Breaking Through (Book 2 of the SEAL TEAM Heartbreakers) (12 page)

“Yet he tried to kill Brett Weaver during your last mission in Iraq.”

“He hasn’t been charged with that. And there’s been no evidence discovered that anyone on our team is responsible for Brett’s injuries.”

“But Brett Weaver believes he did,” Agent Wright spoke for the first time.

If Brett said that to these two, I’ll eat my dress uniform bonnet.
“Since Ensign Weaver was unconscious when I discovered him, I doubt he made such a statement.”

Wright’s eyes narrowed.

“Your CO has recommended you for a commendation for saving Weaver’s life in Iraq,” Scot said.

What the —
Jackson had said promotions and commendations were frozen until the investigation into what had happened to Brett was finished. Hawk shrugged. What was Jackson up to? “We don’t do the job for medals or commendations.”

“You must have some idea who attacked Weaver during the mission,” Wright said.

“Yeah. One of the eight or nine terrorists inside the building with us.” Hawk answered, his sarcasm thick.

“You don’t believe that any more than we do,” Scott said.

Hawk raised a brow. “Are you going to try to convict one of my men using speculation just so you can tie up loose ends?”

Wright’s expression grew flat. “We don’t work that way, Lieutenant.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Has there been any progress on the investigation into Second Lieutenant Carney’s disappearance?” Hawk asked, partly to needle them, but also to find out what they were doing about Flash’s Houdini three months before.

“We’re not attached to that investigation, Lieutenant,” Agent Scott said, his expression deadpan. “We wouldn’t be at liberty to discuss the case if we were.”

“Meaning you still have no leads?”

“It seems your entire team fell apart as soon as they returned home, Lieutenant,” Wright said.

Hawk controlled the urge to rise to the man’s bait. “My team had just come off a tough seven-month tour of duty. I suggest you stop judging them and start looking at things using more than the parameters you’ve been directed to follow.”
And get your head out of your ass, dickhead.

Ignoring Wright’s look of outrage, he continued. “If you’re at liberty to pass on some information to the as—agents who are in charge of that particular investigation, there has been some talk about Flash—Lieutenant Carney, receiving visitors just before returning home. Perhaps you should look into who those visitors might have been, and whether they’re tied to his disappearance.”

Wright’s features grew tense. “What sort of visitors?”

“Visitors dressed as military, but who wore no rank or insignia. I thought they might have been attached to your agency.”

Wright and Scott looked at each other.

“And you’re just now mentioning this?” Scott said.

“I’ve called your office every week since Carney went missing. None of your agents was interested in speaking to me.”

Scott’s jaw clenched, and a muscle began pulsing there. “We’ll see the information is passed on.”

Hawk nodded.

“Someone will follow up with you about it.”

“I’ll be holding my breath, Agent Scott.”

Knowing a dismissal when they heard it, the agents rose.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Hawk allowed himself one brief smile of satisfaction before he went back to his computer search.

This shit was getting out of hand. It was time the team became involved.

***

Music, its rhythm pounding in a steady beat, traveled from behind the four-plex, while the distant sound of the surf attempted to wash it out to sea. The timbre of rumbling conversation and warm laughter added to the clamor. Zoe swallowed against the nausea plaguing her. The smell of the hard-boiled eggs she’d used to garnish the huge bowl of potato salad drifted up into her nose. Her stomach rolled, and she looked toward the scattered bushes in the side yard in case she lost control.
Morning sickness at mid-evening. Great.
She wiped a sleeve over her forehead to get rid of the beads of cold sweat, then used it to cover her nose.

Hawk balanced the bowl of potato salad on one hand, and used the other to guide her to the back of the complex. The building looked like a large cube with big windows and an entrance to each apartment on the four corners.

“Won’t Doc’s neighbors be disturbed by the noise?” she asked, desperate for any distraction.

“All four apartments are occupied by SEALs, and they’ve all been invited,” Hawk said.

The single guys trained hard and partied harder. Zoe hadn’t seen that in Hawk, but she and her family had invaded his house while Brett was in the hospital, and when they’d had their breakup, she’d only left for a brief time. He’d pushed her away, fearful of how she would react if something happened to him. Being separated for those two weeks had been torture, and he had caved. It was harder being apart than living together with the ifs.

But it went deeper than that. Guilt over being ‘down range’ while his mother was dying of breast cancer had made him hyper-vigilant about his responsibilities to the people in his life. That hadn’t changed. He worried about her leg. About her ability to stay independent when she grew older. She couldn’t have him worrying about her while he was training or out of the country. He had to stay focused to stay safe.

So she’d stay on her feet the best way she could, and she’d keep quiet about anything that could cause him any added distraction. That was the plan.

He’d be leaving in a seven days for a three-week training operation. Desert training to freshen their skills for another deployment. He hadn’t said, couldn’t say, but she guessed Afghanistan this time.

Dear God, how she dreaded it. Not because of the baby, or because she’d be alone, though those thoughts entered into her worries. But because she wouldn’t know how he was from one moment to the next. The not knowing would drive her crazy.

The back yard opened into a large concrete patio surrounding a rectangular pool. A grassy divide lay between the beach and the house. A volleyball game was in progress, the net set up in the sand.

“Yo, Hawk,” Greenback yelled, from his position on the back line. “We need you, man.”

Hawk raised the bowl he carried.

“I can take that,” Zoe said, reaching for the container. She needed him distracted until either her stomach settled or nature took its course.

“Thanks, babe.” He brushed her cheek with a kiss and jogged across the yard to join the players.

Zoe limped to the long, dish-laden buffet table and maneuvered the bowl into place between containers of coleslaw and a vegetable casserole. She twisted away from the table with a shudder. The sight of food made her nausea worse.

Doc, his dark auburn hair damp around his face, manned the large double-layered grill, long-handled tongs in one hand and a beer in the other. His black t-shirt sported the image of a large bull seal and the logo SEALs Do It On The Beach. “Hey, Zoe. Want a beer?” he called out as she wandered toward the cluster of wives and girlfriends sitting near the pool.

“How about a soft drink?”

He pointed at one of the coolers. “Help yourself.”

Trish Marks waved from her seat. The high-pitched squeals of the children splashing in the pool traveled to her, making her jittery. The hodge-podge of lawn furniture beckoned. Maybe if she sat down she’d feel better. She chose a soft drink from the cooler and crossed the patio. Just as she reached Trish, the wind shifted, shoving the scent of grilling meat at her. Zoe clamped her hand over her mouth as the urge to gag rose. Bathroom—Lord, she needed a bathroom.
Now!

Trish frowned in concern, and scrambled out of her chair. She half pushed, half guided Zoe toward a door. 

The gray rug beneath her feet was the only thing Zoe saw as she fought to hold back the wave of bile. The sight of the white porcelain commode was a relief. Falling to her knees, she heaved and heaved until there was nothing left in her stomach.

Trish held a cold, wet cloth against her forehead when the urge eased and shoved the handle down, flushing away the evidence. “I’ll go get Hawk.”

Zoe grasped her wrist. “No, it’s passing—I think.”

“I can drive you home so you can lie down,” Trish offered.

Zoe shook her head. The movement stirred the nausea again, and she stopped. She braced an arm across the commode seat and rested her forehead on it. “I’m not contagious,” her voice sounded hollow as it bounced around the toilet bowl. 

Silence filled the small space. Zoe tilted her head back to look up into Trish’s freckled face. The woman’s blue gaze held hers, a silent question lying heavy between them, until Trish drew a deep breath and voiced it. “Are you pregnant?’

CHAPTER 11

“Yes. I’m pregnant.” Just saying the word somehow made it more real. “I haven’t told Hawk yet. They have that training thing coming up next week, and you know how he is.”

“Oh, Zoe.” Trish’s smile held joy and understanding. She bent to give her a hug.

“Look, I know you don’t hold anything back from Langley, but please don’t say anything to him.” Zoe forced a smile to her lips, though the urge to weep rose strong. “They may be good at keeping national secrets, but I don’t think family stuff counts. And as close as he and Hawk are—”

Trish laughed. “Hawk will be so thrilled.”

Zoe bit her lip. Would he? They had talked marriage, but hadn’t settled on anything. “I hope so. This wasn’t exactly planned.”

Trish shrugged. “Sometimes it happens that way.”

“You’re the only one who knows. I haven’t even told Mom or Brett. I’ve been building up my nerve to tackle Hawk first. He worries about me, and I don’t want him to be distracted while he’s training.”

Trish knelt and brushed the damp curls away from Zoe’s face. “He’s tough. He can handle this. He’ll need time to process it and accept it before … ”

Before their next training run. Before their next deployment. Before they risk their lives again.

Zoe’s vision blurred, and though her queasiness hadn’t quite dissipated, she forced herself to her feet instead of giving into it, or the tears. “I’m good now. Any suggestions for how to deal with morning sickness, or in my case anytime sickness?”

“Crackers, crackers, and more crackers. And potato chips. The salt seems to do something for it. And lemonade.”

“Okay.” She gave a nod. “There has to be crackers or potato chips out there somewhere. Do you think Doc would be insulted if I looked in his medicine cabinet for toothpaste?”

Trish laughed. “I don’t think he’d mind at all.”

Zoe opened the medicine cabinet in search of toothpaste, and, finding a tube, squirted some onto her finger to brush her teeth. The taste of mint seemed to sooth her upset stomach. Turning on the water, she rinsed her mouth and spat, then shut the tap off. “Let’s go find something salty.”

***

Brett’s hand rested against Tess’s waist as he guided her along the sidewalk that meandered around the apartment complex. His mother walked ahead, the strap of her camera bag thrown over her shoulder. The bag wallowed against her hip as she moved, too heavy to bounce. The two women seemed to have hit it off. No surprise, his mom got along with just about everyone. But something was off with her. She’d been quiet. Kind of distracted. And she’d gone out and spent a shitload of money on camera equipment. What was up with that?

The elusive scent Tess wore teased him once again. It wasn’t floral, but something citrus. The delicate curve of her cheek, the soft, pouty shape of her lips, and those warm, sherry-colored eyes just … did it for him. The curve of her waist fit his hand as though made for him. Her long legs, bared by shorts, stretched pale and smooth. He‘d start at the small knob of bone at her ankle and work his way all the way
—Hold on. Can’t go there.
But, Jesus, he wanted to.

After all this shit ended, he’d be after her like a bird dog scenting quail. He had trouble suppressing a grin. Like Romeo after Juliet. It would probably shock the shit out of her to know a military guy could be romantic. He’d show her. Would she go for a guy who did do the hearts and flowers thing?

“Cutter.” Bowie’s shout reached him almost before he’d made it around the corner of the apartment building. Bowie paused long enough to hug Clara before moving on to extend his hand. Brett clasped it and bumped shoulders with him.

“You’re missed, man,” Bowie said, pounding him on the back hard enough to hurt.

“Thanks. I haven’t missed your sorry ass at all,” Brett said.

Bowie laughed and turned his attention to Tess. Brett had seen that wolfish grin and flash of dimples before.  He sent a narrow-eyed look of warning at his teammate and received a smirk in return.

“Tess, this is Ensign Dan Rivera.”

“Everyone calls me Bowie,” Rivera said, offering his hand.

“Is that a call sign?” Tess asked as she accepted his grip and shook briefly.

“Yes.”

“So you’re nicknamed after a knife?”

“Sort of. Mostly after Jim Bowie who fought at the Alamo. I’m from Texas.”

“I recognized the accent.”

A small crease of concentration appeared between Tess’s brows. She was already in observation mode as she looked up at Brett. “And your call sign is Cutter?”

“Yeah.” Every part of his training could make him a murderer in her eyes, but avoiding her question would only make her suspicious. “I’m good with sharp weapons, particularly knives.”

“Oh.” Her lips pursed on the word. “You’ll have to demonstrate for me sometime.”

His brows rose. “If you like.”

Would that be part of the story she wanted to write? It would be a distinctive detail that could identify him. He’d have to talk to her about keeping his part in all this anonymous. Jesus, this whole thing was like tiptoeing through a minefield. One wrong move or word and he’d be eating his discharge papers.

His gaze scanned the players involved in the volleyball game. Hawk, Langley Marks, Oliver Shaker, and Doc’s neighbor Seaman Jeff Sizemore comprised one team. The other was made up of Bowie, Doc’s neighbor, Seaman Carl Tanner, and the two new guys in the team, Seamen Jack Logan and Kelsey Tyler. Brett threw up a hand in recognition as Jack Logan called to him. Logan and Tyler had filled Flash and Derrick’s places. His own spot was still open, but that could change at any time.