Carole turns and stares into my eyes pointedly. “None of us are safe, Nate.” She looks over my shoulder before standing and walking away. Spinning in my seat I look around for who she saw, but don’t recognize anyone. I search for Carole, but she’s already out of sight, leaving me questioning everything she just told me.
MY MUSCLES BURN, BUT it’s a welcome pain. Each time I push the weighted bar, I’m rewarded with agony and I welcome it. I crave it. It’s been years since I’ve been able to work out and I hadn’t realized how much I’ve missed it until now.
My spotter, a trainer who works here, helps me finish my last rep before he walks away to tend to his next client. My chest heaves from exhaustion. I’m out of shape, my core is weak and being weak has no place in my life.
The punching bag is calling my name, begging me to take my aggression out on it. When Nate and I were younger, we’d spar. We’d get in the ring and work each other out. It was for exercise, not pain. I never wanted to hurt him until now. I used to have my own set of boxing gloves, but I imagine Ryley has probably thrown them out. I know I would’ve since there’s no sentimental value in your gym necessities.
The gym is busy, mostly with sailors, but I don’t know them and they don’t know me. I’ve never felt as alone as I do right now, sitting on this weight bench and looking around for someone to work out with. Just as girls go to the bathroom together, guys like to have a gym buddy. We need to spot for each other, hold the punching bag and just be that angry voice that pushes you harder.
River would’ve been my first choice, but this morning when I came out of my room it was clear that he and Frannie were in the middle of something. I left as soon as I could, with nowhere to go. I can’t see Ryley right now. I’m angry with her and am afraid of what might come out of my mouth. It’s a hard pill to swallow, walking away from the one person you thought you’d spend the rest of your life with. I guess, in a way, that’s what I did. She moved on and that’s something I have to accept.
Wandering over to the punching bag, there’s a box of gloves beside it that anyone can use. The smart thing to do is find someone to hold my bag and help me lace up, but I don’t have time for that. What’s building inside me needs to come out and if I don’t find a healthy way to expel this aggression, some drunk ass is going to end up being my victim.
Squaring my hips, I jab at the bag. My punch is weak and off center. I don’t have the focus I need so I remind myself that I’m a warrior. I’m not allowed to be weak. I jab again, throwing a 1-2-1 combo. My knuckles sting as they come in contact with the bag and I love it.
I need more.
I see his face. I see the look in his eyes as I stare him down. They’re black and soulless and the 1-2-3-2 combo doesn’t faze him. In my mind he swings. He’s weak, a predator. I’m here to stop him. To break him. I sidestep his attempt and land a solid hit to his gut. He bends over, groaning like the piece of shit man that he is. With an uppercut to his nose, blo
od splatters everywhere and the crunch of cartilage spurs me on. I grab a fistful of his hair in my hand and jam my pistol into his forehead. He begs for mercy, just like those children he was selling on the black market had begged to go home to their moms and dads. I have no mercy for scum like him. He’s the reason I’m not home with my family right now.
The loud bang of weights being dropped jars me. My vision is fuzzy. The bright overhead lights are causing me to blink. The bag is swaying back and forth from the pummeling I was giving it. Looking around the gym, people are staring and I can only imagine what they saw.
“You okay, man?”
The voice behind me is that of Tucker McCoy. I sigh in relief that it’s him and not the gym’s owner. McCoy throws a towel at me and when I bring my hand up to catch it, my red skinned, cracked knuckles stare back at me.
“Shit,” I say as I toss the towel over my head.
“Who the fuck are you trying to kill?”
He knows because he was there. I shake my head and sit down on the bench. “I was thinking about Nate when I started, but Renato’s face… I don’t know, it’s been years since I put a bullet in his head. I’m not sure why I’m thinking about him now.”
Tacito Renato was the reason we were sent into the jungles of Cuba searching for Senator Christina Charlotte’s daughter who had been kidnapped. Charlotte was on the Vice Presidential ticket and didn’t want the press involved which blew my mind. Instead she called in a favor to her father-in-law, Brigadier General Chesley, and away we went. We had the child in our custody within days of arriving, but uncovered a sinister child sex ring. Each time we thought we were done, we had orders from the CO sending us back out. There was always something more. The amount of children who had been kidnapped astounded me, and yet no one knew about them. The children were from other countries and of different ages, being hidden in the jungles and sold on the streets for prostitution. For every mastermind we took down, another would take his place within days.
“I started hitting the bag and his face just popped up.” Pulling the towel from around my neck, I use it to dab up the blood on my knuckles. “Anyway, what’s up?”
“I had a lead on Penny but it didn’t pan out. I’ve lost hope of ever seeing them again.”
“Have you spoken with Carole or base housing?”
McCoy takes the seat next to me and sighs. He looks exhausted, and not from fighting an enemy but from fighting the battle going on inside his head. I thought I had it bad with Ryley being engaged to my brother, but to come home and find your wife and child gone is unthinkable.
“Base housing says she left and didn’t leave a forwarding address. The private investigator has nothing. The day she left, the CHP’s traffic cams were malfunctioning so there’s no footage of her on the highway. He says no one matching Claire’s description is in any public schools either. Thing is, if she left right after we did, where did the photos come from?”
That seems to be the million-dollar question. Someone here knew we were alive. They stalked our families and used that intel to write us letters. They photographed our kids, wives and parents, and sent them to us. Whoever did this is a sick fuck that needs to be burnt at the stake.
“Someone has the answer,” I say, mostly for my own benefit. He knows this. Rask knows this. I want to believe that River knows as well. And no one is going to figure this shit out for us except us. The problem is, our access is limited and people on base already consider us an enigma.
“I just want to know if they’re okay,” he says. “If Penny wants a divorce, I’d give it to her, but I have this gut feeling that they’re hurt and in danger. Penny isn’t resilient. She didn’t grow up in the military like Ryley did. I need to find them, Arch. I have to know they’re okay.”
If it were Ryley and EJ that were missing, I’d be moving heaven and earth to find them. I wouldn’t care who stood in my way. But when the trail runs cold, you’re at a standstill and you don’t know where to look next.
“I think we need to pay Carole a visit. Besides, I haven’t seen her in a couple of weeks and she missed my party.”
Today is my first day back on base. It feels both welcoming and odd at the same time. Sailors and other service people mill around as if nothing is wrong. As if the two guys walking into the JAG office haven’t been dead for six years. I didn’t want to come back here even though I’m still enlisted. I guess maybe I’m waiting for a formal apology, but I know it’s never coming. Since our return the Navy hasn’t reached out to us. You’d think, under the circumstances, they’d want us all on base until their extensive debriefing was concluded. To date we haven’t been asked one question. We haven’t opened the door to an NCIS agent.
It’s as if no one cares.