SEAL Under Covers (SEAL Brotherhood Series Book 3) (12 page)

Careful, you dog. You’re gonna get into trouble.

“You have no right to talk to me like that,” she shouted. “What we did was a mistake!”

Armando looked around the beach area to see if they had attracted attention. It was nearly deserted.

She was still angry, but she didn’t leave. Perhaps she wanted to pick a fight. Well, she was playing with the wrong person for that one.

“Okay, Gina. I get that it was a mistake. What’s with all this big drama?”

“What you said.”

“What
I
said. Seems like—” he squinted his eyes as he thought better of what he was about to say. “Never mind. Erase that thought.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “You think it was a mistake. Okay, so be it. I’m totally hands-off from this point on. I see you, I say and do nothing. That what you’re asking for, Gina?”

That one got to her. He could see her eyes widen. Unless he was totally mistaken, her anger had flared, and that wasn’t the reaction he expected.

She sizzled a bit, turning and sighing in frustration, and then she added, “Fine.” Her delivery was followed by a speedy turnaround and exit toward the parking lot.

So here we are again in sunny San Diego, enjoying the view.

But he could tell she really didn’t want to run away from him. And that was kind of exciting on all sorts of levels.

Chapter 11

Damn the man!

Gina was furious with him for his obvious lack of manners. But she was more furious with herself for being so flustered and not knowing exactly what to do. His words reverberated in her ears.
I’m the one who made you come so many times you almost couldn’t walk…
or something to that effect, anyhow.

Awful part of it all, she thought as she arrived at her car, was that he was right. She steeled herself to not look back at him.

Why?

What if he wasn’t watching her drive off? What if he was?

What the fuck difference does it make?

Her boss had asked that she cool it with the SEAL. Well, she’d just poured a gallon of ice water on that gorgeous hunk of man candy. The guy who’d shown her more rockets than the Fourth of July.

She started her car and began to edge out from the curb.

I’m not going to look. I’m not going to look.

And then she looked. She got a glimpse of him running down the beach, waving to someone south of him. So, he wasn’t looking. Did it matter?

That’s when the car coming from behind hit her.

Fuck!

She put her head in her hands and rested it on the steering wheel. Talk about control. Lack of control, rather. She’d just wrecked the right side of her car, because she’d been thinking about screwing the SEAL in the back seat of some dipshit old pickup instead of watching where she was going.

Where is your head, Gina? Think!

A young college-aged boy knocked on her driver window. “Are you all right, ma’am?” she could hear him say through the shattered glass.

This wasn’t helping.
Ma’am? Am I that old?
She rolled down her window, which crumbled and fell in shattered pebbles all over the pavement. She stared at the damaged right side of the boy’s car, and then over to her rear driver side. The tire was flat, the wheel well concave a full six inches. Her car was not going to be drivable.

“I’m so sorry,” she began, and then tears filled her eyes. “I’m fine, but my car…” Cars were weaving around the accident. She was suddenly the center of attention as frustrated motorists and onlookers glared at her.

I’m an airhead of the first order.

Armando returned to his Hummer after his run on the beach. It felt good to get the tension out of his system. He’d found Marky, Kyle, and Jones and he’d dovetailed into their run as easy as pasting a stamp on a letter. Seamless, that’s how their friendship was. Simple. Uncomplicated. He liked uncomplicated.

He was going to join Kyle at the store on base so he could finally pick up his long-awaited order. The Velcro was not exactly the width he wanted, but it would work. The plastic hooks and fabric were perfect.

Kyle was taking over Brandon duty while his wife, Christy, showed a house. Armando saw the three of them walk in just as he was about to check out.

“Hey there, little man,” he said to the baby, who was strapped backwards to Kyle’s massive chest. The baby’s fat arms and legs bicycled as he started an excited bouncing routine when he saw Uncle Armando. “Hey, gorgeous,” he said to Christy as he gave her a kiss on the cheek. She was dressed to the nines.

“Watch it, Armani,” Kyle growled

“You let her strut in here all dressed up like that? What the fuck you thinking?” he teased his LPO.

Christy beamed. “At least someone appreciates high heels and tight skirts. This one prefers me barefoot and pregnant.”

“Workin’ on it. Workin’ it hard,” Kyle said while Brandon flailed his arms and legs. “Okay, Babe, go make us millionaires today,” he said as he kissed his wife goodbye.

Armando was happy for Kyle and Christy. He was happy for all the guys who met women who were strong enough to handle their intensity. Gina was a pistol all right, but she had a hair emotional trigger, which was one thing in the bedroom, but entirely another one when it came to living in his world. He forced himself to focus on what he
did
have.

“What you up to?”

“Gotta go talk to Chief Timmons for a sec. You wanna tag along? We got that poker party tonight.”

“You going to expose your son to that? A little soon, don’t you think?” Armando said as they walked to the parking lot.

“No choice. Christy’s got a company dinner and I had the choice. Go with her and get a sitter, or go with you guys and bring the little dude along with me.”

“You let her go out to those functions without you, man?”

Kyle shrugged. “I’m the one she comes home to.” He started to unstrap Brandon. Armando protested. “Leave him be. I’ll drive you over there.”

“Watch out for those Navy regulars or you’ll get a ticket,” Kyle said as he took up position at shotgun.

“And my millionaire friend will gladly pay it too.”

“Shit, I wish. It’s expensive being married. We couldn’t do it without Christy’s income. She makes more money than I do now. Isn’t that fucked up?”

“Nah. I look at her and I think you got it pretty damned good, Kyle. Wife, baby, and she brings home the bacon too. She doesn’t happen to have a sister, does she?”

“Brother, but they’re not close. Gunny said you was getting cute with that friend of Mia’s.”

“Thing of the past, I’m afraid.”

“Sorry to hear it.”

“Happens. You know that.”

“Roger that. Guess I was just lucky Christy couldn’t read house numbers.” He’d met his wife when she’d entered the wrong home to hold an open house for a fellow agent. Armando’s home.

“Well, she was smart enough to marry you. I’d say you both got lucky.”

They pulled up in front of the brick single-story building that housed command offices. Armando wondered what the reason for the visit was. “Everything okay here?”

“Wanna find out about our training, see if I can get the skinny on where we’re headed. Christy wants to plan a vacation, and if we’re going to Mexico, well, I might do an extension and meet her somewhere nearby after our training.”

“As opposed to Alaska.”

“That girl would never go to Alaska. San Francisco’s about as cold as she’s willing to be.”

Timmons was looking even more tired than the last time Armando saw him. The chief’s desk was covered in papers, even though he’d hired one of Daisy’s friends, a woman who was a “spacialist.” Half the Team guys thought for a while that maybe he’d kicked the bucket, his desk and office had been so clean. But now the attractive bookshelves with the neat rows of forms, like cornrows, were covered over in plastic banners, jackets, rolled-up recruiting posters and a box of donuts that was still there from a month ago. A broken paper shredder with its electrical umbilical cord snaking over the top sat in front of the bottom two shelves, partially obscuring the contents

The chief’s retirement was coming up at the end of the year, and he’d been in a disagreeable mood ever since it was announced almost eight months ago. He looked up from an inch-thick wad of papers held with a silver binder clip. The eyes said it all. Though tired, he perked up when he saw little Brandon. It was well-known he loved children and tolerated his wife.

“Well there’s our newest frogman. How you doin’ there, fella?” He let the baby grab onto his forefinger. “Wow, he’s strong. Been working out at Gunny’s?”

“Yeah. He’s going for everything these days. Started pulling himself up at six months,” Kyle answered.

Armando looked at the frog statue behind his LPO. The replacement one for the first replacement. The green color was off.

“So, what can I do you for?” Timmons asked.

“Was wondering if you know where we’re doing our training.”

“Afghanistan.”

“No shit? No way, Timmons.” Kyle was livid.

“Just messing with you. Looks like the Nevada desert. Doing some coordination with the drone druids, and we got a new 50-cal we’re trying out.”

“That’s a shame,” Kyle said. “Was hoping for Mexico.”

“Be patient, my man. It’s kinda ugly, but Nevada has its perks.”

The baby was beginning to squeal, so Kyle unstrapped him and hiked him over his left shoulder. Armando could smell the full diaper Kyle hadn’t noticed.

“Well, that’s just too damned bad. Can I tell some of the guys?” Kyle hitched the squirming Brandon a little higher. It was too high.

Brandon reached for, and got, the frog statue by the thigh. Before Kyle could rescue the Team mascot, purchased in honor of Timmons on occasion of their graduation from BUD/S, and replaced now twice, the statue went crashing to the floor. Shards of bright green glass scattered everywhere.

Brandon knew he’d done something wrong and stared into the face of his father without moving a muscle. He put one finger in his mouth.

No one said a word.

The poker party was just the kind of thing Armando needed. Fredo’s apartment already smelled of cigars, sweat and beer by the time he and Kyle arrived. Gunny was having a serious discussion in the kitchen with his son, the kind of discussion a man wasn’t supposed to overhear, but both Kyle and Armando knew it was advice about women.

Kyle leaned closer. “Does he not realize he’s talking to the son of the woman he knocked up?”

“You know how Gunny is. I’d say he’s trying to make up for the years he doesn’t have left.”

Kyle looked down at Brandon, who was now fast asleep, having received a change of diaper and a full bottle. “I could never do that, man. Abandon my kid.”

“Those were different times, my friend. Gunny knew he’d never settle down and get domestic. He knew the Marines were his family. And we are his offspring. I can’t think of where I’d be if he hadn’t driven my ass home some of those early days.”

“That’s for sure,” Kyle agreed.

“Besides, I think the kid grew up just fine. Probably better with her than with Gunny. Can you see that old fart getting old in Thailand?”

They both laughed.

Armando thought about all the dirty ports and third-world countries Gunny had waded through in his quest to find exotic love and bury his demons. The sea was a good place for burying things. Deep and cold, it never gave back what it was given. God bless the old fart, Armando thought. All he wanted was a little excitement, some loving arms and a warm smile. Gunny’s needs were simple. Maybe like his own.

If he hadn’t made it into the SEAL Brotherhood, would he have done regular Navy and traveled those same ports looking for pieces of himself all over the world?

Armando knew the wharf in San Diego where the nice yachts were moored. He imagined the collection of million-dollar vessels that occasionally cavorted with their Navy boats out on maneuvers. He’d seen the smart attire of the rich and famous as they pretended to get out in nature’s elements while they did dives and long swims in the oily waters of the bay.

It was also the favorite place to dump a stolen car, or what was left of it after it had been stripped. Growing up, he’d known
that
life was not what he wanted, but he hadn’t yet learned what he
did
want. He’d take dates to the pier to watch the sun set and pretend he was one of those rich boys who commanded their father’s yachts.

Then he discovered soccer. He even toyed with pursuing a professional career, but didn’t have the money for the private lessons he needed to make a top team and get noticed by college coaches. His grades were good, but not exceptional, so the chances of getting a college scholarship were nonexistent.

Then one day he had a talk with the Navy recruiter who came to his high school and from that day on, all he wanted was to be a SEAL.

He thought about the string of warehouses they’d used a time or two when it was a big thing to steal a fifth of Jack Daniels and spend the night getting drunk and attempting to get laid. At fourteen, his prospects were slim, but the ladies liked him anyhow, and if he was drunk it didn’t matter how old they were or if they weren’t very pretty.

Thank God I found the Navy.
He’d been a good swimmer in Puerto Rico, and someone had suggested the swim team in high school. He could out-swim everybody, but he would never show up for practice, so he was booted off the team. Soccer became his new passion, and half the guys never showed up for that, either, since most of their players had part time jobs after school, so it worked for him. He began to feel the pride of playing on a winning team, and saw himself with more of a future. Stealing cars and getting into trouble didn’t have the pull it had before.

But swimming got him noticed in BUD/S, and helped make him a SEAL. He’d finally found something he could do all day long and not regret it the next day. He could work like a dog and get up again the next day and
want
to do it all over again. Being a SEAL was something he truly was made for.