The Seal’s Baby

by Rogenna Brewer

“Sounds good. I have some bleach, but I don’t think it’s going to do the trick. You might want to buy yourself some new underwear. There’s a twenty in my purse—”

  “I’ll collect later,” he said, his voice husky enough to leave no doubt what kind of exchange he had in mind.

  The moment he’d walked in, she knew she was going to sleep with him again. Not sleep with. Have sex with.

  She was going to have sex with him again, and again, and again…until she got him out of her system. After all it had been a while for her, too. Since us.

  As a pregnant singleton, and now a single mom, she didn’t have that many opportunities to date. She was going to take full advantage of this situation. There, she’d thought it, she could do it. She could have sex. Sex and nothing more. With McCaffrey.

  While he went for underwear and pizza, Hannah started more laundry and settled in with the latest Stephen Coonts novel. Funny McCaffrey didn’t seem the type to harbor domestic fantasies. Certainly not the kind that required setting up housekeeping with someone. But the man could cook. And he did his own laundry. Though she’d have to be living a complete fantasy to ever think that the two—or rather the three—of them could build a home together.

  McCaffrey returned a half hour later carrying a pizza box and a six-pack of bottled beer he’d said he’d had in his room.

  She greedily took a slice of cheese pizza before he even had the chance to put it down. She might regret the carbs later, but they’d sure taste good going down.

  “Anything mysterious happen to my clothes while I was gone?”

  “Other than them getting up and walking out, no,” she said around a bite.

  “Seriously, they’re not going anywhere. There’s a game I want to watch. Diamondbacks and Rockies. We could eat this in your room,” he suggested.

  She cast him a look. She knew what was on his mind.

  “What? I don’t bite.”

  “As I recall, you do,” she said, pushing to her feet to lead the way back to her room. “I’m kicking you out at 2200 hours. You’re sleeping in your own bed tonight.”

  “That gives us all afternoon, and evening.”

  And he’d left his Kiss The Cook apron in her kitchen.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE NAVY DAY STARTED at the crack of dawn. A mother’s day started even earlier. Since giving birth, 0400 had been the norm. Hannah shuffled to the bathroom in the dark, pulling a white tank top over her sport bra and cutoff gray sweats. McCaffrey, moving around in her kitchenette by the soft glow of refrigerator light, registered only after the shock of cold water hit her face.

  A moment later she emerged from the bathroom finger-combing her hair.

  “Mornin’. Coffee?” He took a sip and handed her the cup without waiting for her answer. “Cream and sugar, just the way you like it.”

  Now how had he remembered that? Her own head was a bit fuzzy this morning. She hadn’t slept well after she’d kicked him out of her bed. “How’d you get in?”

  He held up a key card. “I took your spare.”

  He had a key. What did she care? He wasn’t going to steal anything, except maybe her heart. But only if she let him. And she wasn’t going to let him. Good in bed didn’t translate to permanent fixture in her life. As long as she remembered that their daughter was a beautiful gift, not his shackle—she’d be fine.

  She took her first sip. The intimacy of the morning-coffee ritual seemed all too natural. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Polite, awkward intimacy.

  He poured himself a cup.

  Maybe not so awkward. He leaned back against the counter to drink, looking adorably rumpled in his T-shirt and running shorts. Had he slept in them? “Ready?” he asked, setting his cup aside after a few minutes.

  “Not really, but yes.” Out of habit, she strapped on the fanny pack that held her ID and pepper spray, though probably not a precaution she needed when going out for a morning jog with a Navy SEAL escort.

  They warmed up in the predawn light by walking at a brisk pace to the trailhead, then stretched before taking off as if this had been their routine for months.

  “What’s on your agenda for the day?” he asked, pulling up beside her after he’d dropped behind to let a jogger headed in the opposite direction pass. Everyone wanted to get in their run before the heat of the day. Though it wasn’t exactly crowded at oh, dark-thirty.

  “Morning PT. Morning muster. A pit stop at the motor pool. Meeting with SEAL Team CO…” She eyed him with suspicion. “You didn’t get the chance to look over this week’s agenda yet, did you?”

  “I looked it over and tossed it out.”

  “What about the training scenarios?”

  “What about ’em?”

  “Loring—”

  “Was your predecessor. And my training philosophy is different than that of Team One.”

  “Those scenarios weren’t all that different from what we’ve done in the past when Nine and Eleven trained together.”

  “That’s because, as I said, Loring’s training philosophy was different than mine. He outranked me, and I had to compromise.”

  “And you outrank me, so you expect me to do all the compromising? Ow!” She stumbled on a loose pebble. She steadied herself, but he caught her by the arm.

  “I thought we’d reach our own compromise.” He held both her arm and her gaze long enough for her to feel the electric undercurrents before he let go.

  She picked up her pace, staring straight at the sun coming up over the next rise. “What do you have in mind?”

  “A more integrated approach between your squadron and my team. Ratchet up the competition level and the fun factor. And then there’s the little matter of a side bet between the COs.”

  “Uh-huh.” They’d barely covered a mile, let alone the three they’d agreed on. Her breathing had become more labored while she tried to keep up with McCaffrey’s pace. So she stopped to confront him on his little matter. Every year the two units ended their two weeks training together with a picnic, the highlight of which was the tug-of-war—SEALs dragging Aviators through mud to collect money for charity.

  “What’s the bet?” Suspicion crept into her voice.

  “A kayaking trip. Six days. Six nights. Just you, me and Itch as chaperone. We need a female to round out our team to raise money for the Warrior Foundation.”

  The Special Operations Warrior Foundation was there to help the families of fallen SpecWar soldiers and had paid for her and her sister’s college education. How could she say no? Still she hesitated.

  “It’s not like Uncle Sam is giving out leave right now. Besides, I don’t know anything about kayaking and it’s still a sucker bet. Your guys always win. I may as well hand over my per diem to the Warrior Foundation right now.”

  “Is that a no, you won’t accept the challenge? Or a no, you’re afraid to accept the challenge? Uncle Sam’s not going to object. It’s for a worthy cause. And it’s a fair bet. This year it’s not going to be Warriors against Wings.” They started running again as he laid out his objectives for the next week. “We work together as if this were the real thing.”

  ACTIVITY OF THE DAY. 0430 TUESDAY. PT/1.5 MILE SWIM/STRETCH. ALL PERSONNEL. UNIFORM: APPROPRIATE WORKOUT ATTIRE. REQ SOPA ADMIN PASS TO HCS-9 AND ST-11.

  THEY’D HASHED OUT the details for a new training schedule over dinner at her kitchen counter. By the time the squadron mustered in their assigned hangar bay for morning PT on Tuesday, she stood before them with a new agenda. “At ease,” she ordered.

  “Monday,” Russ Parish read the PT schedule over her shoulder. “Stretch, obstacle course, three-mile run, stretch. Boy, I’m glad it’s not Monday. Tuesday PT, one-point-five mile swim, stretch—”

  Hannah brought the clipboard to her chest so he’d stop.

  “Sounds like the Navy SEAL Physical Fitness Program,” Chief Webb Emerson said, right on the money.

  “It is,” she confirmed. “Petty Officer Bell,
front and center, please,” she called the young woman out of formation. “You’re our new physical fitness coordinator.” She handed Bell the clipboard. “From now on, morning muster for PT is 0430.” She raised her voice enough to get the requisite collective groan from the squadron.

  “So if we’re clear on the agenda,” Hannah said. “Petty Officer Bell will take it from here. Libby…” Hannah handed over her squadron to the younger woman. The admiral’s daughter was an exotic beauty like her mother. It might be hard for the frogs to imagine the five-foot-two rescue swimmer pulling anyone out of the water, let alone a six-feet-two pack-weighted Navy SEAL, but Hannah knew all about that kind of drive and determination.

  Hannah had already run three miles with McCaffrey for her own PT. And she’d stretch in her room tonight. She’d skip the swim to get some of her other responsibilities out of the way. Besides, it would give her the perfect opportunity to call home. Without Mac around.

  ACTIVITY FOR THE DAY. 0430 WEDNESDAY. PT/4-5 MILE RUN WITH FARTLEK WORKOUT/STRETCH. ALL PERSONNEL. UNIFORM: APPROPRIATE WORKOUT ATTIRE. REQ SOPA ADMIN PASS TO HCS-9 AND ST-11.

  LONG AFTER THEIR scheduled workout, Mike found Hannah in the gym. He leaned against the wall watching her rapid-fire assault on a poor defenseless punching bag. “Bell might be taking her duties a bit too seriously.”

  “She’s just enthusiastic.”

  “But you’re not helping your teammates any by skipping out on swimming.” That got her attention.

  She stopped punching. But only long enough to move on to the big bag.

  “Bell sent me a memo,” he said.

  “I had to stop by the motor pool. And used the opportunity to call home. It’s not like we don’t have a full day of training in the Seahawks, even with the stepped-up workout schedule.” Putting all her weight behind one punch, she got the bag to swing. She skipped back a few steps so it wouldn’t catch her on the rebound.

  Mike held it in place so she could take a few more jabs. “I have the Jeep.”

  “We’re not connected at the hip, McCaffrey. There are places I need to go without you.”

  He noticed she didn’t say want.

  “So take the keys. You have my permission.”

  “Too late. I already signed for a vehicle. What else did Bell say in her memo?”

  “She didn’t say anything else. But it sounds like you’re ready for a little hand-to-hand combat.” He didn’t know what the deal was—only that Hannah got worked up every time she called home.

  “Are you?” she asked in a breathy voice, hitting the bag one final time.

  He grunted with satisfaction when he felt it in his gut.

  She gave him a smug look and turned to reach for her water bottle. Beads of sweat trickled between her shoulder blades and stained the gray sports bra. The cutoff sweats hugged her ass as she bent over. It was hard to keep his mind on work all day when he had that waiting for him at night. “Ready for anything, that’s my motto,” he said.

  She held the sports bottle between gloved fists and took a sip. “Ready to get in the ring?”

  “You’d love taking a couple pokes at me, wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t be fair, I wouldn’t hit back.”

  “I take it your mother never taught you about girls like me.” She pulled at the lace of her boxing glove with her teeth.

  He took over the task of unlacing, surprised that she’d even let him. “Mom never did. But Dad saw to it that my education wasn’t lacking,” he teased. “From the time I was thirteen ‘no hitting your sisters’ was rule number one in the McCaffrey house. I got in a few licks before then, though.”

  “How many?”

  He looked up from pulling off the first glove. “Licks?” he asked, tucking the glove under his arm.

  “No silly. Sisters. How many sisters did you grow up with? It was hard to keep track with all those M names.”

  “Four sisters. One brother.”

  She studied him carefully. “Six. You’re the oldest,” she made the bold assumption a statement and not a question.

  “Unless you count Itch, who moved in with us when I was fifteen and he was sixteen, I’m the oldest,” he confirmed with a crooked grin, starting on the other glove.

  “It shows. You think you know everything.” She took him down to the mat with lightning speed. The glove under his arm bounced across the floor. The other wound up above his head when she pinned his wrists.

  “I know enough to let you take me down.”

  She pushed to her knees. “Let me? This isn’t the WWE. I took you by surprise, McCaffrey.” She sure as hell had, starting with last Saturday night.

  He couldn’t have kept the grin off his face if he tried.

  “You can take me any way you want me, Stanton.” He rolled her beneath him.

  She freed herself. He pinned her again.

  “Now what are you going to do?” He held her down long enough so he could catch his own breath.

  “I’ve dealt with my share of creeps, especially when I was a junior officer.”

  “Just give me names,” he said. And meant it.

  “Oh, I’ve since learned how to wither a man with just a look.” She gave him a demonstration that ended with him shaking his head—the look was too damn sexy to wither any man.

  “You two rewriting the Kamasutra, or is that some new form of Tai Chi?” Itch asked.

  Mike got to his feet and held out his hand to Hannah. She ignored his offer and helped herself to her feet. “We were debating which is the weaker sex,” Mike said. “What do you think, Chief?”

  “That’s easy. Man.”

  Hannah raised an I-told-you-so brow.

  “You’re a big help,” Mike said to the Chief. “I forget you crossed over to the dark side.”

  ACTIVITY FOR THE DAY. 0430 THURSDAY. RUN 3 MILES/SWIM 1/RUN 3/STRETCH. ALL PERSONNEL. UNIFORM: APPROPRIATE WORKOUT ATTIRE & GEAR. REQ SOPA ADMIN PASS TO HCS-9 AND ST-11.

  AFTER THEIR FINAL morning run and stretch of the day, Hannah had headed over to the firing range for extra points and to update her quals with a handgun. She’d missed swimming again. For the same reasons as last time. A phone call home. A few stolen moments with her computer and the baby cam. And because she didn’t want to fall apart in front of her squadron. Anytime she got near the water, that was a possibility.

  Taking out her frustration on a paper target seemed an appropriate alternative. Between the ear-muffs, the safety goggles and the other shooters firing off rounds, she didn’t hear McCaffrey approach her from behind. But she could feel him. She took aim at the target and fired several rounds.

  “A little low,” he said.

  “Maybe it’s the distraction.” She took off the ear-muffs and looked at him over her shoulder. “Or maybe I was just aiming low.” She put the muffs back on and willed him away. When that didn’t work, she became blunt. “Go away.”

  Every morning at 0400 on the dot, he handed her a cup of coffee after first taking a sip. It hadn’t bothered her at first, now it did. Because every night she fell asleep in his arms and every morning she woke up alone. Her choice, she reminded herself.

  “Still low. It’s your aim.” He pushed a button. The target zipped forward. He snatched it down, pointing out the cluster of low shots. “Ouch. Hit the vitals, at least. If you didn’t kill him, you’d sure as hell piss him off.”

  “Are you finished?” She ripped the target from his grasp, put a new one on the hanger, then sent it speeding back one hundred yards. “I’m a little rusty, that’s all. I’m not a pistol-packing mama in my civilian life….” She trailed off, realizing what she’d just said.

  “Well, you’re no longer a civilian, Commander. Two middle mass, for an easy target.” He demonstrated with his own gun. “Two to the head, if you really want to get the job done. But the head’s not for amateurs. Think you can handle it?”

  He launched a clean target. And handed her his weapon. A Glock 9mm. She took aim, both hands on the weapon, finger on the trigger. Her comment had gone
right over his head. But how many slipups were going to get by him before he caught on?

  “Feet farther apart.” He kicked at her boots, his leg snuggled between her open thighs. “Knees slightly bent.” He nudged her.

  His hand on her hip was impersonal. Instructive. But it was enough to bother her. “Are we doing the tango here? Or am I taking a shot at the target?”

  He removed his hand. “Take the shot.”

  She took aim.

  “Two middle mass.”

  She fired.

  “Higher. Two more middle mass. That’s it. Again.”

  She fired.

  “Again. Head. Heart. Head again,” he said.

  She fired on target. The weapon in her hand became an extension of her arm.

  “Heart. You don’t just want to stop this guy. Head. You want to kill him. Always shoot to kill. It’s kill or be killed.”

  When she ran out of ammo, she set the weapon down and he brought in her target. The best she’d ever done. “Not bad. What do you think?” she asked a short time later with her expert certificate in hand.

  “I think it’s easy to shoot up a piece of paper. Try it when the guy is looking you in the eye,” he said, clearly not impressed. “You want to walk thorough the pop-ups or head over to the pool?”

  Hannah chose urban combat drills over freestyle swimming. They went in as partners with their HK MP-5s. McCaffrey instructed her in high, low, left, right sweeps and leapfrog. She peered around corners before running across streets, clinging to buildings as he instructed.

  They traded hand signals. Eyes on target. Eyes on me. Follow me. Wait for my signal. Halt. They worked their way through the maze as if they’d been working together for years. Because, of course, they had.

  She fired at a pop-up of a bad guy. Skipped around the pop-up of an old woman carrying a bag of groceries. And froze in a standoff with a Tango taking a child hostage. Tango the code word for the letter T, which in this case stood for the big T—terrorist. Mac covered for her, shooting the bad guy right between the eyes.