Navy Seal To Die For

“Something hit the plane,” Duff said.

Quentin nodded. “And since it didn’t impact the nose or the fuselage but knocked out the engine, we either sucked a pelican into the engine, or were hit by a heat-seeking missile.”

“What?” Becca looked around the swamp. “We’re in Louisiana, not the Middle East.”

Sawyer pulled out his cell phone and held it up. “If I can get cell service, I’ll contact our unit. We aren’t too far from Stennis.” He tapped the screen and waited.

Becca plucked at her damp blouse, realizing a little late that the wet white fabric did nothing to hide what was beneath. Thank goodness she had on a bra. She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling a little silly for the panic attack that made her leap out of the airplane into an alligator-infested bayou. “Where are we, anyway?”

Quentin pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket and shook it. “I’d tell you if I could get my GPS up. I think my phone is toast. These things don’t do well submerged.”

Becca twisted her lips. “Sorry.”

He shrugged and tucked the phone back in his pocket. “What happened back there?”

She glanced away. “Nothing. Just a little claustrophobia.”

Natalie snorted. “A little? You were getting out of that plane if you had to tear a hole in the fuselage to get there.”

“I’m glad we all got out before it blew,” Duff muttered staring down at the screen of his dry mobile phone. “We’re in a marsh near the Pearl River. If Sawyer can contact the team, they can come get us.”

Sawyer had his cell phone pressed to his ear. “This is Chief Petty Officer Houston, let me speak to the LT... I don’t care if he’s on lunch break. This is an emergency. Get him.”

All faces turned to Sawyer.

Becca held her breath and strained to hear.

“LT, we have a problem. The plane we were flying in crashed in a marsh close to the base... Yes, sir. We all got out alive. Thanks to the pilot.” Sawyer nodded toward the pilot, who’d landed the plane under the worst circumstances. “I’ve got the app to find my cell phone. You can track us with it.” He gave the LT the login and password to track his phone. “How soon can someone be here? Twenty minutes? Make it less. We’re sitting ducks in this life raft and we don’t know whether the guy who shot us down is still out there.”

Becca glanced around the marsh. So far the only other living creatures were those that belonged in the swamp. Theirs was the only boat afloat.

Quentin also stared around the bayou. “If someone shot us down out, they might come back to finish off any survivors. And that smoke signal will make it all too easy to find us. Perhaps we should find some cover and concealment.”

“Right.” Montana nodded toward a stand of cypress trees a couple hundred yards away. “Let’s make for the trees.”

Without a paddle to propel the raft, they made slow progress toward the stand of trees. Everyone who could leaned over the side and paddled with their hands.

Already wet, Becca did her best tucked against Quentin, who sat behind her. All the while she watched the water for alligators, praying none of the crash survivors lost an arm to the gaping maw of one of the swamp reptiles.

Halfway to the trees, Becca paused and tipped her head, the thick humidity of southern Mississippi causing sweat to drip into her eyes. A sound reached her over the splashing of the water.

“Shh!” she said. “Listen.”

All hands stilled.

There it was again. The thumping sound of rotors beating the air.

“Helicopter.” Quentin twisted left and right.

Sawyer straightened, looking to the sky. “Where’s it coming from?”

“Did you ask the LT to send a chopper?” Duff’s voice was low and intense.

Sawyer shook his head. “The LT said he’d send out a boat.”

“Damn.” Quentin leaned over the side and paddled faster. “Let’s get to those trees!”

Becca studied the horizon, turning for a three-hundred-sixty-degree view. “It could be a coast guard rescue helicopter.”

“I’m not willing to bank on it.” Quentin continued paddling, along with the other SEALs.

Becca bent over the side and contributed to the effort, glancing up, searching the horizon.

The dark silhouette of a helicopter detached from the horizon, rose into the air and headed straight for the burning hull of the SOS jet.

As the chopper neared the downed craft, it let loose a stream of bullets.

“Holy hell,” Becca said, ducking automatically. She resumed paddling, praying the bright yellow life raft wasn’t as easy to spot as the color intended. They only had moments to make the trees, still another fifty yards away.

Chapter Two

Quentin would give his left arm at that moment for a fully-equipped Special Operations Craft-Riverine, or SOC-R as they called it, and his favorite machine gun. Deadly accurate on his aim, he’d have that chopper down in seconds.

But they weren’t in the navy boat. Instead they were in a raft designed to float, not move swiftly through the water. Hell, they could swim faster than they could maneuver the raft. But swimming wasn’t an option. They were up to their necks in alligators and bad guys. “Now would be a good time for the team to show up.”

“Come on, LT,” Montana prayed aloud.

“The only way they’d get here in time to help is if they were already on the Pearl, headed in this direction.” Quentin sucked in a breath. “There’s only one way to get us to the trees faster.”

“You got a motor in your pocket?” Sawyer quipped.

“No.” He slung his leg over the side of the raft.

“What are you doing?” Becca asked.

“Going for a little dip.” He winked. “Can I get a kiss before I swim with a bunch of hungry alligators?”

She shook her head and reached for his arm. “Are you out of your mind? Get back in the raft.”

He leaned forward and stole a quick kiss. “You can slap me later. I’ve got a job to do.” He rolled over the side and eased into the water without making much of a splash. His heart pounded as he stared at the tall grass near a mound of sticks and mud. He’d stay as far away from the alligator nest as he could, but he had to get the raft beneath the trees before the people in the helicopter spotted them.

Grabbing the tow line from the front of the raft, he held on tight and side-stroked, pulling the loaded craft with him. Everyone helped by paddling with their hands. They moved faster than they had before, but not fast enough to make the trees before the helicopter swung around and headed their way.

“Duck!” Quentin called out.

As the chopper neared, the sound of a machine gun blast ripped through the air, but bullets didn’t hit the water near the raft.

The chopper pulled up suddenly, altering its direction. More gunfire sliced through the marsh.

“God bless the lieutenant,” Sawyer cried out.

Montana whooped. “It’s the cavalry!”

Quentin swam to the side of the raft to see what they were yelling about and his heart swelled. A SOC-R watercraft skimmed across the water, headed for the hovering helicopter, the gunners firing live rounds.

“Don’t stop paddling,” Duff advised. “That helicopter is armed. If they take out the boat, they’ll still come after us.”

With renewed purpose everyone in the raft paddled and Quentin dragged them along, closing the distance to the trees and the relative concealment the overhanging branches would provide.

By the time he reached the shadows of the cypress trees, his muscles were screaming and he couldn’t quite get enough air.

“Quentin, get in the raft. We can take it from here,” Duff said.

“Just...a...little...farther.” Too exhausted to say more, Quentin kicked and pulled.

“Get in the boat now!” Duff said. “Sawyer, Montana, get him!”

Sawyer grabbed the line Quentin held and dragged it back toward the boat, pulling Quentin up to the rubber sides.

“Get in, now!” Duff yelled. He grabbed Quentin’s right arm, Sawyer caught the left and they hauled him over the side, dumping him into the bottom of the raft and then pulling his legs in behind him.

Quentin stared out at the helicopter and the navy boat duking it out a couple hundred yards away. “They could still come after us.”

“Yeah, but there wouldn’t be anything left of you to shoot at, if that giant gator got to you first.” Duff nodded toward a small island.

Quentin sat up in time to see a twelve-foot-long alligator slip off the land into the water and head their direction. “Well, why didn’t you say so? I’d have gotten in a lot faster.”

“You don’t think it will take a bite out of the raft, do you?” Natalie asked, scooching toward the center of the crowded craft.

“Never met an alligator that liked a mouthful of rubber. But if it’s a female, and she’s guarding a nest...” Quentin pointed to a large mound near the shore, “she might attack to protect her clutch of eggs.”

“Not much in the way of choices.” Montana shook his head. “Either we go out in the open for the helicopter to use us for target practice, or brave an angry mama gator.”

Quentin wasn’t as concerned about the alligator as he was about the helicopter circling around to attack the navy boat again. He wanted to be on that boat, manning his position as gunner.

The reassuring sound of the machine guns spitting out ammo was music to his ears. Several bullets hit their mark on the fuselage of the dark chopper. The aircraft jerked to the side and plummeted toward the ground for a few heart-stopping seconds and then leveled off. As if the pilot debated whether to continue the fight or cut his losses, the aircraft hovered over the marsh a couple hundred yards away from the SOC-R. Then it rose straight into the air and disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

A cheer went up from the occupants of the raft. The navy boat turned and made its way toward the wreck survivors.

Quentin looked forward to getting out of the swamp and back to his apartment where he could strip down, shower and dress in clean dry clothing. In the heat and humidity, his wet jeans and shirt were beginning to chafe in all the worst places.

The navy watercraft pulled up alongside the life raft and stopped. “Rip” Cord Schafer, Trent Rucker and Jace Hunter leaned over the side to help the flight attendant, pilot and copilot into the boat.

Montana and Sawyer handed Jenna out of the raft and then heaved themselves onto the boat.

“What the hell kind of trouble did you stir up in Mexico?” Rip held out a hand to Natalie and pulled her aboard.

“We’ll brief you back at the base. Let’s get out of here before that whirlybird returns.” Duff hauled himself aboard and reached down to help Becca onto the craft.

Quentin steadied her and handed her off to his buddy. Then he pulled himself aboard, and lay on the deck, happy to let someone else take charge and get them back to base. He was wiped out from swimming and dragging a boatload of people.

He lay there with his eyes closed as Duff and the others manned the SOC-R.

“Are you all right?” a soft voice asked close to his ear.

“I’m fine. Just resting.” He cracked one eyelid open and admired the pretty brunette leaning over him.

“Though I still think it was incredibly stupid and risky to pull a stunt like that...thanks,” Becca said.

Quentin chuckled. “Does that mean I get a kiss or, better yet, a date?”

She shook her head, her lips twisting. “No to both. And that kiss you stole wasn’t even a real kiss. So it doesn’t count.”

The boat captain revved the engine and set the SOC-R on a course for the base.

“Maybe you could show me what you consider a real kiss?” he said, increasing the volume, though it was hard to sound sexy over the roar of the boat’s motor.

Becca’s brows wrinkled, but the corners of her lips quirked upward for a brief second. “Don’t you ever give up?”

“Nope.” Quentin shook his head. “I’m a navy SEAL. It’s not in our nature to give up.”

With a roll of her eyes, Becca stuck out a hand. “Then maybe you should get up and get behind a weapon in case that helicopter returns to finish the job.”

Quentin took her hand and let her pull him up to a sitting position. “I trust my brothers to handle the situation. They’ve got my six. Don’t you?” He stared around at the men manning weapons and scanning the sky for additional threats. He trusted these men with his life, and they trusted him.

Duff nodded. “You know it. Now, stop trying to impress the lady with your brand of cheesy charm. She’s not buying it.”

Becca laughed out loud. “Thank you. Maybe he’ll listen to you. He doesn’t seem to take me seriously when I tell him I’m not interested.”

“I’m a stubborn man.” Quentin pushed to his feet and steadied himself against a machine gun mount. He helped Becca to a position next to Natalie and Jenna, seated on the deck near the rear of the boat. Then he stood behind a shielded weapons mount, watching the shoreline and the sky.

* * *

THE TRIP BACK to the Special Boat Team 22 base located at Stennis, Mississippi, took less than twenty minutes. Becca’s clothes stuck to her skin. Along with the sweltering heat and humidity of late summer in Southern Mississippi, she was sweating and ready for a shower. They were met upon arrival by men in navy uniforms, standing on the dock.

As soon as the boat came to a complete stop, Becca, Natalie and Jenna all stood. Quentin leaned close. “The tall one is the boss, Commander Paul Jacobs, and he looks mad. The man with the face of a bulldog beside him is Master Chief Joe Martin.”

Commander Jacobs tilted his head toward the operations building. “Inside. Now. Before Homeland Security, CIA, FBI, FAA, state and local police and every other government entity descend upon us.”

The men clambered off the boat, helped the women onto the dock and hurried them toward the building.

Once inside, the commander gave strict instructions to the SEAL manning the front desk. “Don’t let anyone inside without notifying me first.”

The man popped to attention. “Yes, sir.”

The master chief led them to the end of a hallway and into the conference room lovingly referred to as the war room.

Becca slowed about halfway down the hall, and then stopped short, causing a pileup of people behind her. After all that had happened, she felt a gnawing need to get back to DC, the SOS headquarters and their impressive computers to look for another link to her father’s killer. “I really need to check in with my boss and catch a flight back to DC as soon as possible.”

Commander Jacobs shook his head. “No one’s going anywhere until everyone’s been debriefed.”

Quentin hooked Becca’s arm. “The sooner we go through the debrief, the sooner you can be on your way.”

Becca allowed him to guide her into the war room, and then shook off his hand and lowered herself into one of the seats. Her leg bounced beneath the table. Every minute she was in Mississippi was another minute some bastard was loose, possibly planning on killing another member of the CIA or even her, since they’d targeted the plane bringing her and the SEALs back to the States. She glanced at Quentin, glad he and his friends had all made it off the aircraft before the fuel had ignited in a fiery ball of smoke and flame.

He stood near her, leaning against the wall, a smile playing on his lips, his gaze on his commander.

Commander Jacobs cleared his throat, drawing Becca’s attention. “I have a mind to never again grant this navy-issue band of misfits leave,” he began. “What the hell happened while you were in Mexico?”

“Sir, you might want to take a seat,” Duff said. “This could take a while to explain.”

The CO shoved a hand through his hair. “We don’t have time to go into a lot of detail. Having a plane shot down on US soil is something we can’t hide, nor do we want to. But that brings in a whole lot of scrutiny. Give me the digest version. And make it fast.” He snapped his fingers.

Quentin stepped forward. “While in Mexico, we busted open a human trafficking ring, and then someone tried to kill Sawyer.” He turned to Sawyer Houston, his teammate. “But that was an effort to get his father Rand Houston to fly to Cancun so that an assassin could kill the senator.”

The commander shot a glance toward Sawyer. “I heard about the senator’s death. I’m sorry.”

Sawyer nodded acknowledgement. “Thank you, sir.”

Duff cut in with, “As you see, Sawyer’s fine and the rest of us survived with only minor injuries.”

“Injuries?” A ruddy flush rose into Commander Jacobs’s cheeks. “You were supposed to be on vacation, not running covert operations. Who gave you permission to get involved?”

Duff, Sawyer, Montana and Quentin all stood straighter.

Quentin answered, “Sir, we couldn’t stand by and let women be sold into sex slavery.”

Duff backhanded Sawyer in the belly. “And we couldn’t let someone off Sawyer or his father.”

“So, you assigned yourselves as the superheroes to save the world.” The commander pounded his fist on the table. “Damn it! You’re trained Navy SEALs. You follow orders. You don’t take on the world without checking in with your commander.”

“Sir, they really didn’t ask to get involved,” Natalie offered. “They did what they thought was best. If it hadn’t been for your men, my sister and I would be in some harem in the Middle East or dead.”

The CO turned toward Natalie, his eyes narrowing. “Who are you, and what do you have to do with all this?”

“I’m Natalie Layne. My sister was kidnapped while on vacation in Cancun. I went there to find her. Duff and his friends helped me locate the island she was being held on and free her and several others.”

The commander faced Jenna. “And you?”

“I’m Jenna Broyles. I was on vacation in Cancun when I got the wrong suitcase. It contained a rifle and a file folder identifying Sawyer Houston as a target.”

Sawyer rested a hand on the back of Jenna’s chair. “Sir, if she hadn’t warned me, I’d be a dead man by now. They wanted to get to my father by going through me.”

Commander Jacobs paced the length of the table. “For the record, Houston, I didn’t hold your lineage against you because you’ve proven yourself over and over.” The man stopped halfway across the room and faced all of them. “Still, none of you thought to clue me in on what the hell was going on?” He spun toward the pilot and copilot.

The pilot held up a hand. “Robert Van Cleave, pilot of the plane, this is Randy Needham, my copilot. I don’t know what all happened in Cancun, but we experienced engine trouble after something hit the plane.” He nodded to the man next to him. “We did the best we could to land the aircraft in an unpopulated location. We got everyone out before the fuel ignited and the plane exploded.”

The commander nodded. “Thank you for getting them down in one piece and out of the plane alive.” He turned to Becca. “And who are you and what do you have to do with what happened? Were you one of the kidnapped women being sold?”

“No, sir.” Becca stood, too wound up to sit, and ready to get the heck out of the building and on her way to DC. “I’m Becca Smith, and I was in Cancun looking for the assassin who killed my father, a respected member of the CIA. I believe the assassin who targeted Sawyer was the same mercenary who killed my father. Unfortunately, he died before we could find out who hired him to do the job. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I want to get back to DC and see if I can pick up the trail from a different direction.”

Commander Jacobs held up his hand. “Hold your horses, young lady. Like I said before, nobody is going anywhere. You do realize you’ll all be questioned in regard to the airplane you were flying in. And, by the way, you haven’t gotten to letting me know how you managed to be returning to the States in a private jet.”

Becca held up her hand. “I can explain that one. My boss offered to fly us back after all that happened in Cancun.”

“Who the hell do you work for? The president?” the CO asked.

“No, sir,” Becca said. “But my boss has connections in the government. I’m not at liberty to share his identity or the organization for which I work. I’d have to get permission from my boss.”

Commander Jacobs crossed the room and stood toe-to-toe with her.

Becca lifted her chin and stared straight into his eyes, refusing to back down or be cowed by the man who towered over her.

“Well, I sure as hell don’t have the answers to the questions the FAA will have about that aircraft. I suggest you get your boss on the line, ASAP.”

“Do you have a phone I can borrow?” She fished hers out of her pocket. “Mine went for a swim with me.”

Quentin chuckled, the sound sending warmth through Becca’s chest.

“Chief Petty Officer Quentin, do you find something funny about this situation?” Commander Jacobs glared at him. “Because I sure as hell don’t.”

“No, sir.” Quentin wiped the smirk off his face and stood at attention.

“Then show this woman to a telephone so that she can call home,” Commander Jacobs snapped.

“On it.” Quentin held out his hand.

Becca took his hand and let him lead her out of the room. Once in the hallway, she asked, “Is he always that cranky?”

“Only when he doesn’t know what’s going on. We should have reported in sooner.”

Quentin led her into an office with a telephone. “Dial 9 to get an outside line. I’ll leave you to it.” He stepped into the hallway and pulled the door closed behind him.

Alone at last, still damp with swamp water in her hair and clothes, Becca lifted the telephone and dialed 9 and Royce’s cell phone number.

He answered on the first ring. “Yeah.”

“It’s Smith,” she said.

“Smith, what’s going on? The tracking device on the plane blinked out before you were due to land in Mississippi. Is everything all right?”

“No, sir. We think the plane was shot down.” She explained what happened and their subsequent attack by the helicopter. “You might want to be here to explain the private plane and who it belongs to. The FAA and the Department of Homeland Security will be all over what happened.”

“I’m on my way. I should be there early in the morning, if you can hold off the wolves until then.”

“I’ll do the best I can,” Becca said. “When the FAA and DHS are done with us, I’d like to get back to DC and see if I can drum up another lead to follow. Whoever is behind my father’s death could possibly be after me now.”

“You’re probably right. In which case, I need to assign an agent to protect you.”

“I don’t need anyone to protect me.”

“Yes, you do,” a voice said behind her.

Becca spun toward the door.

Quentin stood in the half-opened doorway. “Sorry to eavesdrop, but the CO is getting restless.”

“Becca, is that one of the navy SEALs?” Royce asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Let me talk to him.”

“Sir—” Becca hesitated.

“Hand him the phone, Smith,” Royce commanded.

Becca held out the receiver. “My boss wants to talk to you.”

Quentin entered the room, closed the door and raised the receiver to his ear. “Yes, sir.”

Becca strained to hear what her boss was saying to Quentin.

“Chief Petty Officer Quentin Lovett, sir.” He listened for a moment and then smiled. “I’d be happy to. No sir, I’m still on leave for a couple days, if my commander doesn’t cancel it.” He nodded. “I will, sir. No. Thank you.” He handed the receiver to Becca.

She frowned, not liking that Royce hadn’t told her what he wanted to talk to Quentin about. “Sir, I need to get back to the debriefing.”

“Smith, Lovett has offered to be your bodyguard. I want you to stick to him like flypaper.”

“But, sir.”

“No buts. All other agents are assigned at this time.”

“What about Natalie Layne? She could be my bodyguard.”

“She’s not officially on board. I have to bring her back on the payroll before I can assign her.”

“Quentin isn’t on your payroll,” she pointed out.