Page 6 of Keeping a Warrior

A strong hand reached down. Devon grasped it and was yanked to her feet, where she focused her blurred gaze on a pair of golden-brown eyes that were warm with admiration.

Damn, he’s gorgeous.

J-Rob grinned at her, revealing white teeth and a set of deep dimples. “Total badass,” he rasped. “Get some.”

“Hooyah.”

As he moved away, Devon impulsively called after him, “Hey, what’s your name?”

He turned back. “Jon.”

“Well, thanks for your support, Jon.”

“No need to thank me. It was all you out there.” He paused. “Welcome to the team, CST.”

Despite her utter exhaustion and legs that felt like rubber, Devon had to suppress the urge to dance a jig. The grueling selection process, the months of training, all the doubts and the soul-searching, had led to this moment.

A Navy SEAL had just welcomed a woman to his team.

Chapter One

Four years later

“Have a great day, ma’am.”

The young master-at-arms handed Devon’s ID card back to her and snapped off a salute. She returned it crisply before navigating through the gate and onto the base. As she drove, she breathed in the briny scent of the ocean that drifted through her open windows.

Ah, San Diego.

Despite the beauty and warmth of the day, Devon was cold. She gripped the steering wheel with icy fingers, a combination of nervousness and dread roiling through her. Not for the first time, she was tempted to turn the rental car around and head back to the airport.

A few years in prison for desertion might be worth it.

With a ragged sigh, she pulled into a parking space in front of a gleaming glass and dun-colored building. She sat for a moment gazing up at it, tracing her eyes along the huge letters that hung over the entrance: AO2 (SEAL) Marc A. Lee Training Center. Her new home.

Summoning every ounce of willpower she had, Devon got out of the car. She adjusted her cover smartly over her hair, which was pulled back in a smooth bun, and tugged the bottom of her uniform blouse into place so it lay perfectly along her hips. Her trousers were freshly creased, her black shoes polished to a high gloss.

You’re ready. One foot in front of the other, girl.

At the entrance to the building, she stopped short of opening the glass door and closed her eyes.

You can do this. It’ll be different this time.

“Excuse me, ma’am.”

With a start, Devon stepped hastily out of the way. “I’m so sorry.”

“No worries, ma’am.” The man behind her saluted as she turned around. “May I be of assistance?” He was about her height, dark hair and eyes, lean and hard in his white Navy “crackerjack” uniform.

Devon’s eyes lit on the Trident pinned over his left breast. “I’m, uh, looking for the Team Three quarterdeck.”

The man nodded. “That’s actually where I’m headed, too, ma’am, if you’d like to follow me.”

“I would. Thank you.”

Once inside, they removed their covers and made their way across the lobby toward the reception desk, the heels of their shoes clicking loudly on the linoleum. A young man in blue service utilities stood as they approached.

The SEAL hung back to let her go first.