SEAL the Deal (Hot SEALs)

by Cat Johnson

  Flipping further he saw lists and notes. Ideas. Swatches. Pictures. Magazine pages.

  The book spanned at least a decade, from the flower girl picture to the final entry, a pressed corsage and picture that had to be from Missy's prom.

  Zane let out a soft curse.

  He'd been so wrong. So selfish. So stupid. Missy had been planning her dream wedding since she was a child. And as far as he knew, she hadn't stopped dreaming of it until he crushed those dreams with his own spiteful selfish feelings.

  He needed to get back before he was missed, but he’d be going downstairs a changed man.

  After getting that glimpse into Missy’s past, he viewed the situation in a completely different light. For the first time, he felt as if he was seeing clearly.

  Those glitter paint letters and lists in pastel marker had been the slap in the face he'd needed to wake him up and make him come to his senses.

  He knew what he needed to do. More amazing than that was the knowledge that he really wanted to do it.

  Now that he was aware of the situation, he wouldn't rest until he'd fixed everything.

  CHAPTER 12

  The low murmuring of Zane on the phone in the other room made Missy want to listen closer.

  She shouldn't. She trusted him. Mostly.

  No, she did trust him. But what was with the whispering?

  If he was discussing some matters of national security or something, he could trust her not to spill the beans. She was a freaking senator's daughter, after all.

  And if the topic of conversation was so important then he shouldn't be discussing it in their apartment on the cell phone anyway. Mr. Paranoid should realize the apartment could be bugged or something.

  Farfetched, she knew, but hell, it could happen.

  In any case, she hated he was in the spare room he'd turned into an office with the door closed. Hated it with every fiber of her being.

  Maybe she should bug the apartment herself.

  Now she was being crazy. But if she were, it was because Zane was making her so. Along with Amelia and the pressure this wedding party responsibility was putting on her.

  She still had yet to tell Zane about it. She really needed to do that and soon now that Meli had finally chosen the date, and it was only six months away.

  A Christmas wedding. She wanted to roll her eyes at that and say it was a foolish time of year to have a wedding when everyone is so busy, but she couldn't because it sounded lovely.

  The jiggling of the handle heralded the opening of the office door. Missy spun and pretended to be very busy folding the throw on the sofa.

  “All done with your business call?” she asked, in as bright and cheerful a tone as she could muster without sounding guilty for trying to eavesdrop.

  Nope. Not suspicious at all. Not her.

  “Yeah, but you're not going to like what I have to say.”

  “Why.” She frowned, suspecting what that comment meant.

  “I’ve got to be away for a couple of days.”

  Yup. Just as she’d guessed. He was going away again, like he did so often.

  “With Jon?” she asked.

  “No.” He hesitated and finally met her gaze.

  Wow. Now that was suspicious. Maybe she really did need to start bugging his office. She waited for him to elaborate.

  “I'm working on something outside of GAPS.”

  Her eyes widened. “Not like what Jon did last year. Please tell me you're not going undercover in Iraq or Syria or wherever the hell he went and got himself blown up while poor Ali was home and didn't know where he was.”

  “No. No worries. I'm not that stupid. Believe me. And Jon won't ever be doing that again.”

  “That's good to hear.” But it still didn't explain where Zane was going and why he was going alone.

  She knew damn well she might never know. Such was the nature of the world of government contracts and national security in which he worked. But she really wished he'd tell her something.

  Zane took both of her hands in his. “Can we sit?”

  “Um, sure.”

  Uh, oh. This sounded serious. Like I think we should break up kind of serious. Maybe she didn't want him to tell her anything after all.

  He led her to the sofa. When they both sat, he said, “I promised to keep what I'm working on confidential, but as far as I'm concerned keeping the details out of the press and from the public doesn't mean I can't tell you. Especially since it's going to affect you.”

  “Okay.” Her mind spun but guessing was getting her nowhere so she gave up and just waited for Zane to reveal what he was talking about.

  “I'm doing a job—more like a favor—for Brent. His cousin has gotten involved with a guy online and he's concerned so I did some digging. And I had a friend do some more digging.”

  “And?”

  “And what we found didn't alleviate our concern.”

  “Oh no.”

  He nodded. “Anyway, that's who was on the phone. Brent. I was relaying what I've learned and now he wants to confront this guy.”

  Her eyes widened. “Is that a good idea?”

  “Probably not. And he definitely shouldn’t be the one to do it, but I do agree something more needs to be done to at least figure out what this guy's really all about. So . . .” He raised his gaze to hers. “I offered to go meet him.”

  “You?”

  “Yeah, I have the training. I'm not emotionally involved the way Brent is. I won't attract the notice of the press like he will. And if things go south I know I can handle it.”

  “Do you expect that?”

  “No. But I also know to be prepared for the unexpected.”

  She absorbed it all. The fact he was doing so much to help out an old friend. And the fact he was confiding in her, which was a nice change from the secrecy. She liked he trusted her enough to tell her. Liked being included in the work part of his world.

  “I understand. Of course you should go. He's a friend and he needs help.”

  “But what you don't know is that this guy is in California. So it could take a couple of days because of the travel.”

  “Zane. It's okay. I'm used to it. You travel all the time.”

  He dropped his chin. “I know. I travel too much. And you've always understood. I'm not sure I express how much I appreciate that.”

  She didn't know what had inspired that apology or what had bought out this new appreciative side of Zane. It was odd, but she wasn't complaining.

  Especially not when he pulled her to him. “So, we had our dinner with your parents. I handled the phone call I had to make. Now, what do you say we head to bed?”

  When he looked at her like that she might as well be a teenager again. Her heart fluttered—with anticipation and love and, yes, lust too.

  It wasn't even eight-thirty yet but she had a feeling they wouldn't be going to sleep.

  “I say that sounds good.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Zane glanced out the window as the private jet descended over Oakland International Airport and the pilot prepared to touch down in sunny California.

  For once, he wasn't overwhelmingly relieved the cross country flight was over.

  The wide leather seat was insanely comfortable. The champaign was cold, the nuts warm and the flight attendant hot—Zane noticed Brent seemed to appreciate that last perk the most.

  Finally the wheels touched down on the tarmac, a landing so gentle Zane wouldn't have noticed it if he hadn't been looking outside.

  He twisted in his seat to shoot a look at Brent. “Damn, bud. This is a hell of a way to travel.”

  “One of the benefits of having access to the assets of the Hearst Corporation.” Brent grinned.

  “No doubt.” The corporation, the family, the billions—it was a nice benefits package. “Got a helicopter I can borrow when there's traffic on 66 or the Beltway?” Zane was only half joking.

  Brent laughed. “If I did, I'd use it for the traffic on the bridge between
Jersey and New York. Believe me.”

  Zane's family was rich—from his mother's inheritance and the trust fund that provided, as well as from his father's business and the vast income that provided. But it was very obvious there was a huge difference between being well off and being obscenely wealthy. A fact extremely evident to him during this cross-country flight to California in the Hearst private jet.

  He had to admit it was pretty amazing and inspirational. It gave Zane the kick in the ass he needed to set his sights a little higher.

  A few years ago his only goal had been to make a go of the company. They'd done that. Now, he vowed to make the company big and lucrative enough to warrant their own jet. Yeah, it might be a pie in the sky dream but without dreams, without goals, what did a man have to aim for?

  Zane's inner pep talk was interrupted when he got a look at Brent's expression. “Hey.”

  Brent glanced up. “What?”

  “What's up? You okay?” Zane asked.

  “I want to meet with him.”

  Zane shook his head. “No.”

  Brent scowled. “What if he's a scammer just after her money? Or . . . I don't know . . . a reporter looking for a juicy story?”

  “What if he's not?” Apparently Zane's biggest duty here was to keep Brent from beating up this guy in a Starbucks and causing the very scandal they were trying to avoid. “Brent, what if he's a perfectly nice guy who just really likes your cousin?”

  “And what if he's not?” Brent turned Zane’s words back on him.

  Not liking that turnaround, Zane frowned. “Either way, I'm the one going in there, as planned.”

  The flight attendant walked toward them. “Gentlemen, you're welcome to unbuckle your seatbelts and move about the cabin. Welcome to California.”

  “Thank you.” Brent flashed her a million dollar smile—make that a thirty-five billion dollar Hearst family net wealth smile—and then reached for the release on his seatbelt as he turned his attention back to Zane. “Okay, what if I agree you can do any interacting with him but I get to be there?”

  “Why?” Zane released his own seat belt and stood.

  “So I can see him. Get a feel for him.” Brent reached for his laptop case and looped the strap over his shoulder. “You might be the big bad SEAL but I'm not without some people skills myself. I hire and fire people every day and a lot of that is based on gut instincts, just like the ones you're always talking about using.”

  Zane grabbed his own carry-on, his favorite duffle bag containing anything he might need and it was still smaller and lighter than the wheeled hard-sided suitcase Brent had boarded with that the flight crew was currently retrieving.

  “The difference is I'm not emotionally involved in this. She's not my family. Unlike you I'm detached from the situation. I can be objective.”

  “Are you saying I can't be objective?” Brent's eyes widened.

  “Yes. That's exactly what I'm saying.” Zane didn't blame Brent. If someone was messing with Missy, even if it was only online, he didn't know what he'd do.

  Kill him, perhaps? He’d at the very least make him regret it in a really big way.

  After stepping through the cabin door and out into the bright sunshine, Zane descended the metal stairs to the tarmac. When he reached the bottom he stopped dead at what he saw.

  He shot Brent a glance over his shoulder. “A chauffeur driven limo?”

  They were going to have to get dropped off a block away and walk so no one saw them getting out of this thing.

  Brent cocked a brow high. “Stop right there with the comments. Now is not the time to pretend I'm normal. I'm not and my family's not. That's exactly why we're in this mess. So yes, a fucking limo instead of a taxi or a rental car. You got anything else to say?”

  “Well, hallelujah, bro. Admitting your family isn’t normal is the first thing you've said that made sense today.” Zane saw Brent's scowl and decided to lighten up on the teasing. “Come on. Let's go fishing.”

  And if this guy turned out to be a cat fish, one of those lowlife bastards who pretended to be someone else online to defraud and take advantage of unknowing innocent people, then God help him. Zane could think of numerous ways to teach him a lesson. Some of those lessons fell within that same hazy gray area that Will might or might not have worked within when investigating this case.

  Zane slid inside the dim cool car and across the back seat, picking up a brochure left there along the way.

  He flipped through it absently. One photo caption had him laughing, which had Brent turning toward him.

  “Something amusing?”

  “You think we'll have time to catch a show at the . . .” Zane read the description aloud, “Open-air Hearst Greek Theatre while we're here?”

  “Fuck off.” Brent scowled.

  The obscenity only made Zane grin wider. Old friends could—and did—tell each other to fuck off often. It was all part of the relationship.

  Zane cut a sideways gaze at his friend. “Jeez, I guess having a name so famous it’s all over the damn place makes a person cranky.”

  “Yes, sometimes it does. But now maybe you can appreciate why I'm so concerned about my cousin?”

  “Of course, I do. Brent, I wouldn't be here otherwise.”

  “I know. And thank you. I am grateful.” Brent looked at Zane closer, his gaze dropping down his body then back up again. “You packing?”

  Zane burst out with a bark of a laugh. “Packing? No, I'm not.”

  “Why not? We took a private plane. You could have easily traveled with a weapon.”

  “Concealed carry in California is tricky. It's a may-issue state. Local law enforcement has discretion—” Zane saw Brent's expression, baffled and a little bored at the same time, and decided to cut the explanation short. “The legalities would've been too complicated, so no, I'm not carrying, which is the less ridiculous way to say packing.”

  “However you say it, I hope you don’t end up being sorry you're not carrying.” Brent stressed the word with a heavy dose of bad attitude.

  Zane laughed. “If this guy is a danger at all, his weapon of choice is obviously the computer while he hides behind the anonymity of the internet. I'm not worried. Seriously.”

  What was the guy going to do in the middle of a coffee shop anyway? Toss his scone or a latte at him?

  Yes, Zane had seen men do plenty of bad shit, but he was having trouble taking a man who spent twelve hours a day, everyday, in a coffee shop.

  At least, according to Will that’s what this Paul guy did.

  But if things did go south, Zane was confident he could handle it. He hadn't been out of active service that long and he’d kept up his training. He was as strong and as sharp as he'd been while in the teams.

  He glanced at Brent. “Don't worry. I got this. No matter what happens. Okay?”

  Brent nodded.

  The limo pulled up in front of the coffee shop and Zane leaned forward. “Can you drive around the corner and let me out there, please?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  After the driver shifted the limo into gear again, Zane turned to glance at Brent. “You should wait in the car.”

  “Nope.” He shook his head, leaving no doubt he wasn't about to be left behind.

  “Okay. Fine. But wait two minutes before you walk in. Order a coffee, get it and then sit down somewhere out of the way. And don't make it obvious that you're watching him. Or me,” Zane added as an afterthought.

  Brent cocked up one brow. “You’re just full of rules today, aren’t you?”

  “Follow my rules or I'll choke you out and leave you here in the car. Don't think I can't do it.”

  “Oh, I know you can do it. Even before you became a big bad SEAL you used to cheat so you could take me in a fight.”

  Brent was built big and solid. A little training and he'd be a damn good fighter. But back in college he was either drinking too much or laughing too hard to defend himself from Zane, who always had a natural ability even with
as scrappy as he was back in the old days.

  “I never cheated and we were just play fighting anyway.” Zane opened the door. “All right, I'm trusting you. I'll go in and scope out the situation. Identify the mark and proceed from there. You—”

  “Stay out of the way. Yeah, yeah. I got it.” Brent rolled his eyes.

  “Good.” Zane smiled, enjoying how having to follow his orders was pissing off Brent.

  But he knew Brent wasn't stupid. He'd control himself if it meant catching a possible predator who was endangering his family . . . at least Zane hoped he would.

  The only thing Zane carried into the coffee shop was his laptop.

  In spite of what he’d told Brent, not being armed did feel strange, but you don't bring a gun to a computer fight.

  He’d brought the laptop because he needed something to do to not look out of place. He needed be able to hang out for a while if necessary. Look busy while keeping an eye out.

  Since the target's profile pictures on all his social media were of his dog, Will had hooked up Zane with a photo. It was a grainy security camera image that Zane didn't ask the origin of.

  Zane didn't even want to think about how Will obtained it. All he knew was that it was a shot of the guy leaving this very coffee shop, laptop in hand, captured just a few days ago.

  He'd studied the image for long enough he didn't need to have it out to recognize him now—Paul James Neuman. Lizzie Hearst’s mystery man.

  That Paul was there wasn't a surprise since Will had tracked his internet usage to this coffee shop all day, every day. But it was where the guy was located within the coffee shop that had Zane wanting to slap himself in the forehead.

  Paul was behind the counter. The damn guy worked there. That's why he was there all day. That's why all his internet posts originated from this network.

  Zane nearly turned around to go outside and waylay Brent because the reason for the lack of photos became quickly apparent as well.

  The kid was young. Like a freshman in college, if Zane had to guess, though he could be wrong about that. Maybe he just wasn't genetically predisposed to growing decent facial hair, because the beard—if it could be called that—was pitiful.

  Since Brent's cousin Lizzie had close to a decade on this kid, age wise, it made sense Paul wasn't forthcoming with public pictures.