Forget Me Not (36 page)

"Actually, I do," she insisted, flipping over onto her back and sitting up.

Sebastian's gaze slid down her oiled body then back up again. He seemed confused by her answer.

"Have a choice," she clarified.

His jaw hardened. A glint came into his eyes that let her know she was in for a long, tough battle.

"You can't just cancel an agreement," he growled, his voice pitched low, so as not to draw the attention of the other sun worshipers. The pool was well attended on this sultry August afternoon.

"I'm sorry," she said, mindful of the frustration in his voice this time. "I am. I should never have agreed to it in the first place. I only went out with you to apologize. I didn't even intend to have sex with you." She whispered the last sentence.

"In case you missed it, we didn't exactly have sex," he articulated through his teeth.

"Look, I understand that you're frustrated. I didn't mean to tease you—"

"You think this is just because I'm frustrated?" His magnificent eyes flashed with anger. "This is more than that. Frustration is easy. I can take care of that myself."

Okay—too much information. Leila rubbed her bleary eyes. She hadn't gotten much sleep last night, what with all the excitement, and Sebastian killing a man—dear God, she hadn't even begun to digest that detail! "I don't think this is the time to talk," she said, keeping a lid on her temper. "I'll call you in a couple of weeks—"

"No." His reply was unequivocal.

She looked at him again, taking note of the mulish set to his chin, "I see you're used to getting your way," she noted.

"Leila," he begged in a low voice. "Whatever I did wrong, please allow me to make up for it. I was wrong to press you, I admit it. Please don't push me away like this. I need you so much!"

She was taken off guard by his impassioned plea, by the throbbing desperation in his tone. She felt herself weaken. Desire tugged at her, further undermining her defenses. She thought about his delicious kisses, about the pleasure he'd given her, and her decision to avoid him seemed suddenly extreme.

"I can't," she wavered, aware that her breasts were tingling beneath the tiny triangles of her bikini top.

"Please," he said again. "We can do this entirely by your rules. Whatever you want, I will give it to you."

Ob, God, he was making this impossible! She closed her eyes, swallowing against the dryness in her mouth. What she wanted was to drag him into her cool condominium and strip his clothes off and have mind-blowing sex with him. But if she did that, then she'd fall in love with him and he would leave her, to do what SEALs did.

She didn't want to face that kind of heartache.

"I can't," she repeated. She stood up suddenly and took the two steps that sent her plunging into the pool. He'd come to the pool fully dressed. He couldn't follow her into the water. This was the only place she was safe—the only place she could cool down.

He watched from his seat on the lounge chair for half an hour. Leila did laps, pushing herself farther than she'd ever pushed herself, all to keep from getting out of the pool and facing temptation again.

Finishing off a backstroke, she turned at the far end, her gaze sliding helplessly toward Sebastian. The lounge chair was empty. Her gaze swept the pool area.

He was gone.

Her disappointment was so heavy, she nearly sank. She gripped the edge of the pool, wondering what conclusion he'd come to. Had he given up on her then? The weight on her heart told her she didn't want him to give up so easily.

She dragged herself out of the pool and sat on the ledge, feeling miserable. She'd done the right thing, she told herself. She'd protected her heart. Loving a SEAL wasn't worth the risk of a broken heart.

Not even if he gave her a baby.

So why did she feel that she'd let something precious slip away?

The call came at two o'clock in the afternoon. Gabe picked it up in the kitchen. Sweaty and hungry, he and Helen had just put the crowning touches on the rock garden.

"Hello?"

"Gabe Renault?"

"Yes."

"This is Sheriff Dunton, Sandbridge Police Department. We've identified the man who abducted your daughter. I thought you might want to know, he was a former SEAL. It took some time to find his records. He's been officially dead for three years."

What the hell?
Gabe mopped his forehead with a kitchen towel, his thoughts in a tailspin.

"Seeing as how he was already legally dead, I see no reason to press charges against the man that killed him, Sebastian León," the man continued, shuffling papers in the background. "But I'd sure like to know what this is all about. Why don't you come down to the station and we'll go over it again."

Gabe heaved an inward sigh. He turned to eye Helen as she entered the kitchen door. She looked as hot and sweaty as he felt from working in her wildflower garden. The tank top she wore clung to her damply, making it amply clear that she wore no bra underneath. "Un, maybe this afternoon," he hedged, admiring Helen's backside as she bent over the sink and washed her face. "I'm busy this morning."

He hung up abruptly and took the two steps needed to grab his wife by the waist and pull her back against him. Her warm chuckle only aroused him more. "Mallory might wake up," she reminded him, nonetheless squirming against his zipper.

He lifted her off her feet and dragged her into the walk-in pantry. Shutting them into the small dark space, he released the button on her shorts and pushed them over her hips.

"What about Westy?" she panted, grabbing a shelf for support.

"Catching a nap," Gabe managed, freeing himself from his jeans. He slipped a hand under her tank top, cupping a breast as he pushed himself inside her, finding her wonderfully wet and warm.

Love was a powerful aphrodisiac, he realized. The way he figured it, having been gone for three hundred and sixty-eight days total, he could make love to Helen every day for the rest of their lives and never make up for his deprivation.

"Still love me?" he rasped, every nerve in his body humming with pleasure. Helen's scent blended with that of cooking spices and filled his senses.

"Forever," she replied.

G
abe and Rodriguez had just left the house for a meeting with Commander Lovitt when the telephone rang. Helen stretched beneath the cool sheets and reached for it. "Hello?" she said, hoping to hear from Leila.

"Helen, this is Noel Terrien," said a familiar, doleful voice.

She came up on one elbow. Casting an eye at the clock, she wondered why the doctor would be calling on a Sunday. "Hi, how are you?" she asked, a question in her voice.

"Is your husband there?" the doctor asked on a tense note.

"No, I'm afraid not. Is something wrong?"

Dr. Terrien hesitated. "Helen, I haven't been completely honest with Gabriel about certain matters, and the situation is beginning to weigh on me. I'd like to come clean with him,"

An unpleasant feeling twisted through her. "What do you mean?" she asked.

The doctor sighed. "Gabriel's commander, Eddie Lovitt, is a friend of mine. I owed him a favor, so when he asked me to take on your husband's case, I agreed. The other day, Gabriel wanted to know if someone was following his recovery. I admitted that his CO was keeping tabs on him. I thought Eddie was eager to have him back on the team. Now I'm not so sure. I just called the Naval Medical Center to see if Gabriel's prescription had been renewed, if he was taking his medication—"

"It made him sleepy," Helen interrupted. "I don't think he takes it anymore."

"I know," the doctor sighed. "I learned with the call that someone had altered his prescription without my approval. He hasn't been on Dexamphetamine at all, but a memory inhibitor."

Stunned, Helen grappled with the implication. "I don't understand. Are you saying his CO had something to do with that?"

"Only someone with the right kind of contacts could have altered my initial prescription. It dawned on me that Eddie seems more afraid of Gabriel's memories than he is interested in having him back on the team."

"Oh, my God," Helen said, horrified that Gabe's superior, whom he admired and served with loyalty, would dare to meddle in her husband's treatment.

"I didn't realize I was steering Gabriel in the wrong direction," Dr. Terrien continued, clearly upset by his role in the subterfuge. "All this time I've been insisting that his fears are illusions, but they may not be. I just don't understand why Eddie would want to repress Gabe's memories, unless he did something wrong that he doesn't want your husband remembering."

"Gabe is visiting his commander this morning," Helen admitted. Every bone in her body had turned brittle. Outside her bedroom window thunder rumbled.

"I'm sorry for my part in this," the doctor lamented.

"That's okay," Helen reassured him. "I'm just grateful that you told me." She hung up the phone and lay in her bed, paralyzed for the moment. If Lovitt had purposefully tried to repress Gabe's memories, could he also be the one trying to kill him? No, surely not. Commanders in the Navy weren't ruthless killers with hidden agendas.

Still, Gabe deserved to be warned about Levitt's possible involvement. She sat up and called the Spec Ops Building, but no one answered. Where were the duty personnel? Surely someone else was at the office.

Giving up, she went in search of Vinny, who had taken Westy's place in guarding over them.

On a Sunday morning, Sebastian would normally have gone to church and enjoyed the brunch at the Shifting Sands. He'd have dressed himself in his best suit, one of three that he'd owned for years and took meticulous care of.

This morning, he was not dressed for church. He was scarcely dressed at all, sitting in his living room wearing boxer shorts and watching reruns of
Gilligan's Island.
He hadn't even bothered to make fresh coffee.

It was not a good sign.

But why expend the energy of showering, shaving, and dressing with no one in his life to appreciate the results? Leila had turned him down. It was over between them.

He closed his eyes, letting his misery overtake him for the moment. Soon he would think of a plan—something guaranteed to make Leila change her mind. But for the moment, he would wallow in self-pity. This was not a side of him his men ever saw. Sebastian the SEAL was not ruled by his emotions. But Sebastian the man had no choice. He was a Latino, after all. And Latinos were fools for women.

Oh, but what a woman! Just thinking of Leila, the beautiful, complicated package that she was, caused his heart to yearn for her. He'd been born to shelter her, to stand loyally by her side, to father the child she yearned to hold.

Still, she'd failed to grasp the depths of his devotion. Perhaps he ought to have been more explicit.

The phone rang shrilly, startling him. Thinking it might be Leila or a member of the team, he lunged for it. "León."

Hesitation on the other end. "This is Hannah Geary. May I speak with Lieutenant Renault?"

Disappointment made him short. "He's not here."

Thoughtful silence now, and grave. "Can you tell me where he is?"

Sebastian glanced at the watch that never left his wrist. "He had an appointment with the commander at Spec Ops this morning."

"Commander Lovitt?"

Hearing dismay in her tone, he sat up straighter. "What's this about?" he demanded.

"Who are you?" she countered.

"Master Chief León. I work with Lieutenant Renault."

She seemed to consider whether to confide in him or not. "I don't think it's a good idea for him to visit the commander alone," she told him vaguely.

Why not?
"The XO should be there and other duty personnel. Why don't you tell me what this is about?"

His confiding tone got the results he wanted—it usually did. "Very well," she relented. "You know my partner who was killed, Ernest Forrester?"

"Yes."

"Lovitt's the one he was investigating."

Stunned, it took Sebastian a moment to find his voice. "For what?" he asked, though he feared he knew.               I

"Trafficking weapons."

Impossible! Sebastian cast his eyes to the window and the ominous ocean. Yet, it made terrible sense. Lovitt had insider information. He could time his interdictions to take place before the team's scheduled arrivals. He had necessary contacts to hire a band of former SEALs to do his dirty work, like the one Sebastian had killed the other night.

"How do you know this?" Sebastian demanded. She'd told Jaguar that Forrester's files had been cleared out, his hard drive removed.

"Ernie's notebook was discovered in the wreck. One of my colleagues must have slipped it into my mailbox. His notes were encrypted, but I cracked the code. Ernie's been investigating Lovitt for some time. I think there's enough evidence in the notebook to lock him up."

Sebastian reeled. This was red-hot information, the kind of traitorous activity the Navy abhorred. And yet, Lovitt had been getting away with it for how long? Had he grown leery of Forrester's suspicions and arranged to have him killed?

It hit Sebastian square on the chin that Geary herself was in danger. "Where are you calling from?" he asked, suddenly concerned.

"From my brother's house," she admitted.

"Do you have the notebook?"

She hesitated slightly. "I do."

"Does anyone else know about this?"

She hesitated, telling him that her next words were a lie. "No, no one."

Sebastian rubbed his forehead, thinking swiftly. "Do not assume you're safe," he warned her. "You're probably being watched right now."

"That's why I'm here," she told him.

"Where's the nearest naval installation in your area?" he asked.

"Annapolis."

"Are you familiar with it?"

"Not really. I did my training at Quantico. And forgive my cynicism, but I don't trust naval authorities not to make this notebook disappear. Someone is protecting Lovitt or Ernie's office wouldn't have been cleaned out."

Good point. "Quantico, then," he agreed. Quantico was mostly Marines. They could be trusted to see to Geary's safety while handling the evidence with care. "Go there right now and surrender the notebook to the military police. Ask them to place you in a witness protection program. I'll call ahead and alert them of your arrival."