She didn’t get the word out before they all—there were three of them—raised their markers and opened fire.
Sting was not the word she would’ve used.
Punch was more like it.
Of course, she was heading swiftly toward them, moving well into the verboten three meter no-fire zone. And she did get hit with three pellets at once, all aimed at her center of gravity. And nearly all of the shooters went for overkill with a double pop, so she didn’t just get hit once, she got hit again and again.
Ashley hit the ground and the walkie-talkie went skittering out of her grasp. But there wasn’t any time to curl into a ball—ow!—or deride herself for not immediately shouting Hold your fire! She just scrambled after the walkie-talkie even as she hauled herself back onto her feet.
“Hey, you’re dead, you’re supposed to stay down,” one of the men said, and what the hell? It wasn’t some random member of Team Three, it was Bull Edison. And Todd Grotto was standing right beside him.
Sure enough, most of the paint on her shirt was red—her own team’s color. Only one of the pellets that had pummeled her was Team Three’s yellow.
“Team One is having a medical emergency,” Ashley managed to gasp out—those punches to her chest had made her voice sound breathless. “You—Roger!” The Team Three man who’d helped to “kill” her was an older guy—some silver-haired bigwig CEO named Roger Something who was also a marathon runner. “Cell phones are down, and we’re having trouble reaching Lieutenant King. Run to the main building—see if he’s there. It’s Kenneth, the skinny kid from the UK? He’s having intense abdominal pain—he passed out. Bull and Todd—what the hell? Don’t answer that right now. Because frankly, I don’t really care. Just run back along the trail and help LT and Clark get Kenneth to the trailer.”
All three of them just stood there, staring at her.
So she clapped her hands at them. “Move! Now!”
Todd cleared his throat. “Bull and I cut a deal with Team Three. So if this is some kind of set-up or trap—”
“If it is,” she cut him off, “it’s illegal, it won’t count, because I’m dead.” She pointed to her paint-splattered shirt. “Exhibit A. Okay? Go!”
With that, they went. And Ashley went into the trailer to attempt to reach Lieutenant King via landline.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“We’ll be right behind them,” Jim reassured Ashley as the SEAL World van—Dunk behind the wheel with Clark riding shotgun, Thomas King in the back with Kenneth—peeled out down the drive toward the main road that led to Sarasota and the hospital.
“Let’s hurry,” she said, heading swiftly toward the path to the RVs.
Thomas—when he wasn’t apologizing profusely for failing to hear their walkie-talkied request for help—seemed certain that Kenneth’s appendix was inflamed, or had even burst.
Kenneth had been desperate for someone to go to his RV, find his phone, and bring it to the hospital so he could get in touch with his parents. Dunk had tried to reassure him that Lieutenants Slade or O’Donlon would call his folks from the SEAL World office, to keep them fully informed of the situation.
But Kenneth’s ability to be reasonable was hindered by the intense pain he was experiencing. And he didn’t relax until Ashley promised to find his phone and bring it to him. So Jim had likewise volunteered to drive her—which also allowed him to change his puke-encrusted pants.
Now, Ashley slowed as she clearly realized he was struggling to keep up with her.
She dropped a very uncharacteristic f-bomb. “You hurt yourself carrying Kenneth down the trail, didn’t you?”
“I’m okay.” No way would she have bought fine. Not from the way he was limping. “Are you?” From the amount of paint on her shirt, she’d walked—no, probably run—straight into an ambush. Although…
“I’m not the one with a potentially burst appendix,” she pointed out, “so I’m kind of great.”
Jim smiled. “Yeah, good way to look at it. Me, too. But I’m not sure why you’re covered in red paint. I mean, yellow’s in there, but…”
“Bull and Todd went turncoat,” she informed him. “Can they even do that? Is that even a real thing in paintball?”
He caught her arm at the fork between their two RVs. “Are you telling me that Bull and Todd shot you…?”
She nodded.
“I’m gonna freaking kill ’em.”
Her smile was beautiful, if over too quickly. “Thanks, but you don’t have to. I’m okay.”
“Those things can bruise.”
“I thought they only stung.”
“Can I see? I want to see. Lift your shirt.”
Her eyebrows went up.
Jim refused to back down. He waited. He knew he could out-wait damn near anyone.
“Usually, I like to kiss a man first,” she said. “Before I flash him.”
It was meant to be a joke, but he was not in the mood. “Great,” he said. “Let’s do this, then.”
And he lifted her chin, leaned down, and covered her mouth with his.
Her lips were soft and warm and he could practically taste her surprise—although maybe that was his, because holy Jesus not only was he kissing her, but after that initial moment of Whoa, she was kissing him back.
Soft turned to something else—which wasn’t to say that her lips weren’t still deliciously soft, but they were suddenly something more, too. Something that matched the way her arms went up around his neck and the way her body was suddenly pressed against his. That was all her, not him, although it was a damn good idea, and he immediately responded in complete freaking agreement and wrapped his arms around her, too.
He knew—from his earlier manhandling—that her strong runner’s legs led to an equally strong torso and core. But the fact that she was a perfect mix of soft and solid against him was still a surprise, as was her hunger for more.
That was what he was feeling—hunger—from her lips and her arms…
But just as suddenly as she’d started kissing him back, she stopped. She pushed herself away from him, and Jim quickly let her go.
“No,” she said, although the word didn’t match the glaze of desire in her eyes. Except she shook her head, and said it again. “No.”
“Sorry.” That was her word, and he winced because it was no less pathetic coming out of his mouth.
“No,” she said again and this time she seemed to be disagreeing with his Sorry, but he wasn’t sure because his entire world was still on a rather drastic tilt. “We have to hurry. Change, and then head back toward the mess. I’ll catch up to you after I find Kenneth’s phone.”
“Won’t you need help?” Jim asked. Clark had said that the camper he and Kenneth were sharing was a mess as he’d given them the keypad code, and he wasn’t sure where Kenneth kept his phone. “Searching through the rubble…?”
But Ashley was already sprinting toward her own RV. “No, I’m going to use my phone to call his phone when I’m in there.”
“Brilliant,” Jim called after her as he made his way to his own trailer door. “And I am sorry. I don’t really know what that was…”
But she was already inside, the screen door slapping closed behind her.
Jim left his pants outside his own door and went in to quickly change into his cargo shorts.
* * *
The drive into Sarasota was awkward.
Ashley had been counting on having a full thirty minutes alone with Jim to discuss that mind-blowing kiss. Instead, there was no chance to talk, because the SUV’s backseat was filled with three campers who were heading to the airport. Something had come up at work—AKA, they were quitting the session. Dunk hadn’t been kidding about SEAL World’s high dropout rate.
The three men—all CEOs in their late forties, two named Peter and one named Bruce—were completely packed and ready to go. Ash knew that if they hadn’t been ready, Jim wouldn’t have waited for them. As it was, he made it very clear that he was going straight to the hospital�
��they would have to find their way to the airport from there.
He, too, was annoyed by their presence—and Ashley wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad sign. Although it was generally her experience that a person didn’t apologize immediately after a kiss if they liked it and wanted to do it again.
Although, to be fair, she was the genius who’d shouted No in his face when what she’d really meant was Wow, that was lovely but super distracting, so let’s not plan to do that again until some time way out in the future, because right now we really have to get to the hospital ASAP to be there for both Kenneth and Clark.
So it was possible that Jim’s current annoyance was also aimed at Ashley—or maybe it was just from the fact that his knees were hurting him.
He’d brought along ice for them—except he hadn’t, not really. It turned out the ice was for her—so she could soothe the welts from those paintball pellets. He didn’t ask to see them again, no doubt only due to the full backseat. He just assumed they were there—which they were.
Ashley had gotten a quick look when she’d changed her paint-splattered clothes. She had a mix of marks—the worst was a purple-red bruise right below her collarbone—but most of the others were already starting to fade. It was obvious that the extra layer of her running bra had protected her—the marks on her chest were far less severe.
As she’d finally surrendered and slipped the wrapped bag of ice up under her shirt, Jim had shot her both a look and a quick little wry smile.
That was promising.
But before she could murmur, We need to talk later, the SUV’s Bluetooth screen lit up with a call to Jim’s cell from TK—which turned out to be Thomas King.
“It’s definitely Kenneth’s appendix,” the young lieutenant announced over the car’s speaker phone. “But it hasn’t yet burst, which is great news. It means they’ll go in laparoscopically, which is far less invasive. He’s being prepped for that surgery right now.”
“Oh, thank God,” Ashley said. “Thank you for calling to tell us that.”
“Team Leader DeWitt,” Thomas continued, “I owe you an apology for being unavailable via walkie-talkie. There was no one at the range, and I was unaware that there was an issue with cell service out on the paintball field. I was on another phone call myself—Tasha, that girl I was telling you about…? She got into some trouble, and her uncle called to see if maybe she’d reached out to me. Anyway, I wrongly assumed that if there was a problem at camp, I’d see the incoming call and be able to switch over immediately. That’s not meant to be an excuse, ma’am, merely an explanation for my distraction and resulting negligence. Again, I’m deeply sorry.”
“It’s okay, Lieutenant,” Ashley told him. “Roger found you quickly enough.” Thomas had made it out to the paintball field’s south trailer just as Jim had gotten Kenneth there. “How’s Clark doing? And has anyone contacted Kenneth’s parents?”
“I’m hanging with Clark in the waiting room right now,” Thomas reported. “He’s okay. Less worried now that we know Kenneth’s risk of complications is much lower. Dunk called Kenneth’s folks—they’re flying in. I think they’re already on their way.”
“That’s great,” Ashley said. “Please let Clark know that we’ll be there soon. GPS says twenty minutes.”
Thomas promised that he and Dunk would stay with Clark at least until she and Jim arrived, and signed off.
Someone in the back said, “There’s always a distraction with them, isn’t there? And it’s always some girl.”
With them…? Ashley turned around to look at the three men—all white, all born into wealth, all quitting the relatively easy SEAL World program. She purposely misunderstood, and kept her voice light. Pleasant. A tad condescending. “This girl is the teenaged niece of a high ranking naval officer, who happens to be a dear family friend of Lieutenant King—so his distraction is understandable and appropriate. I know what you meant, though. Men do tend to be more easily distracted than women, that’s true, but Navy SEALs usually deal with it better than most.”
Jim may have laughed, but he turned it into a cough, and when she glanced back at him, his eyes were glued to the road in front of them.
The man who’d spoken—the older Peter—was unwilling or unable to let her appropriate his word, them. Or maybe it was being schooled by a woman that chafed. “No need to get your panties in a twist, sweetheart. I’m just saying that boy’s apology’s a thing of art.”
Jim looked sharply into his rearview. “I’m sorry, what?”
Ashley turned around again, but Peter was now silent.
“One of you quitting motherfuckers just called a Team Leader sweetheart, and a Navy SEAL officer a boy,” Jim said as he jerked the wheel hard to the right and pulled off onto the shoulder of the road with a spray of gravel. They were still in the middle of nowhere. Cattle grazed to the left, and a citrus orchard was off to the right. “Whoever just said that better start groveling, or I’ll leave all of you right here, at the side of the road.”
The older Peter cleared his throat. “No disrespect intended.”
“Bullshit,” Jim fired back. “Apologize to Team Leader DeWitt.”
Peter chuckled. “Ah, of course. I apologize, Team Leader DeWitt.”
And there it was. The look he gave Ashley, with that knowing smile…? It was filled with the assumption that Jim was sleeping with Ashley—that this was the only reason why Jim was adamant Peter show her the proper respect.
“Try it again, sweetheart,” Jim said. “Without the air-quotes around Team Leader.”
“Oh, for the love of God!”
Bruce leaned closer. “Just do it, Peter.”
“What, you really think he’s going to just dump us on the side of the road?” Peter asked.
“He might,” the other Peter chimed in. “And then we’ll miss our flight.”
Peter sighed heavily. “I apologize, Team Leader DeWitt.”
“I’ll take it,” Ashley quietly told Jim. “Let’s go. Clark needs us.”
“One more for Lieutenant King,” Jim ordered.
“My apologies to Lieutenant King.”
Jim shook his head as he pulled back onto the road with another spray of gravel. “I’ll pass that along,” he said as he looked hard into the rearview mirror. “Like Team Leader DeWitt, Lieutenant King is ten thousand times the man you are. And you? Boys in the back who didn’t call out your buddy’s misogyny and racism when it first dribbled from his bullshit-spouting lips…? Fuck you, too. And don’t worry, I’ll include the details of this entire conversation in my report to Senior Chief Duncan.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
The hospital had valet parking.
Which meant Jim could swiftly walk away from the SUV without punching anyone in the face. Ashley didn’t say as much, but it was clear to him she was happy about that—but no doubt only because she didn’t have the time or inclination to bail him out of jail after he was arrested for assault.
But it also meant that she followed him directly from a crowded SUV to a crowded hospital waiting room, where again, any private discussion had to be curtailed.
Sorry about that kiss. I went too far, I know, but in all honesty, I don’t understand why you’re willing to defend other people but not yourself…? Peter Asshole calls Thomas King boy and boom, you’re ready to throw down. I mean, you were plenty polite—sure—at least at first, which is a fine strategy. I’ve seen you stand up for your brother and Kenneth, too. So maybe I’ve been going about this wrong—trying to push you to get so angry that you lose it—thinking that it’s anger you’ve got a problem with. Maybe it’s not about getting angry. Maybe it’s about buying into the myth that things are never gonna change when it comes to the way people treat you… So you walk away from a battle you believe you can’t win…
Things Jim didn’t say as he sat in that hospital waiting room.
Kenneth’s surgery went well but it took seemingly forever. When the doc finally came out to announce that the kid was in
the recovery room and doing well, Dunk and Thomas started making noise about returning to camp.
“I can drive the SUV back,” Ashley suggested so that Jim could go with them.
“Nah, I’ll stay,” he said.
She didn’t argue.
But then it was Ash, Clark, and Jim in the waiting room—waiting for Kenneth to be moved to a room where they could sit with him until his parents showed up—and Clark was still a mess.
“I should’ve known it wasn’t celiac,” he kept saying.
So Jim drew the kid into a conversation. SEAL 101. “How’s your writing?” he asked.
Clark blinked. “My what?”
“Your writing,” Jim repeated. “You any good at it? And I’m not talking about the sci-fi novel you started back in seventh grade that you keep on some old flashdrive, although that’s cool, too. I’m talking report-writing. Can you do it quickly and easily, or does it make your head explode?”
Clark glanced at Ashley, but she shrugged. She didn’t know where Jim was going, either. “I don’t hate it,” he said, “but I don’t exactly love it.”
“You got any electives left before you graduate?” Jim asked.
It was another question that made Clark exchange a bemused look with his sister. She shrugged again.
“I’m getting a liberal arts degree,” he said, “so…”
“That would be a yes,” Jim said. “Good. Take an old-school journalism course. Intro or basics. Who, what, when, where, how, and sometimes even why. Read some Ernest Hemingway and channel his style. Short sentences, direct and to the point. If you can learn to write a report quickly, you’ll be miles ahead of the game. For example, this evening, both your sister and I are going to have to write up reports about what happened out on the paintball field with Kenneth, and about what happened in the car while we were driving to the hospital.”
It was clear that Clark still didn’t know what report-writing had to do with him, but he was immediately intrigued. “What happened in the car…?”
“We gave a ride,” Ashley said, “to three campers who were leaving SEAL World.”
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