by Tawny Weber
Her low battery signal beeped as another SEAL sauntered past.
"My battery's dying. I gotta go."
"Charge it and call me back."
Bliss peered through the window into the common room. Robbie, Jake, Fitch, and Dozer huddled around the dining table over a map. "My recharger is inside and I don't want to go there right now. Call you when I can."
When I don't have to pass Rob who no longer needs me and Jake who rejected me.
She dropped the phone on the table next to her laptop. She could edit that final chapter…if she could concentrate…
Maybe if the courtyard fountain was working, the soothing sounds of running water could have settled her brain. But the fountain was dry and the vegetation burnt brown by an unrelenting sun and neglect. Kind of prickly like a certain former SEAL.
She groaned just as Doc stepped out onto the veranda. "That sounds unsettling."
She offered him a weak smile. "Got a lot on my mind."
"I'm not surprised," he said, "given you were in a gunfight last night and the brother you must have thought dead shows up this morning."
She nodded, glad that's all the medic seemed to have noticed.
"I'd suggest a physical outlet."
Her mind going right to Jake and what had not happened between them, she gaped at Doc. "Physical outlet?"
"Follow me," he said, heading off along the covered perimeter of the courtyard.
Just what was Doc suggesting? Not that he wasn't appealing. Even a unit medic maintained a fighting fit form. But…
He called over his shoulder. "We got a fully loaded weight room back here."
A blush that had nothing to do with the heat of the day climbed her throat as she sprinted after Doc past closed doors, crew quarters most likely.
She stepped through an open door in the far corner of the courtyard, the first thing to hit her the nearly overwhelming scent of sweat and testosterone. The second was the sight four sweaty, muscular, bare-chested men working their bodies.
It was a romance writer's wet dream. Heck, it was any straight woman's dream.
Then why wasn't she all tingly? Had she been so long out of the dating world she'd lost her ability to be aroused?
Yeah, right. She didn't create great love scenes without feeling them.
Then there was that electrical charge that sizzled across her skin every time Jake was near.
"Where do you want to start?" Doc asked from a bank of lockers where he was stripping off his shirt.
The man had a nice six pack. Oddly, that was all she had to say about his body.
Spotting the treadmills along the far wall, she headed for them. "I haven't had a run since leaving Chicago."
"Start slow, warm up," Doc called after her.
She did a few stretches, set the treadmill at a healthy pace, and stepped aboard.
"Nice of you to join us for a run," Asher said from an apparatus along the adjoining wall, his shirt drenched and his brow beaded in sweat.
"You're working hard," she said.
"Have to get myself back up to SEAL standard," he said in a strained voice as he worked the weights with his leg, "or I'll be stuck monitoring security feeds for the rest of my life and miss all the fun in the field."
"Do you mind my asking what happened to your leg?"
"Got shot in the hip."
Shot. That one word took her back to last night in the factory yard, the hail of bullets, Jake dragging her back to the SUV. Jake being shot. Jake's reality.
"Do you guys get shot often?" she asked, trying to make sense of what Jake found attractive about his line of work.
Asher grinned. "We try not to."
"But you get shot at plenty?" she pressed.
"Occupational hazard."
"An occupation for adrenalin junkies," she muttered, punching up the speed of her treadmill.
"It's not all about adrenalin," Asher said with a grunt as he pushed through another revolution. "SEAL training gives us a very specific skill set, skills which aren't all that useful in the civilized world."
Renn had referenced Jake calling the world outside civilized.
She shook off the latent thought. The whole idea of this run was to clear her mind of all things troublesome, and that definitely included the Boss SEAL. She needed to decide what kind of scratching her itch needed.
"Why'd you become a SEAL?" she asked, belatedly realizing her question still lingered in the Jake zone when she should be… What? Flirting? Asher seemed a safe zone. Nothing serious about him.
But Asher got into his SEAL history sans sensitive details and she ran her treadmill, increasing its speed, increasing its incline until…
"Then my team got tasked to do an extraction. The mission should have been given to the team Jake was on, but they were on another extraction."
Just the mention of Jake made Bliss' heart skip a beat.
Damn.
"The mission went bad. We got pinned down."
"Is that when you got shot?"
He gave her a toothy grin, half pain half humor. "Not in the hip."
She wasn't sure she wanted to know more details.
"But that's how I met Jake."
She definitely didn't want to know more, yet she let Asher talk.
"Jake's team had completed their mission. They would normally have had some downtime after an assignment. But they knew the environment we were trapped in better than any other team. Every last man on that team volunteered to help us. That's the brotherhood of the SEALs."
Asher's smile took on a bittersweet line. "Jake's team got us and the hostages boarded on the helos."
Asher looked her in the eye, all hint of a smile gone. "But one of them got shot down."
She looked away, raised the incline of the treadmill another level, and fought her way through the workout as Asher disengaged from his apparatus.
"We each lost half our team that day."
Whether it was the sweat streaming off Bliss' brow or the tears she fought, her eyes stung. Asher tossed her a towel.
"You get to know a man real good after sharing something like that."
"Lady on deck," chorused the men, drawing her attention to the end of the room equipped with benches and wall-mounted hooks where a man stood naked save for the towel wrapped around his hips, steam trailing him from a door in the far wall.
"I'm sorry," she sputtered, turning off the treadmill and dismounting. "I should leave you guys to your space."
She glanced about for an escape route. Asher took her by the elbow and steered her through a set of French doors.
"This end of the workout room used to be part of the master suite until we remodeled. It was probably a sitting area or study," he said.
In spite of being downsized, the adjoining space was generous with beamed ceiling and terra cotta tiled floor that matched the front rooms of the hacienda in design. Rustic charm adorned with brightly colored tile around the fireplace and framed the doorways and windows. Nice…if one ignored the trio of metal framed bunks separated by lockers that made it look like a barracks.
She paused at the foot of the nearest bunk. "As owner of Saint Security, Jake could have taken the master bedroom."
"He's a practical man," Asher said. "The master suite can house six guys, eight in a pinch."
He was also a man who liked his privacy and the maid's quarters gave him that.
The thought slid through her mind unbidden. Why did she even care what he liked?
"But, without a full house," Asher went on, "we split up between this room and a couple smaller ones."
Near as she could tell, given all their comings and goings, there were ten men currently in residence. Not a full house. Just how many ex-military lived like this? How many Jake's were there in the world?
"Don't any of the guys have homes of their own?" she asked, the sad gray of the bedframes and lockers sucking the life out of the room—out of her.
"A couple married into local families."
She stroked the cold metal frame of the nearest bunk. "And the rest, when they're not here where do they go?"
"Back to their families in the states…those who have family."
Did that include Jake? He'd been vacationing at his sister's. He had a brother who'd expected a visit during his latest trip to the states.
But siblings weren't the same as a wife and children…as a family of one's own. Is that how he liked it?
"Yet they—you choose to work like you're still in the military?" she asked, knowing she was probing for an answer as to what drove Jake to choose this kind of life, helpless to stop herself.
"Private sector pays far better for our kind of services."
But Jake owned the business. He didn't need to go out into the field…unless he wanted to.
"Their families don't mind them being gone for so long?" she asked, wanting—needing more of an answer.
"Most are military wives. They're used to this lifestyle. Besides, the guys can pretty much sign on for whatever length of time they want or for specific jobs, unlike when they were in the military. In the private sector, they actually have longer down time with their families."
But Jake doesn't have the kind of family that requires long down time—long visits.
"And those who aren't married?" she pressed.
"Those of us with no one to return to mostly stay here."
Those of us with no one to return to.
The twinkle dimmed from Asher's eye. His cocky flirtatiousness made a good mask. What did Jake's SEAL persona hide? A gentleman? A soldier? A man? Which was he? Or was he all of them?
A red light flashed above the door. "What's that for?"
She barely got the words out before gunfire exploded. She ducked. Asher caught her by the upper arm and explained.
"Gun range is in use. Every room is equipped with a warning light, otherwise we'd all be on the run with our weapons at the ready every time someone target practiced."
"Good idea," she murmured, righting herself, her heart still pounding.
Asher released her and gave her a long look. "You learn fast."
"How's that?" she asked.
"Civilians like you have lived so long in safe conditions you've lost the instinct to duck when you hear gunfire."
"I did last night," she said with a grimace.
"That's what I mean. You learn fast."
Did she?
If so, why didn't she heed Jake's warning, that if he got into bed with her she'd regret it come morning?
Because it was the sort of thing she'd have written coming out of Savage's mouth. Savage—hot, sexual, but not a man to take advantage of a woman who expected more than he was willing to give.
There was her answer. She wanted Savage.
But her Savage doppelganger had expressed concern she expected more from him than a taste of her fantasy man. Jake who resisted the ways of the family he protected, who'd looked at her in her towel like she was a favorate morsel he denied himself.
No. Savage was the man she wanted.
"You have to see the master bath," Asher said, beckoning her to follow him.
She headed for a door in the far interior wall flanked by two trough-like sinks mounted beneath long mirrors. Another modification of barrack living.
This Jake she could walk away from. This Jake she could use as a substitute for Savage. She just had to convince him she was no longer the needy woman who'd invited him into bed—that she came to him with no strings attached.
Asher faced her from mid-master bath, a bathroom bigger than the entire maid's quarters. He spread his arms. "Showers to the one side and toilets to the other. Nice and practical for a bunch of men."
Practical and…sad. But she wasn't thinking about the master bath. She was still thinking of Jake, of how the modifications that'd carved much of the soul from the once grand hacienda—home—reminded her of him.
Stop it. Exploring the man behind the mask was not conducive to getting herself a taste of Savage. This seduction couldn't be anything more than a tryst.
Adrenalin junky. Sullen SEAL.
Wounded warrior.
She had no place in her life for a man as damaged as Jake.
Desperate for some levity, she nodded toward the far end of the room. "I bet there isn't a Jacuzzi in any other bathroom on site. How'd you manage to talk Mr. Practical into keeping it?"
"Used the old it'll be therapeutic argument."
The smile she'd pasted on her lips ached a little less—felt a little more genuine. Yes, lighten up just like Claire said; and Asher was the perfect guy to practice flirting on.
Asher glanced over her shoulder. She began to turn to see what had distracted him.
"Care to join me in a little water therapy?" Asher asked, pulling her attention back to him and his wagging eyebrows. "Takes a lot of water to fill that tub. Shame to waste it on just one person when it easily fits two, or even three."
Then again, maybe encouraging Asher wasn't a good idea. She gave him an I've-got-your-number chuckle. "Thanks for the tour, but I'll pass on the Jacuzzi."
At which she turned and ran smack dab into a wall of rock hard muscles.
Jake caught Bliss by the upper arm as she bounced back from him. He glared at Ash, a low growl rumbling in his throat.
Ash winked. "Just remember she said 'no'."
He'd figured out what Ash was up to the minute his friend had glanced at him when he entered. Still, he cursed Ash. Bad enough his siblings pushed at him to find a girl and join their world, now his best friend was playing matchmaker.
"Is something wrong?" Bliss asked, her voice shaky and silky at the same time.
When he hadn't found her on the terrace—when he'd spotted the open door to the workout room, it crossed his mind she might have gone looking for the comfort he hadn't given her last night. Finding her alone with Ash raised his hackles, even if Ash knew better than to play within the compound walls.
Still, she was blushing…that damnable blush he liked way too much. And it looked like she was blushing because of Ash.
Jake cursed again and hauled her through the barracks and out onto the veranda.
"Did I do something wrong?" she asked, tripping along at his side, an odd coyness to her voice.
Coy? What the hell had she morphed into now?
"It's not safe for you to wander around back here," he grumbled.
"Why?" she all but puckered. "You got landmines planted in the courtyard?"
"Ash tends to collect conquests." Truth enough even though he wouldn't do it here.
"He's a huge flirt, Jake, but I'm a big girl who knows how to handle a come-on line."
He all but dragged her past the workout room's doorway. That she'd even passed through that room of men in full workout mode made him grit his teeth. "Men away from home do stupid things, and all the men here are away from home."
"Those married to locals aren't away from home," she countered.
"Ash has been running off at the mouth."
"He was filling me in on how things work around here—how the guys with families handle long separations."
"That's what I mean. You wander around here learning things about us."
"And that's bad why?" she chirped.
Stopping in front of a barred, blacked-out window, he released her. She planted her hands on her hips and cocked her chin at him. What was she doing?
And why were they arguing? And about something nearly as stupid as their debate on the talk show set about writing stuff. How did she draw him into silly disputes?
Enough.
"We can't figure out where in Guanajuato your brother shot that metal door. Him and his friend were pretty scared when they ran. Didn't take note of where they were. Just high-tailed it to where they were staying."
The pucker fell away from her mouth and her hands slipped from her hips.
"All we know is the trouble he's in is about whatever they ran into behind that door."
"Is it about dr
ugs?" she asked, nothing cutesy about her tone now. "I heard you ask Fitch to check out the local drug lord."
"You've been worrying about drug lords all day?"
She folded her arms across her stomach, drawing in her shoulders. "I've seen reports on what Mexican drug lords do to the people that get in their way."
"Rob's problems aren't drug related."
"How can you be so certain?"
"No drug lord would have taken two years to track him. And that beating he took—" Jake shook his head "—if a drug cartel was involved, he'd have come back with parts missing…if he'd come back at all."
"But you asked Fitch to check out the Guanajuato drug lord."
"I like to know who the power players are wherever I go so I know whose toes not to step on."
"So the plan is to go to Guanajuato and search for this metal door?" she asked.
"We'll fly north after dinner, hunker down in the hotel for the night, and get an early start in the morning. Hopefully, we'll find it and figure out who wants Rob silenced."
Her eyes narrowed. "We does include me, doesn't it?"
"And if it doesn't?"
She squared her shoulders, determination darkening her eyes. "I'll fly to Guanajuato on my own."
"Yeah. I figured you would," he said as he punched in the code on the panel between the solid door and barred window. "That's why I want you packing."
The door swung open, he stepped inside and flicked on the light. She followed, her eyes widening as she scanned the contents of the room.
"This is a bigger arsenal than a lot of third world countries have."
"You haven't seen the arsenals of any third world countries lately," he said, guiding her away from the grenade launchers towards a rack of handguns. "See anything you like?"
Her gaze slid over the selection with an appreciation he liked. A city girl who wrote romances yet liked guns.
Ah, but she was also J.B. Cooper, creator of man of action, Nick Savage.
"This one," she said, selecting the slimmest handled Sig Sauer in the collection, the very one he'd have chosen for her.
She ejected the clip and checked the chamber before feeling the fit in her palm.
Safety first. Good girl.
"You learn that in one of your police academy writing seminars?" he asked.
