He’d been very lucky—very lucky—that she hadn’t identified him yet. She’d been trying, hard. But Scott had learned that pictures of the master-at-arms and other law enforcement personnel hadn’t been included in the files she’d been given.
He didn’t know why, but ultimately it didn’t matter. It had saved his ass.
After that stroke of luck, the last thing he needed was the lieutenant spotting him in the hallways of the police station. Scott was not going to federal prison. No fucking way.
He was also pissed because he hadn’t been able to get his money out of the Abu Dhabi account yet. All it would take was one investigation into his finances and he’d be caught. A million-dollar transfer would make him look guilty as hell, and he might as well paint a bullseye on his back.
No, he had to make sure the lieutenant couldn’t identify him, then he would wait a couple months and transfer his money. And he had to make the bitch’s death look like an accident.
He had a plan. It was damn good if he did say so himself.
Scott shook out two pills and swallowed them dry, wishing he had the privacy and the time to melt them down, but he didn’t. He was already five minutes late reporting to duty and he had to get to work.
The night Scott had returned from Afghanistan, he’d called up his former dealer, who’d been happy to hear he was back in town and had arranged to meet up with him. The two had partied together, Scott thrilled to once again be able to melt the pills down and inject them. The high was immediate, instead of taking fifteen to twenty minutes, and seemed to last longer.
His dealer tried to interest him in switching to heroin, but Scott resisted. He knew the other drug was cheaper, but it would be much harder to explain, if he was caught, why he had heroin in his system or in his possession.
Stashing his pills, he pushed open the door to the men’s bathroom at the station—
And froze when he saw who had just walked past the restroom.
Her. The lieutenant.
Scott barely dared to breathe. If she turned around, she’d see him, and everything would be over. She’d report him and he’d go to fucking prison.
When she turned a corner ahead of him, Scott let out the breath he’d been holding.
What the fuck was she doing there? It was too early! She always looked through the pictures in the late afternoons.
Rattled, Scott headed in the opposite direction to report for duty. He was reprimanded for being late, but he didn’t care. That had been too close. He had to act now. He couldn’t wait even one more day. His luck would run out sooner or later. She’d be given the missing pictures, she’d run into him in the hallways of the police station, or maybe even in the fucking commissary.
No, he had to act immediately. The plan would work.
He got off shift at fifteen hundred hours.
By seventeen hundred hours, the lieutenant would no longer be a problem.
Smiling to himself, Ensign Scott Wheatland put his chin down and headed out of the police station, away from the danger of being identified by the uppity naval nurse.
“Enjoy your last day on Earth,” he mumbled.
Rex was frustrated. The day hadn’t started anything like he’d thought it would. First he’d been blindsided by Avery at breakfast. He’d honestly thought by putting the ball in her court, so to speak, she’d feel more relaxed about being in a relationship with him.
But he’d obviously fucked up. He was still terrified of being hurt, of Avery deciding she didn’t want to be with him anymore, but he understood now that he’d been unfair. A relationship took work. And putting all the pressure of their physical relationship on her had obviously not been the right move.
The meeting with the commander had been moved to the afternoon because of other obligations that had come up, so the morning was spent working out with the team, and going over after-action-reviews of other SEAL teams’ missions. They frequently did this, as it was easier to see what went wrong and what went well when you weren’t directly involved in the situation.
Lunch had been tense, as Phantom was irritated that Tex hadn’t contacted him or the commander about Timor-Leste. The entire team knew it was just a matter of time before Phantom decided he was done waiting and did something stupid, like heading off to the small country on his own.
Ace was stressed because Piper had been sick, and he was worried about their unborn baby. And basically everyone was on edge because they’d gotten word of five servicemen being killed in Afghanistan after an RPG attack on the military base—and it had been proven the RPGs was one of those stolen from the weapons convoy.
Even though the Afghani local who’d seemingly orchestrated the whole thing had killed himself after being cornered by the Delta Force team, the weapons were still out there and being used. And there always seemed to be a secondary leader waiting in the wings for his shot at being in control. Such was the way of terrorism. One head honcho was killed, but there were dozens more waiting to take over.
Rex had received a text from Avery when she’d gotten to work around ten.
Avery: I’m here at the hospital. Will be until six. I’m sorry about this morning. Can we talk later?
He’d immediately texted back.
Rex: I’m sorry too. And I’d like that. Baked chicken for dinner?
Avery: Sounds good. See you later.
Rex: Later.
At least that one thing—the most important to him—seemed to be looking up. Rex couldn’t wait to clear the air with Avery. He’d been an ass, and he was glad she was receptive to fixing things between them.
The afternoon seemed to move at a snail’s pace, and he was more than happy when he and the rest of the team shuffled into a conference room for the meeting with their commander at sixteen-thirty that afternoon.
“I’m sorry about the delay,” Commander North said once they were all settled. “I’ve been juggling a hundred different balls today. Rear Admiral Creasy has been tied up with the investigation into the rollover from last week, and I’ve been tasked with helping with his caseload until things even out. Anyway, it’s probably good this meeting was delayed, because I found out some disturbing information after lunch that you all need to know about.”
Rex didn’t like the way that sounded. He couldn’t help but lean forward in his chair, as if that would make the commander spit out what he’d learned faster. He had no idea what it was about, Timor-Leste, another mission, the traitor…it didn’t matter. If it affected the team, he was anxious to hear it, just as he knew his fellow SEALs were too.
But to Rex’s dismay, the commander seemed to pin his gaze on him—and not anyone else on the team. That didn’t bode well.
“It’s come to my attention that when the files for Lieutenant Nelson were compiled for her to look through, there were some left out of the mix.”
Rex sat up straight. “What? How? Why?”
“That’s about the reaction I had as well. She was supposed to get pictures of every single man who was at the military base in Afghanistan when the convoy was attacked. But the seaman who was responsible for compiling the records either didn’t understand…or perhaps was offended that the master-at-arms’ honor was being questioned. We don’t know at this point if it was accidental or intentional, but he left out the police officers from the pictures.”