A SEAL's Vow (SEALs of Chance Creek Book 2) (27 page)

He wanted to burst from the tent, get her in a choke hold and shake her until she gained some sense of dignity and respect, but Clay knew that was exactly the kind of drama Renata was hoping for.

So instead, he dug in his bag, found his cell phone and earbuds and turned his country music up high until she finally went away.

He’d blown it again. Big time.

Renata was right—why had he doubted Nora? Just because something wasn’t likely didn’t mean it didn’t happen.

Another voice finally penetrated the music. Clay turned down the volume on his phone. “What?”

“Let me in.” It was Dell.

Clay nearly stuck his earbuds back in, but instead unzipped the fly. “What’s wrong?”

Dell pushed his way inside the small tent before Clay could object, and closed it up after him. Clay edged back so Dell could sit, too. As they faced each other, cross-legged, Clay didn’t think he’d been this close to his father since he was a boy. A sudden surge of nostalgia for his childhood left him unsettled. All those dinners around the table with his parents and siblings. The times his dad had set them all laughing with an imitation of his boss. The way he’d crowed about their achievements and brought home pizzas to celebrate even though his mom had said a home-cooked meal would be better. Clay realized he’d never told his father how he felt about all of that and the way he appreciated that he’d sacrificed so much to make a good life for his family.

“Dad—”

“Here’s the thing,” Dell interrupted. “You’re going about all this in a completely back-assed way—”

Something within Clay snapped. “For God’s sake!” He lunged for the fly, unzipped it and shoved Dell toward the opening.

“What the hell?” Dell struggled to keep his seat.

“Out. Get out, Dad. I don’t need any more of your shit. Stop telling me what to do. Stop telling me how I fucked up. Just… get the hell out of here!”

Dell clamped his mouth shut, surged to his feet, stepped out of the tent and stalked away. Clay thought he’d head for his truck, but instead he struck out toward Pittance Creek.

Whatever, Clay thought. He’d had enough. If Dell wasn’t gone by morning, he’d throw his dad out.

Many hours later,
Clay was woken from an uneasy sleep by the sound of shouting. At first he thought it was the glow of the rising sun that traced the shadows on his tent, but when sleep dissipated and he focused on the shouts, a word penetrated the fog still slowing down his mind.

“Fire!”

He was wide awake and out of his tent a second later. He spotted the flames and ran toward them, other members of the community flocking around him.

“Bucket brigade!” someone shouted.

“Get the hose.” Another voice pierced the darkness.

Clay dashed to help. He was relieved to see it wasn’t Boone and Riley’s house in flames, but the second one they’d started to frame in was engulfed in fire.

The house that should have been his and Nora’s.

He stumbled with the realization, but caught himself and kept going. Walker already manned a hose—an extension from the bunkhouse. Others were dashing back and forth from the bunkhouse with buckets filled from an outside tap. Even members of the camera crew were helping out. Clay grabbed a shovel and moved close to start throwing dirt on the nearest flames. A short time later he looked up to find Nora doing the same beside him. She bent to the task with a will, never pausing or complaining. She was still dressed, and Clay wondered if she’d slept at all. Regret bit deep for the way he’d left her earlier. He wanted to say something—to apologize—but the fire had to be their first priority. He was still working flat out when trucks from the volunteer fire district came roaring up the lane.

They extinguished the remainder of the flames quickly, while the cameramen raced to film the action for the show. Clay leaned on the handle of his shovel, catching his breath.

“How on earth did it start?” Nora asked, coming to stand next to him.

“I don’t know.” He scraped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He realized he was barefoot, dressed only in his boxer briefs. He didn’t care; everyone else had been roused from bed, too.

“All right, people. Go clean up. Kai, you want to get some coffee going?” Boone called out. “Clay, Jericho, Walker—come with me.”

“Nora—”

“You’d better go talk to Boone. Find out how this happened.” Her brows were furrowed. “How could the house catch fire all on its own?”

He shrugged. “I’ll find you later. In the morning. We have to talk.”

Nora nodded and turned away. She moved slowly, probably worn out by the unaccustomed exercise. Even in the dim light he could see her dress was ruined.

“Nora,” he called after her. “Thanks.”

“For what?” She turned around.

“Helping to put out the fire.”

He couldn’t read her expression in the dim light. “Of course,” she finally said, and kept going.

Clay wanted to go after her. Instead he ducked into his own tent, quickly pulled on some clothes and went to find Boone.

He found him huddled with the local fire chief, Walker and Jericho. Every cameraman in the place was filming something. Renata had cornered Kai on his way to the bunkhouse and was trying to interview him. “What do you know so far?”

“Come and take a look at this,” Ed Brookings, the fire chief, said. He led the way to the smoldering ruins of the small house, turned on a bright flashlight and pointed out the damage at several places around what was left of the structure. Cameramen swarmed around to document what he was saying.

“What does that show?” Jericho asked.

“Arson,” Walker said. “Multiple start points. Someone used an accelerant.”

“That’s right,” Brookings said. “You boys know someone who wants to shut you down?”

“Would you help
me change?” Nora asked Avery when she found her friends talking near the tents.

“Of course. I need to change, too.” Avery held up her arms to indicate her filthy nightgown.

“We should just go up to the manor,” Riley said in a low voice. “Each of us could take a hot soak and we could wash our clothes, too.”

“Renata’s people would have a field day with that.” Savannah nodded toward Ed, who was even now filming the scene.

“You’d think they’d focus on the fire,” Nora said grumpily. A hot bath would be heaven right now. She didn’t relish the thought of scrubbing off the soot and sweat in a cold shower in the bunkhouse. “I don’t know how I’m ever going to get this dress clean again.” She pulled out one of her work gowns. It was in much better shape than either of her nicer ones.

“I heard one of the firemen say the fire was deliberately set,” Avery said.

Nora stilled. “It was arson?”

“Who would do that?” Savannah asked.

“That developer, Montague, maybe?” Riley asked. She was pale and knew what Riley must be thinking—their tiny home was a stone’s throw from the one that had burned down. What if someone had set it on fire? Would the alarm have roused them in time?

“Maybe,” Savannah said. “Or maybe your stalker decided to take things to the next level, Nora.”

Nora blinked. “I thought you guys didn’t believe he was here.” Of course she’d thought the same thing, but after what had happened this afternoon, she’d been afraid to bring it up.

“The glass, the book, the lemonade and now this? I think it’s at least time to investigate it,” Savannah told her.

“I think so, too,” Avery said.

“Something else strange happened earlier.” Nora filled them in quickly.

“You definitely had your notebook when you came down here,” Riley said. “I saw you carrying it. You’d better go talk to Boone.”

“I saw it, too,” Savannah said.

Nora wasn’t sure why tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back and swallowed the lump in her throat. She was so stupid; she should have asked her friends earlier if they’d seen her bring her notebook down to Base Camp.

“Okay.” She looked down at her soot-smudged dress and decided she’d deal with it later. “I’ll be right back.”

She wound her way through the tents toward the burnt skeleton of the tiny house, where Clay and the others still stood, talking, a couple of the cameramen still filming them. As she approached the group, she guessed none of them would sleep tonight. Their deep voices rumbled in urgent tones as they talked—the sound of men making a plan. She hung on the outskirts of their circle a little shyly at first, not wanting to interrupt. In the low light, with the smell of smoke still wafting around them, they were more SEALs than civilians, and she wasn’t sure if they’d welcome her.

Still, she had a piece of pertinent information they didn’t know.

“Kai, I want you and Harris to—” Boone was saying when she took a deep breath and pushed her way through the circle.

“Excuse me.”

Boone looked up. “Nora, we’ve got it under control. Let the women know—”

“I have to tell you something.”

He scanned her face. “All right. Shoot.”

“Something happened today. After we got back from the manor.” She described bringing home the notebook, stowing it with her other things in the tent and zipping up the flap when she left.

“When I came back from dinner the flap was open and the notebook was gone.”

“Are you sure you—”

“Riley saw me bring the notebook back. So did Savannah,” she said firmly. She was done being doubted.

Done doubting herself, too.

After a long moment, Boone nodded. “Okay. Someone was in your tent. I’m not sure it has any bearing on this, though.” He gestured toward the burned down building.

“The thing is… that lemonade glass and the notebook? Those aren’t the only strange things that have happened since I’ve come to Westfield.”

“You haven’t heard from your stalker since you left Baltimore, right?” Clay said. When she hesitated, his brows drew together. “Nora, are you serious?”

“He hasn’t called, if that’s what you mean. It’s just… there have been a couple of times…” She knew she had to bite the bullet and explain everything, even if it did sound ridiculous. “Once Avery, Savannah and I were in the kitchen up at the manor and a glass fell off the desk and broke in the parlor. I’d left it far from the edge, and there was no water at all on the desk afterward. Someone had to have picked it up and dropped it. We searched the house and didn’t find anyone.”

“You searched—” Clay shook his head. “Jesus, Nora.” The other men looked as concerned as he did, but Nora pressed on. After all, who were they to chastise her for not speaking up? None of them had believed her today, had they?

“Another time I went up to my room and found the door open. I thought I’d shut it. Nothing was missing. Nothing had been touched, except… a book. It was pulled partway out from my bookshelf. I hadn’t touched it in weeks.”

“What book?” Boone asked. She was grateful they weren’t all laughing at her. The incidents sounded so trivial.

“It was a textbook. It’s called, “
The Teacher as Student
.”

“Does that have any significance?”

Nora didn’t want to answer that. Not in this crowd of men forming a circle around her. Their testosterone was palpable—and it made her uncomfortable. “It’s something he used to say.” She forced the words out. “That I had nothing to teach him. But he had a lot to teach me. He liked to describe… what he’d do to me.” She was almost whispering by the time she finished. Saying it out loud made her skin crawl. She wanted to block the memory of the other things he’d said, but she failed.

“Anything else?” Boone prompted.

“That’s it.”

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” Clay said.

“Each incident by itself seemed trivial. Impossible to prove. Look at the way you all reacted this afternoon.”

“But that’s because—”

“None of that matters now,” Boone broke in. “The only thing that does is finding the man who set the fire and keeping Nora safe in the meantime. Clay, from now on, you’re Nora’s bodyguard.”

She almost laughed, it sounded so ridiculous, but when she turned to Clay, there wasn’t a trace of humor in his face. Instead, he was alert, concerned… focused. Clay nodded to Boone. “I’m on it.” He turned to Nora. “Until we catch this motherfucker, wherever you are, I am.”

Nora realized he meant it, too. Just like that, he’d take on responsibility for her safety. He’d spend every minute of his day protecting her.

Something clicked in Nora’s brain. Something so simple, and yet so important it was hard to put into words. She kept judging Clay as if he were any man—someone like her father, or her stalker, even, but that wasn’t who Clay was. He was a man who made a decision and stuck with it. A man dedicated to service—to his fellow citizens, to his country—and, ultimately, to the world.

Earlier she’d laughed at his inability to see what was right in front of his face, as if being a SEAL should have made him infallible. But it wasn’t his skills or training—or some superpower he’d gained from his service—that defined who he was. It was his willingness to give his life to protect someone else.

And his willingness to give his heart to one woman for a lifetime.

Someone who maybe didn’t deserve his heart.

In a flash she understood that just like his unswerving dedication to service, he’d never deviated from his devotion to her. He’d told her he’d fallen for her the moment he saw her.

And he’d never wavered since.

It had nothing to do with Base Camp or the television show. He already loved her. He was already sure. He was ready to pledge himself to her, build a home for her, protect her—give his life for her if need be. She kept looking for complications and he kept handing her a single, solid truth.

No man had ever cared for her like that before. No wonder she hadn’t understood.

“I’ll take Nora and the women to the bunkhouse,” Clay was saying. “That’s the easiest place to monitor.”

“Sounds good,” Boone said. “We’ll start a search and keep a watch for this asshole.”

“Copy that.”

“Clay,” Nora began, needing to tell him about her revelation. “Clay, I—”

But as the group broke apart, the fire chief strode up again. “Found something. Anyone recognize this?” He held up something white. A T-shirt, maybe?