Claimed by a SEAL Read online

  Claimed by a SEAL

  KaLyn Cooper

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  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

  Epilogue

  Also by KaLyn Cooper

  About the Author

  Copyright Claimed by a SEAL (2016)

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

  KaLyn Cooper, the author of this Book, has been granted permission by Cat Johnson to use the copyrighted characters and/or worlds created by Cat Johnson in this Book. All copyright protection to the characters and/or worlds of Cat Johnson are retained by Cat Johnson, including the Hot SEALs series, Guardian Angel Protection Services, aka GAPS, as belonging to Cat Johnson and used with her permission.

  Editor: Marci Boudreaux Clark

  Dedication & Acknowledgments

  I dedicate this book to the men and women who fight, and have fought, to keep our country free by putting their lives on the line. It’s often a thankless and misunderstood job. I thank you!

  * * *

  I’d like to thank my critique partner, Vikki Vaught, for her encouraging words. A special thanks goes to the expedient Marci Boudreaux for editing this novella and making me change it into a better book. Thank you, Dana Burk, for the fast proofreading and final check. Many thanks to Laura DeNicola for naming a character and sharing her knowledge of the Norfolk area and the Navy. I want to thank my husband for creating the suspense black moment and figuring out how it could be done.

  I want to sincerely thank Becky McGraw for introducing me to Cat Johnson. Cat, I was so thrilled to be part of your Hot SEALs Kindle World. Also, thank you Cat Johnson for granting me permission for the use of the characters of Guardian Angel Protection Services, aka GAPS, from her Hot SEALs Series world in this book. Thank you seems completely inadequate but is genuinely heartfelt.

  About this Book

  Three years ago, Stacie Vandercoy was stuck undercover in Iraq for six months with Jeff “Rock Star” Lennon, the arrogant SEAL who thought he was God’s gift to women. But he couldn’t have her. Fraternization is against the rules. And still is as they infiltrate home-grown terrorism in Norfolk, Virginia. Can she continue to resist him? Does she have to?

  * * *

  Jeff Lennon had been forced to do things he didn’t like as a Navy SEAL, and now as an agent for the terrorist division of Homeland Security’s Border Patrol. For years, his only real regret has been what he couldn’t to do to Stacie back in Iraq. He’s been given another chance to claim her heart, body and soul. In the meantime, they have to stop a terrorist attack somewhere in the Norfolk area, during Fleet Week.

  * * *

  Even the agency’s psychologist isn’t sure Stacie can pull off pretending to be Jeff’s wife. What lengths will Stacie and Jeff go to assure the mission’s success? And what will they both lose in the process?

  Author’s Note

  Claimed by a SEAL is Jeff “Rock Star” Lennon’s story, a character found in other Cancun series books, and Stacie Vandercoy who appears in Captivated in Cancun book #2.

  1

  Jeff “Rock Star” Lennon slid on his jean jacket, using the action to scan the crowded parking lot of the Virginia Beach bar. He’d backed into a slot at the far end, close to the exit, so he had a good view of every vehicle and the front door.

  Away from the overcrowded tourist strip, the tan building was all so familiar, yet different. His friends had introduced him to the place when Jeff had been added to their DEVGRU team. The old bar that catered to the SEALs stationed nearby had been a place of celebration for them—decompressing after too many missions together to count, when he’d finally returned to active duty from living undercover in Iraq, and then his farewell party when he’d left the Navy. That seemed like a lifetime ago.

  Since then, he’d spent over a year in Cancun watching human traffickers while waiting to capture a terrorist cell. That chapter closed, a new one would open tomorrow. But tonight he was going to have a drink or two with old friends and relax.

  He recognized the big truck next to his SUV as belonging Chris Cassidy. The former teammate had retired from the Navy a while ago and had recently become involved with their friend Rick Mann’s sister, Darci.

  Jeff envied the man. He was getting tired of meaningless sex with faceless, interchangeable women. For most of his life, he’d been a devout member of the Three-F Man Club: find them, fuck them, forget them.

  But he couldn’t forget Stacie Vandercoy.

  He exited his vehicle leaving those thoughts behind.

  Gravel and crushed oyster shells crunched under his worn boots as Jeff stepped out. Movement in his peripheral vision drew his attention to the orange leaves that skittered under cars and trucks, pushed by the cool breeze off the ocean a few blocks away.

  He stood in the shadows and adjusted the jacket to cover his shoulder holster. He didn’t worry about carrying a concealed weapon into a bar. The gold badge in his back pocket issued by the Department of Homeland Security, Terrorist Division of Border Patrol usurped state laws.

  He would have carried it without the badge.

  Catching a glimpse of himself in the side mirror, he almost didn’t recognize the man staring back at him. He hadn’t worn a full beard since leaving the Middle East three years ago. His dark brown eyes and deeply-tanned olive skin had served him well while undercover there. He hoped it would do the same when he began his new mission in the morning.

  Near the back of the bar, close to the rear exit, Jeff found his friends at a table with fresh beers and a sweating pitcher of draught in front of them.

  Jon Rudnick kicked the chair out next to him. “Good to see you, Rock Star.”

  Jeff sat and a beer glass magically appeared in front of him.

  “Keeping all the ladies in D.C. happy now that I’m off the market?” Zane Alexander had been quite the ladies’ man until he’d hooked up with a childhood friend, the daughter of a prominent senator who had provided the start-up funds for Guardian Angel Protective Services. All the men at the table now worked for GAPS.

  “Been trying.” Jeff grinned to hide the truth. Since he’d held Stacie in his arms, inhaled her soft scent, tasted her wine-sweetened lips, he hadn’t been interested in other women.

  He unconsciously rubbed the left side of his face where she’d slapped him.

  Changing the subject, Jeff asked, “What’s with all the traffic? Has Virginia Beach grown that much in the few years I’ve been gone?”

  Groans filled the air before Chris answered. “Fucking Fleet Week, and we’re scattered from here to Norfolk.”

  “With about two-hundred thousand extra people wandering around, the president’s kids decided they wanted to tour an aircraft carrier,” Zane explained. “They hired GAPS to help the Secret Service with security.”

  Jon jumped in. “Problem is, we were already engaged, protecting several international guests the Department of State had invited over to see America’s best.”

  “Isn’t that the whole point of this dog and pony show?” Chris asked. “To confirm to the world how powerful the United States Navy is, and to let the American people see what their tax dollars are paying for?”

  “Yeah.” Zane rubbed the back of his neck as he automatically scanned the bar. “What a damned sec
urity nightmare.”

  “Who the hell thought it was a good idea to dock four”—Chris held up four fingers—“nuclear-powered aircraft carriers side-by-side then let hundreds of thousands of people near them? Jesus, we have the tightest security on Norfolk Naval Station year round then throw open the gates for three days and invite the world to take an up close and personal look.” He emptied his glass and poured another.

  “Want a job?” Jon jabbed his elbow into Jeff’s ribs.

  “Got one.” Jeff poured half his beer down his throat. “I start tomorrow.”

  “Wondered what was up with all the facial hair.” Zane pointed out Jeff’s full beard and moustache. “If I’d seen you walking around the show I would have tracked you, sure as shit.”

  “Hey, that’s profiling,” Jeff retorted.

  Zane laughed. “That’s my job. You look like a fucking terrorist.”

  At that, Jeff smiled. “Good. That’s my new job.” Three sets of wide eyes stared back at him. “I’m going under. That’s part of the reason I’m here. If you see me after I leave this bar, you don’t know me. I’m nothing more than what I seem on the surface, but for Christ sake, don’t shoot me. Same goes for Patches.”

  Warily, Chris asked, “Are you here to test the base security or something?”

  These were smart men. Brilliant, actually, when it came to tracking terrorists. They knew exactly who Jeff answered to, their former Commanding Officer of Naval Special Warfare Group 2, Josh “Madman” Madden who left the Navy to take over hunting terrorists for Homeland Security. He and Jeff had swapped their uniforms for civilian clothes, but the job was still the same, with less rules.

  How to answer without answering? “Fun facts to know and tell.” This was an old game they had played while on active duty, more as an exercise interconnecting pieces of a puzzle. Put the picture together right, and it could save your life. If a piece was out of place, it could kill you. “Did you know that there are over twenty thousand Muslims living and working in the Norfolk and Virginia Beach area?”

  Jon sat up and leaned his elbows on the scarred table. His gaze never left Jeff’s., “They’re here and in play?”

  Jeff didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He merely held Jon’s stare and schooled his face.

  “Jesus Christ.” Chris ran his big hand over his face then stared at Jeff. “Be safe, brother. And be careful. Watch Patches’ six. Julianna is pregnant.”

  “Fuck.” Now Jeff understood why Patches wanted backup. He drank the last inch of beer and refilled his glass before signaling to the waitress for another pitcher.

  “Just you?” Zane quickly added, “I understand if you can’t say, but we don’t want to shoot one of the good guys.”

  “They’ve paired me up again with Stacie Vandercoy.” Jeff hoped they couldn’t hear the trepidation in his voice.

  “I heard she got out of the Navy after the…situation in Iraq,” Jon commented.

  “She did,” Jeff informed the group, “and went to work for Homeland.”

  “She’s working for Madman?” Chris questioned. “The shrinks let her do that?”

  Jeff shrugged. “We worked together in Cancun for over a year. She seems to be handling the past just fine.”

  “Some guys have all the luck.” Zane smiled. “You got to live with that hot little piece again. In Cancun? Please don’t tell me you had a place right on the beach. What a tough life.” Sarcasm ran thick through every word.

  Jeff tackled the last question first. “Of course I had a condo on the beach.” He glanced toward Zane. “Stacie was assigned to a cruise ship that came to Cancun once a week. It left by nine o’clock at night.”

  “I’ve always preferred a little afternoon delight.” Zane’s smile grew.

  “We were tracking human traffickers, waiting for Abdul-Quddus Mifsud.” When he mentioned the famous terrorist, every man’s eyes tightened. Their team had an unfortunate run in with Mifsud’s men in the mountains of Iraq.

  “Tell me you shot that fucker.” Hate wove through Chris’s words. His hand immediately went to his bicep where a bullet had grazed him during the altercation.

  “Not me, but Madman got him.” Jeff grinned. “Stacie shot one of his men when Too Tall got hit.” He glanced around the table. “Did any of you work with Terrance ‘Too Tall’ Lawrence?”

  “Wasn’t he in Team 4 when Jack Girard was CO?” Jon checked his phone. “Was he in on your rescue in Iraq?”

  “No.” Jeff didn’t want to think about that terrible time, but the hours of torture at the hands of the newly formed ISIS hit him hard. For an instant, he was back in that cave. His eyes were swollen shut when they’d dragged Stacie—

  Stop. He ordered his mind to return to the bar where he felt the cold beer against his palm. Breathe. In. Now out. Again.

  He emptied the glass and poured another while he got his head together. He caught up with the conversation and clarified, “Yes, Too Tall was on Jack’s team, but he wasn’t with Jack when they found us. If he was there for the extraction, I don’t remember.”

  By the sympathy written on the faces of the men around him, they understood why Jeff couldn’t remember. They’d had to wait several weeks while he recuperated before they could have the welcome home party for him at the table they now occupied.

  “So how is Jack?” Zane asked.

  Jeff was relieved for the change in subject. “So happy you wouldn’t believe. Married life seems to agree with him. And so does fatherhood. He loves Addison and has adopted her legally and Jillian is pregnant.” And to keep the topic off his past, Jeff added conspiratorially, “And you know Madman hooked up with Jack’s older sister, Lilly, and got two little boys in the deal.”

  “No.” Guffaws bounced around their secluded corner.

  “He was a confirmed bachelor,” Chris noted.

  “So were you,” Zane volleyed.

  “Pot.” Jon threw at Zane.

  “Kettle.” Zane hurled back.

  Each man had recently found a good woman to warm his bed and enhance his life. Jeff wondered, not for the first time, if he’d ever find that kind of contentment.

  Jon pulled out his phone again and read a text. His smile was one of anticipation of something good. “I gotta run, guys. I…I’ve got to—” He stood stuffing his phone into his jeans.

  “I don’t need to know what you and Ali are going to do when you get home,” Chris insisted.

  Jon turned to Jeff and insisted, “You will keep us informed.”

  “I’ll do what I can.” That was the best Jeff could offer. As an afterthought, he asked, “If it all turns to shit fast, can I depend on you to back me up?” He thought he should explain. “In their political brilliance, someone decided to move the Border Patrol Tactical Unit headquarters to El Paso, Texas.” The idea that the backup team his life might depend on was at least four hours away didn’t comfort Jeff in the least.

  Zane shook his head. “Like, there’s what, less than two thousand miles of border with Mexico and ninety-five thousand miles of water access to our country, so we have a team of highly-trained sharpshooters and tacticians protecting our smallest border? Texas must have one hell of a lobbyist.”

  Jon slapped Jeff on the shoulder. “We’ve got you covered.” Skirting the shadows, he left the bar.

  Chris filled their glasses. “Drink up. You won’t get to have another one of these until it’s over.”

  2

  Stacie Vandercoy wanted to rush out and hug Julianna Perry, but it wasn’t appropriate for her current role. Instead, she watched her friend lift her abaya with gloved hands, only an inch so as not to show anything tempting, in order to navigate the steps while trying to see through a double veil.

  Waving hello, or even speaking to her long-time friend, Nathan “Patches” Perry, was an even bigger no-no. That would be a total give-away to anyone watching and Stacie was sure someone was watching. She could feel them.

  She’d swept her temporary home for bugs the minute she’d arrived
that morning and identified every audio and visual device Homeland had installed for her safety and reporting purposes. Then she’d opened windows to air out the fresh paint fumes. The curtains were sheer enough to let in sunlight yet the dense geometric designs to hide her movements.

  The two women cordially greeted at the door, and Nathan left without saying a word to Stacie. He couldn’t speak to her. It was forbidden.

  After Stacie and Julianna were securely inside, Stacie was ready to burst with the excitement of working with Jul again. As she turned around, she found Jul throwing off the floor-length black cloth along with the niqab that had covered her long dark hair and all of her pretty face. Stacie followed her lead and quickly took hers off as well, then hung everything on one of the many hooks on the back of the front door. As a Christian woman raised in America, she found the mandatory clothing oppressive, as well as hot. At least Norfolk was cooler than Iraq had been.

  Both women wore jeans and designer blouses underneath. Once Stacie was embedded into the fundamentalist Muslim sect, she’d be forced to wear all black, loose-fitting clothes that covered every inch of her body.

  They kicked off their black shoes and set them in the cabinet that ran along the wall of the foyer. In a Muslim home, one did not wear shoes that could contaminate the home with the uncleanliness that lived outside.

  “It is so good to see you, Stace.” Jul held open her welcoming arms, and Stacie nearly fell into them. She had missed this wonderful woman more than she could believe. She just wanted to hold Jul and say “Thank you, thank you,” over and over again. She could never repay her friend for helping save her life in Iraq.