Her SEAL Protector

by Jillian Burns

  The events of last night leaped to mind. Humiliation swamped her and she jackknifed up and the blanket slid to the floor.

  Clay bent to grab it at the same time she did, then let go as their hands touched.

  Where was an invisibility cape when you needed one?

  The last time she’d felt this mortified had also been the result of a rash decision. She’d once tried happy hour with some of the women from her office. After a few drinks she’d decided twenty-five was way too old to still be a virgin and had left with a cute guy. Luckily, he’d been unexpectedly understanding when she broke off a hot and heavy kiss at his door and told him she’d changed her mind.

  She’d wished for a cloaking device at that moment.

  But this time was worse.

  This time it hadn’t been her idea to stop.

  “Bagel or Danish?” Clay offered her a white pastry bag she hadn’t noticed him holding before. The thought of food and the delicious aroma of coffee made her stomach gurgle. Apparently, even acute embarrassment wasn’t enough to kill her appetite.

  Gabby swiped the hair out of her face. The train! She jumped to her feet. She had to get home. “What time is it?”

  He checked his watch. “Oh-seven-hundred.”

  “I—I need to get to the train station. Is there a bus stop close by?”

  “Gabby.” He said her name with an air of disappointment. “I’ll take you to the train station. But you have time to eat. Grab a shower even.”

  She eyed the pastry bag. She was starving. But given the way they’d left things last night, how could he act so casual? She couldn’t even stand to think about how she’d thrown herself at him. And how he’d rejected her.

  “Look, about last night.” His face was expressionless. “I didn’t handle that well. It’s just that—”

  “No need to explain,” she interjected. “I get it.” She started folding the thick duvet, straightening the pillows on his sofa, collecting her stuff. Anything to avoid eye contact.

  “No, I’m pretty sure you don’t, Gabby. I’m a SEAL. And SEALs—”

  “Please.” She finally looked at him, pleading. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

  His mouth tightened and the corners dropped into a frown. “Okay.”

  “Thank you.” She set the folded blanket on the couch and headed down the hall. “I’ll be ready to go in thirty minutes, if that’s okay.”

  The next hour was excruciatingly civil. The uncomfortable silence in his SUV made the short ride to the train station seem like hours. And once they arrived there he insisted on walking with her to the platform.

  While she’d wolfed down a Danish, he’d showered and dressed in crisp brown-and-tan camouflage pants with a dark brown T-shirt, though he hadn’t shaved. He studied the train arrival and departure schedule, checked his watch and then finally turned to look at her. “Be sure to practice those moves once you get back.”

  “I will.” She fussed with her purse, digging out her return ticket.

  A moment of silence passed.

  You have to face him sometime, coward. She smoothed out her ticket and then looked him in the eye. “Thank you for taking the time to teach me.”

  He nodded, took her phone and thumbed in something. “It’s my cell number,” he said, handing it back. “Feel free to call if you need anything.” Then he winced and half turned away.

  Yeah, that would happen. She stuck out her right hand. “Thanks again.” Have a nice life.

  When he finally met her eyes she felt the predictable punch of desire. “Take care.” He gave her hand a hard, quick shake, then strode off.

  Well.

  Now she knew exactly how James had felt. Friend zoned.

  But on the train ride home, her phone beeped, signaling the battery was dying. That reminded her of Clay this morning when he’d been talking on his phone. He’d been telling someone he couldn’t get away. That he didn’t want to be guilted into something.

  Whoever he’d been talking to bothered him more than he let on.

  9

  @nerdybankanalyst

  Self-defense lessons awesome. Thank you, you-know-who #bankingpunoftheday Two banks with different rates have a conflict of interest.

  “MEETING’S ADJOURNED. Thank you, everyone.” The new vice president stood and all the project managers around the table got to their feet, collecting papers and folders.

  Finally. Gabby was on her third mug of coffee this morning already. The train from Virginia Beach hadn’t arrived at Penn Station until well after midnight and getting to sleep in the vandalized apartment had been a challenge. Although, the self-defense lessons must’ve helped some. She’d slept without nightmares.

  As people began to file out, Gabby uncrossed her legs and slipped her notepad under her stack of reports. Probably not a good idea to let the new VP see she’d been doodling on her legal pad for the past ten minutes.

  She’d never been sure why she even needed to attend these weekly meetings, but the enormous conference room had a spectacular view of the Freedom Tower. Plus...doughnuts. Who was she to question her superiors?

  “Ms. Diaz, can I talk to you for a sec?”

  Gabby froze, and then faced her supervisor, Pamela Cloud. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “One of our senior analysts has a family emergency. How would you feel about attending the International Banking Conference next week?”

  Um...elated? Excited? Over the moon? Was she kidding? They were talking Switzerland here. Every year bankers from around the world convened in Lucerne. Gabby would give her eyeteeth to go. “Me?”

  “Yes, you.” Her boss smiled. “You’ve proven yourself competent, hardworking and, most of all—” she leaned in conspiratorially and lowered her voice “—I need someone who will actually attend the workshops instead of spending the whole trip sampling the beer and eating schnitzel.”

  “Gabby’s going?” James blurted out, appearing beside her.

  Gabby jumped, but Pamela glared at him. His pale complexion reddened and he stammered something about being glad she would have the opportunity. But he didn’t look glad. Was he simply surprised that a junior analyst was going? Or was he specifically unhappy that she would be there? Maybe he’d looked forward to going to the conference without her.

  She’d avoided seeing him in the break room this morning as usual, and he’d given her the cold shoulder when she’d been forced to sit beside him at this meeting. So far this month, she was two-for-two in the alienating-men category. Go me.

  Despite that, she couldn’t tamp down a ripple of excitement about the trip to Switzerland. It meant she might get a little closer to receiving the promotion—and raise—she’d been hoping for. The extra money would really help Jorge’s college fund.

  After instructing Gabby to watch for flight and other details about the trip in her inbox, Pamela left, but James lingered. “Congratulations. They’ve never sent a junior analyst to Lucerne before.” He smiled, but there was a manic feel to his well-wishes.

  Still, she chose to think the best of him. “Thanks,” she said, returning his smile. Maybe asking his advice would boost his ego. Since they had to work together, she did want to be on friendly terms with him. “You went last year. What clothes should I pack for April in Switzerland?”

  He looked shocked. “How would I know what clothes you have?” He smoothed his hair down at the front and back, and hurried out.

  Gabby blinked. Maybe the incident in Paraguay had left him a burrito short of a fiesta platter.

  * * *

  AS SOON AS she got home she turned on her favorite telenovela while she started cleaning up the mess in her apartment. She’d been too exhausted earlier to do anything but fall into bed. As she grabbed up clothes and books, she made a mental list of what she would take to Sw
itzerland. That helped the heartache of finding some of her favorite novels ripped apart. “You just need to put the break-in and the humiliation of the last two days behind you, Gabby Diaz.”

  She’d cleared most of the chaos from the living room, and made a mental note to buy a sofa cover, when her buzzer rang. At the same time her phone beeped announcing that she had a text.

  Grabbing her phone, she answered the door buzzer first. “Who is it?”

  “Neil Barrow, Barrow Security. Clay sent me, Ms. Diaz.”

  At Clay’s name, Gabby’s stomach leaped. “Clay? Sent you for what?” She couldn’t even begin to speculate.

  “He should’ve sent a text explaining.”

  The text. She checked her phone.

  Barrow is ex-SEAL. Owed me a favor.

  Will beef up security for you.

  Ask him for code word.

  He should tell you: straight arrow

  “Ms. Diaz?” the man on the intercom prompted.

  Gabby realized her mouth was hanging open and pressed her intercom button. “What’s the code word?”

  “Straight arrow.”

  Was this for real? Should she let this stranger inside her apartment? What had he said his company name was? Maybe she could do a quick search for it on her phone. She found a website for Barrow Security. Wow. He was an ex-SEAL. And a bodyguard to lingerie model Piper.

  She pressed the button to let him in and a minute later she heard the old elevator squeaking its way up. Gabby rushed to the bathroom to brush her hair and touch up her makeup, and then made a face at herself in the mirror. Did she think this guy was going to report back to Clay on her appearance?

  Shaking her head, she darted back to the door just as someone knocked. She checked the peephole and spied a tall guy with an average build and light brown hair. He didn’t wear any kind of uniform, just jeans and a button-down dress shirt. Nothing menacing about him, except he carried a bulky, black leather duffel...

  When she didn’t answer right away, he set down the duffel, pulled out his wallet and held up an identification card with his credentials. Certified by the Department of Homeland Security? She unlocked the dead bolt, unhooked the chain and swung the door open, greeting him with a handshake.

  “Neil Barrow. Nice to meet you, ma’am.” He had that same military bearing that distinguished Clay from other men.

  “Just Gabby.” She bit her lip.

  “I’ve known Clay since BUD/S—er, basic training,” he said, shouldering the bag. “He was worried about your apartment’s security and asked me to install a few alarms and cameras.”

  “He is? He did?”

  “Yes, ma’am, uh, Gabby.” He smiled ruefully. “And I owe him a favor, so there’s no charge. Take maybe a couple of hours.”

  Clay had called in a favor from a former Navy SEAL who now guarded a famous model? Because he was worried about her? Maybe she shouldn’t read into that, but she couldn’t help a little flicker of hope that Clay really had felt something for her.

  Or maybe he just felt guilty.

  Which he shouldn’t. He hadn’t done anything wrong. The whole mess had been her fault.

  “So...?” the guy urged.

  Oh, gosh, the man was still waiting in the hallway. She smiled and ushered him in, leading him down the hall. “I guess you can see what would be best. I don’t want to be any trouble, though.” And she’d have to Tweet another thank-you to one of her followers later.

  When she turned back to the ex-SEAL, he’d detoured into her small kitchen—stepping over dumped drawers and cabinets—before coming to stand in the middle of her living room.

  He wore a grim expression as he looked around. “Bellamy said someone broke in, but he didn’t mention the slashed sofa and ruined personal items.”

  That was because she hadn’t mentioned them to Clay. “Happens all the time, right?”

  The security guy raised a dubious brow and then gestured to the alcove that was her bedroom. “May I?”

  At her nod, he strode past the curtain, and she heard him swear under his breath. The slashed underwear was kind of...creepy. One of the reasons she’d panicked the other night.

  He reappeared and stared at her, hard. “This wasn’t some random break-in, Gabby.”

  The hairs on her arms stood up. “What do you mean?”

  The ex-SEAL’s eyes narrowed. “Someone hates you.”

  * * *

  CLAY BIT THE inside of his cheek to keep from doubling over in pain. That last punch to the solar plexus hurt like a son of a gun.

  He’d spent the day on base punishing his body. Training at the gym with his buddies, then going a few rounds in the ring with a young hotshot who’d probably be taking Clay’s place in his SEAL team in the next couple of years. That was a sobering thought.

  One of many that seemed to haunt him lately.

  Why had his sister even called? Ashley had this unrealistic view of their family, actually, of the world. She saw what she wanted to see. But life wasn’t all hearts and flowers. And their family would never be like one on some TV sitcom. Did she really think if he came home, he and Mom would miraculously reconcile? Nothing could make him forget all the years she’d stood by and done nothing.

  Nope. He’d only make things worse if he set foot in that house. If he even laid eyes on the old man, the one thing they would not be having was a reconciliation.

  Making things worse seemed to be his thing lately. The way he’d left it with Gabby kept nagging at him. His fingers had hovered over his cell phone several times, but he’d checked the impulse to call her. What a stupid move that would’ve been. He shouldn’t have even given his number to her. The woman was emotional C-4. He’d dodged a bullet.

  Still, it wouldn’t hurt to check in with his buddy later tonight. Make sure there weren’t any snafus setting up the security system. Double-check that Neil had spared no expense. Then Clay could have a guilt-free Gabby memory dump and be free of her once and for all.

  Shaking his head, he barely managed to get his fists back up in position without wincing, while the kid bounced from one foot to the other as if he could go a hundred more rounds. It made Clay feel way older than thirty.

  Just as the kid came at him, glove swinging, Doughboy called to him, “Hey, Hounddog.”

  Clay glanced toward Doughboy and the kid’s glove connected with his jaw. He staggered back, seeing stars.

  Shaking off the dizziness, he rubbed his jaw. Was it sad that he was grateful for an excuse to stop? He lifted both arms to end the match, and then scowled at Doughboy as he removed his mouth guard. “What was so important?”

  Doughboy smirked as he held up Clay’s cell phone. “Your phone’s buzzing.”

  “Catch you later, kid.” He used his teeth to untie his right glove while he bent under the rope to leave the ring. Glove off, he grabbed his phone from Doughboy. Barrow had called? When a simple text to let him know he’d finished with the apartment would’ve done?

  He headed for the locker room, pulling off his other glove with his teeth, and dialed his buddy.

  “Barrow Security,” Neil answered.

  “Give me a sitrep.”

  “I’m here at Gabby’s.” Neil sounded dead serious.

  Clay stilled. Was Gabby standing right there? Should he talk to her? Then he grimaced. What was this? Junior high? “What’s going on?”

  “This was no punk looking for electronics. Somebody has it in for her.”

  A cold fear snaked down Clay’s spine. “Get her out of there.”

  “I tried. She won’t leave.”

  “Then make her leave.”

  “She said she ran once and it didn’t solve anything. And honestly, there’s a better way to deal with this.”

  “Did you—?”

 
“Chill, bro. I’ve set up perimeter cameras, silent alarms and twenty-four-hour video monitoring to my company. I gave her a smart grid to control the lights, and I even programmed her a mobile app. Nobody’s getting in without her and us knowing about it.”

  “That’s not good enough.”

  A split second of silence was followed by “Buddy, you want her any safer, you better come up here and guard her yourself. Actually, that’s not a bad—”

  Clay heard what sounded like a muffled cry in the background. Everything in him went on alert. “What was that?”

  “Hold on.”

  More muffled voices, pitched low. Gabby’s voice was shaking. Clay wanted to snap his phone in two. He wanted to leap from cell tower to cell tower and be at her apartment now.

  “Barrow, what the hell is going on?” he yelled into his phone.

  Waiting seconds for Neil to come back to his phone felt like days, weeks. “You’re not going to like this.”

  “Barrow, I swear, if you don’t tell me right now—”

  “She just received a threat via Snapchat. And I quote, ‘Don’t go to Switzerland, or what happened in Paraguay will end worse for you this time.’ End quote. Evidently, she’s attending some international conference next week.”

  Clay swore long and hard. “Call the police.”

  “Already on it. But you know this won’t be a high priority for them. It’ll take weeks to trace the IP address.”

  There weren’t enough curse words. Clay gritted his teeth. Gabby must be terrified. She’d come to him for help and he’d sent her back into harm’s way. It didn’t make sense but he felt responsible for her now. He wanted to be the one there with her, to wrap his arms around her and protect her. Swear he’d kill anyone that dared hurt her. His hand shook as he held the phone. “How’s she handling it?” If he knew Gabby she was trying to be strong.

  “Pale, but putting a brave face on it. She’s gone to the restroom. You know—” Neil lowered his voice. “She could be doing this to herself just to get attention.”