by Cindy Dees
I am going to die.
Chapter 17
Something big splashed into the water beside her. Rough hands grabbed her shirt collar and hauled her violently onto her back. And then she was out from under the Zodiac. Her face popped up above the water, and she dragged in a frantic breath.
Hands unceremoniously grabbed her rear end and shoved, and more hands grabbed her from above and pulled her into the Zodiac. A wet instructor flopped onto the deck beside her. Peevy.
Well, shit.
“Make me go into the water again after you, girlie, and that’ll be the end of you,” he growled.
She didn’t have the air or energy to do more than nod.
Smitty appeared above, leaning over her. “What the hell happened? You’re a better swimmer than that.”
“Grundy,” she grunted. Her teammate turned to glare at her would-be drowner now sitting innocently on the other side of the boat.
She noticed Peevy watching her closely, and she pressed her lips shut. She wasn’t about to accuse a classmate of trying to kill her. Not until she talked with Griffin. He’d never briefed her on how to handle attempted homicide, for crying out loud.
Jabrowski growled from beside her, “Sounds like somebody could use a blanket party.”
“No!” she replied sharply. “Don’t any of you guys jeopardize your place on the SEALs for that asshole. I’ll handle him.”
“How?” Smitty asked.
“The powers that be will figure out he’s not a team player. He’ll get his comeuppance sooner or later. But I don’t want any of you guys throwing yourselves on your swords over him. Promise me.”
“Fine,” the Smurfs grumbled.
“I’m serious.” She glared at each one of them in turn until their gazes fell away from hers. Thank God. Point made.
She coughed up about a gallon of seawater and was excused from the final training evolution of the afternoon, a visit to the shooting range that she would have enjoyed, frankly. It reminded her of the range at Camp Jarvis and spooning with Griffin.
She waited for Griffin to show up at her room after supper, but darkness fell and there was no sign of him. Drat. She really needed to talk to him about what had happened and what to do about it.
Did she dare try to go see him?
She was supposed to be a future SEAL, after all. She could get into one man’s room unseen.
The base was quiet tonight. Still, she stuck to the shadows and cut through a parking lot by ducking low between cars.
She made it about five feet inside the front door of the instructors’ quarters before one of the instructors, Chief Vidmeyer, stepped out into the hallway, intercepting her. “Bell’s the other way, Tate, if you’re here to ring out.”
She ignored the jibe. “I need to speak with Master Chief Caldwell. It’s an emergency.”
“What kind of emergency?”
“A classified one.”
Vidmeyer stared skeptically at her, but her own stare back didn’t waver. After a few seconds, he said shortly, “Room 204.”
“Thanks.” She strode past the guy and jogged upstairs.
Griffin answered her knock quickly and looked up and down the hall in alarm as he gestured her into the room.
She said, “I’m actually here on official business. I talked to an instructor downstairs, already. Chief Vidmeyer.”
“Well, hell,” Griffin muttered. “He’s anal enough to put a stopwatch on your visit.”
She smirked at Griffin. “No hanky-panky for you, big guy, unless you’re up for a quickie.”
“I’d rather wait and take my time with you, thanks.”
His scowl deepened considerably, which sent warm fuzzies through her. It was awesome that he craved her fully as much as she craved him. He threw his arms around her, drawing her into his lap as he sat on the sofa. “I can still steal a fast snuggle while we talk, though.”
With Vidmeyer’s stopwatch in mind, she got right to business. “I have a small problem I need your advice on. Grundy tried to kill me today.”
“What the hell?” Griffin exclaimed, staring at her in disbelief. “How?” Thunder was gathering rapidly on his brow, and a cold calculation entered his gaze that didn’t bode well for Grundy’s long-term health. His arms tightened around her protectively.
“During the water retrieval evolution, he didn’t grab my arm. Instead, he shoved my head under the boat. I barely got clear of the propeller. Ended up getting stuck under the boat and couldn’t surface.”
“Any witnesses?”
“I have no idea. I didn’t want to talk to anyone until I ran it past you. It’s a serious accusation to make of a fellow trainee.”
“Hell, yeah, it is. I expected someone to take a potshot at you during the course, but I didn’t think anyone would try to kill you outright.” He shoved one of his hands through his hair, a sure sign he was worried. “Who was driving the boat?”
“I don’t know. Peevy jumped in after me and fished me out, though.”
Griffin frowned thoughtfully.
“What’s the deal with him, anyway?” she asked.
“Cal asked him to come here, observe you, and give him feedback on whether or not you’ll make a decent SEAL. Peevy’s as well known as any operator ever was or will be. Cal figures if he gives you the nod, just about every other SEAL on the teams will give you a chance. Peevy will be your toughest critic, but he can also be your greatest ally.”
Made sense. “Do I tell anyone about Grundy trying to drown me? Surely attempting to kill a classmate crosses some sort of line.”
“Ya think?” Griffin snorted. “I’d take Grundy out myself if it wouldn’t get me tossed off the teams.”
Griffin stared off into space, clearly thinking through options. Finally, he said heavily, “Lemme have a chat with Ray. Find out if he saw anything on the boat today. He doesn’t miss much. Legit, he’s one of the smartest operators I’ve ever run with.”
“You worked with Ray Peevy? I hear he’s, like, legendary.”
Griffin shrugged modestly. “We worked in DEVGRU together until I broke my back.”
She already knew Griffin had the full respect of his Reaper teammates…and now she knew why. “DEVGRU, huh? Badass, Caldwell.”
He rolled his eyes at her. “You keep doing your BUD/S thing. I’ll find out what Ray saw. Then we’ll figure out how to proceed.”
At least he wasn’t blowing her off. Thank goodness. She stood up. “I’d better get going if you don’t want Vidmeyer to spread all sorts of rumors that might damage your lily-pure reputation.”
He gifted her with another eye roll. “By the way. Practice tying knots before you go to bed tonight. Tomorrow is the underwater knot-tying evolution.”
“The—” She broke off. “Are you kidding me?”
“Nope. You’ll have to swim a length of the pool underwater, pausing to tie five knots along the way. The secret is nimble fingers and keeping your cool.”
“Got it. Sounds like fun.”
“It’s a pain in the ass. Get fast with the knots before you go to sleep. It’s worth the lost rest to get through this evolution in one pass.”
He hugged her tightly and gave her a quick, hard kiss before walking her to the door. “I probably won’t be able to come tuck you in tonight. I gotta go find Ray, and that may involve a bottle of whiskey and some war stories.”
She kissed him quickly, one last time. “Good luck with that.”
“Go get ’em, Blondie.”
“Right back atcha, Hot Stuff.”
His laughter floated out the door behind her.
No surprise, Vidmeyer’s door was open and he was seated in such a way as to see her on the way out. She couldn’t resist stopping in front of his doorway and saying casually, “He was magnificent…even if he was a two-minute wonder.”
&
nbsp; A crack of laughter escaped Vidmeyer before he pulled himself together to growl, “Get out of here, Tate.”
* * *
The next morning, she noted that both Griffin and Peevy were sporting dark wraparound sunglasses. It must have been a late night with that bottle of whiskey.
The last evolution before supper was the underwater knot-tying exercise. She made it through four knots the first time through before she ran out of breath and had to surface.
“Tate!” Peevy shouted. “There are two ways to do things around here—the right way and again!”
She grimaced, panting as she was ordered out of the pool and had to endure several rounds of screamingly awful calisthenics before she was ordered back into the pool.
This time, she worked more quickly and managed to finish the last knot just as her lungs felt as if they were going to explode out of her chest. A hard kick and a glide, and she touched the end wall of the pool.
An instructor sitting on the bottom of the pool in a scuba tank jerked a thumb up toward the surface.
With pleasure. She kicked up to the edge of the pool and rested there for a moment, gasping.
“Quit making out with the edge of my pool, Tate,” Vidmeyer growled. She thought he sounded a shade less irascible today.
They went for a night run after supper, and she enjoyed the cool air and stars over the Pacific. The moon rose while they were returning to base, and its silver light bathed the beach in wonder.
“Zoning out on me, are you, Tate?” a voice growled beside her.
She glanced over to see Peevy jogging along beside her. “Just enjoying being a SEAL, Master Chief,” she replied.
“You aren’t one yet,” he snapped.
“Only way to become a SEAL is to be one,” she replied.
Peevy harrumphed and ran on ahead of the formation without comment. Nothing like shutting down a legend. Not sure if she’d helped her cause or harmed it, she continued on toward base. And her bed.
Chapter 18
Griffin waited in Sherri’s darkened room for her to get back from the night run. He stretched out on her bed, relishing the scent of her shampoo rising from her pillow. Man, he was completely besotted if even the smell of her made him happy.
But he couldn’t help it. Just thinking about her made everything seem better. No wonder the married guys said having a wife to come home to made crap out in the field not seem so bad. It had to be this feeling.
Not that he was considering proposing to Sherri, he told himself hastily. No, sir. None of that.
Hell, she was just getting started with her career. The last thing she needed was him expecting a permanent relationship from her. Even if that was exactly what he wanted with her.
When had that happened?
He thought back, and as far as he could tell, it had come on slowly. Granted, to look at her was to want to sleep with her. But the rest of it—the genuine liking, respect, and trust—that had crept up on him, inch by inch. He even thought now that she would make a decent SEAL, and he’d said so last night to Ray Peevy.
Ray had been surprised, to say the least. But near the bottom of that bottle of whiskey, Griffin had extracted a promise from his old teammate to give her a fair shot to prove herself.
Ray had accused him of having a thing for her, which, thankfully, Griffin hadn’t been too wasted to remember to deny. It had been on the tip of his tongue, though, to confess to Ray that she was his girl. Damn. He would have to watch that. It was such an ingrained habit to be totally honest with Ray that he could land himself in serious trouble if he wasn’t careful. No more binges with the Peeve until Sherri was through training and the two of them could come out in the open with their relationship.
But man, that was a long way away. She still had months of BUD/S training to get through, and then a year or more of training with her permanent SEAL team before she would go active. The idea of waiting that long to claim her as his made him want to put his fist through a wall.
The door opened and Sherri entered, screeching to a halt just inside the door and dropping into a defensive stance.
“Good instincts,” he commented without moving from her bed. He knew as well as anyone that any move toward her would have earned him a kick in the groin or a well-placed punch in the face. Both of which he would have deserved for sneaking up on a SEAL—even if she was still a baby SEAL.
She straightened and reached for the light switch.
“Leave the lights off,” he said quickly. “The blinds are open.”
“Oops. Sorry.”
“Situational awareness, Tate,” he half teased, half admonished.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. But I lose my mind when you’re around. You distract the heck out of me.”
“I can live with that,” he replied, gathering her into his arms.
“I’m all sweaty and covered in sand,” she protested.
He chuckled. “As if either of those things would bother me.”
“Good point. Still. Let me go catch a quick shower, and I’ll be right out. Unless you’d like to join me and make it a long, leisurely shower.”
She did not have to ask him twice. They emerged from the shower with her considerably cleaner and him considerably more relaxed. He dressed before slipping into bed with her to do his second favorite thing in the whole world—hold her in his arms until she fell asleep.
“How’d your talk with Ray go last night?” she asked in the soft darkness.
“Good and bad. The good news: Cal judged him correctly. He’s not opposed to women operators if they can pull their weight on a team and not be a liability. Ray’s first impression is that you’re plenty smart enough and seem physical enough. But he’s waiting to see if you’re mentally tough enough. He wants to see how you deal with Hell Week.”
“And the bad news?”
“He didn’t see anything between you and Grundy on the boat. He did say your boatmates were mad enough at Grundy for him to believe the guy tried to drown you. He’s gonna keep an eye on Grundy, though. Bastard won’t get another chance to hurt you on Ray’s watch. Ray was offended at the mere idea of one SEAL trying to screw over another.”
“Good. So am I,” she mumbled, sounding sleepy.
He didn’t take offense at her drifting off midconversation like this. He remembered all too well the continuous, dragging exhaustion of BUD/S. He’d certainly had missions that were worse, but those had come later, when he was tougher and more used to feeling like shit on a shingle. Those missions also didn’t last for months on end. A few days, maybe a few weeks, without proper sleep or meals, and then they were over and he and his team got a break to recharge.
“Sweet dreams,” he murmured, kissing her temple gently.
“Love you,” she sighed as she slipped into unconsciousness.
He froze, not moving a muscle. She what?
Holy shit. What was he supposed to do with that? Pretend he hadn’t heard her say it? Say it back? Respond with something lame like thank you? Panic ripped through him.
But then something even more alarming occurred to him. He wasn’t panicked because a woman had told him she loved him. He was panicked because he didn’t want to screw up responding to it.
What the hell did that say about him? About them?
* * *
As always, when Sherri’s alarm went off at 4:00 a.m., she woke up alone. She rolled out of bed, yanking on clothes by rote, stomping into her boots, and French braiding her hair as she jogged down the stairs.
Griffin was in charge of log PT this morning, and he worked out her class ferociously. If she didn’t know better, she would think he had it in for her. He seemed to choose every exercise she was the worst at to run the crews through. Did the mental whiplash of their double life get to him, too?
Smurf crew was only down one guy—Brewster had medically washed back w
ith a knee injury. He would be given time to recover from surgery to repair it, and then he would have an opportunity to start the training pipeline again. She hoped he tried. He was a good guy. His departure left six of them hoisting, hugging, and lugging the log.
Some of the other crews were down to as few as four guys, and they struggled mightily to get through log PT sessions. The lesson was clear to everyone. Survive as a team. Die as a team.
Friday of that week, they spent much of the day alternating between relay races in the infamous mud flats and paddling for their lives in the boats to avoid getting slammed into rocks on shore by particularly brutal surf. She muttered a warning to her buddies to memorize the coastline in as much detail as they could during daylight, because Hell Week was likely to include doing these dangerous rock portages at night.
Also at her suggestion, Smitty, the strongest Smurf, was made their permanent coxswain. His job was to keep their boat from broaching—turning sideways to waves—and flipping over. Jabrowski, the nimblest Smurf, was elected to sit in the bow and leap ashore onto the rocks. His job was to hold the boat’s line tight and keep it from floating back out to sea on the waves as his teammates jumped ashore. She sincerely hoped Smitty and Jab made it all the way through Hell Week. Otherwise, their boat was screwed.
They’d just finished a round of relay races, taking turns carrying their teammates on their backs through pools of slippery, smelly muck when Chief Vidmeyer yelled, “Tate! Front and center!”
Wiping mud out of her eyes, one of which was swelling shut as a result of catching an accidental elbow on the cheekbone from Smitty, she ran over to the cluster of instructors and drew herself up to attention.
Vidmeyer sneered. “Your Highness’s presence is requested at a press conference in an hour. Head on back to your room and get cleaned up. A staff car will drive you over to the base theater…Princess.”
Damn. And she’d finally been making headway with the guy. Now he was back to despising her. And who could blame him?
While she didn’t object to a rest break in theory, her team was now going to be down a person and take the hit in her absence. She was shocked to realize she would rather be here, floundering facedown in mud, than getting all gussied up and talking to the press. “Do I have to leave my teammates?” she asked Vidmeyer.
