The next morning on the way to the diner, Scar found himself still keyed up from the incident the night before. For heaven’s sake, he’d survived Navy SEAL special ops missions in the most volatile places on Earth, and he’d probably still would be on missions if not for taking that bullet. His arm ached at the memory. It usually didn’t, but he found that when he was extra stressed his body would manifest it at his weak spot. Walking in the diner, he rubbed that shoulder and searched for the redhead. Today, he would get some answers.

It frustrated him that he hadn’t been able to sleep very well last night. Visions of the guy doing awful, horrible things to her had circled in his brain like vultures. He wanted to demand they get that police report filed today.

He didn’t wait for someone to seat him. No one was at the hosting booth, so he picked up a menu and walked to the same place he’d sat yesterday. The place had an amazing view—holy hallelujah, it was gorgeous. Big waves were rolling in and crashing dramatically on the shore.

Coronado Island was pristine and beautiful. He felt hugely grateful he was set up in digs at the hotel. He hadn’t wanted to stay in nice places while on these projects, but Anthony had insisted, acting like it was an insult if he didn’t stay at the best. “Dude, you served our country, and you created this project. Let us take care of you now.”

The idea that Scar needed someone to take care of him was laughable. He’d been taking care of himself for forever. But what could he say? He liked creature comforts, even more so since joining the Titans. How ironic: a job that demanded utter grit from him also gave him a taste for being pampered.

He sat at the booth and didn’t even look at the menu, knowing he would get eggs and bacon. He’d run his five miles that morning and had done some tai chi, finding that he needed the soothing mental comfort of the strokes. He’d taken out his bands and done his functional training for his shoulders, biceps, and triceps. Even if taking a couple weeks off from the intense training was good, he still needed to work his shoulder out.

The redhead meandered over to his table. “Hey. Water, eggs, and bacon?” For the first time in the diner, her tone was not snarky or aggressive.

Looking up into her green eyes, he saw vulnerability. “Are you from here?”

She smiled slowly, and his heart kicked up a notch. He hadn’t seen her smile. Not really. Only glare and be snarky and a bit pissed off. But oh gosh, the smile was heart-stopping. “Kansas,” she said.

That was not what he’d expected. “Why are you in San Diego?”

She gazed out at the ocean. “Since you saved my life, I’ll tell you. I worked for three years to accomplish my dream of coming to San Diego and living on Coronado Island. Growing up, I had these friends that would come to Coronado Island every summer. I would see pictures, and they would text me. All I wanted was to come too. I …” The dreamy look faded. “Since my father and mother farm, we never had the money. So I decided to make it happen myself. I did, even though it’s not exactly what I thought.” Her smile turned to a half frown, then turned up again as she met his eyes. “Thank you again for helping me last night.”

Scar watched, befuddled, as she scurried away with the menu. He had never experienced this before, which was funny to him. After hearing her confession and seeing the dreaminess in her eyes, he was realizing he’d fallen in love with her.

Which was plain dog stupid, right?

His heart pounded. He found himself utterly confused, bewildered, and feeling sickly sweet thoughts, like he wanted to bottle the innocence in her eyes.

The past two years of being third-string quarterback for the Titans had been interesting. Sure, he had some cleat chasers—yes, the name disgusted him, but that’s what they were called—try to be with him. But he’d been careful. Only one had gotten close to him last year. Then she’d shown her true colors, and it had ended.

Just now, after speaking to this woman, he’d felt a real connection with her: hearing how she was trying to live the American dream, seeing her chin up, and learning that even though she was afraid, she was doing it anyway. It made something in his chest relax. He was able to breathe.

It felt like his sacrifice for his country might have been all worth it. For American girls like her, working and saving and doing what they wanted with their lives.

Thoughts of the punk who tried to hurt her pulsed through him, as did the need to ram his fist into the guy’s face again. It wasn’t right that the guy had gotten away with almost hurting her. Scar thought of how he could find the guy and pound him and then turn him over to the cops.

The girl came back with his food, placing it carefully on the table. Scar couldn’t stop himself from staring at her: the smattering of freckles on her nose and cheeks, the way her autumn red hair fell in wisps around her face because it was tied up in a messy bun—

“Okay.” She smoothed her apron down. “Do you need anything else?”

Scar hesitated. “Do you know the guy? From last night?”

She wandered over to the table next to his, picking up some plates. “He comes in periodically, but I wouldn’t know where to find him. I think he’s homeless.”

Scar looked around. He hadn’t noticed anyone suspicious.

When she looked at him, he saw the fear in her eyes. “I told Bob about last night. He’s the manager. He says if he comes in, we call the cops. No questions.”

The news bolstered his confidence, just a little. “Good.”

She shook her head. “Please, just … Let’s just let this be, okay?”

Clutching the fork in his hand, he stuffed a bite of eggs into his mouth and pointed the fork at her. “You don’t let sleazeballs like him run unchecked. It doesn’t help anyone.”

She hesitated by his table, looking vulnerable and nervous. “Look, I don’t need a bunch of cops involved and reports. I just need to finish a paper for my summer class. Seriously, he’s just a sleazeball. It’s part of the job.”

“No, it’s not.” He leveled her with a stare. “If he shows up anywhere, you call me.” Scar wanted to lecture her more, wanted to ask her a million questions, but she rushed off, picking up more plates and carting them into the kitchen.