Building Ties (Military Romantic Suspense) (SEAL Team Heartbreakers Book 4) (22 page)

Had Brett not
tagged along with Tess for the past few days, he might not have even considered encouraging her to go to Washington. She seemed too involved with the people she interviewed. And she had no tough outer skin to keep her from getting hurt. Or did she?

She seemed to have an empathy with people that made them want to open up to her. She’d used it on him, and he’d fallen in love with her so deep he couldn’t break the surface…didn’t even want to.

He eased from the bed and slipped on his boxer briefs. Though they were several stories up from street level, the balcony could be used as a point of entry. He closed the door, locked it and placed the security bar in place. He stared out at the surrounding buildings, the patch of gray-blue sky divided by the wispy trail of a jet.

Would the sharks in Washington, D.C. eat Tess alive? Or would she be able to swim with them? She wouldn’t know until she went there and got a feel for the job, the people.

If she didn’t come to the understanding herself to take it or say no, without other things standing in her way, it would always lie like a broken promise between them to fester and cause resentment.

He turned away from the door and wandered back to the bedroom. The soft rise and fall of her breathing eased his worry and tension. She hadn’t slept much the night before and, being so fresh from deployment, neither had he. His gaze rested on the delicate slope of her cheekbone, the tiny freckles sprinkled sparingly across the bridge of her nose, the smooth, creamy curve of her hip. He fought the desire to kiss the hollow spot in the bowl of her shoulder, to wake her and make love all over again. He slipped beneath the covers and aligned his body to spoon with her.

He’d done the right thing about the job, though it was killing him. Now all he could do was hope and pray she’d decide she didn’t want it.

And if she decided to take it—?

They were going to have a whopping big credit card debt each month when they flew back and forth to see each other. But they’d find a way.

‡

T
ess woke to
the soft, warm brush of Brett’s hands and lips against her cheek, her throat, her collarbone. Dusk had settled across the slice of sky she could see from the bedroom window, turning it a deep, powdery periwinkle.

“What time is it?” she croaked even as her hand cupped the back of his head, encouraging him to continue what he was doing.

“It’s almost nine,” he murmured.

He nuzzled her breast and she slid her fingers down to caress the slope of his neck. “I’ve slept nearly four hours.”

“You needed it.” He eased up to look down at her, his face in shadow. The dull, reflective light coming from between the blinds limned the strong lines of his cheek and jaw. “Let’s stay here tonight. We can get up early and run over to your apartment in the morning. I’ll make a trip to the store for some snacks and drinks. We can hang out in front of the TV and watch a movie.”

“Are you trying to manage me, Brett?”

“No. I just thought a change of scenery might help you stay relaxed.”

She appreciated his concern, but she didn’t need to be coddled. “I’m okay. Really I am.”

He remained silent a moment. “What set you off at the restaurant, Tess?”

Still lethargic from sleep, she paused to shift thoughts, and a picture took shape. “There was a man at the restaurant who looked familiar. Then a car went by. It was a dark blue sedan with an orange sticker on the right rear bumper. I’ve seen it before, but I can’t get it to—” She messaged her brow with her fingertips. A low-grade headache throbbed behind her eyes. She’d slept too long. While she focused on the memory, her heart hammered against her breastbone and fear thrust upward to close her throat. “It was in the parking lot at the paper. A man got into the car and drove away.”

“The day of the bombing?”

“Yes.” She folded her arms against her atop the sheet. Brett brushed his fingertips back and forth across her forearm in a soothing motion.

“What shape was the sticker?”

She sat up and held the sheet against her. “It was a rectangle, because it wrapped around the side of the bumper. But it was so faded I couldn’t see any of the details.”

Brett sat up to loop an arm around her. “You need to contact the FBI and tell them about this.”

“They have the parking lot video feed. They’ll know about him and about the car.”

“Good. But it wouldn’t hurt to touch base with them. This may be a detail they don’t have.”

“Okay.” She dreaded calling. They were always arrogant, dismissive, and never willingly shared information. And every time she spoke to them it brought every second of the explosion back. When it came to this, her reporter’s instinct remained suppressed.

“How about a soak in the tub? I can run you some water. Bowie’s home, and he may even have some wine.”

He
was
managing her. But at least it was in a helpful, caring way.

“I’ll take a shower instead, but I’d like that glass of wine.”

“Okay. I’ll take care of it.” He slid off the bed.

Something occurred to her. “How did you know something had triggered my panic at the restaurant?”

“For a while after I woke up, I went through periods I’d react like you did. Something you see, smell or hear sparks a memory or an emotion. It’s as if your subconscious recognizes something and revs up your feelings.”

Well it certainly had hers. “How did you know to ask me now?”

“When you’re first waking up, your defenses are down. And it’s easier to remember things.”

She leaned back to look up at him. Strips of light from the blinds streamed across his face. “Have you recovered memories from the attack, Brett?”

He’d said he believed Derrick Armstrong had attacked him and left him for dead during his last mission with his old unit. If he could remember what happened for certain, it might help him move on.

He fingered the scar at his temple, as he often did when talking about the lost memories. “I’ve only experienced one flashback, but I keep trying to remember more. One day I will.” He left the bedroom.

Tess slipped out of the bed, retrieved her clothes from where she’d folded and left them on the corner of the dresser, and shuffled into the bathroom. She felt stiff and heavy from too much sleep. She flipped on the bathroom light and flinched from the harsh glare. Her eyes looked puffy and her hair fuzzed into a rat’s nest on the right side of her head. It must be true love if he’d braved waking her with kisses as bad as she looked.

She twisted on the water and, while she waited for it to warm, found a bottle of shower gel under the sink where she’d left it months before. She lathered up and then stood under the hot spray for a good ten minutes. By the time she shut off the water she felt almost human again.

She towel-dried her hair and dressed. Discovering a new toothbrush in the medicine cabinet she made use of it, then finger-combed her hair.

When had Brett said his lease was up? They really needed to consolidate their living arrangements. It was ridiculous to go back and forth. She should say something about that when she left the bedroom.

He stood in the kitchen, drinking a beer. Seeing her, he grasped the bowl of the wine glass sitting on the counter and held it up. “You like red, don’t you?”

“Yes.” She gripped the stem of the glass and raised it to her lips for a sip. She looked up to find Brett frowning.

Had something else happened? “What is it?”

“I wanted to wait to tell you when you were more awake. Your editor called while you were asleep. The coroner released Mary Stubben’s body for burial. The funeral will be tomorrow at noon.”

*

The night sky
had taken on an amethyst hue by the time they left the apartment. The balmy breeze that had stirred earlier in the day had turned chilly. Brett carried a clothing bag over left shoulder with his one dark civilian suit to wear to the funeral. He tossed the bag into the back seat and moved around the vehicle in a search for explosives. Finding nothing, he opened her door for her.

He’d have preferred they remained at his apartment, but Tess had some research to do, and he hadn’t yet retrieved his laptop from his mom, who was holding it for safekeeping. He hadn’t made time to stop by her and Russell’s place. He still couldn’t believe his straitlaced mom was living with a man. Captain Russell Connelly was a good guy, and a good doctor. Hell, he’d brought him out of a coma and gotten him back on his feet. The guy was a miracle worker. He seemed to make his mom happy. Brett was sure they’d eventually tie the knot, but neither seemed in any rush. At their age, what the hell were they waiting for?

He wove through the streets toward Tess’s apartment.

“What are you thinking about?” Tess asked.

“Mom and Russell. Why do you suppose they haven’t gotten married yet?”

“You’ve been out of the country. She may want you there to attend the wedding and walk her down the aisle.”

Brett glanced at her. “You think so?”

“Possibly. But they seem content the way things are. Maybe neither of them wants to get married.”

“Maybe they’re waiting for us to do our thing. Think I should say something to Mom?”

Tess was silent for a moment. “Maybe you could just say you want her to be happy, no matter what she and Russell decide about their living arrangements. We’re basically living together. What difference does it make if they’re doing the same?”

The difference was, it was his mom. “As a son, I feel like I need to be defending her honor or something.”

“Yet you’ve been sleeping with me for months.”

“If I could kick my own ass, I’d do it to defend your honor, too.”

Tess laughed. “You don’t think Russell treats her with respect?”

“I know he treats her good. I’m sure he loves her. Maybe it’s a Southern, Bible-belt thing. I felt the same way when I realized Zoe was sleeping with Hawk. I wanted to pound on him for messing with my sister even though I knew he was crazy about her.”

Tess laid a hand on his thigh and gave it a squeeze. “It’s a different century, Brett. Women are strong, independent creatures, and we’re capable of fending for ourselves. We don’t need men for the same reasons we did fifty years ago. We don’t look to marriage to provide financial security or a home. We can work and get those things for ourselves and not have to live with the threat of them being taken away if the marriage doesn’t work out.”

Her words reflected a remnant of insecurity she still lived with, since she herself was from a broken home and had been abandoned by her father. Brett had experienced those insecurities, too, after his dad had died and left his mother alone to support and raise three kids. He gave her hand a squeeze.

“If you asked a group of American women today what they hoped to get out of marriage, they’d probably say all they’re looking for is love and a good father for their children. After thousands of years of cultural evolution, we still can’t live without the things that feed our emotional needs. Or the biological imperative we’re born with.”

Geez, sometimes she could be unemotionally analytical to the tenth power. “Glad to know you need me for something,” Brett quipped, hearing the edge in his tone. “I was beginning to feel a little redundant.”

Tess laughed. “I was waiting for you to tell me I was full of it. You’ve grown very PC since you’ve been away.”

He glanced at her. In the intermittent flash of the streetlights, she smiled.

She’d played him. Payback for the strip club thing.

She leaned across the console to rest her hand against his chest, and he felt the warmth of her touch through his shirt. “You’ll never be redundant, Brett.” Her voice took on that soft tone he loved. “There’s a moment after we’ve both climaxed, when you’re still inside me, and you say, ‘I love you, Tess.’ Nothing can beat the way you look at me when you say it.”

Heat flared in his face at the same time blood rushed south and his cock hardened. He brought her hand to his lips, though he was tempted to direct it elsewhere. “You forgot the protection thing.”

“Yes, I did. You’re very good at protecting me, your family, your country.”