Chapter 16
KATE
I’ve resigned myself to becoming a crazy turtle lady. I’ll need more than Speckles to keep me company, but once I get my own place, I’ll have enough room for as many green friends as I want. Turtles won’t mind if I wear red lingerie. They probably won’t even notice.
I’m making copies for Cheryl because I haven’t been given any tasks by Mr. Bradshaw in days. While I wait, I’m doodling Speckles along with his own little turtle family. They all have matching yellow spots and blue umbrellas because it makes me happy.
“Oh, Kate! I’m so glad you’re here.”
I turn to see Becky walking into the copy room with a stack of papers. She shuts the door behind her before hustling over, her bubblegum-pink dress making her look like a walking bottle of Pepto-Bismol.
She leans in close, her cheap, distinct perfume wafting into my nostrils.
“Any developments I should know about?” she whispers in my ear, smacking her gum.
“What do you mean?” I try to act nonchalant.
“I expected to hear from you by now. Has anything happened with Mr. Bradshaw?”
I look over at her, my lips curving up slightly as I shake my head.
Are there cameras in his office? Did she see us? My heart rate increases.
She simply nods, leaning even closer in.
“Well, I have something to share with you.” She can barely contain her excitement as she whisper-yells, “He’s under investigation.”
My heart beats even faster as I turn to face her fully. “Who is?”
She glances behind her, but it’s only us in the tiny room. She mouths his name, Mr. Bradshaw.
My hand claps over my chest. “You . . . are you serious? For what?”
She reaches under the stack of papers she’s holding to pull out several paper-clipped together, handing them over to me.
I start to flip through as she explains, “I’ve been on Facebook, LinkedIn, Yahoo News, all of it. You know he was in the Navy, right?”
I nod as a blurry photo of Luke looking incredibly sexy in a black military uniform comes to the surface.
He’s standing with three other men dressed in the same thing.
I think back to the tattoo of the trident, anchor, and shotgun held by an eagle that I saw on his shoulder the night we met.
It’s depicted on a banner behind the group.
“Well, he wasn’t only in the Navy. He went on to become a Navy SEAL. They all did. This is him standing with the others on his team.”
“Where did you get this?” I ask her, turning to the next page, which is a newspaper article.
She smiles, pointing at the date stamped at the top of it.
“Almost two years ago, this photo appeared in a newspaper article in a tiny town in central Texas called Pilot. The paper was shut down only weeks later, and the residents of the town were instructed to burn all copies of the paper. Most of them did, except for the local librarian who thought it would be a shame to lose every remaining copy of the paper’s last big news story.
Her grandfather had started the establishment when she was a little girl. ”
I’m scanning the article as Becky goes on, “It’s a story about the guy on the far-right side, Reid Lewis.
Reid was born and raised in Pilot, Texas, by a single mom.
When he became a SEAL, the entire town was thrilled .
. . until he died on a mission. They ran a story on it, which, as you can imagine, is completely not allowed. The government shut them down for it.”
“Becky”—I look right into her eyes—“where did you get this?”
She looks around sheepishly. “I told you about my abundance of Facebook friends, right? Well, I realized that I kept seeing one date mentioned with quotes about bravery, justice, sacrifice—things like that—on the Facebook profiles of a few people in the Bradshaw family. As I began to add more of their friends, I found that a lot of them were doing it, and then they would comment on each other’s posts with symbols, like an anchor, or an American flag, or praying hands. ”
I’m enraptured by the story and Becky’s uncanny ability to uncover information.
“Finally, I landed on the Facebook page of Brenda Lewis. She was Reid’s mother.” Becky’s purple acrylic nail points at the handsome face of Reid. “She posts military quotes and Bible verses all the time, but on that special date? She posted this.”
Becky flips through to the last page in the stack, revealing a photo of a white cross in a green field, next to a stone plaque with an engraved name—a grave marker.
“Reid Lewis died in combat two years ago next week. He was killed in action, and based on the timeline of when Mr. Bradshaw’s mother celebrated his homecoming, it was the last mission they went on. From there, I found their hometown and was able to track down the article.”
I’m staring at her, mouth gaped in astonishment. Several beats pass as she smiles at me, allowing me a few minutes to absorb the information.
“I, uh . . . I still don’t see what this has to do with Lu—Mr. Bradshaw being under investigation?” I whisper, handing the classified information back over to her like it could burn my hands.
“Well, that’s just my theory. All three of the other team members have been stateside ever since that mission, and no one ever announced his death or even had a funeral.
Usually, that kind of heroic, military death would at least make local news, but when this paper came out with it, they were shut down.
Something happened, and they’re covering it up .
. . or they’re investigating it. And my bet is, his death was shady. ”
She claps her hands together, elated to be sharing this information with me.
That had to have been devastating for Luke. His friend died in combat, and the entire thing is some kind of military cover-up? What part did Luke have in it?
The door opens just then, and Becky and I both jump.
Georginne’s face peers inside at us with a fierce expression, her lips forming a hard line. “Becky, could I have a word with you in your office?”
Becky rolls her eyes and nods, winking at me as she walks out after Georginne.
My heart is still pounding as I take the copies to Cheryl and return to my desk.
Luke hasn’t said much to me in the past few days, but it’s Thursday, and we’re supposed to fly out early tomorrow morning to Tahiti.
I set up the time with the pilot and crew, but the fact that I’ve only emailed the final details to my boss feels awkward.
Now that I know he was a Navy SEAL and possibly involved in some kind of top-secret, classified mission where his friend died, I’m even more nervous to be around him.
My phone buzzes with an incoming text.
Mel
I packed you another bikini that I saw on sale today. Also, a little surprise for you to wear for Mr. B when he gets his head out of his ass. ;) Nik is here. Can we borrow your laptop? My charger cord has traveled to another dimension.
I groan, texting back quickly.
Kate
Sure. I don’t need anything to wear for him. It’s not like I’ll ever be brave enough to put myself out there again. I’m thinking about getting the stomach bug tomorrow.
Mel
Well, Nik thinks you should try again. I say if you don’t wanna go for him, shoot for the best man.
Luke appears in the hall, and I slowly lower my phone as I watch him walk by. He’s wearing a navy suit with a cream shirt underneath, no tie. The distinct scent of his woodsy bergamot cologne wafts toward me as he passes by, and I’m a total freak for inhaling it.
He’s just a guy, just a normal guy, I repeat the mantra in my head.
He’s talking on the phone in another language, one I might not have ever heard. Using short, choppy words, he sounds pissed. He stalks into his office, leaving the door open.
The sound of his voice when he’s angry brings me to another level. I let out a little whimper into my elbow.
Life is not fair.
I have one more night to mentally prepare myself for a weekend away on a private jet in the French Polynesian islands with this man.
I plan on meditating and downloading some stock images of sexy celebrities to encourage myself that he’s just one fish in a sea of hot guys completely out of my reach. Crying about it is pointless.
My phone buzzes again. It’s a notification from the dating app I downloaded on a whim last night.
I matched with a guy named Fred, who happens to work in an aquarium and also loves turtles.
Fred is an unfortunate name because he’s actually pretty cute.
He’s been sending me little messages throughout the day, and I’ve been responding when I have time.
The dolphin meme he just texted me makes me smile, and I start to reply before my thoughts are interrupted.
“Miss Dawson.”
I jerk at the sound, hitting my elbow on my desk and wincing as my funny bone starts to throb.
“Yes?” I say, my face turned down as I focus on breathing through the pain.
“What’s wrong?” He’s suddenly by my side, fingers tilting my chin up to face him.
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
I lean back, unprepared for his proximity. His eyes search my face, and I realize in this lighting that his irises are rimmed with gold.
His gaze roams over my face before landing on my parted lips. I count the seconds as he looks at me. I get to five before he retreats, taking in a deep breath and running his veiny hand through his dark hair.
“We’re leaving tonight. We can go by your apartment to get your luggage.”
He pulls out his phone, tapping on the screen. My eyes widen as I slowly stand.
“We . . . we’re going tonight?” My pulse begins to quicken.
He looks back up, pocketing the phone. “I prefer night flights. There’s also a threat of a thunderstorm in the morning, so we could be delayed if we wait.”
It’s already four p.m., so I don’t know what he means by “tonight.”
“I’m not completely packed yet.”
He starts to lock his office door, his back turned to me. “You can throw whatever you need in when we stop by.”
Sweet baby Moses, is he serious? I can’t pack on the fly. I need to make a checklist. I still haven’t shaved my legs or . . . anything else required for a beach trip.
“Well, um, okay . . . I’ll do my best. Could I maybe just . . . meet you at the airport?”
That would give me time to at least halfway prepare myself for the days I’ll be forced to spend with a man who intimidates the hell out of me and might just be playing games with my emotions.
A muscle tics in his jaw as his eyes blaze over me.
“We have to take the helicopter to my airstrip outside of the city. The crew is already headed there.” He places his hands in his pockets, feet spread apart.
“Okay,” is all I can manage.
I reach for my purse and phone, and it buzzes with a text, either from Fred or Mel as we walk.
“I’ll pick you up at your apartment in an hour. Does that give you enough time?”
I nod, relieved he won’t be driving me there now. I don’t want to be back in his car without the possibility of making out with him.
It’s not happening again, Kate! Get over it.
We walk into the elevator together, and the others waiting in line let us have the whole thing to ourselves.
Fifty-six floors alone with him.
Ten floors of silence later, he turns to me, invading my space. I take a step back and then another, the intensity of his eyes forcing me to retreat. My back presses up against the cool mirrored wall.
“What was that the other day?” he asks, his voice low.
“Wh-what?” I have no clue what he’s talking about. My insides are tingling with his nearness.
Has he always smelled this good?
The woodsy scent I remember from that first night makes my head spin.
“With the . . . stripping,” he grits out.
My cheeks turn pink at the mention of my uncharacteristically bold move. If only I could turn back time.
I hesitate. “I just . . . I thought you might be nervous to make the first move. I promise I’ve never done that before.”
He’s staring at my lips, and I’m internally begging him to press his lips to mine.
Just one little kiss, please.
“The first move?” he asks as his hand comes up to press on the wall behind me. The sleeves of his pinstriped shirt are cuffed up to the elbows, the veins in his forearms sticking out near my face.
“I mean . . . since I’m, like . . . working for you now.”
His breath is rising and falling steadily, his chest level with my eyes.
“You didn’t mind making the first move before working for me.”
So he does remember!
My gaze jumps back up to his face as my mouth drops open. He shifts closer to me, his other hand reaching out to brush the hair back behind my shoulder. His fingers graze over the tender skin at my neck, sending shivers through me. He’s watching my pulse as it skyrockets.
“I was drunk that night,” I whisper.
He finally looks into my eyes, his head slowly descending toward me. The anticipation is torture, but I’m willing to suffer because I know the reward will be worth it.
The sound indicating the ground floor dings, and he steps back right as the doors open to the busy lobby with people waiting. I right myself, realizing I was completely up against the wall.
After rushing into the parking garage behind him with flushed cheeks, he struts toward a black SUV.
“I’ll be at your place at five,” he tells me.
I nod as he gets into the vehicle. It doesn’t pull away until I’m safely in my faded red Nissan.