The SEAL's Promise

by Grace Alexander

  In love.

  Her blood thumped in her neck. Her mouth went dry. When had that crept up? He had a tender heart and a caring soul. She trusted and believed in him. But was she in love with him? She wasn't sure that her feelings met the clinical definition of love. Did he have a deep personal attachment and profound affection for Drake?

  Her hands crossed over the base of her neck. Her pulse thumped against her fingers. She'd never thought that falling in love was possible. But, yes, she loved him. That wasn't a scary realization!

  The truth surprised her, and Tessa closed her eyes as she soaked in the warm and calming feeling. When he awoke, those would be the first words out of her mouth. She might even shout them, shaking him awake at the first sign of stirring. Until then, all she could do was hold his lifeless hand.

  Minutes later, she heard the approach in her headphones before they landed at the top of a hospital tower. Nurses stood by, ready for their arrival, heads down and hair blowing, as the chopper hovered over the red and white painted landing zone. The flight crew disembarked, and the hospital nurses took over. Everyone moved fast, checking monitors, bags, and wires.

  They rushed into an elevator, and Tessa pressed against the wall. No one spoke to her. She was invisible in the midst of chaos. The doors opened, and they rolled into a quiet hallway, then a private suite. It was a whirlwind. She didn't know what to say or who to thank. Each person placated her with a pitying smile as they left her alone in the room. Well, not alone. Drake was in bed. The only noise breaking the silence between them was the beeping of machines.

  It was only after they left that she saw herself, covered in filth and wearing the tattered dress. She looked like death and smelled like it, too.

  A tap on her shoulder startled her out of a downward descent of depression. A man with caring brown eyes and a white coat stood in front of her, clipboard in hand.

  "You must be Tessa."

  He knew her name. "Uh, yes."

  "I'm Dr. Collins. I'll be taking care of Drake from here on out. Anything you need, just ask for it."

  "I'm sorry. I don't have his health insurance card, or his—"

  "Don't worry about it." He flipped through the chart. "Safehouse Security is a close client, though you have to be the first wife I've met. It's a pleasure to meet—"

  "I'm not his wife."

  He lowered the chart and studied her. "Whatever you are, Tessa, you have the Safehouse stamp of approval. I'll have a cot brought in here so you can rest. There's a shower in the bathroom. I'll ask the nurse to bring you some scrubs to change into."

  "No, I, um…" She couldn't wrap her head around their conversation.

  "You'll feel better soon. Shower and then take a nap. If you're hungry, order a meal. There's a menu on that table." He pointed to a small table beside Drake's bed. "If you would like to fill it out now, the nurse will make sure lunch arrives by the time you're out of the shower."

  She felt her eyes bulge and couldn't shake the shock long enough to mind her manners.

  The doctor tilted his head, seemingly aware that she didn't expect the first-class treatment. "Like I said, Tessa, I've worked with Safehouse for some time now. We have a good working relationship."

  "Okay."

  "I'm going to give Drake quick once-over. We'll get his infections and wounds under control and be out of your way."

  "When will he wake up?" She needed him to have an answer.

  Dr. Collins smiled sympathetically. "That's up to him. He'll wake up when his body is ready."

  She should've known that answer. "Thanks."

  "Until then, we will continue to monitor him and ensure that nothing changes for the worse."

  "So, we wait."

  He nodded. "We wait."

  That wasn't the answer she wanted. "I understand."

  Tessa saw the doctor off, and her stomach growled. Unsure of what else to do, she eyed the lunch menu. Not the typical cafeteria fare. Right about now, anything other than MREs and the protein bars she found on the plane would be delicious. She circled grilled chicken, macaroni and cheese, and a salad. Oh, and a cookie. She definitely needed a cookie.

  She walked into the bathroom. Private room or not, the bathroom still had a hospital feel. Institutional gray tile covered the floor and wall. The overhead fluorescent lights hummed when she flipped the switch. A stack of bleached towels was piled on a counter next to a hospital thermos, plastic-wrapped cups, and toiletries.

  Tessa slid her clothes off and into a pile on the floor, then stared at the oversized mirror. Dirt streaked her face, arms, and neck. Scabs and bug bites decorated her skin with varying shades of red. Her hair was a tangled rat's nest, and she smelled like things she didn't even want to think about ever again.

  Tessa unwrapped the plastic from a comb and started at the bottom of a handful of hair. She picked and picked and picked. With each methodical stroke, the knots tore, strands floated to the floor, but her hair made no progress. Her arms ached. Frustrated, she put the comb down. Its bristles were not straight and pristine anymore. They were bent like the comb had given up, too.

  She twisted the shower knobs. Scalding water ran into a nearby drain. Steam floated. Tessa adjusted the temperature to dirt-melting and tossed her clothes into a trash can. She stepped under the cascading water and pulled the curtain around her.

  Soul-soothing water crashed over her. It dulled the aches and pains, made her sunburn sting, and eased the torment of the itchy bug bites. All in all, Nirvana, but she refused to look at the dirty water swirling down the drain.

  Somehow in her hypnotic trance, Tessa heard a quick rap on the door. "Hi, Tessa. Just dropping off some scrubs for you. I saw your lunch order. Thank you. Need anything else? Snacks, munchies?"

  Snacks? This was like a hospital with a hotel concierge. How much money did Safehouse pour into this place?

  "Do you have any Twizzlers?"

  Her chipper chatter replied from around the corner. "I'll see what we can do."

  Drake would appreciate a box of Twizzlers when he woke up.

  She was far past burnt out and exhausted to the point of debilitation. After shampooing, she dumped the entire travel-sized bottle of conditioner into her hair and finger-combed it. More progress than with the plastic comb but still a dismal mess. She didn't care. She needed sleep. Bad.

  She dried off, slipped on the scrubs, and found a cot piled high with blankets. She'd never seen something so enticing. A few steps later, and Tessa was burrowed in. The soft pillows and blankets overwhelmed her with the scent of bleach, but it didn't matter. Sleep beckoned, but her wandering mind kept it a finger's distance away. Would she have nightmares filled with bomb reverberations, knives against her throat, and the evil, accented threats of a monster?

  Yeah, she would.

  But Drake would wake up and kiss away her fears. He'd love her until she relaxed. She knew he would. There was something special about him. And she loved him. That was enough to drive away her nightmares.

  Warm shudders ripped through her. A sweet smile hung limp. It was her first smile in days. She loved him. The realization thawed fears of family and commitment. How could she possibly not want them—him and Anna—in her life?

  Memories of the Colombian carnage would dissolve. She couldn't wait until he woke up. She had to know what he'd say when she covered him in kisses, confessing how much she needed him in her life.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Bright lights seared his retinas as McKay blinked awake. He blinked again. This wasn't the same view as when he went to sleep. He closed his eyes and tried to remember. He felt starched sheets that itched. An antiseptic smell registered as hospital-like. He blinked again, definitely in a hospital.

  His tongue felt furry and dry. When he opened and closed his mouth, it made a spit-less sound. He surveyed the blankets tucked tight around the length of his body except where his left arm stuck out, an IV inserted and secured with tape. The dirt and blood that he remembered were gone. He stretch
ed his hand and worked his fist. Even his fingernails were clean.

  McKay scanned the empty room. The private suite, vitals monitor, IV bag, and furniture were decidedly not South American. The television played the nighttime news in silence. Muted and in English. A whiteboard on the wall said his doctor's name was Collins, his nurse's name was Sandy, and his tech's name was Jeremy. He had no idea how it happened, but he was back on US soil.

  A white remote with blue buttons laid next to his blanket-covered mid-section. He grabbed it. A nurse call button. He pushed a button and blinked several times more to clear the cobwebs, and then he focused on the television.

  If that date and time in the corner of the news program were correct, he'd missed several days. McKay pushed the call button again. He ran his tongue over his teeth. A nasty, gritty film said it'd been too many days since he used a toothbrush. He pulled his other arm from the blanket and brushed his hands over his face, finding a beard.

  A nurse walked in, chipper and bubbling to talk. He wasn't in the mood for either.

  "Mr. McKay, it's so wonderful to see you awake. We've been waiting on you. How are you—"

  "Where am I?" A rough, unused edge in his throat made him cough.

  She handed him a large container of water with a straw. "I thought you might be thirsty. You're at the hospital—"

  "Where? Am I in the United States?"

  She took a step back as she assessed him. "You're outside Washington, DC."

  His fists balled. McKay noted her additional step back, and he needed to relax or he wouldn't learn anything. "Do you know who brought me here? Or, how I arrived?"

  "You're in a private suite that Joseph Corven of The Safehouse Security arranged for you."

  He pinched the bridge of his nose.

  "We're to call him as soon as you're awake," the nurse added. "I'm surprised no one's here. They've had someone with you twenty-four hours a day."

  What about Tessa? "Was there a woman here?"

  "Tessa's been here most of the time, whether the other men were here or not." The nurse tinkered with a beeping machine. "She's wonderful."

  His head dropped against the plump, plastic pillow, and his eyes rolled to the ceiling. That wasn't what he wanted to hear. He squeezed his eyes shut. Why didn't Tessa run from him? She should be long gone.

  "Don't let her in to see me. Don't let her know I'm awake."

  "What?" The nurse shook her head, then cocked it in confusion. After a pause, she did a once-over of his IV bag and monitor, evidently concerned that he neared a PTSD freak out.

  "Do not let her in here." He was a terrible person.

  The sound of heavy-booted footsteps stole his attention away from the nurse. Cason, in his best cowboy-mosey, strolled up behind the nurse. His hat was tugged low over his shaggy hair, and he towered over the woman with a half-cocked, one-sided grin. Clearly, they'd been acquainted. Was there any woman who didn't fall for him? Cason whispered in her ear, she blushed and sidestepped around him toward the hallway.

  "Well, well. Get enough beauty sleep, sunshine?"

  "Cason, man, you have to get me out of here."

  "Yeah, well, first, we had to keep you from dying. But, all right. We'll get you out of here as soon as Doc C gives you a go. Joseph will be here soon. Tessa just walked down the hall to stretch her legs. She'll be back in a sec. Want me to call her?"

  McKay pinched his eyes. Her name made him schoolboy twitchy. Bits and pieces of Colombia filtered back. But the one blaring memory burning up his brain was when he limped into that shack. It was empty, and the woman he loved was gone. He wanted to tear every beam from the shack, to ram through the Safehouse guys for no other reason than he needed an outlet. And when he saw her, safe, coming toward the shack, it was the most satisfying and gut-wrenching moment of his life. She was alive, within eyeshot, and he was the worst thing that could have ever happen to her.

  He loved her, and she'd never know.

  A feminine snip of exasperation echoed in the hallway and dragged him back to his conversation with Cason.

  "Sounds like your girl is here. Wonder what has her in a fuss." Cason chuckled and pivoted for the door.

  McKay dropped his head down. The beard whiskers tickled his neck and scratched his chin, and it was all he wanted to think about instead of telling the truth.

  "I told the nurse not to let Tessa back in here." He winced. It sounded even worse out loud than in his head. And it was horrible in his head.

  "You did what?" Cason pivoted one-eighty back on his heels, dumbstruck.

  "I asked the nurse to send her away." McKay glanced out the window instead of at Cason. But that didn't ease the guilt and overwhelming sense of loss.

  "You, my friend, have a death wish."

  "Give me a break."

  Cason shook his head. "Colombian cartels are child's play compared to a woman on the warpath. Tessa, in particular. She pushes Joseph around like he's a bratty teenager. She even poked him in the chest when he didn't listen."

  McKay sawed his teeth back and forth and turned from the window to watch Cason take a backward step to catch the showdown in the hallway. Someone must have seen him, and he threw his hands up in innocence.

  "Oh, boy. Here she comes." Cason made a move to duck-and-cover. "Tessa, one. Nurse, zilch. And you're in trouble, sunshine. I'm out of here."

  Before Cason made it through the threshold, Tessa roared around the corner, knocking him out of her way, and back into the room. "What is your problem, Drake McKay?"

  She was red-faced, bug-eyed mad. This wasn't working out the way he planned.

  "I think this might be my cue to leave. Tessa, nice to see you. McKay, glad you're alive, buddy. Best of luck."

  She flashed daggers at Cason, who again threw his hands up. She stepped to him and pushed him out with one outstretched finger. Then she turned toward the hospital bed. The delicate veins in her neck popped. Her narrowed eyes zeroed in on him like a predator sighting its prey.

  Cason was right. McKay was a dead man. Who knew a petite woman like Tessar could scare him clean out of his skin? Funny thing was, he should have known how well she'd do furious.

  "Do you mind telling me what is your problem?" Her hand flew to her hip. What she lacked in height and weight, she more than made up for with attitude.

  He felt smaller and smaller in his bed with her reading him the riot act. But he deserved it. It was the wrong move to have the nurse do his dirty work.

  The nurse rushed in behind her. "I'm so sorry, Mr. McKay."

  Could this get any worse? Someone needed to save Sandy, or whatever the nurse's name was before Tessa hurt an innocent woman.

  The air conditioning kicked on, chilling the room and stirring the sterile hospital smell. The stench was stuck in his nose. Tessa was yelling at him. Nurse Sandy left, no doubt calling for security. And he was trapped in the bed, tied down by wires and hooked up to monitors. Tessa's warpath left no escape. He had to think of something to say. But nothing intelligent surfaced.

  "I'm sorry. I just need… space." He needed to tell her the truth and be done with it. This was for her. And despite whatever crazy, emotion-fueled insanity he continued to drown in right now, he should, at the very least, man up, and give her some explanation.

  "You needed space? You're a liar."

  "Tessa, look…" He pulled at his shaggy beard, wanting to tear it out and replace the pain in his chest with a different, more physical pain. "My life is dangerous. Nothing's safe, obviously. You met me and look how your life's been turned upside down. Even your pretty little cheek is still bruised."

  "Don't talk to me about my pretty little cheek. You don't have any right to wake up and pull this stunt." Her voice broke, and it hurt down to his soul. "You don't know what you've put me through."

  "See, the thing is, I do. You never should've dealt with any of it."

  "Drake, that doesn't matter. You and me. That's what matters." Her words cut him to his core.

  "Come on, Tessa. Do
n't you see? I'm doing this because of you. You matter to me. You're the only thing I can think of. I wake up wanting to see you after I dreamt of you." He didn't think she would understand that. His stomach turned, and McKay swallowed hard. He was dying to embrace her and could barely string together the words. "Tessa, I… Look, I feel for you. I—"

  "Excuse me? You feel for me? Grow up, McKay. Don't stand behind the lie of protecting me. When you figure out what you're so scared of, you find me. Otherwise, don't worry about me. I'm gone."

  She stormed out, the privacy curtain trailing after her in a harsh breeze.

  Well, that went nothing like he envisioned. McKay sat up. He had to get out of this bed and chase her down. If Tessa listened, he could try to explain everything. She deserved so much more than the burden of being with him.

  McKay ripped the blanket off only to see electrical compression wraps on his calves and a collection bag for his catheter. Just fantastic. He grabbed the remote hanging by his bed and pressed the nurse call button once, twice, and then again.

  Where was she?

  He tried to lean forward to release his legs and groaned. His body hurt. Every muscle was sore, weak, and pathetic. Just like him in his love-life. It might take weeks of physical therapy and training to get back to where he needed to be physically, but he was ruined when it came to Tessa. Some wounds never healed.

  McKay unfastened the Velcro on one leg wrap, then moved the other. His lungs burned, and his pulse raced. He paused for a breath. How was he so out of breath? His plan to run after Tessa might need to be downgraded to a speedy walk. Ugh, he hated being sidelined.

  The nurse shuffled into his room. Her concerned glance morphed into alarm as she saw him batting at the wires holding him back and working to undo his second leg wrap.

  "Mr. McKay."

  "Get these wires off me." He motioned to the catheter. "Take this thing out."

  "You've only been awake for minutes after days recovering from serious injuries."

  "I've got places to go."

  "I'll get Dr. Collins, and you can work this out with him."