Undercover Soldier Page 7

  It was getting dark outside. The ceiling light was on, backlighting and highlighting them, and that would make it too easy for anyone passing by to see in.

  The fact that the across-the-stream neighbor had taken out his boat before told Brody that others with no business here might also slip up the stream and see them. See Sherra.

  He quickly joined her and pulled the rust-colored draperies closed over the window.

  She turned to glare at him. “I even have to clear with you when I can enjoy the view of the water?”

  “For your safety, yes.”

  She visibly slumped. Bad idea, perhaps, but he took her into his arms.

  She laid her head against his chest. He felt her trembling. He reached down and used his hand to raise her chin just enough to kiss her soft, warm lips.

  Oh, yes, bad idea. Especially when he felt his body react, hardening and demanding more.

  She obviously felt it, too. She moved even closer, wriggling her hips to encourage him.

  He pulled away, and the sudden absence of contact was as brutal as if he’d doused himself with cold water.

  She blinked, and her lower lip extended as if she was preparing to bawl him out. Instead, she just shook her head again.

  “Okay, Mr. Bradshaw,” she said mockingly. “Guess we don’t have the best marriage, do we? Well, we both know how relationships can go south.”

  Brody was used to dealing with almost anything. Dangerous situations. Painful ones. Conversations, even difficult ones, were a piece of cake.

  So why did her attitude bother him?

  She returned to her seat on the sofa and lifted her wineglass, taking a long enough drink to nearly finish it. “Okay, time to tell me more. What happened to put us both in this situation? Why does the world, or most of it, think that Brody McAndrews is dead? Who was Brody Andrews, really? And what’s the story of your being undercover here, and—”

  He didn’t mean to, but he laughed. “National security forbids me from answering even one of those questions, let alone all of them, Sally. But in the interest of saving our fragile marriage, I’ll tell you what I can. As long as you promise that nothing I say will leave this room.”

  “Or you’ll have to kill me. I get it.” She said it lightly, then apparently remembered why they had dashed here in the first place—the man who had broken into her condo and tried to take her. Who might, in fact, have intended to kill her.

  She visibly swallowed. He wanted to hold her again. Instead, he took a seat beside her on the couch, so close that he felt her snuggle against his body. He stayed cool, or at least wanted her to think so. He did take her hand and hold it, resting it on her jeans—and her much too tempting thigh.

  “It’ll be all right, Sherra.” At her startled expression since he’d used her real name, he smiled. “Like I said, nothing can leave this room.”

  * * *

  “As you know, I was pretty gung-ho when I joined the military. I wanted to follow in the footsteps of my dad and brother.”

  Sherra didn’t move as Brody began to talk, not even to squeeze his hand a little tighter.

  His touch felt somewhat comforting, but she could have used more. Especially since she doubted she would like the story he was about to tell. Or that he would tell enough to allow her to understand everything that had happened.

  But what he was saying? Oh, yes, she knew how gung-ho he had been. It still hurt to think about it, let alone hear him say it.

  She merely nodded as he glanced at her as if to seek her confirmation.

  “You also know my background, majoring in business before entering the military.”

  “Yes, Brody.” She kept her voice level. “You don’t have to talk about your background. I haven’t forgotten a thing.”

  She didn’t look at him now, but instead stared at their clasped hands. A meaningless grip. They no longer had any connection that attached any significance to nearness, to touch. If it made it easier for him to talk to her, fine.

  But her listening, as necessary as it was, hurt like Hades.

  “Okay,” he acknowledged. For the next few minutes, he told her more things she already knew about his first days after induction into the military, how despite his having been in ROTC he required basic combat training, which he had received at Fort Jackson in South Carolina.

  “Hey, you know what?” he said before telling her anything of substance. “I need another glass of wine. I brought some fruit, too. Let’s get a snack.”

  “Okay.” She shook her head as he preceded her toward the kitchen. The light was dimmer there, but she enjoyed the outline of his tall, hard body.

  She didn’t like his ducking out when, she hoped, his story was about to get interesting.

  But she would give him time to restart it.

  And if he didn’t, she would give him a big push.

  Chapter 7

  Brody didn’t have to turn around to know Sherra was right behind him.

  Without looking at her, he pulled the bottle of aged red wine from where he’d left it on the kitchen counter, on tile more decorative than the patterned beige floor.

  Sherra was smart. She was perceptive. If he simply began talking about what it had been like to start his new life as an army lieutenant on the foreign, often hostile, soil of Afghanistan, she would know he was not only holding back from telling her anything of significance, but that he was also stomping down his emotions.

  He understood why so many comrades returned to the U.S. with post-traumatic stress disorder.

  If they returned at all.

  While deciding what and how much to tell her, he needed a break.

  Better yet, he needed to do his job. Part of it, at least.

  “Be right back,” he told Sherra, heading toward the nearest bathroom. She glared as if she knew it was just a ploy.

  The john was like the rest of this house. Although it probably started out nice for its time, it needed a lot of work now. At least the toilet, sink and shower all were functional. Brody had checked them out before Bill Bradshaw signed the lease.

  Now, in the bathroom with the door closed, he pulled his military-issue phone from his pocket and pressed buttons to connect him to his commanding officer, Captain Michael Cortez.

  Mike hadn’t initially been his C.O. when everything started to hit the fan in Afghanistan. When Brody learned what he had and started reporting it, he’d still kept his local officer in charge within the Army Corps of Engineers as his apparent C.O., but had officially and covertly been assigned someone out of D.C. who handled certain clandestine operations for the Department of Defense.

  Not that Captain Cortez’s resume mentioned that little item.

  “Hello, Bill,” Mike greeted him immediately. It wasn’t surprising that he used Brody’s current undercover appellation since he’d helped to establish it. “Everything okay in your delightful new digs?” Also unsurprisingly, Mike didn’t mention the area where those digs happened to be. Not that there was any reason to think the satellite phone connection was anything but secure, but why take any chances?

  “Just fine, Mike. I’ll send you a description of our trip here and how great this place really is in a little while.” In other words, Brody would send him a report about what had happened to precipitate the trip.

  A secure report, over an encrypted internet connection.

  “Anything else I need to know?” his C.O. asked.

  “I was going to ask you the same thing. I’ll start my remodeling project here tomorrow. Soon as I get a sense for timing and difficulty, I’ll want to talk to our contact who commissioned the work.” Translation: Brody would want to talk to one of Mike’s trusted superiors within the Department of Defense, who knew his background and had sanctioned the clandestine operation in which Brody participated.
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br />   Mike, and therefore his higher-ups, knew there’d been a security breach by someone hacking internet connections—a huge no-no. But taking official action against Sherra would have blown Brody’s cover even faster, and given credence to the fact that there actually was an operation in effect.

  “I think we can manage that,” Michael said. “Anything you need right now that I can help with?”

  “No, but I’ll let you know.”

  “Great. Now, be sure to do a good job, Bill.” Michael ended the connection. Brody didn’t have to translate that.

  He needed to ensure that the hacker he had come after—Sherra—stayed under control. He also had to secure his cover here, along with Sherra’s.

  Only then could he get back to his real, critical, assignment.

  * * *

  Sherra had returned to the kitchen to wait for Brody to emerge from the bathroom. But she hadn’t stayed there for the entire time he was gone.

  Now, she sat at the small kitchen table, her latest glass of wine half gone. She had extracted a presliced fruit salad from the fridge and some of it now sat in a bowl in the center of the table. She had set places for both of them—small plates, napkins and forks.

  For a moment, she had even felt domestic. But appearances could be deceiving, even to the person who created them.

  When Brody came through the door, she looked up, smiled and waved him to the place opposite her. “This is good fruit, Bill. Have you tried it yet?”

  “No, but it looks good.” He had appeared wary as he came in, a now-familiar expression. It wasn’t one he had used when they had known each other before. He had been open in both what he said and how he looked.

  She hadn’t always liked what was on his mind, but at least he hadn’t tried to hide anything.

  She only wished that the suspicion on his face made him look terrible, but it didn’t. In fact, it enhanced the maturity of his appearance after their years of separation. He had always been one handsome guy. Now, he looked even better with the additional cragginess and deeper set to his amber eyes.

  Once he was seated and helped himself to fruit, Sherra said casually, “I never asked before, but do you have conversations with your private parts, Br—er, Bill?”

  His startled expression almost made her laugh. “What are you talking about?”

  “I happened to pass by the bathroom while you were there.” A lie, of course. It had been her destination, or at least the hallway outside it was. “I heard you talking, and no one else was in there, right?”

  He glared. “Were you eavesdropping? I’m sure you know I was on the phone.”

  She nodded shrewdly. “Yeah, I guessed. Who were you talking to?” When he remained silent, she said, “Gee, Bill, if you want this marriage to last you need to be honest with me. Forthcoming. Tell me everything.”

  “Even the best relationships allow for some secrets,” he growled back.

  She was glad he believed that. There was one more secret she was keeping from him. A minor one, yes. But he wouldn’t like it.

  He relaxed a little and seemed to relent. “I was talking to someone who helped me get the project I’ll be working on while we’re here,” he said. “Remodeling another house.”

  “This one could use it,” she observed.

  “Not while we’re living here.” He took a bite of cantaloupe and chewed it slowly. She liked to watch his expression as he seemed to savor it.

  She still liked to watch him, damn it. Especially now, after believing he was dead—and learning he was very much alive.

  She had to take back control of her attitude. She demanded, in a tone that was too harsh, “We’re here, Brody. And alone. And yes I know I called you Brody—on purpose. If you rented this place as part of your cover, whatever it’s about, I’m sure you’ve had it checked for bugs and all that. So it’s finally time. Tell me what’s really going on.”

  * * *

  Brody poured more wine from the bottle now on the table between them. Then he helped himself to more fruit. All that gave him a few more seconds to consider what to say next.

  Sherra was right. He had prepared everything necessary to allow himself to get into explanations with her—at least externally.

  He just preferred not to talk about Afghanistan, what had gone on there. What had precipitated his assignment here.

  Because it involved deaths of several people, including his bud Brody Andrews.

  It should have been him. Not that he wallowed in guilt. In fact, he was glad to be alive.

  But Brody Andrews had deserved to live, too.

  And right now, like it or not, Sherra was also involved—immersed up to her lovely brown eyes in garbage that should never have surrounded her. Even though she had brought it on herself…because of him.

  She had once been more than a bud, too. Way more. And her current involvement was, indirectly, a result of that.

  That meant he couldn’t quite obliterate his feeling of self-blame about the danger around her now. But he wouldn’t let it stand in the way of fulfilling his mission—and making sure that the peril facing Sherra disappeared without harming her.

  Even if he had to continue to annoy her. And to remind himself of his own annoyance.

  “Come on, Brody.” Sherra’s voice from across the table sounded irritated. “I can see your thoughts scrolling all over your face. But until you talk to me I can’t interpret them. So, talk to me.”

  He had been staring at his wineglass, but he looked up at Sherra. He didn’t think he was in any mood to laugh, but he found himself chuckling at her words. “Here I thought you could read my moods, even my thoughts.”

  She popped a grape into her mouth, her eyes never leaving his. “That was years ago, when we were only half strangers, not whole strangers like today.”

  That shouldn’t have bothered him, but he hadn’t considered himself a stranger at all to Sherra—not before.

  He didn’t contradict her, though. Instead, he decided it was, in fact, time to comply.

  He poured himself a little more wine. “Okay,” he finally said. He placed the filled glass back on the tabletop and settled back on the uncomfortably worn chair.

  “Here’s what I can tell you.” He ignored her frown at his reservation of the right not to reveal all. “You and I—well, we didn’t talk much about my military goals, but I’d zeroed in on the Army Corps of Engineers. After I graduated from college and entered the military, I took the corps’ BOLC—Basic Officer Leadership Course—and was given stateside assignments after my initial training. Eventually, I was sent to Afghanistan to work on construction projects. The idea was to help build infrastructure and get other development projects started while hiring Afghani people to teach them and to promote stability in the area.”

  Sherra nodded. “Makes sense. Did you enjoy it?”

  “Yes…and no. The thing is, we have to rely on civilian contractors for a lot of what goes on there. We hire U.S. companies with a presence to do a lot of the work and instruction of locals. I…well, when I started, I was a bit naive. I was involved with supervision on behalf of the corps. I expected top performance by everyone involved.”

  Her dark eyebrows rose. He couldn’t quite read her expression. Disbelief in his credulousness, or sympathy? He hoped it was both.

  “I take it that you expected too much,” she said.

  “You could say that. Don’t get me wrong. Some contractors were amazing in all they took on and accomplished. But—well, even though there are quite a few good contractors, there’s also a lot of contractor corruption. Payoffs to locals not to sabotage projects is sort of understandable. But bribery and vastly overcharging the government, stuff like that is inexcusable.”

  She smiled. “That’s made the news here at home a lot. Apparently it’s rampant. Were you really surp
rised?”

  He shrugged one shoulder and snagged some more fruit. He wasn’t hungry, but the distraction of eating made this conversation slightly easier. “Not really. I just didn’t like it. And then…well, let’s just say I found my attention zeroing in on one contractor who seemed to be doing the worst job of all. I went through appropriate channels to report what I observed and suspected.” He couldn’t go into detail, but some of the appropriate channels had issues.

  His tone must have divulged something to Sherra. “What were they doing, Brody? What happened?”

  He stayed silent, deciding where to go from there.

  But Sherra spoke again. “That was what went wrong, isn’t it? Something about that contractor? And before you deny it, please be honest. What you say won’t go any further than between us, Brody. I promise.”

  He wasn’t at all startled by her perceptiveness. She was one of the smartest people he had ever met. That had been one of the things that had attracted him to her.

  That and her sexiness.

  Right now, he had to trust her as much as she had to trust him. Besides, who would she contact with the information he gave her?

  “I’ll tell you what I suspected,” he said. “I found indications that the contractor was paying bribes to get work, and to ensure that those supervising its quality and completeness looked the other way.”

  “Really? Did someone try to bribe you?”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “Not so I could prove anything, but that was definitely my impression. I tried to follow the chain of command and let the right people know my suspicions. But I had no proof, nothing tangible. And local members of the contractor’s staff that I talked with—well, they’d been at it for a while, knew how to phrase things so even when I gave chapter and verse of who said what it all just sounded like…maybe that I’d been hinting to receive bribes and was after payback when I got none.”

  He stood abruptly. Damn. Thinking about this after so much time, after he’d finally gotten the attention of the right powers-that-be…it shouldn’t still burn him inside this way.

  It probably wouldn’t, of course, if that whole damned situation hadn’t blown up in his face. Literally.