Every Secret Thing Read online

  Every Secret Thing

  Acts of Valor, Book Two

  Rebecca Hartt

  eBook Copyright

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The reverse engineering, uploading, and/or distributing of this eBook via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.

  Copyright © 2020 by Marliss Melton All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

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  Published by ePublishing Works!

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  eBook ISBN: 978-1-947833-90-6

  Contents

  Glossary of Military Acronyms

  From The Author

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Before You Go…

  The Lost is Found

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Rebecca Hartt

  About the Author

  To every Navy SEAL who has died in the line of duty. You are the good guardians of the sheep. May God honor your sacrifice.

  Glossary of Military Acronyms

  CO – Commanding Officer

  XO – Executive Officer

  NCO- Non-Commissioned Officer

  NVGs – Night Vision Goggles

  NCIS – Naval Criminal Investigative Service

  BUDs – Basic Underwater and Demolition/SEAL Training

  NWU – Navy Working Uniform

  PTSD – Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder

  From The Author

  Dear Reader,

  * * *

  If you are reading this story without first reading RETURNING TO EDEN, you’ll be fine. The first chapter is packed with information from Book One. I know it’s a lot to take in, but press on, and you’ll soon be turning pages, unable to put this book down. In other words, it’s okay to read my stories out of order. Each book stands alone.

  Enjoy!

  * * *

  Rebecca

  Prologue

  The droning of a fly roused Charlotte Patterson from an unnaturally deep sleep. Fighting the unwanted drug that fouled her system, she forced herself to sit up. Her sluggish respiration quickened as she failed to recognize the antique bed in which she lay, on sheets damp with sweat.

  Her gaze rose to high papered walls. More details came into focus as she blinked—a window with plantation shutters currently propped open at the bottom, an adjacent bathroom with old-timey fixtures, and a tray on a table by the door with food that had been delivered, she assumed, while she’d been sleeping.

  Where am I?

  The only sound besides the buzzing fly was that of a downpour outside the window. She recalled waking up once previously, long enough to sense the pitching motion of a boat. But that feeling was gone. Clearly, she was back on land.

  Compelled by her full bladder, Charlotte swung her feet to the floor. The drug that had caused her to sleep so deeply also made the walls shift closer and the floor jump up, as if at an amusement park funhouse. As it hit her bare soles, she wondered when and where she’d lost her shoes.

  Nausea roiled up suddenly as the memories rushed back.

  She’d been driving up Rt. 301 in Virginia en route to the headquarters of the Defense Intelligence Agency outside of Washington, DC. Although midday on Labor Day, she remembered being one of merely a handful of people on the road. The black SUV surging toward her in her rearview mirror had come out of nowhere.

  As Charlotte swore and increased her speed, the female in the passenger seat stuck her head out of her window. A pistol flashed in the sunlight—Charlotte’s only warning before her Mustang’s rear tire blew with a pop.

  The steering wheel jerked in Charlotte’s grasp. In that same instant, she realized her attempt to get time-critical information to the DIA was being thwarted.

  “No!” she remembered raging. She’d been so certain no one had seen or followed her.

  In her fury, Charlotte jammed on the brakes by way of reprisal. The SUV plowed into the back end of her car with a terrific crash.

  Her Mustang was still moving when she opened her door and leaped out of it, sparing a thought for the iPad she’d hidden under her seat. It was supposed to be in the DIA’s possession within the hour, but saving her own life took precedence at that moment.

  Running toward trees that edged the highway, she spared a fearful, backward glance, revealing a man in hot pursuit. Even as fit as she was, he overcame her within seconds, threw his arms around her, and tackled her into tall grass, all without hurting her.

  The same could not be said for him. As she flailed and scratched and bit him, he overcame her struggles with difficulty, then pulled a syringe from his back pocket. Using his teeth, he freed the needle and jabbed it into her thigh, injecting her with something that blurred her vision instantly.

  Charlotte’s head lolled. Looking back at the two cars, she watched the woman duck inside of the Mustang. It wouldn’t take her long to find the iPad containing critical evidence hidden under the driver’s seat.

  The last thing Charlotte could recall was being lifted like a ragdoll off the ground and carried to the man’s SUV. She’d figured she was going to be killed, just like her supervisor had been, for knowing too much about corrupt Navy SEAL Commander Daniel Dwyer.

  Only she wasn’t dead—not yet, anyway.

  Instead of killing her, someone—possibly the man who’d tackled her--had gotten rid of her, apparently by putting her on a boat and sending her . . . where?

  Charlotte forced herself to rise on legs that jittered. She had to hold her head with both hands to keep the room from shifting. Crossing in a wobbly line to the bathroom, she used the toilet, then stared at her ghastly reflection as she splashed water on her face.

  Revived by the water, she headed straight for the bedroom door and found it locked from the other side. As she’d suspected, she was a prisoner, albeit a well-fed one, given the sumptuous fare left out for her. Remembering the drugs that had kept her unconscious, she cautiously helped herself to the glass of fruit juice, slaking her thirst as she gulped it down. Picking up a strip of chicken cooked in pineapple, she chewed it carefully. Detecting no strange taste, she wolfed down another piece.

  How long was I sleeping? She didn’t know. Perhaps days?

  Abandoning the food, Charlotte approached the screen-cove
red window. The partially open shutter admitted a humid breeze. She realized she was standing on the second story of what appeared to be a plantation home. Rain spattered the lush lawn below her. Vegetation quilted the landscape in a tapestry of lilies, fronds, and blooming bougainvillea.

  Ducking to see under the raised shutter, Charlotte discerned, farther afield, a walkway leading from the home’s main entrance to a massive moon gate. Through the window of the adjacent gatehouse, she spotted two mulatto men smoking cigarettes.

  The gate was appended to a stucco wall that appeared to encompass the entire estate. Peering past the wall, through the fronds of palm trees sloping downhill, she gasped—first with appreciation, then with dismay—at the aquamarine body of water so vibrant that even the rain failed to diminish its clarity.

  Given the architecture of the home, the striking hue of the water, and the dark-skinned guards, she determined there was only one place in the world where she could be—in the Caribbean.

  Despite the warmth and humidity, Charlotte lowered her heels to the floor and shivered. The Caribbean Sea covered more than a million square miles and consisted of more than seven thousand islands. Considering the bizarre events that had brought her here, no one was about to find her.

  She might as well have fallen off the edge of the earth.

  Chapter 1

  Four US Navy SEALs sat around a stone table on the veranda at the Shifting Sands Club on Dam Neck Naval Air Station in Virginia Beach. The late-summer storm that sparked lightning out at sea had driven all but the SEALs indoors. Sounds of laughter and the tinkle of chinaware emanated from the brightly lit windows of the restaurant behind them. The window’s reflection shone in troop leader Lucas Strong’s gray eyes as he brought up the situation that had drawn them together.

  “We are not going to stand for this,” he assured each of his teammates.

  Chief Saul Wade, codenamed Reaper for the number of terrorists he’d eliminated, scowled back at him while tugging on his goatee. “It’s a freaking cover-up,” Saul pronounced.

  Cover-up was exactly right. Ten days ago, Charlotte Patterson, an intern at the Naval Criminal Investigation Service, had assured them her contact in the DIA was going to arrest their corrupt commander. Instead, NCIS had arrested the wrong man—not Commander Dwyer, but their former troop leader, Lieutenant Jonah Mills, called Jaguar by his team.

  At Jaguar’s Article 32 hearing just that morning, the staff judge advocate had determined there was sufficient evidence to go forward with a trial. Jaguar was arrested and now faced general court-martial for an Article 128 violation of the Code of Uniformed Military Justice, namely for assaulting a superior officer while not in the line of duty.

  “I don’t get it.” Bambino, an Italian American and the youngest member in the troop—the youngest, in fact, in all of SEAL Team Six—looked to Lucas for an explanation. “Why is Jaguar in the brig, when Dwyer admitted right to his face that he’s a part of The Entity?”

  The Entity was the name given to a vigilante group that had nabbed weapons before the SEALs could find and destroy them. Apparently, their own commander, Daniel Dwyer, was a member of the illegal organization.

  “Because no one believes Jaguar’s version of the story,” Lucas replied. “Dwyer’s the commander of Blue Squadron, and Jaguar’s just a lieutenant on medical leave.”

  Saul propped his tattooed arms on the table-top. “But I was there at the skeet-and-trap range when it all went down,” he reminded them in his western drawl. “Dwyer shot at Jaguar first. He discharged seven bullets to Jaguar’s one. If I hadn’t covered Jaguar’s retreat, Dwyer would’ve killed him. I told the investigator what happened and he seemed to believe me.”

  Lucas shrugged. “I can’t explain that. Someone in NCIS must be covering up for Dwyer, which means Jaguar needs all the help he can get. It’s not like he hasn’t been through enough already.” The beleaguered lieutenant had just escaped from a year of captivity, believed to be dead until his sudden reappearance about a month earlier. “Getting mad isn’t going to help him, though. We need to set a course of action.”

  “What can we do?” Theo, who’d been sitting in the shadow, camouflaged by his black skin, sat forward suddenly. Light from the window fell upon his earnest expression. “We can’t prove what the CO admitted to Jaguar. We don’t know where he’s stockpiling the weapons he stole.”

  “It’s Jaguar’s word against Dwyer’s,” Saul grimly agreed, “and so far no one’s listening to me.”

  “Jaguar’s psychiatrist says he’ll testify on his behalf,” Lucas reminded them.

  “We’re still screwed,” Theo stated, shaking his closely shaved head. “Apart from Dr. Branson, anyone who could have helped Jaguar is dead or missing.” He proceeded to tick them off on his fingers. “First there was Special Agent Elwood, who investigated Jaguar’s disappearance and found out someone in the squadron was responsible. Next thing you know, Elwood’s dead.”

  Lucas grimaced. The NCIS agent had been killed in a hit-and-run, his office promptly dismantled, and his hard drive stripped from his computer. Again, someone higher up the food chain had been looking out for Dwyer.

  “Then there was Elwood’s intern, Charlotte Patterson,” Theo continued, with an edge to his deep voice.

  Lucas lifted a hand to rub his aching eyes. Patterson had located Elwood’s iPad containing copies of the same files that had been ripped from his hard drive. On her way to passing off the iPad to a promising contact in the Defense Intelligence Agency, the woman had disappeared. Vanished. No more iPad, no more evidence.

  The whites of Theo’s eyes flashed with indignation as he held up a third finger. “And let’s not forget Dwyer’s executive officer, Jimmy Lowery, who killed himself out of guilt for working for the CO.”

  “Or did he?” Saul’s tone conveyed cynicism. “Dwyer probably killed Lowery to keep him quiet.”

  Theo’s hand hit the table with a thump. “That’s my point. Dwyer’s been covering up his sins, killing off people left and right. Now there’s no one alive who can prove Dwyer is a member of The Entity, and no one is taking Jaguar’s allegations seriously.”

  “’Course not.” Saul sat back and crossed his arms. “You think the base commander wants a scandal? Jaguar’s being incarcerated so he can’t talk to anyone.”

  “So, what do we do?” Bambino inquired.

  All three men looked to Lucas for an answer; after all, he was their troop leader and the only officer present.

  “Well,” he said, wishing he could give them something more tangible than hope, “I’m thinking the FBI might be able to help us. I’ve asked Master Chief to reach out to them.”

  As if on cue, Master Chief Rivera came jogging up the veranda’s back stairs.

  “Evening, Master Chief,” the men chorused, as he came into view.

  With the faintest hint of a Puerto Rican accent, Rivera returned their greeting and dropped into the empty chair next to Bambino. “I have news,” he said.

  Thank goodness, Lucas thought.

  “I’ve been on the phone with an FBI agent named Casey Fitzpatrick.”

  “He’s going to help us?” Bambino guessed.

  “Better than that.” Rivera’s dark eyes glinted with excitement. “He’s located Charlotte Patterson, and he wants our help retrieving her. He told me if we bring her back, he’ll do something for us.”

  All four men perked up, ready to do whatever it took.

  “Where is she?” Lucas asked.

  Rivera shrugged. “He wouldn’t say, not over the phone. He wanted to meet me tomorrow at 1600 hours at his office in Norfolk, but I can’t make it then.”

  “Saul and I will go,” Lucas volunteered, glancing at Saul and getting a nod of agreement. “Why can’t you make it, Master Chief?”

  “My presence is strongly requested at the senior officer’s golf tournament,” Rivera said with a distasteful smile.

  Lucas raised his eyebrows. “You’re going to that? You don’t even play golf.
”

  Rivera shrugged. “Vice Admiral Holland’s orders. Apparently, tongues would wag if Dwyer’s senior NCO failed to make an appearance.”

  Lucas murmured his condolences. None of them could stand to look at Dwyer these days, let alone attend his social functions. Luckily, they were about to get two weeks of leave, having been deployed the whole summer. After tomorrow, only Rivera, Blue Squadron’s most senior NCO, had to report to HQ.

  Rivera handed Lucas a memo. “Here’s Fitzpatrick’s contact information.”

  Lucas looked at Saul while sliding the memo into his pocket. “We’ll leave for Norfolk right after work tomorrow.”

  “Hooyah,” Saul said, a battle cry that both affirmed Lucas’s statement and showed enthusiasm for their upcoming leave. “I was thinking,” Saul added, “if we could prove Lowery was actually killed that might help Jaguar somehow.”

  Everyone considered the long-haired sniper’s proposition.

  “How do we do that?” Lucas asked. The thing he loved most about being a SEAL was the collaboration that took place. Every operator’s input was taken into consideration. They truly operated as a team—with the exception of their former leader, who’d turned out to be a rogue narcissist. “NCIS already ruled Lowery’s death a suicide.”

  “That’s because NCIS is protecting Dwyer. But if the evidence speaks for itself, we could hire a civilian expert to prove Lowery was murdered. That would open a whole new can of worms in which Dwyer might become a suspect. At the very least, that could take some of the heat off Jaguar and put it on Dwyer, where it belongs.”