A SEAL's Secret Baby. Laura Altom Marie

herself, tears falling in cold trails down her cheeks, Ellie shook her head.

      “And that’s what you wanted to tell me today? In front of everyone we know?” The look he cast her was indecipherable.

      “If you don’t mind,” she replied, adopting an all-business tone, “I’d like to keep this between us. Helen and John will always be Pia’s grandparents, but more and more, I’m seeing she needs a father. It’s not fair for me to keep this from either of you.”

      Deacon sharply exhaled.

      Arms crossed, he faced the sliver of glittering Atlantic visible from the yard. The view had been one of the things she and Tom loved most about the house.

      What was Deacon thinking? Was he angry at her for not having told him sooner? She felt sick at how she’d handled everything.

      “I owe you a massive apology,” Ellie said, her voice small in the chilly breeze. “But from the second Tom learned I was pregnant, he was so happy. I couldn’t take that from him—from myself. You know what kind of family I grew up in. I never wanted the same for my own child.”

      A sharp laugh escaped Deacon. “You’re saying the right things, but all of a sudden, I don’t even know you.” Striding purposefully, he returned to the deck, only to open one of the French doors. Was he going to look in on his daughter?

      “Please don’t wake her.” Ellie trailed behind him. “Pia’s exhausted from playing. She needs her rest.”

      The dark look Deacon cast over his shoulder stoked the firestorm in Ellie’s stomach. “You drop this bomb on me, then not five minutes later have the nerve to dictate my every move?”

      Chin raised, she said, “Forget everything you just heard. As far as I’m concerned, Pia’s true father is dead.”

      Chapter Two

      Deacon pushed his Harley to one-ten on his favorite lonely stretch of Shore Road before being forced to back down because of a tottering raccoon. Killing the engine, he climbed off, rolling his ride to the shoulder before dropping the kickstand to asphalt. At 3:00 A.M., he was pretty well guaranteed privacy until base commuters started pouring in.

      After dropping his helmet to the seat, he ignored the burning behind his eyes and mounted the small dune standing between him and the angry Atlantic. What had been a soft breeze in town was now a wind whipping sand against his cheeks. Deacon liked it. Liked the pain.

      One year ago today, it should’ve been him taking that bullet.

      Aside from his SEAL team, he had no one in his life. His folks had long since written him off, and he couldn’t say he blamed them.

      Not bothering to remove his clothes or even his shoes, Deacon trudged into the surf, fighting his way out to black water, where the swells held him as surely as a lover. He generally saved this sort of thing for missions or triathalon training, but after tonight’s chaos he needed the comfort found in the familiar. Out here, he knew where he stood. He’d been trained to handle any contingency with either sheer strength of will or ingenuity. What he wasn’t equipped to deal with were his emotions.

      What the hell was he supposed to do with this ache in his chest, making it so tight he feared it would explode? How did he look past images of his best friend dying in his arms, asking him to care for Ellie and his baby girl? Deacon had promised Tom he would, and he had, but he doubted his friend would have asked him if he’d known Deacon was the biological father of Tom’s child.

      With every stroke through black water, Deacon told himself it wasn’t true, that Pia couldn’t be his. But in his heart, he knew. Maybe he always had, but didn’t want to admit it out of respect for the sanctity of his friendship with Tom. In certain areas, Deacon might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but he’d always done great at remedial math. As much as he’d tried forgetting the things he and Ellie had done, the way she’d unwittingly made him so crazy to have her he hadn’t even used a condom, the memories were still there, colliding with the respect he’d had for her husband. His best friend.

      When Deacon’s body finally got around to telling his brain he was hungry, cold and tired, he sliced his way to shore. He had to be on base by 0800—preferably with his head in some semblance of a good place.

      * * *

      “YOU REALLY DIDN’T NEED to come in this early,” Ada declared, shortly after 9:00 A.M.

      “Thanks,” Ellie said, hugging her friend and boss. “But yes, I did. You’re not going to believe what happened after you left.”

      “Not sure if I like the sound of this.” As usual, Ada looked runway ready, her makeup and hair flawlessly done. She’d retired from modeling to marry an NBA superstar, but when she caught him with a cheerleader, she’d been the last one laughing—at least from a financial perspective. The divorce settlement had afforded her the elegant boutique, where she designed several of the store’s bestselling garments. “But you know me, always ready for a good story, especially if it’s calorie free.”

      Having stashed her purse behind the counter, after leaving Pia at the part-time nursery school she loved, Ellie took the white leather armchair opposite her friend. “Deacon knows.”

      Ada covered her mouth with her hands. “Weren’t you going to wait until the munchkin was a little bigger?”

      “Yeah, well, I saw him yesterday and had a change of heart. Too many people told me his last mission was dicey. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to him and he never knew Pia was his. I tried telling him twice at the party, but both times got interrupted. Then what happens? He shows up at my house. One thing led to another, and instead of the calm, rational conversation I’d hoped for, I blurted it out.”

      “Whoa. Good thing we don’t open till ten.” Shifting in her chair, Ada asked, “What are you going to do?”

      Ellie sighed. “I guess try to as smoothly as possible introduce Deacon into Pia’s life. She already knows him, but not like a daughter should know her dad.”

      “Where do Helen and John fit in?”

      “If Deacon has any respect for Pia or myself, he’ll keep all of this on the down-low for at least a little longer. There’s no way I’m ready for my in-laws to know. The news would crush them. They live for Pia.”

      “What about you? You’re pretty attached to John and Helen, too.”

      “Granted. Last thing I want is for anything to rock that boat. Tom might be gone, but they’re still my family.”

      “What about me?” Ada teased.

      “Of course, you, too. But last I checked, I haven’t given you just cause to disown me.”

      * * *

      THAT NIGHT, after an endless day of firing drills, the last person Deacon wanted to find at his apartment door was Ellie, holding Pia in her arms.

      Without so much as a hello, she asked, “You alone?”

      “At least until Woof and Grinder get back with pizza and beer.”

      Behind her dark sunglasses, he imagined, she was rolling her eyes. More times than he could count, he remembered her voicing her dislike of grown men calling each other by nicknames. Woof happened to be Garrett Solomon, who had the uncanny knack of being able to puke like a dog one second, then be up on his feet, firing off rounds, the next. No physical discomfort fazed him. Grinder, aka Tristan Bartoni, had earned his name from downing six of the meaty Italian sandwiches in under ten minutes during their first leave from BUD/S training. The man ate more than any horse Deacon had ever met.

      “We have to talk.” Brushing past him, Ellie sat on the brown leather sofa. Since the three men were hardly ever in residence, the place was sparse, but held all necessary conveniences for a well-equipped man cave. Three recliners. Supersize, wall-mounted flat screen. Xbox, PlayStation and a fridge stocked with beer and