Bachelor SEAL (Sleeper SEALs Book 5) Read online

  “Just close your trap and cooperate, you dumbass frog.”

  “But where am I?”

  “What the fuck do you care? Just cooperate. Quite being so dumbass stubborn.”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “Curtis, I’m about to dump you right here on the sidewalk.” They leveraged him forward, up the cute little brick walkway now bordered with weeds—the touch about the house that Morgan’s former wife loved and probably the reason he bought it—and on towards the arched wooden door with the metal grates over the tiny windows he used to fantasize came from a Spanish prison. “This is my house. I’ll take you home tomorrow.”

  Curtis stiffened again, stopping his forward progress. The cabbie swore under his breath.

  “Whoa! I’m not that kind of guy. You got the wrong guy. And I’d never do a threesome, either!”

  “Honest to god, Curtis, I’m about to revoke your membership to the Bachelor club. Just because we hate ex-wives doesn’t mean we hate women or love men more. So burn that idea right out of your brain, you dumb fuck.”

  Curtis started to laugh. “Didn’t think so. But you never know—”

  “Just shut up and let us get you inside.”

  They hauled his frame down the wooden hallway to the master in the back, and his dragging feet brought all the area rugs with him like a child’s blanket. After dumping him at the edge of the bed, Morgan was able to roll him back toward the center.

  The cabbie was halfway through the living room when Morgan shouted something about payment, and then he remembered Cody paid the guy to begin with, probably with a generous tip too. Two drunkass SEALs could be a real pain.

  The driver slammed the door, and the house was peaceful and completely silent, except for the revving of the driver’s motor and the screech of his tires getting him out of Dodge.

  The phone rang. Searching in the dark for the kitchen receiver, Morgan found it empty. He pulled his cell from his back pocket, saw a number he didn’t recognize, and answered it.

  “Who the fuck I don’t know can call me at this hour?”

  At first, the sound tickled his ear, but then Morgan began to make out the words. Only every other one.

  “…wanted to stop by…..very dangerous and a little delicate….no hard feelings…Morgan, I’m sure you….” Then the words rattled off like the chattering of a chipmunk.

  Morgan barely had enough energy to respond and wasn’t sure the caller was speaking English. “Look, I can’t hear you, and I’m in no condition right now. Call back in the morning—” Morgan dropped the phone and passed out on the floor.

  Chapter 2

  Halley Hansen arrived at the auditorium in a midnight blue limo an hour before her speaking engagement. She studied notes on her laptop, making a couple of last minute changes before sending the file to the program crew at the center to be uploaded to the teleprompters. Her cell phone chirped, and she smiled at the text message. She wanted to respond, but knew better than to detour at this critical moment.

  The crowd was expected to be over ten thousand, and eighty-five percent of them would be women. She wanted her message on point, and she wanted to deliver it without shaking, as she was now.

  Crystal Cortez, her new personal assistant, sat across from her, talking on the phone quietly. Halley waved to raise her attention as the driver swerved and was directed toward the rear of the convention center.

  “Make sure they get my upload, Crystal. I just sent it.”

  “Of course.” Crystal removed her hand from the phone and signed off her call quickly. She redialed another number and gave Halley a thumbs-up about a minute later. “Everything came through okay.”

  “Thanks.” Halley scanned the sooty buildings adorned with spray paint artwork and gang tags she’d seen all over the US from her travels. The back alleyways of these big venues were always the scariest places for her. They revealed the naked truth about the community and the area, without the adornments of the front of the centers, where lights and landscaping, tall columns of steel and granite, or pre-formed concrete sculpted the building’s Sunday morning best. Even this part of Orange County had its seedier spots, despite the billions of dollars being made every second here.

  As they made their way up the rear ramp, they shared the space with two large delivery vans with a half dozen men unloading boxes of her books, her pink camo tee shirts, and other SWAG from the Halley’s Heroes campaign. A local florist had delivered two large sprays of red roses, which were also being carried inside. As a motivational speaker, Halley used these “free” planned events to recruit more women looking to change and empower their lives. The money generated from the tee shirts, CDs, books, and other items would pay for the venue. That gave her the chance to sell seminars and her Hero Summit weekend experience coming up next summer in Hawaii. It was, after all, a business, and Halley’s business sold women on themselves.

  “Makeup’s ready for you, Halley. You’ve got an interview with a local Santa Monica station when you’re done. That okay with you?”

  Halley gave Crystal a wide smile. She liked how all this was turning out. “Great job. Way to kill two birds with one stone. I appreciate how you take initiative.”

  Crystal looked down at her lap as she hugged the clipboard to her chest.

  “You be sure to give me the sales figures at the break, okay?”

  “Will do. And if I can get another interview, are you available for something quick or do you need to meditate?”

  “All I need is five minutes today. I can give them five minutes, as long as I get my five minutes afterward, just before I go back on.”

  “I’ll see what I can set up. You’ll tell me if you’re going to need a suit change, right?”

  “Let’s plan on that being a yes,” Halley answered her back.

  Crystal’s handsome twin brother, Orestes Cortez, who wore a tux that form-fitted his supercharged frame, opened the limo’s rear door. Halley had resisted showing him she thought him extremely attractive, especially since she still told herself a man with biceps and shoulders like a Titan god could not be trusted. She’d had all that, and it got her nowhere.

  But Halley gave Orestes her hand as she gracefully extricated herself from the limo, Crystal right behind.

  “Miss Hansen,” he said, as he crooked his arm and escorted her to the rear doorway, paying no attention to her and focusing all his attention to whomever they were near. It was his job not to watch, but to protect, and Halley was grateful Orestes took his job seriously. Her thigh brushed his, and then his adjustment revealed the hard edge of a sidearm strapped beneath his armpit.

  At last they were on thick carpeting, lit by large crystal chandeliers. The light orchestral music playing in the background was just like every convention center or auditorium, but what was different was the faint scent of some kind of spice air freshener wafting through the ventilation system. If she closed her eyes, she’d almost feel like she was in the middle of a Kasbah or a Bedouin tent in the middle of a desert somewhere, lit by torches and the bright stars of the night sky.

  The nervousness she felt became the overwhelming sense of adventure she was so addicted to. She’d mastered the art of speaking to large groups, making them each feel like she spoke just to each one of them. The larger her audiences—and they were getting larger and larger—the more excited she got. She liked it when the stakes were very high.

  Orestes opened a door for her, but did not release her elbow. Her shoulder barely grazed his iron chest, and the smell of a fresh shave and expensive cologne sent a little chill down her spine. She dared to look at him over her shoulder.

  “Thank you, Orestes.” His smile was crooked, barely visible under his trimmed moustache. “You took your time tonight, and I appreciate it. Thank you for honoring me that way.”

  “My pleasure, ma’am,” he answered politely, glancing down to the carpet and avoiding eye contact. Crystal appeared between the two of them, and she took Halley’s computer, placing it on t
he couch facing a large mirror ringed with lights illuminating the makeup chair. She then hung a garment bag inside a small bathroom at the end of the dressing room.

  The makeup artist motioned to the chair, and Halley stepped up and seated herself as she heard Orestes leave.

  “I’m Pat. I don’t think we’ve met before, right?” the artist asked her.

  “Don’t believe so. I’ve not been here to this complex.” Halley gave her some instructions on what she wanted done with her shoulder length blonde hair and how red her lipstick was to be. “Show her the suit, Crystal.”

  Her assistant unzipped the bag and revealed the royal blue suit Halley would be wearing tonight. Dark blue was her power color, and on a woman, it was more powerful than the black. She could always tell how familiar with her lessons the crowd was. If there was lots of blue, she had plenty of fans and converts in the audience. A bright audience adorned with unprofessional floral prints, even in Hawaii, meant Halley had her work cut out for her.

  After finishing her makeup and donning her suit, the reporter from Santa Monica and one cameraman entered the dressing room. Halley offered them the couch, which the reporter took. Halley sat slightly elevated in the makeup chair as the cameraman moved all about the room, trying to avoid the glare from the lights.

  “I’m with KRON4, Santa Monica, Greg Carver.”

  Halley could tell he was young and probably on one of his first assignments.

  “Nice to meet you, Greg. You’re very brave.”

  “Yes, well, I do what they give me to do.” He had a youthful smile, which didn’t cover up his nervousness. His blushed cheeks didn’t help, either.

  “Make it count,” Halley said without batting an eye. “Make it the best of your career.”

  The reporter cleared his throat. “So pretend I know nothing about what you do. How would you explain to a man why women should take your seminars, why they shouldn’t be threatened with what they’d learn?”

  Halley chuckled. “Very good question, Greg. You’re going to be good at this.”

  The reporter blushed again.

  “It takes a strong man to have a relationship with a strong woman. Men who are not self-actualized think they don’t want the competition. They want a relationship with someone who is easy to get along with, or so they say in public sometimes.”

  “But you think that’s a lie, I take it.”

  “Exactly. They want intensity, not only in the bedroom, but the boardroom as well. They want to share their life with someone who has the capacity to totally change them, maybe occasionally knock them on their butts. They place themselves at the mercy of this strong woman when they are complete men. If they are juvenile, a woman’s strength worries them. Makes them uncomfortable.”

  “So is this seminar about men or women?”

  “It’s about teaching women that they don’t have to take a back seat. That they can be as strong and perhaps stubborn as they want to be. As they feel like being. And the right man will not find fault. In fact, he’ll crave everything about her.”

  “That’s an interesting premise. You think men tell themselves they want one thing, but really want another—I mean, all men?”

  “They want a woman who makes them feel more of a man when they are around her. I teach women how to become self-sufficient and irresistible, to learn to dance with the big boys, and to walk across the room in their lingerie without blushing, because they like to see the impact it has on their man.”

  The reporter looked up at the cameraman. Halley could tell part of this was going to be edited out.

  “The worst thing a woman can do is do all the right things—be the perfect partner, wife. She’ll become boring to him. And that’s okay if she doesn’t want him. But if she tells herself he’s important, it’s the worst mistake they could make. It isn’t about pleasing them; it’s about making them have to chase you.”

  The cameraman lowered his camera, signaling the interview was done. Halley could tell the young reporter wanted to go on.

  “Stay and listen to my talk. If you have questions afterwards, you can text my PA, and I’ll try to answer, okay?”

  Crystal handed the reporter her card. “Don’t forget to mention we met here, and I’ll get answers to whatever questions you’ll have. Thanks for doing this.”

  As the pair left, a young woman with headphones entered. “Miss Hansen, you’ve got fifteen minutes. I’ll knock when I need you.”

  Halley saw Orestes face behind her in the crack of the doorway. “Great. Will you double check and make sure the teleprompter is correctly working, and please give me the first sentence of my speech so I know you’ve seen it?”

  “Sure thing. Be right back.”

  Halley removed her jacket, kicked off her heels, and lay back on the couch.

  “Does she want me to go for a few minutes?” the makeup artist asked.

  “You can stay. Just meditating for a bit,” Halley answered before Crystal could.

  Halley began her process. She saw herself mounting the steps to the stage. Rose petals were everywhere, and the bright lights were hot, but somehow reassuring. In her vision, she couldn’t see the faces of the audience yet, but she would ask to have the house lights turned on during the question and answer portion of the first half. The teleprompters on both sides of the room were clear and easy to read. She stepped on the rose petals and felt the familiar squish as her shoe smashed the moisture out of them, releasing a fine aroma that now enveloped her. She opened her mouth and began her talk, like she always began her talks.

  “Ladies. Start your engines.”

  Chapter 3

  Morgan started when the noise he thought he was hearing in the desert suddenly began rumbling beneath him, making his knees knock and upsetting his stomach. That’s when he realized he’d been sleeping on the floor and the banging was coming from the front door, shaking the whole house.

  He stood and nearly keeled over. The alcohol was still fresh in his system, despite the sleep he’d had. He brushed down his shirt, noticed he’d not removed his shoes all night, and unlatched the door.

  The bright Coronado sun hit him square in the forehead, sending a laser beam that traveled through his skull, and felt like it curled his hair at the back of his head. Someone huge was standing in front of him.

  “Morgan, you look like shit.”

  He recognized the voice, but, since his left eye was lazier than his right, couldn’t focus on the gent’s face. His instincts didn’t kick into gear to ward off the guy, so he tried to relax and just let his body adjust. After rubbing his eyes, he chanced a squint, discovering it was his old SEAL Team 3 buddy Jay Johnson.

  “J.J., isn’t this a little early to be making a social call?”

  “I see you’re dressed already.”

  Morgan looked down at his clothes. “Yup. Never got undressed. We did another initiation last night.”

  J.J. didn’t ask permission, stepping past Morgan into the living room and closing the door behind him. He craned his neck to examine the hallway. “You alone?”

  Morgan had to think about that one. “Yes.”

  “Good. I’m making coffee first. You got any?”

  Morgan rummaged through cupboards and then remembered he kept his coffee in the refrigerator. He grabbed the glass pot and began filling it with water. J.J. took it away from him, pouring it into the coffee machine. Morgan brought out his half and half and ground coffee, measured the dark brown, life-saving elixir, and turned the pot on.

  Jay examined him like a piece of dirty laundry. “You better sit down for this.”

  Morgan obliged, taking a seat across the small breakfast table and staring at his former Teammate while the coffee bubbled and filled the room with life. He moved to retrieve some mugs, but J.J. commanded he stay seated. When his buddy brought over the steaming mugs and placed the half and half between them on the table, Morgan used his index finger to stir the light caramel-colored coffee and didn’t feel a thing. Whatever he was g
oing to be told, it was important and probably not anything he wanted to hear.

  Before they could speak, the door to the bedroom opened, and Curtis Cronquist stumbled forward, buttoning his shirt. J.J. looked between the two of them.

  “That’s special. In the old days, it would have been—” J.J. began.

  “I was barely conscious. Forgot. Don’t read anything into it.” Morgan’s mood began to sour. “Jay Johnson, this is new bachelor Curtis Cronquist. Curtis, meet Jay, or do you guys know each other?”

  “Nice to meet you, Jay.”

  “Likewise. You still active?”

  “Yessir. Team 3 all the way,” Curtis said as he shook hands with the seated former SEAL. “I’ll just grab some coffee and then catch an Uber back over to the Scupper. That okay with you?” Curtis’ hair looked like a well-used piece of blond Brillo pad.

  “Sure,” shrugged Morgan.

  Curtis brought the pot over to the table, seeking requests for a fill-up. Morgan took another and added his usual pour of cream. The three of them stared at each other in the awkward silence after Curtis seated himself perpendicular to the two former Teammates.

  “How long before you go over again?” J.J. asked.

  “Four months. We start working up right away, even though we just got back.” He hesitated at first then added, “Things are heating up.”

  “That’s for sure. You take down the hive, and the bees fly all over the place looking to start a new colony,” Morgan answered. “You said Africa this time, right?”

  Curtis put his finger to his lips and then shrugged. “We’re not really sure. I’ll know more, depending on whether we work up in Reno, Alaska, or Mexico.”

  The two former SEALs nodded. Everyone was prepared to go when the call came, and it was a luxury if they knew more than a month ahead of time which part of the world they’d be going.

  Morgan was curious what brought Jay over to the house. “Been like four or five years at least, J.J. How’s life? Bet your kids are huge now.”