SEAL'D In Deep Page 5

  “I’ll get a mouthful of seawater if I do that,” he pointed out.

  “It’s just for a minute,” Liz reasoned. “And try to keep your face as relaxed as possible, okay?”

  “Okay,” Carter murmured, slowly laying back in the water. Liz crouched a few feet away, her camera focused on him, waiting for something—anything—to happen. When she saw the wave a few yards in front of him, she pressed her finger on the trigger and took several photos in rapid succession, catching each millisecond of the bright blue water crashing over his body.

  To his credit, Carter didn’t move a centimeter as he was enveloped by the water. It wasn’t until the wave receded that he sputtered and shook his head, water droplets flying in every direction. Liz took several more photos of this with a small grin. When he heard the shutter sound and turned back to her, he was glaring.

  She just shrugged and stood up, walking back to the beach, where they’d laid down their towels and kicked off their shoes. The t-shirt that Carter had stripped off lay on his towel, baking in the sun, next to her camera bag. Liz found herself reaching for it, before thinking better and reaching for her bag instead, slipping the camera inside the water-proof pouch.

  She had no sooner placed her most prized possession away, safe from harm, than she felt a pair of strong arms grab her from behind and lift her up, swinging her all around as she shrieked. She felt the chill from the water that still covered Carter’s body and she yelled at him to let her go. He refused, carrying her across the sand, straight toward the ocean. She shrieked louder, but it was mixed with laughter as she struggled to remove herself from his strong embrace—though, to be fair, she wasn’t really struggling as hard as she might have had it been anybody else.

  Carter dropped her unceremoniously into water that was two feet deep and frigid compared to the sand they had just been standing on. Liz sputtered as a wave immediately crested over her head, filling her mouth with salty water and making her choke slightly. She glared up at him, her cheeks pink and her lips pressed together in annoyance.

  “You couldn’t have waited until I took off my clothes?”

  “I don’t believe it’s that kind of beach,” he deadpanned. “Besides, it’s not like you have anything important on you, right? No gadgets or anything?” Her phone was in her camera bag, but she refused to answer, still annoyed at him. “Right.”

  “Whatever,” Liz groused. “Let’s just go.”

  “Go where?” Carter asked. “We’ve barely been here an hour and look around. We’re the only ones here.” There was, indeed, nobody standing on the beach, which was an odd sight for Southern California on such a hot day. But there was a reason for that.

  “That’s because I reserved this section for the morning. In about an hour, there are going to be swarms of people milling around and I still have a lot of work to do.”

  “Ah, yes,” Carter sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Your schedule, right?” Liz nodded as she waded toward the shore. He walked beside her, but a little more ahead the entire time, his long strides helping him reach the sand before her. “Don’t you ever schedule some time for something besides work?”

  “None of your business.” She winked at him.

  “You’re right,” Carter said. “It’s not.” He raced ahead of her and plucked his shirt off the ground, slipping it over his head. Liz’s eyes tracked all the spots that it stuck to his wet body, her tongue poking out of her mouth to lick her suddenly dry lips for a quick moment. She hurried after him, glad that she had packed extra clothes to change into as she quickly slipped her soaking denim cut-offs down her legs and rid herself of the black tank top she was wearing. She reached into the tote bag she’d brought along and pulled out a pair of capris and a pink t-shirt, slipping her body into them, before reaching down to fold her wet clothes into her towel.

  When she looked back up, she found Carter looking at her, a strange something in his eyes that she couldn’t quite name. “What?” she asked, furrowing her brows as she slipped the tote onto her arm and her feet into her Toms and started up the beach.

  “Nothing,” Carter answered. “Nothing at all.” His long stride had him taking the lead again. “Nice bathing suit, by the way.” Liz’s cheeks turned pink and she cleared her throat as she followed him to his Harley. She had worn a green bikini with white polka dots. She’d never felt self-conscious in bathing suits—not even as a chubby sixteen-year-old girl at camp with a bunch of girls that were sizes 2 through 6—but when his eyes raked over her the way they just had, she felt goosebumps raised on her arms and she attempted to rub them away as she followed his steps, attempting to catch up, but slipping slightly in the uneven sand.

  Carter tossed her a helmet as she approached the motorcycle he was leaning against, before placing his own on and jumping on. Liz put her stuff in his saddlebag before jumping on behind him and wrapping her arms around his muscular waist. She tried not to breathe too heavily as she took in the scent and feel of him,

  When she’d been younger, her dad would take her on rides around the block on his Harley and she would hold on for dear life, terrified of the roaring in her ears and the prospect of falling off the back.

  This time was different. This time, she feared nothing. This time, she was older and taller and smart enough to know what to do on a motorcycle, but none of that mattered as much as whom she was with. There was something about Carter McIntyre that just made her feel…free.

  She wondered if he felt anything similar for her.

  She doubted it. The man was far too hard to read, but he made it clear that their relationship would stay just where it was. He probably didn’t want any more than that, even if she did.

  *****

  “Tell me about Liz.”

  The statement had come out of nowhere. They’d just been sitting in silence for a long time as Carter attempted to wait out the session. Dr. Maxwell—Or Admiral Maxwell, as it were—had the same sweater as last time, with all the different accommodations pinned to it. But he didn’t look much like a seasoned war veteran. He looked like a librarian.

  And, apparently, he was psychic as well.

  “You mentioned something about her making you late when you walked in,” the doctor explained. “Are you dating?”

  “No.”

  “Is she related to you?”

  “Definitely not.”

  Dr. Maxwell was silent, staring patiently into Carter’s eyes until the younger man rolled his eyes. “She’s my neighbor,” he admitted, finally. “And kind of like a work partner.” He tugged at the dog tags around his neck. “And she’s one tough cookie.”

  “Tough how?” Dr. Maxwell asked.

  “She’s making ridiculous things just so she can get the perfect shot.” Liz Morgan’s orders were reasonable and firm, but not demanding in any way, but why would Carter be honest with somebody he disliked? And she did always get the perfect shot.

  “The perfect shot?”

  “She’s a photographer,” Carter explained. “Her dad was famous or something. Emmett Morgan?”

  “You’re dating Emmett Morgan’s daughter?”

  “Not dating,” Carter reiterated. “Neighbors. Business partners. I like her, but that’s all.”

  “Yes, well, you know her then?”

  “You’re a photography fan, Doc?”

  “He was a friend of mine, actually,” Dr. Maxwell said, standing up and making his way to his desk, where he opened a draw and pulled out a photo frame. He walked back to Carter and showed him the photo of two young men in Navy fatigues smiling into a camera that one of them seemed to be holding. “We served together in Vietnam.”

  “I had no idea,” Carter said, shaking his head. “Liz never mentioned her dad serving. Only her grandfather and her brother.”

  “Brent?” Carter nodded, slowly, his brows furrowed. “Yeah, I heard about that. Poor kid.” He shook his head. “Morgan and I fell out of touch years before that. Just after he got married and started having kids. We always s
aid that our boys would be Navy men, just like us. But I guess something must’ve changed for him. I tried getting in touch after Brent died, but I never got a reply.”

  “You don’t find that odd?” Carter asked.

  “It happens sometimes,” Dr. Maxwell sighed. “We went through a lot in that war and I guess some things just caught up to Emmett that left him worse for the wear. Maybe the memories associated with me were too painful. Maybe he just couldn’t deal with the atrocities we saw out there. Who knows?” He took the photograph back to his desk and slipped it back into the drawer, before shuffling back to his chair. His limp suddenly looked worse than Carter remembered.

  “This is why therapy is such an integral part of the recovery process, Carter,” he continued. “Your wounds can heal or you can get prosthetics to help you walk again, but without seeking help for any mental deficits this war might have left you with, you’ll never be back to a hundred percent.”

  “I wasn’t left with any mental deficits,” Carter argued.

  “I read your file,” the doctor retorted. “You’ve woken your colleagues several times in the middle of the night, screaming and thrashing violently. You wanna tell me that’s nothing?” He gave Carter a look that was a mixture of disbelieving and chastising.

  “They were just nightmares,” Carter said. “Everybody gets them.”

  “Everybody with PTSD, you mean?”

  “There were at least six guys in my tent alone that were waking up every night in a cold sweat. I wasn’t the only one, alright? We all see horrible shit out there. We’re not all mentally handicapped.”

  “That’s not what I said,” Dr. Maxwell sighed, rubbing at his temples.

  “That’s exactly what you said. And I will not stand for it.” Carter stood and started making his way toward the door.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Dr. Maxwell called after him.

  “I don’t have to take this shit anymore. I’m calling my Superior.”

  “I’ve already spoken to Captain Jones,” Dr. Maxwell informed Carter. “He’s informed me that if you decide not to continue with therapy, he’s prepared to discharge you from the Navy; effective immediately.”

  Carter turned back, enraged. “He can’t do that.”

  “Yes, he very well can. If he believes that you are a danger to yourself or others, he has the right to serve you with discharge papers and you will no longer be permitted back to your base. Unless you finish your therapy.” Carter gritted his teeth, his fist clenching around the doorknob as he closed his eyes and attempted to count backwards from ten. Dr. Maxwell’s voice softened. “You’re a good man, Carter,” he said. “And, from what I’ve heard, an even better soldier. It would be a shame if the SEALs lost you over something like this. Your future is far too bright for you to give it all up now.” He took a deep breath and relaxed in his chair. “But, if that’s what you want, then I won’t stop you. I cannot help somebody who doesn’t want to be helped.”

  Carter paused for a long moment, his breathing slowing down as his anger ebbed away and he turned slowly back to the doctor, who was gazing up at him calmly with those ocean blue eyes of his that reminded Carter of sinking ships and smoky skies. Carter took another breath and walked forward, sitting back down on the chair across from Dr. Maxwell and keeping his back ramrod straight.

  “What do you want to know?” he asked, gruffly, folding his arms over his chest in a defensive pose.

  “Tell me about Kane,” Dr. Maxwell requested, picking up his notepad and poising his pen above the page. Carter considered him for a moment before clamping his mouth shut and sitting back in the chair.

  He stayed like this for the remaining twenty minutes of the session.

  *****

  “What’s got you down this time?” Rusty asked, his stool groaning beneath his weight as he sat down next to Carter at the bar.

  “Your lousy mug,” Carter retorted. “I’m sick of looking at it.”

  “Well, lucky for you,” Rusty laughed, “my leave ends tomorrow. I’m out of here at 0600 hours.”

  “Salud,” Carter said, sarcastically, raising his glass. Rusty bumped his shoulder with a laugh and shook his head.

  “Wise ass,” he grumbled.

  “Takes one to know one,” Carter huffed. “You nervous to go back?”

  “Why? Because I might never see my wife or kids again?” he shrugged. “Maybe a little,” he admitted. “But, hey, at least I’ll be dead. My kids, though? My wife? They’re going to live the rest of their lives without me. That scares me even more.”

  Carter opened his mouth to make another smart remark, but thought better of it. Some things were just too far. Instead he raised a hand to the bartender.

  “What can I do for you gentlemen today?” Todd asked, wiping down a glass, before placing it under the counter.

  “Get this guy a drink,” Carter said. “On me. Anything he wants.” He put a twenty down on the bar.

  “McIntyre, I’m flattered,” Rusty said, “but I’ve got a wife, man. And I’m very much in love with her.”

  “Would you shut the hell up and take the drink already?” Carter growled, making Rusty laugh and clap him on the back.

  “If you insist,” he said, looking back to the bartender. “Get me a Stella,” he ordered.

  “Coming right up.”

  “Make it two,” Carter added and Todd gave them two thumbs up as he grabbed two glasses and the tap, filling them up in no time and sliding them down the bar. “Salud,” Carter said, clinking his glass against Rusty’s.

  “To living through this godforsaken war,” Rusty added. “And to seeing my baby girl get married. Or even just take her first steps.” Carter watched as Rusty downed the drink in two long sips and he didn’t miss the tear drops that fell from the corner of his eyes.

  He pretended that he did, though.

  When he turned back to Rusty, the man’s eyes were as dry as the desert, though there was a pointed frown on his lips.

  “What’s wrong now?” Carter asked.

  “Nothing,” Rusty insisted, “except...”

  “Except what, Rus?” Carter prompted.

  “I just heard a rumor,” Rusty said, “that you’ve fallen in with a particular…gang.”

  “A gang?” Carter huffed out a laugh. “Me?”

  “Hey, it ain’t too hard to believe,” Rusty defended. “You’ve always been somewhat of a knucklehead, ya know? Always thinking your invincible; that you could cheat death if ya really wanted to. A lot of kids your age are like that.”

  “You’re, like, five years older than me.”

  “Which means I’ve got five years more experience than you,” Rusty said, “don’t it?” He shook his head. “But, seriously, you should not be messing with the Hell’s Seven. They are bad news.”

  “Says who?”

  “Anybody who’s ever had to deal with them. Anybody who’s ever lost anybody to them. Several government agencies. Take your pick.”

  “They’re not that bad.”

  “Cart,” Rusty sighed. “Their leader is under investigation for several homicides and missing persons.”

  “Yeah, and he’s still never been convicted in his life. Never even for petty theft. Like I said; not that bad.”

  “If you say so,” Rusty said. “Just make sure you’ve got somebody watching your back while you’re out here. Because I sure as hell can’t do that all the way from Iraq.”

  “I don’t need anybody watching out for me,” Carter insisted. “I may be five years younger than you, but I know how to handle myself.”

  “There’s that arrogance again. You know, someday that’s going to get you killed.”

  “What’s gonna get him killed?”

  Both men spun around at the new—and decidedly feminine—voice from behind them. Women weren’t anything new in this bar—they had plenty of female colleagues in the Navy—but this one wasn’t wearing any fatigues from any branch of the military. She only had on capris and a pink sh
irt, and eyes only for Carter, etched in concern.

  “Who’s that?” Rusty murmured to Carter as Liz walked forward, making a beeline straight for him, unaware—or insolent—of the eyes following her every step.

  “My neighbor,” Carter retorted.

  “In Marc’s old apartment building?” Rusty asked. When Carter nodded, he let out a low whistle. “Gotta love Los Angeles, huh?”

  “Yeah,” Carter replied, barely paying attention as he stood to greet Liz. “What are you doing here?”

  “It’s lunch time,” she replied. Looking at his watch, Carter saw that it was about ten minutes past two. “And I remember you saying something about a bar that serves complimentary drinks to vets.”

  “Yeah, veterans,” Carter huffed. “Which you are not, so you can just…”

  “I can afford to buy a drink, Carter,” Liz said, walking up to the bar and perching herself on the stool next to Rusty. “I’ll have a Stella,” she said.

  “Girl after my own heart,” Rusty chuckled, sticking out his hand. “Robert Garner,” he introduced, charming as ever, “but the guys call me Rusty. You can, too, if you’d like, sweetheart.”

  “Nice to meet you, Rusty,” Liz giggled. “You are much more charming than your friend there.”

  “Story of my life,” Rusty lamented. “But I’ve been trying to train him. It’s not as easy as it looks. Newspapers and squirt bottles don’t work all that well.”

  Liz laughed at that, shaking her head. “I can only imagine,” she said, sparing a glance at Carter, who was watching her with a scalding heat in his gaze. She couldn’t tell if it was anger or lust or some combination of the two. She turned back as the bartender—whose name tag read ‘Todd’—placed her glass of Stella Artois down in front of her. “Thank you,” she said, politely, reaching into her pocket and handing him a twenty. “Keep the change.”

  “Angel,” Todd said, pulling her hand to his lips. “Why can’t you be more like your friend, Mac?” he asked. Carter rolled his eyes, biting back his comment about trust fund babies and rich girls in favor of reaching out to place his hand on her shoulder.