She laid her palm on his smooth-shaven cheek. “I’m sorry it has to be in these circumstances.”

They traded looks of deep understanding. They’d shared the trauma of Sam’s death, and both felt his loss keenly. Today was going to be hard, but it would be a little less awful because they would get through it together.

She picked up the black leather clutch Schneider had been kind enough to include with the dress and nodded at Griffin.

“Could you keep something in your purse for me?” he asked grimly.

“It’s a clutch, but of course.”

He held out his hand, and a shiny, gold trident pin lay in it. She stared down at it doubtfully, not understanding what he was doing.

“It’s a tradition at SEAL funerals,” he said in response to her unspoken question. “You’ll see.”

She tucked the Budweiser in her clutch and followed Griffin out to a big silver pickup truck. He helped her climb inside and then moved around to the driver’s seat.

“Is this yours?” she asked as he guided the vehicle off base.

“Yep.”

“So you’re stationed here?”

“The Reapers are part of Team Seven.”

All the East Coast teams were even numbered, and the West Coast teams odd numbered.

“So you’re going home at night, propping your feet up on a coffee table, sipping a cold one, and watching cooking shows while I work my tail off, huh?”

He smiled briefly. “I’m staying on base for the duration of your training. I have a room in the visiting instructors’ quarters. Helps me blend in with them. Also, I’m close by in case you need me.”

“You guys have thought of everything. I’m fairly certain I don’t deserve all the fussing you’re doing over me.”

“I have a job to do—get you through the program. And I’m a SEAL.”

His implication was clear. SEALs didn’t fail at their assignments.

They drove north of San Diego to Miramar National Cemetery, and Sherri was relieved to see security was heavy getting to the memorial service. She supposed any large concentration of SEALs in one place was a potentially juicy target for bad guys.

Griffin flashed his military ID out the window and was waved onto the cemetery grounds. They parked and followed the line of people walking toward a stone pavilion at the top of a long hill.

Sherri walked beside him up to the open-walled structure filled with big, silent, hard-looking men. Some wore uniforms with Budweisers glinting on their chests; some wore civilian clothing. But they were all SEALs or retired SEALs. Of that, Sherri had no doubt. By the way their eyes were never still, scanning their environment constantly, by their hard physiques, by posture alone, she recognized them.

A uniformed naval officer peeled away from the cluster of civilians wearing black that had to be Sam’s family and strode toward her and Griffin.