Danger Close (The Echo Platoon Series, Book 1) (36 page)

She thought back. "No, I just had bread and jam this morning. Come to think of it, I wasn't feeling all that great this morning. I must have picked up a bug."

A hum reverberated in Ricardo's throat. His dark gaze flickered again in her direction.

"What?" she asked, sensing he was keeping a thought to himself.

"Okay, any chance you could be pregnant?" he inquired. "Lucía threw up every morning for the first three months."

Maddy's breath caught. Every extremity of her body tingled. She'd entertained the thought that she might be pregnant about a week earlier when she first realized she was late. But she'd managed to convince herself that the physical trauma she'd endured followed by two weeks of emotional despair as Sam made no effort to reach out had confused her menstrual cycle. Suddenly, with Ricardo's suspicions weighing in, she could no longer deny the possibility.

She groped for bottled water from the back seat, twisted it open, and washed the awful taste from her mouth. "I can't be pregnant," she explained to Ricardo. "The doctor in Curacao told me that the poison would affect an embryo adversely."

His sidelong glance reflected sympathy. "That doesn't mean you're not pregnant," he gently pointed out.

"You're right. I need to be tested."

He didn't bother to comment that she would then have a heavy decision to make.

God, could this really be happening now, when Sam had yet to attempt any contact? How much more time did he need? More likely, he'd already decided that they had no future together. Her spirits sank at the thought.

Her being pregnant added a whole new layer of uncertainty to her already battered emotional state. Yes, it felt satisfying to be finally homing in on the region of El Chaco being desecrated by Scott Oil, to be finally taking measures to ensure that the pollution stopped. Yes, she felt a measure of fulfillment at ensuring that Salim and his brother hadn't sacrificed their lives for nothing. But the void left in the wake of Sam's abandonment made her wonder, at times, why she was still there.

If she'd followed him back to the States, she might have convinced him to forgive her father and to give them a second chance. The longer they remained apart, the more the rift between them seemed to widen. Then the terrible ruminations started—thoughts that he couldn't have loved her that much if letting her go had been so easy for him.

She recalled his declaration of love for her. The blazing fervor in his eyes and the ferocity in the kiss he'd give her had made the words seem genuine. But why had he uttered them so quietly that the wind had almost whisked them away?

It could only be because he didn't love her as much as she had loved him.
As much as I still love him,
she amended.

Emptiness throbbed in the region of her broken heart, accompanied by a faint tingle of hope. Would it change anything if she were pregnant? And if she were, should she even tell Sam when the doctor had advised her to abort? The awful poison her uncle had made her drink would have affected the embryo, increasing the likelihood of deformity. How could she accomplish her work as a global environmentalist with a special needs baby vying for her attention? She should probably take the doctor's advice and abort it.

In that case, it wasn't likely she could use the excuse of a pregnancy to bring Sam back into her life, nor should she. Of course, he would want to give his child the legitimacy he'd never had. The possibility that had tingled in her briefly faded away.

It was better if she said nothing, then. She wouldn't want Sam to marry her out of a sense of obligation. She shook her head, loathing the thought.
No more than I want to abort a baby conceived in love,
protested a voice inside her.

With a catch in her throat she pictured the little Maddy-n-Sam embryo fighting to thrive in her womb. Suddenly, fervent love for their unborn child roared to life, prompting her to lay a protective hand over her abdomen. There was a baby in there. She was suddenly certain of it. Her tender breasts, her queasy stomach, every symptom pointed to the truth.

I am pregnant. And my baby has every right to live.

Resolve made her roll her shoulders back. She sat taller. She owed her baby the benefit of the doubt. Considering the DNA it had inherited from both parents, it was bound to be a tenacious little bundle, a fighter just like her and Sam.

All she could do now was wait and see. And then she would have to make the most critical decisions of her life.

Chapter 19

"There you are."

Chief Brantley Adam's voice accompanied a crash of waves on the nearby shore, making it sound like God was talking to Sam, which he wished was the case. He'd been praying a lot lately, asking for a sign, for strength, for relief from this unending misery. His despondency had driven him to seek solitude on the deck of the Shifting Sands Club, even though the Christmas party was about to kick off inside, and it was a cold, blustery night that no one in his right mind would want to be experiencing first hand.

But Sam scarcely even noticed the cold. Compared to the desolation in his heart, it felt like nothing. More than three months had passed since he'd walked away from Maddy. He'd thought for sure he would have stopped obsessing about her day and night; stopped spying on her Facebook page, hunting for her name on the Web, following her father's political career in the hopes that the media would mention something about the Senator's daughter.

He should have pulled himself together a long time ago.

Startled, he glanced up to see Bronco and Bullfrog pushing out of the brightly lit door to join him. The throb of a base guitar emanated from the nightclub on the lower level, letting him know that the party had begun. Starting tomorrow, hardly any training would take place until the New Year. He should be joining his platoon members and the rest of SEAL Team 12 in celebrating the upcoming holiday. Except he didn't feel celebrating, not one bit.

His teammates plunked down in the two chairs across from him, their backs to the ocean, drinks in hand. They were acting like this was what they wanted to do: sit and stare at Sam's long face. "Why are you here?" he demanded.

Light shining out of the windows at Sam's back reflected in Bronco's bright blue eyes. "Sir, we need to talk," he stated, balancing his bottle on the grooved table top.

Bullfrog did likewise, except he was drinking his own poison of choice—Macallan eighteen-year-old single malt Scotch whisky—while Sam had gone straight for tequila. Three shots later, he was finally more numb than devastated.

He nodded his assent. This moment had been coming for some time. There was a limit to how long his top NCOs could put up with his pathetic and distracted leadership. "I know," he began, forcing himself to sit up straighter and not slouch. "I've been a lousy platoon leader."

He'd pretty much continuously snarled at every man in his platoon for three months straight. He'd even leveled a punishment on Bamm-Bamm this morning for a violation he couldn't now recall, forgetting that the young SEAL had saved Maddy's life by identifying Elliot Koch as The Annihilator. "I've been an asshole," he admitted.

"Right," Bronco agreed. "And Kuzinsky's starting to take note."

Which was never a good thing.

Sam swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth. "All right. I hear you. I'll take some time over the holiday to get myself together."

"We think you should talk about it," Bullfrog gently suggested.

Sam stiffened. "Talk to who?" he asked with an edge to his voice.

"To us," Bronco invited. "We're the guys who have to work with you," he added before Sam could summon a protest, "and I think we deserve an explanation."

"Christ, you know what's eating me," Sam tossed back irritably.

"Of course we do." Bullfrog's soothing assurance tempered Sam's black mood. "What we want to know is what you're going to do about it."

"Because we won't put up with your crap much longer," Bronco added, far less tactfully. His crooked smile took the edge off his words but, for once, he seemed completely serious.

Sam chuckled humorlessly. "So you're here to counsel me," he concluded. How ironic. As platoon leader, he was supposed to be the one advising them.

"What we'd like to suggest," Bullfrog smoothly continued "is for you to forgive Maddy's father. He did apologize, remember? What more can he do?"

It had taken Sam almost two months to even listen to Lyle's message. He'd done it at the Veteran's Day picnic at Little Creek Park, the last time all of SEAL Team 12 had gotten together for a barbeque. Lyle's apology had thrown him into such a confused state that he'd downed a six-pack in less than an hour and Bullfrog had been forced to drive him back to his apartment before he made a total fool of himself.

"What exactly did he say in his apology?" Bronco wanted to know.

Sam had to think to remember. In a fit of disgust, he'd deleted the voicemail before he could listen to it again, and now he regretted his haste because there was no way to tell, now, how serious Lyle really was.

He blew out a tequila-laced breath. "He said he should never have asked me to quit the Teams. He'd been so upset about Maddy almost dying that he'd spoken in haste. Blah, blah, blah."

"That sounds pretty sincere to me," said Bullfrog with a question in his voice.

"Why don't you believe him?" Bronco demanded.

"I do. It's just—" The fact that his teammates were siding with Lyle Scott ratcheted Sam's annoyance to new heights. "What he asked me to do was insulting. I'm supposed to give up my career for his daughter?" His temper reignited. "How could he even suggest such a thing?"

Bronco cocked his head in a considering manner. "What? You've never said anything in haste that you've regretted? He already apologized. What more can he do?"

"I heard him give a speech on TV the other night," Bullfrog added. "He's united the major parties for the first time in a decade."

"That has nothing to do with it. He's a great guy," Sam muttered, trying to ignore the guilt pinching his cheeks. He had been harsh in his condemnation of Maddy's father. "It's rich people in general."

Bullfrog frowned, sat forward, and steepled his fingers. "Do you have a basis for this assessment? Because it sounds like you're stereotyping all rich people as SOBs, which is ridiculous."

Sam scowled at him. The impulse to bite his NCO's head off morphed into the grudging acknowledgment that he really wasn't being fair. That suspicion had occurred to him before now, usually during the long, lonely hours when he'd lain in bed aching for the feel of Maddy's arms around him.

Maybe he was stereotyping. Ever since Wendy's father had pegged him as the Latino sexual predator, he'd viewed the wealthy as presumptuous and manipulative, as people who viewed him as unworthy. What if the fault didn't lie with them, but with
him
for viewing their actions in a prejudiced light?

If Lyle Scott were destitute, would he have made a similar request of Sam? Probably. It wasn't that he viewed Sam's career as unimportant. It was simply that he was overwrought with concern for his daughter's safety. Sam's stepfather had been the same way back when Sam was in jail. He'd knocked on doors and thrown himself into raising the funds needed for a top-notch lawyer. Wealthy or poor, it was a father's job to protect his off spring.

Sam swiped a hand over his eyes, "Shit," he muttered, wondering if it was too late to make amends.

A comfortable silence fell over the table, filled with the roar of the ocean and the lulling throb of the base guitar.

"So, you're going to call him?" Bronco urged.

"You should call him tonight. See how Maddy's doing," Bullfrog seconded.

Sam dropped his hand and sent his teammates a wry smile. "I'm going to call." He felt immediately better having made that decision. "Thanks, guys," he added.

Bullfrog flashed him an evil grin. "Any time you need a kick in the ass, I'm here for you," he sniggered, reaching for his empty bottle and pushing his chair back.

Bullfrog rose up after him, his scotch glass still full. The two went back inside leaving Sam stewing in a whole new cauldron of emotions.

If he called Lyle Scott after all these months, would the man even answer? What if Maddy had given up on waiting for him and gotten on with her life? By now she ought to have finished taking samples in El Chaco. Was she busy analyzing them or already hard at work on another assignment? Assuming Sam even secured her father's blessing, would she be open to forgiving him after he'd behaved like a moronic idiot?