Pitbull (SEAL Team Alpha Book 10)

by Zoe Dawson

“I have a lead for you. He’s scared, which means whoever took the agents is a big player around here. It’s the reason Mak’s had such a hard time getting any information from the locals. Few of them trust law enforcement, but even fewer want to get caught up in something like this.”

  “Something like this?”

  “A big player equals the possibility of getting whacked.”

  “Ah, I see. They’re all too scared to tell us anything.”

  She nodded. “He wouldn’t give me anything over the phone. Insists on meeting at a warehouse at the outskirts of town. I would suggest the fewer shooters, the better. You don’t want to spook him.”

  “Let me run this through my LT, and we can plan something as soon as Mak wakes up.”

  “Sounds good.” She ran her hand over her face. “Could you point me in the direction of food? I haven’t eaten in a bit and I’m starving.”

  He gave her directions and headed to the break room. Fast Lane wasn’t in there, but Saint was. He was playing a video game. He looked up when Pitbull came in.

  “Hey,” he said, his eyes going back to the game.

  “LT?”

  “He’s lifting with Dragon and Mad Max.”

  He walked over to the fridge and pulled out a water bottle and then set it in front of Saint. “Stay hydrated, bro. This country is as hot as hell.”

  “Uh, thanks...” Saint said with raised brows, looking to the water then to Pitbull. Pitbull headed toward the door and chuckled softly when Saint added, “Mom.”

  Pitbull climbed the stairs to the balcony where the government had provided a small gym for them to work out.

  He heard Max’s voice as he reached the big double doors. “Come on, LT, you’ve got this.”

  “Yeah, show Max who’s the boss,” Dragon said.

  He turned the corner to find Fast Lane bench pressing an impressive amount of weight, the muscles bulging in his biceps and chest. Mad Max’s hands hovered over the bar to help if need be, but Fast Lane, with a grunt, pressed the last few inches as Mad Max guided the bar onto the supports. Both men were big and wide-chested, but that was more about their build than their muscle, although both of them were ripped.

  “LT, Kat Cross is here,” Pitbull said as Fast Lane sat up from the bench, his skin glistening from his exertions. He was dressed in a muscle T and a pair of gray athletic shorts.

  He picked up a water bottle and chugged the contents, his throat working. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Wicked’s better half?”

  “Yeah.”

  Mad Max threw him a towel, and he mopped his face. “No one told me she was coming.”

  “I don’t think she told anyone.” He looked at Dragon. “Jo Moretti told her Paige was missing.”

  Fast Lane turned to look at Dragon, who held up his hands and shook his head. “Not from me. Classified is classified.”

  “She didn’t hear it from Dragon,” Pitbull said. “She heard it from Hemingway.”

  “Sounds like the Pink Platoon is getting involved. Your woman is a keeper, Dragon,” Max said.

  “Okay, she heard it from Atticus.” Fast Lane nodded. “Paige’s brother.”

  “Your wife is watching Chloe. Hemingway asked her to take care of the baby. He didn’t say why.” Pitbull leaned against the side of the building. “Anyway, I don’t think Jo knows anything else. Only that Paige has gone missing and Hemingway is worried.”

  “She knows better than to talk about classified missions,” Dragon said.

  “Does she know you’re on this mission?” Fast Lane asked.

  “No, she doesn’t. She only knows I’ve been deployed.”

  “There’s no breach here. Jo was concerned. She mentioned it to Kat. End of story. What I came to tell you is that Kat handed us a lead. She thinks the players in the game are high level and have scared the local populace into silence. It’s why we’re getting nowhere,” Pitbull said, noticing Dragon’s appreciation for Pitbull’s faith in him as a teammate.

  LT nodded. “Get cleaned up and assemble the squad in fifteen,” he said.

  “Will do,” Pitbull responded, and he left. He climbed back up to the floors where his teammates, the support staff, and the two NCIS agents were sleeping to relay the message from Fast Lane to them. He passed Kai in the hall looking worse for wear, but she nodded eagerly and told him she’d be there.

  He stopped in front of Mak’s door. He hated to wake her up. She’d been awake for days, taking short combat naps to stay functional.

  He knocked, but there was no answer. He knocked again, this time a bit louder. When she didn’t answer, he got worried. He was responsible—the team was responsible—for her security. If she ducked out on him… He tried the door and it was unlocked. He pushed it open and found Mak dead asleep in her rack. Her silky black hair was tousled over her pillow and around her face in a wild mess. Dumbstruck by her, he stood there for a few minutes.

  Despite his professional edict to stay smart in this attraction to Mak, she was a hard woman to resist. She wore a tank top and a pair of shorts to bed, the top hiked up over her sleek and lean belly, and there was cleavage peeking from the deep V down the front. His mouth tightened when he saw the sign of bruises. The shorts molded over curvaceous hips and hugged the rest of her shapely form, and her smooth, rounded ass was a fine example of how that particular part of a woman’s anatomy should look.

  He reached down to one creamy shoulder and shook her. Damn, she was soft and smelled like heaven. He wanted to climb in there and…

  Without opening her eyes, she sighed. “This better be good.” Her voice was a sexy rasp.

  “Kat’s got a lead.”

  Mak heaved up in bed so fast she clipped him on the chin and hit his elbow so that he lost his balance, falling on top of her.

  “Ow,” she said, rubbing her head while Pitbull rubbed his chin, unable to look away from those lips. Then “it” kicked in. The ten-ton elephant in the room. An attraction that had been sparked that first day they met and had built over the time he’d know her to bring him full circle back to her mouth.

  The intense feeling continued as the air heated between them, his body pressing her down into the mattress, the curve of her legs, the feel of her pelvis against his.

  “This is a compromising position if ever I saw one,” she whispered.

  He’d been shot at, knifed, bombarded, blown up, but nothing affected him so physically as Mak. She was a full-out assault on his senses. On his mind. She muddled him up far too easily. SEALs couldn’t allow themselves to get muddled in the field.

  But when she lifted her hand, barely brushing the underside of his chin with her fingertips, he couldn’t move.

  “I think about you,” she said, her voice nothing more than a soft whisper. His skin tingled.

  “That’s probably a mistake,” he said.

  She nodded. “Probably.” She lifted her head the fraction of an inch she needed to connect with his mouth. He wasn’t strong enough to turn his head away, just as he hadn’t been strong enough last night…or was that this morning?

  Her lips brushed his. Warm, pillow soft, but with a demand in them that was as hard as he was. She slid her fingers along the back of his neck, sending delicious shivers all the way down his spine.

  He deepened the kiss as the phone rang.

  “Saved by the bell,” he murmured against her mouth, and when she wiggled, he got off her. She reached for the phone and winced. “It’s Kai. That’s great news about the lead. I need to shower quick. Shoo.”

  This woman was so practical, he couldn’t help but chuckle. He backed toward the door to get another good look at her until she disappeared into the bathroom.

  Before he went to command, he stopped and got her a cup of coffee. She was going to need it. He had a feeling it was going to be another long day. After pouring one for himself, he headed down to command where everyone was beginning to assemble.

  When Mak came through the door, she was clean and polished, her body c
overed, but he couldn’t help remembering what she looked like.

  He slid her coffee over when she sat between him and Max. “Bless you,” she murmured and took a few sips with a soft exhale that only made him clench whatever he had to avoid getting a hard on during a brief. He thought about baseball scores to keep his libido in check.

  Kat laid out the information she’d given to Pitbull.

  Mak rose as soon as Kat was done. She went over to one of the techs and started firing off questions about blueprints for the warehouse and what the outlying area looked like. Hostiles?

  He watched her, losing himself in the shape of her lush lips, her expressive eyes that knocked him down every time she looked at him, those lashes black and thick. He hungered for her mouth and the touch of her hand, realizing only now how lonely he’d been. It’s why Helen got in so easily. His eyes traveled down to her backside, and he sighed thinking about the ripe curves and the way those shorts had stretched.

  “Pitbull?”

  He snapped out of it like he was coming out of dream. Fast Lane was looking at him like he expected an answer, and he had no idea what his LT had asked.

  “Of course,” Mak scoffed, coming to his rescue. “Pitbull wants to be on the front line of the action with me. I think we need just the two of us. It’s one informant.” Mak gave him a wry look. “You guys will be in the wings if we get into trouble.” She grinned at him, nudging him to answer with her eyes. “Easy in, easy out.”

  He cleared his throat so he wouldn’t laugh at her shenanigans. “Yeah, I agree with Mak. It shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Fast Lane narrowed his eyes at Pitbull as if he were some high school teacher who was well aware his student wasn’t giving the lesson his full attention.

  Max snorted and Pitbull looked over at him. Some of the other guys chuckled. Dammit, he’d gotten away with nothing.

  The meeting started to break up, and Dragon clapped him on the shoulder. “You need to keep your eyes on the ball and off the pitcher,” he said, his voice low.

  The operators headed for their gear as Pitbull hung back waiting for Mak. She finished off her coffee and reached back for her weapon, checking the mag and slipping it back into the holster beneath the blue blazer she wore.

  She smirked as she walked over to him. “You must have drifted off there. Tired?”

  “No,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “So it was my ass you were ogling that made you lose track of what was being said.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said as he started for his own gear. She walked backward with a knowing look on her face and pointed to her eyes, then at him.

  “I’m watching you, Ballentine.”

  She disappeared around the corner, and he said under his breath, “I’m watching you, too, babe.”

  Fifteen minutes later in the SUV, she navigated while he drove. He went over the schematics in his head, suddenly curious about Mak’s tracking. “So how did you get into tracking? Part of your heritage?”

  “Navajo. Yes. My dad taught me.”

  Her tone of voice didn’t encourage further questions, but there was something about the sudden change in her entire demeanor that prompted Pitbull to say, “Okay. Any more details to that?”

  She turned to look at him, shifting in her seat. It was clear to him that Mak didn’t much like answering personal questions.

  “Would you rather talk about what’s going on between us?”

  She exhaled a deep breath and said, “I learned tracking from my father. He’s in law enforcement on the Rez.”

  “That sounds intriguing. Tell me more about your family and your life before NCIS.”

  “My mom is in public service, my two brothers are both tribal police, and my oldest brother Grant was killed in Afghanistan.” When those golden-brown eyes met his again, they were filled with a barely perceptible grief that made her appear, for the very briefest of seconds, raw and exposed. “He was nineteen and enlisted as many did after 9/11. Terror has taken its toll on the Navajo Nation as it has for many across the U.S. My service in NCIS is to fight terror any way I can.”

  He nodded, well aware of the resolve and response of the country after the single most terror-filled day in U.S. history. “It’s why my brothers and I enlisted in the Navy.”

  She seemed startled about having 9/11 in common as their reasons for serving.

  “I left the reservation to attend college for law enforcement, then followed in my dad’s footsteps.”

  “I’m sorry about your brother.”

  She nodded.

  He couldn’t seem to leave well enough alone. “And after college?”

  “The Shadow Wolves.”

  “Come again?”

  “The Shadow Wolves. It’s a border patrol unit of Native Americans who guard the Arizona-Mexico border apprehending illegal aliens, smugglers, and illicit drug traffickers, assisting search and rescue, and aiding tourists. I worked for them…for two years before I took a position in NCIS here in California.” Her tone held a shade of impatience.

  “And, your personal life?”

  She glanced away, but not before he caught a glimpse of a deeper torment and guilt. These moments with her had revealed a whole different side to her, a woman with many facets and a past devastated with loss. Beneath that pragmatic nature, there was a wealth of personal pain and secrets she kept to herself and was very reluctant to share. Not that he could blame her.

  He wondered what had happened in her past and wanted her to feel comfortable in telling him, but he couldn’t force it any more than he could get her to talk about what was happening between them. Sometimes leaving well enough alone, as his mom would say, was the best course of action.

  “You have brothers, huh?” she said, and that question made him happy as hell. It told him she was trying, and that’s all that mattered at this point.

  “Yeah, we’re identical triplets.”

  She laughed out loud. “First, your poor mom. And secondly, holy God, there’s two more like you?”

  “Hey,” he said in mock offense. As they talked, they drove to an industrial area, then deeper into a rundown neighborhood, the buildings worse for wear.

  Giving him a full, genuine smile, which he liked immensely, she consulted her phone GPS. “Turn right here,” she said, and he wheeled into an empty parking lot, pitted and cracked. Ahead of them was a massive corrugated metal building with giant delivery bays in the back, a large, faded, unreadable logo lettered across the front.

  They slipped out. “We’re in position,” LT said through the comms. “Standing by.”

  They approached the building, heading for a small door. Feeling watched, Pitbull pulled his weapon, and she shook her head. “We don’t want to scare him off. Remember, he’s nervous as it is.”

  He holstered his weapon, feeling exposed without it. He was used to working in the dark where he and his teammates were ghosts. He tried the door and looked at her when it turned with a soft squeak.

  “Looks like someone is expecting company.” She slipped silently inside, her footfalls barely churning up dust. They walked through a narrow hallway, then came out into the large warehouse. It was littered with broken pallets, plastic wrap, cardboard boxes, and papers.

  They heard a soft metallic sound and looked around. Pitbull looked up to the walkway above them but didn’t see any movement. Maybe the building was settling, but it was definitely creepy. It was hot in the abandoned area, sweat slipping down Pitbull’s temples. Then he smelled it, and he reached for his sidearm, pulling it swiftly from the holster. As they made their way deeper into the warehouse, the metallic, cloying smell got stronger.

  She looked at him and her mouth tightened. As they came around some wooden pallets, they saw the body. The man was on his back, his face black and blue, swollen. Blood pooled beneath him from his slashed throat staining the dirty concrete floor.

  A metal door slammed, and the sound of heavy boots echoed in the large space.
Pitbull took off running toward the sound, catching a glimpse of a black ball cap, blue T-shirt, and jeans. Tall and lanky, the man ran with the ease of a long-distance runner.

  The runner hit the outside door and it banged open as Pitbull, Mak right on his heels, sprinted to catch up. He depressed his radio.

  “We have a squirter. East side, heading for the alley adjacent to the warehouse.”

  “Copy that,” LT said as Pitbull saw the runner hit a chain-link fence and vault over it with ease. Pitbull was struck by something familiar about the man—the way he ran and climbed. This guy was made for escape. Pitbull pursued him, taking the fence with just as much ease. On the other side, he ran through a back yard. A woman was dumping her garbage, and she pointed down the alley. Pitbull increased his speed as Blue T-shirt disappeared over a wooden fence. He followed over small obstacles and dashed across the street, winding through the parked cars, and jumped the fence in two smooth moves.

  He saw the guy just ahead and increased his speed. Using the bed and roof of a pickup truck to shave off the distance, he landed on the guy, and he went down hard. The ball cap came off, revealing a shock of blond hair.

  The man struggled, and Pitbull fought with him in the dirt until they were tumbling together in an all-out wrestle match. Blue T-shirt had some moves, and it took all Pitbull’s concentration and skills to keep him subdued.

  The clicking of automatic weapons made the guy beneath him stiffen and hold out his hands. “I give,” he said, his voice strained.

  Dammit. Was that… He turned the kid over.

  “Fuck me,” he said.

  It was Atticus “Hemingway” Sinclair. Paige Wilder’s youngest brother.

  8

  Until he’d turned over and saw Pitbull’s teammates all pointing their guns at him, he’d been working on a way to talk himself out of danger.

  Now he was sitting in the back of an SUV driving back to the command center with Pitbull and a woman who had been introduced as Special Agent Makayla Littlestar. She was a sharp-eyed, competent looking sort.

  He knew he was going to get chewed out, and he didn’t give a damn. His sister needed him. The nightmares had been awful, and the look on his dad’s face every day they got no word was killing Hemingway from the inside out.