TEN
Hey, Hewitt needs to see you.”
Ryan hung his fins in his locker and turned to see Ethan walking over, still in his dive suit.
“When?”
“Now.” His teammate shot him a look. “And I’d double-time it, bro. He doesn’t look happy.”
Ryan slung his pack over his shoulder and headed for the CO’s office, still buttoning up the shirt of his BDUs as he passed a fresh crop of trainees getting hammered on the grinder. Ryan took a sort of twisted pleasure in seeing them wet and sandy and grunting through their umpteenth set of cherry pickers. They were hating it now, but Hell Week was only in its second day, and they didn’t have a clue what they were in for.
Ryan found his CO in his office surrounded by stacks of files. He glanced up and motioned Ryan inside.
“Close the door, will you?”
Ryan stood at ease as Hewitt leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. He had a casual way with his men, which Ryan appreciated. At the moment, though, his frown didn’t look casual.
“I signed your papers this morning. Headed to Florida?”
“Yes, sir.”
He waved away the formality and rested his elbows on his desk as he looked up at Ryan, still frowning. Hewitt was smaller than most of his men, only six feet tall. But he was a legend in the teams, and his experience gave him a commanding presence.
“You’ve probably got packing to do, so I’ll get straight to the point,” the CO said. “We’ve got a problem. Emma Wright.”
Ryan practiced the SEAL art of keeping his face expressionless as his brain raced ahead.
“You care to guess what I’m going to tell you?” Hewitt asked.
“No, sir.”
He waved off the “sir” again. “Since Renee Conner’s funeral, she’s been poking around everywhere, asking a lot of questions. I had a call today with Sy Warner from the FBI’s Los Angeles field office.”
Ryan frowned. “What have they got to do with anything?”
“Deep background. The Conners are from there, and the LA field office conducted the original background check when Richard Conner was nominated. Anyway, Emma Wright’s been calling around trying to get people to talk to her about the investigation.” He smiled. “Hell, the girl’s ballsy, I’ll give her that. She even called Admiral Chomsky.” The smile faded. “And Chomsky in turn passed her off to me. I just got off the phone with her, as a matter of fact.”
Ryan cleared his throat. “What’d you tell her?”
“I explained that we have a process to determine what happened, and it’s not over yet. Basically, the same bullshit she’s been getting everywhere else. Frankly, the only reason anyone’s even taking her calls is because her dad’s a congressman.”
Ryan waited. It sounded like Emma was being a pain in the ass, but he didn’t know what Hewitt expected him to do about it. The CO was watching him closely.
“I understand you spent the most time with her during the rescue op.”
“That’s correct.”
“And what’s your take?”
His CO wanted his honest assessment, not the crap Ryan had put in his report. “She held up pretty good, sir. She’s stronger than she looks.”
“I read her statement. She remembered very little about the crash itself. Sounds like she might have been in shock for a lot of it. She said nothing about the plane taking a hit.”
“She was definitely in shock,” Ryan said. “That was my take when I found her, and same with Jake when he checked her over. Could be she’s remembering more now than she did when they debriefed her.”
Hewitt nodded grimly. The room was silent for a moment, and then he checked his watch and stood up, grabbing a file folder off the stack.
“Things are going well for you, Owen.” He walked around the desk. “You’re one of this team’s top officers because you know how to focus and you think on your feet. So I know I don’t have to remind you of your obligation.”
His obligation . . . To refrain from sharing classified intel? To refrain from screwing the congressman’s daughter?
Probably both.
Hewitt clapped him on the shoulder. “Enjoy your leave, Lieutenant. I’ll see you Friday at 0600.”
———
The streets of San Diego were slick from a recent shower as Emma wended her way back to her hotel. It had been a long, frustrating day, and she’d made little progress. Even with her shameless name-dropping, it was getting harder and harder to get people to return her calls and e-mails. The dot-gov world was tighter than most people knew, and once word got around, it hadn’t taken long for Emma to ascend to the top of everyone’s Do Not Call Back list.
She cruised along, watching the sailors making their way between bars. She tried to imagine Ryan in one of those crisp white uniforms, but she could only picture him in camo and greasepaint.
A warm shiver moved through her as she remembered him crouched in front of her by that rain-forest stream, doing his damnedest not to spook her. He must have thought she was crazy, all filthy and wild-eyed and babbling incoherently. At that moment, she had felt crazy. Not just crazy but scared out of her mind. And yet Ryan had talked to her like she was a perfectly rational person and calmly proceeded to pluck her off her feet and whisk her to safety.
The entire experience had changed her. Fundamentally. Since coming home, she’d felt a constant buzz of anxiety, along with a gnawing certainty that something was off-balance. Or just plain off. The sensation was relentless, and nothing she did would make it go away.
But seeing Ryan again—and yes, kissing him—had made her feel abundantly better, if only for that fleeting time on the beach when he’d pulled her into his arms. Everything about it had felt so good, so inevitable.
It seemed odd to have such a strong tie to a man she barely knew. But then again, maybe it wasn’t. She’d been through something she never could have imagined she would experience, and Ryan had been part of it. He understood her in a way that other people didn’t and couldn’t. Even though she’d only known him a short time, she felt a deep connection to him, deeper than with almost anyone in her life. The question that kept nagging her was . . . did he feel it, too?
It’s my job.
His words stung. Even now, days later.
His words had been harsh, but at least they’d been truthful. Locating her and rescuing her was his job, and he’d accomplished it successfully, end of story.
But she couldn’t stop thinking about him.
She’d definitely noticed his protectiveness at O’Malley’s. He hadn’t wanted anyone hitting on her, least of all his teammate.
And yet he hadn’t invited her back to his place or suggested they go to hers, even though he’d seemed like he wanted to. In fact, for a minute, she’d thought they might not even make it off the beach. But then he’d totally backed off and shut her down.
It was for the better. If she told herself that enough, maybe she’d believe it.
She hadn’t come here for Ryan—at least not completely. She’d come here to unravel the truth about what happened up in that plane and to clear the name of an honorable man who had spent his last moments on earth trying to save the lives of his passengers.
Tears filled her eyes, but she blinked them back as she swung into the driveway of her hotel. Ahead of her was a minivan where a bedraggled mom was unloading a tote bag filled with beach towels and dolphin toys. Two little boys in Sea World caps piled out of the van, and their mother hustled them to the door as her husband lingered behind to unbuckle another car seat. He scooped a sleeping little girl onto his shoulder, and she slumped against him like a rag doll.
Emma watched the family and felt a pang of loneliness so strong it took her breath away.
“Miss? Will you be staying with us this evening?”
She blinked up at the valet. “What? Oh, yes. I’m already registered.” She grabbed her purse and got out, but suddenly she had no desire whatsoever to spend another night holed up in her hotel room, flipping channels and waiting for e-mails that never came through.
She walked across the cobblestone driveway and looked out onto a boulevard landscaped with palm trees and bougainvillea. She glanced up and down the block, and her gaze came to rest on a green neon sign: Thai Garden. She set out at a brisk pace, and with every step she grew hungrier. She hadn’t eaten all day, and Thai was her go-to comfort food. Her phone chimed from her purse, and she dug it out. The caller ID said US GOV.
Emma’s pulse picked up as she answered.
“This is Special Agent Alexa Mays returning your call.”
It wasn’t a question but a statement, and it was followed by a strategic silence.
Emma smiled. She’d never met an FBI agent in a hurry to volunteer information. But she wasn’t intimidated. On the contrary, the fact that this woman had called her at all was a huge victory. It meant someone in the Los Angeles field office had instructed Mays to handle her.
“I assume you got my message,” Emma said. “I’m in town only briefly, and I’d really appreciate the chance to talk to you concerning the Renee Conner investigation.”
A faint sound, maybe a sigh. “I have ten thirty tomorrow open, but then I’ve got a hard stop at eleven,” the agent said.
A ten-thirty meeting would mean getting up early to fight Monday-morning traffic up the coast, but Emma would take it. It would be her first face-to-face with an actual person on the multiagency task force investigating the plane crash.
“Perfect,” Emma said. “Should I call when I arrive or—”
“Check in with security. I’ll meet you in the lobby.”
“Got it.”
“And I don’t know if you’re familiar with our procedures, but no cell phones.”
“I know.”
Emma felt a surge of happiness as she clicked off. Most of her day had been a flop, but things were improving. Her spirits were buoyed as she neared the restaurant, and the aroma of coconut curry shrimp made her mouth water.
A sharp squeal of brakes had her whirling around as a giant gray pickup truck zoomed down the street. It jumped the curb and roared straight toward her.
She leaped into a doorway, crashing to her knees. A wall of gray metal flew past, missing her by inches and making her heart nearly burst out of her chest.
Another squeal of rubber was followed by a loud pop like a car backfiring. Emma clutched her chest. She tried to breathe, but her lungs felt paralyzed. Another roar, another squeal. The noise faded. She leaned forward, hazarding a peek from the doorway just in time to see a pair of glowing red taillights disappearing around the corner.
She heard hysterical little hiccups and realized they were coming from her own body. She clamped her mouth shut and watched the crowd converging on the busted fire hydrant, ducking to the side to avoid the drenching spray.
Emma pulled herself up on wobbly legs and stepped from the doorway.
“Hey, lady, you okay?” A man rushed toward her.
Another engine growled nearby. Emma jumped back into the doorway as a black pickup screeched to a halt in front of her.
A black F-250. Ryan at the wheel. The passenger window was down, and he was leaning toward it, yelling at her, but she had absolutely no idea what he was saying.
He reached across and shoved open the passenger door.
“Get in!”
She stared at him, slack-jawed.
“Get in, Emma!”
She stumbled to the truck and jumped inside.