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“That kind of talk will be factored into my considerations,” she warned.
“Forget I said it,” Mack shot over his shoulder as he headed out the door.
Ava was still laughing as she started cleaning the room for the next class. But she wasn’t changing her mind. Dating led to relationships. Relationships meant commitment. Commitment guaranteed heartache. She’d done her time, had her share. She was finished.
It was only after accepting that that she’d created the perfect life. It wasn’t the life her parents had outlined for her, it wasn’t the one her large, opinionated extended family expected of her. It wasn’t even close to the one she’d envisioned for herself when she’d been a country-club princess/society bride with no higher goal than planning the perfect party, obsessing over whether the whites were white enough and making sure all her husband’s needs were met.
But her life now? It worked for her. Why mess with something that was going well?
On the other hand, she loved Mack’s gym. It had an excellent reputation, a savvy owner, an ever-growing clientele and the perfect location for what she wanted to build. With all the traveling he was doing now for fitness competitions and training, she could see his need to take on a partner.
And she’d be good at it. She understood their clientele, she could step into almost any role. Personal training, massage, teaching classes, scheduling, bookkeeping, even advertising. She’d helped with all of that over the last couple of years, so she definitely had the experience.
What she didn’t have was money. At least, not readily available. Lips pursed, Ava finished wiping down the last mat. She had plenty in trust. But she couldn’t access the funds until her thirtieth birthday unless her parents okayed it.
Something to think about, she decided as she moved around the room gathering abandoned towels and empty water bottles.
Of bigger importance than finding the funds was the idea of working for someone besides Mack. The large bodybuilder was the perfect boss. He let Ava choose her own hours, design her own classes, come and go as she pleased. But if he brought in a new partner, that could change.
Ava strode out of the classroom into the gym’s reception area. At the chest-high desk, perched on a stool and writing in her planner sat Chloe. Probably the only woman in the world who could pull off the cat-eyed makeup with flaxen-blond dreadlocks, her tie-dye tee proclaimed her belief that Love Is the Ultimate Trip.
Part-time receptionist, all-round party girl and, much to the surprise of both, one of Ava’s best friends.
“You whipped some butts, girlfriend. I’ve rarely seen such a sweaty, bedraggled bunch limping out of that classroom as those students today,” Chloe said, her expression somewhere between impressed and amused. “And look at you, fresh as a daisy.”
“Maybe not quite daisy fresh,” Ava denied with a grin, gratefully unbraiding her hair and running her fingers through the long tresses. “I definitely need to hit the showers before my next class.”
“Half those students were hobbling,” Chloe said, giving Ava a quick up-and-down inspection. Sure, Ava’s workout bra was soaked and the tank she wore over it spotted with sweat. But her face was pain-free, her gait easy and her smile bright.
“Bet they loved it, though,” Ava shot back with a smile, angling her head to look at the latest page of art in Chloe’s planner. The double-page spread was decorated with colorful butterflies and a flourish of sharp-edged flowers bordering her weekly to-do list.
More than once Ava had suggested that her friend keep track of all her goals, appointments and scheduling on her phone or computer, but Chloe argued that the left brain was engaged by the act of handwriting. She sometimes threw in things like creativity fostering energy or a pretty planner lowering stress, but the bottom line was, Chloe detested technology. Still, her method worked great for her.
Chloe’s obsessions with planning every second of her life had started a few months back when her boyfriend had snuck out of her bed to run after his dream of being an archeologist. Or, considering that he didn’t have a degree, any plans to go back to school or any money, to dig in the dirt.
She’d accepted Ava’s shoulder at the time, but as soon as she was through crying on it, Chloe was sure her man would be back. Ava had talked herself blue in the face, but the woman wouldn’t budge.
Chloe had complete faith that Bones would be back.
To make ends meet, in addition to working part-time at the gym, Chloe worked the counter of the health-food store up the street, led bike tours through Napa Valley and ran her own dog-walking business.
“Does this mean you’re double booked tomorrow morning?” Ava asked with a frown, pointing to the sketch of a cute pair of Yorkies.
“My bike tour finishes at the Wine Train, so Mrs. Burns is dropping off Dinky and Winky for their walk and picking them up later.”
Ava’s brows arched. Apparently filling every moment of every day wasn’t enough to keep Chloe too busy to think about Bones—or Derek Herringbone to some people. Now she was double booking herself.
It was crazy. The curvy blonde had a way with people that Ava envied. Her combination of pinup girl looks, good-natured flirting and friendliness put everyone at ease. She had guys lining up to date her, but she said her heart belonged to Bones. So instead of dating, she played matchmaker to any guy who asked her out.
“I’d try to talk you into joining me on the bike tour since you could use the fresh air and the vines are gorgeous this time of year. But you have a pile of new massage appointments that I’m sure you’ll use as an excuse to avoid socializing,” Chloe said with a friendly eye roll as she handed Ava a clipboard.
“I socialize enough,” Ava replied, flipping through the list of names and client information, along with her appointment schedule. It would all be better logged into a computer with a central booking system, but like Chloe, Mack was a technophobe who preferred paper.
Silly, Ava thought. It was one thing she’d definitely want to change if she ever did partner up.
“Two of these are new,” she said, reading one of the names listed on the next day’s schedule. “Did they fill out an input form?”
“Nope. Mack added them to your schedule and said it was all good,” Chloe replied, flicking her fingers to dismiss things like client identity, health backgrounds and pertinent information.
Ava wrinkled her nose but didn’t object. She appreciated Mack’s support and all the clients he sent her way. She’d have to buy him one of those big green, filled-with-so-much-healthy-stuff-they-tasted-gross drinks as a thank-you.
He’d brush it off, she knew. A few years back, Mack had taken it upon himself to look out for her. Or as he put it, to watch her ass. He liked to think she couldn’t manage her life without him. Ava’s smile flickered, since she wasn’t sure he hadn’t been right.
Then.
Now, though, she was stronger. She’d learned to stand on her own feet, to defend herself and, yes, to watch her own ass if necessary. But Mack wasn’t ready to give up his role as her overprotective caretaker. He was stubborn that way.
“If you won’t join the tour, how about a hike through Glass Beach this weekend? I’m free Saturday morning.”
“Just us, or are you educating a bunch of strangers on the beauty of the Napa River and the history and ecosystem of the wetlands?”
“Just us,” Chloe promised before her smile winked out. “Unless Bones makes it home for the weekend.”
“Have you heard from him?” Ava asked cautiously.
“No. But I’m sure I will any day now.” Frowning at Ava’s doubtful look, Chloe shook her head. “We’ve been together since we were fourteen. You don’t spend a decade with a person and not know them. This is just a phase. Something he has to get out of his system. Believe me—he will be back.”
“Okay. Just, you know, don’t get your hopes up too high,” Ava warned before heading for the locker room.
She knew there was no point in saying more than that. Any lecture she offered would fall on deaf ears. But she knew for a fact that men didn’t change. But women did, as Ava had proven. All it’d taken was a hideous bout of depression, a couple of exercise classes and a pulled muscle to completely change her life.
Spinning had led to kettlebells, which led to yoga, then to weight lifting. Next thing she knew, she was teaching kickboxing, certified in Pilates and attending weeklong training camps in exercise instruction. One of those camps had hooked her on the benefits of massage for training the body, inspiring her to get licensed. Now, after another year of training, she’d added a rehabilitation massage certification to her roster.
Not bad for a woman who, until the age of twenty, had been convinced that the sum total of her ambitions were to hold the crown of socialite princess, to be a perfect wife and to always look pretty.
Thank God she’d escaped that life. It would have been pure hell.
* * *
ESCAPE COULD ONLY last for so long.
Experience and familiarity got Elijah through the team debriefing without a problem, but by the time they got to his individual round, he was feeling raw.
But, again, experience and familiarity got him through.
Still, he was damned glad to hear, “Dismissed, Prescott.”
Gut churning and his throat hot from keeping his voice at an even keel, Elijah nodded to the two Naval Intelligence officers and Admiral Cree. He offered his salute, turned on his heel and strode out. And he didn’t breathe fully until he’d cleared the room.
“You okay? Damn, Prescott, you look rough.”
Ignoring that, Elijah nodded to the ensign manning the desk and continued into the hallway. He wasn’t surprised when Jarrett joined him, matching his pace as they passed both military and civilian personnel until they’d reached the end of the hall.
“Debriefing can be rough, but I’ve never seen you come out looking this worn. Seriously,” Jarrett said, sounding concerned, “are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Like Jarrett, Elijah stopped at the double doors. The sun filtered through the small windows, dust motes dancing between them. “I finished debriefing. I’m cleared.”
“Hey, I just wanted to give you a heads-up.” Jarrett made a show of glancing to the left, then to the right before leaning closer. “Watch your six.”
“Why? Someone coming down on my ass?”
“I’m hearing a lot of buzz. Worry, doubts, that sort of thing. Some are saying Poseidon is, and I quote, a ‘fancy-ass clique rallying around a loser in the name of protecting their own.’” Jarrett rolled his eyes as if to say it was ridiculous. But if it was ridiculous, why bother with the warning? “Just wanted you to know.”
Elijah met Jarrett’s frown with a look of calm. Not because that’s how he was feeling—hell, no. The warning, on top of a brutal debriefing, had his gut twisted with a miserable sort of fury. But there was no point confirming the gossip that he was a mess. “I’m good,” he lied.
“I know you’re clean, Prescott. I just want to make sure you watch your back. People get ugly when they’re under suspicion.” Jarrett snapped his teeth together, his eyes worried. “You don’t need more dirt thrown your way. Not after everything you’ve been through. So if you need anything, I’m here for you.”
His own jaw tight enough to snap his teeth off, Elijah nodded. “Yes, sir. But Commander Savino is my commanding officer, and I report to him.” Elijah pulled his cap out of his back pocket and tugged it onto his head. “If there are any issues, I’m sure I’ll hear it from him.”
“If he’s brought into it,” Jarrett said quietly, stepping forward until the tips of his boots knocked against Elijah’s. “Someone wants Poseidon brought down. How long can Savino stop that? People higher up are watching. It’s making everyone nervous. They’re wondering who’s involved, who’s clean and who’s not.”
“Are they looking at me?” Elijah asked.
“They’re looking at everyone. You roomed with Ramsey. You’ve had some shit going on, and your psych eval says you have reason to resent the Navy. Some people worry about serving with a guy with your issues. And then there’s the question of who really sold the chemical formula. Do you think everyone believes it was some dead guy?” Jarrett shook his head, as if disgusted by the chatter. “Just watch your back.”
Elijah refused to reply. All he could do was nod. Then, shoulders stiff, he watched the captain shove through the doors and saunter away. He wished like hell he could claim the man was full of crap. But Elijah had seen the looks.
The warning was legit.
* * *
TWO DAYS LATER, Elijah strode down the hallway toward Savino’s office. He didn’t know if he was making the right choice. He just knew he couldn’t make a different one.
So when he strode through the door, his chin was high, his eyes direct and his expression clear.
His commander was at his desk, papers stacked in two neat piles on the dingy metal surface. Elijah wouldn’t mind the rank, but damned if he’d want the paperwork that went with it.
“Reporting as ordered, sir.”
“You want to explain this?” Savino invited, lifting one of the papers from the stack on the left.
His face blank, Elijah looked from his commander to the paper the man held and back again. It seemed pretty self-explanatory to him. But he knew Savino wasn’t asking him to clarify the request for leave. He wanted to know why. He wanted details; he wanted insights. As always, he wanted every damned thing.
Savino was a hard-ass. He was a tough commander, a man with a wicked sense of humor held under tight control and razor-sharp lines in the sand when it came to right and wrong. He was the first man to reach out his hand and the last to walk away.
He was a friend.
They’d trained together. They’d sat watch in a cave over a village beset by terrorists together. They’d gotten drunk together. They’d been through a million experiences in the near-decade they’d known each other.
So Elijah couldn’t hold back. “I’m not one hundred percent. I thought I was, pushed the medics to release me and ignored their concerns,” he said quietly. Then, in case Savino suspected he meant the head shrink as well as the physicians, he drummed his fingertips over his thigh. “I’d rather take a few weeks’ leave before I do irreparable damage.”
He knew that excuse would hold. His medical records said as much. But Savino knew him too well. So the question was, would he accept face value or would he push for the truth?
“And this has nothing to do with the heap of crap chickenshit gossips are trying to pile on you?”
Had he thought that wouldn’t get back to Savino? Elijah almost smiled. “Someone wants to take down Poseidon,” he said, sidestepping. “They’re using the convenience of gossip to accelerate that mission.”
“That doesn’t answer my question. Do you believe that anyone on the team doesn’t trust you? Do you believe anyone thinks you’re dirty?”
Yeah. He did believe that. “I believe there are some that might have questions,” he said carefully instead. “Since our job is not to follow blindly but to think outside the box, I don’t blame them for wondering.”
Savino frowned, but simply folded his hands on his desk instead of saying anything.
“At the very least, they’ve got to wonder why I hadn’t seen anything. Why I didn’t realize that Ramsey was dirty, that he was a psychotic traitor with a taste for greed and a hard-on to take down Poseidon.” Elijah rubbed his hand over his face, feeling stained, as if he’d never be clean. “I served with him and Adams. I partied with them. I roomed with them for eight fucking months. How could I miss something that ugly?”
“By that train of thought, you’d think I should have realized it, too,” Savino countered quietly, looking tired. “I served with Ramsey myself. I trained him, commanded him. Hell, Rembrandt, I signed his fucking DEVGRU recommendation.”
Knowing Savino’s use of the word fucking was permission to fall out, Elijah dropped to the empty chair in front of the desk, his boots clunking against the metal.
“I can’t get past it,” Elijah admitted. “The weight of it. The feeling of failure.”
“You’re going to have to. You’ve got enough weighing you down already. Don’t haul someone else’s crap, too.”
Made sense. Elijah knew it made sense. He’d told himself the same thing already, hadn’t he? But he’d seen the expressions on some people’s faces. He’d read the question in their eyes, the wondering. Was he in league with Ramsey? Was that how he’d survived the explosion? Did they think he’d missed that sniper last week because he’d meant to? That he’d fallen back on the command not to fire, had used it as an excuse to let his partner take a bullet? The questions swirled, ugly and sharp, scraping at his composure, tearing at his resolve.
“I need a break. I need to get away from it all,” Elijah murmured, finally meeting Savino’s eyes. “I thought I was ready to come back. I’m not.”
“I could order a psych eval, another round of physical therapy,” Savino said. “That’s what I should do. For your own good and for the good of the team.”
“You could. But I’m hoping you won’t. I just need a break. A real break. Away.”
A dumb-ass move, his brain warned.
Walking away now would only add fuel to Jarrett’s insinuations. To those who thought him guilty, it’d look like a retreat. Even to himself—who knew he was clean—it would feel like he was running.
“You’d be smarter to stay on base, take light duty until you’re ready to face fire again,” Savino advised, reading Elijah’s mind with his usual savvy.
“Yeah. I know.” He’d been going on eight months without leave when he’d been blown to hell. After that had been a couple of months in and out of the base hospital, a month easing back into training. For the last year he’d lived and breathed the Navy, SEAL Team 7, Poseidon.
Once he’d thrived on immersing himself in this world.
Now?
He didn’t know if he could live or breathe it any longer. He didn’t know how much longer he could before he simply cracked. And what would be revealed through the fractured pieces could break him beyond repair.
Savino must have seen some hint of that on his face because he rubbed a hand over his hair and sighed. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll green-light leave. But three weeks. No more.” Not a man to waste time, he snagged the request for leave again and scrawled his signature.
But he didn’t hand it over. “I’m temporarily relieving you from active duty, but as long as Operation Fuck Up is in effect, you’re still serving Poseidon. Clear?”
