Darcangelo considered this for a moment, then gave Joaquin a slap on the shoulder. “If you ever get sick of the newspaper, you’d make a good detective. Now get the hell out ofhere.”
Joaquin started out the door and then realized he was going nowhere. “Hey, can you give us a lift? My truck is still at the murderscene.”
* * *
Mia satin the lobby waiting for Joaquin, her gaze fixed on nothing, the anger that had gotten her through the past few hours dulled by a creeping sense of numbness. She didn’t see Joaquin come out of the back or walk up to the counter to sign for his firearm, her mind stuck on the image of Jason in that bodybag.
It wasn’t the first time she’d seen someone she’d served with carried away like that. Far from it. But this wasn’t supposed to happenhere.
She’d thought it was over. She’d thought the war was behind them. They’d made it through their deployments. They’d come home. They were supposed to be safe—as safe as anyone could be in this crazy world. But now Andy was missing and probably dead somewhere, and Jason, who’d never done anything but save lives, was dead, gunned down in his ownhome.
It made nosense.
When Mia had been active duty, there had been briefings about terrorist leaders who had ordered their followers to find and kill American service members anywhere in the world, including here at home. But, no. This couldn’t be terrorists. Terrorists always took credit for their slaughter. That was the point. They killed to get attention and sow fear. Killing earned them nothing if it was doneanonymously.
This had to be something else. If only she could thinkstraight.
Random images moved through Mia’s mind. The body bag. Joaquin dancing. The lead vehicle in their convoy exploding into flames. Jason trying to tie a tourniquet on LeBron Walker’s thigh while the photographer snapped photos. Blood on sand. Andy with blisters on his hands andthighs.
Tell al-Sharruken
Liquid ice slid into herveins.
Could this be about Tell al-Sharruken?
Andy had been part of that, but she and Jason hadn’t. Though Mia hadn’t gone to the ruins, she’d refused to help cover up what the others had done. But Jason had tried to help Andy and the others, doing everything he could to alleviate theirpain.
“Mia?” Joaquin’s voice startled her, made her jump. “Are youokay?”
“Yeah.” Her heart was still racing.“I’mfine.”
“This is my buddy, Julian Darcangelo. He’s giving us a ride back to mytruck.”
Mia stood, held out her hand. “Nice to meetyou.”
“Ms. Starr.” Julian Darcangelo looked familiar. Then she remembered she’d seen him yesterday. He didn’t look much like a cop. Tall with dark blue eyes that seemed to look through her, he wore jeans and a black T-shirt, his dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. “You’ve had a rough time of itlately.”
She walked with the two men back through the building to a rear stairway that led down to a frigid parking garage full of squad cars, then climbed into the back of Darcangelo’s SUV, the men’s conversation drifting over her—until Darcangelo spoke to herdirectly.
“I’m sorry. I was caught up in my ownthoughts.”
Darcangelo repeated himself. “I hear you served through two deployments. Thanks for yourservice.”
Mia never knew how to respond to this. She wasn’t a hero. She hadn’t done anything particularly courageous. She’d spent two years hauling ammo, food, and toilet paper around the desert. Others had fought and died. Yes, she had given up eight years of her life, but she’d gotten a college degree out ofit.
For a moment, she said nothing. Then she remembered what Joaquin had told her about this man. “Thank you for yours. Joaquin said you saved a lot of lives at the Palace Hotel lastmonth.”
“Just doing my job.” Darcangelo shifted the conversation back to her. “What did you do in the Army? Ramirez says you were his cousin’sCO.”
“Elena joined us during my last year. We were part of a forward supply company. I did mostly clerical work.” Mia didn’t really feel like talking about this, but the conversation did at least take her mind off Jason. “We were close to the fighting but not part of combat operations. One of our convoys was hit by an IED, and we lost some people. LeBron Walker almost died. Powell, my CO, got a shrapnel wound that left him with a slight limp. Apart from that, we came under mortar fire a fewtimes.”
Joaquin looked back at her from the front seat. “That must have beenrough.”
“The IED was terrible, but the mortars—they never came close to hitting us. We would take cover and crack jokes, waiting for the radar guys to triangulate the position of the idiots firing at us and take themout.”
“Jokes?” Joaquin looked surprised. “Likewhat?”
“Oh, dark stuff. ‘If they can’t do better than that, I’m never going to get out of those truck payments.’” The memory made her smile. “Or, ‘Whoever survives, remember to throw out my porn stash before they ship my shit home to my wife.’ Or, ‘Next time you book us a vacation, Starr, take us somewhere with a damnedbeach.’”