Hunter's Heart (2 page)

Gawd, he hoped that wouldn’t be the case.

He closed the door and she buzzed the window down a few inches. “The less we say the better,” he said before she could speak.

“You might be needing this.” Celia offered up his wallet.

She raised the window, put the car in gear, and left Hunter to make his way back to his truck in the downpour. It was regrettable but he was right. Contact with an interviewee was frowned on. In fact, her security contract required she report any outside communication.

She planned to notify her section chief immediately that she’d been saved from having to swim to her car. It would be easy enough to verify the epic disaster movie—rain and security footage from the building would show the minimal time spent together. Then she’d go over that contract. See what was permitted and or how much she could get away with. She was firmly in the ask-forgiveness rather than ask-permission camp. She glanced at Hunter’s rain-blurred image, growing smaller in her rearview and decided any forgiveness she needed to ask for would be well worth it.

She’d often wondered what a Special Operations man was like outside an interview. In the six years on the job, she’d interrogated men from every branch of the service. They came in different sizes, from average to extra-large, and in many ways, they were all the same. They had a quiet fire in their eyes and it was quite clear when testosterone was handed out they’d stood in line more than once. Anyone looking carefully knew these were men you did not want to anger.

None were exactly happy about answering questions but were honorable and answered truthfully. With increased media scrutiny of Spec Ops the men began coming to interviews wearing all manner of disguises. Like today, Hunter had worn a dark wig, hat, sunglasses and ratty clothes. She didn’t fault them for that. She thought it was extremely wise they protected their identity—there were just too many bat-shit crazy people out there.

When he drove that big truck across the grass and sidewalk and approached her, she thought he might be one of those crazies. When he spoke, she immediately recognized his deep voice. Still, she’d given him the fish eye. His sandy-blond hair and beard were neat. He’d done a speed change into a black T-shirt and khakis and beat her outside.

She picked up the crumpled card and ran a thumb over the raised name, and glanced at the bold numbers he’d written. “
I’ll be damned.”
That’s why the duty marine checked her bag like he was TSA and she was on the do-not-fly list before letting her leave. He had delayed her long enough for the SEAL to change and get outside.
And
, she recalled the sergeant sent a text right after clearing her to exit.
To Hunter?
She carefully returned the card to the tray. Bold indeed.

Rain and traffic leaving the military bases in and around Norfolk made the drive home twice as long as normal and gave her suspicious mind time to go into overdrive. Admittedly, her brain went foggy when the SEAL laid on the charm.

Not responding to his silly remarks, smile, and those piercing, damn sexy hazel eyes had taken a supreme effort. And his body, the confidant way he moved. His musky scent that lingered in her closed-up car. The idea a man like him would consider asking her out. All of it was heady.

She couldn’t go all naïve and girlie because a good-looking, good-smelling man smiled at her. This could be a test from her bosses. It wasn’t out of the realms of possibility. As unpleasant as that thought was, she had to consider he had an ulterior reason. This was not the time to be situationally stupid.

She backed her car into the garage—one of her many fast-escape procedures. Inside the townhouse she punched in her alarm code and paused, listening to be sure no one waited inside. It was highly unlikely but worth the moment to know all was secure. On her way to the second bedroom she used as her office, she stopped in the kitchen for a bottle of water and the jar of Greek olives.

Upstairs she retrieved a laptop from the safe and while it powered on, stripped to her camisole and panties. In order to work off-site she’d been required to put in a honking big safe to store her laptops. It was a pain in the ass but better than the option of going to work in a freaking government building. She formulated a brief to-the-point email to her supervisor about the contact, hit send and began working on her report. The statements she’d been ordered to verify weren’t about the SEAL team’s actions. They were aimed at the veracity of a US Coast Guard Admiral and a doctor who walked into the team’s over-watch in the Ecuadorian jungle.

It was an odd clump of circumstances. She’d gone at Hunter from every direction and it hadn’t deterred him from his account. He’d answered every question quickly and directly, with no change of body language or voice tone. Well, except when she asked about the success of the op. He’d gone stone still and his voice was deadly cold when he said losing a man wasn’t his idea of success.

She leaned back in the chair and stretched. The report was done. Reviewed and refined. No sign of any bias.

“Damn.” She caught the time display in the lower corner of the computer screen. 12:47. Half the night had vanished. She peered into the empty olive jar and sighed. So had the olives. She padded to the kitchen and cruised the fridge.

It wasn’t a long cruise. The only things in there were leftover Thai and beer. She ate the cashew chicken cold, straight from the take-out container, washing it down with a beer. In the morning she’d give the report another going over with fresh eyes. Then wait another twenty-four hours to release it. The moment she received confirmation it was approved and all was good, she’d text Hunter.

Chapter 2

I don’t tell people what I do.

Hunter reached into the shower and twisted on the taps. He stood outside waiting for it to get hot. He didn’t like cold water. In BUD/S training he’d had enough cold-water experiences to last ten men a hundred years each. The general alarm tone on his cell blared from the bedroom. He grabbed his jeans off the floor and retrieved the phone from a pocket. Two messages. One a reminder and the other from an unfamiliar number. He tapped the screen.

My report is completed. Celia West.

Great Caesar’s ghost.
It had only been three days. He hadn’t expected to hear from her for a good three weeks. He saved the number and hit redial.

“Hello.”

That one word gave him an inexplicable feeling of happiness.

“This is Hunter, eh Petty Officer Lozano.”

“Yes.”

“You good with your job?” First things first. He wasn’t about to put her in a bad place.

“Submitted, accepted, approved and I waited a business day for any questions.”

All right
. He punched the air with a fist. “Guess I passed.”

“You did.” The smile in her voice came through loud and clear. As far as the interview went, he’d known immediately they weren’t looking at him, or the team for anything. They were on an expedition to verify the story of the Coast Guard Admiral who’d survived a plane crash and walked into their op.

“Going out with me won’t be breaking any rules?”

She hesitated. “No.”

“Then, would you have dinner with me tonight?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation in that answer.

“You name the place.”

“Okay.” She was silent a moment. “Do you know Pappy’s on Shore Drive?”

“I know it.” A family place, serving good southern food and catering to local clientele. Low on the Navy crowd. No reservations. This time of year, live music upstairs. A place she’d feel comfortable. “What’s your address?”

“I’ll meet you there.”

“A gentleman picks a lady up,” he said, disappointed.

“Thank you for calling me a lady, Santino.”

Her pronunciation of his name sent a shiver over his neck.

“Or would you rather I call you Hunter?”

“Hunter is good,” he said, thinking he should keep the shiver factor under control for at least a few dates. “What time? I can be there in…” He looked at his watch. Figured time to trim his beard, shower…and fuck…. He’d left the water running. It’d be a quick shower if he wanted hot water or, maybe a cold shower would be better. He quickly figured dress and drive time….

“Fifty minutes.”

“Make it an hour.”

“Done.”

“Hunter?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.” Her sweet voice produced another shiver.

“Meet you at the door.” He hit the end key and tossed the phone on the bed.

A cold shower and fifty minutes later, he stood at the front entrance to Pappy’s, watching for her car. He’d arrived early, as was his habit, although tonight he didn’t have to scope out the place for tactical advantage positions should it be necessary to dive out of a window. He wanted to watch her walk to him.

Her Nissan turned into the lot and without any input from his brain, his legs had him strolling to the car. He opened the door and tanned legs swung out. Sandal-covered feet hit the gravel.

“Hello.” She stood, gracing him with a perfect smile as she wrangled her very short skirt into place.

“You look great,” he said. Actually, she was stunning. The times he’d seen her before she’d looked good, very professional. Suits, not much makeup, and hair slicked back into a knot at her neck. Now it was loose, down to her shoulders and curly. A breeze swirled her hair and she turned her face to the wind and pushed back the curls. The light scent of sea and salt coming from the water, mixed with her scent creating a provocative aroma reminding him of the islands. He stopped his eyes from rolling over her rocking body and kept his gaze on her face.

Celia lifted her shades and he noticed she wore more makeup than she had for the interviews.

“Thank you.” Her blue eyes gave his body a down and up. “You look great. The beard looks nice trimmed.”

Damn, she noticed. If that was a sign she was into him, he’d take it.

He stepped back. An older couple passed in front of her car. The man slowed and gave him a look. Then cocked his chin, grinned and shook his head like he knew some secret.
What the fuck was that about?
He returned the head nod.

“Shall we go in?” She put her glasses in place and slung her purse strap over her shoulder.

“Yeah.” As they walked to the entry, he resisted the urge to circle an arm around her waist. No matter how much he wanted that, it was too much contact, too soon. He held the door for her. “Upstairs or down?”

Down was the family area. Up was the bar, windows all around offering a good view, thirty-inch big screen TVs, tables, a wide outside deck for smokers, and a dance floor the size of a slice of bread.

“Up,” she said, heading for the stairs.

“Great.” As much as he wanted to check out her derrière and legs as she climbed the steps ahead of him, he kept his eyes on his shoes.

The hostess wanted to seat them close to where a band would set up.

“No.” He nodded to a table. “Back there, next to the window.” Not only would they be away from the band and what he called the numb-ear-drums zone, they’d have a good view of the water and the sunset.

“Suit yourself.” The gal said, following them. She dropped a couple of menus on the table. “What can I get for ya?” She gave him one of those
I’m on the menu too
looks, totally ignoring Celia. Alone it was okay. When he was with a date—
not okay
.

“Let’s find out what the lady wants.” He said, keeping his eyes pinned on Celia.

“Sam Adams. That summer brew. No need for a glass…and also, a water please.”

“Make that two,” he said without looking at the hostess. The gal clucked and went on her way. Good thing she wasn’t working for tips ’cause she sure as hell would not be getting one from him.

Celia dropped her shades in her bag then placed it on the extra chair. “Why did you ask me out?”

He shrugged. “Why not?”

“I don’t know. She leaned back in the chair and folded her arms. “You might as well know. I’m suspicious of this. You could be a test. See if I’m following the rules.”

Surprised, he leaned back. “I’m
not
.” This was not something he’d considered. “Is that what
you’re
doing? Scoping me out for
your
bosses?”

“No.” she put her hands on the table and tilted her head. Her expression told him she hadn’t considered he might be suspicious of her.

He leaned and squinted. “You sure?” He couldn’t resist messing with her.

Her chin jutted out defiantly. “Yes, I’m….” She squinted back. Her shoulders drooped.

“Are you serious?”

“I was until I saw the look on your face.”

Color rose on her cheeks. “I prefer to be cautious.”

“Me too.” He laid his best smile on her. “Now that we’ve established we aren’t spies, on a got-ya mission, how about we get to know one another?”

Her lips twitched. “Okay.”

“Generally before I ask a lady out, I’ve shared a few conversations, know something about her.”
And,
there were times he’d stayed over with a woman and knew nothing about her and didn’t want to know—because he’d never see her again.
With Celia?
He wanted to know everything. Wanted to go home with her and never leave.