Hot SEALs: SEAL's Ultimate Challenge (4 page)

AS LEIGHA DROVE to the rehab center at the end of the week, she went over all the progress she’d made with each patient. She’d worked with a number of soldiers with varying degrees of disabilities—from those with injuries that would see full recovery to those who had to learn how to deal with a new way of life. Thankfully, most had family by their side, giving them the love and support they desperately needed at this critical juncture in their lives.

The one patient who stood out the most was the Navy SEAL, Cory Nipton, or Reaper as he’d asked her repeatedly to call him. After his fiancée left on Monday, he’d buckled down about going through the paces she put him through, working so hard, he’d exceeded her physical expectations. But a hollowness was in his eyes, and a sense of someone lost in a world he knew nothing about that haunted her each night.

The man had dedicated his life to being a SEAL. He couldn’t conceive of a life without the camaraderie of his teammates. The more Leigha thought about him, the more she knew she had to do something to shake him out of his funk. As soon as she reported in for work, she shifted her schedule to place him at the end of the day then made a few calls and reservations. Maybe her surprise would give him the incentive to re-engage in life.

When she’d been at her lowest after her injury and subsequent medical retirement from the force, she’d been in a similar state of mind. Then her brother on the Alexandria police force had shown up at her apartment, loaded her in his truck, and taken her to where Leigha would be taking Reaper. That day had sparked life in her otherwise-dead existence. She hoped her plan had the same effect on Reaper.

Excitement built as the day went by. Several times she thought she saw him pass through the center, but when she had the time to look around, he wasn’t there. Until four o’clock rolled around.

Reaper walked in, tall, broad-shouldered, his tattoos peeking out from under his T-shirt in bold black. His expression was withdrawn, his eyes hollow.

A smile formed on her lips, and for the first time in a long time, butterflies fluttered against the inside lining of her belly. “Hey, sunshine, why so glum?”

“I’m not glum,” he said, his tone flat, humorless.

“Uh-huh. I could tell.” She put him to work on his repetitions, keeping the routine light. She wanted him to have enough energy for later.

As if on automatic, Reaper performed the strength exercises without comment, staring into the distance, not focusing on anything or anyone.

Yeah, he needed something different. The sterile environment of the hospital was getting to him. Or worse, it was giving him too much of a refuge and preventing him from venturing out into the world where people would point and stare at the man with one arm.

Well, he’d have to get over that. Her planned surprise might shock him, but in the long run, it might help him to learn how to adjust to being left-handed. New to the rehab center, Leigha was almost certain what she was about to do wasn’t sanctioned and might just be against the rules, but something drove her to bend them a little. Anything to get Reaper to enter and embrace his new life.

After thirty minutes, the man hadn’t even broken a sweat. It was time for Leigha to clock out and head home. Seeing Reaper start to leave, she touched his injured arm. “Are you up for a field trip?”

He stopped and stared at the hand resting on his stump, his eyes narrowing. “What are you talking about?”

“Do you feel like blowing this joint and breathing some fresh air?”

He shifted his gaze to her face. “You realize I’m an engaged man?”

She shrugged. “I’m not asking you out on a date. I’m asking if you want to get out of here for a little R&R. You’ve worked hard all this week, and I have a surprise planned that might cheer you up.”

His brows lowered. “I don’t need cheering, and I don’t need fresh air.”

She stared, her lips firming into a straight line. “Look. I could use some company. You don’t have anyone to hang out with, so what’s it going to hurt? Unless you’re afraid to step outside this hospital. Afraid to face the world.”

“Why should I care? Once I leave here, I have nowhere to go. No job. No family. Why should I care about going for a joy ride with my therapist? It’s dumb. A waste of time for me, and definitely a waste of time for you.” He started to move past her.

Again, she placed a hand on his arm, remembering Eric’s advice to be patient. But her patience was waning. “You should care because you have a lovely fiancée who would be appalled to see the man she loves moping and feeling sorry for himself, when he should be exploring his options and building a new life that could include her.”

She let go of his arm and stepped back. “Wallow in your self-pity. That’s your choice. I’m going for a ride. If you want to come with me, meet me out in the parking lot. I drive a black Jeep Wrangler with a hard top. I’m leaving in ten minutes.” She turned and walked away—disappointed, sad and, most of all, angry. The man was on a downward spiral. If he didn’t pull himself out, he’d crash and burn. Suicide rates among veterans were shockingly high. Leigha was damned if he took his own life on her watch.

REAPER STOMPED HALFWAY back to his room before he realized Leigha had been right. From the moment he’d come to the hospital in Bethesda, he’d been angry, stubborn, despondent, and less than cooperative. For the past week, Leigha had been extremely patient and firm, driving him in the direction of recovery. He’d worked hard, but his heart wasn’t in regime. What would happen to him when he was released? He had nowhere to go. No job waiting and what could he do? Sitting behind a desk would absolutely suck the life out of him. Working outdoors usually required two arms and two hands.

The occupational therapist had been working to reteach him out to write, brush his teeth, and comb his hair. When he’d lost his right arm, he’d practically lost his entire ability to function. He resented fumbling with his left hand. He looked like a kindergarten kid, holding a pen and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t hold his toothbrush properly when he brushed his teeth. Buttoning buttons, putting on socks…hell, zipping his fly… were all challenges because he’d never done them with his left hand.

Why would he go out in public where people would laugh when he lifted his fork to his mouth and half of the contents fell into his lap?

He checked the watch on his left wrist. Eight minutes had passed since Leigha left him. In two more minutes, she’d drive out of the parking lot.

So?

He turned, his feet carrying him toward the exit, as if they were in control. As he pushed through the exit door, he cursed. This was ridiculous. Why was he headed for the parking lot when he had no intention of going with the physical therapist?

Blinking against the sunlight, he scanned the rows of vehicles. So many were black SUVs. She could have left already. Reaper told himself he didn’t care. He was about to turn and reenter the building when a black Jeep Wrangler pulled up to the curb, and the window slid down.

Leigha leaned across the console and called out, “Get in.”

For a second, he hesitated.

“Or don’t.” She raised the window and shifted into drive.

Reaper lunged for the handle, fumbled with his left hand, yanked open the door, and dropped into the passenger seat.

Leigha smiled at him but didn’t say a word. She pressed her foot to the accelerator, drove out of the parking lot, and away from the hospital.

After a glance around, Reaper settled back in his seat, a frown pinching his brow, not sure he’d done the right thing, but committed now, whether he liked it or not. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” she said in a singsong voice.

“You can stop being so damned cheerful.”

“And you can stop biting my head off.” She shot him a wide grin. “Come on. The sun is shining—”

“It’s cloudy.”

“The birds are singing—”

“Can’t hear them over the roar of traffic.”

“And you’re out of the hospital,” she ended, her tone flat.

Reaper snorted. “One out of three isn’t bad.”

“Now you’re being optimistic.” Her smile was back.

“Don’t get used to it.” Reaper glanced out the window, for the first time taking note of his surroundings. Leigha was right. In between drifting white clouds, blue sky and sunshine peeked through. The grass and trees were green, unlike the drab tans and brown of the dessert.

He had spent far too much time inside. “How long until we get there?”

“Fifteen minutes, depending on traffic.”

Reaper sat silent for a while, then glanced at Leigha. “So, what’s your story?”

Her lips pulled up on the side. “I don’t have a story.”

“Everyone has a story.”

She shrugged. “What’s yours?”

Regretting starting the conversation, he stared out the front windshield, the pain in his chest pressing hard against his heart. But he’d started it. “Orphaned at fourteen, in foster care until I finished high school.” He fought the clenching of his jaw to finish. “Joined the navy, became a SEAL, stepped on a trip wire, kicked out of the service, the end.” He turned to her. “Your turn.”

She bit her lip, her fingers tightening on the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white. For a long time she maneuvered through traffic without speaking.

About the time Reaper thought she wouldn’t respond, he heard her speak. “Large family of cops, majored in criminology in college, worked for D.C. police department, got shot, and like you, medically retired. Retrained and now I’m a physical therapist.”

He stared, trying to imagine her in uniform. “They let you be a police officer?”

“Let?” Her brows dipped. “I was a damned good one.”

Reaper discovered he liked the way Leigha’s blue eyes sparkled when she was angry. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. For the first time in a long time, he relaxed. “A cop, huh?” He shook his head. “Can’t see it.” In his mind, at best, she was a meter maid, writing tickets to people who parked in the wrong place.

She didn’t rise to his bait, but her lips thinned.

“Ever shoot someone?” he asked. He’d done his share. As a team sniper, he’d shot a lot of people, many of which he’d never even seen their faces.

Again, she didn’t respond for a long time. Finally, she said, “I did.”

All joking aside, he could sense telling him that bit of information had taken a lot, indicating it had been a traumatic experience. “What happened?”

“The perp shot a man then shot me. Then he and his brother doubled back to finish the job, and I shot him.”

“Was he the only one?”

“After four years on the force, in one of the most crime-ridden cities in the country, my first and last was that man.”

“And the brother?”

“Locked up.”

“For how long?”

She shrugged. At the sentencing, LeVon’s brother Jamal Clayton glared her way as the judge sentenced him. “Ten years. He was eighteen. They went easy on him since he didn’t pull the trigger.”

Reaper wasn’t as familiar with the D.C. legal system or the prisons on the east coast. But he was familiar with the gang warfare in L.A. Avenging a brother’s death was expected. “How many years ago was that?”

“Two and a half.”

“When is he eligible for parole?”

“I’m not sure.”

“You shot his brother. Aren’t you afraid he’ll get out and come after you?”

Leigha waved a hand. “He was just a kid. I’m not on the force anymore.”

“A thug who’s been in the system, around men who have done worse crimes, comes out even harder than he went in.”

“I have my conceal carry license.” Her brothers had insisted she get one. She hadn’t argued. A woman couldn’t be too careful.

“Check on his parole.”

“All right, already. I’ll check. In the meantime, we’re here.” She pulled into a parking lot.

Reaper had been so caught up in the discussion about her shooting he hadn’t paid much attention to where they were. When he glanced up at the huge sign hanging across the front of a huge steel building, he felt a lead weight settle in the pit of his belly.

Mid-Atlantic Indoor Range.

“What the fuck?” Reaper shook his head. “Take me back. You have to be out of your fucking mind.”

Leigha pulled the keys from the ignition, got out, rounded to his side, and opened his door.

He refused to get out.

She leaned in. “You were a sniper, right?”

The cotton candy scent of her perfume wrapped around him. “
Was
is the operative word. That part of my life is gone.” He waved his stump. “Gone with my right arm and hand.”

“Look, big guy, you have another hand, another arm. In case you didn’t notice, some of the other wounded warriors have neither and would give anything to have what you have.” She pointed to the ground. “Get out of the car and man up. You’ve been walking around for the past month like a dead man.”

“I might as well be dead,” he muttered, staring at the tops of his shoes.

“Bullshit. Tonight, we begin the reincarnation of Cory Nipton. On your feet, soldier.”

Reaper glared into her blue eyes, hating her pretty face and the cleavage he could see so well with her leaning over him. Hated that, at that moment, he wanted to punch her in the face as much as he wanted to kiss her until she gasped for breath. “I’m not a soldier.”

“Even more reason for you to prove you’re a man. Let’s go.” She turned and marched into the building, her petite body incongruous with her military bearing.

He had two choices. Sit in the hot vehicle or follow her into the range. Telling himself he’d rather wait where the space was air-conditioned, he got out, locked the Jeep, and entered the indoor range.

Inside the scent of cleaning oil and gunpowder filled his nostrils and bought on such a heavy feeling of nostalgia, he almost turned and walked back out. God, he missed his team. He missed training with them and missed going out on missions with them. For the first month, he worried about who was covering Tuck’s six and what Big Bird, Fish, Gator, and Nacho were up to. Had they gone back into the hills to find the Taliban leader they’d sought when they’d walked into the trap where Reaper had tripped the explosion?