Breaking Through (Book 2 of the SEAL TEAM Heartbreakers) (23 page)

Brett tossed his keys onto the breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the living room. He lifted the narrow strap of her purse from her shoulder and placed her bag next to his keys. “Tess” He drew a deep breath. “I’d hoped tonight could be about us enjoying being together, not about the damn story or all the bullshit that’s going on in my professional life. If it can’t be, if you’re not interested in spending time with me, we can call it a night right now, and I’ll take you home.”

Tears stung her eyes, and she bit her lip. She’d never wanted to be with anyone as much as she wanted to be with him. But the trouble he was in, his job, this thing with Ian, all added up to a recipe for emotional disaster.

She forced her gaze to his face, and her throat tightened. He looked so serious, so somber. And she couldn’t say she wanted to leave when she didn’t. “I’d like to stay.”

He nodded. “Good.”

He picked up the laptop from the bar and moved to the television. With just a few cords, he had the computer hooked up to the flat-screen like a monitor. He turned on the television. “When we’re down range, we use our laptops to stay in contact with home, and for entertainment when there’s time and a connection, which doesn’t occur together very often. I have some of my favorite movies saved on here. I just downloaded the one we’re going to watch.”

He straightened from the computer. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, I’m good.” She moved to the couch and sat down.

Brett went into the kitchen and got a bottle of water, then returning, clicked on a file and the opening symbol of one of the national film studios came on. He settled beside her, kicked off his shoes, and propped his sock-covered feet on the coffee table, but didn’t try to draw her any closer.

She slipped her sandals off and propped her bare feet next to his. His feet were wider, longer, and obviously masculine. His tan legs were dusted with a sun-bleached hair, as were his forearms. She leaned her head against the back of the couch and tried to focus on the movie, but his thighs and calves stretched muscular and enticing on the edge of her vision, distracting her. Her muscles both tightened and turned to jelly when he crossed his ankles, bunching up what lay beneath his zipper. She’d felt him aroused and hard against her. She had some idea of the size of what he had to offer. Every nerve in her body sang with need. She turned on her hip, and drew her knees up on the cushion beside her.

Brett laid a hand on her thigh just above her knee, his touch warm, the texture of his palm slightly callused. Her insides turned to liquid.

His pale blue eyes held banked emotion, mirroring her own feelings. “You could give us both a break and let me hold you at least,” he said, his tone husky.

She swallowed with difficulty. Brett wiggled around to wedge himself into the corner of the couch and propped his feet back up on the table. When he raised his arm in invitation, Tess slid in against his side. She found a resting spot for her head in the hollow of his shoulder, and with her arm lying across the muscular slope of his stomach she began to relax. Just being close, sharing his space and his heat eased the raw edge of her need, but that aching awareness still hummed along her nerve endings.

“How did you know?” she asked softly.

Brett’s ran a hand down over her hip. “This movie is supposed to be funny as hell. We haven’t laughed a single time.”

He wrapped gentle fingers around her hand and held it against his chest. “I’m willing to wait while you work things out, to go slow, but you’re going to have to make up your mind, Tess.”

She breathed in the subtle clean scent of  his cologne and him.  If she said she already had, things would spiral out of control way too quickly.

Who was she kidding? They already had.

CHAPTER 19

Tess stood at the baggage claim area and scanned the crowd. She swung between excitement and dread every time her father visited. Why did she still allow Ian to do this to her? When he appeared, his battered canvas laptop case slung over his shoulder, the knot in her stomach twisted. Had she ever seen him without that case? Even during her teen years, his computer had been more a part of him than she was.

He retrieved a medium-sized black bag from the carousel, and turning, spotted her across the crowded room. As he loped toward her, she studied him. His long-legged, lanky build mirrored her own, though he outweighed her by at least sixty pounds, and at six-three, stood taller by eight inches. His red hair, tied back with a black strip, was bright ginger, as was his beard. As he drew closer, she noticed heavier threads of gray wound through his well-trimmed beard and at his temples. The crow’s feet fanning out at the corners of his eyes looked deeper, but otherwise he appeared just as he had when she’d last seen him.

A year had passed, and he had only contacted her twice. Once in the middle of the night a week after her birthday. He’d sounded drunk, but insisted he’d just been out in the field with some soldiers and was exhausted. The second time he’d called to retrieve the telephone number of a friend in France and to ask her to scan the address book he’d left behind and email him a copy. She’d emailed the book out the next day. He hadn’t contacted her to tell her if he’d received it or not.

“Hello, Teresa,” he greeted her and gave her a brief hug. He smelled like sweat and Scotch.

She couldn’t expect him to smell fresh. He had been in the air for more than twenty-four hours.

“I hope you had a good flight,” she said.

“It’s been a long couple of days, but I slept most of the night. I’ll feel more human once I’ve had a decent cup of coffee and a shower.”

“We can swing through Starbucks here for the coffee, then I’ll drop you at the hotel. I’ve texted Ensign Weaver to meet us in your room for dinner at seven. I thought we might need some privacy.”

“Sounds good.”

After a brief stop at the closest Starbuck’s, his long legs ate up the distance through the airport to the exit, leaving little time for talk. They passed artwork along the way, sculpted caricatures of a group of people standing in line waiting to check their baggage or claim it, and a model plane suspended from the high rafters. Milky midmorning sunlight glowed from behind the sloped bank of windows that decorated the front entrance of the airport.

“They’re doing some construction, so I’ve had to park in the temporary lot. We’ll need to catch one of the shuttles.”

“All right.”

They located the correct shuttle and boarded. Ian shoved his suitcase in one of the racks and slouched into the seat next to her.

“Where did you fly in from?” she asked.

“South Africa to Heathrow, and from there to Chicago, then from there to here.”

“I appreciate you coming.”

His tan gaze, much lighter than hers, swept her face. “Why have you taken an interest in this?”

“I met Brett Weaver at a luncheon. He had just been released from the hospital and returned to partial duty. He’d nearly died, and he was still talking about going back. How he’d stand between us and any threats. It wasn’t hype. You could tell he meant every word.” She drew a deep breath. “There’s a rumor that one of his teammates tried to kill him, and that’s how he ended up in a month-long coma. I wanted to know the truth.”

“Of course he wouldn’t tell you.”

“He doesn’t remember how he was injured and he won’t speculate about what happened.”

“These guys are used to keeping secrets, Tess. He’s not likely to let anything slip. I’m surprised he’s come to you.”

“He’s not really come to me.” Though he’d agreed to an interview and to help her with the articles she was writing, he’d met with her to get to Ian.  Each time she thought about it, it hurt. It was just one more instance where she didn’t measure up.

Was he pursuing her just to get to Ian? Well if he was, he’d get what he wanted and disappear.

Just like Kevin. The douche bag, that asshole.

A hollow feeling invaded the pit of her stomach. She was not sleeping with Brett Weaver.

“So he thinks I can get to the truth,” Ian said, breaking into her thoughts.

“I’ve told him you can.”

Ian started to say something then veered away from it. After a pause he said, “I always thought you’d call me for help with your career, not a story.”

Tess remained silent a moment. “My career path isn’t the same as yours. I’m smart enough to know I’m not cut out to dodge bullets and bombs. I’d rather dodge the verbal ones here. I write about people and you write about events.”

“Is that what you think I do?”

“They’re events that have affected people, or will, but you rarely dig into the personal aftermath.”

“And you do?” he asked, his brows raised, skepticism in his expression.

“I’ve been talking to my boss about a series and also a new column. It will deal with people. The traumatic experiences people go through, and how they’ve overcome them.”

At his continued silence, heat raced to her face as defensive anger clutched her chest. “Some of the issues aren’t easy. Like a woman whose son is on death row in Florida, or an internationally known artist who’s lost his eyesight. Does that sound like puff to you?”

“No, it doesn’t. It sounds like an excellent Sunday insert to the local paper.”

Nothing she did would ever be good enough because she
refused
to compete with him. Tears burned her eyes and she was grateful when the shuttle moved forward and gave her an excuse to look away.

Why couldn’t he just be a regular father and love her?

Why did she look to him for approval? Anger and pain tumbled together into a hard knot in her stomach. She grabbed onto the anger and held on.

When the shuttle finally stopped, they got off and wandered further up the row to her car.  When they were in the car she asked. “Would you like to stop for a meal? Check-in time at the motel is noon.”

“I’m good.”

She dragged her seatbelt across her chest and snapped it shut.

“I wasn’t denigrating the choices you’ve made for your stories, Tess.”

She froze for a moment. “Sure you were.” She shrugged. “I’ve grown used to it in the last five years, Ian.” She started the car and turned to back out.

“My intent has always been to challenge you.”

She paused to study his face for a moment. The tide of anger she was riding crested. “No, it hasn’t.” He was slapping her down, and she’d had enough.

His odd tawny eyes narrowed and his long angular face tightened “You can give me the name of the hotel and I can call a cab,” he said.

“It’s the Holiday Inn on the Bay. We can be there in three minutes. I’ll drop you there. They have three restaurants. You can hang out in one of them and wait for your room to be ready.”

She jerked the gear into reverse and put on the gas. Silence fell between them as she maneuvered the vehicle into the escaping traffic and turned south onto Harbor Drive.

“I haven’t been here in a while. I’d like to go to Mission Beach. You could hang out with your old man for a while and give me an opportunity to apologize.”

That was something new. He’d never said he was sorry for anything before. And he still hadn’t.

But he had flown in from South Africa for this interview, an interview she had asked him to do.

“How long have you been out of the country?” she asked as she turned onto India Street toward Mission Bay.

“Two months.”

Why did he want to spend months away from home in places where he could be wounded or killed? “Where were you?”

“A game reserve covering the attacks on the white rhinos. I think these ignorant bastards who poach their horns, and the even more ignorant bastards who purchase them, may finally succeed in wiping them out.”

The quiet anger she heard in his voice had Tess glancing at his profile. Had he finally decided to truly care about something besides his career?

“They tranquilize them then hack out their horns with machetes. One of the cows–half of her face was gone and she was still alive.”

Tess flinched away from the image.

“Seeing that massive creature disfigured and left for dead just seemed more wrong than I can find words to describe.”

“What happened to her?” Tess asked.

“The vet had to put her down.”

She flinched. “I’m sorry, Ian.”

He shrugged. “It was just an event I wrote about.”

Tess drew a deep breath as guilt tap-danced on her conscience. Had she been too hard on him or was he playing her?

What kind of daughter was she that she had to ask that?

“When is the piece you wrote going to be released to the AP?”

“Probably tomorrow since it wasn’t time sensitive.”

“I’ll be on the lookout for it. My editor will be interested in running it.” She glanced at his profile. “Did you go out with the patrols looking for the poachers?”

“Yes. Damn bastards are fast and they know the terrain. Hit and run, and they’re gone long before the animal is even discovered.”

Tess shook her head.  “I know the situation is more complex than the killing of the animals.”

“Everything boils down to money and ignorance, Tess. Everything.” He ran a hand over his jaw. “What about this guy Brett Weaver?”

“I don’t think he’s motivated by money. But he does want to save his career.”

“And do you think he’s really about to be accused of murder?”

“I think he has good instincts and something has happened that’s sending him warning signals. He says a good SEAL prepares for the worst and hopes it doesn’t happen.”

“He could be guilty and just looking for a way to cover his ass. For a small percentage of the troops, it hasn’t been their finest hour.”

Guilty?  Her stomach muscles clenched. Brett was not a murderer.  He had probably killed in defense of his country and the other men in his team, but he wasn’t a cold-blooded murderer. After seeing him with his family and his friends, she’d never believe it.

“And why isn’t he going up the chain of command on this thing?” Ian asked.

“I think he has, but from what little he’s told me, someone is stonewalling him.”