Shielded by the Cowboy SEAL

by Bonnie Vanak

  “They exhumed your grandmother and the medical examiner autopsied her body. He found traces of ethylene glycol in her system. It’s an ingredient in antifreeze. It tastes sweet, so a small amount wouldn’t be detected in a drink that had sugar in it.” The detective looked sympathetic. “I’m sorry.”

  Meg thought back to her grandmother’s illness. The first time, when she’d vomited and felt dizzy after consuming sweet tea, Gran had blamed it on an adjustment of her blood pressure pills. A few days later, she felt better. And then she got sick again weeks later.

  But she kept getting progressively sicker. The pattern made sense now. Letticia had been slowly poisoned with small doses of antifreeze all the time Prescott had been pressuring Bert Baxter to draft a fake will and trust handing over to him total control of Taylor Sporting Goods so the company could remain private.

  The poison had ruined her kidneys, caused her to fall ill. And each time she rallied and seemed to get better enough to take back control of her company, Prescott poisoned her sweet tea again.

  Derek told her the rest. In exchange for his testimony against Claire O’Neary and her father, Miles, Kimball broke down and confessed to the murder of Randall Jacobs. He had killed Jacobs on Claire’s orders. When she told him police suspected him of the crime, he’d gone in a panic to Randall’s summer home to remove the security cameras that recorded him threatening Jacobs when he brought him his cocaine supply.

  Kimball had also killed Bert Baxter, after Miles O’Neary worried the lawyer would spill everything to the FBI.

  “There was more going on than money laundering, Meg. It had to do with Combat Gear and the vests your company produced.”

  She clutched Cooper’s hand, grateful he seemed rock steady.

  “I’m the commander of a drug control unit based at Boston Harbor. Our district in Boston has wanted a way to defend our personnel with military-grade body armor. We got a tip from a confidential informant that a cargo ship from South America arriving in Boston would be smuggling heroin. My unit planned to wear the vests when we raided the ship after it docked in the harbor.”

  Hah-buh. Cooper’s brother had a thick accent.

  Cooper spoke up. “Your ex-husband shipped the vests before they were ready.”

  “Ready for what?” Meg asked.

  Derek pulled out a photo from a manila envelope on the coffee table. The color photo showed a small pellet. “This is C-17, a new explosive on the market. Big as a pencil eraser, stable as C-4, but one exception. It reacts to extreme, violent force. Like bullets. Small enough to conceal inside the fabric of a bulletproof vest.”

  Cooper squeezed her hand. “They didn’t want the vests to fail because of the fibers. They wanted to make bulletproof vests like suicide bomber vests.”

  Her mind spun. “My product would have been made to kill police instead of protecting them?”

  Derek nodded. “Many cops, like me, test out the vests with their handguns before wearing them. O’Neary had a man on the inside who would swap out the vests in our lockers before the raid, replacing them with the body armor containing the C-17. Bastard had been dreaming up this plan for a while, but needed the right kind of vest and the right contact.”

  “But the vests were already defective,” Meg realized. “Prescott shipped the defective vests before the explosives could be planted.”

  “Thanks to you calling the FBI and alerting them about the defective vests, my brother is alive, Meg.” Cooper picked up her hand and brushed a kiss against her knuckles. “And maybe, in her own way, Brie helped save the lives of hundreds of officers. If she hadn’t died and the defect been discovered, O’Neary’s plan might have succeeded.”

  “Miles O’Neary couldn’t risk control of the company going out of your ex-husband’s hands. They had him under their thumbs and needed him to stay there. And going public meant tighter federal scrutiny, the last thing they wanted,” Derek explained.

  Relief swept through her. Some good had been achieved through all this. “What’s going to happen to me?”

  Cooper stroked his thumb across her trembling hand. “My attorney has arranged for you to turn yourself into the Feds tomorrow. But he’s very certain you’ll get immunity from any prosecution in exchange for testifying about how Prescott deliberately sent those vests. We’re still searching for the microchip. The police have been through every inch of your grandmother’s farm.”

  “Randall said it was close to my heart. Meaning, it wouldn’t be at my Palm Beach home, but someplace I treasured. Or someone.”

  Meg stroked her dog’s head. And then she scratched under her chin, her fingers toying with the little gold heart on her collar.

  “My heart,” she said slowly. “Close to my heart...my best friend.”

  Cooper and Derek exchanged glances. She unhooked the dog’s collar and examined the heart charm. It seemed too obvious, too simple...

  Using the edge of the fingernail file Derek found for her, Meg pried the heart apart. Inside rested a tiny black chip, no larger than her fingernail.

  Wonder filled her. After all this time, it was close to her heart—her dog.

  Derek took it and they went into Fiona’s office. Using an adapter, he inserted it into the desktop computer. Meg’s breath hitched as Derek clicked on the files and up popped the documents.

  The emails, sent by Prescott, ordered Randall to ship out the vests to the contact he’d made at the Boston PD.

  Derek clicked on another icon and brought up a voice recording from Randall addressed to her, confessing his part in her grandmother’s death. He had a copy of Letticia Taylor’s original will in a safe-deposit box in his bank, a copy Prescott had ordered him to destroy, but he had not.

  Randall confessed he’d only meant to sicken Letticia, not kill her, but he was being blackmailed by Prescott, who threatened to tell police about Randall’s cocaine habit.

  He had introduced Prescott to Claire, the youngest O’Neary daughter, at a party at his summer home while Meg had been home sick. The pair had threatened him and ordered him to ship the vests to the Boston PD. Randall warned Miles O’Neary planned “something big” to permanently take out the drug control unit that had succeeded in several raids seizing heroin shipments.

  Hearing the stoic tones of Randall’s voice filled Meg with grief. Such a waste. Randall had everything: power, money, prestige. And he threw it all away to gain even more power, a plan that backfired.

  Derek closed out the files. “I’ll make copies to send to the Feds, Meg.”

  She nodded, her throat tight. “All I ever wanted was to protect police, protect young, good cops who were on the front lines, in memory of my brother.”

  Cooper’s brother touched her shoulder. “Thanks, Meg.”

  When he left, she sat for a long while staring at the blank computer screen. They’d had good times once, Gran, Prescott and Randall, so excited about taking the company to the next level. The fibers Randall invented that promised to deliver precision racquetball paddles and tennis balls. She remembered how they sat around the office, cracking open the champagne to toast Randall’s new discovery, and how proud and happy the man had been.

  She had been a part of that as well. And now they were all gone.

  Cooper, sitting beside her, wound a strand of her hair around his index finger.

  “You okay, Princess?”

  His deep voice jerked her back to the present. Meg smiled and wiped away a stray tear. “I will be. It’s truly all over now. Or it will be after I talk with the authorities.”

  “We’ll save that for tomorrow. Today is for you. For us. I have something to show you.”

  Cooper unfolded his big body from the chair and went to a file cabinet. After unlocking it, he withdrew a small black velvet box. And then he sat next to her, and opened the box.

  Upon the black ve
lvet sat a small round diamond, surrounded by diamond baguettes.

  “My grandmother’s ring. She gave it to the family with the stipulation that the first Johnson child to marry give it to his bride.”

  Meg’s breath caught in her throat.

  “It’s too much to ask now, and I won’t expect you to answer with everything you’ve been through. But when you are ready, Princess, I want you to consider wearing this. And being mine for life, just as I know I love you and you’re the only one I will ever want as my life partner.”

  She touched the ring. No huge two-carat stone like Prescott had insisted on giving her. Nothing pretentious, just a simple diamond that was solid and lasting and real, layered with a tradition of love and commitment.

  Exactly like the man holding it out.

  More tears fell, but this time she made no attempt to check them. “I’m ready now, sailor. I love you, too. And the answer is yes.”

  He slid the ring on her finger. Perfect fit.

  Just like the man.

  As he kissed her, Meg let all her past fears evaporate. There would be plenty of stormy weather ahead. She didn’t know what the future held, but no longer would she worry.

  With Cooper by her side, she would weather whatever storms life tossed her way.

  Epilogue

  One year later

  Perfect weather for a grand opening.

  A crispness snapped in the air, the cool wind brushing against the lingering color on the thick oak, hickory and birch trees near the restored farmhouse. Fields that once hosted only crops of corn and barley now boasted running tracks, bike paths and tennis courts. The dairy now held rows of mooing cows, and modern machinery to send fresh milk out to a local cheese producer.

  On the nearby bike path, amputees rode specially designed bicycles in mock races. The shooting range, which Cooper would personally oversee upon his discharge from the Navy, was farther off, in a secluded cove.

  Meg had hired therapists to staff the facility, and with income from the dairy and civilians who wanted to train with a former Navy SEAL, she anticipated the foundation would become solvent in another year.

  The farmhouse had been converted into an inn, with additional accessible housing added onto the expanded home. Wheelchair ramps, renovated bathrooms, all fit for disabled veterans. One section of the farmhouse had been converted to offices, where Meg and her team of career counselors would help veterans with job skills, assessments and placement.

  And if they needed to talk shop, about how tough it was to adjust to civilian life after the military, there’d be Cooper, because he would soon make the same adjustment.

  Lacey and Jarrett flew in for the ceremony. Their daughter, Fleur, had joined Aimee in an impromptu game of soccer with one of the many soccer balls Taylor Sporting Goods donated. Sophie chased the girls and the other children as they raced down the field.

  All that was needed to make the day perfect was Derek and Cooper. Derek had begged off because of work, and Cooper wasn’t expecting his full discharge from the Navy for at least three weeks.

  Meg glanced down at the heirloom engagement ring on her left hand. One year ago, she’d agreed to marry Cooper Johnson, and formally said yes in front of all his assembled family. They’d set a wedding date for December.

  She’d always longed to be married at Christmastime.

  After being cleared by the FBI, Meg had assumed control of Taylor Sporting Goods as CEO and president of the board of directors, according to the terms of her grandmother’s will. And then she’d sold the company for a cool $100 million, along with Combat Gear Inc., and started a new enterprise. The results were standing before them now.

  If only Cooper were here.

  A red silk ribbon stretched across two poles before the new center. Meg chatted with Lacey. Nearby, Jarrett talked to Nick as he cradled their five-month-old son, Mark, who decided to release a healthy wail like a fire siren. The screams continued until Jarrett popped a bottle into the baby’s mouth.

  Lacey grinned.

  “He takes after his father. Demanding and vocal, until you pay attention to him.” Her former sorority sister’s face softened as she gazed at her husband and son.

  “Thank you,” Meg told her. “If not for you and Jarrett, I’d never have met Cooper.”

  Lacey smiled. “I had thought about introducing you at our wedding, but you still had that millstone of your ex around your neck. I’m so glad things turned out well for you, Meg.”

  They hugged.

  Fiona gave her an expectant look. It was time.

  As the crowd assembled near the red silk ribbon, she heard a car pull up behind them. Latecomers.

  And then she heard doors slam and Derek call out, “Hey, anyone have room for an old sailor?”

  Meg whirled and saw Cooper in blue battle dress uniform striding toward her. He swept her up in a bear hug, whirling around as she laughed and hugged him back.

  “I didn’t think you could make it!”

  “Lacey’s dad managed to pull some strings with the brass. Helps to know people in high places.” Cooper kissed her, hard and deep. “I needed to get home to my woman. Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  The possessive note in his voice sent a tingle straight from her head to her toes. Meg hugged him again and thanked Derek, who grinned back at her.

  Then the Johnson family assembled before the ribbon. Fiona handed Meg the scissors. Her throat closed up as she gazed at the brass letters on the building.

  The Sabrina Fletcher & Caldwell Taylor Veterans Center.

  Two people, both young and zealous and dedicated to justice, would be forever remembered after this day.

  Cooper placed his warm, calloused hand on hers. In one fluid motion, they cut the ribbon, severing ties to the past.

  And welcoming a new future—together.

  * * * * *

  Look for the next thrilling installment in Bonnie Vanak’s SOS AGENCY series, coming soon!

  Don’t forget the previous title in the series:

  NAVY SEAL SEDUCTION

  Available now from Harlequin.com!

  Keep reading for an excerpt from

  CAVANAUGH IN THE ROUGH by Marie Ferrarella

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  Cavanaugh in the Rough

  by Marie Ferrarella

  Prologue

  A host of thou
ghts, mostly fragmented, were playing ping-pong in Detective Christian Cavanaugh O’Bannon’s head as he drove to work. He was just a tad punchy, having gotten virtually no sleep. His goal was to go in early so that he could leave early and get his life back on track.

  For now, that was the plan.

  Last night’s revelry was still clinging to him like the light scent of expensive perfume that sold by the fraction of an ounce. Perfume worn by the woman he’d been trying to corner at the party he’d attended. She’d been friendly and warm, and just when he thought he was finally getting somewhere, he’d turned around and she was gone.

  He’d stuck around, thinking their paths would cross again, but they hadn’t. There’d been other single women there, just as attractive in their own way, but somehow he couldn’t work up the enthusiasm about any of them the way he had about the one who “got away.”

  Consequently, he was still somewhat frustrated, as well as just the slightest bit slow, rather than energized, the latter being his usual state.

  This was why he’d almost missed them. Missed the two boys, barely in their teens, running as if one of those zombie creatures was after them.

  What caught Chris’s attention, other than the fact that the teens were all but flying, was that the two looked paler than vanilla ice cream buried beneath a three-day snowfall.

  Intrigued and definitely curious, Chris stopped going over just what had gone wrong with his fail-safe strategy last night, and became instantly alert and focused on what was happening right now.

  It was a little after six in the morning and the sun had already staked out its position in the sky, so Chris knew his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. That his mind wasn’t doing creative things with the night’s leftover shadows. There were no shadows, only two teenage boys running from a strip mall as if their very lives depended on just how far away they could get and how fast they could do it.

  Braking abruptly—and silently grateful that there was no one behind him—Chris did a creative U-turn and drove into the strip mall, instantly going in the same direction the boys were running—or fleeing, if that turned out to be the case. Part of his gut instincts—inherited from a family tree enormously populated by law enforcement agents—told him that “fleeing” was the more likely description.