Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Protecting Sam (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Abbie Zanders

  “What’s that?” he asked carefully.

  “Not here. We talk over burgers and beer. My treat.”

  “Yes to the burgers and beer. Hell no on you treating. I pay, or I don’t go.”

  One side of her mouth curled upward. “You’re kind of caveman, you know that?”

  No argument from him there.

  “A fundamental element of Steve 101,” he agreed.

  “All right, but if I agree to that, then you have to let me take you to Walmart so you can get a few essentials for your place. Like a coffee maker.” She smiled. “And garbage bags.”

  He hesitated. Not because he didn’t need those things, but because her suggestion set warning bells tolling in his head. Shopping for housewares together seemed like such a domestic, couple-y thing to do, and he wasn’t sure he was mentally prepared for that. Granted, she had spent the night at his place, but under extenuating circumstances.

  “Maybe.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Steve pulled his hoodie up to cover his head as the rain went from a light drizzle to a steady fall. However, Sam scooted in closer and pushed his arm so they were both under the umbrella. He caught their reflection in a display window as they walked past. They looked good together. Maybe too good.

  Again, he felt the ping of his internal trip wire, warning him that he might be unintentionally wading into unfamiliar and potentially dangerous territory. Wanting to help her out, being neighborly, and having lusty thoughts that he kept to himself—he was comfortable with those things. But more than that?

  To further confuse things, his conscience reminded him that she was in a vulnerable place and might misconstrue his desire to help as something more. Those waters were murky, at best.

  He liked her, sure. She was down to earth, nice to talk to, and appreciative of his efforts to help. Would he enjoy getting hot and sweaty between the sheets with her? Absolutely. But could he walk away in a couple of months with no hard feelings? Doubtful. She didn’t seem like the type of woman to engage in a casual, no-strings kind of relationship, and he already felt more invested with Sam than he should at this stage.

  He knew he didn’t want to hurt her. Until he figured out exactly what he was capable of, and willing to give, he was going to have to proceed with extreme caution, for both their sakes.

  Less than an hour later, they were in his Jeep and Sam was directing him to a sketchy looking place in the next town over.

  When he parked and turned to her with a raised eyebrow, she simply said, “I know it doesn’t look like much, but trust me.”

  The place—he didn’t know the name of it because there was no sign—was small, dark, and packed. The interior was nicer than the exterior, but not by much. High-backed booths afforded privacy, and the low lighting lent the place a cozy feel.

  Sam grabbed his hand and led him to a booth in the back. As his trained eyes scanned and analyzed their surroundings and the occupants, he tried not to think about how easily she had reached for him, nor how good her hand felt in his.

  Sam slid in, and he took the seat across from her. He hoped the food was better than the décor. The somewhat ratty tablecloths and tacky plastic flowers didn’t impress him, and the gruff server with half of her head shaved and tatted didn’t inspire confidence. But Sam had asked him to trust her, so he kept his thoughts to himself.

  When he took a bite of his half-pound Angus burger and sampled the thick, hand-cut seasoned fries fifteen minutes later, he admitted they were some of the best he had ever had.

  “I know you said you didn’t like fast food, but I don’t think this counts,” she said, struggling to get her mouth around her own massive burger. “They use only fresh meats from the local butcher shop, and the buns are baked fresh every day. Even the potatoes come from local farms.”

  “It’s delicious,” he agreed. “How did you find out about this place?”

  “My grandparents used to own a bakery here in town. They provided the fresh breads, and I used to deliver them every day before school.”

  “That explains your exemplary muffin making skills.”

  She grinned, her face relaxed and pleasantly flushed. “I practically grew up in the bakery. After my mom’s …” She cleared her throat and took a drink of her beer before continuing. “My mom had some issues, so my grandparents took me in and raised me. They were going to retire and let me take over after I graduated from college.”

  He waited, sensing there was more to the story. He didn’t have to wait long.

  “But life has a way of messing with plans like that. I was in my sophomore year when they passed unexpectedly.”

  “I’m sorry. And taking over the business?”

  “Wasn’t going to happen,” she finished. “The inheritance was enough to keep a roof over my head, pay for college until I got my degree, and keep a very small nest egg for rainy days. I never gave up on my dream of having my own place, though.”

  The server came by and they ordered another round of the house draft which, like the meals, was surprisingly good. Sam then told him about Santori, about the deal they had made, and what had happened earlier that day. It certainly explained why she had been so upset. Hell, it bothered him, and he wasn’t directly affected by any of it.

  “So,” she said finally, pushing her half-empty plate away. “Enough about me. You have more than enough material to ace Sam 101. What about you?”

  Steve was certain there was a whole lot more to Sam than what she had revealed, but she was clearly ready to change the subject. She looked at him expectantly with those big, pretty eyes, and once again, he felt it deep in his chest.

  He wasn’t the sharing type, but there he was, telling her things he hadn’t even told his brothers. Like how he had always wanted to be a SEAL like his dad, who had died in action overseas when Steve was a kid. He glossed over most of his military career for security reasons, which she seemed to understand, though he did talk about some of the places he had seen when they had some downtime.

  An hour later, he was still talking, though he had directed the conversation away from him and onto Church’s vision.

  “I remember that place,” she told him. “We used to supply some of their baked goods. It was a swanky place, really beautiful, and the owners were such nice people. What happened there was such a tragedy.”

  “I don’t know much about it,” Steve said honestly, “other than there was a fire.”

  “Oh, it was awful. The place was closed to the public at the time, but nearly the whole family died that night. There was a son who survived. He was away at basic training or something.”

  Or BUD/s, Steve thought.

  “An arson investigator was brought in, but nothing ever came of it. At least, not as far as I know. Anyway, you guys are doing a wonderful thing. I’d love to help, and I bet a lot of people in town would, too.”

  Sam meant well, and it was a nice idea, but whether or not to get the community involved in these early stages would be Church’s call. As private as Steve was, Church was even more so, and this project was extremely personal.

  Eventually, the little restaurant cleared out and the server informed them the place was closing. He paid the bill, gave her a substantial tip, which earned him an actual smile and a thank you, and then took Sam home.

  She hesitated at her door. He knew she was still anxious about spending the night alone. After promising it would be the last time—they would see about that—she gratefully accepted his offer to crash at his place again.

  “I’m sorry we didn’t get to go shopping,” she said, trying to suppress a yawn.

  “I’m not,” he said honestly.

  The hours that they had spent together had been relaxed, pleasant, and informative. His theories about Church’s ties to the place had been confirmed, and while he wouldn’t have gone digging for the info, it wasn’t exactly a national secret, not to the locals. Another plus: he had avoided the implied domesticity of picking out housewares together, which fell
into line with his plan of proceeding with caution.

  “You’re such a guy,” she murmured with a tired smile.

  Within minutes, she was curled up on his recliner, breathing the deep, even breaths of slumber.

  This time, despite all the inner warnings and good intentions, he couldn’t keep himself from pressing his lips to her forehead before he went reluctantly into his bedroom to do the same.

  * * *

  Sam woke up with a slight headache, most likely due to having that second beer. She wasn’t used to drinking, and even two was enough to spawn a mild background throb and cottony morning mouth. It also explained last night’s acute case of running mouth disease. That was the only thing that would have made her drone on about her personal life.

  She never talked about her mother, and rarely about her grandparents. Her mother because, well, because she didn’t want anyone’s pity. Her grandparents because, even years later, she still missed them so much. If life had followed the plan they had all shared when she was a kid, she would be living her dream, and her grandparents would be enjoying their golden years down in Florida somewhere.

  Poor Steve. He was a heck of a nice guy, and though he must have been bored to tears to hear her run on like that, he had been too kind to say so. Meanwhile, he had the most wonderful stories to tell. Tales of places and people she had only dreamed about. And listening to that deep, baritone voice of his? Well, she could have done that all night. He could have been reading an auto manual and he would have made it sound good.

  She didn’t have any illusions, though. Denial wasn’t really her thing. While his voice might soothe her ragged soul and his fine-ass body might be spawning some steamy dreams, he clearly wasn’t interested in starting anything beyond a friendship. The moment of panic she had seen in his eyes when she had casually mentioned picking up a few things for his apartment had told her everything she needed to know.

  That was fine with her. Mostly. When it came to her neighbor, her feelings were … complicated.

  Steve was already awake, looking sleep-tousled and sexy. Sam decided this whole friend zone thing would be a lot easier if her heart didn’t speed up and the area between her legs didn’t throb at the mere sight of him, but what could she do? Controlling what she said and did was one thing, but regulating her heartbeat and turning off the needy ache at will were beyond her capabilities. Just like shutting down those warm tingles she had felt when she had grabbed his hand without thinking had proven impossible.

  She had to be careful. If he showed any kind of beyond-neighborly interest, she would be hard pressed to refuse. Beneath the independent, capable front she tried to maintain, she was a closet romantic, and he was the closest thing to a modern-day knight in shining armor she had ever come across. She wasn’t easy, not by any means. She could count on one hand the number of guys she had dated, and none of them had roused the kind of interest Steve had.

  So, why could she so easily see herself surrendering her body to this man? Or worse, her heart.

  “Good morning. Sleep well?”

  His deep, sexy voice did nothing to alleviate the ache, she thought irritably. Weren’t men the ones who were supposed to wake up aroused?

  She avoided dropping her gaze to check that theory, opting to check her phone instead.

  “Crap, I’m running late. I guess a night of binging will do that to you.”

  He laughed, the quiet rumble ratcheting up the ache in her core. “You call that binging?”

  “It is for me,” she told him. She focused on folding up the blanket she had used, placing it on the chair when it was a neat rectangle.

  He followed her over to her place without waiting for her to ask, then checked the apartment while she brewed them each a cup of coffee. It occurred to her then just how much she was coming to depend on him and how that might not be such a good thing. Especially when her feelings seemed hell-bent on quickly progressing to “more than neighborly,” despite her own internal warnings. She had to apply the brakes before she wrecked and dented them both.

  “It’s all good,” he said a few minutes later, accepting the mug she handed to him.

  “Thank you. Oh, and I forgot to mention … the locksmith is coming later today, so you can have your recliner back.”

  “I thought you said changing the locks wouldn’t help. You’re not still thinking of going to a motel, are you?”

  “No, I can’t afford that, especially not after what happened yesterday. If I can’t change Mr. Santori’s mind, I can’t continue to work there. Money is going to be tight until I can find another job. I’ll just have to pull up my big girl panties and deal with it. I’ve imposed on you enough.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You’re not imposing.”

  She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “You’ve gone above and beyond the good neighbor code, and I just want you to know I appreciate it.”

  “What are you saying, Sam? That my services are no longer needed?” His voice was teasing, but his eyes were serious.

  “What I’m saying, Steve, is that I hit a rough patch, you helped me through it, and I’m grateful. But this is my problem, and I have to deal with it.”

  When his eyes narrowed further, she felt the urge to squirm under his intense scrutiny but forced a sunny, I-have-this-all-under-control-now smile until she thought her cheeks would crack.

  “Go ahead and finish getting ready. I’ll be back in fifteen to walk you to work.” His expression and tone dared her to challenge him, but she didn’t. She had said what she had wanted to say, wanting him to know that she respected the boundaries of their friend zone and wasn’t going to take advantage of his good nature or angle for something he wasn’t ready, or willing, to give.

  Since she would be providing him and his friends with coffee and muffins, she could rationalize him walking her to work as a killing-two-birds-with-one-stone kind of convenient payback.

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  With a final concerned glance over his shoulder, Steve left.

  Sam looked out the window to check the weather. If it was still raining, she was going to carry her own umbrella today. Being that close to Steve, inhaling whatever clean, spicy scent seemed to cling to him, would play havoc with her intention to keep things simply platonic.

  The lingering cloud cover made it appear even darker than usual, matching her mood. Unsurprisingly, she wasn’t looking forward to going in to the café. Yesterday, it had felt as if she were working toward something important. Today, it just felt like a job, and a thankless one at that.

  Disappointed or not, she had a responsibility, and people were expecting her to be there. Until she figured out what she was going to do, there was no sense in burning bridges. She had made good contacts, and if she quietly put the word out, maybe someone would have good leads on other places, other opportunities. Besides, nothing had actually been signed yet. She still had a chance to change Mr. Santori’s mind and convince him to do the right thing.

  Sirens blared in the background as she took a quick shower and got dressed. She didn’t think too much of them since the fire house was in the next block. It wasn’t unusual to hear them going by at all hours of the day and night.

  When they got closer to the café thirty minutes later, however, she realized where the engines had been going.

  She watched in growing horror as the firefighters battled the flames licking skyward, smoke billowing from the broken windows of Santori’s coffee shop.

  They managed to contain the blaze before too long, but it was difficult to tell just how much damage had been done.

  The police chief spotted her and came over to talk to her.

  “Chief Petraski, what happened?”

  “That’s what we’re going to find out,” the police chief said carefully. “Anything you can tell me, Sam?”

  “No. I was just on my way in. Everything was fine when I left yesterday.”

  “You sure? I heard you and Mr. Santori had a disagreement.”

 
Something in the chief’s tone set her teeth on edge.

  “You’re not suggesting Sam had anything to do with this, are you, Chief?” Steve’s voice was controlled, but Sam felt the tension rolling off him in waves.

  “And who might you be?” the chief asked.

  “Steve Tannen, the man who’s been with Samantha since she left yesterday.”

  Chief Petraski’s eyes turned back to her, assessing and questioning. “That right, Sam?”

  It didn’t take a psychic to know the thoughts that were going through his mind, and she didn’t particularly care for them.

  “Yes,” she said through gritted teeth. “Since my apartment was broken into two nights ago, Steve has been walking me to and from work and letting me crash on his recliner till I can get my locks changed.”

  The chief narrowed his eyes. “Break-in? Did you file a report?”

  “Yes, of course I did.”

  “Hmpf,” he muttered. No doubt he would be checking into that. “Want to tell me what you and the old man were arguing about before you left yesterday?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” Steve interjected.

  “I don’t think I like your tone, Mr. Tannen. Asking questions is part of conducting an investigation.”

  She felt Steve stiffen beside her.

  While she appreciated Steve’s defense on her behalf, it wasn’t helping the situation.

  “Maybe you should just go, Steve,” she said quietly. “The guys are expecting you.”

  “No, I think I’ll stay right here,” he said without taking his eyes off the chief. “This is more important.”

  She sighed. They would have to talk about personal boundaries later, but not in front of Chief Petraski.

  She never had been particularly fond of the chief, and she certainly didn’t care much for his innuendos. Regardless, she had done nothing wrong, and sooner or later, he would see that.

  The rest of the morning passed by in a blur. True to his word, Steve remained by her side, a quiet, protective presence while she talked to the police, the fire chief, and curious customers, answering the same questions over and over.