He sighed, then flinched as the jackhammer in his head tried to drill a hole through his skull. Maybe he should give in and call the doc about scheduling that MRI.
But first he needed to make this damn phone call. No sense in putting it off any longer.
Forcing his fingers to move, he highlighted Tex’s number. The call rang once—if even that—before it was picked up.
Not a surprise. Tex managed to make himself indispensable to pretty much every spec ops agency in the world—both governmental and private. Rumor had it the dude had even worked with the POTUS a time or two. In Tex’s world, a missed call could make the difference between good men living or dying.
“Squish?” Keegan’s slow, surprised drawl flooded the line. “This is a pleasure. Good to hear from you, brother. How the hell you doing?”
“Five by five.” Phone to his ear, Squish reached for the freezer door and the icepacks.
“Yeah?” Tex said. “You still getting those migraines?”
Squish’s hand fell to his side. He forced a casual tone. “They’re not so bad now.”
“Right.” Tex’s tone dropped straight into skeptical.
Squish scowled and set his jaw. “That’s right.”
How the hell had Tex known about the headaches, anyway? Squish hadn’t been exactly forthcoming about the damn things. And since the dude knew about the headaches, did he know about the even less attractive side effects associated with traumatic brain injuries?
Time to change the subject. “Hey, man. I need a favor.”
“Is this favor about Lucky?” Tex’s voice held double doses of sympathy. “Because we’re still looking for him. We haven’t given up.”
“It isn’t.” Or at least not directly.
He knew Tex had been monitoring the region Lucky disappeared in, keeping an ear out for any chatter about an American who fit Lucky’s general description.
“Oookay…” Tex’s voice turned guarded.
Great. Just great. The guy was already suspicious. Had Tex read his medical report? Did the damn thing mention perceptional paranoia? Hell, the doc sure liked to throw that term around during his weekly checkups.
He opened the freezer door and grabbed an icepack, then forced the request out. “I need you to track down a deleted voicemail.”
Silence drummed down the line, and then, “A voicemail?”
He tried to read Tex’s tone. Suspicion? Surprise? Curiosity? All three? “Yeah. A voicemail. I need to know what it says.”
“You didn’t listen to it?”
He hesitated, his fingers tightening around the icy plastic in his hand. “I listened to it. I need to listen to it again.”
More silence traveled down the line.
“Okay,” Tex finally said. “Who’s it from?”
Squish pushed the name out. “It’s from a woman named Mandy—Amanda—Wilde.” He headed back into the living room, to his scuffed leather recliner.
“Amanda. A woman?” Tex went silent again, before adding quietly, “Why do you need to listen to it again?”
Squish debated how to answer that.
“And don’t give me some bullshit story about tracking down some ex. You don’t do relationships long enough to collect an ex. If you want my help, you give me the truth.”
Well, Tex had sure nailed that assessment of his character. Squish grimaced.
Settling into the recliner, he pulled the footrest up and laid the icepack across his eyes. Sometimes the cold helped.
“Squish?”
“Yeah.” He readjusted the icepack, trying to focus past the pounding in his head. “Not sure where to start.”
“The beginning is good.” Tex’s voice was matter of fact.
Right.
“About a year ago, a woman subleased the condo next door to mine.” Or so she’d claimed.
“This is the gal who left the message you want restored, Amanda Wilde?”
“Yeah, although I’m not sure that’s her real name.” He slid a hand behind his head to massage the knot at the back of his neck.
“She’s using an alias?” There was curiosity in Tex’s southern drawl now. “You hook up with her?”
“No. Not even close.” Although not for lack of trying. At least on Mandy’s part.
Christ, he’d never seen someone so bad at seduction, yet so determined to throw herself wholeheartedly into the task.
“Not your type?” Tex asked, for the first time sounding like he was wondering where Squish was going with this.
“It’s complicated,” he said, his hand falling still.
No, she wasn’t his type—at all. She was too wholesome, too sweet, too kind. For fuck’s sake, she volunteered at rest homes and soup kitchens. She was the Mother Teresa type, which didn’t mix well with his penchant for death and destruction. All of which made it absolutely insane how difficult it had been to turn down her less-than-subtle attempts at seduction. It would have been easier to just give in and screw her until the attraction—on both their sides—ran its course.
But he didn’t do virgins. Too emotionally messy. And she screamed virgin from the top of her shiny brown hair to the bottom of her sensible blue sneakers. The last thing he wanted was his black hole of a career obliterating her sweet, virginal light.
“The message?” Tex asked, nudging Squish back on track.
Right.
Squish scowled. Everything he’d said so far fell into the normal category, but this was where things took a weird turn.
“A month back, while we were wheels up for that last op, Mandy called me.” He paused, putting extra emphasis on the next batch of words. “On my squad cell. We were in blackout though, so the call went to voicemail. I didn’t get the message until a couple of days after I woke up in the hospital.”
“She called your company cell?” Tex’s voice sharpened; his surprise evident. “You gave her the number?”
“No.” Squish’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t. Nor did she ever have access to my cell, so there was no way for her to acquire it through snooping.”
“No post sexual stupor where she could have scrolled through it?”
“I never slept with her,” Squish snapped. “She was never in my condo; I was never in hers. The phone was never out of my sight. There was no way she should have known that phone number existed.”
“Considering what you do for Uncle Sam, that particular number is locked down as tight as the code to the nuclear football,” Tex’s voice slowed. “To access it without your knowledge, she must have contacts in high places. Any idea who she works for?”
“She never said.”
“You never asked?”
“I never had a chance. After I listened to her message, I tried to get hold of her, but the number she’d called me from had been disconnected.”
“Hmm.” Tex gave a small grunt of understanding. “Why did she call you? If she was a plant to suck military secrets out of you, she must have known that calling you on that number would open her up to some thorny questions.”
“True,” Squish agreed tightly. “If she was a plant.”
Tex, being Tex, instantly picked up on Squish’s reservation. “You don’t think she was?”