The Fearless Warrior: Navy SEAL Romance 2.0 Read online

  Regular people met for 10:00 meetings all the time, but those appointments usually took place in the a.m. Sutton, on the other hand, AKA Batman among retired Navy SEALs, kept a rulebook all his own. After working with the guy for several months, Jace had learned to stop being surprised. The vigilante protection work was right up Jace’s alley, and it came with enough pay and perks to make it worth his while and then some. Even if he did have—as Mindy so elegantly pointed out in her Dear John letter during his service overseas—a taste for danger, Jace was still kicking, and that was all that mattered.

  With thoughts of his next appointment on his brain, Jace rushed through his shower, stuffed his workout clothes into his bag, and met up with Logan once more as he exited the locker room. “Is your woman going to want to mount my head on the wall for giving you that shiner?” Jace asked with a grin. A fresh breeze picked up, thick with salty air as they pushed open the double doors.

  Logan shook his head. “Tsk, if you had a woman, I’d be asking the same thing.”

  Jace chuckled before turning his face toward the ocean and pulling in a deep breath. Twilight had given way to a full moon, its silver glow dancing on the gentle waves to the constant, lapping hush.

  “Good luck at the bat cave, Scorpion,” Logan said.

  “And good luck to you with those aching arms, Iron Man. You were really straining tonight.”

  “Mine won’t be sore at all,” Logan said as he strode toward his SUV. “But I’ll call over to headquarters and tell Agatha you’ll be in need of a heat and ice regimen while you meet with Sutton. I guess she’ll have to play the role of your woman for now.”

  Jace shook his head. “Don’t you dare, dirt face.”

  Logan only laughed as he climbed in and roared up the engine.

  Jace sank into his new Audi Sports Coupe, a luxury he justified after accepting the job with Sutton. Sure, one of the perks included a souped-up SUV identical to Logan’s, complete with bulletproof glass and all, but that was for work. Sometimes, Jace mused as he revved his way onto the windy, private road, a man had to play.

  With the top down, Jace cranked up the song, Kryptonite, singing along as the rapid wind mussed his hair. He zoomed by the property’s guest pool, not to be confused with the master pool, and pulled into the parking area behind the home at 9:58. Two minutes to spare.

  Agatha cracked open the door before Jace could knock. With a wry grin, the self-proclaimed cheeky woman pulled an icepack from behind her back and offered it to him.

  Jace shook his head. “I’m going to kill Logan.”

  “I figured the young chap was up to something,” Agatha quipped, her English accent in full force. “That’s how the two of you seem to operate.” She glanced at the icepack in question. “Want me to put it back now?”

  Jace nodded. “Yeah, but keep it handy for Iron Man after I give him a good slug.”

  “Righto,” she said with a laugh. “Come on in. Sutton will meet you in his office.”

  “Thanks, Agatha.”

  Sutton’s office was, like the rest of the home, immaculate, spacious, and stocked with furnishings that revealed the man’s expensive travels and taste. Like the collection of shining swords mounted on the wall. Some items were simpler and more personal too. A set of dog tags seemed to float in the center of a velvet-cased shadow box, the metal chains appearing to ride on the wings of a massive breeze. One dull, dented tag for Sutton, the other for his only son, Doug, who lost his life in battle. It was a sobering sight, one that brought Mindy’s letter to the surface for the second time that night.

  “Thanks for coming, Burns,” Sutton boomed as Jace entered the office.

  “No problem, sir.” Jace had to wonder if the guy slept in a suit. The tailor-made piece, along with the accent, gave life to that whole 007 thing he had going on.

  Sutton lowered himself behind his desk and gave Jace a once-over, his eyes narrowing as they settled on his hair. “Top down?” he asked with a nod.

  Jace ran a hand through his hair, squinting to catch a hint of his reflection in a framed document behind Sutton. “Uh, yes, sir. Guess wet hair and convertibles don’t go well together.”

  Sutton grinned. “You remind me of myself at your age,” he mused, a wistful look in his eye. “Well now, tell me how you’re liking the job so far.”

  Jace was almost positive this wasn’t the reason for the man’s request to meet, but he gave him his best answer, assuring him he’d found his assignments fulfilling. Most recently, Jace had guarded a high profile businessman from Russia who’d come to the US to conduct business. The man wore a target wherever he went. That assignment had lasted three months. Before that, he’d helped out with Logan’s case.

  “Mr. Sokolov was very impressed with you. He has already requested you for his next trip to the states.”

  Jace nodded. “Glad to hear it.” He nodded some more, wondering when Sutton would get to the point. He could feel it coming, and the wait was starting to make him squirm.

  “When you first came on, I assessed you as being keen on thwarting human trafficking. I got the impression there was a personal story behind it. Am I correct?”

  Jace’s throat clenched, the topic like a pair of mean, wringing hands to his insides.

  “You don’t have to share your story, Jace,” Sutton assured. “I just wanted to know if my instincts were right. I have found I can expect an increased performance when there is a personal tie to our work.”

  He had personal ties all right, considering the type of assaults that often resulted from human trafficking. “My mother was attacked when I was a teenager. Attempted rape. She got away. Her attacker did too. But then I tracked him down, stopped him in the act of a different assault, and aided his arrest.”

  Sutton lifted his chin. “At sixteen years old, correct?”

  Jace gave him a silent nod as his chest heaved with residual anger.

  “Impressive.”

  “Not really. Any kid who saw their mom …” He cleared his throat, glancing away before setting his eyes back on Sutton. “She had two black eyes, cuts on her hands. Her skirt had been torn. The only impressive thing about it is that I was able to let the monster live at all.”

  Sutton gave him a hard nod. “Quite true. Thank you for your candor. With that, I’d say my instincts were correct.” He steepled his hands and rested his elbows on the polished desk. “We have been made aware of a US-based website on the dark web. One that facilitates human trafficking. More specifically, sex trafficking among women here in the United States. We’ll be working with a group of cyber specialists who are monitoring the site; Logan will team up with them to assist you. You’ll fly out to whomever’s at risk, we plan a series of sting operations, and take the ring down piece by piece.”

  Now it was Jace’s turn to lift a brow. “You’re kidding.” It was the perfect job for him.

  “It’s more dangerous than your average protection assignment,” Sutton continued, “since each case should end in a sting operation until we catch the kingpin. These men are devious. Dangerous. And are often in good standing among society. Most of his henchmen—people who do his dirty work—won’t even know his identity. Just a select few at the top.”

  Jace had heard every word, but his mind was stuck on one detail in particular. “I love a good sting op,” he admitted. After all, he hadn’t gotten the nickname Scorpion for no reason.

  Sutton leaned back in his chair, looking pleased. “So, are you in?”

  There would be more details to come, Jace realized, but none he needed in order to form an accurate response. He nodded adamantly.” Absolutely,” he assured. “When can I start?”

  Chapter 3

  “Eyes… brown. Hair… blonde.”

  Amy stopped writing and glanced up at her sister, Kassy. “I don’t get why I’m even filling these out. The guys are going to be looking right at me.”

  The Do-It-Right Dating coordinator, Mr. Bankford, leaned over Amy’s shoulder from behind; she hadn’t e
ven noticed he was there. “It’s just a simple card to help the guys put a name to the face once the date is done. We men need all the help we can get.” He held her gaze with a pair of uniquely light-gray eyes and grinned.

  “Gotcha,” Amy said. “Thanks.”

  The suave-looking gentleman was likely in his early fifties, but Amy couldn’t help but see a whole lot of her last boyfriend in him. All polish and charm on the outside. Conceit and greed on the inside. Clay Ashton had been just like that. Looking only for how a relationship might serve him.

  “He’s right,” Kassy said once the man walked away. “Guys do need all the help they can get.” She dug into her purse and pulled out a coffee-flavored candy. “Want one?”

  Amy shook her head. Kassy was practically an expert on the subject of men now. Amy’s younger sister had been married for seven years. Having twin boys had probably given her even more insight into the opposite sex.

  Meanwhile, Amy was barely dating. Which might explain why the Denver’s Best producers had thought to shoot a speed-dating segment for her weekly Average Amy broadcast. Normally, the live, weekly news segment featured local activities that applied to a broader audience. She’d tried everything from a karaoke spin class to paddle boating while the cameras rolled. All to show viewers at home “how the average gal or guy might fare while trying some of Denver’s latest activity trends.”

  Amy finished filling out the cards in silence. The small stack of twelve represented the number of guys she was supposed to meet during the speed date. She hadn’t let herself entertain thoughts of actually meeting a guy she liked today. Most of the men she’d dated had been selfish creatures, out to use someone to suit his needs and then move on. But she’d be a good sport. May as well seem hopeful for the viewers’ sake.

  The excitement in the lobby was spark-worthy. In the east wing of the room, eleven women chatted excitedly about the men across the way. While some berated themselves about their lack of height or breasts or social grace, others poured on compliments and words of encouragement.

  In contrast, the men lounged coolly in leather chairs while sipping drinks and murmuring under their breath. Looked like a contest for cool nerves and cocky jokes. Men bragging about their conquests, latest and future alike.

  “Stop it,” Kassy scolded.

  Amy shot her a look. “What?” Her gaze shifted to the coordinator. He reminded her so much of Clay Ashton that she kept forgetting his real name.

  “I can tell you’re stuck in that cynical head of yours,” Kassy said, “and you need to shut it off.”

  Amy gave her a tsk. “I’m the furthest thing from cynical there is.”

  “Yeah, until it comes to dating.”

  “Sorry to interrupt, ladies,” the coordinator said as he straightened his tie, “but they’re ready for us out there.”

  Amy peeked around him to see Nick pacing in front of the banquet room. Poor Nick, the uptight set manager, always drove himself to madness as the countdown for each segment approached.

  “Thanks. Do I give these to you?” she asked, holding the small stack of cards.

  “No, you keep them with you and exchange with each guy at the end of your fifteen minutes,” he reminded with a wink.

  “That’s right.” Amy weaved through the primping ladies. A wide corridor led to the banquet room where a dozen tables awaited them. A small part of the camera crew stood in the corridor to shoot the intro. The rest of the crew waited inside, catching footage to show in a side screen as Amy introduced the segment.

  “You’re distracted today,” Kassy mumbled as she towed shortly behind.

  “No, I’m not.”

  Nick ran a tense hand through his hair—hair that might not be thinning if he didn’t rake through it so feverishly as he worked. Beads of sweat cased his pink forehead and cheeks.

  “Flip your mic on,” he instructed, “we’re doing one last check.”

  Amy twisted the small dial. “How many more minutes until we’re live?”

  “Six.” Nick turned to the new intern while pressing an earpiece tighter against his head. “More feedback on audio, please.”

  Amy glanced down at her stack of handout cards. Twelve guys in one night? This was a nightmare. “I guess I kind of am distracted,” she mumbled as the crew made adjustments.

  The large lens zooming in on her had a screen attached to it. There, Amy could see Jodi and Jim, the daytime news anchors who never ceased to deliver clever intros to each segment.

  “Kassy, would you mind clearing the set?” Nick asked.

  Kassy shot Nick a look. “You still have five minutes.”

  Nick rolled his eyes. “I know Amy’s amazing and she can fly off the cuff at a moment’s notice. The rest of us need a little time to gather our thoughts.”

  Amazing? She’d never heard him compliment her before. Nick’s eyes lingered on her for a beat before he turned to glare down the hallway.

  “Fine.” Kassy gave Amy a kiss on the cheek. “Break a leg. Oh, and find a good one, will you? Daren said he’s ready for a brother-in-law already.”

  Amy smiled. Kassy’s poor husband was an only child. Of course he was ready. “I’ll try.”

  “Mom and Dad are in San Antonio, by the way. Mom just texted saying they’re streaming the show from a McDonalds while they catch a bite to eat.” Bless her parents—even in their trip across America in a Winnebago they planned to catch her show.

  “Four minutes,” Nick barked.

  Kassy darted off the makeshift set and slumped into a nearby chair in the foyer.

  “Okay,” Nick said. “You’re going to talk with Mr. Bankford while the other dating candidates file into the banquet room behind you.” Amy recalled the lecture Nick had given the other candidates as they filled out their release forms. Please don’t look directly at the camera, don’t wave at the camera, don’t flash the camera for the love of all things holy, etc. etc.

  Amy gave him a nod as the group of men lined up behind the women. She couldn’t help but get stuck in the idea that she could be doing this when she was fifty. This being the looking-for-a-good-man thing. Did they even have dating services for people in their fifties?

  Geez, Kassy was right. She really was distracted today.

  The Do-It-Right Dating coordinator strolled his way to her side, asking a question about the segment... For a moment though, Amy couldn’t help but picture Clay smoothing one hand over his wavy hair. “You should really do a segment at my dealership. You know, the average person navigating through the tedious task of buying a car. It’s good, right?” Wrong.

  “I don’t know,” Mr. Bankford was rambling. “Do you think that would be good or should we do it differently?”

  Amy looked at him, sifting through what she’d half-heard him say. Something about introducing frequently asked questions. “I like that,” she said. “I’ll give you a chance to address those.”

  His face softened. “Thanks, Amy.”

  It was a personal way to address her, but that wasn’t new. She was used to people calling her by name, feeling as if they somehow already knew her just by watching her segment. At least that was one good thing about being average. She didn’t intimidate anyone.

  Jodi and Jim introduced the topic with a cliché comment about first date horrors.

  “Trust me,” Jodi said through a laugh, “I’ve had more than my fair share of first dates.”

  “Well, what if I told you that you could go on not one, but twelve dates all in one night?”

  “I’d say I like to be in bed by eleven, so no thank you.”

  Amy turned to Mr. Bankford. “The split screen is coming, so smile at the camera.” As soon as the words left her mouth, the monitor split into its side-by-side view. Average Amy on one side, the news anchors on the other.

  “…called Do-It-Right Dating,” Jim continued. “And we thought we should figure out what it’s all about.”

  Jodi nodded, her pearly whites framed by those perfectly glossed lips. “And who
better than Denver’s own Average Amy to test it out for us. And doesn’t she look beautiful today?”

  “She sure does,” Jim said. “Tell us how you feel about dating a dozen men in just one night, Amy.”

  “In a word?” Amy squeaked. “Terrified.” The duo chuckled on cue. “But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited too.” She pointed a thumb toward the banquet area behind her and evened her voice. “There are some seriously good-looking men in that group from what I’ve seen. And right now, I’m with a fine-looking gentleman in his own right, the founder of Do-It-Right Dating, Mr. Bankford.”

  “Paul,” the man said, “please.”

  Amy shot him an apologetic grin. “Paul, when you tell people about this service, I imagine you get everything from cheers to jeers. What are some of the frequently asked questions regarding this method?”

  “I’m glad you asked,” the man said through a confident grin. He really did look like Clay. Acted like him too.

  The resemblance was so great, in fact, that it triggered a series of disturbing flashbacks to play through Amy’s mind over the next three hours as she sped-date her way through the evening. Of course, she’d finished filming within the first two fifteen-minute dates, but she couldn’t just drop out and leave the guys high and dry.

  Strangely enough, her greatest connections had been with those first two guys. Amy never minded flirting on film, giving the guy sharing the spotlight a bit of encouragement and playful banter. It was part of her persona. They’d played right into it too. Acting a whole lot more interested than they were, she later realized. After the camera crew cleared out, the excitement surrounding her died. A few of the guys even expressed disappointment in the fact that they hadn’t been on film with her. Some asked if they’d be shooting a follow-up segment, as if they were gauging whether or not it’d be worth it to ask her out in the future.

  To Amy’s disappointment, the experience fed into her fear of being used. She considered that on the drive home as Kassy talked about her favorites.