in the blink of an eye. She stretched her arms over her head, enjoying the taut feel of her muscles after last night’s yoga class. She’d traded years of Navy PT tests and the sweaty gym for poses in a pristine studio, and she had no regrets.

The flutters in her stomach were purely physical reactions to her excitement at her new job.

The rumble of jet engines reached her ears a split second before two Navy F-18 Growlers shot across the sky, overflying her house, leaving the Whidbey Island airspace for the Pacific Ocean. She wondered if an aircraft carrier was waiting for them. She watched their shapes grow smaller as they gained altitude and distance. A second round of jet noise rushed over her house, but this was lower, slower. Turbojets. Sure enough, a P-8 Poseidon, followed by its predecessor, the P-3 Orion, flew by and their flight appeared slow and laborious after the showiness of the fighter jets.

The P-8 and P-3 platforms didn’t land on carriers, but instead performed reconnaissance and antisubmarine missions. No doubt a Naval exercise was afoot. She’d often observed the aircraft over the past year from her home base of Naval Air Station, Whidbey Island. They always made her feel comfortable—they were that familiar to her.

She tried to ignore the pang of nostalgia; it would do nothing but increase her anxiety about starting her civilian life.

Joy had no room for anxiety in her carefully structured routine.

Scanning the horizon yielded nothing in the way of wildlife, the real reason she loved sitting out here. Not one whale spout. A cargo ship and a smaller fishing vessel floated in the distance, and she wondered if the small boat was out there to whale watch. Maybe it belonged to an amateur photographer, hoping to get shots of the Navy’s power. Aviation buffs were serious about observing Naval flight operations and referred to the loud noise of the jets as the “Sound of Freedom.”

She certainly felt it was. She’d proudly been part of supporting the operators who served all over the globe in missions that ranged from humanitarian aid to the ugliest aspects of war.

Would working in a civilian firm ever be as rewarding? She doubted it. But it was time...

A single burst of bright light came out of nowhere, as if an invisible finger had lit a match against the sea. She gasped at the immediate appearance of a fireball, followed by dark smoke.

As the reality that she’d seen an explosion registered, the tiled floor of her sunroom shuddered, and a soft boom rolled across the beachfront.

Normally, she’d associate the blast and its vibration with one or both of the F-18s breaking the sound barrier. But she’d seen the explosion. Had it been an aircraft exploding?

No, the fireball was too low.

Fighting her shock she forced her gaze to remain steady on the same distant spot where she’d identified the cargo ship with a fishing boat in the foreground. Her observation could prove instrumental in helping Search and Rescue.

She blinked as the reality registered.

Only one of the two vessels remained. The smaller fishing boat was gone, vanished in the few minutes it had taken the smoke to appear.

She waited for her brain to make sense of the images. Migrating whales, inbound storms, cargo ships—those were all common sights on the ocean. But clouds of dark black smoke rising above the horizon, spewing from the flash of a fireball? Never.

It was what had preceded the explosion that made her hands shake, made her know with certainty that while she’d resigned her Navy JAG commission last month, she would never let go of her sense of duty. Something, no, someone, had done this on purpose, possibly as a threat to the aircraft. The timing of the blast was too close to the overflight.

You could be wrong.

Joy stood in her sunroom and ignored her internal prosecutor as easily as she denied the pain from the hot coffee that spilled on her hands. She placed her cup on the mosaic-tiled café table she’d brought back from Italy and grabbed her binoculars, a gift from her parents when she’d resigned her commission. She dialed the area into focus with the familiarity born of long watches on board a Navy ship. From her sunroom she was more accustomed to looking for whale pods or bald eagles.

She saw ominously dark smoke and snakes of bright flame reaching toward it. She adjusted the focus. Was she sure that had been a small vessel? It’d had a low profile; probably wasn’t anything bigger than a fishing boat. The cargo ship was still there, but too far away to make out many details.

What had made that little boat explode? She rested the binoculars on her chest as she scanned the horizon, even though she knew it by heart. Her home sat on a West Beach cliff, and the only land nearer to the explosion was farther north, toward the base, where the land curved westward into the strait.

This hadn’t been some kind of base exercise gone wrong. The Navy didn’t drop weapons in Puget Sound.

Calm down and think.

What had she seen?

It was always the Navy’s fear that a terrorist would procure a rogue weapon like a surface-to-air missile, a SAM, and take out a plane. It was a threat for anyone who flew after 9-11.

Had she just witnessed that fear come true?

She shook her head. No. If one of the aircraft had been shot out of the sky, the explosion would have been greater, the impact louder and more tangible. Plus, the explosion had occurred well after the aircraft flew by.

She’d never served downrange, never had a Patriot missile fly over her head on its way to attack an enemy missile, never had to worry about getting into bio-chem gear. Her entire Navy career had taken place in courtrooms Stateside and overseas, with one carrier tour at sea and one trip to Guantanamo Bay to serve as defense lawyer for a suspected terrorist.

Where she’d worked with an enlisted SEAL, a man she’d never forget.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the intrusive memory.

She wouldn’t think about him today. She’d spent enough time obsessing over the man who’d rattled her scrupulous professional demeanor.

The last trial of her Norfolk tour that resulted from the brief time in Guantanamo Bay had almost done her in. It had convinced her that her Afghani defendant was innocent, however, and she took the case to trial in Norfolk.

That took six grueling months, but with the help of an honest SEAL and other operatives who gave their testimony, she’d been able to free an Afghan man who’d been wrongly apprehended, a true victim of circumstance. He was safely in the Witness Security Program, his life under the protection of US Marshals.

She’d also been able to help the same SEAL keep his name free of any accusation of wrongdoing. The case had changed her in an elemental way and reminded her why the fight for justice was paramount.

The SEAL had affected her more than any other man in her life...

She opened her eyes.

Her phone lay on the kitchen counter where she’d left it. She should call the base, the police or at least her new boss and tell someone what she’d witnessed.

Her hands jerkily grabbed the pink-cased phone. Immense vibrations shook the porch screens as the wap wap wap of SH-60 helicopters burst through the air. Any sailor who’d spent time around a Navy base, air station or on board a ship knew the sound meant help was on the way.

She wasn’t the only one who’d seen that explosion. That was the sound of the Naval Air Station’s Search and Rescue team. For ejected aircrew, floating in the ocean awaiting their ride back to the aircraft carrier or nearest land, it was a lifeline. In this case, she wasn’t sure who could have survived an explosion that made an entire boat disappear in a matter of seconds.

An ugly premonition raised goose bumps on her arms. She was afraid that people had been lost in the fiery blast. This far away, her binoculars too weak, she couldn’t tell.

She looked for the return of the P-8 or P-3. They were reconnaissance platforms; it was in their mission description to find mishap clues.

Today was the start of her life as a civilian. Yet one terrible act, and she was back in uniform mode, even if she wore a fancy suit and dress shoes that made her feel feminine.

She cradled the phone. The emergency and NAS operators would be inundated with calls. Would the details of what she’d seen make a meaningful difference to any aircrew at this point? SAR was on the scene. She could wait and phone in her observations after she’d finished getting ready for work...

Then she changed her mind and quickly dialed 9-1-1.

With one blast, she might be in the middle of an international terrorist event. And late for her first day of work.

* * *

FBI AGENT BRAD IVERSON didn’t stop swearing the entire time he raced along the rocky shore of Whidbey’s West Beach. The inflatable powerboat he’d driven back, landing within yards of the shore, was safely destroyed and lay at the bottom of Puget Sound. His clothes were wet and cold, but that wasn’t anything he hadn’t experienced before.

But he’d never had to take out an enemy, not since he’d left the Navy and become a civilian agent.

Getting the hell out of sight and—he hoped—to his vehicle, where he could securely call his boss, was priority one. Because the remaining three suspects in the domestic terrorist cell he’d infiltrated during his current undercover op couldn’t be allowed to find him. As soon as they suspected he’d neutralized their fourth man, they’d be after him. If they captured him, they’d throw him in a pit and keep him there, until either their deadly mission was complete or he died—preferably both.

Brad thanked God for his Navy SEAL background and, currently, his FBI training. It had saved his life. Now he had to prevent anyone else from becoming a target.

A sharp rock punched through the bottom of his running shoes and his ankle twisted too far to the right. Brad ignored the jolt of pain that flashed up the side of his leg.

He had minutes. As he took in the beach’s length he could see flashing lights.

Damn it. Getting to his car wasn’t happening, not now.

He couldn’t afford the time it would take to explain himself to local law enforcement. He didn’t even have his badge on him; it was safely locked in his desk drawer at the Bureau in Seattle, standard procedure when you were undercover.

He had to avoid being seen. The terrorists couldn’t figure out he was still alive, not yet. An unintended camera shot of his face on the local news could prove disastrous to the Bureau’s entire operation.

Past missions had seared the thin line between life and death into his soul. He’d hauled shipmates, alive and dead, off the battlefield. Brad knew death, and he knew failure. Neither were strangers.

But he wasn’t about to let this op become a failure. Which left him with one option.

He’d have to break into her house. Wait until she got back from work, if she’d already gone. Otherwise, he’d face her in the next twenty minutes. The woman who had gotten under his skin like no other, yet had remained unattainable to him.

The woman he hadn’t been able to get out of his mind since he last saw her, more than eighteen months ago.

“Shit.”

Any plans he’d dreamed up to rekindle what he hoped had been a mutual attraction were smashed like a jungle bug against a Humvee windshield. He bent over, hands on his knees as he tried to calm his breath as it came in jagged gulps. Half crouching, half leaning against the side of a huge tree that’d been washed ashore, he knew that in his dark clothing he’d be tough to spot from the air.

She’s right up above me.

He double-checked his coordinates and took in a few more deep breaths.

“Holy hell.” His body wasn’t that of a twenty-something anymore. Yet he had to force it to perform as it had on countless SEAL missions.

Joy Alexander’s house was on a cliff directly above him. This wasn’t the way he’d intended to see her again, but the entire nine-month operation, not to mention his life, was at risk.

You could expose her to the same danger.

Not if he made it up the cliff in short order.

He darted to the base of the cliff wall, where he hid behind a second pile of petrified trees, and pulled out his phone. He steadied his hands so he could pop the phone apart. Years of operational experience had taught him how to control the adrenaline surges inevitable in his line of work.

The phone’s SIM card snapped out easily enough, and he put it in his pocket. The rest of the phone he smashed against the rock cliff. Not because he had to—he’d already disabled the battery—but because it felt good to smash something the rat bastard terrorists had given him.

He couldn’t use this phone, and his one secure cell phone was in his vehicle. Even if he had his Bureau phone, he wouldn’t use it—not until he had time to make sure the terrorists weren’t looking for him, waiting for a cell phone signal to tip off his location. For now he had to stay alive and find a place to shelter while he figured things out.

He wiped his mind clear of all thoughts other than getting to the top of the two-hundred-foot wall in front of him.

The shale of the cliff cut his fingers, and blood dripped down his wrists. He wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm. Gloves would’ve been smart but they lay with his destroyed inflatable on the ocean floor.

He was going to need help. It wasn’t the how or the where that gave him pause. It was the who.

He’d done his research well. He knew exactly where she lived.

Joy.

Why was it that his only chance to untangle the vicious web that had almost destroyed him lay with the one woman he didn’t want to bring into this mess? A woman who’d sacrificed six months of her life to help him and another innocent man. A woman he wanted to meet under better circumstances. He wanted to thank her properly. And yes, ask her out.

You don’t have a choice. You need her help.

If there’d been anyone else, someone he wouldn’t have on his conscience if things went south, he’d go to that person. He wished he could talk to Mike, his boss. FBI Agent Michael Rubio, former Navy SEAL and now Brad’s boss at the Bureau. Mike had been on his SEAL team, and they’d worked together on operational missions for most of a decade. Mike had sent him to monitor Whidbey and to bring back hard Intel on the people surveilling the area for a possible terrorist attack.

He couldn’t take the chance of giving his location away with a cellular communication. Plus, Mike would have too many questions. Brad didn’t have time for questions.

Because this op had taken a major detour in the bright blaze of an explosion. An explosion he’d caused. Justifiably, but the local cops weren’t going to wait for him to explain that part. He also had to keep the über-classified nature of this mission in mind.

His rigorous training meant his thoughts could wander as he struggled up the cliff. And that kept the enormity of the physical task he had to accomplish more manageable.

How the hell had a small-town domestic terrorist cell obtained a surface-to-air missile? If they wanted to provoke a response from Naval Air Station Whidbey, why hadn’t they tried something on land? Was this to see what the Navy’s local capabilities were?

No fewer than a dozen scenarios fought for priority in his overtaxed mind. The terrorist cell he’d been sent to infiltrate had seemed amateur at best, Taliban or al Qaeda wannabes.

He hadn’t believed they were connected to anything on a grander scale. Until yesterday.

Channeling his frustration into the energy he needed to climb the cliff side was another survival tactic he’d used innumerable times. He’d never had to use it in his own country, though.

Anger made the blood roar in his ears. There were terrorists running free on Whidbey Island, and they’d almost succeeded in shooting down a US Navy aircraft.

His toehold, a small ledge, crumbled as he tried to cling to it, and his ribs slammed against the rough wall. An involuntary grunt left his chest, along with his air.

Focus, breathe, reach, climb.

He’d done this kind of thing when he was in worse shape. He remembered scaling an enemy compound wall with broken ribs and a collapsed lung... The searing pain in his side didn’t come close to the pain of past injuries.

The image of a beautiful woman with a voice as sexy as any he’d ever known flashed in front of him.

The same woman he hadn’t been able to erase from his mind in the year and a half since he’d seen her.

Joy.

He wished it was only the pain, the shock of his predicament, that made him think of her.

Had he really thought he’d be able to wrap up this case and then go reintroduce himself? After eighteen months of no contact, except reading her Facebook page via the fake one he’d created? Not that he’d been keeping track as he faced down the devil himself and came through the hell that was his life those last six months of active duty.

He wished, too, that he had someone else, anyone other than Joy, to rely on. Anyone other than the woman who’d already done so much for him and his colleague.

Now he had to ask her to trust him again—but without the evidence he’d provided in Norfolk. He gritted his teeth. Joy Alexander deserved better than to be drawn into the reach of such evil.

But you need her intelligence, her skill...her.

His fingers ached, and he wasn’t even halfway up the cliff. Worrying about Joy was just his brain’s way of distracting him from his discomfort. Another operational habit.

Schedules and crises had prevented him from connecting with her sooner. Clearing his name of a murder allegation had been another stumbling block, to say the least.

If he involved her in this op, there was no longer any hope of ever having more with her than what they’d always had—business. And yet, she was the only woman who’d completely believed in him, as a Navy sailor, a SEAL, a man.

Navy Lieutenant Commander Joy Alexander.

A wisp of memory drifted through his adrenaline-soaked mind—the tall, curvy Navy JAG he’d worked with, the attorney who’d defended him. It’d been a tough case.

She’d been tougher.

They’d made a good team. For six long months in the legal offices of Naval Station Norfolk, they’d slugged it out, seeking justice for an Afghan villager anyone else might have presumed guilty. It certainly would’ve been easier than facing down the entire United States Justice System with what initially looked like almost zero evidence.

Joy hadn’t given up from the very first minute they were introduced. In the aftermath of their trial win, his days had become bleak—for other reasons. He’d thought back to how she’d looked on that last day as she drove out of the legal building’s parking lot and waved goodbye.

He’d followed her Facebook posts while she was aboard the USS Lincoln,and then after, when she’d moved here to Whidbey. Brad didn’t post on Facebook; he lurked solely as a means of keeping in touch with the few old friends he had left. Joy had gotten out of the Navy and stayed on the West Coast to start over as a civvie.

He’d hoped to show up, take her on a date. If he got past his wariness over chasing a woman he still thought about. A woman he’d made love to in his mind countless times.

Like him, she’d been a loner. Dedicated to the pursuit of freedom and justice for all. The job was starting to wear on her; he’d seen it back then. He’d felt the same way. Dedicating your life to your country at eighteen, fresh out of high school, was noble and needed. Democracy had to be protected. Terrorists had to be stopped.

By thirty, the thrill of adrenaline rushes started to break down your body, no matter how fit you were, how dedicated. By thirty-five, you realized that the hard jobs were meant to be done by younger shipmates.

From what he’d gleaned, Joy had led a relatively charmed Navy career. Still, as they worked on the case together, he’d seen the fatigue shadowing her, too.

He knew she’d felt the attraction between them—he’d seen it in her glances, the way her hand crept to her throat in an unconscious defense mechanism. If they’d met elsewhere, some situation in which he wasn’t an enlisted SEAL and she wasn’t a Naval Officer JAG, their relationship might have played out very differently.

A different ending was what he’d hoped for when he saw that she’d gotten out of the Navy, too. They were both civilians now, free to take up with whomever they wanted.

And then he’d been assigned this mission.

You’ll never be free.

As he pulled himself over the edge of the cliff and onto grass that felt surprisingly soft after the rough-hewn cliff side, he figured he had three more minutes to make it inside her place.

Good thing he was in her backyard.

He’d memorized her address and the surrounding locale back at the office, when he’d done a search on her, just in case.

In case he had a chance to ask her out. Instead, he had to ask her for help. Again. He vowed to get what he needed and get out before the terrorists knew he’d been here, before Joy could wind up like his ex-fiancée.

Dead.

The question he’d ignored, the question he had to disregard, nipped at his conscience.

How are you going to let her go a second time?

* * *

“WE’LL HAVE A deputy out there as soon as we can, ma’am.”

“I have to report to work in an hour. Can I give you my work address and they can take my statement there?”

“No, ma’am.” The emergency operator’s voice was firm. Practiced in getting panicked people to tell her what she needed.

Joy wasn’t panicked. But she was getting annoyed.

“I’m just trying to do my civic duty. I’m an attorney, if that helps. Former Navy JAG.” It was a little bittersweet, saying former, but thrilling to think of her new life, too.

“Then you’ll understand, ma’am, why we need you to stay put. As you can imagine, we’re getting a lot of calls at the moment. Call and tell your boss you’ll be late, and an officer will be at your home, either from Oak Harbor PD or the sheriff’s office.”

“Fine.”

She disconnected and made a quick call to the firm’s receptionist as she hurried to her bedroom. Maggie picked up immediately.

“I’m so sorry to do this on my first day, but it’s unavoidable.”

Grabbing her jewelry she went into the bathroom.

“No problem. I’ll let Paul know. He’s a proponent of flexible working hours, as I’m sure he told you, and you have a valid reason for coming in late.” Maggie’s soothing tone reflected professionalism and concern. “Are you okay, Joy?”

“Yes, yes. I’ll be in as soon as possible. Thank you.”

She hung up and hoped Maggie was right—that Paul wouldn’t think twice about her tardiness.

Joy hated being late for anything.

After she applied her makeup in record time, despite her trembling hands, she took a minute to take in her full appearance.

And snorted.

She threw her mascara into the vanity drawer. How could she care about her appearance when she’d witnessed what could very well have been a terrorist attack?

Her stomach churned, and she regretted that last cup of coffee as it threatened to come back up. GERD and its annoying symptoms was how her body handled the stress, the overload of information and emotions; she was aware of that. It aggravated her gastrointestinal problems. But understanding her physical coping mechanisms didn’t make them any less bothersome.

The beating of helicopter blades and wail of sirens had been constant. She should take the long route to the office and avoid the shore road, but she knew she wouldn’t. She’d want to see what kind of crash recovery site had been set up. Of course it would be on West Beach, practically next to her house.

Back in her sunroom she couldn’t take her gaze off the shoreline. Sure enough, several people were walking the rocky stretch in front of her house, two hundred feet below her vantage point. Most were in some sort of uniform, either Navy or local emergency management. A couple of the responders wore windbreakers with identifying letters like “OHPD” for Oak Harbor Police Department and “US NAVY.”

The police officer or deputy sent to take her statement probably wouldn’t learn anything new from her. The people who could use her eyewitness testimony were higher up on the chain of command and in Washington DC, able to make decisions that affected national defense. As a civilian, however, with no immediate access to official Navy communications systems, she had no recourse.

A sharp rap at the back door made her jump. She hadn’t seen anyone walk up the side of her property, most of which was visible from the sunroom.

That couldn’t be the police officer, not yet. It’d only been five minutes, and it took at least ten to drive to West Beach from downtown Oak Harbor, where the police station was located. And a sheriff’s deputy would have to come from Coupeville, twenty minutes away.

Maybe the sheriff’s deputy was already out this way. That was it. She forced herself to relax. And then froze.

Why hadn’t the cop used her front door?

She crept quietly into the kitchen, wishing like hell she’d left for work before she saw the explosion.

She saw the tall silhouette through the door’s window the moment she stepped onto the kitchen’s hardwood floor. The cream curtains she’d hung last weekend meant she couldn’t make out her visitor clearly, but based on the height and breadth of the shadow, it was a man. No evidence of a uniform hat.

Her new suit felt too tight, the tailored jacket too restrictive. What if she needed to defend herself? She tore off the peplum coat, her hands flailing as she freed her arms from the sleeves.

She didn’t have a weapon.

As her jacket fell to the floor she searched under the kitchen sink for something heavy.

She really needed to get a baseball bat to keep next to the kitchen door, besides the one next to her bed. She grasped the cool neck of the small kitchen fire extinguisher.

Tiptoeing to the door, her senses on high alert, she tried to remember every self-defense move she’d ever learned. Today’s events had been far from routine or normal. She wasn’t going to take a chance that her visitor was a friendly one.

* * *

BRAD HEARD HER moving around the house. Joy hadn’t had Spec Ops training, that was for sure—judging by the fact that she’d parked her car in the driveway, allowing any passerby to determine whether she was home. Not to mention that he’d been able to get to her side entrance so easily. She should have a tall fence around the back of her property, with a locked gate. And a more secure side door; this one wouldn’t be hard to kick in.

There’d been no barking, either, so she didn’t have a dog to protect her.

As he listened to her shuffle about in the kitchen, he wondered if she might be grabbing a weapon.

Unlikely. She’d never struck him as the type to harbor a weapon, no matter how legal it might be. That was the advantage someone like Joy had over him—she’d never seen what he’d seen, never had to face down the bad guys except on paper or in a courtroom. She could still believe in the inherent goodness of humanity.

The curtains moved a fraction, enough for her to see him, make positive identification. She’d remember him—but not like this, all muddy, wet, cut up and bruised.

It’d been a rough morning.

“What do you want?”

Her voice was clear despite the door between them.

“Joy, it’s me, Brad Iverson. From Norfolk.”

The door opened.

“I know who you are, Brad.”

He didn’t give himself a chance to absorb the freshness of her beauty, or to register the wariness of her eyes as she looked at him. With moves he’d employed countless times, he wedged his foot in the door before he reached in, twisted the fire extinguisher out of her hand and clamped a hand over her mouth—her very soft mouth. Then he pushed himself inside the house and maneuvered her up against the nearest counter. It took every bit of his focus, every ounce of his strength, to make sure he treated her as gently as possible.

He had one arm wrapped around her waist, confining her arms against her torso, with her hands on his chest. His other arm was across her chest, his hand over her mouth.

As soon as he looked into her eyes, he removed his hand. If she was going to scream—and she had every right—it would be now. There were law enforcement agents, all over the area and certainly within hearing distance. It’d taken him almost half an hour to climb up the cliff.

Joy stayed silent except for the shaky whoosh of her breath. It smelled sweet and minty, as if she’d just brushed her teeth. His palm seemed to burn where her lips had pressed against it, and he couldn’t stop looking at her full lips, her face. Her eyes were the same color he remembered. Cinnamon brown. They watched him with unnerving steadiness, missing nothing.

He lowered his arm but kept her in his embrace. This was the only time he’d ever felt her so close. Why rush it?

“I can’t explain everything, but I need to know if you’re willing to trust me. I’m in the middle of an undercover op, and I can’t get caught by the police right now. You’re my last hope before I get hauled away and blow the case.”

She blinked. He felt the tension in her legs, her thigh muscles. She wanted to kick him, to knee him. He got it—and had anticipated her tactics. He held her tight and secure.

“Odd habit you have, Brad. Getting yourself into serious trouble that isn’t your fault.”

God, he’d missed her honesty, the unshakeable confidence that bordered on sheer nerve.

And her beauty.

“You can say no and I’ll be gone. You can deny ever seeing me. I’m in a load of trouble and I need your help, Joy.”


CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_32e7cc29-dcb6-567c-ab02-6775bc26bf93)

“I WAS SUPPOSED to report to work twenty minutes ago. It’s my first day.” She hadn’t been able to take her gaze off Brad since he’d forced himself into the kitchen. And pressed his body against hers. She still hadn’t told him that she was waiting for the police.

He groaned. “Of course it’s your first day. It’d be too easy if you could’ve taken a day or two off.”

“A day or two?” She clutched the granite counter at her back. It was the only way to keep her hands from shaking because of the mini-shocks of awareness coursing through her veins.

Brad stood in the middle of the kitchen, his hands bloodied. His face was scraped and his clothing had dirt and sand on it. A briar stem clung to one arm of his torn black jacket, and his dark cargo pants were nothing like his Navy fatigue uniform. These pants fit him more tightly; they had to have a lot of stretch to let him move as well as he did. She could all too easily imagine the steely muscles beneath.

“Wait. How did you get here? Were you in my backyard?”

“Something like that, yeah.” He absently picked off some of the brambles.

“I never saw you. Are you hurt?”

“No. I’m fine. I’m on a tight timeline here, Joy. I don’t suppose you still have base access?”

“No, I mean yes—for two more days before my ID expires. I’ve been on terminal leave for the past two months. I got out, Brad.”

“I know. We’re Facebook friends, remember?”

How could she forget? Whenever she wanted to torment herself with the whys and why nots of her love life, she looked at his profile, which he’d made under a fake name. He’d messaged her when he requested she friend him on Facebook to make sure she knew it was him. He’d only ever posted one photo—of a sunset over the view of the Atlantic from Dam Neck, Virginia. She’d imagined them there, together, in different circumstances hundreds of times since they’d wrapped up Farid’s case.

Since she’d helped Brad stay out of trouble.

“What good will having my military ID do? Aren’t you still in the reserves? What about your ID?”

“I don’t have it. Truth is, I haven’t got any ID on me.”

Interesting.

“Any reason why?”

His green eyes revealed very little, but his slumped shoulders put the fear of God into her.

“Brad, what happened? Please tell me you weren’t involved in the explosion.”

His head snapped up.

“You know about it?”

She pushed away from the counter and crossed her arms. “I saw it. From my sunroom.”

“Did you see the aircraft?”

“I saw two F-18 Growlers, followed by a P-3 and a P-8. They flew west for a minute or two before I saw the fireball. I was worried it was one of the planes at first.”

“Did you see anything else that seemed suspicious?”

“No more from me, Brad. You said you needed help. If you want my help, you have to cut me in.”

He rubbed his hands across the back of his head and neck, much as she’d seen countless military men do after they removed their uniform covers. It was a habitual reaction for him, a sign of his stress, perhaps. His dark hair was longer than he’d worn it as a sailor, longer than Navy regulation by far. The lustrous curls at the nape of his neck made her grip her upper arms to keep from reaching across and touching him.

He was her idea of beautiful, if the adjective could be applied to a man.

“I’m FBI now. I’ve been working undercover trying to break up a cell.”

FBI. That was the “government job” he had. On Facebook he never got specific.

So he’d been out of the active-duty Navy this entire time. She’d thought his murky job description was because of his SEAL designation.

You could have gotten together.

No. She’d dismissed her attraction to Brad. Or rather, locked it away. Months ago.

Hadn’t she?

He shook his head. “Damn, it wasn’t supposed to go down like this.”

His profile was achingly familiar. Yet instead of the hardened strength she remembered, he gave off an air of uncertainty. Brad, vulnerable?

“How about some coffee?” She asked for him as much as for herself. She needed an immediate task to keep her thoughts where they belonged. If she was going to help Brad she needed to listen to his story instead of thinking about how sexy he looked standing in her kitchen.

* * *

“YOU’VE GOT UNTIL the police officer shows up. You can shower after I leave for work, wash and dry your clothes, make whatever food you need.” She handed him her largest mug, the one with the Navy JAG crest on it.

He raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement.

This was the man she’d come to understand first briefly in Cuba, and then Norfolk. He missed nothing; no detail was too minute to him.

“The cops?”

“I reported the explosion. They asked me to wait here until someone can take my report.”

“So I’m not safe here.”

“You’re safe for now. Tell me what you know, Iverson.”

“I’m working an undercover op. Let’s just call it against the bad guys for now. My job is to infiltrate them and monitor any suspicious activity. I assumed I was bringing in the suspects today. Things didn’t go according to my assumptions.”

He took a long pull of his coffee. The dirt under his fingernails made her wonder if he’d had to climb up from West Beach to get here.

Was that possible? The cliff was a straight drop.

Brad was a trained SEAL and now an undercover agent for the FBI. Scaling a cliff was all in a day’s work for him.

“You climbed up the cliff, didn’t you?”

He ignored her and continued his explanation. “This morning I was supposed to monitor the Sound from West Beach, as instructed by the suspects. I think, and so does my team at the Bureau, that they may want to hit the Naval Air Station since they’ve been surveilling the area for a month. Last night one of the suspects called and told me I should watch the horizon from West Beach very closely this morning.”

“And?”

“I had my team figure out what was on the docket for the squadrons on NAS Whidbey for the next several days. This morning is the start of a major West Coast Fleet exercise. When I put it together with what the suspects were feeding me, I took the initiative and decided to be out on the water instead of on the beach.”

Dread seemed to wrap itself around her.

“With the Navy? On a Navy ship?”

She knew the answer before he said it. “No. I was in a small inflatable powerboat. That’s all I’m going to tell you about it.”

“What did you see, Brad?”

He quietly tapped the side of his mug. “One of the suspects I’m familiar with was out there in a fishing boat. I stayed as far away from him as I could, as long as I could, but then I saw what looked like a SAM in his arms.”

“A surface-to-air missile?” She knew enough to realize there was always the possibility of terrorists smuggling in war weapons. The reports she’d read over the years had discussed shipments being stopped by US Customs at the border or sooner.

“Yes. I had a feeling something wasn’t right about the way they’d told me to watch from the shoreline. After putting it together with the Fleet exercise—it all pointed to trouble of the biggest kind.”

She had a feeling that the “something not right” was directly related to the explosion.

“Go on.”

“I took him, and the weapon, out.”

“Who’s him, and what exactly do you mean by I took him out?”

His shifted his eyes, his expression no longer readable.

“I had to stop him from firing the SAM, Joy.”

The gravity of the situation, his situation, hit her like a Puget Sound gale in November. “You killed a man out there today?”

“I disabled his weapon. The resulting explosion did the rest.”

“Okay. So now all you have to do is call in to FBI headquarters, to your team, and report what happened.” Honestly, did he have to play the dramatic SEAL part? Weren’t those days supposed to be over?

“I can’t. I blew my cover by blowing their mission. No pun intended.”

“Do you think they—the terrorists, whoever they are—know you’re the one who stopped the SAM?”

As she asked, she couldn’t believe that Brad’s cover would be compromised by anything he did or didn’t do. He was a professional who’d completed umpteen missions in the most hellish places on earth. He knew how to keep his cover.

“I have to assume they do, or at the very least they’ll figure it out soon enough.”

She believed him.

“Let me clarify. They may suspect I’m not legit when I don’t meet up with them again. They have no way of knowing which LEA I belong to. I’ve been playing the part of the disillusioned émigré who wanted to help quell the American Imperialists. These are all domestic terrorists. None of them speak Pashto or Dari—I threw in a few words here and there to test them. They’re all homegrown wannabes. My team was alerted that they were trying to leave the country to join a terrorist group overseas.”

“But they decided to get some credibility by doing one of those sleeper-type actions?”

“Yes. This is more than a sleeper cell, though. They have contacts with the bad guys overseas. That’s certain now that I identified the SAM. I just don’t know who that contact is yet.”

Brad’s wide range of skills, including his ability with more than one foreign language, was a big part of what had made him such a valuable asset to the Navy SEALs. All SEALs had intensive training in weapons identification and employment. If he said he saw a SAM about to be launched, it was true.

And the explosion left no doubt.

“The thing is, I think they’re also targeting an individual here on Whidbey. They’ll lie low if they have to, until the LEA presence lessens, but they’re going to go after him sooner or later.”

She ran her fingers through her hair. “Terrorists who are so bold they’ll try to shoot down a US Navy aircraft just offshore, in US territory, don’t care about the LEA all over the place, Brad. They won’t wait.”

His appreciation of her accurate observation gleamed in his eyes. The instant warmth that flushed her cheeks was impossible to control.

“Exactly.”

* * *

THE DOORBELL RANG, and Brad saw her shoulders tense, her mouth tighten in a grim line.

“That’s the OHPD or sheriff’s deputy. Coming over in the respectable way.” She tried to keep it light by poking fun at his entrance via her side door earlier, but her anxiety was palpable.

You’ve done this to her.

“OHPD?”

“Oak Harbor Police Department. Keep up, Mr. FBI.”

“Are you going to tell them I’m here?”

“Why can’t I? You’re FBI. Don’t all LEA talk to each other?”

“You know damn well they don’t. I’m undercover, Joy. I can’t be seen.”

He knew he was asking her to trust him with little reason. He’d made no attempt to contact her since he’d been free to do so. Only now, when he was in serious trouble, had he sought her out.

“You don’t have to do this, Joy. Say the word and I’ll go out the back and disappear. Just give me thirty seconds lead time.”

“No, don’t go. I’m not going to say anything to them other than what I reported on the phone. There’s no need, not legally.”

He saw the inner war play out in her expression. She had a beautiful face, capable of distracting the most hardened criminal. Sometimes her face revealed what she was thinking, what she was feeling. But she was capable of hiding her emotions, too. Her poker face had let her get what they needed to set Farid free from the hell he’d been condemned to. He felt a rush of warmth.

“You trust me,” he said quietly.

“That’s a discussion for later. Go into my bedroom and stay there until I come and get you.”

* * *

“I WAS STANDING right here, looking out through my binoculars. That’s when I noticed the explosion. The vibration hit a few seconds later.”

“Roger.”

The Oak Harbor police officer wrote more notes, her face noncommittal.

“Have you gotten a lot of witness accounts this morning?”

Officer Katie Dade looked up and shook her head.

“Not as many as you’d think. Most of your neighbors were either in the shower or already at work, and the others heard just the explosion. You’re the only one who saw it from here. But we had other witnesses who were walking their dogs farther down the beach.”

By farther down Officer Dade meant the stretch of coastline miles from Joy’s house, closer to the Naval Air Station.

“I thought they’d send a sheriff’s deputy.”

“Normally, yes. Your home’s in the county’s jurisdiction. They’re swamped at the moment, so they sent me. Mind if I look through your binoculars?”

“No, go right ahead.”

As Officer Dade focused the binoculars, Joy prayed they were almost done with the interview. She’d never hidden a potential fugitive before and didn’t like being on the wrong side of the law, regardless of the situation or her motives. Regardless of the fact that she trusted Brad.

Motives.

Were they centered on a belief that Brad was telling her the truth, or did he still hold some kind of crazy sway over her? Or both? It would help if she knew that all her fantasies about him weren’t unrequited—that he at least shared her physical attraction.

Not that it made a difference now.

“These are pretty good. You get them in the Navy?” Officer Dade motioned at her with the binoculars.

“No. They were a gift from my parents. I got used to good binoculars when I was aboard an aircraft carrier.”

“So you drove an aircraft carrier?”

“No, not really.” JAGs didn’t stand bridge watches, although she’d observed some of the tactical operations. Not typical for a JAG, but she’d wanted to spread her professional wings a bit.

Why was she telling a strange police officer about her Navy career? Officer Dade was nice and all, and obviously a polished professional. Still, she hadn’t asked for the information.

Brad had been back in her life for less than an hour and not only was she hoping that he reciprocated her ridiculous crush, which had gone on for far too long, she was also forgetting all her legal training.

Don’t say more than you need to. Ever.

“You got a pretty clear look from here. Too bad these things aren’t also a camera.” Officer Dade rested the binoculars against her uniform.

“Yeah, too bad.”

Please leave.

“That’s all you remember? You’re sure you’ve told me everything, Ms. Alexander?”

“Yes, that’s it. I’m sorry it’s not more, and that I bothered the authorities with this when you already have witnesses. I know it’s going to be a long day for you.”

“It’s fine. I mean, no one got hurt, right?”

“Did anyone? Get hurt?” Playing stupid was pushing it, but Brad needed to know what they’d found out so far.

“No, not that we’re aware of. It doesn’t make sense that there was an empty fishing boat out there, though. Especially one that caused such a huge explosion.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Her tension kicked into high gear. She was a JAG, not a SEAL, and she didn’t relish one second of her involvement in Brad’s undercover op.

Officer Dade sighed and handed the binoculars back to her.

“Thanks for your cooperation, Ms. Alexander. If you remember anything else, give us a call.”

“Will do.”

Joy walked the young woman to the front door and wanted to shout with relief once the door closed and she heard the police car drive off.

That had been too close—as well as too easy.

What did it say about her that she’d lied so effortlessly? And to a police officer, yet.

* * *

“YOU DID GREAT, JOY.” He leaned against the counter, his bulk making the kitchen seem tiny.

“Great? Lying to an officer, trying to manipulate her into telling me classified information about the investigation?” She poured coffee into his mug and took out the small bag of chamomile that was steeping in hers.

“Trust me.”

That was the problem. She did trust Brad. It was herself she was having trouble with.

“What do you need from me, Brad?”

His stare unnerved her but she’d be damned if she’d let him see it. She met his eyes and waited for him to blink. He didn’t. Instead, he glanced away and spoke as if transcribing an operational report or a court order.

“For right now, I need to stay put. I need time for things to settle. And I need to figure out why they’re after a certain high-ranking military official who lives here.”

“You know who they’re after?” As she asked, she suddenly knew who Brad was about to name.

“Is it General Grimes?”

“General Grimes.”

They said his name in unison.

General Grimes had been the Marine Corps Flag Officer in charge of the overall mission that Brad’s SEAL team had completed nearly five years ago. The same mission that had depended on Farid’s help. The same operation that had precipitated Farid’s arrest and incarceration.

Brad put his mug down on the counter. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t, but it makes sense. He’s the highest-ranking military person I know of on the island. He retired here.” They’d both relied on General Grimes’s testimony to free Farid.

“How do you know he’s here?”

She shrugged. “I ran into him at the commissary about two months ago. Or rather, I saw a man who looked just like him but he was in civilian clothes. I wasn’t about to go up to him and remind him that I was the one who’d forced him to testify—I pissed him off enough the first time around. I read in Navy Times that he’d retired to much pomp and circumstance. Go figure, he ended up here, far away from the spotlight he’d still be under if he’d stayed in DC.”

Brad must have heard the rancor in her reply. “He might have not appreciated you, Joy, but he respected you. He had to. You got the testimony you needed out of him, and Farid was released.”

“Farid’s free because he wasn’t guilty of anything. Even Grimes couldn’t scrape up a bad word about him without looking like an ass—or lying.” The memory of running into Grimes in the commissary flashed before her. “It was weird seeing the big, bad Marine Corps General put cans of baked beans in his shopping cart like a regular mortal.”

Brad snorted. “We all put our pants on the same way, Joy.”

A smile nudged her lips in spite of the serious issue.

“Why do you think they’re after him?” she asked. “There are plenty of active-duty admirals and generals who’d be easier to target, aren’t there?”

“Maybe, but three days ago one of the cell members let it slip that they were getting closer to their ‘objective.’ I didn’t know who they were after—I thought it was the base, or a Navy aircraft or even a random sailor. My team ran down every sailor who’s been over in their neck of the woods in the last decade and now lives here. They included all retirees. Grimes was the highest-ranking person to pop up.”

“You have to warn him!”

“You think?” His wit stung, and he tempered it with a quick grin. “My people have already told him. He’s had extra surveillance around his property for the past two days.”

“So why do you need me?”

“I need to find out who’s behind the SAM and who would want to harm General Grimes and why. I suspect it’s the same entity. Also, how did these local homegrown sleepers get a weapon into the country? I want to nail whoever supplied them, too. I think there’s a good chance it’s the same group of insurgents Grimes was fighting over there, but I can’t be sure. I need you to get that information. If I could call in to my team and have them do it, I wouldn’t have climbed a two-hundred-foot cliff to hide out at your place while you get the answers I need.”

He held her gaze, and she was grateful he couldn’t read her mind. Because a not-so-small part of her didn’t regret the extra time with Brad, no matter how bad the circumstances might be.


CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_28347855-4cd4-5079-855f-0ce1f5e52c1c)

“I STILL DON’T understand why you can’t just borrow my phone and call in to your team. Wouldn’t that make things a lot easier for you?”

He hated to crush her complete trust in the system. Joy was a rule-follower. It was her job; she was a lawyer. But he lived in a world where promises were valid only as long as it took for the people who’d made the promise to get what they wanted.

Where every communication was vulnerable to eavesdropping.

“First, all the comms in the area are under surveillance at this point, at least until the LEAs figure out what caused the explosion. They have to rule out terrorism, which in this case, they won’t be able to do. Especially when they find out the FBI has an active antiterrorist operation in place. Second, I’m not the only undercover agent working this case—I don’t know everyone from the other agencies. I can’t risk calling in and having the comms intercepted. It would put the other agents at risk.”

“You think the terrorists are intercepting communications, too, don’t you?”

“I have no doubt, not after seeing that SAM.” He couldn’t tell her the classified details of covert communications and interception, but he owed her his professional opinion.

“You see the news, Joy. Very little is safe from interception with today’s technology.”

Joy shook her head, and he liked how her hair flowed around her shoulders, how the light reflected off her copper highlights. He’d wondered how good it would look down, out of that prim French braid she’d worn while in uniform. Now he knew.

“Why the hell go undercover if you can’t communicate what you’re finding out?”

“My job is to neutralize the bad guys, Joy. I have to use my judgment to determine when to come out of my covert role. With one of the most highly decorated generals in US Military history in the sights of these bastards, calling in my status isn’t exactly a priority. My team will figure it all out. They probably already have.”

“Won’t your boss be worried that you were killed in the explosion?”

“Maybe.” Her sincerity made it too easy to spill his guts, but he’d never compromised classified information before and wasn’t about to start now.

“Sorry—I don’t need to know any of this,” she said. “Just tell me what you need from me.”

“I need you to dig up whatever you can on Grimes. There has to be a reason they’re after him. It’s not merely that he was the lead GI over there during the most successful and intense allied operations.”

“I’m not sure what I can learn that hasn’t already made it into the press, but I’ll try.”

“That’s all I’m asking, Joy. I can hold out for a day or two before I have to report in.” He wasn’t about to give her any more details. She needed to understand that she could trust him, but he couldn’t put her at risk by knowing too much, either.

She looked at her watch, and he smiled.

“You still wear a watch, even with your smartphone?”

“Some of us are old-school. Anyway, I’ve got a job to do and I’d better get moving or I’ll find myself fired on the first day. Lawyers don’t have the flexibility FBI agents do.”

The banter was reminiscent of the joking they’d done to break up tension during the trial. Always aboveboard, always professional, never with any sexual innuendo.

The way it had to stay.

* * *

“AFTERNOON, MA’AM.” THE base guard stood in front of the sentry post and saluted Joy as soon as he handed back her ID. Security was especially tight. They’d searched under her vehicle and had her open all her doors and back hatch. Not usual for someone with an active-duty ID.

“Have a good day.” She saluted back and drove through the gate. The Naval Air Station Whidbey Island sign seemed to mock her, as did the sign with smaller print that stated persons coming aboard the Air Station were subject to search. She’d never had reason to feel the words were directed at her until today.

She was becoming a criminal.

Not technically, not yet. She could turn her car around and go home and tell Brad to take off, give him a fair lead time before she called the police and got herself out of the entire mess.

No one would blame her for not wanting to participate in an anti-terrorist op. Most would applaud her for doing what she could to help. The press and public would never find out about Brad—undercover agents weren’t news-eligible.

She’d called the office a second time and told her boss that she had a medical appointment on base that was part of the procedure for her separation from the Navy. A bald-faced lie on her first day in the new job. It sucked lying to the person who had trusted in her enough to give her this job after her eight years as a JAG. She hoped Paul would not only understand but also support her actions.

She was doing the right thing, wasn’t she?

You know you are.

Brad was the kind of patriot who’d inspired her to serve in the military in the first place. He was willing to risk everything—including his life—to keep his country safe and free. To preserve the national defense. This morning he could’ve asked her to be his lawyer, to represent him in case his fears became reality and he was charged with killing a suspected terrorist. Instead, he was seeking information to further protect General Grimes and to figure out the source of this evil.

Her tires crunched on the gravel lot in front of the base’s legal offices. It took her a while to find a parking space. She was grateful that the placard with her name on it, designating her personal spot, had been removed when she’d left almost two months ago. Better that no one would be able to readily notice her car.

She’d remained dressed in her new suit and with her hair down around her shoulders instead of fastened in a French braid, the way she’d had to wear it in uniform. She hoped no one would recognize her as the former Commander Alexander. At least not immediately.

She inhaled the familiar smell of ammonia and stale coffee as she entered the executive area. Her new office in the law firm smelled like lavender and more expensive coffee.

“Commander Alexander. Bored already?” Shelly Jenkins, the receptionist who’d seen dozens of JAG officers come and go during her tenure, smiled and stood to greet her.

She wished she could spill it all to Shelly. More than a receptionist, she’d been another woman in service and a strong ally while Joy worked here.

You can’t tell anyone. For their sake.

“Hi, Shelly. Nope, not bored. I’m getting ready to start my new job and wanted to stop by and see Dennis. Is he in?” She knew he was; he’d just texted her. It was paramount that her presence back on base look like nothing more than a friendly drop-in.

“Sure is. Let me tell him you’re here.”

Thirty seconds later, Joy sat across from Navy Commander Dennis Leighton, the JAG who’d relieved her.

“Are you in trouble, Joy?” he asked abruptly. They’d spent too many hours working together for Dennis to believe she’d stop in for a coffee chat.

“Not exactly. But someone close to me may be. I have to tell you up front that I can’t give you any information, and that I’m taking advantage of the two days remaining before my ID has to be turned in.” Joy had resigned her commission, and since she didn’t have enough years, she wouldn’t be retiring and getting a new retiree’s ID. Once her terminal leave was over, she’d be a total civilian. No more shopping at the base commissary, no more cosmetic purchases at the Navy Exchange, no more gym workouts on base. Certainly no showing up at her former command, looking for what might be classified information that she no longer had clearance for.

“I trust you implicitly, Joy. You wouldn’t be here unless you believed in what you were doing.” Dennis leaned back in his chair, his desk filled with files and stacks of paper.

“I know you have a heavy caseload,” she said. NCIS had infiltrated a drug ring in the enlisted barracks, and the resulting arrests had given the legal department a year’s worth of defense work. Now with the offshore explosion, the JAG office could be inundated with testimony and the legalities created by a possible terrorist act.

“That’s also why I know you’re here for a very good reason. What do you need, Joy?” Dennis looked relaxed, his head tilted slightly, his hands clasped behind his head as he tipped his chair back. Joy knew his calm demeanor was deceptive. Dennis was a gifted lawyer who would go far, whether he stayed in the Navy or got out to make his mark in the civilian courts. He was observing her closely, looking for every nuance in her expression. She’d expect no less.

“I need access to the cases I worked on almost two years ago.” Three tours ago, by Navy standards. After Norfolk she’d gone on to a quick tour on the USS Abraham Lincoln based in Everett, Washington, and then did her last tour here on Whidbey.

Dennis blinked. He clearly hadn’t expected this. “You want me to go into the Navy JAG database and retrieve them?”

She shook her head. “No. I want the original paperwork. The archived hard copies.” She needed to see for herself whether she’d missed something important that had put Brad’s life, or that of General Grimes, at risk today.

Dennis lowered his arms onto the desk and leaned toward her.

“They’re in a basement in DC, Joy. If they haven’t been destroyed by now. Which, most likely, they have.”

“You know as well as I do that those files won’t be destroyed for another decade.” The backlog of paperwork in the legal field was staggering. Even more so when it involved something as high-profile as terrorism.

Once she’d agreed to defend Farid based on Brad’s testimony, she’d had to wrestle with the possibility that Brad had been brainwashed by the same Taliban group his SEAL team and General Grimes’s command had infiltrated and taken out. She’d had to make certain that his testimony, intended to free Farid from a possible death sentence, wasn’t based on a sense of guilt at having sold out Farid’s village leaders. It would’ve been so much easier to let Brad’s almost zealous drive to free his friend convince her that he was an unreliable witness and that she had no business trying to help Farid.

But she’d never been one for taking the easy road or the convenient one. She had to be able to look herself in the mirror every day, knowing she’d done her best. Brad wasn’t a war-damaged SEAL—he was a good man who refused to let an innocent man take the rap for something he hadn’t done. Brad’s intensity had sparked the most intense legal work of her career. He demanded nothing less than her utmost ability as an attorney and as a Naval officer.

“I have to see those files, Dennis.”

“I can request them, Joy, but I need to show cause.”

“Tell them one of the defendants in the barracks drug ring that NCIS is investigating is former special ops, that he’s claiming PTSD, and inhumane treatment during his time downrange made him snap and get involved in drugs here.”

Dennis shot her a rueful grin. “You always managed to get what we needed, Joy.”

“So you’ll do it?”

“I can try, but no promises. Even if they’ve got them, you could be talking boxes and boxes of paper. How will you know which one has what you need?”

“I’ll know. Can you have them FedEx the boxes to my house?”

“Hell, no. I can get them sent here if I’m lucky.”

“My ID runs out—”

“In two days. I remember.” His comment stoked her guilt. She’d been unable to make things work with Dennis except at work. He’d often hinted that he’d like their relationship to become more after she got out, but there’d never been any chemistry between them. Not for her, at least. She hadn’t offered him the slightest encouragement. Yet he still knew her last day of active duty.

He was handsome, excellent at his job and would never think of asking her to break the law.

Dennis glanced at his watch. “I’ll send a system request and follow it up with a phone call to a buddy of mine who’s working at headquarters. If we’re lucky we’ll get the boxes by tomorrow. That’ll give you a day to look at them. You’ll have to come in to base to do it. I can’t let you have access to anything after your terminal leave expires, Joy. You’ve already been read out.”

Unspoken was the fact that Dennis was breaking the law by allowing her access to classified material after she’d been read out of her clearance.

“I’ll sign a temporary clearance waiver.”

Dennis nodded. “Yes, you will. I trust you, Joy, but the system could end my career over this.”

“I understand. I can’t thank you enough.”

“Thank me when the boxes get here and you figure out who the bad guy is.”

* * *

FRUSTRATION SEETHED THROUGH BRAD. As powerful as Joy’s binoculars were and as advantageous as the view from her sunroom was, he couldn’t make out the US platforms—boats and aircraft—at the explosion site. Had anyone realized it was a SAM that had exploded? Did the Navy think it’d been a less hostile explosion, meant as a warning to the aircraft training from the base?

Won’t your boss be worried that you were killed in the explosion?

Unlikely, as Mike didn’t know he was anywhere near the boat that had blown up. Plus, they’d been through the same SEAL indoctrination in San Diego years ago. Mike knew his capabilities as well as he did himself.

He thanked his handy-dandy SEAL training for having a car trunk full of survival gear that had ultimately saved his life.

The scent of Joy’s laundry detergent wafted up with each step he took toward the kitchen. At least his clothes were clean, and he’d had a long, hot shower.

His stomach grumbled, and he checked the time. He’d told Joy not to call him on her house phone, not to have any communication unless they were face-to-face. She’d pick up a burner phone at Walmart sometime today, and then he could start making calls of his own.

But to whom? He didn’t want to call the Bureau until he had more answers. They’d warned General Grimes and arranged for a security detail. The general was in the loop, which was a load off Brad’s conscience.

Not that he’d ever been a big fan of General Grimes, USMC. The man had been such a hard-ass to work for in the warzone he’d been given the nickname “General Blue Balls” among the troops. Not for Grimes’s ears or his staffers’, of course. He’d really been a jerk with Brad during the Norfolk case, too. He’d refused to speak to him alone and ignored him when they were in the same room together. Grimes gave the impression of being a big fat egoist who’d managed to complete a successful career in the Marines but not through being open-minded. He’d especially resented it when a SEAL team who worked under him wasn’t required to report directly to him.

Brad was certain that Grimes would’ve been content to see Farid sentenced for the crimes he’d been accused of. Crimes he didn’t commit.

He picked up the remote and turned on the television, finding the news channel with ease. Military intelligence was tight with security, but some parts of the truth were bound to leak out.

As an anchor talked about the need for parents to vaccinate their children, Brad walked into Joy’s kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Fancy little yogurt containers, almond milk, a bin full of green leafy veggies. Skinny girly stuff. He looked in the freezer, hoping for some protein.

Score! The package of chicken breasts was thawing in the microwave before any sense of shame at scarfing her food could stop him. Opening cabinet doors and drawers, he found a frying pan, utensils and a plate.

“The apparent explosion happened...”

He ran into the front room and stared at the television. A live video stream of the search and rescue efforts filled the big screen, showing additional SAR units launching from NAS Whidbey.

“The cause of the explosion is unknown, but the possibility of a homemade bomb hasn’t been ruled out. NCIS at NAS Whidbey reports that they are receiving many anonymous tips and that they will follow up on all of them. No body has been recovered at the scene, but officials have received indications that there was at least one victim.” The reporter droned on with no further details as to why a “bomb” had gone off in the middle of the water off Whidbey Island.

With one of their colleagues missing and Brad gone, as well, what would the domestic terrorists do now? None of the cell members he’d met had struck him as overflowing with initiative.

They’re just the puppets.

He knew it was always a possibility—that bigger forces were manipulating events, to make them look like simple homegrown terrorists. That was why he’d been sent in. To figure it out.

Technically, he’d failed on a basic mission. Infiltrate the enemy. Observe, collect information and report back. Instead, he’d been backed into taking one of them out and bringing the entire undercover op to a halt. He’d reviewed the timeline over and over during the past two hours, and he kept coming up with the same result. If he hadn’t acted, the SAR efforts could be for Navy pilots. His hunger dissolved, and the chicken breasts suddenly seemed as appealing as cardboard. Only years of training carried him through the task of preparing a substantial protein-rich meal.

As the meat sizzled in Joy’s unmarred pan in her too-clean kitchen, he forced himself to regroup.

Brad thought he’d experienced it all when he served as a SEAL for fifteen years. The fear, excitement, pride in a job well-done—all those emotions were as familiar to him as his uniform.

It was a sad day for him when he left the active-duty Navy, although he’d known it was time for him to transfer to the reserves. His body had had enough of the sleepless nights while on mission, enough of the wear and tear of hauling a hundred pounds of gear through places so remote he was sure another human being wouldn’t leave a footprint there for at least a century afterward.

By the time he’d left for good, a full year after he’d finished all his spec ops, he’d been disillusioned, betrayed by his blind faith in his career and the illusion that he had a personal life.

When his ex-fiancée was brutally murdered in the suburbs of Virginia Beach while he was only twenty minutes away in Norfolk, he’d been afraid that somehow the bad guys from downrange had found him. That they’d sought out a soft spot, a way of retaliating for defending Farid. He’d been working alongside Joy Alexander at the time of Marci’s death, and Joy had provided a failsafe alibi.

He wouldn’t—couldn’t—have done it differently. Farid had helped convict the man who’d betrayed not only Brad’s SEAL team but also an entire village. Within hours of Farid’s being freed, Marci had been murdered. Despite his paranoia, the two weren’t connected, except in Brad’s heart. And his suspicious, overworked, war-weary mind.

Guilt sliced into his gut whenever he thought about Marci. None of the counselors or his superiors had been able to convince him that he couldn’t have prevented her death.

He’d become involved with her initially because he was still in rescue mode; it was how he’d operated as a younger man. He’d wanted to save Marci from the shitty family she’d grown up in, but when her prescription drug habit had gone beyond the recreational phase, he lost any sense of control over her addiction. He’d found her passed out countless times from her favorite cocktail—Xanax and Pinot Grigio—and after a wrenching soul search, he’d had to end the relationship.

As painful as it’d been to tell her he was leaving and why, she’d shown no remorse.

In fact, within weeks Marci connected with someone else—a man who could be there every night for her and love her without the drama and strain Brad’s lifestyle inevitably brought to their relationship. Turned out her new boyfriend was also an addict and got her hooked on what led to her murder.

Heroin.

The death had been ruled a homicide by stabbing. In fact, Marci’s throat had been slit with one of Brad’s deadliest knives. He hadn’t realized she’d stolen the weapon until it was too late. She’d probably taken it to trade for more drugs.

The killer had almost certainly been her drug dealer. Because of the knife, Brad could easily have been implicated in the murder, but since he was with Joy at the time, he was cleared. He’d had a solid alibi—Joy Alexander and her entire staff. They’d shared dinner with the JAG team the night after they’d closed both cases successfully.

If he’d ended it earlier with Marci, and if Marci had lived, would he have sought out Joy sooner?

He’d never know.

He flipped the chicken and watched it sizzle as he told himself he needed to eat, but his hunger had disappeared. He told himself that he wouldn’t lead Joy into any deadly traps if he could help it.

Joy’s home phone rang and he stilled, listening to see if he could tell where it was coming from. He noticed the caller ID the minute he found the phone on the far kitchen counter. It was a local number, the name unfamiliar to him. He waited for it to go to voice mail.

“It’s me. Don’t pick up, and don’t stress. I’m using a friend’s cell phone. Just make sure you delete this right away. I got onto the base, and I should have the files we need by tomorrow, or the day after at the latest. We’re putting other people at risk here, and we’ll have to work fast once we have the data. I’ll be home by six if my new job goes as I expect it to.”

Joy hung up and the machine immediately blinked that she had a new message. Brad played it once more before he deleted it.

He wished it was that easy to wipe out his feelings for her. He couldn’t go through another relationship that went nowhere. Joy was in nesting mode; she’d gotten out, bought a place and made it hers. The furniture, the plants, all the art on the walls...

His work would never allow him to settle down, much less include a partner in his life. It was too risky.

Joy deserved better.


CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_e6205572-c6b9-59bb-8eba-0a76d89a34b0)

“THAT WAS QUICK.” Serena Delgado, the firm’s most recent hire before Joy, spoke from her desk, which was positioned across from Joy’s. They shared a spacious office set off by rich wood trim and a startling view of the Cascade Mountains.

“It was a simple last-minute crossing of t’s and dotting of i’s. You know, medical stuff.” Joy held back a grimace at her clumsy cliché. “They’ll probably call me in again over the next day or so. The Navy moves at its own pace.”

Serena typed on her keyboard before replying. “My experience was more with the Army, but from what I’ve seen on base when my son or I go to the clinic for our medical care, the Navy is pretty efficient.”

Was that a tone of disbelief? A glance at Serena allayed Joy’s paranoia. Serena had a large stack of files at her elbow, eyes glued to her computer screen. She was just making small talk to help Joy feel welcome.

Joy hated lying, and Serena’s generosity made her guilt that much worse.

I’m going to hell for this.

“I agree with you about their efficiency, but separating from the Navy is an administrative function with a lot of hoops to jump through. Just when I think I’m done, I get another phone call to come in and take care of yet another piece of paperwork.”

“I know all about military red tape and paperwork, trust me.” Serena’s attention was entirely on Joy.

“Oh?”

“My husband was killed on active duty. In the war. The Army was wonderful to us, but the process was long. If I hadn’t had such a good CACO, Pepé and I would still be waiting for our benefits to kick in.” Serena referred to the Casualty Assistance Calls Officer, the military person who took the surviving family of a deceased active duty member through the complexities of survivor benefits.

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Serena. I trained as a CACO when I was on board the Abraham Lincoln.” And she’d been grateful she’d never had to serve the duty of being a surviving family member’s sole link to the military during a time of such grief. Many of her friends had been CACOs and had found it emotionally taxing.

“It was a while ago, and Pepé and I have a good life here.”

“You said you were Army. Where were you stationed? What brought you to Whidbey?”

“The short version is that I’m originally from Texas. I had a long-lost relative here, and she and I reconnected. I inherited her home when she passed away. But initially I’d learned about Whidbey when Pepé and I attended a resort for Gold Star families on San Juan Island. You might have heard of it—Beyond the Stars. I fell in love with the area and started to research the feasibility of staying. And then, of course, there was Aunt Dottie... Anyway, I was looking for a new life for Pepé and me, and this proved to be it.” Serena restacked a pile of papers on her desk. “How about you, Joy? Are you planning to stay on Whidbey?”

“Yes. I’ve bought a house out on West Beach with just about all my life’s savings. My last tour was here. I requested it after coming up to Whidbey for a weekend break from the carrier.”

“Is there someone special here? Someone who gave you a reason to stay?”

The flush that was heating her face was impossible to stop. Until this morning, she would’ve answered with an unequivocal “no.”

Before Brad pushed open her kitchen door and pressed his body against hers...

“Um, no. No one special here. I made the move on my own.”

“That’s brave.”

“No braver than moving here after such a huge loss—with a child.”

“Touché.”

They shared a moment of quiet commiseration before Serena’s gaze went back to her screen. A few seconds later she spoke again. “Believe it or not, we almost met last year. I’m involved with someone you know.”

“Oh? I thought you looked kind of familiar.”

“We didn’t exactly meet but we were both at the Fords’ Christmas party. Winnie pointed you out, but I never got the chance to talk to you.”

Recognition dawned. “You’re with Jonas, aren’t you?”

It was Serena’s turn to blush. “Yes. We’re engaged and getting married at Thanksgiving. He told me you and he had briefly dated, and I didn’t want it hanging between us. He thinks the world of you.”

Stunned at the revelation, Joy stared at Serena. They were complete opposites physically. Joy had a boyish figure, and Serena was all curves. Serena’s hair shone black and straight, while Joy’s was strawberry blond and curly.

If Serena was Jonas’s type, Joy had never stood a chance.

Her laughter surprised her as much as it did Serena. At the wariness on Serena’s face, Joy said, “Please don’t take this the wrong way—but I’m relieved! I blamed myself for not being able to make it work with Jonas. We never got past the dating part, you know.” A kiss on the cheek was all she could give Jonas without reminding herself he wasn’t Brad.

Because, even then, thoughts of Brad were still with her, months after the last time she’d seen him.

“I didn’t even bother to ask him to recommend me to Paul.” Paul, her boss, was Jonas’s older brother.

“Jonas didn’t give me details about you two, and I’m not fishing for any. I just thought you should know.” Serena looked so happy, Joy knew it was the truth.

“There aren’t any details to tell you. We went out a few times. That was it. He’s a good man. You’ve got a keeper there.”

“Yes, I do.”

“I promise I won’t be such a chatterbox every day, Serena. Don’t let me interrupt your work.”

“It’s nice having you here, Joy.”

“Thanks.”

Joy settled into her chair and braced herself, trying to focus on her new cases without letting her mind wander back to Brad.

“Don’t worry about Paul, by the way. He’s the most easygoing boss I’ve ever had. As long as the work gets done and we satisfy our clients.”

Serena’s fingers were on her keyboard and her eyes on her screen as she spoke. Joy liked a woman who could multitask.

“Have you ever not done that?”

Serena’s luminous brown eyes blinked before her attention rested on Joy again.

“No, not yet. But there’ll be a first. There has to be. There’s always something waiting to go wrong.”

Serena had no idea how astute her observation was. In Joy’s case, something very large had gone wrong, or at least thrown her off her game. Possibly on an international scale. Involving terrorism.

Joy dove gratefully into her work. She felt a flash of regret that she couldn’t appreciate this day in its entirety, but she kept going. There’d be time to enjoy her new job later. After she’d helped Brad and his worries were behind him. Behind both of them.

Would that be it? Would Brad go back into the netherworld of her fantasy life, only a memory?

More likely she’d find herself in a deeper emotional pit than the one she’d been in after Norfolk.

As tears threatened to spill, she blinked and opened the top file on her stack. Usually she had no problem dredging up enthusiasm for her cases, no matter how menial. But she’d been a fool to think she could become invested in anything with the worry of Brad’s predicament looming.

But Brad’s problems were just that. His. She’d help him and then he’d leave. He wasn’t the settling-down type. And Joy was done with moving, as much as she was done with men whose work took them around the world.

She’d had enough of it as a child with all the State Department moves her Foreign Service parents had made. They were currently posted to France for the second time.

“Oh, Joy, I forgot to mention there’s a fresh pot of coffee in the break room. I’ve been making it every day after lunch, but now that you’re the most junior staff member, perhaps you’d like to take over?”

“Sure.”

Only someone as nice as Serena could point out so sweetly that Joy was the current low man on the totem pole.

Concentrating on something as mundane as coffee would keep her from drowning in the chaos that Brad had brought into her life mere hours ago.

* * *

JOY KEPT HER trip to the grocery store after work as short as possible, but she couldn’t skip it. Not with Brad needing to eat. She hurried through the crowded aisles, wondering what to feed a trained killer. Did that make her an accomplice to murder? He’d had to “take out” the man in the boat. The SAM shooter. Would he have to kill anyone else on this particular undercover mission?

Stop it.

He’d be hungry after a day at her place. She’d planned to get Indian takeout tonight, to celebrate her first day back at work. Instead, she was harboring a probable fugitive and wondering if she should stock up on canned goods in case they had to hunker down.

“Excuse me.” She pushed her cart through the pasta aisle, throwing boxes of elbow macaroni into the basket. From the dairy cooler she took a half gallon of milk and some cheese, then made her way to the meat case, where she picked out the leanest ground beef she could find. She hadn’t eaten red meat regularly in years, but she suspected Brad would wolf it down.

And she could freeze the leftovers for hearty meals later.

Later?

Her life had gone from controlled and serene to preparing for the apocalypse with the explosion of a small fishing boat. Only because she’d witnessed it.

Oh, and because Brad had scaled the West Beach cliff to her house.

“Credit or debit?”

“What?” She looked at the empty belt where she’d placed her groceries.

“Credit or debit?”

“Debit. I mean cash.” Digging in her wallet for the extra cash she’d withdrawn while she was on base, she sent up a silent prayer of thanks. The withdrawal from the ATM had been a last-minute decision, just in case.

Just in case she had to go off the grid with Brad. She shook her head. Her imagination was getting the best of her.

A gust slammed into her as she pushed her cart through the parking lot and to her car. Good thing Brad had made his climb before the winds picked up.

She almost laughed aloud as she loaded the groceries into her trunk. She’d never done anything remotely illegal before today, which was in direct contrast with going back on base and requesting files she had no official business having. She was the lowest of the low in the eyes of the military justice system. A traitor, even.

The drive home seemed unusually long as sheer exhaustion washed over her.

Cold dread at her decision to allow Brad respite in her home didn’t help. Sweat broke out on her forehead, and she tightened her hands on the steering wheel.

She had no desire to dig deeper into her own psyche, to examine whether her fear was simply the result of her situation. Or was it because the man of her dreams was finally in her life again, in her home? Unlike real life, dreams were safe. Maybe she should ask him to leave...

No, no, no! She’d made her decision and besides, this wasn’t permanent. These circumstances had to be more straightforward than either she or Brad thought; the most seemingly complicated scenarios were often far simpler than panic or anxiety blew them up to be. Case in point—Farid. He’d been a kid who’d wanted to save his village and gotten caught in a firestorm of political and military brass. His stint in prison had ended, rightfully so.

If she had anything to do with it, the files would help her put Brad’s problems behind both of them within forty-eight hours.

Once inside her garage she killed the engine and hit the button to lower the garage door. Only after the door was firmly closed did she get out of the car and grab the groceries from the back hatch.

“Hello?” She walked into the kitchen and stopped, listening for any indication that Brad was still there.

“Over here.” He walked in from the sun porch wearing a USS Abraham Lincoln baseball cap she recognized as hers.

“Is that all my clothes you’re interested in, or am I going to find you’ve been through my underwear drawers? Please tell me you aren’t wearing my Wonder Woman panties, too.”

Brad’s eyes narrowed but his reply was calm, unruffled.

“I make it a policy never to cross-dress while on mission.”

His humor made her smile, but she noticed that his eyes remained wary. She’d missed him, missed his joking. Their banter.

“Just as well. Cross-dressing could complicate things at the moment.” She took in the papers strewn on the sofa and his boots next to the end table.

“I thought you were going to lie low. Aren’t you worried about someone seeing you from the sun porch?”

“With this hat on and sitting between your two potted palms? No chance. Everyone’s focused on the area of the explosion, trying to determine if it was a terrorist action.”

“What have they been saying on the news?” She put the perishables in the fridge and pulled out a baking dish, saucepan and frying pan. It might be bland and predictable, but her homemade macaroni and cheese spiked with the ground meat was an easy dish to make, and she suspected Brad would appreciate something that resembled comfort food. She could use a warm meal, too.

“Nothing much.”

He maintained eye contact with her.

“I couldn’t check the news at work, and I didn’t want to ask anyone while I was running errands. I figure the less I comment, the better. No need to draw any unwanted attention to myself.”

At least until Brad was out of her house and off on his next FBI adventure. Because he would leave. She wanted him to leave.

Sure you do.

She set the cheese grater on the counter and wrestled her measuring cups out of the gadget drawer.

“Well, there’s nothing new. The media’s dropped hints that base officials think it could be at worst a domestic terrorist, or possibly a disenfranchised vet. The reports say that NCIS, FBI and local authorities are looking into the backgrounds of several suspects.”

“You still believe you’re going to get nailed for this, don’t you?” She melted butter in a saucepan and stirred flour into it then slowly added milk.

“I have no doubt I would if I came forward now. I’d be cleared in short order, but meanwhile, the press might leak my name or photo, and the terrorists would gain the upper hand. I have to wait. If you get me the information I’m hoping for, by the time I make contact again I’ll have the case wrapped up. Here, let me help.”

Brad made short work of grating the Gruyere and cheddar.

Trying to appear casual, she quickly added the cheese to the simmering milk. The water she’d put on for the pasta started to boil, and the meat was browned.

“I know I’m just a lawyer, even if I’m a former JAG. My job in the Navy was to support you and other operators. Admittedly, I haven’t experienced anything close to what you have. But do you think you might be a little paranoid after your time as a SEAL? After going through the trial and then... Marci’s death?”

There—she’d dragged the ugly, wrinkled, stinking elephant into the room.

“That’s in the past.”

She dumped the entire box of elbow noodles into the roiling water. Brad needed his carbs. Maybe, right now, she did, too.

“It’s not in the past if it’s still haunting you today.”

“What do you want from me, Joy?”

How about your hands on me, your lips on me, your undying affection...

“I want you to look at this objectively. You’re hiding out in my house because you had to shoot a terrorist before he could launch a SAM at one of our aircraft. And you’re undercover, which makes it even more interesting. You found out that they’re targeting General Grimes. You don’t want to blow your cover or let it out that the Bureau infiltrated the cell. I get that. But you could’ve had me call your boss, for heaven’s sake. I mean, really, Brad, what’s with all the drama?”

His eyes widened an instant before they narrowed, and he pushed back from the counter he’d been leaning against. His body vibrated with anger.

The man did have feelings.

“You think this is drama? That I’m making this up? I’ll grant you, I’ve seen more than the average GI or SEAL, and I’m more messed up for it. I’ve lost more, too, including any chance at a normal life. But I’m in this for the greater good, Joy, not for myself. I haven’t turned this into some blown-out-of-proportion video game. Real lives are at stake, and I’m not going to stop until I take these bastards down.”

He stood inches from her and she reached out, placing her hand on his chest. His heart thumped under her fingertips, and she longed to embrace him, to hug away the hurt.

“I do believe you, Brad. I just wanted you to say it out loud.”

His expression softened as anger gave way to incredulity and then relief. “You never doubted me.”

“I worked with you for six months. I saw you risk everything for a man you barely knew. I was there when you were accused of your ex-fiancée’s murder when you had nothing to do with it.”

He reached out and traced her cheek with a shaky finger. “You never doubted me,” he said again.

She drew in a shaky breath. “Oh, I had my share of doubts. I wasn’t downrange with you and Farid. I had to double-check everything you told me—for your sake as well as his. And for my own sake. We all had everything to lose, and one man’s freedom to gain. I’m not a saint, Brad. There were times I wanted you to be less of a man than you were. Than you are. It would’ve been easier, that’s for sure.”

She needed all her effort to keep her gaze on his chest, away from his eyes. When his finger moved from her cheek to her chin and tilted her face up, she tried to will her emotions away.

When their eyes locked, Joy felt a jolt of awareness travel from her lips to her most intimate places. Abruptly, she dropped her hand from his arm.

What did he see in her eyes? Had he realized she’d harbored a deep attraction to him? Still did? That the proper JAG had always had the hots for her enlisted defendant?

You’re both civilians now.

His eyes burned with intent but nowhere did she see disdain or pity. Maybe Brad felt some of the same attraction, the same feelings she struggled to contain.

“Don’t you think I was attracted to you when we worked together, Joy? Do you think you were the only one who felt it? Felt—” he stroked the side of her neck “—this?”

His breath was warm on her face and she burned for him. It was as if every hour she’d spent fantasizing about him, about being together, was concentrated in this single moment.


CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_883c0fad-d1ad-5309-85ee-e0f69e113675)

BRAD HAD DREAMED of kissing Joy since the minute he’d realized they could have more than a lawyer-client relationship. They’d needed each other in Norfolk. He’d needed her to help him free Farid. She’d needed him to help get her client released from an unjust incarceration.

“We’re both out of the Navy now, Joy. No more ‘ma’am’ and ‘Chief.’ It’s just you and me, plain Brad and Joy.”

Back in Norfolk he’d counted on her to do her job and to make sure he didn’t implicate himself in any wrongdoing by defending a man who’d associated with known terrorists, albeit for the right reasons.

She’d been an officer, he an enlisted man. A relationship was off-limits even if the case hadn’t been an obstacle between them. And he’d had to end his engagement to Marci; he wouldn’t have gotten involved with any other woman until he took care of that.

But she’d tempted him. Joy’s strength of character, her intelligence and her beauty—Joy—called to him each and every damned day they’d worked together. At first he’d blamed it on months of not getting laid. Then he told himself it was because she was the only woman he was with on a consistent basis. At the end of a particularly grueling day, he’d almost leaned against a concrete wall and pulled her toward him for a kiss. He’d blamed it on not having access to regular workouts, but he knew, deep down, that wasn’t the reason.

He’d fought his attraction to Joy for too long.

And now she stood here in front of him, her dark eyes reflecting her desire. He couldn’t take his gaze from her crimson lips, lips that emphasized the translucent ivory of her skin.

He kissed her.

He had to keep this gentle. Easy, simple. A kiss, no more. Curiosity playing out between former colleagues who shared an extraordinary chemistry.

Joy moaned, and his good intentions went to hell.

He pressed her against the counter with his hips and had his tongue in her mouth before he could give himself a chance to second-guess any of it. She reacted in the most womanly fashion as she pushed back into him. Soft, smooth, hot.

They fit together so damned well. It was more than he’d imagined. It was more than lust. It was an attraction born of mutual respect and understanding of the other person and what they both stood for.

The temptation to take that kiss to the conclusion he’d fantasized countless times was just about overwhelming.

A hissing sound invaded the cloud of lust surrounding him, and he felt Joy’s hands on his chest but he kept kissing her. The side of her neck was softer than any silk.

“Brad.” She choked out his name, her voice rising in pitch.

“Kiss me, Joy,” he muttered. “Just kiss me.”

There was that hiss again.

“Brad.” A firmer shove.

“What?”

“The noodles. They’re boiling over.”

He let her go and she turned, still in his arms, and shut off the flame under the overflowing pot. The starchy smell of burned pasta filled the kitchen, and he fought coming back to the reality of where they were, what was ahead of them.

Because all he wanted to do was keep kissing Joy.

* * *

JOY PUSHED HER hair out of her face with shaky hands, but she knew her knees were even shakier. When Brad’s tongue had licked her lips, it was as though the ground she stood on had been shaken by one of those earthquakes that occasionally hit the West Coast.

All from one kiss. A kiss that was far more potent than any in her dreams.

She grabbed the sides of the pasta pot and squealed.

“Ouch!”

“Pot holders would be good.”

Just like that, Brad was back to being the stalwart guy. He could act unperturbed but he’d felt what had passed between them as much as she had. She’d felt his heartbeat increase and felt the unmistakable erection under those too-sexy cargo pants.

“This is going to be mush.” She poured the over-done noodles in the colander and placed the pot back on the stove to cool.

“It’ll be great.” He sounded...relaxed. As if he felt as comfortable being here as she did having him. As if no time had passed...

“You’ve been out of the active duty Navy for almost a year,” she said. “Did it ever occur to you to call me?”

“Yes.”

Don’t ask the question if you’re not ready for the answer.

For once she listened to her mother’s wisdom.

* * *

SO HE DIDN’T want to discuss why he’d never called, never did more than “friend” her on Facebook.

She was an adult, no stranger to relationships that had no future. Take Jonas. They should’ve been able to maintain a casual, Navy friends-with-benefits relationship. A lot of her female colleagues enjoyed the opportunity to date without expectations.

She hadn’t lied to Serena. She and Jonas had never gotten past a few dates, very casual ones, at that—a meetup at the gym for a workout or at a local coffee spot. No romance involved. Her heart hadn’t been in it. Neither had Jonas’s, apparently, as he’d come back from the last of several career deployments to get engaged to Serena. Another work colleague, Dennis, was her perfect match on paper. He was a JAG, too, a lawyer who understood the demands of the job. But again, she’d never felt as much as a tiny sizzle with him.

Brad was different. Her attraction to him was something she’d never experienced before—not this elemental, damn the torpedoes, full-speed-ahead kind of desire. The frightening part for her was that it had started when they worked together, when a relationship was against Navy regs.

He’d never given any indication that he wanted anything from her but her legal expertise.

Except for that searing kiss five minutes ago.

So why did she feel this niggling sense of rejection?

As she sprinkled the remaining Gruyere and cheddar on top of the noodles, meat and sauce in the greased baking dish, she glanced at Brad.

Zip. Nada. His expression was back to the one she’d lived with for six months, working alongside him. Professional, detached, uncompromising.

“It strikes me as odd that an FBI agent has no one in his organization he can trust when his back’s against the wall. Don’t you have a partner?” she asked.

“My partner’s on family leave. His wife just had twins, and he’s taking several weeks off. I’ll be provided with a temporary partner once I get back to my regular routine. Right now my boss and the higher-ups wanted someone with war experience in this part of the Pacific Northwest. We’ve had reports for months that suggest a homegrown terrorist group’s been targeting either NAS Whidbey or Port Everett, or both. With my background I was the obvious pick to go undercover.”

“And you wouldn’t necessarily do that with a partner, anyhow.”

“Right.”

The casserole was in the oven, so she began to prepare steamed veggies in her pressure cooker. If they were going to enjoy a carb fest, she needed to include some greens. She had brownie mix in the pantry, and frozen yogurt in the freezer. Did they need dessert, though? Normally her mouth would be watering at the thought.

Instead, she picked up her glass of ice water to moisten her dry mouth. She took several gulps before she grasped what Brad had said. The glass almost slipped out of her hand before she clunked it onto the counter.

“You think it’s the same group Farid helped you take out in Afghanistan, don’t you?”

Brad shrugged. “That’s what headquarters and the Intel analysts were telling me. These guys fit the pattern. We had indications that they might try to interrupt the Naval exercise that’s going on this week in Puget Sound and the Strait of Juan de Fuca. I was supposed to be halfway between the shore and the Abraham Lincoln. You know Old Abe is the flagship for the exercise.”

“As expected.” She didn’t know a lot about Navy Special Operations or practice scenarios, but Brad was probably familiar with all the possible circumstances under which the Navy trained.

“I was at the boat rental place two days ago, ready to get my own little powerboat to take me out to the prearranged area, when it occurred to me that I’d be better off using my own equipment. If anything was going to happen at sea, I wouldn’t be able to prevent it, but I trust the ability of the aircraft carrier and her ship’s company to do their jobs. I certainly couldn’t protect them.”

“What are you most worried about?”

“That’s classified.”

Joy shook the bottle into which she’d mixed oil, vinegar, lemon juice and salt. When she finished, she poured a generous amount over the ready-made salad she’d bought.

“Save the classified routine for someone else, Brad. I’m the one risking my neck getting classified information for you, remember? What about your boss? Can you contact him now?”

“I could use your phone, as you suggested. But I’d rather not. I’m pretty damn sure that everyone’s calls on this side of the island are being monitored. So if a call went into the Bureau from either your landline or your cell, it would immediately pop up. I don’t want to bring anyone into this, no matter how legit they are.”

“Maybe you should calm down and be a little more trusting of the process.”

“I trust no one.”

Joy washed her hands and looked out her kitchen window at the windswept coastline. The emergency vehicles of this morning were gone, but she knew Brad was correct. Several lookouts had been assigned to keep an eye on the beach for whatever—or whoever—washed up in the next few days. She didn’t have to see them to know it.

They were looking for the domestic terrorists whose group Brad had infiltrated.

She shuddered. The thought of American citizens willingly working for such an evil cause gave her the creeps.

Brad was a solid military man who now worked for the FBI. He wasn’t going to emerge from his undercover role until he had the answers he needed. That they all needed to ensure the safety of the base and surrounding area.

“I’m going to get into more comfortable clothes,” she told him. “Please help yourself to some of this and I’ll be right back. We have to come up with an action plan.” She pointed to the dish of crudités and hummus she’d prepared and left on the dining room table.

“I’ve kept myself occupied all day. I think I can manage another five minutes.” He walked over to the table. “Wow, you’ve fixed us a regular feast.”

“It’s the least I can do to support my local counter-terrorist undercover FBI agent.”

“Well, not the least.”

Joy didn’t react to his comment—she wasn’t sure he realized he’d said it so loudly.

Brad’s tone was steady, the same level voice she remembered from Norfolk. But his expression was worrying. It wasn’t the five o’clock shadow or the rumpled hair. They’d worked long hours together with few breaks and had seen each other at their worst.

It was the faraway look in his eyes. As if he was there physically, talking to her, but his mind was preoccupied with figuring out a puzzle.

She’d have to help him get to the bottom of it. Especially since she preferred her yoga pants and T-shirt to an orange jumpsuit.

* * *

THEY SAT WITH half a bottle of wine unfinished between them as she took notes and Brad leaned forward with his elbows on his thighs. She’d left the dinner plates in the sink for later, much as that pained her. What they were doing was more important.

“You must know something or you saw something downrange that’s incriminating to whoever wants General Grimes, and maybe you, dead. Let’s list all your missions and detachments. Anything you think was suspicious about them.”

Brad actually laughed, a rumble from deep in his chest. It seemed to echo in her dining room.

“The real question is what mission wasn’t suspicious or fraught with shady characters. Hell, Joy, do you think they send former SEALs and FBI agents to deal with the ‘aboveboard’ terrorists? Do you think there’s such a thing?”

The skin around his eyes crinkled, and she noticed his even white teeth. He’d always been attractive, but as an enlisted man he wasn’t available to her, even with his engagement on the rocks. He’d acted on his beliefs and on what he knew was right; she respected him for that. His behavior was typical of most Navy personnel she’d known, but she’d met a few officers as well as enlisted who’d crossed the line into fraternization. Brad had never so much as tried.

His good looks and their chemistry tempted her nonetheless.

“Cut me some slack, Iverson. I don’t have the battle scars you do.”

“I’m sorry, Joy. I guess I needed to blow off some steam with a good laugh.”

“Glad I could help. Now that it’s out of your system, how about refocusing and going over what you know?”

The thought of a bomb or a missile hitting either of the bases on Whidbey and injuring innocent civilians as well as Navy personnel stoked the fire that’d fueled the most fundamental reasons Joy had joined the military. She’d wanted to serve her country, protect its citizens and help defeat the bad guy wherever and whenever possible.

“Joy, you know I can’t tell you any of that.”

“You can’t tell me details, fine. But you can list who you’ve been targeting. No names—just call them persons A, B, C, whatever. I just need a timeline.”

“I realize now it was a cell of four, three since this morning’s events. I think one of them is a veteran, unfortunately. Army.”

“I hadn’t even thought of it being another vet.” She should have, though. The horrors of war were enough to make the most stable, honest human being turn to alcohol, drugs and worse. Mental illness rates among war vets were skyrocketing, and the VA Hospitals overflowed with PTSD patients.

“It’s not anyone I ever worked with, not former Navy or Marine. The guy was in the Army and saw several people in his unit killed or injured by an IED. Based on what I’ve seen of him, he probably has TBI.”

Traumatic Brain Injury. “That’s rough.”

“I’ve met all three players in this local cell face-to-face. The shooter is the first one I didn’t know. The cell’s small, and they’re not the type who have the months of training by al Qaeda or ISIL behind them. They’re homegrown terrorists who want some kind of vengeance because they feel the US Military wronged them—or the cause they’ve been associated with online.”

“Only one of the three you know personally is a veteran?”

“Yes. There’s one guy who acts like he has ties to another suspect, but I don’t have anything solid there. Look, you have to trust me. I know my job, Joy.”

“If you know it so well, why are you here asking me for help? Asking me to put my honorable discharge on the line, not to mention my new civilian job? A job, by the way, that wasn’t easy to land?”

“Because I need your help. I can’t say it any more clearly. I can’t do this alone. If these lowlifes have somehow hooked up with the worst of the bad guys from overseas, they have to be stopped more than ever. I promise you, you’ll come out a hero when all’s said and done.”

“I’m no hero, Brad, nor am I interested in being one. I’m a lawyer. A civilian lawyer. Maybe you just should’ve taken them out with your SEAL methods.”

He grunted. “Trust me, it crossed my mind. But a SEAL’s trained to take out the enemy on foreign soil. Not civilians in American territory. As an FBI agent, I have to play by the rules, too. And there’s more—don’t ask me for details here. The longer I track them, the more Intel we get, and the better our odds of finding how and what they’re communicating with the overseas operatives. How they got hold of a surface-to-air missile, for instance. Plus, the likelihood that they’re going to slip up increases with each hour I remain undercover. These seemingly loner operatives could help us blow open a much larger network.”

She leaned back in her chair. It was mind-boggling to consider how much the FBI and other LEAs did to keep the country safe on a daily basis.

Her task was much simpler.

“Tell me about your boss.”

“Mike Rubio. You met him briefly during the Norfolk trial. He was the officer in charge of my SEAL team. We’ve worked together for almost two decades.”

“And yet you have no way to contact him other than through official channels? I’m not getting this, Brad. You have to have someone to reach out to. And won’t he be worried about you?”

“He might be, but we’ve been through worse. I already told you. I can’t make a move until I know where the cell is and what they’re up to. Or if my team’s narrowed in on them or even taken them out by now. That might not show up in the press right away.”

“Yeah, I know.” So many Navy cases had initially attracted media attention, but after it was determined that it would be in the nation’s best interests to keep the facts classified, reporters had been notified and the cases left to die a quiet media death.





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