In the Dark (6 page)

Hannah was headed for the mini-photo booth. He caught up to her, taking a bag out of her hands. "Westy needs you to pick a name," he relayed. He fed the booth a five-dollar bill and drew the curtain for her. "Make sure you'll answer to it."

"I know the drill, Lieutenant," she drawled, pushing the button and taking her picture. She regarded the digital version on the screen, privately amused that she could look so geeky, and selected it. The machine cranked out a strip of photos. She handed the strip to Luther and stepped out.

"So who are you?" he asked, glancing with approval at the picture.

"Rebecca was my mother's name. Hearing it always makes me turn my head."

"Last name?" He pulled a pen from his shirt pocket.

"Lindstrom," she said, half teasing.

He looked at her sharply.

"If I'm family, you'll be able to get me in and out of restricted areas more easily," she reasoned. "I can be your little sister." She smiled at him, innocently.

His gaze skated over her, betraying less-than-brotherly thoughts. "Rebecca Lindstrom," he repeated. "Date of birth?"

She used her mother's month and day, keeping her own year.

"Westy's going to mail this to his contact. We'll have a driver's license delivered to us in a couple of days."

Westy strode by at that exact moment, and Luther handed off the photos and information surreptitiously. "Hungry yet?" he asked.

"I thought we were going to search my car."

"Valentino said to wait until dark. It's in an impound lot. He doesn't want us to be seen or heard."

Her stomach tightened. Rule number one in avoiding capture was never to return to the scene of the crime—or in this case the vehicle involved in a crime. But if the notebook was still hidden in her car, it was worth the risk to look for it. "I'm starving," she admitted, "for anything but rice, chicken, or beans."

Luther cut her a compassionate look. "I take it that's all they fed you back at the fortress. How's a burger and a milkshake sound."

"Now you're talking," she exclaimed.

With a smile, he put a hand on her back, steering her toward the food court. But then he removed it selfconsciously.

Someone had left Luther wary, Hannah reflected. For a breathless second she wondered if she might be the one to test his restraint. But then she dismissed the thought as superfluous.

She had big plans that she'd been guarding for three long years, and they didn't include any kind of amorous relationship. She was headed for a life of intrigue, glamour, and, yes, a little bit of danger. Nothing was going to get in her way this time.

Quantico Marine Base 22:34 EST

"I want to go with him," Hannah insisted as Westy stepped from the truck, wearing nothing but black, his face smeared with paint. "What if he can't find the key?" She'd kept a spare key in a magnetic box under the front fender.

"He'll break a window if he has to. You're not going anywhere near the car," Luther insisted.

Like Westy, Luther had donned a black T-shirt, but he hadn't painted his face. He handed her a headset. "Sit tight and listen. If you hear or see anything, say my name and I'll materialize. I won't be more than fifty feet away."

"Oh, for God's sake, I'm not helpless. Can I at least have a gun?"

In the shadows, it was hard to read Luther's expression. "Sorry," he said. She couldn't tell if he was sorry for treating her like an amateur or for not giving her a gun. "Test the headset."

She thumbed the mike. "Testing, one, two."

"It works. Now sit tight. We'll be right back."

Hannah dropped her head against the headrest and sighed. This wasn't exactly what she'd had in mind when it came to searching her vehicle. Ernie was
her
colleague. Finding his notebook was
her
responsibility, not Westy's, not Luther's.

But resisting Luther's instructions could feasibly jeopardize the objective, so she remained where she was, supremely uncomfortable in her dowdy dress. Her lace bra itched and the wig was making her scalp sweat.

For duty, God, and country,
Hannah thought with a scowl.

Whatever the men were doing, it was taking them forever. Supposedly Westy was the only one entering the lot. Her vehicle was somewhere in the fenced-in area, surrounded by other impounded and abandoned vehicles. Luther's job was to defend the periphery while Westy searched Hannah's car for the notebook she'd hidden underneath the console.

She strained her ears to hear either man. The windows of the truck were down, but the only thing she could hear were crickets chirping in the grass. The wind gusted occasionally, blowing a cooling breeze through the window. Hannah lifted her arms to cool her sweating armpits. She toyed with the thought of taking her wig off. It was then that a set of headlights strafed the field.

She watched the vehicle until she was certain it was coming closer. Then she thumbed her mike. "Heads up, guys. We have company. Looks like . . . military police coming to secure the lot."

"Roger," said Luther easily, but she could hear him running toward her. "Stay put. I'll be right there."

He jumped into the backseat with her just before the white sedan pulled alongside the truck. To Hannah's astonishment, Luther gathered her into a loverlike embrace. An MP got out of the sedan and walked cautiously toward them, illuminating the interior of the truck with a flashlight. Hannah and Luther blinked into the glare, playing the part of lovers caught unawares.

"You
two are in a restricted area," said a female officer. Stepping closer, she panned the flashlight around briefly, not seeing the headset Luther had kicked under the seat along with Hannah's. Nor could she tell that Luther's gun was wedged between the front seat and the door.

"Sorry, Sergeant," Luther said with a sheepish smile. "Just looking for a little privacy."

"Yeah, well, get a room," said the woman, unsympathetic. "Can I see your IDs?"

Luther sighed and dug into his back pocket, releasing Hannah who pretended to search for her purse. "Oh, I left my purse back at the club with Janie," she cried.

The sergeant frowned at her disapprovingly while casting an eye over Luther's identification. Her demeanor changed subtly as she no doubt took note of his rank. "Take yourself out of here, sir," she warned.

"Yes, Sergeant," he said, clambering out of the backseat to get behind the wheel. "You want to come up front, babe?" he asked Hannah.

She got stiffly out of the vehicle and into Westy's seat. Luther fired up the truck and waved at the MP before easing away.

"Don't ever call me babe again," Hannah warned him.

He threw her a quick grin. "Just wanted to see you bristle."

They drove until there was no way the MP could see them. Luther turned the lights off first, slowed to a halt in a grove of trees, and groped for his headset. "Westy, do you copy?"

"I'm at the back of the lot, sir. Found the vehicle. No need for the key. There's nothing here. Car's all torn up."

Hannah moaned, picturing her beloved Mustang shredded to pieces. "Did he look down by the hand brake?" she inquired.

Luther relayed the question.

"Roger, sir. Nothing there. If Valentino didn't find the notebook, then the Obradovitch woman found it."

"Copy. You need to head toward our location. I can't go back with the MP still around."

"I'm coming your way," Westy replied.

Luther gave him more specific directions, and in just a minute or two, Westy was opening the passenger door. "Oh, sorry, ma'am," he said, seeing Hannah there.

"I'll move."

"No, no. I'll take the back." He slipped into the rear seat, still breathing hard from his sprint across the field. "What now, sir?" he asked Luther.

Luther put the truck into drive and headed for the gate. "Back to Virginia Beach, I guess," he said, sounding disappointed.

"What about the copy in my office?" Hannah asked.

"Valentino had your office searched, remember? He didn't find it."

"He didn't know where to look," Hannah retorted, meaningfully.

Luther gave her a double take. "You think they missed it," he guessed.

"I know they did. And if we head into Boiling Air Force Base tonight, I can get us into the DIAC to look for it."

"Bad idea," said Westy in the backseat. He was scrubbing his face with a towelette. "I can guarantee you someone's just waiting for you to show your face at the office."

"Look, I'm as cognizant of the dangers as you are," Hannah argued, "but I'm not showing my face, am I? No one's going to recognize me in this getup."

"Then how do you propose to get in?" Luther asked. She could tell by his tone of voice that he didn't like the idea any better than Westy did.

"My godfather is the director, remember? I can ask him to escort us."

The men lapsed into thoughtful silence. "Valentino warned you not to contact any of your associates. How do we know your godfather isn't the Individual?"

Huggable, lovable Uncle Caleb? The thought was preposterous. But Hannah knew both men were right. This wasn't the best time to search her office. "So how are we going to prove Lovitt's crimes?" she asked.

"How much of the notebook's contents do you remember?" Luther asked.

"Some of it. I can tell you the types of weapons that were stolen and from where. Thing is, Ernie managed to connect Lovitt to each one of the thefts. He showed that Lovitt was informed of each SEAL mission in advance, making it possible for him to get to the interdiction sites first."

"Maybe we could do the work all over again," Luther suggested. "We have access to mission information at the Spec Ops building."

"Maybe," Hannah relented, "but it's going to take a while. How long before Lieutenant Renault's Article 32 hearing?"

"I don't know. His first meeting with the defense counsel is tomorrow. We'll bring you with us and you can tell the lawyer what you know. Maybe they can request a delay, give us some time."

"We'll need it," Hannah said.

They slowed at the gate, holding a collective breath as the Marine on duty eyed their vehicle. To their mutual relief, he waved them through.

Whether disappointed by their failure to find the notebook or depressed at the thought of her car totaled, Hannah slouched in the seat, weary to the bone.

"Why don't you put the seat back and close your eyes?" Luther suggested as she lifted her glasses to rub her eyes.

Westy shifted his legs to give her more room.

"Thanks." She put the seat back, curled onto her side, and pretended to sleep. The hum of the tires filled her ears.

A long time later, she overheard Luther speaking to Westy in a hushed voice. "Chief, you think we could all stay at your place for a while?"

"No problem. Guess your house is still empty, huh?"

"Yes," said Luther on a dampening note.

Hannah pricked her ears. There were overtones to this conversation that she wasn't understanding.

"Shouldn't have let Veronica run off with everything," Westy said. "It was your money she spent on it."

"Thanks for reminding me."

An odd sensation swept through Hannah as she lay there, eavesdropping. Veronica. So, she'd been right; Luther had suffered a recent breakup.
Wife or girlfriend?
she wondered, though it really didn't matter, did it?

Holding her when she'd needed to be held was an act of kindness. He'd have done the same for anyone in need of reassurance.

She and Luther weren't together for romantic reasons. He was a defensive lineman standing between her and the faceless Individual that had come out of nowhere. The only thing they had in common was a mutual desire to make Lovitt answer for his crimes.

Sebastian was dressed completely in black: black boots, black slacks with zippered pockets, a long-sleeved black T-shirt, and black gloves. He didn't need face paint. Thanks to his Mexican heritage, his skin was brown; his wavy hair was black as pitch. He didn't worry that the two sailors stumbling past him en route to the elevator would even see him. After twenty-two years as a SEAL, Sebastian had perfected the art of blending into shadow.

But never alone.

Still, this needed to be done. If they could show that Miller hadn't killed himself, that Lovitt had ordered him silenced, it just might tip the scales of suspicion in Jaguar's favor.

Regrettably, Sebastian had to break the law himself to get the evidence they needed. Jason Miller's regular entrance was roped off from the hallway with yellow security tape, the door double bolted. He couldn't get in that way.

The elevator doors closed with the late-night arrivals inside it. Sebastian stepped from his hiding place and onto the guardrail that ran the perimeter of the parking lot. He notched his gloves tighter and looked up.

Miller had enjoyed an ocean view on the fifth floor. Since the building's roof was secured, climbing from balcony to balcony, up the face of the building, was the only way in.

Praying that his forty-year-old body wouldn't betray him, Sebastian jumped. His fingers closed around the iron bars on the first balcony. Finding them rusty and easy to grip, he performed a chin-up and crooked his knee over the ledge, moving with stealth to avoid unwanted notice by the room's occupants.

By the time he clambered over the railing of the fifth-floor balcony, his fingers were stiff, his biceps shook with fatigue, and a light sweat had broken out under his T-shirt.

But he'd made it. Squatting by the sliding-glass door, Sebastian pulled a penlight from his pocket to examine the lock. What he saw drew a shiver up his spine. No need to put his lock-picking skills to the test, here. The catch on the door had been sawed in half.

Someone had come this way before him.

He reached into another pocket and extracted a compact digital camera used for reconnaissance. Since it relied on infrared light, there wasn't any flash to betray him. The military police on Dam Neck were vigilant, cruising the empty streets below. Sebastian took a picture of the compromised lock, stood up, and slid the door open.

A heavy curtain blocked the entrance. He skirted it and found himself in a dark living room. The putrid odor of stale organic matter assaulted him. It was quiet inside, the pulsing roar of the ocean muffled by the drapes.