Going Dark

by Monica McCarty

  But Dean didn’t give a shit about the police. He yanked off his mask, tossed it in the water next to him, and pulled her into his arms.

  She was alive. That was all that mattered.

  Thank God, he’d arrived in time. But it would be some time before the image of her gasping for breath and trying not to panic faded from his memory. He was too torn up to say anything—emotion stuck in his throat like a logjam.

  He was glad that she’d lifted off her mask, because it made it easier when he kissed her—kissed the hell out of her. It was as if all the emotion, all the bundled-up tension, all the panic and fear gave loose in a fierce—savage—explosion of need. He’d almost lost her, and he wasn’t ever going to let that happen again.

  She was kissing him back with the same ferocity. A tangle of lips, tongues, and salt water. Frigid salt water.

  He wanted to go on kissing her forever, but he had to get out of this water. He pulled back and looked into her eyes. “Hit pause until we get on the boat.”

  Her eyes flew open. “Oh my God, you must be freezing. I wasn’t thinking . . .” Her voice cracked. “How did you know I was in trouble?”

  “I’ll tell you everything when we get on that boat.”

  Normally he could swim the distance of a football field in just under a minute. But the fifteen minutes or so that he’d been in the icy water had sapped his strength and turned his limbs to bricks. The increasingly choppy waters didn’t help, either. It was a good five minutes before he was climbing the ladder onto his borrowed speedboat and reaching down to help Annie up.

  But her head was turned toward the pier. The dive boat had just left the harbor and was making its way toward them, presumably with the police on board.

  She turned back to him and shook her head, refusing to climb aboard. “You have to go, Dean. You can’t let them find you.”

  “I’m not going to leave you—” Suddenly he stopped, staring down at her in shock. “How do you know my name?”

  “I guess you haven’t seen the paper today. The reporter doing those lost platoon stories posted a photo of her brother and a few of his friends. It was hard to make out your faces, but you weren’t wearing a shirt, and I . . . uh . . .” How the hell was she blushing in ice-cold water? “I knew it was you.”

  He wasn’t going to ask her how. Not right now at least. Not while he wasn’t naked and she couldn’t show him.

  “That’s why you’re hiding,” she said. “You’re part of the SEAL platoon that she said disappeared.”

  “Aren’t you going to ask me why?”

  “I assume you have a good reason, and you’ll tell me what you can when it’s safe.” She stared up at him, her expression suddenly uncertain. “I’ll wait for you—if you want me to.”

  He reached down the ladder and pulled her on board. She’d probably be pissed off later at his high-handedness, but he’d make it up to her. He thought of all kinds of ways he was going to make it up to her, and he felt a spark of warmth pulsing through his frigid veins.

  “Want you to? Fuck yes, I want you to.” He pulled her in tight against his body to emphasize his point. He’d give everything he had right now to strip off his wet jeans and her wet suit. But she was right. He had to go.

  For now.

  “I wasn’t sure,” she admitted. “I didn’t know why you came back. How did you know I’d be in danger?”

  He gave her a twenty-second recap of what they’d found out about OPF and Jean Paul’s death. She was clearly shocked.

  “Short-selling? Blowing up the drillship was about money?”

  He nodded. “When I learned that the woman who’d killed Jean Paul had gone diving with you . . .” He shivered—and not from the cold, though it wasn’t much warmer on this damned boat. “I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

  She smiled. “I thought big, badass SEALs didn’t get scared.”

  “Sweetheart, you scare the livin’ shit out of me.”

  The confession seemed to please her enormously. She looked like a kid in the proverbial candy store—him being the candy store. “I do?”

  He wasn’t going to elaborate on how much. He’d do that the next time they were alone, preferably in bed. “If anything had happened to you, it would have been my fault. I shouldn’t have left you.”

  “I understand why you did now.”

  “Yeah, well, I still shouldn’t have left the way I did.” His fingers caressed the side of her cheek along the edge of the neoprene hood as she gazed up at him. His voice was suddenly husky. “I should have told you something first.”

  She was scanning his gaze so intently that he felt his chest squeeze. She seemed scared to ask, “What?”

  They were words he’d never said to any woman before, but he didn’t hesitate. The last few hours had made him damned sure. He would figure out how to make it work. That was what he did for a living. Found solutions for the impossible. “That I love you.”

  She blinked, tears suddenly filling her eyes. “You do?”

  He nodded and kissed her again. This time far more gently, and unfortunately far too briefly. He hated this. But there would be time. Lots of time. He’d make damned sure of it.

  “I love you, too,” she said when he released her.

  “Good,” he said with a smile. “You can tell me how much next time I see you.”

  He could tell she wanted to ask, but bit her lip to stop herself. That she understood how it worked—that he wouldn’t be able to tell her about what he did—was going to make things a hell of a lot easier.

  He answered the unspoken question as much as he could. “Soon, sweetheart. As soon as I can.”

  “How will you find me?”

  He grinned. “Trade secrets.”

  He reached for his backpack, glad that it was waterproof. The short swim to shore was going to be mostly underwater. The dive boat and police would be able to see them soon.

  “You can’t get back in that water. Just take the boat. I can handle the cold with this wet suit.”

  He shook his head. “There will be police all over the area soon. I would never be able to get away in the boat. But there are a bunch of sea caves along the shore. I’ll find one and stay there until they stop looking. Tell them I died—and be convincing. It will slow them down.”

  She nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Be careful. You must be close to hypothermia already.”

  He was, but she didn’t need to know that. A fire would be too risky, even in one of those caves, but getting out of these wet clothes would help.

  “I have to go,” he said.

  “I know.”

  He leaned down and gave her a quick kiss before diving in the water. He wanted to surface and tell her he loved her again, but he’d already stayed too long. He couldn’t risk the police seeing him.

  But he intended to tell her again very soon. He wasn’t going to take any chances that she might reconsider waiting for him. For however long that might be.

  God knew it wasn’t great timing—and he was going to do everything he could to help the LC figure out what the hell had happened so they could come out of hiding—but he’d met the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. For the first time since the missile had exploded in front of him, Dean felt hope for the future.

  Thirty-six

  It had been a long day of travel. Annie was exhausted as she walked down the stairs of the small regional plane—she didn’t think she would ever get used to flying in a bathtub—and crossed the tarmac to the terminal. She was surprised by how good it felt to be back in Scotland.

  It didn’t feel like Oz anymore. Actually she’d begun to think that it might feel like home. For a while anyway.

  She tried not to worry about Dean, and wonder where he was and whether he was all right. He would find her when he could.

  She had to g
et on with her own life, and she was beginning to think that might be here.

  Her mother hadn’t been happy when Annie told her that she was returning to Scotland, but her stepfather’s reminder that she could take the plane anytime she wanted had calmed her down a bit.

  “No more boarding ships out at sea,” Alice had made her promise.

  After everything that had happened, that would be an easy promise to keep. But Annie’s goal had not changed, and she’d taken up Martin’s offer to return to Lewis after her visit home to continue the pressure on the oil company not to proceed with drilling in the fields so close to the Isles.

  After everything that had gone down with Sofie/Greta at the Stassa wreck, Annie knew that Martin felt bad—he’d been just as taken in by her as the rest of them—but she knew it wasn’t just guilt that motivated him. The TV interviews Annie had done had helped raise public consciousness enough for the Islanders to start asking questions. Lots of questions. Martin thought they had a real chance of getting the oil company to delay drilling. It would be a huge victory—even if just a temporary one.

  So for the next few weeks she’d agreed to participate in the discussions. And after that?

  She’d been in touch with a local university here in the Isles that had some interesting marine research projects going on in Orkney and Shetland, including one with mussels that seemed right up her alley. It wasn’t flashy, but it would enable her to continue her work and ensure that oil companies operated safely and responsibly. She would be doing something important and making a difference, just as she’d wanted to. The fact that the islands were remote and secluded—where people wouldn’t be looking for a missing SEAL—made them all the more appealing.

  Annie stood at the luggage turnstile, waiting for her bag to come off. The first glimpse of that horrible bright pink made her heart squeeze.

  She missed him.

  Soon, he’d promised. She had to be patient. But it wasn’t easy. They had so much to talk about.

  Of course, talking wasn’t all she was thinking about. There might be a few other things she’d like to do first.

  Slinging the duffel over her shoulder, Annie left the terminal and started to cross the street to the taxi stand.

  That was when she saw him.

  Her heart practically flew out of her chest. Dean was leaning against a white car with his arms crossed over his chest as if his being there was the most commonplace thing in the world.

  As if she hadn’t been worried about him every minute of the last two weeks. As if the last time they’d seen each other he hadn’t been nearly frozen to death, and she hadn’t nearly been shot. As if she hadn’t been longing for this moment for every minute since he jumped off that boat. As if she didn’t want to race across the street, throw herself into his arms, and stay there forever. As if he wasn’t about the best thing she’d ever seen in jeans, a T-shirt that showed off his tanned arms, and that seen-better-days de-logoed Cowboys hat.

  It was only when she saw his eyes—or felt them—that she knew he wasn’t as casual as he appeared.

  No, “casual” was definitely not the word for the searing intensity of those steely blue eyes as they locked on hers. “Mine” and “I can’t wait to strip you naked and screw your brains out” summed it up better.

  Her heart was pounding and fluttering in her chest as she calmly crossed the street to stand before him.

  He stared at her, and she stared right back. It was amazing how silence could say so much. How silence could say everything.

  But he hadn’t moved. Maybe he didn’t trust himself. Maybe he felt like her: that if he started touching her he wouldn’t ever be able to stop.

  Finally she spoke. “Aren’t you going to get my bag?”

  “And make you feel weak and inferior? No, ma’am. You see, I’ve been doing lots of reading the past couple weeks.”

  The deep drawl and “ma’am” were getting to her a little, but she managed not to smile as he rattled off a bunch of names she hadn’t heard since the women’s studies class she’d taken as an undergrad. She wasn’t foolish enough to think she’d converted him. No, it was him getting prepared for their next argument. “Know your enemy?” she said to him.

  He grinned. “Something like that.”

  She might not be able to bring him over to the dark side, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to try. And she was sure he was thinking the same thing. If occasionally—very occasionally—she might be a little naive, she was sure he would point it out. And if he started acting like a cynical machine, she’d make sure he had a little more compassion. Maybe they’d even each other out a little. Or maybe not. But he would keep her on her toes—that was for sure.

  She tossed him the bag, which he caught against his stomach with an oof. “Don’t believe everything you read, Tex, and you need to put all those pretty muscles to use.”

  “I can think of a few other uses.”

  She felt a flutter low in her belly. “So can I.”

  “Get in the car, Annie.”

  “Where are we going?”

  He gave her a sidelong glance. “It’s a surprise.”

  “It better have running water and heat.”

  He laughed and opened the door for her. “It’s not as fancy as that hotel you were registered at—which I canceled, by the way—but I promise to keep you warm.”

  He slid in behind the wheel and she gave him a look. “I’ll bet. But one rodent, and we’re going to the hotel.”

  He shook his head. “I knew rich girls were high maintenance.” He looked over at her as he pulled onto the road. “You’ve been holding out on me, Doc.”

  She assumed he was talking about her stepfather. But he wasn’t. “You have over a million dollars in your bank account.”

  He actually sounded pissed, which wasn’t the reaction she was used to. It was her cash reserves. She had about five million in investments, but now was probably not the time to tell him that. Her stepfather had helped her invest the money she’d received after her father’s death.

  “Why would that be important? It’s savings. I don’t live off it.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Only a rich person could be that delusional. Money always matters. Did Julien know about it?”

  “I didn’t tell him, but he probably found out about it when he was on my computer.”

  He nodded. “That’s what I figured as well. He must have seen your balance at some point and tried to give Jean Paul a reason to keep him alive by passing on your password and account info.”

  “It didn’t work.”

  “No, it didn’t.” He didn’t say anything for a minute. “You all right?”

  Though the question was asked softly, it packed a surprising amount of intensity. She hadn’t been the only one worried. It had been as hard for him as it had been for her not to be with him after the attack. But maybe it had proved what she already knew. She was strong enough to handle life with a SEAL. Though his job would take him away from her far more than she wanted, she knew he would come back.

  She nodded. “A lot better now.” She paused. “I missed you.”

  He gave her a wry smile. “I missed you, too. A lot.”

  “How long can you stay?”

  She didn’t know if she wanted to hear the answer, fearing he would say a couple of hours or tomorrow.

  “A few days at least.”

  She nodded, relieved. Although she knew it wouldn’t be enough.

  It only took about fifteen minutes for them to reach their destination. Dean had let a cottage overlooking the beach not far from town. It sat by itself on a hilltop, not quite secluded—there were a handful of other cottages nearby—but it should afford them plenty of privacy.

  Anticipation was racing through her veins as he got their bags out of the trunk (aka “boot”) and led her up to the pretty robin’s-egg bl
ue front door.

  She was pretty sure he was thinking the same thing as she was, and she wondered whether they’d make it to the bedroom the first time.

  They didn’t.

  No sooner had the door closed behind her than his body was pressing her up against it. His lips were on hers, and he was devouring her with his mouth and hands.

  And she was devouring him right back. She couldn’t get enough of his heat, of his tongue, of that delicious taste of cinnamon.

  She’d missed this. God, how she’d missed this. The heat. The fierceness. The intensity. How one minute she was herself and the next she was dissolving into a puddle of desperate need.

  His body was so big and hard against her. The warmth and solidness of him never ceased to amaze her. Holding him. Touching him. Letting her hands roam over the heavy slabs of muscle.

  He lifted her up a little against the door to notch himself between her legs and she moaned, her body drenching.

  He lifted his mouth and unbuttoned his jeans and lowered hers. “This isn’t going to be pretty.”

  “I don’t want it pretty.”

  “Good. I need to be inside you.”

  And with a hard thrust he was.

  She jarred at the contact. At the thoroughness of the possession. It was always like that with him. When he was inside her, she felt consumed—claimed—in a way that she never anticipated she would like.

  He hooked one of her legs over his arm to wrap around his waist and kissed her again, swallowing her moans and cries as their bodies slammed together with every deep thrust.

  It took her breath away.

  He was right. It wasn’t pretty. It was raw and fierce and primal. He was out of control, and she loved it.

  He was so big and hard inside her, and his body was so hot he seemed to be on fire. All it took was a few thrusts of that powerful body surging into hers, and she was breaking apart.

  He didn’t last much longer. With one last deep thrust he cried out, and she felt that powerful shudder as he came inside her.

  He collapsed against her when he was done, the weight of his body holding them both up against the door.