9
Olivia analyzed her dark-haired opponent and tapped her pen on her notebook. It was the same notebook he had stolen from her, and she hadn’t forgotten.
Sitting across from her in the temporary interview space—also known as a windowless supply closet—the master chief’s knees nearly grazed hers as their chairs sat squarely facing each other. Olivia knew that allowing her the exclusive use of a closet as her workspace in an essentially abandoned building was a giant fuck-you from the commander.
Like another SEAL she knew, the commander could pretend all he wanted to her face, but he made it damn clear that he didn’t give a fuck about her or her report.
“Well, if it isn’t the charmer,” she said through gritted teeth. She was feeling put out by the unbelievable animosity shown to her since she’d been there.
“The charmer?” He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I’m sure you can think of a derogatory name more accurate than that.”
She raised her eyebrow and stared at her notes, knowing he was right and disliking it all the same. Somewhere along the line, after he’d pulled her into a shadowy enclave and given her a taste of how deep the corruption ran on base, Olivia had realized that Ryder was more than just an annoyance. More than just a hot distraction. He had something important to say, the key to the case.
But the man continued to be a challenge. Sitting with him in the small interview room was a blessing and a curse, a clinic in frustration. Half the time he was relentlessly testing her, and the rest of the time he was unreachable. When was he was going to open up and tell her what he knew?
“Don’t think I’m clueless. I know what you were trying to do with your little charade at the airport,” she accused. Ryder had tried—and almost succeeded—in throwing her off balance.
“And what was I trying to do?”
“Test me. Figure me out.”
He just stared at her in response, offering nothing. Clearly she was facing the stone wall today.
“And don’t even get me started on your behavior outside.”
He let out a bored sigh. “I don’t have time for this shit.”
He made to get up, but she stuck her hand out quickly. Olivia couldn’t afford to actually let him leave. She needed this interview. She had to believe that she could eventually crack him. After all, she’d done it before with similarly difficult interviewees.
Maybe just not one so damn sexy.
The problem was that she accidentally grazed his upper thigh with her outstretched hand as he stood.
He paused mid-squat, eyes open with surprise. It wasn’t the first time she’d surprised him. Thrown him off his game. Unfortunately, she found she liked how it tasted. It was as delicious as she expected his mouth would be. But it created a tension that she wanted to avoid.
Whatever walls they were hiding behind disappeared in that split second—until she quickly retracted her paw. “Oh!” was all that came out of her mouth. But she composed herself and opted for a polite approach. “Please sit.”
“Why?” Ryder demanded, looming over her.
Both of their voices lost their sarcasm. Something grew sober in the room, and she realized that sooner or later, she would have to decide if she trusted him or not.
“I need to talk to you,” she said honestly, testing the waters.
He slowly sat back down. Silent. Watchful. Equally distrusting.
“It has to be you,” she added, raising her eyebrows in seriousness.
“Why does it have to be me?” he challenged. “Because of my rank?”
Olivia let out a breath, knowing exactly what he was getting at—he was the highest enlisted sailor, second only to the officer. So he was the top of the pyramid, falling first in line under executive management.
Rule number six: Deployed civilians are expected to respect rank structure, and will report to the officers in charge on mission as required.
“Yes, sir,” she added for good measure, unsure how to put it. “But also…” She trailed off and tried to find words.
“Tell me,” he said slowly, like a predator waiting in the reeds.
She bit her lip. His big dark eyes bore into hers, waiting for her to tell him something worthwhile. Olivia’s only problem was she wasn’t sure how to articulate her reasoning… without padding his ego.
He was the key to it all.
So Olivia took a deep breath and held her ground, staring up into the dark face across from her. He rubbed his hand over his beard—the perfect multi-day, overgrown shave. His muscled forearms were flexed and accentuated by the long, dramatic tattoo running up to his bicep. She wondered how far underneath his shirt it went.
Christ, he was hot. There was no way around it. He was just damn masculine handsomeness. How could she be simultaneously so frustrated and aroused? In the short time they’d been in contact, she’d already questioned her sanity three times.
“Olivia,” Ryder pressed.
“It’s because… I think you have something to say,” she said finally, unable to hold her cards tightly against her chest anymore.
One of his black eyebrows rose, framing an equally dark eye underneath.
“About?” His tone remained demanding, and she knew she shouldn’t press her luck. She was lucky he hadn’t marched out altogether. She didn’t doubt he would.
“About what’s been going on here. You seem to be key. You know stuff.”
The words clearly struck a chord with him. His stiff, stern face softened so slightly that another person wouldn’t have noticed. But she was always watching him. Always analyzing him.
“This is just about workplace culture?” His demeanor shifted again.
“Of course.” She nodded quickly. “That’s all I’m authorized to look at.”
He considered her words, and the energy in the room softened. She knew his interest was piqued.
“What do you think goes on here?” His voice was quieter but even more intense. He didn’t blink.
She wondered if that’s how he was when he made love. But she lifted her chin and remained frozen. She didn’t want to give up anything. No emotions and no ground. Something she knew he would respect.
“I want to know what you think,” he demanded again, leaning in slightly, and she inhaled his scent. “What your opinion is so far… after meeting the boss.” Those words sent shivers up her spine, but the question itself revealed a level of trust. Perhaps they were getting somewhere.
“I think the problems here are deeper than advertised,” she responded, holding an even tone. “And no one wants this project to creep.”
“When he starts telling you that you don’t have the clearance to know, or that it’s on a need-to-know basis…” Ryder retorted. “That’s when you need to ask him more questions.”
Her tepid steps forward were met respectively by his. And as he sat forward in his chair, she continued to inhale masculine tones of cedar and musk. Dusty roads. Hard work.
“Tell me, what do you think of him?” he ordered her, pushing her to open up further. Demanding her trust in him.
Olivia raised her eyebrow at her interviewee, allowing silence to engulf the room, refusing to answer straight up but keenly aware that she needed him to stay on. He was the bottleneck. He embodied the continuity from mission to mission in Mali, overseeing SEALs, the missions, and the fallout.
As she waited, watching, returning his stare, the tension was palpable. They played a game of strong versus stronger. They were confident professionals. Excellent at their craft.
The room suddenly felt hotter than a moment ago. Her forehead became dewy and the space between her legs grew moist as she held his gaze. In a different world, she would lean forward in her chair and press her lips to his. How she would love to see how they felt, tasted. Round and full. Dark, like his sun-kissed skin and coffee-colored hair. She wondered how his scruffy beard would feel against her cheek.
“I asked you a question.” His jaw tightened, and she observed the fierceness in his
face. His confidence made her want to lean in and give it up to him. She wanted to trust him, confide in him her concerns, her observations, her questions.
But she caught herself.
“I’ll tell you everything you want to know,” she replied coolly, scribbling in her notebook as she waited for his reaction. “But we aren’t there yet.”
Trust was earned.
Ryder searched her. He was reading her. He was probably good at it, too. What did he want to see? Were they friends or enemies?
“Talk to me,” she started, willing her voice to stay strong. “Let’s get to know each other.”
“Rapport building?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” He cleared his throat and finally made the first move, showing her that he was invested. Showing her that he was the leader she hoped he was. She silently thanked him for that, and knew her silence was the space he needed to open up.
“I’m from New York. Italian family,” he began. “I got into college, but the Navy had a better offer. After a few years of training and education through them, I got into the SEALs and never looked back.”
“Do you like the job?”
“Living the dream,” he replied too quickly.
“Really?” She cocked her head in a questioning way.
He exhaled slightly, and she didn’t miss the way he shifted his gaze. It seemed to be a habit when he removed his mask, but he continued letting her in. “It can be… difficult. It’s hard to have a life when you are always away, but that’s what training prepares us for.”
“SEAL training?” She leaned in, curious. “Deployment training?”
“All of the above,” he replied. “Training can be about pushing you as far as possible to find your breaking point. Guys have to know you are resilient and tough before they are willing to trust you in situations of life or death.” He shot her a knowing look, making the insinuation clear.
She scribbled down some thoughts and adjusted her glasses, wondering who exactly Ryder was under the mask. “Is it difficult to work here?”
“In Mali?”
“No, in this squadron. In this troop. The Wolfpack.”
“Oh,” he started, and took a minute to consider his words. “That can be even more difficult. It’s been hard here lately. Not everyone sees things the same way.”
His tone seemed final, and Olivia made a note to revisit the point. She didn’t want to push him away at the first real interview. “What do you do? I mean, what are you responsible for?”
“It’s complicated. On paper, I’m second in command of the troop. But in reality, here in Mali, I am actually in command of all the guys here.”
“How is that different from being the troop commander?”
“It just is. I’m like the senior manager, and he’s the executive. I do all the tactical plans, manage the sailors, and he is the approval. He has the final say.”
In a human resources world, that meant Fuller didn’t do anything except get in Ryder’s way. Olivia had didn’t doubt it.
“And what if you don’t follow what he says?” she probed. “What would happen?”
“A charge of insubordination. It’s serious, especially in theater. You’d face jail time and dismissal.”
As she considered his words, she realized that he was letting her in on the added complexities of deployment.
“How does your job affect family life?” she asked, curious about his home life… for purely professional reasons, she told herself.
Ryder laughed, not coyly but honestly, and she felt a moment of intimacy between them. Creases formed around his eyes, and his wide smile displayed all of his teeth. Again, the layers of paint peeled back to reveal quality wood underneath.
“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask someone who has a life.”
“Oh.” She shifted uncomfortably, worried that she had taken the wrong path.
He waved his hand like it was no big deal. “I mean, my last girlfriend left me when she realized I was never home…”
“Do you have one now?” she added, immediately wishing she hadn’t.
He raised an eyebrow. “What? A girlfriend?”
Olivia nodded too quickly, betraying her guilt for asking. It wasn’t that she wasn’t allowed to ask personal questions—it was that she cared too much about the answer to this one.
But, Ryder being Ryder, he just shrugged mischievously and grinned at her, reading her like Sunday’s newspaper. With that, the charmer showed himself again, but this time Olivia couldn’t help but feel a flutter in her tummy. He was good at what he did.
“Tell me about you.” His commanding voice never failed to strike a chord in her.
She looked up at him and searched for words. But she was too distracted by his broad shoulders and expectant eyes. Though she was a strong woman, something about him made her want to grovel in a very unprofessional way. She wanted to obey him, like he was her lord. She’d happily play the part of his wench. But she expressed none of this, remaining a cool wall.
Or at least she tried. “Where to begin…” She cleared her throat.
“Anywhere you’d like.” His voice was stern and unmoving.
“I’m from the Washington area, and I’m a sociologist,” she began.
“How’s that different from being a socialist? Or a sociopath?”
That bought a laugh from her, and a grin crept across her face. “Believe me, it’s different.”
He leaned in further, and she felt herself leaning in as well, marking the beginning of something more between them. He was warming up to her, and she raised her eyebrow, wondering if she could actually trust him. Should she? Or would he just throw her under the bus?
Just as her fingers tingled and her lips parted, and she felt ready to pursue a deeper line of questioning, a loud alarm went off in the compound. Ryder’s head immediately snapped to the closed supply closet door, and he grabbed her off her chair, bringing her down to the ground with force. The impact sent a rush of pain up her side.
She breathed heavily, terrified.
“Stay down,” he growled with authority.
“What—” she began, but she quickly clamped her lips together, and a tear rolled out of her eye.
Ryder’s hand pressed down on her back protectively, and she felt the warmth of the weight on her. He was like a wolf standing over his kin, waiting for sounds of danger. The leader of the Wolfpack. Her nipples hardened and tingled from his touch. The mix of fear and arousal continued to grow, and it was utterly confusing.
The alarm continued loudly on the base. Releasing her, he crept toward the door, removing his pistol from his hip.
“What’s going on?” she called out to him, shaking, her eyes wide.
Ryder shook his head, opening the supply door a crack. “Fuck, I don’t know. I left my cell at the office.”
Finally, the alarm stopped, and he quickly marched back to her, heaving her up. He was careful not to touch her inappropriately, which she found endearing—and disappointing.
“You have a cell phone here?” Olivia breathed.
He nodded. “There’s a local dealer here. But I don’t bring it everywhere on base with me, and I’m definitely not bringing it to our meetings.” He gave her a knowing look.
“Why?” she probed. Her question was met with a creeping smile .
“How did I know you’d ask that?” He turned to leave, and before she could figure out how to reply, he turned halfway back.
“Olivia,” he said, a little grin crossing his face.
“Yes?” she squeaked.
“You okay?”
She nodded quickly and swallowed a hard lump.
He laughed. “You’ll get used to it.”
“I don’t think I want to ever get used to this.”
“Was I that rough?” he asked. As the words escaped, there was no doubt that both of their minds went to another place. A thousand terrible replies flitted through her mind, and she bit her tongue against all of them. Not in
a million years could she be found flirting with him.
“Thanks for helping me,” she finally managed.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Your instincts were there.”
He shrugged, but the twinkle in his eye betrayed his nonchalant demeanor. She’d complimented him, and his pride was puffed. She realized that she didn’t mind padding his ego as much as she thought she would have. A brief moment passed, and the air between them seemed friendlier than before. More trusting.
“I have to go,” he repeated.
“Let’s talk,” she pressed, capitalizing on the moment before he left. “Let’s do this again.”
Looking back, his gaze trailed over her as he considered her words. She knew it was a pivotal moment in their path forward.
“Who else are you planning on talking to?” he asked.
“I don’t have names yet, but anyone on the org chart.” She fumbled to the side of the desk for her notepad. “Maybe the senior chiefs? They are the next level down.”
He shook his head. “No.”
“What?”
“If you want to talk to me, then it’s just going to be me.”
“But I have to…” she sputtered, unable to think of a way to meet those terms. “I can’t make that decision!” Did this guy understand anything about internals? She couldn’t base an entire report on him. It was crazy talk.
“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.
Desert Exposure Page 6