Future Under Fire (Operation: Hot Spot Book 4), page 13
“Let me get this straight.” He ground the words through his teeth, his jaw so tight it throbbed. “Less than twenty-four hours ago you took off in the middle of the damn night, after an excruciatingly long day, even though you were ready to pass out from exhaustion, because you were so worried about your brother you couldn’t waste one more second. Last night, you were so concerned about Sean, you were willing to sleep in a flea bag motel rather than your own bed, just so you could save two fucking hours.” He shook his head. When his fingers started to tingle, he forcibly uncurled his fists. Would he ever understand the damn woman? “And now that we’re here, minutes from his apartment, you want to wait until tomorrow to find him?”
And yeah, that last question might have been borderline sharp and ripe with suspicion. But Jesus, her sudden reluctance to find her brother made no damn sense whatsoever.
She fidgeted in the seat across from him. “It’s late—"
“It’s seven, fucking, o’clock.” Tag growled. “What’s his address?”
“He has a roommate. It’s not polite to just—”
“Address,” Tag repeated flatly.
“—show up out of the blue like this,” Sarah finished with a snap.
Tag pulled back, staring at the stubborn pitch to her chin. What the fuck was going on? Why had she suddenly lost all interest in tracking down her brother? Sure, she’d borrowed his phone and called Sean and Langley repeatedly, but neither had picked up. Her friend was safe, her bodyguards assured that, but Sean’s lack of response should have heightened her urgency to reach him. Instead, she seemed to have developed a sudden case of cold feet.
Was this trip really about finding her brother?
Or something else altogether. . .
“We should get a motel, get a good night’s sleep, and look for Sean in the morning.” The stubbornness had infiltrated her voice now.
Bullshit. This sudden hesitancy of hers had nothing to do with getting a good night’s sleep. She’d slept most of the way here—or pretended to, anyway.
Eleven fucking hours. That’s how long he’d been stuck in the cab with her. Eleven fucking hours of smelling the flowery scent of her skin and hair, of trying to ignore the flirty, hard nipples that showed clearly through both shirt and bra. Of actually feeling the heat radiating from the passenger seat—which was fucking impossible, but there you go.
His skin still felt too damn tight, his cock too fucking hard, his balls achy as hell.
So sue him, the last fucking thing he needed right now was checking into a motel with her and spending the next twelve to fourteen hours trying to ignore the fact that she was burrowed under the covers next to him, well within arm’s reach.
Fucking Christ, he’d had enough torture for one day.
“You’ll sleep better knowing Sean’s okay.” Tag fought to modulate his tone. Going all snarly on her sure wasn’t having the intended effect. “What’s the address?”
“I want a shower. To clean up before I go see him.”
Bullshit. “You showered the morning. The address, Sarah.”
“Let’s at least get some dinner—”
What the hell? “We ate two fucking hours ago.”
And what a production that had been. She’d vacillated forever over what she wanted to eat. He’d finally said fuck it and stepped in with a decision. Only to have her argue that she didn’t want to eat in the truck. Fine. Pizza it was. Her culinary tastes couldn’t have changed that much, right? She’d loved pizza. Only then she’d dithered over the ingredients for-fucking-ever.
Her chin tried to touch the roof of his truck. “I don’t appreciate you swearing at me.”
Another distraction. “The. God damn. Address.”
“Fine.” She blew out a put-upon breath and flounced back against her bucket seat. “3015 Maple Way.”
He leaned forward to plug the address into the GPS. What the hell was he going to find there? The woman had been procrastinating like crazy since they’d reached town.
He followed the GPS’s instructions to the address she’d rattled off and parked along the curb.
“I thought you said he was sharing an apartment.” He frowned at the Cape Cod, two story house the GPS had sent them to. Lights burned in two of the downstairs windows.
“I must have remembered wrong.” Sarah's voice was breezy as she shoved open her door and hopped out of the truck. She turned to stick her head back inside. “Why don’t you wait here while I talk to Sean.”
Backing up, she slammed the passenger door, spun, and fast tracked it up the sidewalk toward the rambling porch.
Tag caught up with her as she reached the steps.
“Looks like someone’s still up,” Tag said dryly as he joined her. He glanced at her tight face and pressed the doorbell.
She tensed as footsteps sounded behind the door. He could see her muscles bunch. That was obviously not Sean behind the door. Mitch, perhaps?
The door opened to an older dude with thinning, steel colored hair.
Definitely not Mitch, then.
Tag frowned. The roommate? He glanced at Sarah, but she just stood there, paralyzed, looking uncomfortable as hell. He turned back to the house’s occupant. There was no recognition on his face. The guy obviously didn’t know who she was.
“We’re looking for Sean Gillespie,” he said slowly when Sarah didn’t ask for her brother.
“Sorry,” the guy who answered the door said with a polite smile. “Nobody here by that name.”
“Oh—sorry to bother you.” Sarah suddenly popped to life and turned, ready to hightail it back to the truck. Tag caught her elbow, halting her in her tracks.
“Do you know where he moved to?” Tag asked slowly, feeling his way, already suspecting the answer to the question.
Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.
Sarah had lied to him…again. This was not Sean’s address.
“Nobody by that name has ever lived here.” The guy shrugged, and the door started to close.
“Could he have moved out before you moved in?” Tag asked, aware of Sarah’s tension beside him. Her arm was rigid beneath his fingers.”
The door stopped moving. “If he did, it would have been twenty years ago. That’s how long I’ve had this place.”
Okay. So, Sean was a no go. But what about Mitch? Could this be where she was supposed to meet Mitch?
“What about Mitch Armstrong? You know him?”
The guy shook his head, and for the first time a gloss of suspicion touched his face. Tag couldn’t blame him. Anyone with a healthy dose of common sense would question why two strangers were pounding on his door while tossing names around.
“Thanks. Appreciate the help.” Out of the corner of his eye he caught Sarah’s flinch. No surprise there, his voice had turned grim.
He let go of her arm and followed her rigid spine back to his truck. Climbing in, he turned to stare at her, letting the heavy silence eat at them both.
“I must have written the address down wrong,” she finally said, her voice too high…too tight…and completely unconvincing.
Sure she had.
“You never came out to visit him? Never vetted his living space?” He locked his hands around the steering wheel and turned to stare out the windshield. Christ, he didn’t want to watch her lie.
As protective as Sarah was over her little bro, there was no way she would have let him move down here without visiting, without inspecting his place, without making sure he’d be safe. She would have made sure she knew where he was living and who he was living with.
“No.” The denial was choked out in a small, tight voice.
He thought she was going to leave it at that, but she must have felt that the answer was too bald. Too unconvincing. That he would know better.
Which he fucking did.
“He didn’t want me hovering and his counselor said—”
“Don’t.” The word came out more tired than angry… more like a plea than an order. “Don’t lie to me.”
A full thirty seconds of silence throbbed between them. And then her raw, ragged exhale hit his ears.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice was thick and full of guilt.
Something inside of him unclenched. He started to breathe again.
“You’re here to meet Mitch?”
“No. No. Mitch doesn’t even know I was headed here.” She sounded exhausted now. Empty.
Tag reached up to switch on the overhead light and shifted in his seat to study her face. “Then why?”
Her chest lifted as she took a deep breath, and then went still. She held it for several seconds before letting out a noisy exhale. He recognized the gesture from back in the day. She was fortifying herself to tackle an unpleasant chore.
“I know you won’t believe me, but I am here to find Sean.”
She was right. He didn’t believe her. Scowling, he shook his head. “Sarah.”
“Just hear me out, okay?” She scooted around in her bucket seat until she was facing him. “I am here to find Sean. But not because he moved here. I don’t know where he is. I haven’t talked to him in two months. I’m here because that man who took me, who kidnapped me to make Mitch pay, he said Mitch took Sean to Dark Falls. He said Sean was here.” Her voice cracked.
Tag scrubbed a hand over his face as he mulled that over.
“Porter Hayes? He told you Sean and Mitch came here.” He watched Sarah’s throat tremble as she swallowed and nodded.
Her voice slumped to a choked whisper, and her gaze fell until she was staring at his chin. “I asked him if he knew Sean. He said Mitch killed him, or that Mitch’s buddies had.”
Tag went still, mulling the confession over. Could Sean have found out about Mitch’s illegal arms trafficking? If Mitch’s associates considered the kid a security risk, then yeah, they could have killed him.
But why would Sarah ask Hayes about the kid? Why would she question if he’d known her brother? Unless…
She’d known that Hayes was Mitch’s partner, was that brother of hers— “Is Sean one of Mitch’s business partners too?”
Hell, he wouldn’t put it past the little prick. Chasing his next fix had stolen whatever morality he’d had. He’d be ripe for the big money that came with arms dealing. Sarah might still be fixated on the sweet little brother she’d known, the one she’d raised since their parents had died. But the Sean she’d raised had disappeared before he’d hit eighteen.
A quick, jerky nod of Sarah’s head told him he was on the right track.
But damn—Sean’s involvement meant they were looking at a complete clusterfuck. Rio and NCIS were investigating Mitch now. That investigation was bound to leak out all over the place. If Sean was alive, he’d go down too. Hard.
Which would devastate Sarah.
That’s when another question hit him. Only this one stopped his heart for a second or two and squeezed all the air from his lungs.
Had Sarah known what her fiancé and brother had been up to?
Disbelief hurled through him.
Noooo.
Not a fucking chance. Sarah wouldn’t be complicit in something so inexcusable. She would have turned the bastards in. She would have stopped the weapons pipeline.
What she wouldn’t have done was sit back and let those guns sell, let those weapons be used on American soldiers.
Except…
Acid exploded in his gut.
This was Sean Gillespie, Sarah’s little brother, the little bro she’d proved, repeatedly, that she’d do anything for.
Did that include committing treason?
“Did you know what they were involved in, Sarah? Did you know they were running guns?”
The question exploded from him, as destructive as a bullet. It detonated in the cab, washing the color from her face.
For a fraction of a second her eyes touched his. They were so dark they looked black, and they were bleeding guilt.
She had. She’d known. Jesus Christ, she’d known.
He let the disbelief numb him. Block out all emotion, until only emptiness remained.
Turns out Mitch had done him a favor…
…he’d never really known her, not at all, not if she’d sat on something like that for Christ knew how long.
Chapter Thirteen
Sarah turned away from the revulsion on Brett’s face, the disgust burning in his blue eyes. She’d seen his eyes blaze with emotion before: with amusement, with hunger, with love. But never with such overwhelming contempt.
At least not directed at her.
Her breathing hitched, the swell of grief so strong it stole the life from her lungs. Whatever they’d once shared was truly gone now.
She’d killed it.
He’d never forgive her.
Brett’s core of honor and courage sank so deep and spread so wide, he wouldn’t be able to see past it. It had been one of the things that had drawn her to him initially. One of the things she’d loved about him. But the very thing she’d admired most would turn him against her now.
God…she didn’t blame him for hating her. She’d hated herself for two long years. What she’d done—or rather, hadn’t done—was indefensible.
Instead of protecting her brother, she should have gone to Brett, told him everything. Sure, he would have gone to the police, or NCIS, or whoever handled treasonous activities from the Navy’s end of things. But she should have done it anyway. She should have let Sean deal with the aftermath. She should have stopped protecting her brother.
Only she hadn’t. And now it was too late.
She hadn’t intended to tell Brett as much as she had. But the disillusionment on his face and the frustration in his voice had broken her. She couldn’t continue lying to him. She just couldn’t. It was time to stop protecting her brother at the expense of Brett, at the expense of everyone else.
She was done.
God…she was so tired of lying to the people she cared about. Tired of pushing people away. Tired of the fear and the stress and the constant anxiety. Tired of putting her brother above her morals, ethics, and happiness.
Brett had once called her Sean’s enabler, and that’s exactly what she was. It had to stop. Sean’s counselor had told her that every drug addict eventually hit rock bottom and had to claw their way back up. But the same could be said of a drug addict’s enabler.
She wasn’t sure if Sean was still alive—she hoped he was—prayed to God he was—but regardless, it was time to let him go. Time to own up to what he’d done and what she’d done for him. Time to accept the consequences and start making amends.
And it needed to start with the man across from her—the man she loved…had always loved.
The man she’d betrayed.
Pure exhaustion rolled over her. Defeat. Brett and his teammates put their lives on the line every time they deployed. It was time she showed a fraction of their courage. It was time she stepped up.
“You knew they were in the illegal arms trade? And you said nothing?” he asked again. His voice flat. Cold.
She swallowed hard. Nodded once.
“Say it.” His voice whipped out—razor sharp.
She flinched. Took a deep breath. “I knew.”
“Jesus. Sarah.” He fell silent.
She closed her eyes, mourning the loss of the man across from her, mourning the loss of the hope she’d held onto.
Excuses crowded the tip of her tongue, but she held them back. There was no justification for what she’d done. While an explanation might clarify why she’d done it, it wouldn’t excuse it. Nothing she said would make a difference to the man across from her.
By holding her tongue, by letting Mitch and his cohorts continue with their arms dealing, she’d put Brett and everyone he cared about in danger. Those guns could be used on them—on Brett, on his teammates. They’d already been used on those Green Berets who’d died. While those soldiers had died before she’d discovered what Sean was into, she could have brought the men responsible for their deaths to justice.
Mitch had had two years of operations because of her. Who knew where the guns had traveled since then? Who knew what damage they’d caused?
“I’m sorry.” The apology broke from her without any planning and just hung there in the silent cab. The tension was thicker than ever. The regret and guilt and shame overwhelming. She felt like she was drowning in self-disgust.
Without responding, Brett started up the truck.
She’d thought the silence between them during the trip to Dark Falls had been painful. But nothing she’d ever experienced came close to the tension between them now.
He didn’t look at her as he swung the truck back out onto the street. “You’re going to tell me everything. Absolutely everything. Got it?”
“I will.” Her stomach aching, Sarah turned to stare out the passenger window. She couldn’t face that hard, cold, disgusted mask he wore.
He drove them to a Best Western without saying another word. After parking beneath the canopy at the front entrance, he shut the truck down. “Get out. You’re coming in with me.”
He probably thought she’d take off if left alone. That she’d take the easy way out and run. She couldn’t blame him for that assumption.
Up until Mitch’s intrusion in her life, she’d considered herself to be a stand-up person. A courageous woman. Someone with conviction and morals. Which just went to prove she hadn’t known herself at all.
All it had taken to force her to cave like a spineless weasel were a couple of nasty threats against the men she loved.
Side by side, in complete silence, they walked through the sliding glass doors and up to the check-in counter. The ocean of distance between them swelled with each step. Brett paid for the room, took possession of the keycards, and they returned to his truck. The room he’d been given was in the west wing, four floors up. He parked around the corner, directly in front of the side door, and snagged her suitcase and his duffel bag.
That was Brett, still the gentleman—even when he hated your guts.
She trudged up the stairs ahead of him. The knifelike silence surrounding them carved a hole in her belly.
