Navy Seal Captive

Was she so desperate to be with a man, she had started reading into things? Hadn’t she learned with Tyler that men weren’t attracted to women like her? Or at least not for long. She was too boring, afraid to take risks, stuck in her ways.

Jenna tugged the rubber band out of her hair and shook her unruly curls loose. Well, maybe it was time to be more daring. She’d ask Carly to get the number for her date’s friend.

In the meantime, Jenna had a date with a bottle of champagne and a hot tub.

Funny thing was...she didn’t even like champagne.

No sooner had she entered her room than Carly stepped out of the shower. “I’m done if you want to rinse off,” she called out. The door to the bathroom stood wide-open. Carly leaned against the counter, applying makeup, her slim, athletic body wrapped in a towel.

“No, I’ll wait for the hot tub,” Jenna said and set her case on the floor.

“The champagne beat you here. Help yourself. I already poured a glass.” She turned and raised her glass, then drank a sip of the sparkling liquid.

Jenna figured that since it was paid for, she might as well try to enjoy it and poured a glass. She carried it to the huge floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean. The sun was still up, shining over the water. People crowded the beach, some swimming, others soaking up the sun. Families corralled children, and lovers lay entwined on towels, smooching as if they were the only ones on the beach.

Sighing, Jenna downed a long gulp of the bubbly liquid. This would have been her and Tyler’s honeymoon had he gone through with the marriage.

Now, two months after the horrible embarrassment of being jilted at the altar, she was glad she hadn’t married Tyler. They might already have been divorced or had the wedding annulled. Jenna would never have been happy with him. They were too different. She wanted a man who could be faithful. He wasn’t.

The ping of a cell phone sounded from the bathroom.

“Whoops.” Carly raced out of the bathroom, fluffing her short, dark, damp hair. She threw on a powder-blue sundress and strappy stilettoes and grabbed her purse. “Quentin is waiting for me downstairs.”

“Isn’t it early to go to dinner?” Jenna stared out at the beach.

“He wants to take me driving around first. Then we’re going to walk on the beach. After that, we’ll do dinner and dancing.” She smiled. “He wants to get to know me.” Carly hugged Jenna and bussed her cheek. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t, and enjoy your hot tub and champagne.”

“I will.” Jenna sighed as Carly hurried out, the door closing automatically behind her.

As soon as the door closed, Jenna cursed. She’d meant to ask Carly to get the phone number for Quentin’s friend.

She teetered on the balls of her feet, tempted to run after her friend, but didn’t. For a long moment Jenna stared at that door as if it were a barrier to her self-esteem.

Why was she staying in her room, soaking in a tub, when she could be out, enjoying the sunshine and salty air? Wasn’t she there to be adventurous? What better way than to go outside and experience life?

Scrapping the idea of a long soak in the hot tub, she stripped down to her underwear and slung her case up on the bed. She refused to hide in the honeymoon suite when she could be out having fun. With a determined flip of her hair, she flicked the latches. They didn’t open. Funny. She hadn’t locked them, knowing airport security would want to inspect for illegal or potentially dangerous items. Hell, she hadn’t thought to bring the key. And yet somehow, the locks had engaged.

She fished in her purse for her metal file and went to work jimmying the locks one at a time until finally they each sprang open. Jenna straightened triumphantly. One more hurdle overcome. She could do anything when she set her mind to it. “Boring... Ha!”

Jenna flung open the case, ready to pull out her sexy black dress.

For a moment, she stared into the case, her mind slow to realize this wasn’t her case at all.

“Oh no.” On top was a layer of clothing. Dark trousers, dark, long-sleeved T-shirts, a black ski mask. Things she would expect to see in a case bound for the ski slopes or a really cold climate, not the tropics.

Jenna closed the case and stared down at it, wondering what to do with it. There was no luggage tag on the outside identifying the owner should the case be lost.

Feeling guilty already about forcing the case open, she lifted the lid and glanced inside again. Maybe there was some form of identification buried inside.

Carefully lifting the clothes, she set them aside on the bed. Beneath the clothing was nothing. Strangely, the case still seemed heavy, and it was deeper on the outside than the inside. Was there a false bottom? She ran her hand around the inside of the case, searching for a lever or button to push. Finally she found it, sliding the device to the left. The divider popped up enough that she could slip her fingers beneath it and lift.

Jenna gasped.

Parts of what appeared to be a rifle lay disassembled in a bed of foam, including the stock, butt, scope and bolt. A manila envelope lay on top of the weapon.

Why would a man need to bring his gun to Cancún? Was he part of a marksman team?

Her stomach knotting, Jenna refused to think past this being a competitive marksman’s prize rifle. With no other identification to be found, she lifted the envelope, hoping to find the owner’s name and cell phone number inside.

Flipping up the prongs on the metal clasp, she opened it and spilled the contents onto the bed.

Photographs, money and a note lay on the comforter.

She examined the wad of cash secured by a rubber band and counted fifty one-hundred-dollar bills. Holy crap. Five thousand dollars. Her knees trembled. Who carried around five thousand dollars in cash?

Jenna picked up the photographs, her eyes widening. The man in the picture had dark hair and dark eyes. He was nice-looking, dressed in dark jeans and a black T-shirt. The material of the shirt stretched over broad, muscular shoulders. Tattoos peeked from beneath the sleeves.

Jenna peered closer, her breath catching in her throat. She recognized the man in the photo as the man she’d met on the zip-line platform not an hour earlier.

Her hand shaking, she unfolded the note. Her pulse slowed and her blood turned cold.

Bring him to the agreed-upon location by 9:00 p.m. Dead or alive.

A lead weight sank to the pit of Jenna’s belly. She’d wanted adventure, but not this much. At that moment, she’d settle for being boring Jenna.

Chapter Two

When Sawyer returned to the resort, he went to the bungalow he’d rented for his two-week stay, shed his jeans and pulled on a pair of swim trunks. After sweating in the humidity of the jungle, he could think of nothing he’d rather do than go for a dip in the ocean.

Grabbing a towel, he headed out the door and nearly ran into Montana.

“Hey, Sawyer!” Montana backed up a step. “You look like a man on a mission.”

“I am. There’s a WaveRunner with my name on it out there somewhere.”

Montana chuckled. “I take it the zip-lining wasn’t your style.”

“Not particularly.” Though the woman he’d met was. Jenna. Damn, he could kick himself for not asking for her number. Oh, well. He eyed Montana in his swim trunks, T-shirt and flip-flops. “You heading for the beach?”

“I am. Thought I’d improve on my tan.” He grinned. “Girls love a tan, right?”

Sawyer turned on the boardwalk path, heading for the ocean. “No date for tonight?”

Montana shook his head. “No. But then, I wasn’t really looking.”

“Me, either.” He hadn’t been looking and hadn’t made an attempt when the opportunity bumped into him. He’d be smart to go ahead and ask Quentin to get her number, or he’d spend the rest of the vacation wishing he’d been quicker to seize the moment. “I’m going to rent a WaveRunner. Wanna go in half?”

“Sure!” Montana flung his towel over his shoulder. “Been a while since I’ve ridden one.”

“Can’t imagine the lakes getting warm enough in Montana for a WaveRunner.”

“You’d be surprised. We have long days in the summer. Gives the water a chance to warm up.”

“From snowmelt?” Sawyer snorted. “Not as warm as the water gets off Virginia Beach.”

“Maybe not that warm, but a little warmer than the water off San Diego.”

Sawyer shivered. “BUD/S training gave a whole new meaning to word miserable.”

“Yeah, but I have no regrets.”

“Same here.” He’d grown up in a wealthy household. Everything he’d wanted, he could have by just asking. BUD/S training had been a real culture shock and an assault on his body, physically and mentally. But he’d be damned if he failed and went home to hear his father say “I told you so.”

Everything Sawyer did was to prove to himself he could do anything he set his mind to. Not because his father could get him the position or smooth his way. He didn’t want his father’s help. Hell, he didn’t want anything to do with his father.

The man had given him anything money could buy, but he hadn’t been much of a parent. He’d never played ball with him. Never made one of his parent-teacher conferences at school. When Sawyer crashed his motorcycle and broke his arm, his father was in Paris with his fiancée. He didn’t bother to come home and check that Sawyer was all right.

He never once showed up at one of his football games. Hell, he didn’t want him to play football. He’d said the sport was too hard on a man’s body. It wrecked the knees. Not that he cared if his son was injured. His advice was from a practical viewpoint. Why destroy your body when you needed it to get you through to old age?

Being raised in a mansion with formal living areas and white carpets had been stifling to Sawyer. He’d never thought he could be himself. He was always the politician’s son. On display in his best clothes. Sawyer felt more at ease near the sea, with sand between his toes and the sun warming his skin, wearing nothing but a swimsuit.

“There.” Montana pointed down the beach, where a number of WaveRunners rested on the sand. A small tent stood nearby with a menu of prices listed on a chalkboard.

They wove their way between families playing with their children in the sand and bikini-clad beach babes slathered in oil and baking in the sun. Sawyer didn’t slow to stare at the beautiful bodies. He wanted to be racing across the water, crashing through the waves, letting the wind and ocean wash thoughts of his lonely childhood from his mind. He had his SEAL brothers now. They were the best family a man could have. They’d be there for him, no matter what.

Sawyer slapped a wad of bills in the attendant’s hand. “We’ll take one for an hour.”

The man pocketed the cash, instructed them on the use of the equipment and helped push a WaveRunner out to the water’s edge.

Sawyer nodded to Montana. “You can go first.”

“You sure? This was your idea.”

“I can wait. Just don’t wreck it before I get a chance to ride.” He twisted his lips into a wry grin. “It’s not like riding a horse.”

Montana laughed, hitched his shorts as if he were a real cowboy dressed in jeans and cowboy boots, and then swung his leg over the seat as if he was mounting a horse. “It’s more like riding a horse than you think. But then, riding a horse can be a lot more difficult for you city slickers.”

“Keep it up, Montana, and I’ll show you a real rodeo on the water.”

“Only thing that’ll convince me is if you rope a shark, hog-tie him and bring him in to roast on a spit. Montana-style.” Montana gunned the throttle and shot out into the water. He hit a small wave head-on, crashing through the crest to emerge on the other side. “Yee-haw!” he yelled and raced out to sea.

Sawyer sat in the wet sand, adjusting the cell phone in his pocket, glad he’d thought to slip it into a waterproof bag before he’d left the bungalow. He let the water lap over his feet and legs, enjoying the sun on his back, the fresh air and the taste of salt on his lips.

The first few days in Cancún had been a lot more than any of them had bargained for. Looking for relaxation, fun and maybe some female companionship, they’d come to Cancún ready for a much-deserved vacation.

Duff had been the first of the men to find a female companion. And boy, did he know how to pick one. Natalie, a former government secret agent, had come to find her sister, who’d disappeared on a diving excursion.

When Duff offered to help, all four members of SEAL Boat Team 22 who’d come to Cancún were engaged to find and liberate women who’d been kidnapped and readied for auction in a human trafficking ring.

Rest and relaxation. Ha!

Since when did getting shot at count as recreation?

Quentin, Montana and Sawyer could have told Duff where he could go with his plan to help, but that was not what friends did—not what SEAL brothers did. They stuck together and helped each other through good times and bad. And if there were guns and bad guys involved, that was when they did their best work.

Sawyer leaned back in the surf and let the warm, clear ocean water ebb and flow over his skin. Now that they’d retrieved the women and sent most of them to their respective homes, the team could finish their vacation in peace.

Montana hopped across several more waves, shouting like a fool and laughing in the sun. A wave hit him broadside and knocked the big cowboy into the water.

Laughing, Sawyer stood, brushing sand off his shorts.

Montana dragged himself up the back of the craft, mounted the WaveRunner and powered into the shore, pulling up on the sand beside Sawyer. Grinning, he shook the water from his hair. “You’re gonna love it.”

“Great.”

Montana climbed off and stood to the side.

Finally Sawyer had his turn. He and Montana turned the vehicle in the sand to aim it outward.

Sawyer swung his leg over the body of the craft and settled onto the cushioned seat. As he twisted the throttle, a shout sounded behind him.

* * *

AS SOON AS Jenna realized who the man in the photographs was, she’d grabbed her cell phone and called Carly.

Her friend didn’t answer. Instead, she texted.

What do you need? We’re in a convertible. I can’t hear over the wind.

Get Quentin to give you the number for his friend.

Carly responded with a smiley face and a note.

His name is Sawyer.

Her heart racing, Jenna paced the floor. Every time she passed the case on the bed, her stomach clenched and she muttered, “Holy crap.”

Someone had been paid to deliver Sawyer dead or alive to some undisclosed location. Armed with that information, Jenna couldn’t stand by and let the would-be assassin succeed in his mission. She had to warn Sawyer. The sooner the better. The assassin might have more than this rifle at his disposal. And he had a deadline to meet.

Her first thought was to call the police. But no crime had been committed at that point. And hell, what if they thought she was the owner of the weapons? They’d throw her in a Mexican jail to rot. All the reports she’d heard about the Mexican government being owned by the drug cartels didn’t give her much faith in their ability to stop this kidnapping or assassination from occurring.

Jenna glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was already three in the afternoon. That meant six hours until the assassin had to deliver his prize.

Jenna’s phone pinged with Carly’s text. It contained a phone number, the name of a nearby resort hotel and a message.

Sawyer was planning to go to the beach this afternoon and rent a WaveRunner. You might find him there. Have fun!

“Have fun? Are you kidding me?” With a near-hysterical laugh, Jenna dialed the number and waited, gripping her cell phone so hard, she was afraid she’d break it. On the third ring, a male voice answered.

“Leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.” The voice was the same rich baritone she’d heard on the zip-line platform.

Jenna closed the damning suitcase and shoved it high on a shelf in her closet, hoping that would calm her frazzled nerves. It didn’t. She still had to warn Sawyer.

Unwilling to deliver the bad news to him via a recording, she hit the end button and glanced around the room. Still dressed in nothing but her underwear, she yanked the bright pink bikini Carly insisted was adventurous out of her carry-on bag, shed her bra and panties and slipped into the suit. She threw on a short, lacy beach wrap and grabbed her room key.

She’d considered texting Carly about what was in the case but was afraid Carly wouldn’t believe her. Or worse, the text message would be intercepted. Nobody could know she had the case. Not until she figured out what to do with it.

First she had to find Sawyer and warn him about the note’s contents.

Riding the elevator from the bridal suite to the ground floor was a study in patience. The car stopped several times on the way down to fill with people wearing dinner clothes or beach apparel, depending on where they were headed. They laughed and joked with each other while Jenna bit down on her lip and counted the seconds until they reached the bottom. She wanted to shout and rail at the people slowing her down. Didn’t they realize a man’s life could be hanging in the balance?

Somewhere in Cancún, possibly on the beach, an assassin could be following Sawyer or aiming at him through a scope similar to the one in the case. One pull of the trigger and Sawyer would be delivered dead.

The elevator hit the ground level and the doors opened, disgorging the numerous passengers.

Dancing in the rear, Jenna tried to get around some of them but was cut off every time. When she found a clear path, she darted through the lobby, making a beeline for the concierge, where she cut in front of an elderly couple and asked where she could find the hotel Carly had given in her text message.

The concierge pointed and told her it was two hotels south along the beach.

Jenna didn’t wait for clearer directions but ran out the back door of the hotel, past the pool and the myriad lounge chairs flanking it and out onto the sand. She didn’t slow as she raced past the umbrellas and people stretched out, capturing the afternoon sunshine. Eventually she ran along the water’s edge, finding better purchase in the wet hard-packed sand. Passing the first resort hotel, she kept her gaze forward, searching the beach in front of her and the water to her left.

God, she hoped he was close to the water, where she could find him easily. If she had to look at each patron on the beach, it could take too much precious time.

As she neared the second resort hotel with its rainbow-colored beach umbrellas, Jenna saw a small tent set up close to the water with a number of WaveRunners parked in the sand.

Barely able to breathe by then, she staggered to a stop in front of the startled attendant.

“Have you—” Jenna wheezed as she leaned against the tent pole and dragged in a deep breath “—rented a WaveRunner—” she breathed again and finished in a rush “—to a tall, dark-haired man with tattoos on his arms?”

The attendant’s brows pulled together. “Sí.”

“Where is he now?”

The man pointed to the water’s edge a hundred yards farther along the beach.

Jenna glanced past the teenagers throwing a Frisbee, the father tossing his child in the air and the girls playing in the surf to a man standing near a WaveRunner and another slinging his leg over the seat.

“Wait!” Jenna cried and took off, running as fast as her legs and lungs could carry her.

Neither man turned at her shout the first time.

“Wait!” she cried as she got closer. This time the man standing beside the WaveRunner looked up. The one on the vehicle revved the engine and started sliding toward the water.

Giving it her all, Jenna lifted her knees and elbows, running faster than she ever had in the fifty-yard dash in high school and pounded across the wet sand, out into the surf. She flung herself onto the back of the watercraft, wrapping her arms around the man with the tattooed arms.

“What the hell?” Sawyer twisted in his seat to stare at his passenger. “Jenna?”

“Go!” she cried. “Go fast! Get as far out as you can.”

His gaze sharpened on her face, but he revved the engine. “What’s wrong?”

“Just do it. I’ll explain when you get away from the shore.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes,” she said, holding on tightly as they sped away from the beach and hit a wave full-on. Water splashed up in her face before she could close her mouth. She swallowed some and choked, spitting salt water.

He slowed. “Are you okay?”

“Please, just go out to sea.” She clung to his back, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist. “Your life depends on it.”

“Okay.” He shook his head but twisted his hand on the throttle, heading out to sea, taking them farther and farther from the beach.

When they were a good quarter of a mile out, he slowed the vehicle to a stop and half turned to face her. “Now, do you mind telling me what the hell just happened?”

Jenna glanced back at the shore. “How far can a bullet travel?”

“What?” Sawyer stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Not that I’m not flattered, but what does that have to do with hijacking me and my WaveRunner?”

She wiped the salty water from her face and bit her lip. “You’re not going to believe this.” Shaking her head, she tried to pull the words together in her mind before blurting them out.

“Believe what?” His scowl deepened. “Woman, you aren’t making sense. And if you don’t start talking, I’m heading back to shore before we run out of gas or the engine decides to quit. I’m pretty sure we’re farther out than the attendant recommended.”

Jenna’s heart thumped against her chest and her fingers dug into his waist. “Someone is going to try to kill you.”

For a long moment he stared down at her. “Is that your prediction? Are you a psychic or something?” His lips curled in a derisive smile. “Lady, I’m a SEAL. I get shot at on every mission.”

Jenna shook her head. “How can you believe me when I barely believe what I saw?” She pressed her forehead to his shoulder, grasping for the words. Then she straightened, firming her jaw. “I picked up the wrong suitcase in the lobby of my hotel. When I opened it, I found what I assume were the parts to assemble a sniper’s rifle, complete with a scope.”

Sawyer snorted. “How do you know what a sniper’s rifle looks like? Do you even own a gun?”

Her cheeks heated, and anger spiked inside her. “So, I don’t own a gun, and I don’t know exactly what a sniper’s rifle looks like. But it’s what was with the rifle that made me assume the owner was a sniper, hit man or assassin.”

With a chuckle, Sawyer ran a hand through his dark, wet hair, standing it on end. “Could it be you’ve been watching or reading too many thrillers lately?”

She smacked her palm against his arm. “Damn it, I’m trying to tell you that I found photographs and a note with the weapon. Your photographs. Pictures of you and a note telling the gun owner to bring you to wherever they were going to meet by nine o’clock tonight. Dead or alive.”

This time Sawyer sat still, his gaze pinning hers.

Jenna held steady, lifting her chin.

“How do I know you’re not some nutcase desperate for male companionship and will come up with any cockamamie story to get one alone?”

Jenna let go of his waist and scooted back on the seat of the WaveRunner. “Is that what you think?” She slipped even farther back until she teetered on the edge, refusing to touch even one inch of the man’s body. “Do you think I’m so desperate I’d chase a man out into the middle of the ocean just to get him alone?” She shook her head. “You know, I could have taken that case to hotel security and let them handle it.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s your life on the line. Not mine. If you want to ignore the warning I’ve given you out of the sincerest desire to save your sorry carcass, you do that. I’ll just get myself back to shore, because I’d rather swim a mile in shark-infested waters than ride back on a WaveRunner operated by a man with an ego the size of a whale.” She dived into the water before he could say anything or reach out and grab her.