Navy Justice. Geri Krotow

unknown, but the possibility of a homemade bomb hasn’t been ruled out. NCIS at NAS Whidbey reports that they are receiving many anonymous tips and that they will follow up on all of them. No body has been recovered at the scene, but officials have received indications that there was at least one victim.” The reporter droned on with no further details as to why a “bomb” had gone off in the middle of the water off Whidbey Island.

      With one of their colleagues missing and Brad gone, as well, what would the domestic terrorists do now? None of the cell members he’d met had struck him as overflowing with initiative.

      They’re just the puppets.

      He knew it was always a possibility—that bigger forces were manipulating events, to make them look like simple homegrown terrorists. That was why he’d been sent in. To figure it out.

      Technically, he’d failed on a basic mission. Infiltrate the enemy. Observe, collect information and report back. Instead, he’d been backed into taking one of them out and bringing the entire undercover op to a halt. He’d reviewed the timeline over and over during the past two hours, and he kept coming up with the same result. If he hadn’t acted, the SAR efforts could be for Navy pilots. His hunger dissolved, and the chicken breasts suddenly seemed as appealing as cardboard. Only years of training carried him through the task of preparing a substantial protein-rich meal.

      As the meat sizzled in Joy’s unmarred pan in her too-clean kitchen, he forced himself to regroup.

      Brad thought he’d experienced it all when he served as a SEAL for fifteen years. The fear, excitement, pride in a job well-done—all those emotions were as familiar to him as his uniform.

      It was a sad day for him when he left the active-duty Navy, although he’d known it was time for him to transfer to the reserves. His body had had enough of the sleepless nights while on mission, enough of the wear and tear of hauling a hundred pounds of gear through places so remote he was sure another human being wouldn’t leave a footprint there for at least a century afterward.

      By the time he’d left for good, a full year after he’d finished all his spec ops, he’d been disillusioned, betrayed by his blind faith in his career and the illusion that he had a personal life.

      When his ex-fiancée was brutally murdered in the suburbs of Virginia Beach while he was only twenty minutes away in Norfolk, he’d been afraid that somehow the bad guys from downrange had found him. That they’d sought out a soft spot, a way of retaliating for defending Farid. He’d been working alongside Joy Alexander at the time of Marci’s death, and Joy had provided a failsafe alibi.

      He wouldn’t—couldn’t—have done it differently. Farid had helped convict the man who’d betrayed not only Brad’s SEAL team but also an entire village. Within hours of Farid’s being freed, Marci had been murdered. Despite his paranoia, the two weren’t connected, except in Brad’s heart. And his suspicious, overworked, war-weary mind.

      Guilt sliced into his gut whenever he thought about Marci. None of the counselors or his superiors had been able to convince him that he couldn’t have prevented her death.

      He’d become involved with her initially because he was still in rescue mode; it was how he’d operated as a younger man. He’d wanted to save Marci from the shitty family she’d grown up in, but when her prescription drug habit had gone beyond the recreational phase, he lost any sense of control over her addiction. He’d found her passed out countless times from her favorite cocktail—Xanax and Pinot Grigio—and after a wrenching soul search, he’d had to end the relationship.

      As painful as it’d been to tell her he was leaving and why, she’d shown no remorse.

      In fact, within weeks Marci connected with someone else—a man who could be there every night for her and love her without the drama and strain Brad’s lifestyle inevitably brought to their relationship. Turned out her new boyfriend was also an addict and got her hooked on what led to her murder.

      Heroin.

      The death had been ruled a homicide by stabbing. In fact, Marci’s throat had been slit with one of Brad’s deadliest knives. He hadn’t realized she’d stolen the weapon until it was too late. She’d probably taken it to trade for more drugs.

      The killer had almost certainly been her drug dealer. Because of the knife, Brad could easily have been implicated in the murder, but since he was with Joy at the time, he was cleared. He’d had a solid alibi—Joy Alexander and her entire staff. They’d shared dinner with the JAG team the night after they’d closed both cases successfully.

      If he’d ended it earlier with Marci, and if Marci had lived, would he have sought out Joy sooner?

      He’d never know.

      He flipped the chicken and watched it sizzle as he told himself he needed to eat, but his hunger had disappeared. He told himself that he wouldn’t lead Joy into any deadly traps if he could help it.

      Joy’s home phone rang and he stilled, listening to see if he could tell where it was coming from. He noticed the caller ID the minute he found the phone on the far kitchen counter. It was a local number, the name unfamiliar to him. He waited for it to go to voice mail.

      “It’s me. Don’t pick up, and don’t stress. I’m using a friend’s cell phone. Just make sure you delete this right away. I got onto the base, and I should have the files we need by tomorrow, or the day after at the latest. We’re putting other people at risk here, and we’ll have to work fast once we have the data. I’ll be home by six if my new job goes as I expect it to.”

      Joy hung up and the machine immediately blinked that she had a new message. Brad played it once more before he deleted it.

      He wished it was that easy to wipe out his feelings for her. He couldn’t go through another relationship that went nowhere. Joy was in nesting mode; she’d gotten out, bought a place and made it hers. The furniture, the plants, all the art on the walls...

      His work would never allow him to settle down, much less include a partner in his life. It was too risky.

      Joy deserved better.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      “THAT WAS QUICK.” Serena Delgado, the firm’s most recent hire before Joy, spoke from her desk, which was positioned across from Joy’s. They shared a spacious office set off by rich wood trim and a startling view of the Cascade Mountains.

      “It was a simple last-minute crossing of t’s and dotting of i’s. You know, medical stuff.” Joy held back a grimace at her clumsy cliché. “They’ll probably call me in again over the next day or so. The Navy moves at its own pace.”

      Serena typed on her keyboard before replying. “My experience was more with the Army, but from what I’ve seen on base when my son or I go to the clinic for our medical care, the Navy is pretty efficient.”

      Was that a tone of disbelief? A glance at Serena allayed Joy’s paranoia. Serena had a large stack of files at her elbow, eyes glued to her computer screen. She was just making small talk to help Joy feel welcome.

      Joy hated lying, and Serena’s generosity made her guilt that much worse.

      I’m going to hell for this.

      “I agree with you about their efficiency, but separating from the Navy is an administrative function with a lot of hoops to jump through. Just when I think I’m done, I get another phone call to come in and take care of yet another piece of paperwork.”

      “I know all about military red tape and paperwork, trust me.” Serena’s attention was entirely on Joy.

      “Oh?”

      “My husband was killed on active duty. In the war. The Army was wonderful to us, but the process was long. If I hadn’t had such a good CACO, Pepé and I would still be waiting for our benefits to kick in.” Serena referred to the Casualty Assistance Calls Officer,