Cindy Dees - Navy Seal Cop

“Not a word. He’s keeping whatever he knows about it completely to himself.”

Too bad. A rich treasure would certainly constitute a motive for kidnapping or worse. “Has Mr. Hubbard suggested on the show that the treasure is valuable?”

“This season hasn’t aired on television yet. But in the episodes we’ve already shot, he has indicated that the treasure is priceless.”

“Who all has seen the footage shot so far?”

“Gary, me and the production crew in New York.”

“I’ll need names of everyone on the crew.”

“Umm, okay. I can get that for you in the morning. I think I know everyone, but I may be missing someone who has access to the footage.”

He nodded and then said, “So you’ll be in town a few more weeks?”

“Assuming Gary shows up soon and we can resume filming on schedule.”

“What if he doesn’t show up?” he responded casually.

Horror filled her eyes, and then tears followed. He saw a lot of tears in his line of work and had become hardened to them long ago. But this woman’s unshed tears brimming in her stricken eyes twisted his gut painfully. He bit back an urge to tell her not to worry. That he would find her boss for her and bring him back to her. But he knew better than to make promises he couldn’t necessarily keep.

She choked out between sobbing gasps of air, “Gary’s like a father to me. He can be a pain in the butt, but he has a good heart, and he looked out for me when I needed it—”

She broke off. An interesting choice of words. Had she been in some kind of trouble that Hubbard rescued her from?

On the weekends, Bastien pulled reserve duty in a Navy SEAL unit, and his teammates often accused him of being a suspicious bastard. He assured them it was merely his cop’s instinct. And right now, that instinct was firing on all cylinders. There was a story behind this young woman. He would bet his police badge and his Budweiser—his SEAL insignia pin—that she had secrets to hide.

He asked, “Have you and Mr. Hubbard had any disagreements recently? Any falling-outs?”

She answered without hesitation, “We fight all the time. Gary always thinks he knows better than me how to stage and film the show. But he has no artist’s eye whatsoever, not to mention no training as a camera operator.”

Hmm. No evasion in her answer, but an admission of friction. He couldn’t take her off the suspect list yet. Too bad. His gut feeling was that she was not part of the kidnapping plot. But he only trusted gut feelings when they involved guns pointed at him or bad guys sneaking up behind him. In the world of law enforcement, it was all about evidence and cold, hard facts. Which was, of course, part of the allure of it to him. No need for messy things like emotions and relationships.

He stood up and fished a business card out of his wallet. “Here’s my phone number. Call me if Mr. Hubbard shows up or contacts you. If you think of anything else that might help me locate him, call me any time, day or night.”

“When do you sleep?” she asked.

One corner of his mouth curled sardonically. “I don’t.”

“You’re a cyborg, then?”

“Something like that.” He had to give her credit. She had a quick wit. When she wasn’t hiding things or scared silly, she was probably an entertaining person to be around. “Don’t worry about waking me up. If you hear from him or think of something, call me right away. Time is the enemy in missing persons cases.”

She nodded her understanding and reached for his card. Their fingertips brushed and he caught her fast, light inhalation. Attracted to him, was she? Aww, baby. It’s totally mutual.

An urge to reach out, cup the sweet curve of her cheek in his hand, to lean down and brush those berry lips with his, to whisper in her ear that he would make everything all right, nearly overcame him.

Damn, she was messing with his head! It must be the fact that he couldn’t have her that was making her so completely irresistible. But he had a hard rule about not dating on the job, and he wasn’t about to break it. Not for her. Not for any woman.

Not that he actually dated much at all. What with working long hours as a cop and longer hours on the weekends training SEALs, he didn’t exactly have a thriving social life. Throw in the occasional deployment with the SEALs where he could be gone anywhere from a few days to weeks, and it wasn’t worth the effort to try to sustain relationships in between the demands of his twin careers.

He supposed he technically could be accused of serial dating a long string of women. But he didn’t engage in actual relationships with any of them. At best, a few of them rose to the status of friends with benefits. But he’d learned a long time ago never to give away his heart to anyone. He’d seen the devastation love wrought, and he wanted no part of it.

He followed Carrie out of her apartment and down to the second-floor landing. “Who lives in this apartment?” he asked, pointing at the locked door there.

“Gary. The show’s producer rented this whole building for the month we’ll be in town.”

“Do you have a key to his place?”

“I do. He’s forever misplacing his keys and locking himself out, so I’m the designated spare key lady.”

Did she realize that having access to his home made her more of a suspect? It connoted more of a personal connection between them than she’d admitted to so far. The vast majority of abductions, and murders for that matter, were committed by people close to the victim.

He waited while she fumbled around in her fanny pack and found the spare key to Gary’s apartment.

She reached out to unlock the door and he forestalled her, grabbing her wrist quickly and saying sharply, “Let me do that.”

“Why?”

“It’s unlawful trespassing for you to enter without the owner’s permission. I can legally enter to search the premises in an emergency. And given that we have film of the man being abducted by force, I’d say that qualifies.”

In reality, he didn’t want her tampering with any evidence that might incriminate her. Not to mention he wanted to make sure there were no hostiles lurking in the abducted victim’s home.

He stepped in front of her and eased the key into the lock. He turned the knob silently and pushed the door open by slow degrees. No movement on the other side, no sound. No reaction at all. He eased the door further open.

He gestured for Carrie to stay back and slipped inside the darkened apartment, identical in layout to the one upstairs.

Hubbard’s apartment smelled like beer and stale pizza and was beyond slovenly. The place looked like it had been tossed. Seat cushions were on the floor, the contents of drawers spilled out, and everything thrown off the shelves. Television was still here, so not a robbery.

If the place had been searched, it had been a hasty search. A quick once-through looking for something specific. Had whoever tossed it found what they were looking for? It did look like the whole place had been searched, which led him to believe the searcher had not found what he sought.

He hadn’t sensed any stress at all in Carrie when she handed over the key. His gut was at it again, proclaiming loudly that she hadn’t had anything to do with this ransacking. Shut up, gut .

It took him under a minute to clear the entire apartment, with just a main room, bedroom and bathroom to check out. It was empty.

He didn’t spot any clothing, personal items or toiletries to indicate that Miss Price spent any time down here. Again, relief flowed through him. Dammit. He lectured himself forcefully. Not. His. Business .

He moved back to the entry door and switched on the lights. “He’s not home.”