SEAL Brotherhood: Legacy Series, Books 1-4
Date: 2023-01-12 00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Mystery & Suspense; Romance; Collections & Anthologies; Romantic Suspense; Suspense; Anthologies; Military; Anthology; SEALs; Literature & Fiction
Description: First four books in the SEAL Brotherhood: Legacy series, which follows the same nine couples from the original SEAL Brotherhood series, but ten years later. Now readers can catch up on the lives of their favorite heroes and heroines from the original series: their marriages, divorces, children born and family drama. Some remain SEALs, others pursue other interests. But they all are fierce protectors of their brotherhood, the innocent, and fight for truth, honor and freedom. They never quit. They don't care what the odds are. They make their own odds. Included in this set are: WATERY GRAVE: Gun

SEAL Encounter

By

Sharon Hamilton

Copyright © 2012 by Sharon Hamilton

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

Author Note

This is a short piece written to introduce you to my characters, Kyle and Christy. It is a small investment of time and money on your part, like the first course to a much larger meal.

This is a private glimpse into the hearts and minds of these fictional SEALs, their community, and the women who are lucky enough to be loved by them. Their brotherhood, loyalty and mission to protect and defend, sometimes at great personal cost, is what makes them heroes.  They do so quietly, not seeking public recognition.

If you enjoy this piece, I hope that you will continue along the journey in Accidental SEAL, and read how these two get together, and fight dangers that threaten to keep them apart.

Christy and Kyle meet quite by accident in the very first chapter, and not in any way you could predict. But rest assured, they will find themselves together at the end in an intense and passionate relationship on purpose.

I hope you enjoy their story.

Sharon Hamilton

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Chapter 1

Her legs were as long and slender as he liked them, reaching all the way to Heaven. Just a hint of muscle. Special Operator Chief Kyle Lansdowne, LPO for SEAL Team III, watched her maneuver between travelers in Terminal 3 at the San Francisco airport. She lithely dodged passengers and rolling luggage, searching for something.

Well, he did have a few minutes before he had to board that big plane home.

He tilted his head to the side, leaned against a concrete pillar and watched her from that angle.

Even nicer. She’d be a good swimmer, he thought.

He could also imagine those legs wrapped around his waist as he pumped her in a bed smelling of lavender and gardenia. Maybe she’d still have on remnants of some expensive underwear. She’d arch, and he’d have her breasts overflowing in his palms, as he’d bend down to kiss them. She’d have pink toes, he mused. Maybe a French manicure.

Where are you going, little angel?

She must not be from around here. But then, how would he know? He wasn’t either. She turned her head from side to side, her blonde locks gracefully brushing against the tops of her creamy white shoulders and smooth muscles of her upper back. He could imagine her naked with that hair cascading down places he would love to kiss.

He licked his lips. He saw her all pink and naked. Was dying to see her face.

Heaven help me, I’m lost.

If he could get close enough, perhaps her proximity would send a gentle wafting of pheromones and perfume his way and make him forget he was in an airport, waiting to go home to the base at Coronado. With a shiver, he imagined her scent.

Yeah, he was all in. Any minute now he’d miss his plane and just go find her. He stiffened, prepared to go on his quest. He aimed his body like a drone for a brisk walk in her direction. Target in sight. Capture imminent.

“You need a couple more days decompression, Lanny.” The voice of his Team III medic stopped Kyle’s forward motion. Calvin “Coop” Cooper had once again interrupted his reverie. He looked up at the 6’7” SEAL and then back into the crowded promenade.

She was gone.

“Damn,” Kyle whispered.

He’d told himself every day of his deployment in Afghanistan that he wouldn’t waste so much time dodging and then searching for the fairer sex. He needed some female companionship like never before. Could a team guy have that internal clock-ticking thing women talked about on those stupid shows? A clock that wasn’t attached to a timed IED?

“I saw her first,” Coop said.

Kyle grunted, but continued to scan the terminal.

Coop added, “But she wasn’t looking at anybody. She doesn’t flirt. I tried.”

Kyle looked up into Coop’s crystalline eyes. The SEAL continued, “You’ll have to catch her when she least expects it.” Coop was suppressing a grin by pursing his lips, but his eyes gave him away. About to burst into a smile in spite of himself.

Coop liked to tease him about not making the rounds at the SEAL bars in San Diego. That’s how he earned one of his nicknames, Landrover, shortened to Lanny. They also called him Landmine because things tended to explode when he arrived on scene, stateside or otherwise. The nickname he hated the most was Lamb Chop because he thought it sounded like a guy with peach fuzz instead of a beard. People who called him that had to know him well, or they’d earn a proper decking.

He didn’t go cruising for sex like Cooper, Fredo and Armando did. So did most of the other guys on his squad. Some went for the booze, some, like Cooper, for the babes. Kyle always preferred to keep to himself. Or just hang privately with one or two other guys from the community.

“Coop, how the hell did you get to be such an expert on women? You spent your whole life under a tractor.” Kyle tilted his head and squinted at the Nebraska-farm boy-turned-SEAL.

Coop gave one of his famous smiles, exposing his perfect white teeth.

“I know about the equipment and how to make it purr. I know where to put the oil and where to put the grease.” He winked.

Kyle searched the crowd again without finding her. He halfway expected to pick up her scent. “You must have seen those legs,” he said without looking up at Cooper.

“I did indeed,” Coop returned. He joined the scanning, continuing to stand right next to his chief.

“Makes me glad we’re back in the U.S. of A.,” Kyle started. “Was hoping she’d be some kind of grateful and welcome me home. Properly.”

Cooper chuckled. “That would be something,” he said. “Well, I’m off to join Fredo in the bar. Wanna come?”

“You don’t drink, Coop.”

“I didn’t say I was gonna drink. I said I was gonna join Fredo in the bar. And make sure he made the plane.”

“Good idea. I’ll be along shortly.” Kyle was still staring into the crowd. He thought perhaps he’d caught a glimpse of her shiny straight blonde hair.

“Do I have to worry about you?” Coop asked. He sighed when he got no answer. “Okay then. Later.” He leaned into Kyle with a conspiratorial whisper, “I’d get your tongue off the floor. No telling what kind of germs there.”

Kyle delivered a punch to Coop’s arm a little harder than usual. He watched the gangly SEAL, the medical and gadget wizard of SEAL Team III, amble off toward the Crab Shack Bar and Grill.

Kyle began his hunt.  His footsteps went to stealth mode without a sound. His walking speed bested most people’s runs. Just like in sniper training. He was anxious to close the distance between them.

San Francisco had always been one of Kyle’s favorite cities. Right after BUD/S training, he came up several weekends in a row. In those early days, he preferred to go out of town to find dates, rather than risk being identified as a newbie frog in San Diego. And no one would believe a SEAL would want to hang out in the City by the Bay. They weren’t exactly friendly to military these days. Presidio was full of movie production offices now. The base was sold off like one of the ghost ships nearby in the Suisun Bay.

But after his two tours in Iraq and one in Afghanistan, he found he didn’t want to go to all the trouble just to find someone to have a little fun with. Consequently, he kept his profession and his identify close to the vest. Preferred the company of other team guys.

Truth was, he was also a little shy around women. His mother had died when he was  in high school. Hanging around a bunch of career Navy and team guys didn’t help him learn how to maneuver around females at all, that is, without making them run in the other direction. But, as the team LPO, he was expected to show confidence in everything he tackled.

Where is she? Certain she was somewhere ahead, he continued.

He realized he sucked when it came to women. He fell too fast and scared them off. He was too intense, wanted things too hard, didn’t know how to play the little games of seduction. He would wind up with a string of one-night stands. Feeling unsatisfied. Just as alone as before. At least in Afghanistan he had his buds around him. Men who would die to keep him safe. And he’d do the same. That kind of intensity he could understand.

Women are different.

But give him something to blow up, some bad guy to snatch, or a target to hit, and Kyle didn’t have a moment’s hesitation. He knew just how lethal he was. Maybe too lethal. Even for his own good.

Something sparkly caught his eye. There she was, several yards in front of him, with her carry-on bag slung over her right shoulder. He started following her down the corridor without thinking.

Like a bull moose.

Her straight skirt hugged the curves of her sweet derriere in ways that made Kyle jealous. With her long legs, she looked calm and casual, but she was booking it down the granite tiles to another departure gate.  He smiled and sped up to—do what?

It would be just his luck. She was probably a model, on her way to New York or Paris. No way he’d be lucky enough even if he caught up to her. What the hell do you say to a woman like that? No doubt she was late to meet up with a lover who was whisking her off for a romantic week somewhere. How he wished he could be that guy.

A luggage cart laden with bags piled four and five deep cut right across Kyle’s focused path and he wound up on the floor, covered in Samsonite. He didn’t want to look down the hall to see if she noticed him. It was bad enough to face the crowd of laughing elementary school kids who had been following behind the cart. Kyle became their distraction of the moment.

He checked a sting coming from his elbow and found blood. He’d have to explain this to Cooper, who would patch him up if the Team III medic could stop laughing long enough. That wasn’t going to be much fun.  Here he was, doing battle with luggage at the San Francisco airport without a bad guy in sight. On a mission to meet up with a pair of legs. But he’d lost the target.

It was the same sorry story day in and day out. He picked up the nearest red bag and tossed it as hard as he could throw.

Christy Nelson heard the chirping laughter of the school children. It was funny seeing their bright red Sports Academy bags tumbling over luggage of all colors, like strawberry sauce on top of a sundae. Then, like an erupting volcano, one sports bag spewed from the top of the pile and flew half way across the terminal corridor. That’s when she knew someone had been buried under all the debris. Someone who could throw a thirty-pound bag fifty feet.

Thank God it’s no child. With several chaperones scurrying to sort out the mess, Christy took her leave, looking for the store her mother had loved.

Every time her mother visited Christy, she would bring her a little charm from the airport store. Christy was desperate to find it. She intended to bury a golden angel at her mother’s gravesite as soon as she got to San Diego. For good luck. For guidance.

Maybe I better buy one for myself.

With her mother’s estate settled, something she’d been able to do by computer and fax long distance, Christy was going back to San Diego one last time to meet the Realtor she’d hired to sell her mother’s condo on the waterfront. She prayed she’d made the right choice. A quick sale would mean she’d have to spend little time there, inside the four walls that watched her mother whither away.

Even at the end, her mother had insisted on staying in her new home, choosing to die “where the light is always perfect.”

There was something about the San Diego area that lifted Christy’s spirits, even though it reminded her of her mother’s death. In San Francisco, the past few weeks had been cold and foggy, mirroring her insides perfectly.

Christy reached one jewelry and clothing boutique, and spoke to an eager sales clerk. She instantly felt at ease inside the little shop. Had someone been following her?

“You have these?” Christy flashed her own golden bracelet in front of the young woman’s face.

“Yes we do. Right here.” The girl pointed to a glass case to her left.

Christy saw the little angel charm, dressed in a flower-patterned dress in pink cloisonné.

Perfect.

She scanned other angels, setting aside the pink one with the dark hair. Then she selected one for her own bracelet: blonde angel in a red gown. The backside of the charm had a beautiful pattern inlay in turquoise and yellow.

“I’ll get these. Can you put this one on my bracelet?”

“Absolutely.”

The clerk rang up her purchase, and then got out a pair of needle-nosed pliers. Christy extended her arm.

“I’d feel a lot less nervous if you’d remove the bracelet first,” the clerk said.

They selected a spot on the chain and the clerk applied the new angel with a heavy gold ring. She squeezed the pliers to secure the loop and placed the bracelet back on Christy’s wrist, clasping it.

Christy slipped the other charm into her purse and left the shop.

An announcement confirmed her flight was boarding. The hallways were cleared of the earlier baggage debris and the school children. She began a light jog to her gate through sparse passenger traffic.

The last of the passengers were filing onto the plane. Handing her boarding pass to the attendant, she was stopped.

“Ma’am. You’re ticket’s been given away.”

“Oh dear. I’m so sorry. I got distracted…” Christy’s eyes began to fill with water.  “I’m going on a short trip to button up my mother’s affairs. She’s just passed…”

“No worries.” The tall male flight attendant gave her a broad grin. He leaned and whispered, “Would you mind flying First Class?”

It took her only a second to respond. “Really?”

“It’s the only unoccupied seat. But I warn you, the very unpleasant gentleman over there,” he nodded to a red-faced businessman in a suit, clutching a briefcase, “will be none too happy.”

“I’m sorry. If I could reschedule, I would. I have a driver picking me up at the airport.”

“Then the seat is yours. No extra charge.”

“Thank you so much!”

“My pleasure. Besides, the gentleman has been less than gracious with us. His fault he missed his flight. I’ll send him on the next one . Coach.” He winked at her. She took her stub and ran down the jet bridge without looking back at the businessman she’d just displaced.

Christy slipped into the front seat in First Class, moving across the lap of a handsome dark-haired man sitting on the aisle. He was about her age. His tanned face and square jaw complimented his hazel eyes.

“I’m Travis,” he said as he extended his hand.

“Christy.” He could even be described as beautiful.

They shook. His hands were smooth, and enormous.

She buckled herself in as the door was closing. The plane was in the air within minutes. Her body was pushed back into the seat.

After leveling out, Christy looked around the cabin at the sea of faces behind her.

“You traveling with someone in coach?” Travis asked softly. His eyes sparkled under the LED overhead lighting.

Christy blushed in spite of herself. “No. Just habit I guess.”

“Flying is quite safe these days, you know,” he said as he winked at her.

Christy pulled the hair from her neck and leaned back into the chair. But she still felt someone was watching her every move. Someone from the back of the plane.

As they talked, Christy guessed the handsome gentleman next to her was gay.

She laughed when he told her he was an underwear model, heading to San Diego for a photo shoot.

“You model too?” he asked.

“Hardly. No, I’m coming back down to sell my Mom’s condo. She’s recently passed away.”

“Sorry. Where’s the condo? Been thinking of relocating to San Diego. I’m here about every other week.”

“The Infinity complex down by the marina.”

“Oh, nice. Probably not what I can afford.” He fanned himself and turned back to her. “What do you do in San Francisco?”

“Just getting started in Real Estate,” she answered.

Christy dug around in her purse, cursing inside she’d told him she was brand new. Finally, she produced her real estate card. Her newly arrived license was hung in a friend’s office back in San Francisco, temporarily.

He took it and flipped it between his fingers. “Why don’t you sell the condo in San Diego yourself?” he asked.

“Well, I just got my license. I’m learning the market in San Francisco from a friend. I have no clue when it comes to San Diego. You’re going to laugh, but I sell lingerie at Madame M’s on Maiden Lane. The…”

“Oh, I know it.” He was pointing to her. “I’ve been in there several times.”

Christy was surprised.

Travis continued, “That’s where I’ve seen you. At the shop. I’m sure.”

Christy tilted her head and examined his beautiful face again. Yes, he did look vaguely familiar. Maybe she was wrong about Travis after all.

She blushed at her mistake of his gender preference and averted her eyes. An older man across the aisle had leaned forward and was listening to every word.

With a smirk, Travis picked up Christy’s fingers and put them to his lips. “Don’t worry, my dear. You are safe with me.” His voice was thick with mystery and conspiracy. “I have a very close personal friend who is a female impersonator and she buys all her nice things there,” he whispered. His eyes widened to make the point.

And Christy knew him. Knew her. The exotic dancer.

Angela Folsom. Christy had waited on her many times. She was one of Madame’s cross-dressing customers, and quite famous.

Travis dropped her fingers and she looked out the window for distraction, not sure what to say, not wanting to offend. Had she? Her heart pounded in her chest.

“What can I get you?” the flight attendant asked her first, then looked at Travis and blushed.

“The lady and I,” Travis looked at Christy and winked, “are going to have two glasses of champagne, please.” He flapped his eyebrows up and down.

And that was that.  By the time they landed in San Diego, she was well on her way to feeling warm, fuzzy and relaxed. Travis managed to get her chatting and laughing. She enjoyed his easy style and the safe flirting.

At the terminal, Travis shouldered her carry-on bag with an eager crooked grin. She surveyed longing eyes of other women as they passed through the crowds like royalty. He was being admired by all, seemed used to it and able to enjoy the attention.

They met her driver at the baggage terminal. “Can I have him drop you off somewhere?” Christy asked.

“I’m meeting someone, supposed to call,” he said as he glanced around the terminal.

Christy followed Travis’ gaze as the bags began to come out onto the carousel. “It’s no bother, if you’re anywhere close to downtown.”

Travis agreed. Christy pointed to her bag and Travis leaned forward to retrieve it. She stepped back onto the running shoe of another passenger standing behind her, who had just removed his luggage from the conveyor. Twisting her ankle, she nearly tripped, but not before she noticed the bicep and muscled forearm of a man of steel. Near his wrist was a tattoo of tracks from a three-toed animal, extending nearly to the inside of his elbow.

Travis grabbed her around the waist and righted her before she fell into the side and chest of the stranger, who did a sudden intake of air. Immediately her driver came between them and ushered her outside before she had a chance to look back over her shoulder at the muscled stranger.

But she could feel a set of eyes on her. The hair at the backside of her neck stood on end at the close call. She wanted to see him, wanted to look into the stranger’s eyes, but she was whisked away, held under each elbow, and deposited into the waiting black limo.

Kyle Lansdowne knew he was out of her league. Well-endowed both physically and financially. Demure. Incredible body and well cared-for in all respects. Surrounded by men who waited on her. She smelled heavenly. What parts managed to touch her body through his clothes burned at the memory. A sailor, even an elite sailor like himself, would have no chance with a woman like this.

Not to mention the fact that she was already taken.

Fredo coughed in his ear. Kyle turned to look at the brown puppy dog eyes of the shortest man in his SEAL team, standing next to the tallest man ever to graduate BUD/S, Coop.

They didn’t have to say anything.

“Seriously, Dude. You needs to get a Chiquita.” Fredo was always known for his honesty.

“Shut up, Frodo,” Cooper offered. Kyle noticed the shorter team guy wince at the moniker he was given, due to his challenged size. “He’s just landed. Give the man some space. He can’t help it if the lady in question already has plans.”

Fredo shook his head from side to side, walking off toward the sunlit doors of the terminal exit, mumbling something in Spanish. Then the little Mexican SEAL ran toward the door, directly into the path of another dark-haired muscled man. The two began a heated conversation in Spanish while punching and slapping body parts.

Kyle thought they were causing too much attention.

“Wow,” Cooper spat. “Armani’s here. Thought he was still on leave in Puerto Rico. What the fuck’s up with that?”

“I didn’t believe it either when I got his text. But here he is. God’s gift to mankind.”

Kyle forgot the blonde, the hole the size of San Diego in his chest, and immersed himself in the comradery that was their group.

Special Operator Armando Guzman was dressed in all black. His shiny and curly dark hair was still long from their tour in Afghanistan. Kyle noticed he’d shaved his beard, though.

“Hey shaggy. How was home?” Kyle asked after they shook hands. Armando had missed the required decompression stop in Hawaii, for the family emergency.

Armando shrugged. “Still there.”

Kyle noticed something black inside his best friend’s eyes. He felt in the presence of someone else with a hole in his chest, and it wasn’t from their duty as the Navy’s finest. Something was eating away at him.

“You right as rain, Armani?” Cooper asked Armando.

So Cooper picked up the same vibe.

“Nah,” Armando started. “I miss all the sand and the goats.”

Everyone chuckled and knew he was full of shit.

Chapter 2

Christy unlocked the front door of her mother’s condo and stepped inside. She caught her breath, experiencing one of the best views of San Diego harbor she had ever seen. It was like this every time she came here. She set her luggage down and traversed the distance through a bright expansive living room, reaching the sliding glass doors and the brushed steel balcony railing beyond. She thought she could hear her mother breathing.

Mom, I’m back.

She felt something alive here every time she walked into this room.

Her heart was still beating rapidly, even though they’d dropped Travis off on the way to town, though her driver brought in all her bags and sent them up in the elevator. She could still feel the hardness of the stranger’s chest, and see the blue-black tattoo on his arm.

Has it been that long since a man has held me?

She sighed, kicked off her shoes, removed her jacket and leaned into the glass door,  peering at the harbor below. Three years ago, her mom suddenly moved to San Diego without telling Christy until the move was complete.

Christy’s brother, who also lived in San Francisco, was obsessed with his career as a stockbroker. He’d married a manic depressive lady with multiple personality disorders. Her brother chose to deal with his wife’s problems by being gone most of the time.

Christy’s mother had more patience with the woman than Christy did. But in the end, Christy thought perhaps the wife was the real reason her mother moved away.

Did she expect me to follow behind?

The relocation had seemed very abrupt at the time. Her mother said she’d always wanted to live near the water in San Diego. Told Christy it was time to start living her own life.

Maybe she knew about the cancer when she moved here.

It would be just like her mother to want to suffer in silence, and alone. Not to be a bother to anyone.

In the end, did you have regrets, Mom? Did you find the peace you wanted?

Christy looked out over the still blue water of the harbor, tears stinging her eyes. She wiped her cheeks and viewed the stunning tall masts of some of the most expensive yachts and sailing vessels in existence. She’d always had a dream of sailing on one of those ships. Taking a romantic trip with the man of her dreams. Would that happen some day, she wondered?

She closed her eyes and hugged herself, listening to the muted foghorn and birds calling to her through the glass.

What is it about this place?

She could almost believe in magic. It was more than the light shimmering off the water. Something out there was calling to her.

“Silly,” she whispered. She had plans to execute. Wanted to get up to speed with the training Tom Bergeron, her mentor and a wealthy San Francisco developer, was going to give her privately. Now that he was married, she could accept his training and not feel compromised by the clear blue eyes and handsome features of the richest man she’d ever known. His boat was docked at the San Francisco Marina. He’d offered to help her any way she wanted. But that wasn’t the yacht or the future that called her.

Madame M, her boss, had given her a few days off so she could get her mother’s condo ready for sale, and think about her future.

“Spend a few days there, Cherie,” Madame had said. “I will be fine. No hurry, please, on my behalf,” she told her.  “When you come back, come back for good. But you need to settle these details first to free your mind.”

Looking out over the water, she wasn’t sure this could happen quickly. But she would try her hardest. She had to move on.

God, I miss you, Mom.

It had never been a bother to be by her mother’s side as the older woman’s blue eyes faded, as her cheeks sunk in and as she squeezed Christy’s hand just before her last breath. Though her mother tried to beg her off, in the end, Christy insisted on being right there next to the woman who had given birth to her, been her best friend and confidante. It really was no trouble at all. It made her appreciate the beauty and value of life. And how limited it was.

At first, Christy felt like she’d lost her compass.

Today, she was determined to change her course. Pursue a professional career. She planned to phase out of the lingerie shop, and into real estate, where she could be captain of her own ship, create her own destiny. The nest egg she would get from the sale proceeds, as well as the money her mother left her would give her the chance to do this. It was time.

Enough of the dreaming. Time to get real.

Kyle rode up front with Armando driving. Fredo and Cooper were plugged in to their iPods in the back seat.

“You look a little frayed at the ends, Armani.” Kyle used the privacy to do a little surveillance on his best friend. The four of them always traveled as a group when they came home. They’d planned the four days’ decompression in Hawaii together. Armando received a Red Cross alert in Afghanistan the day before they were to leave, and shipped out, going back to see family in Puerto Rico. Kyle wondered what returned him to San Diego so soon. He hadn’t expected him for at least a week.

The rest of Kyle’s group decided not to wait for the C17’s rear hatch to get repaired in Hawaii, so paid for a commercial flight with the San Francisco stopover.

“Where’s the gear?” Armando asked.

“We left Swenson and Beemer in Hawaii to come with the transport. Fredo and Coop were itching to get home.

“And you?” Armando peered back at him, dark eyes flashing.

“Fuckin’ A.”

Kyle noticed Armando’s eyes were darting from side to side, and he kept rolling his neck.

“I crooked my neck on the plane two days ago. Got me all tense,” Armando explained.

Kyle knew Armando was lying.

“Know what you mean. I hate all the plane rides,” Kyle added.

“Not to mention the droning. Those transports are hell on me.”

“Agreed.” Kyle looked down at his hands splayed palms down against his thighs. “You wanna tell me how things went at home?”

“San Diego’s my home how.”

“You know what I mean. Surprised to see you back so soon. Everything all right?” Kyle knew he had to probe.

Armando was silent. The hum of the Jeep engine sent Kyle back to Afghanistan. Back to some pretty black days. He shut his eyes and pressed them with his fingers.

“You know me. I worry too much,” Armando said. “Think it was a false alarm.”

“We got a lot to worry about. But next deployment. You’re home now. Not supposed to have worries here.”

“Tell that to the other guys who have families and come back after what we’ve seen. You don’t have to lecture me.”

“Don’t I?” Kyle pressed on.

It didn’t have the effect on Armando Kyle hoped for. His team buddy was clammed up. Lips tight. He knew he had to be careful with his best friend, or he’d get a glare that could wake the dead.

The silence was worse than knowing. Something was up. And no way in hell Kyle was going to get it out of him.

“How about those Padres?” It was that ridiculous thing Kyle said whenever he was making the point about changing the subject. Telling Armando he got the message, but didn’t like it one bit.

Dangerous for Armando to have secrets. Secrets get you killed.

Christy decided to go down to the harbor to look at the boats. There was a place her mother had taken her that served clam chowder and had French bread flown in from San Francisco. She wasn’t missing her City by the Bay, but a taste of something familiar while she charted out her new course would help keep her nerves in check.

For some reason, she was afraid to let go of this magical place.  Felt like she was selling her mom’s memory too.

She unpacked and quickly changed into a comfortable pair of blue jeans that practically hung off her. She’d been losing weight.

Not a good sign.

She donned a light yellow sweatshirt with the Golden Gate Bridge logo on it. She slipped her toes into blue leather flat-heeled Mary Janes. They were the same color as her jeans, and the most comfortable shoes she owned.

Walking into the bathroom, she lay out her makeup bag, took out her brush and clipped her blonde hair up at the back of her head, letting golden wisps cascade down the back framing her bangs in front. With the addition of some mineral powder, light pink blush and cherry lip-gloss, she was good to go.

Better. She searched her face in the bathroom mirror, and knew she needed more rest to eliminate the grey semicircles forming under her eyes.

Christy grabbed her mother’s keys, slipped her favorite pair of Swarovski crystal sunglasses on her nose.

She rode the elevator alone to the sparse lobby. Grey tumbled marble in herringbone pattern lay underneath her feet, as well as along the four walls all the way to the ceiling.  Through heavy steel and glass doors an inch thick, she waved at the deskman and pushed her way out, into the sunny afternoon of San Diego.

It only took her ten minutes to walk to the marina. Across the inlet lay Coronado Island, where a cruiser was making its way inland, very slowly. Men in white uniforms on deck, waving at the people on shore. A couple of them whistled at girls in sweats running along the marina jogging course.

Christy was soothed by the sounds of water lapping against the hulls of the boats docked there.  Rigging and grommets clanged against poles. Wind chimes tinkled in the afternoon breeze. A couple of tanned beauties in bikini tops and cutoffs were preparing a barbeque on board a huge yacht. A group of six senior citizens were gathered at a locked metal gate that advertised a dinner cruise. Kids walked with dogs or skipped ahead of parents. A group of young freshly buzz-cut sailors, looking hardly old enough to grow beards, walked four abreast and tipped their caps at Christy as they passed by. She could feel their eyes on her behind, but didn’t turn to check. Several couples walked hand in hand.

Christy’s stomach clenched as something pooled inside her. It spread like a black cape covering her shoulders, weighing her down.

I’m all alone.

She shivered, shaking herself to rid her body of the feeling. The air had chilled.

The Sea Dog was right where she remembered it. Inside, she was ushered to a table by the window overlooking the marina. She ordered the chowder and a glass of white wine.  The warm soup began to cheer her insides. With her chin ensconced in the palm of her hand, she sighed and stared out to the horizon. Her melancholy was turning to peace.

It felt like the quiet before the storm.

Kyle threw his duffel on the upper bunk. The concrete block barracks would be home tonight. But, given any luck, he’d go out with the guys tomorrow and get an apartment. He walked to the lone window overlooking the inlet and the beautiful San Diego skyline beyond.

The other half.

As a Navy SEAL, his life was simple and uncomplicated. Everything he owned he could fit in his duffel bag. But everything he cared about, his honor and his pride was larger than the universe.

Armando Guzman knocked on the open metal door. Kyle looked up at his handsome Puerto Rican swim buddy.

“Thought you’d taken off, Armani.”

“You got the Ritz tonight, Lanny. This is first class shit here. You got your lumpy mattress,” he said as he pounded on Kyle’s scratchy green military issue blanket covering the thin mattress of his upper berth. “You got one hundred percent stainless steel toilet so shiny you can see your ass in it. Flown in all the way from China, man.”

Kyle chuckled. He tucked his folded briefs and T-shirts carefully, stacking them in a drawer in a dresser with a golden yellow laminated top.

Armando was waiting for a response, and Kyle gave him one.

“I didn’t ask you because you were a little distracted, Armani. And if you’d answer your phone once in awhile…”

“Yes, yes, I know. No service at my aunt’s house.”

“The little house in the jungle you burned down when you were ten?”

“That very one. They rebuilt it, sort of. Who needs glass windows anyway, man?” Armando shrugged and then checked his fingers, splayed over the bed.

“So you went to Puerto Rico after all. Didn’t stay long.”

“Wasn’t much to see.”

“Came back to San Diego early.”

“And here I am.” Armando extended his hands out to his sides.

He’s not going to tell me why.

“Well, you sure this wasn’t an elaborate plan to stay holed up in that new home of yours? Of course, with someone to clean house and stuff.” Kyle looked down and whispered,  “I didn’t want to intrude.”

Kyle was uncomfortable talking about his buddy’s sex life. Probably because Kyle himself didn’t have one to speak of. Not that he hadn’t tried.

“Nah.” Armando stared out the window and hardened his jaw. Kyle could see the disgust in his face. His comment had hit a nerve.

“Hey, I’m sorry, man,” Kyle offered.

Tell me, Armani. Give it up.

Wincing, Armando peeled his eyes off the window opening and with detachment, took a slip of paper from his back pocket, unfolded it and placed it on the bed. “Here’s the address, Lanny. You should stop by tomorrow after our ProDev briefing. Give me time to get the place in order. I got an extra bedroom and you’re welcome to stay over. Anytime.”

Kyle noted it wasn’t a clear offer to rent him a room. So, he’d be looking for an apartment with Fredo or, maybe he’d get his own place. Cooper lived at the beach in an RV. That wasn’t Kyle’s scene. “Thanks, Armani. Again, don’t want to intrude.”

“No worries. I like being all domestic with you, Chief Petty Officer Lansdowne.”

“You starting to like men now? You know I don’t go that way.”

“I know. Thought perhaps I could help out in the female department. Being a Latin Lover has its advantages.”

“Fuck you,” Kyle said as he punched Armando in the upper arm. “I found a peach in the airport in San Francisco. She was on our plane.”

“So she’s here, in San Diego?”

Kyle nodded. “Should have seen those legs.”

Armando whistled. “Surprised Cooper didn’t get to her first.”

“He was thinking about it.”

“Not a good idea to take a girl your LPO has been eyeballing.”

They looked at each other for a few seconds before Kyle jumped in. “So, you got plans for tonight?” he asked. Kyle noticed some of Armando’s darkness was gone.

“Some liquid refreshment and some mindless sex. You?”

“I was thinking the same thing.” Kyle worried he’d hit another cart full of bags, or walk into a door or something stupid. And get laughed at. He didn’t want to get laughed at.

He wanted to get fucked.

“What do you say we head over across,” Armando pointed to downtown San Diego, “and get us some coeds. Or perhaps nice girls who work at an office or something. Or maybe the goddess with the long legs. I’m tired of these Frog Hogs here. We can get a couple of rooms.”

“Sounds good to me, man.” Kyle looked around his quarters that had taken him five minutes to set up. He doubted they had put anyone in here with him.

But it probably wouldn’t make a lick of difference.

Chapter 3

Kyle and Armando walked down through the Gaslight district, peering into storefronts—ones they’d never frequent on their meager military salary. Several were beginning to close. The aromas of trendy Italian restaurants and steak houses made Kyle hungry. Just a week ago he and Cooper were in Afghanistan, patching up an 18-year-old kid who took a shot to the upper thigh, shattering his femur. He was going to surely lose his leg. And now Kyle was here. Looking for a woman with legs he would dream about for nights.

Armando headed inside a bar and grill filling up with the usual weeknight crowd. Kyle found a table outside and took a seat while Armando made a trip to the head.

He’s probably scoping out the merchandise.

He thought maybe he should call Edie, a girl he spent time with on occasion. Edie wasn’t a very good talker, and that suited him just fine. She was a good kisser, and though not particularly exciting, she was clean and always willing. If he closed his eyes, she would become anyone he imagined. He didn’t like high maintenance girls. He considered himself easy going, as long as they liked lots of sex.

But tonight he wanted something more. His thoughts drifted back to the blonde at the airport. He recalled the creamy texture of her upper thigh as she stepped into the waiting town car. Those legs were something else. Her neck and shoulders were smooth and begging to be kissed. Worshiped even. He knew how they would feel under his palms.

Before the car took off, he had leaned forward, and thought perhaps she might look up at him through the blackened window, but she never turned his way. Her side profile revealed red pouty lips as she stared straight ahead. Those lips gave him an instant hard-on.

He was getting another one right now just thinking about her.

He fantasized about seeing her face and a whole lot more, spending an evening with her. Where would he take her? His room at the barracks?

Hell no. All his worldly possessions tucked away in a Formica-topped dresser? Views of the inlet with bars on them?

The beach used to be a nice place for him. But now, memories of running, balancing rubber boats on his head for so many days he had a bald spot that took a year to heal. No way would he take her anywhere near there. Kyle wondered how Cooper could stand to live at the beach in his souped up RV. Then again, Cooper was known for his toys, inventions and surveillance gadgets. When he wasn’t entertaining a lady, he was having the time of his life tinkering.

The babemobile.

Well, it worked for Cooper. Good for him. This lady wouldn’t want to go work out at Gunny’s Gym, a place smelling like rust and sweat. Frequented mostly by the SEAL community, both retired and active. He’d never seen a woman in there once. No way could he trust the guys that hung out there, either.

Most likely she’d want a nice ride on the bay in one of those rentals that would cost him a month’s pay. Hearts and flowers. Music. Expensive lingerie…

“Where’d you sail off to, Lansdowne?” Armando sat down in front of Kyle with a scowl.

“No where.” It was the truth. Where the fuck was he going, after all?

“Kyle, you sure you’re in the mood for this? The pickings are a little slim, but still decent for a Wednesday.” Armando followed that statement with a blazing smile, revealing all his perfect white teeth.

“I’m good.” Kyle was relieved Armando had lightened up a bit. “I just…”

“Hold on a sec.” Armando stood and answered a buzz on his cell, in Spanish. Kyle listened to a heated discussion, followed by some choice swear words he’d heard when they’d been stuck in some situation overseas. Rarely here in the good old U.S. of A.

Something’s definitely wrong.

Armando ended the call and shook his head. “Can’t even get back one day without all the drama.”

“Family stuff, Armani?”

“Not to worry, chief. But I’m going to have to bale on you.”

“Now?” Kyle asked.

“Well, I can drop you back at base, if you want, or…”

“No, I’ll find a ride,” Kyle answered.

“Yeah, I know you can. Just wondering if you will.” Armando leaned into him and whispered. “A man goes crazy if he doesn’t get enough, know what I’m sayin?”

Kyle smirked. He’d told himself the same thing many times over.

“Don’t have to go with the ring and the chocolates, man. What about Daisy, or Edie?”

“I’m good. No worries. You just go take care of business.” Kyle frowned. “Call if I can help out in any way. And Armani,” he said as he stood up, “Keep your ass out of trouble, hear? I’ll see you tomorrow at ProDev.”

He watched Armando weave himself through the crowd outside milling around the sidewalk, and then disappear into the early evening. A sudden chill fell over him with the premonition it might be the last time he’d see Armando.

Alone again.

“You want something to drink?” A young fresh face batted her big blue eyes, surprising Kyle. She held a round tray with a couple of empty glasses. He needed to get out of there.

“I think I’m leaving,” Kyle said as he slipped her two dollars, and left.

He scanned the faces and bodies in the crowd as he walked along the sidewalk.  No one looked familiar.

Good.

No one he wanted to meet, either.

Bad.

Did he have some anti-girl bubble that followed him around lately? Women had always been nuts around him when he was younger. Tonight, no one looked twice.

He put his hands in his jeans, and looked down at his canvas shoes with the tire retread soles. When he looked up, he saw her.

She had come out of a high-end grocery store, bearing two packages. He was sure it was she, even though all he could see was her profile. Through her bulky sweatshirt he could see she was even bigger on top than he’d imagined at the airport. He fell in behind her to follow at a distance, hoping to get a glimpse of her face.

He’d recognize that shapely rear and long legs anywhere. Those beautiful thighs were encapsulated in some worn jeans. The way she walked was confident, unmistakably her own style. Like a model. Her blonde hair was piled on top of her head. All mess-up and just-fucked looking.  He liked that look.

So, she cooks.

He liked that, too. He followed her for a block, checking store windows, hoping to see a reflection of her face. Would be just his luck if this shapely goddess had a horse face. But he ruled it out as extremely unlikely as quickly as he thought about it. She didn’t have to be a real beauty, but somehow he knew she was. She had attracted a lot of attention at the airport, and she had a chauffeured driver and handsome companion.

Nah, he knew she’d be a knockout, if he could just look at her, engage in a little conversation he’d be happy.

A couple of Navy regulars rounded the corner in front of her and bumped right into the lady. Kyle sped up to come to her aid. She stepped quickly back, not losing her balance and avoided their fumbling apologies, complete with attempts to touch her.  The guys were practically falling over themselves, fawning and apologizing.

Yeah, she’s a looker. No question.

Half disappointed he didn’t have to go into rescue mode, he glared at the trio as he passed by. When he looked back down the street, she was gone.

Damn!

Christy punched the stainless steel button for the twenty-second floor as the doors closed. She undid her hair, fluffed it up and repositioned the plastic clip securely. Though alone in the elevator, she couldn’t get over the sensation she was being followed. Like everywhere she went there were eyes on her.

Unlocking the front door, she entered, shifting the packages with one thigh, and then setting them on the kitchen counter. She flipped on her satellite radio program and listened to a dreamy Celtic instrumental piece, while she stowed her basics—enough for three days exactly.

Her cell phone rang.

“Christy, this is Carl Simms from Patterson Realty.”

“Hi there.”

“I’ve started on the numbers you’ve asked me for. Thanks for leaving the key, by the way.”

“No problem. So, what do you think it will sell for?” Christy asked.

“Well, I usually do that in person. But I was thinking about your situation. We haven’t met, but you mentioned over the phone you were getting ready to start selling real estate in San Francisco.”

“Yes.”

“Well, have you considered moving here to San Diego instead? Great place for young singles. I’d be happy to show you the ropes. We have a very productive office. Small. Not an agent factory.”

“Well, I think I’ve pretty much made up my mind.” Christy felt her resolve wiggle as she said this.

“I understand. Still, I’d like to invite you to our office meeting tomorrow at nine. Afterwards, we can meet and, if you’re still interested in selling, we can go over the paperwork. And the numbers.”

“Office meeting?” she asked.

“We go over new listings, recent sales. You’ll get a feel for what happens during a typical week, get to meet some of the other agents here.”

“Well…”

“Look, just consider it, okay? If I see you here at nine, I’ll introduce you. If not, come by at ten for our appointment. How does that sound?”

“I’ll think about it, Mr. Simms. No promises.”

“No promises. Bye.”

But Christy knew right away she wasn’t ready to say goodbye to this place that had captivated her mother so. Until the mystery of why she felt she belonged here was revealed, she wasn’t in a hurry to return to San Francisco.

She knew she’d be at the meeting tomorrow. And she also knew that her life would never be the same.

The End

If you would like to read how this story continues, you may purchase the full length novel Accidental SEAL by clicking this link:Accidental SEAL.

Christy Nelson embarks on her new career in Real Estate by holding her first open house. Entering the wrong house, by accident, she finds the nude sleeping body of a young man.

Navy SEAL Kyle Lansdowne, on a mission to find his AWOL Team buddy, is staying at his buddy’s home while investigating the disappearance.  When someone breaks in, he takes protective measures. He doesn’t expect to find that a beautiful young woman is responsible for his teammate’s abduction.

What starts out as a meeting by accident becomes a hot affair neither one is ready for. Kyle is conflicted about getting Christy involved in his mission, but his hand is forced when he learns the same San Diego gang responsible for his teammate’s abduction has kidnapped her.

Battling a cadre of dirty law enforcements hell-bent on getting military equipment, especially state-of-the-art firepower, Kyle is forced to admit that he would die to protect her.

Excerpt, Accidental SEAL:

Chapter 1

Christy Nelson worked to keep her breakfast down when Wayne Sommerville came lurking around her cubicle. He’d pestered her every day since she’d been introduced as the newest agent at the Patterson Realty sales meeting three days ago. His soft, flabby torso was repulsive, and those distinctive hair plugs, installed at an angle on Wayne’s shiny salmon-colored forehead, were distracting. Her gaze followed rows of black dots receding into his dyed-black hair. A life-sized version of Mr. King’s Chuckie.

Wayne winked at her again, and her blood turned to ice.

His horse teeth and foul breath could raise the dead. He’d made it clear he wanted to mentor her, but she suspected he had more in mind than real estate contracts and short sales. He was persistent, though. She’d give him that.

He draped his bulky frame against the back of her chair. She wanted to duck for cover. The eerie need to protect her neck put her radar on high alert as she visualized violence and fangs.

“I’ve coached quite a few of the new agents over the years.” Wayne’s look lasted too long—hungry and inappropriate. Christy didn’t trust one single hair plug.

“Well,” she said, resisting the urge to escape, “I do need a good open house.

Now, why did I say that?

“I’ve got the perfect one! Great little short sale.” Wayne launched into his routine, oblivious to the fact she’d become dizzy from the smell of the garlic fries he’d apparently had for lunch. “The house is a little rough around the edges, but in a super neighborhood. The sellers are about to lose it.” He threw her a mock frown. She could see him singing a hymn, asking for money on TV.

Perhaps a second career.

“No sign on the lawn yet and it’s not even on the computer,” he continued. “You can snatch all those buyers for yourself.” He leaned in and whispered like it was a national secret. “And I could help you with the paperwork. You know, show you how it’s done.”

Male alert. If he touches me, he’ll get a knee to his groin. She swung her chair to angle for quick action.

He stepped back just in time. She exhaled, grateful for the distance.

“Doing short sales is a real art,” he added with a frown, stiffening. His shiny suit fit like one of those unfortunate animals in a teddy bear factory, stuffed into its fur. The silver glint of the fabric reminded her of fish scales.

Run, Christy, run. You could be the one who got away…

She had never in her life paid a favor with sex and wasn’t about to start. She would hold his new listing open, but only if she could do it without owing him.

Besides, she had to do something to drum up business. Her move to San Diego marked the beginning of her new professional career as a Realtor. Being the top salesperson at Madame M’s lingerie boutique on Maiden Lane in San Francisco had only barely paid the bills. She’d loved Madame and had thrived as a sales clerk, but had recognized the time for a real career and had trained in Real Estate, then moved to San Diego after her mother had passed on and left her condo to Christy.

Though she’d been was comfortable selling to the rich and powerful of the City by the Bay, Wayne, even if he was half the success he claimed he was, made her nervous.

This is a very bad idea. Just say no.

“Fine.” It sounded like it came from the cubicle next to her.

But then she spotted Wayne’s dimples and canines.

Oh. My. God. I’ve just said yes.

Christy’s red Honda looked like a wet cherry lollipop, shined and polished to perfection. Cute and shiny on the outside, but hot and sweltering on the inside. Sitting in the cramped front seat, she stopped and squinted to make out house numbers, comparing them to the address Wayne had minutely scribbled on the back of his business card. Then she found it.

The house appeared nicer than he’d described. The advertised price, he said, was the lowest in the neighborhood, going back ten years. Hopefully she’d pick up a young couple out looking for their first home, complete with good credit and a wad of cash from Mommy and Daddy. Wouldn’t it be great to make a sale on her very first day on the job?

She parked in the driveway, popped the trunk, and brought out three sandwich signs with the Patterson Realty logo, on loan from Wayne. He was out with his family today. She hoped the Somervilles didn’t stop by since she’d feel uncomfortable looking into the eyes of Wayne’s wife, a woman he probably cheated on and would again, if he got the chance. One of Christy’s other rules: no married men. She wasn’t about to change that, either.

A perfumed late spring breeze blew softly against her face and neck, sending a thrill up her spine. The air ripened with possibility. This was her favorite time of year.

The walkway looked freshly swept. After placing one sign in the front yard, she stacked the other two beside the front door and inserted Wayne’s key. While the lock accepted the new shiny silver metal, the tumblers stayed in place, frozen.

Way to go Wayne. Waste my time and give me the wrong key!

Irritation bubbled, ruining her cheerful, spring-induced mood. She yanked on the front handle and pushed against it out of frustration. It opened.

“Anybody home?” Her voice wavered like that of a small child. She waited. No answer.

Christy stepped inside, onto a striped cotton rug lying cockeyed behind the front door. The smell of fried food hit her. She walked across the wooden floor of the living room, her stilettos clacking. She cracked open a window. Air scented by fresh blossoms poured in, diluting the smells of ordinary life. She grabbed the newspaper tossed on top of an ottoman and folded the crinkling pages under her arm, aiming for the kitchen to find a trashcan. She passed the dining room table, which was strewn with a map of the area, a couple of felt-tipped pens, and a letter-sized yellow lined tablet. She collected these items as well and made her way to the kitchen.

Christy threw the tablet and newspaper onto the tiled countertop and placed her hands on her hips to assess the scene before her. She squinted at several days’ worth of dishes piled high in the sink. Next to it, a large stainless steel bowl sat encrusted with dark green and purple leaves at the bottom, evidence of a salad—several days old.

Maybe Wayne had neglected to tell the sellers about the open house. She decided it was entirely possible. “How can you expect to sell a house this way?” she muttered, then sighed and removed her jacket, slinging it over the back of a clean-looking kitchen chair. She decided to take a tour of the place, checking for other things to clean or straighten before she’d be ready to hold it open.

But this house was such a mess, an uneasy darkness chilled her. She tiptoed down the carpeted hallway, feeling like an intruder, past empty rooms, to a closed door at the end.

Probably the master bedroom.

Something about the whole scene was strange. These people left without cleaning up dinner from several days before, in a hurry. She’d been told short sale houses rarely showed pride of ownership, but this felt absolutely creepy, like she’d stepped on someone’s grave. The hair at the back of her neck bristled as she gripped the doorknob. She lightly tapped with her other hand, and then opened the door.

A naked body lay on the bed.

Holy crap.

Hesitant to look at first, she pushed through her fear.
She saw movement. Tanned skin, a muscular male chest that rose and fell. Earphones were wired to a phone balanced on his open palm. The man was very much alive, and healthy. Her eyes drifted further down to a dusting of dark brown hair that led to an impossible-to-miss erection. His penis stood at attention, like a deep rose-colored light standard under a matching fireman’s hat of deeper pink.

Blood pumped to her ears, making them ring, as her heart raced. A wave of anger coursed over her at the realization she had been the victim of a very sick joke perpetrated by Wayne and one of his disgusting friends.

Christy silently closed the door and tiptoed back down the carpeted hallway, her three-inch heels wobbling on the thick, padded surface. Her knees knocked against each other as she picked up speed, her anger building. She grabbed her jacket, keys, and purse, and crossed the living room, headed toward the front door. She was almost free.

Christy wouldn’t give the prankster the satisfaction of knowing she had even seen him. She wanted to stomp her foot and kick something through the window. This was Wayne’s doing.

That sonofabitch and his lopsided plugs will pay for this.

She pulled the door handle and was rewarded by the smells of a warm spring day bleeding through the inch-wide crack she’d created. An enormous hand and forearm came from behind her and slammed the door shut. She saw a blue-green tattoo of some animal tracks on his muscled forearm just before his other hand gripped her mouth. Callused fingers pinched the sides of her cheeks. The grip hurt.

Continued in Accidental SEAL.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3