SEALs of Honor: Easton Read online

The men’s gazes turned to the cut on Easton’s face.

  He glared at them. “It’s fine.”

  “Maybe she should take you to get that cleaned.” Ryder smirked.

  She stared at him suspiciously, but inside she wondered. “Maybe we should at that,” she said hesitantly. “I wouldn’t want it to get infected.”

  The other three men’s heads bobbed up and down, but beside her Easton shook his head in a slow, bullish manner. She didn’t understand the undercurrents going on here. She opened her mouth only to have a chunk of bun shoved in it. She glared at Easton as she chewed furiously to clear her mouth so she could speak.

  “I’m fine. I’m not going to the first aid station. You have nothing to apologize for. Eat.” He glared at her.

  Still chewing furiously, she glared right back. “It could be worse than you think.” But her words were hardly distinguishable around her food.

  He studied her with a frown, then shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what you just said. It’s fine.” He picked up his fork and stabbed in the direction of each of the three men, one at a time, and said, “Lay off.”

  But instead of being quiet, they had the most innocent of looks on their faces, and one even slapped a hand over his heart as if to say he’d never do anything to hurt his friend.

  She stared at the three, then back at Easton and decided he was being too hard on them. “You should be nicer to your friends, Easton. You never know when you might need them.”

  A moment of shocked silence followed before the three men choked. She stared at them suspiciously, then turned to look at Easton. He gave a heavy sigh, and she realized they were just teasing him. She muttered in a low tone, “And again, I’m sorry.”

  But this time he grasped her hand in his and squeezed gently. “Don’t be. They are my friends, my best friends. When I get a chance to beat the crap out of them for this, I will.” He dropped her hand and resumed eating.

  Only she couldn’t take her gaze off her hand. His was so large it had completely smothered hers. And her hand—soft, almost fragile when compared to his—was such a contrast that she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Amazing.

  She wanted to see his hand over hers again. In her mind, her camera was already setting shutter speed and focus. She really wanted a picture of that, with just her hand peeking out beneath the shelter of his. She instinctively picked up her camera, still around her neck. With his friends at the table with them, she froze. No way would she ask him to cover her hand again. That could really alienate her. She was oddball enough for most people as she found it very difficult to separate herself from her passion.

  Slowly she dropped her camera and forced herself to pick up the rest of her juice and finish the bottle.

  Easton gave a simple nod as if happy with her.

  And darn if it didn’t make her feel better.

  He cocked his head, talking to the other men.

  His hand was in the same position it had been when it covered hers. She picked up her camera and studied it through the viewfinder. She loved everything about this man’s hand—the angles of his knuckles, the strength of the muscles visible between the joints. The sheer size of it. She set her camera on the table, realizing all four men stared at her.

  Color flashed up and down her cheeks. She could feel the heat rolling in waves. With a sheepish smile she said, “I’m a photographer, and the oddest things catch my attention.”

  Unfortunately, what also kept her attention right now appeared to be him.

  Chapter 2

  Summer popped out the SD card from the camera and slipped in another. She put the spare in her vest pocket and closed it securely, then went back to work. She was a freelance photographer under contract with a company hired by the military to take pictures for some of their new brochures. She’d worked for Ross for years now, and they had a great working relationship.

  Not just in the States but also in Canada, as they were here doing training on outdoor survival. The Canadians had brought one of their new water container systems and some other new tech gadgets. She was to focus on pictures of the training camaraderie to have the images depict the atmosphere of the men working together with a purpose.

  She understood that a lot of the brochures would end up concentrating on sales, while some encouraged more youths to join. She didn’t care what they were for, her job was to get the right shot, and she knew she’d be lucky to get one in one hundred that met her standards. Thank heavens for the digital world. She’d shoot thousands of shots and delete over 90 percent of them. Right now she needed to catch as many as she could. She’d been at the water container system this morning; now a group of US and Canadian members were involved in a friendly game of tug-of-war.

  She caught sight of her pilot on her last leg of this trip and waved to him. She never forgot a face. He returned it with a nod and joined the other spectators.

  The teams were lining up, ready to grab the rope to see who could pull whom across the line. The Canadians had dumped water all around, making sure nobody had a strong foothold. This would become mud wrestling with a rope. She was both grinning and swearing as she clicked as fast as she could. She set up another camera with video to take shots of the entire process. So much was going on that she was constantly on the move—so much to see, like this face, those hands, the white-knuckled grips on the rope, the mud across the knees, the grimace on the faces, the officers laughing while others cheered.

  The cheerleaders stationed at either end of the teams rooted for their compatriots. She lifted her gaze and saw two men standing, talking on the far side of her, looking disinterested. She took the shot. Nothing like contrasts to make for a good subject.

  She kept on shooting. The Canadians were winning; the Americans were swearing.

  She was laughing so hard it was getting difficult to take the shots. Mud flew in all directions, and she was trying to stay out of range, but, with every step, struggle, and grunt, it seemed like more was flowing.

  She knew, no matter who won, both teams would be in the mud. It was a beautiful day—sunshine, blue sky, lots of green trees, brown mud—and, of course, all the uniforms. Some men were dressed in deep blue on the US team, others in green for the Canadians. She didn’t understand the significance of the uniforms or the contrast of colors, but it made the artist in her snap double fast.

  As the flask slowly inched toward the Canadian side, the groans were loud and long as were the cheers. Her fingers were so busy taking photos, she wasn’t even sure where she started or stopped. The victor clear, the teams lunged at each other, knocking their opponents off their feet into the mud. The game continued. She straightened and did a complete panorama, showing the cries of dismay and joy, the agony of defeat, the cheers of success. Oddly, in the background, a small group of several men was completely disinterested.

  She didn’t understand. And, as such, had to capture the moment to consider later. Whatever they were talking about, their heads were bent; hands lifted so they could see something better. Phones were brought out; numbers probably exchanged.

  There was no rest; no respite. She was thinking she could use that… When a hand landed on her shoulder, she cried out, jumping back several feet.

  The tall blond male in a dark uniform stood in front of her. She did a double take. Easton. Damn he looked good. Instantly she lifted her camera.

  Just as fast he lowered her arm.

  She frowned at him only to realize he held out a cold beer for her.

  “You’ve been working as hard as anybody else. Do you want one?”

  “Still trying to feed me?” she teased.

  He snorted. “Not likely. You don’t need help in that area.” He motioned toward the cameras around her neck and the canvas bag tucked between her feet. “What are you doing here?”

  She shrugged, then took a long sip, catching Easton holding back a wince. Beer was meant to be drunk ice-cold for this kind of physical exertion. And, for her, that was the only time beer was palat
able. It was awfully hard to get down the rest of it. She handed it back to him. “Here. You finish it.”

  He stared at the half-full bottle and then at her. “Why don’t you?”

  “For the same reason as before, blood sugar. More than half and I’ll go down for sure.” She fumbled for a different lens in her bag. After switching them out, she spun to see if the men standing in the background were still there. They’d be perfect to test out the new lens with this light.

  She lifted and started clicking. One of the four men turned and saw the cameras around her neck, then motioned to the others. They turned their backs to her and walked away. Just as she was about to move to the other side, a huge chest stepped in front of her. Still looking from behind the camera, she raised her head to see the big biceps of the arms crossed over his chest. Higher and higher she raised the camera until it landed squarely on Easton’s face. The angles, the square jaw, the chiseled lips … Her fingers clicked in panic, afraid of missing the moments the artist in her was enchanted by.

  Until he closed his hand over her lens.

  She dropped her camera, letting it hang around her neck, crying out, “Hey.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not modeling, and you’re not printing any pictures of me for your brochures.” He glared at her. “Make sure you understand that very clearly.”

  A gamine grin popped up. “How about for my private collection?” She waggled her eyebrows at him.

  A reluctant grin formed on his lips. “No pictures, nowhere, no how.”

  “Damn.” She shot him a dirty look. “Party pooper.”

  “Is that so?” He opened his arms and said, “Of all the things you could say, you would choose that.”

  “I often say it. So what?” She turned her back on him, looking for more action to capture with her camera. When she turned again a good ten minutes later, she was alone. Good. She knew she had to have his permission to keep the pictures of him or to use them, but darn she really wanted a couple for herself. And she really wanted to get a photo of his hand over hers like he’d done at the table. There was something so caring, so protective about that image that it wouldn’t leave her alone. It said so much about him.

  The afternoon sped by. She worked, bent, clicked, crouched, clicked again, stood, shifted her position and clicked once more. When she finally stepped back, the late-afternoon sun shone through the trees, dust mites floating through the air illuminated by its beams. She went back into action again.

  When she finally released her camera, turning around to find where she had left her bag, Easton held it in his hand, a frown on his face. His three friends stood beside him, sporting big grins. She beamed. “Thank you for finding that. But where did I leave it?”

  “You mean, where did you leave it this time?”

  She shot him a disgruntled look, snatching it from his hand. “So I might have a problem with leaving my bags behind.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, studying the bag and all the cameras around her neck, and laughed. “You look like ten crazy tourists in one.”

  She shoved her bag on the ground between her feet and put her hands on her hips. “We all have our weaknesses. I can be a tad bit forgetful when I get busy in my work.”

  Ryder chuckled. “Can be? Easton has moved that bag closer to you at least half a dozen times in the last several hours. Good thing this is orientation day so he had the time.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Really?” She winced. “I’m so sorry I was mean. You’ve been very kind to me. I really shouldn’t be so forgetful, but it’s hard,” she said earnestly, formulating an explanation. “It’s the light, the shadows. They capture my attention. I get sucked into my art and lost in the creativity of the moment. It’s like being enchanted, and somebody has to break the spell before I step back into reality.” She gave a small smile. “And I’m not always at the same place where I started.”

  This time the other men were openly laughing, but Easton still glared at her. “Maybe that’s why you have low blood sugar. Did you eat lunch today?”

  “Of course I did. I had lunch with you, silly.”

  He shook his head. “That was dinner last night.”

  She gave herself a shake. “Okay, so I missed breakfast. I did get up early because the light was so fascinating, so I went outside. I came running back to the mess tent, but it was too late. Thankfully, I still had some protein bars in my bags. Surely I didn’t miss lunch too?” She checked her watch and gasped in shock. “I missed lunch,” she wailed.

  “Weren’t you given a seating time to go in for your meals?”

  She dove into her multipocketed vest and pulled out a piece of paper, holding it up for the men to inspect.

  “You were in seating block A. That was the first group.”

  On cue her stomach rumbled, and she started to feel tired. “Oh, boy. When is dinnertime then?” she asked, scared to hear the answer. “It needs to be soon. Otherwise I’ll probably end up in trouble again.”

  She was such a fool. She was so damn passionate about her work for the video and brochures that everything else slid into the dark recesses of her mind. Her parents often complained about it; her brother just laughed or made fun of her. Being self-employed gave her a lot of advantages. She didn’t think that an employer would handle her foibles quite so easily. Still, it wasn’t normally this bad. She’d put it down to exhaustion. She’d worked so hard to get her photos ready for each show that she’d burned a lot of midnight oil before she came on this assignment.

  Ryder pointed at the piece of paper she’d lifted. “See the bottom line? Dinnertime. You’re section A again.”

  She studied the paper for a long moment. Maybe it was because she was so tired, but it made no sense. She raised her gaze to him. “Translation?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake.” Easton snagged her arm while she grabbed the bag at her feet. “We’ll be eating in ten minutes. You’re coming with us. It’s the only way to make sure you eat. Otherwise I’ll find you passed out in the dirt.”

  “That only happened once, and I’d been really sick. I should’ve eaten more then. I should have stayed home, but my friend was getting married so I had to go,” she said as she was dragged along toward the mess tent. “Besides, you’re probably at a different seating time.”

  He stopped to look at her and in a low, hard voice asked, “Where are your barracks?”

  She frowned at him. She turned to the other men at her side. “Is he always this grumpy?”

  Corey’s eyebrows shot up. “Actually, he’s probably the most patient of us all.”

  Her look of astonishment switched to joy. “Now I know you’re joking.”

  They all shook their heads.

  She snorted. “Then I feel sorry for you because if your tempers and lack of patience are way worse than his…” She shook her head. “Wow.”

  “Enough.” Easton followed her pointing finger to one of the barracks, taking the bag from her. “Of course it would be at the far end.” He glanced at her gear. “Are you okay leaving all that in your barracks when you eat?”

  She shook her head. “No way.”

  “How do you eat when you carry all that around your neck?”

  She stepped forward and opened the one he held in his hands. She pulled out a second collapsible square bag and proceeded to very carefully pack all her camera gear from around her neck. When she was done, she connected some buckles and the two bags became one with shoulders straps. Then she grabbed those and flung them over her shoulder like a backpack. “Now let’s go eat. This gear comes with me. Tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of equipment is in here, plus the special photos I took earlier.”

  “The laptop?”

  “That’s in the barracks,” she said, staring worriedly in the distance. “It should be safe, shouldn’t it?”

  The men exchanged glances as if knowing something she didn’t. She turned her gaze from one to the other, walking up to Devlin. “What is he not telling me?”

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; He sighed. “A training camp was sabotaged a few months ago. Several drones, software, and a lot of research material was burned to the ground. A woman was killed at the same time.”

  “She was murdered?” she whispered in shock.

  Devlin nodded.

  “We can’t give you all the details. Suffice it to say, things can happen on base as well as off.”

  She pushed out her chin and said, “Then I’m definitely not leaving my cameras there. Let’s go eat, then I’ll return to my quarters and work on the photos.” She spun on her heels and raced off at top speed. A hand landed on her shoulder, dragging her to a stop before spinning her around.

  “You’re heading the wrong direction. Dinner is over there,” Easton said without any humor.

  As such, she accepted it with gratitude. She nodded meekly and said, “Thank you.”

  And this time she waited until he led, then she followed.

  *

  He didn’t know if she walked around like a child all the time, heedless of direction, just content to move forward. Did she have any navigational skills at all? He shook his head, knowing the rest of the men were chuckling inside. He wasn’t. He was also quite perturbed at her photographing him like she had. He wasn’t worried about her seeing anything he didn’t want her to, but her comment about a private collection had him thinking a whole lot as to whether she did this all the time. Did she also take pictures when he wasn’t looking, or of the other men as well? That he didn’t like, making her actions all the more disturbing. He didn’t want to care, but something about her got under his skin. He couldn’t stop thinking about her.

  He turned around several times to make sure she was still behind them. Each time he caught the men’s grins. He glared at them, hoping it would make them shut up.

  As they hadn’t said anything, he was probably only making things worse.

  In the mess tent, he directed her toward the line already formed for dinner. He kept her firmly in front of him, and all the other men fell into step behind him. He held her tray, and, as she was busy looking around, he was filling her plate.