His smile grew wider, then died when she glanced up, her blue eyes filled with worry.
His earlier distress came roaring back, mouth dry and skin on fire.He almost voiced it, almost asked,Where’s Cam?, then caught himself, correcting and asking more vaguely, “What’s wrong?”and praying the answer didn’t involve the ASAC.
“The shooter who targeted the van,” Lauren said.“I don’t think he was with either crew.”
“What do you mean?”
“He left behind this phone.”She disconnected the generic burner model from her laptop.“I cracked it.”
Nic eyed the device like it was poisonous.Ridiculous—it was just a piece of handheld electronics—but judging by Lauren’s wariness, his caution was warranted.“What’s on it?”
She held the phone out to him.“It’s wiped clean except for these.”
He slid it from her hand and stared at the picture on the screen.
Of him.
He swiped his thumb left across the screen.Again and again.More pictures of him.
At the Federal Building.At the UN Plaza food trucks.At the gym where he worked out.
Lauren closed her laptop, the click loud like the gunshots that had hit their van earlier today.That had been aimed at him.
“You were the target.”
Three
Nic swung his truck into a parking spot near the front entrance of Gravity Craft Brewery.Five years ago, when his friend and SEAL teammate Eddie Vasquez transferred out of the Navy to the local Coast Guard unit, they’d tapped their savings, bought a couple of old warehouse buildings in Redwood City, and opened the microbrewery they’d dreamed about while stuck in the desert together.
It wasn’t easy working the equivalent of two full-time jobs, but Nic wouldn’t have his other job forever.The writing was on the wall at the US Attorney’s Office.He didn’t want it forever either or a similar job in private practice.As much as he loved the courtroom, he’d started to itch for a different challenge.In Gravity, he was building something with his teammate and friend, a future they could call their own.Every hour Nic spent at the brewery, even the hours doing paperwork as Gravity’s business manager, were worth it.For perhaps the first time since he’d stepped into the Navy enlistment office the day after high school graduation, Nic felt like he was taking control of his destiny again.
On his way to the door, he peered between the brewery buildings to the back lot where tonight’s band and food trucks were shutting down.The music and variety of food options together with the hanging lights and electrical spools-turned-tables and barrels-turned-stools created a festive atmosphere that drew a steady crowd on weekends when they were open to the public.
One of Eddie’s more brilliant ideas.
He keyed in his access code, the electronic lock switching from red to green just as the hanging lights over the back lot darkened, leaving only the sodium lights glowing in the main lot behind him.Slipping inside, Nic waited for the lock to reengage, then followed the wail of nineties grunge toward the expansive tasting area.
“Yo!”Eddie called from behind the bar.
Par for the course, Eddie’s black brewery tee was about to bust at the seams, the falling-apricot logo on the short sleeve peeling and cracking with each swipe he made over the bar top.Eddie’s shirts had always been two sizes too small.Just like his gravity-defying pompadour of jet-black hair had rarely deflated since he’d grown it back out.
Nic grabbed another bar towel and began wiping down the stools and pub tables around the tasting room.“Good crowd tonight?”
“Packed.Only a couple cases left of the imperial stout and the public stock of IPA is selling fast too.Few more weeks at most.”
More than half their award-winning IPA had already been committed to restaurants.The fast-moving other half was a good sign.“You brew a mean beer,” Nic said with a nod to his brewmaster.
“Damn right I do.”Eddie grinned, fist out for a bump.Nic returned it—top, bottom, then knuckles.“Didn’t think you’d make it in tonight.”
“Work thing,” Nic replied.
Eddie shot him a disapproving glare, and Nic shot him one back plus the middle finger.Eddie was the last person to give him shit for working too much.Gravity aside, Eddie’s Coast Guard hours, while more predictable than other service branches, were far from nine-to-five.
“Went tits up?”Eddie asked.
“That’s being generous.”
Whistling low, Eddie drew a pint of pilsner off the tap and passed it across the bar.“Guessin’ you need this, then.”
