Chapter 6
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“T urn left in three hundred feet.”
The GPS’s calm, robotic female voice gave her confidence. Though she’d lived in San Diego for a year, Brynn still used the device nearly everywhere she drove. If she was this directionally challenged on land, what was to keep her from getting lost underwater? The thought triggered a twinge of anxiety.
The backup crew Natalie had hired would keep an eye on her. They wouldn’t let her wander off and get lost. But still…
She drove past house after house. If she ever lived in a neighborhood like this one, she’d never be able to find her own home without the GPS. The owners needed huge numbers painted on the sidewalk in front or signs waving in their yards.
“You have reached your destination on the right,” the voice said.
Brynn studied the house. The only thing making its appearance different from the twenty or so others she’d passed was the privacy fence running along the side of the property, the dark blue shutters, and the huge pot of fuchsia petunias sitting on a metal pedestal table next to the front door. She eased into the driveway next to the black Jeep already parked there and turned off the engine.
Nerves curled inside her belly, and she drew a deep breath. She’d been thinking about Tucker Giles off and on since they’d parted ways at the park.
She hadn’t wanted to think about him. Hadn’t wanted to pick apart their interaction to look for any hidden undercurrent. But she had. Just to be sure she hadn’t missed anything.
Once again, she was allowing one event in her life to paint her interactions with him with the dark brush of distrust. When he’d called her on the phone to introduce himself instead of approaching her in the park, he’d gone out of his way to avoid making her uncomfortable.
He’d been straightforward and professional, projecting confidence and a rock steadiness she found appealing. His sea-green eyes seemed to take things in as completely as her camera. He’d shown her courtesy by walking her to her car. He was a good guy. She believed that.
So why was she still sitting in the car?
A gate in the fence swung inward, and Tucker walked through. His mid-thigh length jean cut-offs hugged his narrow hips and showcased long muscular legs. His plain white T-shirt did nothing to hide the wide chest and broad shoulders sculpted by hard training and possibly weight lifting. Angels had surely had a hand in it, too. She couldn’t wait to photograph him. Sunglasses hid his eyes, but a slight smile played across his mouth and wreaked havoc with her hormones.
She shoved her sunglasses on to hide her expression, unlocked the car door, and got out.
“You didn’t have any trouble finding the house, did you?” Tucker asked.
“No, I have GPS.” She opened the back door to retrieve the bag that held her gear.
“Leave your gear in the car. You can unload it later. We’re going shopping.”
She shut the door and rested her elbows on top of the vehicle. “That’s music to every woman’s ears, but most guys don’t like to go with us while we shop.”
His grin stole her breath, stomped right past her emotional inhibitions, and triggered a heated tingle in places that hadn’t felt anything in a long time. She was glad she’d put on her sunglasses.
“We’re going shopping for your gear. I have a couple of spare tanks, so we won’t have to refill ours after our dive today, but you’re going to need all your own equipment. You’ll be able to take it with you to Australia.”
“And how much will all this cost?”
“About a thousand dollars. Maybe a little more.”
Not as much as she’d been expecting, but still a chunk. “And Natalie is footing the bill for this?”
“Yeah. It’s actually cheaper to buy equipment than to rent it repeatedly,” he said. “It’s better to have your own and get comfortable with it. Learn how to take care of it.”
If something happened and she couldn’t make Australia…? What then?
She’d have to reimburse the magazine for the expense of the equipment and the lessons. The idea of asking him how much she was paying him made her uncomfortable.
“Get in. I’ll drive,” she said.
She liked the fact that he didn’t argue or make a remark about women drivers—unlike her brothers, who complained every time she drove them anywhere just to get a rise out of her.
“I’ll need you to tell me when to turn. I’m directionally challenged,” she said as she backed out into the street and shifted the car into drive.
He chuckled at the phrase.
“It’s the one thing I’m anxious about. What if I get lost underwater and can’t find my way back to land or the boat.”
“Natalie said she was hiring experienced people to monitor your bottom time. But we’ll get a compass, and I’ll show you how to find your way back to a fixed position.”
She glanced at him to find him studying her. “Good luck. I’ve gotten lost in a parking lot at the mall.”
He chuckled. “You need to turn right onto the next street.”
She concentrated on following his directions and soon found herself in more familiar territory.
“I think I hear a slight southern drawl when you speak,” she said. “Where are you from?”
“I’m from Pascagoula, Mississippi.”
Just saying the words seemed to bring out the Southern flavor in his diction.
“What did you do there?”
“I did the same thing most kids do—went to school and helped out my grandmother while my dad was working. Well, actually, we looked out for each other.”
She wondered why he didn’t mention his mother.
“Later, I worked on a Bachelor’s degree at college while I worked to pay for school and my hobby, which was scuba. I got my master certification when I was eighteen.”
“Not an overachiever much,” she said in a dry tone.
He chuckled.
“How did you end up in San Diego and in the Navy?”
“When I was twenty, I was giving scuba lessons for a dive shop in Gulfport as one of my jobs. A guy walked into the shop, looking for a replacement valve for his tank. His brother had taken my class, and we became friends. I went cave diving with his brother in Florida several times. Anyway, while he was visiting, they dived together. He asked me to go with them on a dive. I said sure. We spent the day on his brother’s boat, diving, fishing, and rehashing some of our more eventful dives. When we got back to the dock, I started packing up my gear to leave, and he asked me if I wanted to spend my life teaching other people how to scuba or use my skills to do something for my country.
“I told him I was waiting for a job opening at Ingalls Ship Building to do just that. They build Navy ships, and it was where my father worked. I’d been taking college courses in Homeland Security, crisis management, and cyber security, hoping to get hired there.
“He said he knew about something more interesting he thought I might want to explore. He started to tell me about the SEALs and how, because I was already skilled, was in good shape, and seemed not to shy away from challenges… At that point, I was thinking he was piling it on, and I was skeptical. Anyway, he said the Navy could train me in the areas I was already studying, give me hands-on experience, and pay me while I was doing it.
“That sounded pretty good since I was working two jobs and going to school. He encouraged me to think about it. Then he said, call me if you decide to enlist.” He motioned toward the left. “The dive shop is just ahead on the left.”
He switched gears so quickly it took her a moment to follow. She turned on the blinker, swung into the parking lot, pulled into a slot, and turned off the car.
“You obviously decided to enlist,” she said, wanting to hear the end of the story.
“While I finished out the semester, I did some research on SEALS, the training, deployments…everything. And that challenge thing kicked in. It sounded like something I could do. So, I talked to my dad. My grandmother was a little anxious, but she still supported me. So, I got all my paperwork together, references from my jobs and people who’d trained me and all that, then I called the number and left David a message that I was going down to the recruiting office at eleven. When I told the recruiter I wanted to be a SEAL, he nodded but wasn’t really too interested until he started looking at my paperwork and started asking questions. Then the phone rang.
“The recruiter answered and was given a California number to call back. I heard a bunch of yes sirs and no sirs, then he hung up and just stared at me. He asked, ‘Do you know who that was?’ I shook my head.
“He said, ‘It was one of your references.’
“I asked, ‘David McCallister?’”
“He said, ‘You really don’t know who he is, do you?’”
“I explained to him about how David and his brother and I went diving and fishing together a while back, and he kind of sold me on the Navy SEAL thing and how he told me to call him when I got ready to enlist.”
“Who was he?” she asked.
“A freakin’ three-star admiral in the Navy. I had no idea.”
She laughed. “So, he rubber-stamped your way to try for the SEALs.”
“Not exactly. He was one of my references, which went a long way, but I still had to take a test to see if I had an aptitude for the teams, pass the physical, go through basic, numerous trainings, BUD/s, and then make it through hell week and do all the work to earn my place on the teams. His support probably got me short-tracked to the program, but I had to earn my place there on my own. Even with all the work I’d already done, it wasn’t easy.”
“Do you think you could’ve gotten the opportunity without him as a reference?”
“With my background, probably. But his support made it more certain from the start that I’d get the opportunity. He called me from time to time to check on my progress.”
“Do you still hear from him?”
“Yeah. He’s retired now and lives close to his brother. They’re still diving and fishing.”
Wow. “It must’ve been meant to be.”
“Maybe so.” He shifted gears again. “You ready to shop for your gear?”
“Yeah.” She pushed the button to unlock the doors, unbuckled her seat belt, and opened the door.
They walked toward the shop.
She felt moved to say, “Thanks for sharing that with me.”
He flashed her a smile, and that same wave of sexual attraction rushed through her. It had been too long. However, she’d jumped too quickly once, and it had cost her… nearly everything. She needed to watch herself—and watch him.
If she was like a kid in a candy store when she purchased equipment for her photography, Tucker was all business. They got a buggy and wandered around the store. He’d obviously been there before and knew the location of everything. He started with two aluminum tanks already filled and went from there.
“Is it okay if I videotape this for my podcast?” she asked.
“I’d rather you not show my face. I’m active duty, and command frowns on social media involvement. None of us have profiles.”
So, that answered her question about his lack of a social imprint on the web. It suddenly dawned on her that, in a way, he was like an undercover cop hunting terrorists, and her podcast had over five hundred thousand followers. “I won’t show your face, I promise. I just need the information you’re giving me. Plus, I’ll be able to go back over it several times later for my own benefit. I can edit out anything that might identify you.”
He studied her for a moment. “I’m trusting you to do that, Brynn.”
So, she wasn’t the only one who had trust issues. Maybe Natalie had something to do with that. “I’ll send you the footage for you to okay before I publish.”
He nodded. “Thanks.”
He looked over every piece of equipment for flaws before explaining what it was for and adding it to the buggy. A compass, a wrist-size dive computer, flippers, a mask, boots, an underwater flashlight, a regulator, and a spare called an Octopus with a holder for each, a BCD that she learned meant buoyancy compensator device, a weight belt with four weights, an oxygen/depth gauge, a snorkel, a dive knife, and a bag to hold all her gear.
The total came to a little more than eleven hundred dollars, which was actually less than she thought it might be. Tucker paid for it with a credit card.
“If Natalie stiffs you on the bill, let me know, and I’ll make it good,” she said as they loaded the car.
“It’s a prepaid card she gave me with enough to cover your equipment and your lessons.”
“Good.”
Back at the house, they unloaded their haul.
She walked around the car and crossed in front of the garage door to the gate. “Whose house is this?”
“It’s mine as of six months ago.”
She looked it over, and her eyes went directly to the flowers on the porch. He had to have a girlfriend. Disappointment pricked her, and she tried to ignore it. “It’s a nice house.”
“I’m working on it. Come on back.” He unlocked the gate and held it open.
She ambled into the backyard. Her attention swung to the pergola that covered the back patio and stretched nearly the length of the house.
An outdoor kitchen with a grill, sink, and refrigerator ran parallel to the sliding glass doors leading into the house. A concrete countertop surrounded the sink and covered the small refrigerator at one end. A long wooden picnic table was positioned to the left of the grill.
Pebbled concrete walkways encircled the pool but were also framed on each end by carefully placed rocks and plants. Citronella, lavender, and rosemary stood before a background of tall ornamental grasses mulched with cedar. A cluster of landscaping lights peaked from behind the flowers.
Four lounges, placed equal distances apart, stretched toward the water along the side of the pool. The water beckoned, crystal clear and inviting.
“This is really beautiful.”
“I got the permits to do the pergola and put in the water lines for the kitchen, and then some of my buddies pitched in and helped me on the weekends. The landscaping was just a little research. I chose plants that repel insects.”
“It’s a wonderful space. Very relaxing and peaceful.”
“I’m going to put a fire pit in that corner.” He pointed to the area furthest from the pool. “I’ll build a long wooden bench that will angle along the two sides of the privacy fence, and I’ll get some cushions to finish it out. A little more landscaping, and I’ll be finished.”
“It’ll be a great space for entertaining. But a hammock in that corner over there might be the topper.” She pointed to the opposite corner shaded by a neighbor’s pine tree. “Afternoon naps after reading a good book…”
Tucker’s smile landed like a punch below her ribs, and she drew in a breath.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said.
She cleared her throat. “Should I change clothes so we can start?”
“Sure. I’ll show you to the guest room.”
She pulled off her sunglasses as they walked into the house. He paused for a moment to allow their eyes to adjust to the dimmer light.
The living room and kitchen embraced each other in a large rectangular space that moved from the sliding glass door to the front entrance. A large dark blue-gray island, topped with white quartz veined with a lighter gray, sat parallel to a dining room table large enough to seat eight. The space between the two was wide enough to accommodate both of them moving through side-by-side. The rest of the cabinets were white and stretched the width of the kitchen, their pale gray counters reflecting the deep blue backsplash set in a wavy pattern that snaked across the wall. The upper cabinets with mullion doors reflected the light as he hit a switch next to the door. A large stove and double ovens were on the right, and the refrigerator was across the way, standing against a short wall that opened into a hallway.
“This is beautiful,” Brynn said.
“Thanks. The kitchen is what sold me. It had just been updated when I came to see the house. I like to cook.”
“I like to eat, but the cooking part…eh, not so much. I can burn toast and scorch eggs pretty good.”
His chuckled.
He continued into the living room. The overstuffed, cream-colored leather couch and two recliners looked comfortable, sleek, and modern. The painting behind the couch caught her attention, and she paused to study it. Bold slashes of color cut diagonally across the canvas, creating a rain-washed cliffside and, beneath it, was an aerial perspective of the beach and ocean during a storm. “Wow. That’s amazing.”
“My C.O.’s wife, Moira, painted it.” He gazed at the painting for a moment, then focused on her. “The two of you would probably sync. She’s a high school art teacher but too talented to just teach. So, she sells her work in some of the galleries along the coast.”
“Did you buy it directly from her?” she asked.
“No. I bought it from a gallery. It was the day after I closed on the house, and I was looking for something for the living room.”
“And to celebrate getting the house?”
“Yeah, that, too. My teammates came over to check out the place, and Moira came with LT. When she saw the painting, she thanked me for the purchase. She showed up about a week later with another one as a housewarming gift.”
Was there something going on between Tucker and this Moira? She hated that past experiences triggered an echo of uneasiness. How many hang-ups could one person have?
She kept her tone neutral. “That was nice of her.”
“Yeah, it was. She did an amazing painting of the team when she and LT were dating. She looks out for Sam and kind of spreads it to the team. Like sending goody packages when we’re deployed and including enough for all of us.”
Was that admiration in his tone or something more? To block the voice in her head, she said, “Can I see the other painting?”
“Sure.” He led the way down the hallway.
She glanced into the rooms as they passed. On the right was a bedroom done in cream, brown, and pale green. On the left was a bathroom done in slate gray tile with deep hunter-green accents. On the right again was a room set up as a gym with weights, a rowing machine, and a serious exercise bicycle. She was surprised when he paused there and went in.
Opposite the weights, on a wall painted cobalt blue, was an unframed canvas. Glowing streetlights shone upon a wet path that narrowed down to a one-point perspective in the center of the picture plane. Empty park benches positioned along the route had been sketched in with a pallet knife. The rain-washed foliage of the trees was spackled in as well. But there was an energy about the painting that projected movement as though the wind blew and the rain whipped through it. In the center focal point of all that action and color, a single figure ran into the night.
“She’s an amazing talent,” Brynn murmured. “There’s so much power in her work.”
“Yeah. It was a surprise when she and LT stopped by with this. When I saw it, I thought this would be the perfect place to hang it and use it as a focus for when I’m using the stationary bike or the rowing machine.”
His commanding officer had accompanied Moira here to deliver the painting. So, her suspicions were unfounded. The muscles of her neck and shoulders relaxed in relief, and for the first time, she realized she’d felt jealous of this woman and the relationship she’d imagined they shared.
She was experiencing feelings for a man she’d only met twice and had only talked to for a couple of hours. She needed to get that under control. She’d made some bad choices in the past. Something she couldn’t afford to do again.
She dragged her attention away from the emotionally charged thoughts. “You called her Moira. What’s her last name?”
“Harding, but I think she still uses her maiden name for business. Both paintings are signed Moira McKee.”
She kept her tone casual. “I’m going to look her up. I’m sure she’ll have a website.” She glanced up to find him watching her. “Maybe I should change so we can get started. I’m sure you have other things planned for the rest of the day.”
“You’re my only priority today.”
There wasn’t anything flirty or suggestive in the way he said it, but pleasure tightened intimate areas down low, and her cheeks heated. “I’ll use the bathroom to change.”