He walked the length of the barracks, looking around but finding nothing out of order. The grinder was in shadows. The only illumination was from the lights on the perimeter. When he reached the edge of the barracks, he looked into the parking lot. Nothing moved, just the roll of the ocean.
Just when he thought his mind must have played tricks on him or he was dreaming, he turned to go but stopped dead. There was a dark stain on the ground. He crouched down and couldn’t tell what it was. Pulling his cell out of the pocket, he turned on the flashlight and shock coursed through him.
Blood. Still wet and red.
He rose quickly and looked around, the spot in the middle of his shoulder blades twitching, all thoughts of getting back into his warm bunk gone.
He pivoted and slid against the side of the barracks, crouching and moving slowly, shining his light. The glow of the flashlight picked up something lying on the ground. When Hemingway got close enough, he almost dropped his phone.
It was one of the trainees.
Craig Hennessey was on his back, his eyes open. His face was a bloody mess.
Dead.
Hemingway took off running back to the grinder and the instructor offices. He burst inside and immediately saw Mad Max and…Shea talking in his office.
Max’s head jerked toward him along with Shea. They came out of the office, and Hemingway said, “Hennessey…he’s…he’s dead. Just behind the barracks.”
“Show us,” Max said.
He went out the door, wondering why Shea was here. She’d told him that she had video to edit and wouldn’t be available tonight. It worked out because he’d had watch duty. When they reached the body, Shea took over. Moving away, she made a call on her phone and thirty minutes later, Mak Ballentine showed up with Kai Talbot, and ten minutes after that, a forensic team.
They took evidence and bagged the body, removing it from the area. Then he found himself in the BUD/S classroom with Kai, Mak, Shea and Max.
“What’s going on?” Hemingway said.
“I’m not a videographer. I’m an undercover NCIS agent assigned to find New World Order terrorists who have infiltrated BUD/S.”
And with those words, she totally upended and complicated not only his training, but his relationship with her. Experiencing a hot, searing rush to his belly, Hemingway clenched his jaw. Somehow, he’d known she wasn’t just a videographer. The questions she’d been asking, the way she was scrutinizing everyone, those eyes were cop eyes, observing everything.
“Did you see anyone?” Shea asked, giving him a steely-eyed stare, something he realized an NCIS agent like her perfected as a matter of survival.
It took him a moment to gather his composure, blank his features, bank the anger and try to get his mind around being used. Maybe this public thing was between them, but the personal was just for them alone.
“No,” he said. “I didn’t see anyone. I heard something that woke me up. Thumps, angry voices. I can’t be sure.” He ran his hand over his stubbled hair. “What does this have to do with Hennessey?”
“We think he was going to spill the beans tonight. He DOR’d thirty minutes before you found his body,” Max said.
“After he cleared out his barrack room, he was supposed to meet me and Max at Hotel del Coronado,” Shea added.
“You think he was one of the terrorists?”
“Yes, and we think he was murdered because he was going to talk.”
Hemingway closed his eyes, thinking immediately of Hennessey, how funny he had been, how hard he had tried, how he had looked at times like the world was on his shoulders. Hemingway had just chalked that up to the weight they all carried and how much this meant to all of them. But Hennessey, and evidently other members of his class, were traitors to America, part of an organization that didn’t believe in the laws of the country and wanted nothing but revenge for the people they’d lost.
“I can’t believe this. I can’t believe they got in, let alone passed the psych evals.”
“There are a great many people who can fool just about anyone. They’re good actors, some might even believe what they’re doing is just. They trained for this at a camp built for infiltration. It’s my job to make sure none of them makes it to graduation,” Shea said.
“Is there anything else you can tell us?” Mak said.
“Yes,” Hemingway said, suddenly remembering. “Wilson wasn’t in his bunk, but I can’t remember if he was supposed to stand watch.”
Max went over to his computer and tapped the keys. He stared at the screen avidly, then his mouth twisted. “Yeah, he was on watch. But I think he’s the ringleader. I’ll check in with security and make sure he was on duty at the time.”
“He’s not a team player at all—he’s surly and a freaking complainer. He doesn’t belong here. If anyone should ring out, it’s him,” Hemingway said.
Mak and Kai rose, and Mak said, “We’ll keep digging on our end. You watch your backs. All of you.” She and Kai left.
“Get some sleep, Sinclair,” Max said, then he too left.
The silence in the classroom was deafening.
“I should let you get back to bed. It’s late. We can talk later.”
She headed for the door and between one heartbeat and the next, his anger surged, and he pushed off the chair, heading for the parking lot. The cloud cover had dropped, and it had started to drizzle by the time he caught up to her.
He grabbed her arm and spun her. “Did you think I could be one of them?” he said fiercely.
“Now’s not the time—”
“Did you?”
She sighed and grumbled something under her breath. “Go back to the barracks and get some sleep. It is too late for this.”
She turned away but he came around her, not giving up.
She stared at him, then sighed softly again. “No. I didn’t.” Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, beads of rain soaking into the straight mass. That hairstyle exposed the long line of her throat, but some tendrils had slipped loose and now curled around her face and the back of her neck. With her body hidden by the raincoat and her profile cast by the gray light from streetlamps, she looked isolated and oddly vulnerable. Hemingway tightened his jaw and looked away, resenting her for making him weak.
He had nothing to go by here. No experience in a relationship or how to do this kind of thing, when you find out the woman you’ve hooked up with is really an undercover agent and your BUD/S experience has taken on a whole new meaning. It was a lot to swallow in one night, but he couldn’t get to sleep unless he knew for certain she wasn’t playing him.
“Don’t play lip service—”
She covered his mouth, holding his gaze. “No, Atticus, I didn’t think you were involved, ever,” she whispered. “My gut told me so.”
“And hooking up with me? Was that planned?”
“No. It just happened…the way it happened. I never expected to see you again after that night. I didn’t even know you were a trainee until I walked into your classroom. You’ve done nothing but complicate my life. On a couple of different levels. But I like and respect you very much. Now go to bed and let me get to work.”
“I complicated your life?” That caught him off guard. He pulled her against him, frustrated and annoyed and turned on and…a whole lot of complicated things he didn’t want to be. “I could say the same thing about you.”