Hunter's Heart (10 page)

LT folded his arms across his chest and gave them a shit-eating grin. “I didn’t say anything about leaving before we had a
chat
.”

All right
. They gathered around and LT gave them the plan.

“Our
friends
”—meaning the SOAR and 10th guys—“and I will be staying here tonight. We’ll be having a few beers and watching a John Wayne movie. Maybe sharing recipes.” He tossed the van keys to Bambi, the platoon’s best driver, sober, drunk or half-dead.

“No one here unloads first.” LT went serious. “Let them instigate. You are not there to start a fight. Should one break out, do your duty and end it. Then get the hell out before the cops are called.”

Hunter had the feeling no one in the bar would be calling the cops right away.

They nodded.

“One more thing. It’s a bar fight, not combat. No body count.”

There was bar damage to consider. Even if they took their
conversation
outside fast, there was bound to be some breakage. “Pony up.” He stuck out a hand. “I figure five hundred should cover our share.” He had the amount in less than a minute.

The Crossroads’ parking lot was pretty empty and Bambi parked the van where they couldn’t be hemmed in and could make a fast evac. Sherri saw them enter and was lining the bar with frosty longnecks by the time they reached her. The Army pukes had taken up their usual places in the back around the two pool tables. Hunter counted. The numbers were three to one—Army’s favor. Which, he figured made the odds even. Bug and Kirk snagged their beers and went for the cue rack as if intending to play. As the senior enlisted of the group, those two claimed the honor of wading in first.

“You think you’re gonna play pool, Mr. SEAL?” a guy with his arm around a blonde said. Just identifying them as SEALs was enough reason to wipe the floor with the shit’s face.

“Yeah,” Bug said, “
Mr. Army
. Thought about challenging you to a few games. Figured if you play pool as bad as you play Army I can go home rich.”

The air crackled with tension. The blonde squirmed from Mr. Army’s grip and joined the other bar bunnies across the room.

Hunter smacked the five hundred on the bar. “Our share.” Sherri nodded and quickly disappeared the cash into her ample bosom.

“Did you just say the Army sucks?” Army cocked his head and used his cue to poke Bug in the chest. Bug shoved it away and took a step.

Hunter took a pull on his beer, set his feet and prepared to jump in. The rest of the boys did the same.

“Nah. I said your unit sucks,” Bug said. “Wait. Let me expand on that. Your unit is fucking pathetic.”

The jackass swung the cue at Bug’s head. The slender stick was jerked from his hand and cracked alongside his own head before he could let out the breath he’d just taken in. The brown stuff hit the fan and it was on. A burly man lunged for Kirk and was introduced to Kirk’s fist. As the rest of the SEALs rushed to join in, bar bunnies rushed to get out of the way. Fists, elbows, bodies flew.

“Outside. Take it outside.” Sherri screamed as Hunter traded punches with two guys. No one paid attention. A blast into the ceiling from a 12 gauge showered bits of ceiling tiles and insulation over the brawlers. That got their attention. The room went quiet.

“Out,” Sherri bellowed, “or the next shot goes into somebody’s backside. So ya know—these are rock-salt shells.”

The bar warriors staggered to their feet and stumbled out the door. In seconds, they were at it again, grappling and battling in the dirt like gladiators. Hunter wasn’t sure how long it lasted. It was finished when Sherri hollered the local peace keepers were on their way. He delivered a last blow then went to Bambi who was using a car bumper to haul himself up.

Bambi gave him a bloody grin. “Man you look like shit,” he said.

“’Bout like you,” Hunter said back.

They piled or were helped into the van and executed a successful escape and evasion. Their plane home was going wheels down as they arrived at the airfield. A few 10th men helped them load gear and they were gone.

On board, Doc checked for broken bones. None, only a bent nose which made LT happy. Doc spent the flight sewing and taping them up. Hunter spent it thinking about Celia.

Chapter 7

Anything worth doing is worth overdoing.

He punched in Celia’s number and listened to it ring. Four times before he heard her voice.

“What do you want?” She was breathing heavy. In the background he heard Bruno Mars singing and a soft clicking. He figured she was on the elliptical he’d seen in her office.

“To see you.” A very long silence followed. If he hadn’t heard Bruno singing about running away, he would have thought she’d hung up. He waited.

“Fuck off.” She hung up.

Ah hell
. He pressed redial. Four rings and it went to voice mail. He pressed redial again.

After the fourth ring she answered. “Leave me alone.” Her voice was like dry ice.

“Don’t hang up.” It was close to a yell. “Why won’t you see me?”

“You’ve got to be kidding. You do a fuck-and-go and I don’t hear from you for…” She paused. “Two weeks.”

Before he could say anything, she disconnected the call. He called back. He’d been gone twelve days and seven hours but from her tone, he didn’t think he should point that out. “I’m going to keep calling,” he said the moment she answered.

She hung up.

Geeze.
He called again. She picked up immediately. “I’m a Navy SEAL,” he said fast enough to make an auctioneer proud. “We don’t quit.”

“And I’m not a disposable fuck.”

Knowing she felt like that, stung. “Let me apologize in person,” he said softly.

Another long silence then an exasperated exhale.

“When? Where?”

“Now. I’m standing outside.”

He waited for what seemed like hours. Finally, the door swung open. Celia stood there in an old T-shirt and shorts, and no makeup, one hand resting on her hip, the other gripping the door. Her blue eyes bored into him like glass shards and she was none too happy. Upstairs Bruno sang about having really nice sex.

From the look on her face, really nice sex was not in his future. That was okay. Well, it wasn’t, but he understood. He gave her his best smile and hoped the extra few days’ growth of facial hair sufficiently hid his split lip. His glasses covered his purple eye and the stitch holding his eyebrow together and he decided to leave them on.

“Well?”

“You have to know I couldn’t tell you.”

“That is not an apology.” The door was closing.

“Wait.” He smacked his palm on the door. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t tell you.”

She looked from his hand to his face with one on those withering looks only a really pissed off woman can give. He moved his hand and thought about going to plan B. The sympathy play. Showing her his bumps and cuts and begging forgiveness.

“How long were you gone?”

“When I left here I went straight to base and got on a plane. Came back yesterday.” He’d waited a day to allow the swelling on his eye and hand to go down.

“You knew you were leaving that morning?”

He nodded and stepped back to avoid a slamming door. It didn’t. She released the door and stepped back. That was a plus.

“Okay to come in?”

She shrugged. He stepped inside, closed the door and removed his cap. “You know who I am. What I do. I thought you’d…realize…I deployed.”

Her head moved side to side.

“You really thought I…just disappeared?” She nodded and her eyes challenged him.
Fuck.
He paused to frame his words and considered, very carefully, what he would say next. “I couldn’t say I’m going away and I’ll be back such-and-such day. I don’t make the rules.” He clenched his jaw. “I do follow them.”

Hearing the hurt in her voice, seeing the look on her face, was exactly why he’d begun to feel conflicted about remaining in the teams. He loved the life, the brotherhood, and he was good at what he did. He couldn’t imagine doing anything else. Still, it didn’t define him like it did some of the men. He wanted a family but didn’t want to put them through the worry and heartache team families endured.

“I’m not that kind of man. If, for some reason, I didn’t want to see you again,” he said, squaring his shoulders, “which I cannot foresee, I will stand tall, in front of you to say it.”

A long awkward silence followed with more dagger looks.

She came closer. “Take off your glasses.”

He did. Very slowly. Her gaze sighted in on his eggplant-colored eye and the lump on his eyebrow then fell to his lip. She did a laser quality scan over any visible skin. She took his swollen, scraped right hand, examining and turning it side to side. “Are you hurt anyplace else?” she asked, looking up, her voice soft like silk.

“A bump on the back of the head.” The bump had taken three stitches to close.

“How?” Her hand moved to his face. “What?”

“A minor training accident.” Partly true. Nonetheless, saying it made him uncomfortable.

“That,
that
was you on the news?” Her grip on his hand tightened and her eyes went wide.

The fight made the news? “Eh…” He didn’t know what to say. “I don’t know. What did they say?”

“A helicopter went down during training exercises. People were hurt and people…” Her eyes softened. “People died.”

She released his hand and he imagined she was going to cover her mouth in distress. Before she could, he captured it. “Not us. We weren’t in a helo when it happened.” Shit. He’d heard about the accident. “That was in Norway, a joint training. No US forces involved. Ours was a screw up. All the injuries like mine. Nothing big.”

Fear she was ready to throw him to the curb had him playing the sympathy card, cranking up the charm with his best crooked smile. A smile that worked when he was in trouble as far back as he could remember. Considering the look on her face, it wasn’t working with her and plan B was looking good.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

He wasn’t sure he heard right and mentally rewound the last seconds.
Yes, she’d asked him if he was hungry.
The smile had saved him once again. “Yeah. You want to go out and get something?”

“No. I’ll get a delivery. Thai okay with you?”

He nodded, more than a little confused at how this was going.

“I’ll order,” she said. “When you called, I was on the elliptical. I need a shower. There’s beer in the fridge, or wine if you want to open a bottle.” She climbed the stairs.

He stood there, frozen, wondering what to do. Was the shower comment an invitation to join her? He sure as hell wanted to. He wanted to run his hands over her soft curves and have her plump nipples between his lips. The music stopped and he heard her give her name, order a shitload of food, then nothing. Since she didn’t give her address he assumed she was a repeat customer.

He heard her moving around then water running. “Hunter. I ordered,” she said. “They’re pretty fast. You’ll have to get it.” A door closed with a hard clunk, muffling the water sounds and ending any thought of joining her.

He passed on the beer but picked up the remote for the big-screen TV and surfed. She had the full cable package and he settled onto the sofa watching a dude bass fishing the St John’s River in Florida. About the time he heard the whine of a hair dryer, a tiny crack had fractured his confidence that he could make this right.

A door opened and moments later, the scent of soap, shampoo and
her
drifted into the room, igniting his memory of that night. How she smelled, felt, how she tasted. What a perfect body she had….

Fuck.
He was brought him out of his daydream by some asshole leaning on the doorbell. He stomped to the door and flung it open. “Enough,” he growled, scaring the shit out of the delivery kid who stumbled back.

“How much?”

“Eh.” The kid, both hands filled with bags, craned his neck to see inside.

“
Kid
. You want to get paid?”

“Forty-eight, sixty,” he said, sounding disappointed.

Hunter dug three twenties out of his wallet and jammed them into the pocket of the kid’s stained shirt. “Keep the change.” A big smile spread across delivery boy’s pimply face. It wasn’t gratitude for the tip. The kid was leaning to look around him.
 

“Hey Ms. West. It’s Danny.”

Hunter looked over his shoulder to see her coming down the stairs in shorts, T-shirt
and
no bra.

She waved. “Hey.”

He looked back at the leering kid who’d apparently caught the no bra aspect.
Little perv.

Hunter took the food. “Thanks.” He kicked the door closed then went to the kitchen, depositing the bags on the counter where he’d set Celia that night. “You bought enough.”

She shrugged and gave him a sad look. “I like leftover takeout, remember?” How could he forget? She brought plates to the table. He opened two drawers before he found the flatware, grabbed what they needed and set them on the table. Celia brought beer and water to the table while he opened the containers. Silently they filled their plates.