out because he’d had watch duty. When they reached the body, Shea took over. Moving away, she made a call on her phone and thirty minutes later, Mak Ballentine showed up with Kai Talbot, and ten minutes after that, a forensic team.
They took evidence and bagged the body, removing it from the area. Then he found himself in the BUD/S classroom with Kai, Mak, Shea and Max.
“What’s going on?” Hemingway said.
“I’m not a videographer. I’m an undercover NCIS agent assigned to find New World Order terrorists who have infiltrated BUD/S.”
And with those words, she totally upended and complicated not only his training, but his relationship with her. Experiencing a hot, searing rush to his belly, Hemingway clenched his jaw. Somehow, he’d known she wasn’t just a videographer. The questions she’d been asking, the way she was scrutinizing everyone, those eyes were cop eyes, observing everything.
“Did you see anyone?” Shea asked, giving him a steely-eyed stare, something he realized an NCIS agent like her perfected as a matter of survival.
It took him a moment to gather his composure, blank his features, bank the anger and try to get his mind around being used. Maybe this public thing was between them, but the personal was just for them alone.
“No,” he said. “I didn’t see anyone. I heard something that woke me up. Thumps, angry voices. I can’t be sure.” He ran his hand over his stubbled hair. “What does this have to do with Hennessey?”
“We think he was going to spill the beans tonight. He DOR’d thirty minutes before you found his body,” Max said.
“After he cleared out his barrack room, he was supposed to meet me and Max at Hotel del Coronado,” Shea added.
“You think he was one of the terrorists?”
“Yes, and we think he was murdered because he was going to talk.”
Hemingway closed his eyes, thinking immediately of Hennessey, how funny he had been, how hard he had tried, how he had looked at times like the world was on his shoulders. Hemingway had just chalked that up to the weight they all carried and how much this meant to all of them. But Hennessey, and evidently other members of his class, were traitors to America, part of an organization that didn’t believe in the laws of the country and wanted nothing but revenge for the people they’d lost.
“I can’t believe this. I can’t believe they got in, let alone passed the psych evals.”
“There are a great many people who can fool just about anyone. They’re good actors, some might even believe what they’re doing is just. They trained for this at a camp built for infiltration. It’s my job to make sure none of them makes it to graduation,” Shea said.
“Is there anything else you can tell us?” Mak said.
“Yes,” Hemingway said, suddenly remembering. “Wilson wasn’t in his bunk, but I can’t remember if he was supposed to stand watch.”
Max went over to his computer and tapped the keys. He stared at the screen avidly, then his mouth twisted. “Yeah, he was on watch. But I think he’s the ringleader. I’ll check in with security and make sure he was on duty at the time.”
“He’s not a team player at all—he’s surly and a freaking complainer. He doesn’t belong here. If anyone should ring out, it’s him,” Hemingway said.
Mak and Kai rose, and Mak said, “We’ll keep digging on our end. You watch your backs. All of you.” She and Kai left.
“Get some sleep, Sinclair,” Max said, then he too left.
The silence in the classroom was deafening.
“I should let you get back to bed. It’s late. We can talk later.”
She headed for the door and between one heartbeat and the next, his anger surged, and he pushed off the chair, heading for the parking lot. The cloud cover had dropped, and it had started to drizzle by the time he caught up to her.
He grabbed her arm and spun her. “Did you think I could be one of them?” he said fiercely.
“Now’s not the time—”
“Did you?”
She sighed and grumbled something under her breath. “Go back to the barracks and get some sleep. It is too late for this.”
She turned away but he came around her, not giving up.
She stared at him, then sighed softly again. “No. I didn’t.” Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, beads of rain soaking into the straight mass. That hairstyle exposed the long line of her throat, but some tendrils had slipped loose and now curled around her face and the back