Embrace

by Fernandez, Michelle

  “I work because I want to. What else would I do?”

  “If I had your bank account, I’d travel the world. Buy a boat, go sailing . . .”

  “Maybe invest in Cole Security Forces,” I say jokingly.

  After Mom died three years ago, she left everything to me and Avery. Neither one of us wanted the business, so we sold our shares. I put some of my earnings in the bank and invested the rest. Avery started her swimsuit line while working on her modeling career.

  As for the beach house that rests on the top of the cliff overlooking Malibu, it’s in both our names and we can’t bear to give it up. It’s the home we grew up in and holds too many good memories that we don’t want to let go.

  Even though Mark knows my background, he gets me. Once a SEAL, always a SEAL. It’s hard to let go of the action. It’s in our blood. The missions were a rush, my proverbial drug until that fateful day changed me.

  I was medically discharged from the navy. It was a mission gone wrong—lost a teammate and I fucked up my leg. I’d undergone surgery and had countless sessions of PT. Although I felt fine, the doctors didn’t clear me to go back to active duty.

  “So, what are you doing here?” I ask.

  “Monthly meeting with Muff,” Mark replies as he peers at my monitor. “How’d the Sullivan assignment go?”

  “I hated the babysitting job. But it kept me busy.”

  Thoughts of Dee when I lost her in the crowd never left my mind. She’s all I have thought about since that night. The sight of her in the red dress that hugged her curves, her silken waves of brown hair that draped down her naked back into the low dip of fabric and those long legs were breathtaking.

  I don’t know why, but when my hand touched her soft skin, not only did she flinch, bringing out the hero complex in me and wanting to chase her demons away, but heat stirred in my chest. And it’s been bugging me ever since.

  I’m only kidding myself when I think about her. I’ll never see her again. I have kicked myself in the ass more times than I can count for losing her that night. Every brunette I passed the days after reminded me of her and I wished I could see her again.

  “Wanna grab a beer after our meeting?” Mark asks.

  “I can’t.”

  “Got a hot date?” Mark wiggles his brows.

  “Meeting Avery. Haven’t seen her since I got here.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  “She’s good. Busy. Between her modeling career, her fashion designs, and other shit I probably don’t know about, it’s a miracle she remembers to breathe.”

  “I love Charlie, but my god, Brody.” He whistles, shaking his head, eyes wide. “Your sister on the Sports Illustrated cover last month—‍”

  “Watch it, Dix. That’s my kid sister.” I glare at Mark as I see Jackson in my periphery approaching my cubicle.

  “Hey, it’s a compliment.” Mark’s hands raise up in surrender. “I was just saying—‍”

  “Don’t say another word, man. Just keep your opinions to yourself. As a matter of fact, don’t even think about my sister. You’re a married man.”

  “Yes, I am. Happily, blissfully, ecstatically married to an amazing woman, but I’m not blind.”

  Why couldn’t Avery be a teacher, a nurse, or a nun? Instead, she’s prancing around in front of a camera. Her body splashed on magazine covers all over the world is hard for me to swallow.

  I should be used to the remarks from the guys about Avery, but I’m not. I know my sister is beautiful, but these donkey-holes just say shit to get under my skin and it works every time.

  “Ready?” Jackson asks Mark with a lift of his brow and a slap to his shoulder.

  “I’m always ready, Muff.” Mark stands up then looks down at me. “Let’s go, Justin Bieber.”

  “Me?”

  “We need to discuss the Sullivan assignment.” Jackson’s voice is low and serious, his expression blank.

  Now I’m more than interested in what’s going on since I just submitted my report and invoiced the client.

  I shoot off a quick text to Avery for another raincheck, not knowing how long I’ll be and what will come out of this meeting. She will be royally pissed because I have been giving her the shaft since I’ve been back in town.

  A few steps into Jackson’s office, I see papers scattered across the conference table. I move closer and glance at the various photos and other documents as I pull out a chair and take a seat.

  “What’s this about?” Mark asks, confused just as much as I am, picking up a photo and waving it in the air.

  Jackson clears his throat. “We have been coincidently tangled with an investigation.” Jackson points to the photos on the table. “These women between the ages of twenty-two to thirty-five have all been drugged and their bodies left in a shallow ditch not too far from Sullivan’s club.”

  Sullivan’s club?

  My stomach tightens, and I suddenly feel a sharp pain in my chest. All I can think about are Dee’s topaz eyes and how I lost sight of her at the club. Is she one of the women in the investigation? Is that why I got pulled into this meeting?

  My fists clench and a knot forms in the pit of my stomach as I scan the pictures spread on the table. “How long are these women found after someone has dumped their bodies?” I ask, sifting through the Polaroid photos until I see brunette hair. I pick it up. The woman’s eyes are closed, and dirt smudged on her face. I flip it over.

  Name: Nancy Peterson

  Age: 28

  Hollywood

  DOD: 01-04-2020

  I let out a breath. It’s not Dee.

  I pick up another and another, flipping each one over to read their profiles, hoping I don’t find her name.

  “It varies. They find some women the day after they have left the club. Others after several days, even weeks,” Jackson replies. “All were seen at Sullivan’s establishment the day they died.”

  “And you want to know if I saw anything?” I ask.

  Jackson nods. “Autopsy results noted Rohypnol in all of their systems.”

  “The date rape drug,” Mark states as he’s looking at a few photos. “Men who use that shit to have sex with women are fucking lowlives.”

  “Brody, LAPD is asking for our help. To shed a little light in their direction,” Jackson asks.

  “I’m not defending the guy. But what makes LAPD think Sullivan’s involved?” I ask.

  “They have no evidence he is. All these women visited his establishment at some point and then were found dead.” Jackson holds up a sheet of paper.

  I toss the stack of photos in my hand on the table, grateful I didn’t see Dee or her friend.

  “I don’t recall seeing anything out of the ordinary. But if you think about it . . . why does Sullivan have a guard in the first place? He’s just a club owner. Maybe that’s where PD needs to start. What else could he be into?”

  “He got a guard after he found out his wife cheated on him,” Jackson says quickly.

  “Was Sullivan afraid of the man his wife was sleeping with?” Mark asks with a bit of chuckle behind it.

  “Then maybe you should be questioning her,” I add.

  “She’s dead,” Jackson says matter-of-factly.

  “Dead?”

  Jackson taps a few keys on his keyboard and an article with a picture of a woman in a gown standing next to Bryan appears on the monitor. “This is Megan, Bryan’s wife. It was all over the news.”

  Mark speaks up, “Wait . . . I heard about this one. It was several months ago.”

  “A shootout at a Kansas carnival where a reporter from San Francisco got shot?” I ask.

  “And a former SEAL. Dylan Marshall,” Jackson adds, giving Mark a knowing look.

  “Dylan Marshall?” Mark questions.

  Jackson nods.

  “Did he make it?”

  “He’s alive and well.”

  “I had no idea. Fuckin’ Marshall. I gotta give him a call and check on him.”

  “Was he on y
our team?” I ask.

  Mark shakes his head. “Nah. That playboy was on another team. They teamed us up on a mission in Afghanistan. It was probably one of the worse missions I’d been on. There were tunnels deep in the mountains and comms were down. We were on one end; Marshall’s team was on the other. For whatever reason, their team split up and . . . it was the day they lost Shelton.”

  My thoughts veer back to Matt. As much as I loved being a SEAL, I hated losing a teammate just as much.

  * * *

  Footsteps echo in the dark.

  The flash of light blinds me.

  The heat burns through my fatigues.

  The impact knocks the wind out of me, and I can’t breathe.

  Not only do I see Matt’s face, but hers now too. Dee.

  She’s in my arms.

  Red dress torn and unraveled at the hem.

  Eyes closed.

  Dirt smudged on her face.

  Hair mangled.

  She’s so beautiful and I never got a chance to tell her.

  “No!” I shock awake. My sheets are sweat soaked, and I swear the scent of death lingers in my nose.

  Fucking hell!

  I flick on the lamp. The pounding of my heart throbs in my chest. The sting of the phantom pain in my leg loiters.

  Another night terror.

  I thought I’d rid myself of them when I came back home, but they will never end. They’ll just follow me until I lose my mind.

  This time, instead of seeing Matt dead in my arms, I saw Dee.

  What the fuck?

  I scrub my face with my hands as I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and my feet meet the cold wooden floor. I rest my elbows on my knees and my face in my palms.

  All I have been dreaming about is her beautiful face, sparkling topaz eyes and her smile. The rays from the strobe lights illuminate her brown hair and the silhouette of her body as she leaves me in the dark. I hear her sultry voice with a bit of rasp to it and I can’t shake the thought there’s more.

  But I will never know. I fucking lost her in the crowd and I’m afraid the worst of my nightmare may have come true. I lift my face from my hands and look around my room. It’s sparse. Just a bed and several boxes scatter the space.

  The now empty whiskey bottle rests next to the digital clock on my dresser. It’s only ten-twenty. I must have dozed off after drinking the last of the whiskey while Avery gave me an earful for canceling our dinner plans.

  I look out my window. The rain has stopped, and the stars peek out between scattered clouds.

  Matt’s face ghosts my thoughts and how I let Laura and her sons down—leaving her a widow with two fatherless boys.

  It was eight months ago.

  We were in South Sudan. The protests were increasing in size and frequency and the militia had gotten violent. My team was sent in to rescue two journalists and their crew members hiding in an abandoned building. They had refused to follow evac orders just so they could get the story out to the world.

  On our way out of the building, I lost sight of Matt when he slipped around a corner. I was his six, and he was supposed to wait, but he swore he heard another voice calling for help. That’s when the RPG blasted through the building, separating us.

  After the team lifted the debris off my leg, they found Matt’s body. When we arrived back in Virginia Beach, I couldn’t carry my friend’s casket out of the C-17 due to my injury. I rolled out in a fucking wheelchair next to the flag-covered casket, holding Matt’s dog tags and the photo of his family he kept nestled in his helmet.

  I remember that picture because I’m the one who took it. It was the twins’ seventh birthday, and the boys begged to have their party on the beach. A picture of that happy family now broken.

  During the funeral, I watched silently as the honor guard folded the US flag thirteen times into its seamless triangle. With each powerful fold, I held back the sting of my tears that burned the back of my throat. It was difficult to keep it together when my commanding officer kneeled and placed the flag in Laura’s delicate hands.

  I’ll never forget the look on her pale face. The tears that smudged her mascara under her red-rimmed brown eyes. Every time the gun salute fired a shot, she flinched while holding her boys in her arms.

  That’s when one tear rolled down my face. I felt hollow inside already, but somehow the devil found a small piece of my soul, ripped it to shreds, and laughed while doing it.

  I’m lost in my thoughts, teetering from my past to that fateful day back to Dee. The guilt consumes me. I didn’t save Matt, and I don’t know what happened to Dee.

  I scrub my face with my hands. I need to get out of here and take a drive to clear my head. I throw on a sweatshirt and jeans, then slip on my boots and a cap before heading out to my car.

  Driving around my hometown is not helping me get Dee out of my head.

  Thoughts run through my mind as I wait for the light to turn green.

  Her face haunts me. Her voice calls to me to help her.

  There’s an ache in my chest and I don’t know why.

  That night at the club, when she said my name, there was something soothing about it.

  The car behind me honks, letting me know the light is green. I press on the gas and pull into a parking lot, turning off the engine a few minutes later. Facing the beach, listening to the crashing waves, feeling the California night breeze through the open window is all too nostalgic. I remember the times when Kyle and I surfed on the weekends or went mountain biking in the Malibu hills. I sit for a moment, debating if I should call him to meet me for drinks at Sharkie’s. I could use a fucking drink right about now.

  “H-hello?” Kyle’s gruff voice fills the line, he coughs, then sniffles.

  “You sound like shit, man.”

  “Brody? Is that you?” He coughs again.

  “Yeah, man. It’s me. I was going to see if you wanted to grab a beer, but it sounds like you need to stay quarantined for a while.”

  “When did you get back?”

  “A month ago,” I say.

  “I’d love to, but this damn flu got me good.” A sniffle, then another cough sounds through the phone line. “I’ll call you as soon as I’m back up again.”

  “Sure thing. Take it easy, Ky.”

  I hang up and climb out of the truck. I’m staring at the entrance to Sharkie’s as hotties and knuckle heads come and go through the door. I want to go inside, toss back a few whiskey shots at the bar to take the edge off and find the numbness I seek. Instead, I turn on my heel and keep walking.

  As I pass under each streetlamp spotlight, I peer in the familiar dark shop windows and see my reflection. A lonely man with guilt on his shoulders too heavy to carry.

  Finally, I swing open a door and slide my burdened ass in a booth.

  “What will it be, sugar?” the waitress asks.

  I tip up the brim of my cap as I look at her comforting smile, one that is all too familiar.

  “Hi, Tawney.”

  “Brody?” She places her hand on her hip. “Now, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

  “It’s good to see you.” I stand and we hug.

  She pulls away, smiles, and pinches my cheeks just like when we were kids. “Landon will be tickled pink you’re back in town.”

  I turn to see Landon in the kitchen, then turn my eyes back to Tawney. “He’s busy. I’ll catch him later.”

  She slides in the booth across from me. “Well, it will get even busier since I just lost one of my waitresses,” she says. “Anyway, tell me what brings you to this side of town. Are you here to stay for good?”

  Chapter Five

  Delilah

  I shrug on my Chiefs sweatshirt and slip my purse over my shoulder, letting out a sad sigh. My bed is calling for me and all I want to do is sleep for the rest of the weekend. Tonight is my last shift at PB&J’s.

  I remove the drawing taped on my locker door that Catrina, my niece, drew for me. It’s a picture of her holding Franny and Drak
e’s hands. She colored a star that represents his sheriff badge on his chest in bright yellow.

  I giggle at the unequaled blue square and triangle on top of it and the lopsided flowers around it. It’s their house in Kansas and I miss them. And on the bottom, her penmanship in red:

  We miss you, Auntie Lulu.

  My finger glides over the nickname my family calls me. Just looking at the picture makes me feel homesick.

  I grab the bouquet that Tawney gave me, close my eyes, and breathe them in.

  “I will miss you.” Emily’s soft voice startles me. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” she says.

  I quickly regain my composure and turn to face her. I really need to stop being so jumpy all the time. “I’m not leaving the country,” I say, folding Catrina’s artwork and tucking it in my purse. “This place has my favorite dessert and I only live about five blocks away.”

  “Tawney’s banana bread is pretty good, huh? I wonder what her secret ingredient is?” Emily taps her chin and her eyes veer up as I giggle. “Someday, I will sneak a peek when she’s whipping it up.”

  “Don’t even try to figure it out. Mama always said dessert is meant to be eaten and enjoyed, not dissected and investigated.”

  “I got you something.” Emily pulls out an envelope from her apron and hands it to me. “When you make it to the top and get your corner office, don’t forget about us little folk down here.”

  “Oh, Em, you shouldn’t have,” I say, taking in her blonde hair pulled up high in a ponytail revealing her curls, brown eyes, and soft smile.

  “Open it at home,” she says then gives me a hug. “It was cool having you around. You were a quick learner.”

  “You were a wonderful teacher, considering I have never waited on tables before.”

  “It was a rough start. Getting the orders wrong, spilling the drinks. But you caught on and I’m sure the regulars will miss your pretty face too.”

  “I have to say, since I started, I think I gained at least ten pounds,” I say with a laugh. “So, leaving is probably a good thing for my waistline.”

  Emily pats her ass. “Me and you both. I’m telling you, it’s the delicious food Landon whips up and Tawney’s desserts. My jeans barely fit.”