Hot SEALs: SEALed Fate (Kindle Worlds) (Deep Six Security #0)

by Becky McGraw

  “It’s a protection detail for a federal judge, a friend of Missy’s father, who’s getting death threats over a decision against a mobster. I’d love to give it to you, so we can keep you occupied until the shipping contract comes through. We really need you for that.” Zane’s eyes shifted to the yellow legal pad on the table again. “But I, ah, I’m not sure you’d want this job.”

  Protection detail? Federal judge? A shiver snaked down Jaxson’s spine. God, there had to be something else he could do. But if this was all GAPS had, he’d definitely take it. He wasn’t sure Zane was thinking about the possible ramifications though.

  “Considering my exit from the teams involved a federal judge, and what happened with the protection detail I just screwed up for Deep Six, I don’t think it would be smart of you to put me, the FNG with your new company, on one of your protection details right out of the gate. Especially one protecting a federal judge.”

  God, why in the hell was he talking Zane out of hiring him?

  Because you care about and respect them, he answered. Jax had been to hell and back with these men, counted on them to watch his six in every hellhole in the world, just like he’d watched theirs. He did not want to see them make a mistake that could hurt their new company, so he felt obligated to make that point, just as he’d felt obligated to give full disclosure to Zane about the situation with Deep Six as soon as they sat down.

  Zane finally looked at him again. “Yeah, I know what you said happened, but from the sounds of it that screw up in Dallas wasn’t a screw up—it was a set-up of some kind. Did you mention that to your boss?”

  Changing the subject, redirecting to another, avoiding making eye contact with Jax—definitely not the signs of a man who was being totally forthcoming or honest. They both knew that from their prisoner interrogation training in the SEAL teams. That made Jax wonder why Zane was doing it. Something was worrying him about this protection detail, but he didn’t want to tell him what that was for some reason.

  “No, Deep Six is damned good and Slade will figure it out. I didn’t have proof and thought the best thing I could do for them was get the hell out of Dodge to save their contract.” Leaning in closer, Jax jerked the pen out of Zane’s fingers and he finally made direct eye contact. “Just cut through the shit, Zane. Tell me what’s worrying you about this job? Why can’t one of the other guys do it?” If they didn’t want it, the odds were Jax shouldn’t either.

  “I want to give you the job to keep you around until we get the shipping contract, but I’m not sure if you’ll want it once you find out who the federal judge is. I can ask Chris if he wants to do it—or maybe Rick, but they probably don’t want it either. I know one damned thing, I sure can’t take it.”

  “Nah, starting tomorrow I’ll be on overtime at the nuke plant. They’re having a turnaround,” Rick shouted from the kitchen, his voice terse. “Jon and Chris are going to Abu Dhabi in a few days to scout out another potential client. I hope like hell they shake something loose, because I’m damned tired of being trapped in this house with nothing to do but listen to Cassidy and my sister having sex.” Rick grabbed a wad of steel wool and squirted some soap on it to scrub whatever he had in the sink. “He didn’t tell you?”

  Jax tensed and even though he sort of didn’t want to know now, he had to know. “Why would you think I wouldn’t want the job? Who’s the judge?”

  “Does the name Fallon Sharpe ring a bell?” Zane asked, with a long-winded sigh.

  Judge John Sharpe’s daughter? Hell, it was a name he wasn’t likely to forget in this lifetime.

  “Is John Sharpe the federal judge?” Jax asked, his blood freezing in his veins. “Are they threatening his family too?” Jax did the math in his head, taking the fact he knew she’d been a twenty-six year old college co-ed in Cancun, and added the five years he’d been gone from the teams. “Fallon is like thirty now, right? Is she still living at home?”

  That would not surprise Jax one bit. That woman looked like ten clicks of fucking weedy jungle that no machete was going to help. If she ever got a man to look at her, he’d still head for the hills as soon as she opened her mouth. That mouth had more razorblades in it than the wire that had lined their forward base in Fallujah.

  “Isn’t that the frizzy-haired redhead we rescued from that cartel in Cancun with her hot sister and friends? The one who accused you of making time with her sister on the mission? The woman directly responsible for you being discharged?” Rick asked his voice angry.

  “That’s the one,” Zane admitted, but dropped his eyes back to the pad again. “But she isn’t living at home, and this has nothing to do with her father. She’s the federal judge who’s pissed off the East Coast mafia.” Zane finally met and held his gaze. “I would’ve turned it down, but my girlfriend Missy’s dad asked, and since he funds GAPS, I couldn’t very well say no. Fallon also specifically wants a SEAL for the job, since she’s so…familiar with our capabilities.” Zane forced a smile. “So, do you want to have another go with Frumpy Fallon, or not?”

  Forget the thousands—that was the sixty-four million dollar question. His stomach did a somersault as he considered his options.

  “I wouldn’t fucking take it if you paid me a million dollars.” Rick growled mimicking Jax’s thought, as his whole body shook with the muscle he was putting into scrubbing. “I can’t see how Jax would want it either considering what she did to him. I’d want to kill her, not protect her.”

  Tick, tick, tick. The clock behind Jax somewhere in the house timed his thoughts. Where in the hell would he go if he didn’t take the job? His mother’s house in Colorado where she was shacking up with the flavor of the month? Maybe his sister’s place in St. Louis where she was going to school? Even if he did that, there would still be the problem of not having a job. He was not going to live off his sister like it looked Rick had chosen to do until he figured out what he wanted to do with his life after the teams.

  “I’ll take it, but you need to forewarn her who is coming to protect her. Make sure she knows ahead of time and is in agreement.” And let her know that she might well be in more danger of dying at her bodyguard’s hand than she is from the mob if she opens that mouth of hers.

  He and Rick were definitely on the same page there too.

  The only hope Jax had of getting out of this job was Fallon Sharpe’s refusal to let him be her bodyguard. If she still hated him as much as her father did, she definitely would, and Jax almost hoped she did. That meant both he and Zane would be off the hook.

  One thing was for sure—none of the Sharpes could hate him more than he despised them. Actually doing this job, if Fallon Sharpe accepted, would be one of the toughest things he’d ever done in his life. That was saying a lot for a former Team Six SEAL.

  But because Jax was a SEAL, he had purposely signed up for the dirty jobs nobody else wanted to—or could—do. It looked like his assignments in the civilian career he’d chosen wouldn’t be any cleaner. The only thing he could do is just what he’d done with the teams.

  Deal with it and get the job done.

  If Fallon Sharpe accepted his protection, he would safeguard the one woman on earth he wouldn’t mind seeing dead to make sure she stayed alive to harass someone else.

  Who knew, maybe in the process of protecting her, Fallon would have an opportunity to see firsthand the skills that she’d denied the SEAL teams, the country who’d spent so much money training him, by tattling to her daddy and jumping to conclusions about him that were dead wrong.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The doorbell rang, and Fallon Sharpe almost jumped out of her skin. Her gaze flew to the door and her hand shook, her heart raced as she fumbled under the couch cushion for her gun. When she finally found it, her hands were shaking so badly she juggled the gun before getting a good hold on the grip. Lessons learned in her concealed carry class the week before ran through her mind like a movie on fast forward as she crept toward the door.

  If I shoot him, I have to rend
er aid. That could be as simple as dropping a Kleenex over the bullet wound, before calling 9-1-1. But that was putting the cart before the horse. Fallon had to shoot him first and not miss.

  Oh, God—was it the center of the chest or the head she was supposed to aim at?

  By the time she reached the long window beside the front door, Fallon’s heart was a mere quiver in her chest. She streaked by the window to press her back against the wall, and a bead of sweat streaked down between her breasts. Swallowing hard as the bell rang again, she reached across her body with her left hand to lift the sheers to see who was there. The man’s body froze, and Fallon whimpered as she dropped the curtain back in place.

  He’d seen her—and this guy was definitely not a Navy SEAL. No camo or war paint, no big guns strapped across his chest. He wore pressed khaki pants, and a red polo shirt. His hair was too long, and the sunglasses too dark. And her protector from that security firm in Virginia wasn’t supposed to arrive in Washington until tomorrow. That’s what Senator Greenwood told her yesterday when she spoke to him.

  It had to be one of East Coast Willie's goombahs.

  Fear sliced through her as Fallon ran like a bat out of hell for her bedroom. Her leg caught the sharp corner of the coffee table, but the pain didn’t register in her frozen brain and neither did the fact that her cell phone was on the tabletop.

  Fallon didn’t stop until she was inside her bedroom and the door was locked. She leaned against the door for a second to gather herself, but when her brain finally kicked into gear, she realized she had no phone. Next, she realized that leaning on this door meant she was right in the line of fire if the thug shot through the thin wood door.

  Running to the far side of the bed, Fallon crouched down, her body shaking like she was freezing to death, and she probably was, with fear. That assassin on her doorstep wore death like a dark cloud over his head. He might as well have been wearing a black cloak and have a sickle in his hand like in the movies. It was obvious to Fallon from the deep grooves in his unsmiling face, the tenseness in his hard body he was a trained killer. He’d been sent here by Willie to kill her for having the gall to bring him to justice and give him the jail time he deserved.

  If she didn’t, who else would? Not her estranged father, who was only estranged because she refused to heed his cowardly advice to take a dive and let the bastard off.

  Not without a fight, bucko.

  Kneeling, Fallon balanced the shaking pistol on the bed to steady it so she could take better aim at the door. If that man walked through her bedroom door, she was going to shoot him. Even if he turned and ran when he saw her gun. Screw the instructor in that handgun class. This bastard was in her house and the instructor was not.

  Fallon knew he was in the house too because she’d heard the front doorknob rattle, the scraping on the deadbolt and the squeaky tumble as it released as she ran for the bedroom. Further proof this man was a professional assassin.

  Gripping the pistol tighter with every second she waited, Fallon’s finger got closer to the well of the trigger. She knew she was supposed to keep it flush with the body of the semi-automatic pistol, above the trigger well, but she wanted to be ready.

  More than ready.

  Shoving her finger into the circle, she rested it on the curve of the trigger and tensed. The doorknob barely turned before the bedroom door swung inward, and even though no one filled the doorway, Fallon closed her eyes and pulled the trigger. When it didn’t squeeze and no explosion came, her heart stopped.

  The safety!

  Fallon’s eyes flew open in time to see a blur as someone dove inside the bedroom door, as she fought frantically to release the safety latch. It finally clicked off, and Fallon tried to raise the pistol again, but a large hand snatched it from her before her back slammed hard into the carpet and a hard body covered her. Wide shoulders pinned her to the floor and hands like vises held her hands above her head.

  “Who else is in this house?” her assassin growled, breathing hard near her ear.

  Buddy, if you think I’m going to tell you that I’m alone you have another think coming.

  “My Navy SEAL boyfriend is in the bathroom and is going to kick your ass in about thirty seconds,” Fallon forced past her fear-frozen vocal cords. She was pleased when his big body tensed, so she decided to press her point. “His whole damned platoon is coming over for a barbecue in ten minutes.” Three quick, hot breaths in her ear raised every hair on her body.

  “Platoon?” he replied with what sounded like a chuckle, as he released her wrists to push up to his feet. He reached a hand down to help her up. “Well, I guess I better be on my way then before the Army gets here.”

  Was he leaving? Relief flowed through Fallon and her confidence built as she ignored his hand to get to her feet by herself. But she wasn’t out of the woods yet. She tried to squeeze past him to run for her cell phone, but he blocked her as he bent to pick up her pistol. When he stood with it in his hand, a whimper slipped past her lips, but he didn’t point it at her, he reached behind him to stuff it into the waistband of his slacks.

  One corner of his firm lips kicked up. “I’ll just take this with me to make sure you don’t shoot yourself, or your boyfriend. If I were your Navy SEAL boyfriend, Judge Sharpe, I’d teach you how to handle a pistol before I put one in your hand. Do you know how many people get killed by criminals using their incompetent victim’s own gun against them?”

  This man—this criminal—was giving her a lecture on gun safety? “East Coast Willie must be short on Goodfellas if you’re the best he had to send to kill me.”

  “East Coast Willie?” the man asked with a laugh.

  “The gangster who put a hit out on me. Your boss?”

  The man’s clean-shaven jaw tightened, deepening the dimple in his cheek. “Zane Alexander is my boss, but I may just kill him.” He huffed a breath. “He didn’t tell you who was coming to protect you did he?”

  “No, Senator Greenwood just said it was a former Navy SEAL, and if that’s you…”

  Fallon really looked at the man glaring down at her. The grooves in his face were deeper now, especially around his deep blue eyes like he’d had a hard time recently. His mouth was tighter showing his strain too, but his hard body was sure the same. The muscles of his biceps stretched the red polo to its ripping point at the hems of the sleeves, and there was no mistaking his clearly defined chest muscles under the tightly fitted shirt.

  Without the black face paint he’d worn when he and his team rescued Fallon, her sister and Hannah’s friends, the only time she’d seen Jaxson Thomas, his piercing blue eyes were a little less piercing. But the air of arrogant confidence surrounding this man was the same. It was no less daunting than it had been when he and his friends led them from that dark, smelly room in that cartel stronghold, right past the drug lords guarding them, without firing a single bullet from the heavy guns strapped to their broad chests.

  They were like freaking ninjas they were so quiet that night. The cartel hadn’t even realized that eight U.S. Navy SEALs had infiltrated their compound to steal their hostages. Those men were that good, and that’s why Fallon had specifically asked Senator Greenwood, the man who’d helped her father arrange their rescue from Cancun, to find her a Navy SEAL to protect her, instead of accepting the newbie federal agent the FBI had offered her until they figured out who was threatening her.

  Never in a million years though would she have expected this man would be the Navy SEAL sent to protect her, but fate evidently had a sense of humor. She hoped her new bodyguard did too, because what she had to tell him could get her killed faster than the mob hit, if not. But Fallon was all about efficiency, so this could work out. It would give her a few weeks to smooth over what happened after Cancun with him, and have protection until the FBI figured out who was trying to kill her.

  There was no figuring it out. Fallon knew it was East Coast Willie.

  The arrogant wink and air kiss the gangster threw her while being handcu
ffed in her courtroom after sentencing, told her it was Willie. He wanted his revenge for her sentence of ten years without probation. Now he had even more reason to want her dead. Through the luck of the assignment draw, Fallon was to now to preside over his nephew Peter’s trial on the same charges. Same charges, same prosecutor, same judge and probably same defense counsel—how could the outcome be any different than Willie’s conviction and jail time?

  The mobsters knew that too.

  Since Peter Crifaso was the second in command in the family, if he went to jail, that would be the beginning of the end for the crime family. It wasn’t difficult to see that their solution was to put an end to her before the trial, because she refused to recuse herself, so another more liberal judge like her father could let them off.

  Being notified by the FBI mob unit last week that there was a contract hit out on her wasn’t a big surprise, but it was terrifying. Fallon had been locked up in her house since then, because she knew running until the trial date came wasn’t going to do her any good. Their reach was probably long and they would find her.

  “Why in the world would you agree to protect me?” she asked, twisting her hands trying to decide if she should request someone else.

  Considering their history, what she’d been instrumental in doing to him, it was confusing to her why Jaxson Thomas would accept the assignment to protect her. Was he still angry enough to want to sit back and watch while Willie’s hitman did him a favor?

  “You ordered up a Navy SEAL, lady, and you got one,” Jaxson Thomas replied arrogantly, then narrowed his disconcerting eyes. “Oh, yeah—make that former SEAL because of you.”

  Oh yeah, he was definitely still angry enough. Fallon stepped back, but he took a step to close the space, effectively trapping her in front of her nightstand.

  “I’m not any happier about me being here than you are about having me here. Tell me to leave and I will because that gets me off the hook with Zane, and it wouldn’t bother me a damned bit if East Coast Willie did to you what I’ve been dreaming of doing for five years.”