Show No Fear - By Marliss Melton Page 0,7
to even the playing field.”
Another considering glance. “Okay,” she relented. “How long have you been a SEAL?”
“Five years,” he replied.
“But nine-eleven happened eight years ago,” she pointed out, her expression not without sympathy.
Eight years later, his heart still cramped with grief whenever the subject came up. “My father would’ve expected me to finish school,” he explained. “So I got my master’s and then I went to Navy OCS. I needed the time to get in shape before I enrolled in BUDs.” Officer Candidate School had been a walk in the park compared to BUDs.
“Did you make it the first time?” she asked, clearly cognizant of the rigors.
“Rolled out the first time with a strained Achilles tendon. I made it the second time, did two years of qualification training, and went to Afghanistan with SEAL Team Three,” he added, recalling a hot, dry wind, the fear of never knowing where the enemy was.
“Is that what you wanted?”
“I wanted to understand the enemy. That’s what drew me to intel in the first place. To understand them is to beat them, right?”
She grimaced, astute enough to understand that the question was rhetorical. “So, how long have you been loaned out to the agency?”
“Three years,” he said, knowing what was coming next.
“Why didn’t you just look me up instead of spying on me?”
Was that irritation in her voice, or had he hurt her feelings? “Keeping tabs isn’t spying,” he rationalized. “Besides, you wanted your space. You made that pretty clear eight years ago.”
She’d explained in a final e-mail to him that she was joining the CIA, cutting ties with the past—for her own protection, allegedly. Her message, followed six months later by his father’s death, had made 2001 the loneliest year of Gus’s life.
“Why bother keeping tabs on me, then?” she demanded.
She’d been the love of his life, the one he’d wanted to stay with forever. “Just curious,” he insisted, avoiding her gaze.
He hadn’t been able to help himself. The first week the agency had acquired him, he’d made inquiries, only to be dissuaded by rumors of Lucy’s fearlessness. Thoughts of rekindling a relationship recoiled in the face of reckless devotion to Uncle Sam. His own job was dangerous. He couldn’t afford to extend his heart to a woman with an immortality complex.
“So when did you train in the jungle?” she wanted to know.
“Last year in Venezuela. A group of us went to train the Elite Guard so that the moderates had a fighting chance.”
“And then they switched sides,” she finished, visibly quelling a shudder.
“You should never have gone back to that warehouse,” he scolded, glimpsing its lingering effect on her.
Jade green eyes flashed in his direction. “Look, it’s over. Just drop it, will you?”
“Is it really?” he countered skeptically. “Can you tell me you don’t think about it every time you close your eyes to sleep? Is that why you don’t sleep, Luce?”
Without warning, she slammed the red button on the display before her, bringing her machine to a sudden halt. “What are you implying? That I have PTSD?” she demanded, breasts rising and falling as she turned to grip the handrail and to glare at him.
Powering down his own machine, he faced her squarely. He could smell her perfume, warmed by the heat of her body. Combined with the anger in her eyes and the flush in her cheeks, the scent was intoxicating. “Who wouldn’t have PTSD after an experience like that?” he reasoned gently, wishing she’d just let him take her into his arms and tell her everything would be okay.
“Get out,” she ordered, jerking her chin at the exit. “You’re wasting your breath trying to talk me out of this assignment. Just go. Get some sleep. I’ll see you on the plane to Bogotá.” Turning her shoulder on him, she powered up her treadmill once again, cranking it to high as she stuck the earbuds back in and took off.
So much for trying to bury the hatchet. With a nod of defeat, Gus stepped off the treadmill and headed for the door. Sadly, the rumors regarding Lucy Donovan were true. She was a maniac, devoted to her career.
At the rate she was going she would run herself into the ground before her thirtieth birthday.
LUCY SHOOK TWO ADVIL TABLETS into her hand and regarded them in her palm, lit up by the bright sunlight shining through the airplane window. The 747’s jet engines hummed serenely at an altitude of fifty thousand feet. The hour was fast approaching when over-the-counter pain medication