by Bonnie Vanak
“Dad,” she whispered, reaching out. “I’m sorry.”
He squeezed her hand. “Sorry for what, honey? I’m so happy you’re awake. You’re going to be just fine.”
“I screwed up.” She blinked hard, trying not to cry. “Fleur? Is she okay? Where is she?”
“She’s here. Officially. She has her papers.”
“I can take her to the States?” Now the tears did run unchecked down her cheeks.
Her father’s brow furrowed as he reached for a tissue on the bedside table and handed it to her. “Don’t cry, honey. I know you wanted this to happen sooner...”
She wiped her face and blew her nose. Dad. She loved him, but at times, he was clueless. “No, it’s okay. She’s safe now. She’s safe.”
That was what mattered most. Her little girl was going to finally live the life Lacey wanted for her, and get the help she needed, and not have to worry about the bad men.
He kissed her cheek. “I have to go now and meet Alastair Monroe.” He flashed one of his famous smiles. “He wanted a personal tour of the Comfort, along with Francis. Alastair will make an excellent ambassador. He’s quite the politician, steamrolling over everyone, shaking hands and making friends. He wants Francis to work with him in diplomatic relations. Francis has charm, but that boy is like a locomotive running over the ladies. Choo choo.”
Something keep nagging her, tickling the back of her mind like a feather. But she couldn’t remember what.
“Are you going to be okay there, Dad?”
“Of course. The island is safe and protests have died down because of the UN patrols they sent in. You rest.”
He turned and left, and her mind clicked over everything, but the pain drugs pumping into her arm made it difficult to concentrate.
“Hey, Iceman! She’s awake,” Scott said.
And then Jarrett was by her bedside, his green gaze filled with relief and tenderness. He wore the same Navy T-shirt as Scott, and Navy cammies. He crouched down by her bedside. “Lace.”
He kissed her cheek, and warmth filled her. She reached up and traced the stubble shadowing his hard jaw. She had never seen anything better than his handsome face, the smudges of exhaustion around his eyes. “I love you. I love you so much,” she told him.
He blinked and his gaze grew guarded. Jarrett stepped back and gestured and she saw four other men dressed in blue T-shirts and camouflage pants. She blushed as she realized what she’d said in front of them. Obviously they were his teammates and she’d gone all gushy. Not appropriate.
Especially since she was no longer his wife, no longer had any claim on him.
As they gathered around the bed, she became awed at the impressive display of muscles, strength and quiet determination.
“Lace, these are the guys who helped rescue you. Team 15. You already met Deke. This is Snake, Dino, Spuds and Coop.”
She felt half-naked and exposed, but pushed past that to focus on their faces. They had saved her life. “Thank you. If not for all of you, I’d be flotsam in the Atlantic by now.”
“Ma’am. Glad you’re doing good.” This from Coop, a tall SEAL with piercing blue eyes, close-cropped black hair and a scar slicing through his lower jaw.
“Coop donated a pint of his blood,” Scott told her.
“Yeah, but Iceman saved you with mouth-to-mouth,” Coop interjected.
“He wouldn’t let Ace do the mouth-to-mouth, only the chest compressions,” Spuds told her.
She glanced at Jarrett, whose jaw tensed so hard it seemed ready to crack.
“We all wanted to donate blood, but only Coop was a match,” Deke said.
She offered a half smile, suddenly weary. “What about Rose?”
“She’s dead,” Jarrett said gently. “Your father is arranging for the burial, and to take care of her elderly parents. I’m sorry, Lace.”
He pulled up a stool and stroked her fingers as the men said goodbye and left. “You picked a fine piece of property to start a charity, Miss Lacey. The CIA has been after Collette for a long time. They found steps leading to a tunnel and an underground bunker hidden in a cave. Wall supports, a generator and a sump pump to pump out water. The tunnel runs for forty feet before accessing the cave. There’s a huge cache of cocaine, street value of over $300 mil, weapons and a lab.”
He kissed her fingers. “You don’t do anything by half measure. Rest here. I’ll be right back. Someone is dying to see you.”
Lacey closed her eyes and heard a soft voice called out in French, “Mama.”
Fleur. Fighting fatigue and the morphine, she opened her eyes and struggled to sit. Wearing bright pink shorts and a flowered shirt, her daughter came into the ICU, riding piggyback on Jarrett. He sported a huge grin, and Fleur looked relieved but solemn as he set her down.
“Sweetheart. I’m fine.” She hastened to assure her daughter she was going to be okay. “I’m here now and I’m going to get better.”
“Let her rest, Fleur.” Jarrett tried to tug her away, but Fleur laced her little fingers around the railings of Lacey’s hospital bed and refused to let go.
“She’ll be okay here. Please, let her stay,” Lacey told Jarrett.
He considered then dragged over a big recliner and plopped Fleur in it. He fished out a cell phone and tucked it into her shorts pocket. “You stay right here with your mom. If you need me, press the number 1 on the phone. I have business to do, but I’ll check on you in a couple of hours. I have to meet with your grandpa and a few others.”
Lacey smiled as he kissed her goodbye. “I thought I was your number one,” she told him.
He winked. “You were, until this flower came along.”
Jarrett tickled Fleur’s ribs, making her laugh, and then he left.
The ICU was fairly deserted. She was the only patient. Gradually she dozed off.
Her nurse brought in a tray of soup and a sandwich. She tasted it. Ice cold. A few minutes later the nurse brought it back steaming hot. Too hot now. Lacey lacked any appetite. Pushing it aside, she decided to save it for Fleur.
As Fleur closed her eyes, Lacey did, as well.
A few minutes later she heard a noise and her instincts tingled. Lacey opened her eyes. Clad in a dark suit, with a bright red tie and a starched white shirt, Francis stood near her bed. But his clothing wasn’t what startled her nor his presence.
In his hands he held a pistol, pointed directly at her daughter. Trembling, she opened her mouth to scream as she fumbled for the nurse call button.
“Don’t, Lacey. Or I will shoot her.” Pale-faced, Francis looked crazed, his eyes wild.
Fleur’s eyes opened. She stared at Francis, terror etching her face. “Chou Chou,” she whispered.
The knowledge hit Lacey like a slap in the face. Chou Chou. The one man Fleur feared more than any other.
“Oh, dear God,” Lacey whispered. “It was you. You’re Fleur’s father. You killed Jackie.”
The gun trembled in his hands. “She wouldn’t shut up. Just wouldn’t shut up, just like Caroline. Wanted to marry me. The bitch was trying to blackmail me into giving her money.”
“It’s called child support,” she rasped. “Francis, why did you kill her?”
Lacey reached for her daughter’s hand and pulled Fleur close. Pretending to hug her, she fished into the pocket of her shorts and then flipped on the phone and pressed the number one, leaving the connection open, praying Jarrett could hear.
Francis laughed, a high-pitched, maniacal sound. “Caroline, Jackie. All the same. Bitches. Like my mother, who left my father to screw another man. They think they can trap you with sex. Caroline was pregnant. She threatened to expose me, tell my dad. He can’t risk that kind of scandal. I had to do it, Lacey. I had to do it. And then I told Paul, and Paul promised he’d clean up the mess. He offered to hide the body. He was always helping me. He always scored for me, got me the best stuff. He knew people who had kilos of it.”
Francis’s trust fund went straight to his nose. She’d always t
hought his boundless energy came from high spirits. Now she knew better.
He kept talking, babbling about Caroline and how he did love her, but she was so demanding; they were all demanding.
“I tried to get rid of her, Lacey. That little bastard of Jackie’s.” His wild gaze whipped over to Fleur, who had crept out of the lounge chair and stood by her bedside. “We could have had a go at it if not for her. She saw me. She knew. I hired two men Paul recommended. But that bastard Navy Boy of yours dodged the bullets.”
Fleur whimpered. Lacey inched closer to the bedside table and the steaming hot soup. Closer.
Francis raised the pistol. “I’m sorry, Lacey. She has to die. Don’t you understand? My dad can’t afford a scandal.”
Now!
Picking up the mug of hot soup, Lacey threw it in his face. “Run, Fleur,” she yelled.
Francis screamed, clawing at his face as Fleur raced away. Lacey rolled out of bed and hit the floor, trying to crawl away. She felt a brief pain as the IV popped free of her hand and tried to get up, but she was too weak.
Horrified, she saw Francis swing the gun toward her daughter, running to escape the ICU.
“You little bitch!” Francis screamed. “I’ll kill you.”
And then she looked up and saw two size twelve combat boots and heard the lethal pop of a Sig Sauer firing.
Francis collapsed onto the linoleum floor before her eyes, his face frozen in a mask of shock.
“No one messes with my woman, Tennis Boy. Or my little girl,” Jarrett said in a deep voice. “No one.”
He went to Francis, checked his neck and then raced over to Lacey.
Others now ran into the ICU, but she only had eyes for Jarrett.
“Fleur?” she whispered.
“She’s fine. She runs pretty damn fast. Zigs and zags, making her a harder target.” Jarrett brushed back her hair. “Her mom taught her well.”
His gaze narrowed and he swore quietly as he took in her bleeding hand where the IV had pulled free. He lifted her into his arms and carried her to another bed and set her down.
“Damn woman, I leave you alone for a few minutes and look what happens,” he said in a mock sigh. “What am I going to have to do to keep you out of trouble?”
Smiling, she touched his face. “Marry me.”
EPILOGUE
The wedding promised to be the social event of the season. Nearly 800 people had been invited, many of them politicians and Navy brass. No press, but the media would get the official wedding photos of the bride and groom. The president had been invited, and had to decline but hinted he “might” swing by the reception to wish them luck and share a glass of Dom Perignon.
A far cry from their first wedding, when she and Jarrett had eloped to Las Vegas.
The scandal and shock of Francis’s death had rippled through DC like a tidal wave. Alastair Monroe had gone to Paris after the funeral, retreating from public life. Her father had been the most stunned of all.
But Alexander Stewart was enormously grateful for Jarrett, his future son-in-law.
It’s going to be okay. The chant reverberated through her mind as she checked her appearance in the mirror at the bride’s room in back of the cathedral. Fleur, bedecked in a sleeveless white long gown, a replica of her mom’s, a circlet of red roses in her hair, practically bounced up and down with excitement.
It was Fleur who insisted on expediting the wedding. She’d already started calling Jarrett “Daddy” from the day of Lacey’s hospital release. Jarrett pulled out the half-carat diamond ring, got down on one knee and proposed. Not to Lacey, but to Fleur, asking permission to “marry your mom.”
Fleur said yes immediately, nearly as quickly as Lacey had.
Being a senator’s daughter pulled strings and they hired the best wedding planner to stage this elaborate event in only four months. Lacey had hoped for a quiet, small wedding, but her parents insisted on this. Dad had “wanted to show off my new son-in-law.”
He’d never been more proud of Jarrett. Her father was a silent partner in Jarrett’s new business. Jarrett had completed his last spec ops mission. In six months he would resign and enter civilian life as he fully assumed charge of Project Security Operations Specialties, Project SOS for short. The agency offered protection to corporate executives and civilians, and taught self-defense techniques and gun training. Sam and Gene were already officially employed, and Jarrett planned to bring on additional hires, like Ace, who intended to retire at the end of the year.
She had appointed another board of directors of Marlee’s Mangoes in St. Marc and a new president. Her new charity, Hope for Marlee, was based in the United States. The NGO aided battered women in distress and helped to find them new hope and new lives.
Lacey smoothed down the lace on her dress, checked her veil. Her bouquet of red roses and baby’s breath had white lilies, as well. The formal ceremony had her tied in knots, but Jarrett had been beside her all the time. Every time she fretted and expressed the desire to run away to Vegas, he’d flash her a wide smile and then pull her into his arms, murmuring, “It’s going to be all right.”
Those words were usually followed by a wink, and then Jarrett pulling her into the nearest private room for a bout of quick sex that erased all her fears and made her forget about the wedding. Last week when she’d nearly gone into tears after hearing her dress might not be ready in time, she had been at her parents house in DC having lunch with the entire wedding party. Jarrett mouthed across the table, “It’s going to be all right,” and then winked. He had quietly excused himself, dragged Lacey into the big upstairs bathroom and locked the door. They had returned twenty minutes later, Jarrett all smooth professionalism, but his hair slightly rumpled. Lacey couldn’t help the dreamy smile on her face.
Trying to summon the same smile now, she took a deep breath and stepped into the vestibule with her dad.
As the bridesmaids in their red satin floor-length gowns proceeded down the aisle, and Fleur tossed the red rose petals down the white carpet, Lacey stared at the altar.
Six Navy SEALs stood next to Jarrett in full white dress uniforms. “Our ice cream suits,” Jarrett had joked. The same squad that had rescued her from the sinking bow runner now stood ready to witness their leader remarry her. Rows of “fruit salad,” the medals they had earned, marched across their uniforms. Above the medals was pinned the Budweiser, the gold Navy SEAL trident.
Her bridesmaids, all cousins and friends, had nearly swooned when they found out they would be escorted by Navy SEALs.
As best man, Ace would be paired with her matron of honor, his sister, Aimee.
The men looked distinguished and handsome in their dazzling white uniforms, and the church was packed with notable guests, many of whom were strangers to her. A bout of nervousness seized Lacey. She tried to smile, but her face felt frozen. All these people staring at her! As a politician’s daughter, she was accustomed to social events, but not one where she was the center of so much intense speculation. Lacey wondered if she looked good enough. The bullet wound was hidden by her dress, but the surgery had left a scar on her arm that remained visible. At first she wanted the sleeveless dress because it was lovely, with the yards of satin and white lace, and the high collar that would match the one on Jarrett’s uniform. And she’d seen the sleeveless dress as a symbol of her future and her refusal to hide life’s scars.
But now with nearly 800 guests looking at her, she had a moment of doubt. Lacey almost wished she had insisted on carrying out her plans to elope. And then she saw Jarrett. Tall, proud and handsome in his white uniform, the soft overhead lighting shining down upon his dark head, he had eyes only for her. He did not look at her dress, nor her flowers or her scarred bare arm.
Jarrett looked right into her eyes.
The music swelled as she walked down the aisle. As she drew closer, Lt. Jarrett Adler mouthed, “It’s going to be all right.” Then his crooked grin widened as he pointed to the vestry on the right and winked.
/> And then she smiled and knew everything was going to be all right.
* * * * *
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ISBN: 9781488005039
NAVY SEAL SEDUCTION
Copyright © 2016 by Bonnie Vanak
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