SEAL in a Storm: Silver SEALs Series Book 5, Connected to Guardian Elite Series

by KaLyn Cooper

  “How do you think she’s reacted to being kidnapped?” Dex looked nervous.

  Rayne had been edgy from the beginning. “She’s probably falling apart like a toddler, or acting like a spoiled teenager. When Angelique and Callie are in the same room, the twelve-year-old is the adult. On more than one occasion, I’ve heard Callie chastise Angelique for her posts on social media. The woman doesn’t have a filter. Thank God most people just ignore her, but all too often a journalist will corner her at a party and get her talking. By morning, Robert’s Chief of Staff is on the phone as they discuss damage control.”

  “What you’re telling me, is that Callie doesn’t like her.” Then he added, “but that’s quite common for teenagers to hate the woman who replaced her mother.”

  “Of course,” Rayne agreed. She was certain that was part of Callie’s dislike of her stepmother, but it went beyond that.

  “So Angelique Sedgwick is our problem child, would you agree?” Dex seemed to be summing up their discussion.

  “Yes. Another reason why my presence is necessary at the breach. I’ve learned to handle the woman. I’ll also be a liaison to the other women and girls since I know them personally.” Rayne desperately wanted to be in on the rescue.

  Dex considered her while she held her breath. “You can be there,” he conceded. “In the second wave with the medics.”

  Rayne would take that. She wanted to fly across the table and hug him, but she would never get that close to him again. He had burned her once—she wouldn’t give him the opportunity to do it again.

  Before she left, she wanted to know, “How is retirement going for you?”

  He scoffed. “Before I got the call to head this mission, I was on Smith Mountain Lake fishing, enjoying the hell out of my retirement.”

  She looked at him, silver streaking his beard just as it would her black hair if it weren’t for regular visits to the salon. “When did we get so old, Dex?”

  “I’m not old,” he retorted. “I’m only forty-four.” He stared at her for a moment before he softly said, “and you’re still stunning at forty-two.”

  She blushed. “You always knew how to make me feel pretty.”

  She stood, and like a gentleman, he did, too. “See, Rayne, we can have a civil conversation. All I ask is that you respect my position on this team. We worked well together before.”

  Rayne mentally added, Up until and wondered if those were his thoughts, too.

  Out loud, she said, “We can do this. My goal is to bring home Callie, and the rest of the hostages to safety. I have to do this, not just for them, but for me.”

  She turned and walked back to her seat.

  Why did he have to say she was stunning?

  Chapter Six

  Stunning.

  Really?

  What the fuck was he thinking? In this day and age, a comment like that could be used against him as sexual harassment.

  He chuckled to himself. There was nothing harassing about the sex they’d had years ago. Mind blowing? Oh, yes. Consensual? Absolutely.

  And did he really care if she tried to bring him up on some kind of charges? Fuck no. Most senior officers who had been accused of inappropriate activity, much worse than calling a woman stunning, had been forced to retire. He was already retired and would be more than happy to return to that fishing hole on Smith Mountain Lake.

  Besides, for a forty-two-year-old woman, Rayne looked great. Definitely physically fit, and certainly able to handle the strains of this mission.

  Glancing at his hands, he couldn’t resist opening her file…for the first time. He wasn’t sure what, but something had kept him from looking into her life. His eyes immediately fell on her marital status. Divorced.

  He wondered if his own file said divorced twice. He knew men who were on wife number four, or maybe five. Their files simply say divorced? Men in the special operations field had a hard time keeping a wife—he’d known only a few over his twenty years’ active duty to hold onto one woman. He briefly considered if it was the wife who was unique, or the husband who’d been able to balance the stresses of his job with the pressure of a family.

  Knowing he shouldn’t, he allowed himself five minutes to delve deeply into Rayne’s past. Using computer programs exclusive to Guardian Security, it only took seconds to discover that she’d been married and divorced in less than a year. The husband had cheated. From the details, he never stopped seeing other women even through their six-month engagement, or after the wedding.

  According to his FBI file—he had to be vetted because of her position and close proximity to the highest-ranking politicians in the United States—he was most likely a sex addict. Dex had to admit the man was good-looking in that sharp-featured, big-smile, hundred-dollar haircut, Disney hero way. Too bad he was a slime ball lobbyist who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.

  No. The part that was too bad was that he’d talked his way into Rayne’s head, her heart, and her bed. Dex felt bad for her that she’d been duped by this asshole. She deserved someone a lot better.

  But, she hadn’t another man, yet. Her FBI files showed that she’d rarely dated since her divorce. She’d been squeaky clean at work and in her personal life, which had paid off with significant promotions.

  The plane’s nose tipped down. They would be landing soon. Dex probed into the bag of goodies provided by Homeland Security. He discovered several satellite phones, a decent set of team communication units, and a few other toys he’d examine in detail later. Grabbing the bag and heading to the back of the plane, Dex stood in the aisle and faced his team.

  “We are going to be landing soon and we’ll be separating on St. Thomas.” He handed satellite phones to the women from the FBI, to Rayne, one to the DOJ men, and another to the two SEALS. He then distributed miniature headsets to his breaching team.

  Facing the FBI women, he asked, “Is there anything you want me to run up the chain of command before I head to St. John Island?”

  SSA Vanessa Overholt handed him a handwritten list. Smiling up at him, she added, “And don’t forget about that raise.”

  Dex briefly scanned the list and couldn’t see anything extraordinary. Many of these things he considered necessary and wondered why the FBI didn’t automatically include them in a kidnap go-bag. He nodded and returned his gaze to the two women. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “We’d appreciate that,” Vanessa replied.

  “Did you have any problem getting additional counselors?” If anyone balked at the request, he would sic Si Branson on them. His old friend understood the powder keg this mission could become.

  Vanessa smiled. “I got put straight through to the director who promised me anything I needed.” She pointed to the list he held in his hand. “Those are just a few things I’d like to get, if possible. If I requisitioned them through the system it could take months, but you mentioned outside resources.”

  Dex nodded toward the list. “I got this handled. Expect a call from Guardian Security. Their plane should be here later today.”

  When her eyes widened, they seemed to pop out from her tan face. “Can I volunteer, right now, to work with you again? I like the way you do business.”

  “Sorry, ma’am. As far as I’m concerned, this is a one and done,” he admitted.

  He looked to the six men then glanced at Rayne. “The eight of us will be jumping onto Seahawks and flying to St. John. We’ll brief there.”

  At the pinched eyebrows and questioning looks from the special operators, Dex explained, “Rayne will be with us on the breach. She’ll be on the second wave with the medics.” Although none of them rolled their eyes, he could see the attitude. “Rayne and I kicked Boca Haram ass together in Nigeria. Don’t underestimate this woman. Ever.” With that warning, he returned to his seat.

  After taking a picture of the FBI agents’ list and texting it to Alex, Dex checked his secure email established for this mission. He was hoping somebody had good news. He smiled when the email fro
m the USS Abraham Lincoln confirmed that his order of frog legs were already on St. John and had been thrown into the pot. His smile grew when he read that not two, but three Seahawks were sitting on the tarmac at St. Thomas airport.

  The email from Si contained good news and bad news. The active-duty Navy SEALs were already working with the Virgin Island assistant police chief for St. John island checking every single residency.

  On the flipside, they were having difficulty with the infrared on the satellites. Thanks to an Indian Summer heat wave, the late afternoon temperature was pushing one hundred and it was nearly impossible, even for cutting-edge technology, to differentiate between natural heat and body heat.

  To top everything off, the tropical depression hundreds of miles out in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean had been upgraded to Tropical Storm Victor. They promised to keep an eye on it and update him if there was a change.

  Ten minutes later, Dex leapt into one of the three Navy Seahawks and stepped ten years into his past. The culture shock hit him hard. Moving from the ultra-comfortable corporate jet with its plush leather reclining seats, subdued lighting, thick carpet and designer color scheme, to the ground-in dirt of the metal decking, and uncomfortable jump seats covered in frayed canvas, threw him back to his days as a lieutenant commanding a small team of SEALs.

  Damn. He’d been happy back then. Living on the edge, filled with adrenaline, ready to take on the evil in the world, confident that the good guys would always win.

  As the hydraulics groaned and the smell of jet fuel assaulted his nose and lungs, Dex wasn’t sure if he felt old or energized. Maybe both. The crew chief handed him a scratched-up helmet. For what might be the first time ever, Dex glanced at the sweat-stained interior and wondered if it had ever been cleaned. When the hell had he become a puss? He mentally shrugged and jammed the bulletproof helmet onto his head and plugged it into the internal communications.

  Rayne grabbed his shoulders as she was tossed into the helicopter by the crew chief. Heat from her palms raced through his body. He instantly grabbed her hips to help steady her.

  “Sorry, ma’am, I was just trying to help you in,” the crew chief yelled over the whomp whomp and whine of the rotors beginning to turn.

  She laughed and her joy filled an empty void in Dex’s heart.

  “No problem. I’m sure you’re accustomed to helping huge men in and out. I don’t imagine you get many women on board unless you’re rescuing them.” Rayne quickly righted herself and put on the offered helmet. She had ignored falling into him, and he should too.

  Her smile at the young sailor sent Dex an unwanted jab of jealousy. He had no business feeling possessive of Rayne. She had burned him in Nigeria by accusing him of purchasing hookers for the men on his SEAL team after they’d captured Boco Haram’s hierarchy. Her accusations had nearly sent his career up in flames.

  No. He needed to stay as far away from this woman as possible.

  Dex sat in the outer seat staring at the beautiful turquoise water through the open door. He twisted so he couldn’t even see her through his peripheral vision. He needed to focus on the mission, not the woman.

  “How long will it take us to get to St. John?” Her voice came clearly through the headset.

  “Only about five minutes airtime, once we get clearance from the tower, ma’am. Right now, we have several commercial jetliners stacked up.” The pilot then reassured her, “Once we have our precious cargo on board, our flights will take precedence over anything else in the air.”

  “Thank you, lieutenant. I take it you’re dropping us off at Cruz Bay?” She asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. It’s got the only helipad on the island, although we have scoped out several possible LZ’s in case there are multiple injuries and we need to get closer.” The pilots’ comments touched on the biggest question Dex had concerning this operation. With so many hostages, they could almost guarantee that someone would be hurt, probably in need of immediate medical attention. He added the possible landing zones to his list of discussion points.

  “We’ve been given permission to take off,” the pilot announced. “Buckle up. You’re going to get to see almost all of St. Thomas Island on the way. We’ll be in Cruz Bay before you know it.”

  The minute they were in the air, Dex wanted to hang his head out the door and suck in the fresh air. He didn’t care if he looked like a dog with his head out the truck window, cheeks flapping, his smile catching bugs. He loved that feeling as the anticipation of the mission built inside him. He almost missed fast roping down to the ground as the rotor wash pushed him into the earth. Nothing in the world felt quite like it.

  The devastation of two, back-to-back category five hurricanes the previous year was still evident everywhere in the small town. Blue tarps covered at least twenty percent of the roofs. Some buildings were merely block walls standing vigil around nothing but air open to the scattered white clouds floating in the baby blue sky above. It looked as though most of the debris had been gathered and disposed, but a thirty-foot cabin cruiser remained wedged in a tree two blocks from the shoreline.

  The pilot touched down on the baseball field as softly as a butterfly landing on one of the huge red hibiscus flowers hiding behind the chain-link fence.

  Dex tore off his helmet and jumped to the manicured field. He jogged toward the blue-and-white lights flashing on a police SUV near the dugout.

  “Dex Carson, Homeland Security.” He held out his hand to a man the color of charred wood.

  “John Winslow, Assistant Police Chief for St. John.” After a brief shake, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Maybe you tell me what’s happening on my island. I got a call from some director at Homeland Security before the sun was even awake. Then the National Park Ranger called me and demanded I get out to Cinnamon Bay. A bunch of little girls and their teacher were missing. My commissioner ordered us to start checking all the vacant houses. An hour ago, a bunch of Navy SEALs landed on this field. Some hotshot lieutenant told me they had been sent here to help, so I sent them with my men to check the houses. What the hell is going on? Nobody tells me nothing.”

  “Have you ever heard of Boco Haram?” At his question, he could tell that John had to think about it long and hard.

  “You mean the terrorists in Africa? Niger? Nigeria? Or was it Chad?” John was homing in on the original location of the Islamic extremists.

  “Actually, they wander throughout that whole area, but their leader, Aahil Mohammed Jaja, is somewhere on this island.” Dex only hesitated a minute before he shared the confidential information. “He doesn’t have just any ten young girls, their parents are senators and congressmen, including the daughter, and wife, of the Speaker of the House.”

  John swore in Caribbean creole.

  “I think you may now understand the gravity of the situation. I know that your police commissioner has FBI training and that all of your police force has worked in human trafficking, so I don’t need to stress that the first forty-eight hours of a kidnapping are the most important.” Dex hoped his reiteration of the timeline would motivate the police chief even more.

  “We need a place to meet, rooms for my team to rest, and access to food. Can you help me with that?” Dex pressed.

  John waved his hand. “Already arranged. We are taking you to a private resort with exclusive villas. You will have privacy and all the comforts of home and no one will even know that you are here.” He spoke into his shoulder radio. SUVs seem to emerge from every street surrounding them. “Everybody, get in.”

  When the helicopter crews didn’t move, John yelled, “You come, too. Nobody going to touch.” He looked at Dex, “My cousins will watch over the helicopters.” The vehicles’ drivers all stepped out and handed keys to the nearest person. Every local had at least one gun strapped to their body—most had several. “They all served in the military.” Loudly he added, “They won’t let anybody near these helicopters.”

  The locals nodded and formed a circle around the baseball
field.

  Their helicopter pilot jogged over. “Sir, I’d feel better if we left one of the crewmembers here and they rotated.”

  “Agreed,” Dex ordered. An idea struck him. “John, how well do you know the homes on the island?”

  “I know them all, very well. In 2017 we had to evacuate the island twice in fourteen days.” The middle-aged policeman shook his head. “We were hit hard. It was the winds with Hurricane Irma that caused the most damage, then two weeks later Hurricane Maria tried to drown everything that was left. Since then I have carefully watched the island recover. So many gave up, and never came back.” He cocked his eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”

  “If I showed you a video, do you think you might be able to identify the house?” Hope stirred in Dex.

  “Probably, but my wife, Mart, she’d know, for sure.” His smile was proud and confident. “She’s been selling real estate on this island for nearly twenty-five years. But let me take a look, first.”

  Dex glanced over his shoulder and saw Ethan walking by their helicopter. “Blade,” he shouted. “Grab my bags, would you?”

  The thunk at his feet drew Dex’s attention.

  “I brought them for you,” Rayne said next to him.

  That was so thoughtful of her. He knew they were heavy, but she didn’t seem to have strained under the weight of both her bags and his.

  She shrugged his backpack off one shoulder and handed it to him.

  “Thanks.” Dex quickly extracted his laptop and pulled up the video Jaja sent to the president nearly twelve hours ago. Before he hit the triangle to play, he warned, “I don’t want you to concentrate on the message or the people. Look at the background. Help us identify the house.” He then added, “This isn’t easy to watch.”

  “I understand. We need to find these little girls and their chaperones.” John nodded, giving the go.

  Dex watched the policeman’s reaction rather than the screen. He’d seen it enough. It still made him sick. John went pale under his charred-wood skin. The man was barely breathing. When the video ended, he took a deep breath and turned the color of red mahogany.