14. Santa Barbara
SANTA BARBARA
Jamie
The salmon with a rich whisky cream sauce—a delicious reminder of a neglected heritage—no longer felt heavy in my gut. I’d stuffed myself on Jordyn’s new specialty. She’d found a recipe, perfected it, and served it with a pride that left me speechless.
Over the last few months, we’d gotten into a rhythm. We jogged in the mornings and listened to audiobooks in the evenings. Although we’d divided and conquered responsibilities when it came to the house, it still felt as if she thought she needed to earn my favor by cooking my favorite meals.
She’d won. Ten times over.
Thanksgiving had included a feast for two. No obligation to explain us to family. No questions. Just peace. I could tell she dreaded the thought of spending turkey day with my clan, not that I’d even entertained the idea.
She got her GED a few weeks ago. I cooked to celebrate. Well, I tried. I got chewed out and was told never to step foot in the kitchen, but then she’d celebrated me, too, for helping her study and for encouraging her.
With a grin and a shake of my head at that memory, I poured glasses of wine.
I placed the glasses on the end table and sat on the couch. Jordyn walked over with a bowl of popcorn that she sat next to our Chardonnay.
“I can’t believe we’re finally watching a movie,” she said, curling up beside me.
She always curled like she was made for this spot—her cheek resting against my heart.
I shifted enough to brush freshly washed hair from her face.
Every movement intentional. Not to lead her on.
Not to tease. Just to honor her. Respect her body.
The thought of taking advantage of her before she was ready twisted something inside me.
In no time, the action flick that I paid no attention to sent flashes of light along Jordyn—her luscious thighs and the prettiest bare feet I’d ever seen planted away from me.
“We gotta hang those lights we couldn’t agree on.
Maybe tomorrow?” I’d keep them up forever to watch the light spark over her skin.
“We have less than three weeks till Christmas.”
“Hey, you haven’t even tried the popcorn.” Lifting her head from my chest, she idly twirled the wineglass stem between her fingers.
After all these years, I never expected my body to come alive at all. Now, I reacted because of the way her fingers stroked the glass. Nervous, I redirected my focus and complied with her request, grabbing a handful and taking a wolfish bite. “Oh. Nutter butters?”
“They’re your favorite.”
The popcorn tasted good. Compared to her lips on mine? No match.
Jordyn sat up, as if the extended opening action sequence in the movie didn’t appeal to her. “Tell me something real. ”
What ? My blood had already stopped flowing in the right direction.
“About you as a SEAL.”
This Navy SEAL mess again? “I’m gonna—” I rounded on her, tugging her beneath me and kissed her cheek. My fingers brushed softly beneath her ribcage like a soft chord. Teasing. Gentle. Careful.
“Hey!” she squealed. “Stop tickling me or I’m out.”
“Out? You threaten to leave me every day.”
“Stick to my rules.”
“Ultimatums.” I nodded slowly. “Copy that.” I softened my touch, fingertips skimming over her ribs, in slow, thoughtful patterns.
It wasn’t about arousal. I wasn’t wired that way.
But I knew touch could still mean something.
It could heal her. “I’m not worried about my ability to follow rules, however. ”
Jordyn’s eyes sparkled in that way they did when she wanted more but didn’t know how to ask. Her lips parted.
And I felt it—the tension between us.
With her beneath me, I struggled to move a single muscle. Couldn’t get up. I sure as heck couldn’t think. She’d asked for something real. Oh yeah . I cleared my throat. “You want to know about the Marine Raiders?”
Although I didn’t get up, my abdominals contracted as I leaned away from her, and I could practically see the torture in her eyes.
That pretty brown gaze exploded in fireworks.
I just wanted her to know I’d always be here for her, but I wouldn’t cross the line.
A line she might not be ready to erase in hindsight.
But who was I to tell Jordyn how much time she needed?
Another clearing of my throat. “Nawa, Syria. Four years ago. A crappy IED plant. Stands for Improvised Explosive Device, by the way.”
“Oh, so a bomb factory. Hey, are you making this up because the movie that doesn’t have our attention sure has a lot of explosions?” She flicked a glance at the television.
What movie ? How did anyone think this way?
Bodies acting like they had a mind of their own.
With my eyes glued to her, all I knew about the film was that a flash of lights surrounded us.
Probably was a similar IED scene. “ISIS abducted an explosives engineer. Had him designing new tech. I cleared a stairwell solo. Five stories high, comms went out. Hostages in the basement.”
Jordy’s voice was barely a whisper. “By yourself?”
I nodded once. “Sometimes there’s no backup—or they’ve died. You just move. You don’t hesitate. You move. Or you die too.”
“I’m glad you’re here with me.” Jordyn reached up and kissed me. A soft, lingering kiss that didn’t ask for anything more. And I let her kiss me. Kissed her back. My hands found her hair, thick and scented with mango. I threaded my fingers through it gently. Not for me. For her.
“I love you.”
She blinked up at me.
“You said it earlier when I gave you the hair stuff. I’m not sure if it was because of that. Or whatever. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is how much I love you. Maybe not in a way that you’re used to?—”
“I’m not used to love,” she murmured. “For me, if a guy said ‘I love you’ with his arms wrapped around me, moving slow and tender … hell, that was love. And I’d take it, especially compared to my usual treatment.”
“I’m sorry.” I ran my knuckles at her ribcage now and smiled.
“But, good, in a way? So, you won’t have anything by which to compare me, and this love I have to offer you.
” It was a joke. At least I hoped. “But know this, I will never hold your body hostage to prove anything to you. You don’t have to give me anything.
I already have everything I want. You . ”
She was quiet for a moment. Then a breath left her like a weight.
I parted my lips to speak. To tell her that we could find a new kind of intimacy. A deeper one. That she didn’t have to tense when we kissed and think that I couldn’t love her the way she needed. I’d fulfill all her desires?—
A deep, low guttural growl rolled from nearby. The temptation to cross the line with Jordyn that threatened to swallow me alive crashed. Rebel stood on all fours. Body rigid. Ears up, stiff. Another growl rose from deep in her chest.
I untangled myself from Jordyn and stood. The conversation we had, and the one about intimacy that we needed to have, erased. Every nerve in my body switched. Defense mode. As Jordyn stood, my gaze was already scanning the room. Training kicked in.
Jordyn seemed to have lost her voice. “What is it?”
I placed a finger to my lips, then escorted her around the kitchen island.
I pushed the cabinet’s side, and the door opened, revealing the chef’s pantry.
Not many people would know to look, but a wealthy buyer would expect to have somewhere like this for things that they don’t want to clutter their kitchen.
“I’m scared,” Jordyn murmured.
“Don’t be. Rebel, in.” I jutted my chin. The dog followed us inside. I went to a drawer that matched the ones in the main kitchen area, opened it, and pulled out a Glock.
As I handed it to Jordyn, she whimpered. “You have another one for you, right?”
“Not down here. Sit against the farthest wall. Shoot anything that’s not me.”
“No-no.” Her hands trembled around the handle as I went to close her inside. “I have the gun and Rebel. You’re leaving yourself weaponless?” she whispered .
I winked. “Not for long.” The second I shut the door to the butler’s pantry, all went dark. Shoot . Someone had cut the lights.
The ocean wind whispered across the sea outside. And then—I caught the sound I needed.
Movement.
Professional ?
Yep .
Nearly soundless.
I reached for the knife block and grabbed the handle for the filleting knife.
The blade was the same size as my US. Marine Raider Stiletto, a gift from a mentor after I’d completed training.
Although no longer in use, a skilled designer crafted the stiletto blade.
Delicate. A single purpose weapon, with a beautifully thin tip.
“Living room clear,” someone whispered into a comm.
Great . The enemy was also equipped with night vision goggles.
“Headed to the kitchen now,” the man added.
I moved around the island in a crouched position. The man strolled slowly, boots soft against the marble floor.
As the man walked the shorter side of the island, I sprang to my feet. Knife fisted in my hand, sharp blade facing between my thumb and index, I brought the knife sideways between the man’s bulletproof vest and helmet. Chik. Blood squirted from the man’s jugular. Chik. Chik.
I cradled the man to the ground. I reached for the loop of the mercenary’s suppressed M4 Carbine and?—
Glass crashed in front of me. I didn’t have time to unloop the semiautomatic rifle from the dead tango. Unarmed, my mind swiftly assessed the situation. Three figures came in fast. Trained. Coordinated.
Steadying my pulse, I darted behind the man closest to me.
“What the—” With one hand on top and the other at the bottom of his helmet, I snapped his neck. The mercenary went limp.
I positioned myself behind him, using the corpse as cover.
Blood pumped through my veins as the other two turned their semiautos on me, intent on turning me into Swiss cheese.
Holding the man up from behind, I used the gun still looped around his arm to shoot.
One shot to the chest didn’t drop a man. Just sent him stumbling backward.
Crap . That settled things. They wore military-grade body armor.
In contrast to the two gunmen who riddled their mate’s body with bullets, I aimed for their legs. They fell to their knees. I unlooped the gun, thrusting the first corpse toward the men on their knees. As one tried to crawl away, I placed the nozzle at the man’s neck between his armor and squeezed.
The other man reached for his comms, dragging himself away. “I?—”
Again, I positioned my gun at the neck, pulling the trigger, and his body stopped crawling instantly as his knees and hands gave up on him. Dead .
I removed the magazine from the last man’s gun and placed it in my pocket.
Then I reached down and snatched the comm from the man’s ear, wedging it into my own.
Silent. I wouldn’t compromise myself by requesting a sitrep over the comms—on account that Jordyn had spoken of my Scottish accent.
Though I no longer believed I had an accent, what if they could tell?
Also, what if the team used code words when checking in?
With the business end of the M4 raised, I moved through the house, my past in the military flashing before my eyes like enemy fire.
They’d come for Jordyn. After all this time, Aleksandr Chelomey had come for Jordyn.
“Primary suite, all clear” came through the comm in my ear .
I hurried up the staircase. This location proved unfavorable. A fatal funnel—with the staircase narrowing my enemy’s line of fire if I slowed down on my way up the stairs. Not to mention the advantage of shooting down at me.
I made quick work, going up the steps two at a time.
“What the heck is wrong with you idiots? Carlisle?” A female voice came from my ear, different from the one that just cleared my bedroom. “Carlisle, where’s your team? If you’re still near the kitchen go back. Heat source sighted.”
Great . The only female on the team was sitting somewhere, probably a van down the street, using a heat seeking drone over my house to provide intelligence.
The man from my bedroom slipped out into the hallway, gun trained on me.
As if startled by my presence, the man shot wild. Suppressed shots zoomed down the hall. A bullet hit the sconces above my head. Glass nicked my jaw.
I pulled the trigger, spraying the man with lead.
He rushed out of sight. Back into the bedroom.
Must be out of bullets? Or afraid to die.
I checked my magazine, my eyes narrowing in the dark. Half empty. Should I trade?—
Bullets whizzed out of the room.
Nae. The guy was just afraid.
I needed to get in, expire the threat, and return to Jordyn. In case none of the dead men downstairs was Car?—
“Carlisle? Do you copy? Okay. I’ll assume you and your team must be dead. Cool beans.” The woman sniggered. “Sending in round two.”
The woman’s flippant demeanor sent me on a rampage. I reached for my iPhone, placed it on the highest setting, then turned it off. With just one push, I’d be able to turn it on again.
I entered the room blind. I had no insight into where the scared weaponized man was hiding, but I knew that fear could leave someone paralyzed, especially when they knew the other person had confidence. A static of bullets came after me as I darted into the room.
Then a sweet sound?—
Click .
Click .
I grabbed the man’s wrist and slammed it against the wall. Once. Twice. The empty rifle fell. My knee drove into the man’s ribs. The guy dropped to his knees. I flung my fingers into the man’s eye sockets, bringing his body back in the opposite direction.
The man went still. Dead. Hands still gripping the man’s cranium, I flung his dead body sideways against the glass wall. The pane shattered, glass raining outward, and the body went with it.
I caught my breath.
A scream pierced the night sharper than a Dessert Eagle’s report.
Jordyn.
I had to get to her.
I sprinted down the hallway, heart hammering in my chest. Like the wood-splitting maul that helped me on some missions, I’d tear down anything standing between me and Jordyn.
Jesus, don’t let them take her .
Not again.