Saving Zola (Sleeper SEALs Book 4) Read online

  “Are you listening to me, Zola? You could have been killed.”

  “Well, you would never have known about it from your own grave, Mike.” She shrugged out of his grasp and scooted back. Her face was red with anger.

  He rubbed his forehead. “You didn’t even know how to shoot that gun.”

  “And yet I managed to do it. There were so many shots. All I could do was imagine you outnumbered and dying. I found that gun in Tex’s safe room and knew I had to help if I could.”

  Why couldn’t she see reason?

  “Stop looking at me like that. I’m not a damn child, Mike. I’m a woman. A grown woman who is in love with the boyfriend she lost twelve years ago and was not about to risk losing him again. If you can’t understand that, then I don’t know what else to say.” She lowered her face as her words fell.

  She loved him. So much she risked her own life for his.

  He reached for her chin and lifted her face. “I love you so much it hurts.”

  “I know,” she whispered.

  “I was scared. I’m still scared.”

  “I know.”

  How could he continue to be mad at her? It was over. He needed to move forward. Continuing to berate her for risking her own safety was pointless. The better plan would be to empower her so that if she ever found herself in a situation like that again, at least she would be able to fire a weapon with enough accuracy to shoot to kill. If he hadn’t been there ready to fire the killing blow, the assailant could have turned around and killed her.

  He swallowed. “I’m taking you to the firing range first chance we get.”

  “’Kay,” she whispered.

  At least she didn’t argue that point. He hugged her tighter against his body. “I’m exhausted.” He wanted the entire day to disappear. He wanted to bury his face in her hair, inhale her clean scent, and nibble on her ear. But he wasn’t kidding. He was beyond tired. Although, he wasn’t sure he would be able to fall asleep anytime soon.

  The day had been long. It took a while to piece together that the three thugs who tried to capture or kill Zola this second time were hired hitmen. The Johanssons were wealthy, but they struck out a second time. They were also picked up later in the day and wouldn’t be given a second opportunity to post bond.

  “Sleep.” She patted his chest as he lowered onto his back, hugging her against his side. “We’re safe.”

  Were they though? Would Zola ever really be safe while she spent her days prosecuting terrorists?

  He closed his eyes, but his mind raced through the events of the day. He felt horrible about Tex’s home, but his friend had assured him repeatedly that the house was insured and Mike wasn’t to blame for anything that happened.

  Although it would seem unimaginable that anything could have complicated his life any more after the morning they had, he’d been proven wrong.

  His boss with the FBI called. He needed him on another assignment. Even though Mike had been scheduled for another week of vacation and he had yet to take more than a few days of said vacation, the government needed him now.

  He knew Zola thought he was preoccupied with her safety, and she wasn’t wrong, but he was even more concerned with telling her his plans and discussing a future that looked so complicated he couldn’t bring himself to face it.

  On the one hand, he loved his job and he was good at it. He couldn’t imagine giving up his work with the Bureau to move to New Haven. What would he do there?

  On the other hand, the mere thought of spending even one night away from Zola at this point brought bile to his throat. He’d lost her for twelve years due mainly to his own stupidity. He didn’t intend to lose her again. Not even for twelve hours. But she had a job she loved too. In Connecticut.

  “Mike?” Her small hand wandered up and down his chest. “You’re so tense. And I know you aren’t sleeping.”

  He sighed, reaching to clasp her hand in his and squeeze it. “Sorry.”

  She lifted her face and met his gaze again in the dim light of the room. “Don’t be sorry. You want to talk? Clear your mind?”

  He cringed. “Not really. What I want is for life to be less complicated so I can spend the next seventy years with my woman.”

  She sighed. “You’re worried about what we’re going to do next? I mean, with me going back to work and you being assigned God only knows where. Right?”

  He stroked a hand through her damp curls. “Seems that’s going to happen sooner rather than later.”

  “What do you mean?” She flattened her palm on his chest.

  “My boss called. I didn’t want to tell you yet.”

  She pushed off him so that more space separated them. “Why keep that from me?”

  “Because it’s a hot mess, and I don’t have answers, and it seemed easier to ignore it and enjoy you for another day.”

  “A day? When do you have to leave? Where are you going?”

  “Atlanta. They need me to be there yesterday. I told them Monday.”

  She nodded, her mouth hanging open. “I see.”

  He pushed to sitting and hauled her stunned limp body onto his lap. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you. I guess I thought if I didn’t say it out loud, it wouldn’t be true yet.”

  “But it’s real. And we need to discuss it together.” She faced him, grabbing his shoulders.

  He swallowed. “How the hell are we going to work this out? You have a job you love in Connecticut. I have a job I love that’s sending me to Atlanta. A townhome in North Carolina is a long daily commute.”

  She smiled, though he thought it was forced. “I’m not sure a daily commute is reasonable.”

  “And I’m not interested in sleeping in two different cities.” He leaned back against the headboard, still holding her, tipping his head to face the dark ceiling. “I need to resign.”

  “You can’t resign. You’d resent me for the rest of our lives. I know you. You need to keep this job. I’ll resign.”

  He lowered his face to shoot her a narrowed look. “And that’s just as absurd. You worked your whole life for this position with the DA. In fact, that’s the precise reason your dad didn’t want us to get together in the first place twelve years ago. He’d have a coronary if you did that. And so would I.”

  “Which is precisely why you took his advice and left me alone.”

  “Well, yes.”

  “You planning to break up with me again now?” She pushed his arms away from her, climbed off him, and scooted to stand next to the bed. “Mike? Is that what you’re holding back? You think we should end this thing because it seems insurmountable and neither of us wants to give up our jobs?”

  He stiffened, following her to the edge of the bed and then remaining seated when she backed up with her hands out. “No.” He shook his head. “Not a chance in hell. We are not going to break up. Ever. Got me?” He watched her bite her bottom lip, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. “Baby, you mean more to me than any stupid job. The only reason I didn’t tell you about the Atlanta gig yet was because I was trying to come up with a solution.”

  She nodded. Too hard. A tear slid down her face. “Let me quit. Please, Mike. It’s not that one of us has to be a martyr. Don’t look at it that way. Think of it as us making the most economical choice. My job pays shit. It’s practically below the poverty level. So let’s keep yours. I’ll find work in Georgia. I don’t have to work in New Haven. They hire lawyers all over the country.”

  He stared at her for a while, watching her body language as she folded her arms and cocked a hip. She hated the idea of leaving New Haven. No matter what her words were, they didn’t match her stance. He groaned and rubbed his forehead with two fingers. “That’s not a good option.”

  “You have a better one?”

  “Yeah, I already said it. I’ll move to New Haven. I can also easily get a job. I can do lots of things.”

  “They have a big call for FBI agents who specialize in biological warfare in Connecticut all the sudden
?”

  “No. But I’m a biologist first. And an agent second. I don’t have to continue to work for the FBI.” Could he do it? Could he quit and walk away?

  Fuck yes. And he would.

  “That idea sucks, Mike. You can’t do it.” She shook her head again.

  “Another reason to stay in Connecticut is because your dad is there. You’re the only one of us who even has family, and I know you’ve always been close to him. I don’t want to move you away from your father.”

  “Right now I’m kinda pissed at him, and you should be too.”

  He shrugged. “We’ll both get over it. He’s your father. He’s only ever had your best interests at heart. Maybe he made some poor choices, but he meant well.”

  “He meant well?” Her voice rose as she unfolded her crossed arms and held them out. “He ruined twelve years of my life with his antics, Mike.”

  “I know, baby.” Mike spoke calmly, hoping to convince her to forgive the man. It wasn’t that Mike wasn’t also seething inside over lost time, but he wanted her to reconcile with her dad and move on at the same time. His spine wasn’t so flexible that he would permit the man to continue to manipulate the two of them, but the past was the past. It was time to forgive. And it seemed in the few conversations he’d had with Richard that the man genuinely wished them well.

  A tear finally slid down her face. She wiped it away. “Maybe I need some time away from Connecticut to cool off anyway.”

  “Come here.” He held out a hand.

  She wiped away another tear and padded toward him until he could reach out and grab her around the waist, nestling her body between his knees.

  He wiped the next tear away with the pad of his thumb. “Forgive him. It will eat at you until you do. And moving to another state won’t make things better.”

  “How can you be so forgiving?”

  “I told you. Because I know what it’s like to not have any family. I’d give anything to see either of my parents, and I’d take them any way I could. Drug addicts, criminals, I don’t care. It would be worth it to have one hour with them. I won’t let you squander that ability.”

  She didn’t say anything, but she watched his face.

  Suddenly, he was certain he would quit. He had no idea why he’d been hesitant. It was a job. He could get one anywhere. She meant so much more to him than his position with the FBI. “It’s just a job, baby. I would be miserable in Atlanta without you. And I would fret about you leaving your position all the time. It’s final. I’ll call my boss first thing in the morning and resign. We’ll go back to Connecticut and I’ll move into your condo.”

  A sob escaped her lips. “You’re sure? It’s not even that big.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You have a bed?”

  “Of course.”

  “Is it a twin?”

  “No. You’ve seen my place.”

  He gave her a wry smile. “That’s all I need.” He shook his head. “That’s not true. I would even sleep with you on a twin mattress. Or hell, the floor. I don’t care where. I just need to be with you.” He hugged her body against his tighter and leaned forward to set his lips on her ear. “Discussion over.”

  She shuddered.

  “I love you, Zola.”

  “I love you too, Mike.”

  “Settled. We’ll get married, move into your place, and start working on those kids. You still want 2.6 kids, right?” he teased. “That’s what you always told me when we were young.”

  She sniffled. “Stop making me cry.”

  He closed the distance and set his lips on hers, whispering against her mouth. “Maybe we could do something to lighten the mood.”

  “I thought you were tired,” she mumbled back.

  “Changed my mind. I can sleep next week while you work and I’m jobless. Perhaps I could become a kept man.” He lifted his brows. “I like that plan. I’ll lounge around all day while you work. Maybe pick up a soap opera or two.”

  She smiled. “You wouldn’t last two hours.”

  “Try me.”

  * * *

  Greg Lambert leaned back in the comfortable leather armchair, threading his fingers behind his head. He met the gaze of Vice President Warren Angelo and sighed. “You realize the stakes are higher than you thought, right?”

  “Yes. I’m clear on that.” Angelo nodded, taking a sip of his bourbon.

  Benedict Hughes cleared his throat. “We’re fighting this war on several fronts now. The CIA is aware of the new development.”

  Greg shot his gaze toward Hughes. “It’s hardly a new concept. Our own citizens have turned against us before. I’m just pointing out that everyone you hire needs to be diligent and aware that they aren’t always looking for a Middle Eastern profile. Terrorists come in all flavors. No one has a monopoly on hatred.”

  “You think these thugs the Johanssons hired were working for a terrorist organization?” Angelo asked.

  Greg shook his head. “I don’t think it matters. The point is, they took this job just as easily as anyone else could have. And terrorists can easily prey on locals to do their dirty work for them. People join extremist movements all the time for a variety of reasons, including our own citizens. Half the time I’m not even convinced they realize what they’re fighting against or for. They’re just messed up individuals who feel the world owes them for some conceived wrong.”

  Hughes sighed. “Point taken. You got your next SEAL lined up?”

  “Yes. I’ll be in contact with him tomorrow.”

  “We appreciate your service, Lambert.” The vice president was stoic as he spoke, his brow furrowed. “Without you, countless lives would’ve been lost in recent months.”

  “It’s my pleasure to serve my country.” Greg stood, set his glass on the end table, and headed for the door.

  There was no doubt the job was thankless, but he wouldn’t want to be in any other position at the moment. Serving his country. Saving lives.

  Epilogue

  One year later…

  Zola was exhausted. Mentally and physically. She sat on the floor in the second bedroom they’d converted into a nursery and rocked back and forth, holding the colicky baby girl. She was afraid to sit on the rocking chair for fear she would fall asleep and drop Liza.

  Tears ran down her face in the dark. It was the middle of the night. She had to go back to work tomorrow. Her six weeks were up.

  She closed her eyes and fought back a sob, biting her lip.

  Liza continued to squirm, fighting sleep. She had just nursed. She had a dry diaper. Her life was perfect, but still she wouldn’t sleep. The only way to get her to stop crying was to hold her.

  “Please, baby girl,” Zola pleaded softly, hugging the bundle to her chest.

  A shadow fell over the two of them, and Zola lifted her face to find Mike leaning in the doorway. “You okay, babe?”

  She nodded, unable to speak for fear she would reveal the barely held-back tears.

  He was too sharp though. He eased into the room, crouched in front of her, and looked from her to their daughter. “I think she’s asleep, babe.” He gently lifted her from Zola’s arms and set her in her crib. “Come on,” he whispered.

  He took her hand and urged her to stand, leading her from the room.

  Zola’s tears fell without her permission.

  Mike led her to their room, sat on the edge of their bed, and dragged her between his legs to hold her. He brushed a long lock of hair from her cheek. “Talk to me.”

  She shook her head, knowing if she did, she would break down into an ugly cry. Instead, she set her head on his chest and held his biceps. She continued rocking into him as though she were still holding the baby.

  He rubbed her arms, always comforting her. He’d been the best damn husband she could ask for. They hadn’t even been married yet when she realized she’d missed several pills during their run from the damn terrorists.

  Nevertheless, he’d done nothing but hold her hair and rub her back during the early w
eeks when she’d been too shocked at the idea of being pregnant to even accept it. And then he’d been to every single appointment and asked all the right questions and read the baby books and put together the crib when she was still in denial and let her squeeze his hand to death at the birth and changed diapers… The list went on.

  And he was still with her. Holding her. Rubbing her back. Soothing her with his words.

  She knew what he thought. She knew he assumed she was suffering from some level of postpartum depression. And maybe she was, but that wasn’t the real problem. And she had to tell him. It was the eleventh hour of the eleventh month.

  “Zola.” His voice was firmer. “Talk to me, babe.”

  She swallowed back her tears. She had to tell him. She lifted her face and shoved off him, putting a few inches between them. “I can’t do it.”

  He nodded slowly. “Okay. Okay. It’s gonna be okay, babe. You can’t do what exactly?” He reached for her biceps to tug her closer. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m totally here for you. Whatever you need. I can quit my job if you need. We can make it work. If you want me to stay home instead of putting Liza in daycare, give you a break, take on more of the household chores. I can do this.”

  She stared at him. He was so far off base. And he was so damn fucking awesome. He would hand her the moon. She knew that. Why was it so hard to admit this weird convoluted piece of defeat as if she were less of a person?

  He furrowed his brow. “Zola? Tell me.” He looked genuinely scared. “Is it me?” He swallowed. “Am I smothering you? Not picking up enough slack? We can get a counselor. Whatever you think.” His grip made her close her eyes.

  She took a deep breath and shook her head. “No. Mike. It’s not you.” She exhaled forever and forced herself to continue. “I didn’t know it would feel like this. I would never have believed it. I thought people were crazy.”

  “The depression? Hon, it’s perfectly normal. It happens to thousands of women every year. They have meds for that. We’ll get through it.”

  She shook her head more vehemently. And then she shook her husband more vehemently. “Mike, shut up. Listen to me.”