SEALs of Summer 2: A Military Romance Superbundle by Lynn Raye Harris, Elle Kennedy, Anne Marsh, Delilah Devlin, Sharon Hamilton, Jennifer Lowery, Cora Seton, Elle James, S.M. Butler, Zoe York, Kimberley Troutte Page B
Authors: Lynn Raye Harris, Elle Kennedy, Anne Marsh, Delilah Devlin, Sharon Hamilton, Jennifer Lowery, Cora Seton, Elle James, S.M. Butler, Zoe York, Kimberley Troutte
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built.
“We’ve had intel indicating the Freedom Force is pursuing a plan to make a dirty bomb and detonate it somewhere on the Eastern Seaboard. That’s not anything new. But then we received information two weeks ago that said they were in active negotiations with the Ruiz family to have them build a sub. There was supposed to be a meeting, an exchange of money—but it seems our friends from Qu’rim were impatient after being taken to inspect the equipment. They ambushed the makeshift shipyard and absconded with the finished sub.”
“Fuck me,” one of the other guys said.
Another cleared his throat. This one was the officer in charge of the team. Matt “Richie Rich” Girard.
“So the Freedom Force wants to detonate a dirty bomb on the Eastern Seaboard—and now they have the delivery system to get by our defenses.”
“The Navy will find that thing,” Dane said. “It can’t be that difficult. Set up a dragnet and go after them.”
The colonel shook his head. “You’d think that, wouldn’t you? But you saw the specs.”
He pulled up another slide, this one an analysis of the capabilities of the sub.
Silent… Submergible to a depth of eighteen hundred feet… ten days without refueling… could render radar detection useless… highly dangerous as a method of infiltration into US waters…
A chill ran down Dane’s spine. If the damn sub was undetectable to the Navy, that wasn’t a good thing at all.
“It gets worse,” Mendez said. “The DEA traced the sub to Cartagena, where a dockworker reported seeing something being loaded onto a sub like this one. What he saw wasn’t a dirty bomb. It was a little too big for that—and it fits the description of a warhead the Russians can’t seem to locate.”
Chapter Three
‡
M iguel Antonio Ruiz was not a happy man. His fingers toyed with the rim of his shot glass. He’d already downed two shots of the finest American whiskey, but he was not feeling in the least appeased.
“We are going to find that bitch,” he said to no one in particular. His lieutenant, Juan Ortega, stood by silently. He knew better than to talk. “And we are going to make her pay.”
Miguel snapped his fingers, and Juan obediently came over with the bottle. Miguel emptied the shot and Juan poured another.
Miguel was tired of the DEA getting all up in his shit. Sure, his submarine had been stolen by someone else—someone he’d let into his little jungle shipyard—but he knew where they’d gotten their information. The Americans had given it to them, most specifically one Special Agent McGill. That bitch had been a thorn in his side for the past couple of years.
He’d tried to buy her off—subtly, of course—but she wasn’t corruptible. It was like she had a specific grudge against all things Ruiz. Which, he supposed, she probably did.
It had taken him a long time to find out the truth about her because it had been buried so deep—too deep for even the DEA to find, it seemed.
She was Maya’s kid. Little Maya. He hadn’t thought of her in years. She’d betrayed him, betrayed the family, when she’d run away to America with her sailor man.
That hadn’t worked out, however, and she’d come crawling back. He picked up the shot glass and sniffed the liquor. His taste buds tingled with anticipation.
He hadn’t meant for her to die. He’d only meant for her to pay.
Miguel shrugged. Shit happened. It was not his fault.
Maya hadn’t needed to die, but her kid… that one was living on borrowed time. She was like a starving dog with a bone. She simply wouldn’t let go. She had a grudge because she knew the truth, and she would do anything she could to get to him. She was taunting him.
He picked up his phone and replayed the footage of her standing in his shipyard, wisps of smoke rising into the air around her, her long dark hair whipping in the breeze. Her mouth was a flat line and her eyes were grim.
He recognized that look. It was determination and a
“We’ve had intel indicating the Freedom Force is pursuing a plan to make a dirty bomb and detonate it somewhere on the Eastern Seaboard. That’s not anything new. But then we received information two weeks ago that said they were in active negotiations with the Ruiz family to have them build a sub. There was supposed to be a meeting, an exchange of money—but it seems our friends from Qu’rim were impatient after being taken to inspect the equipment. They ambushed the makeshift shipyard and absconded with the finished sub.”
“Fuck me,” one of the other guys said.
Another cleared his throat. This one was the officer in charge of the team. Matt “Richie Rich” Girard.
“So the Freedom Force wants to detonate a dirty bomb on the Eastern Seaboard—and now they have the delivery system to get by our defenses.”
“The Navy will find that thing,” Dane said. “It can’t be that difficult. Set up a dragnet and go after them.”
The colonel shook his head. “You’d think that, wouldn’t you? But you saw the specs.”
He pulled up another slide, this one an analysis of the capabilities of the sub.
Silent… Submergible to a depth of eighteen hundred feet… ten days without refueling… could render radar detection useless… highly dangerous as a method of infiltration into US waters…
A chill ran down Dane’s spine. If the damn sub was undetectable to the Navy, that wasn’t a good thing at all.
“It gets worse,” Mendez said. “The DEA traced the sub to Cartagena, where a dockworker reported seeing something being loaded onto a sub like this one. What he saw wasn’t a dirty bomb. It was a little too big for that—and it fits the description of a warhead the Russians can’t seem to locate.”
Chapter Three
‡
M iguel Antonio Ruiz was not a happy man. His fingers toyed with the rim of his shot glass. He’d already downed two shots of the finest American whiskey, but he was not feeling in the least appeased.
“We are going to find that bitch,” he said to no one in particular. His lieutenant, Juan Ortega, stood by silently. He knew better than to talk. “And we are going to make her pay.”
Miguel snapped his fingers, and Juan obediently came over with the bottle. Miguel emptied the shot and Juan poured another.
Miguel was tired of the DEA getting all up in his shit. Sure, his submarine had been stolen by someone else—someone he’d let into his little jungle shipyard—but he knew where they’d gotten their information. The Americans had given it to them, most specifically one Special Agent McGill. That bitch had been a thorn in his side for the past couple of years.
He’d tried to buy her off—subtly, of course—but she wasn’t corruptible. It was like she had a specific grudge against all things Ruiz. Which, he supposed, she probably did.
It had taken him a long time to find out the truth about her because it had been buried so deep—too deep for even the DEA to find, it seemed.
She was Maya’s kid. Little Maya. He hadn’t thought of her in years. She’d betrayed him, betrayed the family, when she’d run away to America with her sailor man.
That hadn’t worked out, however, and she’d come crawling back. He picked up the shot glass and sniffed the liquor. His taste buds tingled with anticipation.
He hadn’t meant for her to die. He’d only meant for her to pay.
Miguel shrugged. Shit happened. It was not his fault.
Maya hadn’t needed to die, but her kid… that one was living on borrowed time. She was like a starving dog with a bone. She simply wouldn’t let go. She had a grudge because she knew the truth, and she would do anything she could to get to him. She was taunting him.
He picked up his phone and replayed the footage of her standing in his shipyard, wisps of smoke rising into the air around her, her long dark hair whipping in the breeze. Her mouth was a flat line and her eyes were grim.
He recognized that look. It was determination and a
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