SEAL Love's Legacy (Silver SEALs Book 1) Read online

  SEAL Love’s Legacy

  Silver SEALs Book 1

  Sharon Hamilton

  Sharon Hamilton’s Book List

  SEAL Brotherhood Series

  Accidental SEAL (Book 1)

  Fallen SEAL Legacy (Book 2)

  SEAL Under Covers (Book 3)

  SEAL The Deal (Book 4)

  Cruisin’ For A SEAL (Book 5)

  SEAL My Destiny (Book 6)

  SEAL Of My Heart (Book 7)

  Fredo’s Dream (Book 8)

  SEAL My Love (Book 9)

  SEAL Brotherhood Box Set 1 (Accidental SEAL & Prequel)

  SEAL Brotherhood Box Set 2 (Fallen SEAL & Prequel)

  Ultimate SEAL Collection Vol. 1 (Books 1-4 / 2 Prequels)

  Ultimate SEAL Collection Vol. 2 (Books 5-7)

  Bad Boys of SEAL Team 3 Series

  SEAL’s Promise (Book 1)

  SEAL My Home (Book 2)

  SEAL’s Code (Book 3)

  Big Bad Boys Bundle (Books 1-3 of Bad Boys)

  Band of Bachelors Series

  Lucas (Book 1)

  Alex (Book 2)

  Jake (Book 3)

  Jake 2 (Book 4)

  Big Band of Bachelors Bundle

  True Blue SEALs Series

  True Navy Blue (prequel to Zak)

  Zak (Includes novella above)

  Nashville SEAL Series

  Nashville SEAL (Book 1)

  Nashville SEAL: Jameson (Books 1 & 2 combined)

  Silver SEALs

  SEAL Love’s Legacy

  Sleeper SEALs

  Bachelor SEAL

  Stand Alone SEALs

  SEAL’s Goal: The Beautiful Game

  Love Me Tender, Love You Hard

  Bone Frog Brotherhood Series

  New Year’s SEAL Dream (Book 1)

  SEALed At The Altar (Book 2)

  Paradise Series

  Paradise: In Search of Love

  Novellas

  SEAL You In My Dreams (Magnolias and Moonshine)

  SEAL Of Time (Trident Legacy)

  Fall From Grace Series (Paranormal)

  Gideon: Heavenly Fall

  Golden Vampires of Tuscany Series (Paranormal)

  Honeymoon Bite (Book 1)

  Mortal Bite (Book 2)

  Christmas Bite (Book 3)

  Midnight Bite (Book 4 Coming Summer 2019)

  The Guardians (Paranormal)

  Heavenly Lover (Book 1)

  Underworld Lover (Book 2)

  Underworld Queen (Book 3)

  Audiobooks

  Sharon Hamilton’s books are available as audiobooks narrated by J.D. Hart.

  About the Book

  A thrilling race against time haunted by loss and love from the past.

  Former SEAL Commander Garrett Tierney must stop a crazed cult leader planning a Doomsday event, targeting the President’s family. He leads a new DHS multi-agency task force, (Bone Frog Command), created to take on threats to the homeland.

  The future of this task force is on his shoulders, as he dusts off the cobwebs of his retirement. Commander Tierney is tasked to work with a civilian—a young woman who is the daughter of his best friend, a fallen Teammate who died in his arms.

  As their chemistry grows to explosive proportions so does the evil cult leader’s devilish plans. Will Tierney have to sacrifice himself to save his new love and the honor and lives of the men and women on his new team?

  Begin Reading

  Dedication

  About the Author

  Table of Contents

  Copyright © 2019 by Sharon Hamilton

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. In many cases, liberties and intentional inaccuracies have been taken with rank, description of duties, locations and aspects of the SEAL community.

  License Notes

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Author’s Note

  I always dedicate my SEAL Brotherhood books to the brave men and women who defend our shores and keep us safe. Without their sacrifice, and that of their families—because a warrior’s fight always includes his or her family—I wouldn’t have the freedom and opportunity to make a living writing these stories. They sometimes pay the ultimate price so we can debate, argue, go have coffee with friends, raise our children and see them have children of their own.

  One of my favorite tributes to warriors resides on many memorials, including one I saw honoring the fallen of WWII on an island in the Pacific:

  “When you go home

  Tell them of us, and say

  For your tomorrow,

  We gave our today.”

  These are my stories created out of my own imagination. Anything that is inaccurately portrayed is either my mistake, or done intentionally to disguise something I might have overheard over a beer or in the corner of one of the hangouts along the Coronado Strand.

  I support two main charities. Navy SEAL/UDT Museum operates in Ft. Pierce, Florida. Please learn about this wonderful museum, all run by active and former SEALs and their friends and families, and who rely on public support, not that of the U.S. Government.

  www.navysealmuseum.org

  I also support Wounded Warriors, who tirelessly bring together the warrior as well as the family members who are just learning to deal with their soldier’s condition and have nowhere to turn. It is a long path to becoming well, but I’ve seen first-hand what this organization does for its warriors and the families who love them. Please give what your heart tells you is right. If you cannot give, volunteer at one of the many service centers all over the United States. Get involved. Do something meaningful for someone who gave so much of themselves, to families who have paid the price for your freedom. You’ll find a family there unlike any other on the planet.

  www.woundedwarriorproject.org

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Sharon Hamilton’s Book List

  About the Book

  Copyright Page

  Author’s Note

  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

  Excerpt from SEAL Together

  About the Silver SEALs Series

  About the Author

  Reviews

  Chapter 1

  Garrett Tierney, U.S. Navy SEAL Commander (Ret.), was having a good day mucking out his chicken coops
on an especially warm, autumn afternoon in Northern California. Even his eight-year-old rooster—the meanest animal he’d ever met—had left him alone. Maude, sold to him as a pullet with the two-dozen other Americanas for his new free-range egg venture, would normally be attempting to stab him in the calves after taking a flying leap several feet into the air. Garrett vowed one day he’d put a shovel to his neck. It wasn’t his fault the bird was misnamed, but he figured Maude saw it otherwise.

  He wore his knee-high muck boots just in case.

  His handyman, Geronimo, hauled the manure-filled wheelbarrow to the acre vegetable patch Garrett lovingly tended. They were going to plant some new curly-leaf Kale and red cabbage starts in the mixture later, before sunset.

  Tierney rested a bit on his shovel, feeling the strain in his lower back from an old injury occurring on one of those midnight HALO jumps in Afghanistan years ago. At forty-four and holding, his body was still as strong as some of the young froglets, or new Team Guys, he occasionally saw. Except for his back. But he could live with that. In fact, he was damn proud of it.

  He surveyed his ten acres, all flat and useable, with the small winter creek going through the lower boundary that would fill up soon and need some repair work. It was a nice little slice of Heaven, tamed and carved out of the old apple orchard long since gone. He’d used some of the old wood to make rustic cabinets and countertops inside the bungalow he and some friends had built.

  Geronimo returned with the red wheelbarrow.

  Tierney always spoke English to the man. “I think maybe we got two more to go. Then I can start spreading shavings.”

  “Your garden looks good, Commander. You plant just in time. We got rain coming tomorrow,” he said, pointing at the bright blue sky being invaded by large, grey puffy clouds.

  “Perfect!”

  He was spreading pine shavings and adjusting the chicken boxes inside the night coop when he heard the phone ring inside the house. No one ever called him on that line, except for telemarketers, so he let the answering machine pick up.

  The hens began jockeying for position, scratching the floor and testing their butts in the new shavings. Maude chased several of them and scored with three, one right after the other. He laughed at the rooster, who stopped and angled his head, as if listening to him.

  “You know what they say, Maude, a little more foreplay and less rape? It would make for a nicer hookup. You don’t have to sweet talk them, but the jumping on their backs, biting their necks, and running their faces into the mud, that’s not cool.”

  But what the hell do I know? He’d had his share of girlfriends, but nothing stuck.

  Maude looked in the opposite direction and crowed, flapping his wings and getting as tall as his twenty inches could get him. If he behaved himself, he might die a natural death, as Tierney let most his senior hens do. He kept a side yard for the older girls where Maude couldn’t get them.

  Tierney enjoyed chatting about chicken sex with Maude, because it was a one-way conversation, which is what any conversation on sex should be, he thought.

  He’d done it all in his twenty-five years in the Navy. Went in as a dumb kid right out of high school, made it through BUD/S, did five back-to-back tours on two Teams. When he almost got in trouble, he was recommended and went to OCS and still actively deployed. He’d never wanted to be anything but a Master Chief, but the Navy had other plans. Because of his extensive combat experience, Tierney was one of the most respected amongst his peers as he rose to the rank of Lieutenant Commander.

  But now I’m still a dumb kid. An older dumb kid.

  Geronimo had asked him recently why he never got married.

  “You do know it isn’t the man’s choice, right? I never got married because no woman ever chose me.”

  They’d had a good laugh at that.

  Life was pretty perfect. If it wasn’t for his back. He bet he could still bark orders and make men pee themselves, run faster than the tadpoles, and qualify expert if he tried, though. The way Tierney figured, he’d seen enough of the world in his first twenty-five years of adulthood. Now it was time to quit running things and start just living with the rest of it.

  Of course, there was always something to fix—some issue with the well, the septic system, fencing, or his solar panels. Something needed paint, something broken on one of his tractors or splitters or his beat-up farm truck, an issue with the plumbing, or a light that wouldn’t work. That kept him pretty busy.

  At night, he’d read or crash on his huge leather couch that fit him like a second skin, watching old war movies because it helped him sleep. He had his half-Doberman, half-Pit Bull rescue dog, Snooker, and a litter of cats in the barn he could never catch, who kept the mouse and rat population at bay.

  He needed a woman like he needed a second dick. She’d just get in the way.

  But on some of those cold, dark evenings, he missed the Brotherhood, if he was totally honest with himself. He could do without the bleeding and dying. But accomplishing the missions and saving some innocent lives, or one of his own guys? That shit was fun. Making it out alive just in time and blowing stuff up, he could do that until he was eighty, maybe longer. His sister had called him an old Boy Scout. Well, that’s how a woman thought.

  And that’s why he was still single.

  Garret had just stepped out of the shower when he heard his phone ring. Wrapping himself in a bathsheet, he padded barefoot to the kitchen, checking the windows for any evidence of outside visitors. He thought Geronimo was long gone, but sometimes, his helper would work late sharpening the gardening tools in preparation for the next day’s chores.

  He waited, never answering without knowing who was on the other line first. Those who knew him understood this. Those who didn’t, well, they shouldn’t be calling his home phone.

  “Come on, Tierney, you asshole. Pick up.”

  He recognized the voice immediately.

  “Commander, what can I do you for?” Holding his breath, he knew it wasn’t a social call. Former SEAL Commander Silas Branson was not one to chit-chat. And he knew the world had to be at an end before he ever would get a call from him.

  “I’m with DHS now, and I got something you might be interested in.”

  Tierney didn’t say a word, exhaling with control so Branson wouldn’t detect he was working on his nerves. He inhaled again, holding his breath until dark circles started appearing in his eyes.

  “Tierney? You there?”

  “I’m all here, Commander. What I didn’t leave over in the sandbox.”

  “You came out better than most.”

  “And that’s a fact. Now what could possibly interest me more than getting drunk on a beautiful California sunset, working in my garden, gathering blue and green eggs, planting my three dozen veggies in the morning, and then maybe getting laid before sunset?”

  “That’s a tall order. But there was a time when your country came before all that.”

  He didn’t know what to say, because anything that might pop out would be disrespectful of the good old U.S. of A., to Commander Branson, or to himself. So, he waited. But it pissed him off no end. It was one of those wounds that woundn’t heal, like he didn’t deserve his time off after what he’d seen in the theater of war.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Branson mumbled.

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, you’re interested.”

  “And how the hell did you get that?

  “Because you would have hung up on me, that’s how.”

  After the phone call, he shuffled back to the bathroom with the wet bath sheet still draped across his hips like he was some Roman Legionnaire at a bath in Carthage. He examined himself in the partially fogged mirror. He knew he looked old. His lines were the same, but deepened, especially the ones around his eyes and mouth. He had some grey hair making a showing at his temples some woman had recently said looked sexy. He didn’t think so but was against altering the natural color of his hair.

  If God mad
e it, I’m gonna wear it.

  His hands didn’t shake anymore, like they did the last year he served on the Teams. He knew that was from getting more sleep than he’d ever gotten before in his life and from all the outdoor work he did. Building the house had been good for him. Tilling the soil had brought him back to life. Rescuing Snooker from the shelter was the cherry on top. He had his land, his dwelling, and, with Snooker, he had his family. He was taken care of and could just live this way until he was ready to check out.

  He was not ready for another mission. He didn’t have to prove to himself or anyone else he had what it took, that he could still outrun those little froglets and eat and drink them under the table.

  So then why in God’s green earth had he said yes?

  The ticket had arrived online like Branson said it would. Two days later, he disembarked from the flight to D.C., meeting in a “need to know” location somewhere in the bowels of the city. Stepping out into the terminal, it smelled the same. The mix of races and body sweat overpowered him. The pace was faster than he was used to. Everyone was so busy, each with their own agendas. Some were harmless. Most of them in D.C. were dangerous, at least for those who had to go do the work the Head Sheds of government manufactured.

  Commander Branson was a cool dude with warm brown eyes. He was disarming the way those eyes could look so sad. He’d lost his son not more than three years back. Garrett knew what it was like to lose family. But losing a child might be something a man couldn’t ever get over. Every time he looked at Branson, he saw the pain the man tried so hard to cover up.

  But what really stood out was that Branson had bulked up. At 6’3”, he’d always been one of the big guys, but now he looked like a fuckin’ transformer. His small waist and broad shoulders were tight, without an ounce of extra fat anywhere. Cut and lean, Garrett guessed the man still weighed 220.

  He leaned against a shiny black Ford F-150 Raptor, and the Military Model to boot. No mistaking the fact that Silas wasn’t into hauling soil or chicken feed or pulling a trailer or tiller out in a field somewhere.