At Your Command. Julie Miller

the moment. Stay in the moment. “You told me you live on a ranch. Don’t the cows use the water, too—”

      “Yo, Clarksie!”

      Becky jumped in her skin as a man materialized from between two parked cars and charged toward them, his arm outstretched. He was big, not by Zachariah standards, but big enough that everything inside Becky jerked with the urge to run in the opposite direction.

      Zachariah braced for an instant in a protective stance between her and the man. Then the tension rolled off his shoulders along with his duffel bag and he released her to stick out his own hand to greet the man with a handshake. “Action Man!”

      While Becky squashed down the startled heartbeat that pounded in her chest, she took note of the dark royal pants and khaki shirt that marked “Action Man” as another military officer. The handshake became a bear hug that involved backslapping, ribald nicknames and seeing who could squeeze the other harder.

      Clearly an old friend, judging by the rapid-fire questions about families and work and the “How’ve you beens?”

      Not a threat.

      Not even anything to do with her.

      Way to play it cool, Owens.

      The dressed-up Marine pulled an athletic-looking woman up beside him and tucked her under his arm. “I’m as good-lookin’ as ever and I’ve got some of the best prospects I’ve had in a long time. This is Tess.”

      “Tess, eh? I’m Zachariah Clark.”

      The woman named Tess smiled and took his hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Clarksie. Most of it, I couldn’t repeat to my mother. But to hear Trav tell it, it’s all good. Welcome home.”

      “Aw, shucks. Thanks, ma’am.” Zachariah leaned forward. “Is she the one you e-mailed me about?”

      The man named Travis didn’t even hesitate. “She’s the one, period. I’ve still got some details to work out, but—”

      As embarrassed by her knee-jerk reaction as she was relieved, Becky took a deep breath and stepped forward to be introduced. “Do I have to hang back like the paparazzi? Or do I get an introduction, too?”

      “Geez. Sorry, darlin’.” Quickly shifting his stance to pull Becky into the conversation, Zachariah rested his hand at the small of her back and made the introductions. “Travis McCormick, this is my…my wife.” The fingers at her back contracted. An apology? Or did the word feel as awkward on his tongue as it had on hers? “This is Becky Owens. Becky Clark.” The fingers tightened another notch and she felt his gaze sweep across her face. “This is the Beckster.”

      Like their missing wedding rings, her new name was another topic they’d never had a chance to discuss.

      A cheesy grin split Travis’s face. “What, you forget you were married already?”

      They moved past the awkward moment with more handshakes and an introduction to Travis’s girlfriend, Tess Bartlett, whom Becky learned was a physical therapist.

      “So how do you know Zachariah, Captain McCormick?” Becky asked, curious to meet one of his friends.

      “It’s Travis, and don’t worry about the title.” Despite the woman at his side, Travis seemed to be a bit of a flirt. “Clarksie and I served together on a Special Operations team—until I got wounded.”

      At the mention of the word wounded, the good-natured camaraderie between the two men ebbed as though they were rowdy boys who’d been reprimanded by their parents for too much roughhousing. Becky could sense the stiffness that crept into Zachariah’s posture.

      “I see you’re not in Charlie uniform—your camouflage work gear,” Zachariah pointed out. “Does that mean the top brass denied your request to return to a Special Ops team?”

      Travis waved aside his concern. “I didn’t give them the chance. I asked to be transferred to the training division. General Craddock approved it yesterday. I’m going to be teaching the yahoos who’ll be taking your place one day.”

      “Congratulations, man.” Becky glanced up. Despite a smile, Zachariah’s jaw had tensed. “What changed your mind?”

      “I realized I couldn’t give the hundred-and-ten percent S.O. teams need anymore. But I figure I can eke out about a hundred-and-one percent to whip some of those new boys into shape. I’ve learned I make a pretty good coach.”

      Seeing the blush that dotted Tess’s cheeks when Travis smiled down at her, Becky had to wonder just what kind of “coaching” Zachariah’s pal was talking about.

      “I get to choose my own staff.” Travis jabbed Zachariah on the shoulder and grinned. “I could use a big hard-ass like you on the team.”

      Zachariah’s hand fisted at Becky’s back before he broke contact completely. “I’ll think about it.”

      “Do. I can always use a man with good hands.”

      Afraid she was witnessing another reappearance of the secretive stranger who’d been so intense that he’d frightened two little boys, Becky linked her arm through Zachariah’s. “Can’t we all?”

      Tess and Travis laughed right along with her, the double entendre buying a few seconds, giving Zachariah’s mood a chance to pass. His deep, rumbly laugh finally joined in. He linked his fingers together with Becky’s and lifted her hand to claim it with a kiss.

      Like the laugh, she couldn’t tell if his silent thank you was for real or for show. Still, his words sounded sincere enough. “Duty calls. Thanks for showing up, Trav. It feels good to be on home soil. Good to see you.”

      Travis nodded. “Well, you’ve got a homecoming I’m not going to keep you from any longer. Take care, buddy.”

      “You, too.” The two men shook hands. “I’ll call you soon, I promise.”

      Travis looked at Becky, then up at Zachariah and winked. “I’d give it a good forty-eight hours or so before you make any phone calls. I expect you’re gonna be busy for a while.”

      THE MAN OPENED HIS TOP RIGHT desk drawer and pulled out papers and file folders until he uncovered the photograph at the bottom.

      After a quick glance around his bustling office to verify that he was alone and unwatched, he pulled on a pair of plastic gloves and reached in to touch the picture. Clarified and enlarged on his home computer, the photo provided a remarkable likeness of the woman captured there. He traced his fingertip around the woman’s wide, slightly crooked mouth, lingering on the natural pout that was evident even on this unsmiling government ID.

      He liked that mouth better when it was closed.

      She was pretty enough, in a Rubenesque kind of way. Her hair was so blond, it nearly hurt the eyes to look at it straight on in full sunlight. And the expensive layered cut she wore it in spoke of family money rather than a government salary.

      She was class.

      She was style.

      “You bitch.”

      A familiar rage sparked through his blood.

      “You think you’re going to make the world fall into place the way you want it, don’t you?” He splayed his fingers over her face and squeezed his eyes shut, breathing deeply to control the anger. Breathing deeper to control the animalistic urges that fired through his body. “I gave you every chance to do right by me. To understand the way things should be. But you just like to screw with a man when he’s down, don’t you? Makes you feel like you’re something special, doesn’t it? Like you’re too high and mighty to ever fall off your throne.”

      Still smothering her face with his palm, he opened another drawer and pulled out the envelope he’d brought from home. “I’m going to put you in your place, Princess. If you’re going to deny me what should be mine, then I’m going to destroy you.