Hemingway - Zoe Dawson Page 0,68
a few left on the list. Soon they would be shipped out of BUD/S to different parts of the fleet. Also, not ideal. She didn’t want these bastards in the Navy at all.
Griff and Mak exited the room. Griff rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. “He killed Manning, and we can’t do anything about it.”
“Not right now,” Shea said. “But they are planning something. I just don’t know what. All I can do is remain vigilant and undercover. They have no idea there’s an NCIS agent among them.”
“Atticus Sinclair knows it,” Griff said.
“He’s not one of them,” Shea said, stiffening. “Don’t question me on him again.”
Griff held up his hands apologetically.
“Sniping at each other isn’t going to help,” Mak said. “Shea’s right. She’s the best weapon we have against them right now. We’ll have to see how this plays out and try to prevent anything from happening to those men.”
Shea nodded. “I’d better get back.”
“I’ll walk you out,” Mak said, following her. They walked in silence for a few minutes. “Don’t let Griff get to you. He’s frustrated.”
Shea nodded. “I know.”
“How’s Hemingway holding up?” Mak asked. “I’m married to a Navy SEAL. I care about what happens to them. Errol would be devastated if Hemingway was hurt. He was amazing during that op we all pretend he wasn’t on.”
“He’s battered, bruised, sleep deprived and hammered. I don’t know how he’s moving, let alone doing PT and running with that damn boat.”
“He’s tough, Shea. As tough as my husband and his motley crew. He’ll be all right.”
Shea mulled over Mak’s words. It was true. Hemingway was tough in a deep, quiet way. She would never forget how he anchored the boat, hefted his crewmate on his broad shoulders, and remained to help them get the boat ashore.
He would be all right.
She wasn’t sure, without him, she would fare so well.
She got back to them while they were in the water. She heard Vile shout gleefully, “Hide the trainee!” and heads disappeared below the surf. Then they were ordered out and had to perform push-ups. This went on for two hours. Finally, Vile said, “I’m so bored. If someone entertains us, we’ll knock off early and get you all to chow.”
Professor stood up.
“Prescott. What do you have for us?”
“A song.”
“A song?” Vile scoffed. “Okay. You impress me, and you guys are secure,” he said with a grin. Shea could tell that he had no intention of being entertained. This was just another one of his mind games. He’d get their hopes up, and when no one impressed them, they could continue to hammer them.
Even though she’d been there through the humorous rendition of Professor’s “Holding Out For A Hero” she wasn’t prepared for his performance of “Sounds of Silence” as the words started soothingly low and deep. He had a rockstar rasp that was sexy as hell.
He sang without music, backup, or lyrics. He knew the song by heart and performed it flawlessly with every ounce of strength in his body. When he got to the end, his voice deepened into a gravelly rasp that sent shivers down her spine. Vile’s mouth dropped open a bit and Kyle’s scowl melted away.
With a smile lifting the corners of her mouth, she heard Vile say “Secure” like his piehole was full of crow.
Hemingway wrapped his hands around the steaming mug of hot water and sat for a few minutes absorbing the warmth. Several trainees cheered Professor as they walked by with overloaded trays.
Shea settled next to him and gave Professor a full, pleased smile. She leaned over. “You wiped those smug looks off those evil twin faces. That was beautiful to behold. You could become a rockstar with that voice. Ever thought of doing that with your life? Posh hotels, money, warm clothes, soft beds, fame and fortune, adoring fans, anything you wanted.”
Professor laughed softly. “No one shooting at me? Doesn’t sound like fun to me.”
She laughed, and he grinned.
“Maybe after my tour is over, I’ll think about it.”
She beamed and turned to Hemingway. “You look like hell.”
He barked out a laugh. “You look stunning.”
“I set my looks to stun this morning,” she sassed. He liked it. Kept him on his toes. Beneath the table, she squeezed his thigh. “I wish I could give you my energy,” she whispered. He wanted to kiss her here and now—in the chow hall, at the beginning of the worse and best week of his life. He might be getting hammered, but this big evolution would