Shadows of the Past (SEAL Brotherhood: Shadow Team #1)

Chapter Three

T he reporter refused to go further. He sent Dimitri the file and promised it was clean. They agreed the next meeting would have to be in one of the parks, some place out in the open, Jordan said.

Dimitri was beginning to feel like he was involved in one of those clusterfuck ops with the Suits, as he called his CIA friends. He had nowhere to turn for verification, which was the worst feeling of all. He wanted to trust this guy, but could he? His training told him not to, that his emotions would get the better of him, but man, did that work. If he’d been set up by this guy, it was working.

He walked in a daze, raising his head to make sure he didn’t run out into the street or in front of a bicycle. It was a clear blue early May day, one of the prettiest in D.C. One of those days people convinced themselves they loved the city that ruled the world. They could make money in LA and New York, but D.C. could take it all away. That’s where the real power was, unless you were making money outside of the “protections” of the government. Then you could be free.

But not legal.

He stared at the video over and over again as he walked. She looked happy. She was smiling, using her hands like she always did, expressive, making a point. And if that was indeed her sister, no one she’d ever mentioned to him, maybe that’s why she looked familiar. They weren’t twins, but they were close in age, and they looked so much alike they could have been. Moira was slightly taller. Maybe slightly older.

His body ached for her. Just seeing the video summoned that dragon beast inside him that wanted to have her one more night, the vessel for his desperate desire to make a difference to someone, someone he loved more than life itself. His action-oriented wiring needed to be needed, needed to be the giant protector and Maker Of Things Right.

Except he couldn’t do it. No way in Hell could he make this come out right. It wasn’t logical and went against everything he’d held onto, thought he knew about her, and spent years now grieving over.

Why would she do this to him? How could she just walk down the beach like that? Why was she not as devastated as he was at this picture?

Unless… The unthinkable truth of it all came flooding in.

She really didn’t love him. She’d been pretending. She’d been playing the role he’d dished to those two former wives and other broken relationships. Was it for the sex too? Was she so much like that evil, ugly side of him all along? He wanted her to be pure, because if she was pure and she loved him, that redeemed his flaws and gave him a chance at a future, at least until he didn’t want that any longer.

And he’d thought about that too. His therapist had told him to go to sex addicts meetings, and he refused. He wanted to stay hopelessly addicted to her. It wasn’t a disease to him. It was a lifeline.

And now it was gone? Or maybe he could figure out an angle somehow to get her back?

Without knowing, he’d come to the front steps of the building he worked out of, the State Department of Special Services.

He was recognized but showed his badge anyway. Then he moved on to the eye scanner with the canned “have a nice day,” message. He rode the elevator to the sixth floor, greeted the ladies working the front desk, and inquired about his liaison.

“Mr. Davis is out for the afternoon. Would you like to request a meeting with Shirley?”

“Yeah. Can I just go in?”

“She’ll meet you in your office, Mr. Kyriakos.”

“Thanks.” He started down the hallway but was called back. “Mr. Kyriakos, you have a lot of mail. Can I get it for you? Your cubby is stuffed.”

“Fine.”

She looked at him as if she could see the pain and confusion resident there. For a large woman, she moved deftly over the marble floor to a series of file cabinets, searched for the one with his name on it, and brought out a sheaf of papers over three inches thick, presenting it to him without smiling.

He wrestled it rather clumsily from her hands with enough energy to raise her painted on eyebrows. Clutching the papers against his chest, he shuffled into his office and closed the door, catching it before it could slam. He sat down at his desk, placed the mail on the blotter, and turned around to see the white Capitol Building sending a bright white shadow against his face.

He studied the structure, the symbol of power the place where all the suits and the businessmen and women of the world came to play. The place where countries were divided up, plans to go to war had been devised, deals were penned, careers made and ruined, and secrets numbered higher than at a girls’ slumber party. Everybody took the dare. Everyone thought they could make a difference. Maybe they could, he thought. But it wasn’t really like what they thought it would be.

He was glad he was on the outside, looking in. He was just one of the lackeys, not responsible for doing more than he was told. His job was to protect the innocent, just like on the Teams, but now the problem was who was that? How could you tell?

And why did Moira lie to him? Why couldn’t she trust him?

His brain refused to accept an outcome indicating she intentionally used him and didn’t care. Clever that her “death” was staged when he was overseas and not able to do anything about it. Clever that they would use another SEAL Team to do the rescue.

Even if she was alive, was the rescue still botched? Is that why she couldn’t contact him?

The building used to look like his security blanket. His chance at a Happily Ever After. It was his paycheck, his chance to get out of the danger zone, and have the house with the white fence, the one-point-five children, two cars, and Moira. Where he and Moira could live the happiest of his years left. It was what he thought she wanted.

What had she wanted? Had she planned to keep the secret of her family all to herself? And if the reporter knew her well, wouldn’t he realize that revealing her past would destroy Dimitri’s faith in her? It didn’t appear as a vengeful act. He’d been careful.

Dimitri knew he was going to be tasked with something he perhaps should not accept.

The phones ringing in the next office distracted him. He turned and began sorting through the paperwork from his cubby. He sorted through State Department advisories and bulletins, papers on proposed legislation, and introductions of new hires and promotions—opportunities for those who wanted advancement to take tests and apply for higher clearances and task forces needing members who could fill in a temporary vacancy.

He got a wedding invitation from one of his buddies in Coronado, a former Teammate on Team 3. He was an older guy too, and good for him! He had finally found his way with a widow Dimitri knew, her husband fallen four years previous on Team 3, and Dimitri was there when it happened. So now his buddy was fulfilling his mission. He’d take care of Donny Wabanks’ widow and broken heart and heal his own at the same time. The two kids she had with Donny would have a new SEAL father.

Good for him. God bless him.

Before he could adjust, he discovered he had shed a tear that fell in a splat on the invitation. Yeah, he was a mess.

He opened other envelopes marked “private” about his loan against his paycheck, now nearly paid off, an opportunity to get special financing if he wanted to buy a new car, and his proposed raise and the approval of his increase in rank.

Davis wanted a report from him on an op he’d done six months ago. A congressional staffer wanted information about a trip to Morocco he’d had with a delegation on a fact-finding mission. Had someone gone off the reservation? It was very likely. There were a lot of hookah parties on that trip and reportedly a few nice carpets that adorned offices now in D.C. that were shipped at taxpayer expense. That was probably what they were after. He knew how to answer those things without being a tattletale.

He wasn’t an accountant, for Chrissakes. He was a protector of the innocent. The rest of it didn’t much bother him. Who cared about a few fuckin’ carpets and consensually sleeping with Moroccan or French girls? Not when women and children were being trafficked, abused, thrown away like garbage. Those were the real crimes. The other stuff? They could get a forensic accountant to do the math. He was not in charge of parties or carpets. And he was no snitch to the people he was tasked with protecting. Their own vices would get them in the end. It always caught up to them, eventually.

Just as he knew he’d get in trouble someday for these very thoughts.

If he got wind of them coming for him, he’d quit. Two more years and he’d have his twenty years, his pension, and then the rest could go to Hell.

He pushed the rest of the papers aside as he picked up his trash, walked to the copy hall, and poured them into the shredder. On his way back to the office, he met Shirley in the hallway.

“Hey, there, Dimitri. How you doin’?” she asked him. Her golden bangle earrings, part of her everyday uniform, bobbled like a hula girl.

“Good. Real good. And you?”

“Oh, I can’t complain,” she said, taking a seat in front of his desk. She always liked to dress in hot colors, including the nail polish and lipstick. She was attractive, extremely animated, and very popular in the office arena. And she seemed to know everything about everybody, which is why Dimitri avoided her, unless he had to.

“Davis is gone this afternoon,” he started.

“And that’s why I can’t complain. I like it when he’s gone!”

They both laughed. “I know you don’t mean that. You do a good job for him. I would never say otherwise,” Dimitri said, careful to sidestep the pothole.

“Thank you, Mr. K. Now, what can I do you for?”

“I need to take some days off, some personal days.”

Her face changed immediately. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Is everything okay?”

“Nothing to worry about. A family thing came up, and I need to take care of some relatives. My mother is being treated for cancer and seems like her sister and others are forming different factions, driving my father crazy. He needs my help, and so does my mom.”

“Family can be such a pain sometimes. You’re a good boy for wanting to help them all out. Is she going to be okay?”

“We’re given a good prognosis. But my dad’s actually more frail. He’s having some mental decline and really can’t handle the pressure. Used to being in charge, know what I mean?”

“Oh, yes. We got men in my family like that too. Hard when they can’t think like they used to. Don’t make logical decisions, do they?”

“That’s true.”

Although this was a problem in Dimitri’s family, especially the dynamics with his mother and her sisters, who argued between themselves more than they helped, he’d partially resolved things over the weekend and was overdue for a visit, but it wasn’t as urgent as he made it sound. Still, it was the only way he could get some time off. Depending on what he was told this afternoon, he might need even more.

“You say just a couple of days? Why don’t I ask for a week for you? Would that give you time to resolve the issue and then a couple of days to get your head on straight? Those family things can be pretty exhausting.”

“Sounds like you’ve been there.”

“Yes indeed. And I don’t see any memos from you, so I’m guessing you don’t have an op coming up just yet, am I right?”

“Yes, not ready yet.”

“So, between you and me, our lips are sealed, right?” she said with a bright wink.

“I’m glad we understand each other. If I can resolve things sooner, I will.”

“They live in Florida, right?”

“They do.” He was amazed she remembered this. She was dumb like a fox.

“This is a great time to be going to Florida. I think it’s what you need. I’ll just tell Mr. Davis I approved it. He doesn’t like to disagree with me much because I make him pay!” she said, her bright eyes and extra-long false eyelashes flapping like butterfly wings.

“I appreciate it.”

She sauntered off down the hallway, her shoes squeaking as she traveled.

There were two other letters, appearing to be thank-you notes of one type or the other, sent in the inter-office mail. He slipped them inside his coat pocket.

Everything else was filed in the Bulletin file.

With the decks clear, he was off to wander the park he was to have his meeting with the journalist tomorrow. Old force of habit made him scope out everything in advance.

He didn’t like surprises.