Headed for Trouble - By Suzanne Brockmann Page 0,37

him when it came down to real life.

He didn’t seem to have any family, and although he appeared to be friends with the incredibly beautiful Sophia Ghaffari, he wasn’t friends in the Hey, mind if I drop by so we can lick chocolate off each other sense of the word.

And it was pretty obvious to Sam that Dave wished it were otherwise.

Jimmy Nash, a nutjob in his own right, was convinced that Dave was like the guy in that movie—a forty-year-old virgin—but Sam seriously doubted that. Although he wouldn’t be at all surprised to find out that old Dave hadn’t done the deed yet this decade.

It was, after all, only 2006. No need to rush things.

“Whoa,” Dave said again. “Alyssa definitely just activated the box.”

Sam looked up from the TV at the mention of his wife’s name. He looked at his watch, too. It was a little too early for her team to have reached the location of the oil tank. No way. Maybe if they’d been moving at a dead run, but … That wasn’t the plan. They couldn’t have gotten there yet.

“But it’s completely in the wrong place,” Dave added.

Sam moved his feet from the top of the desk to the floor. “Why would she do that?” he asked, standing up and moving across the suite, to look over Dave’s shoulder at his computer screen. His wife—their team leader—knew exactly where that oil tank was. “Maybe the box got switched on accidentally.”

Dave scratched his head. “I doubt it, sir. There’s a code she’s got to punch in to unlock the system. It couldn’t have been just bumped and turned on without someone knowing.”

“Is there a system malfunction?” Sam asked. “On our end?” His voice sounded terse, almost sharp, to his own ears, but Dave didn’t so much as flinch.

And indeed, there was concern in Dave’s eyes, too, as he glanced at Sam. “No, sir,” he answered unequivocally but then backpedaled. “I mean, okay. Yeah. I suppose there could be, but …” He was shaking his head.

“No.”

The hair on the back of Sam’s neck was standing up. Through the years, both as a SEAL and as an operative for Troubleshooters Incorporated, he’d learned to trust his gut instincts—or at least take them extremely seriously. He picked up the hotel phone, dialed Jimmy’s room number.

“Nash,” the man answered after only one ring.

He’d been on edge all night, hyper-aware that his fiancée, Tess Bailey, was out there in the world, without him tagging along as backup. Sam had finally sent him to his own hotel room.

“I need you back in here,” Sam ordered. “Decker, too. And see if Mark Jenkins is still in Lindsey’s room.” He hung up without waiting for Jimmy to respond.

“They’re definitely a half a klick from the tank,” Dave reported as he checked and rechecked both his computer and the program he was running.

There was a rap on the door, and Sam opened it. It was Nash—with Deck right behind him.

“Situation, sir?” asked Decker, who’d once been a chief in the SEALs. It was hard for him not to address the former naval officers in Troubleshooters with formality.In the same way, it was equally difficult for Sam and Tom not to call Deck Chief, especially in times of high stress.

“Alyssa activated the box in the wrong location,” Dave repeated the little that they knew, as Mark Jenkins, too, came into the hotel room, “and we don’t know why.”

Enough was enough. “Game over,” Sam said. “I’m calling this bullshit. Deck, get on the horn with the officer in charge over at Nachtgarten. Dave, break radio silence and raise Alyssa. I want to talk to her.”

If this meant that they needed to reschedule this drill, take a do-over on a different night, so be it.

Jenkins looked as if he’d rolled right out of bed, but he was waking up fast. He was still a SEAL with Sam’s old team—Sixteen. In fact, he’d served with both Sam and Tommy Paoletti, often as a radioman.

“I’m not getting through,” Dave reported, and Sam met Jenk’s gaze.

Sam nodded at the SEAL’s silent question. “Let Jenkins try,” he ordered.

One good thing about Dave—there was absolutely no ego involved in anything he did. He relinquished control of their radio without a single word of argument, moving back to his computer.

“Captain O’Reilly over at Nachtgarten insists that all possible entries into the drainage system are under armed guard,” Decker reported.

“Tell O’Reilly he’s a fucking idiot,” Sam shot back, “and that our team is already beneath his