But I can’t do any of that. Any of it. Ever. From the start, I could tell Noelle wasn’t the kind of woman who I normally dealt with. She practically screams “attachment”. She’s the epitome of the white picket fence kind of woman.
And me? I’m the furthest thing from white picket fences. I sure as hell don’t do attachments. To be honest, I wouldn’t even call what I do with women “dating.” I make sure they know what the score is. Three time’s the charm. I don’t go any further than three “dates.” I keep it simple because I’m not that guy—the one who’s going to put a ring on it and wait for you at the end of the aisle.
During the rare times I’m alone, I can’t lie. I think about her. I think about Noelle Davis and what it would be like if I were that guy. If I were good enough for her. If I didn’t have a past haunting me.
That ship has sailed, though. So every time those thoughts—fucking fantasies, really—run through my mind, I savor them for the briefest moment before shutting them down.
What draws me back from my musings is the fact that Noelle doesn’t respond to my comment, the one dripping with insinuation. She says absolutely nothing. Peering over at her, inspecting her further, I notice the tiny crease between her brows is more pronounced.
Come to think of it, I’ve also noticed her having that same look when her phone vibrates with an incoming call. Calls, which she promptly ignores. Which means something’s up. And that something has me concerned because as much as she and I go back and forth, as much as I know she doesn’t care for me, I don’t deal well when people I’m responsible for need help.
Okay, so I’m not actually responsible for Noelle, exactly. But she’s my employee, and I’d feel the same urge to help Lee if she needed it. I wouldn’t feel the urge to fuck Lee until she forgot her name, however. Nope. That thought actually made my buddy down below shrink a bit.
Something’s going on with Noelle, and I need to find out what it is. It’s selfish as hell, but I feel like I need our banter more now than ever. Especially because I haven’t heard from Hendy in far too long.
I of all people know how it is when you’re deployed, get orders for a mission, and you’re dropped in the middle of a fucking desert chock-full of bad dudes who’d give their left nut to kill you and take your head as a trophy. There’s always radio silence going along with that. I know that. But that damn Al Alam News broadcast over six months ago didn’t sit well with me.
At all.
We are getting reports of explosions in an area known to be a stronghold of ISIS in the Helmand Province. These militants have declared they are holding a United States Special Forces officer captive. They are demanding eight hundred million dollars in exchange for the man. We have reached out, but U.S. officials have declined to comment at this time.
Great fucking news, right? When this came across the ticker at the bottom of one of the four televisions mounted high on the east-facing wall of the office, my stomach felt like it plummeted to the ground. Because the Helmand Province? SEALs are pretty damn familiar with it. Too familiar. It’s the equivalent of Disney World for terrorists.
Hendy’s always been known to be the one who had that crazy sixth sense shit when we were on a mission. If he told you he had “a feeling” we needed to pack some extra ammo, you fucking packed extra ammo. And you’d end up using it, saving either your own ass or someone else’s ass in the process. Eerie as shit, but Hendy was always spot-on.
The other side of him, when he wasn’t in serious SEAL mode, is the Hendy most know and adore. He’s the life of the party, the joker, the flirt, the ladies’ man. Doesn’t seem like he’s got a care in the world.
But whenever we were out on a mission, you’d better believe he was the guy I wanted watching my six. Without any hesitation whatsoever.
And now, Hendy was either being held captive, being tortured by those evil fuckers, or… Or he was dead. And while Hendy might be the one with a serious badass and spot-on sixth sense, everyone in any branch of the Special Forces has some sort of gut instinct. And you learn to hone it, to listen to it.
And mine was screaming. Had been screaming for the past few months.
Hendy was alive. There’s no way he was dead. I felt it deep down. That feeling was deeper, more powerful than the logical part of my brain which screamed he was dead. Yeah, I sound crazy as shit, I know. But it’s something I can’t explain. I just have this feeling.