SEAL’s Redemption by Leslie North

2

Hope finished checking out at the doctor’s office, then rode down in the elevator with Logan. He was acting all kinds of squirrelly since she’d brought up the possibility of him changing his re-enlistment date, and she couldn’t stop kicking herself mentally.

Stupid, Hope. So stupid.

Of course, Logan wasn’t sticking around. And she didn’t want him to.

Do I?

No. It was silly to even think about. He had a military career to get back to, and she had her writing. They’d broken up for a whole stack of good reasons two months ago and even though he’d supposedly come to apologize, that didn’t necessarily mean that anything had changed. Honestly, she wasn’t sure she wanted it to. Best to step back, like she always did when things got to be too much, and let what had happened between the two of them run its course. Logan had hurt her badly, and she had more to think about than herself now. This baby was her responsibility, and she’d already planned to take care of it on her own. No reason to change those plans now.

She’d told Logan about the pregnancy, as she’d always planned to, and even let him see the baby on the ultrasound. If he wanted any more involvement than that, he was going to have to ask for it. And since he wasn’t planning to be there for the birth, it didn’t seem like involvement was even something that interested him. Best to let it end now and be done.

The elevator doors opened, and they stepped off to head toward the exit.

Outside near the curb, about half a block down from her car, Hope stopped and shifted to face Logan. Her pulse pounded loud in her ears and each time she looked at him, all she could see were the happy times, the sweet times. She had to force herself to remember the awful things he’d done too—the times he’d disappeared on her, for not showing up when they’d had plans, forcing her to track him down in some bar where he just kept staring at a bottle, ignoring the buzzing of his phone in his pocket, oblivious to how panicked she’d been.

The first time it had happened, she’d just been relieved to see that he was safe. The second time, she’d been less understanding. And then it just kept happening again and again. When he was sober, he’d promise to do better, would swear that she could count on him…but she couldn’t. When he’d missed her college roommate’s wedding—an event that he’d known was incredibly important to her—it had been the last straw. She’d just watched a couple deeply in love pledge themselves to each other. She’d seen their joy, their certainty, their commitment…and she’d known that she had none of those things with Logan. That night, when she’d tracked him down to a bar, it wasn’t so she could bring him home. It was so she could end things between them. And now, once again, it was time to say goodbye. It was best for everyone involved. “Well, I guess this is it then.”

Logan stared down at her hand then up at her, his expression confused. Her traitorous heart skipped a beat. Man, she’d forgotten how warm his brown eyes could be, how easy it was for her to fall into their depths and lose herself in the enigma that was Logan Miller. So hard and tough on the outside, so soft and gentle and vulnerable inside. He didn’t show his heart to many people, but when he did, it was breathtaking. Her own chest squeezed, remembering those nights they’d made love for hours, then stayed up talking and cuddling. The times he’d made her dinner and massaged her sore feet after she’d spent a day chasing down leads for one of her freelance articles or one of her books. The hugs and kisses and holding hands just because it felt so good to touch each other. She’d loved Logan beyond all reason and if she was honest with herself, she still wasn’t over him now. But she couldn’t go through losing him again.

“Hope, I…” He reached up to cup her cheek, but she stepped away.

If she allowed him to keep talking, if he asked to be let back into her life, she’d cave like a house of cards—and then she’d deserve it when it all exploded in her face in a couple of months. No, stubbornness was the only thing keeping Hope together. She couldn’t risk her heart again around Logan. Not now. Maybe not ever.

The air between them hung heavy with things left unsaid.

“Logan. Please.” She took a deep breath before continuing, trying to convince herself as much as him. “This won’t work. We both know that.”

He started to respond again, but she held up a hand to stop him. “Listen, I’m sure we both remember how great things were between us when things were good, but there were also bad times. I grew up in an on again/off again household, and I won’t have that for my baby. I’m sorry, Logan, but I can’t.” She walked around him and headed toward the car. “Goodbye.”

She hit the button on her key fob to unlock the doors while she was still a good half block away. She wanted to get in her car and get away as fast as possible. She felt slightly guilty about ditching Logan when she’d been his ride there—but they were in the middle of downtown Baltimore. He could hail a cab or call for an Uber. He’d be fine. She took one step toward her car as she released the button on the fob—and then all hell broke loose. A rush of heat and force knocked her back into Logan and before she even registered what was going on, he had her down on the ground, his big body covering hers, the pavement cold and rough beneath her cheek. Concussive shock waves shook the building around them as glass tinkled to the ground from shattered windows.

For a moment, Hope’s brain seemed stuck in a fog of adrenaline. The sound in her ears was muffled, dampening the screams of people running for cover. All she could hear clearly was Logan’s labored breath rasping against her face. All she could feel was the steady pound of his heart against her back, and then his fingers digging painfully into her arms as he drew her up before him. Then he was talking. At least, she thought he was. His lips were moving, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying.

Logan shook her gently and snapped his fingers in front of her face. At that, their surroundings came into focus. Her car was on fire, black smoke billowing from the back and front of it and… oh God! There had been an explosion. Her vehicle had exploded. She still clutched the key fob in her shaking hand. If she’d been closer, if she’d been in the car or even standing beside it, she’d be dead. She and her baby. Her knees wobbled. Sirens wailed, smoke choked the air, and in the center of it all was Logan. Her rock, steadying her as he kept his gaze locked with hers.

“Hope!” Logan said again with another tiny shake. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

Finally, she nodded, feeling oddly numb even as her nerves were zinging. “I…I think so.”

She placed a sheltering hand over her abdomen. The baby was okay. She was okay. Her knees buckled entirely then, and if Logan hadn’t been holding her up, she would’ve collapsed on the sidewalk. That’s shock, she kept telling herself, nothing else. Even if it felt like a whole lot more than that.

Tires screeched from somewhere nearby, and then a cop was beside them, helping them over to a safe, cordoned off area nearby. Logan talked to the officers, filling them in on what had happened while Hope drank some bottled water one of the cops had given her to quench her parched throat.

Her car had blown up, but why? What could have caused that? Cars didn’t just explode out of nowhere.

Unease niggled into her stomach. There’d been more weird stuff happening recently too. Like people following her when she’d driven to a recent interview for her new book. At the time, she’d waved it off, but now…

What if they were connected? What if this had been done deliberately?

What if…

Oh God.

Sick tension knotted her stomach. She’d thought she was just paranoid, thinking someone was watching her. She got that way sometimes when working on a story, and especially now since she was working on a decades-old unsolved missing person mystery. A little bit of paranoia was a hazard of the job, but what if it wasn’t all in her head this time?

Logan stuck by her side right up until they were separated to give their initial statements to the cops. But these officers were just the first responders. Once the officer taking her statement learned that it was her car that had exploded, he told her that she’d need to go into the station and speak to the detective who’d gotten assigned the case. With that, he walked away, leaving her to stare in silence at the sight of the fire department dealing with her still smoldering car.

A moment later, Logan rejoined her. She wasn’t feeling particularly good at the moment, between the regular aches and pains of pregnancy and the newfound knowledge that someone might really be after her. “I…I think I need to sit down for a while.”

“Fuck. I’m sorry,” Logan said, helping her over to a bench nearby and getting her settled on it. “Here, let me call someone and have them pick us up.” He started to dial then stopped, cursing. “The cops need us to go to the station to give our full reports first. Can you handle that right now? If not, then I’ll tell them we’ll do it tomorrow.”

As much as she wanted to collapse into bed and sleep for days, Hope decided it would be better to bite the bullet. She wanted to get this over and done with as quickly as possible. “No. It’s fine. Let’s do it now.”

Logan nodded then dialed again. While he talked on the phone, she dug in her bag to pull out one of the ultrasound photos. She hadn’t realized how badly her hands were shaking until she saw the picture wavering in the air. But then Logan reached out and steadied her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. It felt good to have someone to lean on, even if it wasn’t forever. She was tired and hungry and scared and more grateful than she let on to know that she had his help in this. She wasn’t alone. At least for now.

* * *

“Well, ma’am,” the detective said a few hours later as they sat in a small conference room at the police station, “it appears a timer was used on the explosive.”

“A timer?” Hope sat there a moment, still trying to take it all in. A bomb. In her car. Beside her, Logan shifted slightly, his arm brushing hers and sending an unwanted prickle of warmth up her arm. He’d insisted on staying with her, and now she was glad he had. “So they planned this ahead of time?”

“Looks that way,” the cop said. “Do you have any idea why someone would want to target you, Ms. Cabot?”

The remains of her breakfast threatened to make a reappearance, and she swallowed hard against the bile burning her throat. She hadn’t had any real problems with morning sickness so far, so she couldn’t blame it on that. Nope. This was caused by pure, unadulterated fear.

Still, she’d never been one to cower and hide, and Hope wasn’t about to start now. It was what made her such a good investigative author. She had to be strong, for the baby.

“There have been some angry phone calls and letters over the years, but not really anything that made me feel unsafe.” She gripped the arms of her chair, aware of Logan’s warm bulk beside her. “I mean, in my line of work I ask people tough questions, stick my nose in where it isn’t always welcome, but I can’t imagine anyone would want to kill me for that.”

“What are you working on currently? Is there anything you’ve been looking into that might have upset anyone?”

“Uh…” She exhaled and scooted slightly in the corner of her chair, legs crossed, and foot tapping under the table. This wasn’t easy to talk about. The type of investigative journalism that she did—both to write freelance articles for a couple of different news sources and also to write true crime nonfiction books—required poking into dark corners. If she let herself spend too much time thinking about the people who might be angry about what she uncovered, she’d never work up the nerve to get anything done. When she was on an investigative hunt, she’d remind herself to be smart, to take precautions, to listen to her gut—and then she’d go and get the job done. Making up a list of people who might want to hurt her was massively unsettling and would make it harder to do her job—but not complying with the detective’s question would make it that much more difficult for him to catch whoever was behind this.

“I’ve got a couple different projects I’m working on at the moment, but nothing that would make me think I was in danger lately. My paper assigned me to write about a recent gang-related murder, but I’ve not had contact with any of the members directly so far. Oh, and I’m also working on a book about the Diana Lauren disappearance, but that happened twenty years ago. It’s a cold case, and only a handful of people even know that I’m working on a book about it—and at this point, why would anyone care?”

“I remember that case,” the cop said, scribbling on the paper in front of him. “So, you can’t think of any ties between what you’re working on now and the explosion today?”

“No.” Hope sighed and sat forward, resting her forearms on the table. “But there have been a few times lately when I’ve felt uneasy, usually while I’ve been doing legwork for the Lauren book. Like last week, when I went over to interview Diana’s best friend, I’d swear someone was following me.”

“What?” Logan scowled. “I didn’t know being an author was such a dangerous business.”

“It’s not usually.” Hope gave him a look. “And I don’t even know if that’s what happened—”

“But it bothered you enough to remember. Lesson number one I learned as a SEAL: always trust your instincts.” He glanced over at the detective. “If someone is following her, you need to follow up.”

“We know how to do our job, Mr. Miller. Thank you,” the officer said, his tone edged with annoyance. “Ms. Cabot, you believe this car was following you because of the Lauren case?”

“Maybe? I can’t say for sure.” She shook her head and sat back, rubbing her nose again. “There was a minute where I thought the car was closing in on me, like it might try to run me off the road—but then I turned onto a busier street, and when I looked back again, the car was gone. The whole thing might have been my imagination. But now, with the bomb, I guess I really am in danger. Especially since you said this was planned with a timer. Maybe whoever was following me was worried I’d uncover some new evidence? Find out what actually happened to that poor girl? Give her family some closure?”

The officer grunted and tapped his pen on the table. “What about the other project you mentioned? The gang story?”

“Right. I’ve been writing a series of articles for the local newspaper about a Blood Slayer-related murder.” Hope ignored Logan’s incredulous stare and focused instead on the cop, whose eyes had widened as he typed rapidly into his computer. “You think that’s why I was targeted?”

“Given what you’ve told me, that would be my guess, Ms. Cabot. Look, I’m going to share something with you we’ve been working on internally, but please know this information is strictly off the record. You can’t tell anyone what I’m about to share with you, is that understood?”

Hope and Logan exchanged a glance, but then they both nodded.

“If your articles are about the Sinclair murder specifically—” the detective raised an eyebrow at her, and she nodded to confirm that they were, “—then we have undercover evidence that proves that the number two in the Baltimore Blood Slayers organization was the triggerman. If the gang has somehow discovered your articles and believes your investigations might lead the authorities to him, then a bombing is the least they’d do to ensure your silence.”

Hope sat back, stunned, not knowing what to say. Logan didn’t seem to have that problem.

“If you have evidence that this guy is a killer, then why haven’t you arrested him?” Logan demanded. “He’d have no reason to target Hope if he knew that the truth was already out there.”

“We do plan to arrest him,” the officer assured them. “But not yet—and here’s why. The department is actually working on a huge undercover operation as we speak to bring in not just Chavez—the number two—but also Evans, the Baltimore leader of the Slayers. If we brought in Chavez right now, before we had the chance to catch Evans in the act, then he might slip through our fingers. We need the sting to go forward, so we can’t arrest Chavez yet. The last thing we want is for the organization to get spooked and change their plans right before the big day. We’ve got a week until the sting is scheduled to go down. Until then, though, Ms. Cabot, I’d recommend you drop your story for the newspaper.”

“What?” Hope tensed. “I can’t just quit a job like that out of the blue. It’s unprofessional.”

“Considering you nearly got blown to bits today because of it, I think the newspaper that hired you will understand.” Logan reached over and took her hand. “I know your job is important to you, but you can’t put yourself in danger like that. And what about the baby?”

The officer’s eyes dropped from Hope’s gaze to her abdomen then flicked back again. “Under the circumstances, I absolutely agree, Ms. Cabot. These gangs are ruthless.”

She didn’t like the idea of ghosting on a job, but she didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize her baby either. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she said, “It won’t be easy for the paper to find someone to replace me. I’ve got a lot of experience with sensitive investigations. Maybe there’s a way I could keep working, but with special precautions or something.”

“Hope,” Logan said, leaning a bit closer so his warmth penetrated her cotton hoodie, “listen to me. I know you’re the best at what you do, but this is going beyond just a sensitive investigation. This is incredibly dangerous, probably well beyond anything you’ve had to deal with before. I’ve heard some stories about this gang, and they’re nothing to mess around with. Seriously. I’ve only been back in town a few months and even I know who Evans and Chavez are. That’s not good. You don’t want to jeopardize the baby over this.”

“But they’re already targeting me,” she pointed out. “Won’t they keep coming after me, no matter what I do? They’ll have no way of knowing if I’ve stopped my investigation.”

“If you stay away from anything to do with the investigation, they’ll probably get the hint—especially if the newspaper starts printing stories about the murder that are written by someone else,” Logan suggested.

“We have several officers undercover with the gang,” the detective added. “We can have someone point out that your byline isn’t on the stories anymore. Hopefully that’ll be enough proof for them to back off of you.”

It was hard to argue with all of that. She gave a little nod and sank back in her chair as Logan reached over to shake the officer’s hand, then they were heading out of the station at last, which was good, since she needed space and fresh air to sort through the sudden mess her life had become.