Call To Engage

“Prescott!”

The dead faces came riding on the flames. Elijah gripped his weapon, finger on the trigger as he tried to aim, tried to stop them from taking his teammate. From killing them both.

“Prescott, snap out of it.”

Strong arms gripped his shoulders with a jarring shake. The flames were gone. The fire out. The dead still circled, though, round and round in his head.

Chest heaving, sweat burning his eyes, Elijah tried to bring the man in front of him into focus.

“Rembrandt? You okay?”

Elijah blinked again.

“Yeah.” He tried to breathe past the constriction in his chest, but the air barely wheezed through. He managed to nod. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

“Guess they weren’t big on flowers outside, either,” Torres joked, gesturing with his chin to gutted landscape. Trees were splintered, statuary rubble, bushes leveled.

Elijah caught sight of the hole on Torres’s flak jacket. “You’re hit.” Alive, not burned to a crisp, was Elijah’s next thought. Then fury rode a wild wave of guilt inside him, overriding that thought with reality. His job had been to cover Torres. Because Elijah had let his personal nightmare distract him, he’d blown his job.

“Nah, bullet grazed my body armor. C’mon, rendezvous in thirty seconds.”

Elijah wanted to protest. He wanted to check Torres, to make sure there was no real damage. He wanted to howl at the fucking moon, then go back and kill the already-dead man who’d detonated the bomb.

But instincts and training, or maybe it was Torres’s steady gaze, did the trick of getting Elijah on his feet and, limping only a little, back on track.

Twenty minutes later, they were in the helicopter with the hostage secured. Loudon, the medic, sedated the ambassador before he shook to pieces. Jarrett entertained them during takeoff with his version of wringing his hands over their inability to tiptoe their way out of the embassy. The guy looked as if he was going to cry when he mentioned reparation and damage costs.

Elijah, along with the rest of the team, ignored him. After all, it wasn’t like it was coming out of his pocket.

“Rembrandt?”

He lifted tired eyes to Torres.

“You okay?”

Was he okay? He wanted to say no. He wanted to know what the hell was wrong with him, why he couldn’t shake the monkey off his back. He wanted to beat the hell against the walls of the helicopter until he punched his way through the metal and out to freedom.

As he glanced down the line of men leaning against the bulwark of the bird, he saw the same concern reflected in their eyes that was gleaming in Torres’s. Concern for him? a little voice wondered. Or about him?

Elijah gave up, simply closing his eyes and letting his head drop back against the steel wall. It didn’t shut out those questions, didn’t erase the doubt he saw on the squad’s faces. But after a few seconds focusing on steadying his breath, lowering his heart rate, he could shove that aside.

He drew a picture in his head, a landscape. The sun setting over water that stretched as far as the eye could see. Add a sandy beach in the back, some trees and scrub for texture and interest. And maybe a rickety hut off to the side, the driftwood walls leaning in on themselves. Yeah. He sighed as peace washed through him. A hut, with a hammock lashed between two palms.

The sun would be hot and the beach quiet but for the sound of the surf beating its song. Deserted. Away from everyone and everything.

Except the woman.

He didn’t picture her face. He wouldn’t let himself. But a part of him recognized her. Knew her body, knew the ring of twisted metal she wore on her finger. A part of him knew she was it.

Salvation.

What he didn’t know was whether she’d grant it to him or not. Whether she’d deem his life worth saving.

Or if she’d simply walk away, leaving him to drown in fiery misery.

CHAPTER THREE

TO AVA MONROE, life was all about the simple choices.

Cardio or strength training.

Yoga pants or fleece.

A jog or a bike ride.

An egg white omelet or a fresh fruit protein shake.

She’d worked hard to simplify, to bring it down to choices as clean and easy as those.

She liked it that way.

Liked, too, that she’d structured her life so that she was answerable pretty much only to herself. She lived alone, with a month-to-month rent. She worked for herself. And she trained for herself—for her own goals, her own purposes.

It kept her responsibilities to a minimum.

And it meant that she didn’t need or depend on anyone else’s approval.

That concept had become her mantra when she’d escaped her old life in Mendocino to start over in Napa three years ago. Not only did Napa offer gorgeous views of green and gold, elegant wineries and ageless architecture; Northern California was familiar enough that she’d felt safe. Best of all, it was far enough away from Ava’s smothering parents that she could breathe easily, yet not so far away that they’d pack up their high-society life and follow her.

Not that she didn’t love her family. But she’d never again be the princess they expected, and she’d learned the hard way proximity didn’t mean dependability.

So Ava had simplified. And her life was great. So great that even she was surprised at how many people valued her skills enough to pay good money to attend a kick-ass workout class at seven in the morning.

Focusing on those people, Ava let the heavy beat of old-fashioned rock and roll pound through her system as she guided a group through a warm-up. She thought they’d use the gym’s smallest workout room for this session, assuming there would be a limited interest in a six-week Hard Rocking Bods course. But ten minutes before they’d kicked off the initial session, she’d had to move it to the largest room and offer sign-ups for a second course at a yet-to-be-determined time.

“Let’s step it up, folks,” she called out as she assessed the progress of thirty people finishing their warm-up. “Knees high, backs straight. Double time.”

“How much longer?” gasped one already sweating guy with an enviable tan, tight body and pathetic muscle tone.

“Warm-up? Another two minutes.” She flashed a wicked smile. “Then the fun starts.”

The groans filling the room warmed her heart. She figured if they weren’t moaning, she wasn’t doing her job. And that job was to build the best bodies. Through exercise classes, through training, through bodywork and massage.

It didn’t matter what shape they were in when she started, she had no doubt that if the person was willing, they’d end up with a better body in the end.

Ava firmly believed that with hard work, if you just gave it long enough, anything could change. She was proof positive of that.

Heavy on results, light on believing in anything that relied on others. The complete opposite of how she’d once lived—with her eye always on that fabled happily-ever-after so dependent on Prince Charming. Now she took one day at a time.

Today included hitch kicks, butt lifts and, oh yes, the dreaded burpees.

“Okay, people, let’s rock and roll.” Already warmed after her morning run and a round of intense circuit training, she took her students through their first set. “Grab your medium weight and begin with bicep curls. Squat on the curl, side kick on the release.”

After a brief demonstration, including modifications, she gestured for them to join in and began the count. Twelve reps, rest, three times.

By the time they’d hit the three-quarters mark, the heavy beat of rock and roll couldn’t disguise the heavy breathing and pained grunts of exertion sounding through the room. No matter how cool the air-conditioning was set, it didn’t prevent the sweat streaming off the bodies doing that panting and grunting.

Ava prized every bitch, moan and aching groan as a sign of success. Her own breath might be a little short, but her voice was clear as she called out instructions.

“Come on, ladies, lift those butts,” she called out, fully aware that half her class was men. But she’d learned that some things better motivated women—encouragement, commiseration, results. And some things motivated men—insults and questioning their virility. “Nobody walks out of here comfortably. I want you moaning, groaning, huffing and puffing. I want those muscles screaming because you pushed them to the max. Lift, release. Lift, release.”

She finished with a series of stretches.

“Arch, higher, higher, people. Stretch those muscles. Release the burn, let it go. You don’t want those babies locking up. At least not before you all make it to your cars.”

That snared a round of breathless laughter. Ava rode it out pulling them through the rest of the cooldown, ending with a little light meditation and a few body affirmations.

“Breathe, people. Pull that cooling air into your belly. Let it fill your body with soothing light. Repeat after me. I’m strong. I’m capable. I kicked butt today. I’ll kick butt tomorrow.”

And with that, she pushed to her feet. Ignoring the sweat that drizzled down her collarbone into the wicking fabric of her turquoise tank, she clapped her hands.

“Great job. You all kicked butt today.”

As always, Ava moved through the room making contact with students. A form correct here, a congratulations there. There were enough newbies in the class that she didn’t know everyone’s name, but thanks to years of what she called extreme socialite training, she was able to make everyone feel as if they were a friend.

“Ava, you’re the best.”

“So are you, Terri. You’re really mastering those burpees.” She patted the red-faced woman’s arm, smiling as she noted the developing muscle tone. “By the end of this course, I’ll bet you’re in that pair of jeans you bought.”

Like a lot of people who hit the gym, Terri had come with a goal to lose weight for an event—in her case, a high school reunion. Once she’d hit that goal, Ava encouraged her to reach for another one, so the woman was now fixated on fitting into a size-nine jeans.

Some people worked out for the love of it. But Ava knew the other 95 percent of the world needed incentive. She figured tapping into that was as much a part of her job as modifying a workout to fit a variety of needs.

“Thanks to you and this class, I bet I’m in them two months ahead of schedule,” Terri said, patting her hip as she headed out the door.

“You are the kick-ass woman, aren’t you,” rumbled a voice as big as the man framed in the doorway. As always, Ava smiled a little as she noted that Mack had to duck to get through without banging his shaved head. You’d think the guy would have built taller doors given that it was his gym.

“There’s a reason the phrase no pain, no gain is popular,” she pointed out, taking the towel he offered. Mack Prescott was a man the size of a bulldozer with a face to match, with the personality on par with a bear. Grumbly and gruff with most, but cuddly sweet with some.

“If the whining moans from your students are anything to go by, they’re gaining more than they bargained for.”

“Too much?”

“They sing your praises right along with those moans,” Mack said with a shrug as he moved through the room. She could see him doing a mental check of the inventory, assessing the state of the mats, the chill of the A/C and the quality of the speakers still beating with music. “You’ve got a way about you, Ava—that’s for sure.”

“I plan to make the world stronger, one hard body at a time.” Ava dabbed the towel at her throat, sopping up the beads of sweat still pooling there. “Resistance makes strength, my friend. You know that as well as I do.”

“I do, indeed. From the looks of it, all those resisting students are going to be in a whole lot of pain later,” Mack observed with a smirk. “Pretty smart, actually. First you pummel them in workout class so they’re so sore their muscles are crying. Then you lure them in for a massage so you can pummel them on the table, work the knots out of those muscles so they’re ready for your next workout class.”

“Perfect, right?” Ava laughed. “I even have Chloe handing out massage flyers at the door.”

She was only half joking. Chloe James, the receptionist for the gym, was perched at her desk right outside the door. And she did have flyers advertising Ava’s massage services. But she wasn’t waving them in the air.

Ava slanted a look through the glass walls and smiled.

Probably because the bubbly woman was otherwise occupied.

“Have you thought about my little proposition?” Mack asked as he straddled one of the workout benches lining the wall.

“You know, the propositions I get usually involve booty calls, naked workouts and offers to show off a guy’s most impressive muscle.”

Mack snorted.

“Sorry, sweets. You’re not my type.”

And that was the sad, sad truth for womankind. Ava had lost count of the number of complaints she’d heard over Mack’s preference for hard bodies of the male variety.

“Only one of the reasons I love you, Mack,” she said, at ease with him as she was with few men. “Another is your impeccable taste, of course.”

“You mean in wanting you to come on board as a partner? I’m serious about it, Ava. I need someone I can trust, and you’re my top pick.”

But she didn’t know if she ever wanted to be a man’s top pick at anything. Or if she wanted the responsibilities and stresses of being part owner of anything, even a business she loved. So she simply shrugged.

“I haven’t given it much thought yet,” she said.

“Well, I told you I’d give you until the end of the week before I asked anyone else—so take as much time as you need.” He got to his feet with a grace at odds with his size and offered a smile so reminiscent of his cousin’s that her heart squeezed for a second.

“I don’t think—”

“Don’t answer yet,” he interrupted. “Just think about it. If it’s the money, we can figure that out. If it’s the workload, we’ll hash that out. If it’s because you don’t want to make another commitment to a Prescott, well, that would make you a wimp. And we both know you’re not a wimp.”

Ava angled her chin, pretending she wasn’t insulted at the idea of returning to wimpiness after so many years of wallowing under the weight of her wimp crown. But she couldn’t ignore the tight knot in her gut at his reference to Elijah. She spent so much of her life acting as if Elijah didn’t exist that being reminded of him twice in as many seconds was a little much.

“I’m a good trainer, and excellent massage therapist. But I don’t I know that I want to be a businesswoman,” she said stiffly. Then, with a roll of her eyes at his sharp expression—God, the man could nag without saying a word—she lifted one hand in surrender. “But I’ll think about it, and we’ll talk next week.”

“Atta girl. You’ve done good, Ava.” Laying one beefy hand on her shoulder, Mack gave it a quick squeeze. “You should put some of that energy into your personal life now. You know, give one of those propositions a chance. Go on a date or something.”

She almost laughed. But knowing it’d be hysterical laughter tinged with horror, Ava managed to keep her response to a shake of her head.

The answer to that’d be a no.

Actually, that’d be a hell, no. Or even a hell, no, never, no way, not a chance.

But she didn’t say any of that aloud. Not because she wanted to encourage Mack, but because she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. The poor guy had strong family loyalties, and her reasons for the multiple forms of no would slam right up against that devotion.

So Ava cleared her expression and gave him her best upbeat smile.

“I’m much too busy for dating, my friend. And from the sound of this plan of yours, just considering it will keep me even busier.”

“Maybe I should rescind the offer.”

“No way,” Ava objected, punching him in the arm. Since she knew it would be like ramming her knuckles into solid steel, she pulled the punch so it was more a graze of skin on skin. Still, her forearm sang at the impact. “Not if it means I have to rescind my no-dating rule.”

“Maybe I should make that a part of the deal. You know, all gym owners are required to have an active social life.”

Her social life was as active as she wanted. It revolved around work, fitness, hanging out with a few friends and... Hmm. Ava stopped to consider, but she couldn’t think of anything else. Which was absolutely perfect.

“That kind of talk will be factored into my considerations,” she warned.

“Forget I said it,” Mack shot over his shoulder as he headed out the door.

Ava was still laughing as she started cleaning the room for the next class. But she wasn’t changing her mind. Dating led to relationships. Relationships meant commitment. Commitment guaranteed heartache. She’d done her time, had her share. She was finished.

It was only after accepting that that she’d created the perfect life. It wasn’t the life her parents had outlined for her, it wasn’t the one her large, opinionated extended family expected of her. It wasn’t even close to the one she’d envisioned for herself when she’d been a country-club princess/society bride with no higher goal than planning the perfect party, obsessing over whether the whites were white enough and making sure all her husband’s needs were met.

But her life now? It worked for her. Why mess with something that was going well?

On the other hand, she loved Mack’s gym. It had an excellent reputation, a savvy owner, an ever-growing clientele and the perfect location for what she wanted to build. With all the traveling he was doing now for fitness competitions and training, she could see his need to take on a partner.

And she’d be good at it. She understood their clientele, she could step into almost any role. Personal training, massage, teaching classes, scheduling, bookkeeping, even advertising. She’d helped with all of that over the last couple of years, so she definitely had the experience.

What she didn’t have was money. At least, not readily available. Lips pursed, Ava finished wiping down the last mat. She had plenty in trust. But she couldn’t access the funds until her thirtieth birthday unless her parents okayed it.

Something to think about, she decided as she moved around the room gathering abandoned towels and empty water bottles.

Of bigger importance than finding the funds was the idea of working for someone besides Mack. The large bodybuilder was the perfect boss. He let Ava choose her own hours, design her own classes, come and go as she pleased. But if he brought in a new partner, that could change.

Ava strode out of the classroom into the gym’s reception area. At the chest-high desk, perched on a stool and writing in her planner sat Chloe. Probably the only woman in the world who could pull off the cat-eyed makeup with flaxen-blond dreadlocks, her tie-dye tee proclaimed her belief that Love Is the Ultimate Trip.

Part-time receptionist, all-round party girl and, much to the surprise of both, one of Ava’s best friends.

“You whipped some butts, girlfriend. I’ve rarely seen such a sweaty, bedraggled bunch limping out of that classroom as those students today,” Chloe said, her expression somewhere between impressed and amused. “And look at you, fresh as a daisy.”

“Maybe not quite daisy fresh,” Ava denied with a grin, gratefully unbraiding her hair and running her fingers through the long tresses. “I definitely need to hit the showers before my next class.”

“Half those students were hobbling,” Chloe said, giving Ava a quick up-and-down inspection. Sure, Ava’s workout bra was soaked and the tank she wore over it spotted with sweat. But her face was pain-free, her gait easy and her smile bright.

“Bet they loved it, though,” Ava shot back with a smile, angling her head to look at the latest page of art in Chloe’s planner. The double-page spread was decorated with colorful butterflies and a flourish of sharp-edged flowers bordering her weekly to-do list.

More than once Ava had suggested that her friend keep track of all her goals, appointments and scheduling on her phone or computer, but Chloe argued that the left brain was engaged by the act of handwriting. She sometimes threw in things like creativity fostering energy or a pretty planner lowering stress, but the bottom line was, Chloe detested technology. Still, her method worked great for her.

Chloe’s obsessions with planning every second of her life had started a few months back when her boyfriend had snuck out of her bed to run after his dream of being an archeologist. Or, considering that he didn’t have a degree, any plans to go back to school or any money, to dig in the dirt.

She’d accepted Ava’s shoulder at the time, but as soon as she was through crying on it, Chloe was sure her man would be back. Ava had talked herself blue in the face, but the woman wouldn’t budge.

Chloe had complete faith that Bones would be back.

To make ends meet, in addition to working part-time at the gym, Chloe worked the counter of the health-food store up the street, led bike tours through Napa Valley and ran her own dog-walking business.

“Does this mean you’re double booked tomorrow morning?” Ava asked with a frown, pointing to the sketch of a cute pair of Yorkies.

“My bike tour finishes at the Wine Train, so Mrs. Burns is dropping off Dinky and Winky for their walk and picking them up later.”

Ava’s brows arched. Apparently filling every moment of every day wasn’t enough to keep Chloe too busy to think about Bones—or Derek Herringbone to some people. Now she was double booking herself.

It was crazy. The curvy blonde had a way with people that Ava envied. Her combination of pinup girl looks, good-natured flirting and friendliness put everyone at ease. She had guys lining up to date her, but she said her heart belonged to Bones. So instead of dating, she played matchmaker to any guy who asked her out.

“I’d try to talk you into joining me on the bike tour since you could use the fresh air and the vines are gorgeous this time of year. But you have a pile of new massage appointments that I’m sure you’ll use as an excuse to avoid socializing,” Chloe said with a friendly eye roll as she handed Ava a clipboard.

“I socialize enough,” Ava replied, flipping through the list of names and client information, along with her appointment schedule. It would all be better logged into a computer with a central booking system, but like Chloe, Mack was a technophobe who preferred paper.

Silly, Ava thought. It was one thing she’d definitely want to change if she ever did partner up.

“Two of these are new,” she said, reading one of the names listed on the next day’s schedule. “Did they fill out an input form?”

“Nope. Mack added them to your schedule and said it was all good,” Chloe replied, flicking her fingers to dismiss things like client identity, health backgrounds and pertinent information.

Ava wrinkled her nose but didn’t object. She appreciated Mack’s support and all the clients he sent her way. She’d have to buy him one of those big green, filled-with-so-much-healthy-stuff-they-tasted-gross drinks as a thank-you.

He’d brush it off, she knew. A few years back, Mack had taken it upon himself to look out for her. Or as he put it, to watch her ass. He liked to think she couldn’t manage her life without him. Ava’s smile flickered, since she wasn’t sure he hadn’t been right.

Then.

Now, though, she was stronger. She’d learned to stand on her own feet, to defend herself and, yes, to watch her own ass if necessary. But Mack wasn’t ready to give up his role as her overprotective caretaker. He was stubborn that way.

“If you won’t join the tour, how about a hike through Glass Beach this weekend? I’m free Saturday morning.”

“Just us, or are you educating a bunch of strangers on the beauty of the Napa River and the history and ecosystem of the wetlands?”

“Just us,” Chloe promised before her smile winked out. “Unless Bones makes it home for the weekend.”