been more than a colleague. He'd been a surrogate father, like Uncle Caleb, taking her under his wing to help familiarize her with the DIA. In the mornings, they drank coffee and shared concerns about world issues. Ernie brought in clippings from the comic section of the newspaper for her to pin up on her pegboard. Hannah would look up from her tedious research, read the comic strip, and smile.
She'd had no idea Ernie was so close to exposing Commander Lovitt. The last time she'd seen him, he'd been anticipating his upcoming "vacation". While on vacation, Ernie must have come too close to exposing Lovitt's culpability. Perhaps he'd found Lovitt's stash of stolen weapons.
Hannah punched up her pillow, thinking. Since they hadn't found Ernie's notebook in her car and since entering the DIAC wasn't a safe option right now, what if they went to Ernie's so-called vacation spot? They just might find what it was that had made Ernie such a threat to Lovitt.
She threw back the covers, eager to bounce her thought off of Luther. She could hear him in the kitchen now, given the muted sounds coming up the stairs. The men were taking turns keeping watch.
She glanced down at her oversized T-shirt. Neither she nor Luther had thought of buying her pajamas while purchasing her new wardrobe. Westy'd scrounged up an extra T-shirt with a Harley-Davidson logo on it and a pair of running shorts. Figuring she was decent enough, Hannah headed down the creaking steps.
She found Luther at the table cleaning his weapon. He lifted an ever-watchful look at her, one that skittered over her and jumped away. Awareness leaped between them like a flare, though the only actual light was the one hanging over the table.
"Come on down," he invited in his easy baritone. "I'm just doing a little housekeeping."
She approached the table, taking in the components of his disassembled weapon. Parts had been placed on a towel to keep the gun oil from staining the tabletop. "Do you really prefer an MP-5 over a pistol?" she asked, taking the seat across from him.
He glanced at her sharply. "You know your guns?"
"Sure. It was part of my training."
"With the CIA," he guessed, glancing at her for corroboration. "Pistols are for cops. SEALs prefer submachine guns. There's less loading and more power, which is what all of us need."
"But Westy shoots with a SIG Sauer."
"Not in the field. He's our master sniper. He uses a Remington 700 with bolt action."
Hannah nodded. "And you prefer the MP-5."
His eyes gleamed with appreciation. "Ever unloaded one?"
"No," she admitted. "Case officers are encouraged to carry pistols. They're easier to hide."
"I bet you're a sharpshooter, too," he said, his mouth lifting in a reluctant smile.
She shrugged one shoulder in acknowledgment.
"Is there anything you can't do?"
She propped her chin on one hand and thought about it. "I can't sleep," she admitted.
His smile faded. As he studied her face, she knew he was seeing all the signs of stress and fatigue that she was too tired to hide. "A lot of SEALs have trouble sleeping," he confided.
"Do you?"
He looked down, hiding the ghosts that drifted briefly across his eyes. "Sometimes. Especially after a messy encounter."
In those words, she heard everything he wasn't saying, and she realized the toll it took on him when things didn't go as planned. "Like when you killed those men for me."
"I said I'm okay with that," he said, polishing the dust off the gun's casing. "Are you?" He looked up at her, his gaze steady and concerned.
She recalled the awful contortions of the general as he struggled for air. The urge to burst into tears rose up with formidable pressure. "I'll be fine," she said quickly.
His patient gaze encouraged her to push a few more words through her tight throat. "What bothers me most is that Ernie was killed. He was such a good guy, you know? He didn't deserve to be hunted down, no matter how much Lovitt has to hide."
"A great deal, apparently," Luther commented,
She'd had no idea Ernie was so close to exposing Commander Lovitt. The last time she'd seen him, he'd been anticipating his upcoming "vacation". While on vacation, Ernie must have come too close to exposing Lovitt's culpability. Perhaps he'd found Lovitt's stash of stolen weapons.
Hannah punched up her pillow, thinking. Since they hadn't found Ernie's notebook in her car and since entering the DIAC wasn't a safe option right now, what if they went to Ernie's so-called vacation spot? They just might find what it was that had made Ernie such a threat to Lovitt.
She threw back the covers, eager to bounce her thought off of Luther. She could hear him in the kitchen now, given the muted sounds coming up the stairs. The men were taking turns keeping watch.
She glanced down at her oversized T-shirt. Neither she nor Luther had thought of buying her pajamas while purchasing her new wardrobe. Westy'd scrounged up an extra T-shirt with a Harley-Davidson logo on it and a pair of running shorts. Figuring she was decent enough, Hannah headed down the creaking steps.
She found Luther at the table cleaning his weapon. He lifted an ever-watchful look at her, one that skittered over her and jumped away. Awareness leaped between them like a flare, though the only actual light was the one hanging over the table.
"Come on down," he invited in his easy baritone. "I'm just doing a little housekeeping."
She approached the table, taking in the components of his disassembled weapon. Parts had been placed on a towel to keep the gun oil from staining the tabletop. "Do you really prefer an MP-5 over a pistol?" she asked, taking the seat across from him.
He glanced at her sharply. "You know your guns?"
"Sure. It was part of my training."
"With the CIA," he guessed, glancing at her for corroboration. "Pistols are for cops. SEALs prefer submachine guns. There's less loading and more power, which is what all of us need."
"But Westy shoots with a SIG Sauer."
"Not in the field. He's our master sniper. He uses a Remington 700 with bolt action."
Hannah nodded. "And you prefer the MP-5."
His eyes gleamed with appreciation. "Ever unloaded one?"
"No," she admitted. "Case officers are encouraged to carry pistols. They're easier to hide."
"I bet you're a sharpshooter, too," he said, his mouth lifting in a reluctant smile.
She shrugged one shoulder in acknowledgment.
"Is there anything you can't do?"
She propped her chin on one hand and thought about it. "I can't sleep," she admitted.
His smile faded. As he studied her face, she knew he was seeing all the signs of stress and fatigue that she was too tired to hide. "A lot of SEALs have trouble sleeping," he confided.
"Do you?"
He looked down, hiding the ghosts that drifted briefly across his eyes. "Sometimes. Especially after a messy encounter."
In those words, she heard everything he wasn't saying, and she realized the toll it took on him when things didn't go as planned. "Like when you killed those men for me."
"I said I'm okay with that," he said, polishing the dust off the gun's casing. "Are you?" He looked up at her, his gaze steady and concerned.
She recalled the awful contortions of the general as he struggled for air. The urge to burst into tears rose up with formidable pressure. "I'll be fine," she said quickly.
His patient gaze encouraged her to push a few more words through her tight throat. "What bothers me most is that Ernie was killed. He was such a good guy, you know? He didn't deserve to be hunted down, no matter how much Lovitt has to hide."
"A great deal, apparently," Luther commented,
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