Christy tilted her head and examined his beautiful face again. Yes, he did look vaguely familiar. Maybe she was wrong about Travis after all.
She blushed at her mistake of his gender preference and averted her eyes. An older man across the aisle had leaned forward and was listening to every word.
With a smirk, Travis picked up Christy’s fingers and put them to his lips. “Don’t worry, my dear. You are safe with me.” His voice was thick with mystery and conspiracy. “I have a very close personal friend who is a female impersonator and she buys all her nice things there,” he whispered. His eyes widened to make the point.
And Christy knew him. Knew her. The exotic dancer.
Angela Folsom. Christy had waited on her many times. She was one of Madame’s cross-dressing customers, and quite famous.
Travis dropped her fingers and she looked out the window for distraction, not sure what to say, not wanting to offend. Had she? Her heart pounded in her chest.
“What can I get you?” the flight attendant asked her first, then looked at Travis and blushed.
“The lady and I,” Travis looked at Christy and winked, “are going to have two glasses of champagne, please.” He flapped his eyebrows up and down.
And that was that. By the time they landed in San Diego, she was well on her way to feeling warm, fuzzy and relaxed. Travis managed to get her chatting and laughing. She enjoyed his easy style and the safe flirting.
At the terminal, Travis shouldered her carry-on bag with an eager crooked grin. She surveyed longing eyes of other women as they passed through the crowds like royalty. He was being admired by all, seemed used to it and able to enjoy the attention.
They met her driver at the baggage terminal. “Can I have him drop you off somewhere?” Christy asked.
“I’m meeting someone, supposed to call,” he said as he glanced around the terminal.
Christy followed Travis’ gaze as the bags began to come out onto the carousel. “It’s no bother, if you’re anywhere close to downtown.”
Travis agreed. Christy pointed to her bag and Travis leaned forward to retrieve it. She stepped back onto the running shoe of another passenger standing behind her, who had just removed his luggage from the conveyor. Twisting her ankle, she nearly tripped, but not before she noticed the bicep and muscled forearm of a man of steel. Near his wrist was a tattoo of tracks from a three-toed animal, extending nearly to the inside of his elbow.
Travis grabbed her around the waist and righted her before she fell into the side and chest of the stranger, who did a sudden intake of air. Immediately her driver came between them and ushered her outside before she had a chance to look back over her shoulder at the muscled stranger.
But she could feel a set of eyes on her. The hair at the backside of her neck stood on end at the close call. She wanted to see him, wanted to look into the stranger’s eyes, but she was whisked away, held under each elbow, and deposited into the waiting black limo.
Kyle Lansdowne knew he was out of her league. Well-endowed both physically and financially. Demure. Incredible body and well cared-for in all respects. Surrounded by men who waited on her. She smelled heavenly. What parts managed to touch her body through his clothes burned at the memory. A sailor, even an elite sailor like himself, would have no chance with a woman like this.
Not to mention the fact that she was already taken.
Fredo coughed in his ear. Kyle turned to look at the brown puppy dog eyes of the shortest man in his SEAL team, standing next to the tallest man ever to graduate BUD/S, Coop.
They didn’t have to say anything.
“Seriously, Dude. You needs to get a Chiquita.” Fredo was always known for his honesty.
“Shut up, Frodo,” Cooper offered. Kyle noticed the shorter team guy wince at the moniker he was given, due to his challenged size. “He’s just landed. Give the man some space. He can’t help it if the lady in question already has plans.”
Fredo shook his head from side to side, walking off toward the sunlit doors of the terminal exit, mumbling something in Spanish. Then the little Mexican SEAL ran toward the door, directly into the path of another dark-haired muscled man. The two began a heated conversation in Spanish while punching and slapping body parts.
Kyle thought they were causing too much attention.
“Wow,” Cooper spat. “Armani’s here. Thought he was still on leave in Puerto Rico. What the fuck’s up with that?”
“I didn’t believe it either when I got his text. But here he is. God’s gift to mankind.”
Kyle forgot the blonde, the hole the size of San Diego in his chest, and immersed himself in the comradery that was their group.
Special Operator Armando Guzman was dressed in all black. His shiny and curly dark hair was still long from their tour in Afghanistan. Kyle noticed he’d shaved his beard, though.
“Hey shaggy. How was home?” Kyle asked after they shook hands. Armando had missed the required decompression stop in Hawaii, for the family emergency.
Armando shrugged. “Still there.”
Kyle noticed something black inside his best friend’s eyes. He felt in the presence of someone else with a hole in his chest, and it wasn’t from their duty as the Navy’s finest. Something was eating away at him.
“You right as rain, Armani?” Cooper asked Armando.
So Cooper picked up the same vibe.
“Nah,” Armando started. “I miss all the sand and the goats.”
Everyone chuckled and knew he was full of shit.
Chapter 2
Christy unlocked the front door of her mother’s condo and stepped inside. She caught her breath, experiencing one of the best views of San Diego harbor she had ever seen. It was like this every time she came here. She set her luggage down and traversed the distance through a bright expansive living room, reaching the sliding glass doors and the brushed steel balcony railing beyond. She thought she could hear her mother breathing.
Mom, I’m back.
She felt something alive here every time she walked into this room.
Her heart was still beating rapidly, even though they’d dropped Travis off on the way to town, though her driver brought in all her bags and sent them up in the elevator. She could still feel the hardness of the stranger’s chest, and see the blue-black tattoo on his arm.
Has it been that long since a man has held me?
She sighed, kicked off her shoes, removed her jacket and leaned into the glass door, peering at the harbor below. Three years ago, her mom suddenly moved to San Diego without telling Christy until the move was complete.
Christy’s brother, who also lived in San Francisco, was obsessed with his career as a stockbroker. He’d married a manic depressive lady with multiple personality disorders. Her brother chose to deal with his wife’s problems by being gone most of the time.
Christy’s mother had more patience with the woman than Christy did. But in the end, Christy thought perhaps the wife was the real reason her mother moved away.
Did she expect me to follow behind?
The relocation had seemed very abrupt at the time. Her mother said she’d always wanted to live near the water in San Diego. Told Christy it was time to start living her own life.
Maybe she knew about the cancer when she moved here.
It would be just like her mother to want to suffer in silence, and alone. Not to be a bother to anyone.
In the end, did you have regrets, Mom? Did you find the peace you wanted?
Christy looked out over the still blue water of the harbor, tears stinging her eyes. She wiped her cheeks and viewed the stunning tall masts of some of the most expensive yachts and sailing vessels in existence. She’d always had a dream of sailing on one of those ships. Taking a romantic trip with the man of her dreams. Would that happen some day, she wondered?
She closed her eyes and hugged herself, listening to the muted foghorn and birds calling to her through the glass.
What is it about this place?
She
could almost believe in magic. It was more than the light shimmering off the water. Something out there was calling to her.
“Silly,” she whispered. She had plans to execute. Wanted to get up to speed with the training Tom Bergeron, her mentor and a wealthy San Francisco developer, was going to give her privately. Now that he was married, she could accept his training and not feel compromised by the clear blue eyes and handsome features of the richest man she’d ever known. His boat was docked at the San Francisco Marina. He’d offered to help her any way she wanted. But that wasn’t the yacht or the future that called her.
Madame M, her boss, had given her a few days off so she could get her mother’s condo ready for sale, and think about her future.
“Spend a few days there, Cherie,” Madame had said. “I will be fine. No hurry, please, on my behalf,” she told her. “When you come back, come back for good. But you need to settle these details first to free your mind.”
Looking out over the water, she wasn’t sure this could happen quickly. But she would try her hardest. She had to move on.
God, I miss you, Mom.
It had never been a bother to be by her mother’s side as the older woman’s blue eyes faded, as her cheeks sunk in and as she squeezed Christy’s hand just before her last breath. Though her mother tried to beg her off, in the end, Christy insisted on being right there next to the woman who had given birth to her, been her best friend and confidante. It really was no trouble at all. It made her appreciate the beauty and value of life. And how limited it was.
At first, Christy felt like she’d lost her compass.
Today, she was determined to change her course. Pursue a professional career. She planned to phase out of the lingerie shop, and into real estate, where she could be captain of her own ship, create her own destiny. The nest egg she would get from the sale proceeds, as well as the money her mother left her would give her the chance to do this. It was time.
Enough of the dreaming. Time to get real.
Kyle rode up front with Armando driving. Fredo and Cooper were plugged in to their iPods in the back seat.
“You look a little frayed at the ends, Armani.” Kyle used the privacy to do a little surveillance on his best friend. The four of them always traveled as a group when they came home. They’d planned the four days’ decompression in Hawaii together. Armando received a Red Cross alert in Afghanistan the day before they were to leave, and shipped out, going back to see family in Puerto Rico. Kyle wondered what returned him to San Diego so soon. He hadn’t expected him for at least a week.
The rest of Kyle’s group decided not to wait for the C17’s rear hatch to get repaired in Hawaii, so paid for a commercial flight with the San Francisco stopover.
“Where’s the gear?” Armando asked.
“We left Swenson and Beemer in Hawaii to come with the transport. Fredo and Coop were itching to get home.
“And you?” Armando peered back at him, dark eyes flashing.
“Fuckin’ A.”
Kyle noticed Armando’s eyes were darting from side to side, and he kept rolling his neck.
“I crooked my neck on the plane two days ago. Got me all tense,” Armando explained.
Kyle knew Armando was lying.
“Know what you mean. I hate all the plane rides,” Kyle added.
“Not to mention the droning. Those transports are hell on me.”
“Agreed.” Kyle looked down at his hands splayed palms down against his thighs. “You wanna tell me how things went at home?”
“San Diego’s my home how.”
“You know what I mean. Surprised to see you back so soon. Everything all right?” Kyle knew he had to probe.
Armando was silent. The hum of the Jeep engine sent Kyle back to Afghanistan. Back to some pretty black days. He shut his eyes and pressed them with his fingers.
“You know me. I worry too much,” Armando said. “Think it was a false alarm.”
“We got a lot to worry about. But next deployment. You’re home now. Not supposed to have worries here.”
“Tell that to the other guys who have families and come back after what we’ve seen. You don’t have to lecture me.”
“Don’t I?” Kyle pressed on.
It didn’t have the effect on Armando Kyle hoped for. His team buddy was clammed up. Lips tight. He knew he had to be careful with his best friend, or he’d get a glare that could wake the dead.
The silence was worse than knowing. Something was up. And no way in hell Kyle was going to get it out of him.
“How about those Padres?” It was that ridiculous thing Kyle said whenever he was making the point about changing the subject. Telling Armando he got the message, but didn’t like it one bit.
Dangerous for Armando to have secrets. Secrets get you killed.
Christy decided to go down to the harbor to look at the boats. There was a place her mother had taken her that served clam chowder and had French bread flown in from San Francisco. She wasn’t missing her City by the Bay, but a taste of something familiar while she charted out her new course would help keep her nerves in check.
For some reason, she was afraid to let go of this magical place. Felt like she was selling her mom’s memory too.
She unpacked and quickly changed into a comfortable pair of blue jeans that practically hung off her. She’d been losing weight.
Not a good sign.
She donned a light yellow sweatshirt with the Golden Gate Bridge logo on it. She slipped her toes into blue leather flat-heeled Mary Janes. They were the same color as her jeans, and the most comfortable shoes she owned.
Walking into the bathroom, she lay out her makeup bag, took out her brush and clipped her blonde hair up at the back of her head, letting golden wisps cascade down the back framing her bangs in front. With the addition of some mineral powder, light pink blush and cherry lip-gloss, she was good to go.
Better. She searched her face in the bathroom mirror, and knew she needed more rest to eliminate the grey semicircles forming under her eyes.
Christy grabbed her mother’s keys, slipped her favorite pair of Swarovski crystal sunglasses on her nose.
She rode the elevator alone to the sparse lobby. Grey tumbled marble in herringbone pattern lay underneath her feet, as well as along the four walls all the way to the ceiling. Through heavy steel and glass doors an inch thick, she waved at the deskman and pushed her way out, into the sunny afternoon of San Diego.
It only took her ten minutes to walk to the marina. Across the inlet lay Coronado Island, where a cruiser was making its way inland, very slowly. Men in white uniforms on deck, waving at the people on shore. A couple of them whistled at girls in sweats running along the marina jogging course.
Christy was soothed by the sounds of water lapping against the hulls of the boats docked there. Rigging and grommets clanged against poles. Wind chimes tinkled in the afternoon breeze. A couple of tanned beauties in bikini tops and cutoffs were preparing a barbeque on board a huge yacht. A group of six senior citizens were gathered at a locked metal gate that advertised a dinner cruise. Kids walked with dogs or skipped ahead of parents. A group of young freshly buzz-cut sailors, looking hardly old enough to grow beards, walked four abreast and tipped their caps at Christy as they passed by. She could feel their eyes on her behind, but didn’t turn to check. Several couples walked hand in hand.
Christy’s stomach clenched as something pooled inside her. It spread like a black cape covering her shoulders, weighing her down.
I’m all alone.
She shivered, shaking herself to rid her body of the feeling. The air had chilled.
The Sea Dog was right where she remembered it. Inside, she was ushered to a table by the window overlooking the marina. She ordered the chowder and a glass of white wine. The warm soup began to cheer her insides. With her chin ensconced in the palm of her hand, she sighed and stared out to the horizon. Her melancholy was turning to peace.
It felt like the quiet before the storm.
Kyle threw his duffel on the upper bunk. The concrete block barracks would be home tonight. But, given any luck, he’d go out with the guys tomorrow and get an apartment. He walked to the lone window overlooking the inlet and the beautiful San Diego skyline beyond.
The other half.
As a Navy SEAL, his life was simple and uncomplicated. Everything he owned he could fit in his duffel bag. But everything he cared about, his honor and his pride was larger than the universe.
Armando Guzman knocked on the open metal door. Kyle looked up at his handsome Puerto Rican swim buddy.
“Thought you’d taken off, Armani.”
“You got the Ritz tonight, Lanny. This is first class shit here. You got your lumpy mattress,” he said as he pounded on Kyle’s scratchy green military issue blanket covering the thin mattress of his upper berth. “You got one hundred percent stainless steel toilet so shiny you can see your ass in it. Flown in all the way from China, man.”
Kyle chuckled. He tucked his folded briefs and T-shirts carefully, stacking them in a drawer in a dresser with a golden yellow laminated top.
Armando was waiting for a response, and Kyle gave him one.
“I didn’t ask you because you were a little distracted, Armani. And if you’d answer your phone once in awhile…”
“Yes, yes, I know. No service at my aunt’s house.”
“The little house in the jungle you burned down when you were ten?”
“That very one. They rebuilt it, sort of. Who needs glass windows anyway, man?” Armando shrugged and then checked his fingers, splayed over the bed.
“So you went to Puerto Rico after all. Didn’t stay long.”
“Wasn’t much to see.”
“Came back to San Diego early.”
“And here I am.” Armando extended his hands out to his sides.
He’s not going to tell me why.
“Well, you sure this wasn’t an elaborate plan to stay holed up in that new home of yours? Of course, with someone to clean house and stuff.” Kyle looked down and whispered, “I didn’t want to intrude.”
SEAL Encounter (SEAL Brotherhood) Page 2