Sealed with a promise Read online




  Mary Margret Daughtridge

  SEALed With A Promise

  СОДЕРЖАНИЕ

  Pro­lo­gue

  Chap­ter 1

  Chap­ter 2

  Chap­ter 3

  Chap­ter 4

  Chap­ter 5

  Chap­ter 6

  Chap­ter 7

  Chap­ter 8

  Chap­ter 9

  Chap­ter 10

  Chap­ter 11

  Chap­ter 12

  Chap­ter 13

  Chap­ter 14

  Chap­ter 15

  Chap­ter 16

  Chap­ter 17

  Chap­ter 18

  Chap­ter 19

  Chap­ter 20

  Chap­ter 21

  Chap­ter 22

  Chap­ter 23

  Chap­ter 24

  Chap­ter 25

  Chap­ter 26

  Chap­ter 27

  Chap­ter 28

  Chap­ter 29

  Chap­ter 30

  Chap­ter 31

  Chap­ter 32

  Chap­ter 33

  Chap­ter 34

  Chap­ter 35

  Chap­ter 36

  Chap­ter 37

  Epi­lo­gue

  SE­ALed With A Kiss

  SOURCEBOOKS CASABLANCA"

  An Im­p­rint of So­ur­ce­bo­oks, Inc.' Na­per­vil­le, Il­li­no­is

  Cop­y­right © 2009 by Mary Mar­g­ret Da­ug­h­t­rid­ge

  Co­ver and in­ter­nal de­sign © 2009 by So­ur­ce­bo­oks, Inc.

  Co­ver pho­to © Max­fx/d­re­am­s­ti­me.com, Fin­tas­ti­qu/d­re­am­s­ti­me.com

  So­ur­ce­bo­oks and the co­lop­hon are re­gis­te­red tra­de­marks of So­ur­ce­bo­oks, Inc.

  All rights re­ser­ved. No part of this bo­ok may be rep­ro­du­ced in any form or by any elec­t­ro­nic or mec­ha­ni­cal me­ans in­c­lu­ding in­for­ma­ti­on sto­ra­ge and ret­ri­eval systems-ex­cept in the ca­se of bri­ef qu­ota­ti­ons em­bo­di­ed in cri­ti­cal ar­tic­les or re­vi­ews-wit­ho­ut per­mis­si­on in wri­ting from its pub­lis­her, So­ur­ce­bo­oks, Inc.

  The cha­rac­ters and events por­t­ra­yed in this bo­ok are fic­ti­ti­o­us or are used fic­ti­ti­o­usly. Any si­mi­la­rity to re­al per­sons, li­ving or de­ad, is pu­rely co­in­ci­den­tal and not in­ten­ded by the aut­hor.

  Pub­lis­hed by So­ur­ce­bo­oks Ca­sab­lan­ca, an im­p­rint of So­ur­ce­bo­oks, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Na­per­vil­le, Il­li­no­is 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  FAX: (630) 961-2168

  www.so­ur­ce­bo­oks.com

  Lib­rary of Con­g­ress Ca­ta­lo­ging-in-Pub­li­ca­ti­on Da­ta

  Da­ug­h­t­rid­ge, Mary Mar­g­ret. SE­ALed with a pro­mi­se / Mary Mar­g­ret Da­ug­h­t­rid­ge.

  p. cm. 1. Uni­ted Sta­tes. Navy. SE­ALs-Fic­ti­on. 2. Wo­men col­le­ge te­ac­hers- Fic­ti­on. 3. Il­le­gi­ti­macy-Fic­ti­on. 4. Re­ven­ge-Fic­ti­on. I. Tit­le. PS3604.A92S435 2009 813’.6-dc22

  2008041433

  Prin­ted and bo­und in the Uni­ted Sta­tes of Ame­ri­ca QW 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  For Pat,

  Whose name should be beside friendship in every

  dictionary, because she defines it.

  Prologue

  Chi­ef Petty Of­fi­cer Ca­leb “Do-Lord” Du­la­ude al­ways sa­id if he ever saw Te­ague Cal­ho­un aga­in, he’d kill him. Do-Lord huf­fed a mir­t­h­less chuc­k­le and sho­ok his he­ad. Wo­uldn’t you know fa­te wo­uld test his re­sol­ve when he had an M-14 rif­le in his hand?

  In less than fi­ve mi­nu­tes, Cal­ho­un, a Uni­ted Sta­tes Se­na­tor with his es­cort of se­cu­rity con­t­rac­tors, wo­uld co­me thro­ugh the brass do­ors of the best ho­tel in Kan­da­har.

  All SE­ALs res­pec­ted Murphy’s Law the way they did the law of gra­vity. Ac­cor­ding to Murphy an­y­t­hing that can go wrong, will go wrong, and at the worst pos­sib­le mo­ment. Murphy must ha­ve wor­ked over­ti­me to ar­ran­ge this. The third flo­or ro­om of a bom­bed out scho­ol, whe­re Do-Lord and his spot­ter wa­ited, of­fe­red the per­fect van­ta­ge po­int for a sni­per tar­ge­ting an­yo­ne exi­ting the ho­tel-one re­ason Do-Lord’s com­man­ding of­fi­cer, Jax Gra­ham, had ma­de su­re his te­am com­man­ded it. Jax was po­si­ti­oned in a win­dow ac­ross the pla­za. Ot­her SE­ALs we­re scat­te­red among the pe­des­t­ri­ans who thron­ged the bar­ri­ca­ded stre­et.

  The only prob­lem was that Do-Lord’s ro­le was to pro­tect Cal­ho­un from as­sas­si­na­ti­on-not do the job him­self. The black plas­tic bar­rel grip of his sni­per rif­le was slick with swe­at aga­in. Do-Lord wi­ped it, then rub­bed his Kev­lar-glo­ved hands, trig­ger fin­ger re­mo­ved, on the pants of his de­sert ca­mo­uf­la­ge BDUs.

  “Hot up he­re,” whis­pe­red War­ren, his spot­ter, tho­ugh no one in the pla­za three sto­ri­es be­low co­uld ha­ve he­ard a nor­mal vo­ice. They we­re ma­king no ef­fort to hi­de, but still War­ren clung to the sha­dows as he chec­ked dis­tan­ces with his ran­ge fin­der. He ga­ve Do-Lord a me­asu­ring glan­ce. “You okay?”

  Gu­ilt, as unu­su­al as it was un­wel­co­me, stab­bed Do-Lord. He sho­uld be thin­king of not­hing but the task and how to meld his ac­ti­ons in­to se­am­less te­am­work with the ot­hers.

  From the day he was eig­h­te­en he had wan­ted not­hing mo­re than to be one of the­se men, the­se SE­ALs, the war­ri­or eli­te of the world. The­se ex­t­ra­or­di­nary men had all the strength, cun­ning, and mas­tery of we­apons a boy­ho­od spent on the dirty frin­ges of so­ci­ety had ta­ught him to res­pect. He had co­me to them to­ugh. He had al­re­ady known how to push him­self past be­ing wet, cold, hungry, and ex­ha­us­ted. And he had co­me stre­et­s­mart. From the ti­me he was ten, he had simply do­ne what he had to, ne­it­her crin­ging from ne­ces­sity, nor lo­oking back with reg­ret. To be one of them, he had rut­h­les­sly eli­mi­na­ted his past, and his es­sen­ti­al prag­ma­tism had sto­od him in go­od ste­ad.

  The past he had loc­ked away had sta­yed away. He had be­co­me a SE­AL and a go­od one. In the pro­cess, al­most aga­inst his will, he had ac­qu­ired con­cepts li­ke ho­nor, ac­co­un­ta­bi­lity, trust, and pri­de. As the ye­ars had go­ne by, he had felt that the man he was had less and less in com­mon with the boy he had be­en.

  Now it was as if the sin­g­le-min­ded clo­sing of the do­ors to his past had ne­ver hap­pe­ned. He pul­sed with old an­ger. An­ger he tho­ught go­ne, for­got­ten, me­anin­g­less.

  And gu­ilt that he co­uld con­tem­p­la­te aban­do­ning his tra­ining to­re at his gut li­ke gro­und glass.

  If he told War­ren a tenth of what was go­ing on, he wo­uld be re­mo­ved from duty in­s­tantly. Wit­ho­ut ta­king his eyes from the dusty, rub­ble-st­rewn pla­za, Do-Lord lif­ted his thumb in as­sent.

  No mat­ter what he did when Cal­ho­un ap­pe­ared, he was go­ing to ha­ve a hard ti­me li­ving with him­self.

  Well, at le­ast he wasn’t bo­red an­y­mo­re.

  La­tely, it was har­der and har­der to ke­ep his mind on track.

  He was just ti­red, he told him­self. Jax had cal­led him a su­per-com­pu­ter this mor­ning, and he felt li­ke one: a lap­top that had be­en run­ning off bat­te­ri­es far too long, and was clo­se to shut­ting down. He was re­ady for dep­loy­ment in this se­re, harsh, be­a­uti­ful co­untry to be over. He didn’t get lo­nely and ho­me­sick as so­me of his bud­di­es did. The Te­ams we­re his ho­me, his fel­low SE­ALs his fa­mily. So it sto­od to re­ason that when he was sick of a dep­loy­me
nt, what he wo­uld fe­el wo­uld be bo­re­dom. So­me­ti­mes when they we­re on pat­rol in the mo­un­ta­ins, he ima­gi­ned the grey and tan and oc­h­re lan­d­s­ca­pe of sharp crags and black sha­dows was the mo­on. But when he tri­ed to ima­gi­ne what ali­ens hid in the sha­dows, he cut off his mind’s at­tempts to es­ca­pe. An­y­body who didn’t stay in the he­re and now fo­cu­sed on what was re­al co­uld find them­sel­ves de­ad in a he­ar­t­be­at.

  At oh- dark-thirty this mor­ning Do-Lord had stum­b­led in­to the bri­efing ro­om, whe­re Jax al­re­ady sat clic­king thro­ugh pa­ges on his lap­top. He sho­uld ha­ve felt a lit­tle kick of an­ti­ci­pa­ti­on, a ri­sing of the blo­od. Jax wo­uldn’t ha­ve sent a ye­oman to wa­ken him for any ro­uti­ne mat­ter. But wha­te­ver was go­ing down, he had lit­tle en­t­hu­si­asm for.

  “What’s up?” He rub­bed his freshly sha­ven che­eks, trying to wa­ke up. Af­ter months of let­ting his be­ard grow, the bet­ter to blend in whe­re most men we­re be­ar­ded, the smo­oth skin felt stran­ge. “So­met­hing tells me you’re not trying to get a leg up on yo­ur post-dep­loy­ment pa­per­work.”

  Jax lo­oked as if he’d ne­ver go­ne to bed. He sho­ok his he­ad in dis­gust. “Sin­ce we ship ho­me to­mor­row, the po­wers that be ha­ve de­ci­ded we don’t ha­ve an­y­t­hing to do.”

  “Me­aning we’ve drawn a job no­body el­se wants.”

  “You’ve got it. We’re tas­ked to pro­vi­de pe­ri­me­ter se­cu­rity for a vi­si­ting con­g­res­sman,” Jax pa­used, and sif­ted thro­ugh a pi­le of fa­xes. “He­re.” He pas­sed Do-Lord a bio with pho­tog­raph. “Se­na­tor Cal­ho­un of North Ca­ro­li­na. In­tel has cre­dib­le re­ports a ter­ro­rist cell plans an as­sas­si­na­ti­on at­tempt.”

  Cold swe­at bro­ke out on the small of Do-Lord’s back. He to­ok the bio and sank in­to one of the rol­ling cha­irs that sur­ro­un­ded the tab­le wit­ho­ut wa­iting for per­mis­si­on. Jax and he had ne­ver sto­od on ce­re­mony when alo­ne, and Do-Lord wasn’t su­re his legs wo­uld hold him.

  “Do you know him?” Jax’s gray eyes nar­ro­wed. “You’ve got a funny lo­ok on yo­ur fa­ce.”

  Jax was his best fri­end as well as his CO. An­ti­a­ut­ho­ri­ta­ri­an to the bo­ne, Do-Lord wo­uldn’t ha­ve ma­de it thro­ugh BUD/S, the ba­sic SE­AL tra­ining, wit­ho­ut Jax’s help. For one crazy mo­ment Do-Lord con­tem­p­la­ted tel­ling Jax ever­y­t­hing.

  But a chil­d­ho­od of con­fi­ding in no one, of ma­king his li­fe lo­ok nor­mal so So­ci­al Ser­vi­ces wo­uldn’t be cal­led, had bu­ilt a wall that co­uldn’t be sca­led-not in the few mo­ments be­fo­re the ot­hers ar­ri­ved. Do-Lord for­ced his fa­ce in­to his tra­de­mark eas­y­go­ing smi­le. “Know who he is, of co­ur­se.”

  Ever­y­body knew who the se­na­tor was. He was on se­ve­ral of the most in­f­lu­en­ti­al se­na­te com­mit­te­es, in­c­lu­ding the de­fen­se bud­get. He was known for his abi­lity to grab he­ad­li­nes. Po­li­ti­cal pun­dits spe­cu­la­ted that he was al­re­ady run­ning for pre­si­dent even tho­ugh the elec­ti­on was a co­up­le of ye­ars away. And now Do-Lord had to plan how his te­am wo­uld pro­tect the bas­tard.

  “I know that su­per-com­pu­ter bra­in of yo­urs has al­re­ady fi­gu­red out why I wan­ted you to get he­re first. He­re are sa­tel­li­te pho­tos of the squ­are,” Jax went on. “Work out pla­ce­ments for War­ren, Barry, and the rest. We ha­ve to trust yo­ur abi­lity to vi­su­ali­ze. The­re’s no ti­me to run a re­he­ar­sal. As so­on as the guys get up, we’ll bri­ef, and then the­re’s just eno­ugh ti­me to get in­to po­si­ti­on. I want you on sni­per,” he ad­ded.

  All SE­ALs we­re ex­pert mar­k­s­men, but even among them, Do-Lord was an ac­k­now­led­ged top gun. Do-Lord had known Jax wo­uld want him for sni­per from the first words out of his mo­uth. And yet when Jax con­fir­med his hypot­he­sis, for the se­cond ti­me Do-Lord al­most spo­ke up to tell his fri­end why he co­uldn’t see Te­ague Cal­ho­un with a gun in his hand.

  But he didn’t.

  Jax lo­oked ex­ha­us­ted. Not just from one night of mis­sed sle­ep. He was ti­red, as they all we­re with the­ir dep­loy­ment al­most at an end, but in ad­di­ti­on, he’d flown ho­me ten days ago when the de­ath of his ex-wi­fe left his fo­ur-ye­ar-old son Tyler mot­her­less. He’d at­ten­ded the fu­ne­ral, ma­de ar­ran­ge­ments for Tyler to li­ve with his gran­d­mot­her tem­po­ra­rily, and co­me back-all in fo­ur days. He didn’t ha­ve to. Dep­loy­ment co­uld ha­ve be­en over for him. But as long as they we­re in harm’s way, Jax co­uldn’t aban­don his pla­to­on. Lo­oking af­ter his men me­ant ever­y­t­hing to Jax. They co­uld al­ways de­pend on him.

  How co­uld Do-Lord tell Jax not to de­pend on him this ti­me? Ke­eping the unit re­ady to ope­ra­te at all ti­mes was a chi­ef’s job. The­re wasn’t an­y­body el­se Jax co­uld call on. Jason Hew was al­most as go­od a shot, but he had an eye in­fec­ti­on. By no­on the pla­za wo­uld throng with pe­op­le. No ran­dom or mis­sed shots co­uld be al­lo­wed to put in­no­cent pe­op­le in dan­ger.

  How co­uld he tell the man he trus­ted with his li­fe, “Don’t trust me”? Jax ne­eded him to pull his we­ight, not turn him­self in­to an emo­ti­onal li­abi­lity.

  Do- Lord knew whe­re his duty as a SE­AL lay. To for­ge a bunch of al­p­ha ma­les in­to a unit that wo­uld act as a te­am at all ti­mes. BUD/S in­s­t­ruc­tors dro­ve ho­me the les­son aga­in and aga­in. Whe­re one fa­iled, all wo­uld pay. But for the first ti­me in ye­ars, the an­ger thre­ate­ned to find its way to the sur­fa­ce. He wan­ted to do so­met­hing not in the te­am’s best in­te­rests.

  The di­lem­ma ma­de him fe­el rip­ped in two, but as Sa­mu­el Joh­n­son sa­id abo­ut han­ging, it won­der­ful­ly con­cen­t­ra­ted the mind. He wasn’t bo­red an­y­mo­re.

  He wa­ited in the hot wind that whis­t­led thro­ugh the blank win­dows of what had on­ce be­en a scho­ol. He wa­ited li­ke the sni­per he was, re­ady for the mo­ment when the tar­get wo­uld ap­pe­ar. No sir­ree. He was not bo­red.

  “Show­ti­me,” Jax’s vo­ice, de­ad le­vel calm, spo­ke softly in Do-Lord’s ear­pi­ece. “They’ll be at the do­or in two mi­nu­tes. If In­tel’s so­ur­ces are go­od, the­re’s a tan­go in this crowd plan­ning as­sas­si­na­ti­on. He won’t ca­re who el­se he kills. No­body go to sle­ep on me. We’ll ha­ve twenty se­conds to get it right.”

  Do- Lord swept the pla­za with his ga­ze. The­re was Gon­zo on the east si­de of the squ­are, and Davy, the­ir hos­pi­tal cor­p­s­man be­hind the twis­ted, bur­ned-out car that lo­oked li­ke a scul­p­tor’s nig­h­t­ma­re. Jax had ma­de su­re his men held all the best sni­per po­si­ti­ons, but the ter­ro­rist, if the­re was one, was pro­bably hi­ding in pla­in sight.

  Yel­ling erup­ted from the sec­tor Barry con­t­rol­led, and was fol­lo­wed by si­len­ce as Barry mo­ved in. Do-Lord didn’t see what had ca­used the yel­ling. He had zo­ned out for an in­s­tant. A hol­low fe­eling ope­ned at the ba­se of Do-Lord’s spi­ne. Trying to sup­press an­ger and frus­t­ra­ti­on abo­ut se­e­ing the only man he’d ever wan­ted to kill, he was do­ing his job mec­ha­ni­cal­ly, con­fi­dent the ot­hers had it un­der con­t­rol. Not ac­cep­tab­le. Anot­her wa­ve of gu­ilt slid gre­asily in­to his sto­mach.

  The tall brass do­ors of the ho­tel ope­ned and black-su­ited men ap­pe­ared-that wo­uld be the se­cu­rity con­t­rac­tors re­ady to stop a bul­let with the­ir own bo­di­es. Did they know the man­ner of man they we­re wil­ling to gi­ve the­ir li­ves for? Stu­pid qu­es­ti­on. Most of them, li­ke most SE­ALs, to­ok sa­tis­fac­ti­on from the­ir pat­ri­otism and the­ir sen­se of ho­nor ful­fil­led, and left po­li­ti­cal ra­mi­fi­ca­ti­ons to ot­hers.

  Be­hind them anot­her he­ad ap­pe­ared. He spot­ted Cal­ho�
�un’s Co­lo­nel San­ders whi­te, wavy ha­ir. From the gro­und he wo­uld be com­p­le­tely co­ve­red by his es­cort, but from Do-Lord’s van­ta­ge three sto­ri­es abo­ve the stre­et, he was com­p­le­tely open.

  Do- Lord bro­ught the sco­pe to his eye. The thing abo­ut the high-po­we­red sco­pe was that it bro­ught obj­ects in­to in­ti­ma­te clo­se­ness whi­le it eli­mi­na­ted the rest of the world from con­s­ci­o­us­ness. Wa­iting for a shot thro­ugh a high-po­we­red sco­pe was stran­gely akin to me­di­ta­ti­on. The­re was the sa­me de­tac­hed pe­ace­ful­ness, the sa­me mer­ging of con­s­ci­o­us­ness.

  Cal­ho­un was two hun­d­red yards away, but his fa­ce was all Do-Lord co­uld see. It was clo­ser than a han­d­s­ha­ke’s dis­tan­ce. So easy. A ni­ce cle­ar shot, and the man’s po­lis­hed, smo­oth fa­ce, the kind of fa­ce it ta­kes ge­ne­ra­ti­ons of mo­ney, po­wer, and pres­ti­ge to pro­du­ce, wo­uld be rep­la­ced by a pink ha­ze. You ne­ver see the bul­let hit. Only the tar­get cen­te­red in the sco­pe, and then the pink ha­ze. Sight, in­ha­le…

  “Do- Lord, we ha­ve a bad guy in Al­p­ha-2-east si­de of the new­s­stand-he’s get­ting to his fe­et.”

  Damn! He’d lost fo­cus aga­in. Jax’s abi­lity to spot one ter­ro­rist in a mass of in­no­cent pe­op­le, was so acu­te it lo­oked li­ke ESP, but Do-Lord sho­uld ha­ve be­en scan­ning the crowd too, from his even hig­her van­ta­ge po­int.

  “I’ve got him.” War­ren chec­ked his dis­tan­ce fin­der. “Tan pa­kol hat, right? I ma­ke it 225 yards. Light wind. Easy shot.”

  Do- Lord fo­und the tar­get. A beg­gar, drow­sing in the scant sha­de cast by the ram­s­hac­k­le stand, stir­red as if awa­ke­ned and ro­se slowly. His pa­kol hat, worn only by tho­se who fo­ught the Ta­li­ban in the early days of the war, was an iro­nic to­uch. And beg­gars we­re a com­mon sig­ht in this city. Even as Do-Lord spa­red a tho­ught to won­der how on earth Jax knew, the man ra­ised a Rus­si­an-ma­de se­mi­a­uto­ma­tic rif­le to his sho­ul­der.