Feeling immeasurably refreshed by a quick shower and drinking about a gallon of water, Sherri stepped inside the cafeteria where her remaining teammates were currently eating breakfast. She had one more piece of business to take care of before she got booted out of here. When she stepped inside, a shout of welcome went up. The Smurfs rushed forward to hug her.

Smitty demanded, “What the hell happened to you, Tate?”

“Long story.”

Someone else blurted out, “We heard you were kidnapped and then some bastards tried to trade you for Caldwell.”

She smiled ruefully. “There are no secrets among SEALs, are there?”

“Nah.”

Therein lay the problem. She and Griffin were never going to be able to keep their relationship secret. It was a foolish pipe dream to think she could both be a SEAL and have him.

Glancing over the heads of her boatmates, she spotted the guy she’d come here to have words with. She marched across the room toward Grundy, sitting at a table with several of his boatmates. He stood up, scowling, as she stalked toward him. “Made it back finally, I see,” he sneered.

“No thanks to you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Nope. Not going to apologize to her. Not going to acknowledge he’d pushed her into that pit, leaving her helpless and alone for the kidnappers to grab. Well, she’d given him a chance. Which meant she didn’t have any compunction about this.

She drew back her right hand, made a proper fist the way Griffin had shown her a thousand years ago, and punched Grundy as hard as she could.

He doubled over, hands over his broken nose, blood pouring from between his fingers. His boatmates surged up out of their chairs, and Sherri’s boatmates surged forward to surround her.

“What the hell, Tate!” Grundy howled.

A half-dozen SEAL instructors leaped forward, separating the bristling groups of trainees. Two more instructors strode forward into the fray. Griffin and Ray Peevy.

“What was that for, Tate?” Ray Peevy growled.

She glared at Grundy. “Are you going to be a man and tell them, or shall I?”

“Fuck off, Tate,” Grundy shouted.

All the instructors turned questioning looks at her. She registered varying degrees of shock in their stares. She wasn’t sure if she should be complimented or insulted by their surprise over her capacity for violence. Did they think she was going to sit around crocheting doilies once she became a SEAL?

She spoke tightly. “The last night of Hell Week on the desert run, there was a pit across the trail. I found a length of wood and pole-vaulted it. Then Grundy ran up behind me. I helped him cross the obstacle.” She glared at Grundy, finishing with “Then he pushed me in the pit and took off. I was knocked out by the fall to the bottom. And Grundy left me there for the kidnappers to find and take.”