Breaking Away (Military Romantic Suspense) (Book 3 of the SEAL TEAM Heartbreakers)

by Teresa Reasor

  “I’m dispatching a unit to your location. What is your home address?”

  Sam rattled off the address on Warm Springs Road.

  “I’m sending a unit there as well.”

  Relief brought a tremor to her limbs. “Thank you.”

  “Stay on the phone with me until the officers arrive.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  When the automatic door opened and she caught a glimpse of a husky man with dark hair entering the store, she turned and ran toward her daughter. She glanced over her shoulder, her throat contracting, heart beating so harshly against her ribs it hurt.

  The man turned his head. It wasn’t Will.

  CHAPTER 15

  Flash slowed his Triumph Sprint to fifteen miles an hour. He passed row after row of cookie-cutter houses, all with tile roofs and sparse landscaping. He glanced at the house numbers. After he reached the 2000s, the houses spread out a little more, leaving long stretches of desert dotted with clumps of grass and Joshua trees.

  Finally he came to a mailbox with the number he was looking for pasted on the side. A large detached garage came into view. And a police car sat in a semi-circular driveway.

  He started to mosey on down the highway, then at the last minute decided to loop around and keep his appointment. If there was a problem with the place he had arranged to rent, he needed to know about it. And it was better to be straight up and get to know the local cops so they wouldn’t be suspicious.

  He brought his bike to a stop, pushed it up on the kickstand, and cut the engine.

  Two police officers wandered from the back of the house. Both rested their hands on their sidearms as they approached him.

  Flash removed his helmet and then his gloves. “Is this the Andrews’ residence?”

  One of the police officers answered. “Yeah. Can I see some identification?”

  Flash shrugged, dug into the back pocket of his jeans, removed his wallet and tugged free his driver’s license. He’d changed his license to reflect his change of residency to the state of Nevada, with a slight mis-spelling in his name. The current photo showed a man with a well-trimmed beard, darker hair, and glasses. He had no warrants or tickets here or anywhere that he was aware of—yet. Though the military was still looking for him.

  The police officer studied the license. “What’s your business here, Mr. Carnes?” He passed off the license to his partner, who took it with him to the squad car.

  “I’m supposed to be renting the apartment above the garage and setting up an internet business from here. I have a signed copy of the lease and I’ve already paid a deposit and gotten the permits.” Flash opened the storage compartment on the bike, removed the letter and his paperwork and handed it to the cop.

  “What sort of business?” the policeman asked. His partner returned and offered him his license back.

  “I custom design security systems and install them.”

  The two men looked at each other. “You’ve arrived just in time,” the one who had asked him for identification said. The other handed him back the lease agreement.

  Flash raised a brow.

  “The lady who lives here is having some trouble and could use a system.”

  “What kind of trouble?” Flash asked.

  “We can’t really say,” his partner said. “But maybe you could give her a good deal on a security system in place of rent. I’d mention that when you get a chance to talk with her.”

  Flash nodded and replaced his license in his billfold. This didn’t really sound like a situation he wanted to get involved in. But he’d already paid a deposit on the room over the garage with a guarantee he’d be able to use the garage if he needed it. “Should I stick around and speak to her while you guys are still here? Or should I come back later?”

  “While we’re here would be good. She’ll know you have legitimate business with her and aren’t someone hired to cause a problem.”

  Things were sounding less and less inviting. Shit!

  Another police car pulled into the drive and came to a stop behind Flash’s bike. The officer behind the wheel got out, moved to the back door, and opened it. He reached in to offer a hand to one of the passengers and smiled at the child who wiggled free of the back seat. Gaining her feet, she tossed her feather boa over her shoulder and strutted across the gravel drive on her plastic high heels like a mini runway model.

  The woman who followed was dressed in mid-thigh length shorts and a blue, short-sleeved pullover top with a scooped neckline. Her legs looked long and smooth. Her strawberry-blonde hair, a shade just a bit darker than the child’s, was pulled back into a ponytail, baring her face. Her wide-spaced eyes focused on him sitting on the Triumph and she frowned. She reached back into the police car and hiked a backpack over her shoulder. The slender bow of her body as she did that caught Flash’s interest and his mouth went dry.

  Was he staring? He scanned the cops’ expressions and saw their attention fixed on her, too.

  One of the policemen approached her and she shifted her attention to the officer. She followed him to the porch and unlocked the door. He went inside ahead of her.

  “Who are you?”

  The words spoken in a demanding tone drew his attention. He smiled at the little girl who stood, hands on hips, eyeing him with a frown.

  “My name is Tim.” Using his middle name still felt awkward even after months of doing so. “And you are?”

  “Joy.” She narrowed her eyes as she studied his bike. “That’s a motorcycle.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Can I ride it?”

  Flash grinned. “It’s a little too big for you, sweetheart.”

  “Can I ride with you?”

  “If your mom says it’s okay.”

  Her bottom lip jutted out.

  Flash grinned. Was that frown a sign of a strong will or disappointment? Or both?

  “Joy!” The woman’s sharp voice jerked both his and the little girl’s heads around. The woman’s slim legs ate up the distance and made her seem taller until she’d come to a halt next to them.

  “Are you with the police?” she asked.

  One of the police approached them. “This fellow says he has a lease on an apartment with you, Ms. Cross. He has paperwork, and it appears legitimate.”

  Flash frowned at the name Cross. “I signed the lease with a Mrs. Andrews.”

  “That’s my grandmother.” She looked away. “She died six weeks ago.”

  Shock froze his features for a moment. Damn! The woman he’d spoken to had seemed so feisty and full of life. What the hell had happened? An accident? A heart attack? He shoved the glasses he didn’t really need up on his nose. “I’m real sorry to hear that. I enjoyed speaking with her and was looking forward to meeting her.”

  “Thank you.”

  “We’re moving out, Mrs. Cross. Officer Harris set your groceries on the porch. Don’t hesitate to call if you need us again.”

  She moved away to thank all three men for their help. And watched as they got into their vehicles and pulled away.

  Flash swung free of the bike and stood to stretch his legs.

  She turned to face him, a frown much like her daughter’s drawing her brows together. She studied him for a long moment, her pale greenish-gray gaze sharp. She kept a good four feet of space between them and asked, “Do you have a copy of the lease?”

  “Sure.” Flash again pulled the paperwork from the bike’s storage compartment and handed it to her. “I can give you my boss’s number and my references, and you can call them and check me out again. I’m staying at the Hampton, but I already have appointments in the area, so I’ll have to give you my cell so you can contact me.”

  “Why have you waited so long to move in?” She scanned the document.

  “It took a couple of months to reorganize the other office. We’ve been based in Baja and doing work in Mexico, but now want to move a satellite office here. We have a lot of clients on both sides of the border.”


  She nodded. “It says here you made an eight hundred dollar deposit.”

  “Yes. In March.”

  She studied his face again. The wariness in her gaze triggered a responsive concern. Based on the police visit and her suspicion, there was something going on here he didn’t really need to be a part of.

  But finding another out-of-the-way apartment was going to be a bitch. “Look, if there’s a problem with this, I’ll work out of the van until I find someplace else. Just write me a check for my deposit and I’m gone.”

  “I can’t do that, Mr. Carnes.” Her cheeks grew flushed. “The money has already been spent. I wish my grandmother had told me about this—before.” She handed him back the lease and stood a moment, studying the toe of her canvas sneaker. “I’ll get the keys to the apartment.” She held her hand out to the little girl. “Joy, come into the house and I’ll make you a snack.”

  “Ice cream?”

  “No, honey. Remember we had to put the ice cream back so it wouldn’t melt. We can make some popsicles with the orange juice later.”

  “’Kay.”

  Mrs. Cross heaved the backpack over her shoulder, picked up the groceries and went into the house.

  Flash wandered around the outside of the garage, looking over the property. The exterior of the building wasn’t much to look at, but structurally it appeared sound. Two large flowerpots positioned on either side of the wooden stairs leading up to the door of the apartment spilled over with blossoms, a nice woman’s touch. They reminded him of Juanita and her garden.

  He heard steps on the gravel drive before she appeared around the edge of the garage.

  “I’m sorry it took me so long. I had to get Joy settled in front of the television with a snack.” She sounded breathless.

  “No problem.”

  She offered him the keys.

  Flash mounted the stairs then looked over his shoulder to find her still standing at the bottom. “Are you going to do a walk-through?”

  She bit her lip and glanced toward the house. “I don’t feel comfortable leaving Joy unattended. I’ll come up in a few minutes, after she’s finished her snack.”

  “Okay.” The dead bolt turned with a soft click and he pushed open the door. The room stretched the length of the four-car garage. Mrs. Andrews had told him it had once been her husband’s workshop.

  Flash wandered around the space. Solid wood floors polished to a shine stretched across the entire length of the room. A small galley-style kitchen spread across opposite corners just inside the door. The solid wood cabinets stained a light oak gleamed with care, and a round table and four chairs separated the kitchen area from the rest of the space. The living room boasted both couch and recliner, with an end table between, and a small entertainment center housing a twenty-seven inch television. A colorful area rug of dark maroon and gold covered the empty floor between.

  After seeing the plain exterior of the building, Flash was pleasantly surprised by the quality of the interior.

  He pushed open the bedroom door. A sand and blue comforter covered the double bed, a runner in the same colors stretched along the floor on one side. A nightstand with a lamp, a dresser and a chest of drawers made up the furnishings. A pocket-sized closet took up one corner.

  The bathroom appeared more utilitarian than the rest of the apartment, tiled in white, with a sink, commode, a shower stall and a stacked washer-dryer unit.

  The place would be perfect for his needs. And he’d certainly lived in much worse.

  He heard the rattle of the exterior storm door opening in the other room and strode back into the living room to join Mrs. Cross. He’d never introduced himself, nor had she.

  “My name is Tim Carnes by the way,” Flash said. Every time he introduced himself by the fictitious name his stomach cramped, even though his days of being Harold Timothy Carney had been over for the last six months.

  She stayed close to the open door. “Samantha Cross.”

  “Maybe you’d better tell me why the police were here.”

  Her gaze settled on his black t-shirt. Her throat worked as she swallowed. “My ex-husband spent five months in jail for assaulting me and a nurse at the hospital where I was admitted. Then two months more for stalking and attempted assault when our divorce went through and for ignoring the restraining order I filed against him. He got out two days ago and today, while we were at the grocery store, he slashed my tires.”

  Son of a bitch!

  He studied her bent head, taking in the curve of her high cheekbones, her smooth skin, the scattering of freckles across her nose. She stood five foot four and wouldn’t weigh much more than a hundred and ten pounds. What kind of guy raised a hand against a woman like this? He noticed a scar that marred the delicate skin of her cheek. Had the bastard done that? Anger built, thrusting heat into his face.

  The cop’s comment about a security system made sense now.

  She raised her head, and for a moment met his gaze. “I’ll understand if you don’t want the apartment.”

  Flash wandered to the kitchen window and scanned the open land to the east and the mountains in the distance. He didn’t need anything that would draw uninvited attention to his presence here. He’d chosen the area for that exact reason. But what suited him worked against her.

  The house was too isolated, the nearest neighbor possibly a quarter of a mile away. The ex could break in here and do anything he wanted. She and her daughter would be totally at his mercy. Joy’s delicate face flashed through his thoughts. Had he laid hands on her too?

  Memories of another place and time tumbled through his mind like a kaleidoscope. Every protective instinct he had leapt to full life.

  Fuck!

  Frustration tightened his stomach and shoulders. He mentally flipped through his alternatives. A wry smile twisted his lips. He thrust his hands into the back pocket of his jeans and turned to face her. Who was he kidding? It would take a full company of Afghan terrorists to get him out of this apartment. “I think the apartment will work just fine, Samantha.”

  Will Cross focused his binoculars on the kitchen window of the garage apartment. The late afternoon sun beat against his back and the top of his head, burning all the way through his thin t-shirt. What the hell was she doing with that guy? The man’s figure, a silhouette in the window, took up the entire frame. Why was she in there with him?

  Will swore. At least while the guy was standing at the window, he knew he wasn’t fucking her. He’d kill him if he so much as laid hands on his wife.

  Sam appeared at the door and she spoke to the guy over her shoulder as she held the door open. When she descended the stairs, the tension in Will’s body dissipated.

  He’d been on the brink of breaking into the house when the cops had shown. How had they gotten here so quickly? It had been a close call.

  If they caught him again, the judge had promised him two years. After the last seven months in jail, he wasn’t going back. No damn way. He’d die first.

  His dad wouldn’t even attempt to bail him out again. He’d told him to forget about her. He couldn’t do that. It drove him crazy not knowing what she was doing. Who she might be with.

  She was his wife! His wife. But she wouldn’t talk to him. Wouldn’t read his letters. Wouldn’t accept his gifts. And wouldn’t speak to him, even in the presence of her attorney or the police.

  He knew he’d had a problem with anger. Knew he’d been hard on her. The moment his thoughts started to stray to the baby he cut them off. He couldn’t go there. If she’d kept her mouth shut none of this would have happened. She was just as responsible for what had gone down as he was, no matter what his court-appointed psychologist said.

  A smile quirked his lips. He had the doctor totally snowed. He followed every instruction the guy gave him. Wrote all sorts of bullshit in his journal. Made all the right apologetic noises. Said all the things the guy wanted to hear. And acted repentant whenever they discussed the times he’d hit her.

&nbs
p; He did regret that. Every time he saw her smile now, it drove home how unhappy she had been with him. But they could change that now. She was better. He was more in control.

  He just needed her to talk to him.

  And eventually she’d cave. Now that she didn’t have a car…

  He peered through the binoculars. She’d raised two of the garage doors. The guy had come down the stairs and they disappeared inside together. A few minutes later she appeared driving a tractor. A tractor?

  What the hell? Did she intend to drive that to and from town?

  His mouth hung open as she put the machine in gear and pulled around the side of the garage and out of sight. There was a small wooden carport-like structure behind the garage. Just posts stuck in the ground with the roof. He’d seen it when he’d visited before, but also when he’d scoped the place out after he’d gotten out of jail. That had to be where she was taking the tractor.

  She appeared again and the guy came out. He was smiling at her, amused, and said something. She smiled back.

  Jealousy ripped through Will’s system and the heat was suddenly unbearable. The prick had damn well better keep his distance. He’d fucking rip that guy’s head off… The man offered her a piece of paper from his pocket. She stood looking down at it for a moment, then offered him her hand.

  They shook and it looked more like a business deal than a seduction. Will’s tension eased. “Just business, baby. You’d better keep it that way,” he murmured.

  CHAPTER 16

  San Diego, California

  Captain James Jackson studied the row of diplomas on the wall just above the doctor’s head. His attention swept down to the man’s face. He appreciated Dr. Dawson’s professionalism. His calm in the face of disaster. But the pity he sensed behind the man’s demeanor did nothing to alleviate his anxiety. He’d felt less fear crouched in a foxhole with live rounds flying overhead. There was a hole in their son’s heart and it wasn’t getting any better.