Chapter 14
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T ucker pressed his back against the wall, ejected the magazine from the M4 rifle, checked the load, and then shoved the mag back in with smooth precision. He’d done at least hundreds of live round Close Quarter Battle drills, so this was a no-brainer, but he still felt the spike in adrenaline as he waited for the direction to enter through his earbud.
“Go.”
Snugging the M4 rifle in against his shoulder, he eased around the edge of the open door and entered a hallway constructed of cinderblocks but cushioned with a layer of material designed to absorb both sound and the bullets. At the end of the hall, a hardboard tango popped up from behind a cabinet. He squeezed the trigger, and rounds dotted the character’s head and chest. The threat neutralized, he entered the doorway to the left. Another hardboard form came up from behind a sofa, a hostage held in front of them. He took the headshot, leaving the hostage unscathed, then swept from left to right, searching for more targets. Seeing none, he progressed out of the room into the hallway again. A door on the right stood open; Tucker pivoted around the doorway and into the room, scanning for more targets. An armed man in a mask popped up from behind the table. He aimed shots at the head and heart. With the room clear, he stepped back out and moved on down the hallway to the next two rooms. His attention was laser- focused because he imagined every target as Chad Gillespie in a bid to leach some of his anger and maintain his concentration.
He cleared the next two rooms in record time. The next one, he had to exit through. It had storage shelves on each side where the tangos could pop up at any time or location along the walls. A hardboard figure swung up on the left, and he leveled rounds into the head. When the next came up on the right, he did the same with a double-tap to the heart and head. One last target popped up near the door, an unarmed hostage, and he held his fire.
A technician sat at the back door with a computer, where he’d watched the entire exercise. “Good time and shot placement, Gilly,” he commented.
“Thanks.” The drill had released some of his pent-up frustration. But he had to get control of his anger before tomorrow night, or he’d have to cancel on Brynn. He had to be natural with her. Calm. She couldn’t know he knew what had happened to her. It might drive her away.
Removing his helmet, he took a seat beneath the lone tree at the back of the structure.
If she could live with it and move on, he needed to be able to do so, too. But some of his anger and frustration lay in the fact that the crap this dirtbag had dealt her continued to haunt her; otherwise, she wouldn’t be so…controlled, cautious…and still so…vulnerable.
He veered away from the thought. He needed to concentrate on what he was doing right here and now, but it was impossible.
Did Brynn work through things when she was taking photos? Had she worked through the worst of it by focusing on minute details of other people’s lives while she dealt with the trauma in her own?
Tomorrow, he’d need to concentrate on her, not his frustrated wish to be locked in a room with the asshole who’d attacked her and pound him into the ground.
At least he knew the fucker was in prison where he couldn’t hurt her or any other woman again. He hoped some muscle-bound, three-hundred-pound guy was beating the shit out of him every day.
Denotti exited the kill house and sauntered over to him. He could take Denotti into his confidence about everything. For all his wise-cracking bluster, the big Italian was a vault when it came to the personal stuff they shared. But Brynn would hate having her privacy breached. She’d moved across the country to get away from people knowing what had happened to her. He quashed the impulse.
“You been quiet all day, man. Something going on?” Denotti asked.
“No. What about you?”
“I met this chick, Ava, last night at McP’s. She and a couple o’ others came in for dinner. The other two were on the hunt, but she just ate and hung out for a few minutes. She’s a software engineer for a company in San Diego. She’s smart, really smart, and has a wicked sense of humor. I had to bring my A-game to keep up with her.”
“Sounds like you’re out of your depth, my man,” Tucker teased deadpan.
Denotti punched him in the arm, nearly knocking him over.
Tucker laughed, and some of the tension he carried released. He ignored the need to rub his arm, though it ached. “Did you get her number?”
“Yeah. I called her last night around ten, and we’re going out tomorrow night. She has a work thing tonight.”
“I’m having dinner with Brynn tomorrow night at her place.”
Denotti offered his fist for a bump. “Finally wearing her down, huh?”
“I prefer to think I’m growing on her.”
“Yeah, like moss on a rock.”
“Hey, whatever works.”
Denotti laughed. “Doesn’t it seem like it’s more difficult to hook up with women than it used to be,” he lamented.
“I think when we were younger and new to the game, we had lower expectations.”
“You mean, we were only out to get laid.”
“That, too. Now, we’re looking for different things.”
Denotti glanced at him for a second. “You could be right. You know, I’ve never had anyone, outside my folks, waiting for me when I got back from a deployment. The latest has always moved on by the time I got back.”
“Me, too,” Tucker said. “I think the key to the whole thing is to find someone as driven as we are. Someone who has a life outside of us and wants to share the downtime they have with someone who appreciates them, which should-could be us.”
“Fuck, Gilly. That’s the deepest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
Tucker buffed his fingernails on his tack vest, keeping things light. “I have my moments.”
Denotti shook his head. “You could be right.”
“Brynn’s as driven as I am about what she does; otherwise, she wouldn’t be learning to scuba and training herself to take underwater photographs to make that Australia trip. She did a road trip coming out here from New York that lasted nearly two years while she took pictures along the way.”
“Damn, that would be like a two-year deployment. What if she decides to take another road trip?”
The thought gave him a twinge. “I guess that’ll be up to her. I can’t really say anything when I’ll be gone off and on, too.”
“Fuck.”
Exactly. “My point is…whoever we become involved with…they have to be independent and have a life separate from us because we can’t expect them to put their life on hold just because we’re gone. They have to have something else to fill the void.”
“Like LT’s wife, Moira, with her painting and teaching.”
“Yeah, and your software engineer and Brynn’s photography business.”
Jeff Sizemore, aka Bullet, came out of the kill house and sauntered over to them, and their conversation moved on to other things while they waited for the others to finish their round in the structure. Ten minutes later, the rest of the team had come through, and they circled back around and went through the house in pairs, then split into two teams of four and did it all again. They’d finished the CQB drill when Lieutenant Harding stepped away from the group to answer his cell phone.
Tucker watched the man’s expression as Sam turned and faced the team. “That was Lieutenant Commander Yazzie. We’re standing down for now. The Ambassador’s assistant and the others have been recovered and returned. Nigerien forces are still working to find all the bastards responsible, but our citizen is out of danger.”
He wasn’t the only one breathing a sigh of relief. He read the same response in the relaxing of tension in Sam’s face. As a newly married husband of just over a year, the separations he and Moira had already gone through couldn’t be easy.
Tucker understood the conflict that raged between duty to family and the job. He worked through that tug-of-war with his dad and grandmother. While home, he called them every other Sunday to check-in. When he deployed, they had a routine of text messages, emails, and calls they followed so they wouldn’t worry.
But this thing with Brynn was different. He didn’t want to deploy until they’d worked things out. Or was it until he’d worked things out?
“Just because the deployment has been canceled doesn’t mean we can slack off,” Sam said. “We’re moving on to tech. We’ve just received some new navigational software they want us to familiarize ourselves with.”
No one complained.
*
Brynn chopped up two medium onions and two green peppers and crushed two cloves of garlic with the side of her knife, peeled it, chopped it into pulp, then added it to the Italian sausage frying in the skillet. After stirring it several times, she turned the heat down and put a lid on the skillet.
“You lied. You don’t need my help with anything,” Jess accused.
“I know how to do the chopping and sauteing, and I can fry, but I don’t have the cooking gene like my mom. She does it all. Cordon Bleu cooking all the way.”
Jess shrugged a shoulder. “Cordon Bleu isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. You go to a fancy restaurant, and they put three olives and a pumpkin seed on your plate for a salad and charge you thirty dollars—and to add insult to injury, you go home hungry.”
Brynn laughed. “You left out the squiggle of dressing across the plate for the salad.”
Jess grinned. “Your mother really cooks like that?”
“Yeah, but she does put more than a few olives and a pumpkin seed on your plate. It’s all about presentation. She’s a lawyer, so I guess that plays into it, too.”
She removed the lid from the skillet to give the meat mixture another quick stir then got out another pot for the sauce. She opened four large cans of crushed tomatoes, sprinkled in salt, pepper, more sautéed garlic, oregano, and basil, and then turned on the heat. By the time the tomatoes had started to cook, the meat was done. She added it to the mixture, turned the temperature to simmer, put the lid on the pot, and set the timer for thirty minutes.
“Last night, when I was leaving to go to Tucker’s house, I heard Martin and Tate arguing. I made an excuse to interrupt things and knocked on the door. Tate was his usual smartass self. I’m worried, Jess. I’m afraid of Tate. He’s one huge, aggressive asshole, and I’m worried about Martin. I’ve already seen bruises on him.”
Jess pulled the tie from her hair in a common sign of frustration. She raked her fingers through the messy mop, pulled it back up, and twisted the tie into it again. “I’ve talked to Martin, too. But we can’t demand he stop seeing Tate. He’s a grown man. All we can do is be here for him.”
Had her parents ever been there for her? No, she couldn’t say they had. They’d played the blame game because she’d hidden what was happening with Chad. Until she’d filed a restraining order. Even after that, they’d continued to sit in judgment as though what he’d done was her fault until he’d tried to kill her. The pain echoed through her, but it was no longer as strong as it had been.
Jess’s cell phone rang, and she tugged it free of her back pocket. “It’s Oliver.” She answered the phone. Jess wandered around the room as she conversed. Jess closed the call out. “He’s having car trouble and needs me to follow him to the repair shop so he can leave it while I give him a ride home.”
“Go. I hope he’s able to make it to the shop without breaking down. I’ll put the casserole together and walk it over after you get back. Just give me a call.”
Jess grabbed her purse. “Thanks, Brynn. I appreciate it.” She paused at the door. “I promise you can trust me to hold what you told me in confidence.”
Brynn nodded. “Thanks. But I already knew that. I trust you, Jess.”
After Jess was gone, Brynn cooked the pasta and finished preparing the two casseroles. Once she covered them with plastic wrap, she put one in her refrigerator and left the other on the stove to take over for Jess and Oliver.
Taking her tea, she wandered over to the couch, sat down, and closed her eyes. When her cell phone rang, she groaned and opened her eyes to glance at the number. Her heart kicked into a fast, heavy rhythm. Tucker. Was he deploying? She tapped the screen to answer the call.
“Are you busy?” Tucker asked.
“No. I had a long shoot today, so I’m relaxing now.”
“I’m on my way home. Can I swing by?”
She didn’t give herself time to think about it. “Yes, sure.”
“I’ll be there in half an hour.”
She glanced around the living room-kitchen area. The one-bedroom apartment served her needs, but it had little space. The kitchen looked like a bomb had gone off in it, and her padded camera and light bags were still piled in one corner of the small living room. “Shit!”
She rushed to carry the heavy bags into her bedroom but took time to secure her cameras, lenses, and lights in a cabinet in the corner and plugged the batteries into the chargers.
As she left the bedroom, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the dresser and sighed. Her hair was a wreck, her makeup non-existent, but Tucker had seen her without makeup and her hair glued to her head with water and still seemed to find her attractive. She made a detour to the bathroom and washed her face, applied some moisturizer to soothe her wind-burnt cheeks, brushed her teeth, and then her hair.
She put her fanny pack with the SD cards in the bottom drawer of her desk in the living room to download the photos and work on them later.
Returning to the kitchen, she attempted to clean up the mess. She’d just wiped up the counters and set the newly washed cutting board in the drainer with the pots and pans when the buzzer on the intercom went off.
She rushed to dry her hands and get to the intercom to press the button and unlock the front door to allow Tucker to come up. She scanned the room one last time to see that everything was in its place.
When a knock came on the door, she opened it quickly, only to find Jess and Oliver standing there.
Thrown for a moment, she scrambled to say something. “Hey. How’d the car run go?”
“We made it to the dealership just barely. They’ll work on it tomorrow,” Oliver answered.
“Car trouble’s a pain. I’ll get the casserole. All you have to do is pop it in the oven and bake it until it’s bubbling and the cheese has melted.”
“You actually cooked?” Oliver staggered against the wall like he was having a heart attack.
“Just for that, you’re not getting the pictures of Jess I took on the yacht today.”
“Pictures?” Jessica asked. “I thought you only took one.”
“I may have taken some candids during the day.”
“Are they nudes?” Oliver asked hopefully.
Jess backhanded his belly. “It wasn’t that kind of shoot.”
Brynn laughed.
The elevator door down the hall opened, and Tucker stepped out. The green T-shirt with camouflage sleeves stretched across his shoulders and chest, subtly accenting the muscle beneath. His camouflage pants hugged his trim waist. Her earlier complaint about not seeing him in uniform came to mind and triggered a fantasy of helping him take it off. Shocked by her own thoughts, she bit her bottom lip.
Jess turned to see what she was focusing on. “Is that Tucker?”
“Yeah.”
“O-M-G!”
“Who the hell’s Tucker?” Oliver asked.
“Brynn’s scuba instructor,” Jess said. She pushed past Brynn into the apartment. “I’ll get the casserole, and we’ll make ourselves scarce.”
Tucker reached them just as Jess appeared at the door, holding the casserole dish.
“Tucker, these are my neighbors and friends, Jessica and Oliver.”
Tucker nodded to Jess, whose hands were full. “Jessica. You’re Brynn’s assistant.”
“Yes.”
“It’s good to meet you.” He extended his hand to Oliver. “Tucker Giles.”
“Nice to meet you,” Oliver replied as they shook.
“Brynn cooked,” Jess announced. “There’s another casserole on the stove.”
Tucker cocked a brow at Brynn.
“It was supposed to be for tomorrow night’s dinner, but since you’re here now, we can eat if you’re hungry.”
He grinned. “I could eat.”
“Thanks, Brynn,” Jess said.
“Don’t thank me until you’ve tasted it.”
“It’s going to be great. I didn’t even know you could smash garlic with the side of your knife to peel it. You should have seen her,” Jess said as Oliver tugged her down the hall.
Tucker was grinning as Brynn stepped back so he could enter the apartment.
She thought about the business card Ahmad Balil had given her. She’d tucked in her small purse, but right now she needed to know if he was deploying and she needed him to share other things with him.
She went into the kitchen, turned on the oven to preheat, then replaced the plastic wrap that covered it with aluminum foil and slid it into the oven to heat until the cheese melted.
“It looks good, Brynn.”
“Thanks. It was Martin’s recipe. Jess volunteered to be my taster tonight.”
“I don’t believe you’re as bad a cook as you profess to be.”
She drew a deep breath and decided to confess. “It isn’t that I can’t cook; I just don’t like to. When I lived with my parents, my brothers took turns grilling on the weekends during the summer. The rest of the time, I was relegated to the kitchen with my mother to cook every night. She’s a perfectionist, and I could do no right. It took all of the joy out of it for me. So, once I left home, I did as little cooking as possible.”
“But you cooked for me.”
“Yes.” She shot him a smile over her shoulder and teased, “I slaved over a hot stove for hours.”
He slipped in behind her as she was setting the timer on the oven and rested his hands on the edge of the stove on either side of her. The heat from his body warmed her. Every nerve came to life, waiting for his touch.
“I’ll have to come up with something I can do for you.” His breath was warm against her ear.
Her thoughts went straight to sex, and she fought the urge to lean back against him and draw his arms around her. “I’d settle for knowing if you’re leaving.”
“We’re not deploying. The mission was resolved in another way. I came by to tell you.”
The knot of tension she’d carried in the pit of her stomach for days relaxed. She turned to slip her arms around his waist.
Being a SEAL was as much a part of who he was as her photography was to her. But the chances of her work putting her in danger were slim. His job put him in harm’s way every time he deployed. She’d known that since they’d first met. Known it the moment Natalie had told her he was a SEAL. But she’d never dreamed it would affect her personally. But it did—more than she wanted to think about.
Telling Jess some of what she’d been through, seeing how she’d reacted, had only been a test run. It was Tucker she needed to tell.
But how?