She glanced at the clock on the microwave and sighed. “I have to go.” She pressed close against him again.
Hawk tightened his arms around her and rested his chin atop her head. “What time do you finish up here? I’ll have one of the guys drop me by and I’ll ride home with you.”
“Five o’clock.”
He kissed her again, and despite the tension their discussion had triggered, the taste and feel of her lips beneath his sparked a desire for more. He released her reluctantly. “It’s going to be okay, Zoe.”
She nodded. “But it sure would be nice to go more than a few months without some kind of crisis.”
Amen to that.
He walked her down the hall to the PT room she was using. “I’ll be back at five. Wait here for me. I don’t want you walking to the car alone.”
“Okay.”
Aware of people in the hall around them, he bent his head and kissed her hand instead of her lips. “I’m really glad to be home, Zoe.”
Her smile was something special, and her voice softened so only he could hear her reply. “I’ll show you how glad I am to have you home later.”
“I’m up for that, sweetheart.” He gave her hand one last squeeze and strode down the hall.
***
She sighed as Hawk disappeared around a bend in the hall. As much as she liked her job, there was something to be said for not working. Like not having to postpone their intimate homecoming celebration. Until now, they’d only been separated a few days at a time since she’d moved into his house permanently, and each of the other homecomings had been memorable.
In fact, the last celebration had probably been when she’d conceived. And just when was she going to surprise him with that bit of news? She’d hoped he’d pop the question before she had to, but with his training rotations coming with shorter periods in between, there had been little time for them to focus on anything so serious. She’d hoped he’d want to ask her without the push of a pregnancy forcing his timing.
And time was flying biologically speaking. By her, and her doctor’s, estimation she was eight weeks and sprinting toward her first trimester. The only change she’d noticed other than morning sickness was her breasts were tender and her nipples were turning a darker color. Would Hawk notice that one small thing? God, he noticed everything. She had to tell him.
Seeing Corporal Crowes waiting for her in the room, she shut her thoughts away. She had to focus on his problems right now.
“Is that your boyfriend?” Crowes asked from his seat on the four-inch thick platform they used as an exercise bed for patients with more than one amputation.
“Yes.”
“He’s Native American?”
“Yes, Navaho. His grandfather was a code talker in World War II.”
“Cool. You said he’s in the Navy, but he was dressed in desert cammies.”
Zoe remained silent. Special Ops girlfriends and wives didn’t spread the word about what their guys did. She’d learned that from watching Trish, not anything Hawk or Brett had said.
“How’s your stump feeling?” she asked. “Not tender or sore anywhere is it?”
“It’s good. I keep a close check on it like you and the doc said.”
“Good. You want to stay as mobile as possible and keeping your leg healthy is a major part of that.
“He’s a SEAL, isn’t he?”
“I’d rather not talk about what he does.” She attempted to change the subject by throwing attention onto him. “Are you growing a beard?” She studied the whiskers on his chin.
“Okay.” He paused for a moment. “I understand. You’re just trying to protect your guy.”
The tension in Zoe’s body relaxed. “Thank you.” She offered him a smile.
He rubbed his hand over the unshaven spot on his chin. “I thought I might grow a goatee. No one’s going to bust my chops about facial hair now. Hell, I might even get a tattoo and a motorcycle.” There was an edge to his voice, a recklessness. He suddenly switched topics. “Anyone can tell. Those guys have a way of moving, a kind of aura that just sets them apart. We had a SEAL sniper that worked with our platoon. He never missed.”
Zoe hated to dampen his enthusiasm, but she wasn’t talking about Hawk to him. Something had happened to set Cal off. “Cal, we need to concentrate on you. As for the bike, I’d take it one step at a time,” Zoe said. “There’s no reason why you can’t do those things, but a tattoo is a very permanent thing, and I’d give it a great deal of thought before I marked my body with something that can’t be removed.”
His expression darkened. “Like this.” He raised his leg thrusting the prosthetic out.
If he’d hoped to shock her, he’d missed the mark. She’d seen and heard far worse. “Why don’t you tell me what’s happened? You’re angry as hell, and I promise not to spout that stuff counselors and psychologists say about the stages of grief. You’ve probably already heard all of it. Did you just get up angry today, or did something happen to set you off? ”
“It’s my mom. She treats me like a fu-freakin’ invalid. She’s constantly doing things for me. Telling me to sit down and rest my leg. I don’t want to rest my leg. I freakin’ want to just —hell I want to go out trollin’ for girls. And party with my buds.”
“There’s no reason why you can’t do that.”
“I think the guys think this—” he gestured at his leg, “will put off the girls.”
“Or maybe they’re afraid it will give you an unfair advantage. You’re a hero, Cal. You sacrificed your leg for your country. You were prepared to sacrifice your life. Women admire warriors. And just because your girlfriend couldn’t handle it, doesn’t mean other women will feel the same way. You need to cut yourself some slack and stop cutting your buds any.”
A few minutes later in the midst of an exercise Cal said, “I understand why your boyfriend snapped you up, and didn’t give a shit about the scars. Out of all the bullshit, you see what’s important.”
Zoe blinked as sudden tears blurred her vision. She swallowed several times before her throat cleared enough for her to speak. “Thanks, Cal.”
***
Tess stepped out of the shower and reached for the towel on the bar. The scent of her shower jell hung in the moist air. The mirror, frosted by the steam, glared at her. Thank God she couldn’t see herself. She didn’t need to see the dark rings beneath her eyes. The headache that pounded at her temples was bad enough.
She wrapped the towel around her body, then opened the medicine cabinet and reached for the Tylenol. The pills stuck to her palm, still damp from her shower. She scooped them off with her lips, ran water into the glass on the sink, and washed them down. The bitter taste lingered, as acidic as the hurt that ate at her every time she thought of Brett. He’d gotten what he wanted, his introduction to Ian and Ian’s active interest in the story. Five days of silence following the introductions should have offered her a clue.
She should never have accepted Clara’s invitation. Despite his response to the kiss, he hadn’t wanted to see her.
It had happened again. She’d been used to get to her father. Tears ran down her cheeks for the hundredth time in the last twenty-four hours. She reached for the corner of the towel and it fell loose. She buried her face in the cloth and allowed her grief free rein.
Damn him! Damn him! She hit the sink counter with the heel of her hand. At least she hadn’t given herself to him. The humiliation of that happening again would have been too much to bear. She swallowed back the pain and draping the towel back over the bar, ran cold water into her cupped hands to cool her face.
Was that the phone? She turned off the water. The sound of the William Tell Overture rang from down the hall. Ian. Grabbing her robe from the back of the bathroom door on the floor, she raced to her bedroom.
“Hello, Daddy.” She shrugged into her robe and clamped the front together in a fist.
“Tess, I’ve found a pattern of young men being taken. I’ve discovered at least tw
enty-five between the ages of twelve and eighteen. They’re not just in the area Brett mentioned. They’re spread over the city of Baghdad. Once I discovered one and began talking to the fathers and other relatives, they started telling me about other boys they’d heard about. I’ve been following the trail ever since I got here.”
“My God!” She sank down on the bed.
“The sad thing is, the Iraqi government doesn’t care. And the Iraqi military are so overwhelmed here they’re looking at these kids as casualties of war and writing them off. No one is looking for them, or trying to do anything about it.”
The reception wandered in and out, loud, then soft, then cutting out altogether. “Ian? Ian?”
“I’m here. My SAT phone is going in and out. There’s some kind of interference.”
“What will you do? What do you need?” Tess asked raising her voice.
“I’ve written the preliminary story and sent it to the AP. I need an American military contact here in Iraq I can share information with. I think I’ve found a contact who knows where they’ve taken the boys, but I need backup, just in case.”
She’d have to call Brett. Her stomach dropped at the thought. This could mean Ian’s life. She had to do it. “I’ll call Brett right away. He’ll have someone there you can feed the info to. But you have to be careful, Daddy.”
“I will. That’s the second time you’ve called me Daddy. What’s going on?”
Tears welled up and she blinked them away. “Nothing here. I’ve just been worried about you.” True enough. She’d kept her phone with her constantly, except for that brief hour she’d surfed with Brett. Ian had called less than Brett had. “Please—please call me more often and let me know you’re all right.”
“All right. I’ll call you tomorrow morning at eight, your time, for the contact information. If you get it before then you can email, but I’ll still call. Internet connection can be disrupted. I’m to see Sanjay al-Yussuf’s father tomorrow.”
“Are you eating right and sleeping?”
“When I’m not pacing the floor waiting for interviews. I’m fine. I’m staying with an Iraqi friend who writes for Al Zaman. I have a feeling this problem is more widespread than anyone can guess. We’re not talking about boys who were eager to leave their families, Tess. These are children who would have never done so, had they had the choice.”
“There has to be something that can be done. I’ll see Brett today. I’ll have the contact for you. Ian, don’t do anything until you have a backup.”
“I may be driven, but I’m not stupid, Tess.” Irritation crept into his voice.
Surely he wasn’t drinking. Wasn’t it against the Muslim faith to drink? Surely he wouldn’t drink in an Iraqi household and show such disrespect. But she’d have never guessed he’d done so to excess, ever. Not before a big interview. Not before meeting Brett. She cringed from the memory.
“I know you’re not stupid. But you weren’t exactly yourself when you were here.”
“I’m fine now, Teresa. I’ve found the thread that will unravel the story, and I’m waiting to pull it. I’ll keep you posted. I’ve got to go.”
“I love you, Ian.”
The connection was gone and all she heard was empty air.
***
Russell woke and instinctively turned to check on Clara. She was curled on her side, her bare shoulder and back to him. Her skin was a delight to touch and he was tempted, but she seemed so sound asleep he didn’t want to wake her. He contented himself with breathing in her scent, something with a hint of cinnamon in it.
She needed to rest after her ordeal the day before, and their lovemaking. And they hadn’t just made love once, but twice and both times had been—good, really good. Who was he kidding? They’d been fantastic together. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent the morning in bed with a woman. But he’d certainly remember every moment of their time together.
He glanced at his watch and grimaced. He had forty-five minutes to report to the hospital.
From the open doorway, he caught a glimpse of desert camouflage uniform pants and a brown t-shirt and tensed. Why hadn’t they closed the door? Was this a threat?
Hawk Yazzie stepped into sight just long enough to shut the door. His soft tread in the hallway moved away.
Russell drew the covers over Clara’s shoulder and eased free of the bedclothes. He reached for his discarded clothing and dressed. He paused to take in Clara’s bed-rumpled hair and flushed cheeks with satisfaction and more than a little tenderness before leaving the bedroom. When he entered the kitchen, Hawk sat at the small kitchen table set before the windows, drinking a glass of iced tea. His gray eyes, sharp and watchful, studied Russell as he approached the table and sat down.
They eyed each other for a moment.
Russell leaned back in the chair. He wasn’t ashamed of being with a woman he cared about. And they were adults. But Hawk’s steady gaze had a predatory watchfulness that had his muscles tensing in preparation of defending himself. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell Clara that you saw me here. She’d be embarrassed knowing you saw us together.”
“I wouldn’t do or say anything to make her feel uncomfortable. She’s Zoe’s mother. So, she’s my family.” Hawk said.
So he was protective of Clara. A good thing under the circumstances. “We’ve been dating ever since she came out to visit. This isn’t a casual thing. I came over just to check on her … ” What was he doing explaining?
“She’s a special lady, and she should be treated as such.”
“I agree.”
“This will stay just between me and you, as long as you treat her as she deserves, Doc.”
That was plain enough. “That isn’t a problem. As I said, this isn’t a casual fling. I care about Clara.” Russell rose to his feet. “I have to report to the hospital. She’s sleeping soundly and I don’t want to wake her. I’d like to leave a note.”
“Sure.” Hawk rose, went to the cabinet closest to the phone, slid open a drawer, and removed a pad and pencil. He handed them to Russell. “When you’re ready to leave, let me know. The alarm is armed, and I’ll reset it when you go.” Retrieving his iced tea from the table, Hawk wandered out onto the sun porch.
Russell spent some time formulating a short note and slipped into the bedroom to leave it on the pillow next to Clara. He wanted to kiss her good-bye, but didn’t want to wake her.
At least he didn’t have to worry about anyone getting through the policeman outside to harm her. He had no doubts at all that they’d play merry hell getting past Lieutenant Yazzie to lay a finger on her.
CHAPTER 27
Brett gripped his side and swung his legs over the edge of the hospital bed. He swore beneath his breath at the tugging sensation that gave him a quick pinch of pain along the stitches. Fucking temperature spike. He’d have been out of here if it’d happened just a few hours later.
He hiked up his pajama pants as he eased to his feet. At least his bare ass wasn’t hanging out of a hospital gown. Bless Zoe for bringing him some pajamas.
A dull headache throbbed at his temples, more from grinding his teeth with every movement than the fever. He’d taken the two Tylenol the nurse had given him instead of the pain pills the doctor had recommended. He wanted his mind clear in case anything went down. The pain medication made him too drowsy.
He ran his hand over his unshaven jaw. The nurse had offered to shave him, but he’d turned her down. He might be a patient, but he’d be damned if he’d be treated like an invalid. He rose to his feet and shuffled to the sink. Jesus he was sore. His ditty kit was at home, but Nurse Farmer had left him a disposable razor and a can of shaving cream, which beat the hell out of dry shaving or not shaving at all, as they’d often had to do down range. He picked up the plastic razor and frowned at the blades. What more could a guy need or want?
A tap at the door had him shuffling around to face whoever was coming in. He couldn’t twist to look over his shoulder. Tess ste
pped into the room. Her dark auburn hair was secured at the back of her head, leaving her face bare. She wore a white sweater trimmed with pale blue stripes that hung off one shoulder, and dark blue leggings hugged her long legs and emphasized her lithe, graceful build.
Screw the razor. She could fill the bill.
“I’ve come to give you an update.” Her flat tone made him notice her closed expression. She looked pale, and her dark gaze moved around the room restlessly, looking at everything but him.
What was she pissed off about? He was the one who’d been under the knife while she’d been thinking about the scoop.
“I read your article. Thank you for holding back our names.”
She shrugged her bare shoulder and shot him a glance. She gripped the cloth strap of her shoulder bag as though someone might wrestle it from her. “With all the different agencies breathing down my neck, you didn’t really think I’d put them in, did you?”
The urge to go to her and taste that smooth creamy skin was a temptation despite his condition. He had to quit wanting her like this.
“You made Mom into a real hero. She’ll be embarrassed, then secretly proud. She doesn’t draw much attention to herself.”
“She’ll probably need to lay low for a few days, in case someone here in the hospital leaks her name.” Tess shifted from one foot to the other but made no move to come any closer. “She single-handedly fought off an armed shooter with a camera and took his picture. She deserves some recognition. But the reporters out front have been overaggressive.”
“You’d know, wouldn’t you?”
Breaking Through (Book 2 of the SEAL TEAM Heartbreakers) Page 26
