Dean’s nighttime forays over the past few weeks when the dive boat wasn’t being used sure as hell weren’t getting him any closer to an answer.
But he had to start somewhere. That his best option was returning to the place of the platoon’s last deployment before the op to Russia said a hell of a lot about what he had to go on. Which—other than that the Russians had known they were coming—was squat. But the British government had sought their help in tracking down Russian sub incursions in the waters around Scotland about a month before the mission to Russia, so here he was.
Like a fucking jerk-off.
Literally and figuratively.
The lack of progress in finding out who was responsible for the deaths of his comrades in Retiarius Platoon was eating away at him. Lying low. Disappearing. Standing by. Playing dead. They went against every bone in his body. He wanted todosomething. And this wild-goose chase wasn’t it.
The Russians had been tipped off to their op. But by whom and why? Had it been an accidental leak or had someone set them up?
His fists squeezed. When he found out who was responsible...
Unconsciously his thumb rolled over the scarred knuckle of his right hand where a thick fragment of glass had been embedded. It was one of dozens. He’d been a human pincushion, pummeled by fragments of metal, glass, and wood from the explosion. His ballistic FAST helmet, which he didn’tusually wear, and SPEAR body armor with the plates that he’d debated not wearing because of the added weight had probably saved his life. He’d been lucky.
But others...
Fuck.He swallowed hard, his gut twisting as the familiar image flashed before his eyes. He couldn’t stop seeing the kid’s—Brian’s—shocked expression right before the missile had struck and he’d been engulfed in the fireball of the explosion.
Dean could still feel the blistering heat from the explosion that had sent him flying and turned the camp into a wasteland. Everything had been leveled. Erased. Lieutenant White’s squad... half the platoon... gone in an instant.
There was nothing he could have done to help White and the rest of Navy Squad, but Brian’s death was on him. Dean had ignored a direct order and the kid had paid for it.
He owed Brian and the rest of the men who’d been killed an answer. But he sure as hell didn’t think he was going to find it in Stornoway chartering scuba divers—and sexy protesters.
“For once just follow a fucking command, Baylor!”
Dean’s mouth tightened in a grim line as Lieutenant Commander Taylor’s voice came back to him. He would do so, damn it. But he didn’t like it.
Digging his hands in his sweatshirt pockets, he headed toward his temporary home. He’d let a room in a flat not far from the port, which required him to pass by the protester camp. From the noise and light coming from that direction, they were apparently still going strong.
He caught a whiff of another familiar memory from his childhood as he walked by. How many times had he returned from school to the skunk smell of weed?
Whenever his mom could afford it.
He wondered if she had any idea that he was dead. He doubted it; he hadn’t seen her in years. Not since she’d come looking for money when she found out he’d made the Teams.
The memory still pissed him off.
Dean was about to turn up his street when a woman darted past him. She was so preoccupied with whatever was bothering her that she didn’t notice him.
But he noticed her. The sexy brunette had been the focus of too many of his sex-starved thoughts for him not to have recognized that shadowed figure right away.
His thoughts immediately turned to anger. What the hell was she doing out here alone at this time of night?
Granted Stornoway wasn’t exactly the mean streets of name-your-favorite American inner city, but it had its share of illegal activity—especially along the waterfront—and it wasn’t a place where a young woman should be walking alone in the middle of the night.
He went after her without thinking. Proving his point, she took way too long to realize he was behind her.
He could tell by the way she jumped when she turned around that he’d startled her.
But it didn’t last. As soon as she recognized him, her eyes narrowed angrily. “Why are you following me? You scared me!”
“Good. You shouldn’t be out here alone—” He stopped suddenly, seeing her expression. She looked about ready to burst into tears. “What’s wrong?”
Unconsciously he’d reached for her arm. Why the hell he’d done that he had no clue. He didn’t go around touching women without an invitation.
He released her before she could protest. But if she’d noticed the too-personal gesture, she didn’t let on.
