Resisting His Target: HERO Force Novel (Shattered SEALs Book 2)

by Amy Gamet

  Memories came back to her. How she’d gasped for air, desperate that air pocket not get smaller, her head thrown back to keep her mouth and nose clear. Her life was thrown into sharp relief, the highs and lows that had always been gray now clearly black and white. She’d wasted years on a loveless marriage that had destroyed her sense of self, shaped and molded her into a figure she barely recognized.

  “I want another chance,” she’d begged God, the car sinking around her. “Please. Give me another chance to make it right. To be a mother to this child.”

  She didn’t remember being pulled from the car. Didn’t remember being dragged to shore. Only one memory was crystal clear after her rescue—the deal she’d made to walk away from the ocean a dead woman. But if the bruises on her face and the body she’d thrown from the cliffs were any indication, that deal had expired.

  But why? What had changed? She’d been safe here for eight years. Now she needed to find safety again. She needed a new place to hide.

  Damn the storm that had whipped through here like a demon, knocking down trees and blocking roads, effectively trapping her in place. Worst of all, she knew those hazards would also keep the men of HERO Force from getting to her, which meant she was all alone and destined to stay that way for a good while.

  She put her head on the pillow and turned toward Selena, inhaling her daughter’s familiar scent, but the peace she usually found beside the girl was elusive at best. She was rattled, on edge, downright terrified if she allowed herself to think too much.

  A loud crack echoed from downstairs, and Jackie’s eyes opened wide. Turning, she looked at the clock—eight thirty—though the darkness of the storm made it seem much later. Picking up the gun, she slipped from the bed and moved into the hallway, straining to hear.

  Thunder.

  Or were those footsteps?

  The hair on her arms stood on end. She’d cancelled the week’s reservations, issuing refunds to upset travelers with words of apology and a family emergency that was only partly a lie. No one should be here except maybe the SEALs, but they would have rung the bell, not broken inside. She gripped the butt of the Glock more tightly and tiptoed toward the front steps, passing the flight that led directly to the kitchen. The noise had seemed farther away.

  She was aware of her nightgown, wishing she had on something else, the slippery pink fabric not reaching her knees—then chastised herself for being concerned with propriety at a moment like this. If someone really was in her house, her clothing was the least of her problems. She rounded the landing at the bottom of the stairs, past the closed and locked front door, and peered into the dimly lit front room.

  A floorboard creaked in the hallway between where she stood and the kitchen, her head jerking toward the sound and her body following. She couldn’t see anything, the windowless hallway appearing as dark as the mouth of a cave. Her hands steadied the weapon in front of her. “Hello?”

  The sudden ringing of the doorbell made her jump violently, the muscles of her chest and arms jerking with surprise. She turned around to face the front door, a man’s face in shadow though a small inset window. She pointed her gun at the door, her finger hovering over the trigger.

  “We’re with HERO Force,” called the man through the thick wooden door. “Mac sent us.”

  Relief flooded her. She turned off the alarm system and unlocked the door, hitting the switch for the outside light. “You scared m— ” The word died on her tongue as she stared at the man and gasped. One side of his face was nearly normal, with a single wide gash across his cheek, but the other was heavily scarred and disfigured, probably by fire, the warm brown tone of his skin mottled with bits of pink and washed-out red. “I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean… Sorry. How did you get through?”

  “We walked the last few miles. I’m Ian Rhodes. This is Sloan Dvorak.”

  They were both tall and broad shouldered, though the scarred man was lean and muscular where the other was stocky and solid. Ian and Sloan, she reminded herself. All Ian had done was introduce them, yet she instantly sensed he was formidable. Perhaps it was the steel that seemed to structure his frame, holding his body erect and seemingly ready to attack, or the power barely concealed within his stare. She had offended him, she was sure.

  No, Jackie. He probably likes it when women gasp upon seeing his scarred face.

  She chastised herself for her stupid thoughts, turning her attention to Sloan. He was softer looking than his partner, or maybe it was just the hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth that made him appear friendlier, more helpful. Kind. Yes, Sloan appeared kind, with sandy-brown hair framing his fair face and just the shadow of a beard. Jackie instantly liked him far better than Ian.

  Sloan pointed to her hand. “Can you stop pointing that gun at us, please?”

  “What?... Oh.” She looked at the Glock, having completely forgotten it was in her hand, and remembering why she held it. “I heard a noise down the hall.”

  The men shared a look, each pulling out his own handgun. Ian brushed past her. “Where was it coming from?”

  “Back there. The hallway that leads to the kitchen.”

  “Stay here,” said Sloan, following the other man. She nodded, pulling the front door closed and leaning back against it. She was no longer certain of exactly what she’d heard, the noise having been nondescript and possibly even a figment of her imagination. She had nearly convinced herself of this when Ian returned.

  “Did you leave your office window open?” he asked.

  She frowned. “No.”

  “You sure about that? Because it’s open now.”

  An icy heat spread from the base of her neck over her shoulder blades, goose bumps covering her arms. “Positive. I made sure everything was locked up.”

  Sloan reentered the room. “There’s no one in here, but the alarm system sensor on the office window has been tampered with. Wire’s cut.”

  “That can’t be. Bill checked the alarm system after the attack.” Her eyes darted from one man to the other, understanding slowly dawning, dragging fear in its wake. “Someone did it after that.”

  Again Ian ignored her. He gestured to Sloan. “Let’s check outside.”

  “But what if there’s somebody in here?” she blurted.

  Ian was already heading for the door, but he stopped and turned back to face her. “It’s clear. We checked. Stay put.”

  She nodded, sinking down onto a wooden bench in the foyer. The man who’d attacked her had barely been dead twenty-four hours, but someone else was already on her trail. She brought a trembling hand to her mouth, her fingers lightly skimming her bottom lip.

  The men returned a few minutes later. “Tracks in the sand leading to and from your office window. Did you make them?” asked Sloan.

  She shook her head, feeling faint as the remaining blood drained from her head. “No.”

  “Looks like we got here just in time,” said Ian. “We’re going to search the rest of the grounds. Lock this door.”

  She sat for what could have been an hour, but she wasn’t sure. Her sense of time was off, the events of the last day circling through her mind like a hamster on a wheel. The intruder in her house. The attack. Bill killing her attacker. Bill’s heart attack and death. Her heaving a dead man off a cliff into the ocean.

  A tear slipped down her cheek and she left it there. She was grateful the SEALs were here, that the men had arrived to protect her and Selena. She just didn’t know what would happen next. Kill another man, toss another body? Or pack up a few things and run for their lives? How could she possibly pick the right course of action when she didn’t know what had changed, putting her in danger once more?

  This time when the bell rang, she was not surprised. She let the men inside. “Coast is clear, as far as we can tell,” said Ian. “We used night vision goggles with thermal imaging. Nothing.” He unstrapped his pack from his back and set it heavily on the floor. “How about you bring us up to speed on what’s been goin
g on here?”

  She told them about the intruder and subsequent attack, wondering just how much of the truth she should share with these men. Bill trusted Mac O’Brady, but these men were strangers. She opted to keep her attacker’s demise to herself, at least for the time being, instead telling the SEALs Bill chased the man away.

  “Looks like he isn’t giving up so easily,” said Sloan. “Don’t worry. We’re here now, and we’ll protect you.” He turned to Ian. “You got first watch, man? I’m starving.”

  Ian nodded. “Sure.” He eyed Jackie. “Sloan’s an eating machine. A bottomless freaking pit.”

  “I can make you something,” she offered, coming to a stand. “You, too, Mr. Rhodes.” She forced a smile to her face, attempting to make up for her initial reaction to his appearance.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  His tone implied he’d rather starve than eat her cooking, and she frowned. She didn’t know how long the men were going to be here, but that time would have been easier for all of them if she and Ian Rhodes had gotten off on the right foot. He went back outside.

  “Razorback’s like that with everyone,” said Sloan. “Don’t let it get to you.”

  “Razorback?”

  “Yeah.” He gave her a conspiratorial grin. “Suits him, don’t you think? Like an old boar living alone in the forest.”

  “Maybe he’ll warm up to me as I get to know him.”

  Sloan shook his head with a chuckle. “I wouldn’t count on that. But you go ahead and try if it will make you feel better.” He rubbed his hands together and grinned. “Now, what do you have to eat?”

  6

  Razorback sat on a barstool at the kitchen island, watching Jackie traipse back and forth in yoga pants and a tank top as she cooked him and her daughter breakfast, her hair thrown up in a bun.

  The room was an eclectic mixture of knotty wood, marble, and Mexican tile that should have seemed haphazard but looked expensive, like it had been done by a designer. Come to think of it, the whole resort looked that way, and he wondered if she’d done the work herself or had more money than he’d first assumed.

  If she was wealthy, she wouldn’t have called in a favor from a dying man’s old Navy buddy, and that wasn’t the only reason that call was strange. They’d been summoned to another country after a minor break-in, an extreme reaction to such a small event, unless there was more going on here than he knew about, which was damn near nothing.

  He had to get Jackie to open up, and he wished she needed something simpler like a hernia repair or an appendectomy. Talking had never been his strong suit.

  He couldn’t figure out which was more uncomfortable—the awkward getting-to-know-you conversation they were currently having or her daughter staring at him critically from beneath her lowered brow. The girl was pretending to color, her small fist jutting out to mark the paper whenever he turned to look at her.

  Kids were a mystery, and not one he intended to solve. They didn’t like him before the accident that had disfigured his face, and they sure as hell didn’t like him now. Children required emotional investment, and Razorback invested in no one but himself.

  He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He was tired. He’d been outside all night, keeping watch while Sloan and the females slept. After careful observation, he could say with a reasonable amount of certainty there was no one else on the property, and he wondered again exactly why he and Dvorak were here.

  “Have you been out of the Navy long?” Jackie asked, cracking eggs into a bowl.

  “Two years. Almost three.”

  “And this HERO Force, how long have you worked for them?”

  “October will be a year.”

  “Are there a lot of ex-military working there?”

  “Every last one of us in the New York office. I believe Atlanta has a couple of odd men out.” He stole a glance at Selena, and her arms shot out to draw a big red smear. “How old are you?” he asked.

  She didn’t look at him. “Seven.”

  “Do you like to color?”

  “No.”

  He grinned, the first genuine smile to cross his face since boarding the plane for Mexico. She had tightly curled brown hair and caramel-colored skin, with full pink lips and shapely brows just like her mother. He wondered about her father. What kind of man would Jackie Desjardins take to her bed? His mind happily illustrated the question, filling in the blanks with a man who looked a lot like Razorback himself.

  He took a sip of scalding hot coffee and scowled, his moment of happiness abruptly over. Sure, Jackie was a good-looking woman, but she was not for him. When he got back to the States, he’d find someone. It had been too long. His body’s physical needs asserting themselves at an inappropriate time was clear evidence of that.

  There was no shortage of women interested in screwing a Navy SEAL—even one who looked like he did—and a good fuck was all he wanted.

  Jackie brought over plates and a skillet full of scrambled eggs, spooning some onto each dish. She had bruises along her jaw and the vestiges of a black eye he hadn’t even noticed last night. He took the plate she passed him. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” She ran water in the pan. “Looks like the sun might actually make an appearance today.”

  So, they were onto the weather now. Small talk was one of the levels of hell. “Looks like.” He forced eggs down his throat. “Sunrise was pretty this morning.”

  She turned. “Was it?” She clucked her tongue. “I’m sorry I missed it. The sunrise is one of my favorite things.”

  Aww, imagine that. She probably loves puppies, too.

  His eyes shot to the clock. He’d only been sitting here for twelve minutes. He needed to make more of an effort if he wanted this woman to trust him. “So tell me, what made you come to Mexico from the States?”

  “Oh, you know.” She shrugged. “I just loved the lifestyle. I always dreamed of living on the beach.”

  He could feel Selena’s stare and turned his head quickly to catch her. Her eyes went wide, the green crayon darting for the paper as she looked away.

  “Then Bill moved down after he retired,” she continued. “It just made sense to stay.”

  “Was he family?”

  “No.” She moved to the island and wiped the counter, her mouth turned down at the corners. “Not by blood, anyway. We worked together for years. He retired, then his wife died… It just made sense for him to come here.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.”

  Razorback leaned back in his chair, hitching his thumb on his belt loop. “It must be especially difficult with the timing of your attack, and that open window isn’t likely to make you feel better.”

  She eyed him pointedly. “Selena, would you excuse us, please?”

  The girl packed up her crayons and drawings and hopped off the stool, leaving the room. Jackie crossed her arms. “I’d appreciate it if you would not say things like that in front of my daughter. She’s frightened enough as it is.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.” He shook his head. “I’m not used to being around kids.”

  She looked away and he had the distinct impression she was battling tears. Why, he had no idea—but women were often a mystery to him. “So this man, the intruder, why do you think he wanted to hurt you?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Miss Desjardins, the truth would go a long way toward keeping you safe.”

  She lifted her head, one eyebrow cocked. “You think I’m lying.”

  Damn it, maybe he should have let Sloan do the talking. Now she was going to clam up like a virgin in the backseat of a Buick.

  In for a penny, in for a pound.

  He took a deep breath. “Stranger-instigated crimes are rare. Even when they occur, every one has a motive, whether it’s robbery, burglary, or sexual assault. Were you assaulted?” he asked as gently as he could.

  “No.”

  “Was anything taken?”


  “No.”

  “Is there anyone who might want to hurt you?”

  For a moment she said nothing. “Yes.”

  She looked at the ceiling. “Who it is, and why they want to hurt me, is none of your business. I’m not asking you to hunt them down or clear my good name. Just keep my daughter and me safe. That’s all. You don’t need to know everything to do that, do you?”

  “It would help, but no.” He was impressed with her honesty, hadn’t expected it, and had the unwelcome thought Jackie Desjardins might be chock full of surprises.

  She pushed off the counter she’d been leaning on. “You should get some sleep. I put you and Sloan upstairs in the bedroom next to mine. It was Bill’s, so it still has his personal items, including guns. I’m guessing you don’t mind.”

  “Nope.”

  “There are guest cabanas, but honestly I’d much rather have you close by.”

  Razorback nodded. “No problem.”

  “There are clean towels in the hall closet, extra blankets in the chest at the foot of the bed.”

  She looked so tired in that moment, he felt a wave of sympathy for whatever it was she was going through. At the very least, she’d lost a dear friend. “This hasn’t been easy on you.” He stood, straightening to his full height. “We’ll protect you, Jackie. You and your daughter. We’re here, we’re Navy SEALs, and we’re going to keep you safe.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe safety’s just an illusion.” She crossed to the door leading outside, turning back to give him a sad smile. “I have some work to do. Sleep well, Ian.”

  7

  The afternoon sun beat down on Jackie’s shoulders, her knit pants rolled up high onto her thighs, sweat sticking her tank top to her back. She’d returned the morning after the storm no worse for wear, begging for food as always. Jackie wiped her brow with the back of her hand, palm fronds scraping her face.