Hot SEALs: Guard Dog (Kindle Worlds) (Stone Hard SEALs Book 3) (11 page)

“I don’t want you to do anything dangerous.” Her voice took on a petulant tone, but it was more than that. It was worry. For him. No one had worried about him in a long time. It warmed him.

He squeezed her hand. “I’m very good at what I do.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t go with them to meet Steven.”

He scowled at her. “Oh, I’m going.”

“What if he…doesn’t react the way you think he will?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if he reacts…violently?”

That would be excellent. Because then Mason would be justified to retaliate. His smile might have been a little too enthusiastic because she frowned.

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I won’t get hurt. I promise.”

“You cannot promise that. No one can promise that.”

“Dane will be with me. He’ll have my back.”

“What if Dane gets hurt?”

From the driver’s seat, Dane snorted.

“None of us will get hurt. But if it’ll make you feel better, we’ll wear our vests.”

“Vests? What good would that—?”

“Ballistic plates, sweetheart. Remember? I told you about them. They can stop a bullet.”

Oh shit.

Wrong thing to say.

Her expression became ferocious. “Like the last time you were shot? And the plates stopped the bullet? And you still died?”

“I told you. They resuscitated me. No biggie.”

Her grip on him became painful. “You can’t die Mason,” she whispered. “You can’t. I couldn’t bear it.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” He pulled her closer, kissed her brow. Held her tight.

There was nothing to worry about.

He was very good at what he did.

He wasn’t going to die.

Not now. Not now that he had so much to live for.

Mason was right about two things.

First of all, Lily was
very
pregnant. She met them at the door to their on-base quarters with a welcoming smile.

Second of all, Pansy did like her. She liked her a lot. And it wasn’t just because when she saw Lola, dressed in her polka dot skirt and matching booties, she squealed.

It wasn’t lost on Pansy that all the men winced at her paroxysm. “Oh my God, Ryder,” she said, taking the Chihuahua into her arms and cradling her gently as she led the company into her home. “Isn’t she sweet?”

Ryder, a big, muscular man with dark hair and a fierce expression, grimaced and muttered, “We’re not getting a dog.”

Lily shot a wounded glance at him. “But look at her. See how adorable she is? How well-behaved?”

Mason snorted.

“Honey,” Ryder said in a wheedling tone that didn’t match his gruff demeanor. “We’re about to have a baby. We can’t get a dog. We’ve talked about this.”

“Babies and dogs are not mutually exclusive, are they?” This last bit Lily demanded of Mason who, caught off guard, burbled nonsense. He shot a glance at Ryder—at Ryder’s dark glower—and then merely shrugged.

Lily—elegant, delicate, sweet-tempered Lily—growled. “Men. They always stick together. Come along Pansy. I bet they didn’t even bother to stop for food.” Before Pansy could confirm that, indeed, they had not, Lily continued. “You must be famished.”

“I could eat,” she said.

“I could eat too,” Mason called after them, but Lily ignored him.

The kitchen wasn’t fancy, but then Pansy supposed it wouldn’t be. Military quarters were transitory residences, and they belonged to the government. Upgrading them with marble countertops or tile floors would be a waste. But still, Lily’s kitchen was warm and welcoming. Without asking, she poured Pansy a cup of coffee and broke up a slice of bacon onto a plate for Lola.

Pansy didn’t complain because Dane and his minions had already breached the bacon barrier with Lola. She’d worry about getting the furry addict back into her 12-Step program when things settled down again. No doubt Dr. Rosenthal would be delighted to see her again.

“I have a quiche in the oven,” Lily said as she nudged the plate toward Lola. She shot Pansy a grin. “I figured I’d better have something ready for you.”

Lola wasn’t allowed on the table at home, and she wasn’t allowed bacon, so she must have thought she’d died and gone to heaven. She gobbled up the bacon and then looked around for more.

“I love quiche.”

Lily grinned. “Me too.” She leaned forward. “So tell me. What on earth is going on?”

Pansy stared at her for a moment. She hadn’t had a lot of girlfriends in her life, mostly because she was so busy and she’d grown up in the spotlight. Most of the people she met were clients or customers or employees. There had never been a lot of time for friendships. But she felt, in this one meeting, in this one moment, that she and Lily could be friends. Were friends.

She traced the rim of her cup. “Um, ah, what do you know?”

Lily sighed. “Only that you’re on the run.”

Pansy barked a laugh. “Hardly on the run.” Lily shot her a skeptical look. There might have been a thread of disappointment in it. Clearly, she wanted to hear an exciting tale of intrigue and adventure. “I, ah… Well, there was an attempt on my life and Mason and his team are protecting me while they get to the bottom of it.”

“Ohh. An attempt on your life?” Her expression made her opinion clear. This was better. Much better.

“These guys grabbed me in Vegas and drove me out to the desert to murder me.” How odd was it to tell the story as though it was a…story? And how odd that in the telling of it, like this, with dispassion, it seemed to create distance between herself and the horror of it. She forced a smile. “Mason came charging in like an avenging angel—”

“He does that. He’s very brave.”

“And he saved me.”

“How romantic.” Lily tipped her head to the side and studied her. “Do you like him?”

Like him?

“Who?” Stupid question. She knew damn well who.

Lily’s expression made clear she could tell Pansy was dissembling, so she didn’t wait for her to ask again.

“I…do. I do like him. Very much.”

Her smile was blinding. Utterly blinding. “Good. Good. I saw the way he was looking at you and I thought… Well, it would be nice if he had someone. That’s all. He’s…been through a lot. He deserves… Well. He just does.”

Though she completed few of her thoughts, somehow Pansy understood what she was saying.

And she agreed.

Mason did deserve happiness. Love. Someone.

She only hoped that someone could be her.

It was at that moment that, with a running start, Lola took a leap of faith from the table to the counter where the pan of bacon lay, unprotected.

She made it as far as the edge, which she gripped with her claws; she clung there for one hopeful moment, before skittering to the floor.

Pansy could only hope it wasn’t an omen.

Chapter Ten

It was hard leaving Pansy, even though she was totally safe, surrounded by men he trusted with his life. It gratified him that she’d taken to Lily so quickly. And when his friend Drake arrived with Brandy—who was also pregnant-out-to-here, they seemed to hit it off too.

They all took a moment to tease Drake and Ryder about the potency of their sperm—just because it was the kind of thing guys did—but Mason couldn’t help feeling a pang of envy. Not that he’d ever wanted to settle down and have kids. Not that he’d ever imagined he would… But hell. The thought of Pansy, heavy with his child, staring up into his eyes with that look of utter devotion? Of knowing she was his and his alone?

Damn, that sounded good. Felt right.

He kissed her before they left. He intended it to be a quick buss, a reassuring peck, because everyone was watching, but he couldn’t pull off such nonchalance. Not that he didn’t know, beyond all doubts, he’d be seeing her again soon. But because this was the first time he was leaving her.

He didn’t expect it to hurt as much as it did.

Pulling together the equipment they needed for their meeting with Steven Bowles was easy, especially in this neck of the woods, populated with military types as it was. Eli had a buddy who specialized in communications, and he was able to wire them up with the top of the line electronics, Dane had a bead on body armor—which they’d all decided to wear—just in case, and of course, they all had their weapons and gear.

Sander had been able to tap into a GPS tracking app that was able to identify the location of Bowles’ cell phone.  It was a relief to discover that he was already in San Diego—where the annual company retreat was to take place, rather than in his office in Los Angeles. That gave them more time to reconnoiter without having to make the drive up north.

They decided to approach Bowles when and where he’d least expect it. A private location, preferably indoors, to cut down on ambient noise on the recordings. They wanted his confession to be clear as a bell. His hotel suite was the best option.

Three of them would go in—Mason, Dane and Eli—while Sander acted as a spotter on the hillside across from the lavish hotel. Using an infrared scope, Sander tracked Bowles’ activities in his suite. He reported to the others via bone phones in their ears.

They were dressed casually, like tourists, in khakis and t-shirts, but each carried a duffel jammed with his gear.

With the exception of the hunger for vengeance roiling in Mason’s gut, it felt very much like a standard covert op.

Dane shot him a frown as they waited in the lobby by the elevators, trying to appear blasé. “Chill,” he muttered.

“I am chill.”

“You look like you want to chew rocks.”

Not a bad idea.

“Okay,” Sander’s voice crackled in his ear. “He’s alone.”

They nodded to each other and stepped onto the elevator. As soon as the door slid shut, they launched into action, dropping their bags, whipping out their weapons and strapping on their assault gear. In seconds they transformed from businessmen on a golfing vacation to an ominous team of warriors. The reflection in the mirrored wall of the elevator was impressive.

As the elevator continued to ascend, they stood at the ready, poised to attack, muzak floating around them in an easy-listening mélange.

The elevator dinged and the door slid open on the twentieth floor. They took battle positions and, hunkering down, flooded into the hallway. Thank God there was no one at the concierge desk. They might have shit a brick.

“Sit rep,” Dane barked into his mic.

“He’s in the bathroom. West corner,” Sander said with a lilt to his voice. “On the crapper.”

Eli huffed a laugh.

They skittered toward the double-doored entry to Bowles’ suite and paused, just for a second. Then, at Dane’s nod, Mason kicked open the door and they burst in.

Dane and Mason bolted across the spacious living room while Eli covered the entryway. With a blow that spoke to his ferocity, Mason kicked open the bathroom door and leveled his weapon on his target.

He blinked.

Not what he’d expected.

Steven Bowles was a handsome man, though he had a too-slick aura around him. He wore an expensive business suit—something Italian—and shoes polished to a shine that could probably be seen from space. But he was a slender man with sharp, delicate features and a bird-like neck. Mason wasn’t sure what he’d expected—some fashion-industry iteration of Dr. Evil, perhaps—but this guy was not that.

Bowles gaped at them, as though having a pair of burly be-weaponed SEAL-types crash in on him when he was taking a dump was a surprise. His lips worked and, incongruously, he said. “Excuse me? I’m in here.”

“Get up,” Mason snarled, waggling his weapon. And when Bowles hesitated, he roared, “Now!”

“What the hell is this?”

“Come on, Bowles,” Dane snarled. “Pinch it off and get out here. We need to have a chat.”

“A…chat?” Primly—a little prissily in Mason’s opinion—Bowles did what he had to do and stood, pulling up his trousers and fastening them. “Who the hell are you people?” he asked, as they herded him into the living room. He stopped short when he spotted Eli blocking any escape. Then he sighed and wandered to the sofa and dropped onto the cushions. “Well?”

For a man being faced with such an incursion, he didn’t seem very concerned. But then, there was a beading of sweat on his forehead. Maybe he wasn’t as collected as he appeared.

Dane propped his foot on the coffee table and laid his pistol on his knee, making sure it was pointed at Bowles. Bowles didn’t miss that fact either; his attention was locked on it.

“We’d like to share some information with you, Mr. Bowles,” Dane said in a glib tone. “A little tidbit we discovered in Vegas.”

Bowles’ lashes fluttered. He adjusted his cuffs. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Really? Because that’s not what we heard.”

“And what, precisely, did you hear?”

Though he was supposed to stay quiet, though he was supposed to let Dane do all the talking—this was his specialty after all, information extraction—Mason could not stay silent. “That you contracted the murder of one Pansy Hightower.”

Dane glared at him, but Mason ignored him. He was far too occupied with Bowles response. His nostrils flared, his throat worked and a red tide rose on his cheeks. “I most certainly did not. Why would I do that? She’s my daughter.”

Mason snorted. The bastard was practically the same age as Pansy.

Dane shrugged. “Same reason you arranged to have her mother killed. And her aunt. You want the company.” Bowles opened his mouth to protest, but Dane didn’t give him time. “Look, we don’t give a shit who you’ve killed or what you’ve done. I could give a rat’s ass that your stepdaughter is buried in a shallow grave in the desert outside Sin City—”

Bowles straightened. He fiddled with his collar which looked a little tight. “Is she? Is she dead?” Was that a hopeful tone?
Fuck
. Mason’s fingers tightened into fists. He wanted to squeeze the life out of this fuckwad. Fucking fucker.

“You should know,” Dane purred. “You did hire the best. But they haven’t picked up their money yet, have they?”

Bowles head whipped around at the sneer in Dane’s voice. “I…they…what?”

“If you check with your middle man, Hester, you’ll see it’s true.”

Bowles paled. His lips worked.

Dane’s lips twisted. “Why do you suppose they haven’t picked up their money yet?” he asked in a musing voice, one that also made clear he knew the answer.

“Where…where are they?”

Dane’s smile was sinister. Oh. He was good at this. Very good. “Don’t worry. We have them…somewhere safe. They won’t talk. Unless…”

Bowles’ eyes narrowed. “Unless what?” A hiss.

Mason tried to clamp down on his excitement. It was hardly a blatant confession. But it was close.

“Unless you give us what we want.”

“And…what would that be?”

“Twenty grand.”

Bowles shot to his feet. “I don’t have that kind of money.”

“Oh?”

“Not on hand. Not in cash, for God’s sake.”

“Our informants tell us that you do. We’d like it in small bills, please. Twenties. Unmarked.”

Eli stepped forward and whispered something to Dane. He nodded and smiled at Bowles. “Oh right. And we want another twenty to keep our mouths shut about the mother too.”

“What?”

Dane shrugged. “You’ve been busy. Lucky for you we don’t have evidence on the aunt as well.”

Bowles began to pace the room, raking at his hair with long fingers. “This is blackmail,” he snapped.

Dane grinned. “Yeah, I think that’s what they call it.”

“And what if I don’t pay you?”

“Then the DA gets a package with the evidence.”

“What kind of evidence? There is no evidence.”

“Just the signed statements of the hit men you hired. And let’s be frank Steven—may I call you Steven?—they aren’t the sharpest tools in the shed. And Hester? Well, he’s a little brighter but still, easy to bend.”

“No way. No way would he betray me. He wouldn’t dare.”

“Maybe not…in normal circumstances. But, most men do spill their guts when they have a muzzle to their balls. You can’t blame him. No doubt he’ll deny everything of course, but how else would we know all this? How else would we know…everything?”

Bowles’ chin firmed. A disturbing light glinted his eye. “You don’t know everything.”

“Don’t we?”

He and Dane locked gazed for a long moment. Bowles was the first to look away. “Signed statements. Bah. That’s nothing.”

“It’s something, actually. You should read them.”

He bristled. “I have excellent lawyers—”

“There is the body in the desert. We know right where to find it. And a note from Pansy Hightower to her aunt expressing her suspicions that you killed her mother and she might be next… Pretty damning stuff.” Dane straightened and huffed a breath. “But hey. That’s cool. If you’re sure the DA won’t find this all terribly interesting, then ignore this little visit. Go back to your Malibu mansion and your teenage girlfriends and the company you stole from the family who built it. And Steven?”

“What?”

“Enjoy it while you can.” Dane shot him a devilish wink. “If it’s any consolation,” he purred. “You’ll look great in orange.”

“You bastards.”

“One week. Forty thousand. Small bills. We’ll contact you.”

At Dane’s nod, they backed out of the room, holding their weapons on Bowles, and then they hopped into the elevator, stripped off their gear and turned back into mild-mannered business men.

“Did you get all that?” Dane asked into his mic.

“Affirmative,” Sander responded.

“Do you think it was enough?” Mason would hate for Pansy to go through all of this and have Bowles walk free.

“Oh, I think it’s enough to start an investigation.” Eli clapped him on the shoulder. “I have a friend in the DAs office. I can encourage her to give it special attention.”

Dane cleared his throat. “
Her
?”

Eli blushed and stared up at the header. “Yeah. Her.”

“Anything I should know?” Mason teased.

Eli’s response was a low growl, but a smile hovered on his lips.