Saved by the SEAL (20 page)

B
y Wednesday of the following week, I'm pretty sure I've annoyed Greta with the amount of time I'm spending with her. I don't want her to feel trapped by my presence, but I'd rather that than something happen to her on my watch. She's received no more “gifts” from her stalker, and I'm grateful for that. But I'm sure he's lying low after the attack. Maybe he knows that Greta filed a police report, and that his unwanted attention is now on file.

Either way, spending time with her just feels…right. It gives my life a different kind of purpose. I want to protect her, but I also have an unyielding urge to make her happy. To make her smile. To make her feel the kind of pleasure that makes a woman want to stay.

I want her to stay with me.

It's a foreign concept to me, wanting a woman to stay. Relationships for me have been purposely short and to the point. Mutual casual affairs have been all I've allowed in my life for a long time. But with Greta, I want so much more than that.

I want
life
. I want the whole package. Sitting on the couch with Greta's legs draped across my lap in the evening is more enthralling than a wild night with some faceless woman from a raucous bar. But I'm not sure how to convey my feelings.

I don't want to scare her away, and I don't want to jump the gun. I want to make sure she's ready for all I have to give.

Or, if I'm being honest, I want to make sure that
I'm
really ready.

I've never committed to anyone in my life. Maybe I don't have the first clue how to be good at it.

But, as I walk into Night Eagle that day, I have a firm grip on exactly what I
am
good at.

“Hey, you.” Greta greets me from her desk, pausing in whatever work she's doing on her computer to stand, coming around her desk to walk right into my arms. I hug her tight, resting my chin on top of her head and sighing with absolute contentment.

“I always feel better when I'm holding you,” I say honestly. “That way, I know you're safe.”

She tips her head back to look up at me, smiling indulgently. “I'm fine, silly. I've just been here working. And I have a literal army of guys to watch my back.”

“True. But physical contact is always better.”

She pulls back completely and gestures toward the office. “Dad wants you in there ASAP. I think they've got something they're working on that's short notice. So they've been trying to sort things out and come up with a working plan. I think it might be a rescue of some sort.”

I nod, my mind immediately transitioning from boyfriend-mode to work-mode. I kiss her lips quickly and walk into the office, closing the door quietly behind me.

Jacob is situated on the couch, looking thoughtfully at something on his laptop screen. Kyle glances at the screen over his shoulder, seemingly reading what his boss is looking at. Dare, Teague, and Shaw are poring over a map of some kind, blown up to large scale.

“What's going on?” I ask as I enter the room and sit down at Jacob's side.

Everyone glances up, surprised to see me. They were all so absorbed in their tasks that they hadn't heard me open the office door.

“It looks pretty serious,” I offer cautiously.

Jacob looks back down at the computer. “It always is when there's a child involved.”

My stomach sinks. “What's up, boss?”

Dare sits up and rubs his hand over his head several times. In weeks of working with him, I've learned that it's his telltale sign of stress and worry.

“It's not good, dude,” he says grimly.

The foreboding feeling I'm experiencing increases. I can feel a bead or two of sweat break out on my brow as the fist of anxiety in my stomach grows and clenches.

“A little boy has been taken.”

The sentence drops on the room like a bomb, carrying me to a dark and deadly place where there are no survivors. Anybody who takes a child from his family has a sick, twisted soul and that means we're dealing with a monster.

“FBI's on it?” I ask.

“Yes. They've located the place where the child is being kept. We're all just hoping he's still alive. They've asked us to go in to help extract him. Just south of the state line there's an underground network of tunnels that have been around since the Civil War.”

Frowning, I look at the map spread out on the table. “Like from the Underground Railroad?”

Jacob nods. “Sick fucker took the kid and escaped into the tunnels. No ransom note. So he's not after money. He just wanted a kid to play with.”

My stomach rolls. “Oh, fuck.”

Kyle speaks up. “We're communicating regularly with the feds, but this team doesn't have much time to strategize. Every moment counts. We don't want to go in and fuck it up, but we don't want the kid to have to stay there any longer than necessary.”

Dare nods. His face looks strained. I can see it on all the guys' expressions. This case is wearing them down. “We need you on this, Grisham. Your stealth training is going to be essential. We plan to be down there Friday, ready to go in the middle of the night Friday night or early Saturday morning.”

I nod, already all in on this mission. “You've got me. Let's get this shit figured out. I want to bring that kid back alive.”

Jacob nods, and we all get back to studying documents and begin planning out the details.

It's Friday afternoon, and I've decided to take Greta out for lunch. We're leaving in a couple of hours for our kidnapping rescue assignment, and I want to spend a moment with her before I leave.

She sits across the table from me, her long dark hair pulled into a high ponytail that shows off the elegant lines of her neck. She's casual today in a pair of jeans and boots, with a thin, long-sleeved sweater that accommodates the continually dropping fall temperatures.

Whatever look Greta decides works best for her on any given day is a look that grabs and holds my attention. She's so much more beautiful than she even knows, and it's a quality that draws me toward her like iron filings to a magnet.

The server at the casual eatery we've chosen brings us platters of sandwiches and chips, and we dig in. I watch Greta take a dainty bite of her pastrami and Swiss, and then close her eyes in pleasure while she savors it. Swallowing hard, I turn my attention to my own sandwich. The girl is pretty damn distracting when she's eating. I didn't even know a girl could be sexy while she ate.

“So you guys are all set for this mission?” she asks cautiously. “Everything has been practiced and you know what you're doing like the back of your hand?” Her voice carries a hint of anxiety, lilting upward ever so slightly at the end of her question.

“Yes, angel,” I answer patiently. “We've got this. There's no way we're letting this monster hurt that kid. We go in and grab him, bring the guy down, and get out. He won't even know we're coming. We don't have to follow the same procedures the FBI does; that's why they called us in on the case.”

She nods. “I know that. But I worry. I want my father and my boyfriend to come back in one piece.”

“We will.”

“If you don't think you'll be back by tomorrow night, just tell me now. I can change the plans with my mom and sisters and you can meet them another time.”

I shake my head, forcefully rejecting that idea. “No. You planned this, and I know it's important to you. It's important to me, too. I'll be there. We'll be back in plenty of time.”

She nods, stark relief apparent in her eyes. She asked me to have dinner with her at her mom's house earlier this week, before I found out I'd be leaving on assignment this weekend. But since we were planning to grab the kid in the middle of the night tonight, I know I'll be back in time to make good on my plans with Greta. I don't have any worries that I'll miss it.

“Sounds good,” she replies. “I'll be counting down the hours until you're back safely.”

As we finish lunch, we talk about what our friends have been doing lately. We've been wondering what's taking Dare and Berkeley so long to get engaged. As right as they are together, I'd have thought it would have happened a year ago. But they seem content just as they are. And Greta hasn't brought up a potential new living situation to Mea.

“She's just been kind of stressed-out lately,” she admits. “Mea's usually just so zen about everything. She lives life in the moment, never worrying about what comes next. But opening a business goes against all of that. For the first time in her life she can't just throw caution to the wind. I think she's adjusting. Plus, there's something else going on with her that she's not telling me about. I just don't think it's the right time to up and leave her, you know?”

I nod, trying to hide the disappointment that rips through me. “Okay. In the meantime, though, Eggs is starting to like me better than you.” I shrug, feigning indifference.

Greta gasps, pointing a finger at me. “Low blow, Abbot!”

I shrug again, and then stand. Holding out my hand to her, I say, “Ready to go?”

She takes my hand and I lace our fingers together as we begin the short walk back to Night Eagle. “Hey, maybe you two can bond some tonight when you take him to your place. Hey, Mea's going to be home tonight, right? I don't want you alone.”

She nods. “I think so. It's Friday night, though, so she could be out. If she decides to stay somewhere else, I'll go to my mom's. I don't want you worrying about me while you're working. Okay?”

“Okay.” I pull her into my side.

When we pass the parking lot adjacent to Night Eagle, I immediately sense that something's off. I stop walking, surveying our surroundings and trying to put my finger on what exactly is different. My eyes gloss over Greta's car, and then they snap back to the blue paint of her RAV4.

Scratched. Someone keyed her fucking car.

I release Greta's hand as I head over to her car in a brisk jog. She's calling out behind me, but I don't stop until I reach the car. I stoop, fury igniting a fire in my chest as I read the words etched in the side.

The letters are large, flowing in jagged succession from one end of the doorframe to the other.

“Goddamn,” I mutter angrily. “He did this to your car.”

By this time, Greta has pulled up short beside me, and when I glance over at her face her bottom lip is caught between her teeth and her eyes are aimed at the disgusting word scrawled out in the language of hate on her vehicle.

“Come here.” I drag her into my arms and turn her away from her car. “Don't look at it. It's hate and it's a lie. We're going inside, and we're going to call the detective assigned to your stalking case. This guy won't get away with it, Grits.”

She nods, allowing me to tow her around the corner and into the building. I take one last look at her car before it disappears from view, and all I can think of is how badly I want to meet this guy in a dark alley one night rather than allowing the guy who's been terrorizing her to be brought to justice through the law.

Guys like that don't deserve a trial by jury.

And now, a new thought crosses my mind:
I have to leave her tonight for a mission hours away. How the hell am I going to be able to do that?

T
hanks for coming over tonight, B.” I smile gratefully at Berkeley as I pull my legs up beneath me on the couch.

“I don't think Grisham was going to go on his assignment with the team if I didn't agree to this,” teases Berkeley.

But she's right. Grisham was adamant that he wanted all three of us to stay together tonight. He claimed there was safety in numbers.

“And this whole situation with your stalker is freaking Dare out, too. He's relieved I won't be alone at our place tonight. I won't complain, though,” she continues, as a tendril of her blond curly hair falls into her face, “this spread equals pure happiness to me.”

She gestures toward the three fondue pots spread out on the coffee table. Mea dips a fluffy marshmallow into the steaming turtle fondue. When she lifts it, a drizzle of chocolate drips from the powdery treat back into the pot.

“I might want your boyfriend to freak out and overreact more often if it calls for a fondue sleepover party.” Mea pops the dessert into her mouth and moans in delight.

Berkeley frowns. “I don't think he's overreacting. I can't believe someone keyed your car. And after the incident last weekend…”

The subject of my stalker feels like a black cloud following me around, drizzling ice-cold drops of rain over every aspect of my life. I reach for a strawberry and dip it into the white chocolate fondue. Taking a bite, I eye Berkeley.

“They'll find him. And then this will all be over.” I sound much more confident than I feel.

“In other news,” I continue, “Grisham is going to meet my mom tomorrow night.”

Mea and Berkeley both pause with bites of dessert halfway to their mouths.

“Really?” asks Mea. “You two are getting serious. You never introduce guys to your mom.”

I nod.

“Well, he's already met your dad. That was the hard part. Your mom's a sweetheart. She's going to love Grisham.” Berkeley smiles sweetly.

I've had the same thought many times since I arranged this dinner. Neither of my parents ever get to meet the guys that I date, because I've never seen the point of introducing any of them. But Grisham is different. His presence in my life feels weighty, as if it has significant meaning I want my family to share in and be a part of.

“The only hard part will be convincing Gemma she doesn't have a chance with him!” I giggle, thinking of my outgoing, flirty younger sister. She's going to fall hard for Grisham. With his tattoos, sexy, messed-up hair, and the fact that he practically had the word
HERO
written across his chest, she's going to be totally in love.

Too bad. He's all mine.

The thought sends me spiraling off into a happy land where Grisham and I end up together.

Well, he's meeting my mom tomorrow. He asked you to move in with him. I now share a puppy with him. Is the happily-ever-after part really that far off?

Mea scrutinizes my facial expression. “You're totally gone over this man, Greta. I've never seen you like this before.”

Her uncharacteristically somber tone makes me sit up straighter, paying closer attention. “Yeah, Mea. I really am.”

Her expression darkens. “Make sure he feels the same way before you let yourself fall. I mean it. Sometimes guys change up the plan at the last minute, leaving you reeling and confused. Don't give him your whole heart, yet.”

Berkeley and I both turn to gawk at her. “Are we still talking about Grisham?”

Mea meets my gaze levelly. “Absolutely.”

Berkeley and I exchange a glance. We both know Mea well enough to realize we aren't going to be able to delve any deeper into her statement, but she was clearly hinting at something. I just wish I knew what.

“Noted,” I finally answer.

Her comment rockets Grisham's job back to the forefront of my mind. Dating him will not be like dating a regular guy. When he travels for work, he won't be able to text me and call me at any given moment. He'll need to stay focused on his mission, watching his team's back, and getting the end result accomplished while keeping everyone's safety uncompromised.

How will I deal with that?

My mother's face flashes in front of my eyes like an apparition. My father's work had come before her and my family, time and time again. Am I just setting myself up for the same fate? I'm not willing to come second to a man's career. I know that. There are too many scars left from seeing how sad and unhappy my mother was all the time. I don't have it in me to suffer silently, even if the man in my life is a hero like Grisham.

Berkeley reaches out, touching my shoulder softly. “Hey, Greta. It'll be okay. Grisham is a great guy, and when he commits to something, he does it with his whole being. You'll see.”

Her comment, meant to buoy my spirits, only deflates me further.
When he commits to something…
That's my biggest fear, in a nutshell. That Grisham will commit…to Night Eagle. To the missions.

But not to me.

We move on from that topic, and our night continues pleasantly. But my mind is always on Grisham and what I can expect from him moving forward. As I drift off to sleep, Mea and Berkeley slumbering beside me, I find myself wondering if I can really give myself over to Grisham.

Can I allow myself to love a man who may not fully love me back?

I arrive at my mom's house the following afternoon well before dinnertime. I promised my sisters some quality time alone with them before Grisham joined us. We've been gathered around in the kitchen, baking together. I couldn't decide what to make for tonight's dessert, so I took requests from the girls. I'm currently popping a peach cobbler into the oven, while Gabi stirs up a marshmallow crème frosting for red velvet cupcakes.

We're laughing and joking and teasing, and I'm grateful that the little bit of distance having my own place provides keeps our relationship strong. There's not enough time for them to get sick of me or vice versa.

My mother walks into the kitchen, a sunny smile on her face. “So nice to see all three of my girls having fun together.”

I return her smile. Gemma shrugs and tries to pretend like she wasn't just having a blast a moment ago. My mother cocks her head toward Gemma and rolls her eyes at me. Pressing my lips together, I hide my smile.

“So what time does the man of the hour arrive?” asks Mom.

I check the clock on the oven. Five o'clock. I told Grisham we'd have dinner around six. I'm expecting him to text me any minute to let me know he's back in town and on his way.

My phone dings just as that thought flits through my head, and I run for it. My mother laughs as I trip over my feet lunging for my purse.

My face lights up when I see the text from Berkeley.

My lips curving into a smile, I glance at my mom. “Time to put the Cornish hens in the oven!”

She helps me spread apricot glaze on all five birds, and then we place them in my mother's stainless steel double ovens. Her kitchen is top-of-the-line. Cooking at her house is a much different experience from trying to throw a meal together at my apartment.

I make sure my side dishes, baby new potatoes with rosemary and garlic and zucchini casserole, are ready. I prepared them earlier, so all I'd have to do when Grisham arrived was heat them up while he got a chance to chat with my family.

Everything is perfect.

Smoothing the one-piece shorts romper I'm wearing, I pace the kitchen nervously while I wait for him to arrive. Until I notice my mom watching me.

“What's wrong?” My alarm is palpable, spreading through me like a virus. “Did I forget something?”

“No, honey,” she says gently. “Everything is going to be fine. Why don't you grab a glass of wine and go relax?”

Without waiting for my response, she uncorks a bottle of Riesling and pours me a glass. I take it gratefully, sipping and letting the cool liquid slide down my throat.

“Thanks.”

“Don't worry.” Mom pours her own glass of wine. “I can't wait to meet the man who has you so tied up in knots.”

I take a seat at her distressed antique kitchen table. “He doesn't usually. I mean, we're great together. We really are. It's just that tonight means so much to me. You and the girls are the most important people in my life. You're meeting the man I'm in love with. Pair that with the fact that I'm cooking an enormous meal and I'm definitely coming apart at the seams. Just a little.”

Mom studies me intently. Her eyes, with just the finest of lines spreading out from their corners, are shrewd. “You love him?”

I study my wine. “I do.”

We sit in silence, sipping our wine. Before I realize it, I've finished my entire glass. When the oven dings I walk over to take out the hens.

“What's keeping him?” I wonder aloud. “He should be here by now.”

As if on cue, Gemma strolls into the kitchen. “I'm hungry. Where's your man, Greta?”

Panicked, I look to my mother.

“You should just text him if you're worried,” she suggests.

Great idea. I can text him. Or better yet, I can call him. He's not on the mission anymore.

I wander down the hallway as I push the little phone icon beside Grisham's name in my Favorite Contacts list, and I hold the device up to my ear.

“Hey, Grits.”

The relief that just the sound of his voice brings me is like a salve. My body instantly relaxes, the previous tension ebbing away. I smile as the tranquilizer known as calm assurance works through me.

“Hi.” My voice is breathless. “I miss you.”

His voice drops. “I'm in a meeting with your dad.”

The steady flow of repose halts. “In Wilmington? But…Grisham! I just pulled dinner out of the oven. You're still forty minutes away?”

My voice rises, and I struggle for control, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly.

Breathe. Hold yourself steady and just breathe. He's going to explain this.

Grisham's voice sounds pained when he answers. “Oh…shit. Baby, I forgot. Your dad asked if we could meet to debrief and to discuss my future at Night Eagle. I'm still high on adrenaline from the mission…damn. Can I come over later?”

I pull the phone away from my ear and just stare at it.
I can't believe this is happening right now.
The soothing effects from my glass of wine are instantly vanquished by the dirty feeling of second place. To my father's firm.

This is what you've been afraid of though, isn't it?
The tiny, spiteful little voice inside my head mocks me.
You aren't enough for him. His job is always going to be more important. It doesn't matter how important this night is to you. He isn't here. He doesn't care.

My hand trembling, I place the phone back at my ear. Grisham is calling my name, seemingly since I stopped listening a few seconds ago.

“Greta? I'm sorry. I promise I'll make this up to you, okay? Stay at your mom's tonight. I don't want you going home alone.”

I almost laugh. This is just getting better and better. He doesn't want me to be alone, but until a moment ago, he'd forgotten all about me.

“It's fine, Grisham. I'll talk to you tomorrow.”

I'm proud of how calm my voice is. Inside, turmoil is raging, but on the outside I sound distant and polite. Detached.

“Oh, man. You're mad. Right? Grits?”

“Have a good meeting with my dad, Grisham. Good night.”

I end the call.

Clutching the phone in my hand, I turn and walk back down the hallway to the kitchen. Both girls are sitting at the table now, teasing each other while my mother watches with her glass of wine. She looks up when I enter, an expectant smile on her face.

The smile fades away when she gets a good look at my expression. She immediately asks my sisters to go wait for dinner in the living room. They start to groan, but when she gives them her sternest “Don't Mess with Me Right Now” look, they make themselves scarce.

And when she stands up and faces me, my stoic steps finally falter. I stop, grabbing hold of the countertop with both hands and leaning into the granite with every ounce of strength I can muster. That countertop is the only thing holding me together right now.

“What happened?”

My voice breaks. “He's not coming.”

“Oh, Greta…”

That's all it takes. Just those two sympathetic words, crawling under my skin and into my bloodstream, embedding themselves into all the fibers of my being. And I crack.

The sobs burn my chest. I'm not sure what emotion is more prominent: my seething anger, or my profound sadness?

I fell for a man because I felt safe enough with him to believe he'd put me first.
Could I have been wrong about him?
I know how important the opportunity to work with Night Eagle was for him. But was it more important than me?

Deep down, I think I always expected him to choose work over me, because that's what men like Grisham do.

Turning my face into my mother's shoulder, the tears continue to roll. I'm just not sure Grisham is the man for me anymore.