Hemingway - Zoe Dawson Page 0,85

again. Hemingway wasn’t sure he would ever want to repeat BUD/S for a second time. The guy was a damn good mechanic, he could find food and equipment where no one else would look, and amazingly, knew where he was without a compass. Dodger shoved a wad of banana and peanut butter into his mouth, and Hemingway thought, the guy’s a bottomless pit, never without some chow.

As the guys were fitting on their fins, Hemingway did a double take when the tiniest monkey he’d ever seen cautiously climbed over brush and debris. Dodger smiled and broke off a piece of the banana and offered it to the little guy, his fur short, black at the shoulders and golden on his back and limbs. He had a small, adorable face with black, curious eyes.

Shyly, he climbed onto Dodger’s large palm and took the piece into his miniscule hands and started to chomp into the banana.

Dodger looked up at Hemingway. “It’s a squirrel monkey. Isn’t he cute?”

“Are you done, there, National Geographic Explorer?” Fast Lane asked.

“Right, enough of this monkey business, mates. Time to swim with predators,” Dodger grinned.

Everyone chuckled low and headed into the water.

The Grove, San Diego, California

“I want that assignment, Rebecca.”

“It’s not an undercover mission, Shea.”

“I don’t care. I’m a trained NCIS agent. I can handle anything. I want it.” Rebecca rubbed her temples. “We both know that what I pulled off in Egypt was nothing short of a miracle. If those schematics had dropped into the wrong hands…”

“Yes, you recovered the stolen destroyer plans and we nabbed ourselves a traitor. Are you saying the Navy owes you?”

“Yes. It owes me. I saved countless lives. I’m proud to serve NCIS. Now let me do my job. Give me this because I’m asking you. I need this.”

“That’s what worries me.” Rebecca sat back in her chair, her eyes shrewd and alight with decision. “This has to do with your brother’s disappearance. Doesn’t it?”

“Those three men who are missing—Sergeant Brendan Hanson, Lance Corporal Thomas Schellenberg and Lance Corporal Joe Taggert. They were the ones who said Jason didn’t want to be a Marine. They insinuated that he deserted. They were lying through their teeth, but I had no way to prove it. I think they had something to do with Jason’s disappearance. Let me have this, Rebecca.”

“I know who they are better than you do.” She closed her eyes, her face looking haggard. “You have to take someone with you. That’s out of my hands.”

“Who?”

“Patrick Bates.”

Shea stiffened, her hatred and anger black and ugly inside her. But she was a master at not letting it show. She had to be careful. Rebecca wasn’t the head of this unit for nothing. She was smart, savvy, and almost damn near psychic.

Bates was the man who had taken everything from her. She almost had enough on him to get his attention. Almost had enough to lure him out and deal her own kind of justice. He was a traitor. He’d been involved with Maddy’s death. He might not have pulled the trigger, but he was the one who had ordered her killed. He had plenty to hide. “What? He’s a supervisory agent. What does he want with a mission to find and secure three Marines?”

“Sergeant Hanson is his nephew, so he has a stake in this, too. I’ve been overruled.”

It seemed that her family, and Bates’s were fated to intertwine. Now his nephew might have had a hand in Jason’s disappearance.

“There is something just short of ballistic about you, Shea. I’m getting vibes I don’t like.”

“What undercover agent do you have who doesn’t give off edgy vibes? Those are the ones you need to worry about.”

“Those are the ones who turn out to be homicidal maniacs.” Rebecca laughed softly. “We both know if you get emotional and it rules you, that’s a disaster waiting to happen.” She opened the bottom of her desk drawer and pulled out a bottle and two cut crystal glasses and poured. Pushing away from her desk, she came around where Shea was standing and deposited one of the glasses into Shea’s hand. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

Shea held her boss’s gaze, then in one swallow downed the scotch. It burned a warm glow all the way down to her gut. Two could play at that game and every undercover assignment had been her schoolhouse. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“You leave tonight, so get packed.”

Shea set the glass on the edge of the polished desk. She started to