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The bald SEAL’s blue eyes flashed with anger, yet his gentle touch conveyed concern as he helped the younger SEAL assist her to her feet. Together they hoisted her between them and started for the terminal. Grace moved her legs automatically, amazed not to feel the pavement under her feet. How odd.
The burly black SEAL held the door for them as they entered the mercifully air-conditioned building. It had been a month since Grace had enjoyed the luxury of air-conditioning. The smell of coffee and maple syrup wafted from a food court at the far end. The rest of the ample space was divided into seating areas for separate departure doors.
The SEALs lowered her onto a row of seats that had no arms, allowing for passengers to lie down. Grace sat, swaying as the room seemed to ripple. The young SEAL, the spitting image of Joey from the TV showFriends, crouched in front of her, checking her pulse and then her pupils. “You’ll feel better in a couple a’ hours.” His Philly accent was thick enough to cut with a knife. “Hows about a cup a’ orange juice?”
She just stared at him. How did he expect her to consume anything knowing Mateo had to be distraught without her?
Grimacing sympathetically, he stood, regarded her a moment, and went to join the others.
Grace keeled over along the length of chairs and closed her eyes. A patch of sunlight fell warmly across her face.
Mateo.She’d played with him and nurtured him and watched him flower these past two summers. He’d become as much a part of her as the baby who’d been attached to her by an umbilical cord. Now she felt just as empty as when she’d buried her baby.
Hot tears welled up under her closed eyelids and seeped between her lashes, wetting the vinyl fabric of the cushion under her cheek. A shadow robbed her face of warmth.
Cracking an eye, she discovered Senior Chief McLeod standing over her with a cup in one hand and a half-wrapped breakfast biscuit in the other. She closed her eyes again. “Go away.”
“Sit up.”
“Leave me alone.”
Instead of leaving, he must have put the food down because his hands were suddenly free, and he was hauling her up into a sitting position. “You need to eat.” He lowered himself into the sunny patch she had lain in and reached over to pluck the food items off the floor.
“What for?”
“Come on. You’ll feel better.” He thrust the cup at her.
A whiff of orange juice made her mouth water. She realized she was parched. Her fingers shook as she accepted the cup and brought it to her lips. She closed her eyes as the sour-sweet liquid slid over her tongue and down her throat. Draining the cup, she placed it into the SEAL’s waiting hand as he traded her cup for an unwrapped breakfast sandwich.
“Eat.”
His bossiness infuriated her. After she snatched it from him, she took a small bite and chewed. Bacon, egg, and cheese melted in her mouth, despite her reluctance to enjoy it.
“Where are we?” she demanded after swallowing. The stunted cactus edging her view of an airfield told her nothing.
“The Dutch Antilles. Specifically, a U.S. forward operating base in Curaçao.”
So, the Western Caribbean now lay between her and the child of her heart. The realization robbed her of her appetite. She started to wrap up the rest of the biscuit.
“Finish it.”
Glaring at the SEAL, she set aside her breakfast. “I am not one of your minions.” Clearly, he was used to being obeyed, and no wonder. He typified the alpha male. The breadth of his shoulders and the thickness of his upper arms summoned an annoying awareness of herself as a woman—filthy and in need of a shower—while he, sometime in the last ten minutes, had managed to wipe all the black paint off his face.
“An FBI agent is coming to collect you and escort you home.” He spoke in a deep, resonant voice with a peculiar rhythm to it.
“Whatever.” Her home was where Mateo was.
“You need to get cleaned up. There’s dirt on your cheek.”
She dodged his hands as he went to wipe it off.
His own scrubbed face was arresting. The black paint had previously disguised his strong cheekbones, black moustache, and neat black eyebrows. But his eyes, pale gray in hue and framed by long eyelashes, were just as potent as when he’d first looked at her. They matched the silver patch in the dark hair above his forehead.
“Where’s the bathroom?” As she struggled to her feet, he stood up also, clearly ready to catch her.
She managed to stay vertical.
“It’s over there.” He pointed. “I tossed in a flight uniform, so you’ll have something clean to wear.”
