Tawny Weber - Call To Engage

Then.

Now, though, she was stronger. She’d learned to stand on her own feet, to defend herself and, yes, to watch her own ass if necessary. But Mack wasn’t ready to give up his role as her overprotective caretaker. He was stubborn that way.

“If you won’t join the tour, how about a hike through Glass Beach this weekend? I’m free Saturday morning.”

“Just us, or are you educating a bunch of strangers on the beauty of the Napa River and the history and ecosystem of the wetlands?”

“Just us,” Chloe promised before her smile winked out. “Unless Bones makes it home for the weekend.”

“Have you heard from him?” Ava asked cautiously.

“No. But I’m sure I will any day now.” Frowning at Ava’s doubtful look, Chloe shook her head. “We’ve been together since we were fourteen. You don’t spend a decade with a person and not know them. This is just a phase. Something he has to get out of his system. Believe me—he will be back.”

“Okay. Just, you know, don’t get your hopes up too high,” Ava warned before heading for the locker room.

She knew there was no point in saying more than that. Any lecture she offered would fall on deaf ears. But she knew for a fact that men didn’t change. But women did, as Ava had proven. All it’d taken was a hideous bout of depression, a couple of exercise classes and a pulled muscle to completely change her life.

Spinning had led to kettlebells, which led to yoga, then to weight lifting. Next thing she knew, she was teaching kickboxing, certified in Pilates and attending weeklong training camps in exercise instruction. One of those camps had hooked her on the benefits of massage for training the body, inspiring her to get licensed. Now, after another year of training, she’d added a rehabilitation massage certification to her roster.

Not bad for a woman who, until the age of twenty, had been convinced that the sum total of her ambitions were to hold the crown of socialite princess, to be a perfect wife and to always look pretty.

Thank God she’d escaped that life. It would have been pure hell.

* * *

ESCAPE COULD ONLY last for so long.

Experience and familiarity got Elijah through the team debriefing without a problem, but by the time they got to his individual round, he was feeling raw.

But, again, experience and familiarity got him through.

Still, he was damned glad to hear, “Dismissed, Prescott.”

Gut churning and his throat hot from keeping his voice at an even keel, Elijah nodded to the two Naval Intelligence officers and Admiral Cree. He offered his salute, turned on his heel and strode out. And he didn’t breathe fully until he’d cleared the room.

“You okay? Damn, Prescott, you look rough.”

Ignoring that, Elijah nodded to the ensign manning the desk and continued into the hallway. He wasn’t surprised when Jarrett joined him, matching his pace as they passed both military and civilian personnel until they’d reached the end of the hall.

“Debriefing can be rough, but I’ve never seen you come out looking this worn. Seriously,” Jarrett said, sounding concerned, “are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Like Jarrett, Elijah stopped at the double doors. The sun filtered through the small windows, dust motes dancing between them. “I finished debriefing. I’m cleared.”

“Hey, I just wanted to give you a heads-up.” Jarrett made a show of glancing to the left, then to the right before leaning closer. “Watch your six.”

“Why? Someone coming down on my ass?”

“I’m hearing a lot of buzz. Worry, doubts, that sort of thing. Some are saying Poseidon is, and I quote, a ‘fancy-ass clique rallying around a loser in the name of protecting their own.’” Jarrett rolled his eyes as if to say it was ridiculous. But if it was ridiculous, why bother with the warning? “Just wanted you to know.”

Elijah met Jarrett’s frown with a look of calm. Not because that’s how he was feeling—hell, no. The warning, on top of a brutal debriefing, had his gut twisted with a miserable sort of fury. But there was no point confirming the gossip that he was a mess. “I’m good,” he lied.

“I know you’re clean, Prescott. I just want to make sure you watch your back. People get ugly when they’re under suspicion.” Jarrett snapped his teeth together, his eyes worried. “You don’t need more dirt thrown your way. Not after everything you’ve been through. So if you need anything, I’m here for you.”

His own jaw tight enough to snap his teeth off, Elijah nodded. “Yes, sir. But Commander Savino is my commanding officer, and I report to him.” Elijah pulled his cap out of his back pocket and tugged it onto his head. “If there are any issues, I’m sure I’ll hear it from him.”

“If he’s brought into it,” Jarrett said quietly, stepping forward until the tips of his boots knocked against Elijah’s. “Someone wants Poseidon brought down. How long can Savino stop that? People higher up are watching. It’s making everyone nervous. They’re wondering who’s involved, who’s clean and who’s not.”

“Are they looking at me?” Elijah asked.

“They’re looking at everyone. You roomed with Ramsey. You’ve had some shit going on, and your psych eval says you have reason to resent the Navy. Some people worry about serving with a guy with your issues. And then there’s the question of who really sold the chemical formula. Do you think everyone believes it was some dead guy?” Jarrett shook his head, as if disgusted by the chatter. “Just watch your back.”

Elijah refused to reply. All he could do was nod. Then, shoulders stiff, he watched the captain shove through the doors and saunter away. He wished like hell he could claim the man was full of crap. But Elijah had seen the looks.

The warning was legit.

* * *

TWO DAYS LATER, Elijah strode down the hallway toward Savino’s office. He didn’t know if he was making the right choice. He just knew he couldn’t make a different one.

So when he strode through the door, his chin was high, his eyes direct and his expression clear.

His commander was at his desk, papers stacked in two neat piles on the dingy metal surface. Elijah wouldn’t mind the rank, but damned if he’d want the paperwork that went with it.

“Reporting as ordered, sir.”

“You want to explain this?” Savino invited, lifting one of the papers from the stack on the left.

His face blank, Elijah looked from his commander to the paper the man held and back again. It seemed pretty self-explanatory to him. But he knew Savino wasn’t asking him to clarify the request for leave. He wanted to know why. He wanted details; he wanted insights. As always, he wanted every damned thing.

Savino was a hard-ass. He was a tough commander, a man with a wicked sense of humor held under tight control and razor-sharp lines in the sand when it came to right and wrong. He was the first man to reach out his hand and the last to walk away.

He was a friend.

They’d trained together. They’d sat watch in a cave over a village beset by terrorists together. They’d gotten drunk together. They’d been through a million experiences in the near-decade they’d known each other.

So Elijah couldn’t hold back. “I’m not one hundred percent. I thought I was, pushed the medics to release me and ignored their concerns,” he said quietly. Then, in case Savino suspected he meant the head shrink as well as the physicians, he drummed his fingertips over his thigh. “I’d rather take a few weeks’ leave before I do irreparable damage.”

He knew that excuse would hold. His medical records said as much. But Savino knew him too well. So the question was, would he accept face value or would he push for the truth?