Friendly Fire (The Echo Platoon Series, Book 3) by Marliss Melton Read Free Book Online Page A

father?"
    "Not really. He moved out of state. She sees him two weeks a year."
    He looked back at her and frowned. "I'm sorry to hear that."
    He had to be wondering how the man she'd chosen to be loyal to could have dumped her and left their daughter, too. It was the question of the century.
    "And I'm sorry about last night," he added, catching her off guard a second time.
    Unexpected hurt pricked her. "Are you?"
    He searched her guarded expression. "Not really," he admitted, then offered her a devilish little smile that chased her hurt away. He leaned toward her, pitching his voice lower. "There's something I want to talk to you about. Would you walk with me?"
    Excitement swamped her. She knew she ought to keep her distance, but she couldn't seem to help herself. "Sure."
    They pushed their chairs back simultaneously. Having learned that the ship's staff would clean up, she left what remained of her breakfast and walked next to him toward the exit. Conscious of the lightweight cotton dress she wore, she brushed past him as he opened the door for her, pausing to slip on a pair of sunglasses.
    "I think we need to go up," he said, indicating the exterior stairs.
    As they ascended side by side, she realized they'd never actually done anything together. Their encounters had been limited to the four walls of her office; their adventures had been vicarious and cerebral. Well, mostly cerebral. Losing themselves in books, they had traveled in space and time, but they'd never taken so much as a walk together—until now.
    Feeling invigorated, she glanced over at him. "What's up here?"
    "The sports court."
    She looked around as it came into view. Near the front of the ship, a running track hemmed in a blacktop area for basketball and other sports. A high net kept loose balls from sailing over the railings into the sea or—worse yet—into the open-air dining area below them.
    "It also provides a landing pad for helicopters," he added as they turned and followed the track.
    The random fact struck her as significant. "Where'd you find out that information?"
    He shrugged. "In my discussion with the security officer."
    She cocked her head. "You've talked to the security officer? What for?"
    "Only briefly. He wasn't very forthcoming," he admitted. "SEALs are big on safety," he added in answer to her question.
    "I see." He had mentioned his profession out loud, perhaps because they had the track to themselves, and the sports court stood empty under a dazzling sun. Feeling the wind whip her hair into tangles, she reached up to restrain it. Jeremiah slowed his step. Through the dark lenses of his sunglasses, his gaze touched upon her upturned face, heightening her self-consciousness as she twisted the length of her hair into a knot.
    He seemed intent upon telling her something—but perhaps the timing wasn't right.
    "Do you like your job?" she asked, filling the lengthy silence.
    He sent her a modest grin. "Yes. I tell myself I'm a modern-day Don Quixote, except that the giants I fight are real."
    She could imagine how terrifyingly real they were. "Well, I'm proud of you, Don Quixote." Her throat constricted with unexpected pride. "You've done something so few men are capable of achieving."
    His chest seemed to expand. "Thanks. It means a lot to hear you say that."
    She added with forced levity, "So, do you have a Dulcinea, yet?"
    He regarded her steadily. "There's never been another woman like you, Emma."
    The compliment, uttered so frankly and unexpectedly, caused her to face the ocean and change the subject. "The water is lighter today than yesterday."
    Tiny whitecaps foamed here and there, rising up and disappearing on the swells that rolled past them. The cooling breeze seemed to kiss her bare skin. Sea birds wheeled overhead serenading them. The setting couldn't get any more romantic.
    His large hands resting on the rail next to hers made her think of the scene from Titanic when Jack held Rose while she stood at the prow, arms spread wide