Navy SEALs Complete Series: 3 Books + 3 Novellas (Tempting Navy SEALs) (28 page)

She raced up the steps, catching the wall as it clicked shut behind Clint’s exit, effectively blocking her in once again. She pounded her fist against the wall before kicking out at it furiously.

Stomping back down the stairs, she faced the quiet, somber Macey as violence surged through her.

“He can’t do this alone.” She had seen the grief in his eyes, soul deep, filling his being and breaking her heart. “Go with him, Macey.”

“Chill out, babe,” he sighed, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he glared down at her. “You’re forgetting who you’re dealing with here. You’re a hazard out there with him, just as he said. And so am I. Let him keep his head clear; he doesn’t need to come back here to find you in Fuentes’ hands.”

“He hasn’t caught me yet,” she snapped.

Macey snorted. “He hasn’t really tried, darlin’. Fuentes has been playing. It’s what he excels at. He’ll play in earnest now. He’s taken out one of our men and that’s not an easy thing to do. Right now, Clint needs to do what he does best. Hunt. While I do what I do best and track.”

She flinched, stepping back as helplessness washed over him.

“They killed his men,” she whispered. “He’s destroyed, Macey—”

“He’s a SEAL, Morganna.” Macey rolled his eyes at her. “He’s lost more friends than you can imagine. Nathan last year and now Markwell is a heavy hit, I admit, but he’s stone cold when he’s in work mode; don’t you doubt it. That boy is
an instrument of death right now, and you don’t want to see that. Hell, you don’t need to see that.”

“He’s hurting—”

“He’s out for vengeance.” Macey’s smile was cold. Hard. “And trust me when I say Clint knows how to do death the right way. So just chill out and let him do his thing. Staying safe is the best way you can help him.”

Her gaze flicked to the monitors then, seeing Clint step into the garage, the black-and-white monitor showing more than color ever could have.

The shadows shifting around his expression sent a shiver up her spine. His eyes were cold, hard. Chips of dark ice as he moved to the truck. He looked like death.

“Yeah, hell of a change, huh?” Macey grunted as he caught her expression. “He’ll be back, Morganna. I can promise you that. He knows what he’s facing, and he has more than his own life to fight for. He won’t fail.”

She stared back at him, hating the tears falling from her own eyes, hating the helplessness that filled her.

“What does he have left?” she whispered. “All he does is fight.”

He shook his head slowly. “Clint’s loyal to his men, don’t doubt it,” he growled. “But something anyone who really knew Clint understood was that you are his soul. He fights it. He denies it, but trust me, Morganna. Clint’s not fighting for friends or family now, or for himself. You’re his innocence, girl. And
that
a man would fight the devil himself for.”

She shook her head slowly. “He’ll always fight loving me.”

“He likes to think he can,” Macey grunted. “There’s not many of us who know Clint down deep like I know him, sweetcakes. Me and Reno. We know Clint to the bone. And we know what you mean to him. Don’t doubt that.”

“How can you know this?” She hoped, prayed. She kept her confidence intact when Clint was around, but he hid so much from her. Kept too much to himself.

Macey grimaced as he turned away from her for a moment, watching as the gray pickup eased from the back drive, the lights off as darkness shadowed it.

“I’ve seen him when he can’t hide.” Macey cleared his throat softly. “Me, Reno, his men. Clint was hurt pretty bad once; we didn’t know if he would make it until we could get him to the pickup point. Reno, uhh, told him you were hurt. Told him you were crying for him.” He shook his head as she stared back at him in shock. “He fought like a madman to live. He shouldn’t have survived, but he did. And he will now.”

His dark eyes bored into her as he turned back to her. “You do what that boy tells you to do and you’ll stay safe. If he wants you trussed in cotton and hid in a corner, then you do it. Because if he lost you, I don’t think he would survive, and maybe that’s something you’d better think about.”

Leaving Morganna alone with macey was hell. Beneath the rage and pain, and the knowledge that another part of the team that he called family was gone because of Fuentes, was the knowledge that another man was protecting his woman.

Forcing the jealousy, the possessiveness, into the distant corners of his brain wasn’t easy, but the violence swirling through his head made it easier. Fuentes had made a serious mistake in thinking he could strike at Morganna for any reason as long as Clint was alive. This was the reason Fuentes had fallen the first time, because he liked to play games.

Fuentes had been convinced he was the master gamesman. He’d been wrong. His wife, Carmelita, had been the true strategist. She had allowed Fuentes to believe he was the mastermind of the cartel, but that black-hearted bitch he had married had been the true mastermind. And she had wielded that power with effortless ease through the easily manipulated Fuentes.

It didn’t take long for Clint to pick his tail back up or to lead the bastards where he needed them. They weren’t stupid;
Clint gave them credit for that. It took him nearly an hour to “lose” them again and to make certain they spotted the pickup parked behind Diva’s.

Watching from the shadows, he waited as the three men left the sedan and made their way into the club before he moved. He knew the fourth had held back; Clint had watched him slide into position along the shadows of the back of the building, with a clear view of the truck.

Yeah, they were good. Some of Fuentes’ finest, and if Clint wasn’t mistaken, the little prick watching the truck was one of his highest lieutenants. It was just a sad day when you had to use your best men to play trackers. But Manuelo was no place to be found.

Fuentes’ soldier was good, but taking him out was easy. Clint slipped from position, careful to stay low until he was only feet away from assassin wannabe. He hefted the blade he held in his hand before drawing back slowly, then letting it go with a powerful flip of his wrist.

The body slid slowly down the side of the building without a sound. Clint moved quickly to the fallen form, rifling through pockets and shoving the contents into the pack at his side to go through later.

As quickly as he moved in, he was fading into the shadows, moving into position to wait for the other three. Taking them out wasn’t much harder. They hadn’t expected him to be waiting for them. He dragged each one back to their vehicle, throwing him in quickly before closing the door and patting the hood triumphantly with the pad of his thin leather gloves and connecting a small receiver to his ear.

“Macey, four down. Am I clear?”

“Clear, Ice,” Macey spoke. “I have a report on Loader,” he said then, his voice soft as he used Markwell’s code name. “He was called out at zero hundred hours last night. A call to his cell from good ole Santos reporting information he needed to give Loader for Ice.” Clint was Ice. The Iceman. “They arranged a meet and the rest is blood.”

“How did he know who to contact?”

“That one’s up in the air,” Macey reported. “But he called Max’s cell, too, left the same message. Important information for Ice and a request for a meeting. That’s all we have.”

Their cells and numbers were secure. Son of a bitch, how had one of Fuentes’ men gotten hold of them?

“We have more than one mole,” Clint murmured.

“Roger that,” Macey agreed.

“I’m making a stop inside Diva’s; then I’m clear,” Clint reported. “Expect me in sixty. If I’m not there, contact the remainder of the teams and secure the kitten.”

Morganna had to stay safe at all costs.

Pulling the receiver from his ear and tucking it into the small pack on his belt, Clint headed for the back entrance of Diva’s.

The private room he kept there held a small store of cash, fake IDs, and a few credit cards. He had learned enough over the years to become one paranoid son of a bitch where protection was concerned.

The dimly lit hallway was empty as he moved inside, the hard thump of the music pounding through the walls as he strode quickly to his private room. He was under no illusion that Drage wasn’t watching for him. It shouldn’t have surprised him to find out the club owner was involved with Joe in this mess. Drage Masters was a sly bastard, living just on the light edge of complete criminal intent and somehow managing to keep his balance.

Clint pulled the key card from his wallet, swiped it quickly through the security bar, and watched for the green light. He kept the gun securely against his thigh as he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Son of a bitch.

His lips thinned at the sight of the couple leaning negligently against the bar on the other side of the room. Speak of the devil and he will come, followed by his gun-toting demoness.

“I don’t have time for you, Masters,” Clint growled. “Clear out.”

Drage sighed patiently as he turned to Jayne Smith and nodded slowly. A grin tugged at her lips as she reached to the other side of the bar and lifted a small wooden box to the top of the well-polished teak bar.

Damn. Maybe Clint’s stash wasn’t hidden as well as he had thought it was.

“You will find it untampered with,” Drage commented softly as Clint closed the door behind him. “I assume time is of the essence, so I thought I would make it easier for you.”

“What do you want?” Clint kept his weapon lowered, though his finger lingered on the trigger. A fact that his host was well aware of, if the tightening of his lips as he glanced at the gun was any indication.

“I want the bastard who’s using my clubs to kill women,” Drage snarled with cold fury. “Killing men who could lead me to him in my parking lot won’t help my cause much, my friend.”

“Find Diego Fuentes and you’ll find your problem,” Clint bit out, ignoring the surprise in the other man’s eyes. “Now get out of my way and let me collect my little stash there and I’ll head on out.”

“Fuentes is dead.” Drage ignored his order. “He was taken out a year ago by the Colombian army.”

“Actually, his cartel was busted by mine and Reno’s units,” Clint sneered. “Fuentes evidently escaped. This drug was his and his little wife’s brainchild. Trust me, Fuentes is alive, and I don’t have a whole lot of time to get back to Morganna and get the hell out of here. One of her suspects, Roberto Manuelo, is one of his highest henchmen. Follow him, you’ll find Fuentes.”

“Is that wise, Clint?” Jayne Smith spoke up. “Running won’t capture him; you’ll always be looking over your shoulder.”

“Don’t fuck with me,” he snapped, caressing the trigger
of the gun. “The bastard nearly ambushed us at a party earlier. He took out one of my men in Colombia and he hit another last night. I have a damned itchy trigger finger right now, so don’t push me, Smith.”

“Fuck!” Drage pushed his fingers roughly through his hair as he gave his head of security a pointed look before turning back to Clint. “Bring Morganna here, Clint. Let him believe you’re still accessible. Draw him out where you’ll have your back covered.”

“Covered?” Clint arched his brow. “Aren’t you the one whose men can’t even catch the bastards working this drug? And don’t tell me you haven’t figured out that the DEA team working this little game has a mole, Drage. I thought you were quicker than that.”

“We know, and we are very close to cracking his identity,” Smith revealed, her voice as cold as a winter night. “Bail out now and Fuentes will go looking for you. Continue this operation and I’ll cover your back personally, Clint. We find the mole and he will lead us to Fuentes. Whoever he’s paying off would have direct access to him. You know the control freak he is. He wouldn’t allow anyone else to work this for him. It would be too important to him.”

She was right, as much as Clint hated to admit it. Because no way in hell was he putting Morganna’s life on the line any further.

“No.”

“Jesus, Clint, you’re losing your objectivity here,” Drage snarled. “You’re letting your emotions cloud your judgment. You know we’re right. Fuentes has stepped up his efforts to refinance his cartel. He’ll take you and Morganna out the first chance he has just for the hell of it now. Let his own ego take him down. Work with me here.”

“And I’m supposed to trust you for what reason?” he growled. “Weren’t you the one preparing to sponsor my woman, Drage? That was confidence-inspiring.”

“It got you off your ass and into her bed, though, didn’t
it?” Drage shot back. “I don’t believe in running from your demons, Clint. Perhaps I was helping you face yours.”

“Well, thank you all to fucking hell and back,” Clint snarled furiously. “Did I ask for your help?”

“Consider it a favor between friends.” Drage waved off the sarcastic remark with a mocking flip of his hand as his lips flattened with his own anger. “We have the master suite downstairs. I can circulate the rumor that you have tired of her defiance and you’re using the suite to complete her training. No one would doubt it except Fuentes. He would attempt to hit you here. To do so, he would have to use the mole he has within Merino’s team. This way, we both get what we want, and you aren’t running alone. Fuentes could have a damned army backing him. Don’t be a fool with Morganna’s life.”

Clint had a nice little cabin deep in the mountains, secluded, sheltered. He had taken great pains to keep it secret, but he knew the information could be had. He had intended to run there with Morganna, to hide her as far from danger as possible. But would she be safer there, where he couldn’t face the enemy?

“Clint, they raped and tortured friends of ours. These women they’re striking have done nothing to deserve what they found at this bastard’s hands,” Jayne’s voice echoed with a killing chill. “We would have betrayed you already if that was what we meant to do. Let’s help each other.”

They were right, and he fucking hated it.

“They won’t expect the security system I have in place in the private rooms,” Drage continued. “You’ll have the suite to yourself for the week. You can make your appearance in the bar each night and taunt him with the fact that you’re killing his men off and that you’re unafraid of the threat he represents. If you run, you’re giving him the upper hand.”