SEAL Guardian: Brothers In Arms, #3

By Leslie North

When murder meets romance, temptation turns deadly…

 

Former Navy SEAL Jace Stevens never shies away from danger. And with a madman on the loose, framing the Brothers-in-Arms for murder, Jace is ready to put an end to the killing for good. But one person stands in his way: a beautiful, tough-as-nails FBI agent who won't let Jace out of her sight. And he's not sure he wants her to…

 

Felicity Belasko is an FBI agent who always gets her man. She knows the SEAL suicides are really murders, and she's sure there's a connection to the Brothers-in-Arms. But are they suspects…or victims? When her investigation leads to Jace, they quickly lock horns in a clash of wills. He wants to stop the killer on his own, but Felicity can't let that happen. No matter how attractive she finds the smoking hot ex-SEAL…

 

But as sparks fly between them, the killer plots his next move. Can Felicity and Jace work together to stop this madman? Or is their mutual attraction a dangerous diversion…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leslie North
• Release date: Apr 18, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386170808

Book preview

1

Just a few more inches. Just a few more…

Jace Stevens squinted through the site on his sniper rifle at the most beautiful twelve-point buck he’d ever seen in these woods lining the Brothers In Arms compound. He prepared to fire, his finger dancing lightly on the trigger. He’d taken up hunting after his discharge from the SEALs a few years back, hoping it would give him an outlet for some of his boundless energy and also help keep his marksmanship skills sharp. Never mind he’d actually never taken a shot at anything. The simple fact was that coming out here in the morning, when everything was quiet and new helped settle him, helped remind him there was still some good in the world.

A feat that got a bit harder each day. Especially after he’d seen the latest headline in The Ortega Tribune, their small California town’s newspaper. Another SEAL had died in an apparent suicide. Jace knew better, as did his partners, Mark and Vann. They knew this had been no suicide, especially in this case.

Trevor Fellis had been a close friend.

Gritting his teeth against the grief swelling inside his heart, Jace concentrated on the buck again. One more inch and he’d have the target squarely in his crosshairs. Just one more…

The buck looked up, froze, staring right at Jace, his liquid dark eyes seeming to look straight through his soul. He hesitated, not quite ready to pull the trigger, when the roar of a vehicle engine echoed across the flatlands.

In the blink of an eye, the buck bounded away, leaving him alone again.

Dammit. Frustrated, Jace straightened from the crouched position he’d held for the last half hour on the tree stand and stretched his stiff muscles. Based on the rise of the sun in the sky, it was time to head back anyway, much as he’d rather not.

It wasn’t the job he wanted to avoid. Nah. He loved what he did at Brothers In Arms teaching classes and running the office day-to-day. With Vann now splitting his time between the business and bodyguard for his girlfriend, Mercy Conde, Jace had taken on even more responsibilities. Mark had been out more too, mainly because he needed additional PT for the hand injury he’d sustained early in the year when their Diesel Dome had mysteriously collapsed.

These days, Jace basically was Brothers In Arms. He didn’t mind a bit though. That’s what you did for your team. And Jace was all about teams. Had been his whole life.

Growing up a mixed-breed mutt in some of the worst slums of east L.A., he’d nearly taken the road so many of his childhood friends had—joining a gang. He’d gotten lucky though. A local shop owner, Mr. Martinez, had taken Jace under his wing, given him an afterschool job, keeping him off the streets and out of trouble. Mr. Martinez had been the first adult who’d actually cared what happened to him.

Lord knew his own dad never did. The guy left before Jace was born and his poor mama had to work three jobs to keep them fed and clothed. As a youngster he’d spent a lot of time alone, so working in Mr. Martinez’s Mexican grocery store had been a godsend. The older Hispanic man had been the first to emphasize the importance of teamwork to Jace.

Stevens, he used to say. A gang’s in it for one guy—the leader. But a true team will always save your butt. Jace had loved that motto so much, he’d had a plaque made that hung near his desk in the office.

As Jace drew nearer to the compound buildings, he spotted a black SUV parked near the office entrance. Dark tinted windows, no identifiable marks, American-made brand, no hubcaps—had to be government issued.

Mark had mentioned something about the FBI finally getting involved in the investigation of the SEAL deaths when he’d talked to him the day before. Jace would lay good money there were agents in that SUV, and since he was the only one on site today, guess he’d be the lucky one to talk to them.

Taking a deep breath to ease the knot of tension between his shoulder blades, he headed for the office. No sense putting off the inevitable, no matter how unpleasant the task.

Jace didn’t have any specific reason for disliking the FBI; it was more a matter of principle. Everybody seemed to have something to say about Brothers In Arms practices and training methods these days, at least since Mark’s accident and the incident in the woods that had nearly taken out both Vann and Mercy. From the comments Jace had read in recent news articles about the investigation, the public’s opinion of their business was at an all-time low, which hurt, badly. The three guys had started Brothers In Arms from the ground up, building the company into one of the most elite security training facilities in the country through hard work and sheer perseverance. So, when people knocked Brothers In Arms, it felt like a personal blow to Jace and his partners.

He walked past the front of the SUV, ignoring the stares of the two people inside, and unlocked the office door. Inside, he switched on the lights and locked up his rifle in the weapons cabinet before taking a seat behind his desk to await the new arrivals that were sure to come.

Didn’t have to wait long either.

His ass had barely hit the chair when the door opened again and in walked a pretty blond dressed in head-to-toe black and a hulking, bald African-American guy who reminded him of the dude from The Green Mile.

The blond made a beeline for Jace’s desk in the far corner of the large open space, her steps clacking loud on the hardwood floor, clearly a woman on a mission. Under different circumstances, he would’ve found her attractive with her trim curves and piercing dark green eyes if he hadn’t felt so annoyed.

Jace Stevens? she said, her tone as no-nonsense as her expression.

Yes, he said, crossing his arms and forcing a smile. What can I do for you?

I’m Special Agent Felicity Belasko of the Federal Bureau of Investigations. She flashed a badge and pointed to the guy beside her, the outline of a weapon clearly visible beneath his gray suit coat. This is my partner, Special Agent Ted Wilson. We were hoping to ask you some questions about the latest SEAL death in the area. Our investigation shows you knew the victim, Trevor Fellis.

Jaw clenched, Jace sat back. Trevor and I were friends, yes.

May we? Felicity pointed at the two chairs in front of the desk.

Sure. They were going to have this conversation one way or another, apparently. Might as well be comfortable while doing it, he figured. I can put on a pot of coffee too, if you’d like.

Coffee would be amazing, Ted said, taking a seat. Thanks, man.

No problem. Jace walked over to the small coffee station they’d put in a few months prior, after Mark started pulling all-nighters to get the accounting books ready for year-end. Mark hated the fact he wasn’t allowed out in the field, per his doctor’s orders.

That accident had screwed up a lot more things than just Mark’s hand. Worst of all was the fact that it hadn’t really been an accident at all. Jace had done some further investigation of the two incidents while the other guys were away—things like who might be responsible for sabotaging their facilities and nearly killing both his best buds. So far he’d narrowed the field of potential suspects down, but still hadn’t settled on one prime candidate. After starting the coffee, he returned to his desk. What would you like to know about Trevor?

I’d like to find out what you know about a man named Kevin Quinn. She passed him a grainy black and white photo that looked like it had been taken from surveillance tape.

Jace scrunched his nose. The name sounded familiar but he couldn’t place the face. Sorry.

Felicity reached into the small messenger bag slung across her body and pulled out a file. According to the records, he was a SEAL candidate in one of the Navy’s training programs you taught. Seems you played a major part in him flunking out.

He picked up the picture again and narrowed his gaze. That had been quite a while ago and there were tons of guys who tried out for the SEAL program. First, they had to pass the Physical Screening Test—swim a five-hundred-yard breast or side stroke in under twelve minutes; a minimum of forty-two push-ups in two minutes; a minimum of fifty sit-ups in two minutes; six pull-ups; and run one and a half miles in under eleven minutes in boots and long pants. Most of them didn’t make it through that section. If they did, then they moved on to a grueling seven-month-long Boot Camp, designed to test their mental and physical stamina and leadership skills. In BUD/S, Basic Underwater Demolition, they learned Physical Conditioning, Diving, and Land Warfare. Each phase again had its own timed physical condition tests that grew more demanding each week. Once again, more guys were cut, until they were left with only the best of the best.

He squinted at the man’s plain features and mop of brown hair, recognition dawning. Right. Yeah, I do remember this guy now. He was a piece of work. Kept blaming everyone else for his mistakes and thought we were all out to get him. He failed out of the program because he didn’t put in the effort. It was on him, not me.

Hmm. Felicity took the picture back, not sounding convinced. Perhaps Mr. Quinn didn’t see it that way.

Huh? Why? Jace sat forward. What’s going on?

We have reason to suspect Kevin Quinn may have a connection to the recent SEAL deaths. Ted adjusted his position then winced slightly. Sorry. Old injury. Still bothers me sometimes.

What kind of connection? He had good instincts about people and Ted seemed like a decent guy, despite his occupation. The older guy grunted softly and gritted his teeth, obviously in pain. Jace smiled, hoping some small talk might get these agents to share more information. War wound?

Got shot on duty about two years ago, Ted said. Presently biding my time now until I can apply for a teaching spot at Quantico and get the hell out of the field.

Jace zeroed his attention in on Felicity again. From her exterior, she seemed all hard, jagged lines and tough edges, but his instincts told him there was a soft core underneath all that funeral black and attitude. He wouldn’t mind discovering it, if he had the time and opportunity. Unfortunately, neither of those things seemed likely. What about you?

She looked up from her file, her expression irritated. What about me?

You biding your time too? Waiting for something better to come along?

Felicity raised a brow, several shades darker than the long, pale hair on her head. I don’t wait for what I want, Mr. Stevens. I go and get it.

Jace.

Excuse me?

You can call me Jace. The coffeemaker beeped and he poured them each a cup. You guys take anything? Cream? Sugar?

Both for me, Ted said.

Black, Felicity responded, still watching him with those pretty green eyes of hers.

Of course, she’d drink her coffee straight. That’s how he liked his too, not that he’d tell her. He grabbed several sugar packets, a couple tiny creamers and a stirrer, and carried it all back to his desk.

So, you want me to go talk to this Kevin Quinn guy? Jace asked, setting all the stuff down. If he’s killing off my buddies, we’ve got a problem.

No. Felicity sipped her coffee, watching him over the white Styrofoam rim. I don’t want you doing anything that might compromise my investigation and complicate a future arrest. Your involvement would only impede things. Besides, from what I’ve read about this place, you’ve got enough to deal with on premises.

Jace narrowed his gaze at her disparaging tone. What’s that supposed to mean?

Nothing. She looked away. There’s been some bad press about Brothers In Arms these days, that’s all.

None of its true, Agent Belasko. A small muscle ticked near his tight jaw.

"Guess that depends on who you