“Where else?” the LC said. The air station in Vaernes, Norway, had been their forward operating base for the Russian mission. From Norway they’d hopped on a bird to rendezvous with the ship, which had taken them as close as it could get to Russia before they’d boarded the submersible.
“What did you tell her?” the LC asked.
“Nothing, I swear.”
“Then how the hell did she find out about Vaernes?”
“I don’t know, but it wasn’t from me.” John filled the LC in on the e-mail he’d sent and how she’d used thepicture to track him down. He also mentioned her referring to an explosion, although she could have just been fishing for information.
It took a minute for the LC to stop cursing so John could explain the rest. John understood Taylor’s reaction. The LC didn’t want anyone to know they were alive—and Brittany being a reporter made her knowledge even more dangerous.
But his head was killing him, and the LC tearing him a new one wasn’t helping. Taylor only relented a little when John explained that he had used Kate’s tech. Brittany’s person had just outsmarted them.
John told the LC that he’d made it clear—very clear—the danger she would put him in if she continued with her story. “But other than confirming what she’d already guessed—that Brand was killed in a mission—I didn’t tell her anything. I thought she understood and was going home.”
He thought back on what she’d said and realized now that she’d just been putting him off. She hadn’t agreed to anything.
“Well, obviously you didn’t make much of an impact on her.”
John’s jaw was clenched so tightly his teeth hurt. That was true in more ways than one. “I guess not.”
The LC was silent for a moment on the other line. “Why do I have a feeling there is something you aren’t telling me? What else happened, Dynomite?”
“Nothing,” John said, maybe a little too quickly. “I told you everything important.”
But the LC hadn’t been given command of one of the most elite military units in the US by being an idiot. “Tex mentioned that he thought she had a crush on you when she was a kid.” Twenty-two was hardly a kid. “You didn’t do anything to piss her off, did you?”
John definitely took offense at that. “Why would you think that?”
“I don’t know,” the LC said impatiently. “Maybe because I’ve seen you in action for about five years.”
“I don’t know what you think you’ve seen, but I haven’t had any complaints.”
The LC snorted. “I bet. But maybe I should let Miggy handle this after all.”
“No!” Now, that was too quick—and too adamant. If the LC hadn’t guessed something was up before, he sure as hell knew it now. “I can handle her, sir.”
As a matter of fact, John couldn’t wait to get his hands on her.
The LC paused so long that John heard a crack in the plastic of his phone. He released his grip. Cheap, piece-of-crap burner.
“See that you do,” Taylor said. “And, Dynomite, I don’t think I need to remind you what’s at stake.”
“Copy that, sir.” He knew exactly what was at stake, and Brittany was going to regret not heeding his request the first time.
But this time he wasn’t going to be so pleasant. No more Mr. Nice Guy, as the old heavy metal song put it so succinctly.
•••
The young soldier and his friends had been checking Brittany out since she’d walked into the bar and found a seat in a corner booth. She smiled shyly—encouragingly—from behind her menu, and not long after she ordered, he slid into the booth opposite her.
“Hi,” he said. “You waiting for someone, or can I buy you a drink?”
His English was very good, but laced with a strong Norwegian accent. She met his ice-blue gaze hesitantly.“I probably shouldn’t answer the first, and I just ordered a beer, so the second isn’t necessary.”
He grinned as if just having something confirmed. “You are American. I thought you might be.”
Brittany wasn’t surprised that he’d guessed. The same thing had happened the past two nights. This was her third night mingling with the locals at the favorite hangout of the soldiers who were based at Vaernes Air Station. Either she had some kind of invisible sign above her head blinking “American” or there was something about her clothes and appearance, but the guys who’d talked to her seemed to know before she opened her mouth where she was from. She guessed she could check “spy” off the list of future careers.
