A moment later, she released a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding, allowing her backpack to rest between her feet on the stool’s perch. Her shoulders and neck were tight with tension, and she absentmindedly brushed her hair back over her shoulders.
Tried to relax.
To think of a plan.
Visiting friends in London was out of the question—there was no need to draw any of them into danger. Not until she had this whole thing sorted.
Maybe she should just ring the police and ask them to meet her here. Tell them her flat was ransacked and she’d been too scared to return.
But it’s not like they’d just swing by the pub to take her statement—not unless there was an actual emergency. She should’ve turned over the papers to the authorities the moment she’d landed in Heathrow yesterday—rid herself of the situation altogether.
Now someone was literally hunting her down—there was no chance it was merely a coincidence her flat had been torn apart. Not within twenty-four hours since she’d returned. Not with the information she had.
A gin and tonic suddenly appeared before her, and Emma realized she’d been so lost in thought she hadn’t even noticed the bartender’s return. She took a sip, realizing she needed to be more aware of her surroundings. Careful with who she spoke to.
It probably wasn’t even safe sitting here for long.
She needed to move. Make sure she handed over the information through the proper channels—found someone who’d believe the documents she’d accidentally discovered.
She couldn’t let her guard down for even a moment.
Lifting her gaze, her stomach flipped as she saw the man she’d run into earlier heading in her direction.
***
Hunter strode across the pub, fists clenched, watching as the two men sat down at a table not far from him, completely unaware of his presence.
Jesus fucking Christ.
He felt his phone vibrating in the pocket of his pants but ignored it, his gaze trained on the two men.
If those two assholes had turned over an innocent woman for cash, he’d fucking read them the riot act himself. Forget following his chain of command and calling in the Brits to make an arrest—he’d end them himself, consequences be damned.
Just as soon as he determined the missing woman’s location.
His blood boiled at the thought of an innocent woman being held captive. It was bad enough that his SEAL team had just tracked down the Senator’s daughter—luckily, she’d been unharmed, but a Western woman being held hostage in the Middle East wouldn’t usually be so lucky. Maybe the latest victim wasn’t American, but that didn’t mean she’d be safe from those bastards—rape, torture. Other unspeakable acts.
His jaw clenched as his mind raced through varying scenarios.
The fact that the pub was filling up worked to his advantage. He side-stepped a couple walking up to the bar and surreptitiously planted a receiver on the back of one of the men’s chairs and he strode by.
He’d be able to hear every damn word they said.
After Hunter collected the details he needed from the men’s conversation, namely confirmation they’d been involved with the kidnapping of the missing archeologist, he and Mason would be on a flight back to the States.
Maybe even sent back out on an op to retrieve her.
It would just fucking kill him to leave those assholes here, untouched.
He had no idea what his next assignment would be though.
His SEAL team deployed all over the world, at Uncle Sam’s beck and call 24/7. Hunter had joined the Navy fresh out of high school and served his country for fifteen years. Watching the twin towers fall on 9/11 had cemented his career in the military. Same with many of the guys he served with.
At thirty-three, he’d given nearly half his life to the service. To tracking down low-life scum on all corners of the world—Drug lords. Terrorists. Arms dealers. Human traffickers.
He’d seen shit no one should ever have to. Slept in places he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. But he’d been damn proud to serve his country. To help the weak and innocent.
Guys like him weren’t made for a desk job anyway. He needed to be moving. Training. Fighting alongside his men.
If giving up his R&R this week served the greater good, then so be it.
He’d signed over his life to his country years ago.
Hunter did a double-take as he sank back onto his barstool a moment later, the beautiful redhead perched only a few feet away. Mason’s gaze was flicking back and forth between the men Hunter had just bugged and two young women in slim fitting skirts and button-down blouses that hugged their full breasts.
Hunter smirked and cocked his head, and Mason nodded, nonchalantly glancing over at the men they’d been tracking.
“Those two idiots didn’t even see you walk by,” Mason commented.
“Works to our advantage that way.”
“Let’s hope they’re feeling talkative.”
“Yep. Doubt they’ll announce where our missing woman is though.”
“So what? Now you followed me over to the bar?” the beautiful redhead asked in her smooth British accent, her green eyes flashing in irritation as she looked over at Hunter. She crossed her denim-clad legs, a leather backpack resting at her feet on the stool’s perch. “In case you didn’t catch on earlier, I’m not interested.”
Hunter raised his eyebrows, taking in her pink lips and slightly flushed cheeks. With her fair skin, even the slightest shade of pink showed up immediately. Enticingly.
Her silken red hair hung past her shoulders, just touching the swells of her gorgeous breasts. As she lifted a glass to her mouth, he tried not to smile as he watched her take a sip. This woman looked sexy no matter what she did.
And damn it all to hell, he had work to do.
“I was sitting here earlier,” he said coolly. “Maybe you were the one stalking my friend and me? Decided to come sit by him and wait for me to return?”
“Stalking? It rather looks like you chased me over here—all the way across the pub, I might add.”
“Mason Ryan,” Mason said, extending a hand. “We’d love for you to join us.”
The redhead looked momentarily startled at his interruption but extended her hand as well.
“Emma,” she said, without offering her last name. “And no thank you. I’m quite fine here on my own.”
Alarm bells began going off in Hunter’s head as she lifted her backpack up to her lap, her fingers clutching it tightly.
Emma.
Funny that she had the same name as the missing archeologist. But that was probably a common British name. And the missing woman was exactly that—missing. Not sitting in a pub in London glowering at him.
Looking sexier than any woman had a right to.
“Don’t worry about him,” Mason said easily, cocking his head toward Hunter. “He’s always in a bad mood.”
“I can imagine. Are you sure that you want to spend your evening in his company?”
Hunter smirked and surreptitiously adjusted his earpiece, listening in on the men’s conversation. Interestingly enough, Emma seemed annoyed that he hadn’t introduced himself yet, her searing gaze flickering his way. The pout on her lips was cute as hell though.
What was that expression? The lady doth protest too much?
At this rate, he and Mason were going to have to move if they wanted to concentrate and get their job done. He winked at Emma but glanced back over toward the men, keeping an eye on their movements.
A hint of a blush crept over her cheeks again, and he cleared his throat.
“No one’s forcing you to sit there, princess. But I have to admit, I don’t mind. Didn’t mind when you bumped into me earlier, either.”
“I already said—”
“Are you from London?” Mason asked. “Maybe you can show us around later. Tell us the best places to hang out. I got lost on the damn subway system last night.”
; “Not originally, but I work here now. And I’m sure you can convince some other woman into showing you two around the city.”
“Fair enough,” Mason said with a smile. “So what do you do?”
Emma seemed to relax slightly, but the men Hunter was listening to were animatedly talking now, and he narrowed his gaze in concentration, occasionally stealing a glance her way.
“Why don’t you tell me about yourself first?”
Mason shrugged. “Not much to tell. I’m in the U.S. military—same with Hunter, here. We’re on a vacation of sorts—R&R.”
“And you decided to come to London?”
“We were flying back from a deployment,” he said without elaborating.
Although the woman seemed innocent enough, there was no need to go around advertising in the middle of a British pub that both of them were Navy SEALs. They couldn’t exactly hide the fact when they were back in Little Creek, but in Europe? Letting her know they were U.S. military was more than enough.
Especially considering they’d never see her again.
“And you’re the only two men in the pub who ordered a soda instead of a pint?” she asked, brushing some of that long, red hair back behind her shoulders. “Seems somewhat strange, doesn’t it?”
Her hair fell back into place, a strand teasing the swell of one breast again, and Hunter’s groin tightened.
He suddenly imagined her riding him in bed—her flaming red hair wild as she bucked on top of him, those soft, full breasts bouncing up and down, her mouth forming a perfect “o” as she cried out in pleasure.
Hell.
He’d been with a hundred women.
What was so special about her?
She was sexy as hell but far too observant for her own good.
“We’ve got a strict training regimen,” Mason explained. “So are you going to tell us what you do, or do I have to guess? Model maybe? Trapeze artist?”
Her gaze flickered over to Hunter.
“You’re awfully quiet considering you were nothing but talk earlier,” she said in her smooth British accent.
Hell.
Got him every time.
No sense in telling her he’d bugged a nearby table and was currently conducting surveillance of two operatives who possibly had ties to terrorists in the Middle East. Or that she was probably in over her head just be sitting here beside them.
“Quite observant, aren’t you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Especially since you’ve told me several times you’re not interested.”
His mouth quirked up as she flinched.
“Like Mason already said, we’re military. U.S. Navy. We’re just here in London for a few days on R&R. Might as well see the sights while we’re in town. And what do you do aside from looking gorgeous while following men around pubs?”
She flushed, much to his amusement, the slight pink on her cheeks arousing as hell. Hunter imagined she’d look like that as she came—with all her fair skin, she’d probably flush all over. Her cheeks, her breasts.
Damn shame he wouldn’t ever find out.
The two men he was watching were wasting a hell of a long time talking about the food and beer. By the time he heard anything of relevance, Emma would probably be long gone.
Just like the supposed missing British archeologist.
“I had no idea you were sitting here,” Emma said, looking affronted. “I came into the pub to order a drink like everyone else.”
Hunter’s ears perked up as the men finally began talking about the matter at hand.
“They don’t know what happened to her,” one of the men said in a thick accent. “She was located in a bazaar in Kabul but then vanished.”
He clenched his fist.
Vanished?
What the fuck?
“How the hell could she simply disappear?” the other man asked. “Weren’t several men tracking her?”
“Somehow she escaped.”
The other man bit out a curse. “She has the documents we need. See this?” he asked.
Hunter’s gaze flicked back to the table, where the two men looked at some papers. “Two pages are missing. We find her, and we retrieve what we need. She can’t have that information.”
“They were fucking supposed to handle this.”
“They didn’t. It’s possible she’s on her way back to London.”
“We’ll find her. Do you have a picture?”
“Of the woman? Yes. She’s quite beautiful. Pity she escaped.”
Hunter narrowed his gaze, exchanging a confused glance with Mason.
“Doesn’t sound right,” Mason said in a low voice, pulling out his phone. “I’ll contact the CO and see if we missed something.”
Hunter nodded, his gaze landing on Emma again. If the missing woman had escaped yet no one had heard from her, then where the hell was she? Were they following the wrong lead?
And why was this chick in the pub acting so damn mysterious?
“I can see you’re not even paying attention,” Emma said, swirling the ice cubes around in her glass. She took a sip of her drink, and he watched as she swallowed, enjoying his view of the long, slender column of her throat. The soft cashmere that hugged her breasts as his gaze dropped lower. “Spot another woman you fancy?”
Hunter’s took in her wide green eyes, flushed cheeks, and full, pink lips.
Fucking beautiful.
Emma.
But it couldn’t be. The name was just a coincidence.
“I’m all ears, princess,” he said, his voice gruff. “You seem reluctant to share anything about yourself. Maybe you usually just sit around your castle all day? I’m sure you could convince plenty of British guys to wait on you hand and foot. Seems like it’d get boring after a while though.”
“Princess? Not hardly. And I certainly don’t ‘sit around’ all day doing nothing.”
He cocked a brow, watching as she smirked at him, her green eyes sparking. Hell if he didn’t love a woman who was a challenge. Not that he had time to play games.
“Another soda?” the female bartender asked, leaning up against the bar again. Her gaze flicked back and forth between Hunter and Emma, amusement filling her eyes.
Annoyed by the interruption, Hunter gruffly said no.
Emma flipped her red hair over her shoulders again in what was clearly a practiced move. He wouldn’t mind running his fingers through all that softness. Finding out if she tasted as delicious as she looked.
She cleared her throat, sounding as prim and proper and British as she had when she’d first bumped into him. “If you really must know, I’m an archeologist.”
Hunter’s stomach dropped.
Chapter 3
Emma calmly took a sip of her gin and tonic and tried to ignore the palpitations in her heart as piercing blue eyes bore into her. As Hunter’s hand, resting on top of the bar, clenched into a fist. The tattoo of a snake curling up his forearm was somehow both intimidating and enticing. As was all that corded muscle beneath his skin.
He was gruff and macho, but all that strength wrapped up in tanned, toned, flesh?
Hotter than hell.
As were his broad shoulders, muscled chest, and thick biceps.
The stubble covering his strong jaw.
After the week she’d had, the last thing she needed was a macho American military guy following her around the pub and hitting on her.
Asking too many questions.
Making her stomach do flips any time he looked her way.
At the moment, all she needed was to calm her nerves with a drink or two while she figured out her next move. While she determined just how deeply in trouble she actually was. Certainly she should be able to make it to the police station. How many men could actually be after her?
Her gaze slid to her brown leather backpack, now resting on her lap. The documents she’d found in Afghanistan were there, as well as backup copies on a thumb drive she’d carefully sewn into the lining.
Look at her—so dam
n domestic.
Sewing.
She’d laugh if the situation wasn’t so out of control and beyond anything she could’ve imagined.
And when she’d ducked into the pub earlier because she was certain she was being followed, she’d nearly run into the first person who’d crossed her path. A man who was now perched two barstools away from her, looking dangerous and sexy and too damn attractive for his own good.
The guy she was seated beside seemed harmless enough—tan, blond hair, blue eyes. He probably lived on a beach somewhere in the US and went surfing every weekend. He looked muscular and fit. All American.
But just because he was military didn’t mean he was used to dealing with the type of men who were after her.
Ruthless businessmen who’d turned her over to armed insurgents.
Who’d thought nothing of taking cash for an innocent woman.
She’d heard about the American woman who’d been kidnapped a few weeks ago yet had been foolish enough to travel to Afghanistan anyway while conducting her research. Thinking that she’d be safe posing as an aid worker.
Assuming no one would notice when she’d snuck away from the others.
A chill raced down her spine at the memory of being grabbed from the streets. Nearly tossed in the back of a truck. She’d managed to escape and hide behind some of the booths in the market until nightfall, and she hadn’t returned to the aid office where she worked.
She’d simply vanished.
“Are you all right?” Mason asked beside her, his expression concerned.
She realized she’d gone perfectly still, staring at her drink, as she thought back over the past week.
“Fine,” she said, mustering up a smile. Forcing herself to glance around the crowded pub. She was safe here—safe from any outside threats, at least.
It was the man whose penetrating gaze kept sweeping her way that sent her heart skittering to a halt—Tall. Dark. Mysterious.
She didn’t need a distraction like him right now.
Or ever.
“You’re an archeologist?” he asked as he carefully watched her, his voice a deep rumble that sent shivers of a different sort racing down her spine.
Tempted by a SEAL (Alpha SEALs Book 8) Page 3
