by Cassie Cole
“That means literally nothing to me.”
“It’s the standard issue combat pistol of the Navy SEALs. Standard 10-round magazine of 19 millimeter rounds.” He shoved it into my hands. “Get a feel for the weight. The curve of the grip.”
I held it like it was a rattlesnake. “I don’t want this. Why would I need to learn to fire a gun?”
He gave me a hard look. “Stop being a child. You may need to protect yourself in the coming days. And unless you’re secretly a black-belt in karate, a gun is your best chance.”
I gave him a disarming smile. “If I have to protect myself, we’re probably screwed.”
“Yep,” he said simply, not getting that I was making a joke. “Let me show you how to hold it.”
He came around behind me and wrapped his arms around mine, cradling the gun in my hands. A tingle went up my spine at having his enormous SEAL body surrounding me like warm wrapping paper.
“Right hand grips it like this. No, keep your trigger finger away from the trigger. Let it rest along the barrel until you’re ready to fire. Left hand goes here for support. Now widen your stance.” His right foot moved inside mine and pushed my legs farther apart. I shivered and hoped he didn’t notice. “This is called an A-frame stance. Now aim at the target.”
He backed off. Immediately I yearned for the warmth of his skin on mine. I felt cold without him even though it was a pleasant morning.
“How this?” I asked, holding the gun out with shaky hands.
Out loud he said, “Not bad,” but his facial expression said otherwise. I didn’t mind because it meant he had to wrap his arms around me again to show me how to do it right.
“Lock the elbows. Good, now raise the gun. You want the sights level with your eyes. See how it doesn’t shake anymore? Now your legs.”
He put one hand on my shoulder, and grabbed the side of my hip with the other—like he was going to grab hold and fuck me from behind. But instead, he pushed my shoulder forward and pulled my ass back.
“You want to be leaning forward slightly. Now bend your knees. No, too much. There, just like that. Perfect.” He stepped away. “How’s that feel?”
“Much better,” I admitted, though I was sad that it meant he didn’t need to touch me anymore.
“That stance isn’t as effective as the Weaver Stance, but it’s better for beginners. No offense.”
“None taken,” I said with a nervous laugh. “I’m blessed with self-awareness.”
He pulled some earplugs out of his pocket and stuffed one in each ear. “Ready to fire a few?”
“No.”
“That’s the spirit.” He put plugs in each of my ears, gently pushing them in until they muffled most sound. He put his hand on mine and moved my index finger from the side of the gun to the trigger. “Keep your breathing steady. No deep breaths. After exhaling, just squeeze the trigger nice and smooth.”
The earplugs muffled his voice, but I could still understand him clearly. He backed away and gestured at the target.
Okay. I can do this. I aimed the pistol at the target and stared down the barrel. Two notches of metal rose from the end of the gun, the sights for me to aim. Just like a videogame. Pretend it’s Call of Duty.
I took three breaths, and on the last exhale I squeezed the trigger.
Nothing happened.
“That was good,” Logan announced. He touched the side of the gun. “Now that I know you’re not gonna shoot your foot off, give it a try with the safety off.”
“And here I thought you trusted me.”
“I don’t trust anyone as far as I can throw them.”
I glanced over my shoulder. “I bet you could manhandle me pretty well if you wanted to.”
His chiseled face gave nothing away. “Go ahead and fire one round, Karen.”
I returned my focus to the target and repeated the steps, exhaling and squeezing the trigger smoothly. Even with the earplugs the sound was terribly loud, and the recoil was tremendous; the gun kicked in my hands, pointing at the sky. I lowered it to the ground and gazed at the target.
It appeared undamaged.
“I missed.”
“Of course you did.” Logan barked a laugh. “You’re not Annie Oakley yet. Give it another few tries.”
I fired a second round, then a third. The fourth one finally hit the paper, though up in the top-right corner outside the circle.
“This is much easier with an XBox controller,” I said.
Logan took the pistol from me and released the magazine. “That’s why we’re out here. It requires practice, just like any other skill.”
Next he spent a few minutes showing me how to load and unload the magazine. I didn’t point out that if we got to the point where I had to reload my gun we were really screwed.
“Thanks,” I said when he was done.
“My motivation is selfish,” he admitted with a smile. “If you’re able to protect yourself it means we don’t have to.”
“No,” I said. “I meant thanks for last night. For comforting me.”
The smile disappeared from his handsome face. “Right. It’s not a big deal.”
“I don’t know what came over me…”
“Like I said, I’ve seen it happen to the toughest looking sailors. The human mind has a way of pushing trauma to the side until it’s over, which is a great way of getting through a hairy situation. But it makes it tougher after the fact.”
We were standing so close that I could smell the coffee on his breath, rich and earthy. There was a faint scent of vanilla creamer, too. I bet if I kissed him, his lips would taste as sweet as sugar.
I stared up at him, and he stared back. The morning wind blew the trees from the nearby orchard, a swaying, swooshing sound.
Kiss him.
I wanted to. I’d wanted to last night before he fled to his bedroom. Now was my chance. To properly thank him for taking care of me, for protecting me, even though it was my fault he even had to.
He cleared his throat and pulled out his phone. “I’ve got to make a call. Lots to coordinate.”
“Oh.”
“Keep practicing without me,” he said as he walked away. “Finish those two magazines. I’ll meet you inside later.”
With confusion, and frustration, I watched his gorgeous body stroll back toward the sprawling Spanish palace.
28
Karen
I was too embarrassed to follow Logan back to the palace, so I did as he instructed: I continued shooting at the target. Slow, careful shots where I took my time and steadied my breath. It was difficult because each squeeze of the trigger gave me a rush of adrenaline that left me breathless.
Only when I was out of bullets did I put the safety on and carry the weapon back to the palace. A servant waited just inside the door for me with another steaming hot towel, this one smelling strongly of lemon. It was the most refreshing thing I’d ever felt in my life. A girl could get used to this.
I should have been a princess instead of a microbiologist.
But when I returned to our rooms, Logan was gone. When I asked the servant where he was, he told me that Mr. Carpenter was somewhere on the grounds doing work in private.
I ate lunch alone in the same massive dining room; small croissant sandwiches with shredded tarragon chicken and diced celery, with a sweet white wine. After that the number of servants waiting on my every need made me feel like an animal at the zoo, so I found a secluded sitting room to myself where I could browse Reddit and read the local news. My phone hadn’t charged all the way last night; whatever was going on with the plug was also making it charge slower. It was a reminder that outside of this palace I was a poor college student who was now out of money after a semester abroad. I didn’t want to think about how much a new phone would cost.
Although I was happy to get away from the servants of the palace, I was feeling a little lonely. My first impulse was to text Linda, but I’d promised Logan I wouldn’t. Fortunately, Cairo texted me before I
began feeling too sorry for myself:
Cairo: I had a dream about you last night.
Me: Let me guess: I was giving my graduate thesis in my underwear, and everyone was laughing at me. I have that dream all the time.
Cairo: LOL, not quite. Although you were naked.
Me: You now have my undivided attention.
Cairo: I’ll tell you about it when I see you again :-)
Me: YOU’RE NO FUN
Me: My day has involved being served expensive food and learning to fire a Sick Sour.
Cairo: What?
Me: A Sick Sour. That’s what Logan called it.
Cairo: omg, do you mean a Sig Sauer?
Me: Whatever the pistol is called, yeah
A different text popped up:
Hunter: Sick Sour? Babe, are you forreal?
Me: I don’t know how it’s spelled! Logan only mentioned it once!
Hunter: Cairo and I are laughing our asses off right now
Hunter: Like, laughing so hard I can barely text
Me: Ha ha.
Hunter: Cairo is legit going to have a heart attack. Sick Sour!
Me: OKAY VERY FUNNY
A text from Cairo again:
Cairo: What I’m trying to say is I miss you. If it’s even possible to miss someone you barely know.
The text put a huge smile on my face.
Hunter: Don’t listen to Cairo. Dude’s a fraud. I miss you more.
Me: Oh really? You didn’t strike me as the sentimental type.
Hunter: Babe, I’m sentimental as fuck
Hunter: Watch out, I might bust out a cheesy poem on your ass. You won’t be able to get your hands off me the next time we meet.
Me: Somehow I doubt you would ever write a poem for a girl.
Hunter: Would I lie to you?
Me: Maybe. You’re just some guy I met at the club and hooked up with. For all I know, you might be a world-class liar.
Hunter: I swear I’m telling the truth! I’ll write a poem for you in no time.
Hunter: Though if I was a liar I guess I’d say the same thing
Hunter: Fuck
Hunter: Just trust me, alright? I’d be having a lot more fun if I was with you instead of fuck-face over here.
Then:
Cairo: Did he call me fuck face?
Me: No…
Me: Maybe…
Me: Yeah he called you fuck-face. But I think he meant it lovingly
Cairo: That motherfucker
Cairo’s text was immediately replaced by a new one from Hunter:
Hunter: YO WHY DID YOU RAT ME OUT LIKE THAT GIRL
Me: LOL
Hunter: I THOUGHT WE WERE COOL, DAMN
I giggled as the three of us texted away the afternoon.
Logan walked by in the hallway sometime later, then paused and returned into view. “There you are. Was wondering where you were hiding.”
“You were the one who ran off and disappeared,” I pointed out.
The big Navy SEAL was wearing baggy cargo pants, and an olive-colored t-shirt that was tight against his torso. His biceps threatened to tear the sleeve as he scratched his hair.
“I had work to do,” he said. “Intel to discuss with our S2 officer. Plans to coordinate. We’re homing in on when the CLF is going to strike next.”
I sat up straight in my lavish chair. “Really?”
He leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms. “We think so. The chatter is intensifying, and individual CLF cells are going dark. That usually means an attack is imminent within the next 48 to 72 hours.”
“Where do you think they’ll strike?” I asked.
“That’s the million Euro question,” he grumbled. “Barcelona is the obvious favorite choice of the CLF since they believe it’s the rightful capitol of their hypothetical Catalonia nation-state. But the chatter is wider than that. It has the local anti-terrorism officials confused.”
“Does that mean we will be on the move soon?” I asked.
“Possibly.” He pointed a finger at me. “But you’re not going anywhere.”
I gave a start. “I thought you had to keep me close.”
“You’re safest here,” he said simply. “I spoke with Sofia Garcia. Called in a personal favor. You’re to remain here while we complete our mission.”
“I…” I trailed off. “You’re getting rid of me?” I had just gotten used to the idea of being under their protection. Now they were dumping me off? Would I even see Cairo and Hunter again?
“The only reason we were keeping you with us was because we had to protect you, but couldn’t turn you over to Barcelona Naval Command without getting Cairo and Hunter in trouble. Sofia gives us a way out.” There was a look in his eyes I couldn’t place. Like he was sorry it had to be this way, and didn’t want to leave me behind either. Or maybe it was just my imagination.
“I see.”
He shrugged. “Sorry that pistol practice was for nothing. Dinner’s about to be served.”
Numb, I went upstairs and washed up before returning to the dining room. Once again I felt supremely under-dressed to dine in such an ornate room with silverware that was probably older than the Liberty Bell, but Logan didn’t seem to mind.
The meal was incredible: roasted duck in Roquefort sauce, with an assortment of steamed vegetables. The bottle of wine we split was from 1939, the year the Spanish Civil War ended. Yet it was difficult to enjoy the meal with the gloom hanging over us. We were splitting up soon. I would remain here while they completed whatever their mission was.
I was merely baggage to them. Something slowing them down.
After dinner I wanted to go back to my room and pout, but the servants escorted us into a parlor style room full of dark wood and leather furniture. “The Infanta has insisted you partake in one of our dessert wines,” the servant informed us.
“I don’t like sweet wine,” Logan said. The servants blocked the exit and proceeded to serve the wine anyways, along with a tray of desserts: a dozen different types of puffed pastries, individual bites of cake coated in powdered sugar, and a bowl of liquid chocolate for dipping. Music began playing from nowhere; something classical with strings, light and airy.
I picked up one piece of cake and popped it into my mouth. Lemon flavor exploded on my tongue. “Mmm,” I moaned. “You have to try this.”
“I’m fine, thank you,” Logan said in his drill-instructor voice.
“Don’t be a spoil sport.” I picked up another piece and held it out. “If you don’t take it I’m going to feed it to you like you’re a baby.”
He glared at me, and for a moment I thought he would call my bluff. Then he snatched it from my hand and took a tiny, lady-like bite. He tried to conceal how much he enjoyed it, then put the rest in his mouth.
“Not bad,” he said.
“Not bad? The Who’s most recent album was not bad. This cake is divine.” I ate another piece and talked with my mouth full. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m happy to stay here as long as possible. Maybe forever.”
He arched an eyebrow as he sipped his dessert wine. “You weren’t happy about it before?”
I hesitated with a puffed pastry halfway to my mouth. “I didn’t say that.”
“You just did. You said you changed your mind.”
“Well yeah,” I said awkwardly. “I was unhappy about missing my Mallorca trip. And about being essentially held prisoner.”
“You seemed to be accepting the reality of the situation just fine.”
“Right. I am now.” I cleared my throat. It was obvious he didn’t believe me, and after the several glasses of wine we’d had he wasn’t afraid to be blunt about it.
“Dance with me,” I said to distract him.
“What?”
“It feels wrong to be in such a beautiful room and not dance. Assuming you can…”
He set his jaw and took me by the hand, leading me out to the center of the plush rug in the middle of the room. His other hand went to my hip with author
ity, as if he were shouting, oh I can dance alright.
We swayed along with the gentle music in the beautiful palace.
“So,” I said. “Christina Garcia.”
“Yep.”
“She seems taken with you.”
He frowned at me. Now that we were up close I was certain he was wearing cologne. The oaken scent filled my nostrils and made me want to breathe him in.
“Taken with me?” he asked.
I arched an eyebrow. “Have you two ever…?”
He roared with laughter, which made the servants around the room jump. “I’m not the kind of guy to sleep with a princess.”
“An infanta,” I clarified. “And what guy is that kind?”
“I don’t know, but it isn’t me. Sofia and I are good friends. I’m good friends with her husband Carlos, too.”
“Okay.”
“Not everything has to be sexual,” he said, and I couldn’t help but feel like he was scolding me.
“How are the boys?” I asked, both steering into the topic and avoiding it. “Are they hiding out in a palace like this?”
Logan smirked. “Their safe house is the kind of place you get sent to as punishment.”
“I’m picturing a shack in the woods, like the Unibomber.”
“You’re not far off.” He left it at that.
The music changed to something slower. Logan pulled me against his body, and I rested my head on his shoulder. It felt natural.
“So,” I said. “What made you join the Navy?”
His chest rumbled with a silent chuckle. “I had to carry on the family legacy. My father was in the Navy. So was my grandfather, and his father. My great-great-great-grandfather was one of the sailors on the USS Monitor, the first ironclad warship built by the Union Navy. He was in the Battle of Hampton Roads.”
“Oh wow! I remember learning about that battle in school. Did… he win?” I couldn’t remember the details.
“Not quite. It was the first naval battle between two ironclad warships. The Confederates were trying to break the Union blockade. The battle lasted two days, with the two ironclads hurling cannonballs at each other without doing much damage. Eventually they ran out of ammunition and retreated.” He grinned. “But the blockade remained in place, so the Union technically won.”
