Hot SEALs: SEAL's Ultimate Challenge by Elle James Page A

deliberate, she’d find the bastard.
    “Why do you ask?”
    “I’m curious.”
    “Casual curiosity, or something happened to you that makes you think you might be targeted for retribution?”
    Leigha had always been impressed with Caitlynn’s ability to see through the bullshit and get down to the nitty-gritty. “I was rear-ended last night.”
    “Fender bender?”
    “Three times by the same vehicle.”
    “I see.” Caitlynn paused. “I’ll have my secretary get right on the task. In the meantime, you might want to stay with a friend or family.”
    Reaper had suggested the same, even volunteering to stay with her. Having the SEAL spend the night in her apartment would have been a complete disaster. “Thanks, Caitlynn. Anything you have will help.”
    “Be vigilant.” The P.A. rang off, and Leigha stared at her cell phone for a long moment. Two people had given her the advice of staying with someone else. Maybe she was being too casual about the incident.
    Her lunch hour over, she went back to work and kept busy for the rest of the day, working with warriors who had a lot more to deal with than she did. She focused on them and resigned everything else to the back of her mind for after she left work at the end of the day. Reaper’s replacement showed up for his appointment slot, and Leigha couldn’t help the twinge of disappointment, but she moved on, giving her new patient all the care and attention he deserved.
    Perhaps Reaper would request a different therapist and save her the trouble of doing it herself. That would be just fine. She didn’t need to be involved with him. He was far too dangerous to her mind and body.
    REAPER SAT ACROSS the table from Jon Rudnick at a bistro not far from the rehab facility.
    Jon stared at Reaper’s stump, shaking his head. “It’s a shame you lost an arm, but I’m glad you’re alive.” He glanced up and smiled across the table.
    Reaper fought the urge to wince, wondering how much time had to pass before he didn’t feel a stab of pain over the loss of his arm. “Have you found anything yet?”
    “My computer guy is still working on the search. Hopefully he’ll have something by the end of the day.”
    “I appreciate the effort. Let me know what I owe you.”
    Jon waved a hand. “You don’t owe me anything.”
    His hand fisted. “I don’t need your charity.”
    “It’s not charity. Consider it a brother helping a brother.”
    “I don’t need help.”
    “Well, maybe I do.”
    Reaper snorted and stared across the table at Jon. “How can I help you ?”
    “Good to see you’re staying in good shape.” Jon nodded toward Reaper’s left arm. “How’s your aim?”
    “Are you kidding me?” He waved his stump. “Gone.”
    Jon didn’t rise to Reaper’s angry response, continuing with a calm tone, “What about your left hand?”
    Surprised by his question and a little curious for the reason, Reaper shrugged. “Not as good.”
    “With practice, do you think you could fire expert?”
    The image of the paper target passed through his mind. He shrugged. “Maybe.”
    Jon’s jaw tightened and he leaned toward Reaper. “I need a yes or no answer.”
    “Yes,” Reaper answered, suddenly sure. The short practice on the range the night before assured him he could do it in a relatively short amount of time. He just hadn’t been ready to admit the fact, still somewhat unsure of his full capabilities. Like Leigha said, he had a lot more going for him than not.
    Jon nodded and leaned back in his seat. “I have a proposition for you. A potential job offer.”
    Reaper raised his left hand. “If it’s anything requiring me to sit behind a desk forty hours a week, thanks.” He gave a definitive head shake. “But I’m not interested.”
    “I don’t need a secretary. Already got one. What I need are trained SEALs who’ve experienced combat and aren’t afraid of being shot at.”
    What in hell is he talking about? “For what purpose?”
    “To provide