Operation Summer Storm (27 page)

She’d been so sure he had cared about her the way she cared for him, but now she wasn’t sure she could trust her instincts. Had he simply used her? Was he so used to sweeping women off their feet that he could lie so convincingly, about his feelings, then toss them aside when he was finished without a backward glance?

Willow went silent on the other end of the line before releasing a long sigh. “They seem to think the trial will be wrapped up in another day, or two. Then he’ll be free of this mess once and for all,” Willows words broke into her anguished thoughts. “I’m sure he’ll call and let you know why he did the things he did,” she soothed.

“You always said I was the naïve one,” Summer said bitterly. “He’s back with his precious Marine Corp. He doesn’t need anything else,” she snarled, tearing her eyes from the grey skies, outside.

Willow paused. “I thought you’d be happy.”

Immediately, shame washed over her. “I know I should be Willow, but the thought of seeing him just makes me realize…” she stopped—unable to label the true depth of her emotions for this man she had no future with.

Willow’s words softened, “Maybe things will change now that it’s all over.”

Summer sat silently on the end of the line. It didn’t change a thing.

Later that afternoon, Summer had a desperate need to over haul her life. She started with her flat. She would live life the way she wanted—not merely exist, waiting for something wonderful to land on her doorstep.

She needed a change. The idea had popped into her head as she cleaned. Maybe she’d start traveling—of course this time, she wouldn’t be crawling through jungles, she’d do it in style—stay at resorts maybe even take one of those tour group holidays. The possibilities seemed endless.

Looking at her watch, she noticed it was almost midday. She made herself a sandwich and a cup of coffee, and stood eating it in the kitchen, looking over at her laptop, on the bench. She’d done her best to ignore it ever since Willow had rang, but the urge to open the email, made her grit her teeth in frustration.

Stalking back and forward in front of the bench she dithered between wanting to watch the broadcast, or just delete the damn thing. Finally, with a growl of frustration, she moved toward the laptop, every nerve ending in her body tingling in nervous anticipation, which she determinedly tried to ignore. Waiting for the computer to start up, she drummed her fingernails on the bench top impatiently.

“I’ll watch it once, then I’ll delete it.”

Clicking the link in the email, she opened the file and immediately felt the breath leave her body in a whoosh, like a deflated balloon. There he was, ignoring the cameras and the reporters in such a typical, ‘Tate’ way that she felt a smile touch her lips at the sight. He looked so damn handsome in his military uniform, those dark eyes, as guarded as ever—unrelenting, as he sat in the courtroom—the perfect picture of a hardcore, military man.

Summer sighed, hesitated, then clicked play and watched it once more.

* * * *

Honolulu, Oahu

Three months later.

Tate sat sprawled on his chair, staring moodily at the beer in his hand. He couldn’t figure out why even it didn’t taste right anymore. He’d been trying to get into the spirit of enjoying their leave—like old times, but couldn’t shake this bored—restless tension that had plagued him for the last few weeks.

They’d made it to the trial, given their testimony, and they’d done their duty. Then within days they’d been sent back in to the field. No rest for the wicked—he’d thought at the time. Just the same old routine—following orders and getting the job done.

He was tired. It all seemed to come down to that one simple fact.

Nights like tonight, where he should be blowing off steam—celebrating a job well done—no longer held any appeal. The women who ultimately hung around looking for a good time and free drinks did nothing except annoy him with their brittle laughter and come hither looks. He craved a woman he could hold a conversation with.

He wanted someone with a sense of humor—someone who could annoy him to the point of committing homicide one second, only to drive him crazy with desire the next. He wanted…Summer Sheldon.

He may as well be wishing for the moon.

Leaning forward he put his unfinished beer on the table, and stood. “I’m outta here,” he said with a sardonic look at the others.

“What?” Del eyed him with a frown, “We only just got here—come on man, sit down and relax.”

“Nah, I’m gonna’ head back to base.” His decision was met with a good deal of protest—the strongest coming from the disgruntled redhead who had been sideling up to him all night.

“We haven’t even danced yet,” she pouted in a breathless—sexy huff.

“Sorry darlin’. I don’t dance,” he told her blandly, trying to ease himself away from her slithering attempts to change his mind.

Sliding her arms around his neck, she whispered in his ear, “Come on baby, I’ll make it worth your while.”

With a shake of his head, he gave a rueful laugh, “A few months ago I would have been tempted,” he told her putting his hands up to disentangle her grip from his neck. Hell, he thought, a year ago he would have already had her on her back and been onto his second blonde by now
—
but that was then.

He wondered if something might be wrong with him, he was a healthy active Male, who should have a healthy active sex drive—only he didn’t. No woman had managed to raise his interest—or any other appendage since he’d left Summer on the deck of that cargo ship. He was apparently doomed to walk the rest of his life sex-less. The thought only served to depress him further.

He sat in his car in the car park, with only the soft glow of the interior light to see by, and flipping open his wallet, took out the small picture of Summer he kept there. After the trial had wrapped up they’d been ordered to give an exclusive as part of the deal Willow’s husband had negotiated, and Willow had slipped him the photo, with a ghost of a smile, before she walked away at the end of the interview.

It had been taken on a beach. The blue sky and clear water framed Summer as she stood watching the waves wash over her ankles. Her face was alight with a smile, and the photo had caught everything that was beautiful about her. He wasn’t sure why Willow had given him the photo, and he’d forced himself not to take it out, and stare at it all day long, like a lovesick moron, but there were times when the urge to touch her face in the picture, became too strong to ignore. Tucking it back into his wallet, he started the ignition, and as he listened to the low purr of his engine, he knew this had to end.

* * * *

‘Wild Willies Bar’

Kuta, Bali

Summer pushed open the door of the bar and suppressed a weary sigh. Why was she constantly meeting people in shabby backstreet alley bars?

She’d decided to flex her new found wings and head back to Bali for a short break. She’d been doing double shifts the last few weeks, in an effort to stop moping and feeling sorry for herself. In the end, her NUM, had all but ordered her to take a break, and she knew she must be looking as bad as she felt, if the hospital—always under staffed—had noticed.

Bali, had not been her first choice of destination, but when she’d mentioned the fact she had some time off to Willow, her sister had suggested Summer meet her for a few days while she was in the area, covering a new story, and it seemed like a plan.

This, however, did not seem like a plan. What was Willow thinking? This place looked like a place where criminals hung out…or hardened mercenaries…clamping down on that line of thought, Summer took a seat at the bar, and nervously toyed with a coaster in front of her. She waited for the bar tender, in a grimy apron, to finish a deep and meaningful counseling session, with a drunk at the other end of the bar.

“Are you waiting for me?”

Summer froze at the voice coming from behind her it couldn’t be—she had to be hallucinating. Slowly, she lifted her eyes to the smudged mirror behind the bar and a cocktail of emotions exploded inside her. She knew, she should move—should speak, but for the life of her, she couldn’t force a single word past her lips. Still holding her gaze, in the mirror, he moved, and took a seat on the bar stool next to her. Dropping his probing gaze, she stared down at the top of the bar, suddenly finding the years of scratches and dents on its surface fascinating.

“So, what happens now? You send me back to my cockroach-ridden room and wait for a call? Or can we just get down to business?” he murmured in that low, deep voice, she still found incredibly sexy, even now, as she felt betrayed and bruised. Throwing the words she’d used not so very long ago on their first meeting, back at her now, managed to throw her off balance, and she snapped her gaze toward him.

“You’ll be waiting until hell freezes over, before I call you, so maybe you should just go there and wait.”

A small quirk of his eyebrow was the only expression that indicated his surprise at the sting in her tone.

“What are you doing here Tate?”

“I wanted to see you.”

“After three months, you suddenly had a burning desire to come half way around the world and see me?” She asked doubtfully.

“I’m sorry about the way we left things back on the ship. I was only allowed in on that op if I gave my word to be on the chopper immediately after. I was supposed to be in protective custody,” he said with a heartfelt sigh. “I had no choice.”

“I guess everything worked out for the best then, didn’t it?”

“It had nothing to do with you,” he sighed wearily.

“Nothing to do with me?” she gasped in total disbelief. “You might have mentioned that fact to the raving lunatic who kidnapped me,” she stopped, making an effort to lower her voice, “-he seemed to think I had a lot to do with it.”

“Tréago won’t be bothering anyone again for a long time.”

“Congratulations,” she told him blandly, dropping her eyes as she felt frustrated tears beginning to well once again, and turned her back on him to slide off the stool.

“Don’t go,” he said, his request sounding more like a plea, “stay and—”

“What?” she asked spinning back to confront him. “Talk about old times? Catch up on news? We have nothing left to talk about Tate. We had a business arrangement that went a little off track, but it’s over now. You’re a free man and I’m no longer your problem.”

“You’d think it would be that simple wouldn’t you?”

She couldn’t do this, he was too close, he smelled too good and he was bringing back so many painful longings inside her that she would soon weaken, and have no way of protecting her fragile heart again, when he walked away from her again, as he would surely have to do. “We have nothing left to talk about,” she slid from the stool and headed outside, desperately needing to breathe fresh air, and stop the throbbing of a pending headache, waiting to pounce. Outside the humid air filled, her lungs and she breathed deeply, unable to stop the tears that ran down her face, an aftermath of her initial shock.

“Summer?”

She stiffened instantly as her name spoken in a slightly husky voice came from behind.

“Are you going to walk all the way back into Kuta?” he asked behind her, with maddening reason.

“Yes,” she answered gritting her teeth as she realized to call a taxi she’d have to go back inside and she would rather swallow broken glass than do that. As he fell in to step beside her she sent him an irritated frown. “What are you doing?”

“You seriously think I’d leave you to walk alone, around here?”

“I don’t know, you seem able to switch, when you leave me alone, on and off like a light switch,” she muttered.

Placing his hand on her arm, Tate turned her to face him, mid stride. “I already told you,” he growled. “I had no choice about leaving you on that cargo ship. I had my orders.”

Summer closed her eyes, she knew why he’d done it, and she understood the pressure he’d been under, the truth was, she couldn’t let herself forgive him, or soften towards him because that would mean having to watch him leave her again, and she’d come here to forget him. As he tugged her forward, she opened her eyes with a start and found a cab pulling over beside them as Tate dragged her behind him.

“What are you doing?” she snapped.

“We’re going to talk,” he informed her, ignoring her look of outrage.

“Like hell!”

“Get in Summer.”

Gritting her teeth, she allowed him to prod her into the cab ahead of him, without a word. She didn’t want to make a scene out here. They traveled in silence until familiar landmarks began to flash by and she knew where they were once more. “I’m staying at the—” she started to tell him but he cut her off.

“I know where you’re staying.”

“How did you know where I was tonight?”

Tate slid a glance towards her and seemed to be debating whether to tell her the truth. “I spoke to Willow.”

Summer gaped at him. Her own sister had sold her out to the man she’d been trying to forget? Slumping back against the seat, she tried to digest everything that had unfolded tonight. The taxi pulled up in front of her motel, and Summer scooted across the back seat to exit the vehicle, as fast as she could. She didn’t want to face Tate now, she needed time to recollect her scattered wits and rebuild her shield, making sure there were no little gaps he could sneak through and penetrate her good sense again.