Wild Nights

by Tina Wainscott

  Wild Nights is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Loveswept eBook Original

  Copyright © 2014 by Tina Wainscott, Inc.

  Excerpt from A Cowboy’s Christmas Promise by Maggie McGinnis copyright © 2014 by Maggie McGinnis

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States of America by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Random House LLC.

  This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book A Cowboy’s Christmas Promise by Maggie McGinnis. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

  eBook ISBN 9780345548368

  Cover photo: © Shutterstock

  www.readloveswept.com

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  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  By Tina Wainscott

  About the Author

  The Editor’s Corner

  Excerpt from A Cowboy’s Christmas Promise

  Chapter 1

  Saxby Cole fired the last round in his magazine, released it, and cleared the gun. He pressed the button that brought the target closer so he could inspect it. There were two holes. He’d wanted one. But that’s why he was at Justiss Alliance headquarters, after all: training and practice. Until he found a place of his own, he lived on the man-made island that Chase Justiss had developed as home base. Chase, his new boss, had made it clear that he was welcome to stay in the guest house for as long as he liked. Private island. Tropical pool and hot tub. State-of-the-art indoor firing range. Yeah, he wasn’t in any hurry.

  The best part? His Navy SEAL brothers worked here, too, at least most of them. Knox, at the firing station next to his, had just returned from wrestling poor, defenseless calves and riding crazy-ass bulls in the charity rodeo at his family’s ranch in Montana.

  Knox glanced two stations over at the two couples whose laughter penetrated both the racket of gunfire and the ear-protection muffle, then shook his head.

  Sax said, “Still hard to believe, isn’t it?”

  “Not just those two settling down, it’s everything. One minute we’re SEALs, kicking ass for the government. Then we’re being disciplined”—Knox made finger quotes for the word—“for carrying out a covert mission that got exposed due to no fault of our own. Our careers are shattered. Then we’re signing on to The Justiss Alliance to work in the civvie world. Even after five months, it still makes my head spin.”

  It had all happened fast. The mission had exploded in their faces, exposing their ambush on an anti-cartel organization’s compound in Mexico that wasn’t so anti-cartel. At least that’s what the mole had reported. But something squirrelly had gone down, and it smelled a lot like a setup. The organization, El Martillo, had screamed to the world that the United States had attacked unprovoked. The U.S. government had been caught with their pants down, figuratively speaking. They didn’t want the country to know that they’d been in bed with a violent organization, even if they were supposedly doing good. El Martillo secretly threatened revenge on American tourists. So the five SEALs who’d taken on the mission were offered up as scapegoats, losing their jobs. Their careers. Sax was sure there had been other compensation, too.

  When Chase Justiss approached them immediately after the mock trial with an offer for jobs with his private agency, Sax was as skeptical as the rest of the team. Nah, he was done chasing down bad guys and trying to do right. He was going to take his place as the “prince” of Cole, Louisiana, helping run the family’s successful grill factory and soaking in the sultry beauty of the swamps and the local gals who adored him.

  It hadn’t taken long to realize that he needed to hunt down bad guys and try to do right. It’s why he’d joined the SEALs in the first place.

  Chad, his cousin, set his Glock on the shelf. “Life doesn’t tap you in the ass. She pummels you but good, then crosses her arms and waits to see what you’re going to do about it.” He lowered himself to his wheelchair, his biceps bulging.

  Chad was the reason Sax couldn’t let himself feel angry, sad—anything. As a Marine he’d lost his legs in an explosion. It seemed damned disrespectful to complain about Sax’s lost career compared to those who had lost so much more.

  A high-pitched whistle made everyone turn around. That was Chase’s way of letting them know he was entering the range—and wanted their attention. He wasn’t like a military leader, all serious and, in some cases, a superior hard-ass. Chase’s leadership was effective in an understated way.

  His gaze homed in on Sax. “Have an op for you. Briefing in my office in ten.” He swept the others with a nod and exited.

  Chad watched as the guys unloaded their guns and readied them to be put away. “Everyone goes to the meeting?”

  “Chase likes to include all the J-Men on-site, in case they have ideas. Come on, Cha Cha.”

  Chad shook his head as he cleared his gun. “Don’t call me Cha Cha.”

  “Just getting ready for when you start using those prosthetic legs of yours.” Sax swiveled his hips Elvis style. “I saw you in the gym the other day. You’ll be dancing in no time.”

  Chad snorted. “I didn’t dance before I lost my legs. And stop watching me. It’s…disturbing.”

  “Think of me as your ghost drill sergeant, making sure you’re working on your skills.” Sax gave him a wink that he knew would annoy Chad even more.

  Chad growled when he wheeled past him on the way to the storage area. Sax grinned. Much better than Chad’s depression in the months after returning from Afghanistan.

  Ten minutes later, they all piled into the bridge, a nod to Star Trek’s command hub. In actuality, it was a large conference room, where Chase sat at the head of the long table behind his laptop. Next to him sat Vivi, the smokin’ hot J-Man babe who’d been with The Justiss Alliance before Sax and the team joined. She covered that luscious figure well around the office, wearing professional tops that didn’t show off the curves he knew she possessed. And that was only because he’d seen her dressed for a seduction role during a case involving motorcycle gangs. That was as much as he wanted to see of her. Banging a fellow operative was on his no-no list.

  Addie, Risk’s permanent squeeze, had wandered to the pool, since she wasn’t an employee. She had enough going on with her animal-rescue organization. Julian held the chair for his lady, a lovely redhead who now worked as Chase’s assistant. Julian and Risk looked so damned content that Sax wanted to puke. Not out of jealousy or anything, since he wasn’t a settling-down kind of guy. But still, it seemed odd, seeing them without that hungry, restless gleam in their eyes. Just wait. They’ll be bored out of their minds in no time.

  Chad rolled up to the place at the table without a chair. He wasn’t officially a J-Man yet, the term some of the early opera
tives had dubbed themselves. But Chad was armpit-deep in training and, like Sax and his SEAL brothers, needed purpose.

  Once Knox closed the door and sank into the tall-back leather chair, Sax turned his full focus on Chase. He drummed his fingers on the table in anticipation. “Fill me in, Chief.”

  The chief was notoriously tight-lipped when it came to an upcoming mission. He said nothing until he had the all clear. “Have you heard of the resort in the Bahamas called Decadence?”

  Sax’s fingers stopped drumming. “The clothing-optional party resort where rumors of hot tub orgies abound? Please tell me that’s where you’re sending me.”

  The corner of Chase’s mouth twitched in a smile that clearly wanted to form. “That’s where I’m sending you.”

  Sax swallowed back a shout of joy. He was being paid to go to Decadence. Could life get any better? “Excellent.” There, a nice and subdued response.

  Chase clicked his mouse and a map of the Bahamas was projected onto the wall. “Inside that circle is Shasta, a small private island owned by Darius Mitchell.”

  “One of the best quarterbacks in the history of football?” Risk asked, sounding just as excited as Sax had about the resort.

  “One and the same.”

  “Dude’s been on more magazine covers than Cindy Crawford, has the record for most touchdowns in a season.”

  Chase nodded. “He was born in the Bahamas, came to America to play college football, and went pro. Since retiring, he’s founded a children’s charity and funds several projects to help the poor. Before he became benevolent, he bought this island and built a resort. It has garnered quite the reputation, as Sax pointed out, though the orgies are merely rumors. In any case, it’s one of the world’s premier party destinations.”

  Chase flew through several images that probably came from the resort’s website: pictures of beautiful, half-naked women dancing, covered in body paint, and swimming up to a water-logged bar in a huge pool.

  Sax wagged his finger. “Can you go back to that last one?”

  Chase arched an eyebrow but did not return to the glistening bare back of the babe sitting at said bar. Instead, he flipped to a picture of a handsome black man who definitely looked like he could be a linebacker. “This is Darius. Though he owns the resort, he’s tried to distance himself from it since the scandal he suffered a few years back.”

  “A woman accused him of drugging her on their date and then raping her,” Risk offered. “The case was dropped for lack of evidence, but it still tore up his rep.”

  “He immersed himself in charity work soon thereafter,” Chase said. “Hasn’t been in a lick of trouble since. But it appears there may be a big problem at Decadence. Women have been complaining about waking up with no memory of the night before…but with evidence that they’d had sex. It looks like they’re being drugged. The problem is that many women in this position don’t report it. They’re too embarrassed or feel that because they were drinking, the authorities will think they deserved it. And because they can’t remember anything, there isn’t much to go on.

  “But it happened to the daughter of someone at the Department of State. She said the manager of the resort, Darius’s brother, Oscar, listened sympathetically, but basically dismissed her as another woman who drank too much. There’s no law enforcement on the island, other than the resort’s security office. So she did some research when she returned home and found a few postings on review sites.

  “Her mother, the State employee, dug further and found a few formal reports to spur some official interest. She spoke to the Bahamian government, who admitted that they’d had a few complaints. But it’s a party resort with an open-bar policy. Of course people are going to get so drunk that they end up having sex without memory of the event. Darius is their golden boy who helps his people. They want to be very careful about causing him trouble unless there’s proof.”

  That bit of news tainted all those images of sexy, barely clad women. “Are they selling date rape drugs to any perv who wants to score?” Sax’s outrage leaked into his voice.

  Chase gave him a fierce smile. “That’s what you’re going to find out. We’ve been unofficially retained by the Department of State to find evidence of criminal activity. Once they have it, they can step in because it involves Americans. From experience, I know that the Bahamian government is happy to help us in these kinds of matters, but they prefer to remain in the background.”

  “I’m in.” Sax fumed at the thought of women being taken advantage of. He thought of his own sisters: sweet, sassy Southern women. It didn’t matter how strong a woman was, if she’d been given one of these insidious drugs, she was helpless. Sax figured Julian was also thinking of his sisters by the fire in his eyes.

  “Get those son of a bitches,” he said, his fingers wrapping around Mollie’s hand, no doubt remembering what she and her sister had recently gone through with an outlaw motorcycle gang.

  “There will be no ‘getting’ anyone,” Chase said. “We’re there as a shadow organization to gather evidence. Find out if they’re selling drugs, how the operation works, and who’s behind it. The more we can give the Department of State, the better equipped they’ll be to make it an official investigation.”

  Sax nodded, even as he envisioned wrapping his hands around Darius’s throat. “Understood.”

  Chase leaned back in his chair, pressing his fingertips together. “Let’s keep this low-key. I know you guys love all that SEAL action, but for this mission, no shooting, no dead bodies, and no reason to cover our asses as far as the media goes.”

  Sax traded looks with Julian and Risk, knowing exactly what Chase was talking about. “Unless it becomes necessary,” Sax conceded.

  “Which it shouldn’t. Because you’re flying a commercial airline into Nassau, you won’t be able to take weapons. Even if it’s broken down, we can’t afford to have you detained and questioned. You’re going as a resort guest, an ordinary Joe Schmo.” Chase turned to Vivi. “Vivi will help you with your wardrobe.”

  Sax stood. “I don’t have to wear flowery shirts, do I? I’m not a flowery kind of guy.” Uh-oh. Sax did not like the twitch of a smile on Vivi’s face. “Let me rephrase: I detest flowery shirts.”

  Vivi crooked her finger. Sax sauntered over and came to a stop in front of her.

  She seemed to assess him. “Yeah, you need work.”

  “Me?”

  “You’re too good-looking. Too confident.” She put firm hands on his shoulders. “You’re the kind of guy who has trouble getting a woman into bed.”

  Sax ignored the snorts from the peanut gallery. “You mean in theory, of course.”

  “For your role,” she said, betraying no hint of humor. “You should appear desperate enough to buy drugs in order to score. This is what I wanted you to look like.” She nodded to Chase, who flashed a picture of a total schlub on the wall: slouched shoulders, thick, black glasses frames, and a T-shirt that announced he was available for free gynecological exams, complete with a cartoon image of some grinning goober holding a stethoscope.

  “Uh, yeah…no freakin’ way,” Sax said.

  “Well, Chase nixed it anyway.” Vivi sighed, clearly disappointed. “So we’re going with plan B: boring, rumpled guy who works too many long hours in the financial markets.” Another image: a pale, slight man in a wrinkled button-down shirt who clearly took no pride in his appearance. Vivi seemed to be enjoying Sax’s less-than-enthusiastic reaction. “Can you manage that, big, bad Navy SEAL guy?”

  He wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of arguing. “You bet, princess.”

  The moniker didn’t even garner a blink from her. “You need to droop.”

  More snickers from the peanut gallery.

  “His shoulders,” she said, giving them an eye roll that intimated, men. She turned back to Sax. “Drop your shoulders and pull them in slightly like this.”

  He mirrored her.

  “No, more slouched. More.”

  Dayum, he f
elt as though he were doing some stupid dance, moving his shoulders until she gave him a curt nod of approval. He knew the guys were barely holding in their chuckles. “Go ahead and laugh, asshats. I wouldn’t want you busting your balls holding it in.”

  And they did, unleashing guffaws of laughter.

  “Forget them,” Vivi said. “I think you have the idea. Now, for your wardrobe…” She pulled out several bland shirts and the pants to go with them. Then she laid out a pair of scuffed black loafers. “You’ll have to ditch your bowling-shoe sneakers.”

  Sax propped his black shoes with the Native American inlays on the edge of the table. “These are Thorocraft shoes. Finely crafted and dayum expensive. Women happen to dig them.” Shoes and his ’Vette were his luxuries in life.

  She patted his shoulder with a condescending smile. “They’re very pretty. But they won’t work for your look.” She frowned. “Dayum?”

  “ ‘Damn,’ Southern style.”

  “Oh. Cute.” She clearly didn’t think it was cute, not as she went on to set down a couple pair of baggy shorts that probably went to his knees. “I’ve seen you at the gym. You have to play down your build. That means keeping your shirt on and staying away from the Wild side of the resort. That’s the nude side.”

  Risk put his hand to his heart and gave a sorrowful shake of his head. “Aw, Saxy, that’s a killer. I feel for you, bud.”

  “And you’ll wear these.” She held out a pair of glasses with thin, metal frames. “To give you that intellectual look.” When he slid them on, she frowned. “Your eyes are too striking. You’ll need to wear brown contacts.”

  “Hey, hey, hey, are you saying brown eyes are boring?” Knox said, pasting on a mock-stern expression.

  Vivi struck back with a juicy Southern accent. “Not when they’re as rich and chocolatey as yours, Knoxy.” She gave him a dismissive shake of her head and turned back to Sax. “We’ll work on your hair, but I have a couple of ideas. Like temporary brown spray.”