Hot SEAL, Heartbreaker (SEALs in Paradise)

by Cat Johnson

  Curious, he hit to play one of some guy singing. He didn’t have his earbuds with him so he turned the volume down low and held the phone near his ear so he wouldn’t disturb Liam, dozing next to him.

  The song had a catchy beat and before he knew it, he was tapping his foot along with the rhythm.

  “Why are you listening to The Wellerman?” Liam asked groggily, without opening his eyes.

  Was that what this song was called? He glanced at the title on the video and sure enough, Liam was right.

  “You know it?” he asked, surprised.

  “Of course I know it. I’m Irish.”

  And as proof, the man actually started to sing along with the song playing on the phone.

  Brian laughed out loud. “Wow. I’m impressed.”

  “Pfft. I frigging kick your ass at darts and I don’t even get a good game from you, but I know an old as fuck whaling song and you’re impressed with me? You’re weird.”

  “Say’s the man singing old as fuck whaling songs,” Joker mumbled from the other side of Brian.

  “Go the fuck to sleep, all of you,” Pops grumbled from his rack. “And for your information, I know plenty of old as fuck songs we can sing. Later.”

  “Sleep while you can,” Zig agreed.

  “I thought the saying was sleep when you’re dead,” Gator chimed in.

  “It’s sleep when I damn well tell you to sleep,” Bear said, a warning evident in their team leader’s low tone.

  With that, Brian shut down his cell phone and pulled his ball cap over his eyes. But damned if that song didn’t keep playing in his head.

  They weren’t singing anything at all once darkness fell. The team was single-minded, focused on first traveling to and then in breaching the Haqqani network compound Anas was supposed to be operating out of.

  According to the information from the CIA, this was his home base, but Anas himself was traveling. His road trip to the peace talks was very publicly documented as he pretended to support the effort while secretly working against it.

  That didn’t mean the compound was empty. In fact, chances were good it wasn’t, which was why the team was dressed more like militants than SEALs.

  Best case scenario, they’d be able to sneak in, get what they’d come for, and get the hell out.

  Things were looking good when they found the gate to the compound secured by a flimsy lock that gave way with one whack of the sledgehammer Brian had in his kit.

  But when the door of the residential building on the compound proved to be locked, it was obvious they were going to have to make some noise.

  A couple of breaching charges, installed by Liam on the hinges, took care of the problem of the door, but not the issue of the occupants inside.

  Calm amid the chaos, the team entered the room guns first, leveled on the three men seated on carpets. As the men all spoke at once in rapid-fire Pashto, Bear shouted first in English, then in their language, “Hands up!”

  The show of weapons and the sheer number of men invading their space was enough for them to fall to their knees, their hands up in surrender.

  They did as told, cowering on the floor as Liam, Brian and Joker moved further inside to zip-tie their hands and feet.

  The team was spread out across the compound, with Mars, Wolf and Gator covering the street, the courtyard, and the back entrance to the house.

  The three bearded men, all of fighting age, shot the team killer glances as the team shoved them into a pantry for safe keeping. But they didn’t put up much resistance.

  He didn’t let their lack of fight lull him into a false sense of security. It didn’t indicate they were low level. Or unimportant. Or uninvolved.

  In fact, how many insurgent leaders had escaped capture by pretending to be regular citizens?

  The only thing he was moderately sure of was that they were unarmed. He’d searched them himself, and had taken a knife off one.

  He and Liam had torn apart the pantry to make sure there were no weapons or anything they could use to escape before locking the three men inside where they would remain while the team searched the premises,

  With the occupants locked away, and with Pops guarding the pantry door, they were free to gather evidence, proof of the assassination plot.

  Information was the main goal. But of course their visit would serve another purpose as well. Intimidation. It would make Anas and his brother aware they were being watched.

  “I would have thought an ambassador for the Taliban, the brother of a Taliban commander, would live in a better place. And have better shit.” He looked around the room.

  “He’s just a poet, remember? He’s not working for the Taliban.” Joker’s comment was ripe with sarcasm.

  “My money says he’s living in this shithole because he’s trying to stay under the radar. Which makes you wonder, why?” Liam asked.

  From the back of the room where he stood guard, Pops sniffed. “No wondering about it. It’s because he’s plotting an assassination. To sour the peace talks.”

  “But why mess with the peace talks?” Joker asked.

  “There’s no need for an anti-American force like the Haqqani network if the US is no longer the enemy,” Brian guessed. “No chaos. No war. No more need for Haqqani watchdogs. It’s self-preservation. Kill the peace. Insure the survival of the family network.”

  “We just gotta find the proof. So let’s find the damn proof so we can get the hell out of Dodge before anyone shows up.” Joker glanced at the door.

  Liam glanced around them. “But look. There’s nothing here. No computer. Not even a damn cell phone charger lying around. He’s what? Late twenties. Anybody else find it odd that a guy his age has no electronics?”

  “Anything upstairs?” Brian yelled up the staircase to where their team leader had gone with Zig.

  “Nothing,” Zig called back down.

  Joker snorted. “He’s got something somewhere. We just gotta look harder to find it all.”

  Liam flipped a carpet over with his foot and swore softly. “Lookie here, boys.”

  “Well, well, well, what do we have here? A trap door. Very promising.” Brian rubbed his hands together and bent to hook his nails into the edge of the wood door. “Let’s see what we got down here.”

  “Bear! We got something here,” Joker yelled up the narrow stairs.

  Bear pounded down the staircase fast.

  “Ready?” Brian asked.

  “Do it.” Bear nodded.

  With his teammates covering his six, Brian swung the door open and jumped back. They could just as easily find Haqqani hiding down there as they could find his electronics.

  “Fire in the hole.” Liam tossed a flashbang down the stairs and they all moved back as it exploded.

  Before the cloud of dust had dissipated, Bear was running down the stairs, Joker on his heels.

  “Clear!” Bear yelled.

  “Clear!” Joker echoed.

  “What do you see?” Brian asked, keeping his eye on the front door in case Haqqani or any of his friend came home. Meanwhile he was dying to see what was down that hole.

  Liam moved closer and shone a flashlight down, then swore, “Fuck me.”

  “What?” He asked again.

  “The son of a bitch has more electronics down here than the damn TOC.”

  He moved closer and saw Liam was right. What was down there looked better than the equipment they had in the Tactical Operations Center at the base they’d just left.

  And fuck it all, they were going to have to gather every piece of it and bring it back with them. And fast.

  “Anybody got a moving truck with them?” he asked, only half joking.

  “Move over and let me handle this.” Zig came down the stairs as he pulled out a pouch. He opened it to reveal it was filled with tiny screwdrivers. “All we need are the hard drives from the desktop computers. I’ll grab those. You guys get anything else.”

  And with that, they went to work dismantling Anas Haqqani
’s personal network of terror, one screw at a time.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Girl’s night out came around again and this time Alicia steeled herself and met Shelly at McP’s Pub.

  She’d been dodging Greg’s calls and texts for the past week.

  The only good thing was that she hadn’t had to avoid Brian, because he hadn’t bothered to call or text lately.

  Given the lack of communication, she figured it was safe to return to McP’s. She couldn’t avoid her favorite bar forever.

  As her cell rang one more time, she glanced at the display, hit the screen to silence the call, and flipped it over.

  Shelly watched the move from over the rim of her hard seltzer.

  “You’re still not answering?” she asked.

  “Nope.”

  A beep signaled a new voicemail.

  Shelly’s gaze dropped to the device before coming back up to meet Alicia’s. “You going to listen to the voicemail?”

  “Nope.” She shook her head.

  “What if it’s important?”

  “What could be important?” She asked, honestly wondering. “I can think of no scenario where that man would have to speak to me.”

  “I can.”

  “Like what?”

  “Maybe Greg’s been diagnosed with some terminal illness and wants to apologize to you and make amends before he dies.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not sure he’s the make amends kind of guy.”

  “It has to be something or he wouldn’t keep calling. And texting. And leaving sticky notes on your door.”

  He’d only left a note once, but she got the gist of what Shelly was saying and it didn’t matter.

  “I guess I’ll never know what he wants, will I?” Because she had no intention of speaking to him.

  “What if I listened to the voicemail for you?” Shelly offered.

  “Are you that curious?” she asked.

  “Yes.” Shelly nodded. “But that’s not the reason. I want him to stop bothering you. Every time that phone rings, you jump. Even if it’s not him calling. You can’t live like this. But if I find out what he wants, and deal with him, maybe he’ll stop.”

  Her friend was right about one thing. She was starting to hate her cell phone. Dread every beep, jingle or vibration it made. Hate seeing a new notification on the display. She couldn’t live like this for much longer.

  “Right?” Shelly asked when she didn’t say anything.

  “I guess so.”

  “Then hand it over.” Shelly extended her hand and waited.

  Finally she sighed and slapped the cell into her palm. “Fine. But don’t tell me what he says. Unless he’s dying. No, maybe not then either. I don’t want to feel sorry for him.”

  She’d never wish him ill, but he didn’t deserve her empathy. He’d certainly shown her none.

  “Will you let me listen and see what he wants, please?” Shelly tapped the screen and pressed the cell to her ear. Then took the phone away, tapped again, and listened once more.

  She repeated the action a good three more times.

  “How many voicemails are there?” she grumbled, even though she knew the answer. There were a lot. She’d been dodging him for a while now.

  Shelly shushed her and listened some more, before she finally lowered the phone. “Okay—”

  “Wait! I’m not sure I want to know.” Now that the time had come, she wasn’t sure she was ready to hear what he wanted.

  Shelly rolled her eyes. “Stop. It’s nothing. Really. He just—”

  She slapped her hands to her ears. “No. Don’t tell me yet.”

  Shelly tipped her head to one side and waited. Finally, Alicia lowered her hands.

  “Are you done now?” Shelly asked.

  “I’m not sure,” she admitted.

  Shelly’s shoulders sagged as she let out a big breath. “Just listen. And trust me, please.”

  Still doubting the wisdom of this, she finally nodded. “Okay.”

  “You still have his ID,” Shelly revealed.

  “What?” She frowned. “No, I don’t.”

  “He says you two went together to apply for passports before that trip you took a couple of months before you broke up.”

  Yup. A dream trip to a resort in Mexico that she hadn’t realized at the time was the beginning of the end—for him anyway. Which was why she was so blindsided when he ended things shortly after.

  “Yes. But why would I have his ID?”

  “He said both of your stuff was in a manila envelope,” Shelly continued. “And you locked the envelope in the fireproof safe in your closet. And then you put both your passports in the safe after the trip. He says his birth certificate, social security card and passport are all still in there.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh my God. You’re right. I forgot all about that envelope.”

  “Well, he’s going on vacation and needs it back,” Shelly said.

  She narrowed her eyes as she wondered where he was going and with whom that he needed his passport. The bastard.

  Scowling, she said, “He could have just said that instead of stalking me.”

  “He did say it. A few times. On the voicemails you wouldn’t listen to. In the texts you wouldn’t read.” On her fingers, Shelly ticked off the many things Alicia had been avoiding.

  “Oh.” She brushed aside the shame of her cowardice. She’d done what she needed to do for her own sanity.

  “There’s more,” Shelly said. “Ready?”

  She considered saying no. That there was no more she needed or wanted to hear about him, but she didn’t.

  Time to put on her big girl panties. “Okay. What?”

  “Do you still have his college sweatshirt?” Shelly asked.

  She scowled and begrudgingly admitted, “Yes.”

  Unlike the ID, which she’d honestly forgotten all about, the sweatshirt she did know she had.

  It was his. He’d never given it to her, but when they’d been together she’d loved wearing it so much he’d leave it at her house.

  She’d discovered it on the floor of her closet a few weeks after the end of their relationship. After he’d come and taken everything else that was his.

  There was no way in hell she was going to contact him just to return it. She couldn’t wear it. She couldn’t even look at it without feeling ill. But she also couldn’t bring herself to throw it away, so she’d put it at the very bottom in the very back of her dresser drawer and left it there, avoiding that area.

  Let sleeping dogs lie . . .

  But now, with the reminder from Greg via Shelly, that dog was very awake, and tearing at her flesh.

  Time to get rid of it. And him. All remnants of him. For good.

  “Fine. I’ll find his damn stuff and mail it all back to him. Is that all?” she asked, worried there might be more, even if purging all his stuff would probably help her feel better in the end.

  “Yeah. You have a voicemail from Brian on there too.” She tipped her chin toward the cell still in her hand.

  Her gaze flew from the cell to Shelly. “Did you listen to it?”

  “No, of course I didn’t listen. Prescreening possibly hurtful messages from your ex is one thing. But listening to a voicemail from your lover is another.”

  She rolled her eyes and held out her hand for the phone. She debated whether to wait or listen to it now, but that debate didn’t last long. She tapped the screen and pressed the phone to her ear.

  The sound of his voice caused a visceral reaction. Her heart sped. Her thighs clenched.

  Damn. She was failing miserably at trying to forget Brian.

  She put the phone down to find Shelly watching her. “He said he’s going to be away.”

  “Where? For how long?”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t say. And it doesn’t matter anyway because we’re not seeing each other anymore.”

  “I still don’t get why.”

  “You don’t? This. This is why.” She indic
ated her cell with the swirl of one finger.

  “Your phone?”

  “No. All the messages from Greg on my phone. And how they made me feel. How he made me feel. Then and now. I’m broken, Shell. I don’t want another boyfriend. I don’t want to fall in love. I don’t even want a lover, as you put it. Which is a cheesy word, by the way.”

  “You can’t let one guy—”

  “Yeah, I can. And I have.”

  Greg didn’t deserve the power to ruin all men for her but he’d done it. And there was nothing she could do about it now.

  Shelly shook her head. “I think you’re mistaken. All men are not alike.”

  “We’ve had this argument before. We’ll just have to agree to disagree.”

  “You can be very stubborn.”

  Alicia nodded. “Perhaps, but I’m also a realist.”

  “Hey, can I buy you ladies a drink—”

  “No!” Glaring, Alicia extended one arm straight out, palm facing the unsuspecting man who’d dared approach her mid-breakdown.

  “Okey, dokey.” The man backed up.

  “I might have wanted a drink.” Shelly watched him leave.

  “I’ll buy you a damn drink.” No cocktail was worth having to deal with the man and the baggage attached to it.

  When she raised her eyes, Shelly was staring at her like she had more to say.

  “What?” Alicia asked.

  Shelly shook her head. “Nothing.”

  Smart move on her friend’s part. Now was not the time to question her.

  The bartender chose that moment approach. Good, they both needed a drink.

  What had Brian called him again? Rick. Rob. Ray. That was it.

  “Getcha something else?” he asked.

  “Yes, my friend here is buying me another.” Brow raised, Shelly shot Alicia a sideway glance.

  Accepting her fate, she nodded. “Make that two, please. Thanks.”

  Ray’s eyes narrowed. “Wait. Were you the one who was in here with Heartbreaker?”

  Heartbreaker?

  “Excuse me?” she asked.

  “You came in on Valentine’s Day,” he clarified.

  It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. She’d been there with only one guy on Valentine’s Day. Brian. Which meant Brian was Heartbreaker.