Breaking Through (Book 2 of the SEAL TEAM Heartbreakers)

by Reasor, Teresa

  She glanced up from the skillet. Hawk’s serious expression triggered stomach- dropping anxiety. Her hand paused in mid-action. Egg dripped from the end of the fork onto the counter.

  He reached around her to turn off the skillet where the butter had begun to smoke.

  Was he deploying already? He’d only been home for four months. They hadn’t had enough time. Forever wouldn’t be enough.

  “What’s wrong?” Her voice came out in a soft wheeze.

  He plucked the fork from her fingers, set it aside, and offered her a smile. But there was stress behind his expression. “Easy, babe. I just need to fill you in on some things before I leave for training next week.”

  She dragged in a breath and leaned against the counter so he wouldn’t see her legs shake. “Okay.”

  “Come sit down.” Hawk took her arm and led her to the small kitchen table. He pulled out a chair and urged her to sit, then angled his seat to face her and sat down.

  Nerves stretched taut as she took in the tight planes of his cheekbones and the deep furrow between his brows.

  He cupped her hands in his and bent his head to press a kiss to each of her palms. “Yesterday when I went into the office an NCIS officer was waiting for me.”

  She continued to study his face. There was a tension in his features that worried her.

  “They’re taking another look at what went down here at the house.” His gray gaze, so steady, ran over her face. “There’s a federal law called the Posse Comitatus Act that prohibits SEALs from acting in the capacity of officers of the law on United States soil, Zoe. The only way we’re allowed to take part is if other law enforcement organizations like the FBI make a formal request for us to act in concordance with them. Or we’re activated through the chain of command and through the Department of Defense.”

  She nodded. Where was this going?

  “The night Derrick took you and the others hostage, instead of calling the police, I called my team.” Hawk began rubbing the back of her hands with his thumbs. “Because we were able to disarm Derrick without lethal force, and because NCIS has jurisdiction over crimes involving military personnel, the local police handed the investigation over to them.”

  “I know.”

  “Depending on how the events from that day are viewed, our actions can be looked at in two ways. We took an armed perpetrator down in a hostage situation. Or we disarmed a fellow team member who had become unstable and was suffering from PTSD. It’s all about perception.”

  The full brunt of his words hit Zoe with the force of a medicine ball to the chest. He had saved her life, her brother’s, and Marjorie’s. But he’d risked his career and his life to do it. His whole team had risked everything for them. A quick rush of tears blurred her vision, but she blinked them back.

  She tried to swallow but her mouth was dry with fear. “Are you in trouble?”

  “No, not so far. NCIS is viewing the incident as disarming an unstable colleague. But there are some other things going on right now, things I’m not at liberty to tell you about. And that perception could change. If it does, I’ll have no choice but to take the heat. I’m the one who called my team instead of the police. I made that decision to save lives. And I’d do it all again. But if things go south, it’s a federal charge or a possible dishonorable discharge.”

  Zoe pressed a hand to her throat where a knot had suddenly risen to cut off her air. Fuck that! No one was going to fuck with him or his men. No one was going to tear her family apart because he’d done the right thing.

  “Because my men were armed—–”

  “The only weapons I saw were the gun Derrick had and the Taser you used to take him down.” Her face flashed hot and burned away the anxiety to leave behind a firestorm of outrage. “Brett kept Marjorie in the bedroom away from Derrick until the police arrived. She couldn’t have seen anything other than that, either.”

  “It’s all in the report I filed, Zoe. I wasn’t asking you to—”

  “I know you weren’t. My perception was that you were coming in to help Brett disarm Derrick.”

  “I had my Kevlar on, Zoe.”

  “Of course you did. You were facing an unstable friend armed with a .357 Magnum. That’s the vest your Mom bought you when you first finished SEAL training, isn’t it?”

  Hawk’s lips quirked. “Yes, it is. We always leave our military-issue weapons and other equipment on post. The only thing I brought home from the post was my Sig. I used it for target practice.”

  “Doc and Bowie were just dressed in their cammies.” Dear God, they entered the house without body armor. But Langley Marks had had his vest on. And he’d stood between Derrick and the other men.

  “Derrick had more than a fair chance at killing all of us. The situation was escalating, too quickly. The police would never have made it in time. Had you and the others not acted, none of us would have survived. That’s the plain and simple truth.” Derrick would have killed Brett and her to get to Marjorie. “If they try and say any different, I’ll be there to set the record straight.”

  “It’s because we acted at all that NCIS even has a leg to stand on, Zo. And because we went into the situation dressed for combat.”

  Zoe slid out of her seat and into his lap. She ran her hands over his close-cropped hair. “Why are they doing this now?”

  “Because I pissed somebody off, because I was pissed off. They were giving me the runaround, and they weren’t doing their damn jobs. They didn’t like having that pointed out. I’m hoping it’s a warning just to stay the hell out of their business. But if it’s not … ”

  Could her stomach possibly get any more knotted?

  He focused on her, his gaze steady while his hands moved up and down her back restlessly. “When you came back to me after our breakup, I made a promise to myself. I’d held things back from you and it caused problems between us. I’m not making that mistake again.”

  His words grabbed her by the throat and made her own reticence about the baby seem more a lie than an attempt to keep him safe. The words were there on the tip of her tongue begging to be spoken. But how could she drop the news on him when he was twisted up about this? He was turning to her for comfort, not something more to worry about.

  She cupped his face and kissed him. “I love you, Adam Yazzie. No matter what happens, I’ll never stop loving you.” She kissed him again and felt the familiar heat of his response in the way his arms tightened around her, the way his lips and tongue moved against hers.

  The growing intensity of his kisses, his touch as he unbuttoned her blouse, set in motion a languorous spiral of need. She wanted to spread her legs and take him inside right here on the chair. But her leg wouldn’t allow it.

  Hawk rose with her in his arms and dodged through the kitchen door in the direction of the bedroom. “It’s going to be okay,” he murmured against her lips. “We’re going to be okay.”

  Not if you keep lying to him, her conscience whispered. I’ll tell him later, after we’ve held each other. After he’s less upset.

  He lowered her to the bed. She shut out the nagging voice and drew him down to her.

  CHAPTER 13

  Brett suppressed the smile determined to bust out. The paperwork Dr. Stewart had just issued was clutched in his hand. He’d talked the man into letting him deliver the paperwork to eliminate the wait. After nearly two months of jumping through hoops, he was being returned to duty. Finally. Yes!

  He strode down the hallway and paused outside Captain Jackson’s office. He had another speaking engagement in two hours. As much as he hated it, he was trying to look at it as practice for his speech glitch. Jackson’s aide motioned him to a chair.

  The Captain’s voice carried through the closed door. “I told you I wasn’t going to be able to make it.”

  Brett circled the baby stroller sitting next to the aide’s desk and caught a glimpse of the child, about three months old, lying lax in the stroller, sound asleep. Something about the shape of the baby’s he
ad looked strange and his eyes were unusually wide spaced. Brett frowned and glanced at the aide. What was the guy’s name? Oh yeah, Crouch.

  “Mrs. Jackson’s in with the Captain. The baby was asleep.”

  There had to be some sort of emergency. It was rare for wives to come on post. Command didn’t encourage it.

  “This is important, James. The procedure they’re talking about is dangerous, and you need to be there to hear what the surgeon says.” The stress in the woman’s voice seemed to elevate the pitch with each word.

  “Your mother can go with you, Marsha. I have meetings all day. I have a job to do here.”

  “A job more important than your son?”

  Silence reigned for several moments. Brett and the aide, Seaman Crouch avoided looking at each other.

  Jackson’s voice fell to a rumble.

  A sound emanated from the stroller. Crouch’s head jerked up and a look of such panic crossed his face Brett almost laughed. Afraid of a baby? Brett laid the paperwork aside and got to his feet. In two strides, he reached the stroller. The child had spit up and was choking, his face growing bright red with the struggle to breathe.

  Brett released the belt holding the baby in place and tugged him free of the straps. He sat down, and cupping the infant’s jaw, propped him on his thigh and patted his back. The choking ceased. He was rewarded by another stream of cream-colored formula. This time it had soaked his pant leg. Shit. But his irritation was only momentary. Definitely something wrong here. Poor little fellow. He used the bottom of the child’s shirt to wipe his mouth and chin free of formula.

  “Rummage in the diaper bag and find me something to clean him up with, Crouch.”

  The aide rushed to do as Brett asked and produced a box of diaper wipes.

  “Look for a clean shirt in there. Moms always pack more clothes.”

  Voices rose again inside the office. Brett concentrated on the baby, though it was impossible to block out the conversation.

  “You’re pushing us both away because he’s not perfect, and because I brought him into the world, I’m not either. No one can live up to your expectations. No one.”

  Whatever Jackson said in reply was spoken in a rumble.

  Brett peeled the soiled shirt from the baby’s body and, using the chair next to him as a changing table, cleaned him with several of the wipes. The baby’s movements seemed less active than he remembered his niece Katie Beth’s.

  Crouch offered him a clean t-shirt from the bag. Brett slipped it over the baby’s oddly shaped head and guided his arms into the sleeves. He raised the child to his shoulder and rubbed his back. The little guy’s knees wedged against his chest and his head bobbed.

  The door jerked open, and a woman stepped out. Brett rose to his feet.

  Fragilely thin, she stood only a few inches over five feet. Her hair, a butterscotch color, was bunched at the crown of her head by a clip. She’d been crying. The skin around her eyes appeared red, as did her nose. Her gaze homed in on the baby in Brett’s arms, and she rushed forward.

  “Weaver, what are you doing?” Captain Jackson’s voice cut across the distance, irritation in every syllable.

  “The baby was choking, sir,” Seaman Crouch, who’d leapt to his feet, spoke before Brett had a chance. “Ensign Weaver was lending assistance.”

  Mrs. Jackson captured Brett’s gaze for a second before easing the baby from his grasp. “Thank you so much. Alex is having some difficulties with the formula.”

  Brett suppressed the urge to shake his leg and free the wet fabric from his knee. “No problem, ma’am.”

  “Your pants.” Her distressed tone drew everyone’s attention to the spot.

  Brett offered her a smile to offset the quick tears shimmering in her eyes. “I’ve been anointed before. My sister has children. I have another pair in the car, ma’am.”

  “Weaver, you have five minutes to get cleaned up and in here,” Jackson’s irritation hadn’t abated. The door slammed behind him.

  Asshole. Doesn’t he see his wife needs help? Brett scooped up the manila folder from the chair and laid it on the desk.

  “I’m sorry, Ensign,” Mrs. Jackson said. She offered him a cotton diaper.

  Brett quickly wiped his pant leg off. “I can take the stroller and diaper bag out for you and get my pants, Ma’am.”

  “I hope you have a shirt as well,” she nodded to a stain on his shoulder.

  Brett’s gaze followed her nod. Shit. He’d gotten the epaulet too.

  The anxious stress he read in Mrs. Jackson’s face had him saying, “Soy formula might work. My niece Katie Beth couldn’t tolerate regular formula, but she did just fine on soy.”

  She started to tear back up again. “I’ll call Alex’s doctor and ask about it.”

  “I’ll help Mrs. Stewart to the car, sir.” Seaman Couch offered.

  Brett nodded. He wouldn’t have enough time to change if he didn’t go now. “Excuse me, ma’am.” He nodded to Mrs. Jackson and jogged down the hall to the exit. He jerked his ‘good humor’ suit from the back seat and jogged back up the sidewalk. Crouch was pushing the stroller out the door as he raced back. He held the door for them, then ran to the men’s room.

  The navy blue epaulet looked a bit darker for the scrubbing he gave it, but the rest of his uniform was in working order as he paused by the desk to retrieve his paperwork.

  “Ensign Weaver, sir,” Crouch addressed him.

  “Yes.”

  “Mrs. Jackson wanted me to thank you again for your help, sir.”

  Brett nodded.

  “I appreciated you stepping up, too, sir.” Crouch offered him the folder.

  “No problem.”

  “The Captain said for you to go straight in.”

  Brett took a deep breath and turned the knob.

  Jackson stood at the window, his hands in his pockets. “Crouch said you had some paperwork for me.” He turned to face Brett.

  “Yes, sir. Dr. Stewart has released me for duty, sir.”

  Jackson accepted the manila folder with a frown and opened it. He flipped through the paperwork, studied the documents for a few moments, and set aside the packet. “There’s a problem with sending you back to your team.”

  Brett sucked in a breath. Fucking knew it. Saw it coming a mile off. The blow still hit as though he’d been sucker-punched in the nuts. He breathed through the anger, but betrayal clawed at his gut nearly choking him. “What kind of—pro- problem?” This was not the time for this fucking speech thing to kick in.

  Jackson’s eyes narrowed. “Your position on NCIS’s radar for the shit about the missing boy was a catalyst. It’s brought scrutiny back to the team concerning Derrick’s takedown. NCIS is trying to say the men acted in the capacity of police officers. I think they’re trying to put pressure on the whole team to give you and Armstrong up.”

  “But we didn’t do anything.”

  “How can you be sure if you can’t remember, Weaver?”

  Where was the man’s belief? He’d voiced it the last time he’d stood here in this office.

  He studied Jackson’s expression, and anger as hard and unbending as iron ate up the hurt. “I have a good reputation in the teams. I’m a SEAL, and I’ve conducted myself as a SEAL should in all things. My record speaks for itself. The only way my enlistment will end is if I’m killed in combat.”

  Jackson’s gaze shifted. “You’ll have to wait until this is settled before returning to the team. I’ll have orders for you in a few days. Dismissed, Ensign.”

  Brett forced his hand up in a salute he didn’t believe the fucker deserved. You could judge a man by how he treated his family. Captain Jackson had dismissed his wife and child the moment he’d slammed the door behind them. Jackson would sacrifice whomever he had to in order to bring this shit to an end.

  He wasn’t going to be made into a sacrificial lamb to make Jackson’s life easier. Fuck that.

  ***

  Tess hovered over the computer, reading the article s
he’d discovered. She’d been searching newspaper back issues all day for articles about those men and women in Congress who had been most vocal against military spending, and in particular about the high price of training SEALs. And their training was expensive. Close to a million dollars a man throughout their enlistment with the teams. That was a hell of an expense during these economic times. But how did you put a price tag on national security?

  Since 9/11, the whole country was more aware of what was possible. America’s vulnerability had been penetrated in the most painful way. America’s complacency had been shredded. And if it took a few million for these guys to stand between America and the bad guys, so be it. They could stop things before they reached our shores. With the other military contingents, they provided a perimeter of defense. She was grateful they were there.

  And she finally had something to share with Brett Weaver. But there was information she couldn’t access.

  Maybe her father would have some suggestions. He’d be here in twenty-four hours. The familiar feelings of excitement and dread bubbled up.

  It wasn’t enough that she had followed in his footsteps and become a journalist. He looked on her job as insignificant because it didn’t have a wide enough reach. And she agreed. But she was working toward her place in the news community. Building her reputation. She’d recently had an epiphany, and Brett Weaver was responsible. She now had a clear plan about which direction she wanted to go.

  She had no intention of sharing it with her father. He’d find some fault with it. She should have been a boy to follow in his footsteps. She couldn’t change her sex to suit him. And didn’t want to.

  Her cell phone rang, and she glanced at the screen. Her heart leapt. She drew in a deep breath. She had to get control of her response to Brett Weaver. He was just a man. A man who trained nine months a year and who was deployed to foreign countries to fight bad guys for six months or more at a time. She pushed the accept button and raised the phone to her ear. “Hello.”

  “I need to see you.”

  Those few words spoken in that husky male tone accelerated her already fast heartbeat. “Has something more happened?”