by Zoe Dawson
Her shoulders tightened and she groaned, rubbing at her neck. He was flying in and the bastard wanted her to meet him there?”
“Lead the way,” she said, working at not taking her nasty mood out on the poor guy.
He nodded vigorously and smiled wide. “This way.”
Sticking her hands in her pockets, she followed him with her head down as they got into a jeep and drove toward the airport runway. When they stopped, it took all her composure to keep her anger and hatred in check. This was going to be a performance of a lifetime.
She got out of the jeep when it stopped and followed Juan.
But when she looked up, her heart jumped into her throat, elation pushed out all the anger and hate. It was Fast Lane’s team who was disembarking, not Bates. When she saw him, her knees buckled a little bit.
Hemingway.
She stared at him, dazed for a moment. It was so good to see him. His blond hair was quite a bit longer and unruly, and she had no idea it tended to curl when it got long, glinting in the sun like liquid gold. Not the SEAL look she remembered. The barely-there stubble on his face added a sexy ruggedness, accentuating his strong jaw.
He looked so good dressed in his tack gear, like he was fresh from another fight. Her heart suspended as she watched him walk, shouldering his pack and talking to Mad Max.
Then finally he looked toward her, and his steps faltered. He stared for a few long seconds as Max’s gaze landed on her. The knowing, slight upturn of Max’s mouth made her want to flip him off. Inside she was jumping for joy. Hemingway was here, and it seemed as if everything would be all right. The tension drained out of her.
He saw her, knew her and he made her feel like she existed, not floating between identities and missions.
Since he’d stopped moving, Fast Lane reached her first. “Special Agent Palmer. Fancy meeting you here.”
For a moment, she couldn’t form words, then she broke eye contact with him reluctantly. “Especially when I didn’t know you were coming.”
“We were requested by the agency. We’ve been in the area before on a protection detail.”
“Same old same?” She smiled.
“Something like that. I hear you’ve got some jarheads missing.”
“Three to be exact. Let’s get out of the heat, and I’ll brief you guys.” She turned to her guide and said. “Lead the way, Juan.”
The guide stared at her until she heard Hemingway’s deep voice say in flawless Spanish, “Liderar el camino, Juan.”
The sound of his deep voice rippled through her, and she had to take a quick breath. Juan bobbed his head and said enthusiastically. “Si, this way.”
She hadn’t noticed there were other jeeps following. Hemingway got into the back seat of her vehicle along with Max and Jugs. The other six SEALs piled in and they headed back to the main base. She could feel him behind her, her awareness of him reverberating like a tuning fork.
He had something that weakened her. Not so much his looks. She’d been around hundreds of handsome dangerous men. Maybe it was just unexplainable, that confidence, power and leadership that some men possessed to the maximum degree. It just oozed out of their pores.
Juan took her to the briefing room the Paraguayan commander had designated for this operation. There was a screen, a long, wide conference table, computers, a map and phones. Everything they needed.
They took their seats while Max grabbed one of the bottled waters, pouring it into Jugs’s mouth. The Malinois lapped noisily then Max drained the rest of the water.
She stood at the front of the room while they seated themselves. As soon as they had settled, she clicked the screen on and put up a photo array.
“This is Sergeant Brenden Hanson, Lance Corporal Thomas Schellenberg and Lance Corporal Joe Taggert. They came into Paraguay two weeks ago, telling customs it was a sightseeing trip.” She advanced to the next picture, barely keeping her attention on what she was doing. It was so unprofessional, the first time in her career. “But I traced them to this…uh…outdoor store where they bought tents, climbing ropes, and camping gear.” She advanced again to their rental car, heat infusing her skin. She felt as if she was going to go mad. “I scouted the area where they left their car, and there was no sign of them. The local farmer who I talked to told me that they were treasure hunting.”
She set down the clicker and took a breath. “Excuse me for a moment, gentlemen. Hemingway, could I have a moment of your time in private?”
Max smirked, and she wanted to flip him off again.
Hemingway rose and followed her out of the room, and she went around the corner. The moment he turned the corner, she grabbed his tack vest and pulled him against her. She took his mouth like she owned it. Like he was there for her alone. And the fire between them instantly raged.
There was no hesitation, no apology, no request, just hunger and passion.
“My God, you smell good,” she murmured. “You feel so good. I missed you so much.”
“You have no idea how much I missed you,” he whispered, cupping her face and just staring at her.
“Kiss me before I die,” she whispered. She couldn’t get enough of his mouth. She breathed his name over and over. His body trembled against hers.
Sanity returned, and she gulped a breath. “We better get back.”
“I need to use the restroom first. I’ve got to find some cold water.”
She giggled, and he smiled that beautiful, dreamy smile she loved. She covered her mouth and said, “Down the hall to the left. Hurry.”
“This is all your fault, there, live wire, cock tease. My balls are blue thanks to you.”
She giggled again and shoved him, and he started to walk backward. “You going to take care of that later, wildcat?”
“Um…maybe,” she said, giving him a teasing smile. “Get going.”
She went back to the conference room and briefly gathered her composure before she went back in. It didn’t matter, every man in there knew what they had been doing. Tough. She was the boss, and they would just have to look the other way.
16
Inside the room, she picked up the clicker and resumed her brief like nothing happened—boldly and without apology. Minutes later Hemingway walked back in and sat down. She turned around.
“You okay, there, junior?” Fast Lane asked.
“Yes, sir. Ship shape.”
Max laughed softly beneath his breath, coughing to cover it.
“What did I say about calling him sir?” 2-Stroke asked.
“Could we just continue? There’s nothing to see here,” Hemingway said in that steely voice that came out of nowhere and looked as good on him as that uniform.
Fast Lane laughed, more carefree than she’d ever heard the tough-as-nails commander. The rest of the team joined in. Hemingway was good for them just as he was good for her. She wasn’t sure what she was doing here. Her fractured and fragmented life maybe needed a change.
The doors opened with a dramatic flourish as the man she loathed the most on this planet entered. “Is this a party or a mission?” he said caustically.
She tried not to stiffen, tried with all her might to keep her face neutral. “We were just getting to a map of the Marines’ progression.”
His cold blue eyes flicked to the clicker in her hand and to the map on the screen. He folded his arms over his chest and regarded her icily. “Well, get on with it.”
“Who’s the killjoy with the stick up his ass?” Pitbull whispered to Saint.
Shea cleared her throat, working every second on her composure. “Guys, this is Supervisory Special Agent Patrick Bates.” She introduced each one of the SEALs to him, and all he did was continue to stare at her as if they were just insignificant muscle and not the tactical and lethal geniuses they were. He’d never seen a SEAL team in action. He’d never seen the grit and courage inherent in the men who had made it through BUD/S. He was an egotistical idiot who had no idea how close he was to his fall.
It
made her blood boil, but this wasn’t the time to confront him. She wanted to put her gun against his head and pull the trigger. She’d thought about it so many times, her fingers twitched involuntarily, and her hands got damp.
“Continue,” he snapped.
“They landed at Silvio Pettirossi International Airport in Asunción two weeks ago and rented a car. Their only stops were for camping supplies and staples, mostly MREs. According to the GPS on the rental, they drove approximately one hundred and thirty-seven miles to just outside San Pedro and crossed the river, not to Capiatá, south of Asunción, where the treasures are rumored to be buried but to here.” She turned to the map and drew a red line. “Their car was found at the edge of this dense sub-tropical jungle.” She made a small red x then turned back to the group, approaching the table, ignoring Bates’s sour look. “There have also been rumors that there’s treasure in the river, lost when Spanish galleons headed for the Atlantic Ocean with loads of precious metals from Bolivian mines. That could be what they are searching for.”
“Do you have a plan?” Bates gritted out.
“Yes, we do. We cannot get a helicopter into the dense jungle. We’ll be quick rope inserted here just beyond where the car was found.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow morning at zero six hundred,” Fast Lane said, standing. “If you’ll excuse us, we have been deployed for seventy-two hours and my men need chow, showers and rack time.”
“As long as you’re ready by six am,” Bates said, his eyes glittered like the weasel he was.
“I can assure you, Agent Bates. We’ll be ready.” Fast Lane pushed back his chair and said, “Move out.”
The SEALs began to leave, Shea watching Hemingway. He gave her a heavy look that caused body shivers as she mouthed her room number. He winked and filed out with the others.
She started for the door, and Bates cut her off. His eyes narrowed. “I know, Special Agent Palmer, that you’re used to being independent, with freedom to do as you see fit, but this is my operation. If you overstep your bounds again, I will see that you are reported for insubordination. Is that clear?”
“I was getting a jump on a mission to find your nephew. I know what I’m doing, and now there is no delay in getting to the site where they disappeared. Have a good evening, Mr. Bates.” She brushed past him and could feel the weight of his glare as she went through the door. Screw him. She didn’t overstep her bounds. She did what any agent would do. He just wanted to bust her balls.
She got to her room and went inside, her body alive. She could barely wait for Hemingway to get there. The last time she’d seen him was much too brief. God, she’d been such a fool. The last two years she’d kept herself in check and away from him, gathering intel, lining up witnesses, building a secret case that she could use to draw Bates out. Giving up Hemingway, relegating him to insignificance by her need for revenge.
That shamed her. It humiliated her because she’d never really been present in his life. She’d just been visiting when he’d been giving his all to BUD/S, to her. She knew it and had tried to duck it, hide from it, but it had caught up to her. That night when she had lost her reason and sanity, when she had given over to the temptation of oblivion, drowning in alcohol, that was a result of her inner meltdown. Her purpose went hazy, and her thinking had begun to shift.
She’d called him to confess everything. To tell him that she loved him. There was no denying it anymore. She might have been drunk off her ass when she’d come to that conclusion, but she was stone cold sober now.
She loved him. She had to decide if she loved him more than she wanted to see Bates dead. Did she love him more than she wanted to see her sister’s killer as cold and lifeless as she was? Six feet under like Madison, who would never laugh, love, marry or have children?
She covered her face. Maddy. I’m so sorry. She knew in her heart Maddy wouldn’t want this. She would want Shea to laugh, love, marry and have children. Live a fulfilled and happy, beautiful life.
That was the wall she had to break down, the one full of guilt and anger. The one that was keeping her from Atticus Sinclair.
She was pacing when the soft knock on her door made her tremble. She ran to it, and there he was, dressed in a brown T-shirt and jeans, his sexy stubble and shaggy hair making him look more like a young party animal than a Navy SEAL.
He pushed into the room and closed the door with his heel, locking it.
His hands slid around her, molding the curves of her body. His body shook against hers like they were both in need of this drug they generated between them.
They came together like a car wreck, two vehicles colliding. His mouth claimed hers, hoarsely whispering her name. His kiss was raw sexual energy, hitting her with the power of a lightning bolt. Her breathing out of control, she opened her mouth, needing the heat of him. Hemingway shuddered again, grinding his mouth against hers as he crushed her even tighter.
Her wall crumbled while she yielded everything to him, her need fired higher by his.
His hand swept lower to cup her smooth behind, pull her tighter, and she moaned and thrust her hips against his, latching onto his belt, undoing it with a frantic pull.
The next few minutes were nothing but their mouths devouring each other as he ripped off her top, trapped her against him with one hand, the other exploring her body with brutal intent. She groaned as he covered her breast, and wildly thumbed her nipple, sending a pulse of heat through her body, straight to her screaming core.
She pulled off his T-shirt, her hands all over the hard, wide planes of his chest. He slipped his arms under her armpits, lifting her easily, his mouth capturing and sucking her nipple. She arched back, crying out.
He moved toward the bed, threw her back on it, yanking on his jeans, shoving them down and kicking them violently off.
He was powerful and hard, his erection jutting from his body in full need. He dropped down, stripping her bare, his fingers finding her core, retreated, over and over, never giving her a chance to catch her breath. She pushed up, opening herself wider, reaching for him and wrapping her hands around his erection, as he flexed in her palm. “Fuck, woman.”
“Is that caveman talk?”
He laughed, and she felt her own power as she slid her thumb over the slick tip of him, feeling him lengthen in her hand. She spread her thighs, urging him between, and guided him into her.
“Deep,” she murmured.
“Cavewoman talk?” he whispered, gasping on a laugh and the exquisite heat of him as he thrust.
She arched on the bed and gripped his shoulders, then collapsed against the mattress in mindless pleasure. He held himself above her, plunging into her slowly. He filled her, a thick, hard pulsing sensation that went soul deep. Ask a Navy SEAL to do something, and they damn well did it to perfection.
Her hips moved and he cupped them, helping her motion, driving up into her. She was ravenous for him, using her mouth on him with deep, licking kisses, her hands leaving no part of him untouched.
He covered her completely, bracing himself on his forearms. “Look at me, babe.” She met those vibrant blue eyes, and for a second, he slowed, leaving her completely, then thrusting deep. She arched to greet him, cradling his face, and her eyes lost focus.
He kissed her, that soft, sexy mouth she couldn’t get enough of, his thrust quick and smooth as she whispered in his ear, “I love you, Atticus.”
He made a sound that quickened her to climax, her cry mingling with his moan between ultimate pleasure and surrender. Her muscles tightened at his reaction, sending her toward release. In one hard thrust, he erupted and came, hot and liquid inside her.
The happiness and pleasure she felt right now was almost painful; she had denied herself for so long. Hemingway seemed to understand, even though he couldn’t possibly know. That was on her.
He held her tightly and watched. His breath hitched, her body jerked, and she flexed, melting into him, pulling him tighter. He closed his arms around her as she r
ode the throbbing sensations with him. It went on and on, her body clamping and flexing around his, and she didn’t want to stop or leave his arms. Or face the world.
He was the only solid thing in her life right now. He was the one.
They collapsed, breathing each other in, and Hemingway’s hand smoothed her spine as he watched her world come into focus. He fell to his side with her, nestling her into the curve of his body.
She turned, no longer able to keep silent with the weight of what she wanted. Tears welled but didn’t fall.
“Tell me,” he whispered. “What is this burden you carry?”
She closed her eyes and suddenly, her tears slipped free and slid down her cheeks, the release of pressure in her chest felt freeing. He wiped them away. “I’m building a case against Supervisory Special Agent Bates.”
“That douche who broke into the meeting and treated you like scum on his shoes? That Bates?”
“Yes.” She took a shuddering breath. “I have almost all the evidence I need to put him behind bars. He killed my sister Madison. He, along with Maritime Management, have been defrauding the Navy out of millions by overcharging and creating bogus dockage and wharf fees. They paid a kickback to Bates, who leaked sensitive law enforcement investigations to them so they could continue to defraud the Navy. Madison figured out Bates was behind the derailment of the investigation into Maritime. I found most of the evidence on her cloud, transferred it, and wiped it.”
“Why haven’t you turned him in?”
Nothing could soften the cold reality of her intent. “I’ve been keeping the intel so that I can lure him out and kill him myself, put a bullet in his brain and avenge Maddy.”
Hemingway’s eyes narrowed a fraction, and he stared at her, then cupped her face. His gaze suddenly dark and serious, he leaned forward. “If that’s what you want to do, I won’t think less of you.”
“But?” She stared at him, a feeling of apprehension clenching in her gut. He pulled her tightly against him, running his hand through her hair.
“I only care what it will do to you, Shea,” he said, his tone quiet. “Killing a man in cold blood for revenge isn’t as easy as it sounds. You love NCIS, your job and justice are important to you. Would this be justice?”
