Page 51 of Ex-SEAL Bad Boy

The place is homey, about what you’d expect for an older couple living out their golden years.

The place clearly hadn’t been remodeled since the 1980s, with well-worn but comfortable furnishings and old pictures of the kids at various ages decorating the walls.

Mrs. Kramer was polite but didn’t say much. Her husband exerted a commanding presence, so she was probably used to being more or less a silent partner in their marriage.

“Lucky you ended up here,” Kramer said, digging into the pancakes his wife had set on the table.

“That fella out there was definitely persistent.”

“I appreciate your watching out for us,” Ethan said. “I haven’t seen this much action since Afghanistan.”

“In the service were you?” the older man asked with his mouth full.

“Yes, Navy SEALs, actually.”

“Well, I’ll be darned. I was in the army myself. Four years, and then I met Betsy here. Been married forty-two years.”

“Congratulations.”

“You’re welcome to stay in the barn if you’d like,” he offers, “but I’m sure you’d rather be moving on. Never know who else might be onto you.”

“I’m hoping this won’t take much longer. We’d both like to get back to life as normal,” I say.

“I hate to be a pessimist, young lady, but I don’t think your life will ever be back to normal.”

After enjoying a long, hot shower and Ethan re-bandaging his leg, courtesy of the Kramers, we head out.

Mr. Kramer said he’d take care of the body of the dead agent.

He didn’t specify exactly what he meant, but I suspect the Bobcat front loader parked in the back pasture would have something to do with it.

Not having a working radio in the car Ethan had purchased, we were relying on our phones for news.

While there were several threads going on, none of the news agencies were putting things together.

Yiva was doing her part to get them there, but like most stories, the various mainstream media sources were all building theirown narratives independently of each other and none were connecting the dots.

That was important since it was what was going to allow us to return home.

Harrison Whitmore is ensnared in a serious investigation into his activities, but as of yet has not been taken into custody.

No mention has been made of his connection to Lena Gardner, but I have a feeling police are involved in looking into that angle.

Ethan’s friend Graham has been feeding them information.

Local news had picked up the story of two men found in the woods south of Wilmington, North Carolina, but it quickly disappeared from the news within hours for unknown reasons.

Whether it was because local authorities didn’t know what had happened—or more likely because they did—or at least suspected it is unclear, but they had not been publicly connected to Whitmore.

If Ethan was right, we won’t have to worry about the death of a lone FBI agent hitting the wires.

We stop at a crowded truck stop in Roanoke to stretch our legs and get some lunch.

Although we’re still a good way from home, it feels good to at least be back in my home state.

I excuse myself to go to the restroom, and when I return, I see Ethan talking to a man roughly the same age as he is with a heavy beard and wire rim glasses.

He looks a little intimidating, but I approach nonetheless.

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