I rang the doorbell and a blonde girl opened the door wearing nothing but one of Kyle’s jerseys and purple panties.
The girl didn’t say anything, just turned and walked into the kitchen. I followed, couldn’t help staring at her fine ass. Had I never met Annie, I’d probably be hooking up with a different girl every night since I’d been home. Kyle and I would be living it up, maybe even hit the Playboy mansion. We always got invited courtesy of this Hollywood director that loved us. We’d trained his actors for one of the many action movies about the Bin Laden raid.
Kyle was sitting at his breakfast bar, reading the paper. He wore only pajama bottoms.
The girl went into the kitchen. “Want some breakfast?” She cracked an egg into a bowl.
“I’m good, thanks.”
“My bad. Pat, this is Sara. Let her cook you breakfast.”
“Sure.” Every girl Kyle hooked up with tried to audition to be his wife. He wasn’t like me; he believed in love and wanted to get married. But he still hadn’t found what he was looking for.
Sara smiled, put some butter in the skillet. “So are you a former football player, also?”
I glared at Kyle, not knowing if he had even told this chick that he was a SEAL. I doubted it. Kyle usually told people he retired from the NFL.
“Nah, honey. Pat here’s my personal trainer. Actually, we need to discuss my plans for the upcoming season in my office. Can you just bring us our omelets when you’re done?”
“Sure, babe.”
Kyle stood up and kissed her, his right hand cupping her ass. I followed him into his office.
“Upcoming season? She thinks you still play ball?”
“I told her that I used to play ball, might try out again.”
“Really? That’s news to me. You’re kind of locked into a military contract.”
“True that. But who knows, I could write a book about one of our missions and get kicked out.”
I laughed. Five years ago, most SEALs wanted to remain anonymous. After Bin Laden, every SEAL had a book deal, wanted to become an actor, or ran a Cross Fit. It was fucking ridiculous.
“When’d you meet her?”
“Last night. At Pacific Beach Bar & Grill. She’s a preschool teacher. I dig her. She could be the one.”
“That’s what you say every time.”
Sara entered the room, carrying a tray with our food and two coffees. I thanked her. It was nice being taken care of for a change.
“Could you close the door?”
“Yup. Don’t be too long.” She licked her lips. “I’ll be upstairs, waiting. Nice to meet you, Pat.”
“You too.”
The door shut. I took a bite of my omelet: cheese, ham. Simple, but good.
“So how’s Annie?”
“Good. She’s back at my place now.”
Kyle’s mouth widened into a smile. “I knew it.”
“Yeah, well, I caught her texting Chris. She says she’s not screwing him but who knows?”
“Man, that Marissa chick screwed you up. Women can have male friends and not fuck them. It is possible. Just give Annie a chance. She’s crazy about you, dude. And she’s a good girl. Fine, strong, sweet. Not many women could survive what she did.”
Kyle always seemed to be right. But I didn’t come here to discuss my relationship problems. “Have you heard back from Dave?”
“Yup. He’s waiting for our call. Going to conference him now.”
Kyle dialed his number, and Dave’s face popped up on Kyle’s computer screen. Gotta love modern technology.
“Hi, guys. So you boys used my boat for a little rescue mission? I knew you were up to something. Wish I could’ve tagged along. I missed all the action.”
Kyle spoke. “Sorry, Dave. We didn’t even know where she was. But you’re in the loop now. What’s up?”
“Everyone in Curaçao knew that Annie was taken. I looked for her myself when she first went missing, but I guess they had her hidden out in Aruba.”
I nodded. “Yup. That’s what she told me.”
“I’d heard of sightings of her, but nothing panned out. And, of course, an old bastard like me can’t really go undercover in a brothel. Not to mention all the locals know that I’m a former SEAL so I’d be the last one they’d tell.”
“Understood,” Kyle said.
“Well, almost exactly two years after she went missing, some contractors came around the island and asked about Annie. Flashing her picture everywhere.”
“We know this—that fake SEAL. He had people with him?”
“No, Pat. Not him. That con man never even looked for her. I have my doubts he even exists.”
I was confused. “I’m not following you.”
“These men that came looking for her were former Team guys. I could tell a mile away. Just like you guys. They were very thorough and professional. They must’ve hit every brothel here and in Aruba. Yet there has never been any mention of them by Annie’s family or the FBI.”
My mind raced. “So you think these guys were paid by her family but didn’t find her?”
Dave’s head shook. “No. I think they found her—and left her here.”
What the fuck was he saying? “That makes no fucking sense.”
“Hear me out. You found her by accident. I tried but was unable to because of my age and my reputation around these parts. These men worked for someone. Not the government. The FBI and CIA don’t send teams to rescue kidnapped Americans unless they’re one hundred percent certain that the hostages are in fact taken and not missing on their own accord. Like SEALs rescued Captain Phillips from the Somali Pirates, because it was confirmed that he was a hostage. Or the two missionaries who were kidnapped and saved. But Annie was different; she vanished. There was never any ransom notes, no one saw her get taken, her boyfriend was suspected of killing her or it was a possible suicide. Someone hired these guys, whoever they were, to find Annie. And I bet that they found her. They just decided not to bring her home.”
Jesus! It made sense. There was no way with all the money her parents had that they hadn’t found legit security contractors to locate her. Which group did they hire? Did they find her? If so, why didn’t they bring her home?
Kyle took over the conversation. “What did the guys look like?”
“Looked like recently retired SEALs. Older, mid to late thirties. Clean cut, no tattoos, built. One of them was a ginger.”
“No brothers?”
Dave and I both laughed at Kyle. We knew what he meant. Despite the diversity on the SEAL recruiting posters, the teams were eighty-five percent white like me. Vic and Kyle had both been recruited as part of an operational diversity program.
“Nope. Wish it were that easy. I hope this helps.”
“Thanks, Dave, I really appreciate it. Next time we’re in town, I’ll buy you a beer.”
“Any time. Let me know if you need anything.”
I stared at the empty screen, my mind totally blown. Finally, Kyle broke my trance, “Has Annie mentioned any other Americans she, uhm, ‘met’ over there?”
“Nope. She doesn’t talk about it.”
“Well, I’ll call Vic and we can start digging through older Team guys—see who’s in contracting, any redheads. But you need to talk to your girlfriend, make sure we’re on to something.”
“I doubt she’ll talk, I’ll try. Thanks, man.”
“Any time. I need to take care of some business upstairs and then I’ll get right on it.”
I gave him a high five. “I get it. I’ll let myself out.”
I walked out of the house, but instead of getting back into my truck, I headed to the ocean. I needed to clear my head.
My gut clenched. I had to interrogate Annie about her Johns without her getting suspicious.
“In the worst of conditions, the legacy of my teammates steadies my resolve and silently guides my every deed. I will not fail.”