A quick glance at the window proved it was still dark outside. Roscoe, being a brilliant dog, had obviously chosen to sleep with Millie.
The remnants of the nightmare pounded in his head. He’d been on mission in the South China Sea to recover a sunken prototype of a cutting-edge sonar system lost in a naval exercise. Enemy divers moved too close, so he hid behind the wreckage nearly too long, and to this day, could feel the water pressing down on him. Taking several breaths, he slowly pushed his nightmare away.
He swung his legs to the side of the bed and reached for the jeans he’d worn the day before. He had to get Millie straightened out today so he could return to his office, or at least to his closet. He stood, shoved his bare feet into boots, and reached for the sweatshirt Millie had given him the night before; no doubt it belonged to JT. Silently, he opened the door, walking swiftly down the hallway and stairs to slip quietly out the kitchen doorway.
Heavy clouds rolled across the darkened sky, and he prowled through the dense mist toward the sound of water lapping in a hushed whisper onto the rocky embankment. The smell of a cigar caught him and he paused, turning to see the silhouette of a large man leaning against the bunkhouse.
“You’re out early,” JT said, taking a deep drag.
“Couldn’t sleep,” he admitted, stretching his back and moving closer.
In the early hour, JT Frost seemed more comfortable in the shadows than the oncoming light. He wore the same jeans and ratty sweatshirt as the night before.
Scott looked at the cigar.
“Don’t tell Millie,” JT said, taking another puff. “She gets irritated.”
“No worries.” Scott shoved his hands through his ruffled hair and turned toward the dark river. Droplets cascaded from the nearby trees, plopping onto moist earth. He hadn’t heard it rain, but dampness and mist pervaded the entire world. Of course it was March in West Virginia, so at least the snow had passed. But crap, the cold hit hard. “I take it you couldn’t sleep either?” he asked.
“I rarely do,” JT admitted. “Millie hasn’t told me much about you, but if you took on two of the Baker brothers and are still standing, you must have some training.”
“Force Recon,” he said quietly, finding the morning to be filled with more tension than he’d hoped. Another storm loomed in the distance.
JT just watched him, puffing on his cigar.
“What about you?” Scott asked, stretching his ankle. It twinged; he must have twisted it slightly in the fight the night before. He’d be fine.
“Navy SEAL,” JT said, his tone curt and not inviting any questions.
Not that Scott needed to know additional details. He studied the dark moving water, seeing no answers in its unfathomable depths. Faint light was seeping into the landscape, fighting the mist, and the first sporadic calls of birds began to echo over the moving water.
“There’s a guy in town,” JT said unexpectedly. “He’s somebody you can talk to.”
Surprise filtered through Scott. “I’m good. I have somebody at home.” Somebody he had spoken with after being shot this last time.
“How long you been out?”
“Long time,” Scott said. “I had a handle on everything and then I took a bullet nearly center mass last year. It brought it all back.”
“More than likely combined traumas,” JT said. “Been there.”
Scott hadn’t realized he and JT would bond. “Yeah, it’s all jumbled up in my head.” Sometimes his entire body felt frozen and dull from being trapped under that heavy bulk of water for so long. But he’d survived, and the trauma had ended. Now he needed to get his head on straight.
The mist climbed around them as if alive, coiling toward the trees and shrouding many of the still-dripping branches. The scent of damp earth and the lingering smell of dead fish surrounded them.
“How much trouble is Millie in?” JT asked around the cigar.
“I don’t know yet,” Scott admitted. “It doesn’t look good, especially since the county prosecutor seems to be excited about the case. But I do like that the chief of police believes she’s innocent and has a fondness for her.” One thing he’d learned during his time in the military and the courtroom was that personal connections meant everything when it came to witnesses.
JT puffed the cigar with intent. “The chief will still do his job.”
“So will I. We may need to get a private investigator on this.” Scott kicked an iced-over rock. “The Deep Ops team would be the best but they’re a lot to handle.”
“That’s my understanding,” JT said. “But if that’s what Millie needs, that’s what we’ll do.”
Scott really didn’t want to call in the team as of yet. “Agreed—if I deem it necessary. Let’s see what we can dig up today. I’m surprised the chief hasn’t already found somebody else to look at. It seems a lot of people wanted Baker dead.”
“I was one of them,” JT admitted. “But if I had killed him, I sure as shit wouldn’t have implicated my sister.”
