Watching From the Shadows
TRIDENT SECURITY BOOK 5
BY SAMANTHA A. COLE
Watching From the Shadows
Copyright © 2016 Samantha A. Cole
All Rights Reserved.
Watching From the Shadows is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Front Cover Designed by Samantha A. Cole
Editing by Eve Arroyo
Foreword Written and Copyrighted © by Deborah Green
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
The story within these pages is completely fictional, but the concepts of BDSM are real. If you do choose to participate in the BDSM lifestyle, please research it carefully and take all precautions to protect yourself. Fiction is based on real life, but real life is not based on fiction. Remember—Safe, Sane and Consensual!
Any information regarding persons or places has been used with creative literary license so there may be discrepancies between fiction and reality. The Navy SEALs missions and personal qualities within have been created to enhance the story and, again, may be exaggerated and not coincide with reality.
The author has full respect for the members of the United States Military and the varied members of law enforcement and thanks them for their continuing service to making this country as safe and free as possible.
DEDICATION
To my family and friends for all their support.
Table of Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Foreword
Prologue
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
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Coming Soon
About the Author
Other Books By Samantha A. Cole
Connect With Me
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
To my editor, Eve Arroyo, thanks for putting up with my comma handicap and all my little quirks.
To my PA, Maria, thanks for helping with all my events.
To my Beta Readers, Abby, Charla, Debbie, Felisha, Jessica, and Julie – without all of you, I would be lost. Thanks for being there every step of the way!
And to the Sexy-Six-Pack Sirens! You're the best group of readers and supporters I could ever ask for!
Foreword
I Never Knew
Before you I felt so all alone,
Imprisoned by myself.
Secluded from the drag of time,
Un-needed and un-helped.
I'd sit and stare, I'd look at sights,
But nothing would I see.
A printed page not understood,
A beach without a sea.
But when I think of you,
It's like a gentle rain on land.
My thoughts become a symphony,
Played by a maestro's hand.
I see your figure clear and bold,
On canvas in my mind.
I dream your arms around me tight,
Embracing for all time.
When I'm with you time stands still,
Or ceases to exist.
You and I are all alone,
Enveloped in a mist.
And I can linger in your arms,
To store up memories.
For times when you're not with me, Babe,
When you're not here with me.
©Deborah Green – February, 2016
PROLOGUE
Well past midnight, the headlights to the target’s truck appeared and lit up the street as he drove toward his home in a residential neighborhood of Tampa. After he passed the blue Honda Civic parked a block and a half away from his destination, the area was plunged into darkness once again. But the vehicle wasn’t occupied. Its driver had crept through several backyards to the trees on the west side of the man’s property. The spot had been used several times before.
Observant eyes zeroed in on the private security operative as he climbed out of his truck, dressed in black leather pants, biker boots, and a button-down, white shirt with its sleeves rolled up to the elbows. With a zoom lens, several photos were taken as the man strode to his mailbox and then his front door, unaware of the other person’s presence. Or was he? The dark-haired former Navy SEAL paused with the key in the door lock and scanned the area surrounding his property. Sinking deeper behind the shrub coverage, the observer prayed discovery wasn’t imminent. It wasn’t time…soon, but not yet.
A deep breath was exhaled when the man finally entered the house and shut the door behind him. Several lights came on as he made his way through the rooms. He lived alone…had since his beloved sister passed away months before. Such a shame, but it was one less person who stood in the observer’s way.
When the last light went out, the observer counted to one thousand then slowly crept out of hiding, sticking to the shadows. There were closed-circuit cameras pointed at both the front and back doors, which were expected from a man with a military and security background. But since there were none pointed at the truck, it wasn’t an issue.
Last time the observer had left something on the vehicle, it had been an unobtrusive tracking device which had been placed on the undercarriage closest to the front passenger door. Tonight’s objects, though, would be left in plain sight where the homeowner was sure to see them when he left for work in the morning.
After tucking the two objects under the windshield wiper on the driver’s side so they wouldn’t blow away, the observer hurried back into the shadows and returned to the waiting Honda. All that was left to do tonight was print out the photos…and then wait until the time was right.
CHAPTER 1
Across the backyard, Marco ‘Polo’ DeAngelis watched his buddy roughhouse with four fatherless children in the newly fallen January snow. Curt Bannerman and he had flown into Fort Dodge Regional Airport the night before, then driven an hour to Stormville, Iowa, to the home of Dana Prichard—widow of their former teammate, Eric Prichard. The retired Navy SEAL had been murdered in a hit and run incident a little over a year ago, and the man who’d killed him had been a hired assassin, targeting specific former members of SEAL Team Four.
The SEAL community was tight-knit, and when one of them was killed or incapacitated, the others would step up and help out all they could. Shortly after Prichard’s funeral, a rotating, bi-weekly schedule had been set up. Once every four months, Marco’s name had come up and he traveled from his home in Tampa, Florida, to meet another team member in Iowa for the weekend. They would stay at a local motel and help Dana with anything that needed to be done around the house and yard. Landscaping, a new roof, and a bathroom renovation had been on the to-do list, among other things, over the past sixteen months. This morning the two men had painted six-ye
ar-old Amanda’s bedroom pink and purple since she’d declared she was too grown up for the old Winnie-the-Pooh décor.
If there was nothing pressing that needed to be done at the residence, they sometimes gave Dana a weekend to herself without the kids or took the entire family on an excursion. They’d gone on a camping trip one of the weekends Marco had been there and a trip to the Six Flags Park in Iowa City another time. Personally, he preferred to work when his weekends came up—kids made him a little antsy. It wasn’t that he disliked them—he just didn’t have the greatest childhood and didn’t know how to relate to them like Bannerman did. And he also had no desire to have children of his own—a decision he’d made a long time ago.
While Marco finished stacking the firewood they’d split earlier, Bannerman and Amanda, the only girl, threw snowballs at her brothers—nine-year-old Justin, ten-year-old Taylor, and twelve-year-old Ryan. It wasn’t long before Dana stuck her head out the back door. “Dinner’s ready! Come and get it!”
Thank God, because he was so cold, his cock and balls were trying to crawl up into his pelvis. The temperatures had barely reached thirty degrees all day, and for a five-year resident of Florida, that felt like ten below. He had no idea how Curt was putting up with it since the man lived a few hours away from him in Daytona Beach. Next trip, he would invest in some thermal underwear because the heavy jacket, gloves, and hat weren’t warm enough.
As the kids rushed inside, Curt ambled over, brushing the snow from his blond hair. “Hand me the axes. I’ll put them in the shed. You’re looking a little hypothermic there, Polo.”
“Ya think?” he snorted, his rarely-heard Staten Island accent coming through. “It’s colder than a witch’s tit out here. I knew there was a reason I moved to the Sunshine State.”
Curt bent over and pulled one of the axes out of the old tree stump they’d used, then took the one Marco handed him. “I could get used to it again. You forget—I’m from Montana. This is nothing—a tropical heat wave.”
“Yeah, well…why don’t you stop ogling the merry widow, tell her how you feel, and then you can live in the Tropics of Iowa all year round.”
Even though his cheeks were red from the cold, the six-foot-four, two-hundred-twenty-pound man blushed. “What are you fucking talking about? I’m not interested in Dana.”
Crossing his arms, Marco rolled his eyes. “Please. Don’t give me that. You get a goofy fucking grin on your face every time she walks into the room. Probably a fucking hard-on, too, but I have no desire to confirm that by taking a look at your junk. Every time someone can’t make it up here for their weekend, you’ve been filling in. And don’t tell me it’s because Eric was your best friend.”
“He is…was…damn it.” Scowling, Curt turned and strode toward the shed, but Marco followed on his heels. He knew the survivor guilt the guy was dealing with because he had his own ghost of Prichard. The deceased SEAL had taken Marco’s place on a fact-finding mission many years ago and it had resulted in him being added to the assassin’s hit list.
“I know he was. But you know better than I do that he’d want you to have a good life without him. Same goes for Dana. I’ve seen the way she looks at you sometimes. And the kids and you get along great—so what’s the problem? It’s been almost a year and a half since he was killed. Get off your fucking ass, before someone steps in and snatches her up.”
Curt whirled around so fast, Marco almost got hit in his cold cock with an ax. “Who’s going to snatch her up? Someone else been eyeing her?”
He smirked. “Thought you weren’t interested.”
“Don’t fuck with me, Polo. Who the fuck else is interested in her?”
Finding amusement in the other man’s fast change in attitude, Marco shrugged. “I don’t know for sure, but Egghead mentioned the Sheriff seemed to be sniffing around a lot when he was up here two weeks ago.” Brody ‘Egghead’ Evans was his best friend and teammate at Trident Security, and was the biggest computer geek in the world—or close to it.
“Fuck that shit.”
The big man’s gaze went to the rear entrance of the house and Marco slapped him on the shoulder before taking the axes from him. “So, you gonna man-up and tell her how you feel?”
Curt nodded, his eyes never leaving the backdoor. “Damn fucking straight.”
“About fucking time.” He watched his friend make a beeline for the house. Even though a wife and kids wasn’t in Marco’s future, he had no problem with his buddies having them. But settling down was something he was never going to do. He’d rather cut off his left nut than walk down the aisle and have a bunch of rug-rats. No way…no fucking how.
* * *
Taking a sip of his beer, Marco relaxed in a sitting area near the bar of the BDSM club, The Covenant, which was located on the same property as Trident Security. One couldn’t ask for more than having his work and play areas within forty yards of each other, especially when he enjoyed both. He listened to his bosses, Ian and Devon Sawyer, discuss the meeting the former had taken part in on Friday at the Pentagon in Washington D.C. about their new government contract. Their other teammate, Jake Donovan, had met Boss-man there and then flown back to San Diego to his temporary home. Jake was currently in charge of establishing Trident Security’s west coast facility there and was living with his boyfriend/submissive, Nick Sawyer, who happened to be the bosses’ younger brother. Nick had just under two years left in his own Navy SEAL career, stationed in California, so the set-up had worked out perfectly for everyone.
At the feet of the Dominant Sawyers, their submissive women sat on pillows, chatting quietly in their club lingerie. Kristen was Devon’s wife, while Angie Beckett and Ian were in the process of planning their late spring wedding. Between Ian, Devon, Jake, and their other teammate, Ben ‘Boomer Michaelson, the men of Trident were dropping like flies as they had all met the loves of their lives over the past sixteen months. The only two men left on Trident’s Alpha team who were single were Brody and Marco, and the others were betting on who was going down next. Marco felt sorry for anyone who’d bet on him because it was a losing wager.
He’d gotten home a few hours ago from Iowa and instead of just crashing on the couch in front of his big screen TV like he wanted to, he’d ended up here for Devon’s birthday. It wasn’t exactly a party with presents and all, just another excuse for them all to get together for a few drinks and maybe some play down in the pit. While the main second floor of the club housed the bar, offices, and a fetish store, the pit, as it was dubbed by the members, was the huge recreational room downstairs. It was filled with a wide assortment of BDSM equipment in both public areas and private rooms.
Even though it was still early in the evening—a little after eight-thirty—the club was bustling with activity. On Sunday nights, the place usually emptied out by eleven, so people could get some sleep before starting their work week the next day. From their pillows, Kristen and Angie began giggling uncontrollably at something near the bar and the three men turned their attention in the same direction.
“Ho-ly shit!” Devon shook his head in stunned amusement, while Marco almost fell out of his chair as laughter spilled forth and tears filled his gunmetal blue eyes. Speaking of a losing wager.
Ian’s head dropped back as he groaned loudly. “Oh, crap. Is he fucking kidding me?” He glanced at Marco. “Let me guess, the Giants beat the Cowboys in today’s football game.”
“Yup.” That was the only word he could get out as he held his six-pack abs and gasped for air.
They all stared as Brody strode toward them, good-naturedly chuckling at members’ comments along the way. Dressed in his usual snug, faded jeans, T-shirt, and cowboy boots, the only thing that was out of place was the fact he had his button fly undone. And instead of his junk hanging out, it was covered by an elephant trunk and ears—the thong the loser had to wear in the bet he and Marco had made. Every few steps, the well-built geek would stop and wiggle his hips at some of the female submissives, causing the impressi
vely filled trunk to flap around. By the time he reached his teammates the entire bar area had erupted into fits of hysterical laughter.
Stopping a few feet from Marco, his best friend pointed a finger at him, unable to hide his grin. The man had no shame. “Just fucking wait, asshole. I can’t wait until the next time you lose a bet.”
Although he wasn’t too worried, Marco knew the guy was already planning his revenge and he might not put it off until the next wager. “Um, if I remember correctly, you were the one who swore the Cowboys would win and the junk trunk was your idea.” He wiped away a tear which threatened to escape and turned his head toward Kristen and Angie. “I don’t know, ladies. I think I would’ve filled it out better than Egghead. What do you think?”
Before either of the women had a chance to respond, one of the submissive waitresses, Cassandra, hurried over, wearing an expression of alarm. She did a double take at Brody’s crotch, but then directed her words to Marco. “Sir, Master Ben is in the lobby on a phone call and he told me to come get you. He said it’s an emergency.”
The mirth died quickly as he leaped to his feet followed by Ian and Devon. Brody tucked the elephant in his pants and was a step behind Marco’s heels as he ran toward the lobby. Cell phones were not allowed out on the club floor, and all calls and texts had to be taken outside—a rule which was strictly enforced. His initial thought was something had happened to Boomer’s girlfriend, Kat Maier, but she was standing by her Dom’s side with worry on her pretty face as the group hurried up to them.
“Hang on a sec.” Boomer pulled the cell phone away from his face and held it out for Marco. “You remember Jake’s ex on Clearwater P.D.? Drew Murdock? He’s at a crime scene and your business card was there. When he couldn’t get a hold of you, he called Trident’s main number, and I’m on-call, so it got bounced to me.”
Watching From The Shadows: Trident Security Book 5 Page 1
