“Just having coffee,” I said, not stepping aside. “What can I do for the Navy today, Colonel?”
Vance’s smile faltered slightly. He gestured to the hallway behind me. “May we come in? It’s a matter of some delicacy.”
I looked at Evans and Miller. They were staring straight ahead, their jaws tight, their hands clasped behind their backs. The air on the porch felt suddenly thick, suffocating. I didn't want them in my house, but turning away a commanding officer on my doorstep would raise more questions than I was prepared to answer.
“Of course,” I said, stepping back.
Vance walked in first, removing his cover. Evans and Miller followed, but they didn't move into the living room. Instead, they stopped in the entryway. Evans stood near the archway leading to the kitchen, and Miller took a position right by the front door, effectively blocking the only exit.
It wasn't a casual visit. It was a perimeter lock.
“Have a seat,” I offered, pointing to the leather sofa that Mark used to claim every Sunday.
Vance sat down, resting his cover on his knees. He looked around the room, taking in the dustless shelves, the folded flag sitting in its triangular mahogany case on the mantle. “You’ve kept the place looking beautiful, Sarah. Mark would be proud.”
“I doubt Mark cares about the dusting, sir, considering he’s buried at Arlington,” I replied evenly. I sat in the armchair opposite him, crossing my legs. “Why are you here?”
Vance cleared his throat, his gaze snapping back to me. The false warmth dropped from his face, replaced by a calculating sharpness. “We received a notification from base logistics this morning. It seems a civilian courier dropped off a misrouted package at the quarterdeck yesterday. An automated system scanned it and forwarded it to your residential address before security could intercept it.”
My pulse tapped a rapid rhythm against my throat, but I kept my breathing slow and measured.
Yesterday afternoon, a small, unmarked cardboard box had been left on my porch. There was no return address, just my name printed in block letters. Inside, wrapped in a piece of oil-stained canvas, was Mark’s silver aviator watch.
The same watch the Navy officially declared had been lost at sea when Mark’s jet supposedly went down in a catastrophic engine failure during a routine night-ops training flight.
“I get a lot of mail, Colonel,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “Mostly catalogs and life insurance updates. I throw most of it away.”
“This would have been a small parcel,” Vance said, leaning forward slightly. His eyes bored into mine. “It contains classified property. Technical manuals meant for the base that were accidentally addressed to your husband's old file. It’s highly sensitive, Sarah. If it was delivered here, I need to retrieve it immediately.”
He was lying. Technical manuals weren't wrapped in dirty canvas.
I glanced toward the hallway. Captain Miller was watching me, his large frame tense, his hand resting too close to the hip where he would normally carry a sidearm. They were nervous. The great Colonel Vance, the untouchable commander of the Black Falcons, was sitting on my couch sweating over a package he clearly didn't understand.
“I checked the mail yesterday,” I lied, my voice perfectly flat. “Just bills. No packages. If the base forwarded something, it must have gotten lost in transit. You know how unreliable the local carriers can be.”
Vance stared at me for a long, heavy moment. The silence in the living room stretched until it felt fragile enough to snap. I could hear the faint ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.
“Are you certain, Sarah?” Vance asked, his voice dropping an octave, carrying a subtle, undeniable edge of warning. “Because possessing classified materials, even accidentally, is a federal offense. We wouldn't want to see a respected veteran like yourself get tangled up in an NCIS investigation. It would tarnish Mark’s memory.”
My fingernails dug into the palms of my hands. He was threatening me. Using my dead husband's memory as a weapon.
“I’m certain,” I said, standing up. The conversation was over. “If a box shows up, I’ll call the base commander’s office and have them send a military police unit to retrieve it. Safest way to handle classified material, don't you think?”
Vance’s jaw tightened. He knew I was boxing him out. If I called the base commander, the whole base would know about the package. He needed to keep this quiet.
He stood up slowly, putting his cover back on. “I see. Well, thank you for your time, Sarah. We’ll be in touch.”
He walked past me toward the door. Evans stepped aside, and Miller opened the door. Vance paused on the threshold, looking back at me.
“Mark was a good man,” Vance said quietly. “But he had a habit of flying into storms he couldn't handle. I’d hate to see you make the same mistake.”
“Have a good day, Colonel,” I replied.
I shut the door the second he stepped outside, locking the deadbolt and throwing the security chain. I leaned my back against the heavy wood, letting out a breath I felt like I had been holding for ten minutes.
Through the peephole, I watched the three of them walk down my driveway. Vance was speaking rapidly to Evans, pointing toward my house. They climbed into a black government SUV and pulled away.
I didn't wait.