The driver.
“Danica,” Carrick announced her as she moved into the space, and he ushered her to sit on the couch, adjacent to the driver.
Casually, Carrick picked up and threw a blanket over her lap to keep her warm—or to keep his friend’s eyes off her bare legs. Meanwhile, the driver grinned like a coyote as he watched her—but not in a salacious way like Carrick looked at her.
“I’m Delta,” the driver explained as Carrick moved to the kitchen. “We met before.”
“Hi,” she replied, as if it was the only word she knew that morning.
“You living here now?” Delta asked lightly, like he was making casual conversation.
She looked at him, trying to find the right words, and she observed the long scar that ran up the side of his cheekbone.
Delta, seeming not to notice, looked back and forth between her and Carrick. A little mortified, Danica clutched the robe tighter and slouched down in the sofa—wishing like hell she could just disappear. What was she doing there? She kept her eyes away from the spot where she’d left a big orgasmic stain from the night before.
Carrick then brought over a steaming coffee, handing it to Danica, and nodded to Delta. “When it’s done, notify me. Don’t answer any calls.”
Any calls? Danica’s mouth parted as she took the hot mug from Carrick. Her mind once again started piecing together all the evidence she had before her, pointing to the fact that they were in boiling water.
“Roger that, Moose,” Delta acknowledged, standing up to adjust his belt and looking down on Danica.
Carrick turned on his heels and grabbed a sweater off the edge of the couch, throwing it over his black T-shirt and army green modern-cut cargo pants.
Moose? She found her lips forming the word, wondering if that was Carrick’s nickname. There was so much she didn’t know about him.
“It’s a call sign,” Delta explained it to her, recognizing her curiosity. “They stick with you, unfortunately. Just have to hope you don’t end up with a shitty one.”
Carrick turned around after throwing his wallet and phone into his hoodie pockets and nodded curtly to Danica with the appearance of goodbye, alarming her. She shifted forward in her seat, realizing he was getting ready to leave.
Where is he going?
Her lips parted as she held the mug, but something about the two men looming kept her quiet. She wasn’t used to being with these kinds of men.
As Carrick started marching toward the stairs leading down to the main floor, Delta asked, “And what about her?”
Carrick didn’t look back, but his voice carried as he moved down the stairs. “Keep her safe.”
All Danica heard was ‘keep her quiet’.
After Carrick marched out through the garage door then turned on the loud engine of his truck and pulled away, Danica found herself alone with Delta.
“I cook, you clean?” He shot her a wild grin.
She shyly nodded, feeling more shaken than she wanted to admit. She flitted her gaze to the beach outside and had the sudden urge to run.
To follow Carrick.
Delta gave her a questioning look, as if he saw something curious in her. She realized then that she’d been so consumed by Carrick that she hadn’t really paid attention to Delta. He was just as tall, but a little more charismatic—straight, slicked-back dark-blond hair and deep brown eyes. A little more playful. A startling white, straight smile. Likable. Relaxed. He held himself like a hero but had the gaze of someone who knew how to get into trouble, someone who didn’t always play by the rules.
Danica found herself wondering if a tendency for rogue antics ran through the blood of special operators—or if it was just her luck.
“I’m not holding you prisoner, you know,” Delta broke into her thoughts, searching her.
It was clear that the man wanted—or needed—to know exactly what she was thinking.
“So, I can go?” She stood up slowly, the blanket falling off her thighs.
Delta shrugged as if she played right into his trap. “Sure. Just give the boss a call before you head out.”
She crossed her arms, processing. That wasn’t what she’d expected, but the words were clear. Carrick didn’t want her to do anything unless he knew about it and approved. And yet I’m not a prisoner?
Yawning and stretching, Delta moved toward the staircase heading down to the first floor.
“Wait,” she said quickly, looking at the man she knew nothing about but wanting to know more about Carrick, who she barely knew.
Delta turned back, offering her a slight, expectant grin. As he looked at her, she drank him in. He had tattooed arms and that same rough-and-ready look that Carrick had.
“How do you know Carrick?” she asked, playing with the edge of the fabric of a sofa pillow.
Delta leaned against the wall, crossing his arms, killing her with the pause—and his dark gaze.
“We were in the same troop,” he explained. “On the same team.”
“In the SEALs?” Her lips parted, her tone innocent and searching.
Delta nodded, and there was a brief silence. There was something so different about him and Carrick, but something still the same. She got that same tortured feeling from both of them. Then he continued, reaching to his face to touch the scar that ran up his cheekbone.
He continued, “We’ve seen a lot together. Syria, Iraq, West Africa—you name it. We’ve both spent more time away than home…for a long time.”
“Wow,” Danica said. But learning something about Carrick’s past only made her hungry for more.
But before she could ask any more questions, Delta turned to head down to the entry level.
“I’ll be in the office if you need anything.”
As he rocketed down the staircase, Danica found herself in silence. She had chills running up her spine. It was incredible to hear that snippet of information, but where did that leave her? Carrick was still a steel vault. And she had no answers. No plan.
She suddenly felt very alone. She wondered if Carrick would be back any time soon. But why should he be? He had things to do. She was an afterthought. That was what marriage would be like with him. Transactional. Emotionless.
A frustrated sound escaped her lips, and Danica didn’t know what the hell she was doing anymore. All she felt was hungry, tired and anxious. She felt like a toy in a greater game that she wasn’t really a part of and didn’t understand. Collapsing back against the couch, she wrapped herself in the blanket that Carrick had put on her legs.
And she sat.
And thought.
And sat.
And thought.
Until she couldn’t be there anymore, and she got up—moving silent as a mouse upstairs to the bedroom where she found her laundered clothes folded neatly in a pile on a wooden dresser. What time exactly does Carrick get up in the mornings? He seemed to live a secret life before he even put the coffee on.
Clenching her teeth, she hauled on the freshly laundered set of panties and a bra, along with her black mini skirt and a loose-fitted knit sweater. She was getting out. No more. And Carrick?
I’m just an afterthought to him. This isn’t love.
And as she stood in front of the dresser, pitching what little stuff she had into her black bag, she felt a pang of self-doubt—the most insidious of all the doubts.
What will happen if I leave?
She drifted her fingers down the dresser, tracing elegant metal knobs with embossed floral patterns. Again, there was no way he’d chosen that dresser. It was simply too feminine. She didn’t know him well, but she was sure that he would never choose anything like that. Did he have an interior designer? Would he care enough to pay for that service? It didn’t seem to fit his personality.
As she traced one of the dresser’s knobs, she found herself questioning more and more. What were his secrets? What didn’t he want to tell her? She tugged on the knob, opening the small top drawer, and inside she found a whole mess of things—b
elts, knives, empty and tattered leather wallets and what looked like Navy insignia. Now, that made sense. Couldn’t be more Carrick even if it had growled at her.
She pushed the drawer shut and pulled open the one underneath. It was his socks and boxers drawer—neatly arranged and organized like any good SEAL would have it. She avoided the urge to rip out his boxers and smell them, so kept moving her way down, finding a shirt drawer and what looked like a drawer full of workout clothes. Of course, that checked out, too.
Huffing, Danica wondered what exactly she expected to find in a man’s dresser. Dildos and red panties? That wouldn’t even really alarm her as much as she would once have thought.
Then she realized she only had one drawer left to snoop in.
The bottom drawer.
She stood still, looking at it—debating if she should just stop. It wasn’t right to pry. She shouldn’t.
Right?
Immediately, she whipped open the bottom drawer, frantically searching for evidence. What type of evidence? The jury was still out on that. She just needed to find something—anything—that would tell her what she already knew. He had a dark past, and he was never going to tell her a fucking thing about it.
Rooting around, she found that the bottom drawer was stuffed with more clothes, but then she saw it. The edges of a small, torn cardboard box stuffed to the back of the drawer came into view, hidden underneath a shirt. It screamed ‘secrets’. It screamed ‘the past’.
Danica had to look inside.
I just have to.
Slowly pulling the box out of the drawer, she tried not to disturb the rest of the contents. She was going to need to put everything back to hide her crime. She ran her fingers over the dusty box and read his name written on it—block letters written in black marker on top of old, ripped packing tape. And sure enough, the box wasn’t sealed anymore. It was simply folded up like it didn’t matter.
And that was exactly how Danica knew that it mattered very much.
She carefully peeled back the flaps of the cardboard box and realized quickly that it was a box full of old cards. But then she realized that they were not just any type of cards. They were sympathy cards.
Someone important died.
She picked up a yellow and muted green card that had some sort of scripture on the front. She traced the gold embossed words with her finger and breathed in the truth. Once she opened that card, there was no turning back. She would know his secret. Know his pain. But also, she would know she betrayed his trust. She put down the card, looking at it. She shouldn’t.
But I have to.
Snatching it up again, she opened the card. She read a message from someone named Aunt Kathy.
Carrick, I’m deeply sorry for your loss. Lauren was the bright star in all our lives, and this world is a lesser place without her. There are no words. An unimaginable tragedy. I’m always here for you, if you need me. In lieu of flowers, we have donated to the cancer foundation in her name.
Oh shit.
Cancer? Danica gasped. God.
She picked up a few more cards, reading similar sympathy messages, then dug through the box until she found a funeral service leaflet. It had a picture of a younger, happier-looking Carrick on the front—holding a beautiful brunette in his arms. The two were a gorgeous, healthy couple sitting on the beach somewhere. They looked so happy. Danica didn’t miss the engagement ring on the woman’s finger.
Tears welled into her eyes, and she felt moved beyond words. Immediately, she found herself crying for him and for her.
As she batted back tears, she read on, unable to stop herself. The leaflet described a young woman who’d suddenly become sick with leukemia and tragically died within weeks, leaving behind her fiancée. She had been loved by all and denied a life she deserved.
Died suddenly. Tragic loss.
Danica bit her lip, dripping a few tears onto the box. She cried for Lauren. She cried for a young woman who should have lived, should have gotten married, should have had children, been a mother.
It isn’t fair.
Immediately, Danica wished she could trade places with her. It wasn’t okay that she had died and Danica would live—taking her place with Lauren’s man, a man who couldn’t love her. It was so clear now why he was so sure that he’d never love again.
Danica knew then and there that her father would be ashamed of her if she let Carrick throw away his life for her—not to mention her own. What an embarrassment.
Crying harder, she felt the agony of her emotions. She was falling for him, but he didn’t love her—and he wasn’t going to. Once again, Danica looked down at Lauren’s picture, and knew she had to do right by her memory, to do right by her parents and the people who loved them. And that was when Danica made up her mind.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Carrick
“How much is the property?” Carrick spoke into his truck’s handsfree speaker, driving fast down the highway to make it home as soon as possible.
He’d already been a busy boy that morning and had more things to get done.
“It’s listed at a million, and you’ll share the building with a popular coffee roastery,” Kathy, his aunt and real estate agent, explained into the phone. “This is a real hot buy—and a great investment. Want to put in an offer?”
“Damn, that’s not cheap for such a small property. I knew commercial property down here was pricey, but come on,” he scoffed, stopping at a red light on the Pacific Coast Highway, looking at his hands as he gripped the steering wheel.
A few of his knuckles were cut open. And unless he was planning on wearing gloves, Danica was going to have questions about what he’d gotten up to that morning—things he didn’t want to tell her about.
Kathy continued musing on the call, “Well, you’d be able to buy it in cash if you sold—”
“Don’t.” Carrick cut his aunt off before she could continue.
“Carrick, listen… I was so happy to sell the house on Coronado island to you and Lauren, but I need to say something. Please just take this as coming from someone who loves you.” Kathy pushed, telling him things he didn’t want to hear. “The San Diego market is raging hot right now. I’ve never seen it this active down there. Your old home—and you are not even living there anymore—would sell so fast. I’ve been batting off unsolicited offers on it for a year. You are leaving big money on the table.”
He exhaled, frustrated at how pushy his aunt could be. But she was right. She was a top-tier agent and knew her shit.
“Look,” he grumbled, but pivoted. He was going to be married in a few hours and had a lot more to think about than himself. So, he just said, “I’ll figure something out. I’ll call you later.”
As Carrick flicked off the call, leaving him in silence, he thought about what had been said—and what he should do. He hadn’t stepped foot in his old place in nearly two years and was bleeding money every month to pay a property manager to deal with it. When Lauren had gotten sick, he’d lived at the hospital. When she’d died, he’d never gone back to the home they’d shared. The place had turned into a tomb—with all their stuff—all the stuff they’d bought together.
He knew he should just sell it and start fresh. It was just that in all those years, he hadn’t been able to. He’d transitioned his life from San Diego to Sunset Beach, up the coast, and never looked back.
The traffic light turned green, and he hit the gas, his thoughts turning back to Danica—the woman he’d never expected to fall into his life. He started working on logistics—getting her to city hall and getting married. Carrick was nothing if not determined, and he’d made up his mind the previous night. He was going to do something that she couldn’t do for herself. He was going to make Danica unavailable once and for all, something he’d promised Petrov and Andriy that they wouldn’t like one little bit.
As Carrick pulled up to his place in Sunset Beach, he was ready to get shit done. Today, he was killing it, securing a lifetime of Danica—which promi
sed to be amusing at the very least.
Jumping out of his black truck in the garage, he moved swiftly into the house. Purposeful. Driven. Inside, Carrick darted his gaze left to right, like it was a damn night raid. Where was she? The place was dead quiet except for Delta in the office on a call. Intent, Carrick moved on and took the stairs up. Dani wasn’t in the living area.
What’s she doing?
Carrick immediately hit the upper stairs, taking two at a time. The door to the bedroom was closed. In that instant—he couldn’t explain why—his instincts lit on fire. He pushed open the door, revealing Danica standing by the bed. She jumped, just as surprised to see him as he was to see her. With her black backpack over her shoulder and white tennis shoes on, it was clear that she was getting ready to bolt.
“Going somewhere?” he pushed.
“Yes,” she replied, her lip quivering as he stalked closer.
Unwilling to believe the words, Carrick marched right up to her, close enough to see the camouflage glint of her eyes, feeling that familiar rising hunger for her.
“Where?” he demanded.
“Anywhere not with you.”
“How’s that?” he rumbled, merely inches from her. “It’s time for us to go get married.”
Unable to control the growl rising in his chest, he drew out their marriage license from his pocket, as if to prove how serious he really was. He pushed it into her hand for her to review its legitimacy—and come to understand that this was happening.
Whether she likes it or not.
She gazed at the marriage license and back up at him, her eyes wide and her face immediately flushed with what looked like fear. “Why would you go do this? If Andriy finds out…”
“I’ve dealt with him,” he confirmed and crossed his arms with a tone of finality.
“What?” she asked, arching her eyebrows as she watched him do so.
Reaching out, Danica grabbed his right hand, which was crossed underneath his left elbow. He realized what she had seen. Her face grew full of unease as she observed the blood on his hands for the first time. He clenched his fist, feeling how it ached. Even he was not immune to pain.
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