by Leslie North
15
Vann glanced across the office at Mercy, who was sitting in one of the chairs in front of Jace’s desk, wrapped in a blanket, and giving her statement to a police officer. “Like I said, I didn’t get a good look at him. He was medium height, muscular build. That’s about all I know. And his voice….” She visibly shuddered and it took all of Vann’s willpower to remain where he stood and not rush to her side to comfort her. “I’ll never forget that voice. If I heard it again, I’m sure I’d recognize it.”
“Jesus. Hard to believe Frank Sutton’s dead.” This came from Mark, who’d returned early from his vacation with Geneva. You could take the SEAL out of Brothers in Arms, but you couldn’t take the Brothers In Arms out of the SEAL apparently. “Figured he’d have some kind of security, being a candidate and all. Especially after Tim Rigsdale’s murder. He had to have known he’d be a target.”
Vann shrugged. “Maybe the shooter was his security. Not uncommon for radicals to go undercover to get their target. Besides, I’m guessing the guy was pretty desperate. Seeing his hopes and dreams go up in flames like that. He’d always been clear about his priorities, even back in his SEAL days—fame, fortune, leisure. With the police investigating his ties to Rigsdale and those SEAL murders, his chances for election got farther and farther away.”
Jace snorted. He hadn’t looked at or spoken to Vann since he and Mercy had arrived. “You’d know all about watching dreams go up in flames, wouldn’t you dude?”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Vann stepped toward him, not ready to let a comment like that slide, especially after he’d already apologized.
“Can we cut the testosterone crap?” Mark growled, ever the voice of reason. “You guys need to handle whatever this shit is between you so we can move on with things, okay?”
Jace rolled his eyes and turned away. “He’s the one with the problem, not me.”
“What are you, two years old?” Vann scowled. “I said I was sorry about earlier. What else do you want from me, man?”
“I want you to make a choice about your life so the rest of us can figure out where to go from here.” Jace raked a hand through his hair and glanced at Mercy then back to Vann. “You need to do this, man.”
“What the hell is he talking about?” Mark sat back, resting his splinted hand on his desk.
“I’m thinking of cutting back my hours here at the compound, maybe helping the police track whoever’s murdering these SEALs, see if I can find out who tried to kill you, Mark, and see if it’s the same people who tried to off Mercy and me in the woods. I want to make more of a contribution and I feel like I can do that outside of here.”
“Oh.” Mark blinked and sat back in his seat. “Wow. Okay. So you want to give up your partnership?”
“No.” Vann pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t want to leave, I just want to try some new stuff too, utilize all of my skills. Does that make sense?”
“You okay with this?” Mark hiked his chin toward Jace.
“I’m fine with it, if it’s what he wants.”
“You’ll have to take on more classes,” Mark said to him.
“Good.” Jace smiled. “I liked teaching the class and I think I’m pretty good at it too. The whole group’s going to graduate now.” He winced. “Well, except Mercy, of course.”
The cops excused themselves and left and Mercy joined them, slipping her arm around Vann’s waist. He still couldn’t quite get over the fact that she was back in his life, but he’d be damned if he’d let her go again. He still hadn’t quite worked out all the logistics, but if they had to do the long-distance thing for a while, he’d make it work.
“What about me?” she asked Jace.
“I was just saying the rest of your group is nearing graduation,” he gave her a sheepish grin.
“That’s fantastic.” She squeezed Vann and smiled. “I’m disappointed I won’t be able to stay to see the ceremony.”
“What? Why?” Vann frowned down at her. “I thought you changed your flight. Aren’t you staying a few more days, at least?”
She sighed and held up her phone. “I was, but my parents need me to fly to Paris with our legal team to negotiate the contract for our new location there.”
“Wouldn’t the person they hire for the international job do that?” he asked, confused.
“Yep.” Her grin widened. “That’s me!”
“Wait. Seriously?” He whooped loud and swung her up into his arms. “They gave you the job even though you didn’t graduate from the program?”
“Yes!” She laughed and kissed him quick before he put her down. “My mom is still nervous about it, but my dad said for her not to worry. They’re going to hire a bodyguard to accompany me. They said there’s no one more qualified or better suited for the position.”
“Have to say I agree, suyeta. Though I don’t like the thought of another man protecting you.”
“Hmm.” She winked at him. “I figured as much, mon cher. That’s why I told them I already had a man in mind. That’s if you want the job, of course.”
It took a moment for her words to penetrate the thoughts whirling through Vann’s brain. “You want me to be your bodyguard?”
“You did say you wanted to utilize more than just your teaching skills,” Mark said.
“And you are already way overprotective of her bod, bro.” Jace snorted.
“I don’t know.” He slumped down into a seat. “What if your parents don’t like me? I haven’t even interviewed for the job. Maybe I’m not the best candidate.”
“Well, I’ve booked you onto the same flight with me to New Orleans tonight, so you better make up your mind.” She crouched in front of him, her hair still tousled from the wind and her clothes still smelling of the sun and sea. There seemed to be a new confidence about Mercy now, still tentative, yet growing stronger with each passing minute. Perhaps facing death on her own and surviving had given her a new perspective on life. A sort of vision quest all her own. He stroked her cheek and she leaned into his touch, smiling. “In case you were wondering, there’s no one else I’d want by my side in a crisis. You are and will always be the best candidate for me, Vann Highrider.”
“Yeah?” A slow smile started, growing wider as he imagined meeting her parents, her brothers, maybe buying a ring someday. Nothing like diving in with both feet, eh? “Okay.”
“Okay.” Mercy kissed him again while the guys cleared their throats and looked away. “Maybe later, we can christen that rock wall in the gym. You know, like we did out at the pool?”
Vann’s smile exploded into a full-blown grin as he pulled Mercy onto his lap. “As long as we take all the necessary safety precautions.”
“Yeah?” she asked, cuddling into him.
“Oh, yeah,” Vann said, holding her tight. “You’ll always be safe with me, suyeta.”
Epilogue
I love Paris in the spring time,
I love Paris in the faa-all,
I love Paris in the win-ter,
I love Paris in the sum mmerrrr.
“Dude, what the hell is that racket?” Jace demanded as Vann quickly stepped out onto the balcony.
“Uh, that would be Mercy singing.” Vann was grinning ear to ear as he watched his friend rub his ear while they chatted on FaceTime.
“Seriously? How often does she do that?”
Vann laughed as he looked out at their view of the Eiffel Tower. “It’s not so bad. I’m sort of used to it.”
“That? Fuck, dude, you have it bad,” Jace informed him, shaking his head.
“Vann, what do you think?” Mercy called out.
Turning, Vann’s mouth dropped open as he looked at his Mercy dressed in a lace push-up bra, matching panties with a garter attached and real stockings. She sat on the edge of their bed with one leg crossed, her feet wrapped in some sort of dainty slipper. Was that feathers on top?
Vann’s mouth opened and closed a couple times unable to form words as he looked at t
he vision in pink.
“Turn the phone around,” Jace called out from his forgotten phone chat.
Remembering his phone, he mumbled, “Never gonna happen,” before disconnecting the chat. Stalking back into their hotel room, he tossed the phone on the table.
“Was that Jace?” Mercy asked, shifting to watch him cover the distance between them.
Vann wasn’t in the mood to talk about his friend but he could tell by the look on her face that if he hoped to have any fun, he’d better answer.
“I thought you were still on a conference call.” Damn, why didn’t he simply answer the question?
Bouncing her foot, Vann shifted his gaze to watch her calf as it flexed. “Meeting ended early. Contracts are signed and will be messengered over to the hotel tomorrow. We have the rest of the week together, so I thought I’d put something special on to celebrate. You like?” This was not the same Mercy he’d first found dangling four feet off the ground. In the two months since they’d returned to New Orleans and she stepped into her new role as VP of International Relations, she’d blossomed.
“Was that Jace?” Mercy repeated, looking at him with a sultry smile on her face. Vann hadn’t realized that he’d stopped walking until he caught a look at his reflection and consciously shut his mouth. Not sure he could speak, he nodded his head, swallowing the sudden dryness in his throat. Pivoting suddenly, he grabbed a bottled water off the tray on the table and twisted the cap. Taking several swallows, he looked back at Mercy. From the look on her face, he must have missed something she said.
“Did you say something else?” He couldn’t believe how much of an idiot he sounded like. If the guys ever got wind of this, they’d never let him live it down. Simply looking at her left him speechless and turned his brain to mush.
Mercy smirked seeming to realize the power she was wielding over him. “I asked if there was any news.”
Shaking his head, he forced himself to form sentences. “No news, other than the FBI has started snooping around.”
Deciding that the time for conversation was over, he put the cap back on the bottle and dropped it on the floor. Toeing off his shoes, he reached for the buttons on his dress shirt having taken his jacket off as soon as they’d returned to their hotel room. While he loved working with Mercy, he was far more comfortable in jeans than suits but he needed to dress the part, which meant fitting in to his surroundings.
As he undressed, he watched Mercy’s interest shift as she watched him and he bit back a groan when she licked her lips. Tugging his shirt off, he dropped it where he stood before reaching for the belt buckle. With one quick release, he popped the button on his pants and drew the zipper down sliding his pants down his legs and stepping out of them.
Mercy chuckled when she saw that he wasn’t wearing any underwear and he bit back a grin before launching himself onto the bed, his arm sliding around her waist as he easily dragged her up toward the pillows before settling her down and lying next to her.
“So, I take it, you like the outfit, mon cher?” she asked him, her grin ever wider as he nuzzled against her neck. “Because I’m thinking that with all the time we’ll be spending in Paris, I need to seriously rethink what I wear under my clothes and what better place to shop?”
With a growl, Vann dragged her closer to him as he shifted so he was now towering over her. “Suyeta, if you insist on wearing attire such as this under your business clothes, I suspect that very little business will take place as I’ll be too busy undressing you.” Dropping his head, he kissed the tops of her breasts before slowly starting to work his way down her body. “Come to think of it that sounds like a really good idea.”
FBI agent, Felicity Belasko, sat in an over-sized armchair, her legs tucked comfortably under her. Sipping her wine, she held her tablet against the chair’s sidearm tapping through the Brothers In Arms Facebook page, looking at the pictures. The file she’d read indicated that the company had gone into considerable debt with their expansion efforts and according to subpoenaed files, they’d lost a few corporate contracts, which had to hurt. Yet, the recent rash of bad publicity hadn’t seemed to slow them down in the slightest. It looked to be business as usual if the gushing client comments were to be believed, leaving her to wonder about their involvement in the recent SEAL homicides. Was Brothers In Arms only a cover for something far more sinister? Part of her doubted some of the allegations floating around but Felicity didn’t get to where she was without trusting her gut instinct.
Coming across a photo of Jace wearing nothing but shorts and sneakers, his body glistening in the sun as he stood atop a boulder, she swiped out with two fingers, to enlarge the photo. Running her finger lightly across his image, she stared at him absentmindedly as she took another sip of her wine before murmuring to herself.
“What are you up to, Jace Stevens?”
End of SEAL Protector
Brothers In Arms Book Two
PLUS: Should you mix business with pleasure? Keep reading for an exclusive excerpt from Leslie North’s bestselling novel “His Stubborn Lover”.
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BLURB
When your job is protecting people, the first rule is…never mix business with pleasure.
Keira Mantz has been given the job of a lifetime, and she refuses to fail. Trained as part of an elite security team, her first mission is to protect the Sheikh of Jawhara and his wife. What she thought would be a solo operation, though, is suddenly a two-person job. Her partner is none other than Brock Wells, the Viking-like team member who trained her. The last thing Keira wants is Brock stealing her thunder, but she’ll do whatever it takes to succeed—even if it means pretending to be in love.
When Brock finds Keira in a bar fight and offers her a place on the team, he knows she is the right choice. With her mile-long legs, fierce determination, and unwavering focus, he has no doubt she can hold her own. But with the threat to the Sheikh closer than they realized, Brock has no choice but to intervene. To give them the cover they need, they’ll have to act like they’re a couple. Although Brock told himself he’d never get close to another woman, the job always comes first.
When their ruse becomes a little too real, can Keira and Brock risk letting their guards down, or will admitting their feelings put others’ lives in danger?
Get your copy of His Stubborn Lover from:
www.LeslieNorthBooks.com
EXCERPT
Brock Wells exited the bar, heading for his ’66 Mustang. The twang of a sad love song followed him out, and his head buzzed with the four beers he’d had. The team had just finished a training operation in South America and Slade had given everyone some much needed time off—meaning Brock had come home hoping to find some female company.
He’d hit a bar that was a ways off from his usual haunts, looking for a stranger with doe eyes and a body that could make him forget just about everything. Tonight, however, his batting average was about as good as the one of whoever wrote that love song.
Well, it was probably better this way. Slade had no rules against team members getting hooked up outside of the teams, but he also didn’t like sending anyone into the thick of things if they had attachments. That was where Brock liked to be—in the middle of the worst trouble. This meant that Brock liked his girls for one night only, and every girl in that bar had had the hungry look of a woman hunting a man.
It looked like it was going to be an early night with t
he UFC channel and a few more beers for him.
Glimpsing movement from the corner of his eye—three figures under the glare of the parking lot lights—Brock stopped, and everything else went into automatic assessment. Some habits never went away, and the ones from his days as a SEAL were deeply ingrained.
Two guys, one woman—and yeah, he wasn’t being paid by Slade for this one, but he also wasn’t wired to look away. He headed over, took up a spot that gave him the advantage, since it put him right behind the guy holding the knife, and boxed the trio against a battered pickup. He offered a friendly grin. “Looks like a party.”
The two guys—good ol' boys by the looks of the wife-beater shirts and sagging jeans, and none too smart to go by the eyes glazed by drink and drugs—glanced at each other. The guy without a knife nodded at the half-empty parking lot. “Get lost.”
Brock shrugged to loosen his shoulders. “Let the girl go and I won’t have to mess up this crappy spot with your even crappier blood. I’m only asking once.”
The girl had guts enough. She kept hold of one guy’s wrist—the guy with the knife—but she glanced at Mr. Mouthy and said, her voice low and firm, “Please, I changed my mind, Toad.”
“Toad?” Brock laughed. “Seriously, dude? That’s your handle? Okay, we’re done here.” He brought his hand down on the shoulder of the guy with the knife—hard enough for the guy to let out a grunt.
Brock spun him around, punched him once in his soft gut. Not smart, dude, to let yourself go like that. The guy doubled over, spilling out whiskey-soaked breath. Brock snapped the knife from the guy’s limp hand. It clattered to the asphalt. A jerk back and the guy lay flat on the ground, on his back. Brock kicked the knife away and glanced at Toad—Mr. Mouthy. “You want a go? Your choice.”