Beyond Limits (Tracers #8)(43)
“It happens.”
“It didn’t happen to you.”
“I’m a frogman. I’ve had slightly more training at being invisible.”
She watched him, picturing him creeping down some dark alley, armed to the teeth and wearing night-vision goggles. She didn’t like to picture him working, because she hated to think about the dangers of what he did.
“It goes back to biology,” he told her. “Predator versus prey. Animals in the wild know when they’re being hunted. They have a sixth sense about it. They get itchy.”
“You’re saying I walked into the mall and made him itchy?”
“No, you walked into the mall and you looked right at him. Never do that. They teach you that in sniper school. When you’re pursuing a target, don’t stare at it, don’t arouse that sixth sense, especially someone like Rasheed. People spend years in a war zone, their instincts get honed. They sense when they’re in the crosshairs.”
“Predator and prey. That’s good. Think I missed that at the Academy. Maybe we spent a little too much time on check fraud.”
“Hey, honey, stick with me.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “I can teach you a lot.”
She ignored the innuendo and picked up her drink. She swilled the rest and plunked the glass onto the counter.
“The day wasn’t a total loss,” Derek said. “One’s been eliminated, at least. Rasheed’s been on the watch list for years.”
“What do you think the chances are they’ll decide to abort the mission, whatever it is, and go home?”
His silence answered her question. The chances were nonexistent. They’d gone to a great deal of time and effort to get their people in place, which meant they’d prepared for contingencies. Rasheed had chosen to die rather than reveal his mission, so it was safe to assume the mission was still a go.
And—in Rasheed’s mind, at least—it was a mission worth dying for.
The bartender was back with a smile, and Elizabeth could have sworn she’d undone another button on her blouse. Derek ordered another round.
Elizabeth turned away, distracting herself by scanning the faces around the room. It was mostly couples tonight, people drinking and flirting and probably planning to go home together. She shouldn’t be here. She knew that. She couldn’t sit in a bar with this man and not think about going home with him. And where would that leave her? She’d spent almost a year tied up in knots over him, and they hadn’t even had sex. What was she doing to herself? He was going back to San Diego in a matter of days and then off to some violent hot spot.
From the moment he’d burst into her life last summer, she’d been mesmerized by him—his looks, his voice, the relentless way he pursued everything he wanted, including her. But when she took a step back and looked at it objectively, she knew nothing could ever work. He was a SEAL through and through and didn’t have room in his life for anything else.
She felt his gaze on her and turned to face him. He had that simmering look in his eyes, that look she’d seen before, the look that made her nervous and hopeful at the same time. For so long, she’d resisted him, because she didn’t want to get her heart pulverized. But maybe she should leave her heart out of it. Maybe for one night, she should let herself go and let herself feel things without any inhibitions, and it didn’t matter where he jetted off to tomorrow. It could just be what it was, nothing more and nothing less.
She brushed her bangs from her forehead, and his attention drifted to her scar. He reached out and traced his finger over her sleeve. His eyes locked onto hers.
“Can I ask you something personal?”
* * *
She looked surprised by his question. Then she looked wary.
“What?” she asked.
“What’d your family say? About what happened to you in the spring?”
She scoffed. “What family?” She stirred her drink, and Derek could tell she wanted to take the words back.
“It’s just my mom now,” she elaborated. “I mean, there’s my stepdad, yeah. But I don’t have any brothers or sisters.” She looked at him. “I always wanted a brother.”
So she didn’t want to talk about her parents. He sensed there was a story there, but he let her change the subject.
“I grew up surrounded by women,” he told her. “Nail polish, hair spray, curling irons. They like to say I ran off and joined the Navy just to have some male companionship.” He rattled the ice cubes in his glass. “Could be some truth to that. The guys in the teams, they’re like brothers to me.”
He drank his bourbon. What a shit day it had been. He thought about Potter and Rasheed and the clusterfuck on that rooftop. He wasn’t sorry the guy was dead. Not at all. Anyone who had seen that execution video wouldn’t be sorry Rasheed had jumped off that roof. Derek would have gladly pushed him off and not lost a wink of sleep over it.
Still, he recognized the lost opportunity. But SEALs were adaptable. They looked for new opportunities, and there were plenty left, such as the missing phone, or the contact who’d probably been captured on film entering the mall, or the Chevy Cavalier that was now at some crime lab somewhere being scoured top to bottom for evidence.
Yes, it had been a shit day, but at least it was improving. He glanced at the woman beside him, the woman he’d been thinking about for months, the woman who had been the star of so many lust-soaked fantasies he couldn’t even count. She was on her second drink now, and instead of looking all crisp and buttoned-up like she usually did, she had that messy, disheveled thing happening that made him want to eat her alive.