Huh, he was giving her a lot of thought. Interesting. He watched her for several more seconds, and then he headed back to the boat. The moment he was on board, a voice challenged him.
“Shall we set up a smooch alert?” asked Watson.
Leaper raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to join your friends on the Goon Squad?”
“I’m just kidding.” Watson sounded worried. Scratch that—he sounded scared. “Please, don’t…”
“No shit, Sherlock. Hey, I like that! That’s your new nickname: Sherlock.” He waited for a reply. Again there was nothing. “Listen. Warriors have thick skin. What’s life without teasing? Hell, it’s how we show affection. I like the fact that you felt bold enough to give me shit.” Leaper patted the trainee on the back. “Don’t be so scared of Goons. I did it. My brothers did it. If you let something make you stronger, it will. If you allow it to weaken you, then you’ve made that choice too.”
He turned to the boat, speaking to all his trainees now. “Seek strength. Make choices that benefit you and your Teammates.” With that, he pointed toward the horizon, in the general direction of Kerry’s boat, and said, “Let’s round up that boat. Heave ho.”
His knees creaked as he sat. “Damn,” he murmured to himself. “I’m getting too old for this shit.”
No one said a word—not one smart-ass reply. Chicken shit, he thought. I’ll get them speaking. The Teams don’t need a bunch of yes-men. These recruits all need to be leaders who know when to follow and when to stand up and voice their opinion. They’re young, but they’ll learn. Even if I have to drag them one by one over that damn finish line.
Chapter 2
Sweat gathered along Leaper’s brow and dripped one drop at a time down his face and neck and onto his shirt. He’d be drenched before the day was done.
The heat index in Coronado, California, increased this time of year, especially as the day wore on. The sun’s rays beat down on the occupants of the small Navy RIB. Leaper was never one to stand on ceremony or dress code, and he was the first to strip his shirt off and toss it on the heap of gear.
The recruits eagerly followed suit. Looking at their unblemished frames, he wondered what would be in store for them. If the trainees looked close enough at his chest, they’d see at least a dozen knife wounds, six bullet scars, courtesy of enemy combatants, three misshapen ribs from a botched HiLo jump, and one large, jagged scar from shrapnel. Leaper didn’t want to scare these boys off, but the reality was…bodies entered SEAL Team one way and left another way. It was rare that anyone retired untouched, unless they only rode a desk. But even then, there were complications from endless paper cuts and the usual migraines from green gung-ho officers.
Leaper’s eyes searched the horizon. Several charter boats were full of tourists out to catch something exciting on the Pacific. A few small sailboats were braving the open ocean, and in the distance a refueling ship was on its way back from filling someone up. It rode so high in the water, he could see where the hull needed to be touched up on its next maintenance docking.
Salt spray sprinkled his face. Was there any better feeling?
The wind whipped his hair as they sped through the water. He let out a long, slow breath. There was something peaceful about just riding in a boat, without some greater need for it to impart wisdom or a life lesson.
Looking at the faces of the trainees, Leaper could see them relaxing and enjoying this welcome break. He doubted any of the other Teammates were getting this treatment. Most likely those boys were toting large rocks from one place to another; getting wet, rolling in the sand, and doing leg lifts and other exercises while coated in the rough grimy sand—a.k.a. sugar-cookie drills; or running miles and miles with heavy packs. This was only a small part of the physical conditioning.
Leaper studied the recruits. “Tell me about yourselves,” he said. “Why are you here?”
The fair-skinned blond boy spoke first. “Billy Coates from Boston, Massachusetts. I went to Boston University and majored in business for my undergraduate degree and psychology for my master’s. My brother was a SEAL, and he served two tours in Iraq before leaving the Navy. He told me it was the best and worst time of his life. Regardless of his stories, I’m doing this for me.”
Next was a tanned boy with auburn hair. “I’m Cabe Tucker, and I’m from Washington. I went to SDSU here in San Diego and graduated premed. Eventually, I’d like to be a doctor and follow that life path, but first I need to do this.” He elbowed the person next to him, who was taller, with hairy arms, dark hair, and green eyes. “That’s Joe Wallace. He lost his voice last night at the bar off Rosecrans. I think he’s got a graduate degree in business. Yeah, he’s nodding.”
“Bar, huh? You’ll learn that’s not the best use of your paycheck. It’s better to save your money. Wanting a car, home, and even a girlfriend or wife takes a decent amount of funds. I’m a big believer in 401(k)s and savings accounts. But to each his own,” added Leaper. “What about you, Parks?”
Was I ever that young and green, pondered Leaper as he assessed the men. It was easy to see who would make it to next week and who would be running for the hills the minute there was a bump in the road.
“Yes, Instructor.” Parks was compact and muscular. He looked too small to be in Spec Ops, and yet he was lean and agile, never missing an opportunity to help his classmates. Of course, size didn’t mean anything. He personally knew a Frogman who was five foot two and served for thirty years.
“Go ahead,” urged Leaper.
“Ahem, I’m Lester Parks, and I grew up in the Bronx—the rough part. It taught me to never give up on what I want. I studied mechanical engineering on scholarship at Cal Tech, and after graduating I joined the Navy. I want my life to be more than punching a clock. I like the tech part of SEAL training, and I have a few ideas for new gear. I have to believe in what I do and be a part of something bigger.”
“Good to know. I agree on the ‘bigger’ part of a life occupation. So, on that note, let’s do this as a Team project. Could be useful in future training missions.” Leaper pointed at Watson, the boat leader, among other things. “I know your story. You’re the class leader, and you went to Stanford, with a degree in mathematics. You’re a bit of a genius, according to your records. Isn’t that right, Sherlock?”
Watson shrugged. His face reddened and he had large eyes, a bit googly like Leaper’s, but he kept them forward as the boat rounded San Clemente Island. “Ah, yes, Instructor.” This trainee had a medium build and his shoulders and back were wide, but he had some beef around the midsection. The weight would drop before training ended. Physical endurance and peak performance were major requirements for completing all three phases of BUD/S training.
In the distance, Leaper could see Kerry’s boat. Marine Mammal RIBs had a splash of gray color across the front, so no one absconded with their boats. “Watch out for the buoys. Stay close and stay left of them, regardless of what’s printed on their dysfunctional wrappers.”
“Aye, aye,” affirmed Watson.
Leaper pointed at the last man on the boat. “What’s your story?”
A raspy voice was cleared. “I’m Quentin Kirkland Worthington. Naval Academy graduate. I hail from Virginia. My father is Admiral Worthington.” The boy spoke succinctly and very fast, as if he was equally proud and embarrassed. Hell, it was a hindrance to go through training and be the son of an admiral and a Frogman. Poor kid had an uphill battle ahead of him.
As Leaper studied the kid, he saw the boy’s lip quiver. He was a nervous one. Wonder what makes him tick? Leaper had answered that particular question during his own Hell Week in a darkened room, with a spotlight on his face showing every bead of sweat. He’d been singled out by a giant Master Chief known for his handlebar mustache and tough techniques. Even his balls had sweated that day. The thing that made Leaper tick…was having something to belong to and knowing his actions made a difference.
Shit, being an instructor was not glamorous but he had knowledge to share. Basically, it was Leaper’s job to do his hardest to break the trainees, but getting to know them like this, somewhat informally, had major advantages. He was actually rooting for them, though they wouldn’t all make it. For instance, Leaper already knew that unless Worthington’s son stepped up and showed some backbone and emotional fortitude, he was going to ring out—ringing the giant brass bell hanging in the Quarterdeck of BUD/S meant you quit training and were swept back into the general Navy, or upon rare occasion, could choose another area to apply to.
“Big shoes,” said Leaper sympathetically. “Bet they’re beating the piss out of you. Legacies always get an extra helping of crap, Captain Kirk—get it, Kirkland?”
“Crap juice. Crap salad. Crap steak with a side of crap fries.” The boy nodded. “Any advice?” He rubbed his throat, and his nerves created a thick cloud of uncertainty around him.
Well, that’s not a good sign. It was going to be the instructor’s job to pick at this wavering sensation until it bled and made Kirkland Worthington—a.k.a. Captain Kirk—quit or get stronger. Leaper sighed.
“Stick with it. If this is what you truly want, hang in there. Don’t let them get in your head. Believe in yourself. The psychological tests are harder than the physical, and remember, we all went through it. Once you graduate, the challenges you face will kick your ass harder. Sure, ‘the only easy day was yesterday’ still rings true, but you have your Team to lean on, and they’ll lean on you. So get those skills now and be proficient. Every movement and choice has a reason. Be deliberate. Make no decision hastily and without purpose. And remember, go through the training because you can’t imagine anything else filling your life. You have to need to be a SEAL with every ounce of your heart and soul. If you can imagine any other options, then ring out and pursue them. This is an all-or-nothing experience.”
“Thank you, Instructor,” they answered in unison.
Leaper stood, joining Watson as the recruit steered closer to the boat. “Cut the engine, Sherlock. Captain Kirk, grab a line and jump on board. Parks, grab a line and follow. I want you remaining two to secure the boat for towing and to stay aboard the RIB in case any issues arise. If the line falters or anything out of the ordinary happens, you tell me ASAP.”
The trainees hustled, making quick work of their tasks, and the two boats were soon underway. In Leaper’s estimation, he’d get these trainees home in time for chow.
He scratched his chin as he glanced over his shoulder. That was a nice RIB. Too bad it was color-coded for the program, or he might consider adding it to the Team’s lost-and-found collection. Nah! She was way too cute. Besides, finding Kerry’s boat had been easy, in Leaper’s opinion. It had been moored on the far side of the island, and they’d had no problem setting up a series of towropes and hauling it back to the Marine Mammal base, but what was he going to do when he saw her? Now, that was the hard question. Could he kiss her? Ask for a date? Ugh, he’d left his smooth-talking techniques back on base alongside his Harley.
Of course, if he’d thought to ask her for the key, that would have made things easier. Faster to drive two rather than tow one. Though he suspected the key was lost somewhere in the ocean. He supposed he could dive for it, but there would undoubtedly be duplicates somewhere in her office. Shit, he was avoiding the point. He wanted to kiss her. That gorgeous mouth. Yep, that’s what he wanted. Sweet and simple.
Not that he preferred simplicity, because he didn’t…not in a lady. A challenge suited him better, kept him engaged longer, and he liked to give a lady a run for her money too. But he couldn’t decide if he was going to pursue the curious Kerry with the shapely curves outright or play coy.
Leaper rolled his eyes and stretched his arms over his head. Who was he kidding? He’d already spent more time contemplating this woman than any other in his life.
As the boats entered the bay, he knew the moment of truth was at hand. They pulled up to the Marine Mammal docks, and Kerry was the first to approach him. She eagerly threw her arms around him and hugged him. “Thank you.”
He didn’t hesitate as he leaned his head down, right then and there, and kissed her. Not a quick or congenial kiss, but a hot and heavy, I-want-to-thrill-you-to-your-core smooch.
He held her tightly to him, her body melting into his. Well, well, well. Now this is a kiss to sear the soul! They fit so exquisitely together, he didn’t want to let go. It was as if the entire world around them had drifted away, and they were the only ones left in the universe.
Holding this lady close as the sun set behind him, Leaper never imagined this was how he would end this day. This had to be the sexiest first kiss of his life.
Too soon, reality invaded and the embrace ended. Leaper’s ears finally detected the hoots of encouragement from the trainees on the boat. He breathed in Kerry’s scent, memorizing it even as she clung to him, and then he slowly opened his arms and released her. As they parted, he knew he had been rash to kiss her in front of her coworkers and his recruits, but for once in his life, he just didn’t give a damn about the opinions of others. This was a kiss he was going to remember.
* * *
The next morning, the sun struggled to shine through the heavy marine layer hovering over Point Loma. As she sat in the parking lot outside the Marine Mammal base of Operations, Dr. Kerry Hamilton wasn’t sure anyone would be feeling those delightfully warm rays today. Perhaps it was an omen.
She looked in the rearview mirror again. Yep, still the same. Exhaustion traced her features, with dark circles under eyes and a pale color to her cheeks.
Oddly, though, she couldn’t resist touching a finger to her lips as she thought about the kiss she’d shared with Leaper. What an incredible moment! The sensation of his mouth on hers had seared her senses all the way to her toes, and she was still vibrating with the delight of it. Oh God, how she wanted more. Infatuation was a marvelous high, and it had been ages since she had felt giddy inside.
Her cheeks were tinged with pink now, and it made her laugh softly to herself. As she sat in her car listening to the radio, she knew she was avoiding going into work. Of course, she was an hour early, but if she stayed here all day in the relative neutrality of vehicle, she would avoid any confrontation with the management.
Her fingers tapped automatically to the beat of the song on the radio. There was something special about the band American Authors’ song “Best Day of My Life.” It spoke to her. She wanted today to be the best day ever, yet she knew she would be taking some serious heat from her boss the minute she stepped foot onto the Marine Mammal Compound. She’d broken several cardinal rules, the first of which was Never, ever go out alone with one of the marine mammals. The second was Always log your intended path of travel and the ultimate destination.
“I better get to it. Get the worst part over with.” Turning off the car, she grabbed her bag of gear and got out. She set the alarm with a press of her key fob and took slow breaths as she made her way toward the gates.
Before she reached the barrier, a slumped man who looked more scholar and scientist than bureaucrat stopped her. “Dr. Hamilton, good to see you.”
“Dr. Boscher. Hi. What’s up?” Kerry looked up at the tall man, noticing his disheveled clothing and the bags under his eyes. “Are you doing more research on species adaptation for our program?”
“Yes, yes. Fascinating stuff. I’ve narrowed my search to the tiger shark, whose intellect appears to rival that of your beloved bottlenose dolphins. Though I’m still working out how a training staff could safely work with them.” Boscher waved a hand in front of his face, his gray pallor and slumped shoulders more pronounced as his moved. “I received approval from the Department of Defense for your study on dolphin environmental adaptation for our retired mammals. The funding was bumped an extra amount, in case you need additional modifications. I added that in, because I
didn’t see any wiggle room in your proposal. I’m not sure if you’re planning on fixing up apartments for them—”
Kerry laughed. “Stop. You’re too much! You know the funding is for special tanks that will allow me to change the temperature and buoyancy levels to help some of older dolphins be more comfortable without having to work so hard to swim, play, eat, and basically survive.” She touched his arm. “Thank you for helping out. Having you as Special Funding Director for the Marine Mammal Program has been an incredible boon to all of us. You’ve added so much, and we’re lucky to have you. Maybe now, Merry will perk up. She’s showing signs of stress. Hopefully, the fancy new temperature-controlled tank will make a difference.”
Boscher nodded his head. “Well, I have two more months before they put me out to sea…so to speak…and I plan to make the most of it. Good day, Dr. Hamilton.” He stepped away from her slowly, as if his bones and muscles ached.
She wished he’d loosen up and call her Kerry, but his formality was only one of the quirks separating him from the rest of the staff. Boscher held himself apart from everyone, but she was eternally grateful for his help. She sighed. Oh well, the news of her tanks was so exciting, she could hardly wait to get started on ordering the materials and implementing them. There was so much to do.
Her mind was busy playing with the design of the tanks as several coworkers greeted her in the usual morning fashion. Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad, and her mishap with Juliet in the ocean wouldn’t be a big deal. Kerry started to relax. At least the rest of the staff wasn’t pissed at her. Why should they be? There had been no need to rally or search for her. Instead, she’d arrived back without their knowing how dangerous the trip had been, and thankfully, the dolphin was healthy and safe. Everyone loved Juliet.
Kerry exhaled slowly and felt her lips curve into a half smile. First, she’d do a medical check on each dolphin, and then feeding—
“Dr. Hamilton.” Hearing her name ground out as if it were being chewed with tinfoil made her blood freeze. She hated the sound of that voice. It was Beckstan Gellar, Marine Mammal Program Director and natural enemy to the entire staff and anyone with a hope or dream of improving anything for the marine mammals. He stood beneath the clock near the double doors to the main office like an executioner prepared to bring final judgment. His large arms were crossed, and his tinted glasses were perched on the end of his nose. “We need a meeting.”
The Power of a SEAL Page 3
