spite of its tight grip on his.
She didn’t need to know the lengths that someone would go to to get rid of her. It would have been enough that Tristan and his team were aware of the real threat. Someone definitely wanted Staci out of the way, most likely because he thought that she had enough intel to stop him from reaching his ultimate objective.
Tristan patted her shoulder with his free hand, hoping against hope that she wouldn’t dissolve into tears. Sure, he had practice thanks to his sister, Ashley, who was prone to emotional outbursts. Even if she claimed they were a result of her pregnancy. But he could barely handle a weepy Ashley, and he didn’t have a clue what to do with a near stranger in a crying fit.
Staci took a shaking breath, straightening her shoulders and letting go of him to lock her hands in front of her. After several quick flutters of her long lashes, she cleared her throat. “Well, that’s going to put a damper on my reacclimation.”
Zig and Willie let loose with laughs so loud that they almost dwarfed her hesitant grin. But her smile wouldn’t be thwarted so easily, and she glanced up at him out of the corner of her eye. The lift in the corner of her mouth showed off just a few white teeth and tugged on the puckered skin along the red scar in front of her ear.
He offered her a matching half smile. “I guess it would.”
What was this woman like in the real world? In the grit of an op, in the face of a death threat, she followed orders and then cracked jokes.
But what about on a sunny Sunday afternoon? Did she like to walk barefoot on the beach? Or sit in a comfy chair, reading a book? Or snuggle on the couch in front of a football game?
Her gaze flicked from his face to the dismantled bomb and back, her posture tightening just enough for him to notice. The device was useless now, but the pile of wires still had enough power to make her uncomfortable in her own home.
“Zig, why don’t you and the guys take that out to the truck?” He motioned toward the brown wrapper. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Willie wiggled his eyebrows but stayed blessedly silent as the three men scooped up the dismembered pieces and marched toward the front door, closing it so silently behind them that Staci looked around his shoulder to make sure it had been pulled tight.
When she was certain they were alone, she crossed her arms over her chest, sinking against the counter, using it to hold her up. He’d done that for her a time or two. He’d kept her standing and running in Lybania and kept her from hitting the ground after her car accident.
And if the sudden pinch in his gut was an indicator, he wouldn’t mind having that job again.
And that was a dangerous attitude to have.
His CO had always been clear about the rules surrounding rescue missions. Tristan’s anonymity was paramount. He’d seen the commander lay into SEALs who’d played loose and fast with pictures on social media, posting hints to their role on the teams and leaving the kids too visible to go undercover.
The rescued was the story. Not the rescuer.
And outside of all of that, there was still the personal reason. He knew how exciting and romantic women thought it would be to date a SEAL. And he also knew just how risky those relationships could be. It wasn’t just a question of the danger he had to face, or the secrets he had to keep, even from the ones he loved the most. No, the hardest part was just how often he was away. How many birthdays he missed, how many anniversaries went uncelebrated. How many times someone he loved needed him at home, when instead he was half a world away. If he couldn’t trust himself to be there to take care of the woman he loved, then he had no right to get involved in the first place. He’d learned that the hard way, and he sure didn’t need any reminders.
If he were a smart man—and graduating at the top of his class at the Naval Academy suggested he was—he’d walk away from Staci
She didn’t need to know the lengths that someone would go to to get rid of her. It would have been enough that Tristan and his team were aware of the real threat. Someone definitely wanted Staci out of the way, most likely because he thought that she had enough intel to stop him from reaching his ultimate objective.
Tristan patted her shoulder with his free hand, hoping against hope that she wouldn’t dissolve into tears. Sure, he had practice thanks to his sister, Ashley, who was prone to emotional outbursts. Even if she claimed they were a result of her pregnancy. But he could barely handle a weepy Ashley, and he didn’t have a clue what to do with a near stranger in a crying fit.
Staci took a shaking breath, straightening her shoulders and letting go of him to lock her hands in front of her. After several quick flutters of her long lashes, she cleared her throat. “Well, that’s going to put a damper on my reacclimation.”
Zig and Willie let loose with laughs so loud that they almost dwarfed her hesitant grin. But her smile wouldn’t be thwarted so easily, and she glanced up at him out of the corner of her eye. The lift in the corner of her mouth showed off just a few white teeth and tugged on the puckered skin along the red scar in front of her ear.
He offered her a matching half smile. “I guess it would.”
What was this woman like in the real world? In the grit of an op, in the face of a death threat, she followed orders and then cracked jokes.
But what about on a sunny Sunday afternoon? Did she like to walk barefoot on the beach? Or sit in a comfy chair, reading a book? Or snuggle on the couch in front of a football game?
Her gaze flicked from his face to the dismantled bomb and back, her posture tightening just enough for him to notice. The device was useless now, but the pile of wires still had enough power to make her uncomfortable in her own home.
“Zig, why don’t you and the guys take that out to the truck?” He motioned toward the brown wrapper. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Willie wiggled his eyebrows but stayed blessedly silent as the three men scooped up the dismembered pieces and marched toward the front door, closing it so silently behind them that Staci looked around his shoulder to make sure it had been pulled tight.
When she was certain they were alone, she crossed her arms over her chest, sinking against the counter, using it to hold her up. He’d done that for her a time or two. He’d kept her standing and running in Lybania and kept her from hitting the ground after her car accident.
And if the sudden pinch in his gut was an indicator, he wouldn’t mind having that job again.
And that was a dangerous attitude to have.
His CO had always been clear about the rules surrounding rescue missions. Tristan’s anonymity was paramount. He’d seen the commander lay into SEALs who’d played loose and fast with pictures on social media, posting hints to their role on the teams and leaving the kids too visible to go undercover.
The rescued was the story. Not the rescuer.
And outside of all of that, there was still the personal reason. He knew how exciting and romantic women thought it would be to date a SEAL. And he also knew just how risky those relationships could be. It wasn’t just a question of the danger he had to face, or the secrets he had to keep, even from the ones he loved the most. No, the hardest part was just how often he was away. How many birthdays he missed, how many anniversaries went uncelebrated. How many times someone he loved needed him at home, when instead he was half a world away. If he couldn’t trust himself to be there to take care of the woman he loved, then he had no right to get involved in the first place. He’d learned that the hard way, and he sure didn’t need any reminders.
If he were a smart man—and graduating at the top of his class at the Naval Academy suggested he was—he’d walk away from Staci
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