SEAL Protector (Brothers In Arms Book 2) Read online

  SEAL Protector

  Leslie North

  Contents

  Brothers In Arms

  SEAL Protector

  Blurb

  Mailing List

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  End of SEAL Protector

  Thank You!

  Sneak Peek

  Brothers In Arms

  SEAL Defender

  SEAL Protector

  SEAL Guardian

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  RELAY PUBLISHING EDITION, APRIL 2017

  Copyright © 2017 Relay Publishing Ltd.

  All rights reserved. Published in the United Kingdom by Relay Publishing.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, published, distributed, displayed, performed, copied or stored for public or private use in any information retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any mechanical, photographic or electronic process, including electronically or digitally on the Internet or World Wide Web, or over any network, or local area network, without written permission of the author.

  Cover Design by LJ Anderson of Mayhem Cover Creations

  www.relaypub.com

  Blurb

  Ex-Navy SEAL Vann Highrider has given everything to Brothers-in-Arms, the boot camp he owns with his teammates. He’s facing his toughest mission yet—someone is framing the SEALs for murder. It’s up to Vann to clear their name to keep their business afloat…and his Brothers out of jail. The last thing he needs is more bad press from a stupid accident. So when he finds a petite brunette failing miserably at his survival course, the Cherokee tracker wants to send her packing. Yet there’s something about her he can’t say no to…. But if she wants a second chance, she’ll have to follow his every move.

  Restaurant heiress Mercy Conde may be business savvy, but she’s always lacked physical prowess. If she wants to take her family’s empire overseas, though, she has to prove she can take care of herself. Brothers-in-Arms’ survival training seems like the perfect fit, but it doesn’t take long for this deep thinker to realize she’s in over her head. When tall, dark, handsome Vann offers to take her under his wing, she agrees to play things his way…especially when his way has her under more than just his wing.

  Vann is used to being a lone wolf, but he’s eager to boost Mercy’s confidence both on the boot camp course and in the bedroom. But when their training becomes a real life or death situation, they’ll have to put their skills to the test if they want to survive.

  Mailing List

  Thank you for purchasing ‘SEAL Protector’

  (Brothers In Arms Book Two)

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  1

  Oh, God! Please help me!

  Mercy Conde squeezed her eyes shut and clung to the rock face in front of her. Breath lodged squarely in her throat and pulse thundering, she repeated her mantra over and over in her head—don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down—while wondering how the hell she’d ended up here in the first place.

  Oh, yeah.

  Her parents.

  Not that her mom and dad were homicidal maniacs or anything, just determined to make their North American empire of world-class restaurants into a global empire. And, well, if part of that plan included forcing their only daughter to undergo torture in order to protect their business holdings from the threat of terrorism, then so be it.

  Okay. Maybe she needed to rethink that whole “homicidal maniac” part after all.

  “Help, please!” She managed to croak the words out of her constricted throat, each syllable cutting like glass. Bright light from above made her eyes water, a steady stream of air chilled her skin, and a cold sweat had broken out across the back of her neck, making her whole body feel cramped and corpselike. In the blink of an eye, she was ten-years-old again, teetering at the top of that rickety old oak tree behind their estate, clinging to the rotted branches for dear life, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was going to die, knowing she wasn’t good enough, would never, ever be good enough….

  This was it. No one would come to her aid and she’d perish here alone, falling to her doom on the hard ground below and….

  “Dammit!” The loud curse echoed inside Mercy’s head and suddenly a pair of large, warm, strong hands gripped her around the waist, pulling her to safety. “What the hell were you doing, leaving her up there alone?”

  Slowly, Mercy opened her eyes and stared up into the face of her savior. He was tall, a good twelve inches above her petite five-foot frame, and he looked like he’d walked straight off the set of some hardcore western movie. Long, straight black hair, bronzed skin, cheekbones so high and sharp a girl could cut herself on them. He could’ve been any nationality, but some functional part of her terror-fogged brain guessed there was some Native American in his heritage. Had to be, given his regal posture and those black eyes—so deep and soulful she could get lost in them and never, ever want to be found.

  Her Good Samaritan shook her hard, his hands still gripping her by the shoulders. Great thing too, seeing as how her knees were so wobbly Mercy doubted they’d hold her up. “What’s wrong? Don’t you pass out on me….” His frown darkened to a scowl and he turned to a skinnier, shorter guy beside him. “Why weren’t you watching her? She was obviously struggling!”

  “Sorry, sir,” the guy said. “The phone rang and there wasn’t anyone else to answer it, and I thought—”

  “Well, you thought wrong.” He turned back to Mercy and her already racing pulse kicked a notch higher for entirely different reasons this time. She’d been all over the world, travelled extensively for her role as chief executive for her family’s restaurant chain yet she’d never met a man who affected her so strongly, so deeply, so fast. Her immediate attraction and tingle of lust for him was fierce, almost primal…. He shook her again, this time hard enough to rattle her teeth. “Answer me. Are you all right?”

  “I-I’m fine,” she managed to say, her voice quivering. “I’m just afraid of heights.”

  His expression shifted from severe to shocked, one dark brow rising. “You were four feet off the ground, with a safety harness, on a well-monitored rock wall.”

  Okay, then. Forget fierce, primal lust. Make that provokingly, fiendishly irritating instead. She was well aware of her shortcomings. It was why she was here, after all. The last thing she needed was this guy to shove them all up in her face again. Mercy got enough of that from her parents.

  Anger slowly replaced the fear in her system, steeling her muscles and galvanizing her determination. “I said I’m fine. Thank you for your help, but I don’t require your assistance.”

  “Really?” His tone was flat, other than the slight hint of amusement. “Were you just going to hang around there all day then?”

  “Funny. Not.” She pushed past the guy, doing her best not to
think about how warm he felt or the solid muscle she encountered as she brushed by him, and grabbed her bottled water off the counter near the front of the training facility. Still wearing her harness made walking awkward, forcing her to waddle slightly, which only increased her mortification, and her ire. She ran a Fortune 500 multi-billion-dollar company, was fluent in three languages, and held a business degree from Harvard. Who the hell was this guy other than tall, dark, and supremely annoying? “I just need a minute then I’ll get back to it.”

  “Yeah.” He crossed his beefy arms and watched her with a narrowed gaze. “No.”

  “What do you mean, no?” Mercy paused mid-sip, outraged. “I paid damn good money for these classes. You can’t refuse me entry. I want to speak to the person in charge.”

  A slow grin formed on the man’s thin, but well-defined lips, she noted absently. Stop it! You’re here to learn survival and anti-terrorism skills, not get a date. Mercy squared her shoulders and took another gulp of water. Whatever the guy was about to say, she had the distinct feeling she wouldn’t like it.

  “You’re looking at him,” he said, his voice brimming with smug.

  Well, damn.

  She should’ve recognized him from the front of the Brothers In Arms brochure she’d received along with her welcome packet in the mail, but sheer terror had wiped rational thought from her brain. Now, though, it seemed it was time to do some damage control. She wiped her palm down the side of her white T-shirt, and then held out her hand. “Mercy Conde. I’m here from Queen Antoinette’s Restaurants International.”

  He stared at her extended hand for a moment, his face blank, before giving her a firm handshake. “Vann Highrider. Co-owner of Brothers In Arms.”

  Mercy ignored the sizzle of awareness zinging up her arm from their point of contact and looked away fast from his too-perceptive gaze. “Thank you for your help on the climbing wall. As I said, I just got distracted for a moment and—”

  “You shouldn’t have been up there in the first place.” He turned away from her and stalked back over to the skinny guy who’d been instructing her—Kurt, she remembered now. “You can’t leave students unattended. Ever. We went over that during your orientation. If you can’t handle that mandate, then leave. Now.”

  Kurt swallowed hard and glanced from Vann to Mercy then back again. “I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”

  “Damn straight it won’t.” Vann towered over the shorter guy and exhaled loudly, running a hand through his hair before looking around the busy facility. There were several classes going on in the new indoor training center. The place was state-of-the-art, from what Mercy could see and had read before choosing Brothers In Arms. The air in the facility still smelled of fresh paint and the slight chemical smell of the epoxy used to seal the concrete floor. Thick, bright red and blue mats scattered the floors and heavy ropes hung from the ceiling beside the two, thirty-foot rock walls near her. Men and women of all shapes and sizes were kickboxing, practicing martial arts and learning all there was to know about self-defense. Vann stepped in front of her again, his scowl dark. “You had to fill out forms and get a physical prior to enrolling in our program, Ms. Conde. If you were untruthful in anyway during that process, then I’m going to have to ask you to leave the premises. We can’t risk that kind of liability.”

  Stunned, she blinked up at him. “I didn’t lie about anything. I swear. I just needed a little encouragement and help on the wall.” Okay, yeah. She’d contradicted herself, but desperate times called for desperate measures, right? She glanced over at Kurt, who looked like he was ready to pass out, or vomit. “And it wasn’t his fault either. He’s right; there wasn’t anyone else around to answer the phone. Maybe you need to stop blaming your employees and hire more staff.”

  “We have adequate staff, Ms. Conde. Are you going to tell me how to run my business now too?” Vann stepped closer to her, his scent, sandalwood, pine and warm male, drifting around her, oddly comforting. “Because if so, we’re done here. Brothers In Arms prides itself on the safety and security of all our clients. If you don’t have the physical capabilities or the confidence to successfully navigate our programs, then it’s best you leave now, before you get hurt. Good day.”

  Crap. It was like living with her brothers all over again. They were always daring her to do things that she couldn’t do, then making her feel bad about herself afterward when she failed. The story of her life. Poor little Mercy, never good enough, never strong enough….

  He started toward the exit and she stared after him for a moment before jogging after him, her harness jangling loudly and impeding her steps. She would do this damned course if it killed her. Given how she’d reacted on that rock wall, it just might. “Wait a minute! You can’t kick me out for one mistake. Please. Give me one more shot.”

  Vann stopped abruptly in front of her and Mercy had to dig in her heels to keep from barreling into him. He looked her up and down in a slow appraisal, silent. Seconds ticked by with agonizing slowness. “What’s your next class?”

  She checked her watch. “I’ve got self-defense tactics in twenty minutes.”

  “Fine. One more chance, but that’s it. If you have a breakdown in that class too, then we can’t work with you. I’m sorry.”

  Chest tight, she nodded. “Okay. Great. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

  Giving her a skeptical stare, Vann nodded then headed out the doors and into the bright sunshine, leaving Mercy standing behind to wonder how in the hell she’d be able to keep herself from getting kicked out of the course. If her climbing skills left something to be desired, then her fighting moves were a complete disaster. Still, she had no choice but to try. Maybe that would be enough—no more “breakdowns,” that’s all Vann had said. Not that she had to be perfect. Besides, leaving here wasn’t an option. All the recent terror attacks around the world, coupled with several foreign hostages being taken and held for ransom, had gotten her parents understandably rankled. Thus, they’d demanded whoever took over the position of their new head of International Business Development be well versed in all forms of personal self-defense. Since the job was Mercy’s dream career, she’d come here to prove to her parents once and for all that she could handle any challenges working overseas in sometimes dangerous areas might present and that hiring some brash sales guy from Wall Street wasn’t in their best interest.

  They couldn’t replace her. They couldn’t. Her career was her life. All she had.

  Her three brothers all had their own Queen Antoinette’s franchises to run, families, lives and hobbies outside of the business. Mercy? All she had was the company. Losing her place in it would be the last straw in a long line of failures.

  Nope.

  Quitting wasn’t an option for her here.

  She stared across the large space, watching the current self-defense students knock each other to the floor and grab one another in chokeholds. Her fingers clenched, squeezing her water bottle so hard it crunched. How she would make it through this next week, she had no idea. She just knew she would. She had to. There was no other choice.

  2

  Vann stalked across the gravel parking lot of the Brothers In Arms compound toward the office he shared with his buddies and co-owners of the business, Mark Rogers and Jace Stevens.

  They’d all served as Navy SEALS and fought together on battlefields around the world more times than he could count. They’d pooled their money and started the security business after their honorable discharges nearly five years prior. Things had been going great too, until recently.

  Over the past year, there’d been a sudden increase in the number of suicides amongst their SEAL brethren, two of them former employees of Brothers In Arms. It was enough to get Mark’s attention, and he’d taken it upon himself to investigate the deaths himself. Of course, then Geneva had shown up, a nosy reporter from San Francisco, with her own angle and agenda on the story and a mess had ensued, at least in Vann’s opinion.

  Well a helluva
lot more than that given that they started getting cancellations right and left thanks to all the press coverage of the compound, both good and bad. With clients dwindling, they’d discussed reducing their rates to try to bring in more clients, but Mark had been adamant that they not drop their rates. Even made the ridiculous suggestion of increasing their rates for some of their single classes. Geneva, of course, agreed with him and with her help, managed to turnaround the bad publicity they were receiving into something profitable. As a thank you, she’d been allowed to install ridiculous lace curtains in their office. She said it brightened up the place, made it a bit softer.

  The last thing a bunch of ex-SEALs wanted to be seen as was soft. Even if she was right about increasing business. In three months, their finances were looking good and they’d been able to bring in more instructors.

  He exhaled slowly and scrubbed his hand over his face, the same hand he’d used moments earlier to try to shake some sense into Miss Mercy Conde in there.

  Lord save him from pesky women. Mark had ended up falling for Geneva and look where that had gotten him—happy, content and engaged to be married.

  Not that Vann didn’t want those same things for himself one day, just not now; even if Mercy Conde was far more delectable in person than she was in her photo. He wasn’t going to go there. He had too much on his plate already. Mainly the investigation that had been opened into Brothers In Arms after the suicides of their two former employees had turned out not to have been suicides at all. The feds were snooping into everything from their hiring practices, to their OSHA records, to their tax returns. If there was one thing Vann valued, it was his privacy. If there was another, it was this place. Brothers In Arms was his life. If it went under, then so would he.