Saving Zola (Sleeper SEALs Book 4)

by Becca Jameson

  He needed to face his past. Tomorrow.

  He groaned inwardly as he remembered their final night together. The night he’d lost his virginity. And she hers. The last time he’d spoken to her. The last time he’d communicated with her at all.

  He was a dick.

  If he had an ounce of common sense, he would call Greg Lambert and tell him there was no way in hell he could take this job. The moment he walked into Zola’s life, she was likely to slam the door in his face.

  On the flip side, what choice did he have? No way was he going to turn the job over to someone else. What if that guy couldn’t keep her safe? He would never be able to forgive himself if anything happened to Zola.

  Nope.

  This was on him. He needed to swallow his pride, go to her house, face her head-on, and then, when all the pleasantries were over, he needed to protect her with his own life.

  Not one damn thing would happen to Zola Carver on his watch.

  Ever.

  She might not like it, but the truth was he was good at his job. One of the best. It didn’t matter that he’d left the SEALs three years ago. His training was ingrained in him.

  It had taken over a year for him to gain full use of his left knee after replacement surgery and therapy, but he’d come back. He was as fit today as he’d been on tour. The new knee wasn’t perfect. It sometimes ached. He often worked himself too hard. But when push came to shove, he could ignore the lingering pain and do what needed to be done.

  Keeping Zola alive needed to be done.

  His adrenaline already pumped through his system. He’d told Lambert he needed a day or two to sort his shit. But no fucking way was he wasting another day with Zola’s life on the line. He would arrange to meet with her first thing tomorrow, deal with her wrath, and move on to the part where he kept her ass alive.

  No matter what.

  * * *

  At eleven o’clock the following morning, Mike took a deep breath, wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, and lifted one hand to knock on the door to Zola’s condo.

  Luckily, he’d gotten the first flight out of Norfolk that morning and rented a car in Hartford for the drive down to New Haven. Meanwhile, Lambert had informed Zola that her bodyguard was due to arrive before noon.

  Apparently, she had rearranged her busy schedule to meet with Mike at her condo.

  Mike hadn’t said a word to Lambert concerning his previous relationship with the woman he was supposed to protect. He had no way of knowing if Lambert had given his name to Zola or simply told her someone would be arriving to provide protection.

  Even though Mike had faced off with more enemies than he could count during two tours, most of whom would have given their own wife and children to ensure Mike was killed, he’d never been as nervous as he was at this moment.

  Twelve long years.

  A lifetime.

  What the hell was he about to face?

  He flinched when he heard the handle of the door turning before it opened.

  And then the world stopped spinning.

  There she was. In the flesh. The girl he’d loved more than himself for more than two years in their teens. The girl he’d pledged to never forget. The girl who’d given him her heart and her virginity.

  She blinked, her body stiff, her fingers white where she held the doorframe too tightly. “Mike?”

  She was every bit as gorgeous as she’d been twelve years ago.

  No. That was a lie. She was so much prettier now. Wiser. Older. Cultured. An adult. Definitely no longer a girl.

  Her strawberry-blond hair might have been a shade darker, but her skin was just as smooth and pale. And her eyes… Shit. That color of green had mesmerized him every time he’d looked at her.

  He cleared his throat and licked his lips. “Zola.” He couldn’t help but let his gaze roam up and down her body. She was even sexier than he remembered too. More filled out. A woman. Her hips were wider. Her breasts fuller. Even her face was softer.

  She’d been too skinny when they were younger. She was fucking amazing today.

  “What are you doing here?” She glanced past him. “I’m expecting…” Her gaze jerked back to his. She swallowed. “I’m expecting you, aren’t I?”

  “Yes.” He continued to stand outside her door, letting her acclimate to the knowledge that he was back in her life, information he’d had for thirteen hours. Information she had a right to process. Obviously she hadn’t been expecting him.

  He forced deep breaths, his hands hanging loosely at his sides. He didn’t want to cross his arms and create a subconscious barrier between them.

  Seconds ticked by. She blinked, staring at him. Her gaze also wandered up and down his body. “You look good,” she whispered, though he wasn’t sure she intended to say that out loud.

  “You do too, Zola. May I come in?” he prompted.

  “Right. Of course.” She stepped back, releasing the doorframe and opening the door wider.

  He stepped past her, entering her home for the first time. The deep breath he took for fortification was a mistake. Every memory crashed back around him as her scent reached deep into his soul.

  Zola stepped around him, notably not touching him.

  Could he blame her?

  “Come in.” She headed deeper into her space, leaving him to watch her from behind.

  For a moment, he simply stood frozen, staring at her fantastic ass encased in a pencil skirt. The spike heels she wore made her legs even longer than he remembered.

  At eighteen, she had already carried herself with an air of importance, having been bred to keep her shoulders back and her head high. At thirty, she had clearly perfected the art.

  He reminded himself she was a lawyer. And not just any lawyer. She was already an assistant district attorney in the New Haven office. Did her job play a role in the threats to her life? Lambert and the file had suggested as much.

  As he glanced around her condo, he wondered how she could afford such a nice place. No doubt she barely made a passing wage from the district attorney’s office. And this condo was worth more than she could afford. Of course, her father was a state senator who came from money.

  Zola headed straight for the kitchen that was attached to the living room, separated only by a dining area. The layout was modern and the design was sleek. It had been remodeled at some point, undoubtedly knocking out walls to open up the space.

  She rounded the breakfast bar, still not speaking, and grabbed the coffee pot, filling two mugs before lifting her gaze. “Do you still take it black?”

  “Yes.” He nearly choked on the word. She remembered how he took his coffee?

  After she slid one mug across the counter to where he stood on the other side, she lifted her own with both hands and took a sip. Did she need the caffeine to give her strength? Or was she hiding behind the mug as a defensive strategy?

  “You’re working for the district attorney,” he commented to break the ice.

  “Yes. It’s not a glamourous job, but it’s where my heart lies. Of course, the CIA seems to think one or more of the people I’ve helped convict may be directly or indirectly attempting to kidnap me. I’ll tell you right now, I don’t buy it.”

  He lifted a brow. “Seriously?”

  She nodded. “Lawyers get threats all the time. It’s part of the job. Mine is no different from anyone else’s.”

  Ah, so she wanted to cut right to the chase. “I’m under the impression the threats coming to you have more to do with your father’s position as senator than your own work.”

  “Yes. That’s what they tell me.” She rolled her eyes. “My father has been working hard on legislature that would help us indict more suspected terrorists in civilian court. Nevertheless, it’s a stretch.”

  Mike took a sip of the steaming coffee and set the mug on the counter. “With all due respect, Zola, a clandestine section of the CIA hired me under the table to protect your life. I’m inclined to take that very seriously. Would it be possible
for us to operate under the assumption that the government doesn’t throw money away for no good reason and assume they must have sufficient evidence to support my standing in your kitchen today?” He forced himself to keep his voice level. It was an art. Though it was admittedly difficult while facing his childhood sweetheart—a woman with a possible death wish.

  Zola stared at him for long moments, her expression giving nothing away. Finally, she sighed, at the same time allowing her shoulders to sag. “Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that someone would like to kidnap or even kill me, are you planning to follow me around indefinitely until this terrorist is apprehended?” She visibly shuddered as though the thought of spending even two minutes in Mike’s company gave her goosebumps.

  Mike set his hands on her counter and leaned forward, waiting until he had her full attention—her gaze fixed on his—before he spoke again. He was a little put off by her flippant attitude. “Actually, Zola, my plan would be to kill the motherfucker who dares to threaten you with my bare hands sooner rather than later.”

  Zola gasped, her mouth falling open.

  He didn’t intend to get defensive, but his next words couldn’t be interpreted any other way. “So, yes. I do indeed intend to latch on to your side for the foreseeable future until the threat is dispelled. But, as it turns out, I’m pretty good at my job. So you won’t have to worry about my disruption in your life for any longer than absolutely necessary.”

  Her lips slowly closed, and she licked across the bottom one and then the top one.

  It was all he could do to keep from moaning at the fullness of those rosy lips. Lips he remembered tasting more times than he could count as if the last such occurrence had been yesterday.

  “I’m in the middle of a case,” she pointed out, her voice holding far less conviction than a minute ago.

  “And I’m under the impression your boss, the district attorney, has been informed of your situation and is prepared to deal with your temporary absence from the office with the understanding you will continue to work remotely and check in twice daily. I got us a burner phone, and you can use my secure computer. You’ll need to leave yours behind in case they’re bugged.”

  Mike had done his homework. He’d studied her file cover to cover. He’d spoken with Lambert early that morning and then again on his way to her condo.

  Zola closed her eyes as she took another sip of her coffee. Finally, she set it down, seemingly resigned. “Fine. What’s the plan?”

  Without flinching, he spoke. “I have a vacation home I’ve been renting for the month. We could return there if you’d like, or if you have another destination in mind, I’ll let go of my rental and we can make other plans.”

  “Where?”

  “Norfolk.”

  “Virginia?”

  “Is there another?” he teased, forcing a small smile.

  She narrowed her gaze. “It’s just that it’s February. And it’s cold. You chose a beach property in the Northeast? Why not Florida or San Diego?”

  Mike shrugged. “I don’t mind the cold. And I’m not the sort of person who needs to surf or lie in the sun. I just wanted peace and quiet for a month or two before taking my next assignment.”

  “How long did that last?”

  “Four days.”

  She winced. “Shit. Bummer.”

  “Is it?” He lifted a brow. The way he saw it currently, there was every possibility this working vacation wouldn’t suck at all. He was going to spend countless days with a woman he once loved more than himself. Unless she had undergone a drastic personality change, he intended to enjoy every moment of her company.

  A slow smile spread across Zola’s face. “Jury’s still out on that one.”

  Chapter Four

  Holy Mother of God.

  What had Zola done in a previous life to deserve this level of insanity?

  First, the CIA sends some guy she’s never heard of to her doorstep to inform her that her life was in danger and she needed protection, and then two days later, Mike Dorsen steps right out of her past to fill the position.

  She had to be dreaming.

  And the damn man had to show up looking like a million bucks. He was nothing like the eighteen-year-old boy who took her virginity and then walked away with a smile and a promise.

  No. He was a much better, improved version of that teenager. With muscles on every inch of his body, a wry grin that hadn’t changed in twelve years, and the beginning of the tiniest of wrinkles around his eyes, he was sex personified.

  Just what she did not need.

  Why couldn’t he have been ugly? Balding. Scarred. Graying. Something. Anything.

  She sighed as she changed into slacks and then began stuffing clothes into a suitcase with shaking hands. Who was she kidding? The man would look hotter than sin no matter what the circumstances. His sexiness came from within. One look into his eyes—the gateway to his soul—and any woman would swoon. Nothing physical about him would make a bit of difference.

  But it didn’t help that he had no flaws.

  She was so preoccupied thinking about Mike that she didn’t notice him approaching and nearly jumped out of her skin when she turned around to find him leaning against the doorframe. “Jesus. Shit. Mike.” She set a hand over her heart as she tried to catch her breath.

  “Sorry. I didn’t realize you hadn’t heard me. I thought you were simply ignoring me.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  He lifted a brow, straightening his frame. “I don’t know. Probably because you’re pissed.”

  “Why would I be pissed?”

  “Because you’re not fond of the idea of running from a possible kidnapper. Because you don’t like having your life disrupted. Because the man who showed up at your doorstep was me.” His voice dipped lower as he finished.

  She flinched. He wasn’t wrong.

  He continued, his voice even lower, softer. “Because we have a history that leaves you with more questions than answers.”

  Nail meet head.

  She pursed her lips as she turned around to zip her suitcase. She wasn’t sure what all she’d tossed inside haphazardly. Nothing about her behavior was rational or normal. Usually, she was incredibly organized and tidy. Today she felt completely off balance. It had started earlier in the morning when she’d been told she needed to leave work to go meet her mysterious protector. And it had gone downhill from there.

  “Zola…” His voice was still soft, but gentler.

  She spun around to face him. “Not now. Let’s get out of here. You open that Pandora’s box and we’ll never make it to the airport.”

  He nodded and came toward her.

  For a moment, she worried he would reach out for her. If he touched her, she would fall into a million pieces. But that wasn’t his intention. Instead, he hefted her suitcase off the bed and turned around to carry it out of the room.

  Zola couldn’t decide if she was disappointed he hadn’t touched her or relieved. A little of both.

  She followed him to the front room, turning off lights and going through a mental checklist of all the things she needed to do before leaving indefinitely. She didn’t have pets or even plants. Was that depressing?

  The reality was that Zola had worked her ass off for years, first in undergrad, then moving to law school, and then making her way to the DA’s office. Every step of the way she met another life goal. Every professional aspiration had been fulfilled.

  She didn’t care that her only friends were work colleagues and she’d never been in a serious relationship. She didn’t have time for that sort of thing. She worked hard to make the world a safer place. It was in her blood.

  As she met Mike at the door, she glanced back at the living room. What did she have to show for all her hard work? A clean condo? A tidy appointment book?

  Certainly not a man.

  They drove to the airport in silence, Zola looking out the window the entire time. Her mind raced. If she didn’t keep the memories fr
om twelve years ago at bay, she would lose it. So many snapshots running through her brain.

  Her first kiss was with this man.

  The first time she lied to her father.

  The first time she snuck out of the house.

  The first time she snuck him into the house.

  The first time she had sex…

  Every picture in her mind was vivid, as though it had all happened last week instead of more than a decade ago.

  What happened to them?

  She was afraid of the answer, so she sat next to him with her lips pursed together and her gaze out the window, seeing nothing.

  Some supreme being had to have been laughing heartily at this predicament. What were the chances? Of all the people in the world, how had Mike Dorsen been sent to be her bodyguard?

  Was this some sort of divine intervention? Or the most twisted joke the universe could conspire against her?

  When they got to the airport, she had her first contact with Mike. He set his hand on her back as they moved through the concourse, aiming for the ticket counter. He didn’t touch her skin, but the pressure of his fingers against the small of her back sent a shudder up her spine.

  She remembered that touch. It nearly burned, and not in a bad way. The heat coming from the tips of Mike’s fingers melted a bit of her resolve.

  No matter how many times she told herself this was a business arrangement and to leave it at that, she needed answers. For now, she could ignore the questions running through her mind nonstop. Eventually, when they reached their destination, she would have to ask.

  What happened?

  Why did you leave me?

  Mike spoke to the man behind the counter, handed him their driver’s licenses, and took the tickets from him. He never once stopped glancing around, always aware of their surroundings as though whoever was interested in Zola was right on their heels. Was he being overly cautious? Or did he know things he hadn’t told her?

  It wasn’t until they were through security, at the gate, and then on the plane that Zola found out they were sitting in first class.

  Who paid for this? Surely not the government.

  Mike’s brow was furrowed as he lifted her suitcase into the overhead bin. He ushered her into the window seat, and then collapsed into the one next to her, running a hand over his face.