by Bella Grant
Contents
TITLE: RULES OF LOVE
THREE YEARS AGO
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
SIX MONTHS LATER
BONUS BOOK #1 - BAD BOY MONEY
SARA
NICK
SARA
NICK
SARA
NICK
SARA
NICK
SARA
NICK
SARA
NICK
SARA
NICK
SARA
NICK
SARA
NICK
SARA
NICK
SARA
NICK
SARA
NICK
SARA
NICK
SARA
BONUS BOOK #2 - HEAL ME
BILL
KATIE
BILL
KATIE
KATIE
KATIE
BILL
KATIE
BILL
KATIE
BILL
KATIE
BILL
KATIE
BILL
KATIE
CONNECT
RULES OF LOVE
(A Navy SEALs Romance)
By
Bella Grant
Copyright (c) 2016. All Rights Reserved
THREE YEARS AGO
Beau Savage crouched in the humid air and tropical fauna as sweat dripped down his face, blending his camouflage face-paint. Three more men did the same close by, all waiting for the order to move in.
His legs cramped from not moving in over an hour, but his resolve didn’t break. A team was in there, and he was part of the rescue to get them out. Too damn long, it was taking too damn long and Beau knew it. He didn’t know if any of them were alive, but he was going in that bunker.
“Two targets, three o’clock,” a gruff voice came over the com in his ear.
“Roger,” he replied quietly, his eye going to the scope on his rifle. The bunker was heavily guarded on the outside, and they had no solid eyes past the door.
“Team Alpha, moving in,” the voice hissed. Beau’s grip tightened on his rifle as he prepared to fire as cover. “Take out hostiles… Now.”
Beau fired a shot as the man beside him took the other. The two armed men outside the bunker fell to the ground. “Two hostiles removed,” he said, chambering another round.
Through his scope, he saw Team Alpha move forward—six SEALs dressed in black tactical gear. They busted through the door and disappeared inside. Beau heard the shots from his com and through the bunker.
“Hostiles engaged. Cover exit.”
Beau waved his left hand, and his team pushed slowly forward through the trees, their eyes trained on the bunker entrance. A tense few minutes passed before figures emerged from the bunker, sprinting away with guns in hand. Beau gave the order, and his team took them out one by one. The next few who came out tossed their guns aside and flattened themselves on the ground, shouting their surrender.
“Team Leader… Team Alpha, we’ve found our men,” another voice announced through the com, and Beau sensed the rage in the man. “We need immediate e-vac.”
“Helicopter on its way, Team Alpha. How many survivors?”
“Three.”
Beau’s jaw clenched. A six-man recon team had entered, and only three survived.
“We have gunshot wounds… The bleeding is bad,” the man said over the com.
Beau motioned his team forward again as the sounds of a helicopter sounded in the distance. “This is Team Bravo, moving in.”
“Take inventory, Team Bravo,” the first man giving orders said. “We have confirmation of Hugh Coleman on site.”
“Where is he, sir?”
“MIA. Keep your temper in check, Savage. We all want him dead.”
Beau replied shortly and gave the order for his team to advance. Coleman. The man they could never get a visual on. He was determined to find the man, but by the time they cleared out the bunker, he was nowhere to be found. Beau lowered his rifle to the ground and stayed out of the way as medics removed the three survivors from the bunker. They were all carried out on stretchers, and only two were conscious, talking quietly with the man who first found them. The third, a woman, was beaten and bloodied from multiple knife wounds and gunshots. Beau couldn’t even make out her face in all the blood, and a vein throbbed in his neck as his hands tightened around his gun. How she was still alive amazed him.
“What’s the report?” Beau asked as he approached the other team leader.
“Not making sense,” he muttered. “I don’t know, Savage. This shouldn’t have happened.”
“We have enough of his men. We’ll find him, and I’ll be sure to beat the shit out of him before we kill him.”
***
Barely a month later, Savage and his team located Coleman in a safe house hidden deep in the Chilean mountains. Beau eyed him through his scope as the man paced back and forth in front of his windows.
“Do you have a clear shot?”
Beau shifted for a better visual of Coleman. “Roger, clean shot.”
“Green light to take out the target.”
Beau aimed, his finger resting lightly on the trigger, and he fired. The shot hit Coleman in the chest, and he dropped. “Confirmed hit. Move in for body retrieval.”
After a few minutes to take out the security detail around the house, Beau hurried into the room only to find a puddle of blood rather than a dead body.
“Damn it!”
His commanding officer, Reinhart, came over the com. “You got him, Savage. If he doesn’t die from that wound, we’ll find him again.”
Beau, gritting his teeth as he glared down at the blood, wanted to believe him, but his ire at the man escaping again didn’t dissipate. Unless he saw Coleman dead for himself, he would never stop hunting the man. Coleman had caused enough damage. The recon team he’d taken captive had suffered at his hands—badly—and Beau was out for revenge, one way or another.
No matter how long it took.
CHAPTER ONE
His beeper vibrated furiously on his bedside table, luring him from the only real sleep he’d had in weeks. Hoping it was just part of his dream, he turned over until it vibrated again and nearly fell off the table beside his bed. Reaching a hand out of the covers to find it, he pulled it up to his eyes, the code blinking at him in the darkness. The code… The letters instantly forced his mind to wake and snap to attention, his hand reaching for his Sig Sauer tucked beneath his pillow. But his hand stilled at the last second, and he frowned. No life or death this morning, just a message to expect an incoming call. He forced himself to relax, muscle by muscle, and set the beeper down. He rose from bed, still partially dressed from coming home late the night before—no, tonight—and sought the duffel he’d dumped somewhere.
Walking carefully across his room, his six-foot-two frame stretching in the darkness, he scratched at his bare chest, wincing at the soreness there. The last target landed a solid kick to his sternum, and though he put the man down hard, the bruise remained. He cursed as the rest of his body protested, each cut and battered muscle screaming for rest he would not get. He
found his duffel and pulled out the secure cell ringing shrilly at him. He rolled his eyes at the number showing up on the tiny screen but answered it.
“Rick’s all-night club—” he started when the other person cut him off.
“Savage, we have problems.” The voice belonged to his commanding officer, Orsin Reinhart. “We have a situation that, unfortunately for you, requires your attention—immediately.”
Beau, part of a special ops team for the US Navy which specialized in rescue and undercover protection missions—along with a few side hits never mentioned again once the order was given—gripped the phone tighter in his hand, fighting the temptation to break it in half. He wanted to scream at his captain that he’d just returned from a four-month mission in Brazil that consisted of taking out yet another cocaine-dealing drug lord, being knee deep in stinking mud, and swatting incessantly at mosquitos the size of his hand, but bit his tongue. He glanced at the clock on his table. Four a.m. It had been midnight when he had collapsed on his bed. Four freaking hours of sleep. Again. “Yes, sir. Where am I heading, Skipper?”
“For now, I want you to head over to that hotel down the road from you.” Papers being shuffled along with low voices sounded in the background. It must be important if his captain wasn’t alone. “Ask for a Bill Henderson, and tell them it’s for a contracting deal.”
“Not the base, sir?”
“No, this requires delicate handling, Savage,” he said tightly and hung up without another word.
Beau threw his cell into his duffel before stalking to the bathroom to throw some water on his face. He found a clean shirt to pull on and prayed the job would be an easy one. The frustration of having no time for himself was really starting to eat at him, and he was edgier than normal. He needed a month, a week, when he wasn’t called on in the middle of the night to head off into the darker parts of the world. Hell, there hadn’t been a woman in his life for over four years because of all the times he took off unexpectedly.
Thunder rumbled, making the house shake as he entered the kitchen, and he eyed the coffee pot longingly. There was no time for coffee. No time for anything resembling normal.
The mountains in the distance were barely distinguishable in the darkness from the storm. Rain came down in sheets, battering the windows as lightning streaked across the sky. He grabbed his leather coat off the chair where he’d left it four months before and walked out to the garage. His motorcycle sat in the middle, his helmet resting on the handle, as always. A few minutes later, he was speeding through the rain on his way to the hotel.
There were hardly any cars in the parking lot when he pulled up and parked his bike. He walked slowly through the rain, getting drenched but not really caring, and into the lobby. At the front desk, a nightshift worker perked up at the sight of a new guest and smiled brightly at him. Overdosed on caffeine, he thought.
“Hello, sir. What can I do for you this morning… Checking in?”
“I’m here for a meeting with Mr. Bill Henderson… About the contracting deal.” He waited impatiently as her bright red nails clicked on the keyboard, searching for the name.
“Here we are. He’s in room 356 on the third floor. Would you like me to call him to let him know you’re here?” she asked, but Beau was already at the elevator, willing the doors to open faster.
A few minutes later, the door dinged open on the third floor. He stepped out and shook his head at the gaudy decorations and too bright colors. The storm raging outside caused the lights to flicker as he strode down the hall, checking room numbers. 356 was a corner room with a ‘Do Not Disturb’ tag hanging on the handle. Beau knocked hard three times with his fist and waited, glancing up and down the hall. He heard the clicking of locks being opened a few seconds later, and Captain Reinhart appeared as he pulled the door open a crack. Once he saw Beau, he opened the door all the way and pulled him inside before re-locking it.
“Nice to see you looking so awake this early, Savage,” Reinhart said, shaking Beau’s hand.
“Wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee, sir, if there’s any.”
Reinhart pointed to a half-filled pot sitting on the counter. Beau walked to it, taking note of the others in the room with them. Occupying the table which had been dragged to the middle of the room were four men he didn’t recognize. They muttered quietly about the maps and files lying before them, looking now and then at some pictures of men tacked up on a wall. He recognized some as drug lords or weapon traffickers and assumed they were his new targets.
While he poured his coffee, Reinhart told him why he was pulled from the sanctuary of his home. “We have another witness crisis—caught something on film the drug lord didn’t want to be seen.”
“What did he catch? I’m assuming civilian?”
“She is. Films documentaries and the like on native tribes all over the world. She was in Thailand and stumbled on something no one was supposed to witness.” One of the men from the table, a rear admiral, inserted a disc to his laptop and hit play, motioning for Beau to watch.
For the first few moments, the image was out of focus, and Beau couldn’t tell what he was looking at. Slowly, the video became clearer, and he could see what appeared to be a bamboo forest. The camera was focused on temple ruins, tigers carved into the stone at the base before it jutted up into the broad-leafed trees surrounding it. The image swung down and zoomed in closer. On the ground before the steps of the temple, on their knees with hands behind their heads, were five men, all equally frightened.
The camera shook slightly as the person moved, trying to get a better, more focused view. There were more men, most with AK47s, standing guard. One screamed to the men and pointed at something off-camera. The image zoomed out, and a large truck with a tarp covering crates could be seen parked far from the men. Without warning, the man raised his handgun and shot all five dead in quick succession. They fell to the ground, and the person with the camera clearly nearly dropped it in shock. The sound was muffled as the person fumbled with it, and the image turned upside down before being righted again. When it did, it focused once more on the unmoving bodies.
Evidently deciding it was time to leave, the person holding the camera began to move quietly but froze when she stepped on a stick, the crack echoing around the forest. The camera turned slowly back to the men down the hill, who evidently spotted the person holding it. They were yelling and pointing. Beau heard the gunfire as the person staggered away, bullets hitting trees and the ground all around. The person reached an orange Jeep parked in a clearing before the video cut off.
Damn civilians, why can’t they just stay out of the way? he thought bitterly, sipping his coffee.
“Shortly after this, they tracked Naomi Veri down and tried to kill her in public. When that failed, they found her home in the US and leveled it. Luckily, she was out of the country.” Reinhart glanced at Beau still sipping his coffee, trying not to let his anger show at the woman and her stupidity.
“How did you find out about this?’
“She contacted the federal agents as soon as she returned home. Rear Admiral Bard,” he gestured to one of the men at the table, “went with a few other naval officers to see the footage and assess the situation. In taking the evidence, they assured her she’d be out of harm’s way. We were wrong. Two days later, her car blew up outside her office. After that, the threats started, and she contacted us again. Screamed Bard’s ear off over it. We have a team trying to track down the man from the video and take him out, but it’s turning out to be more difficult than we thought. He obviously seems to believe she knows more than just what she’s told us.”
Beau nodded, staring out the window at the rain pouring down and listening to the wind howling against the side of the hotel. “You need me to be her bodyguard until he’s taken care of?”
“We’ll give you an hour after this meeting is over to gather your things. And I hope you like Italian food,” one of the other men said, handing Beau a stack of files.
“Because you’re going to Tuscany.”
“Why not a safe house here?”
“They’re expecting her to stay in the US,” Reinhart said. “Moving her out of the country will give us time to track them down. There is an old house in the middle of nowhere. It used to belong to some old widow or other, so there’s no connection to Naomi in any way.”
Beau glanced at the plans on the table, blueprints for a massive house. “This is it?” Reinhart nodded.
The house itself was three stories with a full basement. There were winding trails behind it, passing through a garden the size of a football field. High stone walls surrounded the perimeter, giving it only one point of entry—the front gate. For a safe house, it wasn’t a bad idea, though the size didn’t make Beau too happy. Cameras and trip wires were already set up around the house and grounds, but Beau told Reinhart he’d set up some more security once he got there for his own peace of mind.
“Tuscany,” he muttered, staring at the plans for the house. “Well, this’ll be a new one, sir.” At least I won’t be up to my knees in filth. It wasn’t much of a consolation, but for the moment, it would do.
***
Beau was ready to go within a half-hour of getting back to his house. Clothes, weapons, files, and fake IDs were shoved into his black duffel that was now sitting by the door. He stared out the back, watching the last of the storm clouds disperse and thinking about the trouble this mission would cause him. His cover, in case anyone did come by who was not part of the protection detail, was a handyman, which fit perfectly—apparently, the ancient house was in serious need of repair.
The pictures they showed him of the possible attackers revealed a mix of bedraggled convicts ranging from druggies to weapons dealers, but one stuck in his mind—the supposed shooter of the men at the temple. He recognized him and couldn’t stop thinking about where he might have seen him before. The pictures were distorted, though, taken from different surveillance cameras, making the faces difficult to identify. He’d encountered so many bastards over the years, but rarely had any of them escaped him or his team. The nagging feeling that he knew this man stayed with Beau as he paced his front hall. It would come to him, he hoped.
