The Unsung Hero

by Suzanne Brockmann

  It was crazy. He was nuts—this proved it.

  But oh, God, he wanted her. He truly did. Tonight and forever. All evening, he’d been waiting, half-aroused, wishing she’d come home, dreaming of the stupidest things. The most efficient ways to get their crazy schedules to line up. A plan for bicoastal living. A simple, quiet wedding with Joe and Jazz standing up for him. Names for their children.

  Holy shit, he was in serious trouble here. He was naming their frigging children after one naked afternoon. Yes, the sex was beyond incredible. Yes, she made him feel things he’d never felt before. But that didn’t automatically make what he was feeling love. That didn’t mean it was going to last forever.

  Jesus, how do you know? Did the uncertainty ever fall away? Maybe if she looked into his eyes and whispered that she loved him. The thought of her doing that was enough to make him dizzy. God, he wanted her to love him.

  He wanted her up here. Now.

  If it had been him pulling into the driveway, he’d’ve taken the stairs to her room three at a time.

  Finally, finally the door opened, and Kelly stepped inside.

  She closed it behind her, leaning against it. She seemed to brace herself before looking over at him.

  “Hi.” She forced a smile.

  She’d been crying. She’d dried her face, but Tom could tell she was still extremely upset. He stood, suddenly even more uncertain. “I hope you don’t mind that I—”

  “Of course not.” She was brisk as she came into the room, setting her bag down next to her dresser. “I said you could use my computer whenever you wanted.”

  He wasn’t here to use her computer. Surely she knew that. “Is everything . . . Are you . . . ?”

  She sat on the edge of her bed and untied her shoes. “I’m fine. I’m . . . My father’s dying. It gets to me sometimes. That and the fact that an eighty percent survival rate for childhood leukemia means that twenty percent of the children who get it die.” She fired first one and then the other of her shoes into the closet with about ten times the necessary force.

  Tom sat down next to her. Oh, damn. “It doesn’t look good for Betsy, huh?”

  She shook her head tensely, tightly. “No, it doesn’t.”

  He took her hand, massaging her fingers gently. “I’m really sorry.”

  She gazed down at their hands. “God, Tom, I’m so tired. It’s been an intense couple of days, and . . .”

  “You look like you need a back rub.” He wanted to help erase the strain he could hear in her voice. “Joe’s got a pretty nice collection of French wine. I could go grab a bottle and—”

  She pulled her hand free and stood up. Her voice shook. “Look, I know I promised we’d get together again when I got home, but I’m sorry, I’m just . . . I’m so not in the mood.”

  Tom didn’t know what to do. But leaving her alone and upset was the last thing he wanted. He tried to keep things light. “For a back rub?”

  Kelly turned to face him. “For sex.”

  “I didn’t say you look like you need sex, I said you look like you need a back rub.”

  “Isn’t it the same thing? I don’t think I’ve ever been given a glass of wine and a back rub that hasn’t ended with sex.”

  She was very tired and very upset. And Tom was guilty. A little wine, a little soothing massage, and a little full-body, sensual comfort usually followed. His motives hadn’t been entirely pure. But he could make them pure. “There’s a first time for everything. And I can tell you right now, I’ve never had sex with a woman who didn’t absolutely want it, so . . .”

  “And I have no doubt that after one of your famous back rubs,” she countered sharply, “I’ll be on that list with all the other women you’ve made to want it. And I just don’t goddamn feel like wanting it tonight, all right?”

  Whoa. She was actually pissed off. “Kelly—”

  Her voice shook. “I know I’m being awful. Tom, I loved our afternoon together, I really did. But I don’t want to mislead you into thinking I’m ready to do anything right now besides crawl miserably into bed and sleep. So maybe you should just go.”

  Tom stood up. He was trying hard to be understanding because she’d clearly had a tough night with that sick little girl, but it was getting harder not to raise his voice. “Are you implying that the only thing I want from you is sex—that I wouldn’t want to spend time with you unless we’re going at it?”

  She did. Oh, Jesus, she did. She didn’t need to say a word, he could see it in her eyes.

  “You don’t think that when you come into your room—” His voice was definitely getting louder. “—after you’ve been crying, that I might want to put my arms around you and talk to you, stay with you for a while, find out what the hell’s made you so upset?”

  “And you don’t think that if you put your arms around me,” she countered, “we’ll be going at it, as you so accurately put it, in a matter of minutes?”

  “Not unless you want to,” he said tightly.

  She was exasperated. “But that’s my point. I don’t want to want to, but we both know that I will if you touch me.” She all but threw up her hands. “You know, this is all really new to me. I’ve never had a relationship that’s based purely on sex before, and the truth is, all I have to do is look at you, and a part of me forgets that I don’t want sex tonight. I know it’s completely my problem, but please, just give me a break, Tom. Just go.”

  Tom stared at her. A relationship based purely on sex. Jesus. Had he missed something here? Is that what she truly thought they had going? He laughed in disbelief. She had no fucking clue. If their relationship were based purely on sex, they wouldn’t have spent all those hours talking. Caring what the other said and thought and felt and . . .

  This so wasn’t some fuck-me-tonight, pure sex deal in which they’d have only exchanged names and maybe a sentence or two of small talk. “I grew up in Albuquerque.” “Yeah? I have a friend whose sister lives there. Let’s screw.”

  What he had with Kelly was a love affair. At least that’s what he’d thought it was. Obviously, he’d been wrong. What he had was a one-sided love affair with a talkative woman who wanted only to fuck him. Come to think of it, she’d used that very word from the start.

  His stomach hurt and his throat felt tight. “Well,” he said. “Great. Why don’t you give me a call when you want to have sex? I’ll be, just, you know, standing by.”

  He went out the French doors and over the side of the balcony without looking back.

  Sixteen

  “TOM!”

  He was halfway across the driveway, heading toward Joe’s cottage, and he didn’t break stride.

  “Tom, wait!”

  He stopped and slowly turned around. Kelly could see both anger and impatience in the way he was standing.

  “I’m sorry,” she called down to him. “I’ve done this all wrong, and . . .”

  His face was just a blur in the dimness outside the circle of light thrown by the floodlight on the garage. He moved closer, taking his time, moving slowly, deliberately, until he was directly beneath her balcony. “So this is just sex,” he said tightly. “What we’ve got going here?”

  “Isn’t it? I mean, you’re leaving in a few weeks. I thought . . .”

  He looked over at Joe’s roses. “Have you ever had a relationship before that was just sex? Only sex?” He turned his focus on her, and his eyes were devoid of the warmth she loved. He was indeed very, very angry. It didn’t make sense.

  Silently, she shook her head.

  “So I win the prize. Why’s that, Kelly? Why am I the guy who wins the no-strings sex, huh?”

  He knew. She stood there, looking down at him, and she knew that he knew. She couldn’t speak.

  “See me as I really am.” His imitation of her was a little cruel. “You goddamn did the same thing to me that you accused me of doing to you. You don’t want to spend the next few weeks with me. You want to spend it with that wild punk kid Tom Paoletti—the one who was
always stirring up trouble. The hell-raiser. The one with the reputation for getting girls into trouble. Is that what you want, Kelly? You want to be in trouble? I’ll get you into trouble.”

  He started climbing up the trellis on the side of the balcony, and she backed away, her heart racing. “Don’t.”

  Tom dropped heavily back to the ground. “Great. Great. Now you’re afraid of me. This is so perfect.” He turned to look up at her, his stomach churning and his teeth clenched. His chest ached. “Fourteen years I’ve been with the SEALs. Fourteen years I’ve been a man that people respect and admire. I’m the commanding officer of the abso-fucking-lutely most elite SEAL team in all of the U.S. Navy. But you look at me—you, who always, always treated me decently, like a real human being—and all you can see, all you probably ever saw, is some fuckup.”

  “That’s not true!” Kelly faltered. “Well, it’s not entirely true. I thought . . .”

  He just stood there, waiting for her to go on, waiting to see if she’d even try to explain.

  “I didn’t want entanglement,” she whispered. “I didn’t want to start anything that was going to be hard to end. I honestly thought you’d be glad to have that kind of easy relationship for the summer.” She leaned over the railing. “Tom, you told me you don’t do love. . . .”

  “You’re right,” he said. “You’re absolutely right.” He didn’t do love. Christ, he didn’t know what the hell he’d been thinking.

  “I’m sorry. And I’m not afraid of you. Don’t ever think that. See, I’m afraid of me. If you get too close . . .”

  He laughed harshly at that. “Yeah, right, I’m that irresistible.”

  “You are,” she told him, wiping her face as if she was crying. Jesus, that made his chest hurt even worse. He didn’t want her to cry. “Don’t you feel it? Even with me up here and you down there? . . .”

  “Yeah, I feel it,” he said as he walked away. He definitely felt it. Funny thing was, he’d thought what he was feeling was something else entirely.

  11 August

  When Kelly pulled into the driveway, there was a car she didn’t recognize next to Joe’s station wagon. It must’ve just arrived, because its occupants were climbing out.

  The driver was an imposing African-American man who managed, without being the tallest man she’d ever seen, to be the absolute biggest. She was amazed his shoulders fit inside that little car.

  A sleek, athletic-looking woman came out of the front passenger side, and a long-haired twenty-something man with a handlebar mustache and goatee, mirror sunglasses, and chains on his boots emerged from the back, stretching his long legs and yawning.

  For a moment, Kelly hesitated, completely blanking on who this could possibly be. She’d called the Visiting Nurse Association just this morning, ready to start the search for a good candidate to come in and help with her father. She was looking for someone strong with a solid sense of humor. But these three, although winners in the strong department, looked more like professional wrestlers than nurses.

  And then she remembered. Tom’s teammates. His friends. He’d told her they were arriving this afternoon.

  God, she was exhausted. No wonder her memory was shot. She’d slept poorly last night, tossing and turning—that was no big surprise. This morning, she’d gone looking for Tom before she drove into Boston, but he was nowhere to be found.

  Also no big surprise.

  She still wasn’t sure what she wanted to say to him besides the fact that she was horribly sorry, but something else definitely had to be said.

  As she parked and gathered up the trash from the sandwich she’d had in the car on the way home, Tom came out from around the side of her father’s house as if he’d been out on the deck and heard the car doors slam.

  He glanced in her direction only once and only briefly. His welcoming smile was decidedly for his friends. “Hey.”

  As Kelly watched, Tom shook hands, first with the black man, then with the younger man, and finally with the woman.

  A woman. Even her tired brain recognized that as odd. Last she’d heard, the SEALs were still an exclusively male organization. No women, no exception.

  As Kelly climbed out of her car, Tom hung on to the woman’s hand far longer than he had for his male friends. She was gorgeous, Kelly realized. Her skin was mocha colored, but her hair had red highlights and her eyes were a vivid green. And she had a lithe body that matched the sheer perfection of her face. She may not have been large breasted, but she was perfectly proportioned and athletically trim. And she had amazing posture. Positively regal.

  “Thanks so much for coming,” Tom said to her and to the younger man as well. He glanced at the black man. “I’m assuming Jazz gave you both a full sit-rep. You know there’s a solid chance you’re here for nothing?”

  The woman’s voice was melodically low and as smoothly beautiful as she was. “Sir. As I told Lieutenant Jacquette, I’d willingly take unpaid leave to back you up even if only to protect you from your own shadow.”

  Tom smiled wryly. “That could well be the situation. And please, let’s not stand on formalities, Alyssa. May I call you Alyssa?”

  Kelly stopped short. Did he know he was turning on the charm, that he was oozing charisma and that solid, confident sensuality that had driven her crazy for going on two decades?

  Alyssa smiled at Tom. She had a gorgeous smile, gorgeous white teeth. “You can call me whatever you like, L.T., although I prefer Locke.”

  Kelly watched Tom, waiting for him to see her, to introduce her, to let go of Alyssa Locke’s hand.

  He released Locke, but didn’t even glance over at Kelly. “Locke it is. From now on, this is Jazz, Locke, not Lieutenant Jacquette. And if you figure out what the hell to call this long-haired deadbeat—” Tom slapped the younger man’s back. “—let me know, okay? His given name’s Roger Starrett but I’ve never heard him called either of those. He’s Houston or Ringo or Sam. Occasionally Bob. He swears there’s a logic to all the nicknames, but I can’t keep ’em straight.”

  “Sam’ll do just fine, Miz Locke.” He had a thick Texas drawl. Dew jist fahn. That accent couldn’t possibly be real, could it?

  The woman stood up even straighter. Kelly wouldn’t have believed it possible. “Just Locke,” she said coolly.

  “For the duration,” Tom said, “I’m—”

  “L.T.,” Jazz interjected. “L.T.’s good enough, sir.”

  “I’m Tom,” he said firmly. “As of right now, erase sir from your vocabularies, too.”

  Jazz looked as if he had an unpleasantly painful case of gas.

  As Kelly headed up to the deck, to where Joe and her father were waiting, Tom pulled Jazz aside.

  And the man called Sam sidled up to Locke. “I just want to take this opportunity to remind you that just because you’re working with us in this situation, doesn’t mean you’ve got your foot in the door at Coronado. A woman in the teams is never going to happen.” His voice was low, but Kelly overheard quite clearly as she passed by.

  “Gee.” Locke’s voice was edged with sarcasm. “It’s so nice that you’re concerned for me, Roger.”

  “Oh, but I am,” he said completely insincerely. “I’d sure hate to see you get your little hopes up way too high.”

  “There are two things in life that I’m sure I’ll never be,” Locke said far too sweetly. “One is a SEAL. That I regret. I believe I’d be an asset to the teams. The other, however, is a redneck asshole. No regrets there.” She smiled at him. “Too bad you can’t say the same.”

  “This is going to be one hell of a vacation,” Sam growled.

  “I’m not on vacation,” Locke replied. “I’m here to work.”

  “Okay, grab your gear,” Tom said, leading the way to the deck. “Come and meet the other members of our team.”

  Now he was going to introduce Kelly. This was when he’d actually look into her eyes, and she’d try to send him a telepathic apology.

  “This is my uncle, Joe Paoletti,” To
m continued, “and Mr. Charles Ashton, who has graciously volunteered the east wing of his house for our use. You’ll be bedding down there, as well as helping set up a temporary HQ. Joe and Mr. Ashton are veterans of the Second World War. Mr. Ashton was with the Army—the Fifty-fifth—and Joe was OSS. They’ve volunteered to help us.”

  And this is Kelly, who wants only sex from me. Yes, Kelly supposed there were worse things than not being introduced.

  She stepped forward. “I’m volunteering, too.” She held out her hand to Jazz. “Hi, I’m Kelly Ashton. It’s a pleasure to meet you—Jazz, right?”

  She shook with Sam/Roger/Bob/whoever, and with Alyssa Locke as well. Alyssa did more than shake her hand. She sized Kelly up with her cool green gaze.

  That’s right, Kelly tried to say with her smile and her eyes. Tom’s mine, babycakes. Hands off.

  Except Tom still didn’t do more than glance briefly in her direction. Maybe he wasn’t hers, not after the things she’d said last night.

  “Dr. Ashton’s got a pediatrics practice in Boston,” he told his teammates. “She won’t be around a lot.”

  “Oh, but that’s going to change,” Kelly said. “I’m taking the next three weeks off. I spoke to my partners this morning.”

  Tom looked at her then. Direct eye contact for the first time that day. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. . . .

  “I’ll go in if the McKennas need me,” she told him, willing him to hold her gaze, to believe her silent message. “But that’s it for me for a while. I hit some kind of wall last night.”

  She couldn’t read his expression, and he turned away before she could say what she most wanted to say. I’m so sorry you caught most of the fallout.

  “Well, great,” Tom said. “We’ve got a doctor on the team. Not that we need one. Here’s hoping we’ll continue not to need you, Doctor.”