Page 18 of Sachie's Hero

He nodded. “Delta Force.”

“Thank you for your service,” she said softly. “Iunderstand Jace Hawkins hires former special operation types for the Brotherhood Protectors.”

“That’s right,” Teller focused on the road ahead. “He has built an excellent team of former spec ops guys.”

She glanced his way, her head tilted slightly, as she studied him. “Was it hard transitioning into civilian life?”

Teller shrugged. “Sometimes. It’s so surreal that you’re walking along a sidewalk and overhear someone complaining about having to work on a weekend or that the air conditioner in their car isn’t working at its best capacity.”

“We don’t know how good we have it, do we?” Sachie said. “While we’re worried about what to wear to the office, our men and women in uniform in a warzone are worried about missiles landing in the middle of their camp or being blown away by an improvised explosive device.” She shook her head.

“Exactly.” Teller’s lips twisted. “I still duck when I hear loud noises.”

“Or the sound of gunfire.” Sachie sighed. “Which was a good thing when I ran out into the backyard like an idiot and you took me down.”

He shot a crooked smile her way. “Sorry. I did what I had to do.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “I’m glad you did. Thank you.”

When they arrived at Teller’s apartment, he glanced across the console at her. “I’ll need you to come up to my apartment with me. I don’t trust leaving you alone in the SUV.”

Her brow furrowed as she glanced over her shoulder. “Were we followed?”

“Not that I could tell, but I don’t want to risk it.” He shifted into park and turned off the engine. “It won’t take me long to grab a shirt.”

“I’ll come.”

While Sachie unbuckled her seatbelt, Teller dropped down from the SUV and rounded the hood to the passenger side, scanning the cars, the hedges bordering the pavement and the road they’d just turned off. So far, so good.

Sachie had already pushed the door open when Teller arrived. He held out his hand.

When she laid her hand in Teller’s palm, a jolt of electricity shot up his arm. Not used to having such a visceral reaction to touching a woman’s hand, he quickly helped her to the ground and released his hold.

“I have to warn you, my place is a bachelor pad. It isn’t the cleanest.” He waved toward the walkway in front of him, indicating the way for her to go.

Once inside the apartment, he closed the door behind him and left Sachie standing in the entry. “I’ll only be a minute.”

He hurried into the single bedroom of the sparsely furnished unit and grabbed a T-shirt out of the chest of drawers.

“How long have you been in this apartment?” Sachie asked, her voice drifting through the open door.

“A couple of months.” He pulled off the hula girl T-shirt, tossed it on the unmade bed and dragged on a clean dark shirt, much like the one he’d worn earlier. Before he left the room, he grabbed a gym bag and stuffed it with clean boxer briefs, a couple of shirts, jeans and socks. He used to have a go-bag ready at all times, stashed in his vehicle when he’d been in the military, never knowing when he’d be deployed. After last night, he figured it might be a good thing to start doing again, especially while working for the Brotherhood Protectors.

“Did you pick the furniture?” Sachie asked, the sound coming from his living room instead of the front entry.

He stepped out of the bedroom, tugging the hem of his shirt down over his torso. “The apartment came furnished. It was only supposed to be temporary until I decided where I wanted to live.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “And have you decided?”

He shook his head. “No. I’ve been all over this island and spent time on the Parkman Ranch, which is amazing, but I haven’t really looked for a more permanent place to live. I was thinking of visiting the other islands before I made up my mind.”

Sachie crossed to the window overlooking another apartment complex that had seen better days. “What are you looking for in a permanent home?”

He snorted. “I don’t know. I’ve never had a permanent home.”

She turned back, a frown denting her forehead. “What about when you were growing up?”

Teller usually didn’t talk about his distant past. There wasn’t much to talk about. “I didn’t have a permanent home.” He waved a hand toward the door. “We’d better get you to your office.”

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