Elle James - Navy SEAL Newlywed

Only, he knew he couldn’t do it on his own. He needed a partner, a cover and fake passports to get him down to Honduras without raising red flags to the terrorist organization or the traitorous Americans supplying them with weapons.

Sitting in a crowded casino in Biloxi, Mississippi, with a baseball cap pulled low over his brow, he waited for his contact, not knowing who he was or what he looked like, only that Cowboy’s new boss, billionaire Hank Derringer, was sending one of his operatives from Covert Cowboys, Inc.

Rip glanced up every time a man slowed near the slot machine he was only halfheartedly playing. He looked for a man in a cowboy hat and boots, but most of the men in the place were hatless, gray-haired and wearing comfortable loafers.

Glancing at his watch once again, he started getting nervous. He hadn’t been out in public since the mercenary had shot him. Feeling exposed, he sat at the designated position in the selected casino, at the exact time he was supposed to meet his contact.

Where the hell was his cowboy?

Shoving another token into the machine, he punched the spin button without caring what pictures he’d land on. He was surprised when three cherries lined up on the screen and tokens plinked into the tray below.

Soft, slender hands slid over his shoulders and down the front of his chest, and a sultry voice whispered in his ear, “Getting lucky, sweetheart?”

Nerves stretched to the breaking point, Rip fought the urge to grab the arm, spin around and slam the person to the floor. Instead, he spun on the stool in such a way he had the woman sitting across his lap before she knew his intentions.

Her eyes widened briefly and then narrowed. “Wanna take your winnings and buy me a drink?” She had long dark brown hair, green eyes and a lean, athletic figure dressed in a red cotton sundress that screamed tourist.

Though he gave the appearance of being happy to see her, his hand on her wrist was tight. She wouldn’t get away easily or without raising a ruckus. He smiled at her and, through his teeth, he demanded, “Who the hell are you?”

She smiled back at him, cupped his face with her other hand and patted his cheek, not so gently. “I’m your contact, so play nice and pretend you’re happy to see me.”

For a brief moment he frowned.

She laughed out loud. “If that’s happy, you’re a terrible actor. Make like we’re a couple.”

“Since I didn’t get the memo, I’m a little slow on the uptake. Let me set the stage.” Getting past the shock of his contact’s gender, Rip had to admit she was a lot prettier than any cowboy he might have expected. He wrapped his arm around her waist, then slid his hand up into her dark brown hair and pressed the back of her neck, angling her face toward his.

“What are you doing?” she said, her eyes widening.

“I would think it was obvious. I’m showing you how happy I am to see you.” Then he captured her mouth in a deep, lip-crushing kiss.

Apparently she was so shocked that her mouth opened. Rip slid his tongue in and caressed the length of hers.

At first her hands, trapped between them, pressed against his chest. But after a moment or two, her fingers curled into his shirt and she kissed him back.

When he finally came up for air, it took him a second or two to come back to his senses and remember where he was, yet again.

He stood so quickly, he had to steady her on her feet before he let go of her. “Let’s get out of here.”

“What about your winnings?” she said.

He scooped up enough tokens for two full cups, carried them over to a gray-haired senior citizen and dumped them into her slot machine tray. “Congratulations, you’re a winner.” He kissed the woman’s cheek, grabbed his contact’s hand and headed for the door.

The woman whose hand he held hurried to keep up with him in her bright red cowboy boots. “You were playing the dollar slots.”

“So?” he countered.

“That was probably a couple hundred dollars.”

“Then that woman will go home happy.”

He tipped his baseball cap lower over his forehead, slid his arm around her waist and smiled down at her as he stepped out into the sauna-like Mississippi late afternoon sunshine. “Where’s your car?”

“This way.” She guided him to the parking lot and stopped beside a large black 4x4 truck with twenty-inch rims and tinted windows.

“Seriously?” Rip shook his head. “This is yours?”

“One of the perks of working for Hank Derringer. That and an arsenal of every weapon you could possibly need.” When she hit the key fob, the engine started and the doors unlocked. She opened the driver’s side door and nodded to the passenger seat. “Hop in.”

“How do I know you really work for Hank?”

“You don’t. But has anyone else shown up and told you he’s your contact?”

“No.”

“You have that.” She raised her eyebrows, the saucy expression doing funny things to his insides. “So, do you trust me, or not?”

His lips curled upward on the ends. “I’ll go with not.”

“Oh, come on, sweetheart.” She batted her pretty green eyes and gave him a sexy smile. “What’s not to trust?”

His gaze scraped over her form. “I expected a cowboy, not a…”

“Cow girl ?” Her smile sank and she slipped into the driver’s seat. “I grew up on a ranch, I’ve worked with cattle and horses and I know the value of a hard day’s work. I spent eight years with the FBI. I also know right from wrong and tend to be loyal to a fault, until the person or organization I believe in breaks my trust.” Her lips firmed into a straight line. “Are you coming or not? If you’re dead set on a cowboy, I’ll contact Hank and tell him to send a male replacement. But then he’d have to come up with another plan.”

Rip considered her words and then acknowledged he didn’t have a lot of choices with only a couple of week’s reprieve before he had to turn up alive or be buried by the government. He rounded the front of the truck and climbed into the passenger seat. “I’ll go along for the ride and maybe you can convince me you’re up for the challenge.”

“Please. I don’t normally have to justify my existence to the people I work with. I’m a trained operative. I don’t need this assignment. However, from what Hank told me, you need all the help you can get.”

“I’m interested in how you and Hank plan to provide that help. Frankly, I’d rather my SEAL team had my six.”

“Yeah, but you’re deceased. Using your SEAL team would only alert your assassin that you aren’t as dead as the Navy claims you are. How long do you think you’ll last once that bit of news leaks out?”

His lips pressed together. “I’d survive.”

“By going undercover? Then you still won’t have the backing of your team, and we’re back to the original plan.” She grinned. “Me.”

Rip sighed. “Fine. I want to head back to Honduras and trace the weapons back to where they’re coming from. What’s Hank’s plan?”

“For me to work with you.” She pulled a large envelope from between her seat and the console and handed it across to him. “Everything we need is in that packet. Passports, cash, credit cards and new identities. We also have at our disposal Hank’s jet, a Citation X, capable of cruising at Mach 0.9, almost the speed of sound. Say the word and we can be in the sky within twenty minutes. It’s waiting at the airport.”

Monahan had only good things to say about Hank and all he could do for the operation, otherwise Rip would have been more hesitant getting the billionaire involved. With a DEA agent and one of his SEAL teammates dead, and himself almost killed, he was determined to find the one responsible. But after losing one of his SEAL brothers, he was hesitant about getting anyone else caught in the crosshairs. “Hank sure pulled all of this together fast.”