Ronin's Return (Hearts & Heroes Book 3)

by Elle James

  “No, she could have been married to a civilian who didn’t run the risk of being killed in a war.”

  She turned away and paced to the window. “No, it’s just not good to fall in love with anyone. You never know when a bus is going to hit them, or the car they’re driving will run off the road, or the boat they’re in will flip and drown them.” Isabella spun and pinned Ronin with a tight glare.

  “I think the woman is trying to make a point,” Ronin said, a frown still darkening his gaze but his lips quirking.

  That was the man Isabella remembered and fell in love with. The one who could look at a situation and find something funny about it. The man who could make her laugh and see the beauty in life. Not the one trying to push her away because he was afraid to love her, but more afraid she’d love him.

  She went to him and took his hand in hers.

  When he tried to pull it free, she held on. “Ronin, we don’t know how long we have on this earth. We can’t second-guess our decisions based on what might happen. We have to go with our hearts. She pressed his hand to her chest where her heart was beating fast. “My heart is telling me to take a chance. True love doesn’t come along often in life. I didn’t think it would ever happen to me—until I met you. Now, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend whatever time I have left on this earth with. If we get to grow old together, great. If we only have a year together, a month, a day, an hour, I’ll take it. You make me happy. I’ll take all the happy I can get for as long as you let me.”

  His hand tightened in hers and pulled her fingers to his lips where he dropped a kiss. “What if I die on a mission?”

  “Then you will die knowing I love you and always will. I’m strong. I’ll survive, and my memories of our time together will keep me going.”

  “What if we have a child?” He swallowed hard before continuing. “What if she grows up without a father?”

  “I’ll tell her every day what a great man you were and how proud he’d be of the strong woman she will become.” Isabella raised his hand to her cheek. “Please. Don’t give up on us. We found each other after two years apart. It has to mean something.”

  For a long moment, he stared up into her eyes, his own suspiciously moist.

  Isabella held her breath, praying he’d see how right she was. “I would come to live in Virginia. We can get an apartment near Little Creek. I can get a job.”

  He snorted. “Someone’s bound to need a female mercenary or spy. They’ll be knocking on your door.” Ronin shook his head. “You can live anywhere you want, now that al-Jahashi is dead. My people tell me that faction has scattered. No one has stepped up to take over as a leader. I’m sure they have more pressing needs than revenge on a woman who killed a dead man’s brother.”

  Isabella nodded, thankful the threat had been neutralized.

  “You’d give up your life in Venice?” Ronin asked.

  She nodded. “For you.” Isabella gripped his hand harder. “For us.” She hurried on, “And maybe, when you retire from the Navy, you could work for my father, and we can split our time between the U.S. and Italy?” Isabella pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. She’d never wanted something as badly as she wanted a life with Ronin. “Or not. We can live wherever you want.”

  “I wouldn’t want your father to hire me just because I’m family.”

  Her heart fluttered. Was he thinking a life together would work? “My father told me he’d hire you the day you leave the Navy. He needs people he can trust.”

  “You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?”

  She nodded, her eyes stinging. “Every day. I know what to expect, being in a relationship with a Navy SEAL. It doesn’t scare me.”

  His lips curled into a smile. “I don’t think anything scares you. I love that about you.”

  “You’re wrong. I am scared of one thing.”

  “And that is?” he prompted.

  “Losing you before we have had a chance to be together.” She turned his hand and pressed a kiss to his open palm.

  “Bella,” he said, his voice clear and soft.

  Her knees always weakened when he called her Bella. “Yes, Ronin?”

  “I’d get down on one knee and ask you properly, but…well…I can repeat the performance when this damned leg is mended.” He slapped his sheet-draped leg and grimaced. Then he straightened and took her hand in his. “What I want to say is…even though we’re engaged, though, for the record, I never asked you…would you marry this broken-legged Navy SEAL? I promise to love you until the day I die, hoping that will be a very long time down the road. I’ll come home to you when the Navy lets me, and I’ll protect you to the best of my ability when I’m in town. Otherwise, you’re going to be on your own.”

  She pressed a finger to his lips, and then bent until her mouth hovered over his. Her heart swelled with a happiness so complete she would take every bit of it she could handle, and more, for as long as it lasted.

  No regrets.

  She whispered against his lips, “Yes.” Then she kissed him.

  About the Author

  ELLE JAMES also writing as MYLA JACKSON is a New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of books including cowboys, intrigues and paranormal adventures that keep her readers on the edges of their seats. With over eighty works in a variety of sub-genres and lengths she has published with Harlequin, Samhain, Ellora’s Cave, Kensington, Cleis Press, and Avon. When she’s not at her computer, she’s traveling, snow skiing, boating, or riding her ATV, dreaming up new stories.

  GoodReads | Newsletter

  Or visit her alter ego Myla Jackson at mylajackson.com

  Website | Facebook | Twitter | Newsletter

  Learn more about Elle James

  www.ellejames.com

  ellejames@ellejames.com

  COMING SOON

  SAM’S SURRENDER

  HEARTS & HEROES BOOK 4

  by

  New York Times & USA Today

  Bestselling Author

  ELLE JAMES

  About Sam’s Surrender

  When the stress of the job pushes Sam to take greater risks than is called for as a helicopter pilot with the US Army 160th Night Stalkers, his commander insists he extend his leave past the time it takes to attend his brother’s wedding to include some much-needed R&R. Like it or not, Sam Magnus isn’t cleared to return to work until he’s had time to cool his heels and learn how to relax.

  With no clue how to chill, he relies on a dart thrown at a map to determine where he should spend his unwanted vacation. The Greek Island of Santorini it is! Used to non-stop action, the thought of lolling in the sun for two weeks makes him want to hurt someone. Namely his commanding officer. Until he interferes with an attempted kidnapping of one hot babe his first night on the island.

  Stranded on Santorini, abandoned by the wealthy couple who hired her, former au pair, Kinsey Phillips, has enough going wrong with being broke and homeless, she doesn’t need to add an attempted kidnapping to her list of troubles. A Navy SEAL swoops in to rescue her, and thus begins a whole new set of troubles. The man is incredibly handsome and Kinsey knows what guys like that are like—love ‘em and leave ‘em.

  No, sir. She’d been there, done that and had scars to prove it. Count her out of a potentially doomed relationship, although she could use his help in the meantime to survive the beautiful but deadly Greek island and get back to the States alive.

  Someone is determined to take Kinsey. It’s not Sam’s job to keep her safe, but he resultantly assumes the responsibility when he discovers she has nowhere else to go. Rest and relaxation is impossible to achieve with a sexy blond sharing his cottage, especially when her attackers aren’t willing to forgo their prize.

  SEAL’S HONOR

  Take No Prisoners Series Book #1

  New York Times & USA Today

  Bestselling Author

  ELLE JAMES

  Chapter 1

  REED TUCKER, TUCK to his buddies, tugged at the tie o
n his U.S. Navy service dress blue uniform, and his gut knotted as he entered the rehabilitation center of the National Naval Medical Center in Bethesda, Maryland.

  He’d never run from anything, not a machine gun pinning his unit to a position, a fight where he was outnumbered, or an argument he truly believed in. But the sights, smells, and sounds inside the walls of the rehabilitation center made him want to get the hell out of the facility faster than a cat with its tail on fire.

  But he couldn’t leave. Not yet. This was graduation day for Reaper, aka Cory Nipton, his best friend and former teammate on SEAL Team 10. Reaper was being released from the rehabilitation center after enduring something even tougher than BUD/s training, the twenty-four week Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training designed to weed out the true SEALs from the wannabes.

  But Reaper’s release from rehab wasn’t the only event that brought Tuck there that day. He was going to a wedding. His heart twisted, his palms grew clammy, and he clutched

  the ring box in his left hand as regret warred with guilt, creating a vile taste in his mouth.

  Reaper was marrying Delaney, the only woman Tuck had ever trusted with his heart. The only woman who’d forced him to get over his past and dare to dream of a future. She was the woman he could see himself spending the rest of his life with. And today she was promising to love, honor, and cherish his best friend—a better man than Tuck by far. A hero who’d lost his right arm because Tuck hadn’t given him sufficient cover. Cory deserved all the happiness he could get after being medically discharged out of the only family he’d ever known. The Navy SEALs.

  His hand on the door to the room where the wedding was to take place, Tuck squared his shoulders and stepped into his future.

  Two months earlier

  TUCK GLANCED TO his left and right. The members of Strike Force Dragon sat or stood, tense, holding onto whatever they could as the MH-60M Black Hawk dipped into the valley between two hilltops, less than a click away from the dark, quiet village. The only thing different about this mission was that, since the one before, he’d slept with the Pilot in Command of the helicopter.

  Most men knew her as Razor, the call sign they used for the only female pilot flying infiltration and extraction missions for the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment (SOAR), Army Captain Delaney O’Connell.

  Through his NVGs he picked up the bright green signature of a lookout on top of one of the buildings.

  Within seconds, shots were fired at them, tracer rounds flaring in the dark. The helicopter remained just out of range of the man’s rifle shots, but it wouldn’t be long before a Taliban machine gunner with long-range capability was alerted with the potential of lobbing rocket-propelled grenades their way.

  Wasting no time, the helicopter sank to a level just above the drop zone (DZ). While it hovered the men fast-roped down.

  As soon as his boots hit the ground, Tuck brought up his M4A1 in the ready position and ran toward the sniper on the rooftop, zigzagging to avoid being locked in the enemy crosshairs.

  Reaper, Big Bird, Gator, Fish, and Dustman spread out to the sides and followed.

  When they were in range, Reaper took a knee and employed his uncanny ability as a sharpshooter to knock off the sentry on the rooftop.

  The team continued forward into the walled town, going from building to building, until they reached the one they were after. In the center of the compound, high walls surrounded one particular brick and mud structure.

  Big Bird bent and cupped his hands.

  Tuck planted his boot in the man’s massive paws and, with Big Bird’s help, launched himself to the top of the wall, dropping down on the other side in a crouch. Weapon pointing at the building, finger on the trigger, Tuck scanned the courtyard for potential threat. People moved past windows inside. So far, no one had stepped outside to check out the disturbance. Only a matter of time. “Clear,” he said into his headset.

  As Dustman topped the wall, a man emerged from the side of the structure and fired on them.

  Without hesitation, Tuck fired off a silent round, downing the man with one bullet.

  Dustman dropped to the ground beside him and gave him a thumbs up, taking the position by the wall so Tuck could move to the corner where the dead man lay.

  As they’d discussed in the operations briefing, they only had three minutes to get into the compound, retrieve their target, and get out. Kill anyone in the way, but bring out the target alive.

  Once four of the six-man team were inside the wall, they breached the doorway and entered, moving from room to room. If someone or something moved, they had only a millisecond to decide whether or not to shoot.

  Tuck opened the first room. Inside, small green heat signatures glowed in his NVGs. Children sleeping on mats on the floor. He eased shut the door, jamming a wedge in the gap to keep them from getting out too soon.

  He moved on to the next room. When he opened the door, a woman rose from a pallet, wearing a long black burka. When she lifted her hand like she held a gun, Tuck fired, taking her down before she could pull the trigger.

  As he continued in the lead position down the narrow hallway, Tuck’s adrenaline hammered blood through his veins and honed his senses. His wits in hyper-alert status, his finger rested a hair’s breadth away from again pulling the trigger. This was the life he was made for. Defending his country, seeking out his enemies and destroying them with a swift, deadly strike. His job was risky, dangerous, and deadly.

  A man emerged from a room down the hall.

  Tuck’s nerves spiked. He had only a fraction of a second to identify him.

  Not his target.

  He pulled the trigger and nailed him with another silent round. The man slumped to the floor, his cry for help nothing more than a startled gasp.

  The door he’d emerged from flew open and men bearing guns poured out.

  Tuck spoke quietly into his headset. “Get down.” He didn’t bother to look back. His team would follow his orders without hesitation. He dropped with them, his M4A1 in front of him, and fired at the kneecaps of the men filling the hallway.

  One by one, they went down, discharging their weapons, the bullets going wide and high.

  In Pashto, the language spoken by most of the population of Afghanistan and Pakistan, Tuck told them to lay down their weapons.

  When one of the injured enemies sat up and took aim, Tuck fired another round, putting him out of the game.

  The injured enemy soldiers threw down their guns.

  “Gator, clean up out here,” Tuck whispered into his mic. “Reaper and Big Bird, you’re with me.”

  In the lead, Tuck stepped around the fallen Taliban and entered the room in a low crouch, ducking to the right. Nothing moved. Another door led into yet another unknown space. Tuck dove into the room and rolled to the side, weapon up.

  As he entered, a man with an AK47 fired off a burst of rounds that whizzed past Tuck’s ears, missing him, but not by much. The man shouted for Tuck to drop his weapon.

  Tuck fired at the shooter’s chest. He fell to the ground, revealing the man he’d been protecting. Their target, the Taliban leader they’d been briefed on. He stood straight, a pistol aimed at Tuck.

  Though he wanted to pull the trigger, Tuck couldn’t shoot. His mission was to bring him out alive.

  His hesitation cost him. A round, fired pointblank, hit him in the chest and flung him backward to land on his ass. If not for the armor plate protecting him, he’d be a dead man. He lay still for a moment, struggling to regulate his breathing.

  Reaper used the stun gun, firing off a round that hit dead on and had the man flat on his back and twitching in seconds. “You okay?” He extended his hand to help Tuck to his feet.

  “Yeah.” Tuck motioned to Big Bird. “Take him.”

  The biggest, strongest man of the team, Big Bird lifted their target and flung him over his shoulder.

  Still fighting to catch his breath, Tuck led the way back to the fence. Once outside the building,
he scanned his surroundings and then checked back up at the top of the roof. No signs of enemy snipers. But that didn’t mean they were in the clear. They still had to navigate their way out of town and get back to the helicopter.

  Leading the way, with Gator and Fish guarding the rear, Tuck hurried back along the narrow street to the outer walls of the village where the helicopter hovered nearby, waiting for their signal.

  Tuck blinked the flashlight outfitted with a red lens at the hovering aircraft and it moved in, setting down for the briefest of moments, enough to get the six-man team inside. He reached over the back of the seat to the pilot and shouted, “Go!”

  The Black Hawk lurched into the air, rising up and moving forward at the same time, hurrying to gain as much altitude as possible as they disappeared into the night sky, out of enemy sight and weapons range.

  Not until they were well out of reach did Tuck release the breath he’d been holding and take stock of his team and their prisoner. All of them made it out alive and intact. That’s the way he liked it. He’d been the only one who would have sustained injury if he hadn’t been equipped with armor plating.

  The co-pilot handed Tuck an aviation headset and he slipped it on.

  “Nine minutes, twenty-five seconds.” Gunnery Sergeant Sullivan’s raspy voice sounded in Tuck’s ear. “Better, but still not fast enough.”

  This had been a training mission, one they’d repeated five times in the past two weeks. Someone wanted them to get it right. The team was improving, but still needed to be quieter, faster, and more aware when the mission was real. The people they’d shot tonight had only been tagged with lasers. If this mission went live, the ammunition used against them would be live rounds.

  Leaning back, Tuck held up nine fingers for his team to see and understand the repercussions of wearing out their welcome in a Taliban-held village.