A SEAL's Seduction

Chapter 8

Eight Months Later
“DUDE, YOU’VE TURNED into a total downer.”
Cade’s words echoed through the empty barracks in Quatar. The rest of the squad was off celebrating their return from Syria. Blake had turned down their invite to join in, wanting to sleep and decompress first.
“Sorry I’m not living up to your entertainment standards,” Blake muttered, not bothering to open his eyes.
“You’re mooning. Get over her already.”
“I’m sleeping. As in resting up after a three-week recon.”
Cade’s sigh was a work of art. Loud, drawn out and filled with enough exasperation to fuel an obnoxious teenager for a week.
Blake almost smiled. But he still didn’t open his eyes. He wanted to sleep. Sleep and work were great. In between the two? Not so great.
Not that he was mooning. That’d be stupid. And Blake didn’t waste his time with stupid. “You need to get over her.” “Over who?”
The silence was glorious.If only it’d last.
“It’s been months. You’re so hung up that you barely do anything anymore. Missions, the gym, the dojo, the range. That’s your life. You’re a cliché, man.” Sad, but true.
Michael had been right. After slamming the door in his face, Alexia hadn’t talked to him again. Blake had called. He’d gone by her place. He’d done everything but tattle to her daddy.
Finally, he’d given up.
He wasn’t going to waste his time on a woman who couldn’t get past her father issues.
“I’m not a cliché. I’m not mooning and I haven’t been a monk.” There. He’d defended himself against all of Cade’s accusations. Maybe now he could get some sleep.
“You’re not putting anything into it, either. Sex with random strangers just to relieve the pressure isn’t your thing.”
“Don’t you have a lovelorn column to write?” Blake snapped, sick of thinking about Alexia and totally pissed that Cade wouldn’t let it go.
“‘Dear Lovelorn LC, I’ve fallen for the girl I can’t have and now can’t get over her. How do I heal my broken heart?’”
It might have been funny if it wasn’t way too close to the truth.
“Sullivan, you’re a pain in my ass.”Landon!”
Thank God. An interruption Cade couldn’t ignore. “Sir?” Blake sprang to his feet, coming to attention despite the fact that he was off duty, in his boxers and, seriously, trying to sleep.
“New orders. Report to the captain.”
* * *
EYES FOCUSED on the silver eagle gracing the plaque of the United States Navy, Blake stood at attention. The brass behind the desk ignored his presence, multitasking paperwork and a phone call instead.
Shoulders firm, chin high, senses alert, Blake knew his face didn’t betray any irritation at waiting, even though it’d been ten minutes already. Nor did any of the questions he had on his mind show in his expression.
He wasn’t wondering why he had been pulled from his assignment and ordered back to the Coronado Naval Base without the rest of his team.
Nor was he curious about why this meeting was deemed classified.
Both of those were pretty much Standard Operating Procedure.
The question burning in his gut was why the hell he was reporting directly to Rear Admiral Lane.
Plenty of orders had come down from Lane, but they went through the chain of command. Blake had never had a face-to-face with the rear admiral. He hadn’t evenseen the guy in person since Admiral Pierce’s retirement party last September.
Anger fisted tight in his gut, the same as it always did at the memory of that night.
As he had so many times in the past, he reminded himself that it was stupid to get worked up over a woman he’d barely known. The only reason Alexia was still intriguing was because he hadn’t got to spend enough time with her for the shine to wear off. Great sex, a body that haunted his dreams and a personality that had almost convinced him there was such a thing as relationships outside of bed... Nothing to obsess over.
He’d slept with plenty of women in the past few months, enough to wipe away the memory of that wild encounter. He wasn’t a sentimental guy, nor was he the kind who fanatically crushed on some long-forgotten—or supposed-to-be-forgotten—chick. Nope. No reason to be angry. No point in remembering the exact texture of her lips, the scent of her hair in the moonlight or the feel of her soft curves pressed into his chest. It was ridiculous to wish he could see her, just one more time, poised naked above him, waiting to ride them both to the heights and depths of passion. The last thing he needed in his life was the distraction of wondering how she was liking her new job, whether she’d adjusted to life in San Diego or if she still missed New York. If she’d unpacked everything and if she’d got to the beach yet this year.
With the same discipline he used to push his body toits limits, to train with the elite and to succeed in missions that most would deem impossible, Blake shoved the memory—and all its accompanying emotional tension— out of his mind.
Better to focus on wondering why the hell he was here. More for distraction than because he figured he’d find an answer, he started running through a mental list of all the known conflicts that might require a one-man mission.
He hadn’t come up with a single idea by the time the rear admiral wound up his phone call.
“Landon,” Lane acknowledged when he hung up the receiver.
Already at attention, Blake shifted all of his focus— physical and mental—to his commanding officer. “Sir.”
“You were recently in Syria.”
Since it was a statement, not a question, Blake didn’t respond. Still staring at the eagle, he was aware his mind raced. The last mission had been a success. The team had even received a thumbs-up from the commander in chief on a job well done. Where was this going?
“In the last year, you’ve spent six months deployed in the Middle East, completed seventy-two missions and earned yourself three commendations.”
That sounded about right. The rear admiral wasn’t looking for confirmation, though.
“You have a reputation as a strong team player. A manwho understands orders but can think on his feet.” What SEAL didn’t?
“You’ve proven that you’re a stickler for the rules of engagement, and will follow them to the letter.” It was all Blake could do not to roll his eyes. Any guy on the team could be standing here. None of this commentary was unique to Blake’s career. So where was the old guy going with it? He wasn’t evaluating Blake’s service history to fill conversation gaps. It was some kind of test.
One, Blake figured, that he’d already won—or lost, depending on the perspective—given that he was standing here.
But what was at stake?
“While your service record shows an affinity for teamwork and leadership, your C-Sort indicates a leaning toward autonomy and self-reliance. That suggests that you work well alone, possibly even better than you do on a team.”
His C-Sort? The admiral had dug all the way back to Blake’s initial psych screening for this assignment. What the hell was going on?
For the first time since he’d walked in, Blake stared at the rear admiral. Frowning, he processed the furrow in the older man’s brow, the cold sheen in his narrowed eyes.
Whatever was going down, it was big. “Am I being removed from my team?” “Temporarily reassigned.”With a quick jerk of his chin, Blake acknowledged the new assignment and waited for further orders. And, hopefully, clarification.
The rear admiral looked out the window for a few seconds, as if sorting through which information he wanted to share. Then, his lips compressed almost white, he met Blake’s gaze again. He straightened, hands clasped behind his back, took a deep breath then spoke.
“There’s been a kidnapping. A civilian with military ties and potentially dangerous information was forcibly removed from her home two days ago. Operatives have discerned the group behind the act and pinpointed her location.”
The words her and military ties added a layer of urgency to an already volatile mission.
“The cell is based inside the continental United States,” the rear admiral informed him. “The leader of this branch of terrorists, as well as a number of those serving him, is a U.S. citizen.”
Touchy. And way outside the SEALs’ usual M.O.
“In two days’ time, a team will neutralize this cell. Every effort will be made to keep the targets alive.”
Blake gave a mental grimace. Targets had an unfortunate way of becoming collateral damage. Hostages, even more so.
“Your orders are to extract the hostage. You will go in alone, answering only to me. You will have twenty minutes before the team deploys. You will inform nobodyof this assignment, nor will you coordinate with the team itself.”
His mind took off in multiple directions. One part wondering why the hell his role in the mission was on blackout. Another part assessing what he’d need to do to pull it off without risking the team’s mission or the safety of the hostage. Yet another part was already shifting into mission mode, emotionally distancing himself at the same time he set in place the expectations for victory.
“You were specifically requested for this assignment, Landon.”
Blake frowned.
As a SEAL, his training was intense and his skill set diverse. But so was the rest of his team’s. He was the Assault Force commander, the radioman and a linguist. And he was damn good at what he did. But, again, so were a lot of the team. So why him, specifically? Blake waited. If Lane wanted him to know who’d put in that request, he’d say so.
The rear admiral shifted. It wasn’t the uniform, the rank or the shock of white hair against a rock-hard face that made the man intimidating. It was the cold look of determination that said this was a guy who’d do whatever it took to get the job done, not because he felt the consequences were worthwhile, but because he didn’t even see consequences. Only the goal.
After giving Blake another assessing look, he pressed the intercom button on his desk. He didn’t say anything though. Just waited.Blake waited, too. But for less time than it took to exhale. The private door to the right of the rear admiral opened.
His mentor, his recruiter, the man who’d shaped the direction of Blake’s career and had fathered the sexiest woman alive, stepped through the door. Pierce didn’t say a word. He just stood at ease, his face unreadable as he stared at Blake.
The rear admiral lifted a file from his desk, tapped it a couple of times against his thigh while giving Blake another of those assessing looks. Finally, with a lengthy stare at the admiral, he handed over the file.
“Your assignment.” Unspoken was the order that it be read and memorized here in this room. Blake had access to the information, but the contents would stay under lock and key.
Used to that, Blake glanced at the admiral again, but got nothing. Then he unwrapped the cord holding the folder closed and pulled out the stack of papers. On top was an eight-by-ten color photo. His heart stopped. His breath jammed in his throat. A feeling he barely recognized as fear clenched his belly. His gaze flew to the admiral’s. “Sir?”
Pierce’s jaw tightened. His eyes dropped for one second to his hands, then met Blake’s again.
“I’m calling in a favor on this. A number of them, actually. I’m sure you understand why.”Shocked, Blake looked at the file again but didn’t respond.
Pierce came around the desk in swift, determined strides. He didn’t stop until his face was inches from Blake’s.
Through gritted teeth, he commanded, “As of this moment, and until the mission is complete, you report directly to me and Rear Admiral Lane. You will rescue her. You will keep her safe.”
Cold blue eyes bore into Blake as if imprinting the orders on his brain.
“You bring my daughter back. Safe and sound, Lieutenant.”
The or else didn’t need to be said. The message was implicit in the admiral’s furiously set jaw, and in the vicious bite of his words.
“You will rescue her before the team storms the compound. You will get her out, safe and whole. And you will keep her hidden and safe until you get my order to bring her back home.”
Blake didn’t have to ask if this mission was sanctioned. He knew the rear admiral was dancing on a fine line, doing this favor for his old friend. But he hadn’t crossed it. Even if he had...
Blake’s gaze dropped to the photo again. Alexia’s face stared back at him. An official government ID shot, her brilliant hair was pulled back, but wayward curls escaped to dance happily around her face. The photo captured thebrilliant brown of her eyes, the same brown that haunted his dreams. Her smile, with that sexy overbite, was just this side of wicked. He remembered how soft those lips had been under his. How sweet and sexy she’d tasted.
He tried to bank the fury savaging its way through his system. Emotions had no place on a mission. Not a successful one. And this one, he promised himself, would be a success.
He met the admiral’s eyes, his own hard with determination.
“I’ll bring her back, sir. Safe, sound and secure.”
* * *
IF SHE COULD JUST KEEP breathing, Alexia promised herself, she’d survive with her life, her sanity and maybe —by some miracle—her faith in humanity.
Eyes closed, carefully inhaling through her teeth to try to block the rancid smell in the room, she focused on calming her mind. In. Out. Just keep breathing in and out. Don’t think about anything but breathing. “You’re going to hyperventilate if you keep sucking in air like that.”
Her next breath slid through her teeth with a hiss as she slitted her eyes open to glare at the man across the dining table from her.
The source of the rancid smell, his scent perfectly fit his personality. She’d memorized his features as a part of her promise to herself that she’d not only get out of this nightmare, but that as soon as she did, she’d have as much ammunition as possible to fry his ass.
Short, probably about five-seven, he had that small- man syndrome, flexing his power left and right. Dark hair, brown eyes, a nondescript face marred by a small scar on his chin, he had the beady-eyed look of a rat. Which made sense, since he had the personality of a rabid rodent.
A rabid rodent with a large contingent of creeps on his payroll. The creeps who’d grabbed her on the sidewalk in front of her condo. The creeps who’d put a hood over her head, hauled her to the snowy regions of hell, aka the wilds somewhere in Alaska. The creeps who’d taken turns guarding her when she was locked in her room or the makeshift lab they’d set up. Or, she slanted a look sideways at the big bruiser leaning against the wall of the large dining room, wherever she happened to be. Then there were serving creeps, administrative creeps and, she’d discovered when she’d stood on the back of the chair in her tiny room to peer out the tiny barred window, a tidy number of creeps guarding the perimeter of the icy compound.
“You might as well say something,” the rat instructed, his bored tone at odds with the irritated tapping of his glossy fingernail on the arm of his chair. “You’re not goingback to your cozy room until you detail the progress you made in the lab today.”
A seven-by-seven space with no heat, a cot-sans- sheets, a blanket and a spindle-backed chair and rickety floor lamp didn’t quite say cozy to her. But to a rat, maybe that was heaven.
Alexia deliberately took a deep, loud breath in, then exhaled. But she didn’t speak. He tapped louder.
She almost smiled. These tiny rebellions were pointless, but they were all she had. It’d been four days. Four long, nerve-shattering days since she’d been grabbed. Someone had to notice she was gone by now. Michael would have alerted their father. He might not be much in the way of a great parent, but when it came to protecting the interests of the United States and its citizens, he was hell on wheels. Which meant he’d get her out of here soon. At last that’s what she’d been promising herself. For four days. The first day, exhausted from terror and travel, she’d begged to know why they’d abducted her, pleaded to be released. The rat had said he’d fill her in on what she’d need to do to stay alive in the morning. After she had a nice little rest and time to think about all the possibilities, he’d gloated. Then he’d locked her in that dark, dank cozy room.
The second day, fury overshadowing her bone- numbing fear, she’d tried threats as soon as he unlockedher door. The rat had laughed in her face before instructing her to follow him to the dining room. Couldn’t have her wasting away from starvation until she was done with her new job.
Since the Science Institute had refused his many legitimate requests, he’d decided it was time to get what he wanted the illegitimate way. Through force and kidnapping. Since she was the public face of the institute’s subliminal project, she was clearly—at least in his mind—the expert. It would be her duty, he’d explained over smoked fish, runny eggs and undercooked bacon, to develop a new subliminal program. One that would take the technology she’d been developing for sexual healing and use it to stimulate and heighten anger.
She’d tried to reason with him. The science of true subliminally enhanced emotional response was new, she’d explained. Unlike the cassette tapes of years gone by with their spoken message whispered through soothing music, actually effecting a specific, targeted emotional change via brain waves. Her psychological focus was human sexuality, not anger. She’d never studied how sound related to human perception of negative emotions. She wasn’t a neurologist, she didn’t know where anger was triggered in the brain, so she couldn’t create a program that would target it.
He’d pointed a fork dripping with egg and bacon grease her way and suggested she get her ass to learning before he lost patience. Then he’d had her escorted towhat he called her new lab. A room barely bigger than the one she’d slept in, it was fitted with a desk, a workbench and two chairs. A used and slightly beat-up- looking stack of audio and digital equipment littered the bench, including a processor, data streamer and a closed-loop stimulator. Next to that was an array of psych books and a digital tablet.
After ordering her to work, he’d left her there until this morning. With bargain-basement equipment that did her no good, a pile of books that meant nothing, no research access and a ton of time for her brain to scramble between terrified images of what would come next, to blinding hope that someone would get her the hell out of there before she had to face the rat again.
But here she was, pretty much running out of hope. So she was tuning him out. The games, the threats, the fear. Four years of yoga breathing and tapping into her long-abandoned meditation practice were all she had left.With that in mind, and yes, because she’d seen the
irritation on his face, she closed her eyes again and inhaled deeply through her teeth.
“You’re doing it wrong,” the whiny voice snapped. “You’re supposed to inhale through your nose. It’s a filter. Are you sure you’re a scientist? You don’t seem to know very much.”
Alexia’s eyes popped open, followed quickly by her mouth. Luckily, she saw the gleam in his beady eyes before she spit a word of defense.what he called her new lab. A room barely bigger than the one she’d slept in, it was fitted with a desk, a workbench and two chairs. A used and slightly beat-up- looking stack of audio and digital equipment littered the bench, including a processor, data streamer and a closed-loop stimulator. Next to that was an array of psych books and a digital tablet.
After ordering her to work, he’d left her there until this morning. With bargain-basement equipment that did her no good, a pile of books that meant nothing, no research access and a ton of time for her brain to scramble between terrified images of what would come next, to blinding hope that someone would get her the hell out of there before she had to face the rat again.
But here she was, pretty much running out of hope. So she was tuning him out. The games, the threats, the fear. Four years of yoga breathing and tapping into her long-abandoned meditation practice were all she had left.With that in mind, and yes, because she’d seen the
irritation on his face, she closed her eyes again and inhaled deeply through her teeth.
“You’re doing it wrong,” the whiny voice snapped. “You’re supposed to inhale through your nose. It’s a filter. Are you sure you’re a scientist? You don’t seem to know very much.”
Alexia’s eyes popped open, followed quickly by her mouth. Luckily, she saw the gleam in his beady eyes before she spit a word of defense.Yes, she was playing fast and loose with the terms smart and research there. But she figured saving her life was a good enough excuse to employ a few lies and fake flattery.
“You’re on the verge of a breakthrough. You just did an interview on TV last month. It’s in the papers, other scientists are commenting on it in their blogs,” he said, shaking his finger at her as if she had done something naughty.
Blogs? Seriously? Alexia’s nerves stretched tight, ravaged from alternately fearing for her life and peering into corners looking for the hidden cameras that would prove this was all some elaborate, sick hoax.
“So there’s no reason you can’t take the same research and give it a little twist. Passion is just as easily channeled into anger as it is into something as trivial as sex.”
“I told you, it’s not a simple matter of flipping a switch. My research has been focused on the physical body and healing. Not on the emotions. I don’t know how to tap into anger, fury or any of the other destructive emotions you want.”
His contemplative stare didn’t change. He didn’t even blink. Maybe he was more snake than rat.
“Perhaps you just need a little motivation,” he decided. That damn finger still tapping, he tilted his head to one side as he gave her body a thorough inspection. Her skin crawled as if someone had just dipped her in a vat of lice.“You’re a pretty woman. Robert—” he indicated the henchman who most often guarded Alexia “—has expressed an interest in your charms. Perhaps I should reward his exemplary service, hmm?”
Her eyes blurry with fear, Alexia’s gaze slid to the henchman, whose own beady eyes were gleaming with lust. Bile rose in her throat, but she was too paralyzed with terror to even throw up.
“Of course, Robert did go a little far with his last reward,” the rat continued in that same contemplative tone. “She was useless to us when he was through. It’s hard to see much through the snowstorm, but if you look out your window, you can see her grave just on the other side of the electric fence.”
Black dots danced in front of Alexia’s eyes, her breathing so shallow she didn’t think any oxygen was reaching her brain.
“I’m more inclined to wait on the reward,” he said slowly, pausing to sip his wine, giving her time to take a small step back from the panicked cliff she’d been about to dive over. “Myself, I find rape a poor persuasion. If the mind is broken, the body isn’t good for much except more of the same. And I need your mind in good working order.”
Alexia wasn’t sure if her mind would ever work again, even as it shied away from the hideous images she couldn’t stop from running through it.
“So many possibilities to consider,” he mused, nowtapping his lower lip as if that would help him decide. “I’ll have to sleep on it and let you know in the morning.”
His smile slid into a smirk. “In the meantime, I suggest you trot on over to the lab and see what you can do now that you’re a little more motivated.”
“You can’t do this,” she breathed, half denial, half prayer.
“I can do anything I want,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Go. Robert will see you to the lab.”
Alexia got to her feet, subtly resting her fingertips on the edge of the table until her knees stopped shaking enough to support her.
“Go on,” the rat ordered, flicking his fingers toward the door. “Get to work.”
Yeah, she decided, trying to find the fury through the choking waves of fear threatening to overwhelm her. He was definitely a snake.