Building Ties (Military Romantic Suspense) (SEAL Team Heartbreakers Book 4) (31 page)

Brett laughed and bent his head to rest his cheek against her. “Where would you like to eat lunch?”

“Hard Rock Café.”

“Bundle up and we’ll go. Do you want to go to Union Station or take a taxi?”

“A taxi. Then I’d like to be a tourist for a while and just walk the National Mall. We didn’t get to see anything last time we were here. I love going to the Natural History and the Air and Space Museum. You don’t think anyone followed us here, do you?”

He hated the edge of anxiety in her voice, even though she tried to make the question sound casual. He’d been especially vigilant since the break-in, and hadn’t been aware of anyone following them since hiring Alonzo and Armando. Neither had the men. So how had the shooter known where they were? And had it been someone hired by Frye, or was it someone associated with the Daniel Delgado situation?

The two policemen on protection detail had driven them to the airport and dropped them off. Brett had made a point of scanning the cabin on the plane for anyone who looked familiar. “No. No one followed us, honey. You can relax. Okay?”

She smiled and turned to nestle against him. “We could pretend this was a pre-honeymoon trip and order room service.”

He wanted to say yes, but, except for going to do interviews for her job, she’d hidden at home, and now she needed to get out. He hadn’t figured out a way to talk to her about the nightmares. Having experienced something similar, he understood how hard it was to face PTSD and ask for help.

“Once you said Hard Rock, I had my heart set on some Rockin’ Wings and a burger.”

She hid her face against his shirt for a moment then looked up at him. “I’m being a coward.”

“No, honey. You’re being cautious, which is a good thing. Do you really think I’d let you do anything if I thought you’d be a danger? No one but family, police headquarters, our police escort and HQ knows about this trip. And no one followed us to the airport. I’m sure of it.”

“Okay.” She forced a smile. “I want some spinach-artichoke dip and flatbread, too.”

“Maybe we’ll order the starter combo and get a sample of each of them.”

“I’m going to be that meatball I complained about. I’ll never fit into my dress.”

“You just tried it on yesterday. You can’t become a meatball in twenty-four hours, but I’ll still love you if we have to lace you into it.”

Tess laughed the sound natural and light-hearted. Good. She was finally beginning to relax.

*

The restaurant was
packed, but they didn’t have to wait long for a table for two.

Tess knew Brett kept the conversation light and directed away from any of the conflicts at home. She was grateful for his understanding. Being shot at had shaken her. How did Brett face the possibility of being shot, especially since he’d already experienced a bullet wound? He’d covered her with his own body, protected her while Alonzo had returned fire. And she’d been more terrified for him than she’d been for herself and Alonzo.

Brett ordered the wings and burger and she the spinach-artichoke dip and a burger as well. Replete with good food, they left the Hard Rock Café and walked to Ford’s Theatre to do a tour of the building. “I’m always surprised at how small it is compared to our modern theaters.”

“And it still has an atmosphere of history and tragedy, doesn’t it?” Brett said.

“Yes, it does.”

The sun had come out and warmed the late March air, but it still felt brisk as they walked west to the International Spy Museum on F Street. In the Secret History of History section they viewed some of the James Bond-like historic tools of the trade. Brett narrowed his eyes at the rectal tool kit in one window. “I didn’t think there would be anything I wouldn’t do for my country, but I’d really have to think about sticking that up my ass.”

Tess laughed. “You risk your life going into battle and you’re worried about that?”

“All I can say is it’s great not to live in the sixties.”

She laughed again. “I think the lipstick pistol would be pretty cool.”

He grinned. “If they ever come out on the open market, I’ll make sure you get one.”

“You and your guns.” Tess bumped him with her hip.

“I only have one gun, Tess.”

She laughed. “Weapons.”

From there they spent the next few hours wending their way through the Smithsonian exhibits, at the Air and Space Museum, and the Museum of Natural History. There was so much to see and they weren’t in any hurry. They held hands and talked. The taut feeling of fear that had plagued her since her car had been blown apart eased, and for the first time in a while, Tess felt safe.

It was nearly four when they moved on to West Building of the National Gallery of Art before it closed. They decided to start at the top and work their way down to the first floor. Tess paused before an Andrew Wyeth painting of a window, the curtains blown inward by a breeze. She was amazed at how delicate the lace looked. “What kind of art do you like, Brett?”

“Realistic stuff. I’m not into abstract, though I like some of the sculptures.”

“Classical? Impressionistic?”

“Classical paintings always seem too refined, too steeped in technique. But I do like the Photo Realists. Anyone who can obsess over every brush stroke and come up with a painting that looks like a photograph has to be acknowledged. The Impressionists were okay. The way they experimented with light and movement was interesting. I went to an exhibit of Edwin Roscoe Schrader’s paintings in Los Angeles a few years ago. Caught hell from the guys for it. I was impressed with how he could use a brush stroke for a person and you’d just see it. His style was impressionistic.”

She was stunned. “Were you dating an artist at the time?”

“No. I was dating one of the caterers who provided food for the reception.”

Tess laughed. But she was still surprised he had some knowledge of art. But why should she be? He was a college graduate, had a degree in engineering, and had chosen to serve his country instead of pursuing a job in his field.

With everything she learned about Brett, with everything they shared with one another, the ties between them built and strengthened. Just when she thought she knew him, there was more to discover.

She looped her arm through his and leaned against him. “I’m ready to go back to the hotel, how about you?”

He squeezed her arm. “Yeah. I could go for a beer and a steak, watch a little tube, and relax with you. How does that sound?”

She rested her head against his shoulder. “It sounds perfect.”

Brett whipped out his phone and called the cab company.

“You saved the number in your phone?”

“First rule of visiting a strange city, always scope out transportation, shelter, and sustenance.”

She smiled. He always prepared for everything like it was a mission, but he could be spontaneous and laid back, too. And he was funny. What more could she ask for?

Neither of them had mentioned her upcoming interview since they arrived. She was trying not to allow what was happening in San Diego to influence her decision. If she changed coasts, she had to do it for the job, not because she was running from something.

Brett had faced worse. Her father had, too, in his job as a foreign freelance journalist. How did they deal with all the aftermath of being under fire? She needed to know so maybe she could get a handle on her own feelings.

*

Brett lay on
the bed and concentrated on the television while Tess ironed the blouse and pants she planned to wear to her interview tomorrow. The steak he’d eaten at dinner sat like a stone in his belly. They’d avoided talking about the interview, but it crouched between them, a wall built of emotion and worry.

He had to embrace this thing. He had to want this for her. If he didn’t, it would never work. But he couldn’t get the idea out of his head that this would be the end of them.

Tess slipped onto the bed and curled against his side.

“All ready for tomorrow?” he asked, his voice husky.

“Yes. I think so.”

“I’ll drop you off, then go for a run at Potomac Park. It’ll give me a chance to admire the memorials.” He’d need to burn off the emotional fallout from the wait. She’d have to be crazy not to take the job, and he had to be prepared to accept and support her decision. He’d call Captain Jackson ASAP when he knew for certain.

She ran a caressing hand beneath his shirt. “I should be done around lunch.”

“Just give me a call and I’ll drive over and pick you up.”

“Okay.”

Tess leaned up on one arm to look down at him. “I love you, Brett. I know how difficult this will be for us both if I take the job. And what a sacrifice you’ll be making to transfer to Virginia.”

A large knot had lodged in his stomach. “No more than you’d be making if you didn’t take this shot.” He hadn’t told her it might be six months to a year before a transfer came through. They’d deal with that when they had to. And he still hadn’t told her about the freeze on his promotion. She had enough on her mind right now. He wouldn’t do anything to throw her off her game.

He cupped her face his thumb moved over her cheekbone. “One moment to the next, Tess.”

She smiled and lay down to cuddle close.

He’d have to tell her everything after this was over.

‡

B
rett pulled to
the curb. “That has got to be one of the ugliest buildings in Washington, D.C.”

Tess laughed. “Not every building here can carry the architectural classicism of the Jefferson Memorial.”

“It looks like a parking structure for people.”

She eyed the façade. “It kind of does, doesn’t it? They’re looking for a new home, and I heard they’re close to purchasing it. But this building is iconic. They’ve been here forever.”

“They could take the iconic part, like the name of the paper from over the door, and transfer it to some other building.”

“I’ll be sure to tell them you said that.” She released her seat belt and reached for the portfolio at her feet.

Brett grinned. “Call me when you’re done.”

“I will.”

“Do I say break a leg for something like this?”

“Good luck will be fine.”

“Good luck.” He leaned over and kissed her.

Tess dragged a deep breath into her lungs and shoved the door open. Aware of Brett watching her cross the street with her portfolio, she strutted her way to the front door to hide the way her legs shook. She felt winded by the time she made it to the reception desk in the lobby and asked for directions.

She stepped off the elevator and was immediately confronted by the circular hub from which the rest of the room expanded. A bank of televisions hung beneath, tuned to different news channels. Closed-caption print scrolled along the bottoms of the screens. The floor plans were open and brightened by rows of inlaid florescent lights across the ceiling. Except for its shape, the space wasn’t very different from her own office in San Diego.

She approached the hub and asked for directions to the managing editor’s office. One woman at work there came out from behind the hub and actually walked her halfway.

She tapped on the edge of the door. A gray-haired man looked up and came out from behind his desk. “Tess Kelly, I presume.”