Contents
The SEAL's Promise
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
EPILOGUE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
COPYRIGHT
The SEAL's Promise
Grace Alexander
CHAPTER ONE
Drake McKay watched the two men who had followed him for days and knew the easy assignment would become a headache now that they'd walked into the airport. They were no longer skirting behind, poorly tailing him in their vehicle as McKay cross from outside Washington, DC to Lexington, Kentucky. Now the Bumbling Duo, as he had grown fond of calling them, pushed their way into the crowded airport ahead of him and beelined for to the pickup location that only McKay was supposed to know about.
Hiss adrenaline and curiosity spiked, bypassing a busy souvenir shop, trying to keep a close eye on Bumbling Duo as their clipped walked neared a jog, filing in between business commuters and their rolling overhead luggage. The crowd blocked McKay's view for an aggravating moment before the path cleared.
Unexpectedly, the Bumbling Duo had stopped. They scowled at the row of chairs that only McKay should've known about. Somewhere under the hard-plastic chairs was the cipher.
But he couldn't see why they stopped after the long journey to the airport. McKay edged closer and followed their line of sight. There was their hesitant. A petite woman, dressed in yoga pants and an oversized sweatshirt. The matching set stood out in a way that an operative would never want, like a tornado of pastel colors. He assessed her from head to toe, determining she was dressed more like an Easter egg that an undercover agent, as stuck her head under the chairs while kneeling on all fours, searching for his cipher.
She was the Bumbling Duo's problem, and now, McKay's too. He needed a Plan B that accounted for Miss Pretty-in-Pastels.
The Bumbling Duo advanced, having already decided on their Plan B, and their approach looked dangerously like it'd be to steal the cipher away. McKay saw the small cipher in her, and he pulled back. She turned it in her hands, oblivious to the Duo like she hadn't a clue.
Well, none of them actually knew what the cipher meant. But McKay was confident the Bumbling Duo wouldn't sit around to study the thing.
His Plan B formed. He'd stay to the perimeter, and when there were fewer witnesses, he'd extract the cipher from whoever still had it.
McKay watched the Duo, correct in their plan as they hovered, ready to engage this unknown enemy. He didn't think that was the best course of action, but they'd already proven not to be the smartest team.
They moved in to intercept her, and her eyes widened when her mouth dropped open.
"Not good," McKay muttered to himself.
One man grabbed her elbow. She winced and buckled into his grip. It almost pained him to watch. She couldn't look more honest if she had her own halo.
Fear drained the color from her face, and it was apparent she knew the Bumbling Duo valued the cipher more than her life. McKay's instinct said she didn't understand what she held.
She flinched again. McKay's gut tightened, and though he didn't want to engage, he couldn't let them take her without a fight. It was time for Plan C. His jeans and black shirt had served as decent camouflage to blend in with travelers, but together, their foursome would create a scene. Too late for that. He stalked over, ready to engage.
He met the men's gaze, then dropped to the woman with a white-knuckled hold on the cipher. "Let her go."
"Let me go," she snapped, unhappy with all of them.
McKay studied her grip. She wouldn't let go and hadn't yelled. Had he read the scene all wrong?
Maybe she was an operative playing disguised as innocent and beautiful? Either way, he didn't care. McKay formed his newest plan: take the cipher and let everyone else fend for themselves.
But… taking it from her still made him uncomfortable. He tried to smile, praying he could remember some manners.
"I'm not sure what's going on, ma'am." He gestured to the men at her sides. "But you have something of mine."
"Back off," one half of the Duo said, with a thick Spanish accent, punctuating his demand with a squeeze of her arm.
Her mouth gaped, but still, she didn't cry out.
McKay stifled a growl as he tried to place their accent. "Buddy, I wasn't talking to you."
"Don't care," he spat.
Patience. He didn't want an international incident. Next time Safehouse Security offered an easy gig, he'd know that was a joke.
The Bumbling Duo pivoted away with the woman and the cipher, leaving him no choice but to merge into the flow of travelers.
He watched from a small distance. The woman dragged behind more than she walked. The second man stayed close, hovering to hide them from onlookers.
McKay sidestepped in front again, recalling his orders not to engage. The only actions he was approved to take was to extract and secure the cipher.
Then again, the game had clearly changed. McKay decided to catch up. "Hold up, mi amigo. That's leaving with me." Several other words would have worked better than to call them his friend, but the Spanish translation for that term of endearment slipped his mind. He laid a hand on the second man. Both men stopped. The woman had no choice, but she didn't pull away and attract attention.
She was an unknown entity with a pale face and fearful eyes. McKay gave another once-over of the yoga outfit and then her hold on the cipher. She didn't act like an operative. Still, she didn't let go, no cry for help even as one half of the Bumbling Duo pressed a blade against a pastel-shirt-covered rib.
"Don't," McKay warned.
The blade pierced the fabric, she let out a quiet whimper. It was the first sound she made in his presence. Though nothing more as her pink glossed lips quivered.
He had to pull back. McKay eased back and balanced on the heels of his well-worn combat boots. Slowly, he lifted his hands. There'd be a better way to get that cipher and still keep the lady alive. "You win."
He fell back as they rushed away and stepped to an alcove to call into headquarters. They needed an update, and he wouldn't mind one too.
His boss picked up and grunted his usual hello.
McKay grit his teeth. "I ran into problems, boss. The Bumbling Duo took a woman who has the cipher."
"Isn't that's just fantastic." Joseph Corven had one inflection for all occasions—calloused, full of grit and gravel. No matter the reason or time of day. "Why are you telling me?"
"Funny."
"Then say what you need?"
McKay scanned the airport corridor. Nothing unusual. The trio was nowhere to be seen. "I'd take a clue."
His boss grumble-laughed. "N
arrow your down, McKay."
"Where did they head? I lost sight of them when I had to pull back."
Joseph spoke to someone in the background and returned. "Pulling the parking lot footage. Where'd you pick up the third operative?"
"Never saw her coming. By the time we arrived, she had the cipher in hand. Things got complicated."
"Huh. Complicated," Joseph growled.
"There was a knife, and I backed off, figuring IT and the resident genius could figure this mess out."
"Yeah, something like that. Talon's deep in the airport's system, hacking their programs. We'll send you info and screenshots soon as we get them."
"Hey, Joseph."
"What?"
"Did I thank you for this job yet?"
"Nope."
"Good."
"Get to work." Joseph coughed his equivalent to a laugh and hung up.
McKay hustled to his truck and took off, making the tires squeal as he sped down the exit ramp. He tossed a handful of change into the payment kiosk and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, waiting for the mechanical arm to lift and for HQ to hit pay dirt. His phone buzzed, and he checked the caller ID.
"What you got, boss?"
"Talon traced their vehicle, a black, four-door Taurus, to a car rental company in Virginia. They used a credit card, which was also used at a nearby motel. Head there first."
"Roger that." As he exited the garage, the sun flooded the cab of the truck, and he pulled on his mirrored aviator sunglasses. "What's up with the credit card?"
He used cash on his jobs, as he assumed all operatives did.
"No idea. Nothing turned up."
"Huh."
"Sending the address to your phone now. And McKay?"
McKay received the address, programmed the GPS, and grunted in response. He picked through empty boxes of Twizzlers, far more interested in crushing his candy craving than hearing a lecture from Joseph. "What?"
"I scanned the parking lot footage. They put that girl in the trunk. And none too carefully. I don't think we're looking at two teams. No intel on a friendly or a female op. I'd tread with care."
He found some candy stuck at the bottom of a box and chomped down on it. The trunk, huh? That's overkill. "Got it."
"I'm serious, McKay. If this is a case of wrong place, wrong time, you dust off your kid gloves and use them."
That was more of an order than McKay would admit. He hated working with untrained women. They were always ready to bawl when it was time to tangle. It was better for all involved if he could hand her to a more sympathetic operative. But he was the only one here.
"I'll behave. I promise." He sounded like he was trying to get a crazy girlfriend off the phone. "When I have an update, I'll make contact."
McKay shuddered thinking about the red-eyed, tear-brimmed woman. Finding the mystery woman dry-eyed was about as likely as him scoring a much-needed cup of joe in the next fifteen minutes.
The GPS showed the motel to be only miles away. Highway signs flew by, and cars shifted lanes to make way for him barreling down the road. He rounded a bend, saw nothing but red brake lights, and cursed. He tried to move to the left lane, but traffic was at a standstill. He slammed his hand on the top of the steering wheel. Maybe he could make a list of everything that could go wrong today and see how close he came by the time it was lights out.
He laid on his horn and crept toward the left lane. No one moved. Not an inch. Not even the moron he threatened to hit with his truck. McKay rolled the window down and motioned to the driver. Motioned may have been too conservative a description. He bore down on the man like a grizzly bear, ready for a fight to the death.
"Get over." He pointed to the shoulder of the highway. "Over. Now."
The man ignored the truck maneuvering its way into the crack of space. McKay blew the horn again and leaned out the window, ready to threaten life, limb, and loved ones.
"Move your car." Honking wasn't getting him anywhere, but he did it again. Then again and again. Still no help.
He dropped the gear into neutral and slammed the gas pedal down. The truck revved like a road warrior. The driver, who was fast becoming a sworn enemy, flinched, then tapped into the survival part of his brain and pulled over. McKay moved to the shoulder, pushed the pedal to the floor, and redlined it.
Two minutes later, the source of the traffic problem appeared. Three lanes of a four-lane highway were closed for paving. Bright orange barriers and men with neon yellow reflector vests milled about machinery.
The one open lane had a fender bender. Two men with cell phones glued to their ears pointed at their bumpers. McKay slowed and swerved into the construction entrance. The truck bounced over the unpaved gravel road but allowed him to zoom beyond the stopped traffic.
The GPS interrupted his thoughts. "In two hundred feet, exit highway and your destination will be on the right."
Thankful for an escape route, McKay pulled off the highway and saw the motel. He jerked off the street, cutting the curb, and bounced into the vacant lot.
The parking space lines were barely visible. Potholes pocked the lot and knee-high grass-lined broken curb. McKay spotted the black Taurus at the end of the lot.
McKay parked his pickup truck around the side, ran through a quick ammunition and supply check before he crept up on the shabby motel room. Then he heard muffled words and a feminine yell, and as much as he didn't like to work with weepy women, he wouldn't tolerate anyone hurting them.
He landed a kick to the cheap door, and it splintered open. He used his teeth to pull the pin from a tear gas charge. It wasn't too dangerous but would explode and create a distraction that was perfect for overwhelming a small room with smoke.
He tossed it with an abrupt reminder that they shouldn't have messed with his job.
The occupants yelled. The sparse room filled with smoke, and then they covered their faces. In the smoky motel room, they gagged and sputtered.
McKay was trained for the gas. The acrid taste in his mouth was almost pleasant, a Pavlovian effect tied to the adrenaline rush of taking on a room. He loved the pull, pop, hiss of the charges any time he used them.
He wanted to brawl, to clash, and take them down. Hard. They shouldn't have messed with his day. They shouldn't have stuffed Miss-Khakis-and-Cardigan into the trunk of their car.
He moved with a single step to the closest man and punched, breaking the man's nose, which felt as gratifying as it sounded.
McKay smiled and beckoned for more. The man staggered backward in the haze, head in hand, blood seeping through his fingers.
The second man lurched toward him, arms swinging, as he jumped side to side. McKay jabbed an elbow into his attacker. The man reeled back, sucking in the acrid smoke in uncontrolled gasps.
Hopefully, one of them would hop up so that McKay could knock them back down. He remained ready, with his knees bent and body agile.
The other man regained his bearings.
McKay egged him on. "Want some more?"
The man charged. McKay landed a knockout punch, and down he dropped. The second man rushed forward with the switchblade slashing. It looked like the same blade that had been pushed against the woman earlier.
McKay growled. "You're going to wish you didn't do that." They shouldn't have threatened the lady or his job.
McKay grabbed the man's wrist and twisted toward the stained popcorn ceiling. A bone cracked. The knife hit the dirty floor. And all the while, a feminine fit of coughs reverberated from near the back closet. She was choking on the gas and hadn't moved to escape.
"Are you hurt?" he called to the woman.
She gasped and stumbled through the smoke.
"Where's the cipher?"
"Get away from me." Her words wheezed and faded.
Of course. What had McKay expected? Annoyance and exasperation pounded in his chest. His tolerance for the tear gas neared its threshold. "Do you have the cipher or not?"
The woman tried to escape a weak man
euver, but he stepped in her way. She wasn't going anywhere, and she knew it, wilting without fresh air.
He continued to question her, gruff and with quick efficiency, but she only responded with more coughs. She sniffled and wiped at her watering eyes.
"Stay put," he said.
He pulled plastic zip ties out of his back pocket and secured the unconscious men to a table. The woman jumped from the corner and fumbled toward the broken. McKay hooked an arm around her waist. "I asked you to stay put."
She kicked until McKay set her down, clapping his hands on her shoulders. "I said, don't move." Because he had to find that cipher or all this would be for not.
McKay took in the room. The cops might be there within minutes. "I'm going to ask you one more time. Where's the cipher?"
The woman coughed, and he didn't want to threaten her. But he wasn't beyond intimidating. McKay stood to his full height and glared. He watched her eyes race around the room. She wouldn't look at him, and she wouldn't look at looking everywhere, landing on every possible hiding spot…except—bingo. He kept an eye on her and opened a drawer.
"No." She hacked again. "Don't."
The cipher.
The woman scooted to the side of the bed and jumped for his hand where he held the cipher. The tear gas gnawed into his patience. What was she doing? Not being able to think in this time constraint, his decision-making skills weren't firing like they should. He needed answers. Like who she was for starters.
He wrapped an arm around the woman and threw her over his shoulder. She was as light as she looked and she was losing steam with each gas-filled gasp.
"Wait, no! Let me go! Help! Someone help!"
"Pipe down," he said in a manner in which Joseph wouldn't have approved.
Still, she continued a feeble holler. "Help. Someone, help."
There wasn't anyone around, so her hoarse cries didn't matter. In joints like this, most everyone minded their own business. But still, she was a confusing headache. McKay didn't have to take her. He could've left her for the cops to figure out. But she looked more suited to sell Girl Scout cookies than handle thugs and cops.
She'd been focused on grabbing the cipher and couldn't have had a day of training in her life. She didn't make sense, and he wouldn't abandon her, his protective nature stoked.
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