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“He better not have lied to us.”
“What he told us about Mason’s video clip makes sense.”
“So you think it was the video clip Wilson tried to use to frame that guy from the museum? The curator?”
Sophie nodded. Helen had first realized that Wilson was using the museum to smuggle drugs when she’d accidentally knocked over a box in the museum’s storeroom and had seen the distinctive-looking items inside. The package itself had been addressed to the museum’s curator, not to Wilson, but Helen had been sure the curator was innocent. That confidence hadn’t been shaken even when Mason, pretending to be on their side, had presented Helen with a video clip “proving” that the curator really had been the one to sign for the box in question. And now they knew how Mason had managed to pull that off.
Owen put his truck in drive and started heading for the next GPS location. “The problem is,” Sophie continued, “we still can’t make a definite connection between Wilson and Mason’s criminal actions. Even if the kid is willing to go on the record and testify against Mason, we can’t prove Wilson was involved—or even that Mason knew what the clip was really covering up. It’s not enough.”
“Having a name for the video editor might give us something.”
“Yeah. I’ll need to make a dummy Reddit account when we get back to the resort and try to contact him.”
“Carefully.” Owen drove toward the edge of the city, following the coordinates. “Shit,” he muttered when they reached their destination, making Sophie look up. She’d been making notes about their conversation with the clerk and hadn’t paid attention to where they were going.
“Oh, shit. It’s a swanky country club.” She took in the golf course on one side of the road and tennis courts on the other, all perfectly landscaped. Just ahead was the clubhouse itself, a Colonial-style building with pretentious columns out front and massive double doors. Urns of spring flowers sat on either side of the entrance. Expensive cars were parked in the lot. To her, this was more of a problem than seedy bars. “These places can be harder to get into than the Pentagon. We’ll need a cover story.”
“Soph—”
“We could try to sneak in the employee entrance. I’ll bet they have a different parking lot, too.” She sat up straighter and looked around, not seeing it. “Or we can claim to have friends who are members. I wonder if Micky can get a member’s list.” She pulled up his number to send a text. “It’s always good if you can drop some names at the door.”
“None of that’ll be necessary.” He pulled into a space and waved to a guy driving a golf cart onto the course.
“Do you know him?” she asked, excited. Maybe golf cart guy could be their in.
“Yeah.” Owen scrubbed a hand over his face and turned to look at her. “I’ve been a member here since I was sixteen.”
He was already getting out of the truck, but she was too stunned to move. Owen was a country club member?
FOURTEEN
He went around and opened the door for her. He was expecting a string of questions. Instead, he got stunned silence and a total lack of movement. He reached around her and undid her seat belt, his fingers brushing against her hip. Which made him think of that morning when he’d woken up holding her and wanting to do a lot more than that.
He couldn’t go there. Not then, especially since she was probably going to be angry with him again. He hadn’t been upfront with her about his family and upbringing. Technically, he hadn’t lied to her. He also hadn’t told the truth. It was a truth he was used to concealing. He took her hand and gave her a gentle tug to get her moving. She slipped out of the truck and faced him.
“I don’t understand.” She found her voice. “How are you a member here? I mean, the people here are rich.”
“Yeah. My family…has money.” He rarely said those words, and they felt weird on his tongue.“Plenty of it.”
“You’re rich?” She still didn’t seem like she had her head around it.
“That’s why it’s not a big deal for me to work gig assignments instead of finding something full time—and why I can take time off to protect you. I don’t actually need a salary since I have a trust fund.” His grandparents had set up funds for each of them when he and his brothers were born. Over the years, his mom and dad had added to the total until his fund was substantial and required him to employ a money manager.
“Oh, my god,” she gasped out. “You’re a trust fund baby.”
“Plus, I have my savings from my time in the SEALs, too.” He didn’t bother to mention the stocks and investments.
The shock was starting to wear off her face. He could see her processing the information he’d supplied. “Okay, then, I’m curious. Why would you join the Navy and become a SEAL in the first place? I’m guessing all doors were open to you. You have brains and money. You could have picked any career, so why pursue one that’s so rigorous and dangerous?”
His family, childhood friends, and even members of this country club had all asked him that at the time. He usually shrugged as an answer. He knew the truth but that wasn’t what those people had wanted to hear. With Sophie, he could be honest.
“I wanted to help people. It’s as simple as that,” he said. Plenty of the people inside that very clubhouse would have laughed at or mocked his answer. He knew Sophie wouldn’t.
“That doesn’t surprise me, but lots of careers help others. Why be a SEAL?”
“For the teamwork. Everyone knows their part and does it. Failure’s not an option. We all believe that, and we make it true.” He’d loved that part of being in special forces. After spending his entire childhood feeling like he wasn’t good enough and didn’t measure up to his brothers, it had been incredibly validating to have people trust him, count on him, when there were lives on the line. Maybe it was because they’d trusted him so completely that he’d risen to the task every time. He’d never let his teammates down.
She looked out toward the golf course while he waited for what came next. Was she going to judge him? Or worse, was she angry that he’d kept that secret from her? When she turned back to him with a smile, he was cautiously optimistic.
