SEAL Firsts Page 18

  Fredo had obtained Gunny’s truck keys. They made plans to meet up with Coop, and the three of them would go to Armando’s to retrieve his stash of weapons. No need having that potential discovery adding thickness to the goo they were already in. But first, Kyle had a number of things to do before they carried out Gunny’s mission of mercy.

  He called Cooper.

  “Did Fredo say whether or not he is under house arrest?” Coop asked.

  “Nope. I’m guessing yes, but really depends on who.”

  Cooper whistled. “That’s a fact.”

  “Fredo will follow in his car. I’m going to get the beater. Pick you up in about twenty?” Kyle asked his medic.

  “Roger that.” Cooper hung up.

  It surprised Kyle there wasn’t anyone guarding Armando’s house, or at least no guards that they could see. He doubted the guys who had trashed the house earlier in the week would resort to anything complicated, as far as surveillance went. That meant this wasn’t an organized unit.

  They parked both vehicles on the block behind and made short work of slipping along the side of a house that was vacant and for sale, then over the rear fence to Armando’s rear yard. They disabled the slider lock and stopped inside the kitchen, listening for anything.

  Deathly silence greeted them. The mess all over the house was just as Christy had described. Coop and Fredo were swearing. With their gloved hands, they began picking up some of Armando’s broken picture frames and things that might have been important to the man in happier times.

  “Don’t get your aprons on yet, ladies,” Kyle said. It earned him the finger from Fredo, whose idea of housework was moving to another apartment rather than cleaning.

  Kyle made it back to Armando’s bedroom with images of that day he’d been naked on the bed when Christy found him. That was barely a week ago, but how things had changed.

  No time for those thoughts.

  He sprung to the corner, relieved nothing looked disturbed, and peeled back the blue carpeting, revealing a square cutout with a metal loop handle embedded in the plywood underlayment. He opened the two-foot-wide hatch and flashed his penlight into the cubbyhole, revealing black powder-coated weapons and boxes of ammo. Fredo and Cooper were right behind him as he carefully extracted the weapons, including an .88 Karl Gustav rocket launcher. One at a time, amid admiring whistles and profanity from the two Team guys, they reverently lay everything on the bed. Enough fire power to start a revolution.

  Start one. But couldn’t finish the job without help.

  In Armando’s closet was an empty duty bag. They loaded the equipment, except for the Karl Gustav, which had to be wrapped in a camouflaged laundry bag, and then carefully put back the hatch opening and carpeting.

  Kyle searched the street through the closed living room curtains and didn’t see anything of interest. All of the sudden, a San Diego police car cruised by, but the two occupants were not slowing down and kept looking straight ahead. He took it to mean a random coincidence.

  In the hot afternoon sun, they silently made their way alongside Armando’s pool. Kyle noticed the buildup of leaves had gotten worse. Once over the fence, they checked the street again and found nothing that interested them, so they remounted their vehicles, Kyle stashing the bag of weapons under the rear seat in Gunny’s truck. The launcher was precariously laid on the floor behind and he threw a windbreaker over the protruding tip.

  Except for the grinding of gears and the lugging of an overworked motor, they left the neighborhood quietly.

  They stopped by Kyle’s Hummer that he’d left in an alleyway behind a local warehouse for lease. There were no windows from which anyone could watch them transfer Armando’s firepower into the Hummer. Kyle wasn’t comfortable with letting them out of his sight, and stored his own gear there all the time. With two locking steel boxes bolted to the frame beneath the second seats, unless they were looking, there’d be no way to find them. The Gustav was another problem, and they had to resort to keeping it wrapped, lying on Fredo’s rear seat, fully covered.

  They parked Fredo’s car in the garage at his apartment complex, unloading the CG and stashing it in Fredo’s locked gun locker. They took Gunny’s beater over to the base. Cruising past the guard gate on their way down the strand, they could see that Cooper’s motor home seemed untouched.

  “If they was looking, they’d have everything out all over the tarmac,” Cooper said to Kyle.

  “I don’t think Carlisle has seen it back in the lot. But he will.”

  “Yup,” the farm boy replied.

  Kyle’s thoughts drifted Christy’s way. He wished he could clean up things with her. Maybe he would give her a call later.

  Maybe not such a good idea. He shelved that pleasant thought for now.

  Cooper was to go into the hospital first. He wore a white lab coat and stethoscope around his neck, and was using his military nametag from his rotation at the burn unit in Texas. He wasn’t going to say he was a doctor, but his height and confident good looks, Kyle knew, would help give him the air of authority. Kyle wanted him to look like he belonged strolling down the corridor.

  Kyle and Fredo watched him go, then they turned into one of the housekeeping closets and were in luck to find several stacks of scrubs. They picked ones big enough to go over their clothes. Fredo found a box of paper caps, along with some foot dusters. Kyle couldn’t help but whisper, “I’ll have two tacos please, amigo.”

  “Yeah, you get the one I spit in, man.” At Kyle’s chuckle, Fredo added, “They do that, man. Got a cousin who works at a hospital in LA. You wouldn’t believe what they put in the food sometimes.”

  “Confirms my thoughts about hospital food.”

  They walked down a deserted hallway, looking for signs of a police presence. Luckily, Gunny was on the first floor, just around the corner.

  Fredo stopped Kyle as they passed by a room with an opened door. He pulled out a wheelchair that was collapsed just inside the doorframe. “The nurse’s station is at the end of the hall before the turn. We gotta go one at a time. Here,” he told Kyle. Fredo handed his LPO a tall plastic garbage can on wheels. “You take this and walk up and down the hall while I go toward the room. If anyone comes, pretend you’re changing the plastic liner.”

  “Fredo?”

  “Uh huh, boss?”

  “How much time you spend in hospitals?”

  “Don’t ask. More than your average Mexican.”

  Kyle would leave it at that. Although they shared personal details of their past, there were some things that would be left unsaid. It wasn’t helpful to say too much. Those who felt the need to spill their guts never made it through the training.

  Fredo made easy work leering at the nurses as he walked past the station. He had a way of making women turn away from him as he focused on their body parts, on purpose this time. He rounded the corner and Kyle didn’t hear a flutter.

  Within five minutes, Gunny was grinning from ear to ear, seated in the wheelchair, followed by his personal physician with a metal clipboard, and pushed by a Mexican orderly. Cooper nodded to the ladies.

  “Taking him to X-ray.”

  “Hold it. You mean that way,” Kyle heard.

  “Nope, going to take him by the service elevator. Hallway’s jammed up there,” Cooper answered without stopping.

  Kyle abandoned the garbage can and pushed the automatic doors open to go get the truck. He pulled up and Fredo immediately helped Gunny into the rear seat, while Cooper argued with a very large, belligerent head nurse who seemed to know the picture was all wrong. She was pointing at his nametag, saying, “If that’s even your real name.”

  Cooper barely had time to step inside the truck before they sped off in a cloud of dark gray smoke, leaving a bevy of white uniforms behind.

  “Sorry, Gunny. But sure as shit they’ve got your license plates.”

  “Hey, you hear me complaining? I’m so fucking glad to be out of that house of pain and death. That was a close one.”
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  “You feeling up to this?”

  “You kiddin’? All I need is a pair of pants.”

  Kyle hadn’t noticed Gunny was in his shorts, having tossed the hospital gown.

  Fredo added, “And man, a T-shirt, too. No way I’m gonna stare at those tits of yours, Gunny.”

  “Your fuckin’ body will do the same, Don Juan.” He sighed. “I got extra clothes at the gym. I’ll quickly grab them.”

  “So why were they keeping you?” Fredo asked.

  Kyle exchanged a look with Gunny through the rear view mirror.

  “Something,” Gunny began. “They found something they didn’t like.”

  No one said a word. It was Gunny’s information to share, if he wanted, and Kyle knew he didn’t want to.

  “You know how it is, fellas. The mind is willing but the body has other plans.”

  Coop and Fredo nodded while Kyle shared another look with Gunny in the mirror but kept his mouth shut.

  “So, after I get dressed, where are we going? Where are they keeping Armando?” Gunny asked.

  Kyle had no idea.

  Chapter 20

  Christy had just returned from the gym. She’d asked for Marla, but no one had seen her all day. The light under the trainer’s locked office door had been turned off, however.

  So was everything else just part of Christy’s active imagination? Being in the gym in the middle of the afternoon didn’t scare her at all, but she was going stir crazy seeking answers to all her questions about the news reports of last night and today.

  She was missing her extra passkey, and it bothered her. She looked through her gym bag and all her sweats, but came up short.

  She needed a couple of things at the store, but she liked the safety of her place.

  Still in her workout gear, she made herself a turkey sandwich and checked her emails. There were a couple of property searches she completed and sent off to clients. Then she updated her database for search matches against new listings. She heard another tap on her front door.

  Now what?

  Through the peephole, Christy saw two men in different colored uniforms. The blue Navy camis didn’t catch her eye, but the gold badge did, so she slipped on an oversized sweatshirt to hide her skimpy workout wear. Opening the door, she hoped they’d have news about Kyle.

  He was barely taller than Christy, dressed in a wrinkled sandy-colored shirt and matching pants with a beige stripe—the uniform of the local Sheriff’s Department. He looked as though he was coming down with the flu. His eyes were rheumy and red. Or maybe he was a drinker. His holstered gun was snapped in place. He held a small sheaf of papers in his right hand. Healthy and freshly rested, he might have been a handsome man, if she liked short ones, but there was something about the way he looked at her she did not care for. Sort of feral, predatory.

  But then, she didn’t like the way most men looked at her. Especially now, in her exercise pants that hugged her ass like a second skin.

  “Ma’am. Sorry to bother you,” the deputy said. Regular Navy looked directly at her rack. She knew those kinds of guys couldn’t help themselves. Gentlemen who knew it was inappropriate and didn’t care were the truly scary ones. This guy had a gun too.

  This is definitely about Kyle.

  “I’m Deputy Sheriff Warren Hilber, and this is Petty Officer Carlisle.”

  Christy didn’t want to look at the Navy guy any more than she had to. But she wouldn’t trust turning her back on him, either. “I would like to get dressed first, if you don’t mind.” She pulled at the sweatshirt and pointed to her black yoga pants.

  “Of course, we’ll just wait…” He started to walk past her into the hallway, but Christy put a palm to his chest before he could take more than a step.

  “You’ll wait outside, or I’ll call security.” She wrinkled up her nose and whispered, “They have guns too, but you’re probably a better shot.”

  She slammed the door in their faces. And locked it.

  Jerks! First the SDPD and now the Sheriff’s Department and the Navy. Who’s next? The fucking FBI?

  “Give me two minutes, ’kay?” she said through the metal door.

  There was no answer, so she dashed to the bedroom and quickly slipped on a pair of tan khakis and put back on the light yellow oversized sweatshirt. She brushed out her wet hair and pulled it in a scrunchie. She decided against makeup. No body-enhancing underwear either. No reason to encourage either of them, but especially the one called Carlisle. In her bare feet, she unlocked and opened her front door, greeting them with as much of a smile as she could muster.

  She was regarded carefully. She could see Warren was the smarter one, and for now, the leader. She stepped aside and they both walked past her. She leaned out into the hallway and found Mr. Jefferson standing, a puzzled expression on his face.

  She waved to him, but he just stared back at her. He was still wearing slippers. She quietly closed her door.

  “Please,” she said as she motioned to her couch, where they both sat side by side. She took up a position in Kyle’s leather chair and assumed the pose she’d taken when she’d talked to Mayfield this morning.

  “I’ve answered all the San Diego police’s questions this morning. I know nothing about all the murders on TV, if that’s what you’re here about.”

  “You’re Kyle’s girlfriend, then,” Warren said, his lips slanted at an angle while he examined a piece of lint on his starched but wrinkled pants. His shoes were dusty too. Christy knew he’d been to somewhere probably Kyle had been. And that place wasn’t in town.

  “Right now, I’m not quite sure what I am. Why don’t you tell me?” she asked them.

  “Well, you could be an accomplice, perhaps an unwitting accomplice. If you help him in any way or impede our investigation, you’ll be charged just like the rest of them.”

  “Them?” she asked.

  “I’m sure you know he leads Teams for a living,” Hilber began. “Special teams that do things most people would find offensive. And dangerous.” He smiled and she got the chills. “We’d be grateful for your help. Thought perhaps we could strike a little deal with you.”

  The brittle smile across his face didn’t seem natural to him. He didn’t seem very practiced at making it look sincere.

  “A deal? Why would I be interested in a deal, or even need one?”

  “Well, right now there’s a shoot to kill order, since your man here is armed and dangerous. If you help us catch him, I’ll do my best to bring him in alive.”

  “Surely you are joking.”

  “I’m afraid not, ma’am.”

  Carlisle inserted himself in the conversation, apparently having waited long enough. “You may not know this, but Kyle is about to be booted from the Navy. I’ve been watching him for a couple of years now. I have reams of violations he’s been written up for. He’s coming unhinged. Very unstable.”

  She dismissed his comment as if it were the sound of a garbage truck.

  He continued, “I’ve seen things he’s done you don’t know about. You’re lucky to be alive. He’s a dangerous man.”

  He is dangerous. His kisses are dangerous. The way he loves me with total abandon is dangerous. It’s dangerous how much I need him even now.

  Warren said, “He’s a real smooth one. The ladies love him, and—h” he waited until she looked up at him “—he’s loved a good many of them in return.” He winked, stopping to watch perhaps a flicker of pain cross her face? Christy hoped she’d properly masked it.

  The idea that those tattooed arms would ever hold another woman was a nightmare she did not want to endure. But worse was seeing the satisfied look on Warren’s face when he realized he’d hit pay dirt. He’d gotten to her. And she knew it was probably all BS anyway, but it got to her, nonetheless.

  Warren shook his head. “You know as well as I do, he’s married to the SEALs. They are his family. You’re baggage.” Warren skewered her with a direct stare she couldn’t escape. “Only a matter of time befor
e he takes out the garbage. No offense, ma’am.”

  Again he had misjudged her.

  “You’re wrong.”

  “Am I?”

  She worked on her composure. This man knew right where to hit her, where it hurt the most. She sucked it in and continued. “He’s looking for his friend who’s been kidnapped.”

  “Kidnapped? You believe that?” Warren looked at Carlisle and they chuckled and shook their heads, as if it were some private joke.

  “I’d say more like he wanted in on Armando’s golden goose. Armando’s dirty. Running drugs and guns for a gang here we’ve been tracking for some time.”

  Christy’s cell rang from the kitchen, sending her leaping to her feet to retrieve it. Before she could get there, Hilber picked it up off the kitchen counter. He looked at the display, then frowned and tilted his head to the side.

  “Wayne Somerville? You holding out on Kyle?” he asked, handing her the phone. Even the beefy Realtor she loathed was a welcome distraction.

  “H-hello?”

  “Hey, Christy, you all right? I’ve been worried about you. Everyone here at the office is curious as hell…”

  “I’m fine.” She closed her eyes and wished she could will it so.

  Wish I were on someone else’s radar.

  “Well, that’s good to hear. I’ll tell everyone.”

  “Do that.”

  “Hey, Christy, I wanted to apologize for, well for getting you into this mess you’re in. It was an honest accident, giving you the wrong address, but I’m real sorry…and I…”

  She needed to prolong the call. Anything to keep her away from the two men in her condo. Hilber and the other one were scanning her living room. She felt undressed.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Wayne,” she said into the phone, but she didn’t take her eyes off the two men.

  Warren began to pace back and forth. He seemed nervous about something because he kept checking his watch.