Beyond Limits (Tracers #8)(98)

He stared down at her, not talking, and she couldn’t read his expression.

“So yes, I want you to be a SEAL. But I want to see you, too. I’m trying to figure out a way for us to do that.”

He stood there for a moment, and then they started walking down the beach again. The sand was cool between her toes, and she tried to focus on that instead of her out-of-control nerves. His reaction wasn’t at all what she’d expected. She’d thought he’d be happy.

He led her to a piece of driftwood and sat down, tugging her with him. He looked out at the water.

“See those rocks over there?”

She followed his gaze.

“I damn near killed myself on those.” He shook his head. “Rock portage. Sean Harper and I almost drowned trying to get the boat out.” He looked in the other direction. “I’ve run so many miles on this beach I can’t even begin to count. Hundreds. Thousands.” His gaze settled on her. “The East Coast teams, they’re not the same as here. They’re not the same brothers.”

Her throat tightened with disappointment. She didn’t know what to say.

He picked up her hand. “I’m thinking of switching gears.” He looked at her. “Gordon called me, too. He’s recruiting me for HRT, the Bureau’s hostage rescue team. I did a phone interview a few weeks ago, talked to the commander.”

Her jaw dropped. She’d had no idea he was even thinking about leaving the Navy.

“I’d be in Washington,” he said.

“I know.”

“What do you think?”

“I think—” Her mind was racing with possibilities. “I think they’d be lucky to have you.”

“But what do you think about it for us?”

“I think I’m blown away.” She reached up to touch his cheek, his jaw. His stubble felt bristly under her fingertips, and she couldn’t believe he was here and they were having this conversation. “You’d really go through so much . . . change to be with me?”

“Sometimes change is good.” He looked at her. Then he looked out at the ocean and his face turned somber. “You know, ever since Sean died, I’ve been thinking a lot. I’ve been thinking about people and family and what matters.” He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles, and she felt a pinch in her heart at the tenderness of it. “You’re the best thing in my life, Liz. There’s not anything I wouldn’t do for you.”

He looked at her again, and the moon was so bright she could see the love in his eyes.

“But I’m worried, too,” he said. “I have to be honest. Reentry is tough. And I’ve been away so long . . . I think I’ve forgotten how to be home.”

She reached up and touched his cheek. “Let me show you,” she whispered, and pulled him down to kiss her.





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Chapter One





Evenings were the hardest, the time when everything unraveled. Catie’s mind overflowed, her chest felt empty, and the craving dug into her with razor-sharp claws.

Catie’s shoulders tensed as she pulled into the wooded park. All her life she’d been addicted to work and approval and success. Now, she was simply an addict.

Her high-performance tires glided over the ruts, absorbing the bumps as she eased along the drive. She turned into the gravel parking lot and swung into a space. Forty-six days.

Resting her head on the wheel, she squeezed her eyes shut. Her throat tightened and she fought the burn of tears.

“One day at a time,” she whispered.

She sat up and gazed through the windshield. She’d never thought she’d be one of those people who gave herself pep talks. She’d never thought she’d be a lot of things. Yet here she was.

Catie shoved open the door and popped the trunk. She tossed her purse inside, then rummaged through her gym bag, looking for her iPod. On second thought, no music. She slammed the trunk closed, locked the car, and tucked the key fob into the zipper pocket of her tracksuit. She leaned against a trail marker and stretched her quads. A few deep lunges and she was ready to go.

She set off at a brisk pace, quickly passing the dog walkers and bird enthusiasts who frequented the trail. Her muscles warmed. Her breathing steadied. She passed the first quarter-mile marker and felt the tension start to loosen.

The routine had become her lifeline. She registered the familiar scent of the loblolly pines, the spongy carpet of pine needles under her feet. She put her body through the paces, then her mind.

It was Wednesday. She was halfway through the week, another daunting chain of days that started with paralyzing mornings in which she had to drag herself out of bed and force herself to shower, dress, and stand in front of the mirror to conceal the evidence of a fitful night. Then she faced the endless cycle of conference calls and meetings and inane conversations as the secret yearning built and built, culminating in the dreaded hour when it was time to go. Time to pack it in and head home to her perfectly located, gorgeously decorated, soul-crushingly empty house.

But first, a run. Or a spin class. Or both. Anything to postpone the sight of that vacant driveway.

Almost anything.