Chapter Nine
Delta moved through a shadowy bar not far from Venice Beach, finding his way to the back patio that looked out over the Pacific Ocean, the sun setting before him. It had been days since he’d been in Kendra’s back yard, but it felt like months. He’d been damn busy. Each limb had its own level of pain and exhaustion—and no amount of lying in bed that afternoon had helped. He pushed through, determined not to show weakness.
A tall man with dark hair, graying at the temples, stood from a table in the corner of the patio as Delta approached. A wild smile crossed his mouth as he greeted his old friend.
“Don’t you sleep anymore?” Carrick Byrne said as he shot out his hand to slap with Delta’s. “I’d have thought time away from the platoon would do you some good.”
“It hasn’t been much of a vacation,” Delta replied and nodded to the third man there. “Chief.”
A serious man with reddish hair and bright blue eyes nodded back curtly. The platoon’s boss, Leading Chief Petty Officer Warren Cameron, raised his drink—a stout, already half-drank.
“Finally, the man of honor, our own military hero, graces our presence.”
“Give it a rest,” Delta groaned, signing to the waitress to bring another round. “Don’t give me that bullshit—not from you guys.”
Carrick chuckled, taking a gulp of his brew. Something in his face seemed lighter, happier than Delta had ever seen him.
“Enjoying marital bliss?” Delta grunted at his best friend, raising his eyebrow.
“Hell yeah,” Carrick grinned, leaning back on his chair, glancing out over the crashing waves of the ocean. “Wife and a kid—I’m living the dream. You should try it sometime.”
“I think I have enough problems on the go.” Delta shook his head, flexing his jaw and dismissing the possibility altogether.
Just few months earlier, Carrick’s son had been born—nine months after Carrick had gotten married in a beachside affair. A part of Delta tweaked with jealousy, knowing he’d never have that for himself.
“I wouldn’t think a man receiving the Medal of Honor would have problems,” Warren said, his cunning eyes watchful. He saw right through Delta—always had. “Care to share?”
Delta opened his mouth to make something up, but the waitress appeared with a tray of freshly poured stouts, plunking down the dark pints in front of each man. Delta licked his lips, feeling thirstier than he’d thought. He brought the stout to his mouth, savoring the roasted caramel flavor, ingesting the only vitamins he was getting these days.
But Warren wouldn’t let up.
“You are still going to the ceremony, right?” the chief pressed, pushing up his shirt sleeves as he studied Delta, who sat across the table from him. “Not every day this medal is handed out.”
A frosted beer glass in his hand, Delta turned it in contemplation. A warning tone escaped his mouth. “It shouldn’t be me getting it. It’s not right, man.”
Both Carrick and Warren raised their eyebrows, leaning in. It was clear that drinks with the guys had a purpose that night. They were there to pressure him.
“I knew you weren’t planning on showing up,” Carrick said, his elbows on the table. “Ever since we got back, you’ve been twisted. This isn’t you.”
“You can’t just not go to a goddamn White House ceremony that is specifically for you, you fucking cocksucker,” Warren lambasted, as if Delta had totally lost it. “The damn President is taking time out of his day to award you this medal. Tell me, buddy. Have you reached such heights of narcissism that you are really going to snub our commander-in-chief?”
Pushing the brutal words away, forcing them to roll off his back like bath water, Delta shook his head, taking a swig of his heavy pint. Neither of his friends understood. Neither of them knew who he had become, what he’d done. He wasn’t about to tarnish the values he’d fought so hard for.
“Just stop,” Delta growled, averting his eyes.
“You fucking saved an American hostage, man,” Warren argued. “You brought down an entire compound and took fucking bullets to get that guy out alive. Come on.”
“You don’t know everything.” Delta shrugged the words off, reaching up to touch the scar on his temple that was goddamn throbbing.
“Don’t forget that I was there,” Warren reminded, nodding to Delta’s scar. “That hostage wasn’t the only life you saved that day. What am I missing?”
A silence filled the space where the three men sat, and Delta felt their intense eyes on him. They wanted him to accept the medal on behalf of all of them, but he couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right. Warren stood, grunting about how he didn’t have time for bullshit and was off to find the pisser. As he moved away from the table, he left Carrick and Delta alone, staring at each other.
“You don’t look right, man,” Carrick assessed, eyeing his friend, probably for material damage. “What have you been up to?”
“Working.” Delta shrugged but kept it very vague.
Carrick narrowed his eyes. “Working on what? You are on vacation, last time I checked.”
Delta opened his mouth to argue but decided to leave it at that. He didn’t need any more questions.
Before Carrick could challenge further, his cell phone rang in his pocket, and he flipped it out. Taking the call, he motioned ‘one minute’ to Delta and moved to the side of the patio where there were no tables. Delta watched his friend—a determined professional, a retired SEAL—who was trying damn hard to make his private security business work. It wasn’t easy transitioning from special operator, from SEAL, to real life. Carrick had made it look easy.
Delta was struggling.
Needing a distraction, Delta flipped out his phone and fingered through his notifications. Nothing new. Well, nothing interesting. Alone, sifted through an old text conversation…one that he hadn’t replied to. It was Kendra. It was the last message she’d sent him, almost a year ago…
Coffee? the old message read.
He’d typed a thousand replies but hadn’t sent any of them. It was never clear to him what she wanted and what she meant. The only thing that was clear was that he was unfit to be with anyone. Things at work had gotten more intense and the battle rhythm was untenable, making him into someone he didn’t recognize.
He’d deployed again to Syria not long after he’d seen her last, believing he’d be returning home in a casket. So, he’d never responded to her, figuring she was better off without him. Selfishly, he knew he was better off without her in his life, too. From the moment he’d met her, he’d known. She’d captured his attention like no other. He was drawn to her, and that was why he couldn’t.
Shouldn’t.
Wouldn’t.
But, damn—his thoughts trailed, as he remembered what her ass felt like, gripping her cheeks, slamming his cock into her…but Warren’s voice coming up behind him broke him out of his head.
“You know, I used to have a saying.” Warren grunted as he sat down at the table again.
“And what was that?” Delta asked, dropping his forearms on the table, trying to appear more relaxed than he was.
Warren leaned in. “When you see someone with a medal, look to the guy beside him. That’s the guy who probably deserved it more.” And his eyes flitted to Carrick, who was joining them again.
Delta stared at Carrick, who shot him a grin.
“Damn right—I nominate Carrick,” Delta agreed, wincing from the pulsing deep under the scar on his temple.
Delta could still feel the burning knife from that day—and how it had hurt when the enemy sentry had cut open his face as he’d taken him down. The doctors called it ghost pain, but it was real to him.
“You really don’t want it, huh?” Carrick shook his head, grinning. “Why don’t they just give it to Timber? Your dog’s the real hero out of this.”
“Fuck yes,” Delta grinned, taking another gulp of beer.
“She’s seen more action than half the SEALs out there.”
Delta la
ughed with his two friends, chugging back pints and turning the conversation from serious to casual.
“What are you driving these days?” Carrick nodded to Warren, the man with a Hellcat addiction. The two of them dove into a conversation on pickup trucks—and who had a bigger hemi. Warren won on that—but he always did.
Delta tried to pay attention, but his mind was elsewhere, enjoying the lingering taste of his trailing memories. As if to reward him, his phone vibrated in his pocket, and his muscles unconsciously flexed. He couldn’t get his phone out fast enough. Kendra?
Pulling it out, he saw it wasn’t her. Of course, it wasn’t her. She’d made it damn clear where they stood. Nowhere. He’d never hear from her again, not if she could help it, which of course only drove him harder. He was nothing if not competitive.
Checking the display on his phone, there was an unread message from a training contact he had saved as ‘Sky’.
Target is leaving town. Headed up north.
He wrote back instantly, leaning forward and alert as hell.
How far is she?
Sky responded immediately.
Thirty-minute lead. I would have gone after her, but I’ve got eyes on your staff sergeant.
Wasting no time, Delta jumped up from his chair, nearly knocking over the empty pint glass in front of him. Both guys at the table snapped toward him, likely trying to figure out what the hell he was doing.
“I’ve got to go.” Delta threw cash down on the table. “Sorry, gents.”
The tracking beacon he’d put on Kendra’s rental car had a tendency to go dark when he needed it most. He needed better equipment.
“Where’s the fire?” Warren asked suspiciously, standing with him.
Carrick stood as well. “Buddy, you don’t seem good.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Delta dismissed his friends.
He casually saluted them both, unwilling to say anything. He spun and marched off the patio, taking a rear staircase that led farther down into the marina beside them—into the shadows of the night. Reaching into the back of his jeans, he adjusted the pistol he always carried concealed, comforted by the steel’s presence.
“Hey,” Warren called after him in the dark alley between buildings, “wait up.”
Delta rotated, seeing his friend and boss appear in the shadows. He remained silent, feeling his phone vibrating again in his pocket.
“What are you up to?” Warren asked in a low, serious tone. “I know you, man. Something isn’t right.”
“I’m fine,” Delta lied. “Seriously, I’ve just got stuff to take care of.”
“Stuff?” Warren probed.
“Stuff.”
“I need you to deploy in two weeks. I’m questioning if I need to get you assessed first.”
Delta raised his eyebrows, knowing what that meant. “I’m good. I’ll be there.”
Warren crossed his arms, a threatening tone taking over. “What aren’t you telling me?”
The challenge was clear. Delta squared his shoulders, flexing his fists. The guy was like his brother, and that meant they’d fought…a lot.
“Are you seeing her again?” Warren quizzed. “Is that what this is?”
“Who?”
“Your lady cop.” Warren’s gaze intensified. “She gets under your skin, huh?”
“My business is my own,” Delta growled, making his boundaries understood.
Warren clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Stubborn, as always. Like a mule.”
“Like a bull,” Delta corrected his friend and turned to leave. “I’ll see you in two weeks.”
“I’ll find out,” Warren called after him as Delta made his way away down the alley. “I always do.”
Delta cocked his head over his shoulder and casually grinned. “Be my guest.”
Exiting the dark space, Delta rattled his keys in his fingers, coming into the bar’s parking lot. Today, he hadn’t taken the truck. Jumping on the back of his Harley, he inserted the keys and revved.
Warren was onto him and wasn’t going to let up. That wasn’t his style. Delta admitted to himself that he had a choice. Show Warren what he’d taken when he’d broken into the lab—or hide it, fall on his sword or wait to be found out.
Chapter Ten
Spinning through Bakersfield, Kendra listened to the directions blasting through her car’s console. She’d just finished doing what she needed to do, but dusk was setting in. She was vibrating with anxiety. It was much later than she’d wanted to be out, but the stopover at home had taken longer than she’d planned. Though that was par for the course these days.
Kendra’s life had significantly changed over the past year, between pregnancy and delivering her son. Before she’d come back to work about a month before, she had hardly left the house except for hospital appointments and groceries. She didn’t know if it was in her head, but she swore that people had seemed to look at her funny when she’d had that big pregnant belly and no wedding ring.
It’s like they’d known—and she’d felt that shame, that guilt. She’d let it happen to her.
She rolled down the road in the unfamiliar city, wondering what she’d do if the DNA results weren’t the ones she was hoping for? She had left the sample with her trusted colleague at the Bakersfield lab—someone she knew would keep things discreet. It was a good thing they had the equipment to finalize what her lab had started.
Letting out a deep, forced breath, hands gripping the steering wheel, she reminded herself that she just had to be patient. They’d regrow the DNA string via the optimizer and assess. Were there irregularities or not?
She found her way into the downtown core, finally parking in the hotel lot. Gazing into the drab lobby, her stomach sank. It was one of those last-minute discount hotels, but now, she found herself questioning if she should even bother. Sure, it was late, but shouldn’t she just drive home? God, she wanted to just be with her son. She felt so stretched being away from him. But home was hours away, and text messages from her sister reassured her that her baby was happy as a clam.
The memory of being spun off the road and nearly crashing down the Malibu hillside flashed to the front of her mind, causing her hands to tremble. Her tired brain grew dizzy momentarily, making up her mind for her. As much as she’d rather be home, it would be safer to spend the night. She wasn’t fully recovered from the crash, emotionally or otherwise. Traversing back through the rocky ridges between Bakersfield and Malibu seemed like a bad idea. She had to think about more than one life now.
Kendra got out of the rental, throwing her overnight bag over her shoulder as she marched on the darkened pavement toward the hotel entrance. In strappy sandals, girlfriend jeans and a relaxed, white-knit top, she blended in with the up-tempo young people moving around the sidewalks as they found their way to whatever nightly entertainment they had planned.
At the side of the hotel, she paused, suddenly getting that weird feeling that someone was watching her. An eerie sensation climbed up her body, and instinctively she whipped out her cell phone. Covertly glancing around, her heart pounding, she prayed it wasn’t real.
Kendra swiveled her head around, analyzing her surroundings. There was no one, and nothing suspicious presented. She was alone on the edge of the small hotel parking lot, which was framed by other downtown buildings. Still, she couldn’t deny the prickles running up her back. Someone was watching her.
Am I imagining things? She tried to calm herself, taking in a deep breath. Bitterly, she recalled Delta’s warnings and his suggested deal.
“He’s just playing games,” she muttered, trying to reassure herself. “Selfish prick.”
Accidents happened all the time in the Malibu hills, she told herself again and again. No one was trying to drive her off the road. She couldn’t play into Delta’s hands. There was nothing to be scared of. Delta hadn’t shown her any evidence that she should be worried, but he had shown her evidence that he was willing to use her. Who knew what his agenda was?
She fell against the concrete side of the building, instinctively deploying her Lamaze breathing. Her ring finger felt as lonesome as she’d been, going through pregnancy and childbirth alone. The doctor had been so confused. What did she mean, her husband wouldn’t be attending? She wasn’t married. Did she even know the father?
The couple on the street released from their kiss, whispering privately. It both sickened Kendra and drove a need deep inside her. It was in that split second that she finally admitted that she had to let go. Delta, like an addiction, got her so high and made her so low. All year long she just couldn’t stop thinking about him and feeling so damn angry.
She watched the couple continue walking up the street, nearly craning her neck to see them go. Distant tropical music slipped into her senses from the very direction they walked, and her focus drifted to a lively tiki bar. Maybe she should trade one addiction for another? Maybe she should get drunk, call him and tell him everything. Or maybe she should just say ‘fuck it’ and grab a pina colada. It really had been a day.
And so that was exactly what she decided to do.
Within ten minutes, Kendra found herself letting her ponytail out and releasing her blonde locks over her tan shoulders as she leaned over a tiny, sticky bar, sipping on a delicious, fresh pina colada. She loved a bar that used real coconut, and that hipster joint was all over it. The sweet taste of the beachy drink lingered in her mouth as she flipped through her phone, muting every friend on social media who was showing off engagement pictures. She had to take care of her own mental health.
Under Pressure Page 7
