SEAL Under Siege (Men of Valor)

by Johnson, Liz

  Had he missed out by not talking about this with someone before?

  When she finally spoke, her voice shook, like she was the one with all the regrets. “I’m glad you told me.” She slipped her hand back into his and said, “Let’s go home.”

  *

  Staci wrapped an escaped curl at her temple around her finger, then slowly pulled her hand away as it bounced back into place.

  “Your hair is so pretty up like this.”

  She glanced up to meet Ashley’s eyes in her reflection, and they shared a smile as Ashley pushed one more pin into place. Only an abundance of hairspray and bobby pins could keep her dark hair swept up into the French twist, a few loose locks framing her face. “Thank you for helping me get ready for tonight.”

  Her lips parted as her smile reached all the way to her eyes. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

  Staci shifted her gaze back to the vanity mirror in Ashley’s room. Despite the perfect makeup that Ashley had meticulously applied, she turned just enough to see her scar, its presence a reminder of everything she’d faced, and everything that was yet to be revealed.

  “If only…” There were too many to say them all. If only there was no scar. If only she’d never been in that prison. If only she were just a woman dressing up for an evening out with a man who really cared for her. If only Tristan could be that man.

  If only she could be the woman he deserved.

  She clamped her shimmering lips together and closed her eyes against the rush of wishes.

  She didn’t have to be bitter or angry about the things that would never be. She didn’t have to long for them. It didn’t do her any good.

  There was no wishing herself whole.

  Four days before at their training session, Tristan had said he’d hoped for a family. When he was ready again to look for love, he’d look for someone who could give him what he wanted.

  It wouldn’t be her.

  Ashley’s voice in her ear stopped her fingers from brushing across her cheek. “Try not to touch your face. Especially right there.”

  “All right. I’ll try.” But she couldn’t make any promises as the lump in her stomach swelled with every passing moment.

  In less than an hour she’d be on the base at Coronado. She’d be among the navy men, listening, searching for a familiar voice. And if she heard it?

  What then?

  The rock that had been a petty annoyance in her stomach suddenly burst. What then, indeed? Would she motion to Tristan, and he’d just know? And would he confront the man then and there?

  And what if the conspirator recognized her first? What if he knew her and tried to keep her silent?

  Sweat burst onto her forehead, and Ashley was there in an instant, dabbing an oil-free pad against the makeup. “I’m not sure what happened. It looked great a moment ago. Are you too warm?”

  “Just nervous, I guess.” She rubbed her damp palms against a tissue instead of on the green silk dress that skimmed her legs.

  “Don’t worry. Tristan will take care of you tonight. You’ll have a good time.”

  She was sure of the first, but the second remained to be seen. Despite her dry mouth, she managed to swallow the fear that bubbled up just as Tristan knocked on the door.

  “You about ready in there?”

  Ashley let him in while Staci picked up her purse and a sparkling black wrap that wouldn’t even begin to keep her warm against the evening chill blowing in off the ocean. But somehow her black hooded sweatshirt didn’t quite match the flowing silk that reached just to the top of her strappy black heels.

  With clutch and scarf in hand, she looked up and straight into Tristan’s unblinking eyes. Everywhere her skin danced with goose bumps, as if his gaze was tangible. Immediately, her hand shot up to cover her scar, but she stopped just in time at Ashley’s quick shake of the head.

  “You look—” His voice broke, and he cleared his throat. “You look…really nice, Staci.”

  “Thank you.” She tried to keep the disappointment from her tone. Three hours of dress shopping with Ashley. Two and half hours on her hair and makeup. And she still only looked “nice.”

  Right. Nice.

  She shouldn’t have hoped for more, and she began to chastise herself for it. But as her gaze swept over him, she lost track of every thought except how good Tristan looked in his uniform. His black dress shoes shone in the overhead light beneath crisp and perfectly creased black slacks. His matching black jacket boasted a row of small medals over his heart above the parallel rows of three shimmering gold buttons. A black bowtie at his throat topped off the immaculate presentation. Even his usually tousled hair was a little bit straighter, a little more polished.

  The smirking smile was just the same as during their training sessions, though.

  “You got a haircut.”

  “There’s going to be a senator and a handful of admirals there tonight. Thought I should look my best.”

  Mission accomplished.

  He held out his hand, and she slipped hers into it. Despite all the contact they’d had at the gym, every time he’d held her and the time he’d thrown her over his shoulder during her rescue, this felt like the most intimate contact they’d ever shared.

  “You kids have fun,” Ashley laughed as she held the front door open for them.

  “You will call if you need anything?” Staci turned back at the last minute.

  “Of course. But I won’t need anything. I’m absolutely fine.” She rubbed her hand over her belly. “Still two weeks to go and not a contraction in sight. You both have a good time.” Then she dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You look amazing, Staci.”

  He led her to the driveway where his truck sat. “Are we taking that?”

  His eyes narrowed. “What else would we take?”

  She looked down at her skirt then back up at him. “I might need a hand.”

  Understanding lit his eyes in a flash. He walked her to the passenger side and pulled the door open. Pinching a piece of silk between her thumb and finger and lifting her skirt out of the way, she moved to put her foot onto the running board.

  But he beat her to it, sliding his hands around her waist and lifting her into the seat as if he’d done it every time she’d ridden in this truck.

  He disappeared, slamming her door behind him.

  Just perfect. Their evening was off to a great start. First he hadn’t thought she looked pretty. Only nice. Which was fine. She didn’t need his appreciation or affirmation.

  Really.

  But now he couldn’t get away from her fast enough.

  Between the expectations for the evening, the possibility of facing a man who was part of a conspiracy trying to kill her and Tristan’s stiff silence, she was ready to run back inside, put on her sweats and spend the evening with Ashley.

  Who’d have ever guessed that she’d prefer the company of a pregnant woman—and all the reminders that brought—to a night of formal finery with the most handsome man she’d ever seen?

  When he was in place behind the wheel, he turned the key in the ignition, the engine rumbling to life. Without a word he backed out of the driveway, navigating toward the base. He refused to look in her direction, so she stayed facing straight ahead, but her eyes persisted in searching him out.

  When she thought the silence would never end, he said, “It’s probably going to be crowded at the officer’s club, so I want you to stick by me. All right? We don’t know if he’s going to be there, but I don’t want to risk losing track of you if he is.”

  She pinched her eyes closed, the extra coats of mascara sticking as her top and bottom lashes pressed together. Focusing on the discomfort kept her mind off the tightness in her chest—the one that told her his words hurt. She’d wanted to hear something else.

  But she didn’t have a right to.

  He’d promised her nothing beyond his protection.

  So why did his sudden coolness make her lungs burn?

&nb
sp; “Got it, Hayes?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant Sawyer.”

  As an afterthought, he added, “And remember, we shouldn’t use your last name too liberally. People may not recognize your face, but on this base, in this company, they’ll almost certainly recognize your name. We don’t need to draw undo attention.”

  Just Staci. No last name. She could remember that easily enough.

  But if he didn’t want to garner attention, he shouldn’t have put on that uniform.

  ELEVEN

  Tristan gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. Anything to keep his attention on the road in front of them. Anything to keep his eyes off of the vision in shimmering green sitting by his side.

  Anything to remember that he had no right to harbor the feelings building in his chest, the desire bubbling just below the surface of his skin.

  And acting on it?

  He couldn’t come up with a worse idea.

  She deserved so much better than a man who couldn’t protect his own. And he couldn’t leave a woman behind again. He wouldn’t.

  He slammed the door a little harder than necessary, gulping lungfuls of the brisk twilight air and praying for a clear head. God, let me keep her safe tonight.

  If they couldn’t move forward with intel on the case that night, they had no other leads to follow, except the map, which was proving to be more enigma than tool.

  The second will be first.

  Still their only clue. Still no help.

  The tattoo was a slow lead, at best. Tracking down the whereabouts of all the possible SEALs was no easy task. Commander Harding, who oversaw the teams at Coronado, had promised to look into which teams they could cross off their list of possible suspects, but that was bound to take weeks. And it didn’t account for retired SEALs, who were every bit of a possible threat. Tristan had requested a list of demo experts for the past twenty years from the teams—men who could have built the bomb at Staci’s house—but the process of getting that information could take years.

  Their plan tonight needed to work for so many reasons. Not the least of which was his own sanity. If they couldn’t make headway, Staci would go on staying with him indefinitely, wiggling her way into his heart and life until he couldn’t bear the thought of her leaving.

  But for her sake, he had to let her go.

  As soon as possible.

  He straightened the line of his uniform jacket, flattened his bowtie and smoothed a hand over his fresh haircut. Marching around the front of the truck, he opened her door and held out his hand as she slipped from the seat, spinning toward him as her toes touched the parking lot pavement.

  Of its own accord, his arm encircled her waist, but he jerked it back just before making contact, instead turning his attention to the flimsy wrap she drew over her otherwise bare shoulders. Two tiny straps on either side of her neck crossed in the back, caressing her skin and holding her dress in place.

  “Lieutenant Sawyer.” He jerked around at the sound of his name, coming face-to-face with a commander who had been in a recent meeting with the CO, Captain Crawford, but whose name he could not remember.

  “Sir. Good to see you.”

  “And who do you have with you tonight?” The other man’s eyes roamed over Staci, whose blush was clear even in the dimming evening light. She pulled the black gauzy thing tighter around her shoulders, her fingers fisting into the fabric below her throat.

  This was not the time to play coy or to keep his hands to himself, so he slid an arm around her back, holding her firmly to his side and sending a clear message to the commander and anyone else watching that she was with him. “This is Staci.”

  The man nodded slowly and held out his hand to her, offering a slight bow, his medals glinting in the parking lot lights. “Commander Carter Garrison, United States Navy JAG Corps.”

  She glanced at Tristan for a split second before turning her smile toward Garrison. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

  “Oh, no. The pleasure is all mine. I hope you’ll give me the honor of a dance later this evening.”

  Smarmy and unctuous. As Garrison strolled away, Tristan smacked his tongue several times, trying to clear the bad taste that the other officer left.

  “He seems nice.”

  He shot a hard glare at Staci, only to find her on the verge of a giggle, hand covering her pink lips and shoulders shaking. Well, at least she had enough sense not to fall for Garrison’s over-the-top charm.

  Some of the tension drained from his shoulders, and he held out a hand to show her the way. It was an important night, but it didn’t have to be torture. In fact, as they ate prime rib and the port’s finest seafood, the slow throbbing behind his eyes began to fade.

  Staci was a natural, resting an elbow on the table and cupping her chin in her hand as she leaned toward the woman seated to her right, who was telling a mind-numbing story about a whale-watching tour that had been an abject failure. But based on Staci’s body language, it was the most thrilling thing she’d ever heard.

  Tristan would have given up the view of the beach from his backyard just to have her look at him the same way. Or to laugh for him like she did when the woman’s husband suggested they make parties like this a regular part of navy life.

  The wife elbowed her husband. “Well, if these were regular events, how would we celebrate the big to-dos, like commissioning new aircraft carriers?”

  Their little threesome laughed until the officer picked up his glass of wine in a salute. “Then to the USS Rockefeller, an excellent reason to put on dress blues and dance with the prettiest girl in the room.” He squeezed his wife as the band, which looked like it could have come straight from a World War II–era USO party, struck up a tune. Tristan immediately tapped Staci’s shoulder and held out a hand. “Care to dance?”

  Her gaze narrowed in on his fingers, then moved back to his face. Finally she nodded, slipping her hand into his and letting him pull her to her feet as she excused herself from the conversation she’d been having with the middle-aged couple.

  He pulled her into his arms as they slipped around the dance floor, drawing close enough to other dancers to hear just the lilt of their voices, but never the words.

  Telling himself that this was important, that this opportunity to mingle with other guests was the reason she was here, he gave himself permission to enjoy the feel of her in his arms, the way she fit into his embrace.

  But only just.

  “You’re a pretty good dancer,” she said after several songs.

  “Thanks.” He’d stop there. No need to tell her that his high school football coach had made the entire team take dance lessons to improve their footwork.

  Suddenly she tensed, every muscle under her hands shaking.

  “What’s wrong? Do you see him?”

  “No. It’s her.” She ducked into his chest, hiding behind his shoulder, but never quite brushing her cheek against his jacket. Glancing up at him with big, round eyes, she chewed on her lip. “It’s my public affairs officer. She’ll recognize me for sure.”

  Funny. He hadn’t thought about her for a second. He’d just been so happy that Staci had agreed to join him tonight that he hadn’t considered any of the people that she’d already come into regular contact with.

  Pulling her even closer to him, he spun them until he could watch the PAO dancing with a man in a black tux. She shook her shoulder-length black hair and smiled up into the face of her partner, not at all interested in them.

  “I think we’re safe. But keep your eyes open for her.”

  “Uh-huh.” Her response was more a sigh than actual words as she finally rested her head against his right shoulder.

  This was exactly what he didn’t need. Where had the space between them gone?

  Right. He’d pulled her against him and held her for all he was worth the moment he thought there was danger. But now the only danger was the reappearance of emotions he’d hoped long buried.

  Time to put that
space back between them. Anything to make him think about the real reason they were there. “Have you heard anyone familiar?”

  She shook her head, brown curls at her temples bouncing. “No. But I’ve only spoken to a few men, and then only very briefly. I think I need to really interact with them.”

  He hoped his frown told her what he honestly thought of that, even though he gave her a more gentle verbal cue. “I don’t think so.”

  “Then this is a wasted opportunity. How much trouble can I get into if I’m on the dance floor and you’re watching me closely?”

  “Could go either way. You have a knack for finding trouble.”

  Her smile made him forget why he’d been trying to keep space between them, trying to stay unattached, when she was so sweet, so funny. But a tap on his shoulder derailed that train of thought. He spun to find himself face-to-face with Captain Crawford.

  “Sir?”

  He couldn’t be much into his fifties, but years at sea had left the XO with a weathered face, which broke into crinkles as he smiled. “Mind if I cut in?”

  Yes. Of course he minded. He didn’t want another man touching her. As sure as the tides, he didn’t want to let her go. But when she gave him a gentle smile and stepped into Crawford’s waiting arms, Tristan didn’t have much of a choice.

  He backpedaled off the floor, bumping into a fellow lieutenant and her partner because he couldn’t be bothered to take his eyes off the swirling green dress.

  When he finally found his seat, he sipped his water, never letting his eyes wander far. Even as she changed partners, blushing and batting her eyes at each man, he kept track of her. With each new man came a pang in his stomach and an ache in his chest, and he grumbled into his glass as the songs changed. His leg wouldn’t stop bouncing, his stomach twisting tighter and tighter with every passing minute.

  The waiter with a white napkin folded over his arm refilled Tristan’s water glass three times. Still Staci danced, flirting and giggling with every partner.

  Why didn’t she flirt with him? He could make her laugh. He did make her laugh. Sometimes.

  After almost an hour, he could take no more torture. Standing and thumping his glass back on the table so hard that he rattled a few pieces of silver, he walked toward the sea of dancers, his gaze trained on the curve of Staci’s throat as she threw her head back with a laugh.