his older sisters had taken ballet when he was a kid, and he’d been forced to sit through endless recitals. Somehow, watching Mandy’s easy motion reminded him of those hours.
Jealousy surged deep in his belly. He might never move that freely again.
He’d always been so stable on his feet. So sure of his footing. Now he needed a shoulder to lean on just to stand.
Getting back on the teams was a pipe dream. At best.
So what was he supposed to do with all of the free time suddenly laid out before him?
The lights inside the office flicked off, and an instant later, Mandy exited, locking the door behind her. Shoving her keys into a small tote bag, she flipped a wild curl out of her face. With little more than a smile, she led the way across the lot to the sidewalk and then down to the light so they could use the walkway.
She didn’t say anything as they crossed the street, but her foot hesitated as she checked each direction three times before setting out. He pushed his chair behind her, the muscles in his arms aching at the new movements. He was panting by the time they reached the far side of the street, sweat trickling down the back of his neck.
At this rate, he didn’t belong anywhere near the SEALs.
Inside the crowded red-and-white diner-style fast-food joint, she got into line. “What’s good here?”
“You’re from San Diego, work right across the street, and you’ve never been to an In-N-Out Burger?” Luke couldn’t keep the snicker out of his tone.
Mandy shrugged one shoulder before turning back to the menu board. “I’m from Colorado.”
“Uh-huh.” That explained nothing. Maybe she was a health nut who refused to enjoy the greasy goodness of the Southern California staple. Luke was all for fitness. All for staying in good shape. He was also one for enjoying a stack of steaming beef covered in melting cheese when the day called for it.
And a near hit-and-run definitely called for it.
His stomach rumbled at the smell of the best burgers on the West Coast.
“Your options are pretty much a burger or a burger and fries,” he said.
She shot him a snarky grin, but ordered a burger and fries when she got to the counter.
They found an empty table, settled in and were halfway through their dinner before he came up for air.
Mandy stared, her gaze unfocused, at a glob of ketchup on her fries. She hadn’t done more than pick at her burger, but she didn’t seem eager to chat.
He didn’t really want to start a conversation, but something about the tightness of her chin—as if she was trying so hard to hold it still—made his chest hurt. “You want to talk about what happened back there?”
Her gaze shot up, and she looked surprised to see him there. “I’m sorry. I was just... I guess I just zoned out for a second. What did you say?”
“Back in the parking lot—” He tipped his head toward her office. “That wasn’t an accident. You want to talk about it?”
As the words rolled out, he knew he meant them. It was more than idle curiosity. He was tired of being unproductive. Maybe he could help her. Talking about it might help her deal with the experience.
He hadn’t had a mission in weeks. And he was months away from another. Just the idea of giving her a hand brought the side of his mouth up in a smile.
“Um. No. It was nothing. Just an accident, probably.”
Nope. That wasn’t true.
Her gaze jumped to the left, then down at her hands in her lap. Her shoulders squirmed, and she bit the corner of her mouth. She knew it wasn’t an accident or a distracted driver. Someone had intentionally tried to kill her.
“I doubt it.” He shrugged as if they weren’t discussing life and death. Perhaps if she didn’t think about what was on the line, she’d open up about it. “Who’d you tick off? Someone not get the results you promised?”
Her nostrils flared, and her eyes narrowed. “I didn’t tick anyone off, thank you very much. I’m a professional, and there are no guarantees in medicine.”
The bright pink spots in her cheeks were so cute that he couldn’t help but goad her a little more. “Come on. You can tell me. What’d you do? Break too many hearts?”
Her gaze fell to the table, where she twisted a straw wrapper into smithereens. Forehead wrinkled and neck stiff, she let out a tiny sigh before squaring her tense shoulders and forcing a half smile. Another chink in her armor. But she was determined to keep from showing it to him.
His middle jerked with regret. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed.” He stabbed a hand through his shaggy hair while she still looked anywhere but at him. “You’re in trouble.” He didn’t ask a question because it would have been too easy for her to deny it again.
After three years on the teams, he couldn’t walk away from someone in need.
He’d never been able to. That was why he’d wanted to be a SEAL in the first place. That was why he wanted to go back.
“I’ve got it under control.” Her chin didn’t so much as quiver, and she met his eyes with a steady gaze.
“What else has happened? Is this the first time someone’s tried to run you over?”
“Nothing’s happened.” She shook her head, but her eyes lost a hint of the mettle that had just been there. “Everything’s fine. I’ve got it under control.”
He’d believe that when the stars quit shining. “Have you talked to the cops?”
She nodded, looked away and toyed with a French fry, dunking it in ketchup before using it to doodle on her burger wrapper.
Apparently she had it under control, but she had still gone to the cops. She was scared. She was in over her head. And she was a sitting duck.
“What are the cops doing?”
“A detective is looking into it.”
“Into...” He let his voice drag out, hoping she’d fill in the blanks because there were still a lot of them in her tale.
Brown eyes, narrow and uncertain, met his gaze, and he could see the battle just beyond them. There was more to tell, but she barely knew him.
Someone had threatened her life, and opening up about that wasn’t easy.
Luke hadn’t talked to anyone except the navy chaplain about the suicide bomber who had nearly blown off his leg. And Bianca, of course. Back when she’d been his girlfriend. That conversation had started with him laying it all out on the line—an uncertain future, months of PT, maybe never returning to active duty—and had ended with her walking out of his life for good. After that, he hadn’t talked about his leg, even with his swim buddy and best friend, Will Gumble—Willie G. to his teammates. Putting his pride on the line was riskier than walking through a minefield, so it was easier to just
