Page 2 of Take Hold of Me

I clench my jaw. Yes, I do know, all too well. When I refused to join the Marines right out of high school like he and his father did—like my sister did—the dynamics around the house changed. Not that they were ever great before I dropped out of college and got certified as a personal trainer. When a client, Nolan Kates, saw me handle some unruly gym members, he thought I’d make a good bodyguard. His suggestion struck a chord with me and, after taking classes in personal security, I ended up working for his PI firm. Not that my father thought too much of that career, either.

“We knew her unit could be called up to go to Afghanistan, but she joined the reserves anyway.” He crumples up the napkin. Head turned, he says, “Hey, I’m grateful for the Marines, though. I never would have met your sister if we weren’t stationed together.”

I raise my beer to my lips but place it on the table without taking the final swallow. “I wish I had gone into the Marines. Then she wouldn’t have felt compelled to join up, and she would be here today.”

“You don’t know that. Addie was feisty. She probably would’ve joined for the sole purpose of competing against you.” His right lip curls upward.

“You’re probably right,” I say without conviction. Having her death on my conscious is a lasting ache that hurts more sharply than the prick of the tattoo I got in her honor two years ago.

David brings his arms up and reaches under his shirt, then takes off a silver chain. No. Not a chain—it’s Three’s dog tags. He looks at them and closes his fist. “I need to move on with a clean slate, Wills.” He extends his hand to me. “Here. I want you to have these.”

I suck in a breath. My eyes bounce from his now-opened palm to follow a tear rolling down his cheek. I shake my head, unable to speak.

“Please. I want you to have them. Addie would want this.”

I swallow over the lump lodged in my throat. “Thanks.” Reaching out, I take the chain and put it around my neck, allowing it to fall under my shirt. My hand pats her dog tags that now rest on my chest.

After a minute, he signals for the server to bring our check. “This is on me.” He offers a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Looks like I have a big check waiting for me.”

I open my mouth to argue, but the intense look on his face makes me say instead, “Thanks. When we’re done here, want to go to Complete?”

David pulls out a light brown leather wallet with the Marine Corps logo on it. After he extracts some bills, he glances at his watch. “Can’t. I have to get back and walk Gemini.” Three was Gemini’s handler. Injured when she was killed, David was able to adopt the military working dog and spoils him rotten. Not that I blame him.

Fishing into my pocket for my keys, I reply, “You go do that. I think I’ll see what I can do at Vets for Military Dogs.” I’ve been volunteering at this place—a charity that fosters injured military working dogs until they’re ready to be adopted—for years. There’s always a dog that needs his belly rubbed.

As we’re exiting, my cell beeps. My stomach contracts when I see that “Emilie Dubois” sent me another text. To complete my self-inflicted torture, I open it, shake my head and put my cell into my back pocket without responding, just as I’ve done with all of her texts. I’m no good for the French supermodel—not the same man I was before I had to kill Cole’s crazy stalker. Not that Ieverwas good enough for her. Besides, we never did much but talk and share a couple of kisses. I vault in my Jeep, blasting rock music to drown out my jumbled thoughts.

I’m going to make you proud, Three.

No more deaths.I rub my bicep, which hosts my newest tattoo honoring my fallen partners, Jared and Roberto.

Thirty days will fly by, right?

And the one thought that swirls around the most—How can I keep my distance from Emilie now that she’s living in LA?

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