“Reeves,” his CO barked.
No telling what the guy would say. He deserved the worst of it, no doubt. “Sir.”
There was a long silence, and then his CO nodded his head. “Job well done, son.”
Everything surrounding Operation Cinderella was then complete.
Epilogue
‡
Three semesters later…
Trace stood and stared. It’d been hours since Delta had landed back on US soil. He had places to go, things to do—major things to do—today. But he couldn’t. Not until he drove over to Arlington and stood amongst the sea of white tombstones.
His throat was tight, his eyes blurry. God, he hadn’t been back here in… well, it’d been too long. The cemetery wasn’t where he’d felt his brother, and until today, he hadn’t needed to be there.
“I think you would’ve liked her, bro.” He narrowed his eyes at Michael’s grave. “Cool chick and all, but she’s a good one.”
The whisper of a breeze teased over his skin. He was a solid hour’s drive away from Marlena’s campus, and he should’ve left already, but it just wasn’t happening. Instead, he sat on the grass and cracked open a beer.
“Thing about her… I just need her. She makes it better. Makes you better. And, since you’ve been gone—” Fuck, blurry eyes and all. “Time passes slower without you, except when she’s there. And when she is, I can breathe.”
After a few slow swigs of beer, he gazed into the sky. “She’s my family, the only one I’ve got. Funny, I’m hers too. And she wouldn’t think I’m crazy for talking to a headstone.”
Trace stood up. “So, I guess since you’re up there and all, you might know my next move. But I just needed to run things by you. I love you, man.” He looked at his watch. “About that time. Well, past that time. I guess I’m late.” He tucked the remaining cans from the six-pack next to a tiny American flag and patted the white stone twice. “Wish me luck.”
*
“Marlena McCloud.” The announcer’s voice echoed over the PA system as she stepped forward. “Graduating with honors with a joint bachelor’s and master’s degree in biological engineering.”
She walked across the stage, took her diploma, and shook the hand of the dean of the engineering school. “Congratulations.”
As she stepped offstage, she scanned the crowd… Trace! He’d sworn he’d be back before she graduated. She had no idea where he’d been, but he’d made a promise and kept it. Even if he was standing in the aisle, wearing tactical pants and a dark T-shirt, he was there. With her mother looking down—proudly, Marlena was sure—from heaven, and her father definitely grumbling her successes from a jail cell, Trace was the only person who’d be there to cheer on her graduation. The guy never let her down.
Instead of following the classmate in front of her, she skipped out of line and beelined it for Trace. “Hi, baby.”
“Hey.”
She had his brother’s dog tags in her pocket. Trace had sworn that it was his most prized possession and that she should keep them with her for good luck on her big day.
Filled with confidence and holding her diploma up, she said, “Proves I’m a smarty-pants.”
“Already knew that.” He kissed her lips, making her stomach flip as it always did when he held her close. “But if you were looking for proof, I’d say that gig contracting for the military screams ‘beauty and brains.’”
“Nothing about that job says ‘beauty.’”
He laughed against her lips. “Good thing you have me to remind you.”
She kissed him again. “How was work? When’d you get back? Exciting stuff?”
“Got back a little bit ago. Had to talk to someone.” He shrugged, tucking her against his side. “The job was more exciting than this graduation ceremony. Let’s go somewhere.”
“Where are we headed?” They filed out, and she unzipped the black gown and hat, dumping them in the rental-return box as they passed the doors.
“Doesn’t matter.”
The sun beamed overhead. Parents and guests milled around the school grounds. She and Trace walked across the grassy field where Screen on the Green had been more than a year ago.
“Don’t forget this.” She took Michael’s dog tags and pressed them into his hand. “I’d die if I misplaced them.”
He clasped her hand in his, locking the tags in their grip. “Nah, you wouldn’t lose them.”
“I know, but still.”
“But still, my ass.” Swinging her around in front of him, he smiled more than normal. “Trade you for them.”
“Ha. Like there’s anything on earth more important than those tags.”
“How about…” He pulled a black box out of his pocket. “You try again, Cinderella.”
Holy moly. That was a ring box. “Are you kidding me?”
Trace shook his head. “What do you think?”
“What do I think? I think you’re crazy.”
“You already knew that.” His laugh warmed her from the inside out.
“Then I think you’re…”
“That I’m what? In love with you? Found my place, my calm in you? Because that’s all true. But I lost myself and found myself, all because of you, Mar. I don’t have anybody else. I don’t want anyone else. But you, you get me. I get you. We’re screwed in the head and balance out perfect.”
“And that’s okay.” She nodded because it was who they were, and it was true. “You think we’ve got a shot at forever?”
He squeezed her into a hug. “I know we do. You saved me, and nothing can take us down. Think you can handle a Delta ghost?”
“Hell, yes.” She curled into his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck before he could make her focus on the box again.
“Good.” Trace kissed her. “Because there’s no one in the world who can love you like I do.”
“That’s the truth.” She kissed him quiet and hugged him close. “Hooyah.”
The End
About The Author
Cristin Harber is a USA Today Bestselling romance author. She writes sexy, steamy romantic suspense and military romance. Fans voted her onto Amazon’s Top Picks for Debut Romance Authors in 2013, and her debut Titan series was a #1 romantic suspense, #1 military romance, and a USA Today Top 100 bestseller.
She lives outside Washington, DC with her family and English Bulldog.
Contact Cristin Harber for more book information at:
Newsletter | Facebook | Twitter | Website | Email
Books by Cristin Harber
The Titan Series:
Winters Heat
Garrison’s Creed
Westin’s Chase
Gambled
Chased
Savage Secrets
Hart Attack (Coming Fall 2014)
Parker’s book (Coming late 2014)
Sweet Girl (Contemporary Romance Prequel to Garrison’s Creed)
The Delta Series:
Delta: Retribution
Contact Cristin Harber for more information at:
Newsletter | Facebook | Twitter | Website | Email
Watch Over Me
An Uncharted SEAL story
Delilah Devlin
Deke Warrick’s unsanctioned detail is to keep tabs on a congressman’s niece while she vacations in the Caribbean. He’s determined to keep his distance from the beautiful Nicky Martir, but finds his limits tested when Nicky sets out to seduce him.
What seemed like a simple mission becomes deliciously complicated—and then dangerous, when she’s snatched from their hotel room.
Warning: This story is an erotic romance—emphasis on the erotic!
Chapter One
‡
Deke Warrick pushed his sunglasses down his nose to peer at the woman stretched on a chaise not five feet away. She laid face down, her head turned away, thick brown hair held in place by a clip. From the slowness of her breaths, he knew she was dozing. And since he figured she wouldn’t be leaving the beach anytime soon,
he relaxed, forcing his fingers to stretch around the teak wood arms of his lounge chair.
After two connecting flights and a short leg in a specially chartered puddle-jumper, at last he had eyes on Nicky Martir. He knew the woman was her because a hotel staff member he’d bribed had pointed her out. Assistance he’d needed because at the moment she didn’t look anything like the air-brushed Facebook photo he’d been given. After finding her, he’d checked out the hotel’s parking and lounge area, all entrances and exits, the stairwells, and then greased the palms of the concierge and wait staff. His initial recon over, he now had time to focus on his target.
From his vantage point, he’d already determined his former commander’s “little girl” was all grown up. In fact, she was a very well-proportioned woman with lush curves above and below a narrow waist. Must have taken after her mother, he mused, because her father’s frame didn’t sport an ounce of excess flesh. At the moment, her bottom was most prominent—rounded, firm, and displayed all too well by the narrow thong bisecting her cheeks. Not that he wanted to notice, but hell, it was right there, and with more than enough curve a healthy, hetero man could well imagine his hands gripping each mound as he…
“Señor, would you like another drink?”
Deke jerked. No one had managed to sneak up on him in a long time, which said a lot about Nicky’s attractiveness.
The cabana girl’s voice held a note of irritation. Her dark brows were drawn into a frown, her lips pursed in disapproval. But not because he’d been ogling a sleeping girl. He’d claimed a spot beneath a thatched umbrella at the edge of the small tiki bar’s outdoor seating area, and he had yet to deliver on the promise he’d made with his smile when he’d asked for this prime piece of real estate. The seat with its attached table provided a perfect view of the beach, as well as the private gated entrance of the hotel parking lot. More importantly, the chair was situated near Nicky. Not close enough to touch, but from here, he could watch over her, amidst the other sunbathers.
Giving the waitress an equally irritated glance, he reached into his pocket and took out several bills, more than enough for five drinks and a generous tip. “Bring me a virgin mojito,” he murmured quietly. A ruse to disguise the fact he hadn’t had a sip of alcohol, because he was on the job—even if this mission was strictly off the books and a favor to a man he admired.
His gaze swung back to the dozing woman. She’d turned her head while he’d been talking to the waitress and was facing him now, a dark fringe of long lashes resting against her cheeks. Yeah, her photo hadn’t done her justice. Sure, he’d known she was pretty, but this close, he could see a smattering of freckles across her nose—a feature she must hide beneath makeup, but which he thought was cute. Made her seem more approachable. Her mouth was full, the bottom lip a little puffier than the top and wide. A mouth made for kissing.
Deke winced and glanced away, feeling guilty over lusting after Commander Martir’s daughter. He was here to do a job. Although Martir had retired from the navy and now held a seat in congress with special oversight of the administration’s war on drugs, he had maintained close ties with the SEAL community, working with his contacts inside the Drug Enforcement Agency to find positions for several of Deke’s friends when they’d started the next phases of their lives. Their special skill set had been a perfect fit for the spec ops work the agency did, and Martir wanted men he could trust working there—disciplined, honorable men. Martir had promised Deke he’d keep a spot open for whenever he was ready to leave DEVGRU/SEAL Team 6, something Deke had automatically refused a year ago. But after his last deployment in the sandbox, he was having second thoughts. Martir’s timing, approaching him the day after Deke set boots back on the tarmac at Oceana, VA, had seemed like a sign.
Deke answered a summons to his present commander’s office, and instead found Martir standing with his back to the door as he stared out across the green, hands clasped behind his back. Other than the gray at his temples, Fred Martir looked exactly as he had when he’d been the one in charge here.
Deke entered the room and shut the door behind him. “Sir,” he said, coming to attention—out of respect for a former officer who had been a SEAL himself.
When the congressman turned, he raked his gaze over Deke, dressed in a fresh uniform, but still looking scruffy due to the beard he kept while deployed and the non-reg hair he’d let grow well past his collar. “At ease, Deke. Callahan,” he said, referring to the team’s present commander, “tells me you’ve accumulated leave which you refuse to take.”
As he narrowed his gaze, Deke slid his hands behind his back and braced his feet apart, wondering where that statement was leading. “I didn’t exactly refuse, sir. I prefer sticking close to base.” That he didn’t have family to visit or a girlfriend to spend time with was no one’s business but his own. And no one needed to know how uncomfortable he’d come to feel wandering outside his close-knit community.
The older man’s gaze locked on Deke. “This last rotation—I hear things got pretty rough.”
Deke straightened his shoulders. Not a secret, but definitely not something he wanted to discuss. “We lost two good men. Happens.” And while his words were spare, maybe even a little too nonchalant, he couldn’t keep the gravel from his voice at the thought of Sting’s death, or the fact he’d been the one to gather what was left of Mark’s body before he’d humped it back to the helo.
“Callahan says your OIC would prefer you take a break. But since I know you’re a stubborn son of a bitch, I have a proposition for you. Something that’ll get your commander off your back. A job. Strictly off the books. Something personal.” He cleared his throat. “For me.”
Deke met Martir’s gaze, steady as always, but noted there was a hint of worry there, a tension reflected in the deepened lines of his face. Whatever his reason for being here had to be pretty important because he’d never seen that expression on the older man’s face. “I’m listening.”
Deke learned that Martir had received death threats from a drug cartel unhappy with recent crackdowns he’d helped orchestrate. And while his ex-wife and daughter lived well-away from DC and out of the public eye, he was worried about their safety.
“I have eyes on my wife, but my daughter…” He shook his head. “She has vacation plans she’s refused to postpone. And she wouldn’t accept my offer of a bodyguard.” Martir winced. “If you haven’t guessed already, we’re not on the best of terms. She tends to do the exact opposite of anything I suggest.”
A situation that almost made Deke smile—the thought that anyone would stand up to the tough old bird. And just as quickly, he decided this “job,” even if it was a boondoggle, was an assignment he needed. A purpose to focus on beside the sorrow and guilt that weighed him down. “What exactly do you want me to do?”
Just a day later, he’d managed to track down his former commander’s daughter on this little speck of an island in the Caribbean. Despite Martir’s fears his family might be targeted due to recent media leaks, Deke doubted Nicky Martir was in any serious danger of retaliation. Not here. The island was too small—both in size and in population—for any group to infiltrate undetected among the small tourist population. But Martir was picking up the tab for this working vacation, so Deke would keep frosty.
Not that doing so required effort. Deke had forgotten how to relax. The attitude was one he had to force himself to try because he knew his constant edginess wasn’t healthy. Might even be a sure sign of some nasty issues he’d never admit to, but that could wind up biting him in the butt if he didn’t handle them on his own. A vacation in the Caribbean should have fit the bill. Not that an island getaway would have been on his short list of places he’d want to chill after a long deployment. He was sick to death of heat, even if a light sea breeze made the hot sunlight bearable. Still, the view wasn’t bad.
Again, he shifted in his chair, trying not to stare too long at Nicky’s lovely ass. Dressed in Hawaiian-themed swimming trunks, the only style he’d
found in the hotel gift shop other than skin-tight bikini Speedos, he worried he couldn’t hide his growing interest in the pretty brunette’s many assets. She was off-limits. Any woman would be, because he wouldn’t allow any distractions. Even if this mission was a cake-walk, he’d give the work a hundred-ten percent of his attention. He was a SEAL; after twelve years on the DEVGRU team, mission focus was part of his DNA.
A movement caught his eye. Small hands slid up the side of the chaise, going for the bow securing her bikini top.
Deke gritted his teeth. As the ribbons loosened and the bra fell away, he had a glimpse of pretty white breast, just the side, but the swell was generous. Now he was imagining a full frontal view. Would her nipples be pink or brown? Once he’d dated a girl with pale beige nipples that had turned a lovely rose when…
“Dammit,” he said under his breath and looked away again, breathing deeply as he willed his body not to tighten. He scanned the other chaises and then looked out to the ocean, counting through the approach of three sets of waves.
When he glanced back at the chaise, he spotted those pink-tipped fingers reaching to the ground and scooting a bottle of sunscreen across the sand. Toward him.
His gaze shot to her pretty cognac brown eyes, and he caught her small, one-sided smile.
“Do you mind?” she asked, her voice a little raspy, like a woman might sound when she first woke in the morning. Like maybe he was the first person she’d spoken to today.
What the hell? Some covert operator he was—he hadn’t managed to hide his attraction. If he didn’t act on her question, she might come to the conclusion he was a perv or a stalker. Better to make a move, but he’d keep it light.
Slipping off his chair, he strode toward her, bending to snag the bottle. “Just the back?” he asked, keeping his tone amused.
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