* * *
“Are you saying that the guy I handcuffed and brought in here really is David Buckner’s stepbrother?”
“That’s what I’m saying.” Captain Raoul Sandoval was a dark, heavyset man whose parents had emigrated to the US from Mexico. He smiled and sat gingerly on the edge of his desk. His dark eyes were sharp with keen intelligence. Thick blue-black hair cut short gave him a military air, and his bristly mustache always twitched when he was nervous or agitated. It was twitching now.
He held out a manila folder. “This information about Camacho was faxed from the Navy. What they would release, anyway.”
Sienna leaned back in the chair, bringing the file with her, dropping her head, and closing her weary eyes.
“He’s not Navy Intelligence, but…” Captain Sandoval began, indicating the file.
“There’s a misnomer,” Sienna said snidely and opened the folder. She sat bolt upright. “He’s a SEAL. That explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“They’re the cowboys of the military.”
“So?”
“Men like Camacho don’t play by the rules. They make up their own. It goes with being a SEAL. I don’t like it when someone doesn’t follow the rules.”
“He had every right to be there. The kid’s his brother and he had a key. We have nothing to hold him on. We’ll be lucky if he doesn’t sue us for false arrest.”
She scowled at him. “Serves him right for assaulting an officer.” She rubbed at her neck and was sure there were marks. The guy didn’t know his own strength.
She remembered the shock of meeting those intense eyes. Even now the memory made her feel uneasy and on edge. He was a Navy hotshot. So what? She could handle him. Handle? The unbidden thought of running her palms down the strong column of his chest made her shift uncomfortably in her seat.
“Sienna, apologize to the guy and let him go.”
“Apologize? I don’t think I did anything wrong.” Sienna sat forward and closed the file, placing it on his untidy desk.
Raoul followed her gaze and laughed at the annoyance on her face. Sienna started back, arching her brow. He knew she didn’t like clutter.
“Were you aware that a clean desk is the sign of a sick mind?” he asked.
Sienna smiled. “I’d call that sour grapes, Captain.”
He smiled and then became serious. “What’s your progress on finding that truck full of guns?”
“I’ve sent the serial number of the M-4 we found on the perp to the FBI. I canvassed the area where the perp said he took the gun, but perps lie all the time. I couldn’t find anyone who saw anything. I was hoping to get a lead off Buckner.”
“What do you have on him?”
“Marine Corps Military Police, impeccable record, medals for heroism at the American Embassy in Angola during their civil war.”
“Yet?”
“Yet, an M-4 turns up on a perp who says he got the weapon from the area where Buckner’s car is parked. I don’t believe in coincidences. My gut instinct is that Buckner’s involved somehow.”
“Did you contact the Navy to see if any guns were reported missing?”
“Yes, but they denied that there was any truth to that. I asked them how they could explain the M-4, and they said that it could be part of someone’s private collection.”
“Stay on top of this case, Parker. If there is a truckload of military weapons in this city and someone’s selling them out of the back of a truck like ice cream cones, I want that truck found and put out of commission.”
“Yes, sir.”
“As for Lieutenant Camacho, apologize. That’s an order. Then get him out of here.”