Navy SEAL Seduction

by Bonnie Vanak

  “I painted it this morning,” Jean said.

  Too convenient. He made a mental note to keep his eye on the gardener as Jean returned to the garden and began to dig.

  When Jarrett finished patrolling, he parked the truck in front of Lacey’s house and went searching for his ex. Rose was in the kitchen and told him Lacey was talking with the women at the mango processing building.

  “Miss Lacey said Fleur’s visa is coming through. I’m happy for her, but sad to see my little Fleur leave,” Rose said in French.

  “Well, I have news that’ll make you happy, Miss Rose. I have a challenge for you.”

  When he told her about dinner, her dark eyes gleamed.

  “I have to go into town for paint Miss Lacey wants, and I’ll get some beans from the grocery. I will make a chili that will have your American friend howling, Mr. Jarrett.”

  He grinned. “Go for it.”

  Leaving Rose to plan the meal, he headed for the remains of the storage shed. It still smoked, though the fire was long out. Jarrett rummaged through the remains of the shed. After an hour he found something that made his blood run cold.

  Charred, enough of the mechanism still existed for him to ID it. A sophisticated incendiary device with a timer. Maybe even a cell phone.

  He traced back the path he’d taken last night. The red painted words still stood out on the wall: American go home.

  Beneath the red splatter of paint was a large footprint that stuck out like a black stone in white sand. He squatted down and analyzed it.

  Jarrett brought a ladder over, scaled the wall and jumped over. Lacey’s property abutted a small stretch of forest that marched up the mountainside.

  Another few feet, he saw the same kind of footprint. And then a few yards away, bingo. He picked up the cell phone. Cheap, throwaway type that were common here in St. Marc.

  The detonator.

  He imagined the owner standing here, safely far away from the compound, making a call to trigger the detonator.

  His guts clenched. And Lacey could have been hit with this. Nightmarish images flicked through his mind, Lacey screaming as the device exploded...trapped in the shed, no way to get out...

  Pocketing the cell phone so Ace could try to trace it, he returned to the compound.

  He went into his room and put the cell phone on his bureau. His own phone rang. It was Ace with the full 411 on Paul Lawrence, Lace’s business partner.

  After, he found Lacey in the workshop, supervising the women peeling mangoes. She greeted him with a quick smile that had his whole day vastly improve. If he got a smile like that every morning, he’d be a happy man.

  Jarrett nearly stopped in his tracks, dumbfounded. He was happy, right? Had a secure job with the teams, making sure his country was safe.

  But ever since the divorce, there was a big, empty hole in his heart, not just his bed.

  “Hey, sunshine,” he told her, dropping a kiss on her cheek. She flushed beneath the touch of his lips.

  Her skin was so warm and soft, and he had to fight the urge to keep kissing her and not stop.

  “Fleur’s safe in school.” He explained about her bodyguards and how her father had hired them.

  “I should be angry he didn’t tell me. But he meant well. Thanks, Jarrett. That’s one less thing I have to worry about, knowing they check out and they’re keeping an eye on her.”

  “I invited them for dinner tonight, so you can meet them.”

  “Thanks.”

  The fact that she wasn’t furious at her dad, and she seemed resigned, warned him she was under much more pressure than she’d alluded to.

  She swept a hand over the workshop. “Though the fire took the mango marmalade that was ready for shipping, we still have plenty of stock to work with. Collette told me the women were quite worried that I’d shut down operations. I assured them I would not abandon this project. We’ve all worked too hard to let someone chase us away.”

  But clearly, Lacey was tense this morning, her body stiff and rigid. Jarrett stepped behind her and began massaging her shoulders. At first she tensed and then sighed as he kneaded the tension away.

  “Wow, I miss this. You always did give great massages.” She stole a peek over one shoulder. “And other things, as well.”

  “Still do.” He finished and Lacey rolled her shoulders. “I have a report I have to complete before Paul gets here. Care to keep me company?”

  “Let’s go outside first. Away from all the ears.” He glanced at the women.

  When they were outside the building, he lowered his voice. “That man you recently hired, Jean. How well do you know him?”

  “He’s related to one of the women I’m helping. Jean is her cousin. Why?”

  He explained his suspicions about the red paint and how it was the same color as the messages on the wall.

  “Someone could have taken it from the shed. It isn’t well guarded and sometimes they leave the paint outside. I’ve been after Jean to finish for two days.”

  “He seems more interested in planting a tomato garden. Did it occur to you that the red paint he’s using for the shed has been used for the wall?”

  Lacey sighed. “It couldn’t have been Jean. He doesn’t speak English, and he’s illiterate. He wouldn’t have done it, Jarrett. Why would he threaten me when I gave him a job?”

  The arson indicated a professional. Still, he didn’t trust the man.

  “Don’t let him sleep on the property anymore.” He pushed a stray lock of blond hair out of her face. “You’re a good manager, Lace, but you have a soft heart for the downtrodden. Keep that soft heart for the women.”

  She gave him a wry smile. “I’ll tell him to find lodging in town. What else did you want to discuss?”

  “Lace, have you seen anyone or heard anyone in the compound who stuck out like he didn’t belong or was interested in your operations? Any guests you’ve given tours to lately?”

  “I had a small group of donors from the States three weeks ago.” She pursed her full lips. “There was one guy who was with them who seemed interested in the shed and how we pack the jam for shipping. But he’s legit. Friend of a big donor. Why?”

  “I found an incendiary device and the timer. Cell phone. Cell phone timers are popular with terrorists because they can remotely trigger bombs.”

  The floral scent of her shampoo tickled his nostrils as she leaned close and whispered to him. “That’s crazy! Why would a terrorist be interested in my NGO?”

  “Why would an illegal arms dealer be interested in donating?” He lightly clasped her shoulders. “Lacey, you’re the daughter of a US senator and former ambassador to this country. Even if you aren’t political, your father is. And I’m certain he made enemies here in St. Marc.”

  “There are lots of ex-pats more politically connected than me,” she pointed out. “My friend Helen, Sally’s mom, is married to a well-known UN diplomat. She’s the one you’ll meet this afternoon when you take Fleur to Sally’s house. And sabotaging their businesses or their homes would make more of a statement, if this is political.”

  “Augustin could have sent someone to scout out the compound, target you where you were most vulnerable. It’s gone beyond chickens and painted threats, sweetheart.” Jarrett braced himself mentally for her protests. “After today you should leave and take Fleur someplace else.”

  “For Fleur’s sake, I would. But what about Rose? And the women who live here? Work here?”

  She folded her arms and stared at the building. “This is their world, Jarrett. They have no place else to go. They can’t go back to their families. If something else happens around here and the compound shuts down, they’ll be on the streets.”

  “If something bad happens to you, the compound will shut down and they will be on the streets.”

  “Collette can take over. But I have to let them know I’m strong and I won’t let these vandals drive me away. I’m not only their director, Jarrett. I’m a role model.”

 
He said nothing, only listened, sensing she needed to get this out.

  “When they first came here, they were beaten, not just physically, but emotionally. I taught them to be confident, that their lives have worth after all they’ve heard for years that they aren’t worth anything. I taught them that a real man doesn’t hit a woman, ever.”

  Her gaze shining, she studied him. “I told them about you.”

  Stunned, he blinked at her. “Me?”

  “We might be divorced, but you always treated me with respect, Jarrett. You taught me how to shoot a gun and defend myself from attackers, too. I told them how I was married to a man who could kill enemy soldiers with his bare hands, but he never raised a hand to me. Not during the times when we argued or any other time. He valued my opinion and he treated me like an equal. And that is what real men do.”

  At a loss for words, he pondered her words. He’d been seen as a role model, among the teams, among the men who accompanied him on missions, but as one for battered women? And to know Lace still held him in high regard...

  “Real men stay married and stay committed,” he said quietly, watching her face to gauge her reaction.

  A shadow entered her eyes. “Divorce isn’t one-sided, Jarrett. I’m the one who broke it off. But even that didn’t change my opinion of you. Even what my father said never changed my opinion of you.”

  A tiny flicker of hope blinked on and off. Maybe they still could make it work. And then he remembered he wasn’t here to patch things up with his ex. He was here to haul her out, get her home where he wouldn’t have to worry about her anymore.

  “You still remember those self-defense moves I taught you?”

  Lacey nodded.

  Her gaze softened. “You taught me a lot, Jarrett. I still know how to pick locks. That skill has come in handy a few times when I managed to lock myself out.”

  She grinned and his pulse kicked up a notch. Unable to resist, he cupped her face with his hand, rubbing his thumb across the smooth skin of her cheek. “I still have a few moves I could teach you.”

  Lacey’s eyes closed as he kept stroking her face. Her long lashes feathered her cheeks and she made a little humming sound of pleasure he remembered well. She was enjoying this.

  So was he.

  Opening her eyes, she pulled away. “I have work to do before Paul gets here.”

  Watching her walk off toward her office, he rubbed a hand over his face. He was committed to staying with Lacey and safeguarding her and her daughter until he could hustle them out of here.

  Unstable governments, risky missions, hell, he was a SEAL and used to danger. There was always a plan, and always his training to fall back upon.

  But nothing in his military career ever prepared him for this—keeping his ex at a distance and not falling for her all over again, screwing up this relationship any more than it was already screwed up.

  * * *

  A while later Jarrett joined Lacey in the living room to meet her business partner, Paul Lawrence. The man hadn’t impressed him when he’d seen him in the hotel. Up close, he was less impressive.

  Jarrett stretched out his legs and gave the man a long, cool look. Paul wore an Italian tailored gray business suit and had thinning brown hair and watery blue eyes. After listening to the man for ten minutes, he disliked him intensely. Paul was condescending and slick, the smooth oiliness of his voice grating on Jarrett’s nerves as he talked about how his family had come from a long line of distinguished notables in St. Marc. Nothing against the guy’s family tree, but Paul definitely had an attitude about Americans.

  Odd that he’d agreed to partner with one.

  When Jarrett asked him about it as Lacey went into her office to get papers, Paul shrugged. “Alex Stewart is a good friend and a good businessman. And when Lacey asked to partner with me, I felt I owed it to my friend.”

  Hmm. “I heard that your coffee business was running out of money and you were operating in the red, desperate for a cash influx. Odd, too. It was profitable for a long time and suddenly you owed money. Lots of money.”

  The man’s gaze flicked to the left. Then Lawrence gave a philosophical shrug. “Times were hard. And I welcomed the opportunity to work with my friend’s daughter and give her a head start on her charity. She has done much good in this region of St. Marc.”

  Right. “You like going to Île du Paradis?”

  At the mention of the ritzy resort on St. Marc’s northern coast, the man swallowed hard and tugged at his tie. “I have friends who live near there. It is a very nice resort when one wants to get away.”

  It was also a haven for gamblers. According to Ace, Lawrence had lost money at the roulette wheel. A lot of money.

  Lawrence abruptly changed the subject. “Enough of me, Mr. Adler. I am worried for Lacey. I have told her for weeks that the country is not safe and she should leave.”

  Interesting. Why was the man concerned in Lacey leaving? Beads of sweat dotted Lawrence’s upper lip. It was warm, but not that warm. Jarrett studied the way his jugular throbbed.

  “It isn’t safe here in the country or inside Lacey’s compound?”

  Lawrence’s gaze darted away and he removed a neatly pressed handkerchief from his jacket pocket and mopped his perspiring brow. “Why are you here, Mr. Adler?”

  A question to answer a question. Typical evasive tactic. “Take off your jacket. You seem warm,” he suggested.

  “I am fine. But I am worried for Lacey.”

  “Why do you want her to leave when her daughter is still here and can’t yet emigrate to the United States? Isn’t Lacey your business partner? Are you leaving, too?”

  “So many questions. She is a woman, alone, living in this big compound without a man to protect her or help her run her charity.”

  “Lacey’s done fine by herself. She doesn’t need help.”

  “But women on this island are treated differently. They do not have the same respect as men, and men working for them will not listen to them. With the growing violence, how can she protect herself and her daughter?”

  Jarrett didn’t like the thread of this conversation.

  “She’s not alone. I’m here.” He narrowed his eyes and sat up. “And anyone who thinks about hurting a hair on her head, or Fleur’s, or anyone else living within the walls of this complex, has to deal with me.”

  Paul’s gaze flicked down to the sidearm now holstered at Jarrett’s right hip. “It is good Lacey has you to look after her.”

  Lacey returned with papers, and Paul signed them. As Lacey and Paul discussed exporting the coffee shipments to Miami, Jarrett watched Lacey’s animated face. Wistfully he remembered when she used to light up like that around him, when they had one of their late-night conversations in the kitchen, sharing a glass of milk and a plate of cookies when he couldn’t sleep, the haunting images of war flicking through his mind like a PowerPoint display.

  Back then, every time he woke up, and no matter how quiet he’d been, she’d awaken, as well. She’d sit with him in the kitchen, encouraging him to sip warm milk and talking about everyday things he’d missed while on an op. Gradually, she’d get him to loosen up, come out of the semicoma state he’d retreated into for self-protection.

  By the time Paul extended his hand for Jarrett to shake goodbye, he’d done his own sizing up.

  “You believe in more than office work.” Jarrett took his hand and turned it over, exposing the palm. “Your hands are rough, calloused, like a laborer.”

  When he glanced at the man’s face, Lawrence was sweating again. But then he smiled. “I have an affinity for gardening. It keeps my mind off troubling matters these days, and I find it relaxing.”

  Jarrett flashed an equally chilling smile as the man jerked his hand away. “There are many troubling matters these days. I find it most troubling when someone puts up a front to hide what he truly is, like a snake hiding in the grass. But I’m very good at uncovering snakes.”

  Lawrence turned to Lacey. “Excuse me, my dea
r, but I must leave. First, I need to check on the mango factory and see how Marie is faring.”

  “Marie?” Jarrett tensed. “Why? Hasn’t she been traumatized enough?”

  “Paul has been very generous and he’s letting Marie stay in a small house on a piece of property he owns near here. It’s a house he rents out to coffee factory employees for a very low fee,” Lacey said tightly.

  “It is the least I can do. I wish to find houses for all the women since it’s apparent we cannot find funding to build them homes here on the land you own, Lacey.” Paul gave a very Gallic shrug.

  When Paul left the house, Lacey turned to Jarrett, anger flashing on her face.

  “You all but called him a snake! He’s my business partner. Give it a rest, Jarrett. Not every single man is a threat. So he has rough hands. He told you, he likes to garden.”

  “That man hasn’t held a spade or a fork a day in his life. And if he has gardened, it’s not something as benign as growing tomatoes and cucumbers.”

  He wasn’t sure what was wrong with Lawrence. But his well-honed instincts warned the man wasn’t aboveboard. He might be cheating Lacey out of profits. Or worse...

  CHAPTER 8

  Jarrett’s bald opinion of her business partner sent all Lacey’s instincts on full alert. Her guard was already up, for Paul hadn’t brought the latest profit and loss statements for her perusal.

  He kept stalling, and that worried her, especially after the rumors she’d heard that wages were being cut at the factory.

  She headed for the mango processing building, Jarrett trailing behind her.

  “You don’t have to tail me.”

  “Sweetheart, get used to it. While I’m here, consider me your shadow, especially after what happened last night.” Jarrett reached the building and held the door open for her.

  In the main room where the women sliced the mangoes, another worker sat by herself at a small table, using a hand press to squeeze out juice from the leftover pieces of fruit not good enough for canning. Lacey was disturbed to see it was Marie, the latest arrival. She lived in the house once inhabited by Jacqueline. Lacey had found Marie two weeks ago by the market, dirty, one eye swollen, begging for food. Marie’s boyfriend had beaten her up and kicked her out of his house.