They were so fresh out of a war zone that their antennas were still set to high-alert. Ian had behaved the same way for the first week he was home, jumping at the least little sound. With half the men standing around bare-chested, she was glad she’d thought to change out of her work attire into shorts and a T-shirt. As she stepped out of her van, a dozen pairs of eyes skimmed over her slim, bare legs.
Through her affiliation with the Navy, she was used to being outnumbered by men, but these specimens weren’t your average Joe—they were superhuman specimens of raw strength and intelligence. Just standing about in various postures of ease, they exuded physical readiness and supreme male confidence.
“Hello,” she called to all within earshot, using just enough of her professional voice to send the message that she wasn’t there to entertain them. She added a small general wave in no specific direction.
Undaunted, their stares conveyed enough appreciation of her femininity that her skin warmed and prickled. Some answered her greeting out loud. Others sent her come-hither smiles that reminded her they hadn’t been around women in quite a long time.
But then Curtis pushed out of his side of the van, and taking stock of him, the SEALs came to conclusions about her availability and immediately looked away.
Just then Rusty strode around the corner and self-awareness swamped her again. With a look that expressed apology and a willingness to make amends, he closed the distance between them.
“Welcome back,” he said, including Curtis in his greeting. “How’s the ankle?”
“Better,” Curtis answered, looking past him. “Where’s Draco?”
Rusty grimaced. “In his crate. He’s a little freaked out right now with all the men around. When you take him out, please keep him on the lead, and don’t give him too much slack.”
Curtis nodded gravely. “Okay,” he said, hurrying toward the far side of the house with just the slightest limp. He’d followed her orders to rest his ankle all morning while she was at work.
“Thank you for coming.”
Rusty’s words and warm look assured her their date that Friday was definitely on.
He tipped his auburn head. “Come on back,” he invited, leading the way in the same direction that Curtis had taken.
At the rear of the house, still more men lobbed a volleyball back and forth over a tight, new net. One of them caught the ball so they could all turn and look at her.
Draco’s excited barks shattered the quiet. Maya could see the dog was entirely fixated on Curtis, begging the boy to set him free. Her son crouched in front of the crate, telling the dog to hush with a soothing foreign word.
Rusty called out over the dog’s noise. “Everyone, this is NCIS Special Investigator Maya Schultz and her son, Curtis.”
As men called out greetings, Maya wondered why Rusty had mentioned her title. Did he want the men to think their relationship was professional and not personal? Or did he want them keeping their distance because he meant to claim her for himself?
Seeing Curtis retrieve Draco’s long lead, she watched with worry as he went to release the dog from his crate. Surely Draco wouldn’t rush out and bite him again.
“You want to come in?” Rusty’s invitation distracted her.
But she waited until Draco emerged with a lowered head and a wagging body before turning to follow.
“Place is a mess now that the men are here,” he apologized, opening the door to the addition at the rear of the house.
Maya found herself in a huge farm-style kitchen with exposed crossbeams, a brick hearth, and lots of countertop space for prepping. To her, everything looked spic-and-span. The aroma of tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches still hung in the air. A member of the hired help Rusty had mentioned was putting clean dishes back into the tall oak cabinets.
“It’s gorgeous,” she exclaimed. Clearly the sponsors had believed in what he’d wanted to do and had helped him make it a wonderful reality.
“Let’s go this way.” He led her into the home’s main structure to a seating area filled with leather couches, overstuffed chairs, and an enormous flat-screen TV.
“This is where we watch sports or movies,” he confirmed. He waved her over to a door under the stairs. “Check out the waste bin you bought. Goes perfectly.”
Peeking into the cream and beige bathroom, she had to admit that it did.
He took her past a glassed-in sunporch, a music area, an enormous formal dining room, and a library stuffed with books. “Is this your office?” she asked pointing out the desk with its neat piles of paperwork.
“Yeah, but I never get time to sit in there,” he admitted. “Want to see the second floor?”
“Absolutely.” What she’d seen so far epitomized good taste and functionality.
By the time they’d wandered through the second level and returned to the lower level via a steep staircase once used by servants, she had counted a total of eight bedrooms including Rusty’s, each one of them attractive and inviting. A funny feeling had overcome her as she’d taken a mental snapshot of his queen-sized bed.
“Can I get you a drink?” Rusty asked as they reentered the kitchen. “Ginger ale, water?”
Between the heat outside and her tour of the house, she’d worked up a thirst. “Water would be great. Thanks.”
As he filled a glass at the oversized refrigerator’s dispenser, the question at the forefront of her mind formed on her lips.
“How on earth did you finance this place?”
He looked up at her in surprise.
She blushed at her own bluntness. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. You’ve done a great job here, and the entire thing looks top quality. It had to have cost a bundle.”
“No, it’s fine,” he assured her. He gestured to the long plank table. “Want to sit?”
They sat catty-corner from each other with Rusty at the end. “My father passed away last year,” he began.
She searched his fascinating face with its subtle lines of suffering and too much sun. “I’m so sorry. He couldn’t have been very old,” she guessed.
“Sixty-six,” he confirmed. “He’d delivered produce all his life, since boyhood. His father, my grandfather, fled Poland during World War II. Dziadek started the family business, and my father took it over. I still have the van he used to drive.”
She nodded, remembering how he’d loaned it to Bronco the previous fall.
“They would pick up the fruits and vegetables from farms all over New Jersey and bring them to grocers in Orange. Dad did that for fifty years. All his life, he talked about where he would live when he retired—out in the country somewhere. He saved every penny he could. When my mother was killed in a train wreck, he was compensated by Amtrak, and he invested that money, intending to buy a farmhouse and renovate it. But he never got the chance. All the pollution blowing in from Newark had given him lung cancer. He died only six months after he was diagnosed.”
His gruff tone inspired her sympathy, bringing tears to her eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured. She looked around. “And now you’ve made his dream come true.”
He acknowledged her statement with a bittersweet smile. “With a little twist of my own.”
The urge to lean across the table and kiss him got the better of her. She’d been wanting to know what it would feel like, so why not just do it?
As she inclined her face toward his, Curtis burst into the house through the mudroom with the dog in tow.
“Hey, I have an idea,” he said excitedly.
Rusty cast him a tolerant look. “What’s that?”
“Draco thinks, with all the guys here, that we’re going on a mission. That’s why he’s so pumped up. These dogs are made to work. So let’s give him a job and plant some explosives in the woods. I’ll bet you he can find them!”
Explosives? Maya started to protest the idea, but Rusty cut her off.
“That’s actually a really good idea.”
“It is?” she asked.
Feeling forgotten, Maya just sat in her chair.
Rusty disappeared into the mudroom, then doubled back. “You coming?” he asked.
“Sure.” She chugged a few sips of her water and got up to follow.
“ALL RIGHT, MEN, listen up.”
The command in Rusty’s voice inspired Maya’s immediate respect. His tone beckoned rather than bullied. The man about to serve the volleyball tucked it under his arm as all eyes swung toward Rusty, and all mouths snapped shut. He had their undivided attention.
“We’re going to put the dog through a training exercise—bury weapons in the woods and see if he can find them.” Crossing to a wooden storage bench, he withdrew a container full of tennis balls. Pulling the lid off, he upended the balls into the bench, emptying the bucket.
“Anyone willing to surrender a weapon, just drop it in here. If the dog finds the cache within half an hour, we’ll tap a keg of beer tonight. If not, you’ll wait until the weekend.”
He carried the bucket to the middle of the yard and, holding onto the lid, backed away from it. “Your call, of course.”
Maya watched as the men looked at each other, waiting for someone to make the first move. Where were these weapons supposed to come from?
Turning his back on the bucket, Rusty walked in her direction while sending her a wink. “Be right back,” he said, continuing toward the oversized shed beyond the parked cars.
Savoring the wink, which conveyed a deeper intimacy between them than what they’d shared up until now, she watched him walk away. From his broad shoulders to his tight butt encased in denim shorts to the well-formed calf muscles that bunched and released, his physical aspect filled her with desire.
From the corner of her eye, she noted several men approaching the bucket with pistols in their hands. Her eyes widened at the realization that they’d been carrying those firearms under their clothing. With rising astonishment, she watched several more weapons come into view. Nearly every man in sight was packing heat—what the hell? And she was letting her son frolic in this environment? Was she crazy?
Watching the SEALs take turns laying their arms every-so-gently into the bucket, however, she reminded herself that these men were professionals. They ate, slept, and trained with their weapons day after day without hurting anyone but the enemy. She had to trust that they’d take extra precautions with a civilian in the area, a teenager at that.
By the time Rusty reappeared, carrying a shovel in one hand, the bucket was so full, he struggled to get the lid back on.
He straightened to assess his audience—their game of volleyball forgotten. All eyes were glued to Draco, who stood on the other end of the leash Curtis was holding, his eyes bright with excitement and his tail whipping happily back and forth.
“Now, who wants to bury the bucket in the woods?” Rusty asked. When every man present raised a hand, Curtis laughed. Maya took note of his anticipation. These motivated men were good role models for her son. So what if they were armed and dangerous? They were no threat to Curtis—only to terrorists and extremists.
“Yogi and Weinstein.”
Receiving cheers from their comrades, two men separated from the group. One snatched up the bucket and the other took the shovel. Grinning ear to ear, they headed for the woods at a run with encouragement from those left behind. The faster the weapons were buried, the sooner the dog could find the cache, the more chance they’d all be drinking beer that night.
“You okay?”
Rusty’s question wrested her attention to his searching gaze.
“Yeah.” She sent him a reassuring smile.
“Disturbed to see so much firepower in my backyard?”
“I was taken aback,” she admitted, glancing at Curtis to convey her reasons.
“You don’t have to worry,” he assured her.
“I’m not worried.”
“Good.” He gestured to her son. “Let me work with Curtis on the search procedure.”
“By all means.”
For the next ten minutes, she watched her son learn to guide Draco through the search. He would give the command “reveire,” while keeping Draco on the lead but with as much slack as possible. When the dog located the bucket by the scent of gunpowder, he would sit and stare at the site.
“He won’t try to dig it up?” Curtis asked.
“No, no. You wouldn’t want the dog digging up something that might explode, would you?”
Horror registered on Curtis’s face. “Oh, no,” he said.
“Our explosives guy will dig up the bucket. There’s a chance this boy may not even find it. His nose isn’t what it used to be. If that happens, we’ll have to plant something back here at the house or he’ll lose motivation.”
“Right.” Caught up in the moment, Curtis stroked Draco’s head enthusiastically.
A shout went up across the field signaling the return of the two SEALs. They waved the shovel in the air to show that the bucket was buried.
“Let’s do this.” Rusty swung back toward Maya. “Want to join us?”
“Of course.”
His gaze dubiously slid to her slip-on sandals.
“I’ll be fine,” she assured him.
He turned back to Curtis. “You take point, son. That means you’re first. Our safety now rests in the hands of you and your MWD.”
Curtis smiled uncertainly. “Draco,” he called, dropping all but the end of the long lead, “reveire!”
The dog leapt into action. He started forward in a zigzag pattern, unraveling his lead as he alternately lifted his head to scent the air then lowered it to sniff the ground.
Conditioned by their training and experience, the men fell in automatically after him, one of them snatching the shovel out of Weinstein’s hand. Maya joined them, hurrying to keep up as they tramped across the field and into the tree line. Rusty slowed his step to walk beside her, a suggestion of a smile on his rugged face.
As they stepped into the forest, he put a hand on her elbow. “Watch your step.”
His light but reassuring grip sent an electric charge crackling up her arm.
Pine needles crunched beneath her sandals, but she could barely hear Rusty’s footfalls as he drifted almost silently alongside her.
“Is this land yours, too?” she asked, taking in the freshly made path. Peering past the few SEALs ahead of them, she kept on eye on Curtis’s sun-dappled shoulders as he trotted in the dog’s wake, trying to prevent the lead from tangling in the undergrowth.
“Thirty-three acres,” Rusty affirmed.
“It’s so peaceful,” she stated.
Just then, a couple of birds startled out of the trees up ahead, and the SEALs around them snapped into defensive postures before recovering with sheepish expressions.
Rusty slanted her a look. “Forty-eight hours ago, they were being mortared,” he quietly explained.
At his words, she regarded the warriors with fresh eyes. This sort of exercise wasn’t just a game to them; it was a way of life. Their stealth and heightened awareness inspired her respect. One man held a branch for her so it wouldn’t catch her in the face.
She smiled and thanked him.
“Watch your step on these roots,” Rusty warned as they came to a spot where water had eroded the soil.
They arrived at a ravine. The dog had already forded it, disappearing over the opposite rise with Curtis scrambling to keep up. The SEALs behind him leapt over the stream and surged up the hill like it wasn’t there. To Maya’s astonishment, Rusty swept her off her feet before she had a chance to get her sandals wet.
Held aloft, against the breadth of his chest, she suffered no concern that he would drop her as he waded through the ravine, soaking his sneakers without so much as a grimace. Then he put her down, grabbed her hand and pulled her up the rise with ease.
Flustered by the brief, close contact, her heart continued to
beat erratically. Their gazes met then skittered away, leaving her breathless.
It’s just a matter of time until I sleep with him, she realized.
Caught up in thoughts of their inevitable intimacy, Maya lost track of both time and distance. This wasn’t going to become some lighthearted romance that she would enjoy for a time and leave behind. This was something real, something permanent. Her heart thrummed like an engine with a fresh set of spark plugs. Am I ready for this?
Draco’s sudden bark pulled her out of her introspection.
“He found it,” exclaimed the SEAL holding the shovel.
Searching for Curtis, Maya found him standing over Draco, who sat staring fixedly at a pile of sticks and leaves several feet from the path. The area looked completely natural and undisturbed. How could the bucket be hidden there?
“Everybody stand back,” Rusty ordered, speaking quite obviously to Curtis, who hovered over the pile. “If there were explosives buried here, you and Draco would want to be fifty feet away right now. Since we’re dealing with a stash of weapons, fifteen feet is good enough.”
Curtis backed up and joined the ring of men encircling the area.
“It’s your baby, Higgins,” Rusty said, and the man with the shovel approached the pile of debris.
“Higgins is a demolition expert,” Rusty added in Maya’s ear. “It’s his job to identify and neutralize IEDs.”
Watching Higgins scrape the leaves and sticks off to one side using the end of the shovel, Maya pictured him scraping through rock and sand, putting his life on the line in search of wires or pressure plates.
God bless you, she thought, as he sank his shovel into the soft dirt and tossed it gingerly to one side.
As Higgins dug deeper with nothing to show for it, several onlookers started to comment that the dog must have screwed up. No way was the bucket buried more than a foot in the ground. Higgins had already dug that deep.
“Soil’s soft,” Higgins assured them. “This is the place.”
“Draco’s done this too many times to be wrong,” Curtis stated, putting his faith in the dog.
Never Forget: A Novella in the Echo Platoon Series Page 7