by Tawny Weber
The next thing he knew he'd spent a couple hours in his bed tossing and turning, and he was anything but well rested. He sat up and swung his legs to the floor wishing he'd given Rob his bed instead of putting him in the infirmary bunk. Jake pushed himself to his feet and padded barefoot into the kitchen, automatically turning to the coffee pot.
No. The last thing he needed was caffeine. Peeking out into the main living area, all he saw were a couple team members manning the surveillance screens.
He headed toward the back of the building, feeling naked in fatigues and a tee. When had he become so accustomed to carrying a sidearm that being without one made him feel less than fully dressed?
Since somewhere in pre-buds days. Seemed like another lifetime ago, one in which he might have liked to get to know Bliss O'Hara better.
But he was a different man now, and to return to his room for his gun would mean running the risk of crossing paths with Bliss, the one woman who reminded him of all he'd given up searching for a connection to his genetic past. Hell, Bliss was likely in the old study-turned infirmary with her brother. She could step out into the common area at any moment.
His mind on escaping the hacienda unnoticed, Jake was out the courtyard door and one stride away from the hammock hanging between the veranda supports when an acidic but decidedly feminine voice called out to him. "Let me guess. SEALs don't need as much sleep as us mere mortals."
He turned toward the voice and found Bliss curled up in an over-sized rattan chair in a tank top and shorts, her laptop balanced on her bare knees. She'd said she was going to tuck Rob into bed, then get to work on the suggestions he'd made on her manuscript—that she was eager to end all this.
He was more distracted than he realized that he hadn't considered she'd work on her manuscript out here. Or maybe that eager to end all this comment cut deeper than he cared to admit.
Emotions. This is why a SEAL trained to block out his emotions when on a mission. But Bliss wasn't the mission. Finding her brother was, and he'd done that. But her brother was still in danger and, now, maybe her, too. Could this job get any more complicated?
A silent curse echoed between his ears and he turned back toward the house. "Sorry. I'll leave you to your work."
"As long as you're here," she said, stopping him before he could take another step. "I have a question about your redlining this particular tactic."
She turned the laptop around, inviting him closer. "I've read this exact type of action in numerous books. I don't see where I'm revealing any secrets by using it."
Moving to her side, he read the marked passage. He shouldn't have redlined it, but he'd been angry he'd been blackmailed into editing her manuscript.
"You can keep that one in," he said, starting to turn away.
"And there's this section," she said, stopping him as she scrolled to another page.
He groaned. His heavy-handed editing was backfiring on him. However, the particular extraction method described on the computer page she showed him was of a sensitive nature.
"I prefer not to reveal to the whole world I stuffed the CEO of a Fortune 500 company into an over-sized speaker shell in order to sneak him past his kidnappers. I might want to use that method again."
"Okay," she said without argument. "That's understandable. Help me come up with another interesting way of rescuing the guy."
Jake sighed, pulled up a rattan ottoman, and sat next to her. It was going to be a long morning.
He agreed to let her keep the setting of the party at the drug lord's estate. That was generic enough. But her alternate method of smuggling the kidnapped CEO…
"Making up the CEO as a woman—"
"A groupy," she corrected.
"That's some imagination you have," he said, impressed.
"Is it revealing too much if I leave in that a couple of your team were skilled enough musicians to infiltrate the band?" she asked, sounding all business while her eyes still shimmered with emotions he refused to explore.
"Actually," he said, maintaining a business tone of his own, "none of my team played with the band. We infiltrated the party by being the band's muscle. The roadies who set things up."
The corners of her eyes crimped with thought. "If I make the kidnapped CEO a groupy, he-she has to leave with one of the team which means one of them has to be in the band."
"So stick one of them on stage," he muttered, giving the hammock a longing look.
She brightened, her fingers flying over the keyboard. "I know exactly which team member has to be part of the band. Savage."
Struck by how quickly her imagination took her story to another level—how quickly her mind switched gears, Jake asked, "Is this how writers work?"
"Yes. Now stop distracting me," she said, her fingers typing faster than a SEAL rope rappelling from a helicopter. "The reader sees the extraction through Savage's mind, through his limited point of view. Brings the reader deeper into the tension by taking them inside Savage whenever he checks his watch, thinking where each team member should be, what they should be doing, whether they're getting the job done or have run into trouble. Savage will be crazed that he's missing out on the real action—that he isn't in the thick of it, controlling it."
Jake's gut twisted. He knew exactly what Savage would be feeling. Every time he went on a mission, no matter how much they prepared and practiced, there were things beyond his control; things that could ruin a mission, get a team member hurt or killed. He hated not being in control.
"Yeah," she said, fingers working the keyboard. "Savage the guitarist. Accomplished enough he's called on for a solo rift. Adds another mystery element to him."
"SEALs prefer to stay in the shadows," Jake said.
"Didn't stop you from stepping onto the set of a nationally broadcasted talk show as my alter-ego," she snapped, her typing not missing a beat.
"I thought you said that show was internationally broadcasted."
"I lied," she said, not a note of apology in her voice.
An involuntary smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Why would a nice Midwestern girl like you lie to me?"
"Who told you I was nice?"
"You're still angry that I didn't let you in on the plan about Rob's call."
Her fingers stilled and she looked up at him, her eyes dark and shiny, her voice tight. "I'm not angry about the call. I understand why you did it. I'm just…"
She blinked, her gaze shifting to the courtyard beyond him. "It's everything. I've never been in a gunfight. I've never been accused of leading anyone into an ambush. And I've never seen anyone shot before." Her voice caught.
What about his walking away from her invitation? Surely no man had ever walked away from any invitation from her before. Or didn't his rejection mean that much to her?
She met his gaze with shimmering eyes. "I think that's enough to shake anyone up."
And there it was in those wounded, green eyes. The unspoken topic of his walking out on her hung in the air between them. It did matter to her…and to him. But…
Don't get further involved. Don't draw her out. Walk away.
"I'm sorry," he said, fully aware he was doing exactly what his analytical mind warned him against doing.
A sad smile pulled across her lips. "What do we do now, Jake?"
He groaned inwardly. Finally, she was bringing up the proverbial elephant in the room. What happened, or rather what didn't happen between them last night.
"I've gotten Robbie back, but whoever wants him eliminated is still out there. He's afraid they'll follow us home and come after me."
She was talking about her and her brother, not her invitation that he'd rejected. That was a relief. Right?
"For now, you hole up in the compound," Jake said. "Our next move is to figure out what Rob saw that makes him such a threat, and to whom."
Chapter 9
Bliss banged around the kitchen, piling sliced tomatoes, onions, and cheeses onto a platter. Robbie had stepped out onto the veranda
as Jake was spelling out their next plan of action. Then the two had retreated into the house to work on identifying the locations of Robbie's photos, leaving her alone with the one question she didn't ask that she'd wanted answered gnawing at her. Why did you walk out on me last night?
And an annoyance with Jake she couldn't shake.
She really did understand why he'd left her in the dark about Robbie's call. Same for why he'd over-edited her manuscript. And his walking onto that talk show stage pretending to be her alter-ego… If he hadn't, she wouldn't have even known where to start looking for Robbie when he went missing.
An hour of half-hearted editing later, the lingering irritation nagged her into needing a less cerebral and more physical occupation. So she'd sought out her usual comfort zone, the kitchen. The local woman who cooked for the team would be bringing in dinner tonight, but the guys still needed lunch.
She carried the tray to the dining room table where she unloaded the sides next to the ham sandwiches. No need to announce lunch. It was midday and the guys not off on jobs had been wandering in and out of the kitchen while she'd worked, voicing their appreciation that someone else was preparing lunch.
Which was more than Jake had done. She hadn't heard a word from him since he and Robbie had put their heads together over a computer screen filled with Robbie's pictures.
As the team members filed around the table, Bliss' focus slid across the wide room to her brother and Jake. Neither made a move toward the food on the table.
Her gaze snagged on Jake's broad shoulders, shoulders she'd cried on last night. Shoulders she'd clung to as he'd carried her to his bed.
Then rejected her invitation to stay. What kind of man refuses a naked woman's invitation?
A man of honor?
Or a man who found her lacking?
No. She'd seen longing in his eyes before he'd covered her and walked out. This man who'd been harboring her brother, working with him while she'd spent the last two years separated from her only living family, worrying over his well-being. She was still Robbie's sister, the woman who raised him half his life and Jake… Jake was just his boss. Maybe this lingering antagonism toward him was nothing more than a touch of jealousy.
Well, she was here now. Sister-in-residence.
She dropped the empty tray on the table, strode across the room, and placed her hands on her brother's shoulders. "Lunch is on the table. You need to eat."
"I'm fine," he muttered.
Jake's eyes flicked her way, not quite a glance. But there'd been a hint of guilt in that near look. But for what? Last night? This morning? For seeing Robbie grow from boy to man while she missed the experience?
"You're on the mend," she said to her brother. "You need to keep your strength up."
"Really, Sis, I can take care of myself," he said, shrugging off her hands.
She stepped back, her brother's words jolting. When had Robbie stopped needing her?
Since one of his friends was murdered, another tortured, and the business he'd been working for blown up. He'd stopped relying on her the day he went on the run from whoever wanted him and everyone else connected to that game eliminated. A danger he still faced.
"Find out who the local drug lord is in Guanajuato," Jake said to the team member working the computer next to him and Robbie.
And another danger rears its ugly head. What if this was about drugs rather than the game? The mere thought of drug lords made Bliss' blood run cold. She'd read—seen plenty of news reports about what drug lords did to people they wanted eliminated.
She steadied herself against the back of the leather couch, her gaze honed on the dusty yard beyond the front windows where SUVs and trucks were backed against razor wire topped walls. The place was a fortress. This was Robbie's—Rob's—life now. It was what he needed. But how long could he hide out here?
How long could she when the only man who seemed able to fix all this was the one man who'd stirred a desire in her that she'd put on the backburner the day she'd taken on parenting Robbie?
She couldn't be attracted to Jake St. John. His was a world full of drug lords and gun battles. He wore knives and guns and tactical gear on a daily basis. The attraction had to be because he reminded her of Savage. She'd seen her hero in him the minute he'd walked onto the talk show stage—seen him in those incredible Savage blue eyes.
Eyes she'd never been able to describe to her liking.
So St. John had Savage's eyes…and build. All those muscles. Hard. Sculpted.
And his attitude. Short on words. Quick on action.
But Savage had a tender side. A conscience. And Jake…
The memory of Jake's arms closing around her and carrying her to his bed flooded her with a warmth she'd been too long without.
Don't get suckered in. He just happens to share some of the attributes I gave Savage. It can't be anything more than chemistry.
And chemistry had crackled between them the moment he'd sat down in the limousine knee to knee with her. Liar. It had started on the talk show set in front of an audience of millions. They'd sparred as though there'd been no one else in the world but them. Chemistry. That's all.
Time to get back to reality, the one outside this compound. Since that was physically impossible, she headed out the back door to the terrace and called her agent, telling Vi she'd have the manuscript to her by the weekend so she could hand it off to the editor on Monday.
She also told Vi she was out of the country, but stopped short of telling her where, why, and with whom. The bug had been removed from her phone, but she wasn't taking any chances of revealing anything about Jake's location.
She didn't call Lu for a different reason. One word about being out of the country and Lu would turn her absence into a media blitz about her running off, and with J.B. Cooper. Little would the woman know the truth of her speculations. But Bliss needed to dump on someone.
Claire picked up on the second ring. "Hey mystery traveler, glad to have you back. I've written myself into a corner and need your help."
Bliss smiled. Leave it to Claire, good neighbor, fellow writer, and best friend to anchor her in the real world.
"My shapeshifter dragon," Claire continued, "simply can't find a way to rescue my heroine without burning the fortress down, which would likely kill the woman he's trying to rescue. And if he shapeshifts back into human form to fit through the window, he falls to the ground."
"She's in a tower, right?" Bliss asked, knowing Claire's penchant for castles.
"I know. Cliché. But it creates such a romantic setting."
"The popular belief these days is dragons climb like bats, right?"
"Yeah, but that still doesn't get him inside the tower."
"It gets him to her window where he can melt the bars with his fiery breath, and she can climb out on him."
"Arg. Where's my brain been? Can I come over and hash out a few other things with you?"
Bliss clung to the normalcy of that request, pretending for a moment that only a wall rather than thousands of miles separated them. She must have been silent too long as Claire came back with, "You're not home, are you?"
"No."
"Damn," Claire said. "That means you didn't find Robbie yet. And here I was prattling on about a silly story."
"Actually—" She caught herself before saying Robbie was safe. The bug might be gone, but she was still skittish about any leaks.
"—everything's okay here," she said instead.
"Then you found Robbie."
"Let's leave it at he's safe."
"Okay," Claire said, drawing out the word, a telltale sign she'd play along. "So, you coming home soon? Need a pickup from the airport?"
Bliss sighed, her calmness evaporating. "Not for a while."
A short silence was followed by a sober, "What's up, girlfriend?"
This bug situation had her second guessing what she dared say, and she settled for a vague, "Just checking in."
"The hell you are. Something's going
on with you. C'mon, talk to the Secret Keeper."
Bliss smiled at Claire's reference to her super hero name. She really did want a friendly shoulder to cry on.
What the hell. If someone was still listening, which Jake had assured her had gone south with the bug, she'd already given them two years of bemoaning the lack of romance in her life.
"You know that guy who showed up on the talk show as J.B. Cooper?" she asked.
Claire made a little humming sound. "The crazy gorgeous SEAL you took off with? Oh yeah."
"I look at him and I see Savage."
"Does that mean you're living out your fantasy of sleeping with one of your heroes?"
Bliss groaned. "I should never have told you that fantasy of mine."
"So you did sleep with him!"
"No. But… It's complicated."
"You want to bed your fantasy man. You're with a gorgeous, testosterone laden SEAL who reminds you of Mr. Fantasy. Loosen up, O'Hara. You are way overdue to get laid. Seduce him."
Recalling how Jake had walked away from her last night, a strangled groan escaped Bliss.
"Don't tell me you already tried and that the jerk rejected you."
"It's not that black and white."
"Whatever. He's a fool." A few seconds of silence from Claire was followed by, "Does it have to be that particular SEAL? You've got to be surrounded by a bunch of hot bods. Surely any one of them can scratch that itch of yours."
As if on cue, a trio of hard bodies streamed out from the common room, patting their tummies with one hand and giving her a thumbs-up with the other. But none of them made her insides stand on alert.
"I don't know," she said through a sigh, watching the trio of fatigue-clothed butts saunter away. They really were nice butts.
"Or is this about Savage?" Claire quizzed. "That's what you have to decide. Do you want Savage, or do you simply need your itch scratched?"
