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“So, we can’t say for certain that it’s his voice,” he said. “He didn’t leave a name or number, or any other identifier, so we have no proof as to who it was. It could be a disgruntled ex-employee or a wrong number.”
Jared slapped the desk. “You’re looking for reasons not to help her!”
Rita reached out and touched his thigh. “Jared, it’s fine,” she said softly. “I understand what the detective is saying. They can’t just arrest someone without cause.” She looked at Detective Drake. “Right?”
The man nodded and spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “It’s not that I don’t believe you,” he said. “It’s just that my hands are tied by the rules of our justice system. Your ex has rights, too.”
Rita stood. “Well, thank you for your time,” she said, and then she practically ran from the office.
“Thanks for nothing,” Jared spat at him and made to follow her.
“Wait!” Detective Drake stopped him and held out a business card. “If you hear from him, or he makes a threat of violence against her that can definitely be tied to him, call me.”
Jared didn’t want to take it, but Rita’s scared face and wide eyes had him reaching out for the card. “Thanks,” he muttered and followed her path out of the station.
He found her on the sidewalk, face in her hands; her shoulders shook from the force of her tears. Jared pulled her into his arms and rubbed at her back. “It’s going to be okay,” he said. “I’m going to look after you. I promise.”
Rita wiped at her eyes and looked up at him. “Can we go home? I want Casey.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead and tried to ignore the little thrill he felt when she called his placehome. Now wasn’t the time for that. “Absolutely.”
13
Jared was smiling. Again. Wet weather put most of their plans for the nonprofit house reno on hold, and Casey was going stir crazy stuck in the house. Jared sat on the couch, watching Rita attempt to keep the dog entertained with a game of find the squeaky toy, and her laughter was so sweet that it was making his chest ache. He had never thought he could feel this way about another woman again. “How’s Keanie holding up? Chad driving her crazy yet?”
Rita glanced at him. “She told me that she misses her roommate. She can’t wait for us to move back in together.” She shrugged. “I’m not sure that’s going to work out, though.”
Jared beamed. They’d moved all her stuff over to his house so that Jared could keep an eye on her while they figured out what to do with her ex. But ever since they’d traded ‘I love you’s,” the conversation about making this arrangement permanent had come up more and more. While he hated the circumstances that had led to her moving in, he wasn’t mad at the outcome. He just wished there was something that they could actuallydo.After going to the police turned out to be a bust, Jared had asked her if she wanted him to put in some calls with the few contacts he still had in the SEALs, but Rita had wanted to let it go. If Tuck stayed away, good. If he came anywhere near her, the police would handle it. Jared didn’t like sitting on his hands, but he also didn’t want to push her. Now that they were living together, he saw more of the effects of her past than he had before. She flinched at loud noises; she apologized for things that she had no control over. He didn’t want to add to her anxiety and trauma by forcing her to give in to his preferences when it came to dealing with the situation.
“Maybe it’ll give her the push to move in with her own man,” he said.
Rita pointed a finger at him. “You said a mouthful there.”
They shared a laugh, and Jared heard his phone beep. Looking down, he saw a text message from a blocked number waiting for him. Curious, he checked to see what the message said. It was one word. “Outside.” Standing, he slipped on his shoes and headed for the door, calling out to Rita as he left that he would be right back.
Stepping out the front door, he looked around as he walked to the end of his driveway. Across the street, a male figure was leaning against a car. Gavin Davis. If he were to stand up straight, he’d be nearly six-four. Jogging across the street, Jared stopped on the sidewalk in front of a fellow former SEAL. An old friend, of sorts. “Davis. What brings you out this way? Thought you said you’d never step foot in San Diego again.”
“I’ve got some bad news.”
Jared nodded. “Do you want to come inside?” He motioned back at the house. “I’ve got beer in my fridge.”
Davis seemed to consider it, but then ultimately shook his head. “Let’s head into the park.” He motioned for Jared to look down: his left foot was a prosthetic. “I’m still figuring out how to use this thing—I could use the practice.”
“Shit, what happened, man?”
Falling into step together, both men did their best not to appear to limp as they trekked over the grass. As they walked, Jared surveyed his friend. It was hard to believe that Davis had been out of the military for fifteen years. He looked to be as healthy and as young as he did when the two became Navy SEALs together. “Chemical fire at the plant I worked for,” he explained. “Took everything from the knee down.”
“Jesus, I’m sorry.”
Davis shrugged. “Shit happens, right?”
The five years that Jared spent as a SEAL after Davis’s retirement had been difficult. Davis was their strategist; he was always able to predict the best course of action and had an uncanny ability to predict enemy movements. While he wasn’t the best at verbal communication, he had kept the team safe and on target. It had been Jared’s job to mediate when his friend would push things too far. They’d made a good team, and for most of the time when they were together, their mission plans were well-thought-out and successful, with limited casualties. Then, something happened that set Davis off. Suddenly, casualties were cropping up in every mission. What was once a well-oiled team was slowly whittled away as members were injured or killed. A mission to extract a potential informant resulted in three dead, including the informant.
Davis’s contracted time was up, and he decided to take an early retirement. It was spectacularly timed. There had been discussion of bringing him up on formal charges, but those got dropped when he took his pension and left. Jared had hoped to keep in touch, but Davis had dropped off the map. No one else from their original squad—all four of them who had survived—had heard from him in years.
When the two men reached the other end of the park, Davis continued to walk. As Jared walked beside him, he waited for his old friend to speak. “There are things about me that you don’t know,” Davis began.
“What do you mean?” Jared asked.
