Dragging himself up from the bed, he buckled Bosch into his harness and clipped the leash on. They made their way out into the stifling hot night and headed toward the small greenbelt a few blocks away.
Once there, he let Bosch loose to wander, and explore, just be a dog for a little while. An occasional fighter jet screamed overhead as the pilots practiced night landings and touch-and-gos. With the combination of that sound and the heat, if Geo closed his eyes, he could almost imagine himself back in Iraq. The only thing missing was the scent of honeysuckle. Each war zone had its own distinct scent. Afghanistan’s had been pine, from the forests high in the Hindu Kush. Iraq’s was honeysuckle.
Pulling a tennis ball from his pocket, Geo held it up. Immediately Bosch went into prey mode, muscles quivering, tail held high. Geo made him wait for a beat, then flung the ball into the darkness.
Bosch took off like a shot after it. This wasn’t a game of fetch. Once Bosch had his ball, he wouldn’t give it up unless commanded to. It was his to gnaw, to crush in his powerful jaws, to carry around, until Geo told him to drop it. Ambling after him, he let the dog have his reward for one full minute.
Upon the command to release, Bosch dropped the wet, slobbery ball at his feet. Geo scooped it up and threw it again with a sharp instruction for Bosch to hold, which he did, his whole body straining toward the direction it disappeared in.
“Zoek!” At the command to seek, Bosch tore after the ball. A moment of silence, then, instead of the happy snuffling sounds of a dog with a toy, out of the gloom came a long, low growl.
“Oh, fuck me.” Heart pounding, Geo hustled in that direction. “Whoever you are, stand still!”
Bosch was trained not to attack without the proper Dutch command, but Geo wasn’t taking any chances.
“Uh, don’t worry. Not moving.” The reply was the tiniest bit shaky, and no wonder. When Geo ran up, Bosch had his front legs spread, hindquarters lifted, every hackle he owned standing on end. The rumbling growl emanating from his throat meant he was ready and willing to fight the man standing in the crosshairs, frozen in place. Holding the tennis ball.
“Dude, toss the ball to me. Slowly.”
The man did, and once Geo had possession of it again, Bosch visibly relaxed. At the “come” hand signal, he trotted to Geo’s side and sat, his unwavering stare fixed on the interloper.
“I’m so sorry.” The man kept a wary gaze on Bosch, too. “I was out for a run and this ball came bouncing right at me. It was instinct just to grab it.”
When he took a hesitant step into the pool of light cast by the streetlamp, Geo blinked in sudden recognition. “Hey, you’re one of our new straphangers, aren’t you?” He stuck his fist out. “Don’t think we’ve formally met. George Monteverdi.”
“Matt Knytych.” The man returned the knuckle bump with a quirk of his lips. “And yeah, I’m part of your temporary backfill. My regular troop’s on block leave, so...”
Geo nodded. Guys hungry for all the experience they could get, especially new SEALs, would ask to join other platoons’ training trips. If Matt’s platoon was on block leave, that meant they’d just returned from deployment, but instead of taking time off, Matt had decided to get right back to it.
Matt was still eyeing Bosch suspiciously, so with a chuckle, Geo introduced them.
“Really sorry I hijacked your ball, Bosch,” Matt said, sincere apology in his tone. He glanced at Geo. “I didn’t even think a tennis ball might be a training evolution.”
“It wasn’t, actually. It’s playtime. The thing is, this ball is also his reward for working, so he takes it very seriously.”
Now that his toy was safe, Bosch was the canine version of all smiles, his head cocked as he stared at the new person in his orbit. Matt continued to look uneasy, so Geo said, “Since he’s not working, Bosch wouldn’t mind an ear scratch, if you wanted to give him one.”
The dog didn’t rip off the tentative hand Matt extended, and visibly relieved, Matt relaxed and fondled his ears. “What’s his job? Explosives detection?”
“He’s considered a multi-purpose K9, so he does a lot of scent work, and every now and then he gets to do his favorite thing of all—bite people.”
Matt froze, and Geo laughed. “Sorry, couldn’t resist. He only bites on command, and believe me, he wouldn’t bother with your hand. He goes for the whole arm.”
With a gulp, Matt croaked, “Jesus. Glad he’s on our side.” A few more ear scratches, and then he said, “Can I—”
“Sure. Go ahead and make friends.”
Crouching down to Bosch’s level, Matt studied him as he petted his neck and sides. “Handsome fella. Is he a German shepherd?”
“Belgian Malinois. They’re smaller and lighter than shepherds, and that makes all the difference considering how many times per day I lift him out in the field. This guy fast-ropes with me, jumps out of planes with me. He’s considered part of my combat load.”
“Shit, that’s amazing. I can’t wait to see him in action.”
“Your troop doesn’t have a K9 handler?” Geo asked.
“No, we don’t.” Matt grinned. “But we had someone special attached to us. A CST.”
It took Geo a moment to connect the dots. “Cultural Support Team? I’ve never gotten to work with one of those women. What was it like?”
“Awesome as fuck.” Matt launched into a couple of stories about Devon—the CST—which left Geo shaking his head in almost disbelief.
“Wow. I’d love to meet her someday.”
“Everyone should meet her. She’s great, calm under fire, an all-around fantastic person.”
“Which platoon are you with?”
When Matt told him, Geo winced. “Shit. I heard through the grapevine that a couple of your guys ran afoul of an RPG over in Afghanistan.”
Matt pointed to himself. “One of the guys. The other was my—” his throat worked “—my best friend.”
“Oh, man.”
“I was driving,” Matt went on raggedly, “and the RPG exploded over the gun turret. Shane was bleeding out, but I didn’t stop...”
The first rule of combat medicine: win the fight. Injuries didn’t matter if everyone was dead. Once fire superiority was established, then aid could be rendered.
“Your buddy’s okay?”
“He’ll be in Germany for another week or so, but yeah, he’s gonna be okay.”
And in the meantime, you needed to keep busy. Understandable.
“How about you?” Geo asked.
“Me?”
“Making the decision to keep driving can’t have been easy. You coping with that?”
Matt’s eyes looked straight into his. “It was my duty to keep driving. I couldn’t sacrifice the entire convoy to save Shane, and he wouldn’t have wanted me to. If I’d stopped, and more people were hurt or killed, he would’ve hated me for that in the end. It wasn’t a choice, it was the only thing to do. And I’d do it all over again.”
Despite his seeming calm, the pain evident in the set of Matt’s jaw and compressed lips told Geo how much that decision had cost him emotionally.
“A bitch of a no-win situation, isn’t it?”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Matt pinched the bridge of his nose tightly, voice growing even more hoarse. “Stop and save him, and have him hate me for it, or keep going and have to live with his death.”
“He’s going to be okay, though, yeah?”
“But for a few hours, I didn’t know that. All I knew was that he was hurt so fuckin’ bad.” Matt drew in a shaky breath. “And I didn’t stop...”
Geo stood by silently as Matt wrestled for control. At last he glanced up at him, his intense dark eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, dude. Nothing to be sorry for.” His heart aching, Geo reached out to grip his shoulder. “The longer you’r
e in this business, the better you’ll learn how to compartmentalize this shit.”
Matt shook his head. “That’s what I’m afraid of. Compartmentalizing so much that I stop caring.” He smiled ruefully. “I’d rather feel the pain than have that happen. You know?”
Unbelievably Geo felt his own eyes start to burn, but with sheer force of will, he forced it back. “Well, there’s only so much pain you can allow yourself to feel before it eats you alive. Take it from me.”
They stared at each other for the space of a few heartbeats, and Geo could almost see the questions trembling on Matt’s lips. Before he could say anything, Bosch’s loud snort broke the spell, and in an instant, Geo retreated back into the safety of his macho armor.
“You’ll just have to figure it out for yourself, kid,” he said, giving an inward wince at the patronizing tone to his voice. “It sucks about your buddy, but don’t let yourself dwell on it too long.”
In the sudden awkwardness, Matt’s expression smoothed out, his own emotion now tightly locked down. “Yeah. Thanks for the advice, George,” he said evenly. “It was nice meeting you. Later, Bosch.”
With a lift of his hand, Matt turned and jogged away. Bosch gazed up at Geo almost reproachfully.
“Hey, what was I supposed to do?” Geo grunted. “Spew all over a guy I don’t even know, let alone trust?”
Besides, Matt’s pain was different than his own. What happened to Shane could be laid directly at the feet of a senseless, never-ending war. What’d happened to Cade...
Shame, guilt and helplessness flared back to life in the pit of Geo’s stomach. Matt wouldn’t understand anyway. How could he? A wet-behind-the-ears new guy with next to no combat experience didn’t get to judge Cade’s actions, or Geo’s. He had to goddamn earn that right.
Back in his room, Geo gave Bosch a bowl of water before dropping to sit cross-legged next to his crate. Bosch finished his drink and ambled over, then flopped on the rug and curled up to rest his head on Geo’s thigh.
Geo sifted his fingers through his fur, some of his tension easing. The soothing weight of the dog’s head on his leg, the warmth of his body, the comfort and companionship of this creature he loved and knew loved him back...
Right now it was just what he needed.
And all Lani wanted was a picture of him.
At the thought, Geo closed his eyes on a fresh wave of guilt. She’d been dealing with so much, and feeling so alone, and after they talked he’d ignored her simple request because he’d gotten sad over his dad’s death, something he hardly ever thought about anymore.
On impulse he pulled his phone from his pocket and rifled through his photo album. After finding the one he wanted, he scrolled to Lani’s name in his contacts and opened a text. I’m sorry about tonight, he typed, before attaching the pic and hitting Send.
No immediate answer. With a sigh, Geo pushed to his feet and headed for the shower, his silent phone tossed to the bed. When he emerged from the steamy bathroom, towel around his hips, his screen lit up, then faded to black as he eagerly reached for it.
Anticipation burning through him, he pulled up her reply.
Don’t be sorry. It was a weird night for both of us, I think. But thanks for the pic! I’d love to hear the story behind it sometime.
I’d love to tell you. His heart beating a bit faster, Geo typed, Can I take you to dinner the next time we’re in town? We should be home in a week or two.
It seemed forever until her answer came, although it was only a couple of seconds.
Sure. I’d like that.
An idiotic grin spreading over his face, Geo replied, It’s a date.
* * *
“Holy shit.”
Lani stared at the picture on her phone screen. In it, a shirtless Geo crouched next to a sleek black-and-tan dog, who sat looking stoically into the camera. Geo’s lips held a rueful twist, one hand braced on his thigh, the other held up to display his muscular forearm—a forearm crisscrossed with lurid stitches in the shape of a bite mark.
What was he saying, that Bosch had bitten him? What would make a dog turn on his handler? Holding the phone high, she peered into Bosch’s intelligent brown eyes.
“Why would you do that?”
Bosch gazed back at her, his ears upright, chest up and out, for all the world looking most pleased with himself. Damn, it sounded crazy, but the expression on his face reminded her of someone...
But who?
When it hit her a split-second later, she clapped her hand over her mouth to muffle her giggle. He reminded her of Geo himself—completely self-assured, with a bone-deep confidence that bordered on arrogant.
“Oh, my God, Bosch. You’re a SEAL in canine form, aren’t you?”
Of course he was. Spec ops dogs would have to have much the same traits as their human counterparts, who were all Type A mixes of stubbornness and competitiveness. But what’d happened between Geo and Bosch to cause this?
She couldn’t wait to find out.
Heading into the kitchen to make sure all the Chinese food was put away, the new journal sitting on the table caught her eye. Lani glared at it.
“Get those thoughts down,” Maura had said at the end of their session when she’d handed the journal to her. “Let them flow. Even if some days all you manage to write is what you had for dinner, I want you to get used to putting your thoughts and emotions into words. You’ve been holding them inside for far too long.”
Daily homework. Great.
With a grunt, she snatched up her favorite pen with the purple ink and flipped the journal open to the first pristine white page. The first few sentences came out stilted, flippant, as she attempted to describe her day. When her hand started to cramp, she tossed the pen down and slammed the journal closed. “Ugh, this is dumb.”
How was writing stuff down supposed to help her accomplish jack-shit anyway? All the assignment had done so far was contribute to her ongoing sense of failure, and that was something she definitely didn’t need.
She could manage that part all on her own, thank you very much.
Giving up for the moment, Lani grabbed her tea mug and headed to the living room and her couch. She got comfortable, then took a sip of the fragrant brew while she regarded the phone resting on her thigh.
Unable to help herself, she opened the picture again, this time ignoring the dog to focus on Geo. He looked sweaty, dirty, as if he’d just completed an exercise. She traced her eyes over his camo pants and boots, his ridged abs and well-defined chest. That wound on his arm had to hurt, yet he was crouching next to Bosch as if they were still best friends. What in the world...?
She dropped her head to the back of the couch and blew out a long, slow breath. “I can’t believe I’m talking to another spec ops guy,” she said to her ceiling. “And I really like him. Why can’t he be a lawyer or something? Ugh.”
The ceiling didn’t have an opinion to offer her, so she reached for her mug again. As she did, the journal caught her eye. Pulling it to her, she traced her finger over the drawing on the cover, that of a little boy and girl holding hands, the thought bubble over the girl’s head reading, “You’re the peanut butter to my jelly.”
Peanut butter. Rhys’s Peanut Butter Cup.
“Write it all down.” Maura’s voice echoed in her head. “No matter what it’s about. Put your feelings into words as best you can. Scream, cry, get angry, mourn. No one will ever read it but you.”
Grabbing up the pen, Lani started to write:
Hey, Rhys, I miss you. I miss your smile, your stupid jokes, and that goofy laugh that always made me laugh, too. I miss your friendship. It scares me to think I might not have that anymore. After all, I’ve had it for most of my life, and all my best—and worst—memories have you in them. It’s so fucking hard to think of making memories without you.
I have to try, though. For your
sake, and mine, I’m gonna try, and maybe someday we can build a friendship that isn’t based on me needing you anymore. I’ve gotten so used to needing you, Rhys, that I have no sense of my own strength, or who I want to be. Well, except a good mom. Now that I know. It’s a start, isn’t it?
And oh, by the way, I have a date with someone. A nice guy, funny and sweet, and damn if his voice doesn’t make me shiver. Mmm.
It’s really too bad he’s a SEAL.
Chapter Seven
Geo shifted uncomfortably on Lani’s doorstep, his feet hot and sweaty in the unfamiliar loafers.
The khaki pants he wore were rumpled, and his dark blue polo shirt had a musty smell from being crammed at the bottom of his dresser drawer.
Sighing against the butterflies in his stomach, he rapped twice on the door and stood back under the porch light so she could get a good look at him out of the peephole. After a moment came the scratchy sound of the bolt turning, and then the door swung open.
Geo gulped. “Hi.”
“Hey, frogman.” Lani stood framed in the brightly lit entryway, the smile on her face warm and welcoming. “Come on in.”
His heart tripping a mile a minute, Geo stepped inside, an uncharacteristic shyness stealing his tongue.
“Are those for me?” She reached for the bouquet of carnations he clutched, and with a sheepish grin, he passed them over.
“For you, from me and Bosch. He sends his regards, by the way. Said he’d totally be here, but he’d rather have a spa day.”
She giggled. “Bath and toenails?”
“Exactly. They might even throw a massage in there, who knows?”
“Sounds amazing.”
They grinned at each other, and then her gaze drifted over him, all the way down to his shoes. Geo tugged at his shirt collar. “Is this okay? I wasn’t sure what you wanted to do tonight.” He grimaced. “Guess when I texted, I should’ve asked.”
“Well—”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you have something in mind? Tell me.”
Trusting a Warrior Page 7
