Alpha Bravo SEAL

by Carol Ericson

“Where are you?”

  “I’m in the club, in the kitchen. I have the perfect lookout perch to watch you. I don’t think Dahir is here yet, but if he’s here when you arrive and he’s sitting too close to the stage, ask if you can move toward the front of the club, closer to the door. I don’t have a clear view of the tables ringing the stage.”

  “Okay, I can do that. You’re not coming back to the car?”

  “No, I’m good here. Oh, and you’re some top model who’s wearing some expensive jewelry.”

  “What?”

  “I had to concoct some story to get in here. You’re a real diva who thinks she deserves protection.”

  Nicole laughed her bubbling laugh, born of years of private schools, financial security and confidence. He’d heard it a million times on the lips of the girls he was expected to date, but Nicole’s confidence came from living in the real world. Her self-assuredness came from a belief in her work. In short, she was nothing like the girls he’d grown up with.

  “I can play that role to a T, rich boy, but you should’ve warned me. I could’ve piled on some of my mom’s jewelry to really get into character.”

  “That’s okay. There’s only one guy we need to convince, and I’m pretty sure I already did that with a wad of cash.”

  “Okay, so what do I do for the next half hour?”

  “Have Pierre take you on a sightseeing tour around Harlem. Whatever you do, have him drop you off in front of the club at eleven o’clock and go straight inside.”

  “Gotcha. I’m actually looking forward to seeing Dahir. I haven’t seen him since we all left that Navy boat after our rescue.”

  “I hope it’s the reunion you expect—and not something else.”

  Nicole cleared her throat. “Should we have some sort of signal in case things start heading south?”

  “You’re getting good at this espionage stuff. Get a drink, make sure it has a straw, and if you need help, stick the straw in your mouth and flick it with your finger. That’s not something you’d do naturally, but it wouldn’t seem odd if someone did do that.”

  “Really? Shoving a straw in your mouth and flicking it around isn’t odd?”

  “You have a better idea, Ms. Bond?”

  “My hair’s up. If I sense something hinky, I’ll let my hair down.”

  “What if it falls down by accident?”

  “It’s not going to do that. Trust me.”

  “I do trust you, Nicole Hastings, and I’ll be watching you in about a half an hour.” He ended the call and stayed put in the corner of the pantry.

  The band had started playing and their smooth jazz tones floated up the staircase, luring more diners from the restaurant. About twenty minutes later, Slade eased out of his position and crept downstairs.

  Hearing a heavy footfall behind him, Slade spun around and Eli almost took him out with a stool.

  “Whoa, my man. I was just bringing you something to sit on.”

  “Sorry, thanks. I’ll take it.” He gripped one leg of the stool and continued down the last few steps. He tucked the stool in the corner of the landing and straddled it.

  Eli had joined him on the landing. “You need anything else?”

  “I’m good.” Slade pointed across the room at another landing. “What’s over there?”

  “Bathrooms, accessible from another staircase near the stage.” Eli poked his shoulder. “Is that your girl?”

  Slade glanced down at Nicole floating through the room, her loose white blouse billowing behind her. He held his breath as she continued toward the stage, finally stopping at a table in the corner but still within his line of sight. He eased out a breath.

  “Yep, that’s her.”

  “I could tell. She’s definitely supermodel material.”

  “Yeah, she is.”

  “I’ll leave you to it, man.” Eli snapped his fingers and pointed at him. “Remember, if anything goes down, I don’t know you.”

  “Never saw you before in my life.”

  Eli hauled his considerable girth downstairs to the club.

  Slade shifted his gaze to Nicole, and his heart stuttered when a man joined her at the table. If he had his rifle and scope, he could zero on him and get a better look.

  Nicole jumped up from her seat and threw her arms around the man, who was half a head shorter than she was.

  Slade rolled his shoulders. Had to be Dahir.

  The translator glanced over his shoulder once and took a seat, facing the front door. The man wasn’t taking any chances.

  Nicole and Dahir hunched toward each other, presumably to catch each other’s words over the wail of a trumpet. Slade’s heart thumped in time with the syncopated rhythm of the drums as he watched Nicole and Dahir through narrowed eyes.

  Just get the goods and get out.

  Dahir had pulled out his phone, and Slade responded by flicking the safety from his gun and dragging it out of his pocket.

  With their heads together, Nicole and Dahir studied the phone. Maybe he was showing her the footage and explaining its significance. Then they could get out of here.

  Slade licked his dry lips, feeling more like he was on a sniper detail in Iraq than sitting in a jazz club in Harlem. The hair on the back of his neck refused to stop quivering. His jaw refused to unlock.

  Two drinks magically appeared on the small table between Nicole and Dahir, and all his senses ratcheted up another notch. Had he missed the waiter taking their order?

  Maybe Nicole had ordered something when she first walked in the door.

  Slade kept an eye on the bun on the back of Nicole’s head—still in place as she smiled and nodded over the phone. She wouldn’t be so happy if Dahir were showing her that footage. She must be looking at pictures, but she needed to get down to business.

  And then something changed.

  As Nicole reached for her glass, there was a sharp movement from across the table and it crashed to the floor. The noise and activity drew a few glances from the other patrons nearby, but the band seemed to drown out the sound for most of the other customers.

  As Nicole bent forward to pick up the shards of glass, Dahir shot up from his seat and tilted his head back to take in the landing across the way.

  With a rush of adrenaline, Slade jerked his head toward the other staircase by the bathrooms. The barrel of a weapon glinted in the lights.

  Slade hopped up from the stool, swinging his gun toward the threat across the room, but he was too late.

  A flash of light lit up the landing as the man fired into the club below—and the fight was on.

  Chapter Thirteen

  As Nicole started to sit up, she heard a thwack above her. She knew the sound—she’d heard it around the world. She slid from her chair and dropped beneath the small cocktail table.

  A split second later, Dahir fell to the floor next to her, copious amounts of blood leaking from a bullet hole in his forehead.

  A few people screamed, but the music continued, the band unaware of the drama unfolding in the club, their dissonant chords matching the confusion raging through Nicole’s brain.

  Slade couldn’t be responsible for Dahir’s death. She hadn’t signaled anything, had been aware of nothing amiss as Dahir shared pictures of his family back in Somalia.

  If not Slade, then some other shooter—someone hostile.

  Dahir’s blood continued to soak the club’s dark blue carpet and slowly more and more patrons understood just why the man at her table had dropped like a rock.

  Chaos erupted all at once as a collective realization hit. And then something else hit—the back of the chair where she’d just been sitting splintered into pieces as another bullet made contact.

  She flattened herself on the floor and started crawling toward the front door
. A few people stepped on her during the stampede for the exit, but others joined her in a slithering journey to safety.

  A crack and a thud behind her, toward the stage, didn’t slow her path, but someone yelled, “He’s been hit. The shooter’s been hit.”

  The shooter? Which one? Slade was up there, too. Had he been hit?

  Nicole couldn’t breathe for the second time that day, but this time fear instead of smoke clogged her lungs. She scrabbled against the carpet, turning herself around to head back toward the stage.

  She reached forward with one hand and hit a shoe. Seconds later, Slade was on the floor next to her, nose to nose.

  “You’re going the wrong way. Stay down and keep moving for the exit. I got him, but I don’t know if there’s anyone else in here gunning for you.”

  They shimmied on the carpet next to each other until they reached the door. Slade pulled her outside and she drank in the evening air with big gulps.

  This time they got away before they even heard a hint of sirens, running down the sidewalk with a crowd of other people escaping the mayhem in the club.

  After traveling a city block, gasping for breath at the fast pace Slade set, Nicole pulled on his arm. “Should I call for the car now?”

  He glanced at her hand on his sleeve and sucked in a breath. “You’re bleeding. You’re hurt.”

  Turning her hand over, she inspected the cut on her fingers. “It’s from the broken glass that Dahir knocked over.”

  “Right before the shot that killed him.”

  “I think I know what happened.” She curled her fingers over the blood smudged on her hand. “Dahir brought those drinks to the table with him, and before I could even take a sip of mine, he knocked it over.”

  “What are you saying? Do you think there was something in the drink?”

  “I’m not sure, but he was nervous even when he was showing me pictures of his family.” She retrieved her phone. “I’m calling for the car.”

  Pierre must’ve been close, because less than ten minutes later, the black town car cruised up to the curb. They both piled in and Nicole slumped in the seat, her head tilted back.

  A few hot tears coursed down her face and she dashed them away. They had an agreement to keep mum in front of Pierre and any other driver, although he must have his suspicions. She didn’t need to involve anyone else in the train wreck of her life. Anyone within two feet of her was entering some sort of death zone.

  Silently, they made it back to her mother’s place, and as soon as she double locked the door behind them, she let loose. “Dahir saved me, Slade.”

  “Maybe, but why did he lure you to that club in the first place? It’s obvious the second bullet had your name on it. The shooter’s mistake was killing Dahir first. I guess he figured you’d pop up and he could take care of you next.”

  She marched to the kitchen and perched on the edge of a stool at the island. “His mistake was not realizing there was another sniper in that club. You’re sure you got him?”

  “I almost shot him before he nailed Dahir. I saw him, or rather his weapon, when Dahir looked up in his direction after knocking over that drink. I got my shot off right after he killed Dahir and got off his second shot. Thank God you were still on the floor.”

  “That proves it.”

  “Proves what?” He joined her at the counter and tapped the back of her injured hand. “Let me clean that up for you.”

  She stretched out her palm for him as he ran a paper towel beneath the faucet and squirted some soap on it.

  “Once Dahir knocked over my drink, he knew he’d signed his death warrant.”

  “Then why’d he come all this way to find you and do their bidding? What’s clear is that this was a setup, orchestrated by the people after you and using Dahir to get to you.” He dabbed at the dried blood on her hand and swiped the paper towel over the cut, which had bled out of proportion to its size.

  “I can’t explain that. Maybe he had a change of heart once we saw each other again. He was showing me pictures of his family back in Somalia.” She bolted forward and grabbed Slade’s wrist. “His family. That’s how they got to him.”

  “Do you think they’re threatening his family?” He slipped out of her grasp, dumped the bloody paper towel in the trash and grabbed a dry one. He pressed it to her cut.

  “I know they’re threatening his family.” She snapped her fingers several times in a row. “One of the things he said to me was that he hoped I could protect or do something for his family if anything happened to him.”

  “So, the group used his family to get him to lure you out.”

  “Can you help them, Slade? Please. We owe him this.”

  “Do we? While I understand his motivation, he put your life in danger. He should’ve contacted us before he set you up.”

  “Really?” She crumpled the paper towel in her fist and jerked back from him. “I told you I tried to help him before with no success whatsoever, thanks to you guys.”

  “Us guys?” He held up his hands. “Don’t blame me.”

  “I’m gonna blame you now if you can’t do something for his family. He saved my life. I’m sure of that.”

  “I’ll get on it. Or at least I’ll relay the information to the people who can actually do something about it.” He pulled up a stool and sat beside her.

  “I’m sorry.” She rubbed her knuckles across the soft denim covering his thigh. “I didn’t mean to blame you. I’m just so devastated by Dahir’s murder. That means everyone who was on that boat in the Gulf of Aden is dead—except me.”

  He covered her hand with his. “We’re going to keep it that way. Did he tell you anything about the footage, what was on it?”

  “We didn’t even get that far. He just said that I probably knew why we were meeting.”

  “Maybe he didn’t even know why that film is so important.” Slade closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “This brings us back to the key and the search for that locker. It’s the best lead we’ve had yet and I allowed myself to get distracted by other issues that resulted in nothing.”

  “We couldn’t have searched for the locker anyway with Luna Park being closed, and it’s not like I could’ve ignored a meeting with Dahir.”

  “No, but I had a strong suspicion it was a trap, and I shouldn’t have let you go through with it. I could’ve met with him instead.”

  “You’re not trying to blame yourself for what happened, are you?” She touched his face. “Dahir would never have gone for that...and neither would your superiors. They need me to bring these people out of the woodwork, and we both know it.”

  Slade captured her uninjured hand, threading his fingers through hers. “That was never my plan. I hope you know that.”

  She pressed her palm against his. “I do, and I even understand the perspective of the people running the show.”

  “How did such a pampered girl like you—” he drew her hand toward him and kissed her wrist “—get so tough? I saw it on that pirate boat and I see it over and over again here.”

  Leaning forward, she rested her forehead against his. “I’m not that tough, Slade. Just like on that pirate boat, I have you as my backup. You give me strength.”

  He cupped her face, his fingers toying with her earlobe. “And you make this assignment worthwhile.”

  Worthwhile. The word echoed in her head and struck a chord in her heart. That was the difference between Slade and all the other thrill seekers in her past.

  Slade took his risks for a purpose. He worked for a greater good beyond that of his own ego.

  She turned her face toward the hand cupping her jaw and pressed a kiss on his palm, roughened by the work he did protecting others...protecting her.

  Their eyes met, and along with the usual electricity that flashed between t
hem, there was a hint of understanding, of acceptance.

  She wasn’t the spoiled rich girl type he’d come to loathe, and he wasn’t the irresponsible risk taker who put himself above everything else, above her.

  Slade would never put his needs above hers.

  Tipping forward on two legs of his stool, he brushed a thumb across her lips and then kissed her mouth.

  She nodded toward the floor. “You’re going to fall off that thing.”

  “Then let’s take this to solid ground.” The stool fell back as he rose to his feet. He cinched her waist with both hands and pulled her up and against him in a gentle embrace. “I’m not carrying you this time. You come of your own free will...or not at all.”

  He released her and turned his back on her but before he even got out of the kitchen, she ran up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head against his strong back—a back that carried the weight of the world, the protection of innocent people everywhere, of her.

  Without turning around, he squared his shoulders and said, “When this is over, I go back to doing what I do.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re a warrior.” She hugged him tighter, hugged him as if her life depended on it.

  He turned in her arms and brushed the hair from her face. He kissed her temple, her cheekbone, her ear, her chin. “Then you’re my warrior princess, Nicole Hastings.”

  How they ended up on the floor in front of the fireplace, naked and breathless, their limbs entwined and tangled, she couldn’t exactly remember. She only knew nothing had ever felt so right.

  After another long kiss in a mind-swirling number of long kisses, Nicole straddled Slade, running her hands along the hard planes and ridges of his body. “Are all SEALs built like you?”

  “Absolutely not. I’m a prime specimen.” He stroked her thigh, his rough hands abrading her skin. “And I hope you just take my word for it and that ends your curiosity about any other SEAL you might encounter.”

  She leaned forward, brushing the tips of her breasts along his chest. “I have no curiosity about any other man... SEAL or otherwise.”