Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
L ogan wasn’t sure why, when he saw the Navy woman walking toward the bus stop, that he decided to follow her. He’d cleaned up, shaved, put on a pair of Levi’s, a red t-shirt and his old leather bomber jacket that had seen better days. Being a SEAL, his life depended upon noticing details. And it was a pleasure to look at this black-haired woman with those amazing green eyes of hers. She wore a frayed Levi jacket. The elbows were almost threadbare and the exposed threads whitish looking. As quirkily trivial as he knew it was in his shock-fogged mind, he couldn’t help but feel more kinship with her because she wore Levi’s jeans too, and they were well worn, even a little baggy on her. He wondered if her job entailed certain duties that had caused her to lose weight. His mind hopped around, and he finally settled on the theory that she might be in a combat slot. Humping sixty-pound rucks for six to ten hours on a patrol was one hell of a way to lean down in a hurry. Best diet in the world.
When he’d come down another sidewalk and spotted her on the main path leading to the bus stand, Logan slowed down. He’d been in a black funk since talking to the surgeon, but just SEEING her lifted that suffocative darkness. It did something amazing to his grieving heart. He actually felt hope . This word was not in his vocabulary or reality, generally speaking. He recalled seeing her desert-camouflage jacket at the hospital and, above the left breast pocket, the last name of Courtland. Yeah, she was tall, but she was built lush, with nice, large breasts, ample hips and such long, long legs. A model she wasn’t, but he wasn’t drawn to stick women, anyway. Give him some warm, soft, velvet flesh he could mold between his hands. He’d always liked “Venus de Milo” women ever since when, on the cusp of adolescence, he’d first seen the statue on his computer. She wasn’t overweight at all; just solid. Really nicely built.
Logan was a realist, so he wondered if she was married. Maybe had a couple of kids already? That really put out his fire for her, and he scowled. He wanted her single. She was hot. Really hot. And she seemed completely clueless as to how she might affect a man. He wondered why she didn’t wear any makeup. Her hair was loose and free. Even from this distance, he could see it shining like an ebony lake at night with moonlight skipping across it here and there. His eyesight was great, and when she lifted her left hand to pull the small ruck up on her shoulders, he saw no wedding ring. But that didn’t mean a thing. Military people in combat didn’t wear jewelry of any kind because they were around machinery or flights, or in war slots, where it could accidentally take off a finger or interfere with vital equipment usage. And that habit often carried over into downtime, but Logan really wanted her to be single and available.
She was in her late twenties; more or less around his age, although her face looked teenage fresh and scrubbed, a slight tinge of pink to her cheeks. There was an ease she had with herself, confidence and a lack of self-consciousness. He wondered how she’d achieved that. Most women never got there, always worried what others thought about them and living their lives in hiding, based upon that. Logan didn’t think this woman cared what anyone thought of her, and one corner of his mouth lifted into a grin. Her eyes were wide spaced, a broad forehead above them with soft strands of black hair dipping across half of it. She would often take her fingers and push the hair back off her face. Logan wondered if she had ever trained in ballet because her movements were like a graceful dance. Either that, he told himself, or she was indeed in a combat role, and had that kind of grace as a result. In any case, she was in top shape, athletically speaking. His curiosity burned brighter about who she was.
Logan had been to Ramstein too many times to count. He knew the place like the back of his hand. The medical center and airbase sat on a huge hill. The village of Landstuhl was a fifteen-minute walk down that steep hill. Drunk personnel who thought they could just stroll on up, back to their barracks, had coined a name for that climb: Heart-Attack Hill. And it was no challenge to get drunk, if that’s what one was after; the town was packed with bars for all the military types wanting a beer, or stronger alcohol, after a hard day at work. Landstuhl rocked at night and had its share of full-on bar fights and minor skirmishes out on its cobblestone sidewalks. The German police were always on the prowl. And so were the MPs, military police, as well as the Air Police.
The bus would come shortly. He saw Petty Officer Courtland at the stop. She went over to a nearby fruit tree, lifted her hand, and cupped a red, ripe apple hanging within her reach. She stood on tiptoes to smell it. A country girl, he’d bet. City people never seemed to notice things like that. He continued to walk silently and stay out of her line of sight. He spotted two busses approaching, each going to different places. The first bus went to Landstuhl. The second bus went elsewhere. Her posture convinced his perceptive eye that she had hers fixed on the first bus. Logan was confident she wasn’t going far. He could get on the second bus, which would take the same route for a bit, remain unseen, and follow her once she got off hers.
Logan continued to hang back until she did, indeed, board the first bus, and soon he was on the second, following hers as they wove slowly down through the streets of the town. He got off after she stepped off the lead bus in the center of busy Landstuhl. Did she have a destination in mind? She had to be feeling rough emotionally, like him. They’d both lost good friends today. Straight to a bar was where he wanted to go initially, but he was intrigued with her and decided to table that need for now. If anything, he’d like to introduce himself to her. But, for all he knew, she could be meeting her husband! Logan sincerely hoped not.
And when she turned and went into the Texas Bar, Logan groaned softly to himself. That was the biggest pick-up joint in town. WHAT was she doing in there? Was this her first time here? A newbie? He couldn’t leave her unprotected. A lot of Rangers from the 10th Mountain Division, especially the young bucks with something to prove, mingled there. It was a real Army hangout, and thus, often rough. Navy and Air Force personnel rarely frequented it. They had other favorite hangouts for their branches of service. Mouth tightening, Logan waited until he saw her inside through the large picture window facing on the sidewalk. She was moving toward the bar at the rear of the place. Another mistake. Prostitutes hung out back there, big time. Granted, she wasn’t dressed like one, but to the men hanging around in there, eyeballing every female who walked in like she was meat on the hoof, she was open game. She was walking into trouble. Damn.
Eyes adjusting quickly to the dimly lit interior, Logan wanted to remain out of her sight. She had taken about the most obviously isolated stool at the bar that silently said: leave me alone . He moved to the other end of the bar, to an open stool next to the wall. It was a perfect location to stay hidden by the darkness that enveloped this den of Army iniquity. She would never catch sight of him there, unless he wanted her to see him. Ordering a beer, Logan sat with his back to the wall, the quickly delivered stein in his left hand. He was deliberately positioned so that he had a clear view not only of who came into the bar, but also of who went in and out the back door behind the woman, too. As he sipped his beer, he saw her knock back a shot of whiskey, her cheeks turning from their fresh-scrubbed pink to red. He grinned to himself because it was obvious she was not a drinker. But maybe… just maybe… she was so overwhelmed with the death of her friend that this was one way to bury it for a while? Logan had to plead guilty to that route, too. The hangovers that came from refilling drained bottles with trauma were a sonofabitch, though. Still, the cold beer tasted damn good after swallowing what felt like half the sandbox of Afghanistan.
Logan kept a casual eye on the bar and the men in it. He could tell a Ranger from a Delta Force operator or a Special Forces A-team guy by sight alone. They all had their own, unique swagger: their walks, each with its own particular brand of ballsy confidence. This was a Ranger hangout. They didn’t like SEALs. It was an Army-Navy thing. Sipping his beer, he saw four Rangers at his end of the bar, looking in their late twenties, dressed in civilian clothes, eyeballing Courtland. Never once did she look up or around as if to invite a man’s attention. Her eyes were on her hands surrounding her beer stein. Scowling, he saw clearly that she was really grieving hard. He could see it in her darkened eyes. There was a burden of pain in them, and he felt his heart wrench in his chest. What she needed was to be held, so she could cry and get it out of her system. Women liked to cry. It was a release for them. Logan hated crying, but he’d done his fair share of it. And he’d cry for the loss of Steve, too. But not here. In private. When he was alone. The ache in his chest widened as he watched this woman wrestle with the emotions that showed clearly on the surface of her very readable face. She’d never make it as an operator. But Logan didn’t want her to. There was something so damn refreshing about her that he felt mesmerized. She wasn’t a flirt. She didn’t want any company. She sat as close to the wall at her end of the bar as he did at his.
But then, one of those four rowdy young-buck Rangers swaggered over to where she sat. Logan almost came off his stool as the Ranger leaned his big body over hers like a friggin’ vulture and whispered something in her ear. He could see it startled her, lost in her own thoughts as she was. She was clearly locked into memories of her dead friend. And then, he grinned to himself. Her face got hard looking, and those green eyes of hers flashed lightning at the sloppy, slobbering dude. Whatever she’d said to him, it had him blushing to the roots of his crewcut hair. And he wasn’t a happy camper about the second curt reply she snapped off, either. Ranger One gave her a glare and marched off in a huff, his hard jaw set, pissed off and angry.
Logan relaxed. But when her second Boilermaker arrived, he got worried. That was a helluva lot of alcohol in a short amount of time. And women’s bodies simply did not process the stuff that fast. She could get seriously drunk. And, judging by the four Rangers still talking among themselves, occasionally lifting their heads, staring at her from across the room, these dudes were just waiting to pick her bones. They knew what he knew: she’d get drunk as hell and then they’d launch a frontal assault on her. She wouldn’t stand a chance. But then, maybe she would. If she was in a combat slot, she’d been trained to stand her ground. Granted, she probably didn’t know close quarters combat, CQC, like he did, but she should be able to handle herself. However, the odds of four against one weren’t good, either. He sipped his beer, keeping tabs on the Rangers. They were drinking whiskey now, not beer. Probably getting their balls up to go over there and hit on her again, thinking that, in her soon-to-be-drunken state, she’d be more amenable toward them. More welcoming of their vaunted attention, he thought wryly.
Logan didn’t think she’d be friendly at all. She wanted to be left alone to drown her sorrow in her cups. But this was the wrong damn place to choose to do it. He flexed his fist, watching the Ranger foursome. They were indeed getting their courage up, laughing and slapping shoulders. He wondered if it would be two of them to accost her this time. Or, all four of them trying to threaten and intimidate her with their presence?
Jess was beginning to feel absolutely no pain after gulping down her second whiskey. God, it burned awful in her stomach! But then, that warmth, like magical, invisible fingers, spread out through her chest and gut, removing the heaviness, making her feel better, burning the grief away. At least for a while. Jess didn’t fool herself; she was a lightweight. She knew she’d have one helluva hangover. Eyeing the beer in her hand, she’d saw she’d barely touched it. But, lifting her hand and pushing hair away from her face, she decided she’d done enough damage to herself for one night. Leaning down, she grabbed her ruck from the floor and pulled it up over her shoulders. And then, as she stood, she felt more than saw, male energy returning her way.
“Now, sweet thing,” Ranger One, the same one who’d tried before, said, giving her his best come-on smile. “Me and my friends really think you’re too lonely over here by yourself.”
Jess smelled his sour breath and wanted to gag. She looked up to her left where he was hanging over her, leering at her, no guesswork needed about what he wanted. The other man, probably his friend, just as tall, helped bracket her stool. She couldn’t get out around it to go anywhere. Anger surged through her.
“Get the hell out of my way,” she snarled at Ranger One.
Ranger One’s smile dropped and twisted into a smirk. He put his hand on her left shoulder.
Jess pushed him away with all her strength. No one touched her, dammit! Ranger one stumbled and staggered back, not at all prepared to be pushed by this woman. She was breathing hard, her chest rising and falling, well aware of Ranger two on her right. Was the bastard seriously going to try and touch her as well? She twisted her head, glaring up at him, a silent warning to back off.
Ranger one growled, hands moving into fists as he caught his balance and charged forward.
Logan appeared from one side and stood between him and the woman.
“Now, friends,” he said in a calm but growling tone, keeping his eye on Ranger one as he jerked to a halt, “why don’t you give the lady the breathing space she asked for?” Logan was six foot three inches tall and two hundred and twenty pounds. Ranger one was about an inch less than him. Ranger two was three inches less.
Jess gasped as she saw who it was. The SEAL! She blinked, her mind spinning from the whiskey. He was standing casually but she could sense the tension in him. And he was smiling but it sure as hell wasn’t reaching his eyes. His entire demeanor felt like a magnificent male lion issuing a warning growl to these jerks who were acting like half-grown cubs. Just as she was about to speak up, to stand up for herself, Ranger Two’s hand clamped down on her right shoulder. Jess took a swing at him with her left fist, connecting solidly with the side of his face.
Logan saw her give the Ranger a roundhouse slug to his jaw, sending him crashing to the floor. Ranger One snarled a curse and came at him. Logan moved easily inside the lumbering, drunken charge and opened the flat of his palm, smashing it into the man’s hawk-like nose. Logan felt the crunch of bone, heard the Ranger scream. He was staggering back, blood pouring out of his nostrils. Logan turned and gripped the woman by her arm.
“Let’s get out of here,” he told her firmly, holding her angry, unsettled look. “ Now. Or I’m going to have about thirty Rangers wanting to hang my hide. Do you want that to happen?” and he grinned mirthlessly at her.
“No,” Jess growled, slipping past the stool. She allowed him to propel her to the back door and down the four concrete steps outside. It was raining hard. She felt the SEAL’s hand on her arm, guiding, monitoring but not hurting. Before she could speak, as he hurried her down the darkened cobblestone alley toward a streetlight in the distance, Jess heard the door open behind them. There was a roar of male curses. Jerking her head over her shoulder, she saw four men barreling out of the bar. Heading straight for them. She gasped, her heart taking off at a pound. Tensing, she didn’t know what to do.
“It’s all right,” Logan told her calmly. He guided her over beneath the eaves of a roof and said, “Stay here. I’ll be back in a minute.” And then he pinned her with a firm look. “ Don’t move…. ”
Jess gave a jerky node and watched him turn, the huge drops of rain streaking down his old leather bomber jacket. He walked with a casualness that belied his SEAL authority toward the four charging Rangers running to meet him. Oh, my God! What had she caused? Jess’s left hand hurt like hell, her knuckles scraped, bloody and bruised. Hand going to her mouth, eyes widening, she watched the SEAL wade into the four Rangers. In less than a minute, he had taken all of them down and they were moaning and groaning on the rain-glistening street, all the fight gone out of them. And then, he turned with that fluid male grace of his, walking toward her as if nothing had happened. He was flexing his right hand and, even in the dark, between bars of shadow and light, Jess could see blood across his knuckles. Who WAS this man? She’d didn’t know any SEALs, but knew of their hard-won reputation, of their prowess in a myriad of combat disciplines. One simply never messed with them.
Shivering, having gotten instantly soaked upon leaving the bar, Jess wrapped her arms around herself. As the SEAL approached, she heard police sirens wailing in the distance, coming their way. Oh, no ….
“My name is Logan,” he said in way of greeting, sliding his hand around her upper arm. “What’s yours?”
“Jess Courtland,” she whispered, cold, wet and terrified. What would happen now? It was all she needed to be busted in a bar fight like this. The man she hit could press charges against her. This wasn’t good. And she was drunk, barely able to think. She searched Logan’s glittering eyes. His hair was longer than military regulations. Water was running down the hard line of his jaw.
“Okay, Jess, we need to get the hell out of here right now, unless you want MPs crawling all over us, hauling us to the brig, and spending the rest of our night being interrogated.”
Gulping, Jess shook her head, feeling as if she were beginning to unravel on a deep level within herself. The rain was pouring down in front of them like a waterfall from the eaves above. She heard thunder and saw part of the sky flare up with lightning. Her hair was damp, and she pushed it away from her face, looking over her shoulder at the Rangers who were slowly sitting up, holding their heads or trying to stop their noses from bleeding so badly. “I-I don’t know where to go… I’ve never been here before,” and she gave Logan a panicked look. His hand was firm around her arm, as if he knew she needed support. His narrowed blue eyes intently assessed her.
“You’re going to have to trust me, then. I’ve been here one too damn many times. You’re drunk. And with this bar fight, they’re going to card and stop everyone going back to the base. The MPs will have a description on both of us because those Rangers are going to provide all the details.” His mouth thinned. “When’s your flight out of Ramstein?”
“T-tomorrow at 1100. Why?” She saw him thinking. He was urging her out from beneath the eaves of the house, back into the pouring rain, hurrying her down the dark, wet alley.
“We’re going to lay up for the night.”
Her eyes widened. “What?” Jess nearly came to a halt, but her feet weren’t working well and she almost tripped. She was drunk. Embarrassed, she looked up at his rugged profile. “Logan? Are we in trouble?”
He cut her a glance, his mouth curving. “Yes. We are the victims, but the MPs are going to hold us here for God knows how many days until the interrogations, the stories, are all sorted out. The Rangers are going to lie and tell the MPs I started it.”
“But… it’s not the truth!” Jess leaned heavily into him, suddenly dizzy from the whiskey. “God, I shouldn’t have drunk so much so fast. I’m so sorry….”
“Don’t be,” Logan rasped. He wanted to wrap her lush body against his. Bad idea. He pulled her out of the alley and found another overhang to get them out of the rain. Placing her against the wall of the closed store, his hands on her upper arms, he studied her closely. “Look, you’ve been through a lot today. How long has it been since you slept?” Because she had dark smudges beneath those glorious-looking green eyes of hers. Logan groaned. He felt responsible for her. She was a lamb being led to slaughter here, and he wasn’t about to let her be sacrificed to the Rangers or the MPs. There was no doubt in his mind that she was not only drunk, but far past the onset of sleep deprivation, disoriented, grief-stricken and still in shock over her loss.
Pushing her wet hair off her cheek, Jess whispered unsteadily, “At least two days… more now… I think,” and she searched his gleaming face, his eyes slits as he considered her admission. “Look, I’ve really screwed up. I don’t want to be stopped at the gate and then taken to the MPs for questioning. How can I avoid this? Do you know Ramstein?” Because he looked like he did… Wait! He’d even said so… hadn’t he? Damn the drink! She saw his mouth lift into a wry position. Maybe a grimace.
“Stop blaming yourself,” he told her gruffly, looking around. Logan could hear the police sirens drawing nearer to the bar. Pretty soon, he knew the MPs would be trawling these back streets, hunting for them. “I’ve been here more than I ever wanted to be,” he told her. “If we don’t get out of this weather, hide, those MPs are eventually going to find us tonight.” He could feel her shivering, the Levi jacket too thin for early-Autumn weather in Germany. It was getting cold, the temperature dropping with the line of storms coming across the region. He searched her eyes that were clearly showing how drunk she was. “There’s a small inn about a block from here. We can get rooms there, dry off and sleep.”
Nodding, Jess whispered, “Great. Let’s go.”
Only, as Logan led her into the alpine-styled inn, the clerk who grumpily came out of the other room, looking as if they had awakened him, told them the bad news. There was only one room available. Jess gulped. Logan paid the man and took the key. Her heart started to pound as Logan walked her up the stairs to the second floor. Once up on the landing, Jess halted.
“I-I can’t do this. I don’t know you…”
“I don’t bite,” Logan soothed, keeping his voice low at this time of night. “You’re shaking with cold, you’re wet and you don’t know where you’re at, Jess. I want the same thing you do; get out of the rain, get warm, get a shower and hit the rack.” He saw her considering his gruff reply. She was so exhausted. Shock, from whatever the full story was of what had happened to her, was taking her down the rest of the way. “Listen, this isn’t a trap I set for you. You’re the one who went into that Army Ranger bar.”
The problem was, Jess was drawn to the SEAL. She licked her lips and nodded. “You’re right: I got myself into this mess. I’m sorry I’m questioning you. I should be grateful you’re helping me out of this jam.”
“We’ve both had a rough day,” Logan admitted wearily, leading her down the carpeted hall. He stopped, unlocked the door, and pushed it open for her.
Jess saw one large bed, a chair, a desk and a bathroom. One bed. She didn’t have time to think about it. Logan shut the door, turned her around and eased the soaked knapsack and then the wet Levi jacket off her shoulders. He hung them both over a chair and then guided her to a very large, clean, tiled bathroom.
“Look, get into the shower, get it hot and get warmed up. I’ll be out here if you need anything. Towels and washcloths will be sitting on the counter.”
Searching his face, Jess saw several small scars. One was on the right side of his clean jaw. Two more on his neck. He was handsome in a rugged kind of way. Tall, well built and, she was so drunk she wasn’t thinking straight. “Okay,” was all she managed, still feeling like she was going to fall apart. He nodded and then quietly shut the door. There was a small, cushioned chair in the bathroom, and she trudged over in her wet tennis shoes, and sat down on it. Her fingers shook as she got undressed, turned on the shower and then stepped into its steamy confines. Jess felt torn, upset, and felt herself continue to unravel. She was so exhausted that she put her hands on the shower wall, just allowing the water to fall on her head and shoulders. Tears started coming them. And then sobs. She couldn’t stop crying, her entire body shaking. A distant part of her hoped that Logan couldn’t hear her crying over the noise of the shower.
After ten minutes, Jess felt more cleaned out because she’d finally been able to cry. Even if the whiskey didn’t do anything else other than get that horrible heaviness out of her gut, she’d gladly deal with the hangover. Her heart turned to Logan. He cared. She’d felt his protection envelop her as they’d walked the rainy streets of Landstuhl. He was like a guardian angel of sorts. A badass SEAL for sure. As she soaped and washed up, Jess knew he’d done a lot for her. They were complete strangers. The only thing they shared was the surgery lounge. She wondered if his friend had survived. She hoped so. Washing her hair, she rinsed it and then turned off the faucet, wanting to save some of the hot water for Logan.
Climbing out, her movements sluggish and awkward, Jess knew she was crashing. Whatever worries she’d had about sharing a bed with Logan were gone. Her mind was mush and thinking hurt. She took one of the two fleecy white terrycloth bathrobes and pulled it on. It hung on her and she thought it was probably a man’s robe. No matter. She opened the door, steam escaping into the room. Barefoot, she saw Logan sitting in a chair. He looked exhausted now, his game face no longer in place.
“I left you hot water,” she said sluggishly, pointing toward the bathroom. “Your turn.”
Logan stood, thinking how vulnerable Jess looked right now. “You’re crashing.”
Nodding, she said, “Yeah, I am. I’ve got to sleep.”
“Go ahead,” and he turned down the bed for her. The exhaustion was clearly shadowing her eyes. Logan wanted to hold her because that’s what she really needed. A little human care. From her red-rimmed eyes, he knew Jess had cried a helluva lot in there. He’d heard her sobs, and it had torn through him. Logan had got up twice to go in there and do… what? She would be naked. It would embarrass her. Scare her. And he didn’t want to do that. It was a helluva uncomfortable position to be trapped in. Yes, he wanted Jess. He wanted to bury himself in her warm, wet depths, feel her arms come around him. They could hold one another. Comfort one another. Love one another. He reluctantly squashed all those ideas. “Climb in. I’ll turn off the light.”
Nodding, Jess almost asked where he was going to sleep, but was simply too fried, too weary and gutted, to worry about it. So far, Logan had conducted himself like a friend, not a sexual predator. There was an honor to him and, as tired as Jess was, she could feel it and see it in him. “Okay,” she whispered, “thanks… thanks for everything. I’ve got to sleep….”
Even as her head hit the pillow, she had already made good on her word.