SEAL Camp

by Suzanne Brockmann

  And he’d probably start his bloody rampage right here, by putting a bullet into Ash’s head.

  Jim’s phone lit with a text—from Colleen. Still five minutes away.

  He looked at that rifle lying there in that car. Breaking the window to take it would set off the car’s alarm, only now he did not want to do that. No, the only diversion he was willing to risk now was to kick down Ashley’s door. It would make the gunman point his weapon at Jim instead of Ashley.

  Jim knew he made a big target, but he also knew that a bullet in the gut or chest wouldn’t stop him from taking that weapon and ending that motherfucker. Only a headshot could stop a Navy SEAL, and that would require a shit-ton of luck—heads were hard to hit.

  But just in case this mofo was unusually lucky, Jim quickly moved his truck to block in the gunman’s car, before quietly running for the stairs.

  * * *

  Ashley stalled, sifting through file after file—none of which held the information that Greg was looking for. “It’s in here, somewhere, I know it,” she told him, “but I have to be honest, Mr. Ramsey, it’s highly unlikely the staff at the women’s shelter will let you see Betsy at this time of night.”

  “I’m not worried about that,” he told her, and the way he said that made her skin crawl.

  “I also want to urge you to call your lawyer,” Ashley said. “I feel confident that he can help you.”

  “He’s dead,” Greg said, and her heart dropped. “So no, he can’t help.”

  “Okay,” she said as now her heart pounded. “Well, then…”

  “He didn’t have the information I needed,” Greg told her.

  “Well, I do, I’m sure of it,” she said as her brain raced. She’d somehow have to warn the shelter that he was coming. God knows what kind of weapons he had stashed in his car. But God, what if, after she gave him the name of the shelter, he killed her anyway, which would mean she wouldn’t be able to warn anyone… “I think I should go with you. To talk to the staff at the shelter—”

  Across the room, her phone whooshed with an incoming text. Oh, thank God…

  “That’s probably Jim,” she told Greg. “You should double-check that he’s not coming over anyway, to make sure that I’m okay.”

  Greg crossed the room to where her phone was on the table near the door. “He says, Tomorrow’s great, sweetie. Can’t wait to get down and dirty. I love you madly, wish we could do it now.”

  Ashley dropped to the floor.

  Get down… do it now…

  She had total faith that Jim knew exactly where both she and Greg were, thanks to that security camera.

  She heard the door crash open, heard Jim’s voice: “Drop the weapon, drop the gun, drop it drop it drop it!”

  She heard a clatter—no gunshot, thank God—heard a crash that had to be Jim tackling Greg onto her coffee table, shattering it and smashing it flat, and then Jim shouted, “Ash, you okay?”

  “I am,” she called. “Are you?”

  “I’m fine,” she heard him say. “Do me a favor and secure this motherfucker’s weapon. I kicked it into the kitchen.”

  She crawled out from beneath her dining room table to see that Jim, indeed, had Greg Ramsey pinned on top of her former coffee table, his arm around Greg’s throat, his legs locked around Greg’s waist as Greg struggled to get free.

  “Define secure,” she said.

  Jim actually laughed. “Start by locating it,” he said, in the same almost-gentle, conversational tone he’d used with Kenneth, during the paintball fiasco. “And then, just kinda stand near it. Or, you know, put it in the vegetable drawer in your fridge. Chief Taylor’s on his way, FYI, with Skelly and Becker close behind him. Oh, and if you can find your phone after you secure the weapon, it’d probably be good to call 9-1-1.”

  Her front door was hanging from just one of its hinges. The amount of force Jim had delivered to kick it open… “You need me to get you some ice as long as I’m stashing the gun in the fridge?” she called to him as yes, the gun was right there, on the kitchen floor. She picked it up with her thumb and one finger. Opened the fridge door.

  “Nah, I’m… good. Curious, like, who the fuck is this since I’ve already confirmed that he’s not Brad.”

  “His name is Greg Ramsey,” she called as she stashed the gun, closed the refrigerator door, and then went looking for her phone. “His wife—ex-wife—is one of my clients. He says he’s already killed his lawyer…” And just like that, her matter-of-fact delivery crumbled and her voice broke.

  “Ashley, are you okay?” Bobby Taylor was standing just outside her ruined front door. He started to laugh as he took it all in, then came to envelope her in a hug. “I’m guessing Lieutenant Slade decided not to wait.”

  * * *

  Jim needed ice—for his shoulder.

  He’d hit the floor, hard, when he’d tackled Greg Ramsey.

  Kicking in the door was easy enough if you knew how to do it. And yeah, his knees weren’t exactly happy with him right now, but they never were.

  And it was worth it, entirely, to know that Ashley was safe.

  The police had come and taken custody of Ramsey, his refrigerated Glock, and the arsenal in his car. Jim’s teammates—Taylor and Skelly and Becker and Lee—had all shown up, ready to assist, and were kind of pissed that he hadn’t waited for them.

  And yet, they all took one look at the way Jim knew he was looking at Ashley as Colleen kept her arms wrapped tightly around her, and they completely understood.

  Waiting had not been an option.

  The police finally left, and most of Jim’s teammates, too, finally called it a night, and then it was just Bobby Taylor and his wife Colleen, still sitting on the sofa next to Ashley as Jim hovered nearby.

  Bobby was ready to board up Ashley’s door—using a hammer and nails to secure her condo until the morning, when they could get the door replaced. The plan was for Ash to spend the night at their apartment.

  Which was a good idea, but…

  “It’s late, we should go,” Colleen told Ashley. “Do you want to bring your suitcase from Florida, since it’s already packed and it’s just until tomorrow…?”

  It was then that Ashley glanced over at Jim. “Yeah, that’s a good idea, but… Will you just give me a minute, to, um…”

  “Yes,” Colleen said. “Why don’t you walk Jim out to his truck. I’ll grab your stuff while Bobby boards up the door.”

  And then, there they were, walking down the steps to the parking lot.

  “Thank you,” Ashley said. “I knew when I sent that text…”

  “Sweetie,” he said. “I knew right away.”

  “And when you said that back to me in your text—Sweetie—I knew that you knew,” she said, laughing a little even though her voice shook. “Get down and dirty was inspired.”

  “I love you madly,” he said. “That part was real.”

  But she was shaking her head, stopping as they reached Bobby’s car. “Jim, no…”

  “Yeah,” he said. “And I know that doesn’t change anything, I know it’s too late, I know I screwed up, but… Ashley, I wish you could at least think about forgiving me. I wish I could explain. I just felt so freaking lost, it was like I was in this giant hole, falling into the darkness, and I had no idea when I was gonna hit the bottom, or how terrible it was gonna be when I splattered, so all I could think was, why would you want me when I don’t even want me anymore…?”

  She started to cry. “You can’t tell me that. You’re not allowed to say that, and make me feel responsible for—”

  “No, please,” he said. “Don’t feel responsible. That’s not why I told you. I’m trying to be honest about what I’m feeling, and I’m not very good at it… But I’m okay. Really. I’m gonna be okay. Everything’s gonna be okay. Because nothing could ever be as bad as it was when I was standing out here, thinking this motherfucker was going to kill you. That would’ve been unbearable. This? All of this is just a road-bump, compared to that. T
his, I can handle.”

  But she didn’t stop crying. “I’m so angry at you. I just can’t pretend that you didn’t…”

  He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, he couldn’t not. And she kissed him back—until she pushed him away.

  “I can’t,” she said again. “I’m sorry.”

  “I know,” he whispered. “I just hoped…”

  “Thank you for saving my life,” she said. “But I can’t.”

  “It’s okay,” he told her. And because he could see Colleen coming down the stairs, ready to unlock her car to let Ashley in, he walked to his truck, got in, and drove away.

  Just like he’d promised Dunk.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Two months later

  Luke O’Donlon and his wife Syd were having a baby shower.

  Jim had gotten an invite to the party weeks ago, and he’d almost tossed it—the details of where and when, that is. He’d already bought into a group gift being given by SEAL Team Ten—they were rebuilding the side room on the O’Donlon’s tiny house, turning it into a combination nursery and playroom.

  He was still close to the guys in the team, even though his active duty SEAL days were officially over.

  He was doing okay. Mostly.

  But as he looked again at that invitation that he’d stuck onto his refrigerator door with a magnet—its cartoon stork and bright letters informing him that the gathering was at the O’Donlon’s house on Saturday afternoon—he took out his phone and called Colleen Taylor.

  She answered the way she always did—and he’d called her so often over the past few months that they’d become friends. She didn’t bother with a greeting. She just—boom—instantly jumped into the conversation. “You coming to the party this weekend?”

  “Thinking about it,” he said. Colleen had told him a week ago that Ashley was planning to attend. Normally that meant he would stay away. “What do you think?”

  “What do I think?” she asked. “Or what do I think Ashley will think, and oh my God, how did I end up back in middle school?”

  “I’m trying to be careful,” he said. “Respectful. Un-asshole-ish.”

  “I could send her a note. Will you hate it if Jim also attends a party given in honor of one of his best friends? Check the box: Yes, I’m heartless and cruel. No, of course not, I expect him to be there.”

  “Mock me, I don’t care. Last thing I want is to make her think I’m stalking her, a la Brad.”

  “Ooh, that reminds me,” she said. “Ash just had lunch with him, last Wednesday, I think.”

  “She had lunch,” he repeated. “With Brad. Like, he called her and said, Let’s have lunch and she went…?”

  “I… think he emailed her, but basically, yeah,” Colleen said.

  “Should I be worried?” he asked. “Damnit, I’m worried.”

  “Just come to the party,” she said. “Sit down next to her, and see what happens. If she stands up and walks away, well, then you’ll know.”

  “Yeah, or maybe she’ll bring Brad as her date,” Jim said. Jesus, had he waited too long?

  “You know that expression, snowball’s chance in hell?” Colleen said. “Those are the odds, in my opinion of course, of Ashley getting back with Brad. Just come to the party.”

  “I don’t know anymore,” he admitted. “I hurt her really badly. I’ve been thinking about applying to law school in New York or maybe Boston…”

  “With all due respect, Lieutenant, you’re a SEAL. I’m married to a SEAL. My brother’s a SEAL. I no doubt someday will give birth to a SEAL—and she’ll be more kickass than all of you combined. But my point here is that I know SEALs. You walked away from Ashley, because that’s what she wanted, but your plan was to walk completely around the world if necessary, so you could accidentally meet her again, at some point in the future. This phone call was to ask me if I thought that the future had finally arrived. But only Ashley can answer that. I can tell you this: If I were a good-looking Navy SEAL rocking a two-months-long beard, who’s also spent the last few months borrowing and reading every book on women’s issues and intersectional feminism on his teammate’s wife’s bookshelf—and it’s a big shelf…? I’d shine myself up, and go celebrate this happy occasion in your good friends’ lives, and while you’re there, smile at Ashley, and see if she smiles back. If she does, move a little closer—but not too close—and say Hey, how are you? I miss you. Then listen to whatever she tells you, and if it’s back off, then back off. Why do men find this so hard?”

  “I’m a former SEAL,” he said.

  “Oh, my God,” Colleen said. “That’s what you focus on…? Here’s a message from my unborn Navy SEAL daughter, Lieutenant: There’s no such thing as a former SEAL. You make it through BUD/S, you’re a SEAL forever, and you know that, so don’t be a baby. Come to the party. I’m hanging up now. Man.”

  * * *

  Ashley loved spending time with Colleen’s friends from SEAL Team Ten, but the baby shower for Lucky and Syd was a slight exception.

  This was going to be a big party—usually Ashley hung out with Colleen and Bobby, and Colleen’s brother Wes and his wife Brittany, and Britt’s sister Melody and her husband Harlan, who had the ridiculous nickname, Cowboy.

  But this time all of Team Ten, past and present, was there—including a high-ranking admiral the women all called Jake, but the men all called Sir.

  Jim Slade was there, too.

  He looked… tired. He’d grown a full beard in the months since she’d last seen him, and it was… a very good look for him. His hair was longer, too, but still looked freshly cut. He was wearing a colorful button-down short-sleeved shirt that fit well, hugging his broad shoulders and chest, and showing off both the muscles in his arms and his collection of tattoos. He still wore braces on both knees, but his shorts didn’t have multiple cargo pockets—they were khaki and tailored to fit. His transformation, however, didn’t quite make it all the way down to his feet. He had on flip-flops, of course, which was the SEAL footwear of choice when boots—or swim-fins—were not an option.

  He was in the kitchen when Ashley arrived—he was taking something that smelled delicious out of the oven, but he glanced up and directly into her eyes and smiled, and she flashed both hot and cold as she froze.

  “Out of the kitchen!” Wes scolded, going as far as to clap his hands at her. “Men only!”

  “We’re in charge of food prep,” Bobby said.

  “And serving, and cleaning up after,” Wes’s wife Britt added, taking Ashley by the arm and leading her back to the huge deck off the living room, where the party was being held. “As well as all diaper changes and child management. We usually share those duties, but every now and then we impose what we call the Goddess Rule. It’s partial payback for when the Team goes wheels up, and the spouses have to do it all. Of course, we’re not the ones getting shot at, so there’s that…”

  Ashley glanced back to see that Jim’s tentative smile had faded, and now, as he gazed after her, before turning to the pan of food in his hands, he just looked tired.

  But okay. She’d survived that. She hadn’t quite managed to say hello or even smile back at him, but first steps were good.

  “Gifts go there,” Britt told her, pointing to a table just inside of the huge sliding glass doors, and Ash added hers to the large pile.

  She’d gotten Syd a large stack of her own favorite romance novels, including the latest by Shirley Hailstock, Sarina Bowen, Alyssa Cole, and Alexis Hall. For the last few months of pregnancy, sleep could be elusive, and there was nothing quite as comforting as an old-school printed book.

  Britt stepped outside and pointed to a cooler in the shade in the corner. “Beer, soda, wine is over there. Help yourself, and grab a seat.”

  “Thanks,” Ashley said, waving to Colleen—and oh, Dunk was here, too. That was a little awkward, but he smiled and waved, too.

  They were sitting beneath an array of colorful umbrellas with most of the other women and at least one othe
r SEAL.

  It was gorgeous out there. The big yard’s fence was bordered by a jungle of drought-resistant plants, many of which were blooming from the recent rains.

  A series of grills were already fired up out in the yard, manned by more SEALs and surrounded by a large, portable play-pen, so the smaller kids couldn’t get too close. Ashley could smell both steaks and barbeque—when it came to food, Navy SEALs didn’t play around.

  On the other side of the yard, Thomas King and Rio Rosetti were refereeing a group of the slightly older kids who were playing croquet. It was then, as Ashley took her wine and sat down in the empty seat next to Colleen, that she realized both of the SEALs sitting in that circle, under the umbrella, were holding babies. Dunk was. As was Dave—a young and relatively new member of Team Ten, who’d gone through BUD/S as one of the first openly gay service-members to be accepted into the program as a SEAL candidate. Not that there hadn’t been plenty of gay SEALs before him. But Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell had definitely made life harder for them. It was good that everyone could now live openly and honestly.

  “I’m completely in love with her,” Dave said now, gazing down at the sleeping baby in his huge arms. He grinned. “Things you generally don’t hear me say. Along with Oh my God, I think maybe I want one. I mean, not tomorrow, or even next year, but someday…”

  Dunk laughed—quietly because the baby he was holding was fast asleep, too. “You might feel differently after spending a little time with a baby who doesn’t sleep.”

  “We had one of those,” Commander Catalanotto’s wife Veronica chimed in, in her crisp British accent. “We were lucky if we got two uninterrupted hours a night. That child was hungry. We threw the rules out the window and started him on rice cereal and he finally slept for four hours straight. That was the night we knew we’d survive.”

  “Jake took paternity leave because the twins had colic.” Zoe had a story, too. “We’d take turns getting up in the night, which only worked in theory, because Jake can sleep through anything. So I’d wake up—when one of the babies cried, I couldn’t not hear him—and I’d nudge him and snarl It’s your night, and he’d stagger into the babies’ room. And one night he didn’t wake up all the way, but he got out of bed, and I’m lying there going The baby—I think it’s Sam, he’s still crying, and I finally sat up and turned on the light, and I saw that he’d opened the door to the walk-in closet, and he was just standing in there, like, I know I’m supposed to be doing something, but I’m not sure what…”