SEAL in Charge Read online

  SEAL in Charge

  Silver SEALs Series Book 4

  Connected to Dangerous Curves Series

  by Donna Michaels

  NYT & USA Today Bestselling Author

  SEAL IN CHARGE

  Silver SEALS Series/Book 4

  Connected to Dangerous Curves Series

  Copyright © 2018 Donna Michaels

  Cover Art by CoverMe Photography © 2018

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author—except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the web. For information, please contact the author via email at [email protected]

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  SEAL in Charge (Silver SEALs, #4)

  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

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Epilogue

  About this Book

  She’s the only one to get past his guard. He’s the only one to break down her walls.

  For nearly thirty years, retired US Navy SEAL Commander Archer Malone made the Navy his home. Now he's out and tasked by a DHS Secret Division Command to lead a hand-picked civilian team. Their mission: locate and eliminate a rogue crew chatter indicates intends to target Wall Street.

  The problem: no one knows what they look like, or if they plan to rob or bomb the Federal Reserve Bank of New York.

  The bigger problem: one of his team members is the attractive—off limits—single mother of a Navy SEAL he once commanded.

  Sandy Vickers is as good at blending in as she is at locating people. A skill she honed working for the D.A.'s office while her son was young, then for DHS after he joined the Navy. Proud of him for following in his late father's footsteps and serving the country, she jumps at the chance to do her part too when offered a spot on a secret DHS team. Too bad the SEAL in charge is her son's sexy former commander...the one who always leapfrog'd her pulse.

  Forced proximity soon snaps their control, and they give in to their attraction. But when their location is attacked, Archer realizes the economy isn't the only thing threatened with destabilization. Now their lives—and hearts—are on the line, and this silver SEAL is determined to keep Sandy safe, unmask and hunt down the traitor, and take out the rogue crew...before they all run out of time.

  **SEAL in Charge is connected to my Dangerous Curves Series. All my books are written as stand-alones, so there is no need to read the series, But I recommend checking them out if you enjoy the environment. The same goes for the Silver SEALs books, too.**

  Thanks for reading,

  ~Donna

  www.donnamichaelsauthor.com

  Author’s Note

  Visit www.donnamichaelsuathor.com for more titles and release dates.

  Join Donna Michaels’ Newsletter HERE for a FREE Book and to enjoy exclusive reads, enter subscriber only contests, and be the first to know about upcoming books!

  Acknowledgements

  I need to acknowledge my family for their continued support as I interact with the voices in my head.

  To my amazing editing team! And my Betas! You rock!

  Check out all the Silver SEALs HERE

  Dedication

  A huge thank you to all the amazing Suspense Sisters. Once again, I’m honored to be your ‘sister’, and am excited to create a SEAL to let loose in this world!

  ♥

  Also by Donna Michaels

  ~Dangerous Curves Series~

  Knight’s SEAL

  Locke and Load

  A DAYE with a SEAL

  Cowboy LAWE

  Connected to Dangerous Curves:

  Elite Protector (Elle James’ Brotherhood Protectors)

  Grinch Reaper (Sleeper SEALs Series)

  SEAL in Charge (Silver SEALs Series)

  ~HC Heroes Series~

  (Harland County Spinoff Series)

  Mac

  Carter (rel. 6/11/19)

  ~Harland County Series~

  Harland County Christmas (Prequel)

  Her Fated Cowboy

  Her Unbridled Cowboy

  Her Uniform Cowboy

  Her Forever Cowboy

  Her Healing Cowboy

  Her Volunteer Cowboy

  Her Indulgent Cowboy

  Her Hell Yeah Cowboy

  Her Troubled Cowboy (Citizen Soldier Crossover)

  Her Hell No Cowboy

  Her Doggone Cowboy

  Harland County Epilogue

  ~The Citizen Soldier Series~

  (Harland County Spinoff Series)

  Wyne and Dine

  Wyne and Chocolate

  Wyne and Song

  Wine and Her New Year Cowboy

  Whine and Rescue

  Wine and Hot Shoes

  Wine and Scenery

  ~The Men of At Ease Ranch Series~

  ~Entangled Publications~

  In An Army Ranger’s Arms

  Her Secret Army Ranger

  The Right Army Ranger

  Army Ranger with Benefits

  The Army Ranger’s Surprise

  ~Time-shift Heroes Series~

  Captive Hero

  Future Cowboy Hero (tba)

  ~Related~

  Cowboy-Fiancé (formerly Cowboy-Sexy) (Hand drawn Japanese Translation)

  Cowboy Payback (sequel)

  ~Novels~

  She Does Know Jack

  Royally Unleashed

  The Spy Who Fanged Me

  DonnaMichaelsAuthor.com

  ***

  Chapter One

  Deep blues and dark purple bleeding into orange and yellow with dawn, haloed the bright orange sphere as it appeared to slowly rise out of the ocean.

  There was nothing like an East Coast sunrise.

  Archer Malone, U.S. Navy SEAL Commander, (Ret.), had witnessed them all over the world. Some were more vibrant, some more colorful, but none took his breath quite like the ones he’d had the privilege of witnessing from this back deck since he was in diapers.

  He shifted the large Adirondack chair holding his two-hundred-five-pound frame, to meet the vista head on. Coffee steamed in the mug from which he sipped, while the sound of waves slapping the shore before receding to do it all over again hit his ears.

  Serene. Peaceful. Heaven.

  His little slice of heaven.

  A well-earned slice. He’d given Uncle Sam twenty-eight years, twenty-seven of them as a Navy SEAL. Been sliced, shot, battered, bruised and broken, all for the country he loved. The last injury—he rotated his right shoulder and grimaced—got him booted. So, he’d returned to his favorite place.

  The small N.J. cottage on Brigantine Beach had been in his family for decades. Many fond memories of spending weekends and a majority of summers here with his parents and older brother had kept him going while trying to survive in some of the world’s worst shitholes, dealing with the darker side of humanity.

  Those days were gone. So was
most of his family.

  No one left but his mother now. Born and raised in Queens, she was a New Yorker through and through. He knew that although she used to love the shore, the memories surrounding this place were too hard for her to bear.

  Not for him. They were exactly why he’d taken it off her hands seventeen years ago. His father had worked odd side jobs when not on shift at the fire station just to afford this place. No way was Archer going to sell his dad’s dream. His father’s blood, sweat, and tears.

  It was his house now.

  His home.

  Over the past seven months, since Uncle Sam no longer had any use for him, Archer gave his time and muscle to fixing up the place. The house had been sitting vacant since he’d purchased it and had been in dire need of repairs. He set his mug on a side table then jogged down to the shore before he turned to eye his handiwork.

  The new roof and fresh coat of weatherproof paint made a huge difference to curb appeal. Working on the house had been cathartic, just like his morning jogs. He pivoted and headed south, adopting a fast, steady pace. The cool morning air and fresh ocean breeze clung to him as he ran two miles down and two miles back to complete his four mile morning run.

  Panting, wet, and invigorated, he grabbed his mug and removed a key from the side pocket of his sweats to unlock the floor-to-ceiling sliding glass doors before slipping the key back in his pocket. Nothing like starting off the day with a brisk run after watching a beautiful sunrise.

  Once inside, he rinsed his cup in the sink of the kitchen he’d updated with high oak cabinets, stainless steel appliances, subway tiled backsplash, and granite countertops, as well as a small island snack bar.

  It was open now. Not cramped. He wasn’t a fan of cramped spaces.

  Yanking his T-shirt over his head, he walked to the bathroom, removing the keys from his pocket before tossing his clothes into the hamper. His bathroom was now bigger, too. He stepped into the large walk-in shower he’d added by tearing down the wall to the small, adjacent bedroom, and considered all he’d done to the place. Even though the bungalow only had two bedrooms now, the updates inside brought the place out of the eighties and into the twenty-first century.

  Done with his shower, he got dressed to head down to the marina. Archer always knew he wasn’t an idle person but had thought perhaps retirement would slow him down a little. Kind of a “smell the roses” type of thing. Negative. He was a doer. Had to keep his hands busy. So, after renovating the house inside and out, he went stir crazy. He was a man of action, not inaction.

  Thankfully, his old SEAL buddy, Jameson Knight, owner of the Knight Agency, threw a few bodyguard and security detail jobs his way. But when there weren’t any assignments to keep his marksmanship sharp, or challenges for his physical abilities...boredom would set in.

  So, he’d bought a boat.

  The one he used to fantasize about while on missions overseas. He’d always knew that if he didn’t die over in the sandbox, when he retired, he wanted a boat. But not just any boat.

  A beautiful Pursuit OS Fishing Boat with its own bathroom, bedroom, and tiny kitchen. Great for when he’d needed to escape from the world.

  Like now.

  He parked his truck and headed down the dock to his slip. Only two years old, his boat—Liberty—didn’t require much maintenance. Just routine inspection. Today, he was going to check the hull for corrosion above the water. Yesterday, he’d checked below.

  Starting at the bow, he dropped to his knees, slowly working his way aft, utilizing the sun to help on the starboard side.

  The sound of a sure-footed approach met his ears, and although the footsteps were practically silent, he estimated them to belong to a large male, over two-hundred-twenty-pounds. Couldn’t be for him, though. He wasn’t expecting visitors. Hell, he never got company, and that was just the way he liked it. Must be for the chartered fishing boat in the slip at the end of the dock.

  When a pair of expensive, shiny, un-scuffed loafers came into his peripheral view and stopped, he returned his attention back to his chore. All right, so not for the fishing boat, but whatever the guy was selling, he wasn’t buying.

  “You’re blocking the light.” He refrained from adding “asshole.” That was yet to be determined.

  “That’s the idea.” The deep, very familiar voice had him immediately straightening.

  “Crash?” He shot to his feet and turned to properly greet one of his former SEAL buddies. “Good to see ya, you son-of-a-bitch,” he said, deploying the old hand-shake-shoulder-bump maneuver, grimacing slightly as pain rippled down his arm, chest, and back, reminding him why he was in Jersey instead of on a base in Virginia with his team...his former team.

  “Good to see you, too, Archer.”

  Releasing his buddy, he stepped back and scowled at the guy’s attire. A well-fitting black monkey suit, white shirt, black tie, and dark sunglasses. “Ah, hell. The rumors are true. You’ve been assimilated. Man, I never thought I’d see the day you traded in your uniform for bureaucratic duds and a pencil-pushing government job.”

  His friend folded his arms across his chest and cocked his head. “And I never thought you’d ever retire out of the Navy.”

  Archer’s scowl deepened to tighten his face. “Wasn’t by choice,” he grumbled, smacking his left palm off his right shoulder. “Taking a round last year, saving some rich politician’s spoiled kid, earned me a one-way ticket out.” He’d received a pat on the back from Uncle Sam, a medical discharge with no chance to contest and nothing—not even a thank you from the ungrateful brat.

  He still had the use of his arm and eighty-five-percent of his strength but it wasn’t enough. Not when a-hundred-and-ten was required.

  “Well, the rumors about me are true,” Crash said, changing the subject, wisely knowing Archer wasn’t the type to look for pity. “So, no more call signs or rank. I’m just Silas or Si now. And I can assure you, I don’t push a single goddamn pencil in my position at DHS.”

  Navy SEAL Silas Branson and his famous joyride escapade during BUD/S would always be Crash to him. But he sensed a serious undertone to his old friend’s demeanor, so he kept that to himself and nodded instead.

  “Which is why I’m here.” Si removed his sunglasses and waved them at Archer’s shoulder. “Can you still shoot?”

  He stiffened, aggravation pinching his shoulders. Retired didn’t mean dead. Or useless. “Fuck yeah, I can still out-shoot any of you yahoos. You know as well as I do the Navy trained us to shoot accurately with either hand. So now my left is my lead hand.” He halted his rant as a slight grin tugged Si’s lips. “You son-of-a-bitch. You knew all of that, so why are you egging me on?”

  “Just wanted to see if the Archer Malone spark was still in existence.”

  He snorted. “It existed well before you were born, boy.”

  Si lifted a brow. “Then you were one hell of an eight-year-old.”

  “Damn straight.”

  They both laughed, and he used the time to really assess the man before him.

  Silas had changed, but the loss of a son would change any man. Archer had been with him when he’d gotten the call, and although he knew that loss on a smaller scale, he couldn’t even begin to imagine the depth of the pain the man carried.

  Lines around his eyes and mouth were visible but not quite as deep as Archer’s, and a few streaks of gray peppered Silas’ black hair—the exact opposite of the black hair peppering his gray.

  “How’s Maggie? I heard you two got remarried.” Archer had always liked her. She was meant for Silas. Grounded him as only a good woman could.

  A smile spread across the guy’s face and chased the shadows from his eyes. “Yeah, we did. And she’s good. She’s pregnant.”

  “No shit?” His brows shot up, and happiness made a long overdue appearance. “That’s wonderful, man.” He extended his hand for another shake, this time, with a shoulder slap. “Congratulations!”

  A long time ago, he’d felt the elation he saw o
n his buddy’s face. Then helpless, complete and total devastation, and fury when he’d discovered his girlfriend at the time had an abortion while he’d been on a mission. He understood it was the woman’s body, but he was the father and hadn’t been given a choice. It fucking sucked.

  Those feelings stayed with him, and always would, but now wasn’t the time to dwell. He had a bottle of JD at home to help drown his sorrows when needed. The chance of him ever having a child now were slim to none. Right now, though, it was about his friend, who truly deserved this joy.

  “Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?” He released him and stepped back.

  “A girl.”

  “Well, no offense, man, but I hope to hell she looks like your wife,” he joked. “Maggie’s a lot prettier than you.”

  Silas laughed. “Roger that.”

  Archer scratched the bridge of his nose then re-crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s been nice catching up and shooting the shit and all, but I think it’s time you told me why you’re really here.”

  Shoving the glasses back on his suddenly serious face, Silas straightened his six foot three frame. “That conversation needs to be held in private.”

  He unfolded his arms and nodded to the ocean behind him. “We’ve got the whole Atlantic at our disposal.” Without waiting for a reply, he gathered his stuff, boarded his boat, and stared down at the man. “Unhook the moor...or are you afraid to get your pretty suit wet?”

  Silas flashed him the middle finger before removing the line and climbing on board.

  Archer was still grinning when he started the engine and piloted them out to open ocean. Ten minutes later, he glanced to his silent passenger standing next to him, gripping the rail that bordered the ceiling of the cockpit. “This good enough?” he asked.

  At Silas’ nod, Archer cut the engine, secured two beers from the fridge nearby, and handed one to Mr. DHS. “Go on,” he said, popping the cap on his longneck. “Pitch whatever it is you’ve come to pitch.”

  “What are your thoughts on robbing the Federal Reserve in New York?”

  That immediately dislodged the beer sliding down his throat. He coughed and smacked his chest. “Look, man, I spent most of my savings on this beauty.” He caressed his boat. “But if you need money, I can probably scrape some up for you. No need to get drastic.”