by Tawny Weber
“And they didn’t give you a shovel?” Odd. That sort of digging, anything that involved a keyboard and the internet, was right up Lansky’s alley.
“Nope. Savino’s got me diving deep into another assignment. But I’m still poking around on my own time. Might as well, right? Something has to pop on this guy sooner or later.”
“You finding anything at all?” Like proof, one way or the other, of Ramsey’s status.
“Nothing useful so far. It’d help if the guy sent a message or something, you know? Drop a taunting note to say, ‘Gotcha, suckers.’ That’s his style. Cocky and obnoxious.”
Remembering the multiple notes he’d found cropping up in strange places, the hair on the back of Elijah’s neck stood a little taller. His gut, once a foolproof radar, clenched.
No way MacGyver had a clue about the notes. Which meant that Savino wasn’t telling him because he thought there was a legit reason.
Any legit reasons for a call like that meant bad things for the team.
“No big. I’ll keep digging—you keep relaxing,” Lansky said, oblivious to the weight of Elijah’s thoughts. “I’ll touch base if I find anything juicy.”
Yeah.
One way or another, Elijah knew he’d be hearing something. He just didn’t know if he wanted to. Not ready to be alone with his heavy thoughts, he asked, “Speaking of juicy, how’s it going with the Greek goddess? You back in her graces yet?”
“Greek goddess? You mean Andrianna?” Lansky asked in a lousy pretense of not knowing who Elijah meant. “Things are looking up there, buddy. She’s coming around enough that she took my last call.”
“She take it long enough to say more than kiss off?”
“Nope.”
“You ready to give up?”
“Nope.”
Elijah couldn’t criticize him. He’d been where the guy was. He knew, too, how badly women like that could screw a guy up. He hesitated, then heard himself doing the unthinkable.
Offering advice.
“Look, man, maybe you should rethink chasing this chick. Even under the best of circumstances, SEALs are a bad bet. Our lives revolve around our work. Our work is dangerous. It’s secretive. And it’s too damned important to take the back seat to emotional drama.”
“Torres seems to be making it work. Ward, too,” Lansky muttered, pointing out the two team members who’d recently gotten engaged.
“Dude, they haven’t tied the knot yet.” As the only member of Poseidon to have actually gotten married, Elijah figured he had a little more expertise in this particular arena. “And both of them are with women who are okay with what they do.”
As if that mattered. Ava had known he was a SEAL when they’d hooked up. She’d said she was okay with it, but it hadn’t taken more than a couple of months of marriage before she’d launched a campaign to change him into her version of the perfect husband, starting with ditching his career. She’d even pitched the idea of him going to work for her dad at his bank. He could be a big executive, she’d claimed. As if an expense account and company car were comparable to his dog tags and M4 rifle.
“What do you do when the woman isn’t cool with your job, though?” Lansky wondered quietly, his words echoing Elijah’s thoughts.
“I guess it depends on how you feel about your job. Is it still your priority? Can you live it, and live without the woman? Can you walk away from it, and live with yourself?”
He hadn’t been able to before. Not even to save his marriage. Could he now?
Lansky was silent, probably wondering the same thing. Finally, the other man’s soft laugh came through the phone.
“What the hell else would I do? Go all geek and work for some tech company? Can you see me trying to play by corporate rules?”
God, no.
“We are totally not the nine-to-five type,” Elijah said, trying to laugh it off.
“Ain’t that the truth? We spend our life living on the edge, training to survive there with precision balance. Can you imagine us trying to fit into the civilian world? How the hell do we adjust?”
“Maybe we’re not suited for the civilian world.” Which left what? Elijah wondered.
“What are we suited for, then?”
“What we are.” But Elijah wasn’t sure if that was true any longer.
“We’re SEALs, my friend,” Lansky reminded him in a jovial tone too upbeat to be real. “We never quit.”
“We’re SEALs, my friend,” Elijah shot back. “We thrive on adversity.”
“No shit. Guess I’d better make some decisions, huh?”
“The sooner you do, the sooner you deal with the fallout.”
“Which would be?”
“Fall one way, the two of you hook up and you have to adjust your entire life. Figure out how to deal with juggling the demands of your commitment to team and country versus the commitment of a relationship where you can never be fully present. Fall the other way, you start getting over her.”
Elijah let himself into the building to the silence of Lansky processing those words. It wasn’t years of knowing the guy that had him anticipating the next question. It was simply knowing it was the same question he himself would have asked.
“How do you get over her?”
“Hopefully, with a little time and distance. Unless she really matters.”
“Then what?”
Elijah remembered his body’s reaction to seeing Ava again after four years. Instant awareness, like she was Pavlov and he was panting for a dog treat. Now his mind was tangled with memories and his heart aching for what might have been. Their split might have been yesterday, the pain was so sharp and strong. Four years, or forty, he knew it would be just as intense.
“Then you never get over her.”
“Dude, you suck.”
“Glad I could help,” Elijah said, this time with a real laugh before hitting the off button. It was small of him, but there was something about misery and company getting cozy together that came into play right now.
He was still grinning as he used the spare key to enter Mack’s apartment. A quick glance made it clear his cousin was out. Mack had left the light on over the stove. In its golden glow, he could see a note propped on the counter. Elijah crossed the shadowed room.
He knew his cousin kept his meds in the counter over the stove instead of the bathroom. Why, was a mystery. But given that the kitchen was closer, Elijah figured it wasn’t his place to ask the question.
Snickering a little at the variety of protein powders and supplements mixed in with muscle creams and a precarious pile of essential oils, he spied the aspirin behind the coconut oil. But as he reached for it, he knocked over the tower of small apothecary bottles, sending them flying. One tilted, its delicate fluid dripping out the cupboard and onto the counter.
Shit. He snagged the bottle and stoppered it, then grabbed a couple of paper towels to sop up the oil before it dripped its way to the floor.
The scent of eucalyptus filled the air, soothing the muscles knotted across Elijah’s shoulders with every breath. Still wanting drugs for the rest, Elijah grabbed the aspirin. He shook out a half dozen and, using his hand as a cup, swallowed them down with water from the sink.
The aspirin downed and hopefully working its magic, he snapped up the note Mack had left propped against a plate of pie. Apple from the looks of it. Elijah’s favorite. And, he read, there was ice cream in the freezer. Elijah kept reading.
Figured dinner was as far as you could handle with the family en masse. So eat up, buddy. Dessert will wipe that nasty taste out of your mouth.
Damn. His cousin would make someone a fine wife someday. Tucking his phone into his pocket, Elijah ignored the pie. He’d skipped out of his mom’s before dessert, but as usual lately, he didn’t have much of an appetite.
Weighing the consequences of ignoring Mack’s gesture versus choking down something sweet on an already tense stomach, Elijah decided to save the pie for breakfast.
Now? Bed.
More than ready to drop his head on a pillow and put an end to the day, Elijah turned toward the hall.
A shadow moved from behind.
Attack! Adrenaline exploded through his system, sending his body into instant defense mode. He dropped to a crouch, breath slowing as his brain automatically slipped into alpha. A vivid contrast to the tension ratcheting through his muscles, tense and painful.
The threat loomed to the right, dark and menacing. Whether its intent was to kill or incapacitate didn’t matter. He’d be damned if he was going down again.
His leg swept out, foot kicking high overhead in a roundhouse sweep as he rose in a jump, his right hand thrusting heel first.
The target shattered on impact, pieces exploding as if a bomb had blown them apart. As the head flew one way, the body toppled the other. Elijah dived forward, wrapping himself around the torso to mitigate the assault. Unprepared for its lack of heft, he went down on his back, the body cradled in his arms.
The very hard, very cold, very ceramic body.
A statue.
His breath came in pants. His head swam with the images of bodies—real ones—exploding, blood and flesh splattering everywhere. Covering him in hideous pain. In the misery of failure. Elijah’s head dropped to the floor. His teeth clenched, gritting tight as if he could grind the painful memories away before they overwhelmed him. But the wave was too strong.
He was back in Iraq. Under fire. First from the enemy, shots ricocheting off the walls of the computer lab, taking bodies and equipment to the ground.
Zig to the left, cover Loudon’s advance. Zag to the right, wait for Ramsey. Release the hostage’s shackles, scan for electronics. Elijah got to work on disabling the explosives secured to the scientist’s chest while Ramsey started on the computer. Three minutes, perfect timing.
Hand the scientist off to Lee while Loudon and Ward covered the doors, deflecting hostiles. Elijah moved to assist Ramsey in infiltrating the computer system.
“Hostage in hand,” Ward said through the comm built into their helmets. “Heading to rendezvous point now.”
“Electronics?”
“T minus thirty seconds,” came Ramsey’s reply.
T minus thirty seconds. A confirmation that Ramsey had installed the electronic virus and it was scheduled to take down the system in thirty seconds.
Covering the door, Elijah watched to make sure the hostage was clear. The team was moving.
He signaled Ramsey with the one-minute mark.
Ramsey nodded. His fingers flew over the keyboard, his movements easy and practiced. The wall of screens flashed, indicating the intel was secured and the virus finished. How’d that get done so far ahead of schedule? Shortcuts were well and good, but they had orders and a method to this mission. One they’d all practiced and timed to the millisecond.
Elijah frowned.
Ramsey was probably showing off, trying to outshine Torres. Elijah made a mental note to have a chat with the guy later. He seriously needed to get his ego in check. Torres was team leader, and this mission was running like clockwork. Ramsey needed to respect that.
Elijah signaled that it was time to move. Ramsey nodded.
Exiting the building with practiced stealth, Torres provided cover while Elijah waited for Ramsey to catch up.
Where the hell was the guy? He’d been right there, two steps behind just a second ago.
“Yo, Ramsey. Move out, man.”
What was with the delay?
Elijah doubled back to make sure Ramsey was clear. The guy wasn’t paying attention, though. He’d signaled the all clear, so why was he still screwing with the computer?
Elijah started to ask. He moved to check it out.
Ramsey looked his way. Seemed to hesitate.
Then the world was shot to hell. The explosion had taken out half the building.
Elijah ran, trying to reach his teammate.
Flames roared, a tidal wave of fire pouring over him. Tearing him apart. Eating him alive.
He was dead.
He had to be.
There was no way to hurt this badly and live.
No fucking way.
* * *
ELIJAH GROANED.
Not real.
It isn’t happening.
It’s not real.
Not right now. Not this time. Not again.
Turning it into a mantra, Elijah repeated the words over and over. He used them to focus. First to even out his breath, then to slow it. To calm it. Training brought him Zen; Zen brought his pulse rate down.
Get a fucking grip, he ordered himself.
His body so tight his muscles were cramping all to hell and back, Elijah forced himself to release the statue, lifting one finger at a time. By the time he’d managed his palms, he had the hyperventilating under control. His heart rate took a little longer, but as soon as he had it leveled, he pushed to his feet.
And stared at the mess on the floor.
Oh yeah. He stuffed his fists into his pockets and sighed at the sight. He’d killed it all right.
Busted the head right off one of his cousin’s life-size sculptures. Glossy ceramic pieces were scattered to hell and back over the floor, one eye poised by Elijah’s right foot, staring accusingly.
Ignoring the temptation to stomp that eye into dust, Elijah forced his screaming muscles to loosen and, avoiding scattered pieces as if tiptoeing through a minefield, made his way back to the kitchen for a broom and dustpan.
He used the cleanup time to empty his mind. Let all thoughts go. To level out, steady his system. Years of living on the edge had taught him the importance of letting it go. Savino considered that element of training as important as hand-to-hand or weapons, so they trained and trained hard. Elijah had long ago mastered the ability to center, to find that Zen-like place in the mind where nothing could touch him.
Used to be, he was good at it.
But even as he breathed, emptied, images flashed.
Fire.
Ramsey’s face.
Betrayal.
The sound of the broom handle splintering under his fingers pulled Elijah back from the edge. Shit.
He gave up centering and settled for getting all the ceramic dust into the dustpan.
The mess cleaned, Elijah contemplated what was left of the statue through exhausted eyes. He’d caught the bastard before it went down, so the body was intact. Other than the rough edges where the head had broken off, it didn’t look too bad. Headless, the eye was drawn to the impressive array of glossy muscles.
And the penis was still there, standing erect and happy. Knowing his cousin, that would be enough until Elijah could replace the damned thing.
Too weary to care, his body aching from the vicious adrenaline crash, Elijah slowly made his way down the hall, eyes peeled left and right for any more threatening statuary.
In his room, he nudged the door shut and dropped clothing as he walked, too tired to care that leaving his gear on the floor went against his natural—and Navy—instincts. He gave his boots a half-hearted kick so he wouldn’t trip over them in the morning, then crawled, naked, between the cool sheets. Eyes closed, he waited for exhaustion to carry him to sleep.
Instead it carried the image of Ava’s face into his head. As he fell into dreams, he took her with him. His subconscious, well used to visits from the only woman Elijah had ever loved, made minute adjustments to her image, bringing it up to date.
Her face was thinner, the sharp cheekbones emphasizing those huge eyes. Her body had lost some of its lushness, the curves slighter, tighter. Oh, they were
still there. Her breasts were full, rising high over a slim torso and legs he’d spent hours dreaming of. He bet they would feel just as good wrapped around his waist. Better, maybe, given the muscle tone.
As Elijah held tight to Ava’s image, angling himself over her welcoming softness, fire crept out of the corners of his mind, flickering and finessing its way through his dreams.
Not even the memory of love was enough to hold back horror.
* * *
PAIN PIERCED AVA’S SKULL, sharp and nagging. She tried to turn her head, but apparently the spike jammed into it went all the way through to whatever she was lying on, because she couldn’t move.
With the care of the infirm, she lifted one hand to feel around, to ensure that that really was her head throbbing there on her neck.
Oh yeah. All hers. What the hell had she done? Worse, who had she done it with?
She couldn’t remember.
All she could think of was the memory of desire. Of wishes and needs and wants like she hadn’t experienced in years. She blamed Elijah, of course. But she hadn’t slept with him. Ava knew what it felt like to be satisfied by Elijah. Even in her dreams, the memory of his touch inspired orgasmic pleasure that lasted well into waking.
No amount of alcohol could dim that feeling. And she didn’t feel satisfied. Just miserable.
God, she wouldn’t have gotten drunk enough to sleep with a stranger, would she?
She tried to turn, just a little, so she could see where she was. And almost slipped off the slick fabric. She jerked back into place before she could hit the floor. Her stomach recoiled at the sudden movement.
She clamped her lips tight and sucked in a long, slow yoga breath through her nose. When that seemed to help, she tried two more. Once she was sure she wasn’t going to be sick, she risked patting herself down.
Beneath a cloud-soft blanket she could feel her clothes. She was pretty sure they were the same clothes she’d been wearing when she’d dived into her evening love affair with tequila.