Hemingway (SEAL Team Alpha Book 11)

by Zoe Dawson

  He spied swim trunks and a cotton T-shirt on the bed. Getting out of his clothes he donned the dry, clean ones and walked through the room done in ocean blues, gold and warm sand tones, and through the terrace doors.

  “You are full of surprises.”

  She smiled. “Care for a drink? There’s iced tea or lemonade.”

  He picked up a pitcher and poured out a glass full of tea. “Are you done with your assignment?”

  Her face clouded over, and she nodded. “It’s done.”

  He sat down on the couch across from her, meeting her eyes over the terracotta fire pit and said, “I’m sorry about your brother. I didn’t get the chance to tell you in person. Has he been found?”

  That cloud darkened, and she looked away toward the pool, her voice soft and liquid. “No, he’s still missing. It’s been devastating on the heels of losing my sister. In this case, torturous, because we don’t know if he’s dead or alive.”

  “I’m so sorry, Shea.”

  She rose and moved to the couch, snuggling into his chest after he raised his arm in invitation.

  “This isn’t a night for sorrow, Atty. This is a night for us to carve out a chunk of time to just be. Are you all right with that?”

  He nodded. “You’re one of my favorite people to be with,” he murmured, taking in the hibiscus scent of her soft hair, the warmth of her body against his, and the feel of her again in his arms. A temporary stay, but he wouldn’t pass this up for anything. He had no idea when he would see her again…if ever.

  “I got your package.”

  She chuckled, and he squeezed her tight and said, “You are such a sass bucket.”

  She buried her face in his neck, and he sighed as she kissed his throat, his jaw, then her mouth found his, the heavy pulse of desire beating immediately between them, the ache pushing beyond the heart.

  He pulled her until she was straddling his lap, the privacy of the terrace cocooning them. Her string bikini was no barrier, as a few pulls released everything he wanted bared to him.

  His hand swept over her hair, holding her face.

  She smiled, her eyes a bit teary. “I really missed you,” she whispered.

  His hold tightened at her words, something unraveling inside him. Her curves were delicious and the tactile feel of her was filled with familiarity and memory. She was bold, like she always was, taking what she wanted because this was all there was before she would be gone again. He buried his face in the curve of her throat, his hand soothing her spine. He stood as she clamped herself to him and shed his swim trunks.

  Lowering them back to the couch, her breath panted as she guided him inside. He settled her legs around his waist and thrust.

  The scent of musk rose around them. Stone hard, his dick pistoned in a pace he couldn’t control, and she opened to him, rising in rhythm to his lunges. Her body shuddered, releasing heat waves that doused him in flames. Her gasps filled the air. He was lost in her, tension low in his stomach, each motion thickening him, making every tiny sensation raw and primal. Tendrils of pleasure wrapped him, riding his spine, each eager thrust taking him to the edge.

  She peaked, the release rippling through her as if it was a whole-body experience, her wild flex of muscles, the squeeze made him groan with savage pleasure as he climaxed, her gasping cry crashing through him. She grabbed his face, kissed him wildly and refused to let the moment fade. They were suspended for long, glorious seconds, fused before muscles started to relax again.

  When he could catch his breath, he met her gaze, sweeping her hair off her face and kissing her softly. Damn, he wanted this woman for more than a stolen night. But the reality was harsh, their desires more than what they shared with their bodies.

  It would have to be enough.

  It would never be enough.

  He rose and took her to the king bed where they made love all night long. In the gray rays of the morning, he woke to an empty space. A note lying on the pillow.

  I can’t say goodbye to you, babe. That is beyond my capability. So, I sneak away before you wake to make it easier on me. I know that you, the type of man you are, will understand. Take good care. Stay safe and kick ass in the teams. They are lucky to have you. I’m so proud to have had time with you and maybe in the future we’ll meet again.

  So long…Shea

  It was as if everything caught up to him in one crashing moment. Becoming a SEAL, Honor Man, leaving his buddies, leaving his family, losing Shea—again. He buried his face in his hands and released the pressure in great gasping breaths and salty heat. Then he got back in his dry shorts and T-shirt, headed back to the barracks, showered and went out to lunch with his family.

  So long, Shea.

  15

  One Year Later, Somewhere on the Amazon

  “Dodger! What the fuck happened to the Zodiac?” Fast Lane said, low and intense.

  “It must have gotten hit by a stray bullet,” Dodger said, frowning. “Bollocks! The motor’s dead, too.”

  This was Hemingway’s first full, operational deployment, and he was having a blast. They were currently in the middle of the steamy jungle, on the edge of the mighty Amazon in Brazil after a sneak and peek for the DEA. They had a small cadre of drug runners trailing them after they had run into one of their patrols. Brazil was one of the countries considered to be in the transit zones for the movement of cocaine base, cocaine HCL, and heroin being shipped from Colombia and Peru to markets in the US and Europe as well as producers of coca leaves.

  “We don’t have time to fix it. They’re on our heels,” Fast Lane growled. “We are not authorized to engage.” He turned to his teammates, all of them sweating freely in the still air. Night was approaching, and that was the best-case scenario. SEALs worked in the dark and the water, so they were right at home. “Dragon, Pitbull, Max, overwatch. Keep an eye on those bastards.”

  “I can fix it. Give me some time.”

  The jungle’s chirping, tweeting, cheeping, cawing and shrieking, loud and piercing, all mixed into a cacophony.

  “We’re running out of time.”

  Dodger nodded and disappeared into the thick brush; minutes passed as colorful toucans croaked in nearby trees, their beautiful blue and yellow feathers flashing through the leaves.

  “They’re coming up fast, LT. You want us to engage?” Max said.

  “No, not until they fire on us. Orders. Dodger’s solving the problem.”

  “Oh, God, we’re in trouble now,” Max muttered.

  “Cut the chatter,” Fast Lane ordered. “Saint, get on the horn and get us some back up. This mission just got noisy.”

  “Copy that.” Saint turned to his equipment and worked at reaching their base.

  Fast Lane caught 2-Stroke’s vest. “Keep an eye on the kid,” he ordered, then looked at Hemingway. “You do exactly as I say.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  2-Stroke laughed softly. “Don’t call him, sir. It might go to his head.”

  “Don’t make me laugh, you bastard,” Fast Lane said, fighting a grin. “Where the hell is Dodger. I’ll eat his fucking liver.”

  “Here,” he called from the waist deep water as it swirled around him, sweat dripping down his green and black face, painted for camouflage, his jungle hat pulled low over his eyes. Hemingway’s jaw dropped, and Fast Lane’s frustration was nothing but a low, feral rumble.

  Fast Lane finally found his voice. “That’s a rowboat! How far do you think we’re gonna get in a fucking rowboat!” A family of large otters out in the center of the river chattered as if agreeing with their LT.

  “Hey, after BUD/S, I could paddle in my sleep,” Hemingway said, giving Dodger a sympathetic look. No one wanted to disappoint Fast Lane…ever…never ever.

  “Jesus, are we SEALs or fishermen!”

  “Actually, SEALs are kinda fishermen,” 2-Stroke said.

  “Do you want his liver with onions or mushrooms?” Hemingway asked.

  2-Stroke nudged Hemingway with a grin. “Good one.”r />
  “Base is sending a fully loaded boat team. ETA fifteen minutes,” Saint said.

  Fast Lane nodded at Saint, giving Hemingway a quick grin. “Both,” he growled.

  “Did you say rowboat?” Mad Max asked comically through the comm.

  “Shut up. I’m thinking.” He stood there for a moment. “Wait, we can’t fit all of us in that boat.”

  “I know. Some of us are going to have to use fins and push it,” Dodger said, wincing as a scarlet macaw launched from the trees overhead and flew away down the river.

  “Max, Dragon, Pitbull. Get back here,” Fast Lane ordered.

  As soon as they came through the heavy brush behind them, Dragon watching their back, Max said, “Holy shit! He did say rowboat. What the fuck, Dodger?”

  “I’m not a miracle worker. I can’t make a fully working Zodiac out of thin air. I missed that class at BUD/S.” He paused and contemplated for a moment, then said, “Although, if I had some tires and wires, I might be able to rig something up.”

  “Way to go, MacGyver,” Pitbull said.

  “Screw the rowboat. It was a…good try. We’re swimming out of here. Gear up.”

  “You got it, LT.” Max eyed the water.

  “We’ve got no choice. Sink that Zodiac and get rid of the boat. Let’s go!”

  Hemingway started changing his gear out for his Draeger and fins. He looked over at Dodger, who had set the boat adrift and waded to shore. “What are we looking at in the water?” Hemingway asked.

  “Piranha, caiman, anaconda and possibly bull sharks,” Dodger said.

  “Aren’t bull sharks one of the most aggressive animals on earth?” 2-Stroke asked.

  Hemingway grinned and said, “Nope. That would be Navy SEALs.”

  They chuckled. “You think the fucking new guy has it right?” Pitbull asked.

  “I don’t want to go mano e mano against a shark, but he better keep his distance. Can’t you do some of that shark whispering, Pitbull?” Saint asked.

  “Hey, that only works on Great Whites,” he said with a smirk.

  “We won’t bother them until they bother us,” Fast Lane said.

  Dodger reached over to a stack of bananas that had fallen from a nearby tree and snapped one free. Digging in his pack, he pulled out a small packet, tore it open, and squeezed peanut butter onto the banana. Dodger was something else. Not only had he been through some of the toughest military training with being first a Royal Marine, then through their extra-elite black ops force, the Special Boat Service, but he came to America and did it all over again. Hemingway wasn’t sure he would ever want to repeat BUD/S for a second time. The guy was a damn good mechanic, he could find food and equipment where no one else would look, and amazingly, knew where he was without a compass. Dodger shoved a wad of banana and peanut butter into his mouth, and Hemingway thought, the guy’s a bottomless pit, never without some chow.

  As the guys were fitting on their fins, Hemingway did a double take when the tiniest monkey he’d ever seen cautiously climbed over brush and debris. Dodger smiled and broke off a piece of the banana and offered it to the little guy, his fur short, black at the shoulders and golden on his back and limbs. He had a small, adorable face with black, curious eyes.

  Shyly, he climbed onto Dodger’s large palm and took the piece into his miniscule hands and started to chomp into the banana.

  Dodger looked up at Hemingway. “It’s a squirrel monkey. Isn’t he cute?”

  “Are you done, there, National Geographic Explorer?” Fast Lane asked.

  “Right, enough of this monkey business, mates. Time to swim with predators,” Dodger grinned.

  Everyone chuckled low and headed into the water.

  The Grove, San Diego, California

  “I want that assignment, Rebecca.”

  “It’s not an undercover mission, Shea.”

  “I don’t care. I’m a trained NCIS agent. I can handle anything. I want it.” Rebecca rubbed her temples. “We both know that what I pulled off in Egypt was nothing short of a miracle. If those schematics had dropped into the wrong hands…”

  “Yes, you recovered the stolen destroyer plans and we nabbed ourselves a traitor. Are you saying the Navy owes you?”

  “Yes. It owes me. I saved countless lives. I’m proud to serve NCIS. Now let me do my job. Give me this because I’m asking you. I need this.”

  “That’s what worries me.” Rebecca sat back in her chair, her eyes shrewd and alight with decision. “This has to do with your brother’s disappearance. Doesn’t it?”

  “Those three men who are missing—Sergeant Brendan Hanson, Lance Corporal Thomas Schellenberg and Lance Corporal Joe Taggert. They were the ones who said Jason didn’t want to be a Marine. They insinuated that he deserted. They were lying through their teeth, but I had no way to prove it. I think they had something to do with Jason’s disappearance. Let me have this, Rebecca.”

  “I know who they are better than you do.” She closed her eyes, her face looking haggard. “You have to take someone with you. That’s out of my hands.”

  “Who?”

  “Patrick Bates.”

  Shea stiffened, her hatred and anger black and ugly inside her. But she was a master at not letting it show. She had to be careful. Rebecca wasn’t the head of this unit for nothing. She was smart, savvy, and almost damn near psychic.

  Bates was the man who had taken everything from her. She almost had enough on him to get his attention. Almost had enough to lure him out and deal her own kind of justice. He was a traitor. He’d been involved with Maddy’s death. He might not have pulled the trigger, but he was the one who had ordered her killed. He had plenty to hide. “What? He’s a supervisory agent. What does he want with a mission to find and secure three Marines?”

  “Sergeant Hanson is his nephew, so he has a stake in this, too. I’ve been overruled.”

  It seemed that her family, and Bates’s were fated to intertwine. Now his nephew might have had a hand in Jason’s disappearance.

  “There is something just short of ballistic about you, Shea. I’m getting vibes I don’t like.”

  “What undercover agent do you have who doesn’t give off edgy vibes? Those are the ones you need to worry about.”

  “Those are the ones who turn out to be homicidal maniacs.” Rebecca laughed softly. “We both know if you get emotional and it rules you, that’s a disaster waiting to happen.” She opened the bottom of her desk drawer and pulled out a bottle and two cut crystal glasses and poured. Pushing away from her desk, she came around where Shea was standing and deposited one of the glasses into Shea’s hand. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

  Shea held her boss’s gaze, then in one swallow downed the scotch. It burned a warm glow all the way down to her gut. Two could play at that game and every undercover assignment had been her schoolhouse. “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “You leave tonight, so get packed.”

  Shea set the glass on the edge of the polished desk. She started to go around Rebecca, but she caught her in a tight grip. “Don’t mess with me, Shea. You’ll regret it.”

  “I’m sure I would.” She pulled her arm free and left. Inside her car, tears welled but never fell. There would be no fracture in her iron will.

  She’d already given up the most important thing in her life and her soul felt hollow, ringing empty and cavernous inside her. Bates had robbed her of that joy, the pleasure she would have had if she’d met Hemingway…before. Before he’d twisted her up inside with the need for vengeance.

  Was revenge more potent than love?

  Was it? Because she was beginning to believe that turning over all she had against Bates would make her feel better. He would still be breathing while her sister was dead, but there would be justice. He would be humiliated, his career destroyed, prosecuted, and incarcerated. Was that enough for what he had taken away from Maddy?

  All she knew was her cold, rational need for revenge was getting eaten away by what she felt for
Hemingway. Even after eighteen months of not seeing him, hearing his voice, just the memory of his smile would make her second guess what had been so easy to envision before she walked into that bar and her life had changed.

  Her undercover assignment had been empty, the loneliness eating at her. She couldn’t make real friends, confide in anyone. There were some nights where she ached so much, alcohol was the only answer. Then she’d called him, drunk and just needing to hear his voice. He didn’t pick up and the next morning, she’d vowed never to drink again.

  She leaned her head against the steering wheel. God, what if she was holding on to revenge as a way to keep her sister alive? If she let this all go, she would have to face up to Maddy’s death, face it and mourn her. Instead of the black hate in her heart, there would be so much grief and sorrow.

  Wrapped in all of this was the unrelenting fear that she’d lost Jason as well. He’d been missing for so long, but the stubborn in her held out. She couldn’t lose her brother too. He had to be alive, and she knew in her heart there had to be some explanation as to why he’d disappeared. Jason was like Hemingway in every way, loyal, tough, noble, and humble. He loved the Corps and would never have abandoned it, unless…she couldn’t finish that thought.

  Everything would hinge on this mission she was getting ready to take. Either she’d kill Bates in cold blood, or she wouldn’t. At this point, she didn’t know how she wanted that to play out.

  Paraguayan Air Force Base, Luque, Paraguay

  Shea had been at the base waiting for Bates to land for two days. They had given her a single barracks room, usually reserved for officers. There weren’t many women on the base, and she stuck out like a sore thumb.

  She’d had a headache at the base of her skull ever since she found out Bates was going to be here. The tendons in her head and shoulders were as tight as guitar strings. To say she didn’t trust him was a woeful understatement, but she’d make a deal with the devil to find Jason. That’s what mattered now.

  The aide assigned to her spoke broken English. “Airport, señorita, por favor.”