by Taylor Hart
Sarah’s expression soured into a grimace. “You don’t understand.”
He brushed her hair out of her eyes. “I don’t care.” And he really didn’t, he realized. “Obviously—” He swallowed, hating the images of those two and the possibilities that had been swimming in his mind the last two days. Every run, every push-up, all he could see was them. He just wanted her. “Thinking of you got me home, Sarah, thinking of all that we were. I just don’t believe that it’s over. I can’t.”
She let out a soft cry.
He gently put a hand to her face. “I still want us. I still need us. The past two days I’ve been pissed off, and it’s been humbling.” He let out a light sigh. “The fact remains that I can’t see a future without you in it.”
Her face clouded, and she shook her head. “I messed up.”
He resisted the urge to pull away and punch a hole into the wall. What good would that do for him? He had been dead. Even though he didn’t understand it, he had been dead. “I don’t know what happened between you two.” He could imagine plenty, though, and he hated it. “I know you thought I was gone.”
She blinked and bit her lip, and he felt her shaking.
“What happened?” He searched her eyes and knew, despite his heartache, that she loved him too.
“I can’t …” She broke off.
“Pick me, Sarah.” He felt like a teenager again, begging her to go to prom with him. “I have no pride where you are concerned, woman. I love you.” He squeezed her hand tighter and felt like he would break if she wouldn’t promise herself to him right now.
She shook her head. “I can’t. We can’t be together.”
“Why, Sarah? Why? You feel this. You do. You’re going to stand here and tell me that you want him?” He swallowed, feeling pitiful. “That you want him over me? I know that’s not true. You know it’s not true, and—”
“I’m pregnant.”
The simple words sliced into his chest like a dagger. “What?”
Tears swam in her eyes as she stared at him. “I’m so sorry.”
He turned away from her, trying to process this new information. Trying to process that the woman he thought he might be able to forgive had now become unforgivable.
There was no going back from this.
She tried to take his hand. “It was a little over a month ago. I saw him when I was out with my friends. I saw him, and we started talking. Started remembering. We had both been grieving and drinking, and it was only one night.” She moved in front of him and held up a finger. “One stupid night.” Her voice shook.
Yanking his hand away, he commanded himself to be calm, ask the right questions. “How far along are you?”
“A little over a month.”
Letting out a frustrated breath, he said, “I’m having a hard time processing this.”
“I messed up. You were dead.” Her words sounded despairing. “Do you get that? You were dead!”
He saw the pain on her face, felt his own anger bubble to the surface. No matter how much training he had to handle volatile situations, this was a Sarah situation. “So now what?” He threw his hands up.
“I don’t know. Do you really think I don’t love you?”
He clenched his hand into a fist and turned away from her, unable to even look at her. To think of another man’s hands on her, to think of Jeff … “We waited for nothing,” he said softly.
She didn’t respond.
A hurricane of thoughts whirled through his mind. “You and I have waited for years. Yet you couldn’t wait until I was dead and buried five months before you let him get in your bed?”
Silence filled the air as his brain caught up with his mouth. He regretted the words the instant they were out.
She slapped him hard across the face. “How dare you!”
The slap stunned him, but couldn’t wake him from this nightmare. “How dare you?” he whispered. Their breath mingled, and the tears on her face wrenched his heart.
He turned away from her and looked out the side window. Emptiness filled the cavity of his chest. It was such a stark contrast to the warmth and love he’d had for her. It felt like a sucker punch. He put his hand to his heart and wondered how he would do this next assignment without her. Without knowing he had her to come home to. “Go.”
“I know you hate me, but I didn’t just ‘let him in my bed.’” She let out a sob of pain and whispered fiercely, “I love you.”
“Just go.”
Her footsteps echoed through his mother’s living room, hard and fast as she got to the front door and pulled it open. Then she was gone.
Tears dripped down his cheeks as he held on to the dog tags in his hands. “I love you too,” he whispered, watching her get into her car and pull away.
Chapter 2
Zane pulled up to the gate at Sutton Smith’s mansion. Sutton acted like he was just another billionaire, but in reality, it was a Bruce Wayne type of thing, to throw the press off and hide the Warrior Project, which Zane had been hired to work on almost a year ago. He and his old SEAL Team 7 had all been hired by Sutton to run special “off-books” kinds of projects to help people and serve the United States.
He looked at Sutton’s mansion. A few months ago, it had been a pile of rubble after an explosion, but the home had been rebuilt in record time. Zane remembered how the billionaire had showed it off the newest tech that had been added to the house at their last meeting. Sutton tapped on what appeared to be an old relic, and the wall had opened to reveal two AK-47s. Zane had been impressed by everything, but the coolest part was really the secret boat dock he’d added beneath the new house.
Zane grinned and thought of the last few months. Working with these guys to help people who needed help, even in unorthodox situations, was adding up to the best time of his life. He thought of Blayze, River, Corbin, and Cannon. All good dudes. All guys with stories of their own, with pain, sadness, and baggage. All guys wanting to do right by Doug.
A dull ache filled the center of his chest as Doug’s face flashed into his mind. Doug had been a good dude. Zane should have seen how it would all play out. He had been the commanding officer. As CO, he should have been able to prevent Doug’s death. He winced and shut off his engine. If he’d learned anything in life, it was that crap happened. Sutton’s way of dealing with his son’s death had been to assemble this team.
The guard at the gate let him through, and he parked his black Land Rover in front of the mansion and relished that this vehicle was one of the perks of working with Sutton Smith, billionaire extraordinaire. At the main door, he waved to Agatha, Sutton’s housekeeper—the Alfred to his Batman persona. He found himself face to face with Cannon, who was descending the stairs.
Zane cocked an eyebrow at the unofficial pastor of the group. “Still babysitting?”
Cannon dropped a shoulder as they passed, letting it hit hard enough to send the message he was done being teased about that. “Of course. But not today. Just jawing with the old man about my next project.”
Zane stopped mid-step, but Cannon kept going down. “Am I involved?” Zane needed a project. He needed to be involved with anything that would get him off his boat and away from his five brothers and their unexpected visit to San Diego.
Cannon, ever the discretionary SEAL, winked at him. “I hear Sutton has his own special project for you.”
Adrenaline shot through him, but he played it cool. “Gotcha.” He turned, and there was a bit more of a hop to his ascent up the stairs. “Catch ya later.”
When he entered Sutton’s office, he found him standing at the window that overlooked the old English garden.
“You’re late,” Sutton said, turning to him and holding up a stopwatch. “You’re late by thirty-five seconds.”
Zane didn’t respond. He’d learned in life that when force came at you, it was better to mentally distance yourself from that force. It was better to keep a cool head and respond when it was appropriate to respond. He glanced at his watc
h. He was right on time. “Okay,” he said evenly. Part of him wanted to ask if thirty-five seconds was in metric. Sometimes you could tease Sutton about his British heritage, but today didn’t feel like that day.
Sutton moved to his large, mahogany desk and sat, gesturing for Zane to join him. As Zane sat, Sutton steepled his fingers and gave him that all-knowing look he used when something good was coming. “How are things in the private eye biz?”
“Fine.” Being a private eye was his cover business. Zane leaned back, crossing his leg on his knee. “How are things in the ‘rich bloke’ business?”
A soft smile crossed Sutton’s face. “Good.”
Zane nodded, wanting to cut the bull and just know the assignment. “What am I here for?”
Sutton cocked an eyebrow and stood. “It’s complicated, a bit messy, and it’s close to me.”
Complicated and messy were kind of Zane’s schtick. “Sounds like an assignment I might be good at.”
Sutton opened a file and pushed the picture of a guy at him. The man was wearing a suit, and a flashy red sports car sat in the background. “This man is my sister’s ex-husband.”
This news was a bit stunning, because Zane hadn’t realized Sutton had any family. It made him realize that Sutton knew a lot more about him than he’d ever known about Sutton.
“My sister thinks he started having affairs years ago.”
The project just got a lot less interesting. Zane exhaled. “So you want me to chase down a cheater?”
Sutton didn’t show any emotion. “Isn’t that what you do? You’re a PI, right?”
Standing, Zane kept himself chill, but pushed the picture back across the desk. “Yeah. That’s what I do for John Doe on the street. But when you call, I expect a national emergency kind of thing.” Forcefully, he pulled himself back from anger and kept a calm voice. “Tap into the satellite and follow him. It’s not rocket science.” He motioned outside the door to the security quacks, whom Zane could disarm in less than twenty seconds if he had to. “Or have those idiots do it.”
Sutton let out a light laugh. “Zane, Zane, Zane. I know all you SEALs think my security guys are jokes because they aren’t SEALs. But they are good people.” He crossed his arms. “None of you guys wanted the job.”
Zane scoffed and stood. “Dang straight we didn’t.”
Sutton pointed to the chair. “Come on, Zen Master Thor, sit. Stay. Or I’ll have to start calling you Corbin for acting like such a hothead.”
Zane didn’t mind being compared to Thor, but he did mind being compared to Corbin. He clenched his hand into a fist and thought of how having his brothers visit had distracted him from his usual Tai Chi every morning. He needed to get back to his routine. Letting out a breath, he sat. The truth was, Zane owed Sutton a lot of respect and patience. After Doug’s death and the way Sutton had gathered all of them, yeah, he could be more patient. “Sorry, sir.”
“I know you have houseguests that are driving you mad.” Sutton flashed a grin. “So there’ll be a couple of reasons you’ll like this assignment.”
Zane waited.
Sutton’s face went somber. “The truth is, my sister Anne and I have been estranged for ten years. The fact that she came to me asking for help, and the fact I’m letting you into my personal life and asking for her, is a marvel.”
Okay, maybe this project was important. “You’re still helping her after she ignored you for ten years?”
Sutton let out a breath and passed the whole file to Zane. He crossed his arms. “Ya know, son, sometimes we do difficult things for the people we love.”
Zane shifted uneasily in his chair.
Sutton cleared his throat. “Anne came to me because some things came to her attention that have led her to believe Harris is dealing arms to Mexico.”
Zane crossed his leg and leaned back in the chair. “Tell me more.”
Sutton sighed. “I don’t know how I missed it all these years. I thought he was a harmless twit who gambled away my sister’s half of our fortune in late-night poker games, but come to find out the man has connections with arms dealers. And connections with drug lords across the border.”
Anyone selling weapons to Mexican drug lords should be strung up for treason in Zane’s book. “So what do we do?”
Sutton sat and steepled his fingers again. “We wait. We watch. The idiot actually opened up a car dealership in San Diego a couple of months ago. I think this might be how he’s getting the weapons across the border, in car shipments. It seems like more than just a money laundering ploy. I need to get closer, find out more.” He evaluated Zane. “The jerk is actually meeting with a matchmaker here in San Diego.”
That seemed flashy. “A matchmaker?”
Sutton let out a derisive laugh. “The jerk, who always cheated on my sister, now has the nerve to come to San Diego and start making a splash in the who’s who of selling weapons in my backyard. And he’s on the pull all over the San Diego singles scene. It’s just … those innocent women have no idea what a wolf he is.” He trailed off.
“Stupid.” That was the only word Zane could think of for anyone who would go to a matchmaker.
Pursing his lips, Sutton let out another long breath. “Yes, that’s one word for it.”
“So what do you want me to do? Babysit him? Survey him? What am I looking for?”
Sutton cleared his throat. “I called you in here because I’m a bit worried about the actual matchmaker.”
Zane furrowed his brow and said, “You’re making no sense.”
“I want you to find out if he’s interested in the matchmaker for personal reasons or if he is somehow using her for his business.”
Zane shrugged. “Easy enough.”
Cocking his eyebrow, Sutton scoffed. “I suspect the matchmaker is innocent in this whole scheme. I want you to ask her to help us get close to Harris.”
That wasn’t their usual drill, pulling in a civilian. Zane frowned. “Really?”
Sutton nodded. “We need to take him down.”
Considering it wasn’t like Sutton to advocate putting anyone in danger, Zane inspected him closely. “I don’t know if you should be involved in this operation.”
“Why?” Sutton looked offended.
“You’re too close to it.”
A long moment passed before Sutton shook his head. “I think you might change your mind about proximity as you get into this.”
“Hmm.” Zane doubted it, but he opened the file and gave it a cursory glance, noticing Harris didn’t live far from Sutton, just on the other side of the island.
Sutton shoved a business card at him. “Take this.”
Zane looked at the single business card—his own card, which had Kent PI and his address and phone number on it. “I don’t need a business card, and I never give out my address. You know that.”
Sutton stood. “Just take it. I have a suspicion you’ll need it today.”
Zane stood, holding the file with one hand and reaching for the single business card with the other. If he’d learned anything, it was that you did what Sutton asked, even if you didn’t get it. “Fine.”
Sutton began walking to his office door. Zane fell into step with him, knowing this meant the matter was settled. “I want you to go to this matchmaker and get her to help us,” Sutton said. “I have someone at the FBI I trust that will be in contact with you.”
“FBI?” Zane asked. Getting any Feds involved wasn’t how they usually handled things, either.
“I want to legitimately take my old brother-in-law down.” He flashed a wicked smile. “It all needs to be official so the jerk goes to jail for a long, long time.”
Zane had a feeling something big was about to happen. And he always paid attention to his feelings. “Okay.”
“For now, you need to get to know the girl, get close to her, and find out what she knows.” He looked at his watch. “You’ll see her in half an hour.”
“Today?”
Sutton nodded. “She h
as a scheduled meeting with our boy Harris in T-minus thirty minutes.”
Zane stayed calm. “You don’t think I have plans today, Sutton?”
Out of the blue, Sutton let out a roaring laugh. The kind of laugh that sounded absurd coming out of him. “Right, well, I do know you’re trying to fix some part on your boat, but other than that, let me check. Do you have plans, Thor? Is your schedule full?”
He said it all Britishy, and it could have ticked Zane off, but Zane never let those kind of things bug him. Zane pushed through the henchmen at the door. “I’ll be in touch, then.”
“Sooner than you think,” Sutton said with a serious edge to his voice.
Chapter 3
Walking into the bookstore, Zane smelled hardbacks and coffee. He looked around. This wasn’t his scene at all. It felt too civil. Sit and drink your tea and read your Forbes magazine. Not his style. Sure, he liked peace and mental calm. Just not like this.
He kept his sunglasses on and his ball cap pulled low. He wore a loosely buttoned-up flannel shirt over a T-shirt. His khaki shorts had all the bells and whistles: pocketknife pocket, compass pocket, binocular pocket. They were stylish, but comfortable. A pair of hiking boots completed the look. Many times, he’d stop around La Jolla and do some hiking if he was bored with this petty domestic incident stuff. He thought of Sutton and his smug face. The man could rile people so easily with his polite British ways. But not him.
He was five minutes early. He wanted to have a chance to scope out this matchmaker before she met Sutton’s jerk ex-brother-in-law. Walking into the café area, he picked up a magazine and sat, not paying attention to the magazine he was reading. His eyes scanned the room.
There was a woman at three o’clock, typing away. A woman with a kid and two other moms with crying kids sat at twelve o’clock. Another woman at nine o’clock sat by herself. Her back was to him, but somehow, she felt familiar. It was strange.