by Tawny Weber
“Too much at stake,” he muttered, opening another file and spreading the photos inside across the surface of his desk.
A dozen men stared back at him. He knew each of their faces as well as he knew his own. He’d served with most of them for the bulk of his naval career. He was closer to the men in Poseidon, but still had long-term ties to the others.
SEALs: Torres, Prescott, Loudon, Ward. Lansky, Rengel and Lee. Petty Officer Dane Adams, Captain Milt Jarrett, Ensign Doug Roberts, Lieutenant Commander Burton Cho. And, of course, Lieutenant Brandon Ramsey himself.
Along with each photo was a personnel dossier. There was nothing in any of them that Nic didn’t already know, but he’d decided it was time to refamiliarize himself with a few details. Before he was halfway through the stack of dossiers, his phone rang.
“Savino.”
“Cree,” barked the Admiral with enough force to be heard without the phone.
“Sir.” Even though he was alone in his office, Nic stood, coming to attention.
“Status?”
“Operation Fuck Up phase two is in play.”
“Estimated time frame?”
How long was it going to take to find a dead man and destroy his accomplices? “Three weeks.”
“You have one.”
He didn’t bother to swear when the line went dead. Frustration was pointless. Nic had been ordered to do a lot of things in his career that sat uncomfortably. But he did them. Because that was his job.
He lifted the photos of Prescott, Lansky, Jarrett and Loudon from his desk and stared at them with troubled eyes.
Sometimes his job was fucked beyond words.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHARCOAL PENCIL FLYING over paper in quick, sure strokes, Elijah let his mind relax. The dark gray images forming on their blanket of white were the only way he knew to find answers, and the questions pounded through his brain.
Water, the waves chopping like a sharp ax. Vicious and mean with edgy teeth, ready to engulf the tiny boat adrift in the sea. A ship, as solid and sturdy as any home a man could know. Flames danced around the ship like imps of fury, their painful touch burning away the facade of safety.
The clouds, dark and furious, were filled with staring eyes. Some dripped with pain, some held regret and doubt, others shot accusation like bolts of lightning.
They screamed betrayal without a word, stabbing, jabbing, ripping at the figure in the boat.
Damn.
Sweat sliding down his forehead, dripping into his eyes, Elijah threw the sketch pad onto the table. It landed with a heavy thud, but it didn’t slide across the slick glass, out of sight. It just sat there, the image angled toward him in a stark reminder that it didn’t matter what he did—it wasn’t going away.
Elijah stared at the drawing with eyes that burned. He’d drawn it. It had come from his subconscious. And it didn’t take a psychologist to decipher the message. Chest so tight it burned almost as hot as his eyes, he glared at the image.
Yeah. He knew what it was saying.
What he didn’t know was what the hell to do about it.
“Yo. You okay?”
Shit.
His hand was at his hip reaching for a weapon before Elijah took his next breath. He stopped himself just before he slid into a crouch, fists ready to fly. Instead he froze. Forcibly, physically made himself stay still. He could feel his muscles twitching, desperate for action.
He shot a look over his shoulder. The sight of his cousin, standing in place as if they were playing freeze tag—one foot lifted to step and a finger pressed to his lips—sloughed off the top layer of tension. He made a show of rolling his eyes.
“Is that your way of asking permission to enter your own kitchen?”
“You seemed so deep in thought I figured I’d better check.” At Elijah’s go-ahead signal, Mack lumbered into the room with all the grace of a grizzly, immediately making the space feel half its previous size. The guy was dressed for exercise in a sleeveless tee proclaiming Mack’s Gym to be the best and black sweats cut off at the knees. His hair was damp, his muscles rippling, evidence that he’d had at least one workout already. “I’m between coaching sessions. Figured we could have lunch together.”
“It’s lunchtime?” Frowning, Elijah checked the sleek clock in the corner. How’d it get to be twelve thirty? He frowned at the sketch pad. He’d been drawing for three hours?
“You eat yet?”
Elijah gestured with his chin toward the half-empty bowl of cereal on the table.
“You ate that dry?”
“You don’t have milk.”
“Hellooo.” Pulling open the fridge, Mack held out a carton and gave it a gentle shake. “What do you call this?”
Elijah didn’t bother to look.
“Milk comes from cows. Goats in a pinch. Not almonds.”
“This is healthier. Less calories, lower fat, no additives.”
“Mack, I spend half my life working out, the other half in death-defying situations. You think I’m going to spend what’s left of my time worrying about fat and calories?”
Then again... Elijah glanced at the bowl of dry twigs he’d been eating by the handful like snack mix. Maybe juiced almonds would have helped.
“So you aren’t overly concerned with cholesterol,” Mack observed when he parked himself and his own bowl of white liquid and cereal across from Elijah. “What are you concerned with?”
Before Elijah could claim nothing, Mack slid the sketch closer. His eyes widened.
“I’ve always admired your talent and your imagination. Not sure I do now, though. Not if you’ve got this knocking around in your head.”
“I’ve got all sorts of things in my head.” Elijah shrugged. “Mostly questions.”
Mack ate a few shovel-size bites of cereal as he inspected the drawing.
“If I were a deep kind of guy who got things like symbolism and imagery, I’d think this was some scary shit. Like, you’re-questioning-your-life scary shit.” Mack took another bite and considered. “Actually, if this was in my head, I’d be questioning my life, too.”
Absently grabbing a handful of cereal twigs, Elijah watched Mack flip through a few more pages, a few more images, all variations on the theme.
“I’m questioning a lot of things,” he finally admitted. The twigs were too dry to swallow; he grabbed his bottle of water and chugged.
“All these boats make me think some of them are Navy things.”
His expression set, Elijah gave a single nod.
“You’re thinking of leaving the Navy?”
God. Elijah’s gut clenched. It sounded worse when someone else said it.
“You’d really leave the Navy?” Mack’s rugged features folded into surprise. “Elijah, you’re a SEAL. You’ve wanted that since you were a kid. I can’t believe you’d walk away from it.”
“I’ve served for twelve years. Four tours, a decade as a SEAL. I reached the pinnacle. I put it all on the line for my career every single day I served. Nothing came before my service.” Elijah met his cousin’s eyes. “And in the end? I don’t know if it makes any difference. I don’t know if it’d ever be enough. And I don’t know if I have anything left to give.”
Mack wrapped his hands together and leaned forward. The guy was big enough that the move put him halfway across the table, pretty much in Elijah’s face.
“Sometimes after a match, I figure I’m done. It doesn’t matter if I won or lost, I’m empty. Bottomed out. I think, you know, there’s a whole lot of life out there. Most of it doesn’t involve getting repeatedly hit in the face or kicked in the nuts. Maybe I should try living it that way, instead.”
“You saying you agree that I should leave the Navy?”
“Hell, no.” Mack scowled. �
��I’m saying I get it. On a much smaller level, I get it. But you don’t see my ass giving up, do you?”
Vision blurring red at the edges, Elijah opened his mouth to scream at Mack, to pour out the hideous truths of what he’d been through. The explosion. The fire. The hospital.
Betrayal.
Guilt.
Suspicion.
But training, as much a part of him as the color of his eyes, kicked in before he could release more than a puff of air. And just like that, he shut it down.
“I’m simply considering choices,” he finally said.
“You might want to factor the price you’ve paid into those considerations. I’m not talking about the secret stuff, the mission stuff. I mean what it cost you, personally.”
Ava. “Pretty sure the cost’s the same whether I stick around or not.” Elijah shrugged. “I’m still divorced. Dominic is still gone. My being a SEAL doesn’t make it any easier to pay freight on that.”
Mack gave him a long, considering look, then shook his head.
“I just can’t see it. What’re you going to do? Settle into some boring-ass job as an electrician or maybe put your drawing skills to use sketching caricatures at the local mall?”
Elijah laughed, only partially in horror. Beat the hell out of Lansky’s suggestions.
“I guess I haven’t thought that far ahead,” he admitted, rubbing his hands over his face to try to scrub away the confusion. “Maybe it’s seeing Ava that has me jacked up, has me questioning my choices and, yeah, the costs. It’s a huge reminder, you know.”
Mack nodded. “Look, I’m good with advice. I tell grown men what to do on a regular basis. I advise, I coach, I kick ass.” Mack’s smile was edged in arrogance. But there was a sadness beneath it as he continued. “But when it comes to relationships, dude, let’s get real. I suck at them.”
“What happened to your Decadence date?”
“Turns out he’s got a penchant for the golden arches, Two Buck Chuck and the Three Stooges.”
Elijah grimaced. The fast food and cheap wine were bad enough. But he knew slapstick movies were Mack’s line in the sand. Poor guy simply couldn’t understand the humor of a good poke to the eyeballs.
“I guess neither of us is having much in the way of luck when it comes to relationships,” Elijah responded, pulling the sketch pad toward himself and flipping to a fresh page.
“Not sure as I’d say that. At least you know what a good relationship is. You had that connection—a strong enough connection to want to spend your life with someone who wanted to spend hers with you.”
Had he? Or had Ava just married him because she was pregnant? Sure, she’d seemed like she’d loved him at first. And other than the nagging about his career, he’d thought they were happy together.
Until they’d lost Dominic.
Elijah’s gut clenched with a vicious, stabbing pain before he could shove that thought back behind lock and key where it belonged.
“Like I said, a lot of good it did me.”
“Pouting seems to be serving you pretty well.”
Elijah’s laugh was something along the lines of a puff of air as he added a teddy bear to the arms of his quick sketch of his cousin. He’d drawn Mack as a he-man, so muscular he should be ringing the tilt bells as he pressed a Volkswagen Bug overhead with one hand, cuddling the bear with the other. A couple of flourishes in the form of an empty chocolate box and bouquet of wilting flowers and it was done.
He tore the sheet off and tossed it onto the table between them. Mack glanced at the paper and burst into a guttural belly laugh.
“You are such an asshole,” he said, still laughing as he took a closer look.
“What? I didn’t get your best side?”
His eyes on the drawing, Mack’s smile dropped away with a sigh. “You’re in a rough place, buddy. You’ve got some big decisions to make. I can’t tell you what to do. I can’t even tell you what I’d do if I were in your position.”
“Maybe you take the role of a family member who worries about my safety, wonders if I’ll be alive for your next birthday and maybe figures I’ve sold my soul to Uncle Sam for a pittance and an ego boost?” The words tasted as bitter as they sounded.
“Ouch.” Mack shook his head. “Ava lay all that on you? I didn’t think you two had said more than kiss ass in that massage room.”
Unable to draw his way out of his tangled thoughts, Elijah tossed his pencil down and shrugged.
“Look. I don’t know what happened that put you in the hospital, and I’m not asking. No point since you can’t tell me. As a concerned family member, I’m okay with that because I know how important your career is to you. I’ve seen the years you’ve devoted to your training, to perfecting your craft. I know you had reasons for doing that. And I always figured those reasons were solid.”
“I did, too.”
Mack nodded. “A handful of years ago, you had it all. Then you lost it. But not all of it.” Mack sighed. “Dude, giving up your career is one thing if it’s what you want to do. But walking away because you’re screwed up over something that happened, or because you’re mixing up your Ava issues with your career ones? If that’s the case, you need to take a little time and think it through.”
“That’s why I’m here, cousin. To think it through.”
“Then I strongly suggest you try to compartmentalize. Deal with your career, deal with your hospitalization, deal with your history with Ava. But deal with each issue separately.”
Elijah let his head fall back along with the chair so he was balanced on the two back legs.
Compartmentalize. Yeah. He could do that.
He couldn’t make a career decision with his head buried in the gray fog of pain that was dogging him. He had to clear the fog somehow, had to find his way through the pain.
Once he did, he’d know what to do. About his career.
But Ava?
“She slept with me the other night,” he admitted quietly. “First time we see each other in four years, she basically tells me to kiss her ass. Next thing I know, she’s in my bed and we’re rolling around naked.”
“You know, most guys would consider rolling around naked a good thing.”
“I woke alone. When I ran her down, instead of a ‘Damn, you were good,’ she laid a guilt trip on me.”
“Maybe you need to work on your skills? Learn a few new moves, take up some kink? Might garner a better morning-after reaction.”
Elijah snickered as he slowly lowered his head. “I’ll take that under advisement.”
“And the rest?”
And the rest? He frowned. He didn’t see that there was any going back with Ava. They weren’t the same people anymore.
He’d always had his shit together. Now he had stress issues.
Ava had always been a cupcake, soft and sweet. Now she was a hard-ass.
She’d spent most of their marriage trying to get him to give up his career. Now he was questioning it, and she didn’t care.
And Mack’s suggestion of kink? Years ago, they’d rocked every variation of the missionary position because that was all she’d been comfortable with.
But now? Now he’d bet Ava might actually go for some kink. She’d like it. Maybe a little bondage, a few toys, some public displays of orgasm.
Sex wasn’t enough to base a relationship on. But all things considered, it might be powerful enough to tidy up the past and tie up those loose emotional ends. Once and for all.
“You happen to know where Ava is at the moment?”
He had to give Mack credit. His cousin managed to keep his smile to an infinitesimal quirk of his lips. “She’s teaching an advanced kickboxing class for the next thirty minutes.”
“Downstairs?”
“Second-floor ring.”
>
Elijah took a deep breath, then shrugged.
“Guess I’d better gear up for class. I’ve never done any kickboxing, though. You think she’ll let me play?”
“A chance to kick your ass in the ring? She’ll welcome you with open arms.”
* * *
ELIJAH CHANGED INTO loose gray sweatpants and a US Navy tee with the sleeves ripped off. He didn’t bother wrapping his hands or grabbing gear, just headed toward the gym.
He used the inside staircase, taking his time and checking out the view while he settled his thoughts. He still couldn’t answer any of the questions pounding through them, but he figured settled was good enough.
It’s all mind over matter, he’d been taught as a SEAL. If he didn’t mind, it didn’t matter.
If nothing else, his little chat with Mack had been a reminder of that. It’d also helped him put a few things in perspective.
He was a SEAL. He’d put a lot of his life into being a SEAL. No matter what choices he made in the future, he’d always be a SEAL.
So he’d damned well better act like one.
Right now he had a mission. To assess and ascertain the relationship between he and Ava. A week ago, he would have called it over and done with. Their night together could be written off as sex for the sake of sex. It could be chalked up to old times’ sake. Or it could be seen as a signal of something bigger.
He’d been trained to recognize potential threats and secure the situation until a determination could be made. In this case, the determination of whether the emotional ties between he and Ava were truly dead or not.
They’d never said goodbye.
After Dominic had died, she’d refused to talk to him. After they’d buried their baby, she’d refused to see him. After she’d served him with divorce papers, she’d refused to listen to him.
He supposed that was the sort of thing that a shrink would say required closure. And while hot sex was a great means of communication, he didn’t figure it actually counted as any form of closure, no matter how many orgasms they’d shared.
So this was it.
Elijah rounded the last flight of stairs and headed for what Mack called the sparring gym.