Danger Close

by Marliss Melton

  Danger Close

  The Echo Platoon Series

  Book One

  by

  Marliss Melton

  Bestselling, Award-winning Author

  Published by ePublishing Works!

  www.epublishingworks.com

  ISBN: 978-1-61417-641-1

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  Please Note

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The reverse engineering, uploading, and/or distributing of this eBook via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.

  Copyright © 2014 by Marliss Melton. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

  Cover and eBook design by eBook Prep www.ebookprep.com

  Foreword

  Danger Close is a full-length novel that was inspired by a short story I wrote for the SEAL of My Dreams Anthology in 2011. If the story seems familiar at first, that's the reason. Read on, and you'll find that the rest is exciting and new.

  Acknowledgements

  My projects inevitably end up being the product of a group effort. It is only right that I publically acknowledge my able assistant, Wendie Grogan, and my talented editor and best friend, Sydney Jane Baily (who is also an historical romance author in her own right—you should read her books). In addition, I owe a debt of gratitude to my Beta readers for hunting down typos. Penny, Mellena, Cindi, and Dannielle—your efforts are so greatly appreciated!

  Prologue

  The Mark V-1 Special Operations Craft slid with a hiss onto a deserted strip of moonlit shore. Lurching to a stop, it delivered a four-man fire team of Navy SEALs at their insertion point on the Mexican side of the Rio Grande River. Lt. Sam Sasseville stripped off his night ops jacket and stuffed it into the gunwale locker. Giving his teammates the go-signal, he leaped ashore with a lightweight pack, confident that his three teammates followed. Even with the added weight they carried and the mud sucking at their boots, he could scarcely hear their footfalls.

  Beneath the jackets they'd discarded, they were dressed to resemble civilians. Wearing dark cargo pants with pockets full of extra ammo and baggy black T-shirts to conceal an arsenal of weapons, they melted into the darkness. A Gerber blade splinted Sam's right ankle. His backpack, like every other man's, contained a helmet with NVGs attached, several MRE's, baby wipes for keeping clean, and a fresh T-shirt. Sam's pack also carried an LEO satellite phone.

  Sweeping jungle-green eyes over the flat, scrubby terrain, he assessed their location. A steady drizzle dampened waves of dark hair he'd inherited from his Cuban grandmother. A compliment of tan skin simplified his infiltration into the Mexican province of Tamaulipas.

  Sam's three teammates didn't have it so easy. Bronco, Haiku, and Bullfrog had all slathered their bare skin in bronzing lotion. Bronco wore a floppy hat to cover his sun-streaked hair, while Bullfrog and Haiku, both brunettes, went hatless.

  The lapping of water muffled the SEALs' trek across the mud flats to their predetermined location. As the K50S water jets on the Mark V-1 carried the craft silently back to the Gulf, the squad rallied, squatting amidst the marsh grass. They wouldn't need the delivery vehicle again. If everything went as planned, they would exfil via helo.

  Sam checked his watch before shrugging off his pack and grubbing inside for his satphone. A simple three-digit combination put him in touch with headquarters.

  "Home plate," answered the ops officer, Lieutenant Lindstrom, who sat before a computer monitor at the Spec Ops Headquarters back in Dam Neck, Virginia.

  "Heads up, home plate," Sam replied, having fun with the baseball lingo they'd decided to use to encode their progress. "Tampa Bay Rays are at first base now, waiting for the ump to show up."

  "Play ball, Rays," Lindstrom said, with a snigger on his end.

  "Here he comes now," Bronco stated, apparently spotting the "ump" through the high powered scope on his sniper rifle. "Right on time."

  Over the patter of rain, Sam detected the purr of an approaching engine. Twin beams sheared the tops of the tall grass that hid them. The so-called umpire was a DEA officer who'd volunteered to help out. He would escort them into Matamoros, the lawless town situated across the U.S. border from Brownsville, Texas. There, the SEALs would initiate a forty-eight hour reconnaissance, monitoring the movements in and around the site, before sweeping in to recover their target. If all went well, they'd drive to the exfiltration site and fly off on a Navy Seahawk.

  Easy Day. Sam simmered as he slipped the phone back into his pack. This whole goddamn op wouldn't be happening at all if the idiot daughter of oil magnate Lyle Scott had left Matamoros when the U.S. embassy issued a mandatory evacuation for all U.S. citizens. If not for her, Sam and his men would be headed for Malaysia on the warpath to killing the arms smuggler who'd injured one of their fellow teammates last year. Instead of Lt. Tyler Rexall's debilitating injury and lost career, Sam had to play nursemaid to a global environmentalist who didn't have any sense of self-preservation. The silver spoon stuck in her mouth must have interfered with her deductive reasoning capabilities. He'd christened this mission "Operation Dumb Broad" in her honor.

  "That's our guy," Bronco confirmed, lowering his weapon. The vehicle came to a squeaky stop and dimmed its lights.

  "Go," Sam ordered.

  Bullfrog, their medic, darted out of hiding first, providing cover for Haiku and then Bronco, who leapfrogged his position. Sam brought up the rear and was the first into the rust-colored taxi, taking shotgun, as was his due as the officer in charge. His three companions squeezed into the back seat, grunting at the tight fit. Cigarette smoke filled the car's interior. The car boasted plastic-covered seats and a working meter.

  The DEA officer tossed his Marlboro out the window and turned his head to glance at Sam. "Welcome to hell," he rasped, his eyes glinting in the dark. Engaging the meter like he meant to charge them by the kilometer, he hammered the accelerator, flinging them all back in their seats as the taxi took off.

  Beyond the swinging crucifix that hung from the rearview mirror and the slapping windshield wipers that ticked like a time-bomb, the glow of Matamoros beckoned them into danger.

  Sam's resentment bubbled. The spitting sky, the time of year—late spring—and the circumstances of this op reminded him of an incident in high school, one that had formed his opinion of wealthy individuals, women especially. Back then, the source of his torment had been beautiful Wendy—daughter of a real estate tycoon, prom queen, and the biggest tease in the twelfth grade. If he'd known the outcome of his heroics, he would have let her suffer the consequences of her flirtatiousness. Instead, her hoarse screams coming from the bedroom at an after-prom party had awakened his protective instincts and sent him flying to her rescue.

  Streetwise, with a private crush on Wendy, Sam had thrashed her two male companions within an inch of their lives. He'd expected her to at least thank him, but she hadn't. Those boys had been her friends, after
all. And when her father demanded an explanation for her bruises, she had offered up Sam as a scapegoat.

  He'd suffered a month in prison while his stepfather scrounged up the money for a decent lawyer. But even then, being Latino, from the wrong neighborhood, he'd been cast into the role of criminal, and no one would see past the stereotype, so he'd left that life behind and joined the Navy.

  Since then, he had broken every stereotype into which he'd been cast, never quitting, until he'd become a warrior worthy of every man's respect—a U.S. Navy SEAL.

  Yet, here he was, as a Navy SEAL, putting himself and his teammates into peril for what?—to extricate the precious daughter of the CEO of Scott Oil Corporation? She'd gotten herself into this mess; she ought to have to figure her own way out.

  What the hell was she still doing here in Matamoros when drug lords ruled the city? Or was she just too pampered, too used to being coddled to realize what could happen to her in this lawless realm?

  He supposed he was about to find out. Right now, the only certainty was that if he failed in this mission to extract Lyle Scott's foolish daughter from this corrupted city, his career would be over—just like that. He could feel it in his bones. Everything he had fought so hard to accomplish could be stripped from him as if it had never happened. Why? Because the CEO of Scott Oil Corporation obviously had friends in high places, or this ridiculous waste of his time would not be happening.

  As water droplets on the windshield grew brighter, Sam's stomach knotted with the fear that history was about to repeat itself.

  Chapter 1

  The SEALs' instructions were to nab the recovery target when she least expected it. A note in her file had warned that she might resist leaving. Why? Was she crazy or something?

  The SEALs had reconnoitered El Santuario, the school for girls where she'd gone from testing their drinking water to protecting the students when their teachers up and abandoned them. For forty-eight hours, they'd taken note of routines, personnel, points of entry, and all exits. At precisely oh-four hundred hours, Sam and Bronco made their way through a light rain into the school yard, climbed onto the dormitory roof, and lowered themselves via a nylon climbing rope to Miss Scott's chamber. Haiku and Bullfrog secured the perimeter in the meantime.

  The first to arrive at her window, Sam struggled a moment to breach the locked shutter. When it released with a pop and swung open, the figure in the bed inside rolled over. Hanging one story from the cobbled courtyard, he waited for the occupant to resume sleeping before easing silently inside the chamber as Bronco made his own descent.

  Lowering the NVGs atop his helmet, Sam peered through them to make a positive ID. Madison Scott's honey-blond hair glowed neon green through his lenses. But the curve of her cheek and the peachy skin of one bare shoulder confirmed she was, indeed, their target. Her fresh beauty had taken him aback the first time he'd seen her while watching the schoolyard the previous morning. It did little to endear her to him; being even lovelier than Wendy indicated that Miss Scott would have a personality which was even more entitled, narcissistic, and downright spoiled.

  Bronco had just touched down into the room beside him, as stealthily as a Native American on the hunt, when Miss Scott rolled back over to face the ceiling. The prettiest tits this side of the Rio Grande glowed neon green in his NVGs, and Sam practically swallowed his tongue.

  Christ, he hadn't expected her to sleep naked. Bronco assessed the situation, choking back a chuckle while Sam commanded himself to announce their presence. But then a scream erupted out of the alley behind the school and Miss Scott lurched awake.

  * * *

  Maddy stared at the open window, alarm licking up her spine. She was certain she had closed the latch before going to bed.

  Beyond the netting draped over her bed, her vast chamber stood quiet and full of shadows. Drug lords prowled the streets of Matamoros preying on girls as young as thirteen. The wall around the school might be topped with broken glass, but it was only a matter of time before the predators found their way inside. Most of the teachers had departed at the mandatory evacuation for American citizens. Maddy, who'd been testing tap water in Northern Mexico, had recognized the students' plight and refused to leave them.

  Praying that the latch had simply worked itself loose, she peeled the sticky sheet off her naked body and scooted to the edge of the bed. She would cross the room swiftly and close it. But the rasp of a masculine chuckle drove a blade of terror straight through her heart.

  With a shriek, she scrambled back onto her mattress and away from the sound. The shadow she'd mistaken for her bureau detached itself from the wall. A large man closed in on her, muttering words she couldn't hear over the blood roaring in her ears. As he swiped aside the mosquito netting, she leaped off the far side of the bed, avoiding his outstretched hand.

  A squeal of panic betrayed her fear as she sprinted toward the door, plowing into a second man who blocked her path. Spinning about, she issued a full-blown scream when they boxed her in. A large hand clamped over her mouth. A thick arm banded her waist and plucked her off her feet. Caught up against what felt like a warm wall, Maddy fought desperately to free herself.

  How could this be happening? She'd stayed to protect the girls from human trafficking, yet here she was, about to disappear into the underworld, herself a victim!

  "Listen," commanded a gruff voice, shocking her by speaking in English. "We're not going to hurt you. I just said we're U.S. Navy SEALs," he insisted, repeating the words she must have missed earlier, "and we're here to take you home."

  Relief liquefied Maddy's bones. As she sagged against her captor, he removed his hand from her mouth freeing her to breathe again. But then the full meaning of his words registered, and resentment caused her to wrest free. She took two steps to the bed, stripped the sheet from it and wrapped it around her nakedness. How could you, Daddy? she seethed.

  She should have guessed he'd veto her decision to stay here. But U.S. Navy SEALs? Her father apparently had more clout than she realized.

  "Well, I'm sorry you've wasted your time," she said, smoothing the quaver in her voice, "because I'm not leaving."

  "You have to come with us, ma'am. We have our orders."

  Maddy kept her back to them. "I don't care about your orders. There are young women here who would be preyed upon in a matter of hours without someone to look after them."

  "Well, that someone won't be you," the operative retorted in such an implacable voice that she whirled around to look at him.

  His black hair and tanned complexion had made him appear Hispanic, which was why she'd assumed he was a local; only now, she could see that he was way too tall, his features distinctly Anglo.

  A glance at the other man left an impression of light eyes and a crooked smile. What were the odds that she could outwit them both and get away? Probably one in a million, but she had to try.

  "Fine," she conceded, thinking fast. "Just let me get dressed first. I need five minutes."

  "I'll give you one," countered the dark brute. "Find some clothes," he ordered nodding at her bureau.

  His high-handedness annoyed her; all the same Maddy pretended to obey. Feeling in the dark for a blouse, skirt, and sandals, she gathered them against her chest. "There's a bathroom in the hall." She backed toward the door. "I'll change in there and be right out."

  The SEALs exchanged a knowing look.

  "Negative," rapped the dark-haired one. "You'll change right here while we look the other way."

  Her heart thumped with aggravation. She had to get into the hall in order to escape their clutches. "I will not get dressed in front of you," she said through her teeth.

  "Then you'll leave town in the sheet you're wearing," he replied, eliciting a sound from his companion that ended in a cough.

  Maddy bit her lower lip. What other escape was there besides the hallway? Just the windows, one of which could only be reached by running between the SEALs. That left the window beside her bed. She pictured the one-s
tory drop to the grassy yard below. Could she even survive a fall like that? Possibly, if she rolled when she landed. And with enough of a lead on them, she could conceal herself where they'd never find her.

  Thinking of the girls who counted on her for protection, she determined that she really had no choice. "Turn your back," she heard herself say.

  When they both turned around, Maddy dropped the sheet. She burrowed into her blouse, stepped into her skirt, and jammed her feet into her sandals. Without a hint of warning, she swiveled toward the window, popped open the shutters, and heaved herself onto the sill, prepared to throw herself into the void.

  Heavy hands banded her waist, dragging her down and back into the room. "Let me go!" she ordered, kicking and squirming.

  The big SEAL tossed her onto the bed, where she promptly attempted to get up again. He tackled her into the mattress, subduing her struggles by pinning her with his weight.

  "Stop it!" Maddy railed. The only thing she could move was her head, so she brought it up hard. Crunch!

  "Shit!" He reared back, clutching his nose with one hand. "Damn it, woman! Are you crazy jumping out of a window like that?"

  "I told you, I won't leave."

  "The hell you won't. Bronco, hit her with a dose of Lorazepam."

  Bronco hovered uncertainly. "Are you sure, sir?"

  "You want to deal with a squirming lunatic all the way to the exfil?"

  Maddy gasped in outrage. "I am not a lunatic. I'm a United States citizen and I demand my right to self-determination!"

  "Overruled. Bronco, stick her now."

  With a move that Maddy hadn't anticipated, the SEAL rolled, pulling her with him and exposing her bottom to his companion. In the next instant, the tip of a needle pricked her right buttock. She lurched, tightening her muscles to ward off the intrusion, but the effect of the drug hit her almost instantly.