Breaking Through (Book 2 of the SEAL TEAM Heartbreakers)

by Reasor, Teresa

  When she didn’t go to the phone, he stepped a little closer. “I didn’t smell like another woman, did I?”

  Her cheeks grew red as another flood of color rose to her face. She swallowed and looked away. “It isn’t really any of my business who you smell like.”

  Brett bit his lip to keep from smiling. He eased up close enough to invade her space. He touched her bare shoulder and breathed in her scent. “Tess … ”

  “We can’t do this.” She took a step back. “You’re a source, and I’m a reporter. I’m not jeopardizing my professional reputation by getting involved with you.”

  “It’s a little late to pull the professional distance card, honey. I already know what parts of you feel like naked.”

  Her brown gaze narrowed and shot him a warning. “I mean it, Brett. We’re not going there. At least not together. And if the girl who gave you that thong is as young as you say, you’d be wise not to take her up on the offer. ”

  He grasped her wrist and placed the thong and envelope in her palm. “You can do whatever you want with these. I’m holding out for a pair of yours.”

  ***

  Clara focused the camera on the sun worshippers slick with oil. This angle made the reclining bodies line up like sardines in a can. That was what she was shooting for. Human sardines packed in oil.

  She might not ever take another award-winning photo like the one when the kids were small, but the creative spirit she’d discovered through the lens of her camera pleased her. And everywhere she looked, there was something interesting to take a picture of.

  Good thing she had something to occupy her time. With Zoe back at work, Hawk gone on a three-week training op, and Brett busy with the speaking engagements his CO kept giving him, she needed something to focus on.

  Sweat trickled down her side as she lined up another shot. The dank, salty smell of the ocean brushed against her. The beach umbrellas fanned out like miniature Quonset huts all across the sand. Her cell phone rang and she fished in her pocket to retrieve it. She frowned at the unfamiliar number. It was a local exchange and a private number. She pushed the accept button.

  “Hello.”

  “Mrs. Weaver.”

  The voice sounded unfamiliar. “Yes,” she replied tentatively.

  “This is Evan Connelly.”

  Clara bit her bottom lip. Try as she might, she hadn’t been able to dismiss their meeting. She’d told herself he was ill and had tried to forgive and forget, but the ache remained.

  “Yes.”

  The sun beat down on the top of her head. A rivulet of sweat ran from her hairline down her cheek. The ocean breeze created a tunnel effect inside her cell phone, making it difficult to hear.

  “I’m calling to apologize, Mrs. Weaver.”

  Clara trekked up the beach to stand in the shade of one of the lifeguard stations and leaned back against one of the supports. The camera grew heavy in her hand.

  “The way I acted, the way I treated you, and my father, was rude and uncalled for.”

  She could agree, but it would just stir feelings she was determined to ignore. “You were tired and not feeling well, don’t think any more of it.” She’d just say good-bye and put it behind her.

  “I appreciate your making excuses for my acting like a two-year-old.” The sound of him drawing a breath filled the silence across the line. “Mrs. Weaver, I’m trying hard to build a relationship with my father. We haven’t had a very good one in a long time. The way I treated you hurt and embarrassed you both. I’d really—really appreciate an opportunity to make it up to you, and to him.”

  “You don’t have to make anything up to me. You can just tell your father you called and apologized, and I accepted it.”

  “That isn’t enough. I really need you to help me show him you don’t hold him responsible for my behavior.”

  Would she have felt responsible for her adult children treating a guest badly? Probably. The pain she’d read in Russell Connelly’s features before she’d left the apartment came to mind. “I can call him and tell him myself, then.”

  “I was hoping you’d agree to join us for dinner here at the apartment,” Evan said.

  Did she really want to leave herself open to—?

  “I promise to behave like an adult,” Evan continued.

  She held the cell phone against her shoulder with her ear and pulled a tissue from her pocket to wipe the back of her sweaty neck.

  “Please join us tomorrow night.”

  Clara stuffed the tissue back into her pocket and leaned her head back against the wooden support. She closed her eyes a moment while she debated. Maybe if she accepted, she could really forget about it. Evan seemed sincere.

  “What time?” she asked.

  “Seven. Thank you, Mrs. Weaver.”

  The relief she heard in his voice made it impossible to back out. “You’re welcome.”

  “We’ll see you then. Good-bye.”

  She murmured a good-bye and shut the phone. She was not going to stew about this. Or about Russell Connelly.

  She had her own family to think about. Like Brett and his situation. And Zoe and her new job. And Hawk being away for three weeks. And what the hell she was going to do with the rest of her life.

  Clara trudged back up the beach, camera in hand, scanning her surroundings for another shot.

  ***

  Zoe dragged her thoughts away from the worrisome meeting she’d had earlier and studied her patient, Marine Corporal Crowes. He’d been reluctant to put on his prosthetic leg in front of her, so she’d helped him with it.

  “Doesn’t that gross you out?” he asked.

  She looked him in the eye and shook her head. “Not at all, Corporal.”

  She’d studied his records last night. He had plenty of muscle in his thigh. His knee joint was still in good working order. He was receiving counseling to help him deal with the loss. With a little work, he’d be on his feet and moving on with his life in a few months.

  But often the psychological pain was just as bad as the injury. She understood that all too well. She made some notes in his file and gave him some time to study the other patients in the room as they went through their exercises. It didn’t hurt for him to see he wasn’t alone.

  With a little urging, he gripped the parallel bars as though grasping a lifeline and dragged himself from the wheelchair. Zoe rushed to move the chair out of the way.

  “Just take a few minutes to adjust to being up.”

  Crowes’ knuckles were white with tension. Was he holding on so tightly because of pain, or was it anxiety?

  “This is going to be an easy exercise, Corporal. All I want you to do is keep your spine straight and just shift your weight back and forth. Like this.” She stood in front of him, and resting her hands on the bars, demonstrated. “This will help you grow used to the feel of the prosthetic and teach you how to adjust your balance.”

  “Yeah, right,” he breathed sarcastically. The anger behind the words was part of the grieving process. The man had lost his leg. Right now he felt as though his life was never going to be the same. Zoe ignored the attitude and watched as he shifted his weight gingerly from his sound leg to the prosthetic, then back again.

  “How does that feel?” she asked.

  “Like there’s nothing there to catch me, yet there is.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you?” There was a challenge in his gaze and tone.

  “Yes, I do.”

  She tugged up the leg of her pants, exposing the partially missing calf muscle of her left leg. “I have a rod, a plate, and several screws holding things together. Enough to set off airport security. There are times I have to wear a brace. Since I’ve been on my feet pretty much all day today, you’ll probably see me in it tomorrow.”

  “At least your leg’s still there,” he said his tone husky with pain.

  “Yes.” And so were the scars from the skin grafts and other injuries. And the muscle pain that persisted.


  She took him through several weight shift exercises, with just one hand gripping the bar and then just his fingertips. Though he did what she asked, he remained sullen.

  What could she do to break through this? He needed to take his anger and use it. She bent to place two scales in front of him. “Now I’m going to monitor how much pressure you’re putting on the prosthetic when you shift your weight by using these scales. We’re working on balance first. Then we’ll work on getting you ready for some dance moves.”

  “I don’t dance.” Crowes stepped up on the scale, his knuckles growing white as he gripped the parallel bars.

  “Well, you will after I’m through with you.”

  “I have two left feet.”

  “That can be arranged,” Zoe shot back before he could dwell on what he’d just said.

  After a brief look of surprise, he laughed. “What’s your name again?”

  “Zoe Weaver.”

  “If we’re going to be working together, I’m going to call you Zoe. You can call me Cal.”

  Now that she’d finally gotten him to smile, she hoped she’d be around to see him walk, too. “All right.” She smiled.

  “Maybe we could go out to dinner sometime,” he said.

  She’d just been asked out for the sixth time in one day. A personal record, since she hadn’t dated for nearly two years before she met Hawk. “I appreciate the invite, Cal, but I’m involved with someone.”

  “Involved or involved?” he asked, stressing the latter word.

  “Really involved,” she said, emphasizing both.

  “Is he military?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And if he had a leg blown off?”

  Her stomach roiled. Just the thought gave her heart a violent squeeze. She looked up from the needle on the scale and focused on his face. Though he had a little scruff of beard on his chin, he cheeks were smooth. He looked so young and vulnerable.

  “He loves me despite my leg problems. I’d have to love him despite his.”

  “My girl bailed on me. She couldn’t deal with this.” Cal motioned to the prosthesis.

  Ah, shit. The memory, like a shadow pain, rose up to give her a small pinch. “I’m sorry. I’ve been down that road myself, and it sucks.”

  He nodded.

  “There’s someone out there for you who won’t care about your leg. Your leg isn’t what defines you as a man. It’s what’s inside that does.” She tapped her chest over her heart. “You can let what’s happened make you bitter, or you can use it to come back even stronger than before.”

  When he remained silent, she went into the next exercise, weight shift without hands.

  “Is that what you did?” he asked, his eyes focused on the bars.

  “Yes. It took me over a year to learn to walk again. I had to have several surgeries.” Her experience in college had stopped her progress. But she wasn’t sharing that with him. “My boyfriend showed me that my leg was a very small part of the whole picture. That’s how I feel about it, too.”

  “He sounds like a good guy. What branch is he in?”

  “The Navy.”

  “A swabbie. I won’t hold that against him.”

  “My dad was a jarhead like you.”

  “Semper Fi,” He extended his fist.

  With a laugh, Zoe bumped knuckles with him.

  She took Cal through several more balance exercises. He was beginning to tire when the aide, a huge man at least six foot six and two hundred plus pounds, appeared and pushed the wheelchair forward. “Dr. Hanson wants to speak to you, Ms. Weaver.”

  “Thanks, Tank.”

  She spoke with Cal a few minutes about the possible swelling of his stump, since he was unused to the pressure put on it, and parted with, “You did great today. I’ll see you in a couple of days.” She hoped.

  “Later,” he said.

  She wandered across the open space of the physical therapy room to the hallway. A hollow feeling invaded her stomach. She’d had to tell Dr. Hanson she was pregnant. They’d given her the job, and in a little over seven months she’d have to go on maternity leave. It wouldn’t be fair to her patients.

  She’d have to explain to Hawk how she got the job one day and lost it the next. But maybe the news about the baby would wipe out his disappointment. Of course it would. He’d be great with it.

  Maybe they’d let her sub for the other therapists when they needed to be off. Or take on a part-time position until she found something else.

  Zoe tapped on the door. At Dr. Hanson’s, “Come in,” she opened it.

  She eyed his serious expression and tried to fight off the disappointment that lodged like a brick in her chest.

  After greeting her, he got down to business. “I’d like to go over what you did with each one of your patients today, Zoe.” He pointed to a seat in front of his desk.

  Of course, whoever took over her job would want to know about what she’d covered today.

  They went through each file. He asked about her impressions of the patients and what outcome she projected for them.

  “What did you do to get Corporal Crowes to laugh?”

  Had he been observing her? He must have been. “I told him I’d teach him how to dance once he mastered retaining his balance. He said he had two left feet. And I said we could arrange that.”

  “We couldn’t really.”

  Zoe’s cheeks heated. “No, of course not. It was just a joke.”

  “He wouldn’t even get out of the chair for the last therapist who worked with him.”

  “He’d just been dumped by his girl because of his injury. He may not have felt like working with anyone at that particular time.”

  Dr. Hanson shut the file in front of him, shoved it aside, and leaned his elbows on his desk. “You’re an excellent therapist, Zoe.”

  He was letting her go. She pressed her hand to her midriff where an ache had started. “Thank you, sir.”

  “I wish you had told me of your situation before we hired you.”

  Her throat tightened around the tears. And she looked down at her hand fisted in her lap. “I should have told you at the interview, but I’d just found out that morning, and the job wasn’t a sure thing. That’s why I told you first thing this morning. In case you decided you couldn’t keep me on, you could possibly get one of the other applicants.”

  “I see.”

  She’d burned through her savings soon after Brett recovered. And because they weren’t married, she didn’t feel it was Hawk’s responsibility to support her. She’d have to find another job somewhere. She shoved to her feet.

  Hanson remained silent for a moment when he rose to his feet. “There may be some difficulties with your health insurance. The pregnancy could be considered a pre-existing condition.”

  “What?” She jerked her head up to look at him.

  “I said there could be some difficulty with your health care coverage since you became pregnant before we hired you.”

  “I haven’t canceled my other coverage, yet.”

  “I’d be certain to keep it until we sort it out.”

  She drew a relieved breath and fought back tears. She offered him a shaky smile. “Thank you, Dr. Hanson. I really appreciate your keeping me on.”

  He nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Her steps were much lighter as she walked back to the storage lockers and got her purse. She’d have a job to support herself and fill her days while Hawk was gone. And just maybe she’d get used to being separated from him. Maybe, in a hundred years or so.

  CHAPTER 16

  Yasin al-Yussuf stood at the window of the cinderblock building the soldiers used as an office and barracks. Humvees rolled out in a wave of activity, kicking up dust and exhaust. His driver, Aban, stood next to his car waiting and watching. He fanned the particles away.

  “We have not given up searching for Sanjay, Yasin. He is out there somewhere.”

  Yasin turned from the window to face Captain Morrow. The
man was similar in age and height to him, but his hair was already graying at the temples and appeared very white against the darkness of his tan. “Have you found the record of his delivery home?” Yasin asked.

  “We have the record of the radio transmission from the SEALs and their cover that he was dropped at your house and went inside.”

  “What kind of record is it?”

  “It is a transcription of their radio message to base. The detail returned immediately to base afterwards.” Morrow picked up a sheet of paper from his desk and read from it. “This is Alpha-five-zero. The package has been delivered. He is inside and secure. Out.” He looked up a moment. “That transmission came in at thirteen-fifty. That’s one-fifty. At exactly fourteen-fifteen, two-fifteen, the cover detail radioed their ETA of fourteen-twenty back to base. The SEALs were on a strict timeline.”

  Yasin already knew that. It had taken some doing, but he had gotten the information about their next mission. “How can you be sure Sanjay went into the house?”

  “The radio transmission says he did.” Morrow set aside the paper.

  The man did not understand what he was saying.

  “In order to protect themselves and your son, they would have taken a roundabout route there and back. It took them fifty minutes to deliver Sanjay and thirty for them to return to base.”

  “Have you spoken to the men in this cover detail?” Yasin asked.

  “Four were killed the next day when their vehicle hit an IED. The others were killed in action a few days later.”

  Was the man telling him the truth? He read the Captain’s somber expression. Morrow had never had any reason to lie to him. Yasin tried to dredge up a small particle of sympathy about the American deaths, but his own loss was too raw. He settled for a frown.