Tawny Weber - Call To Engage

They hadn’t found Brandon Ramsey. Still didn’t know if he was dead or alive. All they knew for sure was that he’d stolen classified information under the guise of an explosion.

Elijah rubbed his fingers over the puckered scars discernible even through the fabric of his slacks and hid his grimace with his cup.

“You ever had it hot for a woman who didn’t want jack to do with you?” Lansky asked with a shrug. “You know, the kind of woman you can’t shake from your mind?”

The swallow of coffee turned to vinegar in Elijah’s mouth.

Damn.

The memory of big brown eyes and the sexiest smile ever to curve a Cupid’s-bow mouth flashed through his mind. Just as quickly as that memory appeared, it was followed by those eyes filled with tears, brimming with accusation, and that mouth trembling as it said goodbye.

The vicious, cutting pain hit all the harder because it was unexpected. He knew exactly how it felt to have a woman rip his heart out of his chest and crush it to dust while he watched, helpless on the sidelines. Recovery in the burn ward was easier, and it hurt a hell of a lot less.

Elijah dumped what was left of his coffee in the sink. Looked like the scars on his leg weren’t the only ones being poked at this morning.

“Yeah. I know what it’s like. Rejection is fucked, my friend. Rejection when the heart’s involved? Fucked beyond words.” Wanting to put it from his mind, he started on another dish.

“Pretty much the worst,” Lansky muttered, his tone making it clear he was looking for assurance that he was wrong. But Elijah didn’t have any to give him. Not when it came to heartache and women.

“I’m pretty sure I’d rather take on a dirty bomb and a cell of urban terrorists single-handed than give a woman my heart again,” Elijah confessed, naming two of the threats the team hated most. Urban environments usually meant higher collateral damage, bigger rebuilding costs and, worse, playing nice with locals. “I figure there’s a better chance of beating the terrorists. Women? That’s a no-win game.”

“That is not a comfort,” Lansky said with a bitter laugh, holding out his empty cup for Elijah to add to KP.

“Even at the best of times, relationships are never easy, ” Elijah shot back. He didn’t know if it mattered if the relationship had lasted two weeks, two years or two decades. The other party ending it sucked hard.

“Good thing we’re not in the business of easy,” he added as he stacked the dishes in the cupboard, hoping to make up for the dismal morning pep talk.

“So why do we play?”

“Best game in town.”

“True that,” Lansky agreed, grabbing his cap from the closet before tossing Elijah his own.

They both gave one last, automatic look around before stepping outside. They lived on base in the apartment, and while an inspection might be unlikely, it could still happen. But it was habit more than concern that had both men tidying on their way out the door.

Even as he welcomed the cool air of a Southern California morning, Elijah’s gut tightened. Excitement, he figured. He’d been on inactive duty for way too long. This was his first day back in the trenches, his first op since the mission gone wrong.

He was ready, he vowed, ignoring the twinge in his thigh as they made their way down the stairs.

More than ready, dammit.

As if reading his mind, Lansky slid a glance sideways and asked, “You looking forward to getting back to it?”

“Yep. Nothing like a few hours of ass-breaking PT, target shooting and some dive practice to let me know I’m alive.” He grinned.

“You know, most guys go for kinky sex as proof of life. Gotta wonder at one who’s looking forward to physical training, which’ll consist of a crapload of push-ups, pull-ups and sit-ups, followed by a sweaty run and ice-cold swim.”

“Did all that yesterday, and every day last week,” Elijah said with a shrug. At Lansky’s look, he admitted, “I had to make sure I could.”

“Of course you could. You’re a SEAL, man. More than that, you’re Poseidon.”

The men who served as SEALs were diverse, their reasons and motivations as varied as they were. But their goal, as one, was to be the best and to serve their country, the Navy, their team.

Poseidon, on the other hand, was a group of twelve men whose numbers and names never varied. Their team was built on years of trust. The men knew one another inside out, knew what made the others tick, how each man’s tick meshed with their own. Their goal was bigger than to simply be the best. Their goal was stronger than one man’s hopes. They trained beyond what the others did; they studied further than the rest. Every man on the Poseidon team held multiple ratings—including Special Ops Combat Medic—each qualified to handle everything from EODs to aviation to intelligence.

They did it because they knew that’s what it’d take to achieve their mission of absolute cohesion. They did it because their leader asked them to.

“Just remember... We are Poseidon, king of the sea. Better than best is what we be. We rule by day, we rule by night. We kick every ass that’s in our sight.”

“My favorite cadence. By the time I was done with the workouts, I was grunting it,” Elijah confessed with a laugh as they continued toward a series of low-slung buildings. There were more bodies here, uniforms crisp and faces fresh as the base made ready for the day.

He’d missed this, Elijah realized. The never-changing change that was life on a military base.

“You know you could have tapped me to work out with you. I don’t mind the extra PT, and there’s no reason you had to go it alone.”

Just like that. Chest burning with words he couldn’t say, Elijah’s laugh faded. “I appreciate it, man.”

Then, because he could see Lansky was just as uncomfortable as he at the sentiment in the air, he shrugged. “Wouldn’t have mattered if I did, though. You were on leave last week and nowhere to be seen. What’d you do? Fall off the face of the earth? Torres said he tried to reach you a couple of times to no avail.”

Something flashed over Lansky’s face—a different kind of discomfort—before the guy offered his own shrug. “I had things to do, my friend.”

“Female things?”

“Always.” With that and a shake of his head to indicate he didn’t want to talk about it, Lansky changed the subject. “Hell of a long break between missions. You looking forward to getting back in the game?”

“Ready and able.” To serve, and to prove himself.

Elijah had never been big on caring what other people thought about him. He’d lived his life pretty much on his terms. They were easygoing, go-with-the-flow terms that fit with the credo his father had handed down.

If he lived life to the fullest, he could live with his regrets. If he listened to his heart, he could overcome any doubts. If he walked the honest line, he could always hold his head high.

He had to admit, he’d racked up a few regrets in his thirty years. He’d lived through pain, heartbreak and a loss he didn’t expect to ever recover from. He’d listened to his heart, and, yeah, it had ended up crushed like a week-old cookie left in someone’s pocket. But had no doubt that he’d done his best.

He knew a few people—CIA, Naval Investigation, even other SEALs—wondered if Brandon Ramsey had tried to blow Elijah to hell in a clean-sweep effort to eliminate his cohorts. But the people who mattered knew better.

At least that was what he told himself.

He’d taken a hit and he’d gone down in the line of duty. But now he was back in shape. He was back on duty. And, dammit, he’d get his reputation back on track.

He wanted to believe that.

He needed to believe that.