Heroes in Uniform: Soldiers, SEALs, Spies, Rangers and Cops: Sexy Hot Contemporary Alpha Heroes From NY Times and USA Today Bestselling Authors

by Sharon Hamilton

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Why? Sweetheart, maybe he could help.”

  “He’ll know. Matheus will know. He’ll dig it out of me.”

  And there he was. He was fucked in so many ways. He knew this was the woman who could rock his world, not a replacement for Sophie, but her Italian twin, the fun-loving woman who would bring him back alive.

  Although it was confusing, he loved the being totally at the mercy of this little woman. The urge to protect, keep safe, and claim her for himself alone was clouding his judgment. Yet he willingly went there. He’d fallen for her so easily it made him dizzy. Some common sense drained into him as his little head settled down for a nice nap.

  So, even though it wasn’t wise, he had to ask her. “Just when were you going to tell Matheus? Or is that not in your plan, Sophia?”

  Her confused look broke his heart.

  Just great. She hasn’t gotten to that part yet.

  So was it going to be like this? She hadn’t made up her mind. She needed him, but was it in the right kind of way? And, once again, had he jumped in and fallen for a woman he couldn’t have? One he’d met too late and she’d died on him. And this one, with her whole life deliciously ahead of her, achingly alive and so full of the spirit of life itself, a life that was something he wanted to be a part of in some way, this one had made a different choice. Who was he to question that choice? Make her come to a decision for him, when she hadn’t convinced herself?

  The sad look she gave him was just as hard as watching her die in front of him like Sophie.

  “Ah, I get it. You’re going to use the cruise to make up your mind. I mean, why tell him about us if you might still want to marry him when we get to Rio, that what you’re saying?”

  “No, Mark. That isn’t it.”

  “Then what is it, Sophia? ’Cause I gotta know.” He held her delicate pointed chin with his thumb and two forefingers. Her warm brown eyes were moist with the early signs of some serious tears. She was filled with the lust for him, he could see that. Hell, he could almost smell it. But she was on overwhelm, confused.

  And that wasn’t any good for him. Not that it stopped his heart from wanting to reach out from his chest and pull her to him. Not that it was going to soothe the ache he felt, once again, not being able to have something he so desperately believed was right on so many levels.

  “I need a little time to think. This has all happened so fast for me, Mark.”

  “Me too, baby.” Anything else he would say would be just bullshit. Like, “Oh it’s okay, take as much time as you want. I don’t want you until you can commit a hundred percent. No sense getting involved if it isn’t going to go anywhere.”

  Those were the lies he would have said, if he’d not cared so much for her, and for himself. If he couldn’t be honest, he’d say nothing. She was going to have to come to him, because he didn’t like the man he’d be to take her away from someone else. He’d told himself she’d made the choice already.

  You fuckin’ miscalculated.

  He realized how his timing sucked. Finally free from having to worry about Roberto, so they could spend the entire night together, anywhere they wanted, not just on the little boat, now he couldn’t do that because it would be wrong.

  He thought about her all the way back to town as he rode in Roberto’s taxi, even having to bear the humiliation of paying for the Brazilian’s ride up the mountain, as well as his ride down.

  Yeah. Your timing sucked big time. And now you’re going to go back to the ship and gamble too much, ogle someone’s ugly daughter or be the fantasy come true for some older woman sitting at the bar.

  There was nothing honorable about the way heartache felt.

  Or about the way it could be medicated.

  But he was going to give it the college try.

  At port, he found the Moroccans lined up in front the glass picture windows of a port agent set up to handle requests from the crew. A bank of phones was on one wall, occupied two and three deep with people of every nationality. Bundles were being shipped home, mail retrieved. The Moroccans carried a box so heavy that required two of them to manage, and after they went out the doors without seeing him, they headed for the belly of the ship.

  Mark wanted to know what was in that box and why it was so heavy. He knew it wasn’t costumes or an instrument.

  One of them tripped on the gangway’s bottom rung and the box landed on one corner. The tall one was shouting so much he drew lots of attention. When he saw Mark watching them, he shut up and bent his shoulder and all his attention to the task at hand. The three of them worked as one crab-like unit, doing something in unison they all clearly felt was important.

  That worried Mark the most. He would have to tell Kyle about it and see if Moshe could take a look inside that package. Just in case something was about to go down. He had that sixth sense.

  Maybe it was good Sophia wouldn’t be wrapping her thighs around his waist tonight. Maybe he needed to think, too.

  Cruisin’ for a Seal: Chapter Twenty-Two

  Maksym was restless and didn’t like the news he’d received today, delivered in clipped Russian, even though the Moroccan knew how much he hated it and could speak almost perfect English.

  The Wolf had delivered a package to the shipping station at Tenerife, and Maksym was told to arrange that the dancers, or whatever the hell they were, be allowed off ship to claim it.

  He’d had conversations with the Wolf back in Genoa, and then again in Savona. But since the ship had left port, not a word from him, except through the Moroccan mob. He wondered where the guy had found these yo-yos. He didn’t doubt that they could fight and fight hard. But did they fight smart?

  The answer to that question was a resounding no.

  So why, then, would the Wolf put his trust and faith in them, and not in him, an experienced Ukrainian naval officer? Who was now third or fourth in line to run a cruise ship, of course. But no matter, he still was plenty busy being responsible for more people than these skinny terrorists would meet in a whole lifetime. He’d been a war hero, for chrissakes. He had medals, even though he couldn’t show them off now. He’d given them to his girls as a parting gift, the only thing, other than his DNA, that he could leave them. Before they left him left forever.

  Helena had come into his life at just the right moment. He’d been morose and spending time at bars in Prague, where he enjoyed the flow of the city, where he could get drunk every night and not be hated. He liked to take his medicine down at little dives by the river, since being close to any waterway was soothing for him, and so he wouldn’t make a spectacle of himself at some expensive restaurant in the old town square. He liked the city before they painted all the buildings yellow and bright rose. The Russian period. And, of course, the waterfront girls were more grateful. A little bit of money went a long way for a weary seaman away from home and family, such as himself.

  That had been a mistake. He’d fallen in love with a dancer, Eniko. Her long, shapely form was a thing of beauty. He watched her and, for a bit, didn’t worry about what his wife was doing late at night, working for the Russian Embassy. The girls were safe. He was making good money. And he needed a little release.

  Eniko had first fucked him in a farmer’s field after one of her gigs. He drove her there, and she didn’t ask. She gave the best head he’d ever experienced, but her hot, lithe body made him hard again almost instantly and they fucked like rabbits so hard, his knees had bloodied.

  She was a fun girl with simple needs. He must have looked to her like a knight in shining armor. He’d forgotten to tell her about the wife and kids, and when he came home one day and found her sitting in his living room, across from his wife, he knew he’d seriously messed his life, or what was left of it. He suspected it would cost him his family, and it did.

  Of course, what he didn’t know at the time was that his wife was already banging the diplomat and making her exit plans. He’d lost his wife that day, he’d thought, becau
se of his own stupidity. Truth was, he’d lost her nearly six months earlier. All he managed to do that day was break Eniko’s heart, too. The sweet little dancer who naively thought she would surprise him. She deserved way more than she got. Way more.

  Afterwards, he’d tried to call her, to make things right, but each time she rebuffed him. And who could blame her? She was a beautiful girl, a good girl, and he was a dog of the first order.

  So when Helena came into his life, he already considered himself a flawed man with needs all the women in the world couldn’t satisfy. What he’d really been looking for was someone who could command him. He didn’t care if it wasn’t love. He just liked that she enjoyed pushing him around and surprising him to death and back. The sex was like glue that held them together until maybe something else could show up.

  No, life with Helena was what he deserved now. He’d played by some rules and gotten caught breaking some others. She was a perfect match for his appetites, and he made her feel like she wasn’t with someone too dangerous. Underneath all her bravado, was a scared little girl with daddy issues. She knew how to take care of herself by riding men to the top of their careers and getting out just before the fall, switching ponies so she never had to worry about being dragged into some despicable lot in life. Maksym thought of her as smart.

  Smart women made him hard.

  He had an hour’s leave from the bridge since they were still in port, and he needed to check with his chief of engineering. The bowels of the ship were usually hot and sweaty. Didn’t make it easier that the laundry was also nearby and fresh soap and moist air mixed with the smells of the huge diesel engines made it almost feel like home to a seaman. He knew many engineers who would rather stay all day with their equipment and didn’t care a fuck for where the ship was headed or where it docked. His guy was like that.

  Anton Boiko had served under him in the Navy and had been the best chief engineer he’d ever had. He didn’t know much about the man, except for his all-consuming hatred of the Russians, which was one of Maksym’s top requirements. Only thing better than hijacking an American vessel would have been to hijack a Russian vessel. But the Russians placed no value on the passenger’s lives, like the Americans did. And the American companies had insurance, something that was problematic in Russia. It did keep the lawsuits down, however.

  Boiko was cleaning a metal part with a dirty, oil-stained rag. He’d taken to wearing red bandanas around his neck like a pirate. His little act of defiance, if anyone had looked too closely. Though it was forbidden, Boiko also smoked like a chimney. One look from the ruddy red-faced hulk of a man, who easily outweighed Maksym by more than thirty-five kilos, nearly eighty pounds, and whoever was going to ask him not to smoke quickly changed their minds. Boiko didn’t allow anyone else to smoke, though.

  “I trust myself not to blow us all up. I have no such trust for anyone else,” he’d told Maksym one day when he questioned it. He liked that his engineer didn’t smoke while the ship was fully powered up, something he found rare on the crews. Anton kept his mouth shut and was loyal, keeping to himself. But Maksym could always count on him to let him know if trouble was brewing.

  His engineer knew what their plans were: to stop the ship, allow pirates to take over, and hold the entire contingent of passengers hostage until ransom was paid. When they received verification the funds had been deposited in the Maltese bank accounts they opened before they set sail, they’d be transported to the coast of Brazil and left to find their own way to the Caribbean. Boiko was the only person Maksym would allow to travel with him and Helena.

  The simple plan was relatively risk free, since Maksym wouldn’t be identified as one of the terrorists. He just had to make sure the ship stopped where it was supposed to. He’d allow himself to be taken hostage on the pirate vessel, like he was sacrificing something. They’d somehow get Helena there, too, and his engineer, so none of them would have to answer questions when the plot was discovered and the secret negotiations he knew would take place with Wolf’s team in Miami were made public. He’d be long gone. Kicking back and counting his money, and how many times he could make Helena come that night.

  “Everything set?” he asked his engineer.

  “Set, boss,” Anton answered in English.

  “Anything out of the ordinary?” he asked.

  Boiko set down the piece he was cleaning. “As a matter of fact, there is.”

  Maksym didn’t like the tone of his voice.

  He gestured for Maksym to follow as he opened the door to a storeroom with his key card. Inside, Maksym saw a large, white, oddly shaped box large enough to smuggle a body.

  “How come you never told me about this?” Anton said, pointing to the box.

  “What is it?”

  “How the hell do I know? I was told you wanted it left here. Going to be damned inconvenient starting tomorrow. We’ll be taking on some parts in Cape Verde and I’m going to need the space. Can’t you put it somewhere else?” Anton’s disapproving glare worried Maksym.

  “I knew nothing except they were expecting something and I was supposed to let them bring it aboard. No one told me it had to stay here. I thought they’d keep it with them. Who put it here?”

  “A couple of your dark-skinned teenage messengers of death, you ask me.”

  “Teenagers?”

  “They’re an odd bunch. North Africans. Don’t mix with anyone. Don’t understand any language I put in front of them. All sign language, except for the English phrase, ‘He will be joining us before Brazil.’” Boiko scratched his scalp.

  “Who?”

  “They said the man we all work for.”

  “They use any names?”

  “Wolf. They knew I was in on it.”

  Maksym went back to peering at the box. “I’ve never seen this before in my life. Knew nothing about it being stored here.” He turned his head at an angle, seeing some light pink liquid seep through the white porous packing crate.

  Boiko followed his gaze. “I’d say this box is bleeding,” the engineer said.

  That is what it looked like. Maksym was thoroughly confused.

  A box big enough for a body, bleeding like it contained an injured body, the man was joining them soon…and what?

  Maksym was going to take out his utility knife and rip it open above the stain, when he heard unmistakable sounds of something moving inside the box. Something with a tail that flopped around inside the cavity. Something that hissed. More than one thing that hissed.

  “Mother of God,” he whispered. “They’ve brought snakes on board my ship.”

  “Well, I didn’t notice that until just now, Maksym. But there’s something else.”

  Boiko leaned over and placed his ear near the surface and begged him to do the same. When Maksym got close enough to the crate surface he could hear the unmistakable sounds of ticking.

  Fucking Moroccans.

  He wondered what kind of diabolical scheme they had hatched. Smuggling snakes on board his ship for what purpose? To sell on the side to make some kind of sick profit? Or were these part of the plan?

  A plan that was looking like something he knew fuck-all about.

  “Maksym, are you planning to blow up your own ship?” Boiko asked.

  “Fuckin’ not if I can help it. No. This. Definitely. Isn’t. The. Plan.”

  “You better call him.”

  “You don’t let anyone in here until I’ve had my talk with the Wolf. No one, understood? Especially not the Moroccans.”

  “With what kind of force?”

  “Deadly. Until I know what the hell is going on, I want it contained in here.”

  “Yeah, until it blows us all up.”

  “Anton, there’s not going to be any blowing us all up. My guess is this is the decoy, the thing that makes them believe the ransom demand is serious. I don’t think there’s a real bomb in there. But I’m going to find out.”

  He tore out of the engine room and caught the freight escalator. His last
view of Anton was of the old engineer peering back up to him with worry like he’d never seen in the man’s face before. It mirrored his own fears.

  On Deck 5 he found the outer walkway occupied by mostly cook and wait staff, their favorite place to stand outside and have a cigarette. He chirped open his Sat phone and dialed the three-digit number.

  The ringtone sounded slightly distorted, he thought.

  “You promised never to call me unless it was an emergency,” the deep Italian voice on the other end of the line said quickly.

  “Well, it is an emergency. You had the Moroccans smuggle snakes and a bomb on board my ship.”

  “First Maksym, it isn’t your ship.”

  “How about some answers, Wolf?”

  “Well if you’d be more patient, Maksym. Maybe Azziz would be able to talk to you.”

  “Never agreed to take orders from a Moroccan.”

  “You don’t take orders from them. You take orders from me. And I’ve told you to cooperate with them.”

  “A fuckin’ bomb, Wolf? And snakes.”

  “Snakes?” the voice asked.

  “So you don’t know anything about that? Or about the ticking?”

  “The ticking, yes. That’s supposed to happen at this stage of the operation. But there is plenty of time. This is not a life-ending event, Maksym.”

  “Will be for the souls in the bag.”

  “Well then, perhaps they deserved it?”

  “Listen, I was never told about a bomb.”

  “It’s a delivery device. Not a bomb.”

  Maksym hesitated. The Italian was being evasive. Years of training and interrogating prisoners told him this trained Italian knew exactly what was going on and had decided, for some reason, not to level with him.

  “You can call it anything you like. It’s making noise and getting attention. Somehow I didn’t think that was part of your plan, sir.”

  “All in due time, my son.”

  “I’m not your fuckin’ son. And I don’t want to die. I want to live long enough to spend my money.” Maksym was seeing Helena’s naked body on the white, sandy beach, writhing beneath him. The sun on his back. She had sand on her boobs, oil and sand mixed into her shoulders that smelled of coconut and vanilla…