Hemingway - Zoe Dawson Page 0,59

him a view of pure, unadulterated heartbreak.

“I think so.”

How could she not know his mind had been on sex with her since the last time he’d left here? Even in the bar with the guys, part of his horndog mind was on her and getting inside that beautiful body, twisting himself around her.

“My list holds twelve names, and all I have to do is get one of them to break on the others.”

“You have a primary target?”

“Well, to be honest, Hennessey was at the top of my list for being torn between his loyalty to NWO, and his newfound connection to actually becoming a Navy SEAL. I had been working on him every day once I discovered he was wavering. I think I could have broken him.”

He let her talk as he moved closer. She had no freaking clue she was being stalked.

“His link to NWO was weaker than his moral conscience would allow. He couldn’t betray the men he’d worked and suffered alongside.”

“That’s a pretty sexy brain you got there.”

She looked up at him. Maybe it was his husky voice, or she finally picked up the heat he was generating. She stared at him, meeting his gaze directly as he stood there taking her in.

“Right back ‘atcha,” she murmured, reaching up to his hand. It was all it took.

An hour later, they were snuggled together on the couch, both of them naked and too sated to make it to the bed. He clenched his jaw against the tumbled emotions rifling through him.

He was falling in love. This is what it felt like and it was overwhelming, more than he could ever imagine. He was starting to feel uncomfortably vulnerable, something he would have thought would have taken a major threat, not this kickass woman who had taken his heart by storm.

“So what happens afterwards?”

“Afterwards?”

“The job.”

“Oh.” She yawned, her warm breath against his skin, and he gathered her closer. He felt her shrug. “I’ll go onto the next one. Probably halfway around the world.”

“But San Diego is your base of operations, right?” He tried to sound casual, but he was sure she could hear the rhythm of his heartbeat jump.

She was silent and still for a moment, then she lifted her head, her eyes sad. “I’m rarely here. I’m like you, or what you will be experiencing. Deployments and missions that take me all over the place. Wherever they need me.”

“Sure,” he said, again working at keeping it cool.

“We’ll both have adventures. It will be exciting, right?”

He nodded and forced a smile. She snuggled back down against him, but he wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or not. Was she holding him a little bit tighter?

11

The door crashed in, and Hemingway went from a deep sleep to chaos. Men stormed into the room, some firing from the hip, others shouting at the top of their lungs.

“Hit the deck. Keep those heads down! Incoming!”

The lights went off. All the gunmen started firing, spraying the room, the sounds of the weapons deafening. Hemingway knew they were blanks, but the noise was disorienting. Suddenly, another door was kicked open and three more men barreled inside. The confusion got worse with loud blasts of whistles only adding to the pandemonium. They had been taught that when the whistle sounded, they were to grab some real estate, cross their ankles, and cover their ears with their palms, leaving their mouths open.

Hemingway reacted immediately, but his hands only muffled the cacophony.

“Welcome to Hell, gentlemen,” Mad Max shouted.

The thunderous gunfire went on for some minutes, broken only by the shouting and the whistles.

“Out! Everyone move! Get out! Get moving!”

Hemingway jumped to his feet, jostling bodies in front, sides and back of him, all seventy-nine of them who had passed First Phase. Of the seventeen trainees who had been assessed by the board, five of them had been rolled back to the next incoming class, and the others had been let go, leaving them at their new lower count.

Before this training was over, they would lose more, many more.

The gunfire continued endlessly, the barrels around the edge of the grinder mimicking artillery blasts.

It was as if they were in a war zone and that was the drill. A drill, Hemingway said to himself. As soon as he hit the grinder, high pressure water slammed into his chest, knocking him down along with the men around him. The chaos was complete, with the battlefield whistle drills, resounding explosions, and bellowing instructors, water everywhere.

He couldn’t see anything or hear