Her Sensual Protector: A Navy SEAL Romance (Night Storm Book 5)

by Caitlyn O'Leary

  Cullen chuckled, then winced.

  “Serves you right,” Leo laughed. He knew that Cullen had gotten cut with a knife along his side, not deep enough to need surgery, but enough that he’d ended up with a fuck ton of stitches.

  “Hey, be nice to the wounded. I’m being nice to the lovelorn. I’m going to give you advice and everything.”

  “Okay, I’ll bite, what’s the advice?”

  “Grovel.”

  Leo sat up straighter. This had the ring of truth. “I’m listening.”

  “I don’t know what happened, but assume it is your fault, and grovel.”

  “It is my fault,” Leo said quietly. “I had to leave. I ghosted her calls because I knew she’d push me for information on her father that I couldn’t answer. Then when she showed up at the base, I told her she needed to leave. I promised her I would call her when I was stateside, but she didn’t believe me.”

  “This is bad, Dude. Groveling isn’t going to be enough. Flowers sure as hell won’t cut it. You’re going to have to track her down when we get home and grovel in person. Take her out.”

  “She’s not going to want to see me.”

  “Where’s that Perez charm? You usually have to shake them off with a stick.”

  “Daisy’s different.”

  “They always are when they’re important. Anyway, you’re going to have to figure out a way for the two of you to talk. You can do this. Then you grovel. Take it from a man who knows, this works.”

  Raiden snorted.

  Cullen turned to him. “Wait until it’s your turn.”

  Again, Raiden just smiled and shook his head. Then he leaned forward. “I wish you luck, Perez.”

  “I’ll take it.”

  16

  It was worse than she’d been told. It was always worse. The little girl held her hand for all she was worth, which wasn’t much. Daisy could tell that she didn’t have much strength. It was obvious she was tired and undernourished. She was pulling Daisy toward her home within the internally displaced person camp here in Aden, the fourth largest city in Yemen.

  “Come, come. You will meet my mother and brothers and sisters and cousins.” Abia had been talking non-stop in Arabic since Daisy had first met her. Daisy was only understanding every third word, but it was enough. She realized that there was only her mother, no father, no aunts or uncles. This was exactly the type of woman she wanted to talk to.

  The girl looked maybe three years old, but the aid worker explained she was extremely malnourished and was in fact five years old. There was a lot of good work being done by some of the different international aid organizations here in Yemen, but it was like trying to stop a flood with a finger in a dam, it wasn’t doing a damn thing. Daisy was here to specifically evaluate the plight of the Yemeni women. She knew the statistics—one out of every four displaced families was headed by a woman or a girl. The girls were often looking to marry, often times a much older man, just to feed their younger siblings.

  “We must hurry, Miss,” the girl said for the tenth time, but it was her little body that was slowing them down. Daisy couldn’t stand it another minute. She bent and scooped her up.

  “Abia, why don’t you just point me in the right direction? My legs are longer, this will be really fast. I promise,” Daisy said slowly in Arabic, hoping she got the pronunciation correct.

  The little girl looked up at her with assessing brown eyes. Her body might look like a baby’s but her eyes were that of an adult. Finally, Abia nodded. She relaxed against Daisy and pointed. “That way.”

  How the child could determine which way to go was a mystery to Daisy, since all the tents looked the same to her, but the girl was steadfast. She continued to lead Daisy down different rows of tents until she finally screeched, “This one!”

  She scrambled to get down from Daisy’s arms.

  Abia scurried into the tent, leaving Daisy outside waiting. There was no way she was going to enter without an invite. She heard a lot of talking inside. Many people walked past her, looking at her curiously in her Western garb. She smiled and wished them well.

  The canvas door of the tent was brushed aside and a woman was staring at Daisy suspiciously, Abia by her side. “Hello. What do you want?” she asked. She was just this side of rude. Apparently, Westerners had not been her friend over the years.

  “I’m here to ask you some questions, and see if I could help you.”

  “How?”

  Daisy dropped down to a crouch and undid her backpack. She pulled out a one-gallon plastic jug of water. The woman’s eyes went wide with avarice. Daisy handed it to her. Then she pulled out twenty packets of the surprisingly tasty, protein-rich peanut butter paste that had been a Godsend for those countries enduring famine. The woman’s eyes teared up.

  “May I come in?” Daisy asked as Abia grabbed for the peanut butter packs.

  “My name is Maysa,” the woman said as she opened the tent door further. Inside it was bright, and Daisy could easily see at least eight other children sitting around. Three of them were coloring in coloring books. Two were listless, lying on blankets. Maysa called to the two oldest, a boy and a girl, to come and get the jug of water. The others stared at Daisy.

  “How can I help you?” Maysa asked. She pointed to a spot on the dirt floor with a precious rug on it.

  Daisy watched as the water and peanut butter packs were carefully put in a box. Not one child made a play for the contents, instead respecting that they would get something later. Maysa had taught them restraint, which was amazing considering the circumstances.

  “I’m here trying to better understand the specific needs of the Yemeni women. I need someone who can help me better understand what it’s like to be the head of the household for more than your own family.”

  “These children are my family. Some I gave birth to, some are my brother’s children. But they are all my family,” Maysa said with quiet dignity.

  Daisy bowed her head in apology. “I am sorry. Of course, you are right.”

  “There are other women who have taken in their neighbors’ children after their parents have died. They too, consider those children to now be their family. It is what they must do. It is the right thing.”

  Daisy’s heart swelled as she thought of the desperate straits that Maysa and the children lived in. She knew that in a camp like this, they were in desperate need of clean drinking water, as well as anything to burn so they could cook.

  “Miss? Where do you come from?” Abia’s curious eyes latched onto Daisy as she sat down next to her. Was she going to be the next generation of Yemeni women who would be eking out a living caring for other people’s children?

  “I come from America,” Daisy smiled.

  “Oooooh,” Abia sighed, her eyes wide.

  “Where do you come from, Abia?” Daisy asked.

  Abia looked up at her mother.

  “Sana’a,” Maysa said wistfully. “That is where I met your father.” She turned to Daisy. “I do not understand how I could help you.”

  “My job is to help women around the world, but first I need to understand what they need. I know that there are currently agencies working night and day to provide food, water, shelter, and medical care to everyone they can. But what is something else that can be done?”

  Maysa kept her eyes down, not answering her question.

  “Maysa, this is important. My job is to help women all over the world. During war and famine, women have different needs than men. Our troubles are different. Our sacrifices are often greater, but people don’t notice. It is my job to notice. I have many people who work with me, and we find ways to help. But we can’t help if people don’t tell us what needs to be done.”

  “You can’t help,” Maysa whispered. “It is always the same.”

  “You’re right, there is no way I will ever be able to help if I’m not told what the problem is, but if you tell me, then there is a possibility I can.” Daisy prayed that her Arabic was good enough that Maysa w
as understanding her. “Please tell me a woman’s problem.”

  Maysa looked up, her eyes determined.

  “A family with a man is sometimes better.”

  Daisy waited for her to say more, but she didn’t.

  “How is it better?”

  “The man can help to build a better home, sometimes with stones, so it will be warmer. He can sometimes find work or food while the woman cooks and cares for the children. Do you understand?”

  Daisy nodded. “Go on.”

  “We need more aid than the households with a man, but that is not taken into consideration when aid is distributed.”

  What Maysa said made perfect sense, and Daisy didn’t see that ever changing. The aid organizations were working hard to be scrupulously fair in their distribution of supplies. The only time a woman would get more is if she were pregnant or breastfeeding. Then she would almost need even more aid, because she wouldn’t be able to cook for her family, or go out to the community well and get water for her family. The women were in a catch-22. Which was the whole reason W.A.N.T. had been started.

  One-quarter of the families here in the internally displaced person camp were headed by women. Quick math told Daisy she was dealing with about two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand. The task seemed insurmountable. Even though W.A.N.T. was now bringing in hundreds of millions of dollars a year, there was no way they could cover feeding that number of people daily, and still continue their other endeavors.

  “Maysa, this is exactly the kind of information I need. I’m going to be here for the next two weeks. I am going to have some of my teammates coming here too. Can I come back and ask you more questions?”

  “Yes,” Maysa smiled.

  “Is it possible that you can bring other women to talk to us?”

  The woman nodded.

  “Thank you.”

  It was the fourth time he’d left a voicemail, and three texts had gone unanswered. If he had the sense God gave a gnat, he’d give up.

  “That’s the third time you’ve looked at your phone in the last half-hour,” his sister Maria teased him.

  He looked up and realized that everyone around the dining room table was looking at him. Most of them had grins on their faces. Assholes. Except for his Mama—he could never say anything bad about her.

  “Mijo, is something wrong?” his mother asked.

  Leo sighed. “No, Mama.”

  “You haven’t said a word all evening,” she coaxed. “Tell us what’s wrong.”

  He looked around the table at all the amused faces of his brothers and sisters and managed not to wince.

  “That’s not true, Mama. I told you that your dress looked gorgeous on you, and I’ve never seen you look more beautiful.”

  “Kiss ass,” his brother Martin coughed under his breath. He was seated next to Leo.

  Leo had to fight back a laugh.

  “Yes, you did. You’ve always been so sweet.”

  “Mama’s right,” his oldest sister, Therese agreed. Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. “And because you’re so sweet, you’re going to tell us what has you so preoccupied. Mama is bound to be worried. Is it a girl?”

  The look he shot his sister promised retribution.

  “Is it? Is it a girl?” his mother asked. It was her fondest wish that the last of her chicks would get married. That would be Leo.

  He couldn’t lie. “Yes, Mama, it’s a girl. But, she’s someone I met while overseas. So don’t be thinking wedding bells. She’s not local.”

  He watched as her mother’s face fell, and felt like all kinds of a heel. “But she lives in the States, she just works a lot overseas.”

  “When can we meet her?” his mother pressed.

  Ah fuck. I sure put my foot in it this time.

  “That’s the problem, Mama, she’s not returning my messages.”

  Martin and Luis hooted with laughter.

  “Our baby brother has finally met his match,” Luis crowed.

  “Leave your brother alone,” their mother admonished. “It’s okay, Mijo, she’ll call you. Of course, she’ll call you.” Her faith in him was blinding.

  He looked around the table. His sisters were all nodding, his brothers were all smirking. Yep, it was a typical dinner at the Perez family table.

  “So, who is the girl?” Martin asked later when they were outside on the back porch watching the myriad nieces and nephews playing on the jungle gym that their parents had set up in the backyard.

  “She’s a bigwig at an international charity.”

  Martin took a sip of his beer.

  “So you met her while you were working overseas? Did it have anything to do with the doctor who was rescued?”

  Leo was done trying to figure out how Martin always put two and two together. Martin was a detective with the Virginia Beach Police Department. He’d been a police officer for over twenty years. As a child he could put a puzzle together faster than anybody he’d known, he was the kid who figured out the plot of the movie a third of the way in. So of course he could put together the fact that when Leo was ‘out of town’ and someone like Doctor Squires had been rescued, that he and his team would have something to do with it.

  “You know I can’t answer that,” Leo said to his brother.

  “Yeah, I know. But it’s funny how the daughter of the good doctor manages a humongous international charity.”

  Leo glared at his brother.

  “Just saying.” He held up his hands.

  Leo rolled his eyes. “Don’t you have a case you should be working on?”

  “Sure, it’s called getting my brother married off.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be supplying Mom with great-grandchildren?”

  “Bite your tongue, my daughters are still in college!”

  Leo laughed and took a long sip of his Pacifico beer, then shouted at his nephew. “Derek, play nice with Lyndsey, or you have to come inside.”

  “Uncle,” came the plaintive whine.

  “If you’re not careful, I’ll also tell your grandmother you want to help with the dishes.”

  Martin and Leo chuckled as they watched Derek start to push Lyndsey on the swing.

  “So what are you going to do about the Ms. Squires?” Martin asked.

  “If she’s not careful, I’m going to take a few days off and show up where she works. But first I need to make sure she’s in-country.”

  “Why not just fly out to wherever the hell she is? Or are you afraid of going out of the United States?” Martin asked with a raised eyebrow.

  Leo laughed. “Guess not. But first I want to figure out the lay of the land.”

  “So what’s been stopping you?”

  “We didn’t part well.”

  “What did you do?” Martin asked.

  “My job. But I felt like shit about it. I let her down.”

  “I don’t know much, just read about the doc and his family. But it seems to me that anyone like this daughter of his would understand about your job and the constraints you have to live by. If she doesn’t, then she’s not the right one for you.”

  Leo didn’t say anything, he just watched the kids rioting around the backyard. The sad part was, he really wanted her to understand. She was the first woman he’d ever imagined bringing home to this menagerie. What would she think about it?

  “Leo?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “So are you going to hunt her down?”

  Leo grinned. “I don’t see as though I have any choice.”

  “Good man.”

  17

  It was the beginning of her third week in Yemen, and she was beyond exhausted. They needed to come up with a new word. But looking at the women who had a houseful of children to care for, not enough food, and were still keeping on, Daisy knew she couldn’t bitch. Hell, she at least had water and food!

  She hiked up the toddler on her hip and made sure that he was sucking on the life-saving package of peanut butter nutrient as she tried to find what tent he’
d wandered away from. Abia was holding on to her long shirt and once again jabbering away in Arabic.

  “Sweetheart, are you sure you know where his mother is?” Daisy asked for the third time.

  Again the girl nodded and pointed.

  Daisy had to get back to the aid station. Three of her directors were coming in today from the states. She wanted to give them a tour and see what their thoughts were about what W.A.N.T. could get done for the displaced women here in this specific camp in Yemen. If they could set up something here that was effective, it could be a model that they could use for different camps across Yemen, then spread to different countries. But Daisy would need their brainpower.

  “There!” Abia tugged hard at her shirt. For once the little boy seemed to be showing some interest in something other than Daisy’s necklace.

  How the little girl seemed to know everything that was going on in the camp was beyond Daisy, but over the last couple of weeks, she’d learned to roll with it.

  “Lais,” a woman in a worn blue skirt hollered out. The boy dropped his food and let go of Daisy’s St. Christopher charm and yelled out for his mother. She mopped her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt as she ran toward them. All the way over to them, she thanked Daisy profusely for finding her son.

  It was no wonder that someone would get lost in this camp that teemed with over a quarter-million people. Lais grabbed at his mother as Daisy picked up the little packet of food and wiped off the dirt. When she realized it was unsalvageable, she grabbed another one from her backpack and handed it to the mother who took it gratefully. They went off to their tent.

  “Come, Abia, shouldn’t you be learning your letters with your sister?” Daisy asked of the young girl.

  She gave Daisy a sour look. “I like being with you.”

  “If you want to do great things one day, you must learn your letters. Let’s go to your home, and you can practice. After you are done with your learning and your chores, you may ask your mother if you can spend some time with me tomorrow, how does that sound?”