by Zoe Dawson
“Same with Max,” Gina said firmly. “He’s following his dream.”
It disassembled from there. Gina yelling at Rhonda, Sarah bursting into tears, Wendy defending Rhonda, and Anna trying to get some kind of order. Not in the Keegan chaos of females.
“Hey!” he yelled in his Navy SEAL, move-your-ass voice. Everyone stopped talking. The tailor never said a word as he simply got up and quickly shuffled out of the room.
“Oh my God, you scared the tailor,” Gina groaned.
Max pinched his forehead, massaging his temples. The way Anna described Dodger, Max didn’t want her anywhere near him. He went to open his mouth.
“Dodger is an excellent choice,” Gina chimed in. “He did come up with the lace Rhonda wanted for her gown and found the topper for the cake.”
“What topper? When were you in touch with Dodger?” Max frowned.
“Last week. He’s a whiz at getting stuff that seems to be unobtainable.”
“He’s wonderful,” Rhonda said with a smile. “I’m so grateful.”
Max stepped off the raised dais and crouched in front of Gina. “He’s my teammate and a pain in my ass. When did you get his number?”
“He called me about the lace after I mentioned it. I don’t know how he got my number. SEAL ninja skills?” She shrugged and reached out to squeeze his forearm. “So, we talk.”
“You what?”
“He’s interesting and has a lot of funny stories to tell. Sometimes he gets homesick. Isn’t he part of your sacred brotherhood? You should be as thankful as Rhonda that he’s helping.” She waved her hand. “It’s a moot point. I already asked him to be a groomsman. He was honored.”
“You what?”
“You’re repeating yourself, little brother,” Gina said, folding her arms over her chest which meant there was no further discussion on the matter.
“Ooh, I can’t wait to meet him,” Anna cooed, her eyes bright and sparkling, and everyone started talking at once. But this time Max was right in the middle of it. The tailor peeked his head in, saw they were still at it and disappeared again.
Forty-five minutes later, after coaxing the tailor back into the room and ushering his five sisters out, Max was on base.
“Dodger!” he called out as the man turned and saw him barreling down the hall. Dodger backed up right into his teammates, 2-Stroke and Saint, who caught him, puzzled looks on their faces until they heard Max’s shout. “Stop right there!”
“What the hell did you do now, Dodge?”
“Nothing. I’m bloody innocent,” he said as Max reached him and kept moving through his teammates and pinned Dodger against the wall.
“Innocent my ass. When were you going to tell me? When you were walking down the aisle?”
“Man, I need some popcorn,” 2-Stroke said as he glanced at Saint.
“Are you getting married?” Saint asked.
Max ignored them. “When?”
“I was going to tell you, mate. I promise, but I was waiting until maybe you were…you know…around your family, definitely unarmed, maybe inebriated or unconscious or restrained in a strait jacket.”
Saint laughed softly. “Hoo boy, he’s in trouble big time.”
“These are my sisters. You got that, numbnuts?”
“Sure. I was just trying to help out Gina and Rhonda. You know, make her day the best it can be.”
“Are you their wedding planner?” Max growled. He had no idea how Dodger did it. Defuse his temper and soften Max like jelly with this sincere look in his eyes.
“No, but... Bollocks, Max, you’re my teammate, and I wanted to do something for you. Is that so hard to understand?”
Yeah, there it was. That damn soft spot.
“His sisters? They good looking?” Saint asked.
“Beautiful,” 2-Stroke said, shooting Max an innocent look in response to his scowl. “It’s true. Chill, man.”
“Step out of line and there will be hell to pay. Got that, mate?” He let Dodger go, then said, “I’ve got lime and a shovel in my trunk.”
Still fuming over being outmaneuvered by his big sister, Max headed over to the SEAL compound. As he came around the barracks to the grinder to enter his office, he saw three trainees arguing near the beach edge of the asphalt. In the gloom, he made out Daniel Wilson, Walter Manning, and Craig Hennessey.
“What’s going on? Why aren’t you guys getting ready for tomorrow?”
“C’mon, Hennessey,” Wilson said and grabbed his arm. Hennessey had bruises on his face and along his neck.
“Release him, Wilson.”
Wilson’s jaw tightened.
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Hennessy wrestled out of Wilson’s strong hold. “I want to ring out. Th-they were only trying to encourage me to stay,” Hennessey said, but the guy looked battered and nervous. Most of the trainees who quit BUD/S were more ashamed and solemn, but Hennessey was sweating, his eyes darting back to Manning and Wilson. He looked…afraid.
“You sure about this?” Max asked, watching Manning and Wilson, who looked pissed, as if they wanted to say something but didn’t.
“Yes. I’m done.”
“You heard him. Get yourselves squared away, or there will be hell to pay tomorrow. I’ll make sure of it.”
“You’ll regret this, Hennessey,” Wilson said in a threatening voice, and the two of them walked away.
“Let’s go to my office,” Max said, turning away as Hennessey followed.
“I’m sorry, Proctor. This ain’t for me,” he said, then softer, “None of it.”
“Before we go inside, ring the bell.”
Instead of stepping forward and ringing out, Hennessey looked like a man with a moral dilemma. His face twisted up and he said, “I thought I knew what I was about, but I was wrong. Very wrong. Sometimes you get lost. Do you know what I mean Proctor?”
“Yeah, I get it. But it’s tradition, Hennessey.”
He swallowed and looked down the berm toward the ocean where his two friends had disappeared, regret, fear, and determination on his face.
He walked over and rang the bell three times. Max was sure that everyone could hear it from the barracks.
Max opened the door and went to his office. Once he and Hennessey were inside, he closed it. “Have a seat.”
Hennessey crumpled into the chair and stared down at his hands. He looked like his uniform had dried on him from a state of wet and sandy. The light caught his bruises showing them to be more mottled black and blue than Max had initially thought. This kid had been put through the ringer.
“How did you get those bruises on your neck, Craig?”
Hennessey’s head jerked up. Maybe he was startled by the question or maybe it was because Max had used his first name.
“Training,” he mumbled.
“Are you sure?”
He looked back down, then said, “Training,” again.
Max pulled up the necessary form to process him out of BUD/S.
“Is there something you want to tell me?”
His eyes grew moist. “I didn’t expect to feel this way. To question who I was, and what I was doing. I didn’t know.” Hennessey sighed, then met Max’s gaze. “I can’t say. Not here. Maybe you could meet me off base.”
“Where?”
“Behind the Hotel del Coronado, on the beach?”
“Okay. When?”
“In an hour?”
“I’ll be there.”
Hennessey left after signing the necessary documents, and Max immediately picked up his cell, calling Shea. “I need to talk to you,” he said when she answered.
Something woke Hemingway out of a deep sleep. He wasn’t sure what it was. A thump, angry voices. He sat up in his bunk and looked around his room. Two of his roommates were sacked out in their bunks, but Wilson’s rack was empty.
Hemingway tried to remember if Wilson was on watch duty but didn’t recall the schedule. He pushed back the covers, slipped on his boots, pulling o
n a hoodie, then tucking his cell inside the right pocket, settling the hem over the waistband of his sweatpants.
He walked to the door and listened, but suddenly it was quiet. Pulling open the door, he entered the hall, then headed for the outer doors. He pushed them open and stepped outside. The crash and rush of the ocean sounded loud in the stillness. Hemingway couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.
He walked the length of the barracks, looking around but finding nothing out of order. The grinder was in shadows. The only illumination was from the lights on the perimeter. When he reached the edge of the barracks, he looked into the parking lot. Nothing moved, just the roll of the ocean.
Just when he thought his mind must have played tricks on him or he was dreaming, he turned to go but stopped dead. There was a dark stain on the ground. He crouched down and couldn’t tell what it was. Pulling his cell out of the pocket, he turned on the flashlight and shock coursed through him.
Blood. Still wet and red.
He rose quickly and looked around, the spot in the middle of his shoulder blades twitching, all thoughts of getting back into his warm bunk gone.
He pivoted and slid against the side of the barracks, crouching and moving slowly, shining his light. The glow of the flashlight picked up something lying on the ground. When Hemingway got close enough, he almost dropped his phone.
It was one of the trainees.
Craig Hennessey was on his back, his eyes open. His face was a bloody mess.
Dead.
Hemingway took off running back to the grinder and the instructor offices. He burst inside and immediately saw Mad Max and…Shea talking in his office.
Max’s head jerked toward him along with Shea. They came out of the office, and Hemingway said, “Hennessey…he’s…he’s dead. Just behind the barracks.”
“Show us,” Max said.
He went out the door, wondering why Shea was here. She’d told him that she had video to edit and wouldn’t be available tonight. It worked out because he’d had watch duty. When they reached the body, Shea took over. Moving away, she made a call on her phone and thirty minutes later, Mak Ballentine showed up with Kai Talbot, and ten minutes after that, a forensic team.
They took evidence and bagged the body, removing it from the area. Then he found himself in the BUD/S classroom with Kai, Mak, Shea and Max.
“What’s going on?” Hemingway said.
“I’m not a videographer. I’m an undercover NCIS agent assigned to find New World Order terrorists who have infiltrated BUD/S.”
And with those words, she totally upended and complicated not only his training, but his relationship with her. Experiencing a hot, searing rush to his belly, Hemingway clenched his jaw. Somehow, he’d known she wasn’t just a videographer. The questions she’d been asking, the way she was scrutinizing everyone, those eyes were cop eyes, observing everything.
“Did you see anyone?” Shea asked, giving him a steely-eyed stare, something he realized an NCIS agent like her perfected as a matter of survival.
It took him a moment to gather his composure, blank his features, bank the anger and try to get his mind around being used. Maybe this public thing was between them, but the personal was just for them alone.
“No,” he said. “I didn’t see anyone. I heard something that woke me up. Thumps, angry voices. I can’t be sure.” He ran his hand over his stubbled hair. “What does this have to do with Hennessey?”
“We think he was going to spill the beans tonight. He DOR’d thirty minutes before you found his body,” Max said.
“After he cleared out his barrack room, he was supposed to meet me and Max at Hotel del Coronado,” Shea added.
“You think he was one of the terrorists?”
“Yes, and we think he was murdered because he was going to talk.”
Hemingway closed his eyes, thinking immediately of Hennessey, how funny he had been, how hard he had tried, how he had looked at times like the world was on his shoulders. Hemingway had just chalked that up to the weight they all carried and how much this meant to all of them. But Hennessey, and evidently other members of his class, were traitors to America, part of an organization that didn’t believe in the laws of the country and wanted nothing but revenge for the people they’d lost.
“I can’t believe this. I can’t believe they got in, let alone passed the psych evals.”
“There are a great many people who can fool just about anyone. They’re good actors, some might even believe what they’re doing is just. They trained for this at a camp built for infiltration. It’s my job to make sure none of them makes it to graduation,” Shea said.
“Is there anything else you can tell us?” Mak said.
“Yes,” Hemingway said, suddenly remembering. “Wilson wasn’t in his bunk, but I can’t remember if he was supposed to stand watch.”
Max went over to his computer and tapped the keys. He stared at the screen avidly, then his mouth twisted. “Yeah, he was on watch. But I think he’s the ringleader. I’ll check in with security and make sure he was on duty at the time.”
“He’s not a team player at all—he’s surly and a freaking complainer. He doesn’t belong here. If anyone should ring out, it’s him,” Hemingway said.
Mak and Kai rose, and Mak said, “We’ll keep digging on our end. You watch your backs. All of you.” She and Kai left.
“Get some sleep, Sinclair,” Max said, then he too left.
The silence in the classroom was deafening.
“I should let you get back to bed. It’s late. We can talk later.”
She headed for the door and between one heartbeat and the next, his anger surged, and he pushed off the chair, heading for the parking lot. The cloud cover had dropped, and it had started to drizzle by the time he caught up to her.
He grabbed her arm and spun her. “Did you think I could be one of them?” he said fiercely.
“Now’s not the time—”
“Did you?”
She sighed and grumbled something under her breath. “Go back to the barracks and get some sleep. It is too late for this.”
She turned away but he came around her, not giving up.
She stared at him, then sighed softly again. “No. I didn’t.” Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, beads of rain soaking into the straight mass. That hairstyle exposed the long line of her throat, but some tendrils had slipped loose and now curled around her face and the back of her neck. With her body hidden by the raincoat and her profile cast by the gray light from streetlamps, she looked isolated and oddly vulnerable. Hemingway tightened his jaw and looked away, resenting her for making him weak.
He had nothing to go by here. No experience in a relationship or how to do this kind of thing, when you find out the woman you’ve hooked up with is really an undercover agent and your BUD/S experience has taken on a whole new meaning. It was a lot to swallow in one night, but he couldn’t get to sleep unless he knew for certain she wasn’t playing him.
“Don’t play lip service—”
She covered his mouth, holding his gaze. “No, Atticus, I didn’t think you were involved, ever,” she whispered. “My gut told me so.”
“And hooking up with me? Was that planned?”
“No. It just happened…the way it happened. I never expected to see you again after that night. I didn’t even know you were a trainee until I walked into your classroom. You’ve done nothing but complicate my life. On a couple of different levels. But I like and respect you very much. Now go to bed and let me get to work.”
“I complicated your life?” That caught him off guard. He pulled her against him, frustrated and annoyed and turned on and…a whole lot of complicated things he didn’t want to be. “I could say the same thing about you.”
She lifted her chin and snapped. “Good. Then we’re even.”
He was getting it now, getting it gradually, like a slow-motion moment stretching out into what seemed like an eternity. His heart was all the wa
y out there, and it was both exciting and scary to think hers might be too. What did it mean? What would it change?
He didn’t want to think about any of that. He just wanted to be where she was, in this moment, experiencing the power of the connection they seemed to be sharing.
Then her mouth was on his, and it was bittersweet, asking for forgiveness, trying to break down every barrier he had, even the ones he’d never realized were there. This woman was his undoing. No one had touched him or made him feel this way. He’d been so focused on the future instead of living in the moment. He still wanted what he wanted, but now he wanted her too. The best laid plans were always subject to chaos, and she was pure madness.
She broke away. “Go,” she whispered as she backed up. “We’ll sort it all out. But be careful, babe. Be so careful.”
She got into her car and drove away, and he walked back to the barracks. When he got back inside, he pulled off his damp clothes and stood there naked for a few moments. Professor stirred and said, “What the hell are you doing?”
Hemingway, lost in thought said, “I have no idea.”
“Get some clothes on, you fool, and get to bed.”
Hemingway complied and settled beneath the covers, knowing that he would have to tell Professor when they woke up that Hennessey was dead…murdered. The fight had come to them before they were even a quarter into their training, but that wouldn’t stop him. This was a changed game. BUD/S was all about mind games, but these guys were playing for keeps.
The fuckers had devised their own Trojan Horse.
And…the enemy was inside the gates.
10
Shea barely remembered the drive to NCIS. She was in overload. There had been a murder. Wilson was escalating in her mind. The fact that Hemingway had found the body made her tenser. He already had plenty to deal with. She couldn’t seem to separate her dread and pain of her sister’s death from her feelings for this man who had come into her life. The thought of losing him was unbearable. It left her feeling far too vulnerable and shaky inside when those thoughts slipped in. She had to force herself to focus on the here and now. And make every moment count. Their time together was dwindling.
