FIVE
THIRTY-SIX HOURS LATER
MANILA
Karly hated crowds.
She hated cameras.
She’d never had a problem with reporters, but after this morning’s press conference, she could go the rest of her life without seeing another microphone.
Did you think you were going to die? How did it feel watching your friends get gunned down in front of you?
Karly adjusted her oversize sunglasses as she scanned the hotel lobby. In a tangerine-colored sundress and sandals, she was dressed like a tourist en route to a beach vacation, just in case any reporters might still be hanging around. But she didn’t see any. They’d all gone off to file their stories after being dismissed by the ambassador’s press liaison.
Karly ducked into the restaurant. The hostess stand was empty, so she grabbed a menu for herself and found a table in a quiet corner of the room, far away from any guests who might recognize her.
She used the menu as a screen. It was risky coming down here for lunch, but she couldn’t spend another minute in her hotel room. For hours, the phone had been ringing off the hook with calls from her sister, her coworkers, her editor. Even the publisher had called her. Karly didn’t want to talk to anyone right now, not even Rachel. And if she had to assure one more person that she was “doing fine,” she was going to puke.
She hadn’t cried yet. And there was something deeply wrong with that. It was as though her body was still in survival mode, even now, in the safety of the hotel. Her continued lack of response made her feel like a soulless robot.
She’d seen Malai die. And Brad. And Brianna. She’d almost died herself, taking Ethan with her. She recalled her legs dangling from the helicopter, and an icy wave of fear washed over her.
A smiling waitress appeared. “Good afternoon, ma’am. Something to drink?”
“Um . . . a Coke, please. And I’ll have a hamburger with french fries.”
Comfort food, fully loaded with sugar and fat. Maybe it would make her feel human again.
The waitress left, and Karly scanned her surroundings. The place was busy, but no one seemed to notice her. It was mostly business travelers from the looks of them, and many were Japanese. A guy seated near the hostess stand looked American, but he had his nose in a Wall Street Journal.
Karly watched the restaurant patrons and decided to remove her sunglasses. No one spared her so much as a glance, and after a few minutes, she felt her shoulders relax. She leaned back in her chair, grateful for the anonymity.
“Karly?”
She jerked her head around to see Ethan standing beside her table.
“Thought it was you.”
He smiled, and she gazed up at him, speechless. She hadn’t seen him approach. And she barely recognized him without all the gear and face paint. In cargo shorts and sandals, he looked perfectly normal.
“You mind?” he asked.
Mind?
He’d asked her a question, she realized. Can I join you?
“No, not at all,” she stammered. “I mean, yes. Sit down.”
Her cheeks heated as he pulled out a chair and sank into it, making it creak under his weight. And she realized he didn’t look normal at all, not even close. His muscles bulged under his gray T-shirt, and without all the paint on his face, she got the full effect of his prominent cheekbones. Not to mention his vivid blue eyes.
“How’s the head?” His tone was casual, but his expression was serious.
“Fine.”
“They do a CT scan?”
“Yes.” She cleared her throat. “No sign of concussion.”
He leaned back in his chair and looked at her.
She darted a glance around the restaurant. The SEALs hadn’t been at the press conference, but Ethan was the sort of man who would attract attention anywhere.
And he did. Several of the waitresses were eyeing him from the hostess stand.
Karly looked at him again, and a warm flush crept over her skin. His gaze was intent. Was he in SEAL mode, or was there some other reason he was watching her closely?
Her gaze dropped, and she noted the red claw marks on his forearm. I did that. And suddenly, she was back in the helicopter, clutching his arm for dear life.
“Karly?”
She glanced up.
“You okay?”
“Fine. I’m fine. So what brings you to Manila?”
“It’s on our way home.” He smiled slightly. “Our CO had some things to take care of here, so we’ve got shore leave.”
“Shore leave?”
“Twenty-four hours off.”
“Oh.”
She stared at him, not sure what to say to that. Not sure what to think of any of this. She’d assumed she’d never see him again, and suddenly, he was sitting right across from her in a swanky hotel restaurant that served twenty-dollar hamburgers.
The calm look in his eyes was completely familiar—she’d memorized it and used it to help her through her most terrifying moments. And yet everything else about him seemed out of place. Even dressed as an ordinary civilian, his appearance screamed that he was something else, something much more formidable.
He pulled an object from the pocket of his cargo shorts and set it on the table. Karly’s jaw dropped.
“Oh my God.” She glanced up at him. “Where did you get that?”
“Our crew chief found it. Floor of the helo.” He smiled. “It’s dead as a doornail, but you might take it to the Genius Bar when you get home, see what they can do.”
She stared down at the sleek little phone in its sparkly gold case. It looked alien to her, something from another lifetime.
In a way, it was. She picked it up and felt her throat tighten. He’d brought her phone to her. What a sweet and thoughtful and completely inconvenient thing for him to do.
“How’d you find me here?” she blurted, and immediately felt rude.
He shrugged. “I saw your press conference. The logo was on the podium.”
The hotel logo. Damn, she hadn’t thought about that.
“I tried to call, but I’m guessing you’re registered under an assumed name?”
“Yeah, actually. That was Tony’s idea.”
Listen to her, talking like she was on a first-name basis with the ambassador. Although she was. He’d insisted she call him Tony. Right before he’d insisted she sit beside him at the press conference in front of a horde of reporters.
I owe a debt of gratitude to Karly Bonham, the journalist whose quick thinking saved my life and my daughter’s, along with so many others. And I want to express my heartfelt thanks to the brave American servicemen who risked everything . . .
Karly had just sat there, numb, blinded by all the camera lights. Servicemen, he’d called them. He hadn’t mentioned SEALs or even the Navy, although rumors were already surfacing that some ultraelite unit had carried out the rescue mission.
Ethan leaned forward now, and she could smell his scent again, that earthy, masculine scent she’d been so tuned into in the jungle. And she realized she’d missed him. Less than two days apart, and she’d missed him desperately.
But he was here now. The man who’d saved her ass, then kissed her senseless, and then saved her ass again. Just looking at him made her throat tighten. She’d truly believed she’d never see him again.
“Is something wrong?” he asked in a low voice.
“The press.” She glanced around. “They’ve been hounding me. I’m worried they might spot me here.”
The waitress was back now. She set a plate of food in front of Karly, along with a soft drink.
“You want something?” Karly asked Ethan.
“No, thanks. I ate.”
The waitress smiled and left. Karly stared down at the giant hamburger, and suddenly, her stomach started to do that flip-flop thing again. She looked anxiously around the restaurant.
Karly didn’t want to eat anymore. Even the Coke looked unappealing. She needed something much stronger.
She pushed her plate away, and Ethan gave her a puzzled smile.
“Aren’t you hungry?”
“Actually . . . no. To tell you the truth, I really don’t want to be here.” She took a deep breath and summoned her courage. “Would you like to get a drink with me?”
Ethan stared at her, sure he’d heard her wrong. Would he like to get a drink with her? Hell, yeah. He’d like to get rip-roaring drunk with her and then get her naked, too. But he’d settle for a drink.
“You mean here?”
She leaned closer, and he got a whiff of sweet-smelling perfume or shampoo or whatever it was. She’d obviously had a chance to clean up since he’d last seen her standing outside the ship’s infirmary.
“They have a bar on the mezzanine,” she said in a low voice. “If we can get up there without being seen . . .”
“No problem.” He could get anywhere without being seen.
“It’s got an outdoor terrace with a pool. And it’s elevated above street level, so the view’s really not bad.”
Ethan didn’t give a damn about the view. He just wanted to be near her. Ever since that explosive kiss in the jungle, he’d been thinking about her nonstop. He’d been thinking about her lips, her taste. Her beautiful, dark, fuck-me eyes. He’d been thinking about the way she’d looked at him after that kiss, which wasn’t much different from the way she was looking at him right this second.
Ethan darted a look over Karly’s shoulder as a pair of casually dressed Americans stepped up to the hostess stand. Shit, what timing.
“Hey, don’t look now,” he said, “but a CNN correspondent just walked in here.”
“What? Where?”
“Don’t look.” He covered her hand with his. “He’s at two o’clock. Right by the hostess stand. Crap, he sees you.”
“He does?”
“He may not recognize you, but he’s looking this way. Don’t turn around.”
A look of panic came over her face, and he felt his friendly drink invitation evaporating.
“They’re getting a table,” he said. “It’s right near the door, though.”
“Damn it, I should never have come down here. And I don’t want to lead them up to my room. I should have slipped out of the hotel earlier when I had the chance. Now I’m stranded here with my back to them. Even if I manage to sneak up to my room, I’ll be stuck there all day.”
“You’re not stranded. They haven’t recognized you yet. Just walk out.”
“Walk out?” She laughed. “They’ll see me. And I haven’t paid.”
“I’ll pay.”
“What? You can’t—”
“I’ll take care of it. You slip off like you’re headed to the bathroom, but keep going. The hotel has a side exit right past the courtyard on your left.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I know.” He paid attention to stuff like that. It was ingrained.
“But—”
“Do you trust me?”
“Well . . . yes. Of course.”
Of course, because he’d saved her life not even two days ago. Ethan felt a stab of guilt. He shouldn’t be messing with this girl. Not now. Not ever, if he had any decency.
He knew this was wrong. Tracking her down like this was a bad idea for so many reasons. She had PTSD, for starters. He’d be taking advantage of her vulnerable state. And he’d never see her again, which was sure to mess with her head.
But the minute he saw that press conference and realized they were in the same country, in the same damn city, overlapping for a few short hours, Ethan knew he had to find her. He couldn’t help himself. He had to go. Even the brutal ribbing from his buddies hadn’t slowed him down. If anything, it had made him more determined to see her.
“Are they looking this way?” she whispered.
“Nah, they’re looking at menus.”
“Should I go?”
She gazed up at him with those beautiful brown eyes, and that was it. Decision made.
“Go now,” he said. “Meet me outside by the exit, and be ready to move fast.”