Owning Sarah [Sequel to Loving Sarah] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Julie Shelton

  A deadly black pistol was strapped to his right thigh, and she pretty much figured he had another one tucked into his belt at the small of his back. God only knew what he had tucked in his boots. Gah! Men! Struggling for a calm she was far from feeling, she lifted her gaze back up to his. “Planning to start World War III?”

  Inwardly cursing, he closed the distance between them and lifted his hand to brush her cheek, twisting a wayward lock of her silky brown hair around his fingers before tucking it back behind her ear. Both hands came to rest on her shoulders. “No, baby, I just need to go out for a while, that’s all.”

  She just stared at him, her anxiety growing by the second. “Go out for a while,” she repeated skeptically. “Go out for a while. Seriously? That’s the story you’re going with here?” When he had the good sense to look discomfited, she pressed her advantage. “Okay, I’ll play along. Go out where, exactly? To the all-night grocery store for a quart of milk? To the library to borrow a book?”

  “Sarah—”

  “Where could you possibly be going that you’d need this much firepower? Do you clunk when you walk? I sure hope you don’t have to sneak up on anybody.”

  “Sarah—“

  “I mean, look at you. You look like you’re planning to walk into the middle of an armed insurrection. This is rural Virginia, not downtown Baghdad or Afghanistan or—”

  Oh. My. God. Fear settled coldly in the pit of her stomach, spreading to every part of her body the way frost creeps over a window pane. “You’re going to that skinhead camp, aren’t you?” she asked quietly. “Because you’re a hardheaded, badass, alpha-male, macho, commando type, and that’s what hardheaded, badass, alpha-male, macho commando types do, isn’t it?”

  “You left out sexy,” he pointed out in a feeble attempt to lighten the mood. She tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, keeping her right where she was.

  “Calm down, Sarah. I’m only doin’ what I have to do to keep you safe.”

  “Oh, yeah? And what’s keeping you safe?” she demanded shrilly, unwilling to see reason. Her fear had deepened into a terror so stark it was crawling up and down her spine like a battalion of giant spiders. Whatever Jesse was up to, it consisted of a hell of a lot more than just “goin’ out for a while.” He was armed to the teeth and in full SEAL mode, and she knew that, in his mind, he’d already started this mission.

  His face hardened. “Just eight years of intensive SEAL trainin’,” was his uncompromising reply.

  “I’m not a child, Jesse,” she said, lifting her chin stubbornly. “I’m perfectly aware that to you hardheaded, badass, alpha-male, macho, commando types—”

  “Don’t forget sexy.”

  “—this is all just a big game.”

  He appeared to think that over. “In a way, it is a game. Sort of like…goin’ huntin’.”

  She eyed him appraisingly. “Except you’re hunting people instead of animals.”

  “Actually, the people I’m huntin’ are animals.”

  “And you’re going after them alone?” she cried. “Without any kind of backup? In the middle of the night?”

  “I’m just goin’ on a little fact-findin’ mission, baby,” he said, trying to placate her. “They’ll never even know I was there. I’ll be perfectly safe.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Her hands went to her hips and she swallowed. Hard. “Define ‘safe.’”

  “Sugar—”

  “Don’t you ‘sugar’ me, Jesse Colter!” Anger broke through her fear. She had to hug herself to keep from pounding her fists against his chest. “You’re going after Ryder Malone, aren’t you? What, are you crazy? He’s dangerous, for God’s sake! You could be killed!”

  “Sarah. Sugar.” He reached for her, and she clenched her teeth, allowing herself to be pulled into his embrace, although she didn’t return it. She kept her arms firmly around her abdomen.

  Jesse fought to keep from smiling. Damn, but she was one stubborn woman! “There’s nothin’ dangerous about Ryder Malone, baby girl. Not to a Navy SEAL. We eat people like him for breakfast. This is what we do, baby—what we’re trained to do—endlessly, over and over, ad nauseum. We hunt down the bad guys so the good guys stay safe. Tell her, Adam.”

  Adam shrugged. “What he said.”

  Jesse’s lips quirked. “Eloquently put.”

  “Okay, how’s this?” Adam touched Sarah’s arm, getting her to focus on him. “He’s right, sweet pea. Tonight, all he’s going for is information. Sort of like…going to the library.”

  Sarah snorted inelegantly. “The library, huh?” She loosened her arms and slid them around Jesse’s waist, holding him tight. Or as tightly as she could with all the hard, lumpy gadgets in his pockets. With a deep sigh, she planted her face against his rock-hard chest. Yep. For better or for worse, this was Jesse. Her Jesse. Not only the living embodiment of every romantic hero in every romantic book she’d ever read, but one dark, deadly, seriously dangerous man. “God, Jesse. Why couldn’t you have been an accountant?”

  He dropped a kiss on top of her head. “Trust me, baby, you’d be bored to tears with an accountant. Don’t worry, I’ll be back before you know it.”

  “You’d better be,” she said with a sniff. “If you go off and get yourself killed, I’m never going to speak to you again. I have no intention of becoming a widow before I’m even a wife.”

  He tightened his arms around her, fully intending to release her immediately. But he simply could not force himself to let her go. Instead, he held on tight, eyes closed, head bent over hers, hanging on almost desperately, as if she were his lifeline on a storm-tossed sea. Jesus!

  She didn’t want to let go, either. Adam stepped up behind her and put his arms around her midriff, sandwiching her between them. He raised his flickering blue eyes to look over her head into Jesse’s black gaze before releasing her and stepping back.

  Jesse stepped back, too, reaching out to pick up a thermos full of hot coffee off the granite countertop. Then, with a low moan, he pulled Sarah back into his embrace and gave her a deep, tongue-thrusting kiss that soon had her moaning and squirming with arousal. When he finally raised his head, she lifted her hand to touch his cheek. “I love you, Jesse,” she said simply. “I will never let you leave this house without telling you that. I want my voice, my words to be the last thing you hear before you set off on one of these little…excursions of yours. So think about that while you’re gone. And maybe it will help remind you to come back to me safely.”

  “I love you, too, Sarah. And I can’t wait to get back so I can show you exactly how much. In the Play Room.” His grin was wicked. “You think about that while I’m gone.”

  * * * *

  “Nitro?” Jesse’s disembodied voice came into the room over Adam’s laptop which was sitting on the oversized leather ottoman. “I’ve made the—shit—the turn-off. Am I on the right road? Not that anyone—fuck—in his right mind would call this a fuckin’ road. Ow! I knew it was gonna be—Christ!—rough, but this is fuckin’ ridiculous. Goddamn it!”

  Giving Sarah a gentle kiss on the mouth and pushing her up into a sitting position, Adam extricated himself from beneath her body, which was draped sleepily over him like a soft, feminine blanket. “Sorry, love,” he said, bending forward and pulling the ottoman toward him. “Gotta go to work.”

  He tapped a few keys, and a blinking dot came up on the screen, just a tiny speck on a satellite image of a highly rural area, covered with a dense pine forest, barren fields, a large lake, and some buildings scattered along what looked to Sarah like a very short road. Or, she realized on closer scrutiny, a runway. The runway they’d mentioned last night.

  “Yeah, Ranger, you’re right where you’re supposed to be, but you’re still a good six clicks away from your next turn-off.” Inserting a listening bud into his ear, Adam tapped a few more keys. “Roger that, Ranger. She’s fine. We’ve been having a nice little…um…chat. Here, now, none of that mushy stuff. This is not a dating service, it’s an official U
nited States Navy SATCOM link, and they frown upon—” Turning his head, he gave Sarah a wink. “He loves you,” he said, adjusting the ear bud before turning back to the computer screen. “Yeah, yeah, she loves you, too. Get your mind outta your pants, Ranger. Nitro out.”

  “You all have nicknames,” Sarah observed as he flopped back onto the sofa and pulled her across his chest.

  “Yeah.”

  “Bill is Wildfire, Jay is…”

  “Dizzy.”

  “Ah.” She nodded. “Jay “Dizzy” Gillespie. Makes perfect sense. How about Nik?”

  “Iceman—because he’s from Siberia.”

  “Although Grizzly would not be inappropriate,” she murmured. “Because he’s certainly as big as one.

  “Mark is Cowboy, Sam Olsen is Toolbox—”

  “Lemme guess. Mechanic?”

  Adam grinned. “Yeah. Although we’ve pretty much shortened it to Tool.”

  “Because he is one?”

  “He can be, yeah. Then, of course there’s Bulldog—for obvious reasons.”

  “And Jesse is…Ranger?” She lifted her head to look at him. “After Aragorn in Lord of the Rings?”

  Adam nodded. “He chose that because, thanks to you, they were his favorite books. And because, I think, subconsciously it was a way for him to stay connected with you.”

  “Which brings us to you,” she said, looking at him thoughtfully, “Nitro.”

  He grinned. “Turns out I have a knack for blowing stuff up.” He shrugged. “Who knew?”

  “Did you earn a Cub Scout badge in Explosives?” she asked facetiously.

  They were interrupted by another string of curses from Jesse as his Humvee jolted and jounced over the bone-jarring terrain. Thank God he’d insisted that the Town Council provide him with a Hummer instead of that Escalade they’d first offered him. Because, if he’d been driving it, by now major Cadillac body parts would be strewn all over the ground, leaving a trail even a blind man could follow. Still cursing, he slowly negotiated the deeply rutted track. He was traveling dark, headlights off, brake lights disconnected, seeing only what the pale light from the half moon permitted through his night-vision goggles. “Okay, Nitro, where am I? I gotta be close, goddamn it.”

  “Yeah, you’re practically on it. That slight break in the trees should be coming up on your left. See it? Good. Okay. Turn in there.”

  Jesse turned in, negotiating roots and fallen trees as he cursed his way over the rough topography, his tires skidding on the thick fall of slippery pine needles carpeting the ground.

  “You’re almost there, Ranger.” Adam’s voice was brisk, businesslike. “The lake should be straight ahead of you.”

  “Yeah, I see it.” It was a smooth, featureless expanse of solid black through the night vision goggles. “Ranger out. I’ll call as soon as I get back.” Letting out a sigh of relief, he shut the engine off. The quiet enveloped him like a shroud. Since he had no idea what measures the Army of Righteousness had taken to secure the perimeter of their newly acquired property, he’d chosen to infiltrate the compound from the lake side in order to minimize his chances of being detected.

  Opening the car door quietly, he slipped out, pulling a black knit balaclava down over his face, leaving only his eyes and mouth visible. He went around to the back of the Humvee and picked up a nylon sack around the size of an airline carry-on bag. He also picked up a short paddle. He carried both items to the edge of the lake and put them on the ground. Opening the nylon sack, he took out what looked like a wide strip of thick gray rubber, rolled up like a doll-sized sleeping bag. Grabbing a yellow handle, he pulled it and a small, one-man rubber boat inflated at his feet.

  He pushed the raft out into the water, being careful to keep his splashing to a minimum. He doubted that there was anyone out here on this godforsaken lake, but he didn’t want to take any chances. Even though the place was littered with Posted-No Trespassing signs, those wouldn’t stop any hunters who might be out looking to bag a quick, illegal deer. Or marijuana growers protecting their crop. Or even Army of Righteousness sentries out patrolling their perimeter. After all, with the sheer quantity of drugs and guns scheduled to come through here next Friday night, they would be stupid not to. Luckily for him, racist Nazi skinheads tended to be just that, stupid.

  He paddled swiftly across the lake, bending forward to keep his profile as low as possible. He pulled the boat up onto the shore and covered it with some of the abundant pine branches that were strewn all over the ground. Then he began walking north as indicated by his compass. He walked carefully, watching where he put his feet. He had a good five-click hike ahead of him, and the terrain underfoot was treacherous. He didn’t want to trip over an exposed root or hidden branch as he slogged across the needle-covered forest floor. If he fell and broke his fuckin’ ankle, he’d never hear the end of it from Adam. Or any of his other SEAL buddies, for that matter. He chuckled to himself. Sarah would, no doubt, weigh in on the matter as well.

  He heard it long before he could see anything—the rumble of heavy diesel engines revving at full volume. They got louder as he got closer. He covered the last click darting from tree to tree, scanning constantly through the NV goggles to detect any heat source lurking in the woods. No sentries. Good. He smiled to himself. Obviously, these fuckers feel safe out here in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere. Which’ll make takin’ them down just that much easier. He was almost sorry he wasn’t going to be here when Alpha literally dropped in on them from the sky and put an end to their sordid little operation. When he got within sight of the derelict buildings lining the south side of the old airfield, Jesse hunkered down, still within the shelter of the trees. Jesus! His gut clenched at the sight that met his eyes. Chester Andrews and his merry little band of hate-mongerin’, skinhead Nazis have been busy!

  The entire compound of World War I era buildings had been completely encircled with brand-new chain-link fencing, topped with coils of razor wire. These people are serious! They’re movin’ in, and they’re not puttin’ out the welcome mat.

  The bright glow beyond the dark line of buildings indicated a powerful light source coming from the center of the compound. Probably spotlights. The sound of running motors, then, was not trucks, as he’d first thought. It was generators. Dozens of heavy-duty generators, keeping The Army of Righteousness lit up while safely bypassing the official power grid. The sound of the generator motors was loud enough, in fact, to cover any sounds Jesse might have made, had he been stupid or incompetent enough to make any. On an op, Jesse never made noise. Where he’d been for the last eight years, noise meant detection. Detection meant death. Although, he allowed himself a wry smile, those generators are so fuckin’ loud, the entire University of Virginia marchin’ band could be practicin’ out here and nobody would hear them, either.

  Stowing his NV goggles in his utility vest, he crossed the open space between the trees and fence, in a low, crouching run. He followed the fence, darting between buildings, until he came to an opening between buildings wide enough to see into the compound itself. What he saw chilled his blood.

  Holy shit! The busy concrete tarmac was lit up by banks of bright spotlights. A dozen or so men were busy unloading a truck full of building supplies—lumber, shingles, sacks of cement, windows, doors—as another truck drove up and parked alongside the first. These people were in it for the long haul, planning on making this their permanent residence. Their own little private skinhead paradise. The very thought sent ice skittering down his spine. Yep. He was definitely gonna have to do somethin’ about this.

  Dozens more men, dressed in camouflage pants, black AR T-shirts, and jaunty little black berets, with AK-47 assault rifles either slung casually around their necks or held just as casually in their hands, stood around smoking cigarettes and watching the others work. Night Hawks, the storm troopers of the Army of Righteousness. Some ex-military, some convicted felons, all of them mean and looking for a fight—any fight, as long as it meant they got to shoot somebody
.

  The presence of so many Night Hawks was not a good sign. Something big was definitely going down. Bigger than Wildfire had seemed to indicate. He just hoped that Solo hadn’t been made. Jesus, if these fuckers had somehow stumbled onto the fact that they had a Jew in their midst—Jesse pursed his lips in a low, soundless whistle. Don‘t go there. No point in borrowin’ trouble. There’s probably a perfectly reasonable explanation for Ted’s failure to check in.

  Jesse didn’t waste any more time looking. He’d seen more than enough. He stayed in his running crouch until he came to the last building on the south side of the airfield, beyond the reach of the spotlights. Breaking into an easy jog, he followed the fence, rounded the eastern end of the airstrip, and started back along the north side fence, where he knew the building housing Solo’s office was. Bill had showed it to him on a crude map he’d drawn on the back of an envelope before leaving last night. Jesse ignored the burning in his gut that urged him to go faster. If Ted had been caught, speed wouldn’t matter. And it might get Jesse caught as well.

  When he reached the first building, he crouched down behind it, pulled the bolt cutters from his knapsack, and cut through enough links in the fence to make an opening large enough for him to squeeze through. Crouching between the fence and the back wall of the long, narrow building, he continued west, toward the remaining buildings and eventually the main entrance.

  The next building had two lit windows. The light spilled in pale yellow rectangles out onto the ground. He didn’t hear any voices, so he risked taking a quick peek into the first window. Both windows were in the same room, which was the only one the building contained. Nobody was in there, but mattresses were stacked in one corner of the oil-stained and crumbling concrete floor. A set of rickety shelves against one wall held blankets and pillows. This was obviously a dormitory for the good little worker bees out there getting the place ready for business. The Night Hawks, the AR’s elite militia, would most likely have much better accommodations elsewhere.