The Recruiter (A Thriller) (18 page)

It was the greatest three hours of sleep she’s ever had.

The sound of her mother knocking around in the kitchen awakens Beth. She opens her eyes slowly and stretches. Her body feels the same, maybe a little sore, but she feels completely different.

She’s no longer a virgin.

She closes her eyes again, and images of Samuel flash through her mind. His strong face, his blue eyes, intense and passionate. His big hands on her body, the feel of his mouth and body on top of hers. Beth feels her nipples harden as the images arouse her.

Oh God,
she wonders,
am I a nymphomaniac?
Will she become one of those sex addicts on the daytime talk shows? Having sex with strangers in public parks? She smiles silently to herself. She knows the answer is no. But she also knows that if Samuel wanted to be...adventurous...she’d probably go along with it.

“Beth, are you awake?”Anna’s voice calls up from downstairs.

“Good morning, Mom!” she calls back.

It seems everything is coming together. Not only is she putting her life back together since the knee blew out, but it seems her mother’s back on track, although Beth is careful not to get her hopes up. Still, this is the longest Beth can remember that her mother has stopped drinking.

She swings her feet out of bed, puts the brace on her knee, throws on a pair of sweatpants and then a long-sleeved Lake Orion Eagles shirt, and makes her way downstairs.

The kitchen smells of bagels and coffee. Beth sees her mother at the small table underneath the window, a cup of coffee in front of her, the newspaper folded in her hand. She’s got a thick black marker and is in the act of circling something.

She looks up at Beth. “Now that’s how you start a day,” Anna says. “With a smile.”

Beth feels slightly embarrassed. Was she really smiling?

“What are you doing?” Beth asks, as she goes to the plastic dish stand next to the sink and retrieves a cup. It’s got pictures of wild animals on it and the words:
Yellowstone National Park
.

“Job hunting,” her mother says.

Beth pours coffee into her cup, adds cream and sugar, and sits down across from her Mom. “Really?” she asks.

“You don’t believe me?”

“No, I believe you. It’s just…what about the nursing home?”

“That job is pathetic,” her Mom says, vehemence in her voice.

Beth wants to ask:
then why have you been doing it for nearly ten years?
Instead she says, “Any luck?”

“A few possibilities. I’ll send some resumés out on Monday.”

Beth wonders if she’s heard right. Resumés? She’s surprised her mom even knows what one is, let alone actually has one.

“Did you have fun last night?” her mom asks.

“Yeah,” Beth says, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“You got in pretty late.”

The surprises keep coming. It’s the first time in the history of their relationship that her mother has even claimed to know what time she got in, let alone had anything to say about it.

“Time flies when you’re having fun, I guess,” Beth says, shrugging her shoulders and sipping her coffee. “Samuel’s nice.”

Anna folds up the paper and sets it aside.

“Beth, we need to talk.”

“Mom—”

“I know I haven’t been much of a mother.”

Beth sets down her cup so hard a little bit of coffee slurps out onto the table. “Mom, I’m in a really good mood right now and that hasn’t happened in a long time. I’m finally feeling good about things. Don’t ruin it.”

Anna opens her mouth just as the phone rings.

Beth watches as her mom gets up and answers the phone. She turns to Beth. “It’s for you.”

Beth listens, says
no
repeatedly, then hangs up and goes back to the kitchen table. The smile is gone from her face.

“What’s wrong?” her mother asks.

“It’s Peter,” she says. “He’s missing.”

Julie Giacalone has never worked with such intense efficiency. She is a whirlwind around the office; she updates the master list of potential recruits, assigns meetings, runs checks on the DEP pool, organizes paperwork for an upcoming NAVCRUITCOM meeting, and spends two hours on a conference call with the national director of naval recruiting, during which she is subjected to the same speech, the same platitudes she’s been hearing for the last four years. She throws in her usual bullshit. She knows her part of the conversation so well, has it down rote: she’s like an actor who’s doing a show for the two hundredth time, able to say her lines with emotion and conviction even when her mind is elsewhere. And the audience never knows.

By lunchtime, she is hungry and ready for a break. She drives out of the office to a sub shop and buys a vegetarian half-sub with a Diet Coke and returns to her office. Paul Rodgers is off giving a lecture at a high school, which is always done carefully as schools have strict policies regarding what recruiters do and say at high schools. Samuel is off doing follow-up and meeting with several new recruits.

Julie tucks into the veggie sandwich, the bread being the best part; the actual vegetables taste old and sour. She never understands why she just doesn’t make her own damn sandwiches at home. Why waste five bucks every day going out? Probably just to get out of the office for a change.

But today, she decides to come back to the office on her lunch hour.

When she polishes off the sandwich and chases it down with her Diet Coke, she swivels her chair back in front of her computer. Her work computer is newer, more powerful and most importantly, much faster, than her home computer.

Which is why she has saved some of her research on Samuel for the office.

Not that she is going overboard with this thing. It’s just that reading about Samuel’s history at two o’clock in the morning and drinking whiskey only succeeded in raising more questions.

And why did the name Larry Nevens ring a bell?

She logs back onto the naval personnel website and opens Samuel’s file. She scans through every page searching for any other contact with a Larry Nevens. She then searches the Navy’s active personnel database. If this Nevens was one of Samuel’s BUD/S instructors, surely he’ll be listed here.

The computer processes her request. She sits back and takes a sip of her Diet Coke. She looks out the window. It’s a gray day—no snow, but the roads are white with dried salt, and the cars are all grungy and one uniform color: gray.

The computer beeps, and she looks back at the screen.

No Record Found.

Julie frowns. How can that be? Samuel just went through the training six months ago. Surely Nevens hasn’t left the Navy already.

She absentmindedly drums her fingers on the keyboard’s base. Where to look?

Maybe he retired. She has no idea how old Nevens is. Maybe he’s a crusty old SEAL who did his last BUD/S training before saying adios to the Navy. Probably golfing in Scottsdale now.

There was a way to check that. Tapping back into the Navy personnel database, she goes to a search engine and asks the database to search for all personnel who have retired from the Navy in the last six months. She hits the enter key and waits. A bar begins slowly making its way across her screen, signifying the search is in progress. The door opens to the outer office, and Julie leans forward in her chair, catches a flash of white. Her heart momentarily leaps into her throat. Her hands fly to the keyboard—if it’s Samuel coming through the door, she has to cancel the search.

“Hey.”

She looks up.

Paul Rodgers looks at her.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

She breathes an inward sigh of relief. “I—”

“Oh, you ate there again,” he says, gesturing at the paper cup of Diet Coke emblazoned with the sub shop’s logo. “That explains it.”

She laughs, hollow and forced, but Paul goes back to his desk and leaves her alone. It takes a minute for her to calm down, and as she does, she gets mad at herself. What is she so worried about? First of all, she’s just searching personnel records. No big deal. And second of all, even if Samuel were here…so what? What’s he going to do? And why is she suddenly so scared of him?

The computer beeps and a huge list of recent naval retirees fills her screen. She scrolls forward to the list of names beginning with N and gets to where Nevens should be.

He’s not there.

Shit.

So Larry Nevens didn’t retire from the Navy. Goddamnit, she realizes she’s wasting her time. There’s only one way to do this. She’ll have to search the database for all personnel who have ever served in the Navy. She’s sure there will be more than one Larry Nevens but doubts that there will be more than one Larry Nevens who served in the role of BUD/S instructor. Those guys are few and far between.

She goes back to the database, types in Larry Nevens and asks the computer to search for all personnel past and present. The bar appears again, this time, moving much more slowly.

Julie gets up from her desk, goes out to the front part of the office, and crosses the area to the kitchen. She dumps the last of her soda down the drain and tosses the paper cup in the wastebasket. She’s reaching for a glass from the upper cabinet when suddenly someone grabs her from behind.

She takes a deep, sharp breath.

The arms apply pressure.

She’s ready to scream when she feels soft lips on her neck. She turns, and Samuel’s face is there before her.

“Stop it,” she says, leaning to the right where she can see the office. No sign of Paul Rodgers.

“Paul left,” Samuel says. “He said he’d be out all afternoon. Which means that it’s just me and you.”

His mouth is on hers, and she feels her legs weaken. It feels so good. Her nipples harden. She feels herself become excited.

“Lock the door,” she says, her voice thick and breathy. Samuel breaks away from her, walks to the door, and locks it. Julie’s eyes devour his body. His tight ass in his uniform, his narrow, tapered waist and broad shoulders. He’s so goddamned good-looking.

He returns to her, his hands on her body, his mouth kissing her, and steers her toward the small kitchen table out of sight from the front windows and the rest of the office. He slowly undresses her, kissing her nipples, stroking her body. He undoes the button on her pants.

“Samuel,” she says. But she’s not kidding anyone.

She can see the huge bulge in his pants, and she wants to devour it. But he pushes her hand away and pulls her pants down, and then her panties. He lifts her onto the table, spreads her legs, and pushes his face into her damp mound.

He lifts her legs onto his shoulders and reaches up, pinching her nipples as he licks and probes and sucks her to shuddering, exploding orgasm. When she’s done, he stands and she lies back on the table. He slides inside her, and he rocks with a smooth precision that builds until the entire table is bucking and heaving and the plates in the dish rack are rattling. She isn’t sure how long it lasts, but eventually she feels him come, and at long last he stops.

Julie is shaken to her core.

What was she thinking? She suddenly feels like the stupidest woman on the face of the Earth. So what if he isn’t in love with her. If he wants to use her, then she’ll use him.

“Help me up,” she says.

Samuel lifts her off the table, kisses her breasts as he does so, and then they both dress themselves.

“Why don’t you come by tonight for dinner?” Julie asks. “Around seven.”

Samuel nods, and Julie feels a slight thrill. She’s back in control again. And loving it.

“Do you want me to bring anything?” Samuel asks.

She reaches down and rubs him.

“Just this.”

The water is ice cold, and Julie drains half the glass in one gulp. My God, she thinks, that was fantastic. So incredibly exciting. She’s fooled around in the office before, but never anything like that. Samuel Ackerman knows just how to drive her absolutely wild.

Despite herself, she’s already entertaining images of tonight—of what she and Samuel will do together. Things will be a little bit different tonight. She’s got a few things in mind for what Samuel can do. A few duties he can perform.

Julie sets the glass down on her desk and plops into her chair.

She swivels toward her computer, her fingers preparing to close the open window, but the sight of red capital letters on her screen stops her. Julie focuses, her brain refusing to acknowledge what she’s seeing.

She rocks back in her chair, the ramifications swirling in her mind. Refusing to accept the conclusions that are ricocheting between logic and implausibility.

Her mind goes back to the screen.

And lingers there, confused and silent with shock.

DECEASED. UNSOLVED HOMICIDE.

Julie Giacalone is listening to a dial tone.

The words are still echoing in her mind: UNSOLVED HOMICIDE.

Was Samuel involved?

She laughed at herself.

It was nuts. Samuel, involved in a murder? Hardly possible.

Still, what was she doing poking around his records if she didn’t suspect…something?

But what?

He was bright, handsome, and a skilled lover. Why would he kill a BUD/S instructor?

She shook her head.

She had the phone number in front of her of one Captain Purgitt in Pensacola, Florida. Samuel’s CO during his brief stint as an ordnance practitioner.

What could she gain by calling him? What if this…Purgitt…was a friend of Samuel’s? Would he call Samuel and ask why his new CO was calling him, looking for…for what? Information?

The answer came just as quickly as the question. She would simply pretend to be calling to ascertain the dates of Samuel’s arrival and departure, just for her files, a routine paperwork task that had to be done. She would play for sympathy—all Navy officers hated the loads of paperwork required by the bureaucracy.

She punched in the numbers.

And received the second shock of the day.

On her knees, with Samuel Ackerman plumbing her very depths, Julie Giacalone is thinking about Pensacola, Florida.

She is remembering the shock of seeing the words UNSOLVED HOMICIDE next to the name of Larry Nevens, followed so closely by Captain Purgitt’s description of the freak accident that occurred just before his decision to send Samuel back to Michigan.

Apparently a support chain holding a dummy warhead had dropped on one Petty Officer Third Class Wilkins, killing him instantly. Investigators had scoured the scene but could find no evidence of foul play, other than some severely worn links in the chain. One investigator had insisted the links had been ruined purposely, but the allegations went nowhere. It had all been written off.

Suddenly, Samuel withdraws and lifts her back on top of him. She straddles him. She looks down at his thick, hairy chest. The perfect line of abs, his strong face. He is such a goddamn perfect physical specimen.

Julie Giacalone has another secret pleasure. It also takes place in her bedroom, late at night, between her silk sheets.

It’s called reading.

Potboilers, mostly. Especially the old ones. Hammett. Chandler. She loves them. And now, is her love of books coloring her thoughts on Samuel? Is it not enough to have these illicit trysts? Does she now have to concoct some kind of wild-ass theory that he is a slick killer?

She may have come to some conclusion. May have weighed the facts and decided that she wasn’t imagining things. That something in Samuel has triggered her suspicions and now the information she has gathered recently has confirmed these suspicions.

But before that thought sinks in, the first waves of a mind-blowing orgasm ravage her, and minutes later, her ecstatic moans erase any previous thoughts, including the knowledge that Samuel views their sex as simply doing his duty.