Bachelor SEAL (Sleeper SEALs Book 5)

by Sharon Hamilton

“Anyone?” she said too quickly.

  “Don’t play games, Halley.” He decided to let her have it the same way she’d done to him. “Don’t flatter yourself to think that there’s any other reason I’m here talking to you than because of this terrorist thing. I don’t want to be here any more than you want your life turned upside-down. But we got to work together. Otherwise, you—well, all three of us are in danger.” He saw J.J. nodding furiously.

  Halley was breathing heavily, and, thank God, she apologized with her eyes closed.

  “I’m sorry. It’s only been a few hours since all this was thrown in my face. I’m trying to keep up, as usual.”

  “That’s okay,” J.J. said, patting her hand. “We thank you for trying your very best. All we can ask. It’s a big help having you here so quickly.”

  “We should have sent J.J. there in the first place,” Morgan grumbled and crossed his arms and legs.

  “Cut it out. Quit feeling sorry for yourself, Hansen,” J.J. barked.

  “So can I just ask you guys how you got the tip that lead to this investigation? I mean, nasty people are all around the U.S. I’m sure this guy was on the FBI’s radar for a long time before now. So, of all the jerks out there who might want to do something, why do you think they targeted me?”

  “You spoke to a Muslim girls’ school near Sacramento last year, right?” asked J.J.

  “I did. They loved it. Invited me back. Several of those girls will be at my Hero Summit in Hawaii next summer.”

  “The FBI forwarded this article in the local mosque newsletter. This wasn’t a general circulation publication. Only reserved for senior staff and revered worshipers.”

  Morgan followed up by placing the photocopy right in front of her. At the top of the article was a picture of Halley, with a bull’s eye centered over her torso.

  “I have the translation of this if you want to read it. But it gives information about your events, including a link to your website where all your travel dates are listed, along with where you’re speaking. We think this was the seed of what later became an operation,” he continued.

  “I just remembered. Got a cryptic response to my last blog post—something about leading women down the path to destruction.”

  “That’s pretty irrefutable evidence. Can we get our guys to look at it?”

  “I deleted it.”

  “Then we’ll need your computer,” said J.J.

  “Hold on a minute. I have all my life stored on this computer.” She pointed to her briefcase. “I never go anywhere without it.”

  J.J. and Morgan exchanged a glance.

  “Halley, we’ve got lots of trails we’re trying to follow, but I think we need to get one of our guys over here to check your computer out. If someone wanted to track your whereabouts, they could do it through your laptop,” Morgan said softly.

  “But my work—”

  He chose to interrupt her by gently placing his hand over hers on the table. “Halley, we’ll protect your work. I think it’s time to buy yourself another computer. We can download everything you feel is critically important, protect everything else. But we have to get our specialists on it to at least find out if there are any strings we can pull or other paths to follow. It’s a start.”

  She was watching his hand covering hers. Very slowly, she slid her palm back, placing it on her lap beneath the table, and took a deep breath.

  “He’s right, Halley. We have to turn this thing in. It might be infected with all kinds of malware and tracking devices. And if not, well, at least we’ll know.”

  “If they’re tracking me, they know I’m here, at this address.”

  “Have you opened your laptop since you landed?” J.J. asked.

  “No, not yet.”

  “Then you buy a new one while we get this one looked at. I’ll take you tomorrow to get that accomplished,” Morgan added.

  “I just feel like all my clothes have been ripped off me. Everything of my personal life is on that computer. Everything I’ve been working on for several years. My book, my seminars, the content for the event in San Jose. All my personal emails and conversations with vendors, helpers, and fans. How will I replace all that?”

  “Eventually. But isn’t it worth it if it will keep you safe?” J.J. asked.

  Morgan thought he knew what would really strike home for Halley. “If we can get a jump on things, perhaps we won’t have to cancel the event. Without your computer, our hands are tied.”

  Her answer was to pull her red laptop out of her briefcase and hand it to J.J. She didn’t hand it to Morgan, but that was okay. She was on board, and at least they were starting to get somewhere.

  J.J. gave her a thumbs-up. “Good girl.”

  Chapter 12

  Morgan took Halley to the Coronado Rose, followed her up to her room, checked all the windows, and double-checked the locking device on the door. He peeled off two hundred dollar bills and handed them to her.

  “We’ve got you under the name Jenny Horn, just so you know. We’ve booked tomorrow night, too, just in case, so housekeeping won’t bug you about a move time in the morning. I’ll try to call the room in the morning and touch base, okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “Use cash for room service. Don’t sign anything or give your name to anyone, but if you’re calling the front desk, you’re Jenny, okay?”

  “Or, I thought that was payment in advance for services.” She gave him a royal smirk.

  “Very funny. I’m serious about all this, Halley. You’ve got to remember not to use your real name anywhere or be seen.”

  “I think I can manage to follow that without screwing up, I think.”

  She looked at the money again. It made her feel awkward, but she planned to take a long hot shower and just crash. She’d see how the information settled after a good night’s sleep and a morning meditation.

  “So I can’t use my cell? You know I used it to text Gibril?”

  “Don’t answer anybody’s calls or texts on that phone, and don’t open it up until I get an okay. We’ll get you a phone you can use tomorrow. Just hold off everything until we do some checking. I’m thinking you could let people know you got your computer ripped off in the airport, something like that? We might have to do that with the cell as well.”

  “So you’re thinking I have to turn that in, also?”

  “Waiting to find out. So please don’t use it to tip anyone off.”

  “Don’t they have tracking devices on them?” she asked. Here she was asking for advice from the one man she thought she’d never trust again. But she saw how hard he was trying.

  “Halley, I never had to deal with this shit, so I have no idea.” He did look like a kid again. And she liked that he was being honest.

  She pulled the phone out and handed it to him. “Then you take it. No peeking. I don’t give you permission to go digging into places you don’t belong.”

  “Got your message loud and clear. No worries there. I wouldn’t want to mess up the big boys. Wouldn’t be very smart, would it?”

  She caught him checking out her sweater. No doubt standing with her, alone in a motel room, brought back memories of their early days when none of this was on the horizon. When he realized he’d been caught, that quick red face gave him away.

  “Sorry.”

  It was the way he was wired up. For all of Gibril’s refinement, Morgan had power and forward momentum. He was a rocket shot out of a cannon, and Gibril was like a walk in a beautiful forest. They couldn’t be more opposite.

  She decided to send him an olive branch, not to encourage him, but just to put water on some of the fires that had been burning for both of them for ten years.

  “Like I said to you at the house, I know this is difficult for you, too. Thank you for trying. And thank you for caring about my welfare, even if it is a job and a paycheck.”

  She was hoping he’d take the joke, and she could see it stung a bit, but he softened. “It’s much more than a job and a paycheck.
I mean that from the bottom of my heart.”

  They stared into each other’s eyes for several seconds. They never used to do this. It was all go at it, get to the sex or the argument. But tonight, they just looked at each other’s faces and absorbed what they saw. She saw a man damaged by his own hand and burdened by a past that wasn’t his fault. She saw a man who had one speed, and that was fast. On. Present. No daydreams or visions of greatness. He used to tell her he was just a man who was hired “to get ’er done” because he could. He did the things others couldn’t do, and for that, he’d paid a heavy price. But he also didn’t want anyone’s pity.

  And she was a woman who couldn’t take the energy because it interfered with her own. He needed someone who could support him. She needed the same thing, and neither one could give the other what was needed. That was the long and the short of it.

  Unmasked and without the emotional overtones, the angry upsets, and hurts, she could see better who this man really was. And he wasn’t so threatening. Or maybe he’d learned to couch some things, change his behavior in ways she’d not noticed. This could be the way he was all along, and she just never saw it.

  Any way she served it up, she came to the same conclusion. She’d heard people say it on military blogs or at functions she used to attend. She’d seen it written on a plaque located on an island in the South Pacific, carved by men who knew what they were talking about and who’d just lost their best friends on a foreign beach. She stepped toward him without touching, inhaled, and said, “Thank you, Morgan for all you’ve done and continue to do to keep me safe. Thank you for my freedom. I appreciate you more than I’ve ever told you before.”

  He was going to grab her and kiss her, but she pushed him away.

  “Whoa! I didn’t mean that. I said ‘thank you’, not ‘come fuck me.’”

  His smirk was so disarming, in spite of how wrong it was to love seeing it. He was forbidden fruit all the way. Every part of him. The way he looked, the imaginary way he made love to her in her dreams—full tilt without holding anything back. He made quick decisions just like she did, like it was ready, fire, and then aim. He’d always give his all and bear the consequences of the haunting afterward. He wouldn’t change for anyone or anything because being damaged looked good on him. Like a uniform that was perfectly tailored. His scars were his medals. He was a hurricane sometimes without a focus, and he’d never be tethered to anyone, no matter what the cost. But he could, and she honestly believed this with her whole heart, that he could save her from whomever was after her.

  Just before he opened the door, he turned. “Darlin’, I’m revved and ready to go if and when you ever decide to drop that gate.”

  Chapter 13

  J.J. had gotten permission for the new disconnected SEALs from Kyle’s squad to come for an interview, so they scheduled it for ten. They were to use the Federal Building downtown, which Commander Lambert had set up. Lambert also got J.J.’s apartment cleared and a five thousand dollar stipend for Morgan. Both men would have the keys delivered to their box later in the afternoon, along with the address.

  Morgan was told Lambert was pleased with Halley’s cooperation, anxious to get eyes on her computer and laptop. They were to leave them with Lambert’s associate in San Diego so they could be sent back to Quantico.

  Morgan took a chance and dialed Halley’s room from J.J.’s burner. He wasn’t sure if she’d pick up.

  “How you holding up?”

  “I didn’t sleep well, even with the hot shower. I’ve had breakfast. When do I get my computer? And I’ll need a phone. Are you guys going to take me?”

  “We have an interview in about an hour. Can you hold off until after then, say closer to noon? Remember, do not go outside the room for any reason. Room service is okay.”

  “Okay. How did you sleep?”

  “I slept better after the sixth cold shower.” He exaggerated it a bit. He’d only taken three.

  She giggled, and it was the first time in ten years he’d heard that.

  Damn!

  There was nothing worse than having a stiffy and not having a way to cure it. He had little hope Halley had decided to be that cozy, but things were definitely heading in that direction. He was also a realist and knew under pressure people did things they wouldn’t do otherwise. Her fear could be making her more needy, and he had to be ready for that. He was going to play it completely hands-off.

  When they arrived at the interview room, the two young former SEALs had already arrived and been given coffee. They looked like high school kids caught for stealing a government car. Their bright orange hair looked like it came out of a bottle. No way they would pass for any Middle Eastern terrorist.

  “I’m Stanley,” the taller one said as he extended his long arm for a shake.

  “And I’m Taylor,” the shorter one said with a slight Southern accent.

  Morgan and J.J. introduced themselves, as well. J.J. motioned for them to sit down. “So what did Kyle tell you about this operation?”

  Stanley volunteered first. “Well, first of all, he said you might have a place for us. Wouldn’t be exactly the Navy, but you might be able to use our assets.”

  “And you needed someone who could interpret, perhaps more?” added Taylor.

  “Did he say where this mission might be?” Morgan asked.

  “Well, it’s kind of not a secret somebody high level is recruiting SEALs. We were kinda hoping that was the gig. But we’re looking for any good opportunity to get blown up or shot at,” Taylor answered.

  The two friends chuckled at their own joke. Morgan didn’t think it was funny. It was obvious they’d not been overseas yet, where the Gates of Hell were located. Seeing them changed a man, and they didn’t give off that vibe.

  J.J. spread out a couple of pictures and then handed them the article in Arabic with Halley’s picture at the top. “You recognize any of these actors?”

  The boys shook their heads. Stanley squinted at the newsletter post. “You want me to read this to you? We both can read and write Arabic. We know a lot of the dialects, too.”

  “Knock yourself out,” Morgan instructed.

  In unison, they read the short article. Their voice inflections were nearly perfect. With his eyes closed, Morgan could feel like he was listening to a native speaker. Both he and J.J. were impressed. Kyle was right.

  “Impressive, although I wouldn’t know if you were just reading me gibberish, but kudos. You’ve studied well, gents.”

  J.J. nodded agreement.

  “Yessir. We take to languages like riding a bike,” said Taylor.

  “Wish we’d had you on some of the missions we did in the sand box,” Morgan answered. “Could have used you. We could never find enough interpreters especially ones we could trust.”

  “That was our plan, but…” Stanley shrugged.

  “Okay, so here we have it in a nutshell, and I have to know today if you’re in or out,” J.J. began. “We have a likely threat against this woman,”—he put his forefinger on Halley’s picture—“but we believe they will be making an example of her at a very public forum. She has a large workshop coming up in San Jose in about three weeks. We need to stop the people from carrying out this attack.”

  “That’s cool,” said Stanley.

  “Who would we be working for?” asked Taylor.

  “We’re under a covert division of the CIA, run by retired Commander Greg Lambert. They’re the brains; we’re the grunts in the field. We need you guys to infiltrate this mosque.” He showed them the pictures of the Imam in front of his house of prayer. “Someone here knows about what’s going to happen. If you can, we need you to quickly get inside or learn who is inside and how they plan on doing the deed.”

  Both boys were enthusiastic.

  “If you have a needle, we’ll sign in blood, sir,” said Taylor.

  Morgan chuckled. He remembered being so gung-ho. “You do know this is a temporary assignment. No guarantee there will be another. But I’ve been
authorized to tell you the CIA is watching you very closely, and if this works out, you might have a new job working permanently for them. This one is purely undercover. You’ll have to completely disassociate yourselves from your family and most of your friends.”

  “I got no family, sir,” Stanley said as if he was proud of it. “But Taylor here has eleven sisters.”

  Morgan laughed. “Tell me they don’t live in San Diego, please!”

  “Nosir. They’re all in North Carolina with my folks. They don’t get out here much at all, and I never can go home. They parade their friends in front of me. Those girls won’t leave me alone. Nosir, I never go home.”

  “I thought I detected that Palmetto accent,” said J.J.

  “So you guys will have to figure out some story to get inside. I assume you know the customs, right? You can pass for a real Muslim?” Morgan asked.

  “Sure can do. But I think we want to look like we don’t know it all,” said Taylor. “Like we’re lost. We just got booted from the Teams, and we’re disillusioned.”

  “Some men in your situation would be,” said J.J.

  “You’ll have to figure out a way you came to the faith and all,” added Morgan.

  “I think we could say we studied the language, as part of our training. And then, somehow, we got the real story of why U.S. troops were there, and we felt we wanted to support the freedom cause, something like that.” Taylor looked at Stanley, who nodded. “We’ll work on it.”

  “Sounds good to me,” said J.J. “I can’t let you have these things here, so commit them to memory. You’ll need to buy a couple of burner phones and give me the numbers, and from now on, only use those phones. Store you cells for after the mission, okay? Tell your families you’re traveling, broadening your education so they don’t go to the police or bug the Navy, okay?”

  “Sure thing. I can do that,” said Taylor.

  “I got this paperwork you have to fill out and turn in here. They’re going to take your picture for internal I.D. But you understand, if you get caught, no one knows about you and there won’t be anyone coming to your aid. Unlike the SEAL teams, there’s no backup. But Morgan and I here will go overboard to make sure you make it out alive. No guarantees.”