Thread of Suspicion. Susan Sleeman

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      ONE

      Luke Baldwin’s training as a Navy SEAL warned him he was in trouble. To pay attention, be still and take precautions. But darkness clawed at his senses, keeping him from fully waking and heeding the warning.

      Hoping to get his bearings, he concentrated on the sounds unfolding around him. Cars whizzed by. Horns honked. If he were home in bed where he should be, he’d hear the quiet of suburban life, not Portland’s bustling traffic.

      Digging deeper, he managed to pry his eyes open and look around. He sat behind the wheel of his battered Jeep Wrangler tipped at an angle in the ditch with the hood pressed against an enormous Oregon pine. Thick underbrush had swallowed up his car and spindly pines swayed overhead in icy winds.

      “What in the world?” He shook his head to clear his mind. Razor-sharp pain stabbed between his eyes. He let the lids fall, hoping to end the blinding intensity. Nausea curled his stomach and burned up his throat as the damp cold of winter seeped to his bones.

      How had he ended up in the ditch?

      C’mon, Baldwin, think.

      He breathed deeply, letting oxygen rush to his brain and stem the nausea. Clarity tugged the edges of his mind, then suddenly it all came flooding back.

      He’d been driving home in the wee hours of the morning to grab a quick shower before today’s demonstration of his company’s software. The roads were slick with rain, and fog hovered over the pavement. Driving too fast for the conditions, he’d felt his car start to slide. He’d pumped the brakes. The pedal had sunk to the floor with no resistance. His car had left the pavement, slipping into the ditch and ramming the tree. With no airbags, his head had slammed into the wheel and everything had gone black.

      His ancient Jeep had failed him again. Of course it had. It was on its last legs and needed replacing. He should get a better car. One with reliable brakes and airbags. Not happening, though. He’d poured all of his money into his company.

      Wait. Company. What time is it?

      He glanced at his watch: 1030 hours.

      No! Couldn’t be. He’d be late for the demonstration.

      He released his belt and dug out his cell phone. Dead.

      “No, no, no!” He pounded the wheel, the lancing pain slicing up his arm and into his already throbbing head.

      Just what he deserved for failing his staff. His software company vied for a multimillion-dollar military contract today at 1100 hours. He could kiss the money and his company goodbye if he didn’t show up.

      Not an option for a SEAL, even a former one.

      He forced open his door, the bent metal groaning and creaking. He stumbled out. Rain spit from the gray winter skies, dampening his mood even more. He grabbed fistfuls of grass and pulled his aching body up to the winding road leading into Portland. He waved at cars, hoping to flag one down, but they sped past as if he were invisible. He’d have to hoof it down the hill to the coffee shop where he got his caffeine fix every morning. They knew him and would let him use their phone.

      He hunched into his jacket to fight the wind whistling down the hill and jogged down the road. Ignoring the pain pulsing through his body, he settled into the zone he’d often found as a SEAL after silently dropping behind enemy lines. His mind floated free, and oddly, his father’s voice rang in his head.

      So you screwed up again. I knew you’d never amount to anything.

      Maybe his father was right. He was a screwup. He’d failed most everyone who mattered in his thirty-four years on this earth. His mother, his older sister—both of them killed in a fire set by his crazed father. His fiancée, Wendy, who’d wanted more from him and had every right to expect it before she’d bailed two years ago. And Hawk. Poor Hawk.

      Luke flashed back to Afghanistan, to before he’d left the SEALs to be close to his only living sister, Natalie. Insurgents had rushed his SEAL team—guns blazing in the night, his buddy Hawk falling and never getting up again. All courtesy of an intercepted satellite phone call. Luke had held Hawk as he took his dying breath and made a promise to prevent other soldiers’ deaths because of satphone security issues. So he’d founded SatCom with Hawk’s little brother, Timothy Revello, and their dream was moments from becoming a reality.

      If Luke made it to the office before he broke that promise.

      He upped his speed and soon swung into the coffee shop, heat instantly cocooning him as the scent of aromatic java perked him up. The owner stood behind the long mahogany bar, a line of customers waiting for their drinks. With no time to wait in line, Luke approached Earl.

      Earl placed a cup in front of a young woman, then looked up. “Man, Baldwin. You look rough.”

      Luke’s chest burned from exertion, but he managed to say, “Need your phone, Earl. Car and cell dead. Need to call a cab.”

      Earl grabbed a cordless phone and a laminated cardstock listing local phone numbers, then slapped them on the counter with a solid whack. “Want your usual when the line gets down?”

      Luke nodded, and as he worked to bring his breathing under control he requested a cab, then dialed his partner, Tim’s, direct line at SatCom.

      He tapped his foot on the floor as he waited, and caught sight of his scruffy appearance in the front window. A lump, swollen and purple, stuck out on his forehead. A cut on his cheek gaped open and blood saturated his wrinkled pants and shirt. No wonder people were staring at him. He might need to go home and change before the demonstration. If Tim thought he could handle it. A big if for the introverted geek who’d rather walk on a bed of nails than speak in public.

      “Revello,” Tim finally answered, sounding out of breath.

      “It’s Luke.”

      “Where are you?” Tim demanded. “I’ve been going crazy here.”

      “I’m sorry.” Luke took a quick moment to regroup and not let Tim’s frantic tone up his own anxiety. “I ran my car off the road on my way home last night and knocked myself out. I called a cab and should be there in forty minutes tops.”

      “Forty minutes?” Tim shouted. “You better hope we’re still in business by then.”

      So much for changing clothes.

      “Can you stall with General Wilder? Just until I get in.”

      “Probably, but Wilder’s not our biggest problem right now.”

      “What’s going on?” Luke asked calmly, though his heart СКАЧАТЬ