Page 6 of The Forgotten SEAL (The Real SEAL #1)

I look both left and right when I enter.

I’m able to pick out Carina immediately.

She’s sitting in a corner booth, her laptop open, a pair of thick black glasses perched on her face, typing away.

Pausing, she brushes her bangs out of her face and then continues the tirade on her keyboard.

I make my way to her slowly. She looks up the second I get in her line of sight and startles.

A funny thing happens. I swallow down the state of Texas, and an unfamiliar calm overtakes my body. I smile. “You must be the famous author I’m supposed to meet?” Taking a few more steps in her direction, I extend my hand.

Removing her glasses, she stands, takes my hand lightly, and shakes it. “Carina Painter. I’m trying to figure out how it’s you, but then I remember I gave you my card. Smith, right?”

I nod and make a joke about giving information to strangers. She doesn’t laugh. I slide into the booth opposite her.

Gently she closes her laptop and folds her arms on top of it. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I appreciate it.”

I eye her closely. She’s hiding a shiner with several layers of makeup. Most probably wouldn’t notice, but she knows the second I do. She slides the thick-rimmed glasses back onto her face to help cover it. Goose bumps prickle my skin, even though it’s warm in here. It would be rude to bring it up.

She clears her throat. The tan skin on her neck draws my gaze.

“I have so many questions. I’m not sure how long it would take to interview you in person, so I thought maybe if you’re comfortable answering some through email correspondence, it may go quicker?”

I tell her I’m not in any rush. That I want to stay here with her and answer every single question that crosses her mind. No one will give her black eyes if she’s sitting in front of me, in my proximity. I order a large coffee and a sandwich when the waitress comes by and asks if we want anything.

Carina declines. “I’ll have dinner with my…I’ll have to eat at home tonight after we finish here.”

I sigh. Her explanation is brimming with unease. “Fair enough. Where should we begin?”

Carina’s eyes light up. “I’ll start at the beginning. I want to write a piece, an article, maybe even a novel, depending on how inspired I get.”

I hold my hand up. “What if I’m not inspiring at all?” I laugh.

She grins, a half smile pulling one cheek.

“Then I’ll have to cast my net again. It took months to get you here, so I’m really hoping you can be as inspiring as possible.

” Her gaze, for the first time, dips to my hands.

I fold them in front of me. “Tell me about your military career. Just a brief overview to start. I’ll fine-tune the questions after that.

If you don’t mind, that is. Everything will be confidential.

Your name won’t be associated with anything, and if this turns into a novel, it will even be deemed fiction.

Fiction that may help someone, though.” Carina glows when she speaks of her writing.

“As I am still active duty, I’d appreciate the fictionalized version. Anonymity will work out well for a nonfiction piece as well. Well, as I’m not in the habit of talking about myself or my military career, I’m afraid you’re going to have to try a little harder than that,” I joke.

Her small mouth pops open. “Oh. Of course. What branch of the military?”

“Navy. I enlisted straight out of high school.”

My coffee arrives. Wincing when I grab the hot mug, I set it back down again.

Something merely warm feels like scalding water to me.

I blow on the black liquid instead. Carina scribbles down notes in a black-and-white spiral notebook.

Like the kind you’d carry in high school.

The white paper tabs get everywhere when you have to tear a sheet from it.

“I have a question for you,” I say. “It comes off a little personal. If I’m telling you personal things, perhaps we can trade one for one?” It’s a bold move. One I’m sure she’ll shy away from.

With her head still down, she lets just her gaze flick up to meet mine. “Okay. What is your question?”

“Who gave you the black eye?” I ask, wrapping my hand back around the mug, owning the burn.

She raises her eyebrows. “The dresser. I tripped. I believe we met because my own feet got in my way. Remember?” Her smile is weak.

She lies about this a lot. It makes me sick.

I swallow a sip of coffee, my throat matching the temperature of my stinging hand.

Carina doesn’t look at my hand, though. Her gaze is locked on my eyes.

She’s sizing me up, figuring out what I really want.

I see a shrewd knowledge about her. “My turn to ask a question now?”

I nod. She knows damn well I didn’t take her answer at face value. “What do you do in the Navy, and how long have you been in?” In essence, she wants to know my age. I’ve already told her since high school. She has no way of knowing that I read people better than most in the world.

A quick glance around assures me we’re out of earshot of café patrons. “I’m twenty-eight, and I’m a SEAL, Carina.”

“Wow. I’ve read about your kind before. This is going to be awesome,” she says, her eyes wide.

Scribbling more notes, I watch her long fingers and unpainted nails as they move.

“I know you don’t want vague questions, but some are going to be open as it’s the best way to get information.

Can you tell me a little about your experience in that position?

” She lets her gaze dart around the room.

She’ll be just as cautious and subtle as I will. Amazing.

“It’s my turn to ask a question.”

She sighs. “This is going to take a long time if this is how you want to play it.” Carina tilts her head to the side and looks down at my coffee.

“What’s the dresser’s name?” I ask, my tone just as quiet.

She swallows, fidgets with the collar of her shirt, and avoids my gaze completely. “I’m really not comfortable talking about this with a stranger,” Carina replies.

I nod, a smirk stretching across my face. Perhaps she’ll understand. “Let me tell you the personal details about my life now,” I deadpan. “One for one, I thought?”

She blows out a breath, and I can’t help but focus on her lips and then the rest of her face.

She doesn’t wear a lot of makeup. In fact, I don’t think she has much on.

Maybe a little mascara, but her skin looks flawless but for her black eye and where she tried in vain to cover it up.

“If I tell you my fiancé hit me, it doesn’t just speak about him, it also says a lot about me.

Sometimes you want to hide from facts, Smith.

Is that the case with you and your military career?

If so, we can cut the meeting off right now and pretend this never happened.

” She makes a grab for her bag sitting next to her in the booth.

I don’t grab her, but leaning over, I gently touch her arm still on the table.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, no one said anything about hiding from facts. You shouldn’t hide from anything.

I’m here. I want to do this interview. I want to know who did that to you so I can do it to them.

Marring perfection is a felony in all fifty states, Carina.

” I smile lightly, although every muscle in my body is coiled and ready to strike out.

A man, a man who is supposed to love her for the rest of her life, beats her.

She stays with him. The dynamics are confounding and infuriating, yet I don’t know her. Now, it’s almost mandatory I do.

“I’ll answer anything else. Just please don’t go there.

” She adjusts her glasses. I grit my teeth when I see the bluish bruise under her eye appear and disappear under the black frames.

“Okay?” Finally she looks up. Her long lashes almost brush against the lenses of her glasses.

They’re dark and thick, and her brown eyes have swirls of green and gray in this lighting.

I pull my arm back to my side slowly. “What’s your favorite TV show?” I ask.

She smirks. “Sort of an inconsequential question for a writer, don’t you think?” Her face transforms with a tiny grin.

I swallow. “Sorry. I didn’t bring my A game today. What’s your favorite book?”

The smile widens into something more stunning, something I’m not sure is ever shared with anyone else. Perhaps this smile is just for me. It’s the first time since the accident that I’ve had to remind myself I’m taken—that I have no right to own any of her smiles.

Tilting her head to the side, she says, “I don’t have one favorite.

At the moment I have one hundred and thirty.

Wait, no, one hundred and thirty-one favorites.

” She taps one finger on the table to punctuate her sentence.

It’s cute. “ Crazy Good . I finished that one last night. It’s officially on the favorite list.”

“Quite the list. I’d like to see it sometime.”

She shrugs. “Sure. Your turn.”

My answer is interrupted by the shrill sound of her phone ringing in her bag. Her sweet smile transforms into a terrified grimace.

“I have to take this,” she says, avoiding my gaze.

I nod, take a bite of my food, and pull out my own cell phone. I open my email and start scrolling aimlessly. That’s what you do when you’re playing at ambivalence.

Carina answers with a clipped “hello” and wanders a few feet from our table, turning her back toward me. “We’re just finishing up. Yes. Jasmine says hello,” she says, her voice hushed. My hearing is still top-notch. “Sales are great. I’m pitching her my newest novel.”

I clear my throat and delete a junk email with a left swipe. Megan tells me I should just unsubscribe, but that seems like too much effort. I left swipe another and another one.

“Uh, no, she’s in the restroom right now. I’m making some notes. I’ll be home soon.”

I wish I couldn’t hear this. As if sensing my wayward thoughts, Megan sends me a text asking when I’ll be home.

I hear Carina tell him she’s at a diner several blocks from where we are.

Another lie that doesn’t come easily for her—a fact that makes my stomach pang with helplessness.

She’s a stranger, a complete and utter foreign body in my world, and I find myself caring about her well-being.

Honestly, I’m not sure, but it sounds as if my interview today will be cut short, so I text back “soon” and a smiley face. Megan sends back a weird emoji, and I’m not sure what it means .

Carina sits back down in front of me. With shaking hands, she places her cell phone face down on the table. “I’ll have to get going shortly.”

“Of course. Me too. I’ll walk you to your car.”

“That’s very kind of you. You’re a stranger, Mr. Eppington. I can walk myself out to my car.” She switches her reading glasses for her oversized sunglasses.

I hold back the urge to point out to her what the man she loves and knows well does to her.

“I was going to tell you a little bit about the day everything changed for me. In my career, that is.” I hold my hands up.

“It’s not a conversation I’d have in here.

” Glancing around, I realize we’re mostly alone in here anyway.

“Let me give you something to work with until the next time we meet.”

She smiles. “You’re right. I didn’t get anything yet. I’d appreciate that. Walk me out, please.”

I pay the check against her wishes and hold the door for her. Her posture is nervous as she glances left and right when we exit into the parking lot.

I follow close to her side as she makes her way to her large, dark SUV. She unlocks the door with a fob, puts her bag and laptop case on her seat, then turns to me with a tape recorder in hand.

She looks me up and down unabashedly. Carina isn’t judging. She’s appraising. “Tell me, Mr. Eppington. Tell me about the day everything changed.”

My skin prickles. My chest aches. I begin.