Nashville SEAL: SEAL Brotherhood: Nashville SEALs (4 page)

He only had about eight minutes to do the first thing and all night to do the second.

‡

L
izzie Carter almost
was toppled by the gentleman being shoved out the door. One of the bulky guys that she knew must be military added his heartfelt apology,

“So sorry, ma’am. Are you hurt?”

She couldn’t believe the size of his arms, the tats that were everywhere, the round face with a couple of days of stubble that stubbornly had curled and matched his long hair framing his ears and the back of his shirt. The ends were lighter and curled up, like a swimmer’s hair. Then she snuck a peek at his startling blue eyes and nearly sent herself backwards, forgetting this evening’s mission.

She’d come to see Jameson perform, but seeing this tight package poured into oversized jeans and rolled up sleeves that could barely hold his biceps in almost made her forget herself. Almost, but not really.

“Ma’am?” he asked again, his brows coming together, covering his worry lines.

“No. Sorry. No. He just stepped on my foot, is all.” She glanced down and saw her heel had come out.

“Here, let me take a peek at that. You sit on over here,” the tatted Adonis insisted.

In thirty seconds, she was the object of their attention, the whole table of them. She counted six and another two lingering by the doorway with three more at a table nearby. They had a collection of a couple dozen empty beers in the center of the two tables. Someone at the bar wasn’t doing his job, she thought.

With her foot and ankle stretched, draped over the guy’s thigh, he unlaced her shoes and then carefully took out her foot. She almost heard a collective sigh from the group.

“Who are you guys?” she asked. None of the men were paying any attention to Jameson, who had come back on stage for his encore.

“Concerned citizens,” someone in a Puerto Rican accent added. “Coop here is a medic, and he’s examining your ankle to make sure you don’t sue the bar.”

“Oh.” She was surprised at that comment. “So you guys are security, then?”

That made the whole group of them chuckle. Someone uttered something and was punched in the arm for his comment. She wished she could have heard it.

“In a manner of speakin’, Ma’am,” answered a handsome African-American man, who had the same baseball cap the others had, reversed. He flashed her a grin with too many teeth. “Name’s Jones, Malcolm Jones. This here is Armando, Jake, Tyler, Luke, T.J., and we got others over there.”

“Well, thank you for watching out for me.” She angled her head to catch a glimpse at the doorway. “You expecting that guy to come back?”

One of the men was chatting up the woman who had wanted to leave, engaging her in a conversation that made her blush.

“Oh, that’s just Alex doing his lady thing. I guess he figures he’s got a ghost of a chance since she has such bad taste,” Jones continued.

“Bad taste?” Lizzie wasn’t sure what he meant.

“Well, we think she came with the dude who’s ass…sorry ma’am…got tossed out of the bar.”

As if he’d heard Jones, the man he’d pointed out as Alex raised his beer and offered to bring the dark-haired lady over for a chat. She stiffened and declined, attempting to leave again, and was gently restrained by Alex.

Jones turned around to watch them. “I guess he doesn’t think it’s a good idea that she follow after that scumbag. Or are they friends of yours?”

“No. I don’t know either one of them. But she’s wearing a wedding band.”

Jones turned around to verify the comment. “That’s a fact.” He focused back on Lizzie. “Good eyes there, sugar.”

She blushed in spite of herself.

“Notice you don’t wear one.” He raised one eyebrow and leaned back to hear her answer while Coop started to insert her foot back into her running shoes.

“You’re fine, I think. Does it hurt at all?” Coop asked her.

“No.” She jumped as his delicate fingers cinched up her laces, and he patted her ankle. No one had ever touched her ankle that way before.

Who were these guys?

The music had stopped, so when she heard Jameson’s deep buttery voice, the back of her neck became sensitive, the sound of his gentle timbre and cadence sending a delicious electric current down her spine, something she remembered from before.

“You guys show up to my gig to give foot massages now? Did Reed over there send you guys here to warm up the crowd?” Jameson asked.

Lizzie removed her leg from Coop’s thigh and sat up, holding down her hair as if she was wearing a wig. She was still getting used to the new bright red color.

“Just checking her out,” said Coop.

“That’s what I’m sayin’. You okay, darlin’?” Jameson kneeled down and looked right into her eyes and didn’t register any recognition whatsoever. The closeness of his face, the smell of the sweat from his performance, and the beads of moisture on his upper lip were all familiar things. Even the mint on his breath was the same. She’d tasted those mints, had a whole drawer full of them at home, and every time she had one, she remembered how he tasted when he bent to kiss her.

It usually left her vacant and wanting. Tonight, seeing him in the flesh, was no exception.

“I’m fine. Thanks for asking,” she answered him. Her voice was a little high and creaky, not her real voice. Her nerves were jumbling her insides.

She’d thought about it every day for the three years plus since she’d last seen Jameson. It had haunted her, how it would be to see him again. To see if he remembered that wonderful week together in North Carolina.

The answer was, painfully, no. He didn’t remember her.

A blonde girl she’d met before somewhere came up behind him, placing her palms on his shoulders and laid claim to him, giving her a smile short on patience.

Jameson rose, adjusted his belt, and slipped his arm around the blonde’s waist.

“So you guys wanna tell me what all happened here, since you weren’t giving foot massages?” Jameson asked.

“Heard a little domestic squabble,” Coop answered. His eyes searched back and forth between Jameson and the blonde. “Maybe he had reason to distrust his wife coming here to see you?” Coop nodded toward the dark-haired beauty at the doorway with Alex.

Jameson cleared his throat and gave the woman a nod. The lady was smiling devilishly back at him.

“I see what you mean,” he answered. But most important to Lizzie was that he didn’t deny anything. Jameson began to crane his neck. “Where’s my Marine guy?”

Coop and several of the others chuckled.

“What? Did I say something wrong?” he asked, as he pulled the blonde closer to him, massaging the top of her neck while she draped over him like a warm blanket.

“I’m sorry,” the handsome Puerto Rican man answered. “That’s no Marine, or even Marine-in-training.”

“Four tours overseas,” insisted Jameson.

“I’d say he’s had no military training, Mr. Jameson, sir. No offense, but I think you hired what we call a poser.” The accented man gave him a lethal wink and then directed it right at Lizzie.

Arlen appeared as if he’d been summoned, introducing himself. A couple of the men asked him questions the bodyguard struggled to answer and was failing miserably. Even Lizzie could see that. The boys didn’t call him on it, just let the conversation dangle. Several started to to leave.

“You okay, Red?” one of the men asked, returning his cap to front position, the picture of an elongated skull adorning the front above the bill. She’d seen it somewhere before.

“Hold it,” Jameson demanded. “You guys friends of the Punisher?”

“Some of us knew him,” the tall medic answered.

“So, you’re SEALs then. That right?”

The accented man stood and rolled his shoulder. “Could be.” Others began to rise and follow his lead.

“What the hell are you doing in Nashville?” asked Jameson.

That seemed to strike a chord with the rest of the boys, several making grunting noises as they laughed.

“We’ve been on a training mission,” said the African-American SEAL.

“The camp. That terrorist camp. You guys did that?”

Several of the young men searched the room. The medic put his finger to his lips. “Jameson, you have yourself a nice night. We’ll be on our way.”

Jameson unhinged himself from the blonde. “Come by tomorrow. Drinks on me. I’ll make sure there’s no cover charge. I’d like to talk to you guys. Seriously, you be here tomorrow—I’m buying. Food, too, if you want.”

“Sure. We’ll see if we can come back. In the meantime, you take care of Arlen, here. He’s gonna need help standing up and sitting down,” laughed another one of the men.

“You coming by tomorrow, Red?” the same young man asked.

She didn’t know what else to do, so she nodded.

“Well, that does it for me, then. I’ll be here,” the SEAL answered Jameson, winking at Lizzie.

One by one, each of the men nodded to her, looking her straight in the eyes, not like men who usually hang out in bars. They left the building, leaving Jameson with the blonde, the dark-haired beauty, and herself.

It was an awkward couple of minutes, until Jameson tipped his hat to the lady at the entrance and then slowly to Lizzie herself. He still didn’t know that she had dreamed about this meeting for years, and that it was over all too soon. Perhaps never to happen again.

Jameson wound his way through the crowd of tables, arm entwined in the blonde’s waistband, as the dark-haired girl disappeared in the opposite direction, out into the night air. All that was left was Lizzie’s heart beating fiercely in her chest. Everyone was gone, leaving her behind, just like that spring.

Except this time it was happening in Nashville.

‡

K
aren was deserving
of more than he had to give her this evening. His mind was stuck on something about the SEALs who came to watch him perform. He was also stuck on the bad decision he’d made hiring Arlen. Then there was the confrontation with the husband and seeing Heather again.

Just twenty-four hours ago, his world had been so carefree. Now it felt complicated, as if some earthquake had moved all the goalposts.

Karen was a lovely girl, even though she put on the red tonight. She’d be easy to live with, to love.

“Honey, all I got is beer and little bottles from the minibar. You’d probably prefer something else, maybe nice wine or something, and I’m not stocked up. We could go out if you wanted.” His feelings were getting complicated. Was he trying to make up for something he’d felt ashamed of? He’d never had this much doubt before, and shrugged it off. Normally he was high as a kite, ready to party to oblivion. The night air was especially cold and threatened rain and she was shivering.

Is this what I’m doing? Going on a date?

“Are you hungry, Jameson?”

“I could do with some carbs, if you’re hungry. I could buy us a nice bottle of something, what? Wine? Just feel bad I don’t have anything other than the minibar, and honey, the hotel room is nothing to write home about. Just warning you.”

“I wasn’t planning on telling a soul.” She kissed him, standing on tiptoes. It did cheer him up a little with her happy countenance. “I don’t have to work tomorrow morning, so I’m good either way. Up to you. How do you feel?”

He wished he didn’t have to be the one to decide all of a sudden.

She agreed to leave her car at the club, and the two of them rode to a little Italian restaurant he’d occasionally visit after a night of partying. The place was beginning to shut down, but the owner knew him and fixed them some pasta and gave them a bottle of house wine. After they ate, he insisted Jameson take the rest of the bottle back home with him.

Inside the hotel room, he left the lights off. It had been a long evening already, and he was starting to get tired. But he owed Karen his full attention, and he was still feeling a twinge of guilt he couldn’t shake off. Images of the upset husband kept playing around in his head, sobering his demeanor. He was wondering what was becoming of his usual stellar judgment.

Her angelic hair glowed in the moonlight as she removed her clothes and slipped under the sheets. He was grateful they weren’t having the drawn out clothes stripping parade he’d had last night.