Sherri turned and called back to Kettering, “There were just the four Russians. The evolution is secured.”

A relieved laugh went up as Peevy led her away from the bodies and away from the man she loved—who didn’t love her back.

* * *

Ultimately, it was decided to load the Russian corpses into their truck and drive it back to Coronado. A forensics team would try to identify the dead men, and the FBI and CIA would try to track down whoever they worked for. Not that it was any great mystery to Sherri. These had to be Haddad’s men.

Kettering didn’t seem surprised when she told him she’d heard the men say Haddad wanted Griffin alive. She gathered from the icy cold enveloping him that he and the Reapers had distinct ideas about what should happen to Haddad in the near future. He also didn’t act surprised when she relayed hearing the Russians talk about having a man on the inside of BUD/S. His jaw just got a little tighter and a little harder than it already was.

Sherri noted that Griffin ended up riding back to base in the other Hummer. Was that intentional? Had she completely freaked him out with her whispered declaration?

The answer to that was painfully obvious.

Man, she’d been a fool. She’d spent all of Hell Week imagining them together, him making some grand declaration of his feelings, and her reciprocating. She had romanticized him beyond all reasonable expectations. Which was her fault. She’d completely forgotten the kind of man she was dealing with. His love, his life was the SEALs. He had no room in his heart for anything or anyone else.

It was nearly dawn by the time the caravan of vehicles pulled into the SEAL training area. She started to climb out of the Hummer, but uncharacteristically stumbled. And pitched right into Griffin, who had apparently come over to check on her.

How obvious was it to physically throw herself at the poor guy? Her face on fire, she pushed away from him quickly, mumbling an apology.

“Got your balance, now?” he asked lightly.

Sure. She was totally balanced and in control of herself. Not. She’d just realized that everything she thought she knew about him had been a lie. Or worse, it had been a fantasy she’d cooked up in her head to deal with the stress of her situation. How lame was that? She was pathetic.

Vidmeyer piled out of the Hummer behind her and commented, “Not bad, Tate. Not bad at all…for a girl.”

She retorted, “One of these days, you’ll learn to call me a woman. Then maybe you’ll have a shot at me liking you.”

The instructors milling around her hooted. Ray Peevy clasped her shoulder lightly. “Good to have you back, Tate.”