Page 83 of The Deadly Shallows

“Well?” she asked.

“He still holds a lot of rage for those three.”

Brooke pulled her knees to her chest in the recliner. “I’m not surprised. During the trial, he insisted they’d left him holding the bag.”

“Hopefully I can glean more insight from the CGIS agent on Scott’s case.” Noah ran a hand through his hair. “It’s hard to imagine how Scott would have worked it out, but something about their deaths . . . It just feels . . .”

“Like they were targeted?” she asked, using his earlier words.

“Yeah.”

FORTY-TWO

An hour later, finally discharged, Noah walked beside Brooke as they made their way to the hospital lobby and out to the parking lot.

The brisk December wind fluttered her long brown hair about her shoulders, and he smiled at her attire—an emerald green sweater, open black jacket, and a simple pair of jeans, but she wore them like no other.

“Noah?”

“Yes?” He swallowed. Focus on her words and not her curves.

“You okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” He nodded. It was good to see her smile, to see her rested for the first time in days.

Reaching her two-seater ’63 Shelby Cobra, he held the driver’s side door open for her.

“Thanks,” she said, climbing in.

He dropped into the passenger seat and buckled up as Brooke started the car. Cold air blasted out of the vents.

“Yikes!” She turned it down to the lowest setting. “It usually takes a little time before it heats up.”

He looked over with a smile and held out his hand.

A blush crept over her still-swollen cheek. She placed her hand in his and interlaced their fingers.

She calmed his soul in a way no one other than God could.

He needed to tell her the truth before things progressed, though in unspoken ways, they’d progressed further in the last few days than they had during the previous months they’d spent together.

He surveyed their surroundings as she pulled out of the lot and onto the road—looking for a follow, for a white Sprinter van, for any hint of danger. He saw nothing, but that didn’t ease the tautness in his gut.

His cell rang, and he slipped it from his pant pocket. “Hey, Logan. How’s it going?” he asked as Brooke pulled onto the main road leading toward the station.

“Not good, I’m afraid,” Logan said.

Noah stiffened. “What’s wrong?”

“The police got a call from Petty Officer Macken’s neighbor, a Mrs. Nelson. Yesterday, Macken told Mrs. Nelson he’d stop over before his shift today to fix her leaky faucet. When he didn’t show and didn’t answer his phone, she went over to check on him. She knocked, but the door wasn’t fully shut. It swung open to reveal Macken dead ten feet from the door.”

“I’m on my way.”

Brooke arched her brows.

“Rissi and Mason are en route,” Logan said.

Noah disconnected the call and slipped his phone back in his pocket.