“El Mago ambushed your SEAL team in the jungle because of what you did.”
Julian remained quiet.
“I have unmistakable proof that you committed treason against the United States of America.”
“There is no proof,” Julian said, growing annoyed with her.
“Are you sure about that?” Dumay asked.
“What the fuck do you think you have?” Julian asked, his pulse quickening. He’d erased all traces of what he’d done in the jungle. Nothing was left behind that would implicate him. Testimony from El Mago’s team wouldn’t stand up in any naval court.
“An official U.S. Navy laptop assigned to Chief Petty Officer Julian Montgomery.”
“So what?” Julian forced the words from his mouth as his blood ran cold. He was sure he’d corrupted the files on the laptop. There wasn’t anything left on that computer to prove he’d handed over the location of a confidential informant to El Mago. There couldn’t be. Could there?
Dumay continued, “Corrupting files is a painstaking process. Very hard to do thoroughly, especially when you have four mutilated SEALs dying on the floor around you. In the best of circumstances, you probably wouldn’t have made the mistake you did, but saving that one SEAL that was still alive became your top priority, didn’t it? And you left the laptop behind. Very sloppy.”
“What do you want from me?” asked Julian, his mind racing. How the fuck did she know so much about what happened back then. Did the bitch really have his laptop? Or was she bluffing? He didn’t know, but he had to find out.
“I want to make a deal,” Dumay said.
“What kind of fucking deal?”
“Come to Anteroom F and find out,” Priscilla demanded.
Chapter Eleven
Stepping outside the witness holding room, Julian glanced quickly to his left and right, before darting down the back hallway that led to the anterooms behind the courtroom. No one was allowed back there except for the defendants, their attorneys, and the correctional officers assigned to guard them. Reaching the end of the narrow corridor, he glanced around the corner. Voices floated from the two anterooms closest to where he stood. No sign of guards. Nothing to stop him from getting to Anteroom F, where Priscilla Dumay was waiting for him.
With silent, quick steps, he approached the door.
Julian hesitated.
He’d always assumed the laptop had been lost or destroyed. Had he left some evidence behind on the laptop? Did Dumay really have it? Could he afford not to find out?
Julian slumped against the wall, the wood paneling pressing against his back. Head hung low, he monitored the empty hallway. The air was heavy with silence.
Four years ago, Julian wouldn’t have cared if the truth had come out. Hell, he probably would have been relieved to not carry the burden. Guilt had forced him into exile as he remembered every single mistake he’d made. Intercepting the communication between El Mago and the rebel group was exactly why they were in the region. The discovery should have been reported to his SEAL Team leader. But Julian had thought he knew better. He’d wanted to be the hero. To prove his old man wrong and show everyone that he could bring down one of the world’s most wanted shadow facilitators for terrorist groups.
Sabotaging the Navy’s efforts to protect the confidential informant, he’d used the informant’s location as bait. With no way of knowing when his SEAL team members would return, he’d convinced himself that he could take down El Mago on his own. The prospect was foolish and reckless in hindsight. A mistake that landed Broman in a coma and sent four members of his SEAL team to premature, unnecessary graves.
If there was even the slightest evidence of what he’d done on that laptop, it could destroy the life he and Mena were building together.
He wasn’t going to risk losing everything because of the mistakes of his past.
Whatever Dumay wanted, he would do it to get the laptop back.
Which made him no better than Dumay.
Disgusted, Julian reached for the knob and turned it slowly, pushing the door inward.
“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show up,” Priscilla said, her lips in a tight line and her green eyes hard and cold, laced with hatred.
“Where the fuck are your guards?” Julian said. Stepping inside the room, he closed the door behind him.
Priscilla’s legs were propped on top of the table, crossed at the ankles as she glared at him. The innocent, demure expression she’d projected to the jury was long gone. “The guards will come when I tell them to.”
She lowered her legs to the floor and waved a hand toward him.
