Breaking Through (Book 2 of the SEAL TEAM Heartbreakers) (16 page)

BOOK: Breaking Through (Book 2 of the SEAL TEAM Heartbreakers)
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“But we didn’t do anything.”

“How can you be sure if you can’t remember, Weaver?”

Where was the man’s belief? He’d voiced it the last time he’d stood here in this office.

He studied Jackson’s expression, and anger as hard and unbending as iron ate up the hurt. “I have a good reputation in the teams. I’m a SEAL, and I’ve conducted myself as a SEAL should in all things. My record speaks for itself. The only way my enlistment will end is if I’m killed in combat.”

Jackson’s gaze shifted. “You’ll have to wait until this is settled before returning to the team. I’ll have orders for you in a few days. Dismissed, Ensign.”

Brett forced his hand up in a salute he didn’t believe the fucker deserved. You could judge a man by how he treated his family. Captain Jackson had dismissed his wife and child the moment he’d slammed the door behind them. Jackson would sacrifice whomever he had to in order to bring this shit to an end.

He wasn’t going to be made into a sacrificial lamb to make Jackson’s life easier.
Fuck that.

 

***

 

Tess hovered over the computer, reading the article she’d discovered. She’d been searching newspaper back issues all day for articles about those men and women in Congress who had been most vocal against military spending, and in particular about the high price of training SEALs. And their training was expensive. Close to a million dollars a man throughout their enlistment with the teams. That was a hell of an expense during these economic times. But how did you put a price tag on national security?

Since 9/11, the whole country was more aware of what was possible. America’s vulnerability had been penetrated in the most painful way. America’s complacency had been shredded. And if it took a few million for these guys to stand between America and the bad guys, so be it. They could stop things before they reached our shores. With the other military contingents, they provided a perimeter of defense.  She was grateful they were there.

And she finally had something to share with Brett Weaver. But there was information she couldn’t access.

Maybe her father would have some suggestions. He’d be here in twenty-four hours. The familiar feelings of excitement and dread bubbled up.

It wasn’t enough that she had followed in his footsteps and become a journalist. He looked on her job as insignificant because it didn’t have a wide enough reach. And she agreed. But she was working toward her place in the news community. Building her reputation. She’d recently had an epiphany, and Brett Weaver was responsible. She now had a clear plan about which direction she wanted to go.

She had no intention of sharing it with her father. He’d find some fault with it. She should have been a boy to follow in his footsteps. She couldn’t change her sex to suit him. And didn’t want to.

Her cell phone rang, and she glanced at the screen. Her heart leapt. She drew in a deep breath. She had to get control of her response to Brett Weaver. He was just a man. A man who trained nine months a year and who was deployed to foreign countries to fight bad guys for six months or more at a time. She pushed the accept button and raised the phone to her ear. “Hello.”

“I need to see you.”

Those few words spoken in that husky male tone accelerated her already fast heartbeat. “Has something more happened?”

“Yeah. I’ll finish up on a public speaking gig about three. Can we meet somewhere private afterwards?” he asked.

Where could she take him? Her apartment? Did she feel comfortable taking him there?

Did she trust herself taking him there?

What was she, a teenager? He was a source to a story big enough to put her name on the journalism map. She was an adult and a professional. She could meet with a man for an interview without jumping his bones.

But most of the men she met didn’t affect her in the ways Brett Weaver did.
Grow up,
Tess.  It’s your job.

“My apartment around three-thirty.” She said in her best professional tone and gave him the address.

“I’ll be there. Thanks.” He disconnected.

She ran her hand over her forehead, pushing back the bangs feathering her brows. She’d have time to double-check the facts she’d learned so she could share them with him.  And while at the apartment, they could start on the interview she needed to do for the paper.

The key to dealing with Brett Weaver was to keep everything professional. She’d never dated any of the men she’d interviewed. She didn’t intend to break that rule with Brett Weaver.

 

***

 

“Can I have your autograph, Ensign Weaver?”

Of all the things he’d been asked, that was one Brett had never heard before. He’d never expected to be a keynote speaker at a political luncheon, either. The guests had asked a hundred questions at least. They’d exhausted the subject of Iraq, Afghanistan, and all portions of the war on terrorists. He’d dodged at least a thousand political hot potatoes lobbed at him. Thank you, Jesus and Master Chief O’Hara, who’d prepped him for the gig.

And now this. He stared at the teenage girl’s face taking in her Cupid’s bow mouth and heavy eye shadow. “I’m not a rock star or any kind of celebrity, miss.”

“You’re a SEAL. And that’s a whole lot
more.

The way she said
more
flashed embarrassed heat into his cheeks.  Jesus, she was just a kid. To move her along quickly, he took the small notebook the girl thrust at him and signed his name, purposely scribbling a bit.

“My name’s Candy.”

Of course it was. Her beaming smile of thanks made him glad he’d signed the paper, even as an uneasy tightness cuffed the back of his neck.

He shook hands, and attempted to respond appropriately to the women’s greetings and their breathless words of thanks.  For the most part the men in attendance hung back and offered nods. Which suited him fine. Sometimes there were assholes determined to prove to their wives or girlfriends they were just as tough as he was, and it never ended well—for them. He certainly didn’t need any bad press generated by an incident.
Especially not now
.

Fifteen minutes later, he said his last good-bye and headed outside to collect his car. He handed the claim ticket he’d been issued to a young teenager there and the valet took off.

One of the young men working at the valet station approached him. “Are you Ensign Weaver?” he asked.

“Yes.”

The man removed an envelope from his shirt pocket and handed it to him.

Brett recognized the name Candy, but not the address and phone number written across the envelope. The handwriting swirled with dips and curls. Brett tucked his bonnet beneath his arm and tore the end of the envelope open. A tiny scrap of fabric fell out onto the ground, and he scooped it up. He raised the stretchy scrap, a petite pair of thong panties.

The man who’d handed him the envelope grinned. “It certainly doesn’t suck to be you, sir.”

Heat crept into Brett’s face again. Jeez, what had that kid been thinking? Shaking his head, he stuffed the paper and panties into his pocket. Wonder what her parents would think if he mailed the panties back with a thanks, but no thanks?

The valet pulled up in his car and he exchanged places with him behind the steering wheel. He set his bonnet on the seat beside him, and fastened his seat belt. The guy with the envelope was still grinning as he pulled away.

 

 

 

CHAPTER 14

 

What did it say about him that he was sitting in a reporter’s apartment instead of turning to his teammates for answers to this problem?

Brett tracked the sway of Tess’s hips and the way she placed one foot in front of the other like a model on a runway. Just watching her as she walked from the minuscule kitchen to the living room was enough to make him hard.

The apartment was smaller than his, though he knew she came from a wealthy family. While the furniture was expensive and tasteful, there wasn’t much of it. The observations tweaked a momentary curiosity, until she came into the living room with two glasses of tea.

She should have been a model. She wasn’t as tall as some, but she naturally had the kind of willowy figure most women had to work hard to achieve. Her movements had a grace that captured his attention. The silky camisole thing she was wearing bared her shoulders and arms. Though her skirt nearly reached her knees, her calves and ankles were an instant distraction.

“My father will be here tomorrow,” she said as she set the glass on a coaster on the coffee table in front of him. “He wants to meet with you. And I have some information I thought you’d want to know.” She sat down in the chair across from him, took a sip of her tea, then set the drink aside.

“What information?” Brett asked.

Tess leaned forward, her expression intent. “There are three senators determined to cut military funding. Rob Welch, Frank Skidmore, and Eli Drummond. Welch is the ringleader, but the other two are following hot on his political heels. All three come from states with only a few military bases and a small population of enlisted personnel. Who wouldn’t guess that?”

She laced her fingers together. “From what I’ve been able to discover, only one of them has access to military intelligence. And he has just filled a position on an arms committee.”

“Rob Welch,” Brett guessed. He’d heard things about the man from some of the other Special Ops guys, and learned more from articles he’d read in the last couple of months.

“This is just speculation at this point, but three suspicious situations cropping up around the same SEAL team in a matter of months is just too good an opportunity for him to pass up. If he puts pressure on the right people, the situation could prove problematic for your unit and the whole Naval Special Warfare Group. The events, if they’re played just right in the press, and before Congress, could significantly dig into the group’s funding as well.”

His injury in Iraq had triggered all of this. There had been too many inconsistencies in the reports. He’d read them all. Doc had seen him going back into the building after the charges had been set. Why would he set charges, and then go back in. Who had hit him?

If one of the terrorists had bashed him, they’d have raised the alarm and the rest would have bugged out. That was the anomaly that led NCIS back to the six of them.

And it led NCIS to the missing Iraqi boy. It gave the person who’d attacked him motive. 

Had Derrick really done something to the kid?

I wouldn’t have let him.

But what if he’d been too late to stop him?

The thought had his gut roiling. Tess’s voice barely pierced the panicked sound of his heartbeat filling his ears.

“If we had access to his corporate or private bank accounts, we might find a money trail, but it’s doubtful. From what I’ve read he seems pretty cagey,” she said.

“We have to find the boy, Tess.” He fought hard to keep his voice even. “Once we find the boy, part of the house of cards will collapse.”

“But first we’ll have to make it worthwhile for the military to find him. That’s where my father will come in. He has strong contacts in Iraq. He’s been covering things over there since Saddam was in power. He’s going to go at the story about the missing boy from the Iraqi citizens’ point of view. Build up sympathy for the families and lay it on the military to see that their children are found. With the satellite capabilities we have now, we might be able to search for and find the training camps.”

She was so idealistic. “We find them all the time. As soon as we knock out one, they rebuild somewhere else and take up shop again. There’s no guarantee the kid hasn’t been killed in a bombing raid.” Unable to sit still any longer, he rose and moved to the one large window in the room.

His heart pumped like a piston. The guys with them would have reported it if something happened, even if they couldn’t file the report until they reached base. They’d have said something on the radio. He had to believe that.

 

***

 

Brett’s silence, the way he stood looking out the window yanked Tess to her feet. She ached to offer him some kind of comfort. She saw herself going to him, sliding her arms around him from behind, and pressing close against his back. But she couldn’t. She had to maintain her professional distance. He was just a source. Maybe if she said it enough she’d begin to believe it.

She was getting too close to him, beginning to care. But how could she not?

“Dr. Stewart released me for duty.” His voice sounded hoarse and he cleared his throat.

The words gave her a jolt. He’d just recovered from a head injury and he was going back? Though concern snagged her heart and gave it a squeeze, she forced enthusiasm into her tone and expression. “That’s wonderful, Brett.”

“My CO won’t send me back to my team until all this is squared away.”

Shit
. His life had been put on hold for months because of his injury. For someone so driven, so focused, it would be hell.

“I could be in—” He paused and his jaw worked. She studied the look of concentration on his face. His lips moved though he remained silent. “Lim—limbo for months.” His expression of relief was followed by frustration.

Sunlight lanced off the scar on his temple. The reason behind the hesitation in his speech suddenly struck her like a blow.  An ache settled in her chest, and quick tears burned her eyes.

He’d stood up there on stage in front of two hundred women. Knowing his speech might freeze up. Knowing he’d feel humiliated if it did. The courage it must have taken.

And how hard had he worked in the past two months to get this far? Probably harder than she’d ever worked at anything in her life.

“Doc Stewart thought being back with my team might smooth things out for me. I convinced him of it. And now I’m stuck.” He thrust his hands out, palms up.

“Whose idea was it for you to do the public relations thing, Brett?” she asked.

Confusion flickered across his face. “My CO’s.”

That asshole.
Outrage tumbled through her.

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