“Yes, it has.” Brett suddenly seemed overwhelmed with emotion. “I’ll leave you all to your get- together.”
“Good luck with the photos. I hope you got some great ones.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
He moved well on his snowshoes, heading back through the woods to the path out to the lane and Ridge Road. When he was out of sight, Rose smiled at Nick. “Going to start a snowball fight?”
He tossed his snowball into the fireplace and grinned back at her. “I’d be outnumbered.”
“It is a gorgeous day, though, isn’t it?”
“Any nicer and you’ll be having a mud fest instead of a winter fest.”
She laughed, but she could see Nick was tense. Jo had to have stirred up difficult memories. “Mud season hasn’t even started.”
“Ah. Mud season.”
“You’ll be long gone back to Beverly Hills by then.”
His eyes settled on her, but he said, “Tell me more about maple sugaring.”
Twenty-Three
G rit pulled in front of a cream-colored stucco house in an attractive, upscale San Diego neighborhood. Unless he’d screwed up the directions, he was at the house where Tony and Regina Martini, Nick Martini’s folks, lived, with a partial view of San Diego Bay. A sticker on a nice car parked in front of a two-car garage indicated they were members of the San Diego Zoo.
He followed a curving brick walk to the arched front door. He’d left Beverly Hills before light, borrowing one of Sean’s cars and managing not to have Beth with him. He got to Coronado in time for a long, highly classified meeting that wasn’t as boring as he’d feared. Admiral Jenkins was proving to be an interesting naval officer with far-reaching tentacles, and he obviously wanted Grit back fighting the enemy in whatever capacity he could.
After the meeting, Grit had grabbed a sandwich on the fly and punched the Martinis’ address into Sean’s GPS.
Captain Martini opened the door and gave Grit, who was in his service uniform, thirty seconds to explain what he wanted, then led him back to a softly lit tiled sunroom overlooking a backyard of carefully maintained citrus and avocado trees.
“Have a seat,” Captain Martini said, remaining on his feet. He was wearing neatly pressed, expensive golf clothes. “What do you want to know about Nick?”
Grit didn’t sit down. “I’m friends with Elijah Cameron, Sean’s brother. I was in town on navy business and figured I’d stop by. You know Nick’s in Vermont, right?”
“Skip the small talk, Petty Officer Taylor. Get to the point.”
“Yes, sir. Did Nick always want to be a smoke jumper, or did he want to be a multimillionaire businessman —”
“He’s my son. Whatever he decided to do was okay with me.”
“Enlist? You didn’t want him to be an officer?”
The captain had no visible reaction to Grit’s intrusive questions. “Petty Officer Taylor, why are you here?”
Grit didn’t have a clear answer. Atmosphere? Background? Instinct? He wasn’t sure about Sean’s best friend and business partner?
He shrugged. “Admiral Jenkins sends his best.”
The older man’s eyes narrowed. “You know him?”
“I work for him now.” As Grit had expected, that went over well. “Nick and Sean met and became friends as smoke jumpers. Was Nick still in the navy then?”
“Early on. We’re proud of all his accomplishments.”
“Was he into fires on the sub?”
“He was a weapons specialist.”
“He set fires as a kid? I did. I just wanted to see what would happen if I lit a trail of gunpowder. Nothing good, I can tell you. It worked better in the old Westerns.”
“I’m sure you want to get back to L.A. before the traffic gets even worse.”
That was it. Captain Martini pointed out his favorite avocado tree and walked Grit back outside. Grit wasn’t surprised he hadn’t gotten much out of the retired senior officer and absorbed as much of his surroundings as possible. Even if Nick had never lived in this house, it would reflect his family and their feelings about their world, him—which seemed pretty good from what Grit could see. He wondered if Nick had bought the house for his folks and decided that would be an impolite question.
“Thank you for your time, sir,” he said.
“Good luck with your rehab.”
The captain went back inside. As Grit opened his car door, a woman in a little red sports car pulled in next to Grit’s borrowed car. She was in civilian attire, and she had dark hair and eyes and looked a lot like the man he’d just left. “I think I just saw your kindergarten picture. Nick’s sister, right? Diana Martini? I’m Ryan Taylor. Grit. I’m friends with the Camerons.”
“I know all about you, Petty Officer Taylor. I’m Lieutenant Martini.”
“No kidding? They let navy officers drive red cars?”
She almost cracked a smile. “Nick’s not here, but I assume you know that. No games, okay?”
“Has anyone else been by looking for him?”
“When?”
He appreciated her need for precision. “In the past year or so.”
“Think I’m going to remember?”
“Yes, Lieutenant, I do. You remember.”
“Why would I tell you anything about my brother?”
She had a point there. “Are you friends with Sean Cameron?”
“Of course. My entire family knows Sean. That’s how I found out about you, Petty Officer.”
Grit let her suspicion, if not outright animosity, roll over him. “Ever date Sean?”
Her eyes were half-closed now. “That wouldn’t be a good idea.”
“Anymore than for Nick to get involved with Sean’s sister?”
“I have to run.”
Ta-da. “You know Rose Cameron.”
“I only have a few minutes to say hi to my folks—”
“Are you stationed in San Diego?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.”
“Did Rose stop by to check on Nick while she was out here last June? Did you approve of them seeing each other?”
“I’m not discussing my brother with you.”
“What about Jasper Vanderhorn?”
She stopped abruptly, her expression under tight control. “You should go.”
“Lieutenant, if you don’t tell me, I’ll tell Sean Cameron. He’ll tell the task force that’s looking into multiple explosions, fires and murders. Someone will come out to your nice, tidy office on the base—”
“I’m on a ship.”
“Even better.”
She sighed. “I met Mr. Vanderhorn once. Here. My folks weren’t home.”
“Did he suspect Nick was his firebug?”
“We didn’t discuss Nick or arson, but of course not. What a ridiculous thing to say, or even to ask. Why are you asking? You’re a SEAL. You’re not law enforcement.”
Grit pretended he hadn’t just been asked a question by a superior. “When did Vanderhorn come down here?”
“About a week before he died.”
