She glanced over his shoulder at the baseball game playing on one of the screens. She didn’t want to talk about the mistakes of the CIA or the Bureau or anyone else. What was done was done. They had to focus on what they had.
“I get the feeling something’s off with Hailey,” she said. “That something’s going on with her.”
“What, you mean besides being kidnapped, raped, and beaten?”
“Yes.”
Derek looked away and seemed to think about it.
He was very observant, and he’d talked to plenty of people under extreme duress. She wanted his impressions.
“She seemed protective of Khalid.”
Elizabeth felt a wave of relief. She hadn’t been imagining it. “I thought so, too.” She paused. “Maybe he was nice to her.”
“You’re thinking Stockholm syndrome?”
“It happens,” she said.
The waitress reappeared with two enormous platters of wings. She’d brought extra ranch dip, per Derek’s request, and he thanked her with a wink. When she was gone, he looked serious again.
Elizabeth dipped a wing in sauce. “You think it’s possible?”
“Possible.” He chomped into a wing. “But I’d say not likely.”
“Why?”
“I’m not getting that,” he said simply. “Not based on what I saw.”
She watched him, wishing he’d provide more to back up his opinion. But he would probably never reveal all the details of that or any other mission. He could be very evasive when it came to his work—yet another reason he was difficult to know. How could you really get to know a man who wouldn’t discuss the very thing that was the focus of his life? It was one of the many issues she’d had stuck in her brain for the past year, especially in December, when he’d called her and tried to reconnect.
“Well, maybe I’m wrong,” she said now. “Maybe it’s just that Khalid was kind to her. In her debriefing, she mentioned him bringing her water and sometimes food.”
“What a host.”
She wiped her fingers on a napkin and leaned back against the booth. “You know, the Afghan police suspect him of stealing the uniforms used in a spate of suicide attacks, ones where the bombers walked into a secured area dressed as police officers. Khalid may be young, but that doesn’t make him harmless.”
“Hey, you’re preaching to the choir.” He nibbled his bone clean and added it to his growing pile. He’d ordered the jumbo platter and wasn’t having any trouble putting it away. “I’ve seen kids younger than him planting IEDs. Not to mention it runs in the family. His older brother’s been linked to several attacks in Kabul. And this guy Rasheed? Expert bomb maker. His handiwork’s been identified in at least three roadside bombings along Khyber Pass.”
She watched him uneasily. “You seem to know a lot about this network.”
“Honey, SEALs know a lot about a lot of things. That’s why they pay us the big bucks.”
“I’m serious. Why do you know so much about this case?”
He added another bone to the pile. “It’s my business to know.”
“Because of Sean Harper.”
“Because of Sean, yeah. And because I want to see that this gets handled right.”
“Sean was in your BUD/S class?”
His brown eyes turned somber. “We were in the same boat crew.”
Last summer he’d told her all about BUD/S training—the sleep deprivation, the never-ending beach runs, the night swims and log PT. He’d told her how it systematically broke men down, day by day, hour by hour, and then—for the few who withstood it—built them back up again. The training forged relationships, and the men who endured it together became a brotherhood.
She’d seen their unusual brand of loyalty up close when she’d tried to get Derek to turn on his teammate Gage Brewer, who was suspected of murder. She’d poured her heart and soul into the effort, but it had been a waste of time. The brotherhood these guys talked about wasn’t just a slogan—it was something very real.
So the man sitting across from her now with the edgy, restless look in his eyes had lost a brother last week. It explained a lot.
“I’m sorry about Sean,” Elizabeth said, feeling totally inadequate.
He nodded. “I appreciate that.”
The waitress reappeared to clear their plates away, and Derek gave her a smile, but it seemed forced. He glanced around the bar. If he noticed all the women sneaking glimpses in his direction, he didn’t let on.
He looked at her. “How about some darts?”
“What, now?”
“No, tomorrow.” He smiled and stood up, obviously ready to change the subject.
Not to mention the mood.
He left several twenties on the table and then put his hand at the small of her back and steered her to the bar. Just that light touch of his fingers made her nerves flutter. He was treating her like his date, and she liked it.
A lot.
He peeled off another twenty and handed it to a bartender in exchange for darts and another round of beers. Elizabeth watched him, pulse thrumming. He had a confident way about him that she found way too attractive. His gaze settled on hers as he passed her another beer.
She’d known this would happen. He’d invited her to dinner, but he wanted way more than dinner. He wanted the same thing he’d wanted last summer when she’d been investigating his best friend.
He wanted sex.
And he wanted information.
And he wanted sex.
Almost a year had gone by since then, and she’d spent many solitary moments thinking about him. And the situation hadn’t changed. He was using her. Not in a malicious way, really. In fact, she understood it. He had an unshakable sense of mission. But he was using her just the same.
“You ever played cricket?” he asked, claiming an empty board.
“Think I remember it.”
“Ladies first,” he said, and handed her the darts.
She stepped up to the board and paused a moment to get her head in the game. Then she took a deep breath and made her first throw.
She smiled. “Triple twenty.”
“Not bad.” He tipped back his beer. “Looks like you spent some time on frat row when you were in Charlottesville.”
She glanced at him.
She’d never mentioned she went to the University of Virginia. He’d been checking up on her, and he wanted her to know it.
“Not me.” She sipped her beer and rested the bottle on a ledge beside him. “I was the geek always holed up in the library.”
“Who taught you darts?”
“My dad.” She threw another one. Outer bull’s-eye this time.
“He must be good.”
“He was. Darts, pool, fishing. He taught me all of it. I was the son he never had.” She glanced over and saw by his expression that he’d noticed the past tense. “He died when I was twelve.”
“It’s a shame he never saw you graduate from the Academy,” Derek said. “Bet he would have been proud.”
Derek was right. As a public prosecutor, her dad probably would have been pleased to see his only child go into law enforcement.
“My mom was there,” she told him. “And my stepdad.” Which wasn’t nearly the same, because she didn’t even get along with her mother. She made her last throw. Triple twenty again. He watched her, obviously expecting her to say more. But she didn’t like to talk about her family.
She wrote the score on the chalkboard, ignoring his expectant look.
Ever since her dad died, she’d had this feeling of being adrift. Her mother had felt it, too, and she’d run straight from her grief into the arms of an older husband. For years, Elizabeth had felt so much anger toward her for replacing her dad so quickly. And for giving into such blatant insecurity.
Elizabeth had tried to create her own security, using good grades and hard work. She’d set goals for herself and then stubbornly pursued them. She recognized the same trait in Derek—his relentless need to push. His tenacity. She doubted he’d be like that in a relationship, though. He was a SEAL. It defined him and dominated his life, and he couldn’t truly commit to anything more.
But so what? Since when was she looking for commitment?