Saving Zola (Sleeper SEALs Book 4)

by Becca Jameson

  “You didn’t buy these first class tickets.” She didn’t ask. It wasn’t a question.

  “Nope.” He didn’t meet her gaze. Instead, he leaned his head back, his eyes closed.

  Suddenly, she knew who had a hand in this and sighed. Her father. Of course. And that pissed Mike off?

  “I’m sorry,” she found herself uttering, wishing immediately she hadn’t spoken.

  “For what?” He twisted to face her, his eyes drawn close.

  “For my father.” When they were sixteen, that had been her most-used phrase. When they were seventeen, it continued, increasing in frequency. When they were eighteen, it became a mantra.

  She winced, remembering all the times she’d apologized for her father’s actions.

  Mike frowned, but only for a second. His face suddenly lifted, his eyes widening, his lips switching to a grin. “Did you feel the need to say that out of old habit?”

  She smiled back at him. “It just slipped out. But judging from the frustration evident on your face, I’d say my dad paid for this upgrade. You never did like him interfering.”

  “Nope.” He looked away, the lighthearted banter gone. As if he had a sudden need to read the emergency exit plans, he grabbed the trifold piece of card stock from the back of the seat and flipped it around in his hands.

  Zola reached across the wide armrest and grabbed his forearm. “He still meddles in my life. Some things never change. But he means well. I’m sure he wanted me to be comfortable. So he upgraded us.”

  Mike gave his head a quick shake, not meeting her gaze. “Right.”

  Oh yeah, he was pissed. Some things never changed. Although she wasn’t sure this aggravation was warranted. There was no reason for Mike to go all cold on her just because her dad was kind enough to increase their comfort for the short flight to Norfolk. He didn’t have to be a jackass. After all, he was the one who walked away from her and never looked back. He was the one who broke his promises. If anyone should be pissed, it should be her.

  “Put your seat belt on, babe. We’re gonna take off soon.” He changed the subject, still not making eye contact. But the way he said “babe” sent a jolt of electricity through her that was far more intense than when he’d set his hand on her back.

  He’d called her babe hundreds of times in their youth. Perhaps thousands. In another world. In another lifetime. It dragged forth memories that were better left in the past.

  Her hands were shaking as she buckled her seat belt, and she chewed on her lower lip and stared out the window as the plane backed away from the Jetway. Her eyes watered, and she willed them not to leak and embarrass her. There was no logical reason why she should be all choked up over a simple endearment after twelve years of separation. Irrational.

  Mike set a hand on her shoulder. “You okay?”

  She nodded, fighting harder, not facing him.

  Stop being nice.

  As the plane made its way to the runway and then sped off, she leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and focused on breathing. She could do this. She had no choice.

  * * *

  It was evening before Mike pulled the black Tahoe he’d rented up to the lake house and shut off the engine. “I’m sorry you won’t be able to see much tonight with the sun down. You’ll be shocked when you take in the view tomorrow morning. It’s amazing.”

  She didn’t respond. They’d spoken so little to each other all day it wasn’t surprising. Instead, she meandered along behind him as he grabbed her suitcase from the trunk and then led her to the front door. “It’s the backyard you have to see. It exits out to a fantastic patio with the beach for a backdrop.” He was rambling, though he had no idea why he felt the need suddenly to break the ice between them.

  They were stuck together for the foreseeable future, and though he had no intention of discussing the past with her or dragging up bad feelings, he needed to pull his shit together and make the most of the present.

  It would help if she wasn’t so damn sexy. She had changed into more practical traveling clothes at her condo, but the fitted black pants she now wore only brought more attention to her perfect ass, not less. The skirt had given him a view of her legs, but the pants… Damn, her ass was fine.

  He hoped to God the woman owned jeans, and that they were in the suitcase, because the only thing he could think of that would make his cock harder would be denim stretched across her cheeks.

  Mike fumbled with the keys to the house as he shook thoughts of Zola’s butt from his mind. Moments later, he had the door open and was dropping her suitcase inside so he could turn to the panel and shut off the alarm.

  “Wow, high tech,” she said. “They need an alarm on a rental property?”

  He nodded. “It’s not a random rental. It belongs to a friend of mine. He moved several months ago to live with his fiancée and graciously let me stay here for an extended vacation. I’m paying him peanuts. He wouldn’t accept more.”

  She wandered farther into the space as he flipped on low lighting. “I can see the appeal. It’s so cozy.”

  “Go on out to the patio. Even in the evening, you can see the waves and listen to them crashing against the shore. It’s soothing. I think the moon is strong enough to give you a view.”

  She dropped her purse on the large, brown, soft leather couch quickly, her feet making a beeline for the sliding glass doors off the breakfast area.

  Moments later, she was outside, leaving Mike to continue gathering brain cells in her wake. He needed to snap out of it. His job was to protect her, and he couldn’t do that from inside while she kicked off her shoes and wandered down the steps and into the sand.

  He raced to catch up, knowing how mesmerizing the ocean was and understanding perfectly well why she would head directly for it as if drawn by a magnet. He’d done the same thing four days ago.

  Rushing, he kicked off his own shoes, tugged off his socks, and jogged down the steps to catch up with her.

  She didn’t stop until her feet were buried in the wet sand at the edge of the waves. And then she tipped her head back and closed her eyes. After several deep breaths, she spoke. “God, I miss this. I don’t live that far from the ocean. It’s ridiculous that I don’t make it to the beach more often. It’s so relaxing.”

  She didn’t glance his direction, but she had sensed he was nearby. She’d always been sensitive like that. Which would help keep her alive when push came to shove.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked to make conversation. They’d eaten in the airport.

  “No. I’m good.” She lowered her gaze slowly but not to meet his. Instead, she stared at the crashing waves. Suddenly she turned around, marching back to the house. “I think I’ll go to bed. I’m exhausted. And I need to read a deposition before I fall asleep.”

  She was going to read something that boring in bed? He followed her back to the house, grabbed her suitcase, and led her down the short hallway, pointing to the right. “You can take this bedroom. I’m right down the hall.” He nodded that direction next. “Bathroom’s there.” He indicated the guest bath with a flick of his wrist as he set her suitcase inside the bedroom.

  “Thanks. I’ll see you in the morning.” She still didn’t look at him as she slid into the room and shut the door softly behind her.

  Mike’s heart pounded in his chest from her proximity and the knowledge she was still feet away from him. His first love—the only woman he’d ever truly loved—was in this perfect vacation home with him, nothing but a door separating them.

  A door and a world of hurt.

  His brain told him to keep their relationship strictly business. Protect her at all costs and go his own way afterward. His heart told him to grab her shoulders, force her to meet his gaze, and delve into the depths of her eyes to see if there was a glimmer of the love they’d felt for each other still simmering.

  Shaking himself out of his stupor, he turned toward the kitchen to lock the doors and set the alarm. It wasn’t late. It was only seven. He sat at
the kitchen table, powered up his computer, and entered the private message room where he knew he could have a secure conversation with the man who owned this house.

  John “Tex” Keegan wasn’t simply some old friend. He was also a retired SEAL. He’d been wounded in battle himself and then spent years in this amazing beach house working behind the scenes for the military, the FBI, and the CIA. Anyone who needed computer assistance knew who to call.

  It wasn’t until he met and rescued a woman who became his fiancée that he’d ventured out of his self-imposed shell. And now, he was a new man.

  Mike had spoken to Tex many times over the years. The guy was a computer genius. If it needed to be hacked, he could do it. Though the two of them had never officially met, they had a common bond in their SEAL background and their desire to save the world from itself.

  When Mike had sent Tex a message last night, letting him know how totally fucked his vacation was, they’d ended up on a secure line discussing the possibilities.

  Although Mike would never be able to reveal his contact to anyone, he gave Tex enough information for it to be obvious Mike was taking a job for a secret CIA operation. Tex wouldn’t ask questions about who his contact was, but he was embedded deep enough in government issues that he understood the gravity of the situation. Time to fill him in on the last twelve hours.

  Mike: Tex, you there?

  Tex: Yep. Did you make it back to the house okay?

  Mike: Yeah.

  Tex: I can practically hear your sigh through the message board. Lol

  Mike: You aren’t wrong. This is going to be the hardest assignment of my life. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken the job. Someone else could have done it. She never would have known the difference.

  Tex: That bad? Did she read you the riot act?

  Mike: No. Worse. She hasn’t mentioned a thing. It’s like we’re strangers.

  Tex: Ouch. Hang in there. She’s shocked. You’ve known she was the person you were sent to protect since last night. I assume she was blindsided upon your arrival?

  Mike: Definitely.

  Tex: Listen, I did some digging. Whoever is after your woman is smart. He’s hard to nail down. He cleans up his trails.

  Mike flinched as he read the words your woman. As if Zola were his. That would never happen.

  Mike: Appreciate the effort. It’s above and beyond, man.

  Tex wasn’t even getting paid. The man seemed to get off on solving crimes from his laptop though. He’d never turned Mike down for anything.

  Tex: Well, if you get any more information, shoot it my way. In the meantime, I’ll see if I can crack this open.

  Mike: Thanks. Later.

  Tex: Later.

  Great. A dead end didn’t give Mike any sense that this job would be quick. The longer he spent with Zola, the harder it would be to keep himself from falling for her all over again.

  Chapter Five

  Zola woke to the scent of coffee. She moaned as she rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. The sun was up high enough that she knew she’d slept late. A squinted glance at the partially closed blinds told her it was about nine.

  She’d spent hours the night before forcing herself to memorize every detail in the case folder she’d brought with her. It was meant to take her mind off the sexy SEAL in the other room and prepare her for trial. She wasn’t sure either happened. But at least she’d worn herself out and then crashed into bed and slept hard.

  With a fortifying breath, she hauled herself out of bed and padded across the room. She’d worn a tank top to bed with nothing else except her panties. After shrugging into a pair of yoga pants and a large sweatshirt from her college days, she stepped into the hallway.

  Coffee first.

  When she rounded the corner, she stopped in her tracks.

  Mike.

  Damn him. Why did he have to look so hot? He didn’t know she was behind him yet. He stood at the counter in the kitchen doing something in the sink. Sun shined through the window over the sink to cast a warm glow of light around him.

  But those details weren’t what had her frozen in her spot.

  Nope. He was wearing nothing more than low-hanging jeans. She couldn’t see his feet, but she would guess they were bare. But his back…

  Damn. He was much larger than he’d been in high school, which would stand to reason since he’d been in the navy. But he wasn’t an active SEAL now, and he obviously still worked out. It seemed like the muscles in his shoulders and arms and back had muscles of their own.

  Suddenly he turned around to set something on the counter behind him. He caught her standing there, and a smile spread across his face. “You’re up.”

  Her mouth was dry. How long had she been staring? She cleared her throat. “Yes. The smell of coffee lured me.”

  He lifted the pot to indicate it was full and poured her a mug. “Half a scoop of sugar. Splash of cream?”

  She nodded as she stepped forward. “How did you know? I didn’t drink coffee in high school.” She had known his preferences from that stage of life, but he wouldn’t know hers.

  “You had three cups of coffee yesterday.” He half grinned as he stirred.

  “Ah.” Right. She took the mug from him, her breath catching when their fingers touched. To hide her face and avoid his gaze, she leaned toward the mug and took a sip.

  “How late did you stay up?”

  “I don’t know. Late.” She didn’t want him to know how hard she’d worked to keep from thinking about him nor how long she’d tossed and turned after finally turning out the lights.

  He chuckled. “Well, while you slept the day away, I’ve been working this morning.” He pointed at the kitchen table. His computer sat open, the screen bright. He turned to head that direction, resumed his seat, and nodded toward the chair opposite his.

  Yeah…his feet were bare. Sexy as hell. So were hers, but who knew how he felt about feet? She almost laughed at her insane thoughts as she lowered herself onto the seat.

  She cleared her throat again, looked out the window to avoid his chest, and spoke. “Why did you leave the SEALs?” Seemed like a good place to start. All she knew was that he had been a SEAL at some point.

  “I was injured three years ago in the Middle East.” He tapped his leg. “Shot in the knee. Shattered my kneecap.”

  She winced. She hadn’t noticed him limping. “No one would be able to tell now.”

  He smiled at her again. If he kept doing that, she wouldn’t be able to think. “Trust me. If you saw the scars.”

  She shivered. The idea of seeing his knee… Which would include him not having on his jeans…

  He laughed. “Some things about you have not changed.”

  Her face heated. She knew it would be a deep red as was always the case when she felt self-conscious. Her pale complexion dictated that every flush was visible to the world.

  Mike set his elbow on the table and put his chin on his palm, leaning closer to her. “Sorry. I couldn’t help teasing you. How are you still so easily embarrassed at the age of thirty?”

  She tucked her lips between her teeth. Not that he required an answer, but if he knew how little experience she had with men, his eyes would bug out.

  He kept talking. “Besides, I didn’t even say anything except that I have wicked scarring on my knee. How did you twist that into something sexual?”

  She still didn’t respond, but she did turn a deeper red. Finally, she couldn’t remain in his presence, so she pushed back from the table, grabbed her coffee, and headed from the room. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

  * * *

  Mike watched her walk away, his smile falling as he sobered. Her ass in those tight yoga pants. Lord help him. First the skirt and then the pants and now this. It kept getting worse.

  He leaned back in his chair and lifted his hands to fold them behind his head. How was he supposed to keep up this charade with the sexiest woman he ever knew?

  When they were young, her rosy cheeks alwa
ys gave away her shock at the way he spoke to her sometimes. Even though they had only slept together one time, he had teased her mercilessly by whispering things in her ear in public. Nothing compared to the kinds of things he wanted to say to her now, but at seventeen, even the suggestion of kissing her in front of people made her blush.

  She had been a bit of a prude when they first hooked up. In fact, his friends had teased him about dating the school bookworm. But he’d known from the first moment she sat next to him in tenth-grade English that she was someone special.

  He didn’t care what harassment the other guys dished out. He wanted her bad enough to take it. And he’d never given up. It took a while to convince her to go out with him, and then she’d relented and met him at the movies with a group of people.

  She’d been sweet and shy and funny and damn smart and cute as hell. His best friend thought Mike would get over her. After all, she was from the other side of the tracks. Her dad was rich. A politician. She came from money.

  Mike was in foster care. The only reason he’d gotten into the small private school they attended was because he’d worked his ass off and had an affinity for science and math.

  He’d been lucky. His foster parents had noticed he was bright as soon as he came to live with them in the fourth grade—his third family. They were kind and nurturing, and they met with his teacher and arranged for him to apply to the elite academy where he attended high school.

  He knew he was lucky. Foster kids didn’t normally do that well in the system. It was rare. And he didn’t squander the opportunity. He didn’t want to spend his life in poverty on the streets or worse. He didn’t want to end up dead from being in the wrong place at the wrong time, caught in the crossfire between gangs.

  That had been his father’s fate, though Mike didn’t remember him. He’d been a baby.

  His mother hadn’t fared any better. She’d died of an overdose when Mike was four. His memory of her was spotty—a small, skinny woman with stringy hair and gaunt features from years of abuse.