Breaking Through (Book 2 of the SEAL TEAM Heartbreakers)

by Reasor, Teresa

  “When you were five or six your mother and I used to bring you down here. We’d have to coat you in sunscreen to keep you from burning.”

  “You burn as well.”

  “I’m covered in freckles. My skin’s like buffalo hide.”

  Tess shook free of the linen jacket she wore. Each time a wave rolled ashore it pushed a breeze ahead of it, cooling her skin. Though it was only ten-thirty in the morning, the sun was already heating up. The smell of suntan lotion hung in the air.

  They wandered down the wide sidewalk people-watching for a few minutes.

  “I could use another coffee,” Ian said when they reached a small café with tables outside. Tess found a patch of shade beneath a bright blue and white-striped umbrella over one of the tables and sat down. Ian went inside the small restaurant and returned with a large Styrofoam cup.

  Ian sat down. “I’ve been offered an editorial position at the Los Angeles Times.”

  Surprise held her immobile for a second, then two. She tried to imagine Ian riding a desk instead of a Range Rover across an African plain. The picture remained fuzzy and indistinct. “Are you going to take it?”

  “I’m thinking about it.”

  He was actually considering staying in one place. Her thought processes stumbled to a halt.

  Ian smiled. He did that so seldom and he laughed even less. He was always so intense. His smile reminded her he could be charming, too. “You’re surprised, then.”

  “I’m stunned, actually.”

  “It’s bound to happen eventually.”

  So it wasn’t a done deal.

  “While I’m here, I thought I’d drive up to LA and meet with some people and get the lay of the land.”

  She nodded. “What section of the paper?”

  “Domestic and national news.”

  Of course he’d be in charge of the front page.

  He removed his sunglasses and his gaze homed in on her face. “You could come with me, Tess.”

  “I’d be a fifth wheel at your meetings.”

  “No, I mean to the Times. I could make it one of my negotiation points that they take you on.”

  Her jaw dropped. He’d gone from criticizing her story ideas to offering her a job. The juxtaposition created a whiplash effect that left her head spinning.

  He’d be her boss. God Forbid!

  “I think you need to get a good grasp of everything the job entails before making any demands. You may decide it isn’t what you want. After all, it would be completely different from what you’ve done in the past.”

  Ian’s lips twisted in a wry grin. “Actually not. I wasn’t born with my suitcase glued to my hand and my laptop slung over my shoulder. That came after I’d resigned my position as managing editor of a small paper in Oregon.” He took a drink of his coffee.

  Why hadn’t she heard about this before?

  “I was bored with small town news, and a friend I’d gone to school with at UCLA called. He was a journalist with the Washington Post. He was going to South America and needed a partner to travel with, for backup and to take pictures. I said yes.

  “We interviewed a South American drug lord who’d been arrested. The prison was a nightmare. We were frisked the moment we walked into the building, and my camera was confiscated along with all the cash in my wallet.” He grinned and excitement lit his eyes. “I was scared shitless the whole time I was in the room with the guy. You could tell the guards were more interested in protecting this guy than us. But it was a rush.”

  “So you became an adrenaline junkie.” Was this jump of excitement and adrenaline what motivated Brett to do what he did? She hadn’t realized the two men would have much in common, but—

  “I got addicted to the rush you get when you break a story no one else even knows is out there.”

  “Like the one Brett Weaver is offering you.”

  “If I decide to take the Times job, this story will be my last big international scoop—if it pans out.”

  If he covered the disappearances and was able to pressure the military into finding the missing boy or boys, or if he somehow uncovered where they were, it would be a major coup. And what a way to go out. But he’d be in danger the whole time. And he might put himself out there even more because it would be his last big hurrah. Her heart took on a panicked rhythm and her mouth grew dry.

  What have I talked him into?

  ***

  Clara studied Russell’s strong features in the summer sunlight and took a quick picture using the harbor as a background.

  “There’s more interesting scenery to photograph than me,” he said with a smile.

  Should she tell him about the photo essay she was creating for him and Evan? No, she’d make it a gift. “I find your face very interesting. You look like you could jump on any one of these boats and sail out to sea.” Was that a flirty comment or just the truth? She was so out of practice, and when she said those kinds of things, they sounded silly instead of sexy.

  “I thought about buying a boat years ago.” A sad smile curved his lips.

  Clara pointed her camera at a sailboat under full canvas gliding toward the harbor. “There’s still time.”

  “I’m sixty years old, Clara.”

  “So, I’ve been thirty-five for the last twenty years.”

  “I can believe that.” He laughed. “You have more energy than anyone I know.”

  “Not always. I just refuse to give into those moments when my age creeps up on me. I realized recently that I had forgotten how to enjoy myself. I’ve been the responsible adult for the last thirty-five years, and it’s made me boring.”

  “I don’t find you boring at all.”

  “That’s because you’ve only seen the Clara who’s turned over a new leaf. I’ve lived my life for years for my children. Now they’re adults and living their own they’ve left me behind, just as they should.” She paused to sneak up on a heron perched on the metal railing of the dock. The bird twisted its long neck to look at her as she pushed the button. He stretched his beak into the air, preening for her, and she smiled and captured the change in pose. After several more shots she lowered the camera.

  Russell was smiling as she returned to where he waited. “You charmed him into posing for you.”

  “He’s probably used to having his picture taken and just hammed it up for me.”

  The ocean breeze blew a strand of hair into her eyes, and Russell’s fingers were there to smooth it back. “I’ll have to bring you back down here at night so you can take more pictures.”

  “I’d like that.”

  He captured her hand as they walked up the sloped wooden dock to the street above. “It gets a little noisy in the Gaslamp Quarter at night. It’s a little too commercial for my taste. But there are some wonderful restaurants and bars down here. I thought I’d take you to the Harbor House for lunch. The view from there is beautiful and they have wonderful food.”

  The ocean breeze offset the sun’s burning rays as they walked up Harbor Drive to the restaurant. Terracotta-and-gray-mottled paving stones set in a walkway led up to the entrance of the restaurant. The exterior looked like weathered wood, but sat in the midst of carefully manicured and landscaped grounds. Inside, the walls glowed with the golden tint of stained wood floors and the heavy-beamed roof supports had brick accents. The waitress sat them at a window table so they could look out on the harbor while they waited for their drinks and studied the menu. The smell of charbroiled beef and shrimp followed one of the servers as he passed by, his tray laden.

  The waitress returned soon with water glasses and Russell requested a double order of crab-stuffed wontons as an appetizer.

  “I know I’ll love them, but I hope you’re hungry enough to eat more than half. I’m on a diet,” Clara said when the waitress was gone.

  Russell rested his elbows on the table with a frown. “Why are you on a diet? You look great.”

  “Thank you. I’m on a diet so I’ll continue to look this way. You didn’t
think I stayed like this without working at it did you? ”

  He chuckled. “I promise not to mention desert.”

  “Thank you,” she smiled at him. Having him all to herself was exhilarating. As much as she loved Evan, and she had fallen in love with the bright, charming young man that he was, she’d craved having time alone with Russell. “I’ve been thinking of taking up belly dancing.”

  Russell choked on the sip of water he’d taken.

  “I think it will help me stay in shape. What do you think?”

  “I’m sure it will. Are you going to really commit and buy a costume?”

  She pushed her camera closer to the center of the table out of harm’s way. She studied his features, so attractively masculine, and his charming smile. “Would you like me to?”

  He laughed aloud, the sound so free of the sadness or worry he usually carried, that her heart raced.

  “Yes, I’d love to see you in full costume giving it all you’ve got.” He grasped her hand and brought it to his lips, the light caress rushing heat to her cheeks. “As long as it’s just for me.” His smile settled into something more intimate. “You’re good for me, Clara. And good for Evan. He’s ill but his attitude is lighter. Hell, my attitude is lighter when you’re with me.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way.”

  “Why hasn’t some other man snapped you up?”

  She gave the question some thought. “Do you want the truth? It may sound like I’m man-bashing.”

  “I can take it.”

  “When I was younger, the men who were brave enough to approach me had two attitudes. I was good enough to have sex with, but God forbid I should expect them to have anything to do with my kids. Or they were looking for a replacement for their mothers, and thought becoming one of the kids was a way into the fold. Neither worked for me.” And her love for Joe had stood between her and every man she’d met. How could she have let any of them touch her when the memory of what they’d had together was still there burning inside? “Once the kids were gone, and I was older, the men were either widowers or divorced and looking for a home they didn’t have to pay for and a wife who would wipe their chins and do their laundry. They eyed my house and car with more lust than they did me. The only passion that stirred was a desire to kick them to the curb with a pointy, steel-toed boot.”

  Russell laughed for even harder then, shook his head and wiped his eyes with his napkin. “Surely they weren’t all like that.”

  “No. There were a couple of nice guys, who wanted me for me, but Joe was a hard act to follow, and it never seemed quite right. Then about five years ago, after Zoe moved out, I had some kind of late mid-life crisis.” She covered her face with her hands and shook her head. “It should have never happened, and I cringe every time I think about it.”

  “We’ve all made those kinds of mistakes at least once in our lives, Clara.”

  “Thank goodness, mine’s only been the one.”

  Russell took her hand again, and though his expression sobered, a smile tilted the corners his lips. “I don’t need anyone to wipe my chin or do my laundry, and since I’ve never seen your house or your car, the only thing left for me to lust after is you. So, if you brought those pointy steel-toed boots from Kentucky, you can leave them in the closet.”

  The heated promise she read in his smile, his eyes, gave her an instant jolt, shifting her breathing into overdrive. She squeezed her thighs together when that tempting tingle of desire came to life, as it did so often when she was with him. Could she really reach for what he promised?

  Russell Connelly had certainly jump-started her libido, and she loved every minute of it. But could she bear the loneliness again if it didn’t work out?

  ***

  Brett came to a stop at the red light and checked his watch for the third time. He was running late. Skimming a hand over his shower-damp hair, he rehashed the afternoon. He’d tagged along with the BUD/S class, doing whatever was needed. Running alongside them as they crisscrossed the base had brought back good memories of his own BUD/S class. He was tired, but he felt good. Strong. And he still had juice left.

  He’d need it if Tess’s dad, Ian Kelly, lived up to his reputation. He was known as a pit bull when it came to uncovering a story. If he could just point the guy in the right direction and avoid getting pressured into divulging stuff he couldn’t … This interview was going to be tricky as hell.

  Was he doing the right thing?

  At least he’d get to see Tess. They had spoken on the phone a couple of times since they’d watched the movie at his apartment. She’d kept it all business, holding him at a distance. He’d expected her to be pushy. Weren’t reporters supposed to be pushy? Would she be more aggressive in bed?

  She had her own style. Sort of subtle and smart. In a way, her low-key method made her more dangerous. Because of how she looked, feminine and non-aggressive, she lulled a guy into complacency and encouraged him to share more than he should. He could appreciate that. And even enjoyed the extra challenge she presented.

  Was her dad like that? Or had she found her own way? He’d find out soon enough.

  Twenty minutes later, he walked into the hotel. He glanced at his watch again. Ten minutes late. Would Tess be pissed? Women had a tendency to get upset when a guy didn’t show the moment he was supposed to.

  “Can I help you, sir?” A woman asked from behind a wide wooden reception desk.

  “I’m supposed to meet someone at the bar.”

  Before the woman could offer directions, he heard his name called. He swiveled around to see Tess struggling with a large box and several bags. He strode forward and relieved her of the largest package.

  She brushed at the strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail to dangle down her cheek. Her nose was pink as though she’d been out in the sun.

  Because he just had to touch her, he tucked the wayward strand of hair behind her ear and immediately remembered what the skin under her blouse had felt like while he caressed her.

  Tess raised her sherry-brown eyes to his face and color washed up her throat.

  Was she thinking the same thing? Jesus—Every time she looked at him, really looked at him, he got hard.

  “Ian likes his coffee fresh brewed and hot, and hotel room coffee leaves a lot to be desired,” she said. “I’ve brought him a coffee maker and coffee.

  “Good, we can have a decent cup after dinner.”

  The mouth-watering smell of Chinese food wafted up from the large plastic bag she carried.

  “I can take that for you, too,” Brett offered.

  She shook her head. “I’m good. He’s on the second floor. Come this way.” She led the way to the elevators.

  The doors opened and spilled out a party of five. They stepped into the elevator alone. “Do you always call your father Ian?” Brett asked.

  She punched the button. The doors closed. “Yes.”

  The brevity of her answer, meant to dissuade him from asking another, only torqued his impatience. She was so closed off from him. “What do you call your stepfather?” he asked.

  “Milton.”

  “You’ve been out in the sun today,” he commented.

  “Yes. We went to Mission Beach for a while before I dropped Ian off here to settle in.”

  “You worked today?” Why hadn’t she spent the whole day with her father?

  “I had a couple of interviews that I couldn’t reschedule.”

  The elevator doors opened and they stepped out into the corridor. She turned right into a dimly lit hallway. The striped pattern of the carpet looked like it was moving beneath their feet.

  “You look like you’ve been out in the sun today, too,” she said.

  “I worked as a BUD/S instructor today.”

  “Have you received orders?”

  “No. I volunteered to fill in for someone.”

  She remained silent a moment. “How did it feel?”

  “Great.” He smiled.

  “He’s in
room fourteen-nineteen.” Tess paused in front of the door and knocked.

  The door swung open and Ian Kelly braced a hand on the door facing while he raised the drink he held in greeting. “Come in.” He moved aside to let them pass.

  Brett’s first impression was that Tess looked nothing like her father, despite her coloring. The second thing he observed was that Ian was, if not drunk, well on his way.

  A half-empty bottle of Scotch sat on the end table in the sitting area of the room.

  An expression of shock and uncertainty crossed Tess’s features. Her cheeks grew flushed, brightening her already heightened color. Her movements jerky, she stalked to the small table in front of the sliding glass door and set her two bags next to the open laptop there.

  “I’ll set up the coffee pot,” Brett said in the silence that followed.

  The early evening light shone in from the balcony, but did nothing to lighten the tension in the room.

  “I was scooped today by Sixty Minutes,” Ian said his words a little slurred. “The AP has released my story, but Sixty Minutes will run a segment with the same info tonight.”

  Brett removed the coffeepot from the box and set it on another end table.

  Tess placed a one-pound can of coffee and some filters down beside him. “Make it strong.” She turned back to Ian. “It’ll bring exposure to the rhino’s plight, and more people will read your story tomorrow because the show will whet their appetite for more information.” Though her tone was positive, she clenched her hands at her side and bit her lip.

  Brett opened the coffee can, positioned a paper filter inside the machine, and using the scoop inside the can, measured out a generous amount while paying equal attention to Ian and Tess.

  “Everything is about timing, Tess.” Ian flopped down into a chair. The liquid in his glass sloshed over his hand. He set the container aside to sling the scotch off his fingers, then wiped them on his pants leg.

  Tess flinched.

  Brett went to the sink and filled the glass carafe with water.

  “You know the old adage about how a picture’s worth a thousand words? It’s true.”

  “Then you need to apply for a job writing for one of the national news shows,” she said, her tone edgy with impatience.