“Are you purposely trying to get yourself dead? Or are you just so goddamned determined to be a pain in the ass, you’re gonna fight against us even when we’re trying to save your ass?” Weston growled. “Serious as shit, woman, I cannot for the life of me figure you out.”
Silver’s eyes flashed hurt and Weston felt like a dick, but as quickly as she’d allowed some vulnerability to creep in, she masked it and spewed her vitriol.
“I don’t need anyone to save my ass and I certainly have no desire to get dead. I can take care of myself. I don’t need you—”
“You don’t? Funny, I think it was my team that got you off that yacht. And before you say it, yes you’d got yourself out of the cuffs, which I admit was impressive. What wasn’t, was you thinking you were gonna somehow escape by throwing bricks of cocaine at your captors. What the fuck did you think you were gonna accomplish by that? Have them OD as powder floated through the air? It was stupid and potentially deadly. If that coke had fentanyl in it, we’d both be dead right now. So, I’m sorry to burst your stubborn-ass bubble, sweetheart, but this isn’t something you’re just gonna get out of. And the only way you’re gonna be safe is by me and my team making you that way. Unless you got some mad tracking and sniper skills we don’t know about. By all means, now’s the time for you to share you’re really an undercover assassin. But I have to say, knowing what I know about you, I know you’re fucking not. So we’re your best option. Like it or not.”
“I don’t like it,” she snapped. “Not one fucking bit.”
“You don’t have to. But what you have to do, is accept it.”
“I don’t have to—”
“Goddamn, woman. Listen to yourself. We’re offering to protect you. To keep you safe. The alternative is you’re picked up again, only next time when I find you, it won’t be amusing. Mainly because you won’t be tossing drugs at my head, then you won’t be walking off the yacht with your arms around me. It will be me carrying you in a fucking body bag because you’ll be fucking dead.”
Weston watched as Silver paled. She didn’t frown, she didn’t spew shit, she simply shrank into herself as her shoulders hunched forward, and damn if Weston didn’t hate it. Hated that she looked sullen and beat down—and what was worse was that Weston had been the one to put the look on her face and he knew it. Felt down to his soul that he’d been a prick and gone too far.
But he didn’t know any other way to make her see she needed them. Needed him. And he wasn’t lying—it would be him carrying her lifeless body, because for some asinine reason he felt responsible for her. Through all of her prickly, brash bullshit, Weston still couldn’t stop thinking about her. Hadn’t stopped since the day he’d met her. Could not get her fire out of his belly, and her go-get-it attitude out of his head.
He’d never simultaneously disliked and wanted a woman so badly.
4
Before I’d left for college my dad had sat me down and told me, I had to let my mother go. He’d warned me there would come a time when my ambition would be tainted with her bitterness if I didn’t put her behind me. He’d explained that my determination and drive to excel had to be my own and not because my mother had told me I was worthless.
I thought about that conversation a lot through the years. What was my true motivation and purpose to push myself to succeed? Why did I always have the need to prove I was better than what she thought I was?
My dad was a good man if not a little selfish in some ways. He was also reflective and caring. He didn’t want me to carry the burdens my mother had piled on my shoulders.
His warnings had come to fruition. The day had come where I was holding onto the bad stuff, the bitter, the burden, the need to prove something that was not mine to prove. And it was going to get me killed. I was being stupid and I knew it. I needed Weston’s help. I needed them all but I didn’t know how to accept it graciously, so instead, I behaved like a bitch to show them all I was strong and capable.
But I was not capable of getting myself out of this mess. And as much as Weston had been a first-class dick, he’d been correct, I didn’t have mad gun skills. I couldn’t track down who had caught on to what I was doing and stop them. I couldn’t protect myself against a gang of drug dealers.
“Listen, Silver—”
I put my hand up to stop Weston. I hated that he no longer sounded angry. His tone had changed to gentle and compassionate. Two things I didn’t want from him.
“You’re right. Is that what you want to hear? I can’t do it on my own. But I don’t want to burden the rest of you with babysitting me.”
Damn, and I was back to eating crow and it tasted shittier this time around. I was tired of having to admit I was wrong.
A logical person would simply modify their behavior so they didn’t have to utter the admission. But unfortunately for me, I had a hard time with logic and an even harder time holding my tongue. Especially around Weston. He seemed to have the uncanny ability to reach inside of me and pull out the bitchiness.
“No, I want you to tell me you understand you’re in danger and you’ll stay here so I can protect you,” Weston said.
And that was when it happened. When I stopped being an irrational bitch and looked at Weston. Really saw him for the first time through clear eyes.
Instead of seeing him as an opponent, I considered the possibility that maybe he’d been trying to look out for me all along. Not that I liked the way he’d gone about it, but he’d done it all the same. Hadn’t he been the one to warn me in the first place? The rest of the men I’d met with were all too happy to let me be the one to board the ships and snoop around. After all, it was within my right to check the navigation charts.
But not Weston. From the very beginning, he’d expressed his concern for my safety.
“I understand. But…” I saw Weston’s eyes glitter with annoyance and rushed to finish, “I’d like to help.”
“How can you say you understand and still make that offer?” he inquired.
“I don’t mean, be on the front lines. But I have something to offer. I know those waterways. I know the routes they’d take and what time of day they’d take them. I’m aware I’m in danger. This isn’t me being stubborn, it’s me offering to help so we can wrap this up. The faster that happens, the faster I’m out of your hair and we can all get on with our lives.”
As true as that statement was, it was a depressing thought. My normal life consisted of working, going home alone, having an occasional beer with one of the guys I worked with, maybe talking to my dad on the phone if he had service, but mostly it consisted of me being by myself.
Pretty damn sad for a woman my age.
“I’ll take you back to your apartment so you can pick up what you need,” Weston offered.
“Do we have a deal?” I pressed.
“Yeah, your help will be needed.” Weston hadn’t stopped staring at me and something had changed—his light brown eyes were no longer spitting daggers at me, instead, they looked kind. Understanding. Gentle, even.
All the more reason for me to invest all of my time and energy into taking out the drug dealers. It was hard enough keeping my body’s reaction to Weston in check when he was being an asshole, I had a feeling it would be damn near impossible if he was being nice. And neither one of us needed me to throw myself at him, even if I really wanted to know what his hard muscles felt like under my hands. It would have to remain one of the many wonders of the world, never to be explored.
Fifteen minutes later I was in Weston’s Jeep Wrangler. But the surprising part was, I was wearing his sweatshirt. Before we’d left he disappeared upstairs, then minutes later reappeared with a hoodie and thrust it at me, explaining he still had the top and doors off his Jeep and he didn’t want me getting chilly.
It was thoughtful.
It was out of character.
It also made my belly whoosh.
I didn’t like this side of Weston, or more to the point, I really liked it—therefore he needed
to go back to being a jerk so I could continue to dislike him.
“Why a professional mariner?” he asked, pulling my attention from inspecting the interior of the Jeep. Which, just to add, was sparse. No radio, no bells and whistles of a new car, nothing. It was bare bones and weirdly it fit Weston.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about his personal question but I answered anyway.
“My dad—”
“You’re gonna have to speak up, babe.”
I started again, this time loud enough he could hear me over the street noise. “My dad is a boat captain. Has been most of his life. When I was growing up he wanted me to take over his dive business but the thought of taking inexperienced divers out day in and day out had no appeal. He’s also a part-time treasure hunter—always chasing the next big find. So even though I knew I didn’t want to follow in my dad’s footsteps I loved the water. And up until that point I’d lived on boats my whole life—”
“Lived on boats?” Weston cut me off.
“Yep. From the day I was brought home from the hospital to the day I left for maritime college. The first week I lived on dry land was a little strange.”
I left out the part about how I couldn’t sleep because the bed was too soft and too still. And the sounds freaked me out. I was used to being lulled to sleep by the rocking of the sea and the constant thrum of the engine noise that drown out all other sounds.
“And your mom?”
After all these years my reaction was involuntary and immediate. It happened every time someone asked about her and I was grateful Weston’s eyes were on the road and he couldn’t see how my body stiffened at the mention of her. “Is she a waterman, too?”
“I’m not sure what she is,” I told him, trying to keep my voice neutral.
“Come again?”
“She left when I was ten to go live in Florida. She’d come back and visit every few months and stay on the boat until she couldn’t take it anymore and leave again. When I was about fifteen she stopped coming around altogether. Two years later my dad was served with divorce papers and that was the last he heard from her.”
“Last he heard from her? What about you?”
“She ceased to exist for me when I was fifteen.”
“Damn, Silver, I’m sorry.”
I wasn’t, I was happy she left when she did and wanted nothing to do with me. Her last visit had been horrific. She and my dad had argued the whole time, and before she left, she told me I was nothing more than a water rat and would end up exactly like my dad—a loser with nothing to show for my life.
“Nothing to be sorry about. It was a long time ago, and trust me, my dad and I were better off with her gone.”
If it was so long ago, why do you still dwell on it?
I mentally chastised myself for going there and struggled to find something to steer the conversation away from my bitch of a mother.
“What about you?” I asked. “The Navy, huh? Did you always want to go into the military?”
“Yep. Though I thought I was gonna join the Air Force. I grew up in Montgomery, Alabama, next to Maxwell Air Force base. My mom’s a teacher and used to volunteer on the base as a STEM advisor, and my dad coached a youth baseball team on the base as well. Since my dad was the coach I got to play on the team. It was love at first sight. I knew then being on that base, seeing the comradery, feeling the sense of purpose and community, that the military was for me. I started learning everything I could about the military entrance exam, I studied day and night so I’d be ready to take the ASVAB. Mom wanted me to go to college first and enlist as an officer. Dad recognized I had no interest in going to college first and made me a deal. He’d support me, even sign the papers to allow me to enlist at seventeen if I promised to get a degree as soon as my GI bill came available.”
I was so enthralled with Weston’s story I barely noticed we were already in Chesapeake City going over the high-rise bridge.
“You can’t leave me hanging,” I complained. “What happened next?”
Weston chuckled and much to my surprise I found I really liked the sound. It was deep and rich and wholly manly.
Damn him.
Maybe I didn’t want to hear the rest of his story. Maybe I was better off thinking he was an animatronic robot who didn’t have what sounded like a good family, a past, a real life. It was easier to think of him as an unfeeling jerk who thought I was incompetent and unworthy of being a part of his operation.
“I took the ASVAB my senior year, scored exceptionally well, thanks in part to all my studying. The other part is credited to my school teacher mom who thought anything less than a four-point-oh GPA was unacceptable. My recruiter took one look at my ASVAB and PT scores and told me I’d be perfect for Special Reconnaissance. Once he’d mentioned special forces, I began to research more and found the Navy was where I wanted to be. The Air Force recruiter was not happy when I showed up with my parents a week later and signed a Navy contract.”
“I bet the recruiter was unhappy, but it sounds like you made the right choice.”
“Yeah, I did. Couldn’t imagine my life any other way.”
My eyes drifted closed and I wondered what that would be like, to be so happy with your life, with the decisions you’ve made, with the family you were born into, you couldn’t imagine any other life. I’d spent my life wishing my father hadn’t reproduced with the Spawn of Satan. How different would my life have been if my dad had picked someone else to be my mother?
The Jeep slowed and my eyes opened to find Weston pulling into my driveway. And suddenly I wondered what he’d think of my apartment. I loved it though I hadn’t done much to the interior, but the view of the canal and the twenty-minute drive to work was what had sold me on the location.
I wasn’t sure why I cared so much about what Weston thought of me or how I lived. It wasn’t like we were friends. Hell, in a few days when this was over, he’d forget all about me. But I guess old habits die hard.
5
Weston followed a very quiet Silver to the front of an old three-story brick building. She opened the front door and Weston quickly grabbed the door to allow her to precede him.
“I’m on the third floor.” Silver told him something he already knew.
Not that Weston would tell her, but he knew a lot about her. Not the personal stuff about her parents that she’d revealed during the drive, something that Weston couldn’t stop dwelling on. He’d wanted to ask more questions, find out why she thought she was better off without her mother in her life. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like not to have a mom who loved and supported him. Sure, his own mother had been strict when it came to his education, but Margie Beil was always around to help.
As they climbed the stairs, Weston thought about the things he did know about Silver—she was born in Florida, was homeschooled, went to the Maritime College in Delaware, graduated second in her class. She furthered her training and became a maritime pilot, and she belonged to the Delaware Pilots Association. She also had an ungodly amount of hours on the water.
Silver Coyle was smart, an exemplary captain, and when she forgot she had a chip on her shoulder the size of the Grand Canyon, she was easy to talk to and genuinely nice.
Too bad she remembered more than she forgot.
Silver stopped at a wall-mounted box that housed a fire extinguisher and opened the glass door. Before Weston could ask what she was doing she reached around behind the canister and retrieved a key.
“My purse with my keys are still at the boatyard,” she explained, and Weston wanted to kick himself in the ass for not remembering that important detail. “My spare.”
She held the key up for him to see and he stopped himself—though just barely—for berating her on her choice of hiding places.
“I’ll send someone to gather your stuff from the yard,” Weston told her as they walked down the hall to her door.
He knew her apartment occupied the entire third floor, therefore no one would use that hallway exce
pt for her, but he still didn’t like that there were only two overhead lights to illuminate the space. During the day, it wouldn’t be an issue with all of the large windows on the outside wall but at night it would be dim.
The tiniest prickle started at the base of his spine and he reached out and grabbed Silver’s hand, slowing her down.
“Does anyone else have a key to your apartment?” he asked softly.
“No. Just me.”
Weston’s gaze went to her door. His eyes zeroed in on the frame, and his free hand went to the holster on his hip.
“How sure are you that you closed your door all the way when you left for work?”
“What?” Her brows furrowed and he was fast learning she looked damn cute with her forehead wrinkled.
“The door, Silver. Did you close it all the way and lock it?”
“Of course I did. I use the deadbolt every time I leave.”
Shit, goddamn. He was worried she’d say that. The sidearm his hand had been hovering over cleared the holster and Silver’s gaze flitted to the gun before coming back to his face. Concern washed over her pretty features, and as much as he wished he could reassure her, he couldn’t. Not right then, while the fine hair on the back of his neck stood up and his instincts were screaming at him.
With a tug, Silver stumbled back and Weston quickly tucked her behind him.
“Just like before, stay at my back. If I tell you to run, you run.”
“Kay.”
Weston blew out a relieved breath when Silver didn’t hesitate or argue.
“Reach in my front right pocket and grab my keys.”
Silver’s hand dove into his pocket and fished around, bumping his dick in the process. The more her fingertips grazed the head of his cock, the harder it was to fight his body’s natural reaction to a beautiful woman touching him, even if she was innocently trying to find his keys. And it was most certainly the wrong time to get a hard-on.
Weston's Treasure Page 3
