Seal Team Ten

by Brockmann, Suzanne

  He was obviously embarrassed. It was clear he didn't know what to say to her, obvious that she'd overstepped the boundaries of propriety.

  That was just perfect. She'd been trying to help, but all she'd done was make things awkward between them and...

  Zoe had to laugh at herself—at her self-righteous attempt to justify what she'd done last night.

  The truth was that she'd kissed Jake Robinson because she'd wanted to kiss Jake Robinson. Badly. She'd wanted to kiss him since she'd first found out about kissing, back in seventh grade.

  She'd pushed too hard too fast, and now she was paying for it.

  As she went up the steps to her private RV, she saw Jake standing with Bobby and Wes at the door to the main trailer.

  He was watching her, but instead of holding her gaze, he looked away.

  His message couldn't have been more clear. This assign­ment was going to be neither easy nor fun for him. He'd prefer to keep whatever it was that had made him kiss her the way he had locked deep inside of him forever.

  He was still in love with his wife, and a man like Jake Robinson would never cheat, not even on a memory.

  Lieutenant Lucky O'Donlon burst into the surveillance trailer as if his pants were on fire.

  He skidded to a stop next to Bob Taylor and furiously whispered into the big enlisted man's ear. Lucky was gone as quickly as he came in, and now it was Bobby's turn to stand up.

  Moving with the agile speed and grace of a ballet dancer, the six-feet-five-inch tall, seemingly six-feet-wide SEAL pirouetted elegantly over to his swim buddy, Wes Skelly, and, glancing almost nervously at Jake, he leaned over and whispered something into Wes's ear.

  Another graceful leap and Bobby, too, was out the door.

  Wes knocked all the papers from his file onto the floor in his haste to get to his feet. He scooped them up, tossed them on the table in random order, and scurried toward Cowboy, Crash and Mitch.

  As he spoke to them, his voice was too low for Jake to hear, but he gestured with his thumb toward the door, then scrambled after Bobby.

  Jake looked at Harvard, who was fine-tuning the pro­gramming for their satellite access computers. The big se­nior chief frowned as he watched Mitch rise to his feet and saunter out the door. He turned and met Jake's eyes and shook his head, anticipating the admiral's question.

  "What the hell is going on?" Jake stood up for the first time in what seemed like hours, stretching his legs and heading toward the door.

  Cowboy had crossed to the window and stood looking out.

  Crash glanced out the door. "Apparently Dr. Lange has returned from her pool party."

  "Yes," Cowboy said from the window. "She's defi­nitely wearing a bikini. And she's definitely...wearing a bikini."

  Jake opened the door, and stepped outside, intending to go out there and kick some ass. The male members of his team had no right to ogle Zoe, bikini or...

  No bikini.

  What she was wearing was, in fact, almost no bikini.

  Two very small triangles of black fabric stretched across her full breasts, attached with a string that tied around her neck and around her back.

  Oh, God, he was staring. Just like Lucky and Bobby and Wes and even unflappable Mitch Shaw, Jake was standing there and staring. He forced his eyes from her breasts and encountered her perfect rear end.

  She was wearing some kind of a sarong-style cover-up around her hips, but it was white and completely wet and did little in the way of covering her.

  In fact, it clung to her, outlining every detail of her black bikini bottoms, which weren't much in the way of bottoms at all. They were cut high on her legs, high on her rear. Oh, yeah, there was no doubt about it. Zoe Lange had a world-class rear end.

  But Jake already knew that. He'd had his hands all over it just a few nights ago.

  And he'd been avoiding her ever since.

  "Isn't anyone going to get me a towel?" she asked.

  Jake realized with a jolt that her hair was soaking wet. She was carrying a towel, but it was drenched and dripping, as was her bag and a pair of jeans she had over her arm. She still had beads of water on her shoulders and chest and...

  The late afternoon air had an autumn chill. It was bla­tantly obvious that she was freezing.

  He quickly lifted his gaze to her face. "What hap- pened?"

  "I got pushed into the pool on my way out of the party. Hal didn't want me to leave. But things were getting a little...too friendly." She was trying to be flip, trying to be tough and matter-of-fact. "It's no big deal. I got a little wet."

  Lucky bounded over, a dry white towel in his hands, as Mitch reached to take her wet things.

  "I'll hang these up for you," Mitch said.

  It was amazing. Jake knew that after only three days of working together as a team, Lucky O'Donlon was hot for Zoe. But Mitch? Lieutenant Mitchell Shaw was not human when it came to distractions. He was the only man Jake had ever met who was completely nondistractable. Or so Jake had believed.

  Lucky wrapped his towel around Zoe's shoulders, gently rubbing her arms, but she quickly backed away.

  "Don't touch me!" Zoe's outburst surprised them all— herself included. She forced a smile. "Whoa. Where'd that come from? Sorry, Luke. I guess my whole afternoon was just a little too intense."

  "Yo," Harvard said from the trailer door. "How come you guys don't throw me a welcome home party every time I come back to camp? We've got two months of work to do in two days and I see people standing around. Check the pay stubs in your wallets, please, and unless your pay grade is admiral, get your butts back inside."

  "I need a shower, Senior Chief," Zoe said. "Give me twenty minutes to get cleaned up." She glanced at Jake as she wrapped her towel more tightly around her. "If that's okay, Admiral, I'll give you a full report then."

  Admiral. It was her acknowledgment of his attempt to put a little space, a little formality between them since that night they'd kissed.

  Hold me like you want to be inside me.

  He wanted. Despite Daisy's memory, despite his and Zoe's age difference, despite the fact that she was at least partly under his command, a member of his team, he wanted her.

  Keeping his distance seemed the smartest option under the circumstances. They were going to be forced into close quarters soon enough.

  "A full report after you shower would be fine, Doctor."

  Jake watched her turn away, watched her head toward

  the small RV that held her private quarters. But then he saw it. Bright red on the white of the towel.

  He caught up with her quickly. "Zoe, you're bleeding."

  She looked at the towel, pulling it back to reveal a nasty-looking scrape on her right elbow. Jake lifted the towel to reveal a lesser abrasion on her other arm. They were the kind of scrapes a woman might get from being pushed down, hard, onto her back. "Wow," she said "I didn't even realize...."

  "I think I need at least some of that report now," he said tightly.

  She lifted her chin. "It wasn't anything I couldn't han­dle."

  He still held her wrist. "And that's why you're shak­ing?"

  "I'm freezing," she lied. He knew she was lying. What­ever had happened had shaken her up.

  "Too friendly,'" Jake remembered. He gestured to her elbow. "Is this the result of someone being too friendly?"

  She gently pulled herself free. "It was Monica's boy­friend. I think he was coked up. I handled it, Jake. His family jewels are now lodged somewhere between his ton­sils and his sinuses."

  "Note to myself," Jake said. "Don't ever get Zoe an­gry-"

  She laughed as he'd hoped she would, but then abruptly turned away—but not before he saw the sudden welling of tears in her eyes.

  "I'll tell you everything," she said, "but after I shower, okay?"

  "Yeah," Jake said, fighting to hide the sudden rush of anger and protectiveness that made him want to seek out and destroy this Monica's boyfriend. "I'll get you some­thing hot to drink. And meet you bac
k in your trailer."

  "Thanks, Jake," she whispered. "That would be very nice."

  Chapter 5

  Zoe kicked off her shower slippers as she came inside her RV. She'd cranked the heat before she'd left for the bath house, and it was now close to roasting in the small trailer. But that was nice. She hadn't been truly warm in what felt like hours.

  And she felt warmer still when she saw that Jake was, indeed, waiting for her in the small living area. He sat somewhat stiffly on the cheap foam seats of the built-in couch, three mugs of coffee on the table in front of him, and...

  Three?

  Mitch Shaw was sitting across the room, his medical kit on his lap.

  Jake had brought a chaperon. He was probably going to pretend he'd only brought Mitch along as a medic, to make sure Zoe's elbows were cleaned and bandaged properly, but she knew better. He was afraid to put himself in a position in which he might kiss her again.

  She smiled at Jake to make sure he knew that she knew better.

  But he was in heavy team-leader mode, frowning slightly and very intense as he handed her one of the mugs and gestured toward Mitch. 'I've asked Lieutenant Shaw to take a look at your elbows, Doctor."

  Zoe gave the darkly handsome lieutenant a smile as she sat down next to him. "Mitch and I are on a first-name basis, Admiral."

  That one actually got her the ghost of a smile. "Any time you're ready," Jake said, "I'm ready to hear your report."

  She took a sip of her coffee and pushed back the sleeves of her robe.

  "First things first—I accomplished my mission this af­ternoon," she said as Mitch looked closely at her left elbow and then her right. His hands were warm, his touch gentle, almost soothing. "Hal Francke offered me the job."

  "Great," Jake said. "When do you start?"

  "I didn't take it."

  As she watched, Jake struggled to understand. "Why not? Because of what happened at the party? I mean, don't get me wrong, if you don't think it's safe for you to be there, or—"

  "I didn't take the job because I didn't want to seem overeager," she explained. "I told Hal I'd think about it. I'll go into Mel's in a day or so and let him ask me again. I'll make sure a ton of people overhear, and I'll make him beg. Ouch." She involuntarily jerked her arm free from Mitch. Holy Mike, that had hurt!

  "Sorry," he murmured, his dark hazel eyes apologetic. "There're still a few pieces of dirt—something that looks like very fine gravel—that I should remove. I don't think I can do it without hurting you at least a little. But if I don't get it out..."

  "Just...try to do it quickly." She gave him her arm, aware that she was perspiring from the anticipated pain,

  sweat beading on her upper lip. "Admiral, can you do me a favor and shut off the heat?"

  "What, you changed your mind? You no longer want to simulate the conditions on Mars?"

  "Ha, ha. You try getting dumped into a fifty-degree swimming pool and then driving fifteen miles in some trash heap of a car that doesn't have a working heater." She clenched her teeth against the pain.

  Jake smiled as he turned down the heat. "Someday we'll have to tell her about BUD/S Training, huh, Mitch?"

  Mitch was completely focused on cleaning her arm. "If you can't handle cold, don't become a SEAL."

  "A major portion of Hell Week—the fifth week of SEAL training—is spent freezing your butt off," Jake told her. "You get wet early on and stay wet for the entire week."

  "Yeah, I've heard about that." Zoe closed her eyes. Damn, whatever Mitch was doing hurt like hell. "I read in some magazine article about Hell Week that you guys pee on yourselves to stay warm while you're in the water."

  "Yeah, sure." Jake snorted. "That's what reporters find important. That we pee on ourselves. Forget about the hours and hours of training we go through, the endurance tests, the underwater demolition, the HALO training. That's not half as interesting as peeing on ourselves. Jeez."

  Zoe sensed more than felt Jake sit down beside her. But she opened her eyes when he took her other hand.

  "Squeeze," he told her. "And keep your eyes open. If you close your eyes and shut everything else out, it's just you and the pain. And that's never good."

  "I'm really sorry," Mitch murmured. "You must've landed on this arm pretty hard to get this stuff embedded so deeply."

  Zoe took a deep breath and let it out in a whoosh. Jake's eyes were so blue and so steady. She held his gaze as if it were a lifeline.

  "What happened at this party?" he asked. "Keep talk­ing."

  "I arrived a little after noon," she told him, gripping his hand more tightly and biting back the urge to shriek as Mitch probed particularly deeply. "Everyone was drinking pretty hard. Mostly just beer. But about five people went into the house, and when they came out, it was pretty ob­vious they'd done a few lines of cocaine. Hal Francke was one of them. This other guy, Wayne, Monica's boyfriend— God, what a jerk! He's one of those former high-school football-star types—he used to be big man on campus, but now he's just big and fat and mean. He went inside, too. A few different times."

  She squeezed Jake's hand harder. "Ow. Ow, ow, ow!"

  And just like that, the pain let up.

  "Got it." Mitch was done. He was perspiring nearly as much as she was, his eyes filled with apology and an echo of her pain.

  "I just have to put some antibacterial ointment on it and bandage it up. The other one looks clean."

  Zoe tried to hide that she was shaking. "Well, that was fun. Thanks so much."

  "So how'd this happen?" Jake asked. She had to give him credit. He was obviously trying really hard not to look as if he wanted to go out and hunt down Monica's boy­friend, Wayne.

  The stupid thing was, she liked it. She liked the idea of this man being her hero. God knows there was a point this afternoon where she would have been plenty thrilled to see Jake parachuting down from the sky, coming to save the day.

  She wasn't used to working in a team, like the SEALs. In her job, she often had herself, and only herself, to rely on.

  She gently pulled her hand free from his grasp. "I went further out in the back of the yard," she told him as Mitch bandaged her arm, "looking for Monica. There was a path that led down to a stream, and some of the party had moved in that direction. I was getting ready to leave—I wanted to

  tell her I was taking off. But she must've been inside the house—everyone else who'd gone down to the stream was gone, too. Except for Wayne, who'd followed me. Like I said, he was on something nasty, and he got a little rough." It was an understatement, and she could tell from his eyes that he knew it. "But it was no big deal," she continued. "I handled it, I handled him."

  She was stretching the truth pretty thin there. Because it had been a big deal. Zoe could still feel the man's hands on her breasts, still smell the alcohol on his putrid breath. He'd been a behemoth of a man, and when he'd tackled her, when the weight of his body had crushed her against the grass and gravel, for one awful moment she'd been afraid he'd actually be able to overpower her.

  It was an awful feeling, that helplessness.

  But he was stoned and stupid, and she'd used her brain and her ability to aim with a solid knee kick and she'd gotten away.

  Hal Francke had been with a group of men by the pool, and they, too, had had far too much to drink. Zoe had picked up her towel and her bag, extremely shaken and ready to leave without even saying goodbye to the hostess, when one of the men grabbed her and tossed her into the pool.

  Hal had jumped in after her, rescuing her even though she damn well hadn't wanted or needed it. He'd put his hands all over her as he pulled her to the side of the pool. It had taken every ounce of restraint she had not to kick him in the family jewels, as well.

  The water had been freezing. Her towel and clothes had been soaked.

  Hal had thought that was funny as hell. He'd invited her to dinner, invited her to stay at his fishing cabin for the rest of the weekend, subtly insinuated that he'd all but pay her to have sex with him. She'd
told him she'd consider the waitressing job, thanks, but that she'd have to get back to him.

  i

  And then, elbows stinging and dripping wet, Zoe had gotten the hell out of there.

  "It was no big deal," she said again. She was lying.

  And Jake knew she was lying. But he didn't press her for more details.

  "As far as what the locals think about the CRO—" she continued with her report "—most of the people at the party don't know anything about them. All they know is the old Frosty Cakes factory's finally been sold, and that the people who bought it mostly keep to themselves. They wish it had been bought by someone wanting to get back into production—they'd hoped for more jobs in this area. They know about the electric fence around the compound, but not much about the rest of Vincent's high-tech security system. And that's about it."

  "That's it for me, too," Mitch said, finishing bandaging her arm. He held onto her hand several moments longer than he had to. "Again, I'm sorry I hurt you, Zoe."

  "It's all right." She smiled at him. "I forgive you."

  Mitch's eyes were warm as he packed up his medical kit. "Good."

  Jake cleared his throat.

  Mitch stood up. "If you don't need me any further, Ad­miral..."

  "Thanks, Mitch. I'll be along in just a minute."

  Zoe watched the lieutenant let himself out, then glanced at Jake, wondering what he could possibly have to say to her that needed privacy. Why lose the chaperon now?

  "Are you really okay?" he asked. He touched her with just one finger beneath her chin, turning her head so that she was forced to meet his eyes.

  Silently, she nodded.

  "Why do I get the feeling that you're not being com­pletely honest?" he asked. "Look, let's make a deal. Right now. You don't lie to me, and I won't try to tell you what you should or shouldn't do. I won't make judgments about what might be too dangerous for you because you're a

  woman. But in return, you have to be brutally honest with me. You have to be able to pull your own plug, to pull yourself off some assignment that might get too uncom­fortable for you for any assortment of reasons. Does that sound fair?"