Extreme Honor (15 page)

C
ruz didn't enter the neighborhood this time until buses had gone through for just about every age group. People in suburban areas like this took notice of a lone stranger walking through when children were headed to bus stops. He didn't want the attention and he wasn't interested in the kids.

What he wanted was to catch Sean Harris at home, alone. Or at least without his children around, amping up his need to protect his family.

Lyn and Atlas were back at a small coffee shop with the car parked outside. He'd tucked them in the back corner of the place away from windows and in direct line of sight of a security camera. Safe as he could make them without being there. Then he'd headed back to Harris's home on foot. He didn't want the possibly familiar car tipping Harris off to this visit before he could confront the man face to face. And he didn't want Lyn involved in case things got ugly. Besides, the less she knew about all this, the better.

It'd been one thing to bring her along the first time. She'd added to the impression of a friendly visit. Just a few questions. No danger to anyone.

This wasn't likely to be a friendly visit.

Harris was home. His car was in the driveway. The minivan wasn't. Good. Likely his kids and his wife were out of the house.

Cruz wasted no time heading straight for the front door and ringing the doorbell.

It took no more than a minute for Harris to answer. “I already talked to you. We're done.”

Before Harris could close the door, Cruz shoved his booted foot in the doorjamb. “Someone tried to run me down last night. Then they tried to run me and my friend off the road. You know anything about that?”

Surprise flashed across Harris's face, then his mouth pressed in a grim line. “I told you I can't talk to you.”

“Considering someone knew where to find me to make a go at me, I'd say they know I was here yesterday.” Cruz tipped his head. “They might even know I'm here again. Could be they're planning on asking you what I wanted to talk to you about but I'm guessing they haven't yet. Either way, they're going to be making some assumptions. How much you want to bet they'll err on the cautious side and assume you talked to me anyway?”

“How stupid are you, threatening me?” Harris's face had turned a ruddy red.

“I'm not. I'm making some educated guesses.” Cruz kept one hand on the doorjamb and the other loose at his side. Nonthreatening, but ready to bring up to guard if Harris decided to throw a punch. Harris was probably in good shape. It'd be a challenge, but Cruz had been keeping up his conditioning, too. “And I'm going out on a limb figuring you're a decent man who didn't try to turn me into roadkill last night.”

The other man was definitely angry, but he wasn't homicidal.

“Look. I was home all night. It wasn't me.” Harris worked his jaw and then shook his head. “Why did you come back here? You don't have enough evidence to convince you to stay out of this?”

Cruz shook his head slow. “Just getting started. Whatever this is, my friend died because of it.”

“It's not espionage or a threat to the country or any of that shit.” Harris was loosening up, eyes darting past Cruz up and down the street.

Cruz was keeping an eye out himself, using the reflections in the small windows to either side of the door.

“This was just a business deal.” Despite his claim, Harris sounded like he was swallowing glass talking about it. “The kind of business that takes years to complete. We all needed to keep our mouths shut. Some of us didn't.”

“Calhoun knew about this…deal?” No way. Calhoun had been a man of honor and he wouldn't have gotten caught up in any shady dealings. He'd wanted to come home with nothing on his conscience, no guilt and no regrets.

Not likely to happen for any of them. A person had to make choices out there. Some of them weren't black and white, right or wrong. But if a soldier could make the best decisions possible, then it made coming home easier.

Harris shook his head. “Nah. Your friend took a hit to the head from a stray piece of wall in a rundown building we were entering. He made it through the initial incursion but was down and unconscious while we were mopping up the site.”

“You call interrogating someone mopping up?” Cruz raised an eyebrow.

It might not be wise to let on how much Cruz did know about what was in those videos, but obviously Harris was still playing it safe. Cruz needed him sharing more. Give a little to get to what mattered.

Air rushed out of Harris in a whoosh, as if Cruz had sucker-punched him. “How much do you know? Forget it. Look. Your friend wasn't awake when we interrogated that son of a bitch and didn't make a deal. The rest of us, what the fuck were we supposed to do? Once some of us were in, we all had to be. None of us was willing to risk being the only man standing back from it.”

And now they were getting somewhere.

“What was it?” Cruz asked.

Harris held up his hands. “Doesn't matter.”

“My friend thought it mattered enough to keep evidence,” Cruz growled. “Hiding it was a gamble with his life and he lost. I want to know why.”

“Evidence got your friend killed. Knowing too much gets a lot of people killed,” Harris shot back. He worked his jaw for a moment and then sighed. “But you know too much already. Look, it was a trade of services. Okay? We were asked to kill our target instead of taking him into custody. In exchange, our new business partner would take over the insurgent cell and after official military units were pulled out of the area, there'd be a need for private contracts. Those choice contracts would be offered to us first, once we'd retired from active duty and went private ourselves.”

Cruz raised his eyebrows. “Going for a long-term retirement plan.”

“If you call going private retirement.” Harris's voice was grim. “I don't. What matters is after we were done and came back from that mission, we were split. Our unit was reorganized and each of us was reassigned.”

Not good. Someone high up was involved then. And whoever it was wanted these men alone and constantly on edge. Even if their new units weren't a part of it, there'd be no way to know who could be trusted. Who was involved, who wasn't, and who would stand aside and let a hostile sniper take you out just to make life simpler for the rest of them.

“One of us wanted to talk anyway—and maybe he talked to your friend, Calhoun—but he took a shot to the back on an easy search-and-retrieval mission a few weeks later. Message came across to the rest of us loud and clear. Back out or talk about the deal and we wouldn't know when a hostile bullet would take us out. Our own team wouldn't have our backs. Or worse—we'd take out some poor innocent bastard who'd have no idea why one of us was being left to die.” Harris swallowed hard. “I'm not willing to have that kind of blood on my hands. You don't need to know more details. I wish I didn't know. But I'm going to see this through to the end or until I can see my way clear without harm to my family.”

“Could take years.” Cruz understood. The position this man was in was a waking nightmare. Any mission could be the one: the time when a teammate stood aside when they should cover him. No way to know, and no man could be completely vigilant a hundred percent of the time.

“This was always going to take years.” Bitterness flavored every word from Harris's mouth. “And for people who believe honor is an outdated concept, it isn't a problem. But some of us are still burdened with a sense of things gone to shit.”

“Calhoun was going to blow this open; I get it.” Cruz fished for more. “But who was he going to tell? How?”

“I don't know.” Harris shrugged. “Does it matter? This needs to be zipped up tight. No way to know how news of this could impact the future. For now it's a business deal.”

“Later, it could be a political skeleton.” Cruz continued the thought. Never knew when a military veteran was going to run for office. This kind of thing could play havoc with a campaign for senator or the presidency, or however high the main person wanted to go. “How was the other SEAL going to opt out?”

Silence. Harris obviously didn't want to continue. But Cruz's foot was still in the doorjamb and the man had already spoken more than intended. In for an inch, in for a mile and all that.

“He reached out to all of us first and said he didn't want to be a part of it. Swore he wouldn't tell a soul, just didn't want to be involved any longer.” Harris sighed. “E-mail went out encrypted.”

Not easy to intercept then. And not as likely to have been read by just anyone.

Cruz nodded. “So one of you either eliminated him or passed on the information to make it happen.”

Harris didn't respond. His face was grim. The anger simmering behind his eyes wasn't for Cruz anymore. Otherwise, Harris would've shoved Cruz off his front doorstep already. No. The anger was directed someplace else, toward the people responsible for holding all of this over Harris's head.

Good. Talk more. Give up a way to get to the real people responsible for Calhoun's death.

“When you're out there, you have to make the best choice out of the options you've got. And they're not good. Ever.” Harris glared at Cruz. “Who do you have out there in the world to worry about? Who will be hurt based on the choice you make today? Who could pay the price if you make the wrong one?”

Cold washed over Cruz. He pushed words through gritted teeth. “No one.”

Harris raised his eyebrows. “You and I both know better. There's a certain kind of person that's alone with no one to care if they live or die. You might've been one of them in the past, but it's been a good while since. You've got people who will get caught in the blast radius if this explodes in your face. Family isn't just by birth.”

It was Cruz's turn not to respond. Lying would only insult both of them. He had shown up with Lyn at his side. And he could pretend hers was a friendship but their connection was something more even if he hadn't admitted it to her directly. Didn't surprise him to have Harris hint at it. Man wasn't stupid. He was just a man caught in a foxhole with no way out.

“Think hard about how much further you want to take this.” Harris wasn't threatening. Hell, there was some sympathy in his voice. “We all want to do the right thing by our brothers and sisters in combat. But our first priority is to look to the living. Don't bring down the kind of shit storm that'll hurt the people you care about. Calhoun wouldn't want that.”

Anger burned away the hesitation. “What do you know about what Calhoun would've wanted?”

Harris's expression turned sad. “He was a good guy. Didn't have long to get to know him when he and his dog were attached to our unit. But you know how it is. You get a feel of a person pretty quick out there. He tried to do the right thing.”

“Then it shouldn't be a surprise I'm out here, trying to do right by him.” Cruz couldn't help the rumble in his tone.

“Maybe.” Harris drew the word out slowly. “But then you have to think about what the right thing is for the living first.”

And Harris had family. Cruz got it. He did. But someone needed to answer for Calhoun's death and the others'.

“At least give me names of the other soldiers in your unit. Give me something to go on.” Cruz tried again. He'd find a way through this mess to see Calhoun didn't die for nothing.

Harris shook his head. “I've already said too much. I could be a dead man already. Maybe. No more.”

Cruz ground his teeth but didn't press harder. Harris was right. It'd already been too much.

“Thanks for this, at least.” Cruz figured any additional words were over the top so he walked away.

It was time to get Lyn and Atlas back home and for him to find another angle to go at this entire issue.

L
yn walked in and dropped her travel bag on the bed. She'd need to do laundry. Soon. Like in a couple of minutes, before she forgot and tried to go do something else. Like maybe flop down onto the bed and take an impromptu nap. The cabin was starting to feel like home, complete with cozy nap-inducing temptations. Blankets. Pillows. Bed.

Of course, her thoughts were scattered. Had been since she'd gotten out of the car.

“That is one potent male,” she said out loud to the empty cabin.

And she wasn't talking about Atlas.

Memories of last night had kept popping back into her head in the car, making her blush. Damn her fair complexion. It was such a giveaway.

And David, the bastard, had noticed every single time and given her a knowing smile so sexy, the rest of her heated up, too. She'd even been tempted to instigate a make-out session at one of the rest stops, if a car full of kids with a puppy hadn't pulled up right next to them. Probably a good thing she hadn't. It would've been downright mean to Atlas.

At least they'd made it the entire way up from Virginia to Pennsylvania without further…adventures. This whole case had been one crazy occurrence after another. Even without the insanity, she hadn't caught her balance in regard to David Cruz since she'd arrived. Working side by side with him—seeing him every day—and the more she learned about him, the more she wanted to know. He'd taught her a few things about herself, too. And she was all for continuing education.

But a tiny worry niggled at her, now that she was away from him and truly alone for a few minutes. This warm, happy sensation was a temporary high. It had to be. This sort of thing wasn't sustainable, and she knew this from witnessing it in her mother and dozens of military wives growing up. This was either going to fade or end abruptly. In fact, it'd be just like any of her other dating experiences since she'd become a training consultant. Wouldn't it?

Temporary.

Eventually, she was going to move on to the next client and the next dog. Maybe they'd keep in touch. Or perhaps they'd cut it clean when she left. The latter was actually the more practical so she could easily see David opting for that.

“Ouch.” She sat on the edge of the bed abruptly.

The thought burst her bubble of happy effectively. In fact, she was quickly dropping into a serious need for fudge brownies. David hadn't even said a single word about the future or end of one, when it came to them. Her own brain had decided to take the trip on its own. He wasn't to blame at all.

Maybe she still had a bag of those dried cherries dipped in chocolate she'd bought in New Hope with Sophie.

She stood and walked back out into the main living area. Movement was good when she was thinking too hard even if she didn't find her remembered snack. Truly, this was her problem. Too much worrying, too much dwelling on things out of her control, and too much agonizing over things that hadn't happened yet. This was a project with real exposure and Atlas was a great dog. This thing she had with David was chemistry like
whoa
and better than she'd imagined even when she'd been daydreaming about it and him, specifically. Neither was over yet.

Maybe both were a chance for her to live in the now. Focus on the project and do better than she'd ever done in the past, for Atlas. And enjoy her time with David. At the very least, there'd be memories to savor for a long time to come. And if she stopped worrying for a few minutes, even, maybe something would surprise her.

Maybe.

There were a lot of uncertainties and most of them weren't under her control. She'd never been good at handling such situations in the past and she didn't want those frustrations or disappointments to ruin what she had now. Been there, done that. Regretted it.

This. Here. Now. She'd shoot for no regrets.

Her phone rang. It was her stepfather.

Of course. Because he had a sixth sense for when she was implementing positive changes in her life. And would call—not to support or encourage either.

“Jones speaking.”

“You have caller ID. You know it's me.” Her stepfather sounded irritated.

“Our last phone conversation didn't start off on the best of notes so I thought I'd try answering the call in a different way.” There. Perfectly reasonable. And she thought she'd managed a positive tone too. Sort of.

Okay, at least neutral. She didn't do fake cheer and he'd have recognized it for what it was anyway.

“You are late on your status reports.” He sounded distracted.

 At least he hadn't insisted she call him “Father” before he'd gotten to his point.

“We took Atlas on an extended behavioral training trip, socializing him in multiple public environments with varying crowd types.” Truth was always the best way to start these things, but it was so much easier to leave out the bits she didn't want to share via an e-mailed status report as opposed to phone conversation. Spoken out loud, she lost some of her confidence with her stepfather, always.

“An extended trip takes more than a day?” And there it was, the doubt and inevitable censure in his voice.

“Multiple.” She would not waver on this. “We stopped at various places both with suburban surroundings and crowded city areas. Indoor and outdoor. It's good to see what he's still sensitive to and what kinds of crowds he'll need further exposure to in order to get him back to his former level of training.”

There was a long silence.

“I see.” And the hesitation this time—if she could believe it—was doubt on his part. “I'll admit I haven't paid this close attention to the military service dog training program in the past. I've only recently become responsible for public perception on high-profile veterans within the last several years. The majority have been of the human persuasion.”

Somehow she was surprised, actually. Her stepfather was detail-oriented if nothing else, and she assumed he'd keep himself thoroughly informed on the particulars of any project. Most especially one in which her performance, or that of any other contractor, could and would reflect on him. After all, he'd provided the extra support she'd needed to get this contract in the first place. Otherwise, David Cruz and his partners made much more sense in working with a high-profile military service dog regardless of background.

Of course she'd made her arguments but to be honest, she'd understood her chances were slim initially. It'd been why she'd swallowed her pride and coordinated with her stepfather in the first place. She'd completely expected to be in the red with her stepfather for something close to forever for this particular support from him. His hesitation was unexpected.

She pushed her advantage. “Atlas is a multi-purpose trained dog. He's not just explosives detection or search or drug detection. He's got to be flexible and adaptable to step up to anything the team needs him to do. His missions could take him through crowded populaces as much as remote locations so he needs to be able to move through those and anything in between while still being able to focus on the task he's been given. I want to be thorough about his rehabilitation.”

“Of course.” Her stepfather had recovered apparently and managed to get irritable in the bargain. “I'm aware of the value this asset represents. The steps required to return him to full working status, however, seem to be unorthodox.”

She counted to five, figuring she didn't have until ten to get back on firm footing with him. “An unusual approach has proved effective, as my previous status reports demonstrated. Wouldn't you agree?”

“He's made progress.” Not complete, but he'd allow at least that much.

“Rehabilitation has renewed Atlas's drive in a way simple retraining wouldn't. He's eager to work again and almost one hundred percent responsive.” Her pride for Atlas's progress seeped into her tone. “David Cruz has also been very generous in sharing his expertise in training technique. I've found the information he's shared valuable as well.”

In a whole lot of ways.

“According to his records, David Cruz is a creditable trainer. He wasn't directly assigned to a military service dog while he was on active duty, though. I find it interesting that he's chosen this profession now.” Her stepfather would have access to David's service record. Somehow that was downright predictable.

Come to think of it, though, she didn't know exactly why David had come to Hope's Crossing Kennels. Funny. Each time he'd shared with her, she'd thought she'd learned so much about him. And then a moment like this demonstrated how much of his background was completely undiscovered.

She'd ask, though. Because it was something she did want to know.

“Cruz was a para rescue jumper.” Her stepfather must've opened David's service record right there, on the spot, based on the pensive note in his commentary. “Air Force. Obviously not much ambition for himself, since he left the service without advancing as far as his records indicate he had the potential to achieve.”

Of course it was always about potential. What her stepfather never understood was that people measured success in different ways. Their goals weren't the same as what he'd expect. What satisfied a person—made them feel whole—wasn't something quantifiable or repeatable in each individual the way following a recipe to bake a cake would be.

“Self-worth isn't always measured by promotions or advancements.” She should've kept her mouth shut but nope, the words had slipped out dry and disapproving as you please.

“Your opinion in this case may be biased,” her stepfather snapped. He had no tolerance for her opinions, especially when they were expressed with “attitude,” as he'd made a point to tell her back when she was younger.

He couldn't know, though. Not about her and David. Her stomach twisted. “How so?”

“You're working side by side with the man. Obviously you're pleased with the cooperative arrangement.” Her stepfather huffed. “Any partnership introduces bias. You're too close. You can't see the forest for the trees. This is why I insisted you give me
timely
status reports so I can ensure you have the objective perspective this requires. That asset is too valuable to ruin with sentimentality.”

This, she could address. The idea of him knowing about her and David was too many levels of complicated. No way was she going there until she absolutely had to.

“I've demonstrated repeatedly my ability to accurately assess and rehabilitate dogs of a wide variety of breeds and temperaments.” And her record demonstrated it in glowing personal recommendations from her clients. “No matter how cute the tiny toy breed or how intimidating the larger breed, I approach each case with objectivity. As soft as some might consider the psychological foundation to the rehabilitation approach, it is by no means compromised by sentimentality.”

It also turned out this way. Conversation ramped up until the big words drowned out the practical meaning of the discussion. It was a contest to see who could speak with greater formality and not get caught at a loss for words. It wasn't about the original topic anymore.

“In this case, it's not you I have concerns over.”

Oh.
Lyn rocked back on her heels. Almost uttered the gut response and ruined the whole conversation. “I see.”

“David Cruz is obviously working with Atlas in honor of the memory of his deceased friend. They served together.” Her stepfather cleared his throat. “I can sympathize to a certain extent. It's not easy to lose the men you've fought beside. But at least it was overseas and in combat, as opposed to some sort of overdose or home and asleep in bed.”

Because passing away at peace in bed was the most horrible way for a person to die.

Some people were willing to put away their uniforms. Maybe not her stepfather, and she could respect him or the choice, but she also wondered if he ever gave any sort of consideration to the alternative choices people made.

“I want your status reports expanded to give me insight into how Cruz is reacting to Atlas's progress.” Captain Jones made a clicking noise with his tongue. “My concern is that he is chasing ghosts better laid to rest instead of focusing on the task at hand. I do not want this asset put at risk because a man couldn't leave well enough alone.”

There was an interesting way to put it.

“What would he be looking into?” Because now she wanted to know why her stepfather was coincidentally concerned with David's investigation of Calhoun's death. It wasn't a secret as far as she could tell. David had mentioned openly going to the nearby military base to look over the reports.

“Every friend is convinced there are suspect circumstances around the way a man has died in service. They're looking for a reason. Call it a form of grieving. My concern is that Cruz could become delusional, depending on how much he's indulging in other bad habits veterans occasionally pick up once they leave the service. While you are the contractor I've engaged to work with this asset, he is also involved in the project and could reflect on it negatively.”

Ugh
. And it was always about how things could reflect back on his reputation.

Anger had been slowly building through this latter part of the discussion. “Why single out David Cruz? There are several trainers here on site and there've been handlers involved with Atlas since he returned to the US. Did you keep close tabs on every one of them?”

“Once this asset came under my sphere of influence, everyone involved with it was scrutinized, yes.” Captain Jones huffed. She could almost picture him tugging the front of his uniform straight in his annoyance. “Cruz is of particular concern both because of his service record and his direct involvement with the asset.”

She bit back an ugly retort.

Her stepfather was judging a man he'd never met and assuming the worst about him based on the unfortunate outcomes of other people's lives. She wouldn't deny things happened like this. Truly. It happened a lot. And she understood that.