by Elle James
Harlequin Intrigue June 2015 - Box Set 2 of 2
Navy SEAL Newlywed
The Guardian
Security Breach
Elle James
Cindi Myers
Mallory Kane
Table of Contents
Navy SEAL Newlywed
By Elle James
The Guardian
By Cindi Myers
Security Breach
By Mallory Kane
Here comes the bride…gun at her side
Navy SEAL “Rip” Cord Schafer is officially missing and presumed dead. It’s the perfect cover until he can catch the traitors supplying Honduras terrorists with American arms. It’s not a one-man operation, but never in his wildest dreams did he imagine teaming up with a woman—Covert Cowboy operative Tracie Kosart.
Posing as wealthy newlyweds, Rip soon discovers Tracie is as skilled at playing his sensual “bride” as she is at covering his six. Despite their jungle-hot attraction, Rip senses Tracie’s reluctance to trust him. But when her cover is blown, Rip knows her life depends on his SEAL instincts and her love depends on his unwavering commitment as her “husband.”
The woman’s lips tilted up at the corners briefly as she drove out onto the street. “Hank has resources most people don’t. Not even the government.”
Rip riffled through the contents of the packet, glancing at a passport with his picture on it, a name he wasn’t familiar with on the document. “Chuck Gideon?”
“Better get used to it.”
“Speaking of names…we’ve already kissed and you haven’t told me who you are.” Rip glanced her way briefly.
Her eyes narrowed and her lips firmed. “No, I haven’t.”
“Is it a secret, or are you going to tell me?”
“It’s probably best if I don’t tell you my real name.”
“Why? Do you have a shady past, or are you related to someone important?”
“For this mission, I’m related to someone important.” She twisted her lips and sent a crooked grin his way. “You. For the purpose of this operation, you can call me Phyllis. Phyllis Gideon. I’ll be your wife.”
NAVY SEAL
NEWLYWED
By Elle James
Elle James, a New York Times bestselling author, started writing when her sister challenged her to write a romance novel. She has managed a full-time job and raised three wonderful children, and she and her husband even tried ranching exotic birds (ostriches, emus and rheas). Ask her, and she’ll tell you what it’s like to go toe-to-toe with an angry 350-pound bird! Elle loves to hear from fans at [email protected] or ellejames.com.
Books by Elle James
Harlequin INTRIGUE
Covert Cowboys, Inc. series
Triggered
Taking Aim
Bodyguard Under Fire
Cowboy Resurrected
Navy SEAL Justice
Navy SEAL Newlywed
Thunder Horse series
Hostage to Thunder Horse
Thunder Horse Heritage
Thunder Horse Redemption
Christmas at Thunder Horse Ranch
Visit the Author Profile page at
Harlequin.com for more titles.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
“Rip” Cord Schafer—Navy SEAL undercover as a billionaire playboy to discover the traitor selling arms to terrorists in Honduras.
Tracie Kosart—Former FBI special agent and the first female “cowboy” to work for Hank Derringer’s Covert Cowboys, Inc. First assignment is to go undercover as a bride to an equally fake billionaire playboy.
Hank Derringer—Billionaire willing to take the fight for justice into his own hands by setting up CCI—Covert Cowboys, Inc.
Dan Greer—DEA agent undercover in Honduras in a terrorist training camp, killed during his extraction.
Carmelo Del Gado—Honduran coffee plantation owner with possible link to a Honduran terrorist training camp.
Vance Tate—Salesman at Blackburn Gun Manufacturing.
Mark Kuntz—Senator Thomas Craine’s executive assistant, former Special Forces soldier.
Senator Thomas Craine—Senator involved in negotiating trade agreements with Central American countries.
Hector Devita—Businessman with a successful security firm providing bodyguards and security systems to the wealthy Hondurans.
Carlos Sanchez, Julio Jiminez and Zach Adams—Former SEALs working for Hank with the Covert Cowboys, Inc.
Ben Harding—Former cop in the Austin Police Department, fired because he killed a man with his bare hands. Now working for Hank with the Covert Cowboys, Inc.
Chuck Bolton—Wounded soldier returning to Wild Oak Canyon to join Hank Derringer’s team, Covert Cowboys, Inc.
Thorn Drennan—Former small-town sheriff now working for Hank with the Covert Cowboys, Inc.
This book is dedicated to all the families of military personnel who have kept the home fires burning and welcomed their loved ones home with open arms.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Excerpt
Chapter One
Hunkered low in the underbrush, Navy SEAL Chief Petty Officer “Rip” Cord Schafer gripped the M4A1 rifle with the SOPMOD upgrade and inched forward, carefully placing every step to avoid tripping, snapping branches or making any other loud noises. Loaded with sixty pounds of equipment specially selected for this mission, he was ready for anything.
Gunny took point, leading the team into the Honduran camp, keeping to the darkness of the jungle. Moonlight shimmered through the occasional break in the dense overhead canopy, barely making it down to the jungle floor.
Rip had his headset in one ear and listened for sounds of the camp with his other.
Montana eased up behind Gunny, followed by Sawyer, then the newest SEAL, Gosling, with Rip bringing up the rear.
Their mission: extract one undercover DEA agent from a terrorist training camp deep in the jungle of Honduras.
No matter where he looked, Rip could detect no sentries standing guard or patrolling the compound. Strange. The DEA agent had been adamant about being pulled out. He’d feared for his life and had been concerned the information he needed to pass on might be lost.
In his brief plea to be extracted, he’d given specific GPS coordinates. When Gunny reached the position, he held up his fist.
The team stopped in place and hugged the earth, waiting.
He pointed to Montana and Sawyer and gave them the follow-me sign.
The three surrounded the door of the building. Gunny nudged it open and disappeared inside. Montana and Sawyer followed. Gosling and Rip remained out
side, providing cover.
Seconds later, they hustled out a man wearing rumpled clothing, his shoulder-length hair straggly and unkempt. He ducked low and moved quickly between them, hurrying toward the path leading out of the camp.
Gunny motioned for Gosling and Rip to fall in with the team. They had their man, and it appeared as though they were going to make a clean getaway with none of the terrorists aware of the agent’s departure.
The hair on the back of Rip’s neck stood straight up. The entire mission had been too easy. If there was any real danger, wouldn’t there have been sentries on alert, wielding machine guns and willing to cut down anyone who stepped into range?
They cleared the edge of the camp, heading back to the river and the waiting boat.
Gunny was in the lead again, followed by Sawyer. Montana was in front of their extracted DEA agent and Gosling behind him.
The agent stumbled for a moment.
Gosling didn’t adjust his stride in time. He caught up with the man then gave him a hand to right himself.
The sharp report of gunfire ripped through the night, shattering the silence.
Gosling collapsed where he stood.
Another shot rang out and the DEA agent grunted and crumpled to the ground.
Instinct made the remaining members of the SEAL team drop to their bellies.
His heart slamming into his ribs, adrenaline racing through his veins, Rip low crawled to the two men who’d been hit. He shone his red penlight over Gosling. The man had taken the bullet in the throat. By the dark stain spreading in a wide blob on the ground around him, Rip suspected the bullet had cut a hole in the young SEAL’s jugular vein. He lay sprawled on his side, his body completely still. Rip covered the wound with his hand, but nothing he did could slow the flow of blood.
“Roll call,” Gunny spoke into Rip’s headset. One by one the other team members reported in.
“Montana.”
“Sawyer.”
“Schafer,” Rip said. His heart in his throat, he reported, “Gosling took a hit.”
Sawyer spun around and low crawled with his weapon in front of him to where Gosling lay unmoving. He jerked Rip’s hand off the wound. “Damn.”
Gunny muttered a curse, “Status.”
For a moment Rip closed his eyes, thinking of his last conversation with the young petty officer. Gosling’s wife was expecting their first child. He’d been so proud, scared and excited all at once.
Sawyer answered, “Gosling’s dead.”
Though Rip knew it, hearing Sawyer’s confirmation made it all the more real and heartbreaking. Overwhelmed with grief but knowing they still had to get the agent out, he moved toward the other downed man a yard away. The agent had been hit in the chest. Without the armor plate the SEALs wore in their vests, he hadn’t been protected.
“Our guest?” Gunny demanded.
Rip felt for a pulse. As he pressed his fingers to the base of the man’s throat, a hand snaked out and grabbed his wrist with surprising strength.
In the darkness of the night, Rip could see the whites of the man’s eyes staring up at him.
“Set up,” the agent said, his voice nothing more than a guttural whisper. He reached up to the medallion around his neck, yanked it free and pressed it into Rip’s hand. “Find out who.”
“Who what?” Rip asked.
“Status on our extraction?” Gunny’s voice sounded loud in Rip’s ear.
“Conscious, but not good,” Rip replied, stuffing the medallion into his pocket.
Shouts could be heard in the village behind them as the occupants raised the alarm. Lights blinked on and headlights lit the night. The tap, tap, tap of gunfire broke through the night’s silence.
“Let’s get out of here.” Gunny raced back to where Sawyer and Rip were leaning over the wounded men. “I’ll take the agent.”
The agent gripped Rip’s arm and refused to let go.
Rip straightened, bringing the man up and throwing him over his shoulder. “I’ve got the agent. Get Gosling. He deserves a proper burial.”
Cursing, Gunny hesitated only a moment before pitching Gosling over his shoulder, muttering, “This wasn’t the way this was supposed to go down, damn it.”
Rip didn’t wait. With the deadweight of the wounded agent bearing down on him, he took off at an awkward lope racing through the trees and vines toward the boat they’d left in the nearby river. Silence wasn’t necessary. Speed was.
Montana ran ahead to get the boat engines started. Sawyer brought up the rear, covering their sixes as Rip and Gunny carried their burdens over the uneven floor of the jungle.
Shots rang out behind them. A vehicle full of angry terrorists raced toward them. Sawyer held them at bay, firing short bursts of rounds into the night. He ejected his clip and without missing a beat slammed another home while running backward to keep up with the other SEALs.
When Rip reached the boat, he jumped on board and laid his charge on the deck. He manned his position behind a grenade launcher, waiting for Sawyer to emerge from the tree line.
Gunny jumped on board, dropped Gosling on deck and took a position behind a machine gun.
As soon as Sawyer cleared the trees, Gunny opened fire on the oncoming sets of headlights.
Rip launched a grenade, aiming at the line of vehicles barreling through the underbrush.
As Sawyer leaped aboard, Montana hit the throttle, spun the craft around on the water and gunned it, sending it speeding downriver, bullets plinking off the hull and hitting the water around them.
Not until they were a good mile downstream did Rip glance down at Sawyer working over the body of the DEA agent.
Rip shook his head. The mission had gone like clockwork. They’d been out of the village, on their way back. What the hell had happened? Rip glanced at his teammate’s lifeless body on the deck of the boat. Gosling was dead. Two shots were fired and then none until the terrorists had loaded up in their trucks and given chase.
Whoever had fired the first two shots could have taken out more, if not all, of the SEAL team. Why hadn’t he?
When the boat reached the helicopter landing zone, Sawyer rocked back on his heels, his shoulders slumped.
Gunny shot a glance back at him. “Well?”
Sawyer shook his head. “He’s dead.”
* * *
“HEY, SWEETIE, WOULD you like a drink?”
Rip blinked up at the waitress standing beside him with a tray in her hands. For a full thirty seconds he couldn’t remember where he was. He’d done it again. The shrinks he’d seen in the past had said part of post-traumatic stress disorder was flashbacks to events that had an indelible impact on him.
“Excuse me?” he said, buying time for his mind to reconnect with his surroundings.
“Would you like a drink?” the waitress repeated.
He shook his head. “No, thank you.”
The woman moved away to the next customer in the casino.
Rip stared around at row after row of brightly lit slot machines, pinging, ringing or plinking in the darkness. For a long moment he wondered how the hell he’d gone from a hot, humid, bug-and snake-infested jungle to an upscale casino in Mississippi.
Then he remembered all the events that had led up to this meeting. All that had happened since getting back from Honduras.
He stared around the dimly lit room.
What’s keeping him?
The past six weeks since their failed mission had been a blur. Rip had been back on duty with his team, while covertly researching the odd medallion the DEA agent had shoved into his hand.
The medallion had been a clever disguise for an electronic storage device on which were stored hundreds of photos of the terrorist training camp and crates of American-made weapons and ammunition
disguised as World Health Organization donations.
And based on the botched mission in Honduras, someone higher up didn’t want the agent or anyone else exposing who was providing the weapons from the States. How else could a sniper have known exactly when and where they would be unless someone had tipped them off?
Rip had pilfered a copy of the after-action report, developed the pictures and was in the process of piecing things together when an assassin started stalking him. He’d found out that details of their mission had been leaked. Not only after its failure, but before it had even been launched.
Someone, possibly in a high-ranking political position, wanted that agent dead and had sent the SEALs in to get him out of the village and into the open so a sniper could take him out. It was the only answer he could come up with given the limited information he had.
Rip was in hiding, officially missing and presumed dead. The Navy still thought he’d been swallowed by the Pearl River after being shot during a live-fire training mission with Navy SEALs Special Boat Team 22. If not for the help of former SEAL James “Cowboy” Monahan and Rip’s old friend FBI Agent Melissa Bradley, Rip might not still be alive. The two had persevered, and searched the river until they found him holed up in a shack in the Mississippi bayou.
Lucky me. Rip snorted.
Now, after spending the past three weeks recovering from his gunshot wound, Rip was finally able to pursue his self-appointed mission.
He’d gotten his commander and the few members of his team who’d been involved in his rescue to keep his survival on the down low until he could find the persons responsible for the death of the undercover DEA agent.
He couldn’t engage his team in this mission without disclosing to the world and to whoever was responsible for the assassination of the agent that the Navy’s Chief Petty Officer Cord Schafer was alive and well. In order to keep from becoming a target again, it was best if he remained “dead” until he resolved the situation.
Only, he knew he couldn’t do it on his own. He needed a partner, a cover and fake passports to get him down to Honduras without raising red flags to the terrorist organization or the traitorous Americans supplying them with weapons.