Breaking Free

by Teresa J. Reasor

  ****

  From her perch atop the picnic table on the deck, Zoe observed Derrick Armstrong as, resting a hand against Marjorie’s waist; he guided her to his car. For most of the evening following her comment at dinner, he’d remained sullen and silent. She should have left it alone and not said anything. But the men were giving up on Brett. Derrick had already done so. She could tell by the way he always referred to him in the past tense.

  Bowie, Flash, and Doc were better about it, but the way their eyes met whenever Brett’s name came up in conversation--They didn’t believe he’d come out of the coma.

  Did Hawk feel the same?

  She’d never ask him. She couldn’t. She was holding onto her own positive outlook by her fingernails. She couldn’t allow anyone’s negativity to tear chunks out of her hope.

  She turned her gaze back to the friendly backyard volleyball game. Flash served the volleyball and Langley went up for a return as it spun toward him.

  Hawk’s hand brushing downward over her back to her waist snapped her attention to him. His muscular thigh pressed along hers making her think about how he had thrust it between her legs and encouraged her to rock against it.

  He’d touched her more during dinner than he had the entire time she’d been staying at his house. With every stroke of his palm he primed her hunger for more and her anxiety.

  “Ready to go home?” Hawk asked.

  Twenty minutes later, Zoe’s nerves kicked in with a vengeance as they reached the midway point to Hawk’s house. She cast surreptitious glances at him from beneath her lashes and tried to calm her uncontrollable heartbeat and unsteady breathing. What had she said to him about making love? Oh yeah--she’d do it when she wanted to. But he would too. She wanted it--wanted it so-o-o-o bad, but she was scared too. If he saw her leg, her scars--

  Hawk’s hand closed around hers. “Relax, Zoe.”

  She swallowed though her mouth was dust dry. She clung to his hand with both of hers and wished the bucket seats would allow her to slide closer.

  “We don’t have to rush anything,” Hawk said.

  He had been so patient, had taken things so slowly thus far--“It isn’t that,” she said, her tone weak.

  “What is it then?”

  “Have you ever wanted something you--”her voice dwindled away. If she said she was scared to death he’d misunderstand.

  “That last step is hard. I know. I wanted to be a SEAL before I signed the scholarship papers for college. But once I graduated, knowing what a commitment it was--it was hard to take that last step.” He glanced at her. “I’m ready when you decide you are. But we don’t have to be in a rush. Part of the excitement of being a couple is learning about each other.”

  Her throat tightened. Why had she ever been afraid? “I wanted to be a dancer before the accident. I was taking tap and ballet and had fallen in love with it. I had movies of Baryshnikov, Natalia Makarova, and several others. Daddy had put up a bar and mirror for me in the garage.” She smiled at the bittersweet memory. He had danced with her. He’d be Fred Astaire and she’d be Ginger Rodgers. At the time, she hadn’t known who they were, but the fact that he had tried to share a little of her dream--

  Hawk’s fingers tightened around hers and she looked up. His features had gone completely still with control.

  “It’s all right. It was just a little girl’s dream. The chances that I’d have been good enough to dance with a ballet troop were slim. I love my job. I love seeing someone walk when they don’t believed they ever will. I help people rebuild a part of the life they’ve lost. I think that’s more important than being on stage.”

  “Hooyah!”

  That one word said it all.

  Her nerves had receded completely when they pulled into the driveway at the house. Hawk held her hand as they went up the front steps. He released it to unlock the front door. He held it open and motioned for her to enter first. Just over the threshold her shoe snagged something and she stumbled. A loud whomp filled the enclosed space with a force that pounded her eardrums. At the same time, a flash of intense light seared her retina’. Startled, she cried out. Hawk shoved her down and his large body covered hers driving the air from her lungs. The acrid smell of smoke filled the first breath she drew.

  “Stay down,” he ordered, his tone harsh with command. He jumped up, his movements cautious and quick, and disappeared down the dark hall.

  Zoe raised her head to look between the couch and chair and scan the room. White spots filled her vision but cleared quickly. A small blaze flickered in the center of the area rug in the living room. With every second that passed it grew brighter. She staggered to her feet and looked about for something with which to smother the flames. She jerked free one of the window curtains, threw it over the fire, and stomped on it. Puffs of smoke rose from beneath the fabric. The heat of the blaze penetrated her thin shoes.

  Hawk appeared from the back of the house, a gun in one hand a fire extinguisher in the other. “The house is clear.” He tucked the gun in the back waistband of his shorts, flipped the curtain aside, and sprayed it with the foam. His expression appeared calm but the quick way his gaze scanned the room, watchful and keen, gave her an idea of how he might behave in battle.

  “What was this?” she asked.

  “A stun grenade. We call them flash bangs. This one’s been modified otherwise all my windows would have been blown out.” He pushed aside the scorched fabric of the curtain baring a two foot wide burn in the center of the rug that went all the way to the hard wood floor beneath. He bent to run his hand under a thin wire and followed it to the door. “This is a trip wire. It was set up to go off as soon as someone hit it.”

  Zoe sucked in a harsh breath. “Why would anyone do this?”

  He remained silent a moment. He pointed to a watercolor seascape over the couch. The black words printed on the glass stood out against the muted background like slashes. It read ‘leave it alone’. The words sent prickles of shock and fear along her skin. She began to tremble.

  The sound of police sirens screamed from down the street. Hawk removed the gun from his waistband and, pulling open a drawer of the table by the door, placed it inside. He reached up and swung the picture down to lay it behind a chair.

  “We have to convince the San Diego police this was a prank, Zoe. There are too many things I can’t tell them. I think they’ll want to call in NCIS if they discover this involved real explosives.”

  “Then let them. Maybe we’ll finally discover what’s going on.” The idea brought a wave of relief so strong it eased some of her trembling.

  “And what if it’s something Brett’s gotten tangled up in?”

  Zoe studied his expression for a long moment. Was he really willing to overlook having his house set on fire? What if whoever it was escalated to blowing the place up? Was his loyalty to his Naval family so strong? God, did she even need to ask that? “Why are you protecting them?”

  “Because we need to keep this in the family, and deal with it in house. For all we know, I’m protecting your brother, too.”

  She caught her breath as anger flashed through her. Brett wouldn’t be involved in anything illegal. She was certain of it. “What do you think he could have seen or done to cause this?”

  “I don’t know. But I intend to find out.”

  He was blocking her out again. First with his refusal to discuss his meeting at the shooting range, and now with this. Resentment burned through her patience. “We, Hawk. We, not I. If my brother’s involved, so am I.”

  A police cruiser screeched to a halt outside. Out of the corner of Zoe’s eye, she caught the flash of the lights atop the vehicle. She ignored it. “If I’m going to lie to protect them, you’re letting me in. Or I’m going to tell the police everything and let the fur fly.”

  His features tightened and his gray eyes went flat with anger. “I don’t respond well to threats.”

  “And I don’t respond well to being shut out when it affects someone I love.�
� Was she talking about Brett or him? God, she was wading through emotional quicksand and was sinking fast.

  Footsteps sounded on the porch and a harsh rap came at the door. “All right,” Hawk said, his tone grudging, sharp. “We’ll talk later.”

  “Good. And by the way, Bowie says we need to talk to Derrick.”

  As he worked that out, she jerked open the door and prepared to lie.

 

  CHAPTER 11