are on you, my friend,” he said, slapping the other man on the shoulder as they headed toward the base. “Olive Oyl’s. 2100.”
“I want a second opinion,” Scavenger said, looking around for the rest of their teammates. “I’ll find a second opinion.”
“Knock yourself out.” Taylor grinned as they approached debriefing. “You have till 2100.”
As they rounded the building, they almost plowed into one of their teammates leaning against the wall.
“Yo, Mouse,” Scavenger said, bumping the smaller man with his shoulder. “You get lost?”
Taylor smirked. Even though he was new to the team, everyone knew there was no place Mouse couldn’t find.
Taylor’s grin faded when he caught a better look at the man’s face.
Haunted was the only way to describe it.
“Mouse?”
Nothing.
Damn it.
“Ensign Bertowski,” Taylor snapped.
“Sir?” Bennie Bertowski, call sign Mouse, blinked, the horror fading from his eyes as he looked from Taylor to Shane then back again. He blinked then came to attention with a salute. “Sir.”
Shane started to reach out but when Taylor gave the tiniest shake of his head, the other man let his hand drop to his side. Mouse was his. Taylor had recruited the guy; had mentored him once he’d joined the team. Pulling him out of this was his responsibility.
“Debriefing in ten,” Taylor said, keeping his tone crisp. “Stow your gear first.”
“Yes, sir.” Mouse opened his mouth as if to say something but then shook his head. “I’ll be there.”
With a nod to his superior officers, he strode off toward the armory, his weapon over one shoulder, his parachute pack over the other.
“Not the first time he’s had issues with a mission,” Shane observed when Mouse was out of earshot.
“It’s only his third mission.” Taylor shrugged off the tickle at the base of his neck. “He graduated top of his BUD/S class. He’s got what it takes.”
“They don’t all make it,” Shane pointed out quietly, his eyes on the retreating SEAL. “Not even getting through BUD/S is a guarantee.”
“This one was rough,” Taylor said dismissively, thinking of his own troubles shaking off the mission aftermath. “He’ll be fine.”
He’d make sure of it. The SEALs, the team, they were a brotherhood. Taylor hadn’t had siblings growing up and he’d be damned if now that he’d found them he was letting a single one go without a fight. Especially not one he’d brought in himself.
* * *
AT 2105, TAYLOR PULLED into Olive Oyl’s bar, his Harley’s tires kicking up crushed shells as he roared across the parking lot. Long and lean, the weathered building’s large windows showed that it was already packed inside.
With purple neon lights from the bar sign washing over the chrome of his bike, Taylor parked, swung his leg free and hooked his helmet over the handlebar. It’d be safe. Nobody messed with the SEAL’s property here. The bar patrons knew better. Hell, even the punk kids who cruised the beach knew better.
Heading for the door, Taylor’s head filled with the images of ones who didn’t. With the ugly words spewing from young mouths, rifles firing from bodies that shouldn’t yet be able to lift them.
Shake it off, he warned himself. Just as he’d warned Mouse to do when he’d taken him aside after the debriefing. They were trained to do the job and part of doing that job meant letting go once it was done. So he did what he’d instructed the other man to do. He shoved the memory, the horror, into a tiny corner of his brain and locked it away.
When he headed into the bar, it was with easy anticipation. And why not? The music was rock, the beer was cold and the place was filled with friends. One of whom owed him fifty bucks. Grinning, he set off to find his money.
Taylor stepped into the smaller room toward the back of the bar and gave an appreciative smile.
“Hello, ladies,” he said quietly.
Six women, all uniquely beautiful, turned to greet him. All but Alexia, who was well into her pregnancy, crossed the room with hugs at the ready.
“If it isn’t the Wizard himself,” Alexia said with a soft smile when he joined her. “The guys are playing pool so you’ll have to entertain us for a while.”
“I’m here to please.”
He nodded his thanks when the roving waitress in blue sailor pants, a cropped top and cute sailor cap brought him a beer.
“Taylor, you’re not dating anyone, right? Because I have the perfect woman for you.”
Damn.
It wasn’t that he hadn’t taken Scavenger’s warning to heart. But he’d thought he’d at least get to finish a beer before the matchmaking began.
His eyes shifted from woman to woman. Alexia to Livi, Sage to Eden. Lark to Frankie. Then, before he could stop himself, his gaze slid toward the door.
Taylor was a man so renowned for his bravery that he had enough medals to cover half of his chest. He was so clever at getting out of sticky situations that his friends called him Mr. Wizard. And he was so well trained that he could face down a trio of terrorist-armed suicide bombers and automatic weapons without blinking and then disarm them all with nary an explosion.
A healthy, red-blooded male, he appreciated women.
A man raised by a single mother, he respected them.
He admired their shape, their softness, their strength. He treasured their laughter and their hearts.
And he knew exactly how scary they could be. Faced with a half dozen luscious examples of womanhood, his mind raced for the best way out of a potentially explosive situation.
Before he had to, Frankie came to his rescue.
“Hey now, hold on,” the bubbly redhead interrupted. “That’s not fair. I’ve been waiting for Taylor to get back on US soil because I have a great gal I was going to set him up with.”
Taylor frowned. That wasn’t exactly the rescue he’d been hoping for.
“What? We’re setting Taylor up?” Her eyes wide, Lark said, “I want in on this. There’s this lovely woman at the gallery who’d be perfect for him.”
“I can cast your astrological chart first,” Sage offered, her thumb ring glinting as she leaned forward to lay her hand on his arm. “Forewarned is forearmed, and all that jazz. If you want, I can cast charts for your date, too.”
That set off a cacophony so loud, Taylor couldn’t tell if they were arguing, debating, agreeing or
