EXCERPT: The Only One Who Matters

Title: The Only One Who Matters
Author: Cat Grant, L.A. Witt
Publisher: Samhain Publishing
Format: ebook, paperback

Excerpt:

Coming home was always weirder than it should have been.

With every completed mission, Lieutenant Commander Josh Walker thought that feeling would go away, but it didn’t. Sliding into the driver’s seat of his Mustang—after blasting the A/C to cool it down after four weeks in the sun, of course—felt like climbing into the cockpit of an alien ship. Feeling the seat belt through his shirt reminded him he was no longer wearing a protective layer of body armor. When he glanced in the rearview and side mirrors, he was so caught up in checking for insurgents and IEDs, he nearly forgot to check for pedestrians and passing cars. He remembered, though, and just in time not to back over a pair of civilian contractors.

He paused, elbow on the steering wheel, and rubbed a hand over his jaw. Even his goddamned face felt weird, with a few weeks’ worth of scruff now absent, replaced only by about twenty-four hours of stubble. He was so used to his hair tickling the back of his neck, it was strange to feel cold air on it now. The haircut, the air-conditioning, the lack of the Middle Eastern sun—welcome home, Josh.

Home. That thought brought a smile to his lips.

He checked the mirrors again, this time for passersby and cars instead of phantom insurgents, and backed out of the parking space.

Traffic was lighter than usual, thank God, and he sped past the familiar-but-strange scenery. It was good to see a landscape that wasn’t desert, and, even better, something that wasn’t the drab, bare-bones inside of a cargo jet.

He parked in front of the one-story rental house, killed the engine and got out. He didn’t even bother pulling his rucksack out of the trunk. He’d carried men who outweighed him by a good hundred pounds through hellish conditions, but just the thought of picking up that bag made him tired. Between the long, miserable flights home—it took a hell of a storm to make a dozen SEALs airsick—and this afternoon’s debrief, he was exhausted.

Though the ground floor had been picked out for other reasons, he was sure thankful for it today. If he’d had to drag his ass up any stairs, he might’ve just napped in the damned car.

As he was putting his key in the door, a neighbor’s dog started barking. Josh rolled his eyes. Great. All he wanted to do was sleep, and now there—

He opened the door, and a huge German shepherd rushed at him.

“What the—”

“Major! Down!”

The dog instantly dropped onto its haunches but whined softly as it wagged its tail so hard it almost toppled itself. Josh stared at it for a moment.

Then he raised his gaze, and in spite of his surprise at the strange dog in his house, grinned.

Leaning heavily—but not nearly as heavily as a month ago—on a cane, David returned the grin, green eyes shining just right to make Josh almost forget how exhausted he was. “Hey. Didn’t realize you’d landed already.”

Josh shrugged. “Thought I’d surprise you. I just, uh…” He glanced at the dog. “Wasn’t expecting Cujo here.”

David laughed. “Major, go lay down.”

The dog whined again, but then trotted over to the recliner and lay beside it, head on his enormous paws.

Josh kicked the door shut and closed the distance between him and David. Damn, it had been a while, hadn’t it? David was obviously getting around better now. His sandy blond hair was a little longer—still within regs, even though he’d been retired for months, but longer than when Josh had left.

“God, I missed you,” Josh whispered, wrapping his arms around him.

“Missed you too,” David murmured and kissed him. He put one arm around Josh’s waist and rested the other hand, the one still holding the cane, on Josh’s hip. His kiss was soft, not as demanding as it could be when he was turned on, and Josh was grateful for it. Sometimes he came back from missions and wanted to fuck until they couldn’t move, but sometimes, he… Hell, he already couldn’t move.

David broke the kiss and touched his forehead to Josh’s. “Tired?”

“Very.”

He drew back enough to meet Josh’s eyes. Then he nodded down the hall. “Why don’t you go get some sleep?”

“I will.” Josh touched David’s face. “But I want—”

“Josh.” David gave him a look that took Josh back to the days of SEAL training, back when they’d been Chief Flint and Lieutenant Walker. “I could tell the second you came in the door that you were dead on your feet. Just go get some sleep.”

“But you—”

“Will be here when you get up.” He nudged Josh toward the bedroom. “Go.”

Josh wanted to argue. He hadn’t seen David in a damned month. He wanted to catch up. Just be with him. Find out how his physical therapy was going and his leg was healing and…

And he was too fucking tired.

He kissed David softly. “Just a few hours.”

David smiled. “Enjoy it.”

Josh startled awake in a pitch-black room. Heart racing. Panic running through his veins. Fear. Adrenaline. The cool air didn’t feel right. Not on sunburned skin and—

No, he wasn’t sunburned.

And the sand in his mouth was gone.

The dream faded. He couldn’t remember what he’d dreamed about, only that he had, in fact, dreamed, and his blood was still pumping from it. Whatever it was, it was over.

Except that Josh was immobile. The sheet draped over his body from the waist down was tight. Heavy. What the hell?

He squinted in the darkness as some faint light spilling in from down the hall illuminated his familiar surroundings. The mismatched silhouettes of a couple of craigslist dressers. The outline of the footboard. The dark rectangle that he finally recognized as a framed print his mom had given them as a housewarming gift.

Home. He was home.

And the warm, solid shape beside him was David, sound asleep, snoring softly, and safe. Josh closed his eyes and exhaled. A few fleeting images from the dream flashed through his mind, and he remembered being back out on the last mission, except this time, David was with him. Still a SEAL. Still running like the best of them, or crouching along a wall as they crept into a building, or carrying one of the guys. Then there’d been a grenade.

Josh shuddered. All the dreams were different, but the recurring theme was the same—David was healthy and mobile, and then he was down, and then he was gone.

But he was okay now. Josh was home, and David was asleep beside him, his cane probably propped up against the nightstand and his leg scarred from the bullet that had ended his career.

Josh started to roll toward him so he could put an arm over him, but the sheet was still pulled tight. He couldn’t move. Something heavy was pressed up against him. What the fuck was going on here?

He felt around, and his hand met thick, coarse fur.

The dog. Right.

Wait, the dog was in bed with them?

He pushed himself up onto his elbows, and sure enough, the dog—Major, wasn’t that what David had called him?—was sprawled out beside Josh, his paws hanging over the side of the bed. Seriously?

He dropped back onto the mattress and stared up at the ceiling. Then he rolled over, which was a challenge when he was between David and Major, and draped an arm over David’s waist. David stirred a little, grumbling something in his sleep, and put a hand over Josh’s.

Closing his eyes, Josh kissed the back of David’s shoulder. This felt so weird. The dog was new, of course, but even sleeping in his own bed with his arm around David was…strange. Warm skin against warm skin made him feel vulnerable. Much like the seat belt against his thin shirt, David’s body against his reminded him he no longer wore that protective shell of Kevlar and trauma plates. The blackout curtains over the window behind his back didn’t make him feel any less like a pair of eyes or a sniper scope might peer through it. The air tasted strange without the coppery tinge of blood or the sour bite of sweat.

Sleep was a very real possibility here. No dreamless catnaps whenever he could get them. He could fall asleep. He could dream. Pressed against David, he shuddered.

He was home, damn it. Home and safe.

Why the fuck did he feel like he’d landed on another planet?

When Josh awoke again, he was alone. David was gone, and so was the dog.

He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Every muscle in his body ached, but it was that ache that came from sleeping too long, so he couldn’t complain. He stretched a little, then got up, put on a pair of shorts—holy fuck, it felt good not to be wearing sandy, sweaty camos for once—and shuffled into the bathroom to take a leak. He considered grabbing a shower but desperately needed a cigarette and some coffee first.

He headed out to the kitchen. There, David was standing at the counter, the dog sitting beside him on the mat in front of the sink with its tongue hanging out and tail wagging. Glancing over his shoulder, David smiled. “Mornin’.”

“Mornin’.” Josh squinted against the bright sunlight. “How long have I been out?”

“About sixteen hours.”

“Jesus.” That was probably more than he’d slept in the entire four-week deployment. Now he remembered why he preferred those short-and-sweet missions that had him home before the fatigue had a chance to catch up with him.

As his eyes adjusted to the brightness, he realized David was standing unassisted by the counter. A month ago, he’d been glued to the cane.

“You’re getting around a lot better, I see.”

David smiled halfheartedly. “Still can’t quite leave that thing behind”—he gestured at the cane propped up beside the kitchen table—“but I can get further away from it.”

“That’s progress.” Josh smiled. “What else has been going on?”

David leaned against the counter, subtly taking some weight off his injured leg. “Same as when you left. Physical therapy. Still trying to find a fucking job.”

“Any bites there?”

“Nah.” David shook his head. “Not exactly qualified for much behind a desk, and can’t stand long enough or move well enough to do anything I am qualified to do.” He paused. “On a positive note, my physical therapist is cutting me down to once every other week.”

“Really?” Josh grinned. “That’s great.”

David managed a somewhat more enthusiastic expression. “Yeah. Only getting tortured twice a month now.”

“Glad to hear you’re getting better.”

“Something like that,” David muttered. Before Josh could press, David reached for him and put a hand on his waist. “How about you? You doing all right?” He never asked for details about the mission. He knew better. It was against regs to discuss it, and Josh suspected he didn’t want to know anyway.

Josh nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

At their feet, the dog fidgeted, his tags jingling.

Josh regarded him curiously. “Didn’t realize you’d found a dog already.”

“He was Hanley’s dog. The wife was getting overwhelmed keeping up with a puppy and two toddlers, and now with a new baby on the way…” David gestured at Major. “I said I’d take him off her hands.”

“He seems pretty happy here.”

David glanced at the dog. “I like him. What do you think?”

“Not sure yet. Is he, uh, friendly?”

David threw him a good-natured glare. “No, Josh. I got us a vicious biter who’s going to tear your throat out if you look at him cross-eyed.”

Chuckling, Josh flipped him off. He knelt in front of the dog, careful not to look him straight in the eyes, and held out his hand. Major sniffed him, then licked his fingers.

“How old is he?” Josh asked as he petted him.

“Little over a year.” David came closer, resting his hand on the counter to make up for the absence of the cane. “Sort of halfway between a puppy and not.” He paused. “Housebroken already, thank God.”

“Well, that’s good. Especially if he’s sleeping on my side of the bed.”

David laughed, eyes darting away. “We can, uh, get him his own bed. I hadn’t meant for him to get in the habit, but…”

Josh rose. “It’s okay. I really don’t mind.”

“You sure?”

Josh nodded. “It was just something to, you know, get used to. Kind of, uh…” He hesitated. “Just kind of startled me the first time.”

David locked eyes with him. “You still having nightmares?”

Josh swallowed. “You telling me you aren’t?”

They held each other’s gazes.

Then David broke away, clearing his throat. “Coffee’s ready. You feel like having eggs or anything?”

“Sure. Eggs sound good. I need to have a smoke first.”

As David went to the refrigerator, his limp less pronounced but still unmistakable, Josh sighed. He looked down at the dog sitting at his feet and absently scratched Major’s ears.

Coming home really was always weirder than it should have been.

EXCERPT: No Distance Left to Run

Title: No Distance Left to Run
Author: Aleksandr Voinov, L.A. Witt
Publisher: Samhain Publishing
Format: ebook, paperback

Excerpt:

The text from Deb wasn’t entirely out of the blue, but I always got nervous when I saw her name on my phone. With her father in fading health, no news was usually good news, so a message could mean anything.

Can we meet for lunch?

Well, that wasn’t too bad, then.

Sure. When?

I didn’t have to be at work for a few hours. She probably had a pretty short window between dropping the kids off at school and picking them up. While I waited for a response, I pulled up the traffic app and checked traffic between Seattle and the Eastside where she lived, which gave me something to do besides worry that she was going to tell me her dad’s condition had worsened. I hadn’t even seen much of the Hawthorne family since I’d left the Church, but they’d been like my second family when I was growing up.

She texted me back with the time and suggested a place on my side of Lake Washington. Convenient. Just in case we ran late—when didn’t we?—I put my work clothes in a bag and left them in the backseat of my car.

At twelve thirty on the nose, she pulled into the parking lot of one of those insanely healthy vegan cafés in Fremont, just outside of downtown Seattle. Hope you’re buying this time, I thought. Places like this were not cheap.

As soon as I saw her, my heart dropped. She always looked tired—six kids under seven will do that to you—but she was tense. Really tense. Nervous.

“Hey.” I hugged her gently. “You all right?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” She pulled back and plastered on a phony smile that was totally out of character for her. This wasn’t good.

“How’s your dad?” I asked quietly.

Deb straightened a bit, the smile faltering. “He’s not well, but that’s not why I’m here.” She gestured at the coffee shop. “Let’s go in and sit. I…need to talk to you about something.”

Yeah. Definitely not good.

“Deb.” I touched her arm. “Just tell me. Straight out.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think this is—”

“Please. No beating around the bush.”

She held my gaze for a moment and then swallowed hard. “It’s about my brother.”

Something twisted deep in my gut. She had four brothers, three of them still living. I cleared my throat. “Okay. Which one?”

Deb locked eyes with me, though it seemed to take a lot of effort. “Joshua.”

I winced and shifted my gaze away. “How in the world is this urgent, then?” Unless someone had found his body. At least then, maybe we could all have some closure, but God, his parents didn’t need—

“Chris.” When I met her eyes again, she whispered, “He’s alive.”

“What?” My knees buckled. I grabbed the side of her minivan and leaned hard against it. “How the hell… He’s alive?”

She smiled, but that nervous tension remained in her expression. “It’s a long story. I’ve…I’ve been back in contact with him for a while. Almost a year now, off and on.”

I could barely breathe. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because he didn’t want anyone to know.” She exhaled. “He knows people were hurt when he left.”

“Left?” I growled. “What do you mean he left?”

“Exactly that. He left.”

Left. I had a hard time trying to work out whether this was one of those horrible nice phrases, like “he passed away” or “he’s gone home to Jesus,” a pretty veneer for something awful, or whether she was really so blasé about it. Seeing the tension around her jaw, the second option looked a great deal unlikely. “Explain. Please?”

She tugged at my arm toward the café, and I got the hint and sighed.

We found a table—she’d selected a quiet corner—and then we went through the torturous process of ordering drinks while he left, he left echoed through my head.

When she leaned forward again, her eyes were all soft. “So, yes. Joshua left. That’s how he puts it.”

It was only really sinking in that he was alive. He could still do that. Use words. Give things names and descriptions. Something shifted in my chest, some kind of weight, or maybe grief, or maybe something else entirely. I wanted to strangle him, but this was only his sister, and she didn’t deserve that.

Deb went on. “Joshua reached out to me about a year ago. He found me on Facebook, of all places.” She leaned back when the waiter brought our coffees—decaf for her, of course—and ordered her superfood salad. I shook my head when the waiter asked me if I wanted anything. My stomach was too busy knotting and twisting.

“So, how is he?”

She drew up her shoulders. “Well enough, I think. I asked him to come home to make his peace with Dad.”

Another one of those pretty words. Whether the old man wanted to be made peace with was an entirely different matter, but we both knew that. Deb always believed in family and forgiveness. I wasn’t so sure about all that. I had precious little experience with happy family reunions.

“And?”

“He’s coming.”

My stomach was busy enough to tolerate the sip of coffee. No way could I have eaten anything now. “All right.”

“He’s arriving this evening at Sea-Tac.” She lifted her eyebrows.

Oh no. I’m not picking him up with you. No way.

I started to shake my head, but she reached across the table and put a hand on my arm. “He wants to see you. He’s here to make peace with our father, but…you’re the one he’s been talking about recently.”

“And after five years of thinking he’s dead, I’m supposed to show up at the airport with flowers and a smile?” I pulled my arm back. “No. Just…no. I can’t.”

“It doesn’t have to be tonight. He’ll probably need to rest and settle in anyway. I’m sure he’ll be jetlagged, and…” She trailed off, then lowered her gaze and picked up her coffee.

“Jetlagged.” I tilted my head. “Where exactly is he coming from?”

Deb took a sip of coffee, rolling it around for a moment before she set it back down. “France.”

I blinked. “France? What in the…” I closed my eyes and shook my head. “Last I heard, he was missing and presumed dead. Now he’s alive and flying in from France?” I sat up. “What is going on?”

She took a deep breath. Folding her hands on the table, she met my eyes, her expression taut and stoic like it probably was whenever she had to explain something difficult to one of her children. “When he disappeared from his mission, it was because he left. He just…left. He wasn’t kidnapped or killed or anything like that. He left, he changed his name, and he joined the French Foreign Legion.”

I stared at her, waiting for the punch line. That was not the Joshua I knew. Not even close. He was the straight-A student, the track star, the football star, the everything-he-ever-did star. The first-chair trumpet player and promising business student who’d locked in a full-ride scholarship to Brigham Young, only to have his life tragically cut short during his two-year mission. People like that grew up to be CEOs. Or bishops. Or senators. They didn’t just up and walk away from everything to join the…

“The French Foreign Legion. You’re serious.”

Deb nodded. “I didn’t believe it either, but then I could barely believe he was alive until I talked to him.”

The words thumped against my chest. “You’ve actually talked to him? Like, on the phone?”

She nodded again.

So he was alive. His sister would have known if he was an imposter or a scam artist. If she’d spoken to him and still believed him, then he really was alive.

Laughing softly, she said, “He sounds a lot different now. I mean, it’s his voice. I knew it was him the moment I answered the phone.”

“Then how is he different?”

“He’s got an accent now. French, I guess. His English was actually a little rough.”

I struggled to imagine Mr. Class President, he of the eloquent speeches even in high school, having any difficulty with the English language. “But you’re sure it was him.”

Her laughter vanished, and she nodded slowly. “Absolutely. Chris, I wouldn’t lie to you. Not about this. Joshua is alive.”

Something shifted again in my chest. Like every damn organ I possessed. Maybe her relief or her love for her brother—some of that translated itself to me, though I didn’t want it to. I’d mourned him for so long that hearing he was alive was actually painful. But the whole story seemed unbelievable at the same time, exotic and strange and so not Joshua. I wanted to see him. And I never wanted to see him again. All this was half a dream and half Careful what you wish for. Alive. And soon back home.

“What else…did he say?”

“He mostly asked about the family, but he didn’t say much more apart from what I told you. He seemed to be really…I don’t know. Relaxed? About some things? Laid back?”

“Really?”

“Well, I asked him what he was going to do if he decides to get out, and he said, ‘Something will come up’.” She shook her head. “Like it didn’t matter and like he wasn’t worried at all.”

Not like Joshua either. I wouldn’t exactly call him a control freak, but he liked his plans and his schedules, and he was usually extremely well prepared. A shrugged God will provide attitude was out of character for him.

“Where is he staying?”

“He didn’t say. I offered, but maybe my house is a bit too busy. Can’t have him overdose on family right away.” She smiled a little. “I’ll let him recover from the trip before I introduce him to the other kids.”

Five years. Good heavens. He didn’t know most of her kids. She’d been pregnant with the third and fourth when he’d allegedly died, and there’d been two more since then. His own family was full of strangers now.

And maybe it was wise to give him some space. He’d bolted once—though the why was what really interested me. The Legion? What kind of harebrained idea was that? Who ran away from home—or a mission, for God’s sake—and joined the Legion?

I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “When are you going to pick him up?”

“At seven.”

Her face was all open and inviting. Somehow, she managed to put the possibility out there in the room without applying pressure or guilt-tripping me. Then again, there was no guilt to trip over. If anybody, that was Joshua’s role.

“International flight? He might be delayed.”

“I think it’s a connecting flight.”

So epic possibilities for delays and other clusterfucks.

I sucked on my teeth for a moment. Though, how bad could it be?

Pretty damn bad. You could try to punch him, and you both get arrested.

“I could wait with you.”

She smiled and reached over the table to touch my hand. “Thank you, Chris. I’m sure it’ll mean the world to him.”

Unless I punch him. Bastard.

EXCERPT: General Misconduct

Title: General Misconduct
Author: L.A. Witt
Publisher: Samhain Publishing
Format: ebook, paperback

Excerpt:

“Go hike to Hiji Falls this weekend,” MA1 Randall had said in the emergency room on Friday night. “Take some pictures. Post them on Facebook. Make a few offhand comments about the rocks being slick, and you fell and busted your ass.”

“Or my face?” I’d asked dryly.

He’d shrugged. “The rocks are slick, and it’s steep. Trust me, it can be done.”

I hadn’t gone anywhere on Saturday. Partly sleeping off the long night, partly not wanting to venture outside the safety of my apartment. This morning, though, I decided I should put Randall’s advice to good use before I went back to work tomorrow.

Parked in front of the half-translated sign at the trailhead, I glanced at myself in the rearview. The bandage over my eyebrow and the welt on my cheekbone glared back. From this angle, I couldn’t see the mark on my throat, but it throbbed enough to keep me aware of it. Every time I moved my hand, the raw skin on my knuckles burned. Skepticism swelled in my gut. Would anyone really buy that all this shit had happened in anything less than a fight?

Hopefully, they would. And if my dignity had to take a hit so my career didn’t end before it had begun, then so be it.

I sighed and got out of my car.

Though it was still early in the day, the Okinawan heat and humidity were already in full swing. Seemed like a good day to hit the beach and maybe try my hand at snorkeling instead of hiking, but the stitches above my eyebrow begged to differ.

“Keep it clean and dry,” the doc had emphatically said before discharging me.

Hiking it was.

Technically, I didn’t have to go to Hiji Falls. There were any number of places around the island where I could spend the day and then post on Facebook that I’d busted my ass on some rocks.

But I was rattled and didn’t have it in me to think of some other destination besides the one the cop had recommended. That, and I was still terrified of someone finding out what had really happened, and on some irrational level, I’d convinced myself that following his instructions to the letter would keep my secret on the down-low where it belonged. Trust the Naval Academy to beat that into my skull.

I started up the trail. I’d heard the kilometer-long hike to Hiji was a steep one, and it lived up to legend. The short stretch from the parking area to the trailhead was good and flat, but then it inclined sharply as it led into the thick forest.

I barely noticed the scenery. My legs burned as I followed the shady trail—and endless staircases—up and down steep slopes and around sharp bends and switchbacks, but my mind was a million miles away.

Friday night shouldn’t have happened the way it did. The warning signs had been there from the get-go. Glenn was drunk and so was I, but I’d been coherent. He’d been a little too pushy, a little too in my space, and no amount of haven’t-been-laid-in-too-damned-long should have blinded me to those red flags.

Idiot that I was, I’d left Palace Habu with him, and that was when things had gone downhill.

“Why don’t we grab a cab and go back to my place?”

“Uh, actually I’d— Let go of my arm.”

“Let’s go.”

“Let’s not.”

Fifteen minutes later, I was in the back of a cab on my way to the hospital at Camp Lester with a handful of cocktail napkins pressed against the cut above my eyebrow that would not stop bleeding. Freaked out. Rattled. Mind full of all the things that could have happened to me if I hadn’t landed that punch just right, if I hadn’t managed to knock him back long enough to get up and bolt for the end of the alley.

Today, that panic lingered beneath my skin, and God knew I’d spent all of yesterday and last night obsessing over every way things could have happened, scaring myself shitless with all kinds of possibilities, but as I walked down the narrow path toward Hiji Falls, the fear was mostly gone. Now I was angry. Fucking furious.

Not just at Glenn, but at myself.

I was a goddamned second-degree black belt. I had titles in kickboxing and jiu-jitsu. Gold fucking medals, and not just at local competitions. I didn’t get my ass handed to me.

Grinding my teeth, I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my shorts, brushing my raw knuckles on the seam. I walked faster, as if I could march the fear and anger right out of myself.

My dad had put me in martial arts when I was a kid. The minute he suspected I was gay, he’d enrolled me in every form of self-defense imaginable because he’d been scared to death someone would try to beat me up when they found out. Whether or not it had been necessary was debatable. All I knew was the first time someone took a swing at me, I was fourteen, and no one who heard about that incident ever tried anything after that, no matter how they felt about gays.

And then the first time someone really threatened me, someone who intended to do God only knew what once he overpowered me, I’d just barely gotten away from him.

How fucking ironic. My dad had made sure I was extensively trained so I could protect myself from homophobes, and the one who finally bloodied my knuckles and split my eyebrow was another damned gay man.

A chill beneath my skin made me shudder, and I broke out in goose bumps in spite of the heat. Continuing down a flat, winding stretch of trail, I alternated between being on the verge of tears—from shame and fear—and wanting to punch something. My pride was as busted up as my face and my hand, but it wasn’t just that. The guy scared me. He did. I couldn’t pretend he didn’t. I’d had training, but so had he. Even the cockiest black belt doesn’t take his own skills for granted against a Marine, and even drunk, that Marine had gotten me flat on my back on the pavement.

All the way up the trail, as it rose and fell and took me deeper into the forest, I couldn’t stop thinking about what might have happened the other night. What all too easily could have happened.

And then what? Was I really going to broadcast to everyone in my chain of command that I’d been in a gay bar on Gate Two Street? Everybody knew the clubs on Gate Two Street could be sketchy, especially the ones down back alleys.

Even if we hadn’t met in one of those clubs, I suspected Glenn had the upper hand if our chains of command got involved. He had had just enough lines on his face and gray in his buzz cut to suggest he had a good fifteen years or more on me. Older men were fine and good, but an older American man on this island meant he was stationed here, which meant if he was an officer, he outranked the shit out of me. Even if he was enlisted, he’d have almost an entire career’s worth of credibility over an ensign straight out of the academy. Yeah, maybe I could take his career down with allegations of assault—sexual or otherwise—but that didn’t mean mine wouldn’t go down with his.

I shook my head and kept walking.

Up ahead, a laminated piece of white paper nailed to a post caught my eye. It was in English, so I stopped to read it.

Call Point: This is the place where the electric wave of the mobile phone reaches.

I pulled out my cell phone. Sure enough, I had a few bars. From here on out, I guessed, that wouldn’t be the case.

Eyeing the trail ahead of me, I couldn’t help feeling a little nervous about moving out into a cell phone dead zone. Glenn was probably sleeping off a hangover somewhere, maybe icing his lip or something, but part of me was sure that the second I lost my ability to call for help, he’d be right there waiting for me around the next bend.

Aiden. For Christ’s sake. Just keep going.

I closed my eyes. My sensei had taught me a dozen ways to center myself, to calm myself, and I applied them one after the other. Breathing. Concentrating.

When I opened my eyes again, Glenn was still lurking in the shadows, but the irrational panic was under control. I rolled my shoulders a few times and continued past the sign.

In an effort to ignore Glenn, I tried to concentrate on the scenery. To my surprise, I started to relax a little. It was hard to stay tense and stressed in an environment like this once I actually let myself take it all in. Though the tropical sun was brutal today, the thick canopy of branches and leaves kept the trail comfortably shaded. Beside the trail, a narrow creek wound lazily between trees and boulders, which added a nice backdrop to all the birds singing—or shrieking, in some cases—above me.

The narrow trail had been painstakingly kept, the edges manicured and the staircases well-repaired, which was a nice switch from some of the places I’d hiked back in the States. Nothing wrecked a great hike like twisting an ankle on a rotted step. Though I supposed it would add some credibility to my cover story.

A few other hikers passed me on their way back down. Not a single American among them, but I supposed that wasn’t a surprise. Commander Connelly and some of the other guys in the office had mentioned that Americans weren’t prone to leaving the bases. I couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to stay on base all the time. If I wanted to be contained in a small area, I’d have requested orders to a damned ship.

The falls were close. The deep creek beside the trail ran faster and with more force, and the distinctive sound of crashing, rushing water was louder with every bend in the trail. The closer I got to the falls, the more aware I was of the sweat and humidity dampening my skin and the fierce heat gnawing on the back of my neck. A dozen signs at the beginning of the trail had warned against swimming up here, but I was pretty sure I could be forgiven for bending—okay, breaking—a few rules when it was this hot.

At the very least, I was taking off my boots and putting my feet in the water. Just the thought of that made me feel cooler all over. Whether my cover story ended up holding water—so to speak—or not, this hike had been a damned good idea. I felt better. A lot better. Glenn wasn’t here, I wasn’t in any danger, and this environment had shaken some of the stress out of me, replacing the tension with a satisfying ache of muscles having to work.

The trail went up again, and then started down, and there were the falls. Gorgeous white water spilled over moss-covered rocks and into a wide pool.

And that was when I saw the most gorgeous set of shirtless shoulders I’d ever seen.

The guy was swimming on the other side of a No Swimming sign. Well, not really swimming. More like wading. In the water, anyway, in spite of the emphatic cartoon characters warning of snakes, slick rocks, falling stones and whatever other dangers lurked up here.

His back was to me, which gave me the most jaw-dropping view of those broad, wet shoulders. His soaked black shorts held on to his hips and ass just right. Tall, lanky—no way in hell he was much older than me.

He straightened a little and slowly turned around.

Oh. My God.

Definitely not older than me. Probably a few years younger, actually. Twenty, twenty-one tops. Even from here, as I came down the trail on legs that were suddenly not terribly steady, his blue eyes were…disarming.

As far as I could tell, he was American—definitely not Japanese—but there was no way he was military. Not unless he was at least a couple of weeks into some extended leave. His dark hair was too long, the ends curling at the base of his neck.

I stopped at the end of the trail, standing between a couple of rocks near the fence at the edge of the pool. He was maybe ten feet away now, close enough I could see droplets of water sliding down the grooves in his lean, smooth muscles. There was a little bit of dark hair plastered against his chest and his tanned arms, but not a lot.

And he was looking right back at me, eyes locked on mine.

“Hi.” I smiled, hoping he’d buy that it was the heat and the hike that had turned my cheeks as red as I was sure they were.

“Hi.” He returned the smile. “Another brave one bests the trail and the snakes and makes it to the top.”

I laughed. “I didn’t see any snakes. Did you?”

“Not this time.” His lips quirked. “Were you watching the ground?”

“Where else would I look?”

He gestured above my head. “They hang out in the trees during the day.”

Slowly, I lifted my gaze. There weren’t any low-hanging branches right here, thank God, but I realized the trail had been shaded almost the entire way. And here I’d been worried about a drunk Marine jumping out at me. “Oh. Awesome. Glad someone mentioned that.”

Laughing, the guy in the water waded closer. “Just messing with you. They do hang in the trees, but I’ve been up here a million times and never seen one.”

“You ever seen one at all?”

“Sure.” He shrugged. “You do enough hiking, you’re going to sooner or later. But as long as they’re coiled up in the trees, you’re fine. They come at you in the grass, they’ll ruin your day.”

“So, watching the ground…is a good idea?”

“Always. But, you know, keep an eye on the trees.” He rested his hip against a boulder. “Nice hike, isn’t it?”

Truth be told, I don’t remember.

“It’s a nice trail.” I glanced back at the visible twist of rocks and stairs. “I’ve definitely hiked worse.”

“Recently?” He arched an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?”

He gestured at his face, and I was suddenly hyperaware of the bandages and marks on my face. More heat rushed into my cheeks, and I dropped my gaze. “Oh. That.”

“Sorry,” he said quietly. “I…didn’t realize it…”

“Don’t worry about it.” I waved a hand and looked him in the eye. “It’s a long story.”

Awkward silence in three…two…

“You going to get in the water?” He motioned at the enticing pool.

“I, um…” I glanced at the No Swimming or Wading sign.

“Don’t worry about that.” He gestured dismissively. “Seriously, nobody cares.”

It wasn’t that I was worried about the sign and anyone who might happen along to enforce it. I’d already planned on getting in the water anyway. I just hadn’t banked on getting into the same water as someone who was making my legs shake worse than the hilly kilometer I’d just hiked.

Just get in the water, idiot.

I untied the laces and slipped off my boots. Then I emptied my pockets, leaving my car keys and wallet inside one of my boots. I started to pull off my shirt but hesitated. Though the trail was shaded, there was plenty of sunlight up here, and I’d forgotten to pack any sunscreen.

So I left my shirt on. I lifted one of the ropes, ducked under it, and stepped into the water.

And immediately pulled my foot back. “Shit.”

He laughed. “Cold?”

“Just a bit.” I tried again, dipping my toe in. Then my whole foot. A little at a time, I eased into the water, and by the time I was in up to my knees, I’d adapted to the cold. After the hike to get up here, it felt great.

After I’d waded a little deeper, I scooped some water into my hands, ignoring the way my raw knuckles burned, and leaned down to pour it over the back of my neck. As much as I wanted to splash it on my face, the doc had been pretty emphatic about keeping the stitches clean and dry. Given the microbes that could be lurking in river water…

Though I’d probably already invited those in via the cuts on my knuckles, but whatever.

I turned toward him. “Man, my legs are tired already. You wouldn’t think that hike would be that tough. It’s not even a mile.”

“Except it’s all up and down, up and down.” He made a gesture like a roller coaster. “We should all be glad it’s not even a mile.”

I laughed. “No kidding.” Legs still in the water, I sat on one of the rocks and looked up at the falls. “Wow, this really is amazing.”

“It is.” He turned to me. “This your first time up here?”

I nodded. “I haven’t been on the island long.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Just transferred here recently. How long have you been here? On Okinawa, I mean. Not”—I gestured at the falls—“here.”

“A few years.” He extended his hand. “Name’s Connor, by the way.”

“Aiden.”

His hand was cool and damp from the water, but still hot from his body heat. As we shook hands, our eyes met, and they locked, and…fuck. Wow, he really was hot. Especially up close. Those blue eyes were unreal.

I released his hand, and as we both sat back, he gave me the oddest little smile, one that seemed caught somewhere between shy and cocky. Before I could figure out which, he broke eye contact and busied himself leaning over to scoop some water onto his arms. It was hard to tell, but I thought his cheeks might’ve turned pink.

“So do you come up here a lot?” I asked.

“Every now and then.” Connor splashed some more water onto his arms and then leaned back against the rock. “It’s one of my favorite places on the island.”

“I can see why. Where else do you like to go?”

“You can’t really go wrong on this rock. I’ve been to all the castles, the outlying islands, the good snorkel spots.” He shrugged. “Just depends on what you’re into, I guess.”

“Do you dive?”

“I tried.” Connor tapped just below his temple. “It bugs my ears.”

“Damn.”

“Tell me about it. There’s some awesome places to snorkel here. I’ll bet diving would be even better.”

“Well, I’ve never even snorkeled.”

“Really?”

“Really.” I mirrored his earlier motions, leaning down and scooping some water—holy fuck, that stung my knuckles—onto my arms to cool myself off. “Any good spots?”

“I haven’t found a bad spot here. Though I did stop snorkeling off Kadena Marina after I realized it’s right next to a sewage treatment plant.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Seriously?”

He nodded. “I don’t know if they actually dump anything in the water, and it all looks pretty clean and clear, but…no way I’m putting my face in that water.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“Other than that, though, you can pretty much pull off the road anywhere, jump in the water, and see all kinds of cool shit. Just, you know, watch for jellyfish.”

“That’s what I’ve heard.” I sat back against the rock and, without thinking about it, propped my foot up on the other rock…just inches from his leg.

He glanced down, and that odd smile came back to life as he looked at me again. There was no casually pulling my leg back and pretending it had never happened, so I just kept it against the rock.

Clearing my throat, I broke eye contact. “You had any problems with jellyfish when you’ve snorkeled?”

“Not the box jellyfish. Never even seen one, knock on wood.”

I lifted my gaze. “Are there others?”

Connor nodded. “Buddy of mine got stung in the face by one of the red ones. Those fuckers won’t kill you, but, man, they will ruin your day.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep. Watch out for them. They’re red and about this big.” He held his hands up about a football’s width apart. “Nasty fuckers.”

“Good to know.”

Silence fell between us. My foot was still on the rock next to him. He was still fucking with my pulse just by existing. I had no idea if he was gay, straight or just a goddamned figment of my sex-deprived imagination, and what to say next was completely lost on me.

Fortunately, Connor spoke first. “Listen, um…” He paused, gnawing his lower lip. “There’s a place not far from here, maybe an hour once you get back to the main drag. Some of the most amazing pizza on the island. You, um, want to grab a bite?”

In spite of this unbelievable attraction, my first instinct was to back away and quickly decline, but this wasn’t some drunk Marine trying to coax me into a dark corner. Connor was as nonthreatening as a man could be. And so, so gorgeous.

I smiled. “Sure. Why not?”

EXCERPT: The Only One Who Knows

Title: The Only One Who Knows

Authors: Cat Grant, L. A. Witt

Chapter 1

Coronado, California

Three Years Ago

“Goddammit, Lieutenant Walker! Get the fuck up off the motherfucking ground right fucking now!”

Josh grimaced at the sound of Chief Flint’s voice and forced himself to his feet. His legs were done. Completely fucking done. How long had they been running in full battle rattle on soft, slippery sand? The December sun wasn’t even that hot—not that it mattered; lugging around a forty-pound rucksack still had him drenched in sweat. He’d lost track of time ever since his vision had started to sparkle and he’d had to concentrate on forcing his legs to work instead of crumpling underneath him.

The other guys panted and grunted and swore, but they kept going. Josh fell behind. Caught up. Fell behind again. And this time, he couldn’t catch up.

And of course, this time, Chief Flint was watching.

Flint called the entire group to a halt and gave them permission to drop their rucksacks. Before Josh’s had even hit the ground, the chief got right up in his face. “You think I’m going to let you lead a fucking team of goddamned SEALs into hostile fucking territory when you can’t even stay up on your goddamned feet, Lieutenant?”

“No, Chief.” Josh licked his parched lips. “I’m sorry, Chief, I—”

“I don’t want your fucking apologies!” Flint screamed at him. “I want you running at the front of the fucking pack, not stumbling around like you don’t know what your motherfucking legs are for! Am I fucking clear?”

Josh gritted his teeth. “Yes, Chief.”

Flint narrowed his eyes. Quieter now—but no less menacing—the chief snarled, “This is the third time I’ve seen you drop, Walker.” Stepping closer, he added, “I’m starting to wonder if you’re cut out to be a SEAL at all.”

Josh’s heart skipped. “I am, Chief. I am cut out to be a SEAL.”

“And why the fuck should I believe that?” Flint gestured at the rest of the men. “Why in the fucking hell should I believe for a second that you are SEAL material when all you’re showing me is someone who couldn’t have made it through enlisted boot camp if he tried?”

A couple of the enlisted guys snickered. Josh set his jaw. Officer training was intense, but the enlisted guys never let the commissioned ones forget they’d been through worse.

“You know, Walker.” Smirking, Flint folded his arms across his camo blouse. “I don’t think you’d last a day in Marine basic.” He leaned in a little closer, their faces almost touching. “I think you, Lieutenant Walker, would be one of those pussies who ran out of Basic with his fucking tail between his pussy little legs. Am I right?”

“No, Chief.”

“Am I right, Lieutenant Walker?”

“No, Chief!”

Rage turned Chief Flint’s face red. “Then when are you going to fucking prove it, you piece of shit?”

“Whenever you want me to, Chief.” Josh tried not to cringe. Something told him he’d be eating those words before long.

Chief Flint stepped back. He held Josh’s gaze for a long, unsettling moment. Then, without breaking eye contact, he barked, “The rest of you are dismissed. Walker, you stay here.”

Josh swallowed.

The other men scattered, some offering murmurs of “Good luck, brother” or “Nice knowing you, LT,” as they went by.

Once they were alone, Flint stepped up right in front of Josh again. His eyes tried to drill holes into Josh’s skull. This was one of the few times Josh didn’t pay attention—much attention—to the fact that Chief Flint and his physique were prime examples of why Josh had had more than a few fantasies about SEALs.

His tone was…not gentler, but not quite so hostile. “What happened out there, Walker?”

Josh gulped. “I didn’t stay properly hydrated, Chief. I thought I could handle it, but the sun and the exhaustion caught up with me.” He took a deep breath. “It was my mistake, Chief. It won’t happen again.”

“Isn’t that what you told me two days ago?” Chief Flint cocked his head and raised his eyebrows. “That you wouldn’t fucking puss out on me again? On your motherfucking team again?” He didn’t give Josh a chance to respond before he said, “I’m not getting through to you, am I, Lieutenant?”

“I…don’t understand, Chief.”

“I’m aware of that.” Flint beckoned sharply and started walking. “This way. Now.”

Josh followed Flint toward the mess hall and then around behind it. Josh’s stomach twisted. He’d heard the stories from the fleet about fan room beatings. Some idiot couldn’t get his shit together, his fellow sailors took him into one of the fan rooms on the ship and beat the fuck out of him. Straightened most of them out in a big hurry.

Was this the SEAL training equivalent? Shit.

Behind the mess hall, Chief Flint grabbed a metal folding chair that had been propped up against the door. He carried it over to where Josh was standing and set the chair down with an emphatic bang. With his boot, he nudged it until its legs were just a few inches away from where the shade from the mess hall ended and the bright sunlight scorched the ground.

Then he sat. In the shade, of course. He folded his arms across his chest and glared up at Josh. Gesturing at the ground in front of him, he said, “Push-ups.”

Fuck. What the hell was this? Boot camp?

“Now, Lieutenant.”

Josh took a deep breath, then got down on the ground. The sand was hot enough to sting his hands but wouldn’t cause any actual damage. He looked up at Flint. “How many, Chief?”

“You’ll fucking keep going until I tell you to stop.”

Josh eyed him. “Isn’t this hazing?”

“Nope.” One boot heel landed between Josh’s shoulders. Then the other. “But I’m pretty sure this is.”

“Chief, with all due—”

“Push-ups, Lieutenant. Now.”

Josh obeyed. He was already exhausted, overheated, in dire need of rest, and Chief Flint’s boot heels bit into his back, and the added weight made every motion agony. Josh’s arms shook. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to breathe in and out through his teeth. No point in passing out, but he wasn’t so sure he had a choice.

“Chief…” Josh’s head fell forward. Almost hit the ground. “I can’t, I’m—”

“No fucking excuses,” Chief Flint snarled. “Push-ups, Lieutenant. Until I’m good and fucking ready to tell you to stop.”

Sweat trickled through Josh’s short hair and down his face. A drop burned its way into his eye, and he focused on that pain instead of the relentless burning in the rest of his body. His chest was nearly on the ground, the warmth from the sand radiating onto his face and torso. He ordered his body, then begged it, to cooperate, and struggled to push himself up.

He couldn’t. He simply had nothing left.

His elbows buckled. He collapsed to the ground, barely keeping his face from hitting the hot dirt.

He’d barely collapsed before the boots on his back disappeared.

Flint dropped to his knees beside him and grabbed the back of Josh’s blouse. “Is this the kind of motherfucking SEAL you’re going to be, Lieutenant? You going to drop out like a motherfucking pussy right when things get tough?”

“No, Chief.” Josh loathed the weakness in his voice as he croaked out the words. “No, Chief. I’m not.”

“Then why the fuck are you caving in after a few fucking push-ups?” He released Josh’s blouse, almost shoving him away. “Answer me, Lieutenant!”

Josh let his forehead hit the scorching sand.

“Push yourself the fuck up, Lieutenant,” Flint shouted at him. “And don’t fucking tell me about how fucking tired you are, goddammit. When I send you out into motherfucking Kandahar or fuck knows fucking where, and one of your fucking teammates takes a goddamned bullet, are you going to leave him there because you’re too fucking tired to haul his ass out?”

“N-no, Chief.”

“Because it’s times like this, Lieutenant, when your body can’t take another goddamned second, that your team needs you to push through. Do you want to come home from fucking Afghanistan or Iraq and tell a man’s widow you let her husband fucking die because you were motherfucking hot and tired?”

Josh tried to moisten his lips. “No, Chief.”

“Then when you muster tomorrow, I fucking expect you to act like it. Am I clear?”

“Yes.”

“Am I motherfucking clear, you son of a bitch?”

“Yes, Chief.”

Chief Flint stood. His boots were just a few inches from Josh’s face. One well-placed kick away from giving him a face full of sand. But he didn’t.

“Get up.”

Standing had never been as difficult as it was just then. Josh’s muscles were done. He was shaking. Light-headed. He got to his knees, and as he tried to make it all the way to his feet, his vision darkened.

A strong hand grabbed his upper arm. “Take it easy, Lieutenant.” Now Flint’s voice was gentle. “Just go slow.”

The hand around his arm became an arm around his shoulders, and Flint eased him to his feet. The chief led him in through the back door of the mess hall and guided him to one of the tables.

Josh sank onto one of the benches, closing his eyes and exhaling from the sheer relief of being off his feet and no longer forced to perform.

Flint touched his shoulder. “You all right?”

Josh nodded. He wasn’t in any danger. He’d had heatstroke enough times to know when he was in trouble, but right then, he just felt like shit.

“Don’t move,” Flint said.

Josh folded his arms on the table and rested his head on them. His sleeves were soaked with sweat. His skin felt sunburned, but he doubted it was. He’d surfed his way to a solid bronze tan before he came to BUD/S. It would take more than a few miles and some push-ups in the sun to burn him.

Chief Flint returned a minute later and handed Josh three bottles of water. “Here. Go easy on it. Don’t drink it all at once.”

Josh nodded. “Thank you, Chief.”

Flint sat across from him, dog tags rattling quietly as they bumped the table’s metal edge. He folded his hands on the table and watched Josh struggle with the cap on the first bottle.

“Need a hand?”

There was already plenty of heat in Josh’s cheeks, but a little more showed up anyway. “I’ve got it, Chief. Thanks.” And finally, the seal broke, and the cap came off. Water had never tasted so fucking good.

Chief Flint didn’t speak. Neither did Josh. He probably wasn’t allowed to, and he sure as fuck wasn’t inclined to. He did allow himself a look at Flint. When the man wasn’t screaming at him or anyone else, when he was in a calmer state, he was damned easy on the eyes. Probably fair-skinned most of the time, but he spent most of his waking hours under the California sun, and it showed in his deep tan and bleached hair. Fucking ripped. He’d stripped off his camouflage blouse and just wore a brown T-shirt, which stretched across chiseled abs and an amazing set of shoulders. Shame he was such an asshole, though the cold water in Josh’s hand made him wonder about that.

About the time Josh was three quarters through the second bottle of water, Flint broke the silence. “Feel better?”

“Yes.” Josh started to take another drink but paused to add, “Yes, Chief.”

Flint sat up a little, folding his arms and leaning over them. His green eyes weren’t so full of rage now. Intense, still, but that must have been their natural state. “Do you think I’m tougher on you than I am the other trainees?”

Well, now that you mention it…

Josh pressed one of the cold bottles against the side of his face. “I…um…”

“I am,” Flint said. “I’m going to tell you that right now. I am harder on you than any other man in your class.”

“Um. Okay…”

“Do you know why?”

Josh shook his head. “No, Chief.”

“Because I see something in you that I don’t see in any of the other men,” Flint said. “What I see in you is the raw beginnings of the type of SEAL who puts himself on top of a grenade to save his men. Or carries out a SEAL with a broken leg even though you’ve already taken a bullet to the chest. Exactly what every SEAL should be, and what all the most exceptional ones are.”

Josh swallowed. “Really?”

Flint nodded. “You’re team leader material, Lieutenant. Not just a SEAL. A team leader.” He leaned closer, screwing with Josh’s blood pressure. “Am I wrong about you, Walker?”

“No, Chief. You’re not.”

Eyes locked on Josh’s, Flint reached across the table and put his hand on Josh’s forearm. The gesture forced all the air from Josh’s lungs.

Speaking so softly Josh could barely hear him, Flint said, “Prove me right, Lieutenant. Because we both know I am.”

Josh found just enough breath to reply with, “I will, Chief.”

“Good.” Flint squeezed his arm, then pulled his hand back and got up. He looked down at Josh. “Get yourself cleaned up, and get some rest.” The cold, hardened chief was back. “And tomorrow, you’d damn well better have your shit together, or you can kiss your shot at a trident good-bye.”

Josh managed a whispered, “I will, Chief.”

Flint started to walk away.

“Chief.”

The man turned around, eyebrows up.

“Thank you, Chief.”

Flint nodded sharply, then turned and continued out of the mess hall.

Every muscle in Josh’s body ached from the run and from the push-ups he’d forced himself to do. His body was still hot from the sun and exertion. But on the back of his arm was a distinctly cool spot, the place where Flint’s hand had been.

Of course it was just a platonic gesture. A touch meant to reassure, or…or something. Josh couldn’t quite figure out what. Definitely wasn’t meant to have any kind of sexual effect on him, but that didn’t stop him from getting goose bumps under his uniform. His body was too damned exhausted for any response beyond that, though. And pity it was just a fantasy. It was a good one.

He finished the water Chief Flint had given him, then forced his aching legs to work. He headed back to the barracks to get cleaned up.

And tomorrow?

Tomorrow, there was no way in hell he was disappointing Chief Flint.