HOT SEAL Lover (HOT SEAL Team - Book 2) Read online

  Christina sprang back at the same time Remy set her away from him. Cash McQuaid stood in the door, his back to them, hands on hips.

  “You found me,” Remy growled. “What is it?”

  “Uh, nothing much. Viking wants you. Incoming from Mendez. Fifteen minutes.”

  19

  “The road to Akhira’s been cut off,” Mendez said on the screen.

  The SEALs didn’t grumble or complain. After all, the only easy day was yesterday. But Akhira being inaccessible sure did put a crimp in the plan.

  Ian Black frowned. The dude hadn’t even asked if he could remain for this briefing—but Mendez hadn’t asked him to leave either. “Your boys are welcome here as long as you need, but I can’t stay longer than another day. Got a war to fight.”

  Remy didn’t much know what Ian Black and his crew did, but he figured it wasn’t all good. Or legal. Hell, he didn’t really know. Come to think of it, he didn’t know a fucking thing.

  Such as why he’d told Christina about Roxie. He never told anyone about his sister. It was too painful, and it usually caused him to spiral into a pit of guilt and regret when he talked about it. He wanted to fix it. Wanted to bring Roxie back. Wanted to see what was coming and stop it before it happened.

  Too late.

  “We’ll find a way around, sir,” Viking said. “Akhira is still our best option at this point. Merak is too far now, and the convoy route is unstable.”

  “Agreed. Form a plan.” Mendez looked at his wrist. “Two hours. I’ll want to hear it then.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The screen went blank, and Viking ran a hand through his hair. It had gotten somewhat long lately and stood on end.

  “Black, you got a way out of here?” he asked. Because that was the first option. The best option, and they all knew it. Including the man to whom the question was directed.

  Ian Black sat on the edge of the desk, one leg dangling, arms crossed, as he contemplated Viking. “I’m not HOT, dude. That’s your deal. I’ve got shit to do that doesn’t involve you.”

  “Fucking hell,” Remy said, suddenly unable to stand Black’s attitude or the sense of tomcats circling. There was too much at stake here. “You aren’t HOT, but you’re on our side. And while you may not like us for some reason, you can’t have anything against those civilians. They’re the ones who need to get out of here. Help them, for fuck’s sake.”

  Black had turned to look at him. The man’s eyes narrowed as he studied Remy. He reminded Remy of the colonel in some ways—cool, dangerous, lethal. But younger. Mid to late thirties, probably. A man who’d seen a lot in his life, and not all of it good. Former CIA. Disavowed, apparently, which was interesting considering they were here with him and Mendez didn’t seem to mind.

  “I get paid to do what I do. You got money? Because if I stay here and help you whiny bitches out, then I’m losing business elsewhere. You’re going to have to make it worth my time.”

  “We’ll all suck your dick,” Remy said. “How’s that, motherfucker?”

  Because he was pissed now. This asshole knew things. He was just being a prick about it because he had a chip on his shoulder where HOT was concerned. Remy didn’t know why that was or what it was about, but he fucking knew he wasn’t going to let some asshole like this put Christina in danger for another minute.

  Black’s eyes narrowed even more. And then the jerk laughed. Fucking laughed.

  “Man, you boys have a way of sweet-talking me even while you yank my chain. I’ve got a meeting to be at, and I’m not missing it. But I can grease some palms, get you through to Akhira. Thing is, you’re going to owe me more than a blow job. You ready for that, stud?”

  “I’ll get on my hands and knees if it helps,” Remy drawled.

  Black snorted. “Not my type. But you just remember—” He turned to look at them all. “Remember who got you out of this scrape. I’ll expect to collect someday.”

  “Long as it isn’t illegal or contrary to orders,” Viking said.

  “Can’t guarantee that,” Black replied. “But you’ll just have to make up your mind when the time comes, won’t you?”

  Remy didn’t like the way that sounded, but fucking hell, if the dude managed to get Christina through to safety, Remy’d do just about anything Black wanted. He’d lost Roxie, but he wasn’t losing Christina. Not when he could do something about it.

  “Help us get the civilians to safety,” Viking said. “We’ll listen when you’re ready to talk. Best we can do.”

  “I’ll make some calls,” Black replied. “You can chill until the sun goes down.”

  Alex “Ghost” Bishop sat across the table from Mendez, studying the HOT commander. They were in the war room, a secure room that was separated by soundproof glass from the command center. They could see into the command center and view the giant screens, which pinpointed all the HOT operators’ locations. Men and women with headsets sat in front of the screens, tapping away on keyboards and talking into microphones.

  It was a slick operation and one that Alex was proud to be a part of. He’d spent nearly his entire career in Special Ops and he loved the challenge. But HOT was the pinnacle. He’d been here before, but now he was here as the deputy commander.

  A duty which he did not take lightly. After all, Mendez wouldn’t have picked him if he’d been the type to take it lightly.

  Just then, Mendez ended the call with the SEALs in Qu’rim and slid his chair back from the console.

  “Always a goddamn clusterfuck,” he said. “Ian fucking Black.”

  “You don’t like him.” It was an observation based on the evidence at hand. So when Mendez blinked and then laughed, Alex was confused.

  “If you tell anyone I said so, I’ll deny it—but he’s fucking brilliant. And probably more of a patriot than you or me. Black believes it so hard and so deep that he’s rearranged his entire life to serve.”

  That was an interesting piece of information. Alex tapped his fingers on the desk. “Isn’t he disavowed?”

  Alex had read the files when Mendez sent them to him. Ian Black, former CIA operative with the Middle Eastern bureau. Spoke Arabic, Chinese, French, and Farsi. Disavowed under classified circumstances. Fled the country and went to work as a mercenary. He’d built his own organization, routinely called Black’s Bandits by outsiders. They typically worked for the highest bidder—and they didn’t care who that was or what side they were on.

  Hardly a patriot. Then again, if Mendez said so, that was mighty fucking intriguing. And Mendez wasn’t the type to say anything lightly, which meant there had to be a grain of truth.

  Either that or the colonel was losing his marbles. And Alex didn’t believe for two seconds that Mendez was losing it.

  “Oh hell yeah, he’s disavowed. Try as I might, I can’t find out why either.” Mendez leaned forward, his dark eyes glittering in the low light in the war room. “You shouldn’t always believe everything you hear though. Shit happens at these levels—”

  He shook his head and didn’t finish the thought.

  Alex frowned. “It’s in his official record. Something must have happened.”

  Mendez laughed then. “It damn sure is. Look, Alex—you’re going to inherit this job someday. Never take what you’re told at face value. Always question, always probe. And make up your own mind. You always have to obey the law—but question the circumstances anyway. Use your gut and your instinct.”

  “Yes, sir.” He nodded at the console as he processed everything Mendez was saying. “You trust Black to help them?”

  “I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him. But I trust his ability. If it suits his purposes, he’ll cooperate.” Mendez got to his feet. “Two hours from now, we’ll know the answer. No sense hanging around and speculating. Let’s get back to business. Qu’rim isn’t the only crisis we have.”

  That was certainly the truth. Alex glanced at the command center through the glass. The dots were all over the map, and they were active. The world
was a volatile place, but HOT wasn’t giving an inch of ground to the bad guys.

  Not one fucking inch, which was why Alex loved this place more than any other.

  It would be hours before they could travel, assuming Ian Black gave them the go-ahead. Viking was communicating with HQ to tell them the status of the plan. There was a backup plan, of course. That plan was to head northeast across the desert and avoid civilization while they made for Merak. It was farther and more dangerous because of the desert crossing, but it was a possibility if Black couldn’t deliver.

  Money made eye contact with Remy as they walked out of the room. He knew his teammate was curious, but he didn’t really want to talk about Christina. Still, he had to say something. He couldn’t have Money thinking he was taking advantage of her—or, worse, that she was some kind of SEAL groupie.

  Because those definitely existed. They’d all run into groupies—and bedded a few too.

  “It’s not what you think,” Remy said as they walked outside and into the shaded courtyard. The sun wasn’t high in the sky yet, but already it was growing warm. The temperatures would top one hundred degrees later in the day.

  “Looked a lot like what I think,” Money said. “And I’m certain her brother will pound your ass into the ground if he finds out, so you’d better be careful.”

  Remy sighed. Yeah, the fact he’d had Christina on his lap, his mouth plastered to hers, didn’t look like it was nothing.

  “I care about her, okay? There’s history—and while I’m sure Girard would pound me into the ground if he knew about it, I’d rather he didn’t just yet.”

  Money shrugged. “No skin in the game, brother. He won’t hear it from me.”

  “Appreciate that.” Remy turned to gaze in the direction of the building where he’d left Christina. “We’ve got things to work out before that happens.”

  “Looks like it’s working just fine.”

  “Yeah, well, trust me, that’s not one of our problems. It’s everything else that is,” he grumbled.

  “Women, man. Can’t live with ’em. Can’t live with ’em.” Money laughed as if he’d made the best joke in the world.

  And, hell, maybe it was true. Remy didn’t know what he wanted out of Christina, but the thought of living with her didn’t actually terrify him. Not that he’d ever lived with a woman. Stayed with a few for short periods of time, a few days to a week or two, but never a live-in situation with clothes in the closet and a spot on the couch.

  Maybe that wasn’t something he was prepared to do with her either, but he wanted the time and space to figure that out. Didn’t need Matt Girard coming down on him just yet.

  Though, to be fair, if the situation were reversed and it had been some guy sneaking around with Roxie… Well, fuck, he’d have gone ballistic on the dude. Except for Eric, dammit. The one fucker he should have gone ballistic on. But when Roxie called him up and told him she was dating Eric, he’d been equal parts stunned and pleased—because he’d thought Eric was normal.

  They’d spent hours together, hunting gators and deer, fishing, getting into normal adolescent scrapes. Those had been some good times.

  “I’d appreciate it if you don’t tell the others,” Remy added. “I’d like to do that on my own time.”

  Money sighed. “Dude, I get it—but we’re out here on a mission, she’s our responsibility, and that could affect your thinking. You need to tell them before we move out tonight.”

  Remy pushed a hand through his hair. “Yeah, all right.”

  Because Money was right. Because the possibility existed, however small, that his decision-making could be compromised if something happened that put Christina in direct danger. And his teammates needed to know that. He turned around and went back inside to find Viking.

  The big blond SEAL looked up as Remy approached. “What’s up, Cage?”

  Remy thrust out a leg and crossed his arms over his chest. “Christina Girard. We had a thing about six months ago. It didn’t last, but that was her doing. She’s not a groupie.”

  Viking raised an eyebrow. “I see. Anything else?”

  “Nope.”

  Viking nodded. “All right. And Cage?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I already knew you had a thing for her.”

  Remy blinked. “How the fuck did you know that?” He’d been so careful—and, hell, he didn’t have a thing for her. He liked her. Wanted to fuck her some more. Wanted to know what else there could be between them.

  That was not a thing.

  Or was it?

  “Dude, women talk. Don’t you know that by now?”

  It took him a minute to figure out what Viking was saying. “You mean Ivy?”

  “Yeah, Ivy.”

  Viking’s wife was one hot DEA agent. She was also freaking smart. And, apparently, somehow friends with Christina. Which he hadn’t known. Or suspected.

  Though maybe he should have. Whenever the guys got together with Alpha Squad, the women ended up over in their own corner, talking and laughing and no doubt plotting mayhem. That’s where Christina would have gotten to know Ivy.

  “What do you know?” he asked his team leader.

  Viking shrugged. “Not a lot. There was a one-night stand after which she avoided you. I’ve been wondering how pissed off you were and how you were going to handle having to deal with her again.”

  “Goddamn.” That was more than he’d ever told anybody—while Christina was apparently telling Ivy.

  And who the hell else? All the women? Evie Girard?

  Fuck…

  “Welcome to my world, bro. Ivy’s spy network is far greater than mine. No telling what she knows.”

  Remy shook his head. “Well, hell. Why didn’t you say something before?”

  He remembered the way Viking had looked at him when they’d found out Christina was in Qu’rim. He’d wondered then what that look meant. Now he knew.

  “Hey, I’ve had my own woman troubles in the past. Ivy and I married, divorced, and married again. Who am I to judge? Besides, you’re too professional to let it interfere with the job. And if it did in some way, you’d be the first to say something about it. So I’m not worried—unless I need to be. Do I?”

  Remy was surprised at the catch in his throat. “No. And thanks. Appreciate your confidence.”

  “Never in doubt, you crazy Cajun motherfucker.”

  Remy grinned. “Motier foux—half-crazy.”

  Viking snorted and waved a hand. “Yeah, whatever. So is it over for good? Or is there still a chance?”

  Remy shrugged. “Don’t know. Might be a chance. Not entirely sure I want to take it though.”

  “Always take the chance,” Viking said, his expression serious. “If you don’t, you’ll never know what you missed. Life doesn’t often hand us a second chance. I say grab on with both hands and don’t let go when it does.”

  20

  The day was strange. It was hot, the air seemed heavy with impending danger, and yet it was also dull and quiet. Christina sat in the common room of the safe house, hair twisted on top of her head and held in place with a banana clip she’d thankfully found in her purse. She’d shed the abaya and hijab, and right now she was wishing she’d worn a dress instead of jeans. Or that she’d stuffed a dress into her purse when she’d been grabbing things from the hotel.

  The best she could do was take off the button-down shirt she’d put on over a tank top and hope that was enough to get through the day since the jeans had to stay on.

  Unfortunately, it was hot in the house in spite of the swamp cooler that beat out a pitiful tune as it worked to do a job far beyond its capability. The air coming from it was rusty and vaguely cool. This was the only building that had any kind of AC, so they’d all gathered here to wait.

  Penny and Robert sat across from each other. Today they looked like a boss and secretary trying to keep their affair secret. They didn’t look at each other, and they barely spoke. Yet Christina watched Robert’s eyes cut toward P
enny from time to time. And then Penny would glance at him and a look would pass between them.

  Robert didn’t look too good in this heat. He was overweight by a good thirty pounds, much of it in his belly. His face was red as he mopped his forehead every once in a while with a rag he’d picked up somewhere. Now that Christina had gotten a good look at him, she could better understand the attraction. Sure, he could stand to lose some weight and looked like a heart attack was right around the corner, but he also had a handsome face and thick dark hair with only a hint of silver at the temples.

  Not to mention the way he’d leapt to Penny’s defense last night. A man willing to fight for your honor was always sexy.

  Christina looked at the other occupants of the room. Donovan Taylor had been writing in a notebook for quite some time. Paul the bodyguard sat with his head against the wall and his eyes closed. The sixth person in their group was an amateur filmmaker who was not pleased to have been dragged from the Abu Bashar Hotel on the eve of the fall of Baq. He had his camera, a small thing that fit in one hand, but the SEALs had taken his battery away.

  He looked forlorn, but really, what did he expect? That an active duty group of Special Operators—oh she was proud of herself for knowing what those terms meant—would allow him to film a secret mission? Not likely.

  Next she looked at the SEALs who were in the room. There were six of them, the other three presumably working on something or other designed to help them leave this place later. She studied them each in turn—Alex Kamarov, Cash McQuaid, Corey Vance, Zack Anderson, Cody McCormick—before finally coming to the one she really wanted to study, Remy Marchand.

  Remy was looking back at her, his blue eyes filled with heat, and her heart flipped. She hadn’t gotten to talk to him again after he’d left her a couple of hours ago. She hadn’t gotten to say anything else about his sister. She wanted to hug him tight and tell him how sorry she was for his loss.

  My God, to lose his twin that way. Shot by her boyfriend on the steps of her parents’ house. Tragic and unfair.

  Her eyes stung as she thought of it. His eyebrows lowered, and she knew that her discomfort must show on her face. So she thought instead about how much she’d liked kissing him and how wonderful it would have been if he’d stripped her clothes off and buried himself inside her.