Warrior (Navy SEALs Romance Book 5)

T
hank
you for reading the Navy SEALs series. I think you’re going to love these strong, sexy men. Before you get started, I would love to gift you with a FREE book featuring a sexy firefighter.

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“
S
o
… is this as awkward for you as it is for me?” Michael asked as a young woman slid into the booth across from him, thanking the hostess who’d escorted her. She smiled.

“Since you mentioned it, I guess it is. And if you want to get your food to go and get on the road, I really do understand.”

“No, I’m already here, and you’re already here. There’s no reason we can’t enjoy a quick bite to eat before we leave.” Michael smiled briefly and flipped open his menu, holding it up in front of his face as he read over it. The young woman, Emily, did the same.

She chose something that looked quick, then turned her attention to the window. Cars raced past on the highway in front of the little Mexican restaurant, and she longed to be sitting in the backseat of any of them, being carried far away from here.

“Well, we have to get our story straight,” Mike said, closing his menu but not looking at her.

“Our story? I don’t understand.”

“Yeah, our story. What do we tell our friends when they demand to know how their matchmaking game worked out?”

“Well, I’ve found that the truth always works best,” Emily answered. “You’re busy with your job, whatever that is, and I’m busy with my new job. Neither one of us has time for this kind of thing. That’s all the explanation they need, as far as I’m concerned.”

Michael nodded. He couldn’t exactly blame his friends for this. After all, the woman was actually really pretty in a girl-next-door kind of way, and his position with the Navy was on shaky ground. For the first time in his life, he might actually have the time and the lack of guilt to think about dating…

But her? A beautiful brainiac with a PhD in something or other? She was nothing like the kind of girl Mike would have been instantly drawn to. Maybe that’s why Knox and his girlfriend had thought this one would be perfect for him. He rarely dated these days or even talked about girls, and with no other outlet to meet women, his friend had jumped in to correct that in the most interfering way he could have. Gone were his days of dating one woman after another. He was tired of the chase, tired of looking for Miss Right and only finding Miss Not Quite Right.

Even Mike had to admit the end result hadn’t been too tragic. The girl across from him was beautiful, with a sprinkling of freckles across her nose and sandy blond hair thrown back in a bun that made her look perpetually carefree. He’d expected a science geek who tripped over her feet and constantly pushed her oversized glasses back up her nose, but this woman… she proudly broke every stereotype about women in science.

“So, just so we can tell our friends we actually gave this a shot,” Michael said, trying to sound mildly disinterested, “tell me about yourself.”

“There’s not much to tell,” she answered, looking around the restaurant, obviously uncomfortable. He had no way of knowing her discomfort came from finding herself on a date with a guy who looked like he stepped off a pinup calendar photoshoot of hottie fireman. Emily was used to the kinds of guys who hung around the research lab, measuring dolphin droppings for a living while venturing out once in a while to attend an environmental rally. In a word, most of her past boyfriends had been skinny granola-geeks, not ex-Navy SEALs who’d served multiple combat missions and still worked out like they were preparing for the next one.

“Humor me. What’s your fancy degree in?”

“Marine biology,” she answered as briefly as she could, still put off by having to look him directly in the face.

“Cool. But isn’t that kind of cliche? Like, every cool science person wants to save the whales?”

“Actually, I’m into sustainable farming of the marine food chain,” Emily shot back with a cocky expression. “When the politicians keep denying climate change and we’re all living in a wasteland of global warming, you’ll happily come knocking on my door for some fresh shrimp out of the natural habitat tanks I’m designing. And my dissertation was in kelp farming practices to meet the vegetable needs of a world population that is expected to double within twenty years.”

“Huh,” Mike answered, completely taken off guard by her answer. This was no ditzy blonde, he realized, and no nerd girl who got hysterical at the thought of people throwing their plastic in the ocean. This one had a solid head on her shoulders, or so it seemed.

And he was way out of his league. Thankfully, the date ended when the check came, and they each went their separate ways.

“
M
orning
, team,” the officer said, looking around the table. He grinned good-naturedly, trying to hide his nervousness. “I’m Chief Warrant Officer Todd Wilson.”

“Sir, permission to speak candidly?” Tanner asked, hesitating. The officer nodded, his crisp uniform barely moving due to an abundance of starch. “How old are you?”

“Um, I didn't realize that was pertinent,” the much younger man said, already knowing where this was going.

“Okay, then how about telling us how many years you've served?” Angel suggested, still leading the conversation towards the obvious.

“I'd be content with how many tours of duty you've had… or even active deployments,” Tanner added. The team waited for the officer to respond.

“My age and my service record aren’t important right now,” he answered brusquely, his deep red blush giving away just how obviously flustered he was by their questions. “What matters now is that I’m your new commanding officer, and as such, I’ll be keeping tabs on you and monitoring your work. I’ll need weekly service reports and a duty roster from each of you.”

Wilson passed around several thick stacks of papers, gesturing for everyone to take one and pass the rest around the conference table. The members of the still-inactive SEAL Team 11 looked down at them, turning the stapled pages in confusion.

“I don’t get it,” Knox said, still thumbing through the pages. “Service reports? And duty rosters...on what, exactly?”

“You know, your training, your field calls, that kind of thing.”

“That’s just it. We don’t have any training hours, or field calls. We were put out of commission with no explanation. This little operation you see here?” Knox gestured around the spacious old beach house that served as SEArch&Rescue’s headquarters. “We did that. This is our business, a private company that we started from the ground up once the United States Navy decided to put us old fogies out to pasture. If you want service reports and training schedules, you can request them from the city government, since they’ve had the decency to give us a contract and actually give us serious work to do.”

“Excuse me, sir, but I don’t like your tone. Maybe the past year out of service has made you forget how to speak to your commanding officer,” Wilson began. He instantly regretted it.

“Sir, yes sir,” Knox answered in an eerily, calm voice, jumping to his feet and glaring down at the officer. “From now on, all team meetings will be scheduled three weeks in advance, and will take place on the base. Because I’ll be goddamned if a punk-ass, pimply-faced warrant officer who’s never seen a day of combat is gonna come into my headquarters and tell me how it’s gonna be.”

Knox kicked his chair back with his booted foot and stepped back from the table, never taking his eyes off the frightened officer. “I mean… sir,” he added at the end.

The others followed Knox out the front door and down to the beach, leaving Wilson to wonder if he should leave or wait on them to get their anger out of their systems. He decided to tuck his tail and get out of there with the last scraps of his dignity and authority.

“Well, that sure was interesting,” Angel said, breaking the tense silence.

“That's not quite the word I was looking for,” Knox growled in reply. “I'd say it's massively FUBARed.”

“So what are our options? Are we following through, or are we gonna blow our chances by defying a direct order from a superior officer?” Angel looked around the group, worried by the mixed reactions he saw. Some of them looked more pissed off than anything else, while the rest wore barely readable expressions that masked their worry about losing their shot.

“I say we bail,” Mike called out. “We've got a good thing going with S&R, and if they don't want to acknowledge that, then we've got plenty of people who are darn grateful that we wake up every day.”

“Yeah, but what does that do to our records? I'm all well and good with giving them the finger and just focusing on saving people, but I'd really rather not have a dishonorable discharge hanging around my neck for the rest of my life.”

“At this point, I don't care. We own a successful business, and sure, it may not be going after terrorists or taking down the bad guys, but it’s important to a lot of people. If the government doesn't want to recognize that, it's their loss.”

The group turned silent, mulling over what could end up being either the most liberating or the most harmful decision of their careers.

“Well, we don't have to decide anything right now. How long did you give him, Knox? Three weeks? Then we've got some time to figure it out.” Jake nodded reassuringly at the others, boosting them up.

“Okay, then. Nothing's settled, but that's okay. And putz-faced officers be damned, we've got work to do. Let's get to it.”

They dispersed and got to work in different parts of the headquarters, prepping the team for the day. The job of being ready to go at a moment’s notice took more preparation than most people realized, but it was a full-time task.

As the unit’s lead pilot, Mike was tasked with ensuring the helicopter was ready to take off the second a call came in. He spent most of his day in the small office beside the helipad, jumping up every hour to repeat the pre-flight check all over again, just in case a call came in that hour.

“Mike? You out there?” Jake called from the back door of the beach house.

“In the bunker,” Mike called back without even leaning out the door. He looked up from his log book when he heard Jake’s footsteps coming down the boardwalk. “What's up?”

“Oh nothing, I was just finishing up inside and thought I'd come see what you were up to.”

“Really? You were worried about me?” he joked. “Aw, Jake… I didn't know you cared!”

“Don't make it stupid, or I won't come visit you anymore,” Jake fired back with a scowl. “I was just… you know. Hanging out. And I thought I'd come out here and see how you really feel about their plan.”

“What's not to like? I get to keep doing this, and I don't have some sniveling weasel who's fresh out of school telling me how to do my job.”

“And you're not worried about the fall back? About just walking away from our posts and having that follow us for the rest of our careers?” Jake’s question seemed entirely genuine, not like the anger-fueled retort the others had voiced earlier.

“Really? No, I'm not. They had their chance to own my life. I gave them everything I had, and I made sacrifices so I could be part of the team. But everything I had wasn't good enough. I'm not even mad about it, that's the crazy thing. If I'm not good enough for the mission, then I need to walk away.”

“That's just it, Mike. We were good enough. You were good enough, and you know it. And they won't tell us what went wrong,” Jake argued, a hint of confusion in his voice.

“Well, the result is the same,” Mike answered with a resigned smile. He shrugged his shoulders and added, “We've got a really sweet deal going here, and okay, maybe it's not taking out terrorists or playing GI Joe, but I can tell you this. If we hadn't served and put in our time as a team, we wouldn't be here now, doing this. We would never have started S&R if we hadn't been SEALs first.”

“I know,” Jake admitted. “And I love this job, too. I just hate admitting that SEAL Team 11 is over. If we refuse the orders and this new commission, we’re done.”

“It looks that way.” They were both silent for a moment, weighing the situation. Jake finally laughed softly.

“So… what are you gonna do with your old uniforms? You think they'll sell on eBay?”

* * *

“
Y
ou still here
, ma’am? It's awful late, ain't it?” the old janitor asked, pushing his cart of cleaning supplies ahead of him. Emily looked up from the stack of papers, surprised to see Clark already.

“Oh, I must have gotten wrapped up in this and didn't know what time it was. Sorry, I'll just grab these things and get out if your way,” she answered, reaching for her stacks.

“No, no, Dr. Stanton, you're not in my way none. You just sit tight and I'll be out of here in no time.” Clark moved among the desks and swept beneath them, reaching for a few stray papers that students had left behind. He tiptoed over to the garbage cans and dumped them quietly, cringing when a soda can at the bottom crashed too loudly in his metal container. Emily smiled reassuringly.

“You're not disturbing me, Clark. And remember, you can call me Emily.”

“Oh no, ma’am. You worked hard for your title, you should make people acknowledge it. If I'd put myself through school like you did, I'd make my own children call me Doctor!” The old man laughed at his own joke, a wheezy sound that made Emily frown with concern.

“Have you had that cough checked out? What's your doctor got to say about it?”

“Well, that pipsqueak don't know his ass from his elbow. I can't step foot in his parking lot that he don't come runnin’ out to meet me, waving that prescription pad to beat all.”

Emily smiled indulgently, but cocked a skeptical eyebrow. She didn't argue, though. Her grandmother said the same thing every time she saw her.

“Besides, all the men in my family live to be at least ninety, and I don't turn eighty ‘til the spring. I got a whole other decade left in me, assuming I don't take up skydiving!”

Clark laughed again, and Emily was relieved to hear his deep bass come through unimpeded. He finished cleaning up and headed to the door, pushing his cart through before turning back and sticking his head inside the door.

“Now, you best remember to stop by my work room before you head to your car so I can walk you out, Dr. Stanton. It’ll hurt my feelings if I don't get to escort a young lady at this time of night!”

“I won't forget, Clark. I promise.” Emily smiled gratefully and waited for him to turn the corner before looking back at her students’ papers. Ever since she'd started teaching at the college, Clark - and a few other members of the staff - had taken great care to make sure she was happy. It had taken some time to adjust, and she’d noticed right away that it was the faculty members, at least the ones in her department, who weren't the most welcoming bunch.

As Clark had pointed out, Emily had worked hard for her education, and it had taken her longer than most people because she had had to work a semester, then take classes for a semester. After getting her bachelor’s, she'd been fortunate to find research opportunities to pay the rest of the way. They hadn't been the most glamorous jobs, but Emily wasn't too proud to work hard. It was the only way she’d managed to avoid a crippling student loan debt.

“You’re still here, Dr. Stanton?” another male voice called out from the hallway, only this voice was higher-pitched, a tenor to Clark’s deep bass, and carried the refined sound of a well-educated professional. It was the confident voice of someone who had money, and the security to go with it.

Dr. Kirkland peered into the room as if he was surprised to see the associate professor actually working in a classroom.

“Have they still not assigned you an office?” he asked, practically sneering at Emily’s inferior working conditions.

“Um, no sir. There was talk of clearing out one of the storage rooms on the twelfth floor, but they haven't gotten around to it yet.” Emily folded her hands and waited patiently. Dr. Kirkland frowned at her.

“And this is why you haven't moved up in the department, Stanton. You have to show some initiative, some motivation to move up. If you haven't demanded an office by now, that can be taken as a sign that you must not be planning on remaining with us.”

“I’ll certainly take that into consideration, thank you for the advice,” she answered dutifully. She only hoped she sounded genuine. Emily had heard plenty of warnings in school about making sure you got on the department head’s good side, or life could be pretty unpleasant and your career very short.

“See that you do. This is a prestigious program with a world-renowned reputation to uphold. There's no room for those who don't pull their weight.” He nodded curtly and walked down the hall, leaving Emily to fume.

Not pulling her weight? No initiative? What did that jerk think she was doing in this smelly old classroom at nine o’clock at night?

Emily finally slammed her textbook shut and pushed back from her desk. The rest of the papers would wait until morning. She was going home.