Page 25 of Buck

“Those are things you need and do. I need more.”

“Do you? I feel that way all the time,” he murmured. Not many people actually asked him about growing up. They were more interested in him being a cowboy as if that was something hung on him like his western shirts, hat, boots, and spurs. “Growing up on a ranch was all about responsibility. We had animals that needed to be fed, cared for, exercised, and protected every day. Sweat was expected and appreciated. Ranching and cowboying are about grit and gumption, my grandfather said. He was right.” The memory of his fear came back at him, especially after his uncle was killed so suddenly.“There is great satisfaction in building, planning and overcoming obstacles. The labor, the thinking involved, filled me up. It could be tedious and repetitious. It can be violent and dangerous. It’s helping your neighbor without expecting anything in return. It's a tradition and a way of life that has meaning.” He paused and the light of interest in her eyes made him go a little further. “I did everything my dad did,” his voice got hoarse. “I took my hat off at the table like my dad, rode horses like my dad, wore the same shirts, blue jeans, and boots. The sun rose and set on my father…” He cleared his throat, his chest getting tight. “And my Uncle Colton. You learn about life, and you learn about death.” Her hand tightened in his and she pressed her shoulder against him.

“Sounds like an amazing experience that flowed over to special operations. Yes?”

“A resounding yes.” Something shifted in him, something that he never really talked about with anyone but his brothers in arms. “I remember those wet, sandy, and miserable days, the push to get a rubber boat to shore amidst towering and formidable waves, toting around logs that weighed as much as a bull. I remember Hell Week that made even my worst day at BUD/S look good. I remember that no matter the obstacles, no matter the circumstances, or weather, or lack of experience, or hard luck, or fear, I never gave up. That’s what growing up as a cowboy did for me—a willingness to keep going when facing insurmountable odds and obstacles. I think SEALs have that in spades, the human instinct for survival—the fight part.”

“Strength doesn’t come from physical capacity, but from indomitable will. It’s clear to me cowboys stick with it,” she said.

After that, they rode in companionable silence until they arrived in LA. He wasn’t sure if he gave her a lot to think about. He was just filled up by her genuine interest in the authentic nature of who he was as a man.

Once they left the train, he couldn’t help feeling something wasn’t right here, as if they were being watched. And if there was one thing Buck firmly believed in, it was following gut instinct. Even as they enjoyed sightseeing around Griffith Park, Zuma Beach, and the Santa Monica Pier, interspersed with sex as often as he got a hard-on, the back of his neck prickled. Even though there was no threat, he couldn’t shake it.

She was just as interested in sex as he was. He couldn’t get enough of fucking her. So, when he left the room on the last night before he had to go home to wait for her in the lobby for their night at the Walt Disney Concert Hall, he turned and almost swallowed his tongue. Like most red-blooded men in the vicinity, he got immediately hard. Her raven-wing hair spilled down her back in earthy tones, barely caught in some sparkling female bauble at her crown.

Then there was the dress. The tongue-swallowing dress was no more than a plunging drape of something silky and terracotta red, showing off her tanned skin, her toned muscles, and a tight ass that made him groan. Men moved around her, wanting a closer look, women gave her dirty looks, and she moved through them with the poise and grace of a woman used to this kind of attention but didn’t think it her due. With every move, the fabric clung to her curves, her nipples, showing him the lushness of her body, that hollow between her thighs.

Buck worked at staying in control, grappling with his body’s sudden need as his gaze rose past the rope of diamonds circling her throat and riding on the swell of her breasts, then to her face. He was in trouble.

He endured the concert, the ride back to the hotel, but the moment the door closed, he was undoing his pants, hiking up that dress, and fucking her until they both came. When it was time to leave, he found it very difficult and got her to promise that she would let him know when she was back in San Diego.

When he got off the train, the station and the streets were thick with people either walking fast, riding various vehicles, or impeding his progress. He maneuvered around the scents of food and gas fumes creating a haze in the air, but his mind was on her, making love to a stranger, a woman who had gotten under his skin. He didn’t want to examine why she affected him so much, but it was mutual.

As he walked, he was completely aware of everything around him, locked and loaded for anything. That sharp prickle worked up his spine and he slowed, using the glass fronts of shops to get a look behind him. Ah, there they were.

He abruptly turned down an alleyway, picking up speed so he was poised at the end when the first guy emerged. Buck set down his bag, then punched him in the face, and he went down. Without missing a beat, he got the second guy into a headlock.

Suddenly there was a squeal of tires, and he looked at the street. A tall redhead got out of the car, and his mouth tightened as he recognized her. Kat freaking Cross. What the actual fuck?

“Buck, for the love of God, stop beating up those DEA agents and get in the damn car.”

That’s when he found himself at the DEA office in San Diego sitting in front of a screen and watching every single moment of his time with Maritza Elena Solano Navarro. His eyes went over her, down all those curves one more time. Because something was going to change, and it wasn’t going to be good. There wasn’t a straight line on her—anywhere. And now he knew all those curves, every last one.

“Why the fuck were you following me?” he growled, his anger rising ready to spill over and burn the place down.

Kat turned to him, her mouth tight and her eyes solemn as Joker entered the room. She glanced at him, then said, “We weren’t following you.” She turned back to the screen. “We were following her.”

His whole body went on red-hot alert, slipping into warrior mode. Even as he wanted to protect her from anything that could hurt her, his hands were being tied. Buck didn’t do well with limitations. And for the first time in his Naval service, he felt goddamned limited. His heart collapsed, and that anger had nowhere to go. It sat in his gut like a lead weight.

Was she the enemy now?

8

The first thing that D-Day saw when they entered the DEA conference room was Buck with his arms crossed, glaring at Kat, their CIA contact from the time they spent in West Africa. He couldn’t stop the twinge of guilt from biting him. Joker was standing next to him. Buck looked pissed, and from D-Day’s experience in gauging body language and threat levels, Buck’s was off the charts. What the hell had happened? He took a seat at the table along with his other teammates.

“What’s going on?” Blitz asked. “Has there been a break in the manhunt for Nacho?”

“No,” Joker said with a sigh. “More on that in a minute. This is about our rescuers in Costa Rica, the Navarro family.”

“Are they being threatened?” Zorro asked, his posture and tone protective. “I’m ready to go back down there to?—”

“They are in trouble, and it’s possible they are in danger as well,” Joker said. His LT looked one hundred percent after two months of recovery, but there were shadows in his eyes. D-Day couldn’t blame him. If it hadn’t been for Sofia Morales, he would have died. There was no doubt in D-Day’s mind about it.

“They have her under surveillance,” Buck gritted out. “The whole family in fact.”

“What? Why? That gifted woman saved his life. Why are they suspects?” Zorro said, standing up and looking between Kat and LT.

“Let’s all take a seat,” Kat said, looking at Russ Watson, the DEA agent who had been working this case in tandem with authorities in Mexico, Colombia, Guatemala, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, and Panama to apprehend and dismantle the transshipment of illicit drugs through Central America. She took a breath, then said, “I’ll let Russ fill you in.”

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