Page 17 of Defended By the SEAL
“Charges of plotting to overthrow the fucking government.”
“Uh huh.”
“Of the United States of America.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As a Navy SEAL, there was no more heinous crime from where Cowboy was sitting, except maybe one. “What’s next? You take a shot at the President and they let you walk, if you’re willing to pin something even bigger on the next guy?”
“I guess so.”
Cowboy shook his head in disgust. “What else you got?”
“That’s it. He went on with his life as a banker. Left there to teach economics. The rest is bland, everyday stuff.”
“How did a freaking terrorist go on to be a college professor? Nobody knew the truth about this guy?”
“Like I said, his official record’s spotless. Without Jax, I wouldn’t have found a thing.”
“Thanks, Moto.” He moved to hang up.
“There’s something else.”
Cowboy put the phone back to his ear.
“Vanderhoffen just missed qualifying for the US Olympic team in pistol shooting.”
“He’s a marksman.”
“A damn good one.”
“So he’s a goddamn sharpshooting terrorist.” He hung his head, the muscles of his neck thick and knotted with tension.
He wished he had some extra hands on this one, even as he knew he’d never pull members of his team off other missions just because granny’s boyfriend had once made a deal with the feds. Because as far as he knew, that was all that had happened. Anything else was speculation, and he wasn’t about to call in backup so they could eat pot roast and play guess who’s coming to dinner.
“You want backup on this?” asked Moto.
“Nah, I’m fine. Good work, Moto. Thanks.” Ending the call, he checked his battery life in the corner of the screen. He placed the cell phone on the nightstand, staring at it and wondering if that call would be his last communication with the mainland. Were the bridges between this island and the rest of the world even still intact?
He told himself it didn’t matter, then went in search of Charlotte.
If he thought his room was cold, the hallway was a damn meat locker. He could see his breath as he walked, the air not warming until he got into the living room, where a big fire blazed in the even bigger fireplace.
Charlotte’s grandmother sat beside it, and looked up when he entered.“Good morning, Cowboy.”
“I thought the flue was broken.”
“Darnedest thing. It seems to be fine. Did you sleep well?”
He narrowed his eyes. She was a rascally old bat, and he wondered if he should thank her. Deciding against it, he said, “I slept fine, thank you. Where’s Charlotte?”
“She went up to the attic to find some old family heirlooms we got chatting about. Can I make you a cup of coffee or tea?”
“Coffee would be great, thanks.” He followed her to the kitchen, where another fire blazed. “Where’s Tom this morning?”
“Splitting firewood by the shop.”
“I’ll help him.”
