Jonathan needed to get away from the Guardian Security Center and the small hotel room he currently called home. Fresh air, and a meal prepared by someone other than the company cook, sounded somewhere between perfect and heaven. He wasn’t sure where that man learned his culinary skills, but if it didn’t come from a deep fat fryer, it was burned. He’d have to talk with Quin about finding a replacement when they moved into the new offices.

Stepping onto the sidewalk, the tall buildings cast long shadows, filling the street with the pretense of night. This was Jonathan’s fourth graveyard shift in a row. As the newest of the three assistant managers, he’d been assigned the twelve hours from ten at night to ten in the morning. He’d awakened several hours ago and hit the local gym since this Guardian office didn’t offer one yet. After showering and changing into his uniform, he’d headed out to find food.

A man-sized breakfast is what he needed. Steak and eggs, maybe. He remembered Up In Smoke served the meal all day and turned in that direction.

He couldn’t wait to move into the new building where he’d have his own quiet apartment rather than the outdated hotel with thin walls where he and Quin currently lived. He was sure the room above him had been rented to a knuckle-dragging gorilla who had bounced on a hooker for hours last night. She had to have been a purchased lay because no woman he’d ever fucked sounded so fake.

Thoughts of sex shot to the unsuccessful pub crawl with Quin. They’d started at a strip club where the women were too skinny but all of them had nice racks. Fake, but huge. Next, they moved on to a hopping nightclub. A pretty little brunette had sidled up to him, but she was more interested in the gun he was required by Guardian to carry at all times, even off duty since he could be unexpectedly called to an emergency, than she was in him.

Quin had danced with several drop-dead gorgeous women before he found a model-perfect blonde. When they had returned to the bar, Roxie had introduced Jonathan to her friend, Babs. He’d thought of her as Big Boobed Babs when they first met, but after an hour of strained conversation, he had designated her Brainless Babbling Babs. He’d considered it a bullet dodged when she’d seen several other friends and joined them on the dance floor. He’d taken advantage of the opportunity and quietly slipped out.

Jonathan heard his boss return to the room next door around three in the morning, sure he’d scored given the satisfied look on his face the next day in the office. He hadn’t been envious of Quin, simply resolved. None of the beautiful women he’d seen and talked with gave him a flicker of interest.

As Jonathan walked toward the little diner, he realized why he’d slept alone that night. He’d compared every woman to the sassy, take-charge Gwen. Rich brown eyes, a no-nonsense haircut and very little, if any, makeup was more beautiful to him than any of the scantily dressed women with overly-dramatic eyes he’d seen replicated in every bar he had visited. He quickened his steps, hoping she was there.

Gwen sat at the counter typing on a laptop as he entered. Jonathan let out a long breath, pleased at the site of ass-hugging jeans and a tight t-shirt.

Yeah. This was the image he’d jerked off to the night he’d gone out with Quin as he showered away the stench of beer, clashing perfumes, and raging pheromones.

Without asking, he slid onto the stool beside her. “Please tell me I can get steak and eggs this time of day, Gwen.”

Her initial look of surprise softened into a genuine smile that made the gold strands in her brown eyes sparkle. He wondered if they came to life or disappeared completely when she was aroused.

“You most certainly can.” She cocked her head. “You have an advantage over me. You know my name but I don’t know yours.” As she scraped her gaze over him, the corner of her mouth twitched up before she controlled it. “Calling you Guardian guy, or Quin’s friend just doesn’t seem right. I like to know who I’m talking to.”

“Jonathan O’Neil.” He held out his hand. “And I am Quin’s friend, but I’m also his employee. I’m the newest assistant manager at this center.”

She took the proffered hand and gave it a firm shake. “Nice to meet you, Jonathan O’Neil. How would you like that steak cooked? And the eggs?”

She reached down to her waist and confusion was chased by realization that she wasn’t wearing an apron. With a self-deprecating smile, she stood and slid around the corner of the counter. Grabbing an order pad and pen, she looked at him expectantly.

“I like my steak rare and my eggs sunny side up.”

“Home fries, French fries, baked potato, or any of those.” She pointed to list of sides on the board above the kitchen window where a Latino man watched them carefully.

Jonathan didn’t bother looking. This was breakfast for him. “Home fries.”

“Coffee?” Gwen’s raised eyebrow was one of the sexiest things he’d seen.

“Definitely.” He looked around for a coffee cup but they sat ready only on the set tables. She reached under the counter and pulled out a mug.

Leaning back, she reached out to the machine behind her, then turned around to him. “Leaded or unleaded?”

“Fully leaded, please.” He smiled when she grabbed the black-bottomed pot and filled his mug. “Sweetheart, you have just earned my undying gratitude.”

Just as she slid the order under the clip and spun it toward the kitchen, the restaurant phone rang. She snatched the portable handset from beside her computer. Frowning at the display, she said, “Excuse me.” She disappeared into the back, leaving him alone to enjoy his surprisingly delicious coffee.

Jonathan glanced around the nearly empty diner. A middle-aged couple sat in a booth along the back wall, hardly talking, concentrating on their pie. They’d probably been married for years, catching a late supper together after a long day at work, if he had to guess given the man’s suit jacket lying on the seat next to him and her dress pants, flattering blouse, and short heels. He’d been taught to sum people, and situations, quickly. They were no threat.

As he swept his gaze over the restaurant, his eyes fell on Gwen’s computer. Three words jumped out at him. Big like 9/11.

What the fuck?

Put Ams in their place.

Holy shit. What was she into?

The lid suddenly closed and very feminine fingers splayed over the blue case.

“Your order should be up soon.” At Gwen’s terse words, his eyes met hers. Yeah. He’d been snooping, and he needed to dig further.

He hoped his smile put her at ease. “Writing a book?” It was a plausible explanation.

She slid the laptop off the counter, placed it underneath and drew out a mug. She turned her back him and poured a cup of decaf. “I’m no author.” She came around to his side and, once again, took her seat. “I hated writing papers in college.”

“Where did you go to school?”

Any information she was willing to give him would help. She just stared at him for the longest time, as though trying to read his mind or decide if she could trust him.

To start the give and take necessary to build a solid foundation for a friendship, he offered, “I graduated from the University of Florida.”

“You’re a gator.” She smiled.

“Yes, ma’am.” He sipped his coffee. “I wanted to get out of Miami but not too far from my folks.” He shrugged. “Besides, the school had Navy ROTC and I had a scholarship.”

“You were in the Navy?” There was more than a spark of interest in her question.

“Marines.” He was used to women gushing at this point and mentally prepared for the onslaught of military questions.

“I was Army.”

She couldn’t have shocked him more if she’d said she was an alien. He set the cup down and looked at her. Really looked at her, as though seeing her for the first time. It was there. That hard edge that said I’ve seen too much.

Jonathan wanted to take her in his arms and protect her. He’d hold her until all the sharp angles melted into smooth, round curves, erasing the bad things she’d seen, replacing those memories with the sweet life she deserved.

And, maybe she’d do the same for him.

“When did you get out?” He managed to ask.

“Six mon—” Her gaze flew to the door as a bearded man all but fell through. “Kane.” Concern saturated the single word.

She jumped up and grabbed the man around the waist and one hand under a bent elbow. Half-carrying, guiding him to the back, the two spoke so low Jonathan couldn’t hear.

But he could smell, and the stench was revolting. Jonathan’s Spec Ops team had spent two weeks without a shower in the Afghani desert hunting an al Qaida leader and he was sure none of them smelled that bad when they returned to Camp Leatherneck. He pegged the man close to his age, maybe older. It was hard to tell with most of his face covered in hair and lined eyes that had been exposed to too much sun and heat.

Through the open window to the kitchen, he watched Gwen and…Kane, that’s what she’d called him. Most of their movements took place out of Jonathan’s sight but when she’d checked Kane’s eyes, the scowl on her face said everything.

Her friend was a junkie in need of a fix.

She retrieved a very small bottle from the frig door and the man pulled up the plaid shirt that hung loosely over broad shoulders. He could see a neat row of injection sites approximately one inch apart. Unusual for a junkie to be so precise.

Jonathan sat frozen on the round stool as Gwen tipped the bottle upside down and filled a syringe. She pushed the plunger until a drop ran down the needle. Kane had already opened an alcohol packet enough for her to extract the soaked square.

The rest was hidden by the four-foot wall between the dining area and the kitchen, but Jonathan knew what was happening by their facial expressions. Almost instantly, the pain that had creased the vagrant’s face eased as he inhaled slowly through his nose and exhaled through lips shaped like an O.

“Go sit at the counter.” Gwen’s order was reinforced by the stern look on her pretty face. She glanced at the cook.

“Already on it,” he replied.

Jonathan heard something hit the grill and sizzle.

“Your order is up, Gwen.” The cook gave her a friendly smile.

“Oh, thanks.” In seconds she appeared on the service side of the counter and slid the dish in front of Jonathan.

The huge steak was flawlessly cooked with red juices pooling on the bottom of the plate. Half-inch slices of green pepper and browned onions dotted the pile of golden cubes of potatoes. Jonathan scooped up the egg, it’s bright yellow center jiggling as he laid it on top of the home fries.

Damn he loved this kind of food. He peered up at Gwen. “This is perfect.”

“Luis is an awesome cook,” she said loudly and flashed the man in the kitchen a smile.

Gwen refilled Jonathan’s coffee and handed a full cup to Kane, three seats down. Minutes later, she served the disheveled man a repeat of Jonathan’s meal.

“Where are you sleeping tonight? The mission has already closed its doors.” Although her voice was quiet, Jonathan heard.

Kane shrugged. “Nice night.” He forked a gigantic piece of steak and dragged it through the gooey egg center before stuffing it into his mouth. “Under the stars.”

The other man finished his food first, even though Jonathan had been served several minutes before Kane. Taking his dishes to the kitchen, as though this was a common occurrence, he disappeared into the back.

Jonathan surveyed his empty plate and blew out a long breath. As though Gwen had been watching, waiting for him to finish, she appeared with his ticket.

Gesturing to the coffee pot, she asked, “More?”

He shook his head. “I need to get to work.”

When she laid his bill on the counter, he placed his hand over hers. “What was that about?” He tilted his head toward the kitchen. “Because if you’re dealing drugs out of here, I’ll have to report you.”

Gwen glanced toward the pass-through window then faced him and glared. “How dare you accuse me of selling drugs? You don’t know anything about me, or Kane.” She whipped her hand away and called to one of the waitresses, “Please check Mr. O’Neil out.”

As Jonathan stood, Kane suddenly appeared at his side. In a move so fast Jonathan didn’t have time to counter, Kane grabbed his wrist and bent it back while twisting. Pain shot all the way up Jonathan’s arm as his knees automatically bent. He found himself in a hold used primarily by police and special operators.

“What Gwen and I do is none of your fucking business.” Kane pushed the hand a little more, increasing the agony. “She’s one of the best people I know. She’d never do anything illegal.”

Jonathan grabbed the other man’s arm as he stepped back, releasing the hold and spun Kane around, pushing his bare forearm to his spine.

That’s when Jonathan saw them. Frog tracks. A tattooed path led under the blue plaid sleeve. He’d seen those webbed, three-toed footprints on SEALs in the secret Afghani Special Operations Command camp where he’d lived for nearly a year. “Where did you get these?”

Kane’s sneer would have stopped a lesser man. “Not that it’s any of your fucking business, but to let you know who you’re dealing with, I’ll share. A hole-in-wall just outside the back gate in Virginia Beach.” The man jerked his arm away and shoved his sleeve down.

Jonathan took in the man, from his greasy hair, long beard, dirty shirt, thread-bare jeans and duck taped boots. “If you really were a SEAL, what happened to you, man?” Jonathan needed to know. How could one of America’s best warriors end up on the street? A junkie?

“Afghanistan.” Kane’s single word answer was enough.

Jonathan had spent enough time in the Middle East to know how badly someone could get hurt, but the man seemed uninjured, at least on the outside. Maybe he suffered from PTSD. Or maybe he’d jumped off the deep end and the Navy had booted his butt out.

At the rattle of wheels over tile, both men’s attention locked on Gwen.

Kane looked apologetically at her, and the mop she held in the bucket of soapy water. “I’ll be back to finish up after the Army stink is gone.”

“Hey, squid, don’t poke at the Army. Not all of us are dickwads,” Gwen chastised. “Besides, he was a Marine.”

“Fucking jarheads.” Kane flashed a smile at Gwen. “I’ll see you later, angel.” He stalked out of the diner and disappeared into the night.

Jonathan stepped up to the young woman waiting behind the cash register and handed her the bill as Gwen pushed the bucket back into the kitchen.

He needed to talk with her. He wanted answers. “Gwen.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “It’s not what you think.”