Bachelor SEAL (Sleeper SEALs Book 5)

by Sharon Hamilton

  He closed the door, and as he did so, her eyes filled with tears.

  Chapter 9

  The late evening drive up and overnight stay in the cheap motel to see his ex had been a total waste of his time.

  What the hell was I expecting?

  He stopped for the fill-up he should have gotten when he got off the freeway in Palo Alto, grabbed a bottle of water, and sped out of town heading back to Coronado. If she took five minutes, changed her mind, and called him, he’d be nearly to Bakersfield.

  Of course, she didn’t have his cell number anymore. He was fairly sure of that.

  Good. Let her stew.

  Her lack of trust drove him up the wall. He knew trust was something that had to be earned. But people had to trust someone before that trust could be broken, and if she would never give him a chance, how could he help her? He was furious with himself for believing she would give him that opportunity. Or that she wanted his help in the first place.

  If the roles were reversed, I’d give you—Morgan suddenly discovered another reason for his anger. While he trusted her to be civil, to be reasonable and logical, she didn’t trust him at all. He’d had ten years to think about all the things that could have been different—he could have not taken that short deployment with SEAL Team 6 that broke his pelvis and upper femur. He could still be an active SEAL, not an aging superhero trying to relive the glory days of his twenties.

  If they’d not had that argument which caused him to volunteer for that dangerous mission. If he hadn’t been so distracted by anger on that jump and paid more attention. If he hadn’t gotten so drunk at J.J.’s bachelor party and had those photos with the stripper leaked all over the community. If—all those ifs were adding up.

  He’d relived each and every bad decision he’d made over those ten years. And, finally, he came to grips with it. He was throwing away everything meaningful in his life because suddenly he was afraid he wasn’t worth it. And all he could do was watch it all piss away into nothingness. Like trying to hold together a bowl of potato chips without the bowl.

  But Halley had spent the last ten years working on her business—something she’d wanted to do since the first date and they talked about her becoming a professional speaker. It was a natural segue from her modeling and miniscule acting career.

  She hadn’t ruminated over everything like he had. She’d just moved on. He should have done that. But she had something to look forward to building, and Morgan didn’t. He was still thinking his life was over because he’d messed up his choices.

  Of course, he’d made a lot of good decisions, too, but those looked little in comparison. The bad ones were looming huge.

  He dialed J.J. and left him a message, using the burner phone. J.J. would not be pleased with him. Well, fuck it. Maybe Halley was right. Maybe he wasn’t the man for the job. But at this point, it was too late. He wasn’t a quitter, and he wasn’t going to take on the first real job of his life since the Teams, something made for him, and walk away from it without trying. He hoped J.J. would have more luck. Given the chance, he knew he could prove he was the absolute best person for this mission. But he had to get past his stubborn ex-wife first. The rest was probably not going to be a piece of cake, but nothing compared to the issue of Halley and her acceptance of their help.

  Damn.

  His new phone beeped, surprising him.

  “Didn’t go that well, then?” J.J. blurted out.

  “Nah. I think you’ll have to bring in the cavalry. She needs proof, and I didn’t bring any of that stuff. I didn’t think I had to.”

  “So you get your butt down here and see if you can maybe find us an interpreter or inside man. I’ve wrapped up here with the kids, and I’m hunkered down at your place. We’ll give her a day to stew, and then perhaps she’ll rethink it. If so, we can get her cooperation.”

  “Dayam, J.J. Am I that rusty? I used to get her to dance naked for me at the beach, even when some others might be looking over. We made love in so many public places—she trusted me, even dared me to go a couple of steps beyond. We were always pushing our boundaries over and over again. I thought some of that was still there and she could take a little risk, especially if it meant saving people who held her in such high esteem.”

  “She’s gotten used to building an empire, sport. You challenged that. I never tell my wife how to garden or dress the kids. Never. That’s her turf. If I told her she was going to have to follow my rules, well, I’d be at one of your bachelor parties, drinking beer like the rest of you. Women get this idea in their heads they can do something better than anybody else, and no one—not God, their grandmother, or their kids—can talk them out of it. They protect that like their life depends on it. That’s why the female of the species is always deadliest when she’s protecting her own.”

  “Well, maybe her life does depend on it then.” Morgan’s voice faded into the phone. J.J. asked him to repeat and he waved him off. “I’ll be back in about seven hours. I’ll try to get hold of Kyle along the way.”

  “Okay. Just focus on getting back here. You want to give me advice about Plan B anytime soon?”

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  “And you said Halley was stubborn. Be safe, my man.” J.J. hung up.

  Morgan kept seeing the image of the man walking with Halley, hand in hand. She looked soft and happy, full of smiles. The angle of her head and the expression on her lips—well, he knew what she looked like when she was aroused.

  What are you doing, man?

  He halfway resigned himself to the fact that maybe he’d have this hole in his heart, that place that was raw and bloody, and it would never heal.

  At least I’m alive and I’m whole. Who was he to feel sorry for himself? Other guys had it far worse than he did. Some were brain damaged, sported artificial limbs. Some were on so many pain meds that they didn’t even have a life anymore. That would be hard, seeing a wife and children distance themselves, one by one, while he slowly tried to seek the sanity and wellness that would never come. At least his injury and the chip on his shoulder resulting from it would never show.

  Several hours later, Lt. Kyle Lansdowne, the Team Leader of their old squad at SEAL Team 3, returned his call.

  “Howz it hanging, Hansen? I was told you don’t even limp anymore,” Kyle said by way of greeting.

  Morgan forgot about that one. It was true. The pain was gone, the hip was replaced, and for the next ten years, unless he started jumping out of airplanes again, he’d be good to go.

  “Thanks, Lannie. I’m good. Staying fit, and I got a new gig I’m kind of excited about, but I’m afraid I can’t talk to you about it.”

  “Is this some super secret shit they recruited you for in D.C.? With spooks and nerds and such?”

  Of course Kyle would learn about the Division through some whispered word-of-mouth. He kept tabs on all his guys, active or not. And since Lambert had revealed they weren’t in general hiring guys who had been out ten years—mostly fresh wash-outs in their prime except for some injury that disqualified them—he’d learn a lot about it happening. Morgan suspected that if there were only twelve chosen men—thirteen, if he could be counted—it was a special deal to be chosen. Who could keep their mouth shut about something like this? Especially to your old LPO?

  “I’d have to say if I told you I’d have to kill you. But your instincts are good.”

  “Glad to see they value your service and your physical condition, Hansen. You should be proud of that. I know I am. And I much prefer hearing about you doing something important than conducting meetings at the Scupper for orphaned husbands, if you get my drift.”

  No wonder Lambert didn’t have much respect for him. All of a sudden, the little Bone Frog Brotherhood shit looked stupid, like a coffee klatch or knitting club. Nothing like doing something really important to reveal what you’d been doing wasn’t.

  “Called self-preservation. I don’t get the well ones, that’s for sure. You have to be a bit damaged to hav
e a group leader like me.”

  “You deprecate yourself too much. Give credit where it’s due. You’ve survived the last ten years, and I understand you don’t have that vacant stare I see all too often. When you’re ready to put down your boots, you might consider becoming a counselor. I think you’d make one hell of one.”

  Morgan didn’t want to go that far. He needed to change the subject right away. “So, Lannie, we need an interpreter, someone who can go infiltrate a certain closed society. Perhaps blend in and look like a whack job.”

  “Does he have to be native? They’re turning out tons of high quality guys from the language schools these days.”

  “I was wondering about Jackie Daniels.”

  “Not sure he’s available. He’s being recruited heavily by private industry. The family might be moving.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  “I got a couple of good recommendations for a couple of guys who could play the part of a recent radical recruit. Would that interest you at all?”

  “Are they done?”

  “These two couldn’t make the last qualifier. Eyesight issues and something else medical. Got them all the way to workup and decided they had to be scratched. A damn shame, too.”

  “That would bite. Do they look Middle Eastern at all?”

  “Hell no. They both are carrot tops, and they sunburn faster than a snowflake melts. No way to pass for Middle Eastern, but they got the language and culture down. They’re a hell of an asset, in my opinion. And they need a job right quick, too.”

  “Okay, can I stop by tonight if I’m back early enough or tomorrow to get their information? Would you vouch for me?”

  “How much you want me to say?”

  “Nothing at all about the mission. You don’t know anything. I gotta get permission for the new hire or hires. Their skills are good, like can they shoot?”

  “Qualified expert first time through. Avid hunters. They can track and shoot with anything manual or automatic. Survival training top notch. One’s tall and the other one is like his alter ego, short and stubby. But they became friends in BUD/s, and it’s kind of ironic they washed out together, too. I’d take the pair.”

  “Okay, so you tell them we need interpreters for a special diplomatic mission, then.”

  “Like an overseas gig. For some reason I was thinking this was about the Homeland.”

  “You didn’t hear that from me. Just tell them that. I can meet with them tomorrow if I get the approval tonight.”

  “You got it.” Kyle was on his way to signing off when he hesitated, asking Morgan about Halley. “Christy tells me she’s seen her all over the T.V. lately. She’s got quite an empire going. Good for her. You must be proud.”

  “Yeah, except we’re divorced. You know that, right?”

  “Of course I do. I hope I didn’t bring up something painful.”

  “No more painful than stepping in a bear trap barefoot, Kyle. But I’ll live. You take care and give Christy a long, lingering kiss with some tongue action.”

  “It would be my pleasure. Later, kid.”

  Morgan made a mental note to be in more contact with his former LPO. Talking the shit was good for his psyche. It was a whole lot more healing than dwelling about things that could have been and now never could be or watching the Frog Hogs at the Scupper trying to pick up the younger guys, not the second time losers.

  His whole world view had changed in the past two days. For the better. For the first time, he felt in his bones that he could actually pull this off.

  Chapter 10

  Halley was distracted most of the day, and the longer it went on, the angrier she became. The information Morgan had laid on her caused her to doubt everyone she worked with, even Crystal. She worried about her conversations being taped, wondered if there were cameras in her bathroom, her bedroom. She wondered about the mechanic who would be fixing her car and the landscapers who had the double gate codes and came every week. Her housekeeper, who barely spoke English, could have been an enemy spy. Her driver. Orestes.

  How unfair it had been of him to just come in and poop on her life and then leave. Well, yes, she did offend him, but he’d offended her first. It was a pattern she’d grown to despise when they were married. He’d be gone. After he’d come home, he would turn her orderly world into complete chaos with no regard for her or her routine and just as she was getting used to it, he’d be off again playing with the boys. It was as though she was raising a teenager, but a huge and lethal one. She’d had ten years of working on herself, but this one man could still walk through her door and upset her whole world with just a few little words. Would she ever feel safe again on stage?

  And how horrible it would be if there were nothing to this, that it had been a mistake, a hoax, or false alarm? Her serenity and ease with her events was shattered. No way could this genie be put back into the bottle. All the cows were loose from the barn and running all over the freeway of her life. She was miserable.

  The worst thing was that she had no one to talk to unless she broke the rules. And who would know more about terrorist plots than Gibril? But would he be offended if she brought this up to him?

  There you go again. You’re not supposed to worry about what they think of you. That’s none of your business.

  Though she’d said it hundreds of times, perhaps thousands of times now, that little statement seemed trite and silly in the face of all the danger that could be lurking ahead. This was real stuff. This was life and death. This was what happened when she brushed up against Morgan’s world. It would spill over and infect her.

  The thought of cancelling the event was unthinkable, yet Morgan had been right. The health and safety of those women who paid good money to hear her words of wisdom was what was important, not the monetary loss. Yes, it had taken her years to get to this point financially. But nobody said life came with a guarantee. What she earned could be swept away in the blink of an eye. The country could be embroiled in war. She could get sick.

  Enough! I’m horrible at taking my own advice. The worst.

  Crystal had been looking at her sideways all afternoon. On a couple of occasions, she found herself snapping at her, especially when she made a cheery response. Halley didn’t want to do chitchat or cheery. Then Crystal asked her a question that set her off and nearly out of control.

  “So are you going to properly thank the handsome Mr. Messi for those lovely flowers?” She pretended to blush and fan herself with the papers she was holding.

  Halley threw down her pen. “Dammit, Crystal. Sometimes I think you get too far into my personal life. Remember, although I enjoy working with you, we are not family, and you have no right to the information about what I do in my personal time.”

  She saw the tears form in Crystal’s eyes as she excused herself to the restroom. Halley dropped her head on top of the sheaf of papers on her desk and covered her hair with her hands and arms. She willed the tears to come, but she was so confused and fearful, her eyes remained cold and dry. She was still seeing mangled bodies on the sidewalk and street in Portland and focusing on a vision at the Grand Fordham if a bomb leveled the whole place.

  She even saw the rose petals falling last over all the ash and carnage.

  Stop it. Stop it!

  If it was a mind game, Morgan had pulled it off flawlessly.

  Crystal came back into the office, her eyes downcast, and sat very quietly at her desk.

  “I’m sorry, Crystal. I truly am.”

  “That’s okay, Mrs. Hansen,” she answered without looking up.

  It broke Halley’s heart to see the change that had come over her once cheerful assistant.

  “Don’t call me Mrs. Hansen. I’m not married. I like to be called Halley. When they arrest me, they can call me Mrs. Hansen then.” She watched her assistant for signs of her cold façade melting, but found none. Even the joke wasn’t going to work with her.

  “Okay, let’s do this, Crystal. I need to work on some things tonight, s
o why don’t you just take the afternoon off, and we’ll start all over again tomorrow. How does that sound?”

  Crystal kept her eyes low, quietly picked up her purse, and left the room without making eye contact.

  Halley hoped that she’d be back tomorrow, but years of experience told her that perhaps Crystal had gone over the bend. Something between them had been lost. She just didn’t have the energy to repair it today, but tomorrow was another day, and she’d do the right thing and make sure Crystal understood how valuable she had been to Halley over these past six months. It was a slippery slope, and she hoped with some time to think about it she’d be able to explain her reaction. Half of what was making her crazy was something she wasn’t allowed to share, and that was a huge part of the problem.

  Maybe it was unfair that she not be able to confide in anyone. But who was safe, and how could she determine that?

  Like a sentry riding into the scene on stage bearing news, her phone rang. It was Gibril. She put on her young, confident professional mask and answered it.

  “Hi there. Thank you again for the lovely roses.” Halley envisioned the lovely scent and velvety texture of the beautiful blooms.

  “It was what you deserve. Nothing is too good for you. Would you be up for a quiet dinner somewhere?” Gibril’s voice was soft and enchanting. He was a master at this art.

  The thought of having something simple and quiet was appealing, but then she’d be under too much scrutiny from his perceptive wiles, and she wanted to keep the promise she’d made to Morgan, even if she hadn’t told him so. She also wanted privacy to speak to the former SEAL buddy of his, if and when he called.

  Here I am, waiting again.

  “I’ve had a tough day, Gibril. I need a little down time, I’m afraid.” That was the honest truth.

  “Again? This is not like you.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not very good company tonight.”

  “Nonsense. How about I bring over some take-out?”