SEALed With A Kiss(10)
“Yes, sir.”
Jay put his phone away. Blood thrummed through his arteries; a muscle ticked in his cheek. Operation Lights Out had haunted him from the night it totally backfired. He didn’t know if he’d trusted the wrong sources or if the assets he’d courted for six months prior to the operation had betrayed him, but either way, he’d fucked up. Gabir al Baldawi hadn’t been in the apartment building surrounded by his closest advisors. Instead the place had been occupied by nothing but civilians. In his outrage he’d shot some kid who wouldn’t stop wailing. The bullet had gone straight through him killing his mother, too—so what? Shit happened. He’d talked the SEALs he’d worked with into reporting the incident as an accident—either that or it’d be his word against theirs. They’d only agreed to keep silent if he agreed to leave the Agency.
He’d done what they wanted, so why the hell were they betraying him now? Jealousy, no doubt. Maybe they didn’t want him being their vice president one day.
The vision of a lime green Escort snapped him out of his cold sweat. “Follow that car, Mason,” he said, pointing it out.
As his chauffeur pulled away from the curb, Jay spared a glance at Collum, who stood near the parking garage expecting to be picked up. “Leave him,” Jay ordered as the Escort gained speed, threatening to slip out of sight. Ignoring Collum’s look of dismay, Jay focused his attention on keeping the smaller car in sight.
Two intersections away, the women’s car bore right on Arch Street and disappeared. “Drive faster,” he bit out. They turned the corner just in time to see the Escort veering toward South Broad. When they caught sight of it again, it was turning left onto Christian Street, making its way into the old, Italian neighborhood of Bella Vista.
A block ahead of them, it parallel parked in front of a series of row homes. “Pull over,” Jay hissed at Mason. “Don’t let them see us.”
Mason swung the front of the Town Car into the nearest alley, leaving the back end sticking out. Jay craned his neck and watched the two women get out of their vehicle and hurry into the one brick house that had been painted pale yellow. He waited another five minutes to see if they would emerge again. When they didn’t, he instructed Mason to drive past the house.
The number on the door made it easy to find again—769. Now he knew where the reporter was staying.
“Sorry for the detour, Mason,” he apologized, sitting back in his seat. “We can return for Collum now.”
With his jaw muscles jumping, Jay considered what to do about the journalist. If he let her live, she could ruin his bid for the vice presidency. He would have to silence her the way he’d silenced the first Navy SEAL to betray him. And what about the intern? She would have to disappear, as well. He winced at the financial implication. Getting rid of people in ways that couldn’t be traced back to him cost a lot of money. Damn it!
As they slowed at a stop sign, Jay roused from his dark thoughts and glanced at his watch. “Aw, hell,” he growled. “Now I’m late for lunch with the mayor!”
Chapter Three
‡
Vinny stepped out of the basement, intent on washing up for the Thanksgiving meal when the words “former Navy SEAL” had him turning toward the tiny television perched on one end of the counter. Ophelia, Bella, and his mother heard it, too. The kitchen, which had been bustling with activity resulting in the mixed aromas of roasting turkey, boiling potatoes, and simmering cranberries, fell quiet as they all turned to hear the news story.
“…The rash of break-ins attributed to a gang of teens resulted in his death. John Staskiewicz left the Navy SEALs six years ago, returning to Fishtown, the neighborhood he grew up in.” The photograph of a handsome man in fatigues appeared on the upper right side of the screen. “This is the first time that the break-ins have resulted in murder. Staskiewicz was shot in the head while sleeping. Anyone with information pertaining to his death is requested to call the police. Back to you, Chris.”
As the anchorman moved on to a new topic, Ophelia turned three quarters to send Vinny a searching look. “Did you know him, honey?” she asked, probably noticing his incredulity.
He shook his head. “No, not personally.” But he could have sworn he’d just seen that distinct name written somewhere. And then it came to him. It’d been scribbled onto one corner of a rectangular brown box sitting on the corner of his commander’s desk. He’d seen it there two days ago when he’d dropped by to pick up his letter of recommendation for medical school. Having a photographic memory, Vinny was confident that the name was the same. And now the man was dead. But if the police thought some young petty thieves had shot a trained Navy SEAL in his sleep, they were seriously misled. He filed the incident away in his head to discuss with his commander later.