Tall, Dark and Dangerous Vol 1: Tall, Dark and FearlessTall, Dark and Devastating
Page 101
“Yeah,” he said. “But you only got part of mine. I had literally ten seconds before I had to leave and I blew it. What I meant to say on your answering machine was that I want you to marry me, not for the baby’s sake, but for my sake. Purely selfish reasons, Mel. Like, because I love you and I want to spend my life with you.”
He cleared his throat. “And I was going to tell you that I knew there was a part of you that could love me, and that I was going to keep coming back to Appleton, that I was going to court you until you did fall in love with me. I was going to tell you that I wasn’t going to quit, and that sooner or later, I’d wear you down—even if you only married me to shut me up.” He handed her the clipboard. “So sign these release forms, have this baby and marry me.”
Melody’s heart was in her throat. “Do you really understand what you’re asking me to do?”
He looked out the window at the dreary late-afternoon light. “Yeah,” he said, “I do. I’m asking you to leave your home and come live with me near naval bases, moving around God only knows how many times in the course of a year. I’m asking you to give up your job, and your garden, and your sister and Andy, just to be with me, even though some of the time—hell, most of the time—I’ll be gone. It’s a bad deal. I don’t recommend you take it. But at the same time, honey, I’m praying that you’ll say yes.”
Melody looked at the man sitting beside her bed. His hair was long and dirty, as if he hadn’t showered in days. He smelled of gasoline and sweat and sunblock. He looked spent, as if he’d run all the way from Virginia just to be here with her.
“Trust me,” he whispered, leaning close to kiss her softly. “Trust me with your heart. I’ll keep it safe, I swear.”
Mel closed her eyes and kissed him. Harlan Jones wasn’t the average, run-of-the-mill, home-every-day-at-five-thirty type she would have chosen if the choice could be made with pure intellect. But love wasn’t rational. Love didn’t stick to a plan. And truth was, she loved him. She had to take the chance.
“You are going to get so sick of me telling you to be careful,” she whispered.
“No, I’m not.”
Melody signed the medical procedure consent forms. “Do you think Harvard would agree to be our best man?”
Jones took the clipboard from her hands. “I want to hear you say yes.”
She gazed up at him. “Yes. I love you,” she told him.
Tears filled his eyes, but his smile was pure Jones as he leaned forward and kissed her.
EPILOGUE
MELODY JONES SAT in her new backyard, watching her neighbors, her friends and her new family gather to celebrate her wedding.
It was only February, but the South was having a mild winter, and the daffodils in her garden were already in bloom.
The growing season in Virginia was at least three months longer than in Massachusetts. She loved that. She loved everything about her new life. She loved this little rented house outside the naval base where Alpha Squad was temporarily stationed. She loved waking up each morning with Jones in her bed. She loved holding their son, Tyler, in her arms as she rocked him to sleep. She even loved the late-night feedings.
Brittany sat down next to her. “The papers came through,” she said. “Day before yesterday. Andy’s my kid now.” She laughed. “God help me.”
Melody embraced her sister. “I’m so happy for you.”
“And I’m so happy for you.” Brittany laughed again. “I’m not sure I’ve ever been to a party before with so many incredible-looking men. And all those dress uniforms! I nearly fainted when I went into the church. I suppose you get used to it.”
Melody grinned. “No,” she said, “you don’t.”
Across the yard, Jones had Tyler on one shoulder. He swayed slightly to keep the baby happy as he stood talking to Harvard and his father, the admiral. As Melody watched, he laughed at something Harvard said and the baby started. Jones gently kissed the baby’s head, soothing him back to sleep.
As Melody looked around her yard, she realized that Brittany was right. Nearly all of the men there were SEALs, and they were, indeed, an unusual-looking group.
Jones looked across the yard and met her eyes. The smile he gave her made her heart somersault in her chest. It was his “I love you” smile—the smile he saved for her and her alone. She smiled back at him, knowing he could read her love for him as clearly in her eyes.
Despite her best intentions, she had gone and married the least everyday, ordinary, average man that she’d ever known. No indeed, there was absolutely nothing normal about a man called “Cowboy” Jones. He was one hundred percent out of the ordinary—and so was his incredible love for her.
And she wouldn’t have it any other way.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-6896-2
TALL, DARK AND FEARLESS
Copyright © 2010 by Harlequin Books S.A.
The publisher acknowledges the copyright holder of the individual works as follows:
FRISCO’S KID
Copyright © 1996 by Suzanne Brockmann
EVERYDAY, AVERAGE JONES
Copyright © 1998 by Suzanne Brockmann
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario M3B 3K9, Canada.
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Tall, Dark and Devastating
Suzanne Brockman
Dear Reader,
Once upon a time, back when I was a fledgling romance author, I wanted to write a miniseries of connected books, and I did some brainstorming with my good friend Eric, searching for a unique hook to tie these books together.
In Eric’s travels, he happened across a Newsweek article about the Navy SEAL BUD/S (Basic Underwater Demolition SEALs) “Hell Week” of training. He immediately called me and announced, “I have found your miniseries hook!”
I remember running to the library (this was pre-internet), reading that article and getting goosebumps because I knew Eric was right. Navy SEALs make great romance heroes. And with my lifelong admiration for the men and women of the U.S. Military, I knew I would be able to do them justice. (And I’d love doing the research, along the way….)
And so my Tall, Dark & Dangerous series about U.S. Navy SEAL Team Ten came to be. The book you’re holding includes two installments—Harvard’s Education and Hawken’s Heart (originally published with the holiday title It Came Upon A Midnight Clear)—first published by Silhouette Books.
Don’t miss the recently reissued Tall, Dark and Dangerous (Prince Joe and Forever Blue), and Tall, Dark and Fearless (Frisco’s Kid and Everyday, Average Jones). And visit www.eHarlequin.com or my website, www.SuzanneBrockmann.com, for more information about upcoming releases and reissues!
Happy reading,
Suz Brockmann
Praise for the novels of New York Times bestselling author SUZANNE BROCKMANN
“Zingy dialogue, a great sense of drama, and a pair of lovers who generate enough steam heat to power a whole city.”
—RT Book Reviews on Hero Under Cover
“Brockmann deftly delivers another
testosterone-drenched, adrenaline-fueled tale of danger and desire that brilliantly combines superbly crafted, realistically complex characters with white-knuckle plotting.”
—Booklist on Force of Nature
“Readers will be on the edge of their seats.”
—Library Journal on Breaking Point
“Another excellently paced, action-filled read. Brockmann delivers yet again!”
—RT Book Reviews on Into the Storm
“Funny, sexy, suspenseful, and superb.”
—Booklist on Hot Target
“Sizzling with military intrigue and sexual tension, with characters so vivid they leap right off the page, Gone Too Far is a bold, brassy read with momentum that just doesn’t quit.”
—New York Times bestselling author Tess Gerritsen
“An unusual and compelling romance.”
—Affaire de Coeur on No Ordinary Man
“Sensational sizzle, powerful emotion and sheer fun.”
—RT Book Reviews on Body Language
SUZANNE BROCKMANN
TALL, DARK AND DEVASTATING
CONTENTS
HARVARD’S EDUCATION
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
EPILOGUE
HAWKEN’S HEART
PROLOGUE
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
HARVARD’S EDUCATION
For my fearless pointman, Ed.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Special thanks to Candace Irvin—friend, fellow writer and unlimited source of U.S. Navy information.
Thanks also to the helpful staff at the UDT SEAL Museum in Fort Pierce, Florida, and to Vicki Debock, who told me about it.
Thanks to my swim buddy Eric Ruben for suggesting I write a book with a Navy SEAL hero! (I owe it all to you, baby!)
Thanks to the Harvard Project volunteers from the Team Ten list (http://groups.yahoo.com/group/teamten/) for their proofreading skills: Group Captain Rebecca Chappell, Vi Dao, Kellie Jones, Amy Madden, Claire Madden, Lynn McCrea, Heather McCormack-McHugh, Debbie Meiers and Kelly Shand. Hooyah, gang! Thanks for helping to make the TDD world as typo-free as possible.
Thanks to the real teams of SEALs, and to all the courageous men and women in the U.S. military (especially the Marines! Forgive me for including the banana joke as an example of the healthy rivalry between the Navy and the Marines!), who sacrifice so much to keep America the land of the free and the home of the brave.
Last but not least, a heartfelt thank-you to the wives, husbands, children and families of these real-life military heroes and heroines. Your sacrifice is deeply appreciated.
Any mistakes I’ve made or liberties I’ve taken in writing this book are completely my own.
CHAPTER ONE
THIS WAS WRONG. It was all wrong. Another few minutes, and this entire combined team of FInCOM agents and Navy SEALs was going to be torn to bits.
There was a small army of terrorists out there in the steamy July night. The Ts—or tangos, as the SEALs were fond of calling them—were waiting on their arrival with assault rifles that were as powerful as the weapon P. J. Richards clutched in her sweating hands.
P.J. tried to slow her pounding heart, tried to make the adrenaline that was streaming through her system work for her rather than against her as she crept through the darkness.
FInCOM Agent Tim Farber was calling the shots, but Farber was a city boy—and a fool, to boot. He didn’t know squat about moving through the heavy underbrush of this kind of junglelike terrain. Of course, P.J. was a fine one to be calling names. Born in D.C., she’d been raised on concrete and crumbling blacktop—a different kind of jungle altogether.
Still, she knew enough to realize that Farber had to move more slowly to listen to the sounds of the night around him. And as long as she was criticizing, the fact that four FInCOM agents and three SEALs were occupying close to the same amount of real estate along this narrow trail made her feel as if she were part of some great big Christmas package, all wrapped up with a ribbon on top, waiting under some terrorist’s tree.
“Tim.” P.J. spoke almost silently into the wireless radio headset she and the rest of the CSF team—the Combined SEAL/FInCOM Antiterrorist team—had been outfitted with. “Spread us out and slow it down.”
“Feel free to hang back if we’re moving too fast for you.” Farber intentionally misunderstood, and P.J. felt a flash of frustration. As the only woman in the group, she was at the receiving end of more than her share of condescending remarks.
But while P.J. stood only five feet two inches and weighed in at barely one hundred and fifteen pounds, she could run circles around any one of these men—including most of the big, bad Navy SEALs. She could outshoot nearly all of them, too. When it came to sheer, brute force, yes, she’d admit she was at a disadvantage. But that didn’t matter. Even though she couldn’t pick them up and throw them any farther than she could spit, she could outthink damn near anyone, no sweat.
She sensed more than heard movement to her right and raised her weapon.
But it was only the SEAL called Harvard. The brother. His name was Daryl Becker and he was a senior chief—the naval equivalent of an army sergeant. He cut an imposing enough figure in his street clothes, but dressed in camouflage gear and protective goggles, he looked more dangerous than any man she’d ever met. He’d covered his face and the top of his shaved head with streaks of green and brown greasepaint that blended eerily with his black skin.
He was older than many of the other SEALs in the illustrious Alpha Squad. P.J. was willing to bet he had a solid ten years on her at least, making him thirty-five—or maybe even older. This was no green boy. This one was one-hundred-percent-pure grown man—every hard, muscled inch of him. Rumor had it he’d actually attended Harvard University and graduated cum laude before enlisting in Uncle Sam’s Navy.
He hand-signaled a question. “Are you all right?” He mouthed the words as well—as if he thought she’d already forgotten the array of gestures that allowed them to communicate silently. Maybe Greg Greene or Charles Schneider had forgotten, but she remembered every single one.
“I’m okay,” she signaled to him as tersely as she could, frowning to emphasize her disapproval.
Damn, Harvard had been babying her from the word go. Ever since the FInCOM agents had first met the SEALs from Alpha Squad, this man in particular had been watching her closely, no doubt ready to catch her when she finally succumbed to the female vapors and fainted.
P.J. used hand signals to tell him what Tim Farber had ignored. Stop. Listen. Silent. Something’s wrong.
The woods around them were oddly quiet. All the chirping and squeaking and rustling of God only knows what kinds of creepy crawly insect life had stopped. Someone else was out there, or they themselves were making too much racket. Either possibility was bad news.
Tim Farber’s voice sounded over the headphones. “Raheem says the campsite is only a quarter mile ahead. Split up into groups.”
About time. If she were the AIC—the agent in charge—of the operation, she would have broken the group into pairs right from the start. Not only tha
t, but she would have taken what the informant, Raheem Al Hadi, said with a very large grain of salt instead of hurtling in, ill-informed and half-cocked.
“Belay that.” Tim’s voice was too loud in her ears. “Raheem advises the best route in is on this path. These woods are booby-trapped. Stay together.”
P.J. felt like one of the redcoats, marching along the trail from Lexington to Concord—the perfect target for the rebel guerrillas.
She had discussed Raheem with Tim Farber before they’d left on this mission. Or rather, she’d posed some thought-provoking questions to which he’d responded with off-the-cuff reassurances. Raheem had given information to the SEALs before. His record had proven him to be reliable. Tim had reassured her, all right—he’d reassured her that he was, indeed, a total fool.
She’d found out from the other two FInCOM agents that Farber believed the SEALs were testing him to see if he trusted them. He was intending to prove he did.
Stay close to me, Harvard said with his hands.
P.J. pretended not to see him as she checked her weapon. She didn’t need to be babysat. Annoyance flooded through her, masking the adrenaline surges and making her feel almost calm.
He got right in her face. Buddy up, he signaled. Follow me.
No. You follow me. She shot the signal back at him. She, for one, was tired of blindly following just anyone. She’d come out here in these wretched, bug-infested, swampy woods to neutralize terrorists. And that was exactly what she was going to do. If G.I. Joe here wanted to tag along, that was fine by her.