Saved by the SEAL

by Diana Gardin

  I play along. “Um, eggs?”

  He nods, a knowing gleam lighting up his eyes. “So, haven’t we just named our puppy?” He slowly points between me and the dog. “Grits…and Eggs.”

  I turn the name around in my mind. Then I grin. “Eggs is perfect.”

  He climbs onto a barstool to watch me cook. “Hey…I’ve been thinking.”

  My hand falters in my stirring before I pick up the pace again. You never want to hear your boyfriend say “I’ve been thinking.” It’s terrifying.

  “About?” My tone is cautious, and I keep my eyes on the mixture of grits, milk, and cheese in my bowl.

  “You can look at me, angel.” His tone is gentle. “It isn’t anything bad.”

  I glance up at him. I was able to fall asleep in his arms before the thoughts of last night’s attack reared their ugly heads. I was able to find shelter in his strong arms, from everything and anyone who wanted to hurt me. This morning, the lurking fear is back. I have to face the facts. I have a stalker. This person is unknown. I now have an open case file with the police department, and I’ve been labeled a “victim.” The thought turns my stomach.

  “I want to skip your regular training this morning.”

  I start to protest. “My arm is fine, Grisham, really. Training with you is going to help me—”

  He interrupts, holding up his hand. “We’re going to do a different kind of training. I mentioned it to your dad last night, and he thinks it’s a good idea. So…we’re going to buy you a handgun.”

  I drop the spoon, staring at him.

  I grew up in a house with a gun. My father even made sure my mother knew how to use it when he was gone. So guns are nothing shocking or alarming to me.

  But what was stopping me cold was the reason behind my needing a gun. Grisham must think that I could be in serious danger.

  “You really think I need one?” My voice comes out as barely a whisper.

  His eyes go soft, and he pushes off the barstool, coming around the counter to pull me into his arms. “It’s a precaution. I need to know that if I’m not there…you’re protected.”

  I nod, absorbing the tenderness I feel emanating from his embrace. “I already know how to use a gun. My father taught me years ago.”

  I feel his nod. “That’s what he said last night. But you don’t own one. So we’ll go to the shop today and pick one up, and then we’ll take it to the range for some practice. How does that sound?”

  I look up at him. Staring into his eyes, I see confidence and empowerment as he gazes down at me. He believes that I can handle this.

  So I will.

  “It sounds like I’m getting a gun today.”

  After a lengthy morning at the local sheriff’s office, applying for a handgun, and having my background check and fingerprints scanned, Grisham escorts me gun shopping.

  He takes my hand as we walk inside POW Shooting Sports. I raise my eyebrow at him, and he grins. His smile parentheses make me feel giddy, because he’s obviously enthusiastic about this adventure.

  “Don’t knock the name,” he suggests. “It’s awesome in here.”

  The place is enormous, boasting a retail gun store in addition to a full shooting range and gun classes. Grisham pulls me up to the gleaming sales counter where there are firearms hanging on the wall behind the clerk and also locked in glass cases before us.

  Telling the burly man behind the counter why we’re here, he begins pulling out handguns at Grisham’s instruction. Soon, there are three guns sitting on the counter. Grisham points them out by name: a steely gray 9 mm Glock, a shiny silver .38 Special, and a flat black Sig Sauer.

  I stare at the firearms, trying to decide which one I’m supposed to like best. Grisham gives me a gentle nudge with his arm. “Pick each one up, Grits. Test it out, hold it in your hands. Feel the weight of it to see what’s comfortable.”

  At his encouragement, I nod and begin picking up each weapon one at a time and doing exactly as he said. I find all three have a very different feeling in my hands.

  Grisham leans into me, his voice tickling my ear as he looks at the selection through my eyes. “Which one of them feels like something you’d feel comfortable using to defend yourself?”

  I toss him a quick, startled glance. His expression is somber, like what he’s saying is a matter of life and death.

  It may be.

  “You aren’t just purchasing a firearm to practice with, Greta. If you own a gun, you need to be prepared for the day you’ll have to use it. It’s a serious thing. I want you to think really hard about it.”

  I nod and then look at the three weapons again. All I can do is go with the one that I felt an immediate connection with when I held it. The Sig Sauer had felt hefty in my hands, but comfortable. Like I could wield it as an extension of my own body.

  “I want that one,” I say softly, pointing to the black pistol.

  Grisham gives me a smile full of pride, and then he nods to the clerk. Pulling out a credit card, Grisham starts to slide it across the counter.

  My eyes widen, and I grasp Grisham’s arm, halting his progress. “That pistol costs nine hundred dollars,” I hiss. “You’re not buying it for me!”

  The corner of his lips quirk as he gives me an amused expression. “Your safety is at risk, Greta, and I’d damn well buy you ten guns if it were going to help keep you safe. But this one”—he indicates the credit card—“is on Night Eagle. Work expense.”

  Breathing a sigh of relief, I release him.

  After I fill out the required paperwork and the clerk tells me that I can pick up my gun in a few days pending approval, Grisham leads me to the shooting range.

  POW has an indoor practice range, a massive space where target practice commences. Armed with a pistol similar to the one I just purchased, I stare at the man-shaped target standing thirty feet in front of me. As I peer at the targets, a shiver rockets through me from head to foot. Grisham, noticing, moves to stand behind me. With his arms around my waist, he leans in to speak calmly in my ear.

  “It’s okay. No one is going to hurt you. You’re just here to practice. To get better at using your firearm. You can do this, Grits. You’re the strongest woman I know.”

  I allow his words to wash over me like a salve, soothing all the scared bits and pieces in order to make me feel like the brave person he believes I am. I close my eyes, and then when I open them again the tremors are gone.

  “I’m ready,” I say clearly.

  Grisham places a set of protective gear over my head for my ears. Then he steps back and stands by my side. When I glance at him, his eyes are on the target. Waiting.

  It’s like riding a bike. There’s no safety mechanism on this gun, only a hammer and a trigger, and both must be engaged in order to fire the weapon. The training sessions I had with my father years ago roll through my mind like a slide show, and I aim for the chest. I steady the gun and keep my eyes wide open.

  Focus, Greta. Focus on the target, eyes wide open, squeeze…

  The shot resounds off the walls and rafters and a hole opens up in the chest of my target. A satisfied smile settles onto my lips. When I look at Grisham, he’s grinning at me. He gestures toward the headpiece, and I pull it down around my neck.

  “You were holding out on me,” he says. “You’re a good shot. What aren’t you good at?”

  I shrug. “It’s been awhile. I wasn’t sure I’d remember what to do. But I did.”

  He shakes his head, staring at me with wonder in his eyes. That expression will never, ever get old. I want to put it there every single day. For Grisham to look at me like I’m something special, like I’m important, makes me feel like the luckiest girl on the planet.

  And he just gave me yet another gift: confidence. I know that if I ever have to use a firearm to defend myself, I’ll be able to do it. But I don’t want it to have to come to that.

  “I want the police to catch this bastard so I’ll never have to use this gun.” My tone is flat and ha
rd.

  Grisham places his hands on my shoulders, forcing me to look into his eyes. I set the revolver down carefully on a metal rail beside me and then place a hand on Grisham’s chest. “Me, too. In the meantime, you’re going to have to be extra careful, Greta. I don’t want you going anywhere by yourself. If I have to, I’ll be your shadow.”

  I smile. “You can’t be my shadow. You’re still working at the base until December.”

  He frowns. “Halloween is next week. We don’t have much longer until the end of the year. And then I’m all yours. Until then, make sure you let Mea know that you two need a buddy system going. And the guys will walk you to and from your car at work every day. I want you to stay with me at night.”

  My ears perk up. Grisham wants me to stay with him at night? As in…

  “Grisham, I really don’t want to hear this wrong. You want me to stay at your house every single night? Wouldn’t that mean I’d need to keep my stuff there?”

  His lips curl upward. “Would that be a problem? I kind of like your stuff. And Eggs needs a mom and a dad.”

  I just gawk at him, mouth agape.

  He sighs, then patiently spells out his request. “Greta…I want you to move in with me.”

  The first emotion I feel is shock. It threatens to knock me off my feet. Then elation buoys my spirit, lifting me so high I feel like I could become airborne at any moment.

  Holy hell. He just asked me to live with him. Grisham Abbot wants me in his home…all the time.

  Then I think of Mea. She’s my best friend, not just my roommate, and I don’t want to leave her hanging.

  “I want to live with you and Eggs. I really do. But I can’t just leave Mea hanging without any notice or without knowing what she’ll do next about a roommate. I’ll talk to her about it and maybe we can figure it out. But I’m not saying no.”

  God, I’m definitely not saying no.

  He nods resolutely. “Okay. Talk to Mea and then get back to me. Because I want you all up in my space, Grits. Not just because I want to protect you. But because you’re mine.”

  I’m yours.

  My eyes are moist as I gaze up at him. I’ve never lived with a boyfriend before, and I realize with a jolt of surprise that I want nothing more than to share a home with Grisham. Share a life with him.

  It could have happened when I woke up to see him staring down at me on the beach that day. Or maybe it happened when he stayed with me the night I had a concussion. Hell, it could have even been when he made love to me for the first time.

  It doesn’t matter. At some point in this roller-coaster ride with Grisham Abbot, I’d gone and fallen in love with him. There is no question about it; it’s just a true and simple fact. And now he’d bought us a puppy and he wants me to move in with him. But the L word hasn’t yet come into play.

  Am I alone in my amorous feelings for this sexy Navy SEAL who saved my life? Or is he falling for me, too?

  23

  Grisham

  By Wednesday of the following week, I’m pretty sure I’ve annoyed Greta with the amount of time I’m spending with her. I don’t want her to feel trapped by my presence, but I’d rather that than something happen to her on my watch. She’s received no more “gifts” from her stalker, and I’m grateful for that. But I’m sure he’s lying low after the attack. Maybe he knows that Greta filed a police report, and that his unwanted attention is now on file.

  Either way, spending time with her just feels…right. It gives my life a different kind of purpose. I want to protect her, but I also have an unyielding urge to make her happy. To make her smile. To make her feel the kind of pleasure that makes a woman want to stay.

  I want her to stay with me.

  It’s a foreign concept to me, wanting a woman to stay. Relationships for me have been purposely short and to the point. Mutual casual affairs have been all I’ve allowed in my life for a long time. But with Greta, I want so much more than that.

  I want life. I want the whole package. Sitting on the couch with Greta’s legs draped across my lap in the evening is more enthralling than a wild night with some faceless woman from a raucous bar. But I’m not sure how to convey my feelings.

  I don’t want to scare her away, and I don’t want to jump the gun. I want to make sure she’s ready for all I have to give.

  Or, if I’m being honest, I want to make sure that I’m really ready.

  I’ve never committed to anyone in my life. Maybe I don’t have the first clue how to be good at it.

  But, as I walk into Night Eagle that day, I have a firm grip on exactly what I am good at.

  “Hey, you.” Greta greets me from her desk, pausing in whatever work she’s doing on her computer to stand, coming around her desk to walk right into my arms. I hug her tight, resting my chin on top of her head and sighing with absolute contentment.

  “I always feel better when I’m holding you,” I say honestly. “That way, I know you’re safe.”

  She tips her head back to look up at me, smiling indulgently. “I’m fine, silly. I’ve just been here working. And I have a literal army of guys to watch my back.”

  “True. But physical contact is always better.”

  She pulls back completely and gestures toward the office. “Dad wants you in there ASAP. I think they’ve got something they’re working on that’s short notice. So they’ve been trying to sort things out and come up with a working plan. I think it might be a rescue of some sort.”

  I nod, my mind immediately transitioning from boyfriend-mode to work-mode. I kiss her lips quickly and walk into the office, closing the door quietly behind me.

  Jacob is situated on the couch, looking thoughtfully at something on his laptop screen. Kyle glances at the screen over his shoulder, seemingly reading what his boss is looking at. Dare, Teague, and Shaw are poring over a map of some kind, blown up to large scale.

  “What’s going on?” I ask as I enter the room and sit down at Jacob’s side.

  Everyone glances up, surprised to see me. They were all so absorbed in their tasks that they hadn’t heard me open the office door.

  “It looks pretty serious,” I offer cautiously.

  Jacob looks back down at the computer. “It always is when there’s a child involved.”

  My stomach sinks. “What’s up, boss?”

  Dare sits up and rubs his hand over his head several times. In weeks of working with him, I’ve learned that it’s his telltale sign of stress and worry.

  “It’s not good, dude,” he says grimly.

  The foreboding feeling I’m experiencing increases. I can feel a bead or two of sweat break out on my brow as the fist of anxiety in my stomach grows and clenches.

  “A little boy has been taken.”

  The sentence drops on the room like a bomb, carrying me to a dark and deadly place where there are no survivors. Anybody who takes a child from his family has a sick, twisted soul and that means we’re dealing with a monster.

  “FBI’s on it?” I ask.

  “Yes. They’ve located the place where the child is being kept. We’re all just hoping he’s still alive. They’ve asked us to go in to help extract him. Just south of the state line there’s an underground network of tunnels that have been around since the Civil War.”

  Frowning, I look at the map spread out on the table. “Like from the Underground Railroad?”

  Jacob nods. “Sick fucker took the kid and escaped into the tunnels. No ransom note. So he’s not after money. He just wanted a kid to play with.”

  My stomach rolls. “Oh, fuck.”

  Kyle speaks up. “We’re communicating regularly with the feds, but this team doesn’t have much time to strategize. Every moment counts. We don’t want to go in and fuck it up, but we don’t want the kid to have to stay there any longer than necessary.”

  Dare nods. His face looks strained. I can see it on all the guys’ expressions. This case is wearing them down. “We need you on this, Grisham. Your stealth training is going to be essential. We
plan to be down there Friday, ready to go in the middle of the night Friday night or early Saturday morning.”

  I nod, already all in on this mission. “You’ve got me. Let’s get this shit figured out. I want to bring that kid back alive.”

  Jacob nods, and we all get back to studying documents and begin planning out the details.

  It’s Friday afternoon, and I’ve decided to take Greta out for lunch. We’re leaving in a couple of hours for our kidnapping rescue assignment, and I want to spend a moment with her before I leave.

  She sits across the table from me, her long dark hair pulled into a high ponytail that shows off the elegant lines of her neck. She’s casual today in a pair of jeans and boots, with a thin, long-sleeved sweater that accommodates the continually dropping fall temperatures.

  Whatever look Greta decides works best for her on any given day is a look that grabs and holds my attention. She’s so much more beautiful than she even knows, and it’s a quality that draws me toward her like iron filings to a magnet.

  The server at the casual eatery we’ve chosen brings us platters of sandwiches and chips, and we dig in. I watch Greta take a dainty bite of her pastrami and Swiss, and then close her eyes in pleasure while she savors it. Swallowing hard, I turn my attention to my own sandwich. The girl is pretty damn distracting when she’s eating. I didn’t even know a girl could be sexy while she ate.

  “So you guys are all set for this mission?” she asks cautiously. “Everything has been practiced and you know what you’re doing like the back of your hand?” Her voice carries a hint of anxiety, lilting upward ever so slightly at the end of her question.

  “Yes, angel,” I answer patiently. “We’ve got this. There’s no way we’re letting this monster hurt that kid. We go in and grab him, bring the guy down, and get out. He won’t even know we’re coming. We don’t have to follow the same procedures the FBI does; that’s why they called us in on the case.”

  She nods. “I know that. But I worry. I want my father and my boyfriend to come back in one piece.”