Smokescreen, page 7
Those news reports and his family’s desires had swayed him—and had given him a false sense of security. After a lot of discussion, he had finally consented to letting his beloved wife take their boys to visit her family. The photo filling up his computer screen was sent only two days before their excursion into the countryside, an outing that had ultimately cost them their lives.
Vernon didn’t consider that his family had been killed in the roadside bombing because they had left the safety of Baghdad or that he had gone against his better judgment in allowing his family to travel to Iraq in the first place. No, he placed the blame squarely on the shoulders of the American people who tricked him into believing that they could protect his family.
For months, his grief had consumed him, focused him. He had left his job, withdrawn from his friends, and let his hatred for the Americans grow and fester. Born from that hatred was an ingenious plan, a way for him to make sure the Americans would pay for all of the lies they had told.
* * *
Taylor’s cell phone rang three times before she realized it wasn’t a dream. She moaned out loud and squinted in the early morning light. Then she reached out and grabbed her cell phone off of her bedside table. Bleary-eyed, she hit the talk button without checking her caller ID.
“Taylor?”
“Yeah?”
“This is Felicia Davenport,” she said with a faint European accent. “I’m so sorry to call this early, but I have some bad news.”
“What’s wrong?”
“There was a fire at the gallery’s warehouse last night. I’m afraid we lost two of your paintings.”
“What?” Taylor sat up abruptly, now fully awake. “Are you sure?”
“I’m afraid so. The alarms went off at three this morning, and we’ve had people down there doing inventory since then.”
“Are my other paintings okay?” Taylor asked, her mind still spinning.
“Yes. The warehouse staff said all of your other work is still intact. I’m afraid they only gave me the inventory numbers of the two we lost, but the inventory manager said he would pull the photos we took of them so we can get them identified.”
Taylor closed her eyes for a moment and let out a sigh. “Okay. Please let me know when you find anything out.”
“I will.” She hesitated a moment. “And Taylor, I’m really sorry about this.”
“I know,” Taylor told her. “I’ll talk to you later.”
Taylor climbed out of bed, aware that there was no way she would be able to get back to sleep. She grabbed a quick shower and dressed for the day, determined to find an apartment, something she hoped would help her find a new sense of security . . . and autonomy.
She retrieved the list of apartments she was scheduled to see that day and headed into the kitchen. Tristan was standing at the counter, a drumstick in one hand and a glass of ice water in the other.
“Interesting breakfast,” Taylor said, eying the piece of chicken.
“There’s more in the fridge,” Tristan told her. “I saved you a piece.”
“Thanks.” Taylor smiled at him, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Tristan’s eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong?”
Taylor took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. “I got a call this morning from my agent.”
“And?”
“Two of my paintings were destroyed last night in a warehouse fire.”
“You’re kidding!” Tristan straightened, concern crossing his face.
“I wish I were.” Taylor let out a sigh. “Tristan, you don’t think someone could be deliberately targeting my paintings, do you? I mean, I haven’t even been featured in my own show yet.”
“I don’t know, but with everything that’s happened, I’m starting to wonder.” Tristan considered for a minute. “Do you have any sketches or photos of the paintings you’ve done?”
Taylor nodded. “Yeah, I always take photos of each piece before they’re shipped.”
“Where are those pictures?”
“I haven’t printed them out, but I always keep my camera in my purse, and I downloaded all of the photos to my laptop,” Taylor told him. “Why?”
“Go get your camera for me.”
She gave him an odd look, but she nodded. “Okay.” She walked into the guest room and pulled her camera out of her purse. When she walked back into the kitchen, she handed it to Tristan.
He turned it on and began browsing through the photos. “Do you mind if I copy these?”
Taylor shook her head. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m starting to wonder if you painted something that someone doesn’t want the world to see,” Tristan said warily. “I want to take these photos into the office and have them analyzed.” He paused for a moment and then glanced over at her. “In fact, it would be a lot easier if you could go through them and make a list of where they were all painted.”
“If you copy the files off of my laptop, they’re already labeled,” Taylor told him. “I’ll get it, and you can figure out the easiest way to transfer the files.”
Tristan nodded casually, but Taylor could see the worry in his eyes.
* * *
Gregorio stood by the window and stared out at the city. Today was the day. Finally, everything he had been planning for was going to come together. He had already received the call that the warehouse fire had been executed perfectly. Now he only had one more person who needed to report in, the same person who had failed him the last time.
On the street below, the city was already moving despite the early hour. Of course, this was the city that never sleeps, just as he hadn’t last night. A slow smile crossed his face as he imagined what this city would look like once his collection was complete. He wouldn’t be here to see it, of course. At least not long enough to see the results except on the news from the safe haven he planned to buy in his native Italy.
Only a little longer, he assured himself as the phone rang. He lifted it to his ear, answering with a simple hello. Then he listened to the latest report, the most recent failure.
“This is twice you’ve disappointed me,” Gregorio said in an eerily calm voice. “Don’t let there be a third.”
He listened to the mumbled apologies and assurances for a moment before he cut the other man off.
Gregorio clenched his teeth together and took an unsteady breath before speaking once more. “Let me be perfectly clear. I don’t care what you have to do or who you have to go through to complete this assignment. Get me that painting.”
* * *
“What have you got there?” Quinn asked Tristan when he walked into the office they shared. An image of a painting filled Tristan’s computer screen.
Tristan glanced over at him. “It’s a photo of one of Taylor’s paintings.”
Quinn’s eyebrows lifted. “It’s not exactly what I would have expected you to use as a screen saver.”
“It’s not a screen saver.” Tristan’s voice was uncharacteristically tense. He glanced up at Quinn for a moment. “Two of Taylor’s paintings were destroyed in a fire last night.”
“What? Where?”
“They were in a warehouse in New Jersey.”
“You think it was deliberate?” Quinn asked skeptically.
“I’m not sure, but too much has been going on with her lately for me to believe it was just a coincidence.”
Quinn let out a frustrated sigh. “What has she stumbled into?”
“I don’t know,” Tristan told him, concern shining in his eyes. “But I think it’s time we figure it out.”
Quinn nodded. “What can I do to help?”
* * *
Taylor pulled into the parking lot of the small apartment building. She had already looked at four other units, none of them really standing out in her mind. Two were pretty run down, and a third didn’t have a dishwasher, something Taylor considered a deal breaker. The fourth was relatively modern but was on the other side of town.
She climbed out of her car and looked at the white brick building in front of her. The building wasn’t new, but it was well kept. It was also the one location that Tristan and Riley had both insisted that she look at before making a decision. It was only a couple of blocks from their place and was an easy walk to the beach.
Unlike the hotel-style building her sister lived in, the apartments in this complex were garden style with the doors of each apartment opening directly outside. A long concrete balcony ran the full length of the building on the second floor, with metal stairwells on either side of the building.
Riley found the manager’s apartment on the first floor and knocked on the door. The man who opened the door was only an inch or two taller than her, and his blond hair was sun bleached. Judging by his deep tan, Taylor guessed he spent a lot of the daylight hours outside.
“Hi, I’m Taylor Palmetta. I’m here about the apartment.”
“Max Ruddock.” He reached out, gripping her hand and giving it a friendly shake. “Let’s go take a look.”
Taylor smiled and fell into step as he motioned to the stairs on the right. “The only one I have available is a one-bedroom up on the second floor.” He pulled a set of keys from the pocket of his plaid board shorts. “The kitchen was remodeled about two years ago, and the carpets were just cleaned last week.”
He pushed the door open and stepped aside to let Taylor enter the apartment first. She stepped onto the tile entryway and looked around. To her left was a decent-sized living room, the beige carpet a little worn but clean. To the right, the ceramic tile in the entryway continued into a dining area. She walked across it and looked into the galley kitchen. As Max had said, the kitchen had the feel of recent remodeling, and the appliances all looked new, including the dishwasher.
She walked through the kitchen, out the doorway on the far side, and into a short hallway. Three doors opened off of the hallway. To the right was a combination laundry/storage room. The door to the left led into the master bedroom, with wide windows on the far wall that looked out toward the east.
Taylor wandered into the bedroom, turning in a slow circle as she placed her furniture in her mind. She checked out the walk-in closet and then the bathroom. They weren’t terribly large, but they were definitely adequate. She also liked the way the bathroom had two entrances, one from the hallway and the other from the bedroom.
“So what do you think?” Max asked from the bedroom doorway.
Taylor turned to face him. “How much is it a month?”
He gave her the amount, one that was well within her price range.
“And how soon would I be able to move in?”
“All I need is your deposit, the first and last month’s rent, and a signature. Then you can move in any time you want.”
“Great.” Taylor smiled at him. “In that case, let me write you a check. I want to start moving in this weekend.”
“You do realize that today is Friday, right?”
Taylor grinned. “Oh yeah. But I also realize that my brother-in-law lives a couple of blocks away, and he has some really great friends.”
Max chuckled. “In that case, let’s get your paperwork started.”
11
“We need to know which paintings were destroyed before we’ll be able to figure this out,” Tristan said, running a hand over his face.
“This one could be something.” Quinn said, pointing at the painting currently displayed on his screen. He and Tristan had been pouring over paintings for hours, but this was the first one that jumped out at him. Taylor had painted a beach scene with several people in the foreground. Out on the water, several boats were visible, including two freighters. “Look at this.”
Tristan stood and crossed the room so that he was looking over Quinn’s shoulder. “What am I looking at?”
“She painted it near Palermo. It’s similar to the one in her car that was opened up.” Quinn pointed at one of the freighters. “Look at the detail on this. It’s as good as a photograph. She has the date listed in her log, and the freighter is clearly flying under a Libyan flag. You can even see the waterline on the side.”
Tristan’s eyes sharpened. “You think she painted something that someone didn’t want anyone to see?”
“I don’t know, but it’s possible.” Quinn jerked a shoulder. “Think about it. If that freighter was supposed to be full, this would show that it’s transporting something besides freight.”
“Like people,” Tristan surmised. “Or terrorists.”
“Or the waterline could indicate that it was transporting more than it should have been into Libya.”
“There’s also the possibility that she caught someone on the beach that she wasn’t supposed to. The Italian mafia is still very much alive and well in Sicily.”
“That’s true.” Quinn looked at the picture more closely. “Maybe NCIS can run facial recognition on the people in the painting.”
“I don’t know if that’s possible, but I suppose we can ask,” Tristan said cautiously. “Do you really think they would do it for us? I mean, Taylor isn’t navy. And there hasn’t been a crime except for her car getting vandalized.”
“And the break-in at her hotel in Paris,” Quinn reminded him.
“Yeah, but that would definitely be out of their jurisdiction.”
“Maybe we should try Naval Intelligence. I doubt they would pass up this kind of information,” Quinn suggested. “Better yet, we should hand this off to Amy,” he added, referring to Amy Miller, their intelligence officer.
A knock sounded on their open door, and both men looked up to see Brent Miller, Amy’s husband and their commanding officer, standing in the doorway. “Grab your gear. We’re heading out.”
Quinn’s stomach tightened. “Where to?”
“I don’t know yet,” Brent said as he turned to leave. “But we’re supposed to be in Norfolk within the hour.”
“It’s four o’clock on a Friday afternoon,” Tristan called out to him. “I hope you found us a ride.”
Brent started down the hall, but he called out, “A chopper’s standing by. Let’s go.”
“You heard the man,” Tristan said as he powered off his computer and Quinn did the same.
As they left their office, Tristan slipped his cell phone out of his pocket and pressed speed dial to call his wife.
The helicopter was ready for liftoff when they arrived. Jay and Seth were already on board, and Brent was standing beside Amy signing off on some paperwork. Then Brent climbed into the chopper, and Amy walked toward them.
Quinn shouted over the thrumming sound of the helicopter blades when she closed the distance between them. “Are you coming with us?”
Amy shook her head. “And no, I don’t know what’s going on yet either.” Then she pointed to the chopper. “You’d better get going.”
Quinn and Tristan both grabbed their gear and hurried onto the helicopter. Quinn buckled in and looked down at Amy, who was standing a short distance away as they lifted off. If she was staying behind, it meant one of two things. Either this was just a readiness exercise, or they were going behind enemy lines where she couldn’t go.
* * *
Quinn was only in Norfolk for ten minutes before he broke down and called Taylor. He still didn’t know if they were going to be deployed on some mission or if they would be given the order to stand down and be sent home. Either way, he needed to make sure she was okay and figure out a way to keep her that way.
Her phone rang three times before she picked up.
“Hey, Taylor. Where are you right now?”
“I was just going to head back over to Riley’s place,” Taylor told him. Excitement filled her voice. “I just finished signing the lease on a new apartment.”
“That’s great,” Quinn said, but he rushed on. “Listen, we got called up today, so I’m not sure when Tristan and I will be back in Virginia Beach.”
Taylor paused for a minute before saying, “I guess I’ll have to save you some dessert then.”
“Actually, I wasn’t even thinking about that,” Quinn admitted. “I don’t want you and Riley staying home alone tonight.”
“What?” Taylor asked, and Quinn could imagine her eyebrows drawing together in that expression she always got when she was caught completely off guard.
“Until we figure out who it was that broke into your car, you need to be somewhere safe.”
“You have to have a key to get into Riley and Tristan’s building,” Taylor reminded him. “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”
“Please, Taylor.” Quinn lowered his voice, hoping that none of the guys were standing close enough to hear his pleading tone. It was hard enough for him to acknowledge that despite their months apart, his feelings for Taylor were just as strong as ever. “Please do this for me. If you don’t hear from us by nine o’clock, go over and stay at my place. At least for tonight.”
“I don’t even know where you live.”
“Riley does, and my spare key is around her place somewhere.”
“You realize that you’re being extremely overprotective right now, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” Quinn admitted. “I do.”
“Fine,” Taylor finally conceded. “But call me if you can so I know what’s going on.”
“Okay. And you stay safe.”
The minute he hung up, he looked over to see Tristan standing a few feet away. “What was that all about?”
Quinn’s tone became defensive. “I don’t want Taylor and Riley home alone tonight.”
Tristan stared at him a moment as though debating whether to say something. Then he nodded. “That’s probably a good idea.” He motioned to where Brent was standing a short distance away talking to Kel Bennett, the commander of SEAL Team Eight. “Let’s go see if Brent and Kel know what’s going on.”
Quinn nodded, and for the first time since joining the SEAL teams, he truly hoped that they were going to be sent back home.
* * *
“Does Tristan ever get like this with you?” Taylor asked from her spot on the center of Riley’s bed. Spread out in front of her was a big pile of laundry that she and Riley were slowly turning into several folded stacks.
