Mark watched Charlotte’s parents hustle her away, toward a guest cabin on the ship where she could clean up and a doctor would tend to any wounds. With each bit of distance, the ordeal they’d survived pressed heavier on his shoulders. He thought it would have been the opposite.
When she was out of sight, his breath just stalled in his chest. This wasn’t how things were supposed to end. He didn’t want to be apart from her; he’d grown too close during their ordeal. Why now, when she was out of reach, did he finally have the courage to give her the words? As if tethered by some invisible bond, he lurched after her.
His dad clapped him on the shoulder, steered him down a passage and into another room. “Clean up. Let the medic deal with the mess you’re in while we talk.”
He didn’t want to talk. Not to his parents and not about the man he’d hauled into the ocean to die. He wanted Charlotte all to himself for a month in Fiji. Even in his mind, he sounded petulant.
Alone in the shower, he indulged in a fantasy of Charlotte in a skimpy bikini the same color as her eyes, reclining next to an infinity pool. She’d give him that slow smile and joke that any shot at fame had been wrecked by the rescue.
His hand trembled as he reached for the soap dispenser. If she was here with him, where she belonged, she’d take his trembling hand in hers and steady him. The woman was a rock. Through it all, she’d been his touchstone, his focal point. Keeping him grounded and boosting his determination.
He wondered if she felt as lost without him.
Clean up now. Break down later. He showered off the days of grime, watching blood and dirt and sand swirl around and down the drain. He toweled off, regretting the streaks of blood his wounds left on the white terry cloth towel. He avoided the mirror as he brushed his teeth. There was no need for a visual to know where the bruises were. He trimmed his beard, careful around the tender spots on his jaw. His ribs would ache for another week at least.
With the towel wrapped around his waist, he stepped out of the bathroom. His father and a medic were waiting in the cabin.
“Feel any better?” his dad asked.
“Ask me again after you give me a beer.”
Ben laughed. The medic directed him to a chair and worked swiftly, taking a quick inventory of his wounds and treating each in turn.
“You did well, son.”
Well. Not the word he’d put to it. He’d killed a man, a former soldier, on American soil. He couldn’t work up an ounce of sympathy for John Eaton. However the man had started his military career, he’d lost his way and turned into a monster.
“How’d you get to us so quickly?”
“Your mom insisted we leave a half day earlier than Hank suggested. We were cruising up and down the shoreline, looking for likely hiding places when the coast guard arrived and organized the full search.”
“Eaton chose a good one.” Mark winced as the medic prodded the knife wound that creased his shoulder blade. “It didn’t hurt that bad in the shower.”
The medic game him an unconvinced hum. “Needs stitches.” Of course it did; Charlotte had told him so.
“Is that really necessary?” Mark argued. “Won’t glue do it?”
“Too deep,” the medic replied.
Mark grunted his assent.
“Hank moved on the compound Eaton built in Arizona,” his father said. “We should have an update in a few minutes.”
“We’re a long way from Arizona.”
Ben agreed with a slow nod. “Each layer we pull back proves the man had quite a reach.”
Footsteps in the hallway rushed closer, followed by a rapid knocking on the cabin door. “Ben? Mark?”
Mark caught the worry in his father’s gaze as he opened the door to Patricia. “He’s fine,” Ben said.
“Good.” She peered around Ben. “You’re good?” At Mark’s nod, she looked back to her husband. “It’s Hank.”
Mark jerked at the pain in her voice and the medic grumbled as the movement tugged on the stitches he was trying to finish.
“Easy,” the medic said.
“Wrap it up,” Mark ordered. His mother hadn’t uttered another word, collapsing into his father’s embrace. The rare display of emotion and despair rattled him.
“What happened?” Ben asked, holding her close.
“He was shot.” The words were muffled in Ben’s chest.
Mark’s stomach twisted.
“I don’t know how badly yet.” She leaned back a little and fanned her face. “He didn’t make the call. One of the other investigators did.”
Ben glanced at Mark over her head.
“Go,” Mark said. “I’ll find you as soon as this is done.”
It seemed to take forever for the medic to wrap things up. When the young man started to give him directions on wound care and pain relief, Mark shooed him out of the cabin.
Dressing swiftly in shorts, a loose T-shirt and the deck shoes his mother had brought along, he bounded up to the cutter’s bridge to find his parents and get the facts on Hank. His heart rate steadied when he recognized Hank’s voice, tight with pain and temper, on the other end of the radio.
“It will take us weeks to sort through this material,” Hank was saying.
Mark went to flank his mom, who was still leaning heavily on his dad.
Their bond was remarkable. Whether they were standing side by side or with half a world between them, their unity was a tangible force. Mark had taken their commitment to each other and to family for granted growing up. It was only after being out on his own that he’d realized not only the treasure of his parents’ bond but the beauty of it.
He’d given up on finding a woman worth the effort and commitment, until he’d looked at Charlotte differently. Until, in the middle of the unimaginable, she’d given him a priceless gift. Now he couldn’t shake the idea that she could be that partner for him.
Distracted with thoughts of how he might become the man she needed, he only caught bits and pieces of Hank’s report on Eaton’s compound.
“In the meantime,” Hank continued, “Luke, Jolene and I can’t let down our guard.”
“Wait. Why?” Mark asked.
“Mark?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“How are you doing?” Hank asked. “Looked a little grim there for a while.”
“Chicks dig scars,” Mark joked, dodging a glare from his mother. He leaned closer to the speaker. “Better now that Eaton’s dead. Why would you still be on guard?”
“Thanks for handling that, by the way,” Hank replied. “I guess SEALs get the win this time around.”
Mark laughed. “Always.”
“We’ll see,” Hank replied. “I’m hoping your success there will be enough.”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” Mark queried.
Patricia gripped Mark’s hand, careful of the scrapes on his knuckles. “Eaton put a bounty on Luke, Jolene and Hank too,” she said.
“What the hell? No one will follow through if he’s too dead to pay them, right?”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Hank said. He coughed a little. “But I don’t want to assume anything just yet. You’ll understand when you see what I’m looking at.”
“Fine.” Mark believed him, though he wasn’t eager to take a deeper look at anything else they gathered on the scumbag. “Have someone else take over, all right? And let a medic take a look at you. Mom’s eyes are bugging out over here.”
“I beg your pardon,” Patricia said.
Her tone earned a pained laugh from both Mark and Hank, while Ben managed to keep a straight face, assuring her Mark was exaggerating.
“It’s not that serious, I promise,” Hank said.
“Come on. She won’t believe you until she sees you with her own eyes.”
“I know.” Hank managed to sound greatly inconvenienced. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.”
The update over, Mark walked out on deck, hoping to find Charlotte, but apparently she was still being treated below. She was safe now. That was the important point. They would see each other at family events and he could always ask his mom about her.
“How are you really feeling?” Patricia asked, joining him at the rail.
Inadequate and guilty. “Sore,” he answered instead. He noticed the look in her eye. He had to give her something close to the truth or she’d press him harder. He didn’t want to face any of the tough questions about being caged, beaten and hunted.
Neither his confidence nor skill would change the fact that Charlotte had been exposed to outrageous danger and trauma.
“Do you want me to go check on her?” Patricia asked.
“No.” It would take time for her to recover from their ordeal. “She’ll come up when she’s ready.”
“You love her.”
Mark stared out at the island they’d escaped. Eaton had been a monster, no doubt there. Quick-Punch Kid and the man Mark had cuffed to a tree were in custody. The coast guard expected to apprehend Muscle and the injured man presumed to be on the boat with him in due time. All of that should make Mark feel better.
He didn’t. No matter the jokes Charlotte had cracked about dying increasing her value as an artist, he’d let her down. Deliberately he shifted his gaze to his parents’ sailboat, bobbing in the swells aft of the coast guard cutter. “How long until you and Dad head back?” he asked.
She sighed at his diversion. They both understood she wasn’t fooled and he wasn’t ready to share.
“Sue Ellen and Ron and your father and I agreed it was best to stay here with you and Charlotte through the morning at the very least.”
“In case one of us falls to pieces? It won’t be her,” he said.
She cocked an eyebrow. “You’re in a safe place,” she said. “It’s not the worst idea to relax and enjoy it. What Eaton did—”
He didn’t need his mother to run that down. “I’m good, Mom.” He stared out at the island. From this vantage point all he could see was the beauty. In his mind though, he kept reliving the horror through Charlotte’s eyes. “He didn’t beat us.”
“Rileys are a tough lot.”
Mark agreed with her. Rileys were tough and as she’d so recently pointed out, far too jaded for an artist with mermaid hair and a gift for finding the beauty in everything. Including him.
“Come in out of the sun,” Patricia said. “You need to hydrate.”
“Mom.” He shook his head, cutting her off. “It was only a week.”
“A week in hell from what we saw.”
He winced at her choice of words. Charlotte had felt the same way. “I’m all right. I know the drill. I’ll have water even though I want a beer. And I’ll get something to eat in a bit.”
Just as soon as he was sure his stomach would tolerate real food. He understood his physical limitations. He was having a harder time accepting the boundless and unfamiliar emotions that being with Charlotte had dredged up.
He walked toward the stern of the cutter, letting the breeze from the ocean blow over him. Could he live without her?
Of course.
Did he want to?
No. Unfortunately he was certain she’d be better off without him underfoot, forcing her to consider the less beautiful side of life. That was the crux.
Eaton might be out of the picture, but the end of one crisis didn’t change Mark’s career path. His office wasn’t in a sleek high-rise with normal hours and holidays off. He didn’t wear a suit—he wore body armor and carried weapons as needed.
“Mark?”
Charlotte’s voice interrupted his internal reality check. He turned, thankful she was alone.
She’d washed her hair and left it loose. That damp strawberry blond cloud flowed in waves past her shoulders. Mermaid hair, he thought again, half expecting her to dive into the water and disappear with a flash of a glimmering tail.
“How are you feeling?” they asked each other in unison.
“You first,” he said, gripping the rail. If he moved, it would be to wrap her in his arms. If she rejected the advance, it would be the catalyst of a breakdown his mother was braced for.
Charlotte swallowed, her lips twitching to one side.
His body jerked, wanting desperately to bury his nose in her hair and breathe in the love and peace she’d once offered. Instead he held his ground. He could handle whatever rejection or blame she dished out.
He deserved that and so much more.
Charlotte wanted to burrow close, but he stood there so stiff and aloof. He looked clean and fresh and strong as if the scrapes and bruises she could see weren’t real. And whatever soap he’d used smelled so tantalizing she had to work to keep her distance.
“I’m tired,” she admitted, answering his question at last. “In a weird I-don’t-want-to-sleep way.”
“I get that. It will pass.”
His guarded expression bothered her. Though he smiled, it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “How many stitches did you need?”
“Maybe a dozen. I was too annoyed with the ham-fisted medic to keep track.”
She wanted to turn him around, lift his shirt and see for herself. She had a ridiculous urge to inventory his wounds as she kissed each one. But this wasn’t the man who teased and joked and showed her tenderness while saving her from certain death on a deserted island. This was the guy no one could get close to. He was the warrior again, eager to be done with the niceties and get back to work.
Would he push her away if she admitted she needed a hug? His hug. She shouldn’t ask this man for just one more minute of listening to his steady, reassuring heartbeat under her ear. Fighting tears, she turned her face to the breeze and did her best to breathe through it. Pain would fade.
“Charlotte?”
“Hmm?”
“I asked if you needed stitches.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t heard him, so lost in her own agony. “No. Nothing worse than a scrape.” She tugged a strand of hair away from her cheek. “You.” Her breath caught. “Thank you for taking the brunt of—” What did you call the ordeal they’d survived? “—everything out there,” she finished.
“I’m sorry you were caught up in Eaton’s vendetta against my family.”
Looking at him, she could almost see the shiny new walls he’d rebuilt to protect himself. Though he would say he was protecting her from him. Hadn’t he learned anything about her?
She wasn’t half as fragile as he thought. Being an artist was no picnic. Something deep inside her clicked. She couldn’t let him off that easy. He might turn her aside, but she wasn’t going without a fight.
“I love you, Mark. Whatever else is going on in your head or heart, I hope you can hear that much.”
“Charlotte.”
She knew that tone. “Careful,” she said, holding up a finger. “Don’t give me lines about survival and stress-induced confusion. My feelings for you were clear before this mess, during the mess and they remain crystal clear now. It would be nice to know how you’re feeling.”
She felt her heart crack when he hesitated. Her pulse seemed to slow down, reverberating in her ears.
“Charlotte, it isn’t that simple.”
The fight of a moment ago faded out of her. “It is, actually.” She’d been so sure he’d seen her as an independent, separate woman. Not an extended family member, more than a friend or a damsel in distress. “This isn’t an ultimatum or a challenge. It’s just love.” She stepped closer and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “And it’s all for you. Be well, Mark.”
He needs more time, a small voice in her head whispered through her mind as she walked away. After all, he hadn’t been crushing on her half his life. Even so, waiting for him to come around felt weak and pathetic.
“Charlotte.”
“What?”
“I am in love with you.” He rubbed his sternum as if the admission caused him physical pain. How was that any better than saying nothing? “The part of me that wants what’s best for you isn’t so impressed by what I feel.”
He looked so confused she almost relented. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned with my opinion of what’s best for me?”
“Probably.” His lips twitched. “Definitely.”
She stepped close to him again and eased his hand from the railing, lacing her fingers through his. She lifted their joined hands to her lips and kissed his battered knuckles. The smallest of his injuries, those scrapes signified so much more to her. His determination, his fight, his courage. His ability to coax the best from her in the worst circumstances. Tears welled in her eyes.
“Thank you for never giving up on me,” she said.
He drew her close, finally, his body warm and solid as his arms surrounded her. He was her perpetual safe place. “I could say the same to you,” he murmured into her hair.
“Please don’t let this be the end.” She couldn’t regret the small plea. Her entire reason for seeking him out before he slipped away was to be honest and open and leave no room for misunderstandings.
“Being a military wife is enough of a challenge. Being married to a SEAL takes it to another level. You’ll resent me for leaving, always at the worst times, and just when you’re comfortable in an area, the navy will send us to a new base.”
Was that a proposal? Did he hear what he was saying? “Your parents and mine have both managed military careers,” she pointed out.
“You’re not them. You’re special. Precious.”
Her temper flared. “Be very careful with your next words, Mark Riley.”
“You’re an artist. You need good light and time and a cheering section.”
She eased back, just enough to get his attention and keep her focus. “Love is its own kind of light,” she said. “Trust, commitment and joy add color to the world and to my work. Which piece of that do you think I’m lacking?”
“None of it.” He pushed his hand through his hair. “I’m in love with you, Charlotte.”
“And I love you too. Doesn’t that put us ahead of the game from the start?”
He shook his head and a swell of sympathy washed over her. “Then what are you afraid of?” she asked gently.
“I’m terrified of the day you walk out on me, fed up with the life I sucked you into.”
Her heart ached anew. “That’s not giving either one of us much credit.” She stroked his windblown hair back from his forehead. “We’re better than that and much better together. Look what we accomplished with a few bottles of water and a flare gun.”
His brown eyes filled with grief and doubt rather than laughter as she’d hoped. “You need to be able to realize your dreams, Charlotte. Galleries, showings and healthy, beautiful inspiration. I’ve been too scared to ask what you want next.”
“Mark, you are my inspiration. Long before we wound up on that island.” She laid a hand over his heart. “Choosing to make a life with you isn’t any risk in my mind. The thought of weaving my future with yours only fills me with confidence. Your goals or mine, we can reach them together.”
“Are you proposing to me?” he asked, incredulous.
“Why not? I have to say I think it’s better than the antiproposal you made a few minutes ago.”
He frowned. “You’d really want to be my wife?”
“I’ve stated my case,” she said. “My heart’s yours, Mark Riley. It’s been yours for so long that together or apart won’t change things.”
He heard the combined voices of their parents approaching and leaned over to the aft rail. “Do you trust me?”
She did, despite the wicked spark in his eye. “You know I do.”
He clasped her hand and led her down a narrow stairwell. “Go, go,” he said quietly. He hurried toward the lifeboat and helped her into it.
She smothered a giggle as she realized what he was doing. “You’re stealing your dad’s sailboat?”
“And you are my accomplice.” He winked and gave her a quick kiss. “I warned you that life with me would be trouble.”
At the sailboat, he helped her up the ladder, and tied the lifeboat to the line so the coast guard could reel it in.
“How will our parents get home?”
“They’re smart. Let them solve their own problems. You and I need some time alone, to recover from our ordeal.”
She looked around. “Are you sure the two of us can handle this?” she asked, a little overwhelmed by the unfurled sails, the tall mast and the various lines.
“A SEAL and his future bride can handle anything.”
She liked the sound of that.
He started the motor quickly and put some distance between them and the cutter before turning back and coming alongside.
“Are you stealing my boat?” his father called out in his booming command voice.
“Yes, General, I am,” Mark shouted. “We’ll meet you at the house in a few days. Maybe a week.”
“Take your R&R,” Charlotte’s dad said with a laugh.
“But don’t you dare elope!” her mother added.
“Yes, sir. Ma’am.”
Charlotte blew kisses to their parents as her future husband sailed away, leaving laughter in their wake.
Hours later, with the sun setting over the Florida Keys, offshore and alone, they finally made love and gave each other the words and touches that mattered most. It was better than any of her fantasies.
Afterward, brimming with happiness, she snuggled under a blanket, her back to Mark’s chest as they shared a bottle of good wine under the stars. Loving him, telling him, was the best thing she’d done with her life.
“I’ll resign if you want,” he said abruptly.
She twisted around, startled that he’d brought this up again. “Why would I want you to leave a career you love? You wouldn’t ask that of me.”
“Your career doesn’t put you in the crosshairs,” he pointed out.
She arched an eyebrow.
“Well, hopefully not ever again,” he allowed.
“I’ll make you a promise,” she began, pleased when his eyes sparkled. “Whatever comes our way, we’ll go on as we’ve started. There isn’t any challenge we can’t overcome together.”
“As long as we celebrate every joy the same way,” he said.
“Now you’re getting it.” She kissed him tenderly, her heart full to bursting. Despite everything she’d imagined, it was even more wonderful to feel her lifelong crush blooming into a lasting love.
Don’t miss previous titles in Regan Black’s
The Riley Code miniseries:
His Soldier Under Siege
A Soldier’s Honor
Available now from
Harlequin Romantic Suspense!
Keep reading for an excerpt from Colton 911: Ultimate Showdown by Addison Fox.