Dangerous Attraction Romantic Suspense Boxed Set (139 page)

Once Bay was safely re-kenneled, Coop exited his home on wheels, locking it. There was an edge to his gait. He was rushing to get this meeting with Timmons over with. The sooner he could get back to duty the better. Maybe some time in the next decade he’d unearth the feelings haunting him from the empty coffins he’d watched being buried just two days ago.

He was grateful he didn’t run into anyone he knew on his way to the Chief’s office. Timmons’s scratched metal desk was piled with papers, indicating things were normal with the Team handler. Only thing that was different was the lack of a big green frog holding a red surfboard in his webbed fingers. Coop had looked into the eyes of that frog dozens of times as he talked to Timmons over the three years he’d been with Kyle’s platoon.

Not today, though.

“I’m not happy to see you, Coop.” Timmons was in a sour mood. He was drinking a glass of milk, which meant his gut was hurting him.

“I didn’t miss you much either, Chief.”

“You shouldn’t be back here. What the fuck were you thinking? I gotta have men who are whole.”

“I’m good.” Maybe he should have worn his cammies.

“Like hell you are.”

“I said I’m good.”

Timmons stood up with his hairy arms attempting to cross his growing belly. Then he dropped them. “And I say you are full of shit, sailor.”

Cooper knew he shouldn’t argue. But he couldn’t help himself. “When I said I’m good, sir—”

“No fuckin’ way you’re good. You’ve not completed your leave. You can’t tell me you’re going to go out there in the theater after you’ve just buried your family. Hell, Coop, you’ll get yourself and your whole Team killed with that kind of lapse in judgment.”

“I need to go—”

“Oh, I get it. You wanna take out your frustrations on the enemy. Get us all in trouble, right, just so you can process all the bullshit you’re carrying around? That your plan? Those dudes in Afghanistan are bad motherfuckers, but they sure as hell didn’t send the tornado that killed your family, son.”

“I’m
not
your son.” Cooper’s fingers curled into fists. He clenched his jaw and squinted at his liaison.

“Thank God for that.” Timmons kicked the metal garbage can under his desk. If the frog had survived Coop’s direct attack five days ago, it would have been the target.

“Sit.” Timmons pointed to a metal folding chair that was ridiculously small for the giant SEAL.

Timmons rummaged through a file drawer and pulled out a manila folder. He sat back down on his chair that made a sound like a cat squealing in heat and opened up the file. He removed a white piece of paper and began to read aloud.

“Special Operator William Brownlee. He was a medic. Died in 1983, Grenada.”

Coop recognized the name as the one that was engraved on the KA-BAR knife he was given the day he received his Trident. A fallen SEAL. That knife was entrusted to Cooper’s care. Every SEAL carried the memory of a fallen comrade in arms.

“You
do
remember that name, s—” he stopped himself before saying it.

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“I understand his brother’s family lives right here in San Diego.”

Cooper stared back into the Timmons’ glassy, bloodshot eyes. He didn’t want to hear the words the man was going to dish out.

“Guy’s a psychiatrist. Works with nut cases.”

Cooper glared back at him.

“Not sayin’ anything, just a point of fact, sailor.” Timmons removed a piece of lint from the front of his shirt, and then looked back at Cooper with those sad eyes of his. “They’ve lost their SEAL. You’ve lost your family. I’d say that’s a match made in Heaven, Coop.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

No. He didn’t look like he was kidding at all.

* * *

An extremely tall shadow fell through the ornate glass and metal front doors of the Brownlee house. At first, Libby was frightened.

Get a grip.

The melodic doorbell chime had been imported all the way from an abandoned abbey in the South of France. Whoever he was, Libby Brownlee thought, he’d not be able to get through the doorway without ducking, or smacking himself in the forehead.

“Yes?” She didn’t remove the brass chain connecting the door to the doorframe. It couldn’t really stop anyone, especially someone of his size, she realized too late.

What she saw scared her, but in a way she didn’t recognize, couldn’t identify. He was a handsome, very, very tall and fair-haired young man about her age. His piercing blue eyes didn’t stray from hers as he coolly nodded his head, and took inventory of her character without peeling his steady gaze from hers.

She felt undressed, yet powerless to cover up. But she didn’t look away.

“Ma’am, I’m looking for the Brownlee family.” He said this as he ducked his head and leaned forward. She observed he was trying to make himself smaller. The effort made him look huge.

“This
is
the Brownlee residence.” Her response was worthy of a domestic. No need to let him know she was a relative.

“My name is Special Operator Calvin Cooper. I’m…”

“I know what a Special Operator is.”

He smiled but continued, “—currently serving in the Navy. I’ve been asked to reach out to the family of Special Operator William Brownlee.”

“Uncle Will.” She bit her tongue. Too late to take it back. “My father’s twin brother. I never met him. He’s been dead for many years, since before I was born.” Libby looked at the ground, but was soon distracted by the size of the young man’s canvas slip-ons. The light brown hair on his ankles and lower legs, punctuated by light purple scars, blazed in the afternoon sun.

A surfer.

“Yes, ma’am. That’s the reason I’m here.”

“It’s a little late for a color guard. He get awarded a medal posthumously or something?”

The sailor stepped back and put his eyelids at half-mast after a flash of anger. He appeared way calmer than she knew he really was. The control was impressive. No matter how hard she looked, the anger did not surface again. He licked his lips and began to speak, softer this time.

“Look. I don’t want to be here any more than you want me, so let’s just get this over with, so I can tell my Chief I tried to reach out and you guys slammed the door in my face, okay?”

Maybe she was being stupid, but somehow she trusted him. This wasn’t the wrinkle she’d expected. “Fine.” She removed the chain, opened the door and the muscled giant walked into her home with quiet, fluid strides. He smelled like he’d just figured out how to wear aftershave. Something told her he didn’t do it very often.

He scanned the large two-story living room with its carved wood ceiling done in Spanish florets. His eyes lit on the three-foot tall bouquet of fresh flowers her mother put on the coffee table every day—bounty from her extensive flower garden. Libby didn’t expect to see him smile. Behind the table, a bright red velvet couch was covered with lime and fuchsia-colored silk flowered pillows. No one ever sat there, Libby mused. If they did, they’d be buried in the pillows, and hidden from view by the bouquet.

She was embarrassed by the brightness of the colors. “My mother takes pride in her flower garden.” She finally said. Why had he been staring at the blooms?

He tore his eyes off the display, and, without saying a word, continued to scan the archway that led to the kitchen, then back around to the walls of the foyer and a view of the grand metal staircase leading upstairs to the bedrooms.

His silence made her nervous. She crossed her arms over her chest and waited for him to say something.

“This is about a hundred times the size of my place.” He regarded her with a crooked smile she couldn’t read. “Kinda like living in a church, although not like any church I ever attended.”

Our house looks like a church?

“I assume you live on base?” she asked.

“No ma’am. I have a motor home I keep parked at the Silverdale Beach.”

“Wow.” A homeless Navy SEAL?

“Exactly. Got the whole ocean as my back yard.”

“Sounds—different.”

“It’s all I need.”

“Okay. Well, what’s this about? Your visit, I mean.”

“I’m here to pay my respects to his family. Will Brownlee’s family. Was there anyone else special in his life? Like, was he married, or did he have a girl?”

Libby blinked twice. They had never discussed whether Uncle Will had had a sweetheart. “We
are
his family. I just never knew him.” She realized she was being short. “My grandparents are both gone, and my father was his only brother, so perhaps he would know. My dad worshiped him.” Libby started tracing the grout line of the marble floor with her toe. “Look, I’m going to need some answers here. You have to kind of spell it out for me. We don’t speak military in this house.”

“I can tell.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t speak military, and I didn’t bring an interpreter.”

“I think you should speak to my father.”

“That would be good.”

“Except he isn’t here. Maybe another time?”

She caught him eyeing the front of her cotton shirt, like he could see right through without unbuttoning it. With an involuntary jerk, he was focused on her eyes again. It was very odd that she didn’t feel afraid of him, like she had every other man lately. Her heartbeat elevated and her breathing became shallow.

“When will he be here?” His voice sent a tingle down her spine.

“He gets home about four-thirty. But I wouldn’t waste your time unless you can tell me what you want.” She started for the door and he followed behind her. At the front, she stopped, and turned around. “I’m waiting.” She tapped her foot to an invisible drummer.

The giant nodded, but faced his own shoes as he responded to her command, “I’ve been asked to do a little research on S.O. Brownlee. It’s an order.”

“And why would the Navy want to contact my family? What purpose would it serve?”

“It’s just what we do. I was given his name when I got my Trident. I’m supposed to know about him. I’m a SEAL as well.”

“After all these years? Why now? Why not let the dead remain dead? Why bother my father?” Libby’s annoyance began to flare as she felt the need to protect her father.

The sailor shrugged, looked up at the ceiling, adjusting his stance. With a sigh, he turned his gaze back on Libby. She felt herself melt under the press of his intense study.

Cooper took a deep breath, and continued, “Because, I’ve just lost mine.”

Chapter Five

Cooper hadn’t been so summarily dusted off since he’d asked Her Highness Homecoming Queen Sherry Baxter to go with him to the prom. She’d laughed in his face, and his buddies on the basketball team wouldn’t stop taunting him either. He’d spend most of his senior year trying to forget the incident.

It felt like that now. No family, no home. He was walking around like a stranger in his own clothes. Ordered to meet with people who could care less about him or the military. In less than six hours since returning from Nebraska, everything had changed.

He was faced with the stone-cold eyes of the Doc’s daughter, eyes the old Coop would normally have been only too happy to warm up. She was strong, and he usually enjoyed the challenge of being with a woman with a backbone. He wanted to introduce her to the intense fire that lived inside him until she showed him her soft side. He knew she had a soft side. He could feel it already.

But he wasn’t going to play that game today.

This afternoon he didn’t have the patience for it. And he wanted at least another day and night to numb out. An evening of being anything but civil. In the morning, he’d teach the kid how to surf. And then he’d go face that family tomorrow evening for the meet-and-greet. If there ever was a time he should get thoroughly fucked-up-stinking-pissing-in-your-pants-drunk, it was tonight. For a few moments he thought he even missed the killing fields of Afghanistan. Or the focus he had when he worked up for a new deployment. Not this. Not this morass of feelings he just didn’t want to feel. Trying to do something decent, under orders, no less, and getting rejected. Rejected!

He needed to get into action, push his body to peak performance like he did just before he shipped out. Unfortunately, he’d have another three months before that cycle began again.

Too damned long.

He’d be lousy company tonight, for sure. Even for Daisy. And she deserved much more. No, despite his lousy mood, he should find Fredo and Kyle. Maybe he was too dangerous to be alone.

Starting to think about cleaning my Sig.
He knew it was a damned mistake to handle a weapon. He was ready to explode.

When he returned to the motor home he let Bay out. They ran down the beach together as Bay tried to keep up. Coop sprinted until his breathing hitched and the pain inside stopped. But, once he got his breath back, the hollow burn in the pit of his stomach came roaring back.

Coop returned to his Babemobile and jumped in the shower. He slipped on a pair of pajama bottoms when he heard a soft knock at the door.

It was Daisy. He could see she was looking for the good time he was normally only too willing to provide, and he decided he’d carefully let her down. She must have noticed something was up when he didn’t immediately take her into his arms. They sat a distance apart on his couch, facing the door.

She gave a tussle to Bay’s wayward hair that tufted at the top of his head, something the dog was only too willing to receive.

“Your dog needs a bath,” she said, smiling.

He hadn’t noticed, but damn, she was right. Bay stunk up the whole motor home. Even the flowers he bought every week, stuck in a vase bracketed to the wall, didn’t cover up the dog smell that pushed everything else aside. Bay sat on the floor between them, attention focused on the ground, appearing grateful for Daisy’s attention.

“Yeah, he was traumatized at first. Ran from a tornado, then plopped on a plane and now living at the beach. Never seen the ocean before.”

Bay looked up at Coop with admiration, leaning against the SEAL’s leg.

Coop couldn’t look at Daisy, but saw out of the corner of his eye that she had moved to within inches of him. He could feel the heat from her sweet-smelling chest close to his bicep as he leaned forward and began to pet Bay.