by Skye Jordan
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
A Note for Readers
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
About the Author
Check out More of Joan's Books
Rumor
by Skye Jordan
Copyright 2014 by Skye Jordan
Cover art and design by Skye Jordan
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in encouraging piracy of copyrighted materials in violation with the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Dedication
To Violet Duke for pulling me off the ledge, and Marina Adair for keeping me from trying to jump again.
Josh thanks you both for his sweet happily ever after.
I thank you for my sanity.
Dear Reader,
This story is a little different from the first three Renegades books, because, well, Josh isn’t a Renegade.
Still, he’s a stong, sexy character who demanded his very own happily ever after.
Seeing as I stole the girl he wanted in Ricochet...I figured I owed him something extra special.
I hope you enjoy Josh’s story.
If you’d like to be alerted for new releases, please sign up for my newsletter:
Skye Jordan
Joan Swan
This had been an epically stupid idea.
Josh Marx propped his elbows on the picnic table, flanking his laptop, and stared out at the ocean beyond Dana Point Harbor, in California. With a storm brewing, the general public had deserted the beach, and only a small group of his friends from the Renegades Stunt Company wandered down by the water’s edge.
On the beach, Jax Chamberlin, the owner of Renegades, rocketed a football through the air toward Wes Lawson, Renegades’ top stunt driver. The wind hooked the ball five yards inland, and Wes launched off his feet, stretching until he was horizontal to the sand, arms extending, stretching, reaching…
The ball brushed his fingertips and changed trajectory, spinning away as Wes dove—face-first—into the sand.
The others broke into hysterics. Wes pushed to hands and knees, shook sand out of his hair, and spit it out of his mouth. Josh chuckled but the heaviness in his chest clung.
Rubi, Wes’s girlfriend, jogged up the beach, grabbed a towel, and tossed it to Wes, then wandered toward the picnic table. She darted a look at the notepad at Josh’s elbow, where he’d jotted calculations. “Done yet?”
“Not even close.” Josh returned his gaze to the sea, a bittersweet knot forming beneath his ribs. “I figured if I stall long enough, you’ll have that risk assessment app all finished, and I wouldn’t have to do anything but plug in numbers.”
“Can’t create it without your help.” The computer savant eyed him across the table. “When’s that going to happen, anyway?”
Josh heaved a breath and rubbed the backs of his fingers against the stubble on his jaw. He’d been so busy with different consulting gigs, he hadn’t had time to sit down with Rubi and give her the information she needed to program the application. “How about right after Christmas? I’ll have a few days free between seeing my parents and starting another job.”
“You’re on.”
Wes and Jax were tossing the ball again.
“No!” Rachel’s scream drew Josh’s gaze to the waterline just as Ryker hoisted her over his shoulder and waded into the surf. “Nathan, don’t you dare. That water’s freezing.”
A half smile curled Josh’s mouth. He’d spent twelve-hour days training in that sixty-degree water during BUDS. His thoughts circled back to the loss of his career and the life he loved. Over the past twelve months, emptiness continued to haunt him, contrary to the navy therapist’s promise that it would dissipate with time.
He loved a broody ocean, and now, the southern California sky hung heavy with storm clouds, making the water an intense shade of steel blue. The two-hundred-foot tall eucalyptus overhead rattled in the growing wind. White caps developed a mile offshore.
God, it was all so perfect. So beautiful. And made him so damned lonely.
“Want to talk about it?” Rubi asked.
Josh dragged his gaze away from the group and the ocean beyond, refocusing on the screen where risk assessment forms stared back at him. “Nah. It won’t take me long to get this written up when I’m not distracted.”
“I meant”—Rubi’s words pulled his gaze from the water—“whatever’s bugging you?”
To avoid her piercing eyes, Josh glanced back at the screen just as a handful of raindrops slanted across the glass. He shut his laptop and stuffed his things back into his briefcase. “Is there something bugging me?”
“You’ve definitely been out of sorts the last couple of days. Withdrawn, quiet… Dare I say…moody?”
“Have I?”
“It’s Rachel and Ryker, isn’t it?”
More of Rachel’s screaming laughter floated on the wind, and he smiled. He’d missed her since she’d moved to Virginia and shacked up with army boy. But he didn’t miss her like he’d expected to miss someone he’d been in love with. He just missed her like he missed other friends who’d come and gone from his shifting life. Which confirmed that he hadn’t been in love with Rachel at all. Just wishing he could have been, because falling for someone else could have erased the one woman he’d wanted for years from his heart and mind.
“No, it’s not them. I just still have a lot to do before I head home.”
What Rubi sensed was that nagging emptiness cresting on this significant date, making him remember all he’d lost. Making him realize how deeply he craved someone permanent beside him. Someone intimately in tune with who he was, what he believed in, and how he thought. Outside his team, there was only one woman in the world who understood him that way—and it wasn’t Rachel.
To keep his mind from straying to Grace, he let it drift to his team. To where they might be now—Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria. To what journalist they’d been dispatched to rescue. What diplomat they might be protecting. What guerrilla military group they’d been ordered to dismantle…
“Heads up!” someone yelled from the beach.
Josh looked over as the football sailed toward them. In split-second intervals, he calculated the trajectory, pushed to his feet, and dove across the table, intercepting the ball inches from Rubi’s face. The ball slammed into his outstretched hand, torquing his shoulder. Pain knifed down his arm, up his neck, and across his chest. Burning, shooting, fiery pain that stabbed.
“Motherfucker—” He fell against the table and clenched his teeth against the pain. “That boyfriend of yours has a good arm.”
“And you’ve got some good moves,” Rubi said, standing now, her hand lying gently on his back. “Are you all right?”
Some days, he felt like a fucking cripple. “Will be, thanks.”
He straightened, stemming a wince at the slice along his shoulder.
Wes jogged toward the table, sand still clinging to his T-shirt, a frown of concern pulling his brow. He hooked an arm around Rubi’s
shoulders, wrapped a hand around the back of her neck, and pulled her forehead to his. “God, I’m sorry, baby.”
“You got lucky,” she said, grinning. “Marx saved you from a dire fate.”
Wes brushed his fingers across her cheek, staring into her eyes, but spoke to Josh. “Thanks for saving this beautiful face, man.”
And he kissed her. Passionately.
That was the last straw for Josh. He was happy for all the love in his friends’ lives. First Jax and Lexi, then Wes and Rubi. Now Rachel and Ryker. He wasn’t envious of what they’d all found, not really, but the constant reminder of what he didn’t have wore on his nerves.
He picked up his briefcase and slid his other hand into the pocket of his slacks to take the weight off his shoulder. “I’m gonna hit the road.”
Wes and Rubi broke from their kiss, and Wes glanced his way. “Leaving already?”
“I’m not getting anything done here.”
“Dude,” Wes said, pulling Rubi in front of him and slipping his arms around her waist, “it’s Sunday. Get out of those work rags and take a few laps in the waves. You need to learn how to relax.”
Agreed. He sucked at relaxing. But his younger brothers always beat Josh’s ingrained conservatism away within a day of meeting up. And it had been far too long since the three of them had spent any quality time together. The thought of heading home for Christmas really turned his mood around. This was exactly what he needed.
“I’m headed that direction right now. Tell Jax I’ll e-mail the assessment as soon as I’m done, but I don’t see any problems.”
Josh turned for the parking lot and his car with a steady sprinkle falling from the sky. He pressed the remote on his key fob, popping the locks on his Lexus. His phone rang. He fished the cell from his belt and glanced at his watch. His mind veered to the flight he needed to catch. With a two-hour drive back to LA, that gave him an hour to pack and an hour to negotiate traffic on the way to the airport. He’d be in Philadelphia, celebrating his first holiday home with his family in eight years, by about midnight local time.
The first sense of excitement Josh had truly experienced in a year pushed into his chest.
He pulled the driver’s door open and answered the call. “Marx.”
“Hey, buddy. Can’t believe I got you on the first try.”
Josh didn’t immediately recognize the voice, but he did know that rough connection—
“Happy anniversary, dude,” the caller said. “How’s retired life? Do I have a lot to look forward to?”
“Beck?” Josh asked, picturing his teammate—skull-cut dark hair, nearly black, laser-sharp eyes, slightly crooked nose. “Is that you?”
“It’s me,” he said, upbeat. “How the hell are you, man?”
“Good, great,” Josh lied, his brow tightening as he tried to work out Beck’s reason for calling—the happy anniversary bit was complete bullshit. A flash of electric current stung Josh’s gut, and his smile dropped. “Are you all right? Are the guys all right?”
“Yeah, fine. Everyone’s fine. Didn’t mean to worry you.”
Josh’s body uncoiled, and he slumped into the leather surrounding him as the sprinkles outside turned to fat drops. He closed his eyes, rested his elbow on the window ledge, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Shit, you know how to give a guy a heart attack.”
Beck’s rough laugh crossed the line. “You’re goin’ soft.”
“Gone. Long gone.” Josh opened his eyes and stared out the rain-blurred windshield toward the ocean. Hearing from Beck automatically made him think of Grace. In many ways, losing her had left a bigger hole in his life than losing his career. “Where are you?”
“Same place you left us, man. Going out on a sneak-and-peek in about twenty.” Which meant the team had been deployed back to Syria. “Gonna get the chance to nail the guy who took out your shoulder.”
“No shit.” The pain he’d temporarily forgotten about throbbed back to life. “Give him an extra bullet for me, would you?”
“My pleasure, brother. Hey, could you do me a favor while I’m tracking him down?”
“Anything, anytime.”
“Could you get a hold of Grace for me?” he asked. “She’s not answering my calls.”
Grace.
The image of Beck’s ex-wife filled Josh’s mind as he’d last seen her, sitting on the edge of his hospital bed, over a year ago now. Her strawberry-honeyed hair had been short and sleek. Her cheeks pink. Blue eyes sparkling with excitement and affection when she’d taken his hand in hers with a shy smile and an “I’ve been thinking…”
He pushed the hurt back. “Why? What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. We were talking pretty regularly up until about three, four months ago, but she seemed distant, you know? Maybe a little evasive. Then she stopped answering my calls, and she’s not returning my messages, texts, or e-mails.”
“Hold on,” Josh cut in. “Beck, she doesn’t have to call or text or e-mail you back—you’ve been divorced three years.” And, yes, dammit, Josh was counting…not that it made any difference. A hundred years could have passed, and Grace would still be off-limits. “She’s probably seeing someone. And if that’s true, you’re putting her in a really awkward position. Nothing like having your ex call in the middle of the night to cause problems.”
“That’s not like Grace, but I’d let it go if…” Beck heaved a sigh, and his voice grew serious. “See, it’s like this—I’m worried about her. I heard a rumor, and I just need someone I trust to check in on her.”
“A rumor? Seriously? Dude, I’m about to leave for Christmas in Philadelphia.”
“Can you stop in San Diego on your way? You know I wouldn’t ask you to do this if it wasn’t important.” His voice lowered as if he feared being overheard. “See, I met a guy from team four on an op out of—” He paused abruptly. “Uh, anyway, we were talking about fishing for marlin in Mexico. I pulled up Facebook and showed him pictures of our trip, that really awesome first anniversary trip Grace and I took—”
Awesome? “The one where you made her go deep-sea fishing with you?” Josh said more than asked.
“Yeah, and—”
“And she puked over the side for eight hours. Dehydrated herself so bad, she landed in a Mexican hospital. That awesome anniversary trip?”
“Dude,” Beck said in a perfect Dumb and Dumber impression. “Focus.”
The man was one of the sharpest SEALs Josh had ever known. A man Josh would always trust at his back. A true brother. But he was also an epically dense husband. Always had been.
“Right,” Josh said with an eye roll. “Sorry. Go ahead. Your romantic trip to Mexico…”
“So this guy from four points right at Grace in a picture and says, ‘You let your girl strip?’ I’m, like, what the fuck, right?”
Denial hit Josh first. Grace Ashby was not the stripping type. She was the sweet girl-next-door type, complete with a smattering of freckles, a smile like sunshine, and the manners of a Southern belle, even though she was a southern California girl, born and bred.
“Come on, Beck,” Josh said. “Use your common sense.”
“I have been. For two months.” Beck’s voice came out flat, the matter-of-fact tone he used only when he was serious. “And now I’m worried.”
Beck—the warrior—was worried.
Fuuuuuuck.
“This was a SEAL from team four who fingered her with no doubt, dude,” Beck said, “not some average Joe.”
Josh’s denial melted into a blend of shock and confusion. Yes, Grace was a dancer. Her mother, Carolyn, loved to brag and tell stories at the SEAL family get-togethers whenever the team was stateside. And Carolyn had told the story of Grace starting ballet at three years old, continuing with every type of dance imaginable throughout her life. She’d told stories of Grace smoking the gymnastics team and leading the cheerleading squad all through high school. And Josh knew from his own friendship with Grace that she’d gone on to teach and dan
ce through several different Southern California theatres.
But the transition from dancing to stripping was a huge leap.
He took a moment to force that image up in his mind. But all he could see was that sweet-as-sugar smile and all the sparkling joy in her blue eyes. He couldn’t remember ever hearing an inappropriate word come out of her mouth. She was conservative. Politically correct. A pleaser. A nurturer. Being raised by a single mother had given her a fierce independent streak, but Josh believed he knew Grace well enough to know that stripping was way outside her comfort zone.
“The guy was probably drunk off his ass,” Josh offered for lack of a better explanation.
“Probably, which is why this will be a snap for you, bro. All I need to know is that you set your eyes on her. If you could just go down there, pop in at the town house, talk to her, see her, get the real story, I’ll know she’s okay. I trust you, man. If you say she’s safe, I’ll know she’s safe. Then I’ll be square.”
Square.
Every SEAL had to be emotionally, mentally, and physically square before heading out on a mission. Distraction led to mistakes. Mistakes led to death.
Beck might be square after Josh put eyes on Grace, but Josh would be fucking skewed.
Then again, Josh wasn’t going out on a mission.
He sighed. “What club?”
“Thank you so much, man. I knew I could count on you. The guy said he saw her at Allure. It’s the same place that used to be Teasers.”
The name of the dive bar made Josh wince. They’d both spent years in San Diego, and while Josh didn’t frequent the strip clubs, many other navy personnel did, and he’d heard every story.
“It’s not the sleazy joint it was a few years ago,” Beck continued. “It’s been taken over by a new owner and gone high-class. But I googled the place and found out there was a murder in the parking lot just a week ago.”
“I’ll take care of it.” Josh dropped his head back against the seat again, mentally reworking his schedule. If he wasn’t going home for Christmas, he could take the opportunity to clean up his town house—one in the same development as Grace and Beck’s—now that the renters had moved out. He needed to get that thing up for sale. But he also needed this holiday with his family.