Chapter Eighty-Three

It was nearly a week since Rory and Nina had arrived in Key West. He had seen very little of her during that time, leaving it to Westlake and Jericho to deal with her. The separation was a welcome respite, giving him enough distance to get past most of his seething anger.

But not the painful sense of betrayal.

Though they had spoken on several occasions in the days that had passed, he hadn’t breached the subject of their relationship…or rather, the shreds of it. She hadn’t brought it up, either. Nor had she tried to make amends. Which chafed almost as much as her deceit.

Obviously, she had given up on the intimacy that had grown between them, and on the connection they shared. Just like that, without a fight. Maybe the feelings had all been one-sided—his side. Maybe she hadn’t meant a word of anything she’d told him.

It was enough to piss him off all over again.

“You with me, O’Donnell?”

Admiral Creighton’s voice cut through Rory’s thoughts, bringing his focus back where it belonged. He had come to a small harbor a dozen or so miles from the base with a small contingent of marines, including the admiral. It was a quiet day under a scorching afternoon sun, and they were the only humans present.

“I still think this is a bad idea,” Rory said, standing beside the older man. They awaited the arrival of a sleek, two-masted sailboat, which was skimming across the clear expanse of water, nearing the dock at a steady speed.

They had left Nina back at the base under the close watch of Jericho and Westlake. She hadn’t said a word at being left behind but hadn’t been happy about it.

“I’m not thrilled, either, son.” Creighton was frowning and turned to his assistant. “Lieutenant, are the grounds secured?”

A half dozen marines in full gear stood guard, vigilantly surveyed the quiet marina as the lieutenant confirmed they were alone. Another dozen marines were doing a sweep of the buildings surrounding the docks.

The admiral had left nothing to chance with the impending arrival of Morgan McCabe and her husband, former SEAL commander Cade Fitzpatrick.

Rory didn’t like any part of this. “Until we have Creed, McCabe’s life is at risk. She ought to have stayed away,” he said.

Slitting his eyes against the bright Florida sun, he studied the tall blond man on deck of the vessel. Fitzpatrick was still in excellent physical shape, even after several years of retirement from the teams. Island life clearly suited him.

“Ahoy there, Admiral,” hailed Cade across the water. He steered the boat closer to the pier and shut off the engine, then casually tossed the hawser to the admiral.

“It’s good to see you, Commander,” returned Admiral Creighton as he anchored the line. His eyes scanned the otherwise empty deck. “Where’s your lovely wife?”

The question brought a grin to Cade’s windblown features as he took in Rory and the marines on the dock in one meticulous sweep. To the admiral, he said, “She’s changing into something a bit more suitable to meet old friends. Her words, not mine.”

Vaulting onto the pier, Cade offered Rory his hand. “It’s good to meet you face-to-face at last, O’Donnell.”

“Same here, Commander.” Rory met the searching gray eyes straight on as they shook. Last time they’d encountered one another, their circumstances had been vastly different. “Good trip?”

“We had a nice, stiff southeast breeze at our backs. And call me Cade. I gave up the rank when I retired.”

“Indefinite leave of absence, Commander,” corrected the admiral.

Cade nodded toward the armed escort. “Looks like y’all came prepared for the worst. Anything I should know about?”

“Just a precaution,” Admiral Creighton assured him.

A movement on the aft deck drew their attention. From the main hatch, a woman appeared. Rory had no trouble recognizing who it was.

At last. Morgan McCabe.