[When SEALs Come Home 04] - Heated Read Free Page B

good teammate. That was what had happened. He couldn’t fix it, either, so he was trying to outrun it. Talking definitely wasn’t part of his plan for tonight.
    “We were running, and it was smoky as hell.” He heard his voice from a distance, spouting excuses. Shut up, he told himself. Mercedes Hernandez didn’t really want to hear this. She’d asked to be polite and because she was a nice woman making nice, polite noises. Now she’d put the car in drive, and this evening would be over.
    “The newspaper said he tripped and snapped his ankle.” She made no move to turn the key in the ignition.
    “I didn’t notice. I got inside the canyon, I popped my shelter, and I hit the ground. I didn’t notice.”
    “It’s not your fault,” she said.
    He appreciated the lie, but it was. No man left behind. That was the golden rule on the battlefield, and he’d failed.
    “It was quick.” He stared forward, out the windshield. The headlights lit up the patch of roadside, and everything was either bright or pitch black. There were no gray or blurry edges. Three seconds could be an eternity, and Will had suffered through it alone, so quick wasn’t enough.
    Mercedes was talking again, and he meant to listen because he wasn’t that much of a bastard that he’d ignore what she had to say to him, but his throat was tight and—fuck—his eyes stung. He was not going to lose it and cry. But the headlights’ beams blurred, and he dug his fingers into his thighs, needing something to hold on to.
    Soft fingers wrapped around his. “It’s okay.”
    He had no idea what she meant because nothing was okay about this, but instead of questioning her, he squeezed the shit out of her hand. She didn’t complain. If anything, she held him tighter. She smelled good—he noticed that much, sitting so close to her—and hitting the car again suddenly seemed like the best idea he’d had in a long time. Why was he here, when he could be riding down the road, leaving all this shit behind him? His cheeks were dry—that was good—but then one drop escaped, and he’d have given anything for a do-over.
    But life didn’t issue do-overs, not for tears and definitely not for good men who’d tripped at the worst possible moment.
    Mercedes cursed in Spanish, and then she shifted, easing across the seat to wrap her arms around him. He let her pull him into an embrace, planting his head on her chest like he was a goddamned baby. He should pull back. Or kiss her. Rock her world with pleasure. Hell, even getting out of the car would be better. At the very least, he’d still have his dignity. He didn’t move. Her service revolver dug into his side. He could disarm her, hurt her... and she trusted him.
    Imagine that.
    He swiped the fucked-up tear off his cheek, hoping she hadn’t seen. Her arms tightened, though, and he was busted in more ways than one. He was one hell of a SEAL. A thirty-second hug might have been okay, but he let her hold him up for minutes as time sped up. Slowed down. Fuck. Had she held him as long as the three minutes Will Donegan had taken to die, heat baking him, fire searing his lungs? She didn’t say anything. Thank God. Just rubbed his back—and how humiliating was that ?—while he did the rough inhale, exhale because he didn’t cry. Ever. She smelled like roses. It wasn’t the perfume he’d have expected from Ms. I Lay Down the Law, but she smelled pretty pink. He didn’t know police officers were allowed to wear perfume. Or maybe he’d just been arrested by the wrong people. He’d been arrested by military police for drunk and disorderly once. Not his finer moment.
    Finally, he got it together, reined in his runaway thoughts, and shoved upright. If he’d been more of a man, he would have looked her in the eye and said something meaningful. He would have said thank you or I appreciate the shoulder or any one of a dozen things the Hallmark people had spelled out for dumbasses like himself in the card aisle.