Page 45 of The SEAL's Runaway
“I’ll collect her car tomorrow—” Caleb shook his head. “And then I’m going to talk to her about staying with me until things have calmed down.”
Wyatt hummed under his breath. “I see.”
“I just want to make sure she’s safe.” Reality butted against him. “Then she’ll move on.”His older brother’s gaze needled his skin. Caleb swallowed hard. “Once this is all over, she’ll go back to her life, and I’ll go back to mine.”
Except, he couldn’t imagine his life without Grace in it anymore.
Wyatt’s eyes narrowed, his head tilting as he studied Caleb’s face. “That sounds definite.”
Caleb shrugged, the movement stiff and jerky. “Grace is a free woman.” The words were broken glass in his throat. “She’s free to go where she chooses. Nothing I say or do will change that.”
Wyatt was silent for a long moment. “She might be good for you.”
Shit. The truth was the idea of Grace leaving made his chest go tight, made it hard to breathe. “It’s not my decision. Besides, coming from you…” Caleb kept his face blank even though he knew it was futile. Wyatt could read him like a book, always had done since they were little kids.
“Fair enough.” Wyatt pushed off the counter.
How could one woman affect him so intensely in such a short period? Time to shift the conversation to safer ground. “When are you meeting the Commander?”
“Tomorrow afternoon. I can be here tomorrow morning while you collect her car, so she’s not alone.”
The coffee machine gurgled, the scent of brewed beans filling the air.
Caleb latched onto the distraction with gratitude. “That fancy machine just for show, or are you going to make me one of those midget coffees?”
28
Caleb’s boots echoed on the scuffed concrete floor as he strode into the cavernous air hangar. The acrid stench of aviation fuel mingled with the metallic tang of machinery. In the center of the space was the Jayhawk, her paintwork gleaming in the fluorescent lighting.
He’d left Grace in Wyatt’s capable hands, knowing his brother would allow no harm to come to her. But the separation still chafed, a prickle beneath his skin that he couldn’t quite scratch. When had her presence become so essential, her safety so intertwined with his own peace of mind?
He ignored the scrawled weather updates and maintenance schedules on the crew whiteboard in the corner and focused his attention on the long row of shelves lining the back wall.
A pair of worn boots emerged from beneath the Jayhawk, followed by a grease-streaked Henley. He sat up on the creeper, wiping his hands with a rag that had seen better days. “Caleb, you on duty today, or just here to lend a hand with Sandra?” He gave the chopper an affectionate pat.
Caleb shook his head. “Not today. Just swung by to grab some gear.”
Henley chuckled, tossing the rag aside and pushing to his feet. “Your loss. This beauty’s purring like a kitten after the tune-up I just gave her.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Caleb’s gaze drifted past Henley to the stacked shelves on the back wall. “But I’m busy today.”
The shelves held meticulously organized, state-of-the-art survival gear that would make any prepper green with envy. In the event of an apocalypse, the Alaskan Coast Guard would be more than prepared. Caleb’s gaze zeroed in on a nondescript cardboard box. He sliced the securing tape with his penknife, heedless of the Styrofoam peanuts escaping the box. Nestled inside, swathed in protective plastic, lay a small orange device no larger than his palm. A personal locator beacon, one of the most advanced on the market.
The small device represented a lifeline, a way to ensure Grace’s safety, even if they were separated. Knowing Grace would have it with her eased some of the pressure in his chest. He’d give it to her when he returned to Wyatt’s place, along with a crash course on how to use it. If the worst happened and she found herself in danger, activating the beacon would transmit her location to the rescue coordination center. They would notify the Coast Guard, sending help.
Henley called out. “Hey. I almost forgot. Someone was looking for you earlier.”
The rush of blood in Caleb’s ears almost drowned out Henley’s next words. “A woman. Pretty, too.”
Schooling his features into casual indifference, Caleb turned to face his teammate. “A woman?”
Henley nodded. “Not from around here. You mixed up in something I should know about?”
Caleb hesitated, his jaw clenching as he weighed his words. He trusted Henley, had flown countless missions with the man watching his six. But he wouldn’t put any of his team in danger. The stakes were too high, the risks of involving anyone else were too great. It was bad enough that he’d accepted Wyatt’s help.
“Just got a lot on my plate.” Fuck. His words sounded like a cop-out.
Henley examined a wrench, evidently unconvinced, his expression thoughtful. “Well, you know where I am…”