Accidental SEAL (SEAL Brotherhood #1) (16 page)

“You like this shit, don’t you, hero boy?” The heavily accented man kicked Armando in the gut.

Armando retched, and then raised his head up with another wide grin. “Oh, yeah. I like it all right. I’m dreaming of peeling your skin off in strips and cooking it like bacon, man.”

Armando got another kick in the gut for that one.

“Yum,” Armando said, then spat out blood onto the man’s shoes.

Kyle figured Armando was going to get a fist and probably more kicks, but the phone rang, and the man went after it. Left alone, Armando nodded to his left twice in quick succession, indicating Mia was probably in the next room.

Kyle silently crept to the other window and saw Mia, her arms cuffed up over her head and her ankles spread and cuffed to the iron bed frame. She was covered with a dirty blanket. Her sleep was deep.

God, hope they didn’t drug her, too.

Kyle thought he heard a vehicle in the distance. He adjusted his goggles and scanned the forest, but couldn’t detect a light source. He ran near soundlessly through the brush until he reached Cooper and Fredo.

“You hear that?” he asked.

“Yeah, sounded a ways off, though. Came from there,” Coop whispered, nodding toward the motor home. Kyle recognized a slight waver to his buddy’s voice. The last time he’d heard it they’d been laying on their bellies on a rooftop in Afghanistan.

Kyle knew if something happened to the motor home, they’d have to wing it in the woods. But they had gear and had been trained to improvise, to use what was around them. It would be a minor inconvenience for them, but might put Gunny in harm’s way. It wasn’t anything he could dwell on right now.

At least they weren’t in the frozen tundra in Alaska, where they’d been trained.

Kyle began making a plan, assuming there were at least two bad guys in the house. Perhaps more in the woods. Definitely more coming. Though outnumbered, at least they had the element of surprise on their side. And so far, they didn’t have anyone shooting at them.

Something whizzed through the night air. Three definite taps hit the tree right behind Fredo and splinters of pinewood flew in all directions. Kyle recognized silenced automatic fire.

Chapter 13

Christy had spent a restless morning cleaning her condo. Again.

Twice in one week? I’m turning into my mother.

But she knew she’d have to step outside her cocoon eventually and face the real world. She wouldn’t be looking for anyone to take the SEALs place. Just something to distract her thoughts until her heart could heal.

If that was even possible.

She thought about calling Marla, but didn’t need the questions she knew would come. She needed an intense workout, though, and Marla, the toughest of the personal training staff, would push her as hard as she wanted to go. And then ask all her questions.

So be it.
Christy really didn’t want to be alone. And maybe after the workout, she’d even think up some answers that might make some sense.

Marla agreed to meet her at the gym an hour before closing. She put off the trainer’s sharp queries, promising to catch her up later.

She grabbed her keys, loaded her gym bag for later, and left it on her bed.

Though she knew it wasn’t wise, she needed to go look for Kyle. He was probably occupied with searching for Armando, but she hoped for a chance encounter. Or perhaps word would get back to him she was looking for him again.

Will this send him away permanently?
She decided it didn’t matter.

Her hallway was deserted. Downstairs in the garage, it was deathly quiet. A pair of finches had traveled into the huge underground structure and made a nest. She heard the peeping of young life echoing faintly in the cold, gray cave of the bowels of her complex. It took away some of her apprehension.

Why can’t I relax?

It wasn’t as if she was in any danger. Kyle was the one who was doing all the exciting stuff. Christy was a Realtor. The only thing she had to do was land on her feet after a rocky first week at the company. Time would heal her jitters. If Patterson Realty wasn’t going to start getting comfortable right away, she’d move on. She would try another office. Make another fresh start.

Or I’ll quit and go back home to San Francisco.

Her Honda was still clean after last Sunday’s bath. When she’d been ready to launch her career. Been dressed to the nines. Hopeful. All this had been just four little days ago, back when all things were possible. Before the guy with the three-legged tattoo had wound her pantyhose around her wrists and challenged her very existence.

And was there a part of me that liked it?

As she exited past the lumbering automatic rolling grates of the garage, afternoon sunlight caught her like a blast from a furnace. Her eyes hurt from all the crying she’d done. One look into the rear view mirror told her it showed. The car had no forgiving light fixture like the one in the bathroom. Harsh sunlight showed every wrinkle, every bloodshot vessel in the whites of her eyes, every part of her puffy red eyelids. Crying and lack of sleep made her look ten years older, she thought.

Come on, Christy. Get yourself together. Focus.

Nothing looked familiar yet in San Diego. Every street was new. Every building, office, or restaurant was more eye candy. The colors of the bay, the clouds in the sky—everything was different from San Francisco, a city she knew so well. A city where she’d felt safe. Not like here, although San Diego was probably safer with all these hunky guys running up and down the beaches. The only constant was that she felt she didn’t belong here yet.

Her Honda pulled up outside the sandwich shop Kyle had taken her to on the island as if she’d willed it that way. She’d traveled without being conscious of where she was driving. Over the Coronado bridge that always scared her just a little bit. She hadn’t noticed.

Why?

Though Kyle was the biggest asshole she’d ever met, he was also a complicated package doing a hard job. She was collateral damage. Plain and simple.

The thought didn’t help her as much as she wanted it to. She’d wanted to be more than collateral. That was the whole point. She wanted to be the center of someone’s universe. And she knew with Kyle, that could never be. His duty, his job, would always come first.

My own damn fault.That’s right, Christy. You knew it would hurt. Well, babe, you were right.

God, how she hated to be right, especially when she didn’t listen to herself.

“Fuck it,” she whispered as she exited the car and tweeted it locked.

The grill was hopping, with a full crowd. Too early for happy hour. She spotted a table full of America’s finest eating hamburgers and drinking shakes. She knew, just knew they were SEALs. They were all dressed casual, with their hair a little longer than regular military, and even a couple had moustaches. Their muscles were bulging and from what she could see, she figured that among the eight of them, there were probably fifty tattoos. She didn’t want to stare.

But she did.

Almost on cue, all of them turned and quietly assessed her. They looked in her eyes, every one of them. She could tell they were scanning elsewhere, but wouldn’t show it, with that damned peripheral vision Kyle used.

Did they know she’d been with Kyle here?
No way
. How in the heck could they tell?

She nodded in their direction, smiled, and took a flying leap of faith. Her legs automatically took her to their table’s edge and she addressed them.

“Hi there, fellas.”

“Afternoon, ma’am,” one said. Several of them stood.

“No. Stay seated, but thank you.”

“You like to join us?”

God, he was good looking. Dark, almond eyes and light, coffee-colored skin. They all were specimens. She smelled something familiar in their group.

Confidence.

“Well, I…”

“Sure she will, gents.” Griz came over and handed her a menu. “I’m giving her this, but I already know she likes the fresh crab sandwich.” He winked, and several of the men nodded.

So that’s how it’s done.
Griz just let them know she’d been there with someone. Didn’t matter who. Someone had claimed her
.

But do they know he’d dumped me?

It probably didn’t matter. She could tell she was permanently off limits. And it wouldn’t be the first time an ex-girlfriend…and
what in the hell are you thinking, Christy?

I’m no ex anything. I was a two-night stand. Nothing more.

That did it. Her eyes stung because the tears were being dredged up all the way from her feet. She’d cried so much last night she was plain out of tears and hadn’t recovered, probably wouldn’t recover for days.

She shoved the menu against Griz’s chest, chanced a quick glance into his puzzled eyes, then took off. She ran. She ran down the sidewalk three blocks, hoping the wind would take the tears away before she felt them running down her cheeks.

And then she stopped.

What am I doing?

She’d run past her car. She saw water glistening on the inlet and she walked toward it, down to where the waves were lapping on the shore. The sand was warm under her feet. A couple of little kids were playing in the surf. The beach was dotted with visitors.

Christy turned to the left and saw a portion of the beach roped off in orange. Out in the bay several gray boat crews were bobbing up and down, their oars dipping deep into the murky water, held by muscled arms. It kept them from being pulled onto the rocks ahead of them on the shore. Another small crew of men ran in tandem down the beach, carrying a rubber boat over their heads, looking like ants under a bulky sausage. A lone man with a bright orange vest was shouting through a white bullhorn. He stood atop the large boulders of the breakwater.

She walked closer to the spectacle. A small crowd of tourists was standing outside the orange zone. As another crew passed them, someone shouted, “Smile, gentlemen. We got pretty girls ahead.”

Half of the men didn’t look up, but the handsome boat crew leader showed off his pearly whites to a couple of well-tanned lovelies in their all-too-skimpy bikinis, each holding up their iPhones to take pictures.

“Bet he won’t be smiling tonight,” someone said in the audience.

Another instructor with a bullhorn shouted behind one brave soul, who was limping.

“I said sandy. Good and sandy, mister.”

The whole beach could hear him.

“Yessir.”

“Don’t yessir me. Get sandy, sailor.”

“Yessir.” The recruit did somersaults all the way to the edge of the surf, where he lay back and allowed the little slapping waves to cover him. He threw wet sand over his camis and boots that were laced up mid calf. The young man looked up to see where his tormentor was.

“Did I say you could raise your head, sailor?”

The soldier put his stubbled head back onto the wet beach and continued to splash water and wet, sloppy sand on his own face.

Christy heard the bullhorn blurt out something toward the waiting boat crews on the water, and she watched as one crew cheered and began paddling in. Reaching the rocks, they dismounted, held their boat above their heads, and inched up, painfully slow, as one crab-like animal. They brought the precious boat up and over the rocks without damaging it. They cheered as they must have been rewarded with something the instructor said. They ran the rest of the way to take their position next to another crew, who was sitting on the edge of their boat, sunning themselves. Waiting.

So this is what he did.

She’d seen the TV programs. She was touched that this little routine of triumph and defeat was so openly visible for everyone to see. If someone failed today, some of the people they were supposed to defend were going to witness it.

Have I ever faced that kind of reality?

She had to say yes. She’d come during her mother’s last days, taken a few days off from the lingerie shop in San Francisco. When her mother died, she felt totally alone. No brother, sister, or father.

The first few days after her mother’s death, she didn’t even cry. It wasn’t until her mother’s pastor stopped by to visit as she was boxing up some of her mother’s things that she’d collapsed against his chest and let loose. Was that all it took? Someone’s big strong arms to hold her so she could free herself of the pent up grief, and loneliness? Someone to help her feel what it was like to be truly alone?

After that, she’d taken a breather from packing, and for the next two days walked down to the water’s edge, watching the boats. She watched the sun setting both nights. On the second evening, as the pink and orange sky turned purple, she decided she’d stay in San Diego. Something in the water called her.

She dialed Madame M and told her she wasn’t coming back to the shop after all.

“Ah, ma chère, I feel a great adventure awaiting you. Is there a man, perhaps?”

“Hardly. Unless he’s the doorman, or a driver for Goodwill.”

“No romantic dinners by the water’s edge?”

“No.”

“Galleries. They have wonderful galleries. Not as great as here, of course.”

Nothing was ever as good as it was in San Francisco. Madame squealed about every new yogurt shop or cupcake bakery that opened. It was their secret mission to visit all the new ones within the first week of their opening.

“And then there are the boys on the beach. The ones that run bare-chested.”

“I’ve not even seen them.”

“Then you must. In fact, I will never forgive you unless you do.”

Christy knew Madame would be stressed and shorthanded with her absence. But while the women knew her customers, she knew her staff even better. There’d be nothing she could say to change Christy’s mind.

Christy had intended to transition to work for a wealthy San Francisco developer and customer of the shop. He’d been delighted when she told him she’d passed her test.

She called Tom Bergeron’s office and told his secretary she was going to hang her new license somewhere else, and would be permanently relocating to San Diego. The secretary feigned disappointment, but Christy knew the older woman was secretly jealous of the attention the handsome owner paid to her. At least he did before his recent public spectacle of a wedding to the famous international supermodel. Married on the bay, on a full moonlit night. She’d watched the couple and hoped someday her wedding would be just as beautiful.