by Kaylea Cross
They exfiltrated the same way they’d entered, then headed north to a small wall where they’d agreed on a rendezvous point. He dangled both sacks over the wall and Baxter took them from him. Axelle started climbing and he put both hands on her backside and gave her a boost. A gigantic roar made him pause, the hairs on the back of his neck springing upright in a primitive recognition of danger. The lions.
Sorry, boys.
He vaulted the wall and ducked into the car, which idled at the curb. He wrenched off the NVGs and threw them in the boot of the hatchback with the rest of their gear as Cullen drove calmly away. They headed to a quiet suburb and switched vehicles. Baxter had one cub in the crook of his arm; it had doubled in size since Dempsey had last seen it and it cried hungrily. Axelle passed Baxter a bottle she’d prepared earlier. Taz fed the other cub, a goofy smile on his face.
Dempsey refrained from rolling his eyes because he figured he was an even bigger sap about the woman at his side. She’d used her diplomatic connections to get help with a little wildlife work. It was unethical as hell but after everything that had happened lately, no one was complaining.
They headed to a small airstrip an hour north of the city, loaded the cubs into a crate and, with a salute to his squad, he and Axelle climbed aboard a small twin-prop plane, which immediately taxied along the runway and took off. The boys were headed for parts unknown, and he’d been given a month’s leave to do some private security consulting with an outside company.
“Your father came through.” He sank into his seat at the back of the aircraft. The pilot turned the lights off as he headed north. No point giving the enemy something to shoot at.
She’d been reinstated by the Trust when the former director had unexpectedly quit.
Axelle smiled and leaned back into his arms. “He did. So did you.”
Dempsey covered them both with a blanket and settled back for a long flight.
She nuzzled at his neck and sighed, looking regretfully at the front seat. “Pity about the pilot, otherwise we could…” She whispered things in his ear that did little to settle his blood.
He tucked her closer to his side. She looked like a ninja but smelled like lavender. “We’ve got four weeks.”
Time for things to calm down regarding the Russian spy scandal, as well as to end speculation as to what had been sunk in the English Channel during an RAF training exercise. He was providing Axelle with some close protection in case anything unexpected popped out of the ether in the meantime. He kissed her hard. “We’ve got plenty of time to continue this later.”
Her lips curved into a beautiful smile. She kissed him back for a moment, then pulled away with a gleam in her eye. “Can you imagine what I could do with a whole squad of SAS soldiers?”
“You’re thinking about other men when I’m kissing you?” He grinned.
“Only in a purely professional capacity.”
“How about you concentrate on what one SAS soldier is going to do to you when we get back to camp.” He slid his hand over her breast beneath the blanket, took the lobe of her ear in his teeth and bit gently. Made her groan and writhe until he almost forgot about the damned pilot. He pulled back as a thought struck him. “Josef isn’t there, right?”
Her eyes glittered in the darkness. “Because of the sheer number of laws we just broke, it’s just you and me while we get the cubs set up with the surrogate. Josef’s teaching my course.” She laughed and tunneled her fingers through his short hair. “It’s a win-win situation. He gets work experience for his résumé. And I get time to try and find a way to raise these cubs in their natural environment.”
A few days ago the other tagged female had tragically lost her cubs. Anji had taken their fur, which they would wrap around these cubs and then present them to the pining mother in the den. It was a long shot, but if the mother accepted them it would solve a lot of problems. If it didn’t work, Dempsey knew Axelle would figure something out.
She yawned and laid her palm against his heart. He listened to the sound of her breathing get slower and more even as she drifted off to sleep. It had been a helluva day. He kissed the top of her head.
Not long ago the thought about what he was going to do after he quit the army had scared the crap out of him. Now he knew he was going to spend the rest of his life with this woman on her relentless crusade to save wildlife. For years he’d been willing to die for his country but he’d never seriously thought about what he wanted to live for. Finally he’d found it. Axelle Dehn.
A woman who knew everything about him and loved him anyway.
He thought of his sister, who’d died too young. And the young boy who’d two days ago received a life-saving operation in Paris. Life wasn’t fair, but Dempsey had done his best to even the score. With Axelle by his side he’d keep trying, keep fighting the bad guys, but also learn to enjoy it. He hugged her closer. Life was too precious to waste.
Acknowledgments
In 2010, my family and I spent three months living in northwest France. Every day, my husband would take the car and drop the kids at school, leaving me to work in peace and solitude in our tiny rented cottage. I planned to write a category novel, but this story just wouldn’t leave me alone. Eventually I finished with my snow leopards, and even though it wasn’t the standard Romantic Suspense, I loved it. So, thanks to my family for traveling with me on these weird and wonderful adventures, and for putting up with me as I insist we watch the Planet Earth snow leopard episode “just one more time.”
I grew up on stories from my dad’s days as a soldier in the Parachute Regiment, and my admiration for the Special Air Service stems back to him. There was never a war film that he didn’t critique or a piece of military history that he didn’t already know. I hope I didn’t get any major military details wrong (crossing fingers). If I did—Sorry, Dad!
I want to thank my editor, Deb Nemeth, for doing such a wonderful job, and for knowing my voice well enough not to dilute, but rather to enhance the story.
Thanks to my long-suffering critique partner, Kathy Altman, who sees more rough drafts than any person should have to suffer, and to Loreth Anne White for being my Skype buddy. And thanks to all the indie authors who have been so supportive of fellow writers’ publishing endeavors.
* * * *
About the Author
Toni Anderson is a bestselling author of Romantic Suspense. A former marine biologist, Anderson traveled the world with her work. After living in six different countries, she finally settled down in the Canadian prairies with her husband and two children. Combining her love of travel with her love of romantic suspense, Anderson writes stories based in some of the places she has been fortunate enough to visit.
She is the author of several novels including Dark Waters, Dangerous Waters, Storm Warning, and Edge of Survival.
Find out more on her website: http://www.toniandersonauthor.com.
Table of Contents
FALLEN SEAL LEGACY
Sharon Hamilton
* * *
Copyright © 2012 by Sharon Hamilton
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
License Notes:
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
&n
bsp; Overview:
Nebraska born and bred Navy SEAL Calvin “Coop” Cooper, after his own family has perished in a tornado, is ordered to meet the family of a prominent San Diego psychiatrist. The doctor’s brother is a fallen SEAL medic who died in Grenada. There, Cooper meets Libby Brownlee, the beautiful niece of this fallen hero. Heavily influenced by her father, “We don’t speak military here,” is her comment about the military in general, and the SEAL community in particular. What starts out as a frosty debate between two people privately dealing with their own personal grief, turns into a passionate affair neither expected. Just as Cooper realizes perhaps Libby is the woman he’s always been looking for, she is snatched out from under him by a psychopathic killer bent on revenge. Dr. Brownlee is forced to rely on Cooper’s help, along with his buddies in SEAL Team 3. Will Cooper be able to survive the loss of the woman he loves, or will his self-sacrifice be enough to keep her safe?
Heat Level:
Scorcher
Author Note
I am eternally grateful to the men and women who put their lives on the line every day, wear a uniform, and, in my humble opinion, don’t get paid enough for what they do. But they don’t do it for the money, or even for the glory of it. They do it because they have found within themselves that inner strength and compassion to do something that others won’t or cannot do. And they do it for us, even if we don’t always appreciate it as much as we should.
I am grateful I get to bring these stories to light. Understand, these are completely fictitious characters, and the portrayal of their strengths, their internal thoughts, if they were lacking, are solely reflective of my interpretation. You should not judge the SEAL community or their families by my writing. I only try to help readers get acquainted with the wonderful heroes I’ve been fortunate to get to know.
Wounded Warriors is a project I donate to, and I encourage all of you, if you are called to do so, look them up and see what you can do. Volunteer at a Navy for Moms project, or Pets for Patriots. You can send packages to service men and women, adopting someone else’s son or daughter who might want to hear from someone who cares.
Our troops need your support, especially now with all the cutbacks going on. Let’s not forget, as we rush around in our busy lives, not to be too busy to say thanks.
Chapter One
A tornado scraped the Nebraska landscape with deadly force, tasting contents of houses and farms, furrowing down fence posts and over pencil-thin crop rows like a tongue from Hell. It seemed to like the flavor of metal and sheetrock as well as the tender green stalks of corn, sunflowers and soybeans. Human and animal body parts spewed out to the sides, detritus from a bored gourmand.
Sirens wailed in the distance. The steamy ground hissed in response.
* * *
Special Operator Calvin “Coop” Cooper awoke and smelled cherries mixed with crisp morning sea air. He heard running water and then felt the steam, which had filled the entire motor home.
Daisy. In the shower. Slippery and soapy all over.
She’d spent the night in his love cave, which was usually parked by the beach. What a night it had been. He still wore a handcuff that dangled from his left wrist. Only Daisy had the key. He chuckled to himself.
His other SEAL Team buddies called his place the Babemobile. They could call it anything they liked, he thought. Coop was saving a ton of money by pocketing his housing allowance.
He’d have been pissed if it was one of his Team buddies using up all his propane taking a hot shower. But for Daisy he allowed the indulgence, since her qualities and talents made it so worth it. Besides, it was one of the greatest places to fuck. Maybe…
Coop scratched above his forehead as the handcuffs jangled and then slapped against his ear. His sparse light brown hair left his fingers sticky. And smelling of cherries.
That would be the gel she used on me last night. The gel I used on her, all over.
Daisy did have a job to get ready for, and God, yes, they both needed a shower.
Coop rolled over and placed his palms behind his head, disentangling the sweaty sheet from his long six-foot-four-inch legs. It had been a wonderful Coronado Island night. Daisy was the best pleasure partner a guy could want. Totally willing. Totally hot. She’d brought her costume bag filled with “cop props” as she liked to call them. She’d arrested him several times last night, and each time he was subjected to fierce interrogation which usually made her wind up in compromising positions. He loved her sex play.
“I have a thing for cops,” she’d told him one day when she was working on a new tat.
“I’m not a cop,” Coop had said.
“But you wear a uniform. I love uniforms, too. Got a whole closet of them.”
He could only guess.
Everyone else wanted to bang her, too. But she, temporarily at least, had secretly chosen Coop to share her bed. Or rather, his bed. Daisy never brought anyone to her place. Cooper had occasionally dated other girls, mostly when they threw themselves at him. He wasn’t really looking. They just seemed to find him.
Daisy was the one all his SEAL Team 3 buddies hired to do their tattoos. It was odd, with all the places they’d been sent, all the injuries they’d incurred, his buddies would only let one tattoo artist touch their delicate skin. Daisy was the best. In lots of ways.
Coop rubbed his groin, which was getting interested in chasing down the trail of thoughts his brain wandered through.
Down boy.
He usually parked his motor home at the beach, where the owner of the now-defunct trailer park was happy with the fifty bucks Coop gave him each month for his share of the water and power used. But tonight he’d parked in the lot at Costco so they wouldn’t have any visitors. No sense having a sweet young thing calling on his door, thinking he was available, and him being kinda busy. Daisy had followed him there so he wouldn’t need to take her home. She was a very practical woman.
“Hey baby,” Daisy said as she paraded in front of him, sizing up his exposed torso. “We had some fun last night, didn’t we?” She put two fingers in her pink-lipped mouth. Those lips would leave a ring, all right. Her makeup was done, and she was wearing one of those kid’s T-shirts that showed off the frog tattoo around her belly button, which was pierced with a gold ring glinting in the morning sun. Her shorts were so short, if Coop slipped a hand up her backside, he’d be in clover before he got three inches in.
“You smell good.” You taste good, too. Cherry wasn’t his favorite flavor. He liked the way she tasted all by her little lonesome, he thought as he scanned her many alluring attributes. And he’d told her that one time, just before she exploded in his arms. Telling her things like that worked real well on Daisy. Like some of the girls in high school he had read scriptures to, especially the Love Chapter from Psalms. Make them hot as hell, and so willing to show it.
Her knees sunk onto the bed and crawled her way up to straddle him. “I’m gonna be late for work if you aren’t quick.”
By the time he gave his assent, she had already removed her T-shirt and 38 DDD bra.
* * *
Just before Daisy left, Coop had to remind her to remove his cuffs. Then, while he waited for the water to warm up again, he sat in his boxers at the nook, chowing down on granola and whole milk. He checked between the metal blinds in the window and watched a couple of early Costco employees arrive. That also meant it was time for him to leave.
His cell phone chirped.
“Coop here.” He recognized the number belonging to his Chief Petty Officer Timmons.
“Mornin’ Coop. Say, mind if we have a word?”
“Sure. When do you need me in by?”
“How soon can you get here?”
Something was up, and it wasn’t good. “Can you tell me a little about it?” Coop asked.
“No, mister. I gotta do this eyeball to eyeball.”
Coop hesitated a bit before answering. Timmons hadn’t said it involved anyone else, so this wasn’t a Team thing. Had
someone complained about him parking the Babemobile at the beach? Some jerkoff do-gooder Ranger exerting himself on the community they loved to bust for littering and public drinking? Only because the girls would rather hang out with me than some overweight guy with a green gabardine scout leader uniform and a chronic case of sunburn.
“I can be there in a half hour, unless there’s a jam-up on the highway.”
“See you then, son.”
Son? When his Chief called him son, it usually meant he was in trouble. Coop felt dark fingers dig into his spine at the back of his neck. Something wasn’t right.
He called Fredo. “Timmons calling a Team meeting this morning?” he asked his Mexican SEAL friend.
“Shit if I know. What’d you do last night, Coop?”
Cooper fingered the vase of fresh flowers in front of him, and shrugged, like Fredo could see it.
Fredo whispered into the phone, “You better pray she’s over 18.”
“Not to worry, Fredo. I’m heading over there now. You want to meet me afterwards for some PT?”
“Sure, you go have your meeting with Timmons, get your strength back up, cowboy, and I’ll kick your ass in a few.” Fredo hung up.
He skipped the shower, anxious to find out what Timmons wanted. He doubted his Chief would notice Daisy’s smell or the trace of cherry lube gel instead of his usual Irish Spring. If he ran into his Team leader, Kyle Lansdowne, he’d be ordered to get wet and sandy. Old married man Kyle, with a new baby, was a real hard-ass these days. But a damn good SEAL, and the best Team leader a guy could have.
He considered taking his scooter, but decided to drive the Babemobile instead.
He climbed over the bench seat at the nook, inserting his extra-long legs under the wheel of the beast and started her up. Coop had turned the beast into a regular fortress, installing a secret weapons compartment, a sophisticated GPS unit, a satellite tracking system with infrared, and a sound system worthy of a rock star. The entire blackened roof surface of the motor home was a solar collector. He’d rather spend his money on toys than housing, so he spent half of his paycheck on special parts and upgrades for gadgets he was constantly tinkering with. The rest he dutifully saved. Something his dad had taught him growing up on the farm in Nebraska.
