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Protecting Ava
Jillian Anselmi
Contents
Synopsis
Introduction
June 9th, 2017
10:15 am
11:05 am
12:20 pm
12:50 pm
12:55 pm
1:10 pm
1:30 pm
1:40 pm
1:47pm
1:50 pm
2:18 pm
3:03 am
June 12th, 2017
About the Author
Also by Jillian Anselmi
Acknowledgments
Synopsis
Detonation in five...four...three...
Ava Giordano never stood a chance.
After a big break-up, she finally got her life together, but the past still looms in her not so distant future.
Master Chief Special Warfare Officer Cody Dalton of SEAL team Alpha has always been the ultimate fan of one-night stands.
But one glimpse of Ava has him rethinking everything.
It's love at first sight, but now their feelings will be put to the test.
One train.
One meeting by chance.
One hour to get it right.
When danger surrounds them, does Dalton have what it takes to protect Ava?
Introduction
The Navy’s Sea, Air and Land Forces—commonly known as SEALs—are expertly trained to deliver highly specialized and intensely challenging warfare capabilities beyond the means of standard military forces.
~ If You Ain’t Cheating, You Ain’t Trying.
June 9th, 2017
9:10 am
Quantico
Dalton
I’ve been waiting for this trip for months. It isn’t often I get together with my fellow brothers from SEAL training, seeing we all have crazy schedules. We try to meet up once a year, but something always gets in the way. Last year, Miller had a baby. The year before that, I was in the middle of Afghanistan on assignment. This year, everyone finally got their shit together.
No one’s deployed.
No one’s having babies.
No one’s missing.
“Dude, what the hell did you pack in here? We’re only going for a couple days,” I ask Falkner “Dude” Cooper as I toss his bag into the back of my pickup.
Dude is one of fourteen remaining members of our six-month SEAL training course held at the Naval Special Warfare Training Center in Coronado, California.
SEAL training is one of the most rigorous and difficult trainings there is. It starts with five weeks indoctrination and pre-training as part of a Navy SEAL Class, then goes through three phases of BUD/S.
BUD/S is Basic Underwater Demolition Seal and consists of three parts—the first being the toughest, consisting of eight weeks of basic conditioning.
Hell Week is smack in the middle.
Hell Week is a test of physical endurance, mental tenacity, and true teamwork where two-thirds or more of the class will most likely call it quits or “ring the bell.” Physical discomfort and pain will cause many to decide it isn’t worth it. The miserable wet cold approaching hypothermia will make others quit. Sheer fatigue and sleep deprivation will cause you to question your core values, motivations, limits, and everything you’re made of and stand for.
Before Hell Week, there were one hundred and sixty-eight eager candidates.
Succeeding Hell Week, the class size was down to an exhausted twenty-three.
I wouldn’t wish Hell Week on my worst enemy.
After graduation, we were split up into different teams and rarely got a chance to speak. The only other times we saw each other were at the funerals of the nine members who will be absent from our annual assemblage.
“Just a few things,” he answers, and I glance up quick enough to catch his subtle wink.
“A few things. That’s some bullshit right there.” I chuckle as I open the driver’s side door. “I hope there’s no weight limit on the train. I’ll leave your sorry ass behind.”
“I still think we should’ve flown,” he complains as he slams the passenger door shut.
“You know I hate flying commercial. Besides, there’s a café car with a bar.” Dude was nice enough to fly from California to Quantico and meet me so I didn’t have to travel alone. I would have been in Coronado with him, but I needed to be debriefed from my last mission. Neither of us wanted to drive, so we opted to take an Amtrak Acela to Manhattan.
Throwing the truck in drive, I screech away from the curb and floor it. His flight was delayed, and we’ll be lucky to make it to the station by the skin of our teeth.
Less than ten minutes later, I slide into the first spot I see, and we haul ass across the parking lot to the train, which is just pulling into the station. Jogging up to the closest door, I launch myself through the narrow opening with Dude right on my tail. As his back foot hits the metal floor, the doors close. “Shit, Dalton. That was close,” he mutters, winded.
“You sound out of breath.” I chuckle, shaking my head. “Maybe you need to go through the first part of BUD/S again,” I call over my shoulder as I place my duffel bag in a cubby.
“Fuck that! I’d rather be transferred into the Army,” he scoffs, shoving me out of the way so he can cram his bag in the cube next to mine.
“Just sayin’,” I tease with a grin. “C’mon. I need a drink.”
Dude and I wade our way across the train until we locate the café car. Finding an empty table, I take a seat.
“Beer?” Dude asks, and I nod my head.
“Leave your phone, the conductor’s coming,” I order before he goes, and he slides it across the tabletop. As he walks to the concession stand, I reach into the back pocket of my jeans to retrieve my phone. Opening my email, I click on my e-ticket and show it to the conductor. He scans us both, then moves to the next table.
I pull up the itinerary. This appears to be an express train, with only a few stops in DC, Baltimore Penn Station, Philadelphia, Trenton, and Penn Station in Manhattan.
Good.
Less stops, less people boarding the train.
I’m not a tiny man and need my space.
Placing my phone inside my jacket pocket, I lean back and relax from the rocking motion.
Dude returns with two bottles of beer between the fingers on his right hand and places one in front of me before sliding back into the booth.
“What’s on the itinerary for this weekend? I haven’t had a chance to look yet,” I ask Dude as he takes a sip of the bottled brew.
I’ve been holed up in a room for the past fifty-four hours. My team was called in to exfiltrate an Iraqi operative who had pertinent information about the location of one of the larger al-Qaeda cells. The op went sideways, and we were lucky to get out with our lives, but we were able to bring the operative back to the states. All in all, a successful mission. A beer and a relaxing train ride toward a weekend with my buddies is just what the doctor ordered.
“We’re meeting at some bar in Midtown after we check into the hotel, then we’re going to some steakhouse called Maestros or Mastros. Something like that.”
&nb
sp; “Christ, you’re a wealth of information,” I mutter, shaking my head.
“It’s in the group chat,” he says in defense. “We can just look it up when we get to Penn Station. Damn, you’re cranky.”
“Sorry,” I mumble, “just a little tired.” He nods, having been there himself.
“How was the debrief?” he asks.
“Long. Too long,” I answer, rolling my neck.
“Yeah, I wasn’t sure you were gonna make the trip.” Dude looks out the window across the waters of the Potomac River. It is a beautiful ride—much better view than if we would have driven. The rising sun is shining through the trees, reflecting speckles of light off the glass-like water. It could be a painting, the water is so still.
“Me too,” I admit. I should have had plenty of time beforehand, but the op went over a day. Then the extra-long debrief…
But nothing was stopping me from spending time with my buds.
I finish my beer, then lean against the window and close my eyes. These extra hours of sleep I’ll get on the train will definitely help me later when I’m trying to keep up with the boys.
10:15 am
Washington DC
Ava
Straightening my skirt as I exit my cab, I pay the driver through the open passenger side window. I’m disappointed there’s no inside waiting area, but the sun is shining bright, warming my skin.
This is not the way I wanted to start my weekend. I hate traveling, and I especially hate traveling for work. But this is the career I’ve chosen, and conferences come with the territory. I just don’t understand why this couldn’t have been taken care of with a call. All we’re discussing is the upcoming Amtrak budget. I don’t see why we need a weekend of blah-blah-blah.
I approach the train station platform which runs the length of the tracks. As I climb the stairs, my cell phone rings. Checking the caller ID, I don’t recognize the number.
Again.
This is the sixth time today a random number has called me and not left a message. If I don’t know you, I’m not answering. I shove my phone back inside my laptop case and lean on the railing. I’m ten minutes early, as per usual. The last thing I need is to miss the train.
There are a few benches spattered around the platform, and I find an empty one. While I sit and wait, I now have some time to think about the past few weeks.
I never thought breaking it off with my fiancé would be this hard.
A month of dinners alone.
A month of watching our favorite shows alone.
A month of being, alone.
It was the right thing to do—we were traveling a thousand miles an hour in different directions. He wanted the perfect family – kids and a white picket fence. I want those things, too, just not right now. Now, I’m busting my ass to better my life and claw my way up the corporate ladder. I do enjoy some quiet time, but living alone does take a toll on a person.
My new apartment just outside Chevy Chase is beginning to feel like home, now that I have it decorated to my liking. It’s not as close to DC as I was living before, but it’s an adjustment I needed to make. It’s a nice area, full of thirty-somethings workaholics like me. Once I’m able to relax, I think I’ll enjoy living here.
Work has been busier than normal, but that’s because of all the changes Amtrak is undergoing. If they aren’t scheduling track maintenance, they’re changing uniforms or updating emails.
It’s exhausting.
My eyes are drawn to a squealing child. He’s holding his mother’s hand and pointing to the tracks. I wonder if it’s his first time on a train. She laughs and bends down to kiss his forehead. Behind her stands her husband, I think, watching over their luggage. The little boy turns around, and locks eyes with mine. He waves at me, and I smile, then sigh. I’m not getting any younger, and I’ve always wanted children. I just don’t think I can afford to have a child and balance my career at the same time. It’s not fair that I have to make a choice, but that’s what being a woman in my position does. We choose.
Someday, I’ll be secure enough in my job where I can live a normal life.
Someday, I’ll be able to enjoy the little things.
The shrill whistle of a train screeches in the distance bringing me out of my thoughts, and I stand. As the train approaches, I side-step past the family and move farther up the platform. Amtrak has a café car located in the center of the train, and I need to get some work done before I get to Manhattan. With luck, there’ll be an empty table. I hate sharing the space—I take up way too much room for anyone else to be comfortable.
The train pulls in and slows. Once it stops, the doors open, and I enter, making sure I don’t catch a heel in the gap. I did that once and fell face first into the train. Not something I’d like to repeat. As I come around the corner, I spy an empty table diagonal from two very built men. One is busy on his phone with his back to me, and the other is sleeping with his head leaning on the window. He stops me in my tracks.
His tight jaw is an angular shape covered in stubble—stubble I have the urge to touch.
My fingers twitch, but I keep my feelings in check.
His soft, sharp lips are in a smirk, like he’s plotting something evil in his sleep.
Lips I’m sure are an expert at kisses.
Chills run down my spine, but I shudder them away.
The strength of his neck shows in the twining cords of muscle shaping his upper body, bulging through the fabric of the shirt he’s wearing. He’s everything a normal woman would want in a man—but I’m not normal.
I’m not the type of woman who could attract such a man.
An Adonis.
I’m a simple woman—nothing special and would never garnish his attention.
I’m a workaholic and could never give him what he wants or needs.
With a sigh, I pry my eyes from the captivating sight, and walk through the now moving train to the empty booth.
Dalton
The lack of motion jars me awake, but I keep my eyes shut. We must have arrived at our first stop. One thing being a SEAL has taught me is how to be a light sleeper.
As we begin to move once again, the faint scent of perfume lingers through the air, giving me a reason to open my tired eyes. I glance around. A woman walks past, taking residence at the booth diagonal from ours. She slides across the seat, placing a leather bag on top of the table and retrieves a laptop. I watch as she assembles her work station and begins to type furiously. Her long, wavy auburn hair cascades over her shoulders and bounces from the rocking motion of the train. She glimpses up at the conductor as he asks for her ticket, revealing icy blues framed in thick, long lashes.
Those. Fucking. Eyes.
They’re the color of a clear blue sky after a rare Afghani storm.
They’re the sort of blue that freezes you in place, captivating your every thought and stealing your next breath.
I’m in a trance. I know I shouldn’t stare, but I can’t look away.
She’s magnificent.
I lost track of how much time I spend staring at her—tracing the slope of her nose, the curve of her lips, the tiny cleft in her chin...
“Would you like to take a picture? It will last longer.” Her eyes narrow, but her voice is soft—and her lips curl into a smile. Steepling her fingers, she leans her elbows on the table as her head cocks to the left just a bit, waiting for my answer. Just as I open my mouth and decide to speak, Dude comes back with our brews. She shakes her head and goes back to her laptop.
Shit.
Not the first impression I would have liked to have made, but I still can’t look away.
“Yo, Dalton. Did you hear me?” Snapping out of the hypnotic spell she cast, I turn toward Dude, whose eyebrows are furrowed.
“What?” I ask, shoving my hand into my pocket and pulling out my phone.
“You didn’t hear a word I said,” he replies, looking over his right shoulder in the direction my eyes had previously been glued. “Damn, now I
know why.” The grin on his face when he turns back says it all.
“What did you say?” I blurt, trying to get him to focus on me.
“I said, we have about a four-hour train ride from here.”
Great.
Four hours of me staring at this hot as hell woman. All right, I need to focus on something else. Tapping my fingers on the screen, I enter my password and check my messages. There are a few emails that can wait until after my weekend away and a group text showing a picture of the bar we’re meeting up at later, but nothing else.
Nice and quiet.
Just the way I like it.
With a grunt, I nod and take a swig of my beer. Four hours isn’t bad. I had considered driving, but finding parking on the streets of NYC is next to impossible. I’m all for helping the local economy, but it’s eighty bucks a day for garage parking and I wasn’t feeling that generous.
“How’s Cheyenne?” I ask, taking a sip of beer. Cheyenne’s his wife, and the best thing that ever happened to him. Dude disarmed a bomb taped to Cheyenne’s chest when thugs tried to rob a pharmacy in a grocery store, and the rest is history.
He beams at my question. “She’s great. Perfect.” He raises his beer to his lips, taking a short pull. “You need to get yourself married,” he chides, “settle down instead of whoring around between deployments.”
“Maybe,” I chuckle. I’ve never thought that far in advance—it’s always been deployment to deployment.
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