3. Sterling
3
STERLING
T he chilly taste of hops soothes the weary ache from a long day at work, and the plush cushions of my couch cup my back and shoulders with the promise of sleep. It’s been a long couple of days, but the work has been rewarding.
The team and I kept a diplomat from getting his head chopped off and returned him safely to his family. It’s the kind of win I can always appreciate.
My phone rings and breaks my reverie. When an old buddy’s name appears, I swipe open the call. “Warren Boone. It’s been a while. How's Valerie and the kids?”
“Sterling Cole. It has been a while. The kids are grown and making kids of their own, but Valerie is good. In her prime with the frequent visits from the grandkids. All of the fun and none of the responsibilities, if you know what I mean.” Boone’s gruff laugh is a treat. The man has never been very free with them.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“How’s the team?”
“Good. Yeah. We just wrapped up a mission…” And as I expected, the prompt did its magic.
“Then you might be able to help me with something.”
I smile knowingly, even though he can’t see it. “Tell me what’s going on.”
He does, describing how one of his specialists found some discrepancies in their supplies at the warehouse he oversees, how a pattern emerged, and that he didn’t think much of it until he got a series of phone calls after hours from people way too far up the food chain inquiring about the reports she sent in.
“She’s smart and driven. But she’s also a civilian, and I don’t want her put in any danger.”
“And getting phone calls from SECNAV has you worried.”
“Yes.”
“What do you need from me, old friend?” Although I already have a feeling what he’s going to ask of me.
“I’d really prefer that you don’t call me old. My kids do that enough as it is.”
We laugh together. I don’t have the kids to remind me of my age, but my body does it plenty. Forty-five is on the older end for a Navy SEAL, but if I stopped, I’d deteriorate before I got a chance to enjoy the free time.
I don’t much enjoy free time as it is.
“Can you and your team come in to help investigate?”
“Think this is more than mishandled paperwork?”
“I do. I wouldn’t normally ask, but I have a young civilian mom in the crosshairs. She doesn’t need to get any deeper in whatever this is. She’s been through enough.”
That sparks a deep sense of sympathy. Boone doesn’t coddle his personnel, so I can only imagine what his specialist has been through. And a single mom. Well, they’re always a soft spot for me, given how my mom raised me on her own for most of my childhood.
“Okay. We’ll be there at 0700.”
After I hang up with Boone, I call the two men on my team, giving them the rundown. Sleep doesn’t come easily, but it never does. I fix the collapsed birdhouse from out back before I bother crawling onto the couch.
The quiet haunts me. It never gets easier. Not when I can remember this house being so full of life.
I wake all at once with the sunrise. Like being jolted, my eyes open, and I’m back where it’s the hardest to be.
Two cups of coffee precede me to the base, where I carry in a tray of caffeine for my team.
“Hey, Boss.” Shepard grabs his coffee—always the one on the right—and lifts it in salute. “Thanks.”
I nod and swing the carrier toward Hastings, who nods with a soft thanks as he takes the one on the left. The one across from mine is for Boone.
“Thanks for coming in. I hope you don’t mind my saying this, but I really want this to be nothing.” Boone rubs his forehead, the kind of tiredness that comes from worry accentuating the lines of his face.
“You’re worried about the girl.” Shepard crosses his arms and leans against the desk where Hastings is working.
Boone laughs humorlessly. “Don’t let her hear you calling her a girl. Sloane is by far my best employee. She’s smart and resourceful, and she’s been through a lot. Especially this week.”
“Does that mean go easy on her or push some of her buttons?” Shepard’s brow raises, the start of a smile curving the edge of his mouth.
I shake my head.
“Push at your own risk.” Taking his first swig of coffee, Boone coughs. “I should have guessed. Black. Have you been talking to my wife?”
A smile cracks in me for a flash. “It’s how you used to take it.”
“It’s how we all used to take it. We were lucky enough to have coffee in that desert hellhole.”
“True.” My coffee is still black. It’s not something that’s ever changed for me. But neither has my lifestyle. I still frequent those deserts.
Boone can read it in my face, or from the smirk on Shepard’s. He grunts and goes to the end of the room to fix his coffee.
“She’ll be here shortly.”
Early. Like the man said, his best employee.
When she does arrive, it’s in a whirlwind. Her golden auburn hair is falling free from her ponytail, the pink ribbon sloping to the side already. It was obviously tied by her daughter, although when Boone said she was a young single mom, I didn’t picture one this young with a girl old enough to tie a bow.
“How old is your daughter?” I ask as she dumps her bag in her chair.
It’s probably good she doesn’t sit. She might feel the heat from Hastings having only vacated it minutes ago. Sloane turns to glare at me. The practiced kind that she wields effectively. Very much a mother.
But those eyes are startlingly dark blue, reminiscent of the night chasing the sun toward sunset.
“What?”
I point at her flopping ponytail. “The ribbon in your hair. You let her tie it. It’s going to fall out by the end of the day.”
She reaches up and takes it out, letting her hair fall. The wave of it around her heart-shaped face highlights both her youth and her beauty. It’s something I wish I could unsee.
Sloane folds the ribbon up gently and puts it in her desk drawer before she shakes her hair out with her fingers. “She’s six.”
I nod at the confirmation. Sloane was young when she had her daughter. I wish Boone had given us more details other than the vague warning that this woman has been through some rough things. I offer a small compliment. Best way to disarm a mom.
“Dexterous for six.”
Pride shows in her gaze—a fire I am familiar with spotting—but she doesn’t offer me a smile. “Smart as a whip, too.”
I remember my daughter at that age, although she’ll be forever stuck in my memory at nine. Taking too large a swallow of hot coffee, I let the burn fester in my chest. It’s only a mild distraction.
Shepard and Hastings emerge from the warehouse, and she spins to pin them with her gaze as well, crossing her arms. “What’s with the extra personnel today? Is this about what I found yesterday?”
Apparently, her daughter gets her smarts from her mother.
Shepard gives her a lazy smile, and she narrows her eyes at him. Sloane has him pegged already. It makes me laugh. Too bad for her that he enjoys a challenge.
Boone nods. “I called them. They’re old friends. They’re here to help with a bigger audit.”
Sloane shifts, still looking uneasy, but it’s obvious she trusts her boss.