Navy SEAL Security

Once she got rid of Riley she’d be safe. Wouldn’t she?

His hand dropped to her shoulder, and she twisted her head around. He slid his fingers up to her throat, his eyes now a dark blue clouding over like a stormy sea. Her pulse ticked wildly beneath his touch.

“Be careful, beach girl.” Then he cupped the back of her head and drew her close, sealing his lips over hers.

The quick kiss didn’t feel like goodbye. It felt like a protective stamp that she’d carry with her forever.

She managed an inarticulate goodbye as she scrambled out of the car. Walking toward the police station, she didn’t dare turn around even though she could feel Riley’s gaze searing her back.

She hoped the police could help her even though she didn’t trust them. She hoped for once they could reassure her and make her feel safe.

As safe as she felt with Riley.

Navy Seal Security
Carol Ericson

MILLS & BOON

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To K.F. and L.F., the best Los Angeles County

Junior Lifeguards on the beach.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Carol Ericson lives with her husband and two sons in Southern California, home of state-of-the-art cosmetic surgery, wild freeway chases, palm trees bending in the Santa Ana winds and a million amazing stories. These stories, along with hordes of virile men and feisty women, clamor for release from Carol’s head. It makes for some interesting headaches until she sets them free to fulfill their destinies and her readers’ fantasies. To find out more about Carol, her books and her strange headaches, please visit her website at www.carolericson.com, “where romance flirts with danger.”

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Amy Prescott—A San Diego County Lifeguard, Amy gets embroiled in a drugs-for-arms deal that brings her past crashing down around her. Can the sexy Navy SEAL who comes to her rescue keep her safe or will falling for him torpedo her well-ordered world?

Riley Hammond—A former member of the covert ops team, Prospero, Riley has a single-minded mission: locate missing Prospero member Jack Coburn. However, when his mission lands him on the beach of a lifeguard with plenty to hide, he’s not sure whether to interrogate her or take her in his arms.

Carlos Castillo—The ex-boyfriend Amy dumps when she finds out he’s married, but Amy soon discovers Carlos has a lot more to hide than a wife.

Ethan Prescott—Amy’s half brother is the heir apparent to their father’s criminal enterprise. Although Amy hasn’t seen him in years, he knows all about her and is willing to jeopardize her safety for his own means.

Eli Prescott—Amy’s father sits in prison a broken man, but do his connections and influence extend beyond the bars of his cell?

Farouk—Prospero’s former nemesis has expanded his business model and taken his terror worldwide, and this time it’s personal.

Colonel Scripps—Prospero’s coordinator, the colonel knows he can summon all of the former team members with one call. He just hopes it’s not too late to save Prospero’s leader, Jack Coburn.

Jack Coburn—The former leader of Prospero and current hostage negotiator has run into a little trouble. Can he depend on his brothers in arms to save him, or is he going to have to save himself?

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Prologue

Jack Coburn could think of about a thousand tastes more pleasant than his own blood—so he spit it out. The behemoth facing him sneered and readied his ham-hock fists for another round of punch-the-stupid-American. Lurch had to be the biggest Afghan Jack had ever seen in his life, and he’d seen plenty.

Jack hadn’t escaped his captivity from a small, airless tent to be thwarted here. He dug his boots into the dirt outside the cave and tensed his muscles. If he could take care of Lurch and drag his body into the scrubby bushes that clung to the side of the mountain, he could get back to eavesdropping on the conversation in the cave.

And if he’d correctly heard the name they’d dropped in there just before Lurch materialized, he had to listen in on the rest of that discussion. His life depended on it, as did the lives of his brothers in arms—the whole gang from Prospero.

Lurch charged forward, and Jack met his assault with a kick to the substantial gut. Lurch staggered back, emitting a guttural cry from his throat. The howl unleashed several pairs of footsteps from the front of the cave, and Jack spun around to meet his adversaries.

The Afghans gathered in a semicircle around Jack and, as he waited for the gunshots, a muscle ticking wildly in his jaw, he whispered, “Bring it on.”

The men closed in on him and the stench of their sweat permeated his nostrils. Or was it his own sweat?

Still, not one of the fierce mujahideen raised a weapon. Licking his lips, Jack took two steps back to the edge of the cliff and glanced over his shoulder at the outcroppings that dotted the long way down to the village where he’d been staying. Would his young friend, Yasir, be looking for him?

The leader of the group brandished his sword. He growled in the Darwazi dialect, “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

Jack pretended not to understand the man’s words. He spread his hands and smiled, nodding like a fool and taking another step toward the precipice.

Even if they believed him to be harmless, they’d never let him live. And once they compared notes with their brethren, the men who’d captured him two days ago, they’d torture him for information.

If he had to die sooner rather than later, he’d prefer to die swiftly and while in control of his own destiny.

So he stepped off the ledge and into the dark abyss. Before he hit the vicious rocks below, one thought pierced his brain.

Sorry I failed you, Lola. Whoever you are.

Chapter One

A dark shape bobbed on the water outlined by a muted orange sunset and then disappeared. A seal? Amy squinted at the horizon, spotting another object in the fog-shrouded distance. That one had to be a boat.

She leaned the flag in the corner of the lifeguard tower and grabbed a broom. After sweeping the sand out the door, she dumped the hot water from the bucket onto the beach. They kept the hot water available in the tower to treat stingray stings, but with the kids back in school and the summer crowds gone, they didn’t really need it. She liked to follow the rules in case anyone challenged her. She didn’t need trouble. She’d had enough.

She lifted the receiver of the red phone and called the main lifeguard station up the coast. Zeke Shepherd picked up on the first ring.

“This is Amy Prescott in Tower Twenty-eight. I’m out of here.”

“Hey, Amy. Catch any excitement on your last day?”

“Not unless you count an older couple out for a walk with their metal detectors and a couple of joggers. This fog is starting to roll in pretty fast. It drove everyone away about a half hour ago.”

Zeke snorted. “I hate Tower Twenty-eight once the summer’s over. No people, no action. Do you want me to pick you up in the truck and give you a ride back to your car?”

“No, thanks. I’m jogging back.”

“You’re in such good shape you should’ve kicked that guy’s butt when you found out—”

Amy cut him off. “See you later, Zeke.”

Had every lifeguard in San Diego County heard she’d been duped by a married man a couple months ago?

She slammed the receiver back in its cradle. She might as well have Gullible Sap tattooed on her forehead. For all the precautions she usually took with relationships, Carlos had really played her.

Reaching up to unlatch the cover of the lookout window to swing it down, she glanced at the ocean. The animal on the water had moved closer to shore and now looked bigger than a seal. Amy snagged the binoculars from the hook and turned them toward the object.

A breath hitched in her throat. Two scuba divers had broken the surface and seemed to be struggling toward the beach. Had one of them lost air? Embolized?

Amy shimmied out of her sweat pants, yanked the sweatshirt over her head and dropped them both on top of her open backpack. With her heart racing, she lifted the phone off the hook and left it dangling. Of course, she’d already told Zeke she was leaving, but protocol prevailed. If someone did call the tower, the busy signal would indicate a rescue.

Grabbing her orange rescue can, she sprinted down the ramp of the lifeguard tower and churned up dry sand on her way to the ocean.

The divers, still struggling, had moved closer to the shoreline. Amy high-stepped over the waves and plunged into the chilly water, dolphin-kicking her way to the two people.

One diver had his arm around the other diver’s neck, the man flailing in his grasp. That technique would kill him, not rescue him.

Amy shouted as she neared the duo, and the stronger diver looked up. The person in his arms slumped and he released him into the water. Adrenaline pumped through Amy’s system as she shot forward and caught the disabled diver before the next wave rolled in, dragging him back out to sea.

She hooked one arm around his chest while offering the rescue can to the other diver. He shook his head and plowed through the water toward the beach with a strong stroke.

He seemed to have a lot of strength left; why hadn’t he helped his buddy? He might be disoriented or in shock. She’d call the station as soon as she got this one to shore and revived him.

Still clutching the unconscious diver, Amy rode the last wave onto the wet sand. The other diver had reached the beach ahead of her and now struggled out of his gear, dropping his tank to the ground.

Rolling the victim onto his back, Amy called out to the other man. “Are you okay?”

He ripped his mask from his face and tossed it onto the sand. “Don’t bother. He’s dead.”

His cold words felt like another splash of ocean water on her face. Then she took in his heaving chest and a jagged rip along the side of his wet suit. He probably needed medical attention for shock.

She flipped up the mask from the injured man’s face and tipped his head back, placing one hand on his chest. His companion spoke too soon. A feeble heartbeat struggled beneath the diver’s wet suit.

A warm, sticky substance oozed through her stiff fingers and she gasped. The man’s wet suit sported a huge gash down the front and blood seeped from the tear. What the heck had gone on out there?

Amy clamped both hands against the wound to staunch the loss of blood. The man’s body shuddered and jerked. His arms flew up and he grabbed her around the neck, his strong fingers creating a vise and grinding her gold chain into her neck. Choking, she clawed at his arms with her bloody hands, her nails skimming off the thick neoprene of the wet suit.

The diver behind her charged toward them and drove his knee into the man’s throat. Her attacker’s hands dropped from her neck and he slumped, a gush of air escaping from his lungs, a gurgle of blood spouting from the tear in his wet suit.

Amy hacked and tumbled backward, her hands hitting the sand behind her. She scrambled like a crab across the wet surface, leaving bloody indentations in her wake.

“Sorry about that.” The stranger pressed his fingers against the throat of the man who’d just tried to strangle her. “Thought I had him. He’s dead now.”

“W-what happened to him? Why did he attack me when I was trying to save him?” She raised her gaze to the other diver, now on his knees, peeling his wet suit from the top half of his body and toeing off his fins.

He cocked his head, squinting into the fog with a steely blue gaze. “I stabbed him.”

Then she noticed a knife plunged into the sand next to him. Screaming, she rolled onto her stomach and launched to her knees. A hand encircled her ankle, yanking her leg back, and she landed on her belly again. She spun around, kicking wildly with her other leg.

The man fell on top of her, covering her mouth with his hand, grinding salty grains of sand against her lips. She struggled to knee him in the crotch, but his body felt like a lead weight against her, immobilizing her.

His face inches from hers, he brought a finger to his lips. “Shh.”

A chill raced up her spine. Then she heard it—the low whine of a motorboat. Salvation. She bucked beneath her captor and worked her jaw to open her mouth and bite his hand.

His voice growled close to her ear, his briny scent invading her nostrils. “Stop fighting me. Those are some very dangerous men out there on that boat.”

His words sucked the already-diminishing air out of her lungs, and she slumped beneath his rock-hard body. She moved her lips against his palm in a silent question, the saltwater on his hand working its way into her mouth.

The maniac flashed a smile, rows of white teeth in a tanned face. They gleamed in the fog that now surrounded them like damp cotton. He winked. “Don’t worry. I’m one of the good guys.”

Her eyes darted to the dead diver slumped in a heap at the water’s edge.

“He’s one of the bad guys.” He shifted his muscular frame, giving her some breathing room. “I’m going to remove my hand from your mouth and let you up, but you need to stay close to me and we need to get off this beach. Nice job on that rescue, by the way.”

Amy swallowed, not even minding the sand that scratched her throat. Two lunatics had invaded her beach and now one of them planned to kidnap her. The perfect ending to a lousy couple of months.

As soon as he removed his hand and his hold, she planned to scream bloody murder and run toward the sound of the boat. She could swim a long distance if she had to. Her gaze tracked over the muscled shoulders and corded arms of the man who held her, and her stomach fluttered. He could probably swim just as fast and far.

And he had a knife.

He slid his hand from her mouth, resting it on her throat. Amy dropped her gaze to the stranger’s sinewy forearm and gulped. He could easily finish the job the dead guy started. As she gathered air in her lungs for a big scream, a motor whirred fast, loud and close.

In one movement, her captor rolled off her body and grabbed her arm, yanking her to her feet. At the same time, a scream ripped from her throat. A loud pop followed her cry for help and the man beside her cursed.

“Thanks a lot, beach girl. You just gave them a target in this muck.”

The people on the boat confirmed his words as they fired two more shots in the general direction of Amy’s head.

“Let’s move.” The man shoved her in front of him and she stumbled as her feet hit dry sand. At least if any more bullets came their way, they’d have to go through his large frame first. And he made a great shield.

Was he protecting her?

Keeping his hand pressed against the small of her back, he said, “This fog should give us enough cover to make it to the lifeguard truck—as long as you keep your screaming to a minimum.”

Either she followed the man with the knife or turned toward the men with the guns. Since he hadn’t used the knife on her—yet—and the guys on the boat insisted on shooting at vague shapes in the fog, even after she screamed, Amy put her money on the guy with the knife.

Her legs pumped in the sand. She veered toward the tower and grabbed her backpack with her sweats on top. She didn’t hear any more gunshots and the occupants of the boat must’ve cut the motor because she couldn’t hear the distinctive whine.

The thick fog almost obscured her companion. He didn’t even seem to be breathing heavily, or maybe she couldn’t hear him over the roaring in her ears and her own ragged breath.

He bumped her side, grabbing her upper arm. “Where’s the lifeguard truck?”

“I don’t have a truck on this beach. My car’s parked in the lot.” She tried to shake him off, but his fingers pinched harder.

“You’d better not be lying and leading me into some kind of trap. That could get us both killed.” His icy blue eyes almost glowed in the fog.

“You’re the one with the knife.” She pried his fingers off her arm and kicked up sand behind her, hoping she got some in his face.

The beach remained eerily quiet behind them, but the dense fog could mute sounds. Amy kept up a steady pace, her feet leading her to the parking lot where her car waited. Once they got there, she’d dig her cell phone out of her backpack and call the police. The stranger couldn’t object if he really was on the right side of the law.

A strip of dark asphalt appeared and Amy pointed. “It’s right there.”

When the soles of her feet slapped against the gritty asphalt, she swung her backpack from her shoulder and clawed for her keys in the front compartment. She clicked the remote and gasped when the man swept her in front of him, pushing her toward the car.

“Get in and drive.”

Before she had a chance to figure out if she could take off without him, he scrambled into the passenger seat. He pounded the dashboard. “What are you waiting for? I said ‘drive.’”

She curled her left fist around her keys and fumbled with a zipper on the backpack crushed between her lap and the bottom edge of the steering wheel. Her fingers skimmed the smooth metal of her cell phone and she pulled it out.

“I’m going to call 911 first.”

His jaw hardened as he sluiced back his wet hair, beginning to curl at the ends. With a pair of broad shoulders and washboard abs that tapered to the wet suit peeled down to his slim hips, he looked like Triton or at least some sexy merman. Then he opened his mouth.

“No, you’re not. We need to get out of here. Now.”

Sounded like he knew his enemies well. Who was she to argue? She tossed her backpack in the backseat and started the car. “You’re right. Those guys seemed determined.”

A breath hitched in her throat. Maybe they were determined because they were cops or the Coast Guard, but would they start shooting into a bank of fog after she screamed without even shouting out a warning? Experience had taught her they just might. Her father had taught her to never trust the law.

Her gaze slid to the knife resting on the man’s powerful thigh encased in black neoprene. She didn’t have a choice right now anyway, but his reaction to her call to 911 would tell her a lot.

As she accelerated out of the beach parking lot, she scooped her cell phone from her lap where she’d dropped it and flipped it open. She’d pressed Nine before the man beside her snatched the phone from her hand.

“You can’t call the cops.” He cradled the phone in his palm and snapped it shut.

Amy clung to the steering wheel, her knuckles turning white. “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you? F-for witnessing that murder.”

He tossed the phone into the backseat and let out a ragged breath. Squeezing her bare thigh with his long fingers, he said, “I’m not going to hurt you, beach girl. I’m sorry you’re scared.”

If he meant to soothe her with his gentle touch on her leg, it sent a ripple of fear across her skin instead. Did he plan to rape her before he murdered her?

Amy swallowed. He seemed like a fairly reasonable lunatic. Maybe she could use logic on him. “Why can’t I call 911? The operator can alert the Coast Guard and go after the…the bad guys. You could be long gone by the time they picked them up, and I swear I won’t tell them anything about you.”

“You wouldn’t be a very good lifeguard if you did that, would you?” He clicked his tongue as he rummaged through her glove compartment. He pulled out her registration and peered at it. “You can call the cops when you get home. By that time, I will be long gone and so will that dead body on the beach.”

Her heart did a somersault in her chest. “When I get home?”

He flicked the paper registration with his finger. “Yeah. Drive back to your place and I’ll disappear in a puff of smoke or more likely a blanket of fog.”

When she’d pulled out of the beach parking lot, she’d headed in the general direction of her house since he hadn’t given her any orders about where to go. Would he really let her just go home and then call the authorities after he left without hurting her?

He was right about her responsibilities as a lifeguard. She’d have to report him and give the cops as good a description as she could. She gave him a sidelong glance—over six feet tall, muscular build, a wild, tawny mane of hair that brushed his shoulders, piercing blue eyes.

She’d have to scale back on the admiration of his masculine good looks when she gave her description to the cops or they’d think she’d fallen prey to that Stockholm syndrome where victims fell for their captors.

He glanced at the registration again before shoving it back into her glove compartment. “You live close, right?”

“Yeah, we’re almost there.” She gripped the steering wheel with clammy hands as another thought slammed against her like a sledgehammer. He’d retrieved her registration to see her address. She did not want this dangerous man in her house, but now he knew her address. “My husband, who’s six foot five and very jealous, will be home, too.”

He snorted. “I’ll take my chances.”

“Can’t I just drop you off somewhere? Why do you have to come to my house with me?”

“Just want to see you home safely.” He brushed some sand off the leg of his wet suit. “Is there a work schedule posted in the tower listing the shifts for the guards?”

“N-no.”

“I suppose the main station wouldn’t give out the guards’ names if someone called making inquiries about which guards are working which beaches?”

Her clammy grasp on the wheel got tighter. “Of course not. What are you driving at? Do you think those people in the boat will try to find out who I am?”

He lifted a shoulder, which touched the ends of his wet hair. “If they can, but it doesn’t sound like they’re going to be successful.”

“What if they come back to that beach, that tower, looking for me? Today was my last day for the summer, but I left everything wide open back there. I’m going to have to return to close up properly.”

Was he playing her to make her fear the men in the boat more than she feared him? The dying man had choked her, and the guys in the boat had shot at her. This one hadn’t lifted a finger against her. In fact, he’d protected her from the other attacks.

“I don’t think they’d do that.” But two lines formed a deep crevice between his eyebrows. “They’d have difficulty finding the beach again, and there are plenty of lifeguard towers up and down the coast.”

She chewed her bottom lip. “I don’t know about that. Imperial Beach is one of the southernmost beaches in San Diego County before you hit the Mexican border.”

“Request a transfer. They’re not going to find you.”

“They’re not going to find me anyway.” She rolled her tight shoulders. “I already told you. I’m done for the season since I only work summers. Today was my last shift.”

He patted her leg again. “That’s good to hear. And don’t return. Let someone else lock up. What’s your name anyway?”

“Amy.” She gasped and covered her mouth. How had this man lured her into such a state of naive stupidity so quickly? Next she’d be giving him her social security number. She jerked her leg, dislodging his hand.

He had the nerve to laugh.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to use your first name against you, and I can just reach in the glove compartment to find out the rest if I want.” He combed his fingers through tangled hair. “And just so we’re even, I’m going to tell you my first name, too. It’s Riley.”

“Riley.” The name rolled off her tongue. Riley didn’t seem too concerned about the cops knowing his name. Did he think just because he had a friendly, non-threatening demeanor and a gorgeous body she wasn’t going to report this?

Even though Amy had an innate distrust of authority, Riley had placed his confidence in the wrong woman. She’d had it in for all men since she’d discovered the guy she’d been dating for two months had a wife. Scumbag.

She rounded the corner of her block and pulled up to the curb in front of her rental house. She cut the engine and dropped her hands in her lap. “You can get out now. Although how you think you’re going to be inconspicuous roaming around in a full-body wet suit is beyond me.”

“Thanks for caring.” A boyish grin claimed his face. “I have trunks on underneath—just another surfer.”

“Just another surfer carrying a knife.”

She shouldn’t have reminded him.

His fingers curled around the handle and he said, “Let’s go inside to make sure everything’s okay.”

Tension knotted her shoulders again as she climbed out of the car, groping for her backpack in the backseat. She wouldn’t be able to breathe easily until Riley left the premises and she had 911 on the line.

It took her three tries to insert her key into the dead bolt with Riley standing behind her, the heat from his body warming her bare back. And then she didn’t even need to unlock the dead bolt—she must’ve left it unlocked when she took off this afternoon. She shoved the key into the handle, turning the knob and pushing open the door.

Riley stepped in front of her, tucking her behind his broad frame. “Everything look okay?”

“How can I tell? I’m staring at your back.” Her nose practically touched the cool, smooth skin between his shoulder blades.

Riley stalked to the center of the small living room, dwarfing it with his take-control presence. Amy shifted her gaze around the objects of the room, her pulse quickening when she spotted a book on the floor by the coffee table. Her cat, Clarence, probably knocked that over before he took off for his pre-dinner prowl.

“I’m going to have a look in the back rooms.” Riley pointed to the short hallway, gripping the knife in front of him.

Amy crept toward the book and crouched to retrieve it from the floor. She glanced toward the entry that led to the kitchen and then tilted her head back to peer at Riley disappearing into the bathroom, knife still drawn.

She could make a run for the portable phone in the kitchen and slip out the back, maybe bang on her neighbor’s door for help. Riley would probably take off, and she’d be safe.

Launching to her feet, she hurtled toward the kitchen. Just inside the entryway, she tripped over a soft object splayed across the floor. Yelping, she thudded against the linoleum. She scrambled to her hands and knees and spun around.

A sour knot of fear lodged in her throat as her gaze skidded across the deathly still form of her ex-boyfriend.