SEAL Firsts

by Sharon Hamilton

  Timmons nodded.

  “Someone’s connected the dots real good. Got ATF, maybe the FBI on it too. This is becoming one giant fucking pile of shit, Timmons, and you know who is right in the middle of it.”

  “Warren Hilber,” Timmons said.

  Mayfield was going to swear loudly, but the nice young thing with the silky thighs brought his diet Coke, with a lime wedge on the lip for good measure.

  Perfect.

  He saluted her and took a long drag. Then he squeezed the lime over the top and took another. It seemed to ease his belly some, but not enough. “I don’t even want to fucking answer my phone anymore.” He took several ice cubes and ground them down quickly with his molars.

  Timmons was nodding, staring at his empty glass. The girl hadn’t asked him if he wanted another. That meant she could count pretty good, Mayfield thought.

  “So, Timmons, tell me something that’ll make me fucking feel better.”

  Timmons smiled lopsided and speared him in the eyes with a stare Mayfield knew was only the precursor to something bad. Really bad.

  “Kyle and the team didn’t get there in time.” Timmons said.

  “And?”

  “Used her as bait, and now they have Kyle too, just like you instructed.”

  “Okay. Get to the point.”

  “They saved the billionaire’s life. We have to get that word out there. But I’ve asked the two other members of Kyle’s team to come in.

  “And?”

  “They refused.”

  Mayfield wanted to strangle the man, except they were on the same team and he was having his own share of problems. Of course, this news might convince a couple of his superiors that Kyle was more victim than perp, but it was a risk. He knew he’d waited too long to get additional help. He just thought these guys could handle it on their own. But the operation was exploding out of control.

  “The one who is behind it all is Caesar Rodriguez, of the Scorpions. They—”

  “I know who they are. They run guns and provide protection for the big Mexican gangs from San Diego. Got safe houses all the way from here to the border.” Mayfield waved off down the strand. “Word has it, they use ex-military.”

  “No doubt,” Timmons said, frowning. “Our training’s the best.” He sat back and looked into the night air, as if he were thinking about what to say. “We try to weed them out, but I’d be the first one to admit, we don’t get them all.”

  “And the dropouts, the DORs?”

  “Them too. They get just enough training to be dangerous, but we try to get into their heads right away and weed out the nut jobs.”

  “Or the ones with a higher calling.”

  “You know the drill. You were there.”

  That he was. Mayfield could remember the wet and sandy evenings, the chafing, the blood running down his leg under his uniform that Saturday after they’d passed Hell Week. He hadn’t bothered to take off his clothes and had showered in the warm water, shampooed his face, and fallen asleep soaking wet on the cheap motel room bed. He’d woken up twelve hours later and was starving. They all ate together at a café that overlooked the ocean they had spent six excruciating days in. All thirty of them, less than a quarter of the original class, had walked as if they were crab-like creatures from the black lagoon. And when he finally had taken off his shoes, his feet had been green.

  “How’d Caesar get to your guys?” Mayfield finally asked as he ground down another few ice chips.

  “Childhood friend. Someone who knows the family. Got mixed up with Armando’s sister off and on for years.”

  Timmons held his glass up and it was taken within seconds.

  “I think your sheriff is there, in San Francisco,” Timmons said.

  “Good. I’ll throw some shit his way. That I can do.”

  “And Kyle injured Caesar. He’s probably going to need medical attention, from the sound of it.”

  “So we check the ERs. What kind of injury?”

  “Fredo says he thinks an arm thing. The guy was screaming and passing out from the pain.”

  The girl brought two glasses. “Another?” she asked Mayfield.

  “Sure.” He was thinking about whom he could call to get the heat on Hilber, who was probably getting fairly desperate by now. “You know where they are?”

  Timmons hesitated, and then tossed down the first of his two new drinks. “Yup. Know right where they all are. Kyle’s painted.”

  “Painted?”

  “We have a locator on him.”

  Mayfield understood. “Anything else I should know about?”

  “Nope.” Timmons grinned. “Well, if I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

  They both laughed at that one.

  “You guys have some toys, I’ll grant you that. Shoot, if we had your budget…”

  “You’d catch more bad guys. I completely agree.”

  “Sometimes I think that’s why I tried out for the SEALs,” Mayfield said.

  “Yup. Heard that one too.”

  Timmons was having a good time playing cat and mouse with him. Mayfield had to ask the question. “Your guys aren’t actually thinking of going in there and getting him? Them, I mean?”

  Timmons cocked his head and thought about it a minute. “Can’t honestly say. I hope not, for the sake of their careers. Hell, for mine too. And you guys will never convince everyone in San Diego and San Francisco, as well as the Feds, in time, either.”

  “We’re fucked.” Mayfield knew it. No way this was going to work out, unless…

  “I’d put my money on my SEALs. Everything we need is inside that warehouse, or wherever the hell they are. The Scorpion King has no idea what or who they are dealing with.”

  “If he’s still alive,” Mayfield said.

  “Oh, he’s still alive. They both are. Trust me, if either one or both of them goes out, you and everyone else will know it.”

  Chapter 37

  Christy had been placed on a blanket on the carpeted floor, but she still woke up stiff from the few hours’ sleep she’d been able to snatch. She didn’t recognize her surroundings. It was an apartment of sorts. She heard traffic and the ring of a cable car, so she knew she was still in San Francisco.

  In a cruel twist of fate, she was on her side, nearly touching Kyle’s sleeping form, the one person in the world she wanted to be sleeping next to. But he was hog-tied and her hands ached from the zip ties at her wrists in front of her. All night long she kept forgetting where she was and would try to force her arms apart, to adjust to a more comfortable position, but then realization of her situation would dawn and she’d quickly remember comfort and movement was useless.

  She had to pee, though it had been hours, nearly twenty now, since she’d eaten or had anything to drink. That told her there was no real concern for her safety or her health.

  No smell of coffee. No warm bed smelling of fresh lovemaking. No warm shower and lavender shower gel. No warm scent at the back of Kyle’s neck that she could bury her nose in. No touch of his solid ass as he came alive to the caress of her thighs. No holding the man who was a god—perhaps too much of a god. Was it possible to love someone, to need someone so much? Was it a good thing or a very bad thing?

  Death stared her in the face. Kyle looked at peace in his sleep.

  What if Kyle died? What if she had to watch that? What if she died? On the scale in her soul, she knew her life wasn’t worth half of his. This was the man who had touched her on the knee last night and told her everything would be all right. And she had believed him. He’d wanted to take the burden and the pain from her. She vowed if there were a chance, even if it meant sacrificing herself, she would provide a distraction. Somehow she would help set him free. That was the only thing she would focus on today.

  What had he said before he’d been beaten? Stay the course. Not have a nice life, or don’t worry. Those would have been useless words. Unrealistic words. No. He’d asked her to endure. Not give up. Not to think about it. Just go on.


  She knew it all would happen today. There wouldn’t to be a long few days of torture. All she had to do was get through this next day, because she was certain there wouldn’t be another one.

  Time is of the essence. Just like what she’d learned in her real estate classes.

  Madame M had had no time to prepare for her end of days, although Christy suspected the woman had not been entirely truthful with her. Christy had watched in horror as Madame was beaten and then shot. Caesar had put the gun to Tom’s chest and got Christy to write the note to Kyle, creating the snare that would entrap him. And then the devil shot Tom anyway. Just for spite.

  It’s all my fault.

  Tom? She’d heard the shot. Was he gone too? Her thoughts wandered. She allowed herself to explore what could have been her future. Could she have changed the course of his involvement in this drama? She said a prayer for him. God, she hoped he was alive. He didn’t deserve this fate. It was hers. It wasn’t his.

  Forgive me, Tom. She had never meant to hurt him. Never meant to hurt Madame. And Marla. Was Kyle going to be next? Was everyone who cared about her going to die?

  Tears flowed down her cheeks as she fluttered her eyelids so the blurriness of Kyle’s handsome face wasn’t lost to her. She would need that strong jaw line, those blue eyes that made her feel like some great Amazon warrior princess at his side. With this man, she could overcome anything. All he had to do was love her and she would be healed. She was everything she needed to be. She had everything she wanted to have. Even if it was for a day.

  All she needed to do now was save him. Somehow. And today was the day it would have to happen.

  Kyle stirred. A beam of early morning light had crossed the side of his face. The black stubble on his cheeks glistened, the hairs at his neckline rose and fell with his steady breathing. He wasn’t like anyone else she had ever met. His body was a lean killing machine, but his heart was as full and tender as a child’s. Full of life. Full of love. Full of hope—not just for her, but for a nation she knew needed him. A nation that would never be able to thank him the way he deserved. Who would never understand the heart of the man. The heart and dedication of a warrior. Being a SEAL was his true calling and always would be.

  Another wave of tears shielded the view of him. He nestled his head against the floor and arched his back. His chest expanded and rose. Her fingers and lips had explored the length of that chest not nearly enough times. She hadn’t heard his steady heartbeat enough. She needed to lay her ear against his breast and listen to life as it was meant to be. Until it was all over, the memory of those glorious moments in his arms would be all she would have.

  And though it wouldn’t be nearly enough, it would have to do.

  It was all she had, after all.

  And for right now he was lying next to her, in the morning, with the sun on his chest. And he was alive.

  She fell to sleep dreaming of a life that could have been.

  Chapter 38

  Kyle woke to a splitting headache. He felt like he was wearing a hatchet lodged in his forehead, right between his eyes. Eyes that refused to focus.

  But when the fuzzy red spots in front of him cleared, he saw Christy’s luscious shape. Her cherry red top was half slung over one shoulder and smudged. She was on her side, facing him, her hands bloody from struggling with the zip ties. But right now they lay relaxed and in repose. Like she was praying.

  He looked at her strong arched eyebrows and her long smooth nose, ending with just a slight upturn guarding full rose-colored lips. A little of her red lipstick remained. He remembered everything about those lips.

  He had no right to be thinking about them right now. Cooper and Fredo were right—those kinds of thoughts could get a good Team guy killed. That wasn’t the hard part, he thought. He didn’t want to make Armando and Christy sacrifice for his mistakes. That just wasn’t going to happen.

  Soft blond curls hugged the dark canyon along her neck. Her shiny shoulder, transected by a red satin bra strap, rose and fell with her even breathing. They hadn’t beaten her, thank God. Her black, form-fitting pants hugged those long legs of hers, with one crossed over the other. His gaze followed down to her ankles with just a couple of blue veins visible at the top of her foot.

  And then there were those heels.

  They were still shiny, as if she’d been protecting them. Probably expensive, he thought. He fantasized what those bare legs would look like with the patent leather, spiked heels wrapped around his waist or flat up against the wall as he sunk himself deep inside her.

  Not helpful, these thoughts. Dangerous. His package was coming to life. Oblivious to danger. Maybe because of the danger. What kind of thinking was that? It was gallows humor, for sure.

  She was trying to turn over in her sleep. She arched her spine just enough so he could see the outline of her breasts under the top, the hint of shadow he could remember that played between her nipples those times when he buried his head there, those times when he tasted this gentle woman who had the heart of a lion in a siren’s body.

  Knowing her, it was the first time he’d found someone who could take everything he could dish out. All of it. All the lovemaking, all the moodiness and distances he had to maintain to keep sight of the mission, all of who he was. She was his equal in every respect, and perhaps superior to him in many. If it took every ounce of courage and life force, he would make sure she survived.

  Maybe if he didn’t survive and Armando did, his buddy would take care of her, protect her, and learn to cherish her like he had. Christy deserved someone in her life who would bring her a deep love that would rock her to her core, not something casual and brittle. Something deep, everlasting. Something worthy of her courage and strength.

  If it can’t be me, let it be someone like Armando.

  Kyle did feel the pangs of regret and jealousy. Had he mentally agreed to give her up? Well, if he died saving her life, that is what he would do. She was worth it, after all.

  He scanned as much of the room as he could see. And he listened. Hispanic music was playing outside on the street somewhere. The sound of traffic came from below, which meant they were in an urban neighborhood, most likely on a second or third floor. He could hear morning delivery trucks. An occasional car swished by. Doors slammed and motors revved, and then he heard the telltale ring of a cable car nearby.

  He was in San Francisco. People were coming and going about their lives.

  A cheap dresser with pictures stuck into the mirror frame was on the opposite side of the room. He could feel fabric and the metal band of a bed frame behind him. Someone was snoring on the bed. He hoped it was Armando, but after listening to the rhythmic snoring, he realized the pattern wasn’t familiar. So one of his captors was with them.

  Where was Armando?

  He heard a door slam shut downstairs and footsteps get closer. They were heavy, like combat boots on wooden steps, two—no, three sets of boots. And whoever it was, they were big men. Like the ex-military types he’d seen at the warehouse.

  So it was all starting now. He checked his heartbeat. No evidence he’d been drugged. But he had a dull ache at what probably was a big knob at the back of his head where he was sure he’d been gun-butted. Hilber’s love tap, he thought. Kyle squeezed his fists and released them twice. Time for dealing with Hilber was soon approaching.

  He wiggled the flap on his zip ties, twisting his wrists so a finger could move the flap back and forth like they’d been shown in captor training. In a few seconds the plastic failed, and his hands were free. Quietly, he rose up and took a quick peek at the bed. Sure enough, one huge guy dwarfed the bare twin mattress. He was fully clothed and a 9mm was laced in his limp fingers. It was too much of a risk to go for the gun.

  Kyle worked the tie on his ankles and saw Christy’s eyes open. He put a finger to his lips and she smiled. God, he would have to stretch, but he would kiss those lips. Slowly, quietly, he arched, lifting his torso in a one-armed pushup so he wouldn’t dra
g over the carpet and make a sound.

  She kept her eyes open when he kissed her.

  “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he whispered. She nodded and looked at his lips again. When he kissed her again, she tried to arch her chest to his. Her sweet breath and kisses were furtive, desperate, strained at having to be kept quiet. Like she didn’t think she’d ever get another kiss. He could feel the moan in her chest she wouldn’t reveal. He smelled the perfume in her hair as her pulse points released her scent to him. She was his woman in every sense of the word. The better half of him. The half he would save. Even if the other half had to die.

  Chapter 39

  By nine o’clock in the morning, Mayfield made the calls to the IA Department at the San Diego sheriff’s office, promising a full written report on Deputy Hilber and his involvement in the gang’s swath of violence. As a courtesy, he also called the sheriff, who said he’d had his own suspicions about Hilber’s extracurricular activities. There’d been rumors, he told Mayfield.

  A politician’s answer.

  For jurisdictional harmony, Mayfield bought the story, for now. He didn’t need another enemy just at this moment in his career. He knew the elected man was going to do everything possible to keep the dirty cop angle minimized.

  Mayfield also alerted his chief, who pulled in the commissioner. One thing going for them was that it didn’t look like any regular SDPD units were involved. And that was one hell of a good thing. At least the war was only on two fronts. Not like what Kyle and those poor bastards in the Navy had on their hands in Iraq and Afghanistan.

  Arab Spring, my ass.

  All he had to worry about now were the drug gangs and the rogue deputy’s protection racket. He knew what they were after. And he knew they’d never succeed. He may not have trusted Kyle with his daughter, if he had one, but he knew the young man would rather die than resort to a life of crime and violence in the private sector. No guns for hire with this lot.