SEAL Encounter (SEAL Brotherhood) (3 page)

“Spend a few days there, Cherie,” Madame had said. “I will be fine. No hurry, please, on my behalf,” she told her.  “When you come back, come back for good. But you need to settle these details first to free your mind.”

Looking out over the water, she wasn’t sure this could happen quickly. But she would try her hardest. She had to move on.

God, I miss you, Mom.

It had never been a bother to be by her mother’s side as the older woman’s blue eyes faded, as her cheeks sunk in and as she squeezed Christy’s hand just before her last breath. Though her mother tried to beg her off, in the end, Christy insisted on being right there next to the woman who had given birth to her, been her best friend and confidante. It really was no trouble at all. It made her appreciate the beauty and value of life. And how limited it was.

At first, Christy felt like she’d lost her compass.

Today, she was determined to change her course. Pursue a professional career. She planned to phase out of the lingerie shop, and into real estate, where she could be captain of her own ship, create her own destiny. The nest egg she would get from the sale proceeds, as well as the money her mother left her would give her the chance to do this. It was time.

Enough of the dreaming. Time to get real.

Kyle rode up front with Armando driving. Fredo and Cooper were plugged in to their iPods in the back seat.

“You look a little frayed at the ends, Armani.” Kyle used the privacy to do a little surveillance on his best friend. The four of them always traveled as a group when they came home. They’d planned the four days’ decompression in Hawaii together. Armando received a Red Cross alert in Afghanistan the day before they were to leave, and shipped out, going back to see family in Puerto Rico. Kyle wondered what returned him to San Diego so soon. He hadn’t expected him for at least a week.

The rest of Kyle’s group decided not to wait for the C17’s rear hatch to get repaired in Hawaii, so paid for a commercial flight with the San Francisco stopover.

“Where’s the gear?” Armando asked.

“We left Swenson and Beemer in Hawaii to come with the transport. Fredo and Coop were itching to get home.

“And you?” Armando peered back at him, dark eyes flashing.

“Fuckin’ A.”

Kyle noticed Armando’s eyes were darting from side to side, and he kept rolling his neck.

“I crooked my neck on the plane two days ago. Got me all tense,” Armando explained.

Kyle knew Armando was lying.

“Know what you mean. I hate all the plane rides,” Kyle added.

“Not to mention the droning. Those transports are hell on me.”

“Agreed.” Kyle looked down at his hands splayed palms down against his thighs. “You wanna tell me how things went at home?”

“San Diego’s my home how.”

“You know what I mean. Surprised to see you back so soon. Everything all right?” Kyle knew he had to probe.

Armando was silent. The hum of the Jeep engine sent Kyle back to Afghanistan. Back to some pretty black days. He shut his eyes and pressed them with his fingers.

“You know me. I worry too much,” Armando said. “Think it was a false alarm.”

“We got a lot to worry about. But
next
deployment. You’re home
now
. Not supposed to have worries here.”

“Tell that to the other guys who have families and come back after what we’ve seen. You don’t have to lecture me.”

“Don’t I?” Kyle pressed on.

It didn’t have the effect on Armando Kyle hoped for. His team buddy was clammed up. Lips tight. He knew he had to be careful with his best friend, or he’d get a glare that could wake the dead.

The silence was worse than knowing. Something was up. And no way in hell Kyle was going to get it out of him.

“How about those Padres?” It was that ridiculous thing Kyle said whenever he was making the point about changing the subject. Telling Armando he got the message, but didn’t like it one bit.

Dangerous for Armando to have secrets.
Secrets get you killed.

Christy decided to go down to the harbor to look at the boats. There was a place her mother had taken her that served clam chowder and had French bread flown in from San Francisco. She wasn’t missing her City by the Bay, but a taste of something familiar while she charted out her new course would help keep her nerves in check.

For some reason, she was afraid to let go of this magical place.  Felt like she was selling her mom’s memory too.

She unpacked and quickly changed into a comfortable pair of blue jeans that practically hung off her. She’d been losing weight.

Not a good sign.

She donned a light yellow sweatshirt with the Golden Gate Bridge logo on it. She slipped her toes into blue leather flat-heeled Mary Janes. They were the same color as her jeans, and the most comfortable shoes she owned.

Walking into the bathroom, she lay out her makeup bag, took out her brush and clipped her blonde hair up at the back of her head, letting golden wisps cascade down the back framing her bangs in front. With the addition of some mineral powder, light pink blush and cherry lip-gloss, she was good to go.

Better.
She searched her face in the bathroom mirror, and knew she needed more rest to eliminate the grey semicircles forming under her eyes.

Christy grabbed her mother’s keys, slipped her favorite pair of Swarovski crystal sunglasses on her nose.

She rode the elevator alone to the sparse lobby. Grey tumbled marble in herringbone pattern lay underneath her feet, as well as along the four walls all the way to the ceiling.  Through heavy steel and glass doors an inch thick, she waved at the deskman and pushed her way out, into the sunny afternoon of San Diego.

It only took her ten minutes to walk to the marina. Across the inlet lay Coronado Island, where a cruiser was making its way inland, very slowly. Men in white uniforms on deck, waving at the people on shore. A couple of them whistled at girls in sweats running along the marina jogging course.

Christy was soothed by the sounds of water lapping against the hulls of the boats docked there.  Rigging and grommets clanged against poles. Wind chimes tinkled in the afternoon breeze. A couple of tanned beauties in bikini tops and cutoffs were preparing a barbeque on board a huge yacht. A group of six senior citizens were gathered at a locked metal gate that advertised a dinner cruise. Kids walked with dogs or skipped ahead of parents. A group of young freshly buzz-cut sailors, looking hardly old enough to grow beards, walked four abreast and tipped their caps at Christy as they passed by. She could feel their eyes on her behind, but didn’t turn to check. Several couples walked hand in hand.

Christy’s stomach clenched as something pooled inside her. It spread like a black cape covering her shoulders, weighing her down.

I’m all alone.

She shivered, shaking herself to rid her body of the feeling. The air had chilled.

The Sea Dog was right where she remembered it. Inside, she was ushered to a table by the window overlooking the marina. She ordered the chowder and a glass of white wine.  The warm soup began to cheer her insides. With her chin ensconced in the palm of her hand, she sighed and stared out to the horizon. Her melancholy was turning to peace.

It felt like the quiet before the storm.

Kyle threw his duffel on the upper bunk. The concrete block barracks would be home tonight. But, given any luck, he’d go out with the guys tomorrow and get an apartment. He walked to the lone window overlooking the inlet and the beautiful San Diego skyline beyond.

The other half.

As a Navy SEAL, his life was simple and uncomplicated. Everything he owned he could fit in his duffel bag. But everything he cared about, his honor and his pride was larger than the universe.

Armando Guzman knocked on the open metal door. Kyle looked up at his handsome Puerto Rican swim buddy.

“Thought you’d taken off, Armani.”

“You got the Ritz tonight, Lanny. This is first class shit here. You got your lumpy mattress,” he said as he pounded on Kyle’s scratchy green military issue blanket covering the thin mattress of his upper berth. “You got one hundred percent stainless steel toilet so shiny you can see your ass in it. Flown in all the way from China, man.”

Kyle chuckled. He tucked his folded briefs and T-shirts carefully, stacking them in a drawer in a dresser with a golden yellow laminated top.

Armando was waiting for a response, and Kyle gave him one.

“I didn’t ask you because you were a little distracted, Armani. And if you’d answer your phone once in awhile…”

“Yes, yes, I know. No service at my aunt’s house.”

“The little house in the jungle you burned down when you were ten?”

“That very one. They rebuilt it, sort of. Who needs glass windows anyway, man?” Armando shrugged and then checked his fingers, splayed over the bed.

“So you went to Puerto Rico after all. Didn’t stay long.”

“Wasn’t much to see.”

“Came back to San Diego early.”

“And here I am.” Armando extended his hands out to his sides.

He’s not going to tell me why.

“Well, you sure this wasn’t an elaborate plan to stay holed up in that new home of yours? Of course, with someone to clean house and stuff.” Kyle looked down and whispered,  “I didn’t want to intrude.”

Kyle was uncomfortable talking about his buddy’s sex life. Probably because Kyle himself didn’t have one to speak of. Not that he hadn’t tried.

“Nah.” Armando stared out the window and hardened his jaw. Kyle could see the disgust in his face. His comment had hit a nerve.

“Hey, I’m sorry, man,” Kyle offered.

Tell me, Armani. Give it up.

Wincing, Armando peeled his eyes off the window opening and with detachment, took a slip of paper from his back pocket, unfolded it and placed it on the bed. “Here’s the address, Lanny. You should stop by tomorrow after our ProDev briefing. Give me time to get the place in order. I got an extra bedroom and you’re welcome to stay over. Anytime.”

Kyle noted it wasn’t a clear offer to rent him a room. So, he’d be looking for an apartment with Fredo or, maybe he’d get his own place. Cooper lived at the beach in an RV. That wasn’t Kyle’s scene. “Thanks, Armani. Again, don’t want to intrude.”

“No worries. I like being all domestic with you, Chief Petty Officer Lansdowne.”

“You starting to like men now? You know I don’t go that way.”

“I know. Thought perhaps I could help out in the female department. Being a Latin Lover has its advantages.”

“Fuck you,” Kyle said as he punched Armando in the upper arm. “I found a peach in the airport in San Francisco. She was on our plane.”

“So she’s here, in San Diego?”

Kyle nodded. “Should have seen those legs.”

Armando whistled. “Surprised Cooper didn’t get to her first.”

“He was thinking about it.”

“Not a good idea to take a girl your LPO has been eyeballing.”

They looked at each other for a few seconds before Kyle jumped in. “So, you got plans for tonight?” he asked. Kyle noticed some of Armando’s darkness was gone.

“Some liquid refreshment and some mindless sex. You?”

“I was thinking the same thing.” Kyle worried he’d hit another cart full of bags, or walk into a door or something stupid. And get laughed at. He didn’t want to get laughed at.

He wanted to get fucked.

“What do you say we head over across,” Armando pointed to downtown San Diego, “and get us some coeds. Or perhaps nice girls who work at an office or something. Or maybe the goddess with the long legs. I’m tired of these Frog Hogs here. We can get a couple of rooms.”

“Sounds good to me, man.” Kyle looked around his quarters that had taken him five minutes to set up. He doubted they had put anyone in here with him.

But it probably wouldn’t make a lick of difference.

Chapter 3

Kyle and Armando walked down through the Gaslight district, peering into storefronts—ones they’d never frequent on their meager military salary. Several were beginning to close. The aromas of trendy Italian restaurants and steak houses made Kyle hungry. Just a week ago he and Cooper were in Afghanistan, patching up an 18-year-old kid who took a shot to the upper thigh, shattering his femur. He was going to surely lose his leg. And now Kyle was here. Looking for a woman with legs he would dream about for nights.

Armando headed inside a bar and grill filling up with the usual weeknight crowd. Kyle found a table outside and took a seat while Armando made a trip to the head.

He’s probably scoping out the merchandise.

He thought maybe he should call Edie, a girl he spent time with on occasion. Edie wasn’t a very good talker, and that suited him just fine. She was a good kisser, and though not particularly exciting, she was clean and always willing. If he closed his eyes, she would become anyone he imagined. He didn’t like high maintenance girls. He considered himself easy going, as long as they liked lots of sex.

But tonight he wanted something more. His thoughts drifted back to the blonde at the airport. He recalled the creamy texture of her upper thigh as she stepped into the waiting town car. Those legs were something else. Her neck and shoulders were smooth and begging to be kissed. Worshiped even. He knew how they would feel under his palms.

Before the car took off, he had leaned forward, and thought perhaps she might look up at him through the blackened window, but she never turned his way. Her side profile revealed red pouty lips as she stared straight ahead. Those lips gave him an instant hard-on.

He was getting another one right now just thinking about her.

He fantasized about seeing her face and a whole lot more, spending an evening with her. Where would he take her? His room at the barracks?

Hell no.
All his worldly possessions tucked away in a Formica-topped dresser? Views of the inlet with bars on them?

The beach used to be a nice place for him. But now, memories of running, balancing rubber boats on his head for so many days he had a bald spot that took a year to heal. No way would he take her anywhere near there. Kyle wondered how Cooper could stand to live at the beach in his souped up RV. Then again, Cooper was known for his toys, inventions and surveillance gadgets. When he wasn’t entertaining a lady, he was having the time of his life tinkering.