Hot SEAL, Secret Service: SEALs in Paradise Read online

  Hot SEAL, Secret Service

  SEALs in Paradise

  Cynthia D'Alba

  Hot SEAL, Secret Service

  By Cynthia D’Alba

  * * *

  Copyright © 2020 Cynthia D’Alba and Riante, Inc.

  Digital ISBN: 978-1-946899-28-6

  * * *

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author—except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the web. For additional information or to obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author via email at [email protected]

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  Cover Artist: Elle James

  Editor: Delilah Devlin

  Beta Readers: Debbie Watson, Eileen McCall

  Also by Cynthia D'Alba

  Whispering Springs, Texas

  Texas Two Step: The Prequel (Free)

  Texas Two Step

  Texas Tango

  Texas Fandango

  Texas Twist

  Texas Bossa Nova

  Texas Hustle

  Texas Lullaby

  Saddles and Soot

  Texas Daze

  Diamond Lakes, Texas

  Texas Justice

  Cadillac Cowboy

  Hot SEAL, Cold Beer

  A Cowboy’s Seduction

  Dallas Debutantes/McCool Family Trilogy

  Dallas, Texas

  Hot SEAL, Black Coffee

  Christmas in His Arms

  Snowy Montana Nights

  * * *

  Single Title

  Hot SEAL, Alaskan Nights

  Hot SEAL, Confirmed Bachelor

  * * *

  Brotherhood Protectors

  (Part of Elle James Brotherhood Series)

  Texas Ranger Rescue

  Texas Marine Mayhem

  Contents

  1. Hot SEAL, Secret Service

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Hot SEAL, Black Coffee

  Hot SEAL, Alaskan Nights

  Hot SEAL, Confirmed Bachelor

  SEALs in Paradise Editions

  Hot SEAL, Secret Service

  “You know if this goes sideways and I get hurt, my wife is going to kill me. I promised this weekend would include nothing dangerous,” said ex-Navy SEAL Nicholas “Falcon” Falcone. “And that I’d make it home by Christmas morning.”

  “Where did you say you were going?” asked Liam Ghost, aka Dagger One for this mission, aka ex-Secret Service and ex-SEAL.

  “A SEAL convention.”

  The other three ex-SEALs seated on the floor in the back of the transport aircraft laughed along with Dagger One.

  “At Christmas? She believed we hold conventions on Christmas Eve? And how did you explain why she couldn’t come?” asked Levi Van der Hayden, aka Dutch.

  “Didn’t have to explain anything to Jen. She trusts me.” He shook his head. “Actually, she knows me too well. She kissed me and told me she was going to buy herself a new Benz as a Christmas present from me while I was gone.”

  Dutch and Banger laughed.

  Liam, who’d met Falcon’s wife, nodded and asked, “Which one?”

  “Who knows? She has expensive tastes so my money is on whichever model is the most expensive.”

  Liam chuckled. “In that case, my money’s on a two-seater convertible.”

  “Five minutes to target,” the pilot said into his mic.

  “Man, I hate HALOs. I figured I was done with those when I left teams,” said Heath “Banger” Diver.

  HALO, otherwise known as high altitude-low opening jump, was one of the least favorite activities for most SEALs.

  “Sorry, guys. It was this or a ten-mile hike in the snow with a steep, vertical ascent,” Liam said.

  “How good’s the intel?” Dutch asked.

  “Fairly solid. There are other teams being dispatched to other locations, but from the latest debrief, I think we’ve got the hot spot. Check your gear, gentlemen. Out the door in one minute. And before I forget, thanks for this. I know it’s almost Christmas. You’re doing me solid. I won’t forget.” Liam fist bumped each guy. “I promise you’ll be home by Christmas Eve.”

  The plane’s tail opened and the ramp slowly lowered. The team pushed up from the floor and shuffled toward the ramp.

  “Good luck, guys,” the pilot called out.

  “Go time,” Liam said. “See you on the ground.”

  Five bodies hurled from the plane.

  A recent snowfall left fresh powder over harder, frozen ground providing a welcomed cushion to the landing. After quickly gathering their parachutes and stashing them under the limbs of snow-covered fir trees, each man took a snowboard from his backpack.

  “Command. Dagger Team on location,” Liam reported to the operations command center.

  “Copy, Dagger One,” Command responded. “Charlie Team and Beta Team hit dry holes. How copy?”

  “Copy, Command. Dry Holes. What are you seeing on sat?”

  “Eight heat signatures on the move. One stationary. No vehicle traffic. Copy?”

  “Copy.”

  “VP scheduled to make statement in less than two hours. You have ninety minutes to secure site and locate hostage. Copy?”

  “Copy. Ninety minutes.”

  “Dagger One, engage, but do not terminate. Copy?”

  Liam gritted his teeth. Those bastards who held the love of his life deserved to die, preferably in some long, slow fashion.

  “Dagger One. How copy?” Command repeated.

  “Copy, Command. Engage, but do not kill the fuckers.”

  “Good luck,” Command responded. “Out.”

  “Listen up,” Liam said to his team. “The first two teams hit dry holes. Looks like we’ve got the prime target. SATCOM reports eight moving heat sigs, one stationary. We will assume that one to be the hostage. When we get within a mile of the cabin, Dutch and Banger break off and circle around to the east. Falcon, you and Mac go west. Once each side is secured, Dutch and Banger will move on to the south. Our orders are to capture tangos for interrogation and secure VIP package. Do not terminate tangos.”

  “You talking to us, Dagger One, or to yourself?” Dutch asked.

  Liam grunted. “Good question, Dutch. I’ll try to keep at least one alive to testify.”

  The five men bumped fists.

  “Let’s go,” Liam said.

  After lowering their night-vision goggles, the five ex-SEALs glided downhill on their boards, soundless over the fresh powder as they made their way toward the isolated cabin in northern Maine. When Liam had been approached about putting together this rescue team, he’d gone immediately to the four men he trusted with his life and the life of his loved one.

  Elizabeth “Liz” Chanel was the adult daughter of the sitting Vice President of the United States. They had met when her dad had been Speaker of the House and Liam had been assigned to her secret service detail during his run for the White House.

  Their attraction had been instantaneous. He’d fought his response to Liz, but within weeks, his carefully constructed wall of resistance collapsed. He’d requested and received a transfer off her secret service detail. However, he couldn’t stay away and their passionate affair had lasted over a year.

  Over a Labor Day weekend at her family’s home in Texas, the subject of marriage had been
raised by Liz and then by her father. Hell, even his boss had gotten into the marriage push during a pre-holiday phone call. Right or wrong, under that much pressure, he’d walked away. That’d been almost four months ago. The pain in his chest and the hole in his heart hadn’t begun to heal.

  His leaving hadn’t been because he hadn’t loved her. Of course, he’d love her—hell, he still did. He’d never felt love like that in all his thirty-five years.

  But Liam was a private person. As hard as it was to acknowledge, he wasn’t cut out to be in the limelight as the fiancé of a top model and the Vice President’s oldest daughter. He tried to ignore all the trappings of dating Liz, but he hated being followed on their dates. He despised cameras in their faces, or worse, photographers trying to snap pictures at the most inopportune times, like the time they’d been on vacation at Turks and Cacaos and discovered a photographer with a long lens trying to get pictures of Liz topless.

  On the other hand, Liz thrived in the public spotlight. She’d grown up with a family whose business was politics. She knew how to handle the media, the constant barrage of questions shouted from reporters, and non-stop camera flashes, which gave him headaches.

  In her twenties, she’d parlayed her incredible body, her stunning beauty and her ease in the public eye into a successful modeling career. Now in her mid-thirties, she only walked the runway for events that brought attention to the issues important to her. She certainly didn’t need the money. Her trust fund was sizable and gave her a comfortable life.

  Liam raised a fist above his head and cut a sharp left turn into a copse of trees. His team pulled alongside him.

  “Command, we are within a mile of the cabin. Any change in the SITREP”

  “No change. Nine heat signatures. How copy?”

  “Copy. Their locations, copy?”

  “Copy. Five inside. Four outside. Outside moving in swings and arcs. Copy?”

  “Copy, Command. Out.”

  He looked at his four trusted friends. “We still have eight tangos. Four inside and four outside. Our original plan stands. Good luck, guys. Let’s go and thank you. You hold a chit from me. Anytime. Anywhere.”

  The men removed their boards and left them under the branches of a fir laden with the heavy, wet snow that’d fallen over the last hour. The weather was cold as shit, but the snow made an excellent sound dampener.

  Liam waited until his men were gone before he began his own hike toward the house.

  God, he hated cold and snow. He’d hoped to spent Christmas somewhere he would get a sunburn rather than a frostbite. At least the breath from his mouth was warm. Under the white neoprene mask, his lips and nose were protected from frostbite, which was more than he could say for his balls. He hoped they didn’t freeze up and fall off during this mission. He was kind of attached to those guys.

  Give him his SEAL base in Coronado any day of the year. Sun, surf, and sand. His idea of a December location instead of a deep freezer that some call Maine.

  It was near midnight when he’d made his way down the tree-covered mountain. His SEAL handle had been “Fog” for good reason. He could roll in and out of any location soundlessly. Tonight, that talent was critical to his success or failure.

  His earpiece crackled to life. “Dagger One, one tango hog-tired and secure. Copy?”

  “Copy, Dutch. Any signs of the other?”

  “Negative.”

  “Copy.”

  Liam paused, listening to the sounds of the forest around him, and then he heard it. The slight crack of a stick. He eased into a thick grouping of fir trees. In his white camo pants and parka, he blended with the snow and was almost invisible in the moonless night. Turning in the direction of the sound, he studied the area through his night goggles and waited.

  The crackle of a radio split the quiet as the man neared Liam’s hiding position. The conversation was in Russian. Liam knew just enough Russian to get the gist. All quiet. No problems.

  A large man dressed in heavy camo and carrying an AK-47 slung over his shoulder passed Liam. The man unzipped his pants and let loose with a stream of urine into snow.

  Liam stuck the muzzle of his Glock 19 to the back of the man’s head. “Move and I blow your brains out. Understand?”

  The man nodded.

  “Drop your gun to the ground and put your hands on your head.”

  The man made a move for his gun, but Liam was quicker. His nine-inch, combat knife slide smoothly through the man’s coat and into his left flank. The man gasped, his gun sliding down his arm and off into the snow. Within a couple minutes, Liam had the man’s mouth covered with duct tape and limbs secured with zip ties. Propping him against a tree, Liam tied him to the tree.

  “One tango secured,” he reported to his team, fully aware that Command was monitoring radio transmissions. “Medic needed.”

  “Copy,” came the replies from his team.

  He pocketed the man’s radio, slung the rifle over his shoulder, and moved forward toward the cabin.

  His earpiece crackled as each team located and secured the tangos on outer patrol. With the one he’d secured, that left only three inside. He could handle three. Whether he could handle three without killing at least one of them remained to be seen.

  On the other hand, if one tango died, they’d still have seven men left alive to testify, he justified to himself. And he’d get the pleasure of exacting revenge for kidnapping Liz and ruining the Christmas holidays for everyone involved.

  Still, Command’s orders rang in his head. He might be a civilian now, but he understood orders and chain of command. All those sons of bitches would leave breathing. Damnit.

  Within a hundred yards of the cabin, he found a grove of thick, snow-covered bushes. He crouched to watch and wait. Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound. The snow, which had taken a break, began to fall again, this time in large, heavy, wet flakes, sticking to his camo-white parka.

  His earpiece crackled to life, followed by Dutch’s voice.

  “Dagger One. Dutch and Falcon headed your direction. Leaving Mac and Banger to patrol the area. Copy?”

  “Copy.”

  While he waited, his earpiece came to life again. “Dagger One. SITREP.”

  “Five tangos secured. One requiring medical. Three additional inside. Any change in heat sigs?”

  “Negative, copy?”

  “Copy.”

  Through the trees, two white- clad figures moved in his direction and, while he assumed them to be Dutch and Falcon, he readied himself for a potential attack.

  “Dagger One. Coming up on right side,” Falcon said into his ear.

  “Copy.”

  The two men eased up beside him toting the guns and radios they’d taken off the men they’d secured.

  “What’s the plan?” Dutch asked.

  “Three inside,” Liam said. “Lure as many as we can outside. An assault on the house puts Liz at risk.” And that was something he wasn’t willing to do. “Outside patrol hasn’t checked in and that has to be raising some red flags inside. I expect someone will be—”

  Before he could finish, the three radios crackled to life. Russian language rattled out.

  Falcon frowned. “Anyone understand Russian?”

  “A little,” Liam said. “Not much. I think he’s requesting a SITREP from the patrol. Let’s answer.” He lifted a guard’s radio to his mouth and replied in Russian.

  “Tee-hee?” Dutch said. “You think taunting them is a good idea?”

  Liam snorted. “That’s Russian for quiet. I hope more isn’t needed. You do it, but throw on a slight accent if you can.”

  The three men took turns answering “quiet” for each of the secured guards.

  “I’m going closer. See what I hear,” Liam said. “Hold this position.”

  After racing through the open rear yard, he dropped low and crawled up to the side of the wooden-framed shack. He’d barely stopped moving when the rear door opened and a heavy-set man stepped into the yard and lit up
a cigarette.

  “Viktor? Where’s your Russian ass?”

  Liam was surprised to hear English with no accent from this man.

  “Viktor? I’m freezing my ass off, man. Finish your fucking rounds and get back in here so I can take a break.” The man’s voice lowered to a mutter. “Besides, it’s too fucking cold out here.”

  He dropped the cigarette into the snow and went back into the cabin, slamming the door behind him.

  Liam had to agree with the too fucking cold sentiment. However, grabbing the Vice President’s daughter to force him off this year’s presidential ticket was where their mutual opinions parted ways.

  Liam studied the rear door and the nearby woodpile. “I’ll get him out,” he whispered into his mic. “You two take him down as quietly as possible.”

  Liam radioed that Viktor needed assistance. The rear door opened, and a man raced outside, his automatic rifle at the ready. Dutch and Falcon took him down and out before the man knew what hit him.

  That left two tangos inside.

  Surely the remaining two kidnappers had to be getting suspicious; at least, Liam would be getting leery if his men suddenly dropped off the radar. However, busting through the door would get the hostage killed, so no movie-style stunts would work in real life. The best plan would be to separate the last two men to get them safely secured

  He dropped beneath a window throwing light on the snow. From his pocket he retrieved a micro-listening device, attached it to the lower corner of the glass, then dropped back down to his haunches. He remained crouched, listening for any movement or sound. A couple of minutes passed before a shadow passed the window and the receiver sputtered to life.

  “I don’t like this, Sampson. Viktor and Frank should be back from their smoke breaks by now. Something’s wrong, I tell you. I say we kill the bitch and get the hell out of the country.”