Forget Me Not (37 page)

She considered his course of action in silence. "Sounds doable," she said, severing the call with efficiency that made Sebastian's eyebrows go up. He hoped to meet Hannah Geary one day. She followed orders like a SEAL.

He sat in his chair, too shocked to think clearly. His own commander had been stealing weapons right under their noses and they'd been none the wiser! Seeing the receiver still in his hand, he put it down. The first order was to get in touch with the MPs at Quantico. He did that at once, alerting them to the analyst's imminent arrival. They promised to keep close watch on the notebook and protect her security.

As for Jaguar's situation, there was little benefit to alerting the military police at Dam Neck. Until the notebook was in Sebastian's hands, the authorities would scoff at such allegations.

Thank God PO3 Rodriguez was guarding the lieutenant's back this morning. Surely Lovitt wouldn't do something so drastic as to try to kill Jaguar right there on base. Yet if Geary's suspicions were correct, then it was the CO who'd planned the incident at Back Bay Wildlife Refuge. But why? Jaguar must have stumbled on something a year ago that made him a liability to Lovitt's operation. Lovitt may have ordered Miller to leave Jaguar behind in the warehouse—a warehouse Lovitt's workers had set to blow the moment they absconded with the fourth missile, a missile that could have profited Lovitt hundreds of thousand of dollars on the black market.

Appalled to think that he'd worked so closely with Lovitt and never once suspected his perfidy, Sebastian scraped a hand over his bristles. He snatched up the phone a third time and called the Special Operations Building. To his dismay, no one answered. Where the hell were the duty personnel?

Cursing, he severed the call and punched in the numbers to Vinny's pager. The petty officer second class was keeping watch over Helen and Mallory.

Sebastian then raced up the stairs to his loft and threw his clothes on. His phone rang as he scrubbed his teeth. "Vinny!" he barked, expecting the petty officer on the other end.

"No," a woman said in uncertain tones.

Sebastian's heart stopped dead. It was Leila.
Madre de Dios,
her timing could not be worse. "Leila," he replied, trying not to speak with gunfire urgency. "I'm sorry but I can't talk right now. Can you drive over to Helen's and stay with her and Mallory? The Sandbridge Police have posted a watch, but I need to pull Vinny away, and I'd feel more comfortable if Helen had someone with her."

Leila answered his call to duty immediately. "Okay," she agreed. "Is something wrong?"

"We have a situation. I can't explain. Please, just get there as fast as possible. I'll call you later," he added, glad for an excuse to keep the lines of communication open.

Severing the call, he tossed the phone onto his bed, jammed his feet into his boots, and laced them up in record time.

His cell phone started ringing as he switched the ignition in his Falcon and fired her up.

"I tried your house but your phone was busy," Vinny informed him.

Sebastian was speeding, kicking up sand in his haste to get to the back gate. Fortunately, the streets were relatively empty on this overcast morning. The skies looked like they would open up at any moment. "Is Rodriguez with Jaguar?" he rapped out.

"Yes," Vinny answered. "What's the news?"

"Lovitt is behind the missing arms shipments." He swerved to miss a trash can that had rolled into the street. "I want you to contact every member of the squad. Tell them we're meeting at Spec Ops in ten minutes. Leila's on her way to stay with Helen and Mallory."

Despite the implication that they were going to challenge their own commander—a violation of the Uniform Code of Military Justice—Vinny answered with a clear affirmative. "Yes, Master Chief. I need to tell you that Jaguar's psychiatrist called. Someone switched Jaguar's prescription, so that he's been taking memory inhibitors. The psychiatrist thinks it was Lovitt—that the CO's worried that Jaguar will remember something."

It was all the confirmation Sebastian needed. "Roger," he said grimly. "Meet you in ten minutes."

Sebastian dropped his cell phone and gave the, road his undivided attention. At that precise minute, rain began to pelt the car, pounding on the windshield, distorting his vision before his wipers kicked into action. Thunder rumbled overhead, causing the old beater to vibrate.

Sebastian muttered under his breath, cursing his self-absorption and his blindness for not realizing that Lovitt was the villain all this time. They'd suspected only Miller, but Miller was too spineless to have effected such an undertaking.

Hopefully Lovitt had no idea now how close to exposure he really was. Maybe he and his Lieutenant were enjoying a civil repartee in which Jaguar was discussing the information he'd forwarded to the FBI. Lovitt would then commend him for passing on such valuable intelligence, and Jaguar would walk out of there, safe and sound.

But the circumstances two nights ago spoke of desperation on the CO's part. He knew his clandestine operation had a potential leak in the form of Gabriel Renault. He was afraid the lieutenant remembered more man he admitted.

Last time Lovitt had sent his renegades to take out Jaguar. This time he would want to finish the job himself.

Overhearing Vinny's hasty phone calls, Helen knew something was terribly wrong. He'd contacted all the members of first squad, asking them to report to the Spec Ops Building ASAP. If that was all he'd said, it wouldn't worry Helen that Gabe was at Spec Ops himself. What worried her was the news that Lovitt had been stealing weapons abroad. It didn't take a rocket scientist to realize that he was the one trying to kill Gabe all this time. Her husband must have come across something last year that could have exposed Lovitt, and Lovitt had been taking measures to prevent that ever since.

Now Gabe was alone with him—well, not completely alone. He had Rodriguez to guard his back. But he'd left his gun at home, knowing he'd have to pass through security at Spec Ops and not wanting to cause Sebastian trouble for lending it to him.

With a cold feeling of fatality, Helen thought about the gun, tucked in the drawer of her bedside table.

As if sensing urgency in the air, Mallory wandered out of her bedroom to stand by her mother. Helen saw with a glance that the studs in her ear were gone.

"What's going on?" Mallory asked, taking in Vinny's tense expression as he hung up the phone for the last time.

"Leila's coming to stay with you," he said, checking the pockets of his battle-dress uniform, as if taking inventory of his weapons. "There's still a cop outside if something comes up."

"We're coming with you," Helen decided, adrenaline surging through her system. She couldn't just sit back and wait, dreading another call that said her husband hadn't made it.

"No, ma'am," said me SEAL. "You need to stay here."

"I am not staying here," Helen insisted. "Gabe is my husband. I lost him once before. I have no intention of losing him again!"

Vinny gestured toward Mallory. "What about your daughter? She's still recovering from a head wound."

Torn, Helen glanced at Mallory, whose face still bore marks of the assault two nights ago.

"I need to go," the SEAL said, slipping out the door. He had shut it and was gone before Helen could make up her mind.

"Damn it!" she cursed, stamping a foot in frustration.

"I feel fine, Mom," Mallory said. She turned toward the closet to rummage for her shoes. "Let's go after Dad."

Helen regarded her with admiration. "No, Mal. Vinny's right.We should let Gabe's men handle this. We'd probably just get in the way." She thought again about the gun. Her father had taught her to peg a can at fifty paces. If Gabe's life was the least bit in danger and she had the opportunity to save it, she would kill to protect him. "We don't have a car," she added, torn by the need to do something.

Mallory straightened, pushing the hair out of her eyes. "Leila's here," she said, hurrying toward the door. "We can take her car."

There'd be trouble getting Leila's car on the base, but it was worth a try. "Hold on just a sec," Helen said, racing down the hallway. She went straight to her bedside table and pulled Gabe's gun from the drawer. It felt cold and heavy in her hand. Double-checking the safety, she shoved it into her waistband.

Leila was waiting at the front door, her hair wet with rain.

"We're going after Gabe," Helen explained succinctly.

"Yes," said Leila, taking one look at the determined gleam in her friend's eyes.

The door slammed behind them as they hurried to Leila's car, ignoring the policeman who frowned out his car window over the newspaper he was reading.

Back in the house, the bud on Gabe's cactus unfurled in a bloodred bloom.

Miller was on his way out, Commander Lovitt explained, casting Gabe a somber gaze across the glossy surface of his desk. The man was just too incompetent. He should never have let Gabe stay behind on the night of the mission-gone-wrong. "Do you remember that night, Lieutenant?" Lovitt added, fixing him with his silvery eyes.

Gabe wrestled with just how much to say. "Not fully, sir," he admitted. "I'm told I was knocked unconscious at one point I may never remember it."

Lovitt narrowed his gaze at him in a considering manner. "I can't give you back a year of your life, Lieutenant," he said matter-of-factly, "but I can promote you to Lieutenant Commander. Given the intelligence you hunted up, you certainly deserve a promotion." He patted the information the FBI had edited and forwarded. "How'd you like to take the patrol craft out for a little spin, get your feet wet again?"

Gabe considered the offer with enthusiasm. "Are you saying I'll be back on the team soon, sir?"

"Absolutely. As soon as I process the paperwork. In the meantime, we've got a few new gadgets aboard the PC you'll need to familiarize yourself with. Have you got an hour or so?"

"Yes, sir! Er, would PO3 Rodriguez be able to accompany us?" he asked, leery of leaving behind his bodyguard a second time.

"I don't see why not. How about filling me in on your daughter's abduction as we drive over to Little Creek."

As they stepped into the parking lot a few minutes later, the rain came pouring down. "We'll take my car," the CO offered.

The coastal patrol craft was docked at Little Creek Amphibious Base, just a short trek from Dam Neck. Gabe sat in the passenger seat, as the commander drove them at a breakneck pace down the slick boulevard.

Rodriguez sat in the back, his MP5 submachine gun close at hand. Considering the company he was in, Gabe wondered at the prickling of his scalp.

Despite the CO's reckless driving, they arrived at the Amphibious Base intact. Gabe stepped into the rain, relieved. Cool rivers of water soaked his fatigues as he ran a satisfied gaze along the waterfront.

God, he'd missed his job! Missed the formidable appearance of the gray-hulled battleships and amphibious craft. Missed the smell of the tar and the sea brine, even the antics of the seabirds, hunkered now in the parking lot to avoid the bad weather.

Because it was Sunday, there were few personnel on-site, just a couple of guards who saluted them as they marched along the cement jetty, past the other water craft and toward their own boat: the USS
Nor'easter.

The sailor standing watch let out the standard whistle as the CO preceded Gabe up the gangplank. Gabe returned the sailor's salute, not recognizing him. A crew of twenty-five regular Navy kept the ship up and running. Being a member of the eight-man SEAL squad, he didn't always know their names. Still, he was left with an uneasy feeling not to see a single familiar face.

Not even the skipper of the ship was around this rainy Sunday morning. In fact, other than the sailor on watch, the boat appeared deserted. The hairs on Gabe's neck rose slowly to attention. He was just recognizing that he' d walked into a trap, when Rodriguez lodged the barrel of his submachine gun against Gabe's ribs and urged him to step inside the bridge.

Adrenaline rocketed through him. God damn him for a blind idiot. It wasn't Miller whose incompetence had nearly gotten him killed a year ago! Miller had only been following Lovitt's orders, as was PO3 Rodriguez, now. Christ Jesus, it was his own CO who was trying to kill him! But why?

As Gabe stared, confounded, at his commanding officer, Lovitt swaggered toward the controls and started flipping switches. "You should always remember how to steer a boat, Lieutenant," he drawled with a smirk. "You never know when the skill might come in handy." He picked up the ship's loudspeaker and called out, "All hands prepare the ship for leaving port. The Officer of the Deck is shifting the watch from the starboard quarterdeck to the bridge. Away all lines." He released the handset to add, "I've always enjoyed saying that."

Gabe's gaze flew out the rain-speckled window to the deck below. Two more men in Navy jumpsuits had appeared to help the first man haul in lines and take them out for storage below. With a sinking feeling, Gabe noted the men weren't built like average sailors. They were more renegade SEALs in Lovitt's employ.

"Under way. Shift colors," the commander added, and the PC began to back out of its berth.

Gabe cursed himself for not making the connection earlier!
Shit!
He should shoot himself for his own incompetence but he doubted that would be necessary. There wasn't any question, given the other night, that Lovitt was taking him out to sea to execute him. He shuddered with indignation, sweat bathing his pores.

His only hope now was to reason with the man. "If something happens to me, sir, an investigation will certainly expose you," he threatened through his teeth.

It took all of Lovitt's focus to negotiate the narrow channel that took them out into a bay. "There won't be an investigation, Renault," he replied, his poise unruffled. "The Navy will be satisfied with my statement."

"And what will that statement be?" Gabe pressed, ignoring the prodding of Rodriguez's gun.

Lovitt glanced over his shoulder. "That you went ballistic on me—a side effect of your PTSD, apparently. Then you shot yourself in the head"—he clicked his tongue in mock regret—"overcome with guilt for betraying your county, apparently."