Call to Engage

by Tawny Weber

  “Is that what you call yours?” he asked as he shoved his feet into running shoes. “I hear he’s got everything you were looking for, Ava. Money, status and, more important, Daddy’s stamp of approval.”

  She took a deep breath to reminded herself how far she’d come from the naive young woman whose life revolved around the idea of making everyone happy. Everyone but herself.

  Well, never again.

  “I answer to no man. Not my father, not my friends.” She turned toward the door, then shot a look over her shoulder as she fluttered her lashes and offered the sweetest smile in her arsenal. “Not even my ex-husband.”

  * * *

  SERIOUSLY?

  Elijah slammed his fist into the punching bag later that afternoon, the impact singing up his arm in sharp retort. Five years of visiting Mack, of hanging at his gym, and not a single Ava sighting.

  Right cross to the bag. Knife hand strike. Jab. Left, right, jab. Roundhouse kick. Jump kick.

  Four years after the divorce was final, he’d gotten his shit together. Living the life he was supposed to live, the one he’d planned to have since he was a kid.

  Reverse side kick. Elbow strike. Fist-heel uppercut.

  But now, when his world was fucked, his mind a mess and his convictions wavering—that’s when his ex had to show up in his life? To walk into a massage room—what the fuck was Ava doing giving massages anyway?—while he was naked except for a sheet and some scars? Seriously?

  Sweat dripped, burning his eyes, sliding down his face as he executed a jump spin kick, slamming the heel of his foot into the top of his target. The heavy bag went flying as the hook ripped from the ceiling, showering drywall dust over the sweat-dotted floor. The bag hit the opposite wall with a loud thud.

  Ignoring the stares and muttered remarks, Elijah stood, fists on his hips as he sucked in air. He shook his head. The timing was unbelievable.

  “You didn’t mention that you were going to rip my gym apart,” Mack said from the doorway. His words were light, carrying a hint of laughter. But beneath it there was a layer of concern. For him? Or for the equipment? Elijah didn’t actually give much of a damn right now.

  Ignoring the bag on the floor, the sand scattered through the drywall dust and the shocked expressions, Elijah crossed the room.

  “I tried going for a drive, but it didn’t have the same impact.”

  Elijah gave his cousin a long look.

  “You didn’t tell me Ava was working here. Or that she’s a massage therapist now. Or that you’d be pulling a stupid stunt like booking me an appointment with her.” Thinking about that sent a red haze of fury through Elijah’s head. He didn’t hesitate. He simply gave in to the anger. It wasn’t until he saw his cousin’s head snap back that he realized he’d given in with his fist.

  His hand reverberated all the way to his shoulder, his breath a hiss of rage. Instead of flexing his fingers to shake off the pain, he curled them tight. Held it inside.

  That’s where it belonged.

  The pain. The guilt. The memories.

  “I guess I deserved that,” Mack murmured, wiping the blood off his lip with his knuckles. His words were calm. But he watched Elijah with narrowed eyes. Preparing, most likely, to counter the next swing.

  But Elijah simply turned away. He unbound his hands, tossing the wraps in the laundry bin as he passed the hallway toward the showers. People scrambled to get out of his way as he strode through. He didn’t head toward the locker rooms. He slammed both hands into the back door, sending it flying open, and took the outside stairs to the apartment above.

  He headed straight for the shower, keeping the water cold to counter his temper. He focused on emptying his mind. On letting his emotions level out. He didn’t track how long he stood under the pounding spray. He simply let the water pour over him until he was calm enough to shut it down.

  He was calmer, he decided as he scraped the razor over his whiskers. Wasn’t he calmer? Sure he was. All that rage, washed away. Good to know cold showers worked for more than wasting a good hard-on.

  Smirking, he remembered when just the thought of Ava had inspired a woody. Not this time, though. Maybe it had been shock. There had been plenty of that rocking through him at the sight of his ex-wife walking in, ready to rub those long, talented fingers of hers over his body.

  Maybe he’d simply been too worn out, too sore, with all the stiffness in his body dedicated to his leg after yesterday’s lengthy drive.

  Or maybe, just maybe, he’d finally gotten over her.

  His lips slid into a half grin. He liked that one. All things considered, he had enough to deal with without facing ghosts from heartbreak past. His smile dimmed.

  He’d fallen for her sweet face once, had loved every inch of her curvy figure. He’d adored her sense of playful fun, her quirky humor. Even her vulnerable need to please her family had appealed to him. But most of all, the woman had been gorgeous. It wasn’t her looks that had hooked him into marriage, though.

  Ava had been pure sweetness.

  It had been her sweetness that had melted all his good intentions, his willpower and his better judgment. He’d known the stats on military marriages. They were pure crap. But given that he was a man determined to succeed, he’d figured they’d overcome the odds.

  His grin faded completely at the memory of the price he’d paid for that loss of judgment. The cost of losing to those odds.

  He’d lost Ava.

  He’d lost his son.

  He’d lost his heart.

  Elijah turned his back on the mirror and the memory. It wasn’t as easy to turn away from his body’s reaction.

  It wasn’t as if he’d lived like a monk the last five years. He was a man. He liked sex. A lot of sex. But he knew better now than to believe that sex—even a lot—could, would or should turn into anything more.

  Unlike sex with Ava, which had come with a million strings and emotional ties. But that was then. He didn’t get that vulnerable vibe from her now.

  She had an edge that she hadn’t carried years ago. She might still have that lush mouth with its full upper lip and sexy overbite, but the smart-ass comments coming out of it were new.

  Put it aside, he ordered himself. Thinking about her, comparing then and now? It was a lesson in misery.

  Elijah strode into his temporary quarters, pulling clean clothes from his duffel and tossing them on the bed. He frowned, noting the red light flashing on his cell phone. Only messages left by the team would trigger that alarm.

  He snapped up the phone, keyed in his code, then another one, then hit messages. Text only.

  Innocent until proven guilty?

  Elijah scowled.

  Who’d sent it?

  He scrolled backward, then forward again, but there was no sender designation. Not cool, considering it was a secured line.

  Elijah frowned at the message again. He read it backward, every other word, jumped letters, replaced others. Off the top of his head, it didn’t fit any currently used encryption sequence, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t code for something. The words themselves were rather obvious, and it didn’t take a genius to infer they referred to Operation Fuck Up.

  Was it from Ramsey? Did he have accomplices other than Adams? Was it someone using the operation as a distraction for something else? Or was it bait?

  Savino assumed that Ramsey was alive. Torres and Lansky were sure he was. They were probably right.

  Elijah had bunked with both Ramsey and Adams. Shouldn’t he have sensed it if they were so twisted that they’d betray their country, their team, their friends?

  He remembered Poseidon’s support. Nobody there had questioned his innocence. But he’d seen the look in some of the others’ eyes. The doubts. The questions. The suspicion.

  Had someone put that
suspicion into play? Was there a mission—sanctioned or not—to smoke out the truth of Elijah’s involvement? Anger curled in his gut but didn’t take root. It couldn’t. How could he be pissed at the men for questioning his ignorance when he was trained to see patterns, to analyze anomalies, to decipher mysteries?

  How could he claim innocence when he didn’t feel innocent?

  But his personal crap wasn’t the issue. The issue was that someone had concocted an elaborate setup to either find out what he knew or simply fuck with him for not seeing the truth before it damaged the team’s reputation.

  Savino had said that despite orders to the contrary, he suspected someone in NI was still investigating. And they all knew Ramsey was slithering around out there somewhere, jacking off until the team caught his lying, traitorous ass and extracted payment for his actions. In other words, Operation Fuck Up was in play.

  Elijah rubbed his thigh, working the rippled flesh, the scars feeling like jagged glass beneath his fingers. Fire flashed through his head. Overwhelming pain, the horrific misery of the flames eating his flesh, devouring his body.

  Ramsey.

  Elijah had a thing or two to say to him. He just had to find him first. Elijah’s leg twinged, pain stabbed. His chest tightened, lungs squeezed so hard he could barely breath. No, dammit. Goddammit all to hell.

  He put every iota of his focus onto his clenched fists. The pressure of his fingers against his palms. His pulse, blood constricted under flesh pulled taut. His nails, short and even, gouging skin.

  Focus, dammit.

  Slowly, so damned slowly, his breath evened out. Eventually, the roaring in his ears quieted to a hum. Finally, he could think. He could breathe. He could open his eyes and be in the moment.

  It took a couple of tries before Elijah could unclench his hand, flexing and straightening until the blood flowed again. Then, only when the numbness was gone, did he use it to wipe at the sweat dripping down his face.

  Enough of this shit.

  He’d lived through it once. He was sick of living through it over and over again. Done, he promised himself. All he had to do was focus. Stay focused. Stay in the moment.

  But first...

  He grabbed the phone. Fingers flying over the small screen, he typed, Working on decrypting. Need a trace.

  He hit Forward.

  Savino would get whatever there was to get. They’d complete the mission. And it would be done. All done. It would. Or he would.

  Worrying about the future was as useless as living in the past, he reminded himself. Get dressed—get out.

  He wasn’t surprised when his phone rang before he’d got both legs into his jeans. “Yeah?” he answered, putting the phone on speaker while he finished dressing.

  “How’s wine country?” asked Savino.

  “Not as soothing as one might think.”

  “Maybe you should’ve tried Monterey.”

  Elijah waited until he’d pulled his gray Henley over his head before responding. “Maybe I should have.”

  “How’s the family? Had a big family dinner welcoming you home yet?”

  Small talk? That wasn’t good. Elijah frowned but played along. “Mack’s doing good. I’m staying at his place. Haven’t seen anyone else in the family yet.”

  “Nobody?”

  Giving it a scowl, Elijah grabbed the phone and took it off speaker. “You keeping tabs or something?”

  “On you? Of course not.”

  “No reason for you to keep tabs on my cousin. The guy’s a tough sucker, but he’s not a threat to team or country.”

  “Nope. If I remember right, he’s got one helluva left jab, though.”

  Elijah wasn’t interested in discussing Mack’s history in mixed martial arts. “Why would you keep tabs on Ava?”

  “Not tabs. More like periodically satisfying my curiosity.”

  “About my ex-wife?”

  “You were hospitalized, Rembrandt. You might not remember, but that first week, your prognosis was crap. It’s called being prepared. And, like I said, my curiosity was tapped when I realized Cupcake was a yoga-wielding ninja.”

  Elijah would have smirked at Savino’s nickname for Ava and puzzled over the yoga-wielding ninja comment. But he was busy trying to imagine the woman he’d seen this morning standing teary eyed over his hospital bed. Nope, the image didn’t fit.

  Once he could have easily pictured it. Once Ava had loved him enough to care about his welfare, to worry about his safety. Truth be told, she’d worried so much it had been a bit of a pain in the ass. But at least she’d been invested. Yeah. Those were the good ol’ days.

  “You’re staying at your cousin’s. Did you run into her?”

  Elijah’s jaw clenched. “Yeah. We ran into each other.”

  “Damn.” In that single word, Savino conveyed concern, friendship and support. “Sorry.”

  “For not warning me? It wouldn’t have mattered.”

  He’d had to get off base, had to get away from all the questions he couldn’t answer. Where else was he to go but home? Besides, sooner or later, he had to fill his family in on the details of his hospitalization. Civilian-friendly details.

  Maybe.

  He was still considering skipping over sharing that little tidbit.

  “Warning or not, you’re in a precarious situation,” Savino said. “You should be on full alert.”

  “You think this message is that dangerous?”

  “I think seeing your ex again after a long bout of hospital-induced abstinence is that dangerous,” Savino replied. “Unless you had some good times with a nurse you failed to mention.”

  Hardly. Elijah snorted. He’d been in a Navy hospital, surrounded by male nurses and one very masculine female who’d looked like she could bench-press him.

  “I can handle my sex life, Dad,” Elijah shot back.

  “Bet you can.” Savino laughed. Then his tone dropped into concern. “Still, given the emotional implications, and your latest communiqué, you might consider returning to base.”

  Not an order, Elijah noticed. More of a friendly suggestion. He knew he should consider it. Operation Fuck Up was definitely in play. Someone was baiting him. The best place to deal with that was with the brotherhood.

  Elijah dropped to the bed, dug his elbows into his knees and rested his head in one hand. He was on leave, dammit. He was sore. He was tired. He was burned out, and now, thanks to seeing Ava again and some of the memories that had stirred up, he was fucking horny.

  Savino could be dedicated and resourceful.

  Elijah was used up.

  “You get anything out of that communiqué?” he asked quietly.

  “In the two minutes since you sent it? I’m good but not that good.”

  “Is Lansky working on it?”

  “He is that good, but he’s out of touch right now.”

  Elijah frowned. There was something in Savino’s tone, but he couldn’t pinpoint it. Since the man didn’t elaborate and Elijah knew he couldn’t be prodded, he set it aside to consider later.

  “I’ll keep you in the loop,” Savino promised. “In the meantime, do you need anything?”

  “A stiff drink would be good.”

  “That going to help you decode that message?”

  “Might.” Elijah reached into his duffel for his sketch pad, flipping through it to check his notes. “I’ve probably got everything I need here, but I’ll let you know if there’s anything else.”

  “Anything at all,” Savino reiterated before the line went dead.

  The guy is such a sentimental fool, Elijah thought with a soft laugh. His grin fell away as he tossed aside his notebook. The guy wasn’t big on emotional declarations, but damned if he wasn’t always there with an ear, advice or a good kick in the ass.


  Elijah wasn’t interested in any of that at the moment. He just wanted a break. He glanced at his phone, then at the sun setting outside the window. A break wasn’t in the cards right now.

  He had too many things to do. None of which included a pity party.

  He had no concerns about his notes being deciphered by anyone given that they were randomly integrated and carefully hidden in a series of elaborate drawings throughout the notebook. But training had ground deep that old saw about better safe than sorry, so he kneeled and locked the thick book in the small safe Mack had installed behind a false drawer at the bottom of the dresser.

  As he rose, Elijah knew he had company. He didn’t have to look around to see who it was. He knew that, too.

  But he didn’t want to talk. So he ignored his cousin and, keeping his back turned to the door, wove his belt through its loops. Strapped on his watch. Rubbed his hands over his drying hair. Shoved his wallet in his back pocket, his keys in his front.

  Then, only because he was out of things to do, he took a long breath and turned. And ignored the twinge of guilt at the sight of the mottled, purpling bruise already forming on Mack’s beefy jaw.

  “Where you going?”

  “Dunno.”

  Bruised jaw jutting in consideration, Mack stared for a moment, then nodded. “Want company?”

  “Yours?” Elijah snorted. “Definitely not.”

  “Holding a grudge?”

  Shit. Elijah pressed his thumb and forefinger against his eyes as if the pressure would ease the aching in his head. “Look, it’s already five. If I leave now, I can be at my mother’s in time for dinner and drama. You can consider that my restitution for the fist if you want. But unless you want another one, leave this alone until I’m through being pissed.”

  His cheeks puffed out, Mack considered, then nodded again. “You sure you don’t want company? I can talk about the guy who dumped me last week and give Aunt Marilyn something to go on about besides your dangerous career.”

  “Thanks. But I figure listening to the lecture is the cost of hiding my injuries from them. If you diluted it, I might feel I have to do a second dinner—or worse, a family weekend—before I’ve made the proper compensation.”