His muscles flexed and bunched under her fingers, his eyes a little sad. “I didn’t know. I only suspected. Now I know.”
Turning away, he stepped out of the SUV. She clambered out to join him around front, Disco leaping out and running to the nearest squat sago palm tree to mark it. At least he opted for a tree instead of the neatly fenced-in vegetable garden.
Satisfied her dog was safe, she tore her eyes off Disco and did a quick scan of the locale, orienting herself. Marsh grass leaned in the wind blowing a briny breeze across the lawn.
Old skills fired to life. They’d driven southeast, maybe fifteen miles from base. The drive had gone quickly in the night but would undoubtedly take much longer during daytime beach traffic.
Snapping for her dog, she caught up with Liam along the slate pathway. “I wasn’t sure if they would toss Brandon in some military jail or lock him up for a psych eval. I just wanted a chance to get to him first.”
“How can you be so certain he doesn’t need to be in a hospital?” He pivoted hard to face her, bringing her up short.
She palmed his chest. Perspiration lightly dampened his T-shirt and dotted above his mouth. Her gaze sketched along the shape of his mouth as she ached to taste away the salty beads. His eyes locked with hers as he loomed a solid eight inches taller than her. Her body hummed with awareness, her pulse pounding in her ears as loudly as the waves beating against the shore.
Disco nosed her knee, reminding her where they were and what Liam had asked. “What I think about Brandon’s mental state is irrelevant right now in light of the fact we need to find him first.” She peeled her hand from his chest before she did something needy, like beg him to make this all go away. She was stronger than that and damned if she would be naive now. “After that, we can figure out the rest.”
“We’re on the same page then.” He backed away, waving toward the front door. “You met my team buddy Wade in the Bahamas, and now you’ll get to meet his wife, too. It’s best if we say as little as possible about what’s going on. I’ll clue Wade in on the pertinent details, enough to make sure there’s follow-through on solving this if something happens to us.”
Preparing for the worst? She rubbed her arms, which didn’t do a thing to ward off the goose bumps. “What should I say to them if they ask me about the situation?”
“They won’t ask.” He climbed the white wood steps leading up to the tiny landing in front of the door. “I just need to pick up my gear and we’ll hit the road before anyone knows we’ve left the base. Once they do, they’ll be looking for who we were. Not who we’re going to become.”
There it was again. That fuzzy area of gray he embraced so easily. Had she known this about him on some level even as she tried to think only of the civilian-rescue aspect, rather than the dangerous military missions? Intellectually, she understood that pararescuemen were trained in more than just saving people. She’d learned the basic history of the teams from meeting him, how they used to be called parajumpers—PJs—and that the name morphed officially to pararescuemen, even if the PJ nickname stayed in the culture.
They did far more than parachute in. They had to be prepared to fight back an assault that threatened their rescue target. She knew he was an elite warrior.
Knew that there were only about three hundred and fifty like him in the world.
Knew she should be grateful for all he was doing for her—and she was.
But oh God, what if they couldn’t pull this off?
Liam cupped her face. “Trust me.”
Trust? There was that word again. That word she hadn’t allowed herself to consider when thinking of a man in so very long. His strong, callused hands felt familiar even after the months they’d spent apart. What a time to realize the tumultuous arousal she’d felt when they kissed and when he’d woken her, well, those feelings were easy.
The other feelings churning inside her, those were tough as hell. Because, God help her, she had learned to trust again after all.
***
Inside the entryway, Liam watched Rachel follow Sunny Rocha into the homey kitchen before he turned his attention to his teammate Wade. He hated to let Rachel out of sight. But she was safe here, and the two women were both already deep in conversation about their dogs. The Rochas’ malamute-husky mix was sniffing Disco. Wade and Sunny Rocha hadn’t even questioned their showing up an hour before sunrise. Sunny had waved them inside and offered to start a pot of coffee.
For now, Liam had a window of time to get his feet steady on the ground again, arm himself properly, and put together a solid plan. Wade angled his head toward the hall and led Liam past walls packed with framed photos of Alaskan landscapes and mountains. He pushed the door open to the spare room that doubled as a man cave in the two-bedroom bungalow. Uniforms showed in the open closet, his helmet and night vision goggles on top of a file cabinet.
Wade grabbed a T-shirt off the back of the desk chair and tugged it over his head to go with the low-slung sweatpants he must have stepped into on his way to the door. “You’re cruising late tonight.”
“I’m going out of town for a couple of days.” He hated putting Rocha in this position, but as long as he guarded his words carefully, there would be nothing said that compromised any of his teammates. He was their leader, their CRO—combat rescue officer. He didn’t want any of this coming off as an order. “If people come asking about me, tell them everything. Don’t hold anything back, thinking that you’re protecting me. I’ll be fine.”
“If someone comes asking for you?”
“I’m hoping things will be chill.” If Sylvia had been straight up in saying she had his back covered. He hadn’t discounted that she could be following some other agenda. Although he couldn’t fathom what she had to gain in making herself look bad by losing the people she’d been assigned to watch.
Liam dropped onto the black leather sofa. “If all’s well, then I’ve already been cleared off the schedule for the next couple of days and you won’t need to answer jack.”
“Does this have anything to do with the OSI interview earlier?” Wade sat in the office chair across from him.
Since Wade and Cuervo had been called in, giving them some of the lowdown wouldn’t compromise them as long as he stuck with what they could have overheard while standing in the hall with him.
“There’s a loose cannon out there, a lieutenant named Brandon Harris. He’s wrestling with PTSD and making some wild accusations. He says he’s got proof of a conspiracy set to play out at the satellite summit. His ramblings have stirred up a firestorm, and Rachel got sucked in when she tried to help.”