Fighting For Olivia

by Zoë Normandie

  “You can, and you will. You only need me.” His voice was final, and firm. “We all have decisions to make.”

  And there was her choice: either she spoke with him and him alone, or she wouldn’t get him at all. She knew he was the key to all of it—the piece all the tours in Mali shared in common. Not having him wasn’t an option. He was Master Chief. The leader of the Wolfpack.

  She needed him.

  And though she couldn’t make the choice, she also couldn’t lose him. She couldn’t appear to falter.

  “Deal,” she breathed, totally uncomfortable with the deal she’d struck.

  Blind trust.

  He held her gaze as if assessing her commitment, and she dared not blink—any twitch might be perceived as treachery. The little she knew about him told her that he was definitely a man you did not want to cross.

  Seemingly satisfied with her commitment to their deal, he nodded. “I don’t bring my cell anywhere I don’t want my conversation being listened to—because they can, and they will. Be aware. You should follow suit.”

  With one final look of warning, he turned and left.

  Her flushed, warm cheeks had produced a glaze of dew, and she pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. It was business time. Time to get cracking on the inquiry—there was a lot of shit going on.

  Breathing out deeply, she wondered what she had just gotten herself into. Doing it alone was a lot harder than she thought. She wished her boss Jacqueline were with her to be her lodestar for the contract. Anything to keep her focused on the client, the work, the rules… and out of trouble.

  10

  In her bunk, Olivia pulled on her sports bra and training tights.

  The toddler-sized bed was pushed up against the wall of her bunk underneath a submarine-sized window. An even smaller locker and desk were all that could fit in the room. She was lucky she’d brought wrinkle-resistant clothing, most of it utilitarian.

  As she changed, her breasts heaved up and down with her sharp breath. Her blood was pumping, and her eyes were wide open. It had been a stimulating day. Being sent to a SEAL base—especially one in the middle of a war zone—provided both danger and desire, with all those ripped guys cleaning their guns, training, and doing other military things. Good thing she was prepared to be the immaculate professional, because she also had the propensity to secretly admire.

  Olivia knew she was fired up inside because of her time with Ryder. Her time alone with him. The guy had her number, and she could admit it. She absolutely hadn’t expected to develop such a wild crush. Right away. On her most important interviewee. Who said academics were wallflowers? Didn’t anyone realize that nerdy girls were the wildest? The most passionate?

  Fixing and smoothing her ponytail in the mirror, she reminded herself of rule number four of the code: thou shalt not fraternize when in theater. It was absolutely prohibited.

  Olivia didn’t doubt her instincts when it came to him. But she momentarily doubted her resolve when it came to staying out of trouble. When he leaned in, sitting across from her, she wanted to kiss him. She wanted him to kiss her. And that was when she learned that the sexual tension between them was in danger of putting her contract at risk.

  Her career at risk.

  What would happen if she acted on those feelings?

  She closed her eyes, feeling deep conflict within. Though they were just anxieties, she knew that with one false step, they’d be realities. In a situation where she was positioned to point out ethical issues and cultural problems, anyone who wanted to chip away at her credibility could simply ask if she had upheld the rules. Her answer needed to be yes. She couldn’t let her desire to fuck this man overcome her common sense and her personal ethics. If she fucked up—if she so much as kissed him—it would be a newsworthy story.

  Consultant breaches code of conduct and trust and corrupts SEAL amidst the throes of war, counterterrorism efforts in Mali.

  Consultant sexually preys on SEAL while sitting on her high horse to snitch on ethics issues, problems in workplace culture.

  She wouldn’t be that girl. She would follow the rules. It was a matter of self-respect.

  Turning to the door of her bunk, she was ready: it was time to get her heat out by sweating it out. Gym facilities were in the compound, and there were plenty of support staff who would help her train. In fact, she was due to meet her assigned trainer. He worked with the assaulters. Yeah, that’s right—the SEALs had their own personal trainers. And chefs. Of course, their jobs were dependent on their physical aptitudes.

  The commander had encouraged her to mitigate the stress of deployment by exercising. Apparently, he wanted her to feel like she was taken care of. Part of the family.

  Bullshit. She didn’t trust the man as far as she could throw him. He was a conniving son of a bitch, that much was clear. She’d bet anything that he was part of the problem here, despite his efforts to convince her otherwise. She wasn’t worth her stones if she hadn’t picked up that much.

  The only question was, what exactly had happened? What was he so keen to cover up? And why had NCIS decided that there was nothing to see here?

  Geared up, Olivia hit the stony dirt pathway that wound through the compound toward the small, thrown-together building colloquially known as the mess. Other people milled about. Olivia guessed the compound’s total population on any given day was about fifty SEALs, plus twenty or so civilians in a variety of roles. All of the SEALs were part of the Navy’s larger DEVGRU team.

  Her assigned trainer, Bruce, leaned on the side of the mess in a full athletic outfit. As he pushed back his long, sandy-brown hair, he greeted her without looking up from his clipboard.

  “Good afternoon.” He flipped some pages, scribbling on paper. “Ready to work?”

  He looked up, and Olivia could not mistake his glass left eye framed by a long scar that stretched from forehead to cheek, with burn scars near it. All the same, he too was a decent-looking guy.

  “Olivia.” She held out her hand.

  “Bruce,” he replied, taking it. “I’m looking forward to working with you while you’re here. Looks like we’ve got about a month.”

  His tone was polite and professional. Unassuming. Gentle.

  “That’s right. I was hoping to improve my running. I’ve always wanted to run the Boston,” she explained.

  Bruce laughed. “Great. Goals. I like that. Well, I thought we’d start off today with some benchmarks. See where you are at.”

  His grown-out hair flailed in the sandy wind. That seemed to be the style on base: long hair, tons of visible tattoos, sun-darkened skin, and generally rustic appearances. The guys on base were all fucking vet bros, exactly what she expected a bunch of operators to be like.

  “I’ve been in better shape, but I’m not bad right now.”

  He chuckled again, harder. Olivia wondered what exactly he found so funny. “Are you enlisted?” she asked, wondering what his role was. He hadn’t appeared on her org chart.

  “Nope. I’m just a dirty, greasy civvy.” He grinned, using the Navy’s colloquial term for civilian.

  “Me too, I guess.” She was getting used to the fact that civilians were sometimes viewed as second-class citizens at the compound.

  He nodded at her, commiserating, like they were part of the same brotherhood. “All right. First up, I’ll get you to run this path.” He motioned to the dirt pathway that led around all the buildings. “All the way around the compound and back to me. It’s about half a mile in total.”

  The path wound around, and lots of guys were running it too. They didn’t have cardio machines in the makeshift gym, apparently. Only weights. So cardio was done outdoors, since it barely rained. The only problem was that it was damn hot. Afternoon in Mali. She was already sweating.

  The dry heat of the desert sun was enough to put animals to sleep. Why had she made this appointment? She began to doubt her sanity. She didn’t mind heat training, but she didn’t want to put on a show either. Her t
op would get sweaty and wet, clinging to her breasts. She looked down, wondering if she was appropriately dressed. Runners. Cropped navy tights. Tank. Sports bra. And up top, sunglasses and a brown ponytail. Spray-on sunscreen.

  “You’re fine. Don’t worry about how you look,” Bruce called to her matter-of-factly. “You’ll do great.” He clearly sensed her hesitation. “Ready? When I say go, I’m hitting the timer. I want you to give me an all-out effort. The fastest pace that you can sustain.”

  She nodded, sucking back whatever saliva was left in her mouth.

  “Don’t go too close to the wall.” Bruce motioned to the perimeter stone wall.

  “Why?” she asked.

  Bruce prepared his timer. “Just don’t.”

  Up ahead, a bunch of noisy guys had let out from the mess and were idling around. Olivia realized that she would have to run right by them. Which would be fine. It was nothing. She could do this. She could run laps on a SEAL compound in West Africa.

  Even thinking the phrase made her head explode. Shit.

  Her heels dug into the dirt, changing the color of her white runners.

  “Go!” Bruce’s voice rang.

  Olivia bolted. At first, she knew she was going too fast, but the hormones and adrenaline kept her pumping faster. She kept her chest up and her gaze long, breezing past the gaggle of men. It didn’t escape her that they all took a long look.

  She was doing anything odd. They all had trainers. They all ran. Everyone worked out. It’s just that she was damn near the only female in the compound. And she was certainly the only young one bopping around and sweating in skintight workout gear. As she slammed down the path, more sailors happened to pop out, eyeing her down. Some were discreet and disinterested, and some were fired up. Big smiles and occasional applause even cheered her on.

  Her face flushed, and not just from the heat.

  She turned the corner and wound around the compound, meeting more of the same along the way. As she was crossing the starting line, Bruce yelled out, “Keep going—one more lap! Doing great!”

  She sucked in a deeper breath, trying not to pant. One more lap, really? Jesus fucking Christ. But her shortness of breath wasn’t only from the fast pace: up ahead, Ryder had appeared in the group of guys outside the mess. His was the only face that didn’t look pleased. He looked pretty pissed off, actually. She was starting to realize that was his natural resting face. His brows furrowed as she approached, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at the guys and growling. He was protective.

  Of what? Her?

  She tried to whip her eyes away from him, but she couldn’t. She just couldn’t. She was completely absorbed by him. His shoulders and arms flexed as the guys beside him cheered her on. He didn’t like it. He looked like he was ready to beat them all into the ground.

  She dug her heels in and whipped past, trying not to make eye contact. Everyone else ceased to exist—her mind could only register Ryder. His watchful dark eyes. His angry crossed arms. That pissed-off, don’t-fuck-with-me attitude that he wore. He stood out above all the others.

  By the time she was done her lap, she realized she had outdone herself.

  “Holy shit,” Bruce said. “You put on the turbos for the second lap. Fast girl.”

  Olivia collapsed in front of him, bent over with her hands on her knees, nearly hyperventilating. He continued muttering platitudes as he marked on his notepad.

  She knew exactly what it was that had given her that extra juice on the second round—but she didn’t want to admit it to herself. Her crush was getting bad. And she didn’t like the conflicted position she found herself in. There was only one guy on base who she wanted to strip, and he was one big badass motherfucker.

  Bruce drew her out of her thoughts, and she stood up straight to face him.

  “We’ll meet at the gym unit next time,” he said, handing her a card. “Here’s the timing of our next appointments.”

  As she looked at the dates and times, a couple of the guys approached behind her trainer, one SEAL and two civilian supporters.

  She sucked in breath as she twirled the card in her fingers. Her heart felt like it was going to burst out of her chest. Her was face undoubtedly beet red, and sweat dripped between her breasts.

  “Bucky boy, mess tonight?” The junior SEAL slapped Bruce on the back. “Some friendly betting going on for March Madness.”

  He looked up at the guy, grinning. “Just wrapping up, but sure. You in?” Bruce asked Olivia.

  “For what?” she replied.

  “This place opens at five.” He motioned to the building beside them. “But don’t expect a real mess. It’s just a random shithole.”

  “I’m not sure,” she said slowly. “I have this other thing…” An excuse did not come to her. She knew that’s where they socialized and took meals, though she’d been eating in her room. She hadn’t been ready to venture out yet.

  Looking up at the curious and expectant faces before her, she knew that her presence and visibility that afternoon had just sent the troops into a buzz. She was no longer a ghost auditor who cobbled around in slacks and boots. Now she was a hot-blooded woman, flushed and sweating, wearing tight clothes and prancing around in front of them. And they were all together on the compound, very far away from any other… outlet.

  And they wanted to get to know her—in a social setting.

  “Hi. I’m Zach.” A brown-haired civilian leaned in to shake her hand. “I’m one of the cryptologists here in the troop. Come with us. It will be a good way to meet everyone.”

  Zach beamed through a friendly grin and thick glasses. Olivia nodded understandingly as she shook his hand. He looked smart. Academic. He seemed like a decent guy, same as Bruce. Non-threatening. Unassuming. She knew they’d get along. Neither were as intimidating as one other man she’d recently met…

  What could go wrong?

  The other civilian and sailor leaned in and shook her hand as well, introducing themselves.

  “Come with us,” Bruce asked her, projecting the security and comfort of an older brother.

  “Oh, well…” She hummed. It was hard to refuse the opportunity. She needed to get to know the players on deck. Especially if Ryder wouldn’t let her talk to the other guys.

  “We won’t bite,” Zach assured her.

  She had nothing to fear. Right? And she had to find out what they did during their off hours.

  “All right. Thanks,” she said. “I’ll meet you there when I’m washed up.”

  The guys nodded, seemingly proud of their accomplishment. They were collectively bringing the new girl out to the social building. She was sure the other guys would have something to say about that.

  Ryder definitely would. Olivia hoped she’d chosen wisely, showing up to the mess. She silently wondered if his lordship would be in attendance. Surely the second in command wouldn’t stoop so low as drinking with his subordinates. He’d be off plotting in his keep.

  She would be safe.

  She could enjoy the evening without sexual frustration. Tension. Maybe spark up some friendships.

  Olivia headed to her bunk and the female lavatories. Since there weren’t many females around, she had the place to herself. As she whipped on the shower, her mind spun with questions about who would be at the mess. Not that she needed to know if he was going to be there or not. Not that it made any difference.

  As the hot water cascaded down her naked skin, Olivia realized that she needed to seek some shower release before the vision of Ryder looming over her drove her wild. The run had not provided the relief she desired, and she ached at the very thought of that hunk of man.

  11

  Washed, brushed, and ready to go, Olivia sat in her bunk at her small metal desk with her laptop open in front of her. The WiFi was spotty at best. She’d been told that the infrastructure required to connect her securely through proxy all the way back home was elaborate, slow, and expensive as fuck. She wondered how any of the guys surfed porn. Or had n
ude video conferencing with their spouses back home. Clearly they had limited means to express their sexual frustration. No wonder they all looked hungry—in a visceral sense. Goddamn. Olivia shook her head. The night at the mess was cracking up to be a roast, and she was the prime cut. Before she’d boarded her flight, her boss Jacqueline had warned her that in the Navy, there was single, and then there was ‘deployment single.’

  Doing everything to delay her appearance at the mess, Olivia decided to get some work done, since her security briefing included extensive rules about where she could and could not bring her civilian laptop. It turned out to be easier to work mostly offline in her bunk.

  Rule number seven: The only devices that you may bring and use on deployment are those that have been assessed and approved in advance, and you may only connect in the areas outlined in your onboarding package. At all times, the microphone and camera must be disengaged and disabled, and recording of any kind is strictly prohibited.

  Finally connecting to the WiFi, Olivia managed to load the webmail application that they used at the firm for clandestine messaging. Afraid of being spied on in regular email traffic, she and Jacqueline had been sharing passages back and forth in an unsent draft email.

  The draft had a new passage in it—a response to what she’d written a few days ago after meeting with the commander. She desperately needed some grounding, some connection to home, because in the days that she’d been on base, she’d found her thoughts spiralling in the wrong direction.

  Jacqueline’s response read,

  I understand that you think there’s more going on. I know that the canning of the war crimes investigation has raised questions, but I can’t stress enough how important it is for you to stick to the plan and the confines of our lane.

  I know you have a big heart, and we all want to save the world—but that’s not going to happen today.