Blind Fury (8 page)

His gaze flicked to hers and he hesitated. Was he remembering how entangled they’d been earlier that morning? She couldn’t stop thinking about his eyes just inches from hers, his mouth so close…

“We don’t have to hole up in here, we just need to be careful. I can’t be sure your home was the only target. I don’t want to scare you, but please do this for me. I promised—”

She waved him off. “Yeah, I know. You promised Rob. You were busy making promises, weren’t you?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “But Rob never asked for my permission. Maybe I don’t want you to feel obligated to me. I told you I’m not going to hold you to it. You’re free to move on to your next death-defying job, and I can try to get my life back in order.”

He shook his head. “You’re stuck with me until I think you’re safe. If you leave, I’ll just follow you.”

She huffed, not sure of what to say. The playboy had become a rock. For years, he had let her and everyone else underestimate him, never appearing to take anything too seriously. He was always the life of any party, telling dirty jokes and funny stories about his friends, making sure everyone in the room got his attention at some point during the night. Even Rob’s shy, nerdy little sister.

But now she was seeing a new side of him. She’d seen evidence of his integrity before, but she’d never experienced its full effect. Maybe she finally understood why Rob had trusted Mick with his life. And hers.

Because he was there when it mattered.

“Is the futon really that bad?” Mick asked.

How could he not have noticed? She nodded.

“Then you take the bed tonight.”

“What about you?” she asked.

He flashed his familiar playboy smile at her and lifted an eyebrow. “Is that an invitation?” She must have looked mortified because he laughed. “Kidding.” He thumped the back of the makeshift bed. “Trust me. I’ve slept on worse.”

After clearing her breakfast dishes and cleaning up Mick’s kitchen, Jenna called Tara to fill her in on the latest disaster. She almost didn’t leave a message, but she didn’t want Tara to worry if she heard about the explosion on the news.

With that out of the way, she and Mick braved the mall. After working her way through four clothing shops, lunch, and the computer store, she was ready to quit. “I hate shopping.”

Mick raised an eyebrow as he held up two large bags. “I thought women loved to shop.”

“I lost my girl card ages ago. I think Tara took it by force and ripped it to shreds.” She just couldn’t muster enough interest in clothes or shoes to spend hours searching for the perfect item. Not that she didn’t want to look good, but it took way too much time and money to get the flawless fashionista look Tara had perfected. More than she was willing to spend. “I’m more of a homebody than a homecoming queen.”

“Quiet girls have their own appeal.”

“Maybe.” That wasn’t her experience though. When she and Tara went out, Tara was the draw for the men who came to their table. Jenna was the consolation prize. And it went beyond looks. She didn’t know how to flirt without feeling ridiculous.

She preferred to go slowly, getting to know a man as a friend first so she wouldn’t be all hormonal and idiotic around him, trying too hard to impress. She wanted to be liked for the real her. Uptight, cautious, and bookish. Yeah, she was a hell of a catch.

“Is there anything else you need right now?” Mick asked.

“You mean besides a house, a car, and a life?” She hefted the bags weighing her down. “No. This will have to do.”

Mick’s mouth tightened into a grim line and he nodded. “All right. Home then.” He slid his car keys from his front pocket and steered them toward the exit.

His eyes were alert, cataloging everyone who passed. No one paying any attention could mistake him for a casual shopper. In spite of the bags he carried, she had the sense that he was ready for anything, hyper-vigilant and prepared to spring into action if needed.

Even though it chafed to let someone else take charge, which was the very reason she dreamed of working for herself someday, she couldn’t help but appreciate the sense of security that Mick’s presence provided.

“Can we stop and get my mail on the way back?” she asked.

They reached his car and he popped the trunk before looking at her. “Are you sure you’re ready to see the place in daylight?”

“No.” But the mail was a small connection to her old world. The one where everything was still normal. “I’ll get a P.O. box later to make it easier, but I still want to pick up my mail today.”

She spent the rest of the short drive watching the forest speed by. White dogwood flowers lit up the near-leafless stands of trees, seeming to float among the bare branches as if by magic. She had always loved the promise of spring. She could really use some of that promise right about now.

When they reached her building, she gaped for a minute at the burned-out shell where she used to live. She and Mick could have so easily been inside when it blew up. Too easily…

“Hey.” Mick covered her hands, which she hadn’t realized were shaking. “You’re okay.”

With a nod, she hopped out of the car, determined not to dwell on what could have happened. Like he said, she was okay. Still, she didn’t look at the soot-blackened space again. She just blindly grabbed the thick stack of mail in her box, shoved it into her tote bag, then slid into the car and let Mick drive away.

They finished their errands—including a side trip to a jewelry store to pick up Mick’s recently repaired watch—grabbed takeout, and made it back to the condo without any obvious tails. His building was in a great location within walking distance of shopping and restaurants. Perfect for a bachelor on the go. When he was in town.

The scent of ginger filled the small space as she opened the bag from the Chinese restaurant they’d hit on the way back. Her stomach rumbled in anticipation while she pushed aside her lists to make room at the breakfast bar, setting out place mats, bowls, and utensils before prying open her little white boxes.
 

She scooped rice into her bowl and dumped half of her cashew chicken on top. “Do you think they’re done following us?” she asked before taking a bite.
 

Mick joined her at the counter, topping his rice with beef and broccoli. “Hard to say. They could’ve just been watching us to make sure they weren’t interrupted at the house. But that doesn’t explain the explosion. I don’t know if it was triggered by the door and set on a delay, or if it was supposed to happen before we arrived. We can’t assume you’re safe.”

“Could it be an accident? A gas leak or something?” She didn’t really think so, but she clung to a sliver of hope.

A scowl marred his handsome face. “Could be, but it’s too much of a coincidence for something like that to happen after the place was ransacked.”

She nodded. “They had to be after something, don’t you think?”

“Sure seems like it. But what?”

What indeed? “I didn’t see anything strange in Rob’s bag, but there was that missing memory card. I wish I knew what was on it.”
 

Lost in vague thoughts about the culprits, she chowed down, scraping the sides of the paper box to get every last bit of chicken into her bowl. It was like she had a hole in her stomach. Or maybe she was trying to fill the void in her heart with food.

What she really didn’t understand was why someone would target her. The idea should have seemed preposterous, but it was hard to argue with an explosion…or the searches and the tails. And—

Nope. She wasn’t going there. There was nothing she could do right now, and it would be better for her not to think about it. Especially with Mick around.

Being with him kept her off balance, and as if to demonstrate his skill in disconcerting her, when she was cleaning up after dinner he said, “Don’t be mad, but I lied to you.”

She frowned. How many lies were there?

He reached across the counter for the box the man at the jewelry shop had given him and handed it to her, his hands shaking.
Shaking.
Jenna’s stomach took a dive, even as she chastised herself for being stupid.

“When we stopped at the jewelry store on the way home, it wasn’t to pick up my watch. I actually ordered something for you a couple days ago.”

Now she was the one who trembled as she pried open the box and lifted out a flat silver bracelet. Tears burned at the back of her eyes as she ran her fingers over the words engraved in the shiny surface.
IN MEMORY…ROBERT RYAN
.

“I thought you’d appreciate a memento of Rob, especially since you lost everything in the fire. But if you don’t like it, I can exchange it for another style,” Mick said, his words coming out in a rush.

“No, it’s perfect.” She looked up at him, her mind whirling. Had she ever really known the real Mick Fury? “Thank you.” The urge to launch herself into his arms nearly overwhelmed her, but before she embarrassed herself, he cleared his throat and broke eye contact.

Standing, he shoved one hand into his front pocket and gestured to her bag with the other.
“So did you get anything good in the mail?”

His sudden change of topic pulled Jenna back to reality. She was still reeling from the planning and thoughtfulness that had gone into his gift, but when he mentioned the mail, she remembered an oversized envelope, and her curiosity trumped the mystery that was Mick. For the moment. She took the bundle of mail from her bag and spread the envelopes out on the counter, enjoying the new sensation of the cool metal of the bracelet on her wrist. Instantly the return address on the heavy-duty Tyvek envelope caught her eye, and she could have kicked herself for not checking sooner.

“There’s something from Rob,” she said, her voice oddly hushed. She was both eager and reluctant to see what was inside. Mick showed incredible restraint by moving into the living room to give her privacy.

She smoothed a hand over the thin material, working up the nerve to tear the thing open. Getting posthumous mail was creepy. When Rob had carefully sealed and addressed the envelope, he’d been planning to come home for good.

She ripped open the top and paused. A profound sadness pulled at her as she thought of her strong, handsome brother preparing this envelope the previous week. He’d been ready to quit Claymore and start a new life. Now that would never happen. With a deep breath, she shook off the melancholy and removed a sheet of paper and a small brown envelope that felt like it contained a spiral-bound notebook.

The letter was brief. A quick hello and a request to put the inner envelope on his desk. He reiterated his readiness to come home and signed off. That was it.

She stared at the manila envelope for a minute, not sure she should open it. It seemed like intruding, even though it really didn’t matter anymore. Slowly, she peeled back the flap and removed an ordinary blue notebook of college-ruled paper.

When she glanced over her shoulder, she saw that Mick was watching an MMA fight on the big screen with the sound muted. He was still showing respect for her, for this final moment she had with Rob. She opened the cover. The first page was blank, but a small square had been stuck to the inside cover with 100-mph duct tape in olive drab. No self-respecting PJ would travel without the green duct tape, and her brother had apparently been no exception, out of the military or not. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she gently peeled away the sticky strip.

She gasped at the sight of the memory card beneath. Could this be the key to the danger they were in? She opened her laptop, logged in, and inserted the card into the slot on the side, drumming her fingers as her computer scanned it for viruses.

While she waited, she flipped through the notebook, but the few pages Rob had filled with neat block letters contained only mundane entries about the heat, the sand, the food, and games of poker with the guys. Nothing about his missions or his plans for the future.

Setting the notebook aside for the moment, she opened the memory card files on her computer and scrolled through the photos. The first few—taken a month earlier according to the date stamp—showed Rob and Mick standing in front of a dusty supply truck, guns strapped to their thighs, sunglasses shielding their eyes from the bright sun.

Standard look-how-badass-we-are stuff. The kind of pictures that ended up on Facebook or circulating the Internet with derogatory subtitles.

Rob had looked good. Strong. Healthy. Alive. Breathing through the tightening in her throat, Jenna clicked on the next photo.

This image was different. Two men in profile leaned toward each other in conversation, their heads close, as if whispering. The image was grainy, as if the photographer had taken it from a distance. One man’s head was wrapped, his shoulders draped with cloth, the other sported the standard Claymore uniform of a polo shirt and cargo pants. She didn’t recognize either of them.

The next picture was clearer. It showed the same men from the previous image, along with another Claymore contractor, standing next to a crate of rifles. Following that was a photo of a crate filled with rectangular cellophane packages of yellowish-white powder. Drugs?

Unease skittered down the back of her neck. The remaining pictures were more of the same.
 

What were the photos for? Had the men been involved in breaking up a drug ring? The DEA used private security contractors in Afghanistan to help with drug raids, but she didn’t think Claymore played any part in that. But then, Rob usually couldn’t tell her what he was doing, so what did she know?

Nothing.
 

“Mick. Can you take a look at this?”

He was at her side before she even finished her request, as if he’d been waiting for her to call him over. “What is it?” He looked over her shoulder, then slid the notebook to her right and sat down next to her.

“Have you seen these pictures before?” She angled the computer so he could see the screen. “What do you think?”

In silence, he worked his way through the images, his jaw clenching tighter with each subsequent image. He sighed and looked up at her. “It looks like he was keeping track of illegal shipments in and out.”