Building Ties (Military Romantic Suspense) (SEAL Team Heartbreakers Book 4)

by Teresa Reasor

  She hid her face against his shoulder and collapsed against him. “You’re so full of shit, Brett.” She thumped his chest with her fist.

  The blow was just a ruse to cover up her quick tears. Tess didn’t cry at the drop of a hat. She worked through things. Concern rocked the pit of his stomach. She’d been through a trauma, something she needed to work through physically and emotionally. He needed to focus on that, not on getting his rocks off. Brett nuzzled her neck. She shivered and nestled against him. He relaxed against the pillows and splayed a hand along the small of her back to hold her close, her weight a precious burden he’d support for hours if she wanted him to.

  Eventually she straightened her legs and moved to lie along his side. Brett turned with her so their limbs lay tangled and their faces close.

  “I’m so glad you’re home.” Her breath, warm and moist, skimmed along his collarbone. Her voice sounded soft, drowsy.

  “Me, too. This is what I dream about when I’m away.” Being skin-to-skin with her, knowing she was alive, in one piece, safe, was all he needed right now. He brushed her forehead with a kiss.

  When her breathing was finally even and deep, Brett allowed his muscles to relax, but his thoughts raced. She didn’t want him to know how badly she was hurt. Now that she wasn’t kissing him, he ran a searching gaze over her body. The shadowed impression of a bruise was forming along the thigh bent over his. The elbow resting along his stomach was already marred by a dark blue mark. Why hadn’t he noticed her injuries before?

  Because he’d been focused on her face, the sound of her voice, and the joy of occupying the same space with her.

  But now reality reared its nasty head, and with it the rage came rushing back. As soon as she woke, they were going to talk. And he was going to make some phone calls and arrange some backup protection while they conducted her investigation. The San Diego police wouldn’t provide protection for long. And once the Federal guys ruled out an act of terrorism, they’d be gone as well. The FBI or Homeland would figure out who it was eventually, they always did.

  He couldn’t do anything about catching the fucker, other than keep her safe while she covered her stories. But in the meantime he and Tess had a wedding coming up, and she would be out and about open to attack.

  No one was going to get close enough to hurt her again. It wasn’t happening. Not on his watch.

  Chapter Six

  ‡

  Brett woke. Instead of steel girders supporting the roof, the ceiling hung low and smooth overhead. Realization clicked. He was home. Thank you, Jesus. He breathed in the scent of orange blossoms and hardened in a rush. Tess curled tight against his side and he half turned to tuck her closer and nuzzle her neck.

  Tess’s eyes opened and she smiled.

  Her fingers brushed his jaw in a caress. Jesus he’d missed her touch, her body, Her.

  The phone rang on the nightstand across the bed from him. She started to turn toward it.

  “Let it ring,” he urged.

  Obnoxious and persistent, it rang again. “It may be the police officers in the building. They’ve been calling to check on me.”

  He released her with a sigh. Her movements stiff, she rolled away from him to reach for it.

  Whoever was on the other end of that line was officially at the top of his shit list.

  He stared at the slender length of her back. Two nickel-sized spots of dried blood stained her white T-shirt at shoulder blade level. Fuck. While he listened to her end of the conversation, he struggled with the emotions the sight had triggered. Concern for her hit him in the solar plexus, then rage overtook it. When guilt kicked in, he ground his teeth. He should have been here for her.

  She hung up and rolled back to him. “That was a detective I’d contacted before my car blew up. He’s been waiting his turn to interview me. He’s on the way here.”

  “Of course he is,” Brett said dryly.

  Tess laughed, then snuggled up to him. “We’ll make up for lost time later.”

  He brushed her temple with his lips. “After I’ve put something on your back, Tess. You’re bleeding and your shirt has stuck to it.”

  She sighed. “It’s just a little road rash.”

  Brett drew back so he could look into her face. He smoothed her hair from her cheek. “How many times have you pampered me through little nicks and bruises since we’ve been together?”

  “Nicks and bruises? Nicks and bruises? Jesus, Brett. It was a bullet hole.”

  The indignation in her expression, triggered the urge to laugh and he bit his bottom lip to suppress it. If he laughed, she’d punch him. “It wasn’t exactly my fault I got shot, honey. I didn’t know Moussa was up on the cliff with a sniper’s rifle while we were surfing. We didn’t even know he was in the country until then.” He jerked the conversation back to the point he wanted to make. “What I’m getting at is, I want to be there for you, like you were for me. Isn’t that part of being a couple? Being married people?”

  Her expression cleared and softened, her sherry brown eyes misting. “We’re not married yet.”

  “That doesn’t mean we can’t practice the together ‘in sickness and in health’ part.” He leaned forward and kissed her, because in that moment she looked so freaking beautiful he couldn’t not kiss her. “You don’t have to hide your injuries from me. It only makes me feel like more of an asshole for not being here for you when you needed me.”

  She ran her fingertips up and down his forearm in a comforting caress. “You wouldn’t have been able to do anything if you had been here.”

  “Maybe not, but I’m here now, and you might as well use me.”

  “Use you?” One perfectly arched auburn brow went up.

  He couldn’t suppress a grin this time. “For whatever you need, honey, but I was thinking a body guard, driver, and corpsman.” He wiggled his brows. “And your own personal love machine.”

  Tess laughed. She ran the fingers of one hand over his close-cropped hair, moved in and kissed him. “I never laugh as much with anyone as I do you. But that is one of the cheesiest things I’ve ever heard you say.”

  “What about your, ‘I’ve handled your weapon, and now I want to touch your gun’ comment?”

  Tess chuckled. “As I remember, you were all for having me handle your gun.”

  “Yeah. Want to do it again?”

  She dropped her gaze to his chest and ran a fingertip down between his pectoral muscles to the thin line of hair that bisected his abs. His muscles clenched in response and his cock stood at attention.

  “I’ll even oil it if you want me to,” she breathed. “But you’re going to have to wait until after Detective Buckler has his interview.”

  “Do you sense a theme happening here?” Brett asked. “Later, later, later.”

  Tess laughed.

  He turned serious and ran the backs of his fingers against her cheek, while he looked into her eyes. “I’m just happy to be here, close enough to touch you.”

  “You’re going to make me cry,” she complained and turned her face against his chest.

  He held her for long, sweet moments. “I know you’re stalling getting up until I do. You’re probably stiff as hell and don’t want me to see you. I’ll bite the bullet and roll out so I can answer the door when the detective gets here. You take your time.”

  “Okay.” That she didn’t deny his speculations about her condition was more telling than how she was sitting on the bed when he came out of the bathroom a few minutes later.

  “Ibuprofen helps,” he suggested as he put on his camouflage pants. “I can get you some.”

  “I have some pills the doctor prescribed. They’re on the kitchen sink. If you could cut one in half and bring it to me, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Roger that.” Brett grabbed his T-shirt and slipped into it while he moved down the hall to the pint-sized kitchen. He found the pill bottle, snapped a pill in half and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.

  *

&nbs
p; Tess pulled on a pair of leggings and dragged a long, light-weight sweater from her closet. No way could she wear a bra. The skin on her back felt stiff and sore now that the scrapes had sealed themselves. Thank God her wedding gown wasn’t backless.

  Brett returned. His pale blue gaze settled on her breasts for a moment and she felt the warm rush of color to her cheeks, and the accompanying tingle down below. All he had to do was look at her, and despite the pain, she wanted to climb right back into bed with him and do more than sleep. A lot more.

  “Do you have some kind of medication to put on the scrapes?” he asked.

  “There’s some antibiotic ointment in the cabinet under the sink and some dressings.”

  He went into the bathroom and returned with some gauze pads and the ointment.

  “How much time will you get off now that you’re home?” she asked.

  “I have four weeks before I have to go back to work.” He ripped open two gauze pads and set them on the wrappers on the bed. When he moved around behind her, he hesitated before he touched her. “It’ll take some time for this to heal. It’s in a bad spot. Every time you move it’s going to pull.” He squirted the ointment onto her back, then gingerly spread it out over the spots. “Hold on, I have some rolled gauze in my bag.”

  He went into the living room and brought back the heavy sea bag. He opened it, dug through the tightly packed clothes, and found his ditty kit. He pulled a roll of gauze wrapped in plastic from the bag and some medical tape, then returned to her.

  “I’m not going to ask why you have that in there,” Tess said.

  “Got to stay prepared for anything, babe.” He handed her the end of the gauze. “Hold your elbows out and this between your breasts.” He laid the pads over her injuries and wrapped the gauze around her to hold it in place, creating both a bandage and a bra at the same time. “How does that feel? Not too tight?”

  “No, not too tight.” She leaned into him and put her arms around his waist. “My own personal medic.”

  “Always.” He brushed her forehead with his lips. “Does that mean I can cop a feel before the police get here?”

  Tess grasped the hand he rested on her hip, and tugged it up to her breast and held it there. Even through the gauze his touch set off a sweet, languid weakness in her limbs. The fierce heat in his gaze dried her throat.

  Brett bent his head to kiss her when a knock at the door interrupted. He groaned and pressed his lips to her forehead. “I’ll get the door.”

  She smiled as he caught the edge of the bedroom door on his way out and closed it. God, how she’d missed him. He had so much energy and wit. When he walked into the room, he nourished her with all that he was. When he was here, she couldn’t imagine being without him. When he was gone, she ached to have him back. Was this how her mother had felt with her father? If it was, how had she ever divorced him?

  But she needed to tell him about the Washington Post offer. He felt guilty for leaving her, guilty for not being here because of the explosion. He’d feel guilty about her passing up the job. And she felt guilty about not telling him. It was a never-ending circle. But if he found out about the offer before she shared it with him…

  She eased into her sweater. Her back felt much better for Brett’s care. Her own personal medic. Erotic visions of playing doctor with him made her smile. Reluctantly she went into the bathroom to freshen up and brush her hair.

  When she entered the living room, the three men got to their feet and immediately took up most of the space in the small room. Though she’d been interviewing policemen for nearly a year, having the shoe on the other foot was stressful.

  The ordeals of having been grilled by both the FBI and Homeland Security in the last couple of days, and now this police visit, seemed suddenly overwhelming. She moved to stand next to Brett and was grateful when he put a protective arm around her waist while he introduced the two. “This is Detective Buckler and his partner Detective Michael Hart, Tess.”

  “May I see some identification?” Tess asked.

  Brett grinned. “I already asked for it.”

  “That’s okay,” Buckler said and produced his badge. His partner did as well.

  The two detectives were about the same age, thirty-five to forty, and both had dark hair. Hart had a rounded chin and intense, deep brown eyes. Detective Buckler stood a few inches taller than his partner, and had a bulk to his frame which suggested he worked out. The loose-limbed way he stood added the impression that he was laid back, yet he scanned her, Brett, and the apartment in a manner that implied he would later be able to recall every detail.

  Tess shook each man’s hand briefly. Brett motioned her to take his chair and pulled the desk chair forward to sit beside her.

  Hart took out a notebook. “You don’t mind if I take notes, do you Miss Kelly?”

  Tess shook her head. “No, of course not.”

  “You’ve been through an ordeal,” Detective Buckler said.

  “It wasn’t much fun having my car levitate and fly apart, but I was only injured a little. The security guard who was to accompany me to your office got hit by shrapnel and had to have surgery to remove it. He had a scalp laceration that bled pretty badly.”

  “We’ve spoken to him.” Buckler leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

  A knot of tension tightened in her stomach. She slid forward in her seat. “How is he?”

  “He’s been released and will be back to work in about six weeks.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m glad.” She’d been thinking of her own safety, but she’d never dreamed anything would really happen.

  Buckler linked his fingers. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m a little bruised here and there, and moving a little slower than usual, but otherwise I’m okay.”

  “What made you think you needed protection on the way to our office?” he asked.

  “I filled my editor in on Mary’s concerns. She was scared. And when you called me and told me she was dead…” Tess brushed her hair back. “It seemed more than a coincidence. My boss encouraged me not to take any chances.”

  “Your editor is?”

  “Elgin Taylor. He’s been with the paper for a long time.”

  “Did Mary say she was afraid?” Buckler asked.

  “No. But it was in her body language. We’d met for coffee. She spent the whole time wiping the table, shredding her napkin, or stirring her coffee, but barely drinking it. She did say the private investigator her boss hired to do research on his competition made the hair on the back of her neck stand up every time he looked at her. I was worried for her.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Sullivan. Henry Sullivan.”

  It was subtle, but the two detectives glanced at one another before Detective Hart wrote the name down in his notebook.

  She needed to do more research on Sullivan.

  Buckler continued. “What kind of information did she give you?”

  “She had discovered her boss had access to the bids submitted by competing construction companies for the Ellison Project.”

  “Why do you think she came to you instead of going to the police with her concerns?”

  “I think she was looking for a way to get someone to investigate her boss without having him suspect her of blowing the whistle.”

  “Why didn’t you contact the police?” Buckler asked.

  “During our interview I urged her to notify you about the bidding irregularities. She told me if she did she’d lose her job. That they’d know she was the one who alerted the police. She wouldn’t speculate on what it might cost her if she was right about everything else. So, I promised her I’d do a little research. The nature of her suspicions could trigger some really big problems for Chanter Construction, and if she was seeing shadows instead of facts…” Tess shifted in her seat, uncomfortable. Would it have made any difference if she’d called the police immediately after Mary left?

  “What else did she say?�
�

  “She thought her boss might have blackmailed Jason Hamilton into pulling his bid. And she thought he might have also been responsible for the accident at the Brittain Construction site which killed two men.”

  Buckler and Hart both shifted forward in their seats. “Did she give you any specific information to back up those allegations?”

  “No. She was still looking for proof. After she left me at the coffee shop I went to do a couple of interviews for another story. I turned my phone off while I was busy. As soon as I’d finished those interviews I called to check on her, but it went to voice mail. But she’d left a message on my phone while I was out of touch. She said she thought she was being followed and that she’d call me later.”

  “Do you still have the message?” Buckler asked.

  “Certainly.” Tess got the phone from her purse on the desk. She turned up the volume, opened the message and played it for them.

  She had encouraged Mary to meet with her. The weight of responsibility rested heavily on her shoulders, her heart. Had she pushed too hard for the story? But Mary had approached her, not the other way around. They had just met. What had she found that could have caused someone to kill her? Or had it truly been just a horrible accident? Was she jumping at shadows now? Had Mary been chasing imaginary shadows?

  Mary’s soft voice came through the speaker and Tess looked away from the detectives and swallowed as the urge to cry welled up. “I think someone followed me when I left the café. Or it could just be my imagination. But I’m a little afraid. I’ve sent you the information you needed. It included background checks on the employees as well. I’ve deleted every email I’ve sent you from the server, just in case. And I found something else. I’ll get it to you as soon as possible.” Mary gasped. “Talk to you later.”

  Brett reached for her hand, and for a moment their gazes met, his dark with concern. Her tears eased back.

  “It sounds like something startled her,” Detective Hart frowned.

  “Yes,” Tess agreed.