Hot SEAL, Heartbreaker - Cat Johnson Page 0,38
the sand on his skin. He’d done too many sugar cookies there—a cute name for the instructors’ favorite BUD/S torture. He couldn’t sigh over its beauty now.
He turned his full attention back to the happy couple. “So, how’d you two meet?”
“Funny story . . .” his mother began.
“Isn’t it always though?” Brian smiled, thinking a man who was after what little his mother had would come up with some adorable meet-cute. All part of the MO.
“It was at the liquor store actually,” Dale supplied.
Ah, so that was it. Dale was a drunk. He wouldn’t be the first one of those his mother had dated.
“They were having a wine education class. And out of the dozen or so participants, Rita and I were partnered up,” Dale continued.
His mother looked lovingly at Dale. “It was serendipity.”
“It was,” he agreed, while Brian wanted to barf.
“Welcome. Can I get you something to drink?” the middle-aged male server asked.
“Can I see a wine list, please?” Dale asked.
He prepared himself for the man to try to show off his wine expertise. He was going to need some alcohol in his system to deal with that. “Beer, please.”
The man rattled off a list of brands. He settled on one and turned back to Dale, who still had his nose buried in the leather portfolio containing the wine list.
“So, Dale, what do you do for a living?”
Dale looked up. “Actually, I’m happily living a life of leisure.”
“Oh?” His eyes narrowed.
“He retired last year from the airline,” his mother supplied.
Or so he said . . .
“Did you? Which airline is that?”
“American. Twenty-five years I was with them.”
“Doing?” he prompted.
“I was the Executive Vice President in charge of communications.”
That explained why he was such a smooth talker.
“Dale flew us out here for free.” His mother squeezed Dale’s arm as she said it.
Dale nodded. “Yup. One of the perks of retiring from a position in executive leadership at an airline.”
“Of course,” he agreed, even if he didn’t have any clue about it. Which was dangerous.
This man could be selling his mother a load of bull and Brian wouldn’t know how to disprove it.
Maybe he could find something online—
“Brian, you and Dale have something in common,” his mother began.
“Oh?” he asked.
She nodded. “Dale was in the military too.”
“Were you now?” Brian’s heart sped as he prepared to nail Dale to the wall. If he dared to lie about his service, he’d catch him.
“Air Force. Did my twenty and retired.”
“Where’d you serve?” he asked, leaning forward, ready to pounce.
“A few places but my favorite, and where I was when I retired, was Hickam.” Dale turned toward Brian’s mother. “I can’t wait to show you Hawaii.”
“Dale’s taking me to Oahu after we leave here. It was a surprise. For my birthday.” She gazed into the man’s eyes.
Meanwhile, Brian’s brain spun, doing the math to see if it was possible this guy could do twenty years in the Air Force and then put in twenty-five at the airlines.
That would put him in his mid-sixties. He supposed the guy could be that old. Though he looked damn good for his age.
He went on to search his brain for who he might know who could get him military records on Dale.
“Brian?”
He glanced up to find his mother staring at him. “Yeah?”
“Dale asked if you’d like wine with dinner or if you’ll be sticking with beer?”
“Beer is fine. Thanks.”
Dale nodded and gazed up at the waiter he hadn’t noticed reapproach. “We’ll start with the one bottle then and move on from there.”
“Does anyone know what they’re ordering yet?” his mother asked.
He had yet to open his menu. It sat in front of him next to his yet untouched beer, so he answered, “Not yet.”
Dale smiled. “Order anything you want, son. Tonight’s my treat.”
At that, his mother gazed at Dale with such blind devotion Brian could feel his blood pressure rising.
“Thanks,” he managed to reply through clenched teeth.
Son. His treat.
He was so going to nail this guy to the wall the moment he found some evidence against him. He just needed a name. Later, when Dale wasn’t around, he’d ask his mom his last name. Say he might know some of the same people in Hickam or some shit like that.
Then, if—when—he caught this guy in a lie, he’d tear him a new one.
He couldn’t wait.
NINETEEN
The original voicemail sat, unopened, there on Alicia’s cell phone. But now it was accompanied by another, also unopened, also from her ex.
Alicia was usually on her phone all day. Checking social media or