Along Came Trouble (Camelot 2)

“What makes you ask?”

“You have that whole bossing-people-around thing going on. And the … you know. The physique.”

Oh, dumb. Dumb statement, dumb question, dumb Ellen.

Caleb grinned, and she flushed all over—pink heat in her chest, her cheeks. The tip of her nose, even.

“I was in the military police.”

The military had police? Why had she even asked? She could barely tell one branch of the military from another, much less remember what they all did.

Her confusion must have been obvious, because he said, “It’s part of the army. MPs deal with law-and-order stuff. Like security for soldiers—protecting convoys, bodyguard details for some of the big shots, training and mentoring police in Iraq and Afghanistan. Prison facilities for detainees, too.”

“You did all that?”

He nodded. “Most of it. Convoys, the first time I was over in Iraq, and then personal security detail for an ambassador in the Green Zone on my second deployment. Iraqi Police the third time.”

“I guess this must all seem like small potatoes after that.”

“A mission’s a mission.”

“I’m not your mission.”

“Sure you are.” He didn’t smile, but his eyes crinkled up at the corners. Playful. “Operation Ellen Callahan.”

“But they always have fancier names than that. Like ‘Desert Eagle’ and ‘Storm Shield.’ ‘Operation Storm Ellen.’ ” She realized belatedly that she’d just made herself sound like a bunker he needed to crack open and conquer.

“Catchy.”

“Thanks. So what brought you back here, then?”

“Family stuff. And I thought my job was basically done. Not in Afghanistan, maybe, but Iraq was my war. Second time I was over there, it was a complete clusterfuck—” He glanced at her. “Sorry. It was a mess.”

“You can say ‘fuck.’ ”

He smiled. “Still rude, though. My mother would have a fit. Anyway, it was a mess. We got shot at so often when we ran the ambassador out Route Irish to the airport, it became routine. But by the last time I was over there, in Najaf, civilians were walking the streets again. It wasn’t totally safe, but it was a lot better. And then the war wrapped up, and the army started focusing too much attention on bullshit again and not enough on training soldiers for combat. So it seemed to me like, time to go, you know? My family needed me, and my platoon really didn’t anymore. Iraq didn’t.” He paused. “Plus, I was really done getting shot at.”

Ellen smiled. “I promise not to shoot at you.”

“Good. That’ll be a help.”

They were silent for a while. Crickets chirped. Ellen tried to think about Caleb in combat, but her brain shied away from the desert.

“Do me a favor,” he said.

“Do I owe you a favor?”

“No. That’s why it would be a favor. Tell me why you don’t want me here.”

Oh, but I do.

“This house is mine. I don’t want …” She didn’t want anybody to take it from her—didn’t want it to be altered in any way that made it less hers. But she could hardly explain that to him in a way that made any sense, and certainly not without spilling a whole bunch of painful truths about her life with Richard that she’d rather keep to herself.

She started over. “Look, I don’t need security. There’s no real risk. These vultures”—she waved her hand around as if they were everywhere, which was sort of silly, since surely they were all in their hotel beds now, or sleeping in dead trees or whatever—“have been circling Jamie for the last twelve or thirteen years. I’m not afraid of them. I’m not going to give them more power than they deserve.”

He didn’t move, but she could feel him lean in closer. Not with his body, so much, but with his attention. “I can understand that.”

“You can?”