Unspoken: Eternal Brethren, #10

By Shirleen Davies

Two strangers with veiled pasts, painful secrets...and a determination to never fall in love.

 

Shane "Fargo" Parsons is the poster child for Navy SEAL recruiting. He has the commendations to prove it tucked into a box on the top shelf of his closet. After years fighting for his country, he's made the decision his time with Eternal Brethren is short. Three years and he'll embark on a quest to learn about a devastating tragedy from his past. Until then, there are missions to complete, which include discovering why someone is digging into his past.

 

Stephanie Bassett's career at the CIA didn't end well. Instead of focusing on the past, she is forging ahead as a teacher in a small town, and a side job few know about. The contract with a man at the pinnacle of his profession is lucrative as well as perplexing. Something about the assignment, and the target, trigger all her warning signals. It doesn't help that the first encounter with the gorgeous man next door leaves her bemused and on guard.

 

Fargo's new neighbor is beautiful, secretive, and intensely annoying. She's also up to more than she wants him to know.

When threats mount, they must rely on each other to identify the source of the danger, while cooling the attraction drawing them together.

 

As those who intend harm close around them, can the two identify the pieces needed to solve the puzzle before the men who want them dead succeed?

 

Unspoken is book ten in the Eternal Brethren Military Romantic Suspense Series by best seller Shirleen Davies. It is a stand-alone, full-length novel with no cliffhanger and a guaranteed HEA.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shirleen Davies
• Release date: May 25, 2011
• ISBN: 9781947680456

Book preview

Prologue

Fargo, North Dakota

Shane! Get a move on. Dinner’s ready. His mother’s voice rang through the intercom, falling on deaf ears as he continued to focus on a difficult guitar rift.

Shane’s father had helped him convert a section of the unused third floor to a place for him to practice without bothering the family. The steep pitch of the ceiling left little space for a guest room, making it perfect for a studio.

Getting the equipment up there had been a challenge until they’d replaced the narrow door with a wider one. The intercom had been his mother’s idea, saving her a trip up two flights of stairs to call Shane for dinner. The use of headphones and the addition of sound-proofing material helped deflect the noise.

Adjusting the volume of his bulky headphones, Shane continued to perfect the rift on his guitar, his foot tapping to the beat. He knew he didn’t have much time before his mom called him for dinner.

Six sharp every night, even during football season. His father was the coach and Shane a tight end, but that didn’t stop his mom from insisting food be placed on the table exactly at six. If they arrived late, their dinner would be cold. She asked for very little, which is why he, his father, and brother never made a fuss about such a simple request.

Rewinding the song, he adjusted the pounding bass, making it more prominent. In Shane’s opinion, you could never have enough bass. His entire body would vibrate when he had it just right.

Minutes passed as he rewound the song over and over until he lost track of time. Taking a break, he glanced at the clock. Six-thirty.

Damn. Ripping off his headphones, he stowed his guitar, wondering why his mom hadn’t made her usual announcement through the intercom. And why his father or brother hadn’t come up to get him.

Rushing down the stairs to his bedroom, he grabbed a clean shirt, slipping it on before running fingers through his overlong, dark hair. Entering the hall, he prepared himself for his mom’s quiet frustration, and the absolute fact his food would be cold.

Coming! Rushing down the stairs to the first floor, he yelled again, Sorry, I got caught up in the song I’m learning. When he reached the landing, Shane stopped, and listened.

Something wasn’t right. The house was quiet. Much too quiet. No voices from the dining room, no clattering of silverware against plates. A lone light from a living room lamp cast an eerie glow on the stairs.

Mom! Dad! Gripping the handrail, he took the first step, then another, a cold chill snaking up his spine. Is this a joke? If so, it’s not very funny.

Taking the last step, he paused again. The dining room and kitchen were illuminated by light from a full moon. Bile formed in his throat when his gaze landed on the table.

His father lay slumped forward, a cap of what appeared to be blood covered the back of his head. Dad… Panic tore through him as he took the few steps forward. Dad!

His father didn’t hear him. Would never hear him again.

Gaze darting around, a scream tore loose at the sight of his mother on the floor in a pool of blood. Beside him, his younger brother lay slumped against the refrigerator, a container of milk spilling over his inert body.

Turning in a circle, his brain couldn’t take in what was right in front of him. Clamping his hands against his head in a vice-like grip, Shane backed away, uncontrolled tremors racking his wiry frame. Tears streamed down his face, the sob lodged in his throat bursting loose in an ear-shattering wail.

Dropping to the floor, he curled into a ball, rolling back and forth to his own unceasing cries of agony.

Chapter One

Eternal Brethren Clubhouse, Liberty Lake, Arizona

Sixteen years later…

All right, gentlemen. Now that Gunner has graced us with his presence after an extended honeymoon… Wrath paused at the catcalls, jeers, and cheers from around the table. The president of the undercover Navy SEAL team, Eternal Brethren, was used to the good-natured banter from the original members of the team. All except Wrangler had been with him since day one, and there were no men Wrath trusted more.

Rock grasped Gunner’s shoulder. Surprised you came back. I’ve heard Jurgensen’s cabin in the White Mountains is spectacular.

You’ve no idea, Gunner answered, a goofy smile on his face. He’d married Katrina Snowden two weeks earlier, wasting no time whisking her off to a secluded location in the mountains of eastern Arizona.

Enough already. The room quieted at Wrath’s commanding voice. What we have to discuss is critical to the continued mission of the Brethren.

Gunner’s jaw clenched, knowing the outcome of their meeting would affect his relationship with his wife. She wanted total transparency. He knew that would never happen.

Unlike the other women, she had a connection to the Dark Disciples, one of the deadliest one-percent outlaw motorcycle gangs in the country. A criminal organization in the truest sense of the word. An MC dedicated to taking over the Liberty Lake territory.

You all know the situation. Katrina Snowden—

Henson, Gunner corrected.

Henson, Wrath agreed, one brow quirked. Kat Henson is now a part of the Eternal Brethren family. However, she still has ties to the Dark Disciples. As each of us has married, we’ve allowed our wives to know some about our true history and mission. Not much, which would put them in danger, but enough so they believe we aren’t an outlaw MC. A few, such as Ghost’s wife, Dani, and Raider’s wife, Ali, already knew our true background and purpose as an undercover SEAL team. Others, such as my wife, Cara, figured it out. We face a new challenge with Katrina.

Yeah. She’s related by blood to a gang we’re committed to taking down. Wrangler, Wrath’s younger brother, sent Gunner an apologetic glance. Sorry, man.

No worries. Gunner leaned back in his chair, feigning a calm he didn’t feel. It’s the truth.

I don’t see a reason not to tell her the same story we give all wives, Rock said. We aren’t the bad guys, but what we are and do doesn’t leave our clubhouse. There’s more to it, but… Rock shrugged, letting the others fill in the rest.

I agree, Moses said. Gunner tells her the same story as the rest of us. My wife, Tori, knows by our actions we aren’t an outlaw gang, but she never questions what any of us do. Katrina’s a smart, loyal woman. She’ll understand.

Any other comments?

Fargo cleared his throat, straightening in the chair. What does Grayson say? Everyone turned at the murmured question from their most silent member.

The ghost of a smile crossed Wrath’s face. Tell her the same as the rest of the wives.

Fuse slapped his hands on the table. There you have it. No change in the story. Are you good with that, Gunner?

Relief washed over his face. He’d been concerned Wrath would tell him Grayson wouldn’t agree to providing any explanation to Katrina. Works fine for me. And I’ll make certain Kat’s good with it.

Now we move to the next issue. Demons Blood are the new best friends of a threat we’ve dealt with before. Wrath clicked the controller for the flat screen monitor, bringing up an image showing four men, all known to the Brethren.

Son of a bitch. Tracker emphasized each word, his meaning clear to the men in the room. Armando Quintero was his and Moses’s father-in-law, and the leader of the Nuevo León Cartel. Next to him stood his son, and their brother-in-law, Diego Quintero—the number two man in the cartel.

Most of you know Armando and Diego Quintero. We’d hoped with his daughters marrying Tracker and Moses, the threat to the U.S. would lessen. This has not proven to be the case. If anything, Armando is ramping up his operations, associating with other known criminal elements to move people, weapons, and drugs. Standing, Wrath moved to the screen, tapping the image.

The other two men aren’t strangers to us. Drago, president of Demons Blood, and Pacho, his VP. The Blood and Nuevo León Cartel have a loose association…of sorts. We don’t know the exact merchandise they are moving, but odds are they’ll stick to what they know. Young women, children, guns, and drugs.

Rubbing his hand down his face, Tracker stared at the screen. His wife, Juliana, had been through enough with her adoptive family, as had her sister, Tori. Moses and he would do all in their power to keep the newest dirt about the Quintero family far away from their wives.

Fargo twirled a pen between his fingers, listening while keeping his thoughts to himself. He’d always been the most quiet of the Posse, the term used for the original members of Eternal Brethren.

What’s our role this time, Wrath? Wrangler stretched out his legs, crossing his arms in a familiar gesture of nonchalance. Inside, his body buzzed with adrenaline.

Before I get into mission specifics, you need to know about changes to the foundation of our team. Wrath touched a button on the controller, pulling up an image of people most of the men recognized. As you know, the president has always been in the background, aware of Eternal Brethren, but never inserting himself into the decisions. Those were always handled by Admiral Grayson, the Secretary of the Navy, and the Director of the FBI. The director’s second-in-command and the vice president were aware of most missions. The decision to include was always at the discretion of the other three.

Was? Ghost asked, straightening when Wrath switched to another image. The players are changing.

They are, Wrath confirmed. I won’t go into details, except to say there has been tension between Grayson and the newly appointed FBI Director. There have been numerous leaks within the FBI, endangering our missions. Grayson doesn’t believe this will change, and may elevate under the director. For that reason, the man hasn’t been apprised of who we are and our mission, and there are no plans to do so. From now on, the agencies and people involved in individual orders will be limited to those with operational capabilities. That’s why the FBI Director, DEA, and Director of ATF are now a part of a separate tier.

Might as well announce to the world who we are, Prez. Rock tapped fingers on the table, frustration lacing his words. It’s a mystery Demons Blood, Dark Disciples, and our associate MCs don’t know about us already.

I agree with Rock. Raider studied the faces on the screen. We’ve been lucky so far. As the circle grows, so does the risk to all of us.

Wrath stood, leaning a hip against the table. I presented the same arguments to Grayson. He reminded me I don’t get a vote. Our duty is to follow orders, which is what we’re going to do. To help mitigate our exposure, there are significant changes. The ATF will be included for cases involving the transport and sales of illegal weapons. The DEA for drug cases. The FBI will be brought in for human trafficking and other illegal activities not handled by the ATF, DEA, and local law enforcement. None of these entities will be educated on Eternal Brethren. They’ll see us on missions as another SEAL team. Keeping our identities secure will be paramount to the survival of the team.

What about the FBI Director? Rock drummed his fingers on the desk, harder this time. I don’t trust the man. He could’ve been instrumental in past leaks.

Wrath gave a sharp shake of his head. We have no proof of that. When Rock opened his mouth to protest, he held up a hand. His future isn’t in our hands. All we can do is continue to successfully complete the missions, leaving final go decisions to Admiral Grayson, SECNAV, and the vice president. They will go to the president if there’s disagreement on mission details. The FBI Director will continue to be in the dark about Eternal Brethren, which is the best we can hope for.

Fargo listened, the pen still snaking between his fingers. His expression showed nothing of the boredom spiraling through him. It had been this way for months. The excitement and adrenaline surge of his youth had long ago diminished to strained resignation. Each day blended into another. Each mission bringing him one step closer to retirement.

He’d joined the Navy after graduating early from high school, a few months after the deaths of his family. His plan to attend college no longer appealed. All he wanted was a legal way to release the anger he felt at the law’s inability to locate and prosecute the people who’d murdered his mother, father, and brother. At thirty-four, he had three years before he could leave the Navy. Then? Well…he didn’t know.

Fargo? You with us? Wrath’s booming voice brought him back to the present.

He dropped the pen, straightening in his chair. Yes, sir.

Did you hear me announce you’re leading Bravo Team for the recon mission?

Letting out a breath, Fargo shook his head. No, sir. I’m with you now. Chuckles and the sound of throats clearing rolled across the room.

If you’re not, I can change the team lead to someone else.

Not necessary.

Wrath studied him a moment before changing to a new slide. You’ll be leading recon Bravo Team of four men. You and I will meet with Banner, Bas, Chaos, and Cowboy when this meeting ends.

Fargo shoved his chair away from the table, ready to bring the meeting to a close. Stretching out his legs, he looked at Wrath. Who’s our target?

Intelligence indicates an increase in sleeper cells over the last three years. Your team will recon three sites in Arizona, Utah, and New Mexico. Grayson wants a report on each within twenty-four hours.

From our return? Fargo hadn’t heard anything to challenge the men in Bravo Team.

From wheels up. Wrath checked his watch. That would be twenty-seven hours from now.

That got Fargo’s attention, although it didn’t get his blood pumping as most expected. He’d have the reports ready before the helo touched down at the hidden pad outside of Liberty Lake.

Grayson will have them, Prez.

Knew you would. All right, gentlemen. Unless there are questions, meeting’s over. Get the hell out of here and do something productive. Fargo, you stay.

When the last member of the Posse filed out, Wrath closed the door. He didn’t speak as he walked to the opposite side of the table and sat down. Leaning forward, he rested his arms on the top, his assessing gaze locked on Fargo.

Talk to me.

Not responding right away, Fargo reached into his pocket, extracting a vintage knife used for carving small pieces of wood. His jaw ticked each time he opened and closed it, his mouth drawing into a tight line.

I don’t see any obstacles with the mission. The team is solid. We’ll get what Grayson needs.

Wrath snorted out a chuckle. Try again, Shane.

Fargo’s head snapped up at the use of his given name. Rubbing the back of his neck, he slid the knife back into his pocket.

I’ve got three years left before I retire. I’m going to take it.

Wrath gave an understanding nod. A lot can happen in three years. You may change your mind.

Nope. The decision’s been made. I’ll be thirty-seven. There are things I need to do before more time passes.

The room fell silent for several minutes. Both knew what Fargo needed to do. It had been a long time coming.

You won’t be doing it alone.

A weak grin tipped the corners of Fargo’s mouth. I appreciate it, Wrath. This is something I have to do by myself.

You’ve got a team to update and mission to lead, so I’m going to let you think that for now. In three years, we’re going to have this conversation again.

I won’t change my mind.

"Maybe not. Doesn’t mean you aren’t going to get the help you deserve from your real family. Standing, Wrath made his way around the table, settling a hand on Fargo’s shoulder. Eternal Brethren. Brothers now and forever."

Chapter Two

Picking up a baseball sized clod of dirt, Stephanie Bassett squeezed, watching in satisfaction as the particles fell back to the garden. She repeated the process several times, smoothing the dirt around the newly planted tomato plants. Each one a different variety, as the owner of Maas Nursery, Kat Henson, had recommended.

Leaning back on her heels, she surveyed the twelve by twelve square of ground. Tomatoes, squash, green beans, and corn. Kat had cautioned her such a large plot might be challenging for a beginning gardener, but Stephanie had waved it off.

She was an overachiever. Always had been. After the events of over a year ago, she’d also been dubbed a survivor by her supervisor. Former supervisor, she reminded herself.

Hearing the deep, rolling rumble of an approaching motorcycle, the piercing pain of loss speared through her. It happened every time the man passed her house to a take a narrow road to his place about a quarter mile away. She no longer turned to watch, the curiosity cooling a long time ago.

They’d never met. He wasn’t one of those men to stop by with a six-pack of beer to introduce himself. Not at all like her other neighbors who knocked on the door offering cookies, a bottle of wine, and in one case, maps of Liberty Lake and the