Chapter 7
7
Helen watched him leave, regret and deep disappointment turning into annoyance. Damn it, just this once, when they needed it so badly, couldn’t everyone just leave them alone? Resting her head against her upraised knees, she closed her eyes, her body still tingling from what they had done together. If only they could have had a few hours to themselves. Even one night. Especially tonight when he was ready to open up, to listen, to maybe see some kind of future with her. What that would entail, she wasn’t sure.
But the promise of it made her almost giddy. Ever since she’d met him, she’d been restless, and wondering what other path her life could take. She had to be honest with herself. Sure, she was still young, but this travel, danger, and exhausting life was getting to her. She was having frequent nightmares, and the deaths of her colleagues just over six months ago had devastated her. It’s why she left Doctors Without Borders. She couldn’t handle the memories.
She thought about his anger, how gaunt, stressed, and tormented he’d looked, and she didn’t want that for him. There had been so much more she wanted to talk to him about. She gritted her teeth in frustration, wishing she’d had a chance to hear everything he had to say. Drinking, fighting. It hurt her physically that he was experiencing so much while trying to do such a hard and dangerous job. That’s where his focus should be.
She wasn’t naive or unaware of the sacrifices Maritza made for Buck. Whenever she was in San Diego, she loved visiting her sister-in-law’s coffee shop, The Golden Grain in San Diego’s Gaslamp Quarter.She’d wanted to confide in Mari, but she didn’t keep a thing from Buck. They had some long discussions about how she feared for Buck’s life but trusted him to carry out his missions and come back to her. Her love for him was without measure and being with him was her only choice.
Helen thought the very same thing. There was no doubt in her mind how she felt about D-Day. But she’d been hesitant to drop the L word for fear that it would be more than he could handle. It was almost more than she could handle, admitting to herself that there was such a deep bond between them. Stronger than any man she’d ever known. Besides, this really wasn’t the time or place where they should be having these types of conversations.
He’d only been gone for about fifteen minutes, but she craved him like air. She pushed the bedsheet away, rising and heading for the bathroom. She’d take a cool shower, then try to get a few hours of sleep. Tomorrow wasn’t going to wait for her.
While running the water, her thoughts went back to how he had pushed his way into her room, the force of his presence, the scent of him, the feel of those heavy, ropey muscles all over him from his arms to his chest, and that amazing stomach and those thick thighs. Damn, she knew anatomy, but he was the epitome of one fine specimen. Thank you, US Navy, and special forces. She bit her lip, then smiled. He would probably laugh at her right now. He had no idea how gorgeous he was, or how desirable.
The sensation from just minutes ago came funneling back with a velocity that made her legs want to buckle. Tipping her head back, she closed her eyes, the heavy, fluttery sensation in her chest compressing her lungs, making it nearly impossible to breathe. Memories and sensations overwhelmed her senses and clogged her mind, and she remembered the out-of-control need that had consumed them, recalled the feel of his mouth hot and hungry against hers, the feel of him moving hard and fast inside her. And she remembered the thick, pulsating spasms that had racked her whole body, the crushing, convulsive strength of his arms when he climaxed, expressing a hot, liquid release deep inside her. And she remembered that last soul-shattering kiss he’d given her before he left.
Her whole body responding to the sensory memories, Helen turned and weakly rested her forehead against the tile, the water cascading down her back. She wished he was still here so they could spend time exploring each other and talking about him, finding out what he kept ducking, discovering all those secrets, and playing some part in easing his mind. It was only now that she sensed there was more in him than the pain of being without her.
Groaning softly, Helen rolled her head against the tile, knowing that she was going to go off the deep end if she didn’t disconnect the erotic sensations that filled her mind. Turning into the full force of the spray, she shut off the hot water, wondering how effective a cold shower really was.
What a heady sensation to be wanted by such a man. She had to wonder if there was more to him keeping himself away from her than that stupid vow. She understood crossing lines, but when two people had such an obvious attraction to each other, they should be able to act on it without so much drama. She had refrained from talking to her brother about the situation. SEALs weren’t big about being handled. Not that she wanted to handle anyone. She just wanted a fighting chance with the man she had chosen. And she had chosen Drew in every way. He was so real, sweet, hard-working, and loved her family as much as she loved them. He absorbed the praise from her father, loved the teasing from her brothers, and spent time with Daisy—homework, chores, cooking—nothing was too mundane or boring to him. Daisy felt like he was as much a brother as any of her male siblings.
Her parents loved him just like a son. They had been concerned when he’d turned down their invitation during one of the team’s downtimes. Buck and Maritza had come back to Wyoming, but the absence of D-Day was keenly felt. Even the horse he rode was showing signs of missing him. Cash, a big palomino, was off his feed, lethargic, and ornery.
She finished drying off and headed back into her room. Getting a fresh nightgown out of her dresser, she pulled it over her head and sighed. Whatever happened here, she was adamant about having some uninterrupted time with D-Day once this mission was over.
She slipped into bed, the sheets smelling like him, and she breathed deep. Her body still hummed from overstimulation and an unsatisfied ache that was going to be nearly impossible to ignore. She wanted nothing more than to have D-Day’s arms around her and stay there for the rest of the night.
It had been like a beginning. For the first time—for the very first time—every single emotional barrier had been down, and God, she wanted all that passion and wildness, that feeling of his trust in opening up to her about everything that was holding him back. She wanted him, all of it, whatever came with that shaggy blond hair and hard-muscled package, knowing him as well as she knew herself. She closed her eyes and forced herself to relax, but she held onto that moment. It could very well be the beginning of a whole new life for her…and the man she was unable to forget or let go.
When it came to his brothers, it took a lot to knock Zorro down, so one punch in the jaw from D-Day only made him more determined to find out what was going on with him. But he thought he had an inkling of his teammate’s problem.
Helen Buckard.
If D-Day hadn’t fucked her, he wanted to.
And wasn’t that a fine kettle of fish?
Aww, that hard sister line that most SEALs wouldn’t cross, but sometimes, it was beyond a man’s control when faced with a woman like Buck’s beautiful sister. Had D-Day stepped over that line?
?Ay, caramba!
He’d been a psych major in college, having minored in meditation and conflict resolution—something that always made him grin. Now, his idea of conflict resolution involved the business end of an M4 or the seven-inch, military-issue combat knife.
He’d chucked all that for medicine and a warrior’s life, and never looked back, not even when he violated one of medicine’s most honored oaths to do no harm. He considered that a flexible line when it came to defending America from her enemies. He was a SEAL first, and a medic second. Taking lives was what the job was about.
He wasn’t sure what happened between D-Day and Helen in Wyoming, but Zorro’s mind could easily see why she looked at D-Day with that pent-up longing look. They were all ripped gratis of the US Navy and their special ops lifestyle, not to mention the confident attitudes, the can-do abilities, and the aura of danger and toughness that they radiated simply by breathing. None of them could help it. It was just who they were. Not that any of that had helped him recently. He seemed to be on a streak of bad luck love, or maybe because he’d left his heart in West Africa with prickly, hostile Dr. Everly Quinn. He sighed. That ship had sailed. What were the odds he’d ever encounter her again? Slim to none.
Changing gears, he was floored at how Buck could have missed it—or maybe he hadn’t. D-Day’s fighting, drinking, and his tortured, unkempt look now all made sense. It probably wasn’t all about sex…something he was trying not to think about because he wasn’t getting any.
Buck was a singular individual, laid back, fair, and unwilling to get into people’s business. He minded his own unless he was unleashed on a mission, then that cowboy turned into the warrior he was. Could it be that he wasn’t concerned about Helen and D-Day? Letting their interaction run its course? Wily bastard. He loved that cowboy like they were flesh and blood, and that laconic way of his was effective, as was his intense leadership style. He’d taken over in the jungle of Nicaragua, and he’d saved them and their LT. There wasn’t one of these guys he wouldn’t run into hell with and kick the devil’s ass.
D-Day was acting as erratic as hell, and taking off was so uncharacteristic of him that Zorro had a sneaking suspicion about where he went. And a distracted commando was a dead one. So, watching his back became an even more important mission.
Buck had just gotten word that D-Day was headed to a bar—Bang Bang Brew. He had to wonder if it was a bar or a cat house or both. Probably.
When they received D-Day’s text that he had been contacted by Graham Butler’s closest friend, they immediately informed Bailee. She pulled up information about Charlie Fisher that they had accumulated over time. Bailee bit her lip. “The problem is that if Charlie gets suspicious and starts testing D-Day, his cover could be blown. We can’t afford that. Relay the information we have on Fisher to D-Day, instruct him to engage, but to be careful.” She handed them an earbud. “Get to that bar, give him the earbud, and watch his back.”
He and Buck were his wingmen, so it seemed perfectly reasonable that they would accompany their boss to a meet. Buck texted D-Day Bailee’s instructions and the plan, along with the data on Fisher. The rest of the team prepared to infiltrate the bar and act as backup.
When they got to the location, D-Day was waiting at the curb with his backside against the bike, his arms folded. Zorro walked up to him and held out the earbud.
D-Day took it, arching his eyebrow at his teammate. He cleared his throat. “How’s the jaw?”
“Certainly not made out of glass,” Zorro said, unperturbed. He leaned in. He couldn’t help it. “How was your visit with Helen Buckard?”
D-Day stiffened, his jaw hardening. Bingo! Zorro nodded. “Want me to turn the other cheek?”
“Goddammit,” D-Day hissed. “Fucking shut up about her.” He glanced at Buck, telling Zorro that D-Day hadn’t discussed a damn thing with Helen’s brother.
It didn’t take much insight to realize D-Day was experiencing feelings he was having trouble dealing with, and Zorro stared at him, sympathetic to his problem, but adamant about what it was going to cost him if he didn’t deal with it. Being a SEAL wasn’t just a job for D-Day. It was everything to him, and something was holding him back from deciding whether it was fear or guilt, or even shame. It wasn’t something that could continue. D-Day was already breaking down and had somehow lost his way. Zorro and his teammates weren’t just here for combat support. They were here for anything that affected the dynamic. D-Day was an integral piece that made this amazing machine work. “Not like you to break the rules. Answers lots and lots of questions.”
His words fell into an abyss of seething silence. Tipping Zorro off that, indeed, sex may have been involved, but this was downright special to D-Day, serious business. Oh, yeah, he needed his ass kicked all right. He was locked up.
And if that was the case, then D-Day had an obligation to talk to Buck. Now was not the time to bait D-Day, and Zorro wanted to in the worst way. He considered himself a catalyst, and he often got his ears burned or his jaw bruised, but the fireworks always seemed to make things much better. If there was this kind of crap buried in the midst of their team, it should all be brought out in the open. He would talk to D-Day about it later. Nothing good could come of keeping it under wraps. Not now.
“What are you two girls jawing about,” Buck growled. “We have something important to handle in case you forgot.”
“My mind is a steel trap,” Zorro said, tapping his temple as D-Day slipped the vital comm device beneath the blond hair covering his ear.
“Testing,” D-Day said, his voice still angry. Buck frowned but didn’t comment.
“Loud and clear,” Blitz nodded.
D-Day pushed off the bike and they started toward the bar.
D-Day’s jaw was as hard as a rock, his body poised for danger, but he hadn’t thought it would come from one of his teammates. Zorro had figured a hell of a lot out regarding him and Helen. Too much. He wasn’t sure what it was going to mean down the road, but he was sure that he really needed to talk to Buck before it got out. That would be a fucking disaster.
They entered the noisy, crowded place, and D-Day, from a mission and security standpoint, didn’t like these types of places. It was difficult to see who was packing, and way too easy to slip a knife into someone’s back.
The picture Bailee had sent alerted him to what Charlie Fisher looked like, since he had no damn clue. The other information was also very helpful. He started toward the brass and mahogany bar, his way barred by milling patrons, then a guy raised his hand at the bar, his face splitting into a grin. From what D-Day could glean about Graham, he was a grumpy bastard, so he kept the scowl on his face and pushed and shoved his way toward Fisher.
“Find out what he’s peddling. The NPA would be looking for something nice to go along with their triggers.”
“Mate!” Fisher called, sliding a cold bottle of beer into his hand, and D-Day took a long swallow.
“Bugger, mate, it’s hot here and even the mozzies can kill you,” he complained. Then he clinked bottles with Fisher. “What the fuck brings you to this mozzie-infested swamp?”
It was clear that Fisher was used to Graham’s bad-tempered ways. He grinned. “Still the old Graham, but you’ve bulked up, mate.”
“Have I?” D-Day said. “Just less beer, and more activity. Don’t want to get out of breath running from the authorities.”
Fisher laughed out loud this time. “Damn those bastards. Don’t they have anything else to do?”
D-Day chuckled.
“I’m brokering a deal with the New People’s Army, but as usual there’s always a middleman. In this case, it’s two. Taer and Lando Ambong.”
“I know them. Been trying to buy some nuclear triggers off them, but they refuse to sell. Says they’re earmarked for NPA.”
Fisher cocked his head. “That’s not like you, mate. If they don’t sell, you usually take. What gives?”
“I’m working my magic. Just a matter of time.”
Fisher’s eyes narrowed, giving him a once over, the grin fading. He took a swig of his beer. “Time isn’t something you usually waste. Remember at Bondi when we took this hell of a wave, and I got this because you rushed.” He pulled down the neck of his shirt, revealing a scar along his collarbone. Bondi Beach was a very popular tourist attraction in Australia.
D-Day took a breath, then set down the bottle, playing for time. He leaned forward, scowling, his voice hard. He was from Massachusetts and had never even looked at a surfboard much less surfed. He’d never been interested in it when he’d been stationed at Coronado. So, he was clueless about most of the lingo and the techniques. But Bailee filled in the information through his comm. “That was Bells, mate, and you rushed the wave, broke your collarbone, too. Me? As cool as a cucumber and I saved your ass. You off your nut?”
Fisher didn’t exactly relax, but being in an illegal business tended to put a guy on edge. D-Day picked up his bottle and drained it. “What merchandise are you peddling to the NPA?”
Fisher shrugged. “Something that goes boom,” he said vaguely.
Bailee’s voice came through his comm. “He’s suspicious and is clamming up. Get out of there. We’ll pick him up and get the information out of him. I don’t like him in play anyway.”
“I’m heading back into the jungle tomorrow. Giving Taer and Lando another go. I’ll put in a good word. Good luck with your deal.”
He slipped off the bar stool and headed for the door, but before he had pushed more than a couple of steps, he felt a knife prick the skin of his lower back. “Let’s have another chat, mate,” Fisher said, turning him toward the back and forcing him through the crowd.
“Have you gone troppo?” D-Day growled. “I’ll rip out your heart.”
The knife dug just a tad deeper. “Shut it and move.”
Fisher shoved him through the back door and pushed him toward a wall, the smell of garbage strong, the knife against his throat. D-Day didn’t allow him to completely trap him against the wall. That wouldn’t allow him leverage in this situation. Fisher was focused on controlling him, not checking how far away he was from the wall. The only indication was D-Day’s body stopping as if he’d made contact. “Who are you?”
Fisher was right-handed, which meant the handle of the knife was to his left and moving that way would keep the blade away from his throat. But the rule of thumb was to try to talk his way out of it. “I’m the guy who’s going to shove that knife in your neck if you don’t come to your senses.”
Fisher didn’t budge. D-Day had to get him to drop his guard by continuing to stay in character. “You’re not Graham. I can’t put my finger on it, but Graham’s an asshole. He never said good luck once in his life. He always told me to bugger off when he left.”
D-Day met Buck’s eyes over Fisher’s shoulder as he placed his Glock muzzle against the back of the man’s head. “Never bring a knife to a gunfight,” Buck said. “Drop it.”
For just a moment, something flashed in Fisher’s eyes as if he would rather slash D-Day’s throat than surrender. D-Day needed to distract him.
“Come on, mate. New body, new attitude. Who says a man can’t change? I saved your life, and if I was that big an asshole, I would have just saved my own skin.”
Fisher faltered and the knife slackened from his throat. It was the opening he needed. He grabbed Fisher’s knife hand, slid to the left, ducked, and twisted Fisher’s arm behind his back. Putting pressure on his thumb made him release the knife with a growl.
Fifteen minutes later, a hooded Fisher ended up at TOC as D-Day and Buck forced him down into a chair. Zorro removed the hood.
“Who are you people?” Fisher demanded. He glared at them when they remained silent. “It’s like you’re Graham’s twin. It’s…uncanny, but you’re Company, aren’t you?”
Bailee came into the room with a file folder. Fisher looked at her.
D-Day clapped him on the shoulder. “She’s Company. We’re just the muscle.”
They filed out of the room.
Ten minutes later, Bailee returned to TOC. “That was fast,” Joker said.
“He has a wife and a two-year-old. No-brainer tactics.” She set his file down and sighed. “He had six cruise missiles ready for transport to the NPA. These were going to be their delivery vehicles. That right now is dead in the water, but we’re not safe until we get those triggers back. While they’re still in play, there’s a risk they’ll find another seller for the missiles.” Her face brightened. “That could work in our favor. With Fisher’s deal gone, you have an opportunity to pick up where he’s left off, D-Day.”
“I’ll conveniently have in my possession six cruise missiles?”
She patted his cheek as she passed. “You are a quick study.” She picked up the phone and pressed in a number, then started speaking in Tagalog. While she was on the phone, D-Day grabbed Zorro by the collar and hauled him away from the group. Buck was debriefing Joker, so they had a few minutes.
“I need time to figure all this out, Zorro. Don’t shoot your mouth off to Buck before I have a chance to deal with this. It’s my business.”
“Bullshit. Your state of mind is very much our business, D. We need you front and center at all times, and this kind of crap is what gets you dead. So, it is my business.”
Fuck it. Zorro was right. It affected his performance when his mind was in free fall over Helen. “Fuck it, Z. Give me some time here before we blow this up. Buck will be just as distracted as I am. You’re a neutral third party, so can I count on you to have my back with this?”
“I’m really surprised at you. We’re fucking mind ninjas. Why haven’t you dealt with this before now?” D-Day had just been trying to do the right thing here, and somehow, he’d gotten tangled in his own web. “Let me refresh your memory. Humans have three acute stress responses when confronted with life-threatening situations: fight, flight, and freeze. All species have them from cockroaches to humans. You know the response depends on the situation. But freezing in our line of work is the worst-case scenario.”
“I’m not freezing,” D-Day snapped, insulted that Zorro was basically comparing him to someone with no training. A freaking rube.
Zorro’s brows rose. “Aren’t you?” He raised his hand and ticked off each finger. “Drinking. Fighting. Withdrawing. Withholding. Hiding.” Zorro met his eyes like a barreling freight train, the muscles in his jaw rigid. D-Day’s gut churned. Having Zorro point out each of his transgressions over the past six months made him a little sick to acknowledge each one.
“I’m trying to make the right decision.” His self-condemnation made his tone harsh.
It seemed that they stood there forever, neither of them speaking, the silence compounding the tension between them.
“We’re all about making decisions on the fly. Granted, blood is probably being diverted from one head to another. The wrong head, man. Your brain is virtually experiencing tunnel vision through your fucking dick.” He gave D-Day a bleak smile. “You’re in survival mode.” He lowered his voice as Buck finished up with Joker. “Get off the X, man. I agree with taking your time to assess the situation but stop dragging your feet. Use the Rule of Three. Formulate a game plan by making a fucking decision . Commit. Live or die. Pull the fucking trigger.”
There was a tone of bone-tired weariness in his voice when he answered. That kernel of anger festered in his gut, churning with all that shame and guilt. “I made a decision.”
“And how is that working for you?” Zorro asked low and steady.
Trying to ease a breath past the awful constriction in his chest, D-Day responded jaggedly, “You made your points quite well.”
Zorro walked away, and D-Day just stood there, realizing that he hadn’t made a decision, he’d been in denial, and all he’d been doing was avoiding making a decision that was final. He took a hard breath. Helen had challenged him to work the problem, and now Zorro, who was seeing everything very keenly—fuck his psychology background—had delivered a damn ultimatum. Whether he liked it or not, Zorro was right. The decision he made about Helen was going to either haunt him until his dying day, strip him of something he held dear, and leave him just as hollow, or make him the happiest man on the planet. He just wasn’t sure how to get to the last part.