Rescued by a Hot SEAL: Hot SEALs

by Cat Johnson

  The ringing was soon replaced by the gravel voice of his former chief. “Hello.”

  “I did something I shouldn’t have.”

  “I should have known this wasn’t a purely social call.”

  “Why is that?” Grant asked.

  “I watch the news. Looks like you guys have been busy.”

  “No more than usual . . .” Grant considered that statement and the fact he was currently racing to base after being recalled and back pedaled. “Okay, maybe a little more than usual.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought. So what did you do?”

  “I slept with a hostage.”

  “Whoa. Back up a second. Why the fuck are you cheating on Bethany?”

  “I’m not. I already signed the divorce papers she so kindly left in the house for me after she moved out while I was away training. Besides, I’m ninety percent sure she’s been cheating on me.”

  “Jesus. You don’t call often but when you do, it sure is one hell of a call.”

  Grant sighed with resignation, accepting the well deserved guilt trip for not being better at keeping in touch. “I know.”

  “All right. So get back to the woman. Who is she?”

  So used to not sharing anything with anybody, Grant hesitated. But this was his old SEAL chief. The man had probably been through enough classified shit during his long career to fill a dozen books if he chose to.

  The chief knew to keep anything Grant told him private.

  Besides, the rescue op was done. In the books. History. What would it matter if he knew Grant’s team had been part of the extraction?

  “She’s the aid worker who was kidnapped in HOA. Jennifer Anderson.”

  “I had a feeling you guys might have been on that one. Djibouti still hotter than a pizza oven?”

  “Yeah.”

  The chief grunted and then said, “Well, she is a pretty one. I’ll give you that.”

  Pretty had nothing to do with it. That wasn’t the reason Grant was drawn to her . . . or had ended up on top of her twice tonight.

  The older man continued, “I’m going to assume she was willing.”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “And she’s single?”

  “Yes.”

  “When did this happen? On the op?”

  “God, no. Tonight. POTUS had her and her family in for a ceremonial thing and invited me. He gave me a signed letter of thanks.”

  “A letter. Isn’t that nice. A big old check would’ve been nicer.” The chief cracked himself up until his gruff laugh died and he continued, “You get caught by anybody? Command?”

  “No.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  Grant’s brows shot high. “You don’t see how it’s a problem?”

  “Morality-wise, you’re two consenting adults with no legal attachments to anyone else. You don’t serve together so fraternization and the military isn’t an issue. Ethically, eh, you might be treading in a gray area since she’s probably got you built up to some kinda superhero status in her mind because you extracted her.”

  “Yes!” Finally Grant felt as if his friend was taking this seriously.

  “So what if she has? It was just a one night thing. You’re not going to see her again and you made sure she knows that, right?”

  “Um.” Grant was formulating his answer to that question, but it took a few seconds. “Not quite.”

  “Not quite to which part?”

  “I want to see her again.”

  “Ah. Gotcha. I understand now.”

  Grant laughed. “Do you, because I’m not sure I do.”

  “Yeah, you’re the problem. Not her.”

  He wouldn’t have exactly said that. There seemed to be plenty of issues split pretty equally between them, in Grant’s opinion. “I don’t think—”

  “Then you’d better think again. Bethany fucked with your head, whether you’re willing to admit that to yourself yet or not. You really want to jump into another relationship on the rebound?”

  “No.” Grant sighed.

  He’d called the chief. He’d asked for his opinion. It was his own fault he didn’t like what he was hearing.

  “So what are you going to do?” the chief asked.

  Typical. He was making Grant think for himself when he’d rather the man just tell him what to do.

  Luckily, Grant had some semblance of an answer for him. “There’s not a whole lot I can do right now. I’m on my way to the base. We got recalled.”

  “Good. You’ll have some time and distance between you. I suggest you take advantage of it. Get your head on straight before you do anything.”

  Grant knew he was right. Distance couldn’t hurt . . . though it sure felt like it judging by the ache in his gut at the thought of not contacting Jen as he’d promised to do.

  Like it or not, rebound or not, it felt an awful lot like he had strong feelings for her already.

  Crap. He was so screwed.

  He eased his vehicle into the slow lane. He was too distracted to risk being in the fast lane.

  Grant wrapped up the conversation with the chief but that didn’t ease the burden on his mind as he contemplated what to do about Jen in the immediate future.

  The chief was right. As tempted as Grant was to contact Jen, he needed time to think. He firmly put the phone back in the console and vowed to leave it there.

  Craving speed and action, he hit the accelerator and merged into the fast lane again, whizzing past cars and trucks alike.

  Whatever this assignment was had better be good. He had a feeling he’d need the distraction.

  Chapter 17

  Frustrated, Jen stared at the screen. She’d studied it so long the blinking curser seemed to mock her.

  Today, the computer was not Jen’s friend. But then again neither was her sister at the moment.

  “So you really don’t know what you want to do?” Jessica asked.

  Jen didn’t have the answer two minutes ago so she certainly didn’t have it now as she stared at the job listings on the laptop screen.

  She sighed. “No.”

  The idea of going back to teaching in her old school system left her cold. It was one of the many reasons she’d gone to Africa in the first place.

  Over thirty and she still didn’t know what she wanted to be when she grew up.

  That wasn’t quite the truth. She knew where her passion was. Knew the one position that would fulfill her, but it wasn’t listed amid the pages and pages of results in her job search online.

  She wanted to go back to Africa and finish the job she’d started . . . which was the one thing she couldn’t say to her family. She’d hinted at it once, on the day after Grant had left her in the hotel room in DC to go back to his job, and her parents had flipped out.

  Why shouldn't she go back? Grant ran toward danger repeatedly and often, all while knowing he could be injured or killed at any time. She’d seen him in action doing exactly that. But apparently she wasn't allowed to help others if there was any hint of danger. At least if her parents had any say in it.

  Jen knew even more now about Grant's job, because in the three weeks since she’d kissed him goodbye in her hotel room in DC she’d made it her business to research any and all things Navy SEAL.

  She studied both official and non-official sources. Blogs. Charities. Special operative chat rooms. Military websites.

  It had been eye opening. Grant was part of a highly trained commando unit, what the military called a tier one force. They got assigned the most difficult—and the most dangerous—missions, such as her rescue.

  All the information she found came together to give Jen a more complete picture of the man and the life he was dedicated to. A better understanding of the career that took him away from home for up to two hundred and seventy days a year—according to one site’s estimate.

  The reason for Grant’s divorce and his wife claiming custody of the dog was clearer now. And that gave her pause.

  Ho
w did a marriage survive a life like that? Jen was going crazy just waiting for a text from him these past weeks. He’d promised to be in touch if he could be. And that he obviously couldn’t get in touch scared her to no end.

  But the point was if he could face the threat with his eyes open to the dangers and possibilities, the destruction to his personal life and physical well-being included, so could she.

  There was no reason why she couldn’t go back to teach in Somalia. She’d just be more careful this time. Choose her location better. Definitely choose her local guides and associates herself and very carefully. She'd trust her instincts and listen to them.

  The experience had been horrendous, but she came out of it smarter. Stronger. More determined.

  “What is that?” Jessica had snuck up behind her and was frowning at one of the many open tabs on her browser. “The Navy SEAL Foundation?” Jess asked.

  “Um, yeah. I was thinking of maybe making a donation.” Not completely a lie. Jen would do that eventually, once she was done devouring every tidbit of information she could get off the site.

  “If you don’t get a job soon you’ll have to borrow money from Mom and Dad to do it.”

  “I have money. I do have a savings account, you know.” Jen screwed up her face. Her younger sister could be a pain in the neck sometimes.

  Jessica let out a humph and then spun for the chair where she’d dumped her purse half an hour ago when she’d come into the room to bother Jen. “I have to go pick up my dry cleaning so I have clothes for work for the week. See you later.”

  Her sister wouldn’t say it, but Jen knew what Jessica was thinking.

  Jessica worked at a good job. Jessica paid rent to live there. Hence Jessica thought Jen, who had no job and paid no rent, was a freeloader.

  Just because their parents had told Jessica that she couldn’t start a great paying job after graduating college and still live at home rent-free meant Jessica had become the job police.

  Apparently if Jessica had to pay rent—even as ridiculously low as the token sum was—then in her opinion Jen should as well. No matter that she’d been in captivity for longer than she’d been staying at their parents’ house since her release.

  Jen shook her head at her sister’s attitude, guessing that one month was Jessica’s predetermined limit for rescued hostages having a pass from the responsibilities of normal life.

  Maybe her sister was right. It was time Jen knocked herself out of recovering victim mode.

  She clicked off the SEAL website and the fruitless job search site and over to her email inbox. There she typed in Adam’s email address.

  He was the one person in the world who had a chance of truly understanding what she was feeling since the rescue. Adam must be sharing at least some of what she was going through.

  And after all they'd been through together, he would tell her the truth. Tell her if she was crazy even thinking about going back, or if it was really a valid plan.

  Jen had to take some sort of action to regain control of her life. Because sitting around waiting for Grant to text or call would make her insane.

  She didn't need to talk to Grant to make her decision. It was her life. Her future. But she really did want to speak to Adam.

  As she anticipated, not very patiently, Adam's email reply, her Skype alert sounded. Jen jumped from the sound—but being jumpy had become par for the course the past month.

  Trying to regain her composure, Jen drew in and blew out a slow breath while she clicked on the alert to answer the call.

  Adam's smiling face appeared. "My friend. It was good to get your email. How are you?"

  "Good. You?"

  "Good, as well." Adam cocked his head to one side. "Now that we've got the polite responses out of the way, tell me, Jen. How are you really?"

  Just as she'd assumed, she and Adam were on the same page as far as recovery. If one could actually recover from such an ordeal.

  Jen lifted one shoulder. "Eh, you know. I have trouble sleeping. When I do sleep I have nightmares. The panic attacks are getting less frequent though, so that's good."

  Adam nodded. "Ah, yes. Same, same. You look good though. You put on some weight."

  Jen laughed. "Adam, you're not supposed to tell a woman she's gained weight."

  He smiled. "In our case the normal rules don't apply."

  "No, they don't." She considered that truth for barely a second before she blurted, "I think I want to go back."

  His eyes widened as he asked, "To Somalia?"

  "Yes. Or if not there, then at least somewhere where I can be a real help to the people."

  "Teaching?"

  "Not necessarily. I'd be just as happy to work in some other capacity."

  "Such as?" he asked.

  Adam's questions weren't at all judgmental. More inquisitive. And not once had he seemed like he'd thought she was insane for wanting to go back, which was interesting.

  "Maybe landmine education. Or rehabilitating khat users. I'd really like to focus on children though. Like acclimating child soldiers to normal life maybe."

  Jen's thought went to the adolescent boy who'd been among those to kidnap her.

  She was there to help boys and girls exactly his age. He could have been one of her students. Yet to eat, to live, to survive in a cultural system that had failed him he was forced to work with men who kidnapped Americans for money. Men who were driven, controlled, and fueled by drugs and desperation.

  There were so many needs in that region of the world that aid work was really a wide open field. It was hard to narrow down what she wanted to focus on exactly. There were probably relief efforts in need of workers that she didn't even know existed.

  Surely Jen could help somehow without putting her own life in jeopardy. She just needed to be pointed in the right direction. Judging by Adam's pointed questions it sounded like he might know which way to turn.

  "Any interest in working with refugees?" Adam asked.

  "Why? Do you know of a position?" she asked.

  Adam tipped his head. "Actually, I might."

  "Really?" For the first time in a while, Jen felt excited about something. "Tell me. What?"

  "Something I'd be looking into myself if my wife didn't threaten to divorce me if I leave home again anytime soon." He smiled. "But it might be perfect for you."

  "Because I'm woefully single, you mean?" she asked.

  "No. Because you have the freedom to do what you want."

  "Yes, I do, because I'm woefully single." Jen laughed, but sobered quickly as her mind turned to Grant. "I saw one of the guys who rescued us."

  "You did? Where?"

  "The White House. The President invited me and my parents and he—the SEAL who carried me out—was there." She laughed at Adam's expression as she'd explained.

  "I really need to be born an American in my next life." He shook his head, laughing. "So what was our hero like when he wasn't in rescue mode?"

  Jen drew in a breath as she tried to decide how to answer that. It came out in a sigh.

  Adam lifted a brow. "That good, huh?"

  "Well, that Navy dress uniform didn't hurt. But yeah, that good. He was kind of serious, at first. Over dinner he loosened up a bit."

  "Dinner?"

  Jen rolled her eyes at herself. Apparently she had no control of her mouth. Too much of the truth seemed to be spilling out whether she liked it or not.

  Before she knew it she'd be confessing to Adam, who was her father's age, that she'd had sex with one of the men who'd rescued them.

  "Yes, dinner. My parents invited him to thank him." Time to change the subject away from Grant and the raw spot missing him had left on her heart. On to something safer . . . "So tell me all about this opportunity you know of. What's the location? Who's it run by? What would I be doing?"

  Chapter 18

  Grant's workout had been a killer. But all of his workouts lately had been. It was his self-imposed torture to stay busy. An effort to keep his mind off wait
ing for the divorce to be finalized.

  And mostly it was an attempt to keep him from thinking about Jen.

  The upside was he was in possibly the best shape of his life. The downside—nothing was working to keep his mind from turning to Jen. But so far he hadn't given in and contacted her.

  The chief had been right. It wasn't fair to either Grant or Jen for them to get involved right now. Her, right after her captivity. Him, before his divorce was finalized.

  That wouldn't happen for six damn months from when Bethany had moved out and left him the papers, thanks to the Virginia divorce laws. Good thing they had no kids or it would have been a full year.

  It was better Grant and Jen take a break to breathe, but knowing what was right and doing it were two very different things.

  He should tell Jen all that, but he knew his limitations. Since getting back from the mission, he'd avoided calling. He hadn't texted either. That seemed too heartless.

  Still, he'd promised to contact her, and after the conversation with the chief, he hadn't. He should get in touch. Explain he needed time. They both needed time.

  But if he talked to her right now, he'd want to see her.

  It took a lot for a man to know his weaknesses and Grant took solace in the fact he knew he couldn't see her, talk to her, even text her, and not want to be with her.

  The few weeks while he'd been away on the op, not talking to her, not obsessing over her, had been easy. Or at least easier.

  But he was home now and had been for days and during that time nothing had been easy. Not opening the closet and seeing it half empty. Not seeing the spot on the kitchen floor where the dog's food dish used to sit. And definitely not holding his cell phone in his hand knowing Jen's number was still saved in it.

  Exchanging numbers before he left her in the hotel room had seemed like a good idea at the time.

  Now, not so much as it taunted him, reminding him he should call her. Then equally reminding him he shouldn't see her until his rebound-fueled feelings had waned.

  When the divorce was final and he had his head on straight it would be safe to call her. Then they could decide what they really felt.

  Six months . . . he let out a snort at his own stupidity.

  No woman was going to want to wait for a man for six months. But Jen wasn't like any other woman he'd ever met. Which was exactly why it was so hard to stay away from her, even if it was the right thing to do.