Hot SEAL, Midnight Magic
A SEALs in Paradise Novel
TERESA REASOR
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
HOT SEAL, MIDNIGHT MAGIC
A SEALS IN PARADISE NOVEL
COPYRIGHT © 2021 by Teresa J. Reasor
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Elle James Ebook Edition
Print Edition Cover Art by Elle James & Tracy Stewart
Edited by Faith Freewoman
Teresa J. Reasor
PO Box 124
Corbin, Ky 40702
ISBN 13: 978-1-940047-38-6
ISBN 10: 1-940047-38-2
Smashwords Edition
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
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
Chapter 24
More Information and Books by Teresa Reasor
Dedication
For my Aunt Betty Jo.
I always loved that you said what you thought, about as quickly as you thought it. And didn’t let it faze you when people would say, “Darn, Betty Jo, I don’t think I’d have said that.” LOL
I think of you often and I miss you very much. Thank you for believing in me.
Teresa
CHAPTER 1
‡
A faint, unfamiliar creak woke her. Not the sound of the house settling naturally, but something else.
She lay still for several seconds, straining to hear more while her eyes adjusted to the dark. The sound of her own breathing seemed loud, so she held her breath.
She sensed something, someone in the room. Chill bumps raced along her arms. Fear shot a flood of adrenaline through her while her scalp prickled. Afraid to move anything but her eyes, she scanned the shadowed, still space.
She looked again, squinting at what might be a shape in the corner, a darker outline against the charcoal gray of the wall, the lack of light leaching away any color. Someone was watching her…foreign, threatening, his body tense, his face hidden.
Fear stole her ability to move, to scream, to do anything but drag in shallow breaths and wait for the paralysis to pass. But before that could happen, he was on her, straddling her, his hand pressing down on her throat, cutting off her air.
She clawed at his hand but could only scratch at the glove that covered it. She went for his face, but it was covered by a knit mesh mask.
She rocked from side to side, struggling to break his hold, then gripped his sleeve. Bright spots exploded in front of her eyes. Her chest hurt with the need to breathe. The spots turned to static, darkening the edges of her sight to pitch, smothering her will. Her hand dropped, limp, against his leg.
She couldn’t die like this. With one final attempt to survive, she latched onto his balls and squeezed with every ounce of strength she had left.
He screamed, and, with a fist like iron, hammered her face.
*
Mia lunged up off the bed, panic and pain warring within her while both threatened to drop her to her knees.
She held her face while the ache nearly overpowered her—until a surge of nausea sent her staggering into her bathroom to heave into the toilet.
When she finally straightened, she grabbed a washcloth from the basket on the vanity, wet it, and pressed it to her jaw until the pain receded and finally evaporated.
In the mirror, her face looked normal, uninjured. But the vision was too real, and so intense it dragged the pain into her reality.
Who had she connected to? Someone either close by or tied to her in some way. Images of the room still lurked, cloying and dark, around her. The woman’s fear overwhelmed everything else.
Mia needed to concentrate.
Did the bedroom walls have a blue tinge? Possibly. And the room seemed far away from any light, so possibly at the back of the house.
Who did she know with a small, shadowed bedroom at the back of their house? Her mother’s was huge. Her grandmother’s was surrounded by windows and lit by a streetlight at night. Who else?
Mama Bet. A dropping sensation made her stomach lurch. Was the attack happening now, or was it about to happen? Mia never knew. But there was immediacy to this particular moment that she rarely experienced.
An urgent tremor set off her stomach again.
She needed to make sure Mama was okay. Right now. She left the bathroom and grabbed the cell phone off her nightstand, dialing Mama’s number from memory.
The phone rang ten times, with no answer. But Mama was always there at night, and she would have called Mia and asked her to water the garden and feed the cat if she had left town to visit her sister—the only member of Mama’s family still living other than the boys.
Using the illumination from the bathroom light, Mia rushed to her closet, threw on a sweater, and shoved her feet into a pair of beat-up slip-on tennis shoes. Gripping her cell phone, she snatched her purse off the table by the door and rushed out onto the metal landing. The night air eased her nausea, but, still shaky, she clung to the stair railing all the way to the bottom.
The streetlight cast a weak glow on her car parked beneath it. A sudden bark of laughter up the street startled her, and she jerked the car door open, darted inside, shoved in the key, and started the engine. The clock read 2:32 as she shot down the alley and out onto a side road, grateful that traffic was light as she wove her way through the dark streets and caught I-90 across the river.
If Mama Bet was okay, who else might it be? Who else had she come in contact with that might have triggered this kind of connection?
The twenty-minute drive to Alger’s Point and Mama Bet’s house seemed to take forever. When she turned into Mama’s driveway, Mia realized she had no way to protect herself if the attacker was still inside. But she couldn’t call the police and report a crime unless a crime had been committed.
It had. She trusted her ability.
She shoved open the car door, her breaths sounding loud in her ears as she strode up the steps to the front porch of the small shotgun house, past the pale purple passionflower clematis spiraling up the porch post at one end, its lovely scent perfuming the air. She tugged open the screen door and rapped on the door one time.
The door creaked open.
Darkness stared back at her while chill bumps raced up her arms and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. With a trembling hand, she reached inside and flipped on the light. Though cluttered, everything appeared to be in its place.
“Mama Bet?”
Her voice was swallowed by the silence. Even the late summer insects seemed to have lost their voices.
> Mia took a step inside, then stilled to listen. Nothing. She moved past the living room to the tiny kitchen-dining room. Seeing nothing was disturbed, she flipped the hallway light on. “Mama Bet?”
More silence. She slipped down the narrow hall to the first bedroom. Sparsely decorated, it looked normal, as did the bathroom across from it. But before she reached Mama’s doorway, she smelled blood and something more, and pressed a hand over her nose and mouth.
She glanced inside the bedroom to the right, afraid to turn her back on the room before looking. It was empty.
She reached inside Mama’s bedroom door and brushed the light switch up. Blood splatter peppered the bedclothes Mama lay beneath, her beautifully embroidered pillowcase stained dark with it. The pillow still cradled Mama’s head. Her face, bloodied and blackening with bruises, was grotesquely swollen, and finger marks stood out red against the skin around her throat.
Tears blurred Mia’s eyes, and she blinked them away. She took one shaky step into the room.
Mama gasped in a rattling breath.
Sweet Jesus, she’s still alive.
Mia jerked her cell phone out of her sweater pocket and dialed 9-1-1 while she skirted the bloody floor and moved around the bed to the far side.
She searched for a space on Mama’s arm that wasn’t covered with blood and rested a hand on her forearm while she leaned close to Mama’s ear and said, “I’m here, Mama. I’m getting help.”
“9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”
“Someone broke into my friend’s house and beat her. Badly.” Mia’s voice shook. “She’s barely breathing. I need an ambulance and the police… Please hurry.”
CHAPTER 2
‡
Navy SEAL Gage Fontenot jerked the heavy sea bag off the luggage carousel and swung it onto his shoulder, ignoring the looks he got as he hiked his heavy seabag and carried it through the terminal.
The trip had been a bitch, consisting of catching a ride on two different transports and booking a flight to New Orleans as soon as he landed. He’d been on the move for twenty-four hours straight, and his oldest jeans and green T-shirt probably showed it—and stank besides. Plus he had a Sasquatch look going on since he hadn’t shaved or gotten a haircut in weeks. But at least he managed to cop a shower and clean clothes at home before his flight left San Diego.
All through every stage of his flight, his thoughts were torn between Mama and his team. He’d left his guys behind in Niger to deal with a dangerous warlord, and the guilt was driving him crazy. What if something happened to one of them while he was gone? They were a man short now.
But Mama Bet needed him too. Based on what his older brother Roman said, it would be a miracle if she made it. If something happened to her before he saw her…
He couldn’t imagine his life without her. She was his only family besides his brothers. He even bought her a computer and paid for her Internet so they could stay connected, and he FaceTimed or emailed her as often as he could while he was deployed. He’d even been known to write a letter or two and send cards for her birthday and gift cards at Christmas.
Mama was the only woman in the world he trusted. After his parents’ death when he was seven, she fed, clothed, and housed him. But it was the love she heaped on him and his two brothers that helped him heal from his grief.
If he lost her… She was the glue that held them together.
His brother Roman concentrated on his family, which was what he should be doing. Decker…Gage was never sure about Decker, other than he’d been a fuckup since he was twelve. And caused Mama and his brothers more trouble than he was worth. Gage tried hard not to harbor any anger or resentment about that, but if he was honest with himself, some still lingered.
His phone rang, and he paused to pull it out and check the screen. Roman. He hit accept and put the phone to his ear. “Hey, where are you?”
“Sorry I couldn’t leave work to pick you up,” Roman said. “So I sent a friend of Mama’s. I’m giving you the number. Your ride’s parked in short-term parking and will swing by and pick you up as soon as they get your text.”
A friend of Mama’s could mean anyone. She attracted people to her like ants to a picnic. Her generosity, her kindness, her love, just drew them right in.
He wouldn’t be the only one to feel the loss if she didn’t make it.
He shifted his attention to finding his way through the new airport terminal and decided it was like walking through the interior of a spacecraft with its huge support posts, skylights and curved rooflines. Even the restaurants’ interiors were ultramodern, though when he looked at the daily specials posted, it appeared they still served traditional New Orleans food.
He strode out from beneath the second floor to the north entrance and looked down the curved bank of windows along the length of the structure. It was impressive, but nothing like the old terminal. And where the hell was Louis Armstrong? The statue was nowhere in sight.
Stepping out the front doors onto the sidewalk, he paused beneath the awning that curved along the wall of glass behind him to lower his sea bag to the concrete and lean it against his leg. He pulled out his phone and shot off a brief text. I’m outside the terminal.
The answer was just as brief. Be there ASAP.
Three or four minutes passed before a dark maroon Mitsubishi swung around the curved drive, the sun glancing off the windshield making it impossible to see who was behind the wheel. The car pulled to a stop beside him, and a woman got out and walked around the back of the vehicle. “Hello, Gage.”
Seeing her again landed a solid punch, first to his gut, then higher up. He dredged up a reply from his addled brain. “Thanks for coming to pick me up.”
She hadn’t changed at all. She still looked like a gypsy, with her yard of dark, curly hair falling down her back. Large, black-lashed, pale green eyes and high cheekbones lent drama to a heart-shaped face blessed with a bow-shaped mouth, currently darkened by a shade of lipstick that fell somewhere between red and plum.
She meant trouble with a capital T. She was the reason he left New Orleans and his family behind.
Did she know?
Had her mother told her what her family did to him? Probably not. Camille Blanchard viewed everything under her control as a possession. Even her daughter. If he’d had money, she’d have welcomed him with open arms. Because he didn’t, she wanted his Cajun ass gone before he got her daughter pregnant. Or worse, talked her into marriage.
Which was exactly where they’d been heading.
Mia raised the hatch. He lifted his sea bag, tossed it in, and closed the hatch—and in that split second decided her face wasn’t the only thing that hadn’t changed. She was still slender as a dancer. And dressed for business in a hip-hugging skirt the color of a ripe peach, a colorful silk blouse of muted pastels, and a jacket the exact shade of her skirt.
When they were both in the car, she asked, “Do you want to go straight to the hospital? Or do you want to get something to eat first?”
“Hospital. I need to see Mama.” If she died before he got to see her, he’d never forgive himself.
She pulled out into the slow-moving sporadic traffic circling away from the airport. “You need to prepare yourself for how Mama looks. She was beaten and strangled, and her face is still very swollen and bruised.”
“Roman told me.” But Gage was almost more worried about something Roman hadn’t said. “She wasn’t… They didn’t…”
“No, she wasn’t raped.”
He unclenched his hands, which had automatically balled into fists. At least Mama was spared that. But knowing didn’t make him feel any better. “How did you get involved in this?”
“I found her.”
Jesus! “How?”
She was silent for a long moment. “It’s going to sound crazy, but I woke in the middle of the night after a terrible dream with an overwhelming need to check on Mama. So I drove to her house. The front door was nearly closed, but not completely shut. When I knocked
, it swung open. I went in, turning on lights and calling her name. I found her in her bed, and at first I thought… But then she… sucked in a breath and I knew she was still alive. I called an ambulance and the police.”
“You took a dangerous chance, going into the house without backup.”
“I didn’t sense anyone there. Not even Mama.”
Angered by her reckless behavior, he said, “If the attacker had still been in there, you could have been killed, Mia.”
She continued to focus on the traffic and her voice never changed tone. “She might have died if I hadn’t found her and called as quickly as I did, Gage.”
He fisted his hands against his knee-jerk reply to her calm verbal slap. He hadn’t been with her fifteen minutes, and he was attacking her…for saving Mama’s life.
In fact, it was she who probably deserved to be attacking him. After all, he walked away from her after delivering the harshest of goodbyes, leaving her high and dry to pick up the pieces. He was surprised she was even speaking to him.
He hadn’t really been given a choice. Her showing up so unexpectedly had triggered his guilt. And the festering rage toward her brother and mother he couldn’t shake. Didn’t want to.
The two of them cost him everything. And he would never forgive them for it.
He needed to calm the fuck down and use his brain instead of lashing out at Mia. Her indirect link to what had happened wasn’t grounds for his attitude. Even though he’d been forced away from his family, and his life had evolved in different directions than he intended, there was no way he could change anything now.
Being a SEAL had definitely been a different direction, and he was on a good course with his career. His teammates were like family. And he loved what he did. He rubbed his hand over the thick scruff on his jaw.
He glanced at her. He had to concentrate on the here and now and forget the past. “I appreciate what you did for her that night.”
“I care about her. She and my grandmother have become good friends, and I go by twice a week to check on her.”
Hot SEAL, Midnight Magic (SEALs In Paradise) Page 1
