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The third man in the photo is the random robber responsible for my father’s death.

Except it wasn’t random. And my former best friend was more involved than I first thought.

Now I have potential proof that could put them all away.

I’m so close to closing the door on my past so that I can fully open the door on my new life here in Virginia Beach.

A life I pray will include Jim.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Jim

Inever expectedto be proposing again. Hell, I didn’t think it would be happening now. Not after the argument Taya and I had before I left. The entire training, I just kept replaying the beginning of our day at Lake Lawson and those proposal ideas kept swarming my mind, and then during dinner one night, I mentioned to the guys how a part of me thought Taya would prefer a new motorcycle over an engagement ring. Craiger had to use the Heimlich on Bear, who choked on his food.

Of course, Martinez almost gave everything away two weeks ago when I had finally gotten the opportunity to speak with Taya. I give the ring one last look before snapping the black box shut and nod at Terry. “It’s perfect. Thanks for doing this under such a tight schedule. You’re a lifesaver.”

The thick-necked jeweler in a blue shirt and matching tie is built like a brick house. Not surprising, since he’s an ex-SEAL. A friend of a friend, who was more than happy to help me out on short notice by designing a ring from my vague notes I sent over a few days after my call with Taya. I’d worried right up until a few moments ago when I saw the end result. The diamond catches the light and sparkles like magic.

“She’ll love it,” he says with a wink.

I think he’s right. Now the only thing I have to worry about is whether or not she’ll loveme.

I shake Terry’s hand, exit the shop and head to my car. It’s a nice day, so pedestrians dot the sidewalks while they enjoy leisurely afternoon strolls. I wish I had half the calm that they’re exuding.

Once I unlock the door, I check my cell phone. Some of the tension eases from my neck. Okay, still on target to go pick up Taya and get to the restaurant on time. Being late for our first date since I returned home this morning is no way to kick off the new relationship I hope to establish with my wife.

Less than forty-five minutes later, Taya’s in the car and we’re headed to dinner. A muscle twitches involuntarily at the corner of my right eye, my fingers tapping the steering wheel furiously as I stare out the windshield.

God, I missed her. Two and a half weeks away from her and only getting to talk to her once for barely two minutes and once for a bit longer had been a special kind of hell I didn’t know existed. Especially when she monopolized the entire conversation trying to convince me that she can handle my life, that she spent time with Marge learning about what it’s like now that I can return to the field. But something’s still wrong.

Of course, all three men are sworn to secrecy in case the night goes belly up and Taya turns me down. I don’t need Marge meddling. The darn woman might actually stalk the restaurant—with Bear—and record the entire event.

Another quick glance at Taya only knots my stomach more. She is staring out the window, lips tight, hands folded in her lap. Like we aren’t heading to dinner but to prison. Even when I came home, something felt off. The way she hugged me, too tight with a small tremble in her body, made my gut shift.

Bile creeps up my throat. Maybe asking her to marry me isn’t such a good idea. What if she agrees, then bails? The easiest time to leave—the time most realize this life really isn’t for them—would be while I’m deployed. But coming home to an empty house... it’d be better than finding her with another guy in my bed.

I shake my head.

Sheldon’s comes into view, and I pull up to the valet parking before I drive myself crazy. The restaurant is the epitome of class and beachfront snobbery, but their pier is the perfect location for a proposal. I want this to be special for her, to show her that she deserves way more than getting “married” by signing a document. Luckily, the moon is shining through the partly cloudy sky. The universe is working with me tonight, holding off the storm that’s supposed to roll in tonight.

The maître d’ leads us to a table in the secluded part of the restaurant. We pass the table by the veranda, and my stomach shifts uneasily. My hands clasp and unclasp each other as if in constant need of touch and reassurance. We take our seats at the table, and I reach across to take her hand into mine, hoping that touching her will calm my nerves. “Get into any trouble while I was gone?”

“What are you, my dad?” She pulls away from me and grabs a piece of bread. The muscles in her shoulders go rigid, and her skin flushes a few shades darker as blood suffuses her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”

I capture her wrist between my fingers. The cast is gone, and her arm is pale from the elbow down, a reverse tan. My thumb grazes across the delicate skin, the vein running along her forearm fluttering a little faster.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Knowing she’s fully recovered from her fall eases the anxious beast in me, but I still check her arm for any lingering weakness before kissing the delicate skin just below her wrist. The sharp intake of her breath is like music.

“I do.” The sadness in her eyes has eased somewhat, color returning to her pale complexion. “But let me ease my way into it by way of carb overload—these rolls look amazing.”

I grin. Partly because, at last, Taya is going to open up to me, but also because she looks like she needs the encouragement. And maybe just a teensy bit because her talking first means I get a temporary reprieve from my nerves. I reach for the box in my pocket, touching the square to reassure myself it’s still there and then try not to snort out loud. Look at the big, brave SEAL about to piss himself over asking a simple question. Good thing Bear can’t see me now. “Sure thing.”

I let her go and lean back in my seat and scarf down half of the dinner rolls. They’re delicious. Or maybe they aren’t. Where the hell is the waiter? I force down the last mouthful of bread and want to kick myself. Engaging in a one-man carb eating contest is not romantic.

Taya finishes off her last bite of roll and wipes her mouth on her napkin, before clasping her hands together on the table. When she looks up at me, her expression evokes a different type of stress. My gut clenches. I have no idea what she’s going to say next, but I can tell it’s serious.

“So, I haven’t been completely honest with you. About my past,” she says, dropping her gaze to the table.

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