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She was the kind of woman Casey would approve of. I had no doubt about it.
I fell asleep with the letters and pictures of Miranda on the bed beside me, the television still on, talking heads on the news network droning on and lulling me to sleep.
I spent the next week trying to get up to speed with Graham’s work, sitting in his chair, working on his computer, and it didn’t make me feel nostalgic. It made me angry. As soon as I could find another partner or some interim funding to tide Brimstone over, I’d be shutting down the war tourism part of the business.
It got Graham and a civilian killed so as lucrative as it was, I intended to close that part of the business down permanently.
My week was full of meetings with various clients, providing them with my hastily written proposals – work that Graham started but never got the chance to finish. He was the expert in war tourism, not me. He had all the contacts with people in war-torn areas of the globe where business men who had too much time on their hands and not enough adrenaline wanted to go for their ‘vacation’.
Rich boys who wanted to play at being a warrior, or at least see a few dead bodies while they rode from Western hotel to Western hotel in HUMVEES, drank their hundred-dollar bottles of wine and talked about the stock market. It wasn’t my idea of a noble pursuit, so as soon as I could, I’d wrap up that side of the business and send Graham’s contacts to one of our competitors. It wasn’t as if I could just find another partner like Graham. Men like him were few and far between.
No, I decided to find someone who was not into the war tourism business. I wanted someone who could augment my own field of military communications tech, or maybe someone with both military experiences – preferably in special operations forces – and a Masters or PhD in economics or political science who could advise clients on the political situation in various parts of the world where they wanted to located their off-shore factories.
I had to start over again now that Graham was gone.
I met with Casey later that night for a drink and then dinner. I needed a sounding board and wanted to talk to her about my company.
“So, what’s up with your finances?” she asked as we sat at the bar in her neighborhood. “You gonna be able to make things work?”
I nodded. “I think so. I’m going to sell the old brownstone I own near here. It needs a lot of work, but it should bring me a nice sum that should tide the business over.”
“Good,” she said and held up her glass of bourbon. “That’ll take some of the stress off. You look terrible, by the way.”
“Thanks,” I said with a sardonic laugh. “Always nice to hear. I haven’t been sleeping well for the past couple of weeks.”
“You need to get laid,” Casey said.
“Tell me about it,” I said, although I didn’t mean it. Some men lost themselves in pussy. Others, me included, focused on business instead. “I have an interesting little intrigue going on.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Oh? Do tell…”
I told her about the letters that I found when I went to the brownstone. I didn’t tell her about my little trip to Topsail Beach to return the letters and the fact I didn’t when I had the chance. I felt guilty enough on my own without having Casey hound me.
Casey nodded. “You think your stuff got mixed up
?”
I shrugged. “My legal name is Daniel. The letters were addressed to Dan and there was no name on the letters from the woman. All she had as a signature was Love, me. They probably thought they were my letters.”
Casey downed her drink. “That’s tough, man. Was he in the accident, too?”
“Yes,” I said and nodded for Casey knew about my accident, although she didn’t know any details except that it was classified. “He was one of the men killed when the chopper we were in went down in a storm.”
“That sucks,” she said, nodding her head in understanding. “It’s hard to lose people. Something you never really get used to.”
We sat in somber silence for a few moments, and I examined the glass of bourbon in front of me. I’d lost too many people. Some were fellow Marines who were out on missions with me when I was in the service. Others, like Graham and Sue, were close friends or lovers. The man who stood side by side with me in battle. The woman I thought I would marry.
I exhaled heavily, my breath ragged. I was more tired than I realized.
“You really should come to group grief counseling with me, Beckett. You sound like you need it.”
I shook my head. “I need to sell the brownstone and get a new partner. Then, I’ll be fine.”
“Stubborn bastard,” she muttered.
I nodded. Stubbornness was a fault of mine. I drank down the rest of my bourbon and knocked the glass down on the bar. The bartender came right over and poured me another one. Tonight felt like a night to get drunk.
“Get drunk with me?” I turned to Casey, whose large brown eyes were all sympathetic.
