Her Unbroken Seal: A Navy Seal Romance

by Caitlyn O'Leary

  Her Unbroken SEAL,

  Midnight Delta Series, Book 11

  Caitlyn O’Leary

  Passionately Kind Publishing Inc.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Caitlyn O’Leary

  © Copyright 2021 Caitlyn O’Leary

  All rights reserved.

  All cover art and logo © Copyright 2020

  By Passionately Kind Publishing Inc.

  Cover by Syneca Featherstone

  Edited by Rebecca Hodgkins

  Content Edited by Trenda Lundin

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, and places portrayed in this book are entirely products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  If you find any eBooks being sold or shared illegally, please contact the author at Caitlyn@CaitlynOLeary.com.

  Created with Vellum

  To the men and women everywhere who have dealt with traumatic brain injuries whether mild or catastrophic.

  Synopsis

  What happens when the man you love is now a stranger?

  Lydia Hildalgo has been engaged to Clint Archer for five years. He’d been the love of her life since he’d carried her on his back out of the Mexican jungle. She knew the risk of loving a Navy SEAL, and she’d been happy to take it.

  After a harrowing mission, Clint wakes up with no memory of what happened, and a brain that doesn’t feel like his own, he doesn’t know what to do, or who to turn to.

  When one of his teammates needs his brand of help, he can’t turn him down, but he doesn’t know if he’s the same man he once was. With his mood swings, can he be trusted to do the job? And what about Lydia? What happens when the man she loved with all her heart, is not who he once was? Is there any way that they can find a way back to one another and finally create the future of their dreams?

  This is a stand-alone, but having read book two, Lydia and Clint’s first story in the Midnight Delta series, will enhance your enjoyment.

  1

  “Mason, come in. Time to check in.” Clint shoved his fear and anger down deep, the way he’d been trained. Still, there were times he hated being the computer/communications guy on the team. He wanted in on the action, but no, he had to be in the back, coordinating things. And now he couldn’t get his best friend and Lieutenant to answer on their team commlink at the agreed-upon time.

  What the hell? I’m going to rip them a new one when I see them. I better damn well see them, they better be okay!

  He might be working to channel calm from heaven, but he knew deep in his gut that this was going to be one of those missions. He’d felt it three times before in his career as a SEAL, and he’d been right every single time. There was some bad juju going on, he just knew it.

  He’d known it when they’d filed into the briefing room back in California to hear about the mission. He’d known it when they’d touched down here in Syria. He sure as hell knew it now that his team, his best friends, were suddenly not talking to him as they were all spread out along the streets of Idlib. The men were all over the place—in between shelled-out buildings, long lines of cars and not to mention the streets filled with carts and people trying to flee to the Turkish border for safety.

  Yeah, there might not be bullets flying, but this was going to turn into a clusterfuck. He knew it to the marrow of his bones.

  “Somebody better damn well check in or your ass is grass and I’m the lawnmower,” Clint gritted out.

  “I’m here, I’m here. Sorry about that, it’s crazy down here.” His lieutenant didn’t sound as contrite as Clint felt the situation warranted.

  “Dare, say you have something,” Mason commanded his medic through their comm system. Finally, Clint relaxed a small amount. The fact that Mase was demanding that Darius pull information out of thin air was damned ironic, considering they were surrounded by thousands of fleeing refugees, and Clint had been doing the same thing for twenty minutes.

  “Nothing so far, but I’m doing more doctoring than I am gathering intel. It’s brutal out here.” It was sub-zero conditions and Clint had seen plenty of displaced Kurds walking with small children and babies. Of course, Dare was doing triage.

  “What the fuck were these numbnuts thinking coming to Idlib?” Drake demanded to know for the four quillionth time. “I mean I know politicians are, by nature, self-serving and stupid, but this has to take the cake.”

  “Can it, Avery,” Mason clipped out. Apparently, he was as sick of hearing Drake’s complaining as Clint was. “This is the mission. We locate the Senator, his entourage, the poor reporters he strong-armed into coming along and get them the hell out of here. More importantly, before whichever terrorist group is up to bat, finds them.”

  “That’d be Hayat Tahrir al-Sham,” Finn said through Clint’s receiver. “They have the stick this week. Next week my bet is on al-Qaeda.”

  “Doesn’t fucking matter,” Drake grumbled. “They’re all the same, they’re killing innocents and they will kidnap Senator Leonard and his little team, and why in the fuck did he take two women with him? Why in the fuck did he leave Damascus? Why in the fuck did he come to Syria in the first place?”

  “This is the last time I’m telling you, Drake, shut it.” Mason was pissed. “Dare, start asking questions.”

  Clint knew that Mason was relying on Dare Stanton to find out information because he was doing field medic work on the refugees. However, Clint would bet his bottom dollar it would be Finn who would come up with answers. Darius would end up trying to save the entire caravan of people from freezing to death, especially the children. He could never pass up helping a child; it wasn’t in his make-up.

  “Guys, we have to make this fast. I have rumors that tanks are coming this way on the M-5 highway. You know that means they’re intending to clear the way so this week’s bad guy of the month can come in and scoop up the senator and his party,” Clint said as he looked down at his tablet. “I’m still trying to get the intel verified,” he told his team.

  Clint was positioned on top of what was once an apartment building, but was now a bomb-shelled husk of rubble. He had tracking on each of his men but having eyes on them amongst the chaos was impossible, that’s why he’d been so concerned not hearing from them.
>
  “Well, good luck to the terrorists, they first need to find them,” Finn said drily.

  “Considering how much that bastard likes his media coverage, you would have thought he was on the back of some truck hollering through a bullhorn,” Jack Preston’s Texas twang came through Clint’s receiver.

  “Clint, did you ever get a total count of how many people he had here in Idlib and how many stayed behind in Damascus?” Mason asked.

  “We have two reporters from the Associated Press here. I keep hoping that they will broadcast something so we can pinpoint the senator’s location. Then we have Senator Leonard and three aides.

  “So, Leonard basically—” Drake started.

  “Yes, we know Drake, he took a circus with him,” Clint cut in wearily. “The good news is that two of them speak Arabic.”

  “Won’t do them a bit of good if the senator is doing everything, he can to paint a bullseye on them for the terrorists,” Finn said wearily. “I’m with Drake on this one.”

  Clint rolled his eyes when he heard Drake’s self-satisfied laughter. There’d be no shutting him up now.

  “We’ve been doing this wrong. They had to have split up. There is no way that a group that size would have gone unnoticed. But if they’ve split up, then they would have blended more easily. Shit, I should have thought of this sooner.” Clint could hear Mason beating himself up.

  “The senator would have taken the reporters with him. He’d want the publicity,” Clint said.

  “You got that right,” Drake agreed. “He’d be keeping out of the way of the US forces, not that there are many left, he’d be in with the refugees. Hell, he’s probably looking for a baby to kiss.” Drake’s voice was thick with disdain.

  “What about the others?” Jack asked.

  “If they have the sense God gave a gnat, they’d be looking at any of the remaining servicemen as a way to get back to the States,” Drake said.

  “There aren’t any US Forces in this part of Syria, that’s the problem. This area was taken over by ISIL, Hayat Tahrir al-Sham, and Al Qaeda months ago. We were forced to leave in total. That’s why everyone is getting the hell out. The only reason we’re walking around without question is that the Kurds are just hoping we’re the first wave of US troops coming back in,” Mason explained.

  “Good, then maybe the senator’s group will flag us down.” Once again Clint could hear Drake’s voice filled with self-satisfaction.

  “Yeah sure, amongst tens of thousands of people clogging the streets and highway to get the fuck out of the city. Jeez, what world do you live in? Has Karen got you believing in fairies and unicorns?” Clint asked.

  “Like Lydia doesn’t have—” Drake started.

  “Stop it!” Mason interrupted. “Especially you, Avery. I don’t need this shit. We’re here to get these civilians the hell out of here. Clint, do you have us all pinpointed?”

  Clint looked down at his tablet. He saw all of the signals for the six men of Midnight Delta, which included him.

  “Yep. Mason, you’re good where you are, you’re hitting the northwest side of the square. Jack, you need to veer southeast, you’re too close to Darius. Drake, just continue on where you’re going. Finn, move a little more to the south. I’m looking for any significant clusters that might indicate the refugees are surrounding some Americans. So far, nothing.”

  “I’ve got something,” Darius said. “One of the kids just told me that his mother is cooking dinner for some honored guests. He said they’re foreigners like me, but they don’t have guns. She’s not leaving. Probably either her husband or her sons are part of the rebellion.”

  “I’m down with some home cooking,” Jack drawled before Drake could get himself in trouble by opening his mouth.

  “I’m already working that angle,” Darius said. “Let me patch the boy up. I think that a little triage and a little chocolate for him and his mom should do the trick.”

  “Always does,” Finn agreed. “Clint, guide us to Dare. Not Drake, he’d ruin the invitation.”

  “But I’m hungry.” Drake’s whine was half-hearted. Clint could tell he had his sights on something.

  “Finn and Jack, you head on over to Darius,” Mason directed. “Drake, you stay on whatever you’ve got going. Clint, anything yet?”

  Clint did another slow sweep of the city square. Finally, he saw something worthwhile, and it wasn’t where Drake was located. There was a huddle of people with their arms waving. “Mase, could be that what I’m seeing is nothing more than people bidding on some provisions, but they’re looking pretty worked up. They’re close to you. You need to just go about twenty meters east of your position and you’ll run into it.”

  If anybody could figure out what was going on, it was Mason Gault. Clint couldn’t ask for a better leader and best friend.

  2

  Along with tracking the movements of his team, and sweeping the city square in Idlib, Clint had also been listening into Hayat Tahrir al-Sham radio chatter that US Intelligence had patched him into. Luckily, multi-tasking was his middle name. Now it was beginning to get interesting.

  “Jack, no home-cooking for you, you’re following me.”

  “On it,” Jack answered Mason. “Clint?”

  “You need to go about seventy-five meters northwest. About twenty-five meters past the big clock in the middle of Idlib Square. If you miss it, then I’m kicking you off the team.”

  Jack laughed.

  “When you get closer, I’ll guide you,” Clint promised Jack.

  Now that everybody had their orders, Clint listened to the terrorist chatter more intently. Yep, he definitely heard them talking about Americans.

  Goddammit!

  The only good news is they decided not to deploy helicopters—they were coming in alongside the M-5 highway via tanks. That gave them some time. Just a tiny bit of time. He got on the horn.

  “Klein here.”

  “It’s Archer,” Clint responded. “Need some help.”

  “I thought you SEALs could take care of everything all on your own,” Felix Klein laughed. “What do you need? Is this about the Hayat Tahrir al-Sham tanks moving toward Idlib?”

  “You’ve got it in one.” He loved Felix, the man was always on top of his game.

  “I’ve got you covered. We’re deploying a drone right now. We’ll let you know how many and where they are so we can get you an ETA.”

  Clint felt his shoulders relax. It was good to have some friends here in Syria, even if they were far away. The few US troops left were next to the Iraqi and Jordanian border.

  “I’d talk freely, but I can’t. So, with that said, any luck finding our esteemed senator?” Felix asked. His words might be respectful, but his tone was anything but.

  Clint grinned. “We’ve got some leads. But the last thing we need is hellfire raining down on us, so thanks for checking things out for us, I owe you.”

  “Man, you’re already paying. I’d sooner dig a latrine or clean a latrine than take your duty.”

  This time Clint laughed. He couldn’t help it. Seemed this senator had not made any friends overseas.

  “I’ll have info for you in fifteen or less.”

  “Let’s hope it’s good,” Clint prayed.

  “Here’s hoping.”

  “I’m going to stay on the line to continue monitoring in case something comes up,” Felix said.

  “Sounds good,” Clint answered.

  “The rumor is verified,” Clint said into his mic to his team. “Hayat Tahrir al-Sham has tanks coming this way on the M5 highway.”

  “What’s the ETA?” Mason demanded to know.

  “My contact with a Marine unit here in Syria is sending a drone to scope things out. We should know the ETA and number in a half-hour, but we don’t have that much time to waste.”

  “Guys, we need to speed this along,” Mason commanded.

  Clint saw Mason’s beacon coming up on the huddle of people. Jack was further out. Drake was still in the same s
pot he had been for the last five minutes.

  “Drake, what’s up?” Clint asked.

  “Men with guns. They’re questioning everybody who goes by.”

  “Why haven’t they noticed you?”

  “I’m tucked in the back of one of the burnt-out vehicles, they don’t see me.”

  “Who are these men?” Mason demanded to know.

  “My guess is Kurdish rebels. None of the refugees are scared of them.”

  “Can you make out what they’re saying?” Mason asked.

  “Yep, they’re looking for a group of Americans in civilian clothing. Men and women. They were driving in two Range Rovers.”

  “Well shit, that’s more intel than we had,” Clint bit out. He’d been scanning the area for almost forty-five minutes and there hadn’t been a sign of a Range Rover. It would have stuck out like a sore thumb. “Meanwhile, what we had been told is that they were planning to hold a press conference Idlib Square also known as Clock Square, go figure. I’m going to need to move positions, see what I can, down some of the streets feeding into the square.”

  “Negative. We need you concentrating on the square,” Mason said.

  Clint eyed the next apartment building to the right of him. If he could jump over to that one, he could see down the large avenue that fed into the square. It was the same path that the tanks would take, and the same path someone from Damascus would have taken. Chances were the senator’s party would have taken that road to get to the square.