formally interview you. I understand your protective instincts—”
“No, you don’t. Don’t use that bullshit with me.” He picked up his plate and cup and deposited them noisily on his way out the door. Amber sighed and picked up her own stuff.
As she set her dirty dishes into the bin and watched Tristan stride angrily from the building to his jeep, Amber took a deep breath. This case was turning out to be much more than she expected.
It was time to get tough, whether Master Sergeant Tristan Michaels liked it or not.
She was betting he wouldn’t.
Chapter Four
The man’s phone vibrated softly, and he answered.
“What’s the situation?” the voice said on the other end of the line.
“The woman—that NCIS woman. She’s going to be a problem and Michaels is suspicious. It’s clear to me.”
“Mayer screwed up. Bad.” He heard the clink of a cup. The man did like his tea.
He felt calm. He never panicked like the others when something went marginally wrong. He figured he was hardwired that way. In a hushed voice he said, “Hypothermia is a strange thing with victims removing all their clothes. Mayer froze to death without a scratch on him. I’ll accidently find his body when all this crap is over.”
“You’re a scary son of a bitch. Well, do what you need to do to protect our operation or I’ll have your ass. Talk to Carl,” the man on the phone said.
“He’s not going to like it.”
“Persuade him. You’re good at that.”
He chuckled. “I enjoy it.”
The man chuckled back. “That’s why I keep you around. We get what we want, and we make good money, so status quo. Squash this or we’re all going down, hard.” His words weren’t sharply spoken, but he felt their bite.
His eyes tracked an Apache helicopter as it took off from the field. The Marine Corps thought that he wasn’t soldier material. He hadn’t passed the psych test. Every branch of the service he’d applied for gave him the same answer. “I’ve got an idea. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure this doesn’t blow back at us.”
Who was smarter now?
“I want a name,” Tristan said as Amber opened the door and settled into his jeep.
Amber looked at him, her expression registering the lethal sound of his voice, the promise of violence in every syllable.
“I want a goddamned name!”
He gripped the wheel, his hands curling into fists. His gut churned as he thought that it was possible that someone could have deliberately ended James’s life. Someone could have pulled the trigger on that kid and taken him from the corps, from the service of his country, from his family and his girl, from the world he should still be living and breathing in.
“We’ll find out who did this. I’m not leaving until we do.” She pushed her hair back and said, “One look at that kid’s face and I was resolved to find out what caused his death. If he’s been murdered, someone will have to pay for that.”
James’s face so cold and still in death. Tristan braced his back against the leather seat, and the memory came at him like a demon, painfully sharp and so bright. He squeezed his eyes closed against it. He held himself rigid until every muscle quivered with the effort, but nothing stopped the memory from coming. It broke over him like a wave, washing away the present and dropping him back in time.
His breathing was harsh as he looked down at the row of dead lined up on the floor in the lobby of the bombed-out and bullet-riddled consulate in Banyan. He dropped down to one knee and removed the sheet from the face of the man beneath it.
He might not have failed his duty, but it felt like he goddamned had. The ambassador was dead.
“Looking at your handiwork, Marine?” A man loomed over him in an NCIS vest, his eyes cold and calculating. It was the beginning of the accusation that would haunt him for a year, until the corps had conducted their investigation and exonerated him. Given him back his stripes, his dignity and his sense of duty.
The hand on his arm jarred him back to the present.
“Tristan,” Amber said softly.
He didn’t want to be placated. He turned to her and bit out, “I won’t have them railroaded into anything. They’re all good boys and they have nothing to be ashamed of or to be blamed for. They were serving their country, learning new abilities to keep the US safe from harm. All those