A navy SEAL has her back...and a lot more!

When their plane crash-lands in an alligator-infested Mississippi bayou, Navy SEAL Quentin “Loverboy” Lovett is grateful to be alive. But gratitude quickly turns to rescue when the SEAL must dive into the murky waters to save Stealth Operations Specialist Becca Smith. Then the shooting starts. Clearly, someone wants her dead.

Investigating her father’s murder has put Becca in the crosshairs of his killer. Now the loner agent has no choice but to trust Quentin to protect her. On their hunt for the mercenary, Becca and Quentin discover an unquenchable attraction they never expected to grow...or last. But first, they must survive.

“Are you out of your mind? Get back in the raft.”

He leaned forward and stole a quick kiss. “You can slap me later. I’ve got a job to do.” He rolled over the side and eased into the water without making much of a splash. His heart pounded as he stared at the tall grass near a mound of sticks and mud. He’d stay as far away from the alligator nest as he could, but he had to get the raft beneath the trees before the people in the helicopter spotted them.

Grabbing the tow line from the front of the raft, he held on tight and sidestroked, pulling the loaded craft with him. Everyone helped by paddling with their hands. They moved faster than they had before, but not fast enough to make the trees before the helicopter swung around and headed their way.

“Duck!” Quentin called out.

As the chopper neared, the sound of a machine-gun blast ripped through the air, but bullets didn’t hit the water near the raft.

Navy Seal to Die For

Elle James

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ELLE JAMES, a New York Times bestselling author, started writing when her sister challenged her to write a romance novel. She has managed a full-time job and raised three wonderful children, and she and her husband even tried ranching exotic birds (ostriches, emus and rheas). Ask her, and she’ll tell you what it’s like to go toe-to-toe with an angry three-hundred-and-fifty-pound bird! Elle loves to hear from fans at ellejames@earthlink.net or ellejames.com.

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CAST OF CHARACTERS

Quentin Lovett—Highly trained, expertly skilled weapons specialist and Navy SEAL from SEAL Boat Team 22. Considered the charmer of the team.

Becca Smith—Stealth Operations Specialist on a mission to find the person responsible for the assassination of her father, a CIA special agent.

Sawyer Houston—Highly trained, skilled gunner and Navy SEAL from SEAL Boat Team 22 and the son of a US senator.

Dutton “Duff” Calloway—Highly trained, skilled demolitions expert and Navy SEAL from SEAL Boat Team 22.

Benjamin “Montana” Raines—Expert sniper and Navy SEAL from SEAL Boat Team 22 on vacation in Cancún.

Royce Fontaine—Head of the Stealth Operations Specialists, a secret government organization that comes to the rescue when no one else can get the job done.

Tim “Geek” Trainer—Stealth Operations Specialists agent with highly evolved computer and technical skills, works primarily out of the home office.

Samir Jabouri—Man suspected of aiding and supplying weapons to terrorists.

Ivan—Russian immigrant and suspected assassin.

Oscar Melton—CIA special agent who worked with Becca’s father on a secret investigation.

John Francis—CIA deputy director.

Sam Russell—Stealth Operations Specialists agent.

Kat Russell—Stealth Operations Specialists agent.

I dedicate this book to all of my readers. If not for you and your voracious reading habits, I would not have the career of my dreams. I consider myself lucky to have found what I want to be when I “grow up” and that I’m living that dream now.

Thank you all from the bottom of my heart. Happy reading!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

“Ahh, this is the way to travel.” US Navy SEAL Quentin Lovett yawned and stretched, burrowing into the contoured seat of the Stealth Operations Specialists corporate jet. “I’ve never felt more rested. This beats commercial flights, hands down.” He chuckled. “I don’t even want to compare it to the back of a C-130.”

“Don’t get used to it, Loverboy.” Dutton Calloway, Duff to his friends, sat with his eyes closed, his head tipped back across the aisle from Quentin.

“Maybe you should switch branches of service.” Becca Smith blinked her eyes open and cocked her eyebrows at Quentin in the seat beside her.

“What? And give up the glamorous life of a navy SEAL?” Quentin lifted Becca’s hand and brushed her knuckles with a light kiss. “Although, if I got to work with a pretty little thing like you, I might consider giving up the swamps and the honor of getting mud beneath my fingernails.”

She frowned and pulled her hand from his. “Forget it, frogman. You’re not getting into my pants. My mamma told me about guys like you.”

He chuckled. “That you would be lucky to have a man as handsome and talented as I am?”

“No, that navy guys have a woman in every port and shove off when things get a little too permanent for them.”

Duff, his six-foot-three-inch SEAL teammate, laughed. “She’s got your number, Loverboy.”

Quentin grinned. “We’re just getting warmed up.”

Becca gave Quentin a glance that should have chilled him to the bone, but he didn’t give up easily.

“Before she knows it, she’ll be madly in love with me.” Quentin winked at Becca.

She rolled her eyes, leaned forward and asked Duff, “Is he really that full of himself, or is he pulling my leg?”

Duff cracked open an eyelid. “I suspect he’s a bit of both.”

Natalie Layne rested a hand on Duff’s. “I’m so glad you’re not a ladies’ man.”

Duff’s other eyelid rose, exposing his green eyes. “Who said I wasn’t?”

Quentin snorted. “Please. Leave the art of seduction to the pro.”

Sawyer Houston laughed out loud behind Quentin. “Says the man striking out with the beautiful lady.”

Becca raised her hand above the chair. “Thanks for the compliment.”

“Not that I think she’s more beautiful than you,” Sawyer added for the benefit of Jenna Broyles, the woman riding in the plane beside him.

“I’m not opposed to my man looking, as long as he’s not sampling,” Jenna said.

Duff closed his fingers around Natalie’s hand. “Sawyer has a point, Quentin. I’ve got a gorgeous babe. What have you got?”

Quentin loved the banter between him and his teammates. He loved a challenge even more, and Becca Smith was a challenge. The way he saw it, he had until the plane landed in Mississippi to win her over and secure a date with the incredibly beautiful and extremely uptight lady, who intrigued him to the point of obsession.

She was wound up so tight, Quentin considered it his duty and responsibility to help her loosen up. He’d dedicated the flight from Cancun to Mississippi to winning over the pretty secret agent’s interest. In the past few hours, he’d failed to get more than a “drop dead” glare out of her. His time was quickly running out. He had yet to succeed in his mission.

“Sawyer, I’m surprised your father agreed to go along with the faked death scenario,” Becca commented.

“You’re surprised?” Sawyer huffed out a breath. “I was floored. The man never had time for anything other than politics. I swear he didn’t know my name half the time. My father had a cot set up in his office. He spent so many late nights working, it made more sense for him to sleep there.”

“Must have been hard for you and your mother,” Jenna commented.

“Nah. We were used to it. You don’t miss what you never had.”

Quentin could relate. His father had left him and his mother when Quentin was five. His mother, destitute and with a young mouth to feed, was forced to move in with her parents on their Iowa farm. His grandfather had been his male role model, for which he was forever grateful. He’d raised him to appreciate the fruits of a hard day’s labor. Nothing in this world was worth anything if it was easy to attain.

Thus his interest in Becca. The woman who’d shown up in Cancun, Mexico, on what should have been Quentin’s relaxing vacation, and helped them keep Sawyer alive when an assassin was hell-bent on ending his life.

“Speaking of assassins,” Quentin said aloud.

“No one was speaking of assassins until you just brought it up,” Benjamin “Montana” Raines said and yawned. “Could ya shut up for the next thirty minutes until we land? I haven’t gotten my full three-hours’ sleep in on the flight.”

“You wouldn’t have needed it, if you hadn’t stayed up until four in the morning,” Sawyer grumbled. “And then dragged yourself in, waking everyone up.”

“Can I help that the last night of vacation they had to have Country Western Night at the resort?”

Quentin shook his head. “I didn’t know one man could two-step for six hours straight.”

“I’ve got stamina, unlike some of you boneheads.” Montana pushed his cowboy hat down over his eyes. “Seriously, could you hold it down?”

“I’ve been thinking.”

His buddies all groaned.

“No, really.” Quentin frowned. “Just because we took care of the assassin-for-hire who’d been gunning for our buddy Sawyer, it doesn’t mean that dirty dog is dead.”

“What are you talking about?” Duff asked.

“Someone wanted Rand Houston, aka Sawyer’s father, out of the way and was willing to use Sawyer as bait to get him to Cancun in order to get a clear shot at him. We got his hired gun, but the man who hired him is still on the loose.”

“Your point?” Duff prompted.

“Who’s going after him?” Quentin persisted.

“I don’t know,” Sawyer said. “But we have to report back to Stennis as soon as we get back. Which won’t be much longer. We should see land soon.”

Quentin leaned over Becca to stare out the window. Just as Sawyer said, land was within sight.

“Do you mind?” Becca said, her brows hiked. “If you’re that interested in the scenery below, I’d be happy to swap seats with you.”

Slowly leaning back in his seat, Quentin gave her one of his best smiles. His mother always said he could charm the chickens out of the trees with that smile. “Instead of agreeing to swap seats, why don’t you agree to have dinner with me when we land?”

“I told you, I’m not interested.” She turned her shoulders toward the window, effectively cutting him off.

“Okay, I get it. You don’t want to go out with me for dinner. How about lunch?”

She drew in a slow, steadying breath and let it out. “No.”

“Coffee?”

“No.”

Undaunted, Quentin grinned. “You’re making it really hard for me to get to know you.”

“Not my problem. That one’s all on you.”

“Tell you what,” Quentin said. “Before you reject me, give me one kiss. If the chemistry isn’t there, I won’t pursue you anymore.”

“You’ll leave me completely alone?” she asked.

Quentin nodded and held up his hand. “I promise.”

“Fine. One kiss.” She leaned toward him.

He faced her, puckering.

Becca reached out and turned his cheek. “On the cheek.”

“How are you supposed to gauge the chemistry with a kiss on the cheek?” he protested.

“Not my problem.” When she swooped in to land her kiss, Quentin turned at the last minute and caught her lips with his.

Her eyes widened, her breath hitched, but she didn’t back away.

Quentin cupped the back of her neck and deepened the kiss, pressing her closer.

She gasped, her lips parting for a second. Long enough for Quentin to slip his tongue past her teeth for a taste of her. Mmm. Rum and coconuts from the drink she’d had earlier. So sweet and amazing, he almost groaned. When he lifted his head, he smiled down at her. “Was that so bad?” he asked.

Her drooping eyelids popped wide and she slapped him hard on the cheek she had intended on kissing.

Quentin could swear the plane shook with the force of the blow.

“What the hell?” Duff shouted, sitting up.

The plane shook and shuttered.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve lost power to the engine and will be making an emergency landing,” the captain said over the loud speaker. “Please check your seatbelts and hold on.”

It took Quentin a full second to realize the slap he’d deservedly received had not impacted the plane. “What happened?” he asked, tightening his belt.

“Felt like we were hit,” Sawyer said.

Quentin pressed a hand to his stinging cheek. Oh, he’d been hit all right. But the plane? “By what?”

“I don’t know,” Duff said. “But you better hunker down. It’s gonna be a rough landing.”

With the plane shaking like an old truck on a gravel road, Quentin doubted the landing would be an easy one.

A feminine hand slipped into his and he held on to it.

“Just for the record,” Becca said. “You deserved that slap.”

If he’d thought the dire situation would encourage her to apologize, he was sorely disappointed. “It was worth it. You taste so good. If I die in this crash, I will have died a happy man.”

“Jerk,” she whispered, but didn’t let go of his hand as the plane pitched, dipped and plunged toward the ground at a terrifying speed. “For the record, if I make it out of this alive, I’m still going after the man who killed my father.”

“I believe you,” Quentin said. “If I can get more time off from my unit, I’ll go with you.”

“I don’t need an amateur getting in my way.”

“I’m not an amateur, I’m a SEAL.”

“Yeah and you’re used to kicking ass and shooting anything that moves. My kind of work takes finesse, something you are clearly lacking.”

“Ouch,” Quentin said.

“Loverboy, I believe you’ve been put in your place.” Duff chuckled. “Give it up. She’s not into you.”

Quentin snorted. “This frogman won’t give up without a fight.”

“Yeah?” Montana said from the back. “Seems we’re going down with a fight, now.”

And he was right. It seemed as if the ground outside the window rushed up to meet them. Make that the water rushed up to meet them.

The pilot brought the plane in on a marsh, the only gap between tall cypress trees. The belly of the aircraft slid across the smooth surface like a hovercraft until it hit a berm of land, barely jutting a foot into the air.

The plane jolted hard on impact; the tail lifted and then crashed down with a big splash.

Throwing aside her seatbelt, the flight attendant ran for the emergency exit and struggled to open the exterior door.

Quentin released his seatbelt and hurried to help. Together they managed to open the door, the steps falling into the water.

“There are flotation devices beneath each seat,” the attendant called out.

Quentin glanced out the door and shook his head. “I suggest we all get into the life boat or do our best to stay with the plane until help arrives. You do not want to get in that water.”

“Why?” Duff staggered up the aisle to join him at the door.

“I believe we’ve landed in the middle of an alligator farm.”

* * *

BECCA ROSE FROM her seat aboard the downed aircraft, shaken but refusing to show how much the crash-landing had scared her. She’d been shot at, held hostage and beaten by one of the meanest sons of a bitch known to the drug-dealing mafia, but never had she been in an airplane crash.

If Quentin hadn’t been next to her, teasing her and holding her hand, she might have dissolved into a very embarrassing case of feminine hysterics.

On the ground...or in the water...they had survived. A few alligators were nothing compared to the instant death of a plane hitting the ground and completely disintegrating like she’d seen happen at the Baltimore International Airport one snowy evening a long time ago.

Her father had brought her to the airport to greet her mother after she’d been on a work trip to California. Becca had missed her mother, and looked forward to being held and cuddled in her arms. They’d watched as her mother’s plane approached the airport on schedule. It appeared to be a perfect landing until a wing dipped and the entire plane performed something like a cartwheel on the runway.

Her father cursed and pulled the young Becca into his arms to hide her view of the burning wreckage. No one survived. Her beautiful mother would never come home, never hold her close or sing her to sleep at night.

Her heart hammered against her ribs and her belly soured at the memory. Where her mother had not escaped, Becca had cheated death in the SOS corporate jet. All her life, she’d flown in airplanes, pushing back the fear of crashing. Today she imagined what her mother might have felt when she realized the plane was going to crash. She could only hope it had happened so fast that none of the passengers had time to be afraid.

“Hey.”

A gentle hand on her arm brought her out of her memories and back to the problem at hand.

“Are you okay?” Quentin asked.

“Yeah. I’m fine,” she lied, barely able to stand on wobbly knees. Bile churned in her gut again, threatening to find a rapid path out if she didn’t reach open air immediately.

She shoved Quentin to the side and staggered toward the doorway, where the flight attendant and Duff struggled with a life raft, blocking the exit.

“I need to get out,” Becca said, her voice strained.

“You’ll have to wait until we get this raft the right side up,” the attendant said.

“You don’t understand. I. Need. Out. Now.” She shoved them aside, pushed the raft out of her way and jumped out of the plane into the water.

She hit at an angle and sank below the surface, sucking fetid swamp water up her nose. Panicking, and fighting to get her feet under her, Becca couldn’t tell which way was up. She flapped and kicked, but couldn’t get turned the right direction.

Something splashed next to her and an arm wrapped around her waist and yanked her out of the dark, dank water and into the bright sunshine.

Becca coughed and sputtered, gagging on the nasty water. All the while those strong arms held her, letting her get her feet beneath her on the silt bottom of the marsh.

The life raft plopped into the water beside them.

“Better?” Quentin’s voice sounded in her ear, his breath warm on her cheek.

She nodded, still unable to form coherent sentences.

“Good, because a couple of alligators spotted us. They’re on their way and we’re getting out of the water now.” He hauled her up and over the edge of the life raft, tossing her like a rag doll. Then he planted his hands on the sides and dragged himself up and in, along with enough water to threaten the small craft.

Her heart beating so fast she thought it might explode out of her chest, Becca peered over the side of the inflatable raft. The dark surface of the water appeared smooth, but there was tall grass all around. “I don’t see any alligators,” she said.

Quentin didn’t answer. He’d turned back to the aircraft, smoke billowing up from the engine in the tail. “Everyone out!” he shouted. He reached up as Natalie Layne appeared in the doorway. “Lose the shoes.”

She kicked off her high heels and leaned out into Quentin’s arms. The raft rocked with the added weight. One by one, the SEAL team and Lance climbed into the raft, followed by the flight attendant, pilot and copilot.

Once everyone was on board the rubber raft, Quentin said, “Now let’s get away from the fuselage before the aviation fuel ignites.” The SEALs dug their arms into the water and paddled, doing the best they could to move the unwieldy craft through the marsh waters and away from the plane.

They hadn’t gone more than the length of a football field when an explosion rocked the air.

Quentin shoved Becca into the bottom of the raft and threw himself over her body. Debris dropped into the water around them.

Quentin jerked and cursed. Then he sat up and looked back.

Without his weight on her, Becca sat up and followed his gaze. A mushrooming cloud of flame and smoke rose into the air.

Becca clutched the side of the raft, her body shaking. “Damn, that was close.”

“Yeah.” Quentin ripped his shirt open and dragged it off his shoulders, wincing as he did so.

“Hey, Loverboy,” Montana said. “You took a hit.”

Quentin nodded, his jaw tight.

“Let me see.” Becca scooted around to get a look at his back.

A jagged piece of metal about two inches long stuck out of the man’s shoulder. “Pull it out,” he said through gritted teeth.

Becca bit her lip. She’d been trained to leave embedded objects for a surgeon to extract. But with no surgeon around, and no telling how long it would be until someone found them, she couldn’t let him suffer. Picking up Quentin’s discarded shirt, she wrapped it around the sharp edges of the metal and paused. “This might hurt a little.”

“Just do it.” Quentin’s jaw tightened and he clenched his fists.

Before he finished his command, she gripped and pulled. The shard was only an inch deep, but once removed, the blood flowed.

“Here.” Duff pulled his T-shirt over his head and handed it to Becca, along with a knife. She cut the shirt into long strips, wadded one into a pad and pressed it to the wound. “Hold this there,” she said to Duff.

Duff held the pad in place while Becca tied the other strips of fabric together and then wound them around Quentin’s shoulder. She created a big knot over the wound to add continued pressure to stop the blood flow.

All the while she worked on Quentin, she couldn’t help but notice the breadth of the SEAL’s shoulders and how solid his muscles felt beneath her fingertips. If she didn’t have a mission to complete, and if Quentin wasn’t a navy SEAL, she might consider going out with him. Maybe. The truth was, she couldn’t stop in her pursuit of finding her father’s killer.

Once done, she sat back and assessed the damage. “Barring a swamp-water bacterial infection, you’ll live.” She turned toward the smoldering plane. “On the other hand, the SOS plane is a complete wash. What happened?”

“Something hit the plane,” Duff said.

Quentin nodded. “And since it didn’t impact the nose or the fuselage but knocked out the engine, we either sucked a pelican into the engine, or were hit by a heat-seeking missile.”

“What?” Becca looked around the swamp. “We’re in Louisiana, not the Middle East.”

Sawyer pulled out his cell phone and held it up. “If I can get cell service, I’ll contact our unit. We aren’t too far from Stennis.” He tapped the screen and waited.

Becca plucked at her damp blouse, realizing a little late that the wet white fabric did nothing to hide what was beneath. Thank goodness she had on a bra. She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling a little silly for the panic attack that made her leap out of the airplane into an alligator-infested bayou. “Where are we, anyway?”

Quentin pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket and shook it. “I’d tell you if I could get my GPS up. I think my phone is toast. These things don’t do well submerged.”

Becca twisted her lips. “Sorry.”

He shrugged and tucked the phone back in his pocket. “What happened back there?”

She glanced away. “Nothing. Just a little claustrophobia.”

Natalie snorted. “A little? You were getting out of that plane if you had to tear a hole in the fuselage to get there.”

“I’m glad we all got out before it blew,” Duff muttered staring down at the screen of his dry mobile phone. “We’re in a marsh near the Pearl River. If Sawyer can contact the team, they can come get us.”

Sawyer had his cell phone pressed to his ear. “This is Chief Petty Officer Houston, let me speak to the LT... I don’t care if he’s on lunch break. This is an emergency. Get him.”

All faces turned to Sawyer.

Becca held her breath and strained to hear.

“LT, we have a problem. The plane we were flying in crashed in a marsh close to the base... Yes, sir. We all got out alive. Thanks to the pilot.” Sawyer nodded toward the pilot, who’d landed the plane under the worst circumstances. “I’ve got the app to find my cell phone. You can track us with it.” He gave the LT the login and password to track his phone. “How soon can someone be here? Twenty minutes? Make it less. We’re sitting ducks in this life raft and we don’t know whether the guy who shot us down is still out there.”

Becca glanced around the marsh. So far the only other living creatures were those that belonged in the swamp. Theirs was the only boat afloat.

Quentin also stared around the bayou. “If someone shot us down out, they might come back to finish off any survivors. And that smoke signal will make it all too easy to find us. Perhaps we should find some cover and concealment.”

“Right.” Montana nodded toward a stand of cypress trees a couple hundred yards away. “Let’s make for the trees.”

Without a paddle to propel the raft, they made slow progress toward the stand of trees. Everyone who could leaned over the side and paddled with their hands.

Already wet, Becca did her best tucked against Quentin, who sat behind her. All the while she watched the water for alligators, praying none of the crash survivors lost an arm to the gaping maw of one of the swamp reptiles.

Halfway to the trees, Becca paused and tipped her head, the thick humidity of southern Mississippi causing sweat to drip into her eyes. A sound reached her over the splashing of the water.

“Shh!” she said. “Listen.”

All hands stilled.

There it was again. The thumping sound of rotors beating the air.

“Helicopter.” Quentin twisted left and right.

Sawyer straightened, looking to the sky. “Where’s it coming from?”

“Did you ask the LT to send a chopper?” Duff’s voice was low and intense.

Sawyer shook his head. “The LT said he’d send out a boat.”

“Damn.” Quentin leaned over the side and paddled faster. “Let’s get to those trees!”

Becca studied the horizon, turning for a three-hundred-sixty-degree view. “It could be a coast guard rescue helicopter.”

“I’m not willing to bank on it.” Quentin continued paddling, along with the other SEALs.

Becca bent over the side and contributed to the effort, glancing up, searching the horizon.

The dark silhouette of a helicopter detached from the horizon, rose into the air and headed straight for the burning hull of the SOS jet.

As the chopper neared the downed craft, it let loose a stream of bullets.

“Holy hell,” Becca said, ducking automatically. She resumed paddling, praying the bright yellow life raft wasn’t as easy to spot as the color intended. They only had moments to make the trees, still another fifty yards away.

Chapter Two

Quentin would give his left arm at that moment for a fully-equipped Special Operations Craft-Riverine, or SOC-R as they called it, and his favorite machine gun. Deadly accurate on his aim, he’d have that chopper down in seconds.

But they weren’t in the navy boat. Instead they were in a raft designed to float, not move swiftly through the water. Hell, they could swim faster than they could maneuver the raft. But swimming wasn’t an option. They were up to their necks in alligators and bad guys. “Now would be a good time for the team to show up.”

“Come on, LT,” Montana prayed aloud.

“The only way they’d get here in time to help is if they were already on the Pearl, headed in this direction.” Quentin sucked in a breath. “There’s only one way to get us to the trees faster.”

“You got a motor in your pocket?” Sawyer quipped.

“No.” He slung his leg over the side of the raft.

“What are you doing?” Becca asked.

“Going for a little dip.” He winked. “Can I get a kiss before I swim with a bunch of hungry alligators?”

She shook her head and reached for his arm. “Are you out of your mind? Get back in the raft.”

He leaned forward and stole a quick kiss. “You can slap me later. I’ve got a job to do.” He rolled over the side and eased into the water without making much of a splash. His heart pounded as he stared at the tall grass near a mound of sticks and mud. He’d stay as far away from the alligator nest as he could, but he had to get the raft beneath the trees before the people in the helicopter spotted them.

Grabbing the tow line from the front of the raft, he held on tight and side-stroked, pulling the loaded craft with him. Everyone helped by paddling with their hands. They moved faster than they had before, but not fast enough to make the trees before the helicopter swung around and headed their way.

“Duck!” Quentin called out.

As the chopper neared, the sound of a machine gun blast ripped through the air, but bullets didn’t hit the water near the raft.

The chopper pulled up suddenly, altering its direction. More gunfire sliced through the marsh.

“God bless the lieutenant,” Sawyer cried out.

Montana whooped. “It’s the cavalry!”

Quentin swam to the side of the raft to see what they were yelling about and his heart swelled. A SOC-R watercraft skimmed across the water, headed for the hovering helicopter, the gunners firing live rounds.

“Don’t stop paddling,” Duff advised. “That helicopter is armed. If they take out the boat, they’ll still come after us.”

With renewed purpose everyone in the raft paddled and Quentin dragged them along, closing the distance to the trees and the relative concealment the overhanging branches would provide.

By the time he reached the shadows of the cypress trees, his muscles were screaming and he couldn’t quite get enough air.

“Quentin, get in the raft. We can take it from here,” Duff said.

“Just...a...little...farther.” Too exhausted to say more, Quentin kicked and pulled.

“Get in the boat now!” Duff said. “Sawyer, Montana, get him!”

Sawyer grabbed the line Quentin held and dragged it back toward the boat, pulling Quentin up to the rubber sides.

“Get in, now!” Duff yelled. He grabbed Quentin’s right arm, Sawyer caught the left and they hauled him over the side, dumping him into the bottom of the raft and then pulling his legs in behind him.

Quentin stared out at the helicopter and the navy boat duking it out a couple hundred yards away. “They could still come after us.”

“Yeah, but there wouldn’t be anything left of you to shoot at, if that giant gator got to you first.” Duff nodded toward a small island.

Quentin sat up in time to see a twelve-foot-long alligator slip off the land into the water and head their direction. “Well, why didn’t you say so? I’d have gotten in a lot faster.”

“You don’t think it will take a bite out of the raft, do you?” Natalie asked, scooching toward the center of the crowded craft.

“Never met an alligator that liked a mouthful of rubber. But if it’s a female, and she’s guarding a nest...” Quentin pointed to a large mound near the shore, “she might attack to protect her clutch of eggs.”

“Not much in the way of choices.” Montana shook his head. “Either we go out in the open for the helicopter to use us for target practice, or brave an angry mama gator.”

Quentin wasn’t as concerned about the alligator as he was about the helicopter circling around to attack the navy boat again. He wanted to be on that boat, manning his position as gunner.

The reassuring sound of the machine guns spitting out ammo was music to his ears. Several bullets hit their mark on the fuselage of the dark chopper. The aircraft jerked to the side and plummeted toward the ground for a few heart-stopping seconds and then leveled off. As if the pilot debated whether to continue the fight or cut his losses, the aircraft hovered over the marsh a couple hundred yards away from the SOC-R. Then it rose straight into the air and disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

A cheer went up from the occupants of the raft. The navy boat turned and made its way toward the wreck survivors.

Quentin looked forward to getting out of the swamp and back to his apartment where he could strip down, shower and dress in clean dry clothing. In the heat and humidity, his wet jeans and shirt were beginning to chafe in all the worst places.

The navy watercraft pulled up alongside the life raft and stopped. “Rip” Cord Schafer, Trent Rucker and Jace Hunter leaned over the side to help the flight attendant, pilot and copilot into the boat.

Montana and Sawyer handed Jenna out of the raft and then heaved themselves onto the boat.

“What the hell kind of trouble did you stir up in Mexico?” Rip held out a hand to Natalie and pulled her aboard.

“We’ll brief you back at the base. Let’s get out of here before that whirlybird returns.” Duff hauled himself aboard and reached down to help Becca onto the craft.

Quentin steadied her and handed her off to his buddy. Then he pulled himself aboard, and lay on the deck, happy to let someone else take charge and get them back to base. He was wiped out from swimming and dragging a boatload of people.

He lay there with his eyes closed as Duff and the others manned the SOC-R.

“Are you all right?” a soft voice asked close to his ear.

“I’m fine. Just resting.” He cracked one eyelid open and admired the pretty brunette leaning over him.

“Though I still think it was incredibly stupid and risky to pull a stunt like that...thanks,” Becca said.

Quentin chuckled. “Does that mean I get a kiss or, better yet, a date?”

She shook her head, her lips twisting. “No to both. And that kiss you stole wasn’t even a real kiss. So it doesn’t count.”

The boat captain revved the engine and set the SOC-R on a course for the base.

“Maybe you could show me what you consider a real kiss?” he said, increasing the volume, though it was hard to sound sexy over the roar of the boat’s motor.

Becca’s brows wrinkled, but the corners of her lips quirked upward for a brief second. “Don’t you ever give up?”

“Nope.” Quentin shook his head. “I’m a navy SEAL. It’s not in our nature to give up.”

With a roll of her eyes, Becca stuck out a hand. “Then maybe you should get up and get behind a weapon in case that helicopter returns to finish the job.”

Quentin took her hand and let her pull him up to a sitting position. “I trust my brothers to handle the situation. They’ve got my six. Don’t you?” He stared around at the men manning weapons and scanning the sky for additional threats. He trusted these men with his life, and they trusted him.

Duff nodded. “You know it. Now, stop trying to impress the lady with your brand of cheesy charm. She’s not buying it.”

Becca laughed out loud. “Thank you. Maybe he’ll listen to you. He doesn’t seem to take me seriously when I tell him I’m not interested.”

“I’m a stubborn man.” Quentin pushed to his feet and steadied himself against a machine gun mount. He helped Becca to a position next to Natalie and Jenna, seated on the deck near the rear of the boat. Then he stood behind a shielded weapons mount, watching the shoreline and the sky.

* * *

THE TRIP BACK to the Special Boat Team 22 base located at Stennis, Mississippi, took less than twenty minutes. Becca’s clothes stuck to her skin. Along with the sweltering heat and humidity of late summer in Southern Mississippi, she was sweating and ready for a shower. They were met upon arrival by men in navy uniforms, standing on the dock.

As soon as the boat came to a complete stop, Becca, Natalie and Jenna all stood. Quentin leaned close. “The tall one is the boss, Commander Paul Jacobs, and he looks mad. The man with the face of a bulldog beside him is Master Chief Joe Martin.”

Commander Jacobs tilted his head toward the operations building. “Inside. Now. Before Homeland Security, CIA, FBI, FAA, state and local police and every other government entity descend upon us.”

The men clambered off the boat, helped the women onto the dock and hurried them toward the building.

Once inside, the commander gave strict instructions to the SEAL manning the front desk. “Don’t let anyone inside without notifying me first.”

The man popped to attention. “Yes, sir.”

The master chief led them to the end of a hallway and into the conference room lovingly referred to as the war room.

Becca slowed about halfway down the hall, and then stopped short, causing a pileup of people behind her. After all that had happened, she felt a gnawing need to get back to DC, the SOS headquarters and their impressive computers to look for another link to her father’s killer. “I really need to check in with my boss and catch a flight back to DC as soon as possible.”

Commander Jacobs shook his head. “No one’s going anywhere until everyone’s been debriefed.”

Quentin hooked Becca’s arm. “The sooner we go through the debrief, the sooner you can be on your way.”

Becca allowed him to guide her into the war room, and then shook off his hand and lowered herself into one of the seats. Her leg bounced beneath the table. Every minute she was in Mississippi was another minute some bastard was loose, possibly planning on killing another member of the CIA or even her, since they’d targeted the plane bringing her and the SEALs back to the States. She glanced at Quentin, glad he and his friends had all made it off the aircraft before the fuel had ignited in a fiery ball of smoke and flame.

He stood near her, leaning against the wall, a smile playing on his lips, his gaze on his commander.

Commander Jacobs cleared his throat, drawing Becca’s attention. “I have a mind to never again grant this navy-issue band of misfits leave,” he began. “What the hell happened while you were in Mexico?”

“Sir, you might want to take a seat,” Duff said. “This could take a while to explain.”

The CO shoved a hand through his hair. “We don’t have time to go into a lot of detail. Having a plane shot down on US soil is something we can’t hide, nor do we want to. But that brings in a whole lot of scrutiny. Give me the digest version. And make it fast.” He snapped his fingers.

Quentin stepped forward. “While in Mexico, we busted open a human trafficking ring, and then someone tried to kill Sawyer.” He turned to Sawyer Houston, his teammate. “But that was an effort to get his father Rand Houston to fly to Cancun so that an assassin could kill the senator.”

The commander shot a glance toward Sawyer. “I heard about the senator’s death. I’m sorry.”

Sawyer nodded acknowledgement. “Thank you, sir.”

Duff cut in with, “As you see, Sawyer’s fine and the rest of us survived with only minor injuries.”

“Injuries?” A ruddy flush rose into Commander Jacobs’s cheeks. “You were supposed to be on vacation, not running covert operations. Who gave you permission to get involved?”

Duff, Sawyer, Montana and Quentin all stood straighter.

Quentin answered, “Sir, we couldn’t stand by and let women be sold into sex slavery.”

Duff backhanded Sawyer in the belly. “And we couldn’t let someone off Sawyer or his father.”

“So, you assigned yourselves as the superheroes to save the world.” The commander pounded his fist on the table. “Damn it! You’re trained Navy SEALs. You follow orders. You don’t take on the world without checking in with your commander.”

“Sir, they really didn’t ask to get involved,” Natalie offered. “They did what they thought was best. If it hadn’t been for your men, my sister and I would be in some harem in the Middle East or dead.”

The CO turned toward Natalie, his eyes narrowing. “Who are you, and what do you have to do with all this?”

“I’m Natalie Layne. My sister was kidnapped while on vacation in Cancun. I went there to find her. Duff and his friends helped me locate the island she was being held on and free her and several others.”

The commander faced Jenna. “And you?”

“I’m Jenna Broyles. I was on vacation in Cancun when I got the wrong suitcase. It contained a rifle and a file folder identifying Sawyer Houston as a target.”

Sawyer rested a hand on the back of Jenna’s chair. “Sir, if she hadn’t warned me, I’d be a dead man by now. They wanted to get to my father by going through me.”

Commander Jacobs paced the length of the table. “For the record, Houston, I didn’t hold your lineage against you because you’ve proven yourself over and over.” The man stopped halfway across the room and faced all of them. “Still, none of you thought to clue me in on what the hell was going on?” He spun toward the pilot and copilot.

The pilot held up a hand. “Robert Van Cleave, pilot of the plane, this is Randy Needham, my copilot. I don’t know what all happened in Cancun, but we experienced engine trouble after something hit the plane.” He nodded to the man next to him. “We did the best we could to land the aircraft in an unpopulated location. We got everyone out before the fuel ignited and the plane exploded.”

The commander nodded. “Thank you for getting them down in one piece and out of the plane alive.” He turned to Becca. “And who are you and what do you have to do with what happened? Were you one of the kidnapped women being sold?”

“No, sir.” Becca stood, too wound up to sit, and ready to get the heck out of the building and on her way to DC. “I’m Becca Smith, and I was in Cancun looking for the assassin who killed my father, a respected member of the CIA. I believe the assassin who targeted Sawyer was the same mercenary who killed my father. Unfortunately, he died before we could find out who hired him to do the job. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I want to get back to DC and see if I can pick up the trail from a different direction.”

Commander Jacobs held up his hand. “Hold your horses, young lady. Like I said before, nobody is going anywhere. You do realize you’ll all be questioned in regard to the airplane you were flying in. And, by the way, you haven’t gotten to letting me know how you managed to be returning to the States in a private jet.”

Becca held up her hand. “I can explain that one. My boss offered to fly us back after all that happened in Cancun.”

“Who the hell do you work for? The president?” the CO asked.

“No, sir,” Becca said. “But my boss has connections in the government. I’m not at liberty to share his identity or the organization for which I work. I’d have to get permission from my boss.”

Commander Jacobs crossed the room and stood toe-to-toe with her.

Becca lifted her chin and stared straight into his eyes, refusing to back down or be cowed by the man who towered over her.

“Well, I sure as hell don’t have the answers to the questions the FAA will have about that aircraft. I suggest you get your boss on the line, ASAP.”

“Do you have a phone I can borrow?” She fished hers out of her pocket. “Mine went for a swim with me.”

Quentin chuckled, the sound sending warmth through Becca’s chest.

“Chief Petty Officer Quentin, do you find something funny about this situation?” Commander Jacobs glared at him. “Because I sure as hell don’t.”

“No, sir.” Quentin wiped the smirk off his face and stood at attention.

“Then show this woman to a telephone so that she can call home,” Commander Jacobs snapped.

“On it.” Quentin held out his hand.

Becca took his hand and let him lead her out of the room. Once in the hallway, she asked, “Is he always that cranky?”

“Only when he doesn’t know what’s going on. We should have reported in sooner.”

Quentin led her into an office with a telephone. “Dial 9 to get an outside line. I’ll leave you to it.” He stepped into the hallway and pulled the door closed behind him.

Alone at last, still damp with swamp water in her hair and clothes, Becca lifted the telephone and dialed 9 and Royce’s cell phone number.

He answered on the first ring. “Yeah.”

“It’s Smith,” she said.

“Smith, what’s going on? The tracking device on the plane blinked out before you were due to land in Mississippi. Is everything all right?”

“No, sir. We think the plane was shot down.” She explained what happened and their subsequent attack by the helicopter. “You might want to be here to explain the private plane and who it belongs to. The FAA and the Department of Homeland Security will be all over what happened.”

“I’m on my way. I should be there early in the morning, if you can hold off the wolves until then.”

“I’ll do the best I can,” Becca said. “When the FAA and DHS are done with us, I’d like to get back to DC and see if I can drum up another lead to follow. Whoever is behind my father’s death could possibly be after me now.”

“You’re probably right. In which case, I need to assign an agent to protect you.”

“I don’t need anyone to protect me.”

“Yes, you do,” a voice said behind her.

Becca spun toward the door.

Quentin stood in the half-opened doorway. “Sorry to eavesdrop, but the CO is getting restless.”

“Becca, is that one of the navy SEALs?” Royce asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Let me talk to him.”

“Sir—” Becca hesitated.

“Hand him the phone, Smith,” Royce commanded.

Becca held out the receiver. “My boss wants to talk to you.”

Quentin entered the room, closed the door and raised the receiver to his ear. “Yes, sir.”

Becca strained to hear what her boss was saying to Quentin.

“Chief Petty Officer Quentin Lovett, sir.” He listened for a moment and then smiled. “I’d be happy to. No sir, I’m still on leave for a couple days, if my commander doesn’t cancel it.” He nodded. “I will, sir. No. Thank you.” He handed the receiver to Becca.

She frowned, not liking that Royce hadn’t told her what he wanted to talk to Quentin about. “Sir, I need to get back to the debriefing.”

“Smith, Lovett has offered to be your bodyguard. I want you to stick to him like flypaper.”

“But, sir.”

“No buts. All other agents are assigned at this time.”

“What about Natalie Layne? She could be my bodyguard.”

“She’s not officially on board. I have to bring her back on the payroll before I can assign her.”

“Quentin isn’t on your payroll,” she pointed out.

“No, but he offered to spend his leave taking care of you. Let him.”

“But—”

“I’m on my way. See you in the morning.” A loud click indicated the end of the call. Becca stared at the receiver a moment before replacing it in the cradle.

“Looks like you and I will be together a little longer.”

Becca spun to face him.

The man leaned his back against the door, his arms crossed over his chest.

Anger rushed up Becca’s chest, filling her cheeks with heat. “Like hell we are.” She marched up to him. “Move.”

He stepped aside and opened the door. “Where are you going?”

“Anywhere but in the same room with you.”

He raised his hands. “Hey, your boss asked me to look out for you, not the other way around.”

She stared at him through narrowed eyes. “I don’t care what he said. I have work to do.”

“You heard the commander. No one goes anywhere until the FAA and DHS go through the motions.”

“The sooner the better. And then I’m out of here.”

“Not without me.”

“We’ll see about that.” She marched past him and down the hallway toward the war room. The man was far too infuriating for Becca. He was irritating, persistent and annoying.

In the back of her mind she heard another voice extolling his virtues of bravery, determination and concerned for the welfare of others. She might not be alive if he hadn’t jumped into the alligator-infested swamp after her, or if he hadn’t gone in again to pull their life raft to the shadows of the trees.

Well, damn. Just when she thought she’d get away from him and his band of brothers, she’d been ordered to stay put by her boss. In the morning, when Royce arrived, she’d have to get him to call off the SEAL so that she could get on with her search to find her father’s killer. She didn’t have time to get involved with a sexy SEAL. His broad shoulders and tempting smile were beginning to wear on her. She had to get away before she did something dumb like kiss him.

Chapter Three

Three hours later, after they’d answered what questions they could for the FAA, DHS, county sheriff, state police and everyone else who could possibly be involved, they were finally allowed to leave the base.

Quentin needed a shower. He smelled like swamp water and, despite his discomfort, he was hungry. He could imagine Becca felt the same. Her anger seemed to have dissipated as the day wore into evening.

“Some of us are headed to the Shoot the Bull Bar for a beer. Are you coming?” Jace asked.

Quentin shook his head. “I need a shower and a gallon of coffee, not booze.”

Becca rose from the conference table and stretched. Even in a swamp-water-dingy white blouse and wrinkled trousers, her dark hair in funky disarray, she was a beauty.

His groin tightened at the thought he would be spending the night in the same building as her, possibly the same room.

Rip entered the war room and handed Quentin a cup of coffee. “I’m headed to the bar, but I can drop you at your apartment on the way.”

“You are a lifesaver.” Quentin wrapped his hand around the cup and inhaled the fragrant scent. “And yes, I’ll take you up on that ride as soon as I convince Becca she’s coming with us.”

Rip grinned. “Did you score in Cancun?”

Quentin winced when Becca joined them at that exact moment. “No, he did not score, nor will he. If you don’t mind, could you drop me at a hotel?”

“Sure,” Rip responded.

“Then you’ll have to drop me there, too.” Quentin turned to Becca. “I’m not leaving you alone. Either you stay at my place where I have two bedrooms, or I stay with you in your room at a hotel.”

“I’m not staying in the same room as you, Loverboy,” she said.

“So you’re telling me you want to stay in my apartment?”

“No. I didn’t say that.”

He leaned close to her. “Just so you know, when I give my word, I keep it.”

“And like I told Royce, I don’t need a bodyguard. We don’t even know why they shot down the plane. It could have been someone after Sawyer, not me.”

“Or it could have been you since you’re on the trail of whoever hired the assassin who killed your father.” Quentin crossed his arms over his chest. “Your choice. Togetherness in one hotel room, or sleeping in separate rooms in my apartment.”

Becca’s lips pressed into a thin line. She waited twenty of Quentin’s heartbeats before she finally said, “Fine. Your place. But I’m not sleeping with you.”

“You hear that, Duff?” Rip grinned. “A female who isn’t falling for Loverboy’s killer charm. This has to be a first.” Rip turned to Quentin, shaking his head. “What happened in Mexico? Are you losing your touch?”

Quentin ignored Rip’s comment and raised his brows at Becca. “I didn’t ask you to sleep with me. Besides, who said I wanted to sleep with you?”

Rip clapped a hand on Quentin’s back. “If you two have things figured out, I’d like to leave while we can.”

“We’re ready.” Becca sailed past Quentin and Rip and marched down the hall.

Quentin stood for a moment, admiring the view of her swaying hips.

Duff clamped a hand on Quentin’s shoulder. “Forget it, she’s not that into you.”

“Oh, she is,” Quentin said. “She just doesn’t know it yet.”

“That’s right, feed the ego, Loverboy.” Duff walked with him to the exit. “If you want to win her over, my advice to you is to get a shower. The only female you’re going to attract smelling like you do is a female gator.”

Outside, the parking lot was slowly clearing of the emergency and government vehicles. Rip hit the button to remotely unlock his truck. When the taillights blinked, Becca headed in that direction.

Before Quentin could open the door for her, Becca was inside, adjusting her seatbelt in the front passenger seat.

Quentin climbed into the backseat behind her.

Rip slipped behind the wheel. “So, Becca, is it?”

“Don’t feel obligated to engage in small talk,” she said. “It’s been a long day.”

“Gotcha,” Rip said, a smile spreading across his face. He shot a glance at Quentin in the rearview mirror. “She’s a real ball-buster, isn’t she?”

Quentin ignored him. It had been a long day and he was tired of the smell and stickiness of his clothing against his skin. The sooner he got a shower, the more human he’d feel. Then he could continue his campaign to win over the pretty secret agent.

Rip pulled up in front of his apartment building. “Got a key, or did it go down with the plane?”

Quentin nodded. “I have a spare.”

“Under the welcome mat?” Rip asked.

“Something like that,” he replied.

“In this day and age, you’re willing to risk someone finding your spare key?” Becca frowned. “Maybe the hotel is a better idea.”

“We’re here. Give my apartment a chance. If you don’t like it, I’ll drive you to the hotel myself.” Quentin got out, opened Becca’s door and held it while she climbed down. “Thanks, Rip.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Rip said with a grin. Then his face sobered. “Hey, and if you need anything just yell. Hopefully, whoever took a shot at the team won’t try picking you off one at time.” Rip drove off, leaving Quentin with Becca. Alone.

Quentin had been thinking along the same lines. If someone was truly after Becca or the SEAL team, they’d gone to a whole lot of trouble to take them out with a fiery plane wreck and helicopter attack. After the failed attempt, wouldn’t they come after them again in a subtler attack?

Perhaps staying alone in his apartment wasn’t such a good idea after all. Granted, Montana lived in the same apartment building. Though Montana had opted to have a beer with the guys at the Shoot the Bull, he’d be back later. Since he was on the same floor of the apartment complex, he’d be within shouting distance should Quentin and Becca run into trouble.

With a sigh, Becca faced the building “Which one is yours?”

Quentin hooked her elbow. “I’ll show you.” He led her to his door and reached up to the porch light fixture and pulled the spare key from between the base plate and the wall. “See? Not under the mat.”

“I feel so much better,” Becca said, her voice dripping sarcasm.

“Great. We can get this evening off to a good start with the right attitude.”

“The only thing that will improve my attitude is a long soak in a hot shower followed by a glass of wine.”

He opened the door and reached inside to flip the light switch.

Becca entered and stared around at the small but comfortable room. “Are you sure you live here?”

“Yes, of course. Why?” He closed the door behind him and glanced around, trying to see the room through her eyes.

“It’s...too...” she waved a hand at the room “...clean.”

Quentin shrugged and stepped past her. “Not all men are slobs.”

“Yeah, but this is almost sterile. I feel like I have to take off my shoes before I step inside.” She toed the back of her shoe. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea, considering where they’ve been.” Barefoot, she walked through the living room and peered into one of the bedrooms.

“That’s mine. You can sleep there or in the other room. Your choice. There’s only one bathroom, shared between the two bedrooms.” He unbuttoned his shirt as he walked into the small kitchen. “You can have the first shower, while I open a bottle of wine.”

“Thanks. I’ll take you up on both offers.” She headed straight for the spare bedroom, entering the bathroom from there. Before she closed the door, she called out, “I’ll try to save you some hot water.” Without looking back, she closed the door.

A moment later, Quentin heard the snick of the door being closed on the other side of the Jack-and-Jill bathroom—the door leading into his bedroom. Then he heard the sound of the shower spray.

Quentin had the bottle out of the cabinet and two glasses on the counter when he realized Becca didn’t have clothes to change into.

He entered his room and riffled through his dresser for a soft T-shirt for her to sleep in. He’d offer her pajama bottoms to go with it but he didn’t own a pair. Instead, he grabbed a pair of clean running shorts with an adjustable drawstring. With the clothing in hand, he knocked on the bathroom door.

“I’m not done yet,” Becca called out.

Quentin tried the bathroom doorknob in the guest bedroom, surprised to find it unlocked. He twisted the knob and pushed it open a crack.

Becca poked her head around the shower curtain. “What are you doing?”

“I brought clothes for you, unless you prefer to sleep in the buff.”

She frowned at his offering and then nodded. “Thanks. You can leave them on the counter.” The curtain whipped back in place.

Quentin set the shirt and shorts on the counter and turned. Though he couldn’t see through the shower curtain, he could clearly see the outline of Becca’s naked body.

His heart skipped several beats and his blood raced south, tightening his groin. Yeah, she had all the right curves in all the right places.

A sopping wet rag flew over the top of the curtain rod and smacked him in the side of his head.

“Out!” Becca demanded.

“Going.” Quentin left the bathroom and returned to the kitchen where he poured a large glass of wine and called in an order for pizza to be delivered. He had no intention of going back out and he didn’t have much in the way of food in his refrigerator, having emptied it prior to the planned two-week vacation in Mexico, which had been cut short by all that had happened.

As he drank his wine, his gaze fixed on the bathroom door, his mind conjuring the silhouette of Becca standing behind the shower curtain. He had to have her. A thousand seduction scenarios ran through his head, many of which had been successful in the past with other women. But Becca was different.

The woman wanted nothing to do with him.

She’d be a challenge, but one worthy of the effort to win.

* * *

BECCA SCRUBBED THE swamp smell out of her hair and grabbed the soap, working up a good lather. As she smoothed it over her body, she was entirely too aware of the man on the other side of the door. As a physical specimen, he was perfect, and he wasn’t a slob like most men she knew.

If she wasn’t searching for her father’s murderer, she might be open to flirting with Quentin. Maybe even sleeping with him. At the thought of her father, her chest tightened and her hand stilled. He’d been her only family.

Becca prided herself on her independence, but she’d always had the safety net of her father. He’d said if she needed him, he’d be there for her. Well, he wasn’t anymore.

Tears welled in her eyes and she dashed them away. Agents didn’t cry.

She turned the heat down on the shower, and rinsed the soap from her hair and body, reminding herself why she was there and what she had to do.

Becca stepped out of the shower, toweled herself dry and finger-combed her hair into some semblance of order. Then she reached for the clothes Quentin had thoughtfully provided. The soft-white T-shirt smelled clean and freshly laundered, unlike the clothes she’d left piled on the floor, destined for the washer.

She pulled the T-shirt over her head and let it slide down her body, imagining how differently it would fit over Quentin’s broad, muscular chest. On her, it draped loosely over her breasts and down to mid-thigh. She could wear it as a nightgown, all by itself. But Quentin had provided shorts, as well.

She pulled them up over her hips and cinched the drawstring around her waist to keep them from falling off. Completely covered, Becca still felt somewhat exposed. She didn’t have panties or a clean bra beneath the shirt and shorts. The thought of stepping out of the bathroom into the living room where Quentin was made her nipples tighten under the soft cotton fabric.

Great. He’ll think I’m turned on by him. She had to admit she was attracted to the man, but he didn’t need to know that. He’d probably press the advantage and sooner or later, she’d cave to his dogged determination to get her into his bed.

Becca pressed her hands over her breasts, hoping to warm them and make them quit puckering. But the more she touched them, the more she imagined Quentin’s hands there and the tighter her nipples beaded.

Giving up, she plucked the shirt away from her chest and curved her shoulders inward, hoping to hide the telltale sign of her awareness of the man. Twisting the towel around her hair, turban-style, she straightened—clean, refreshed and ready to face the world and Quentin.

She gathered her soiled clothing in one arm, sucked in a breath and opened the door. Despite her determination to face Quentin head-on, she felt more vulnerable than she had in the alligator-infested swamp as she walked barefooted through the bedroom and out into the living room.

Quentin emerged from the small kitchen, carrying two glasses of wine, one of which was halfway gone. He’d shed his shirt, displaying a wide expanse of a tanned muscular chest. “Feel better?”

“Much.” She took the goblet he proffered and focused her attention on the liquid in the glass, trying, but not succeeding in avoiding looking at Quentin’s gorgeous body. The red wine warmed her insides enough she lifted her head. “You don’t happen to have a washer and dryer in your apartment, do you?”

“I do. In the back of the kitchen. There’s detergent and fabric softener in the cabinet over the washer. Help yourself.”

“Thanks. If you throw your clothes out of the bathroom, I’ll put them in with mine.” Becca crossed to the kitchen and set her glass on the counter.

“I’ll only be a minute in the shower,” Quentin said on his way to the bathroom. He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “I called for pizza, I hope that’s okay with you. Sorry, we don’t have any other food delivery service in the backwaters of Mississippi.”

She smiled. “I love pizza as long as it has pepperoni.”

“Good, because that’s what I got.” He nodded toward the kitchen bar. “There’s money on the counter. I don’t have to tell you to look before you open the door. With all that’s happened, you can’t be too cautious.”

She nodded. “Right. I’ll pay you back when Royce gets here.”

“My treat. It’ll be our first date.”

She frowned, but couldn’t find it in her heart to be mad at him. He’d offered his apartment, his clothes and his protection, and he hadn’t made another pass at her since she’d arrived.

Quentin disappeared into his bedroom, leaving the bedroom door open, but closing the door to the bathroom behind him.

Becca unwound the towel from her head and shook out her damp hair. Come to think of it, he hadn’t even tried to coerce her into kissing him since Royce had asked him to be her bodyguard. Now that Quentin wasn’t pressuring her, Becca had the odd sensation of missing his teasing and coy remarks.

The door opened and a pair of jeans landed on the floor.

Becca hurried forward to gather the clothes.

As Becca entered his bedroom, Quentin stuck half of his body through the opening, stopping short of exposing his private parts.

Becca’s pulse quickened and she drew in a sharp breath, her gaze drifting down his torso to the slice of hip and thigh visible through the crack in the door.

Quentin winked. “Like what you see?”

Caught staring like a teenaged girl in the boys’ locker room, Becca blushed. At a complete loss for words, she threw her towel at him, spun away and closed the bedroom door behind her with a snap.

A bark of laughter erupted behind her through the thick panels of both doors.

“Egotistical jerk,” she shouted.

He laughed again.

Pressing her palms to her cheeks, Becca entered the kitchen in search of the washing machine. She found it behind a louvered door, threw her dirty clothing into the tub and started the water, trying to forget what she’d seen and heard. It was hard. The man didn’t have an ounce of fat on his body and his thighs were just as muscular as his upper body. She could imagine what it would feel like to lie next to him, naked. Her softer body against his chiseled one.

Becca groaned. Thoughts like that would get her nowhere. No, they would get her into trouble, make her lose focus and forget why she was there in the first place.

She marched back across the living room, gathered Quentin’s jeans and returned to the washer. Once she had the load going, she wandered around the kitchen, opening cabinet doors. Every dish, glass, cup and spice was placed neatly on the shelves. The man obviously believed in order and structure.

Becca did, too. Unfortunately, she hadn’t had much of it since her father’s death. Everything about her life was out of kilter. The lead she’d gotten from one of Royce’s informants had led her to Cancun following the trail of a mercenary thought to be the one who’d shot her father in cold blood.

In Cancun, she’d stumbled upon the group of SEALs, one of whom was yet another target of the mercenary. Becca had helped them solve that case, but the killer she’d hoped to question had died in the subsequent firefight. With a trail gone cold, she’d been eager to return to the States and dig for more clues as to who had hired her father’s murderer.

She hadn’t planned on the plane she was in being shot down, nor did she have any contingency in her schedule to fend off a growing desire for the SEAL Royce had tagged with providing her protection.

Other than the neatness and orderly appearance of the apartment, there wasn’t much else in the way of personal items that could give her anymore insight into Quentin Lovett.

While the SEAL was in the shower, Becca wandered into his bedroom. Here, the king-sized bed was neatly made, the pillows stacked by size against the headboard. Becca couldn’t tell by looking at the mattress which side of the bed Quentin preferred to sleep on, or if he slept in the center. Becca preferred the left side. Not that which side Quentin slept on would pose an issue. Becca had no intention of sleeping with the man.

In his closet, all of his uniforms were pressed and hanging neatly, boots and shoes lined up on the floor. His civilian clothing hung by type and color. For what appeared to be a man with OCD tendencies, he was somewhat of an enigma. How had he come to be a navy SEAL, dealing in the chaos and messiness of war?

The water switched off in the bathroom.

Becca hurried guiltily back to the kitchen near the washer. She didn’t want Quentin to know she’d been snooping in his bedroom. He’d be drying off, rubbing the towel over all those lovely muscles across his chest, down his torso and across—

The doorbell rang, interrupting Becca’s lusty thoughts. She jumped. For a moment she’d forgotten about the pizza delivery. Her stomach growled, a reminder that she hadn’t eaten since the muffin she’d had in Cancun early that morning. She grabbed the bills Quentin had left on the counter and hurried toward the door.

A quick peek through the peephole reassured her the young man was indeed from the restaurant, complete with a uniform shirt bearing the name of a pizza establishment written in bold yellow lettering.

Becca slid the chain loose and twisted the deadbolt. When she turned the door handle, the door exploded inward, catching her across the side of her face, knocking her off balance. She squealed, stumbled backward and tipped over the arm of the sofa, landing on her back.

Two men dressed all in black from the tops of their heads to the tips of their toes rushed in, both carrying handguns.

With no time to think, Becca rolled off the couch onto the hardwood floor and shoved the couch as hard as she could toward the advancing men as they aimed their guns at her. Becca somersaulted across the floor and ducked behind a lounge chair.

The couch hit the men in the thighs as they fired their weapons, throwing off their aim. But it wouldn’t take them long to regain their balance and fire again. The lounge chair wouldn’t stop bullets, only slow them down. She had to get to a safer place.

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