Across the backyard, Marco “Polo” DeAngelis watched his buddy roughhouse with four fatherless children in the newly fallen January snow. Curt Bannerman and he had flown into Fort Dodge Regional Airport the night before, then driven an hour to Stormville, Iowa, to the home of Dana Prichard—widow of their former teammate, Eric Prichard. The retired Navy SEAL had been murdered in a hit-and-run incident a little over a year ago, and the man who’d killed him had been a hired assassin, targeting specific former members of SEAL Team Four.
The SEAL community was tight-knit, and when one of them was killed or incapacitated, the others would step up and help out all they could. Shortly after Prichard’s funeral, a rotating, bi-weekly schedule had been set up. Once every four months, Marco’s name came up, and he traveled from his home in Tampa, Florida, to meet another team member in Iowa for the weekend. They would stay at a local motel and help Dana with anything that needed to be done around the house and yard. Landscaping, a new roof, and a bathroom renovation had been on the to-do list over the past sixteen months, among other things.
That morning, the two men had painted six-year-old Amanda’s bedroom pink and purple since she’d declared she was too grown up for the old Winnie-the-Pooh décor.
If nothing pressing needed to be done at the residence, they sometimes gave Dana a weekend to herself without the kids or took the entire family on an excursion. They’d gone camping over one of the weekends Marco had been there and a trip to the Six Flags Park in Iowa City another time.
Personally, he preferred to work when his weekends came up—kids made him a little antsy. It wasn’t that he disliked them—his own childhood hadn’t been the greatest, and he didn’t know how to relate to them as Bannerman did. Marco also had no desire to have his own children—a decision he’d made long ago.
While Marco finished stacking the firewood they’d split earlier, Bannerman and Amanda, the only girl, threw snowballs at her brothers—nine-year-old Justin, ten-year-old Taylor, and twelve-year-old Ryan. It wasn’t long before Dana stuck her head out the back door. “Dinner’s ready! Come and get it!”
Thank God, because he was so cold, his cock and balls were trying to crawl up into his pelvis. The temperatures had barely reached thirty degrees all day, and for a five-year resident of Florida, that felt like ten below. He had no idea how Curt was putting up with it since the man lived a few hours away from him in Daytona Beach. Before the next trip, he would invest in thermal underwear because his heavy jacket, gloves, and hat weren’t warm enough.
As the kids rushed inside, Curt ambled over, brushing the snow from his blond hair. “Hand me the axes. I’ll put them in the shed. You’re looking a little hypothermic there, Polo.”
“Ya think?” he snorted, his rarely-heard Staten Island accent coming through. “It’s colder than a witch’s tit out here. I knew there was a reason I moved to the Sunshine State.”
Curt bent over, pulled one of the axes out of the old tree stump they’d used, and took the one Marco handed him. “I could get used to it again. You forget—I’m from Montana. This is nothing—a tropical heat wave.”
“Yeah, well… why don’t you stop ogling the merry widow, tell her how you feel, and then you can live in the Tropics of Iowa all year round.”
Even though his cheeks were red from the cold, the six-foot-four, two-hundred-twenty-pound man blushed. “What are you fucking talking about? I’m not interested in Dana.”
Crossing his arms, Marco rolled his eyes. “Please. Don’t give me that. You get a goofy fucking grin on your face every time she walks into the room. Probably a fucking hard-on, too, but I have no desire to confirm that by taking a look at your junk. Every time someone can’t make it up here for their weekend, you’ve been filling in. And don’t tell me it’s because Eric was your best friend.”
“He is… was… damn it.” Scowling, Curt turned and strode toward the shed, but Marco followed on his heels. He knew the survivor guilt the guy was dealing with because he had his own ghost of Prichard. The deceased SEAL had taken Marco’s place on a fact-finding mission many years ago, resulting in him being added to the assassin’s hit list.
“I know he was. But you know better than I do that he’d want you to have a good life without him. The same goes for Dana. I’ve seen the way she looks at you sometimes. And the kids and you get along great—so, what’s the problem? It’s been almost a year and a half since he was killed. Get off your fucking ass before someone steps in and snatches her up.”
Curt whirled around so fast Marco almost got hit in his cold cock with an ax. “Who’s going to snatch her up? Someone else been eyeing her?”
He smirked. “Thought you weren’t interested.”
“Don’t fuck with me, Polo. Who the fuck else is interested in her?”
Marco shrugged, finding amusement in the other man’s fast change in attitude. “I don’t know for sure, but Egghead mentioned the Sheriff seemed to be sniffing around a lot when he was up here two weeks ago.” Brody “Egghead” Evans was his best friend and teammate at Trident Security and was the biggest computer geek in the world—or close to it.
“Fuck that shit.”
The big man’s gaze went to the rear entrance of the house, and Marco slapped him on the shoulder before taking the axes from him. “So, you gonna man up and tell her how you feel?”
Curt nodded, his eyes never leaving the backdoor. “Damn fucking straight.”
“About fucking time.” He watched his friend make a beeline for the house. Even though a wife and kids weren’t in Marco’s future, he had no problem with his buddies having them. But settling down was something he was never going to do. He’d rather cut off his left nut than walk down the aisle and have a bunch of rug rats. No way… no fucking how.
* * *
Taking a sip of his beer, Marco relaxed in a sitting area near the bar of the BDSM club, The Covenant, which was located on the same property as Trident Security. One couldn’t ask for more than having his work and play areas within forty yards of each other, especially when he enjoyed both.
He listened to his bosses, Ian and Devon Sawyer, discuss the meeting the former had taken part in on Friday at the Pentagon in Washington D.C., about their new government contract. Their other teammate, Jake Donovan, had met Boss-man there and then flown back to San Diego to his temporary home. Jake was currently in charge of establishing Trident Security’s west coast facility there and was living with his boyfriend/submissive, Nick Sawyer, who happened to be the bosses’ younger brother. Nick had just under two years left in his Navy SEAL career, stationed in California, so the set-up had worked perfectly for everyone.
At the feet of the Dominant Sawyers, their submissive women sat on pillows, chatting quietly in their club lingerie. Kristen was Devon’s wife, and Angie Beckett and Ian were planning their late spring wedding. Between the older two Sawyer brothers, Jake, and their other teammate, Ben “Boomer” Michaelson, the men of Trident were dropping like flies as they’d all met the loves of their lives over the past sixteen months. The only single men left on Trident’s Alpha team were Brody and Marco, and the others were betting on who was going down next. Marco felt sorry for anyone who’d bet on him because it was a losing wager.
He’d gotten home a few hours ago from Iowa, and instead of just crashing on the couch in front of his big screen TV like he wanted to, he’d ended up here for Devon’s birthday. It wasn’t exactly a party with presents and decorations—just another excuse for them all to get together for a few drinks and maybe some play down in the pit.
While the main second floor of the club housed the bar, offices, and a fetish store, the pit, as the members dubbed it, was the vast recreational room downstairs. It was filled with a wide assortment of BDSM equipment in both public areas and private rooms.
Even though it was still early in the evening—a little after eight-thirty—the club was bustling with activity. On Sunday nights, the place usually emptied out by eleven so people could get some sleep before starting their work week the next day. From their pillows, Kristen and Angie began giggling uncontrollably at something near the bar, and the three men turned their attention in the same direction.
“Ho-ly shit!” Devon shook his head in stunned amusement, while Marco almost fell out of his chair as laughter spilled forth and tears filled his gunmetal blue eyes. Speaking of a losing wager…
Ian’s head dropped back as he groaned loudly. “Oh, crap. Is he fucking kidding me?” He glanced at Marco. “Let me guess, the Giants beat the Cowboys in today’s football game.”
“Yup.” That was the only word he could get out as he held his six-pack abs and gasped for air.
They all stared as Brody strode toward them, good-naturedly chuckling at members’ comments along the way. Dressed in his usual snug, faded jeans, T-shirt, and cowboy boots, the only thing that was out of place was the fact he had his button fly undone. And instead of his junk hanging out, it was covered by an elephant trunk and ears—the thong the loser had to wear in the bet he and Marco had made.
Every few steps, the well-built geek would stop and wiggle his hips at some of the female submissives, causing the impressively filled trunk to flap around. By the time he reached his teammates, the entire bar area had erupted into fits of hysterical laughter.
Stopping a few feet from Marco, his best friend pointed a finger at him, unable to hide his grin. The man had no shame. “Just fucking wait, asshole. I can’t wait until the next time you lose a bet.”
Although he wasn’t too worried, Marco knew the guy was already planning his revenge, and he might not put it off until the next wager. “Um, if I remember correctly, you were the one who swore the Cowboys would win, and the junk trunk was your idea.” He wiped away a tear threatening to escape and turned his head toward Kristen and Angie. “I don’t know, ladies. I think I would’ve filled it out better than Egghead. What do you think?”
Before either of the women could respond, one of the submissive waitresses, Cassandra, hurried over, wearing an expression of alarm. She did a double take at Brody’s crotch but then directed her words to Marco. “Sir, Master Ben is in the lobby on a phone call, and he told me to come get you. He said it’s an emergency.”
The mirth died quickly as he leaped to his feet, followed by Ian and Devon. Brody tucked the elephant in his pants and was a step behind Marco’s heels as he ran toward the lobby. Cell phones weren’t allowed out on the club floor, and all calls and texts had to be taken outside—a rule that was strictly enforced. His initial thought was something had happened to Boomer’s girlfriend, Kat Maier, but she was standing by her Dom’s side, with worry on her pretty face, as the group hurried up to them.
“Hang on a sec.” Boomer pulled the cell phone away from his face and held it out for Marco. “You remember Jake’s ex on Clearwater P.D.? Drew Murdock? He’s at a crime scene, and your business card was there. When he couldn’t reach you, he called Trident’s main number, and I’m on-call, so it got bounced to me.”
While he’d never met the cop Jake had dated for a few weeks over a year ago, he knew the name. Marco took the phone and brought it to his ear. “DeAngelis.”
The officer had obviously heard Boomer tell him who was on the phone. “Hey. Sorry to call like this, but I’m at a house over here in Clearwater with a home invasion, and I’ve got an unconscious assault victim. We haven’t found her cell phone or a list of emergency contacts yet. She just moved into the neighborhood, and the house is trashed, but I found your business card on her refrigerator. Does the name Millicent Williams ring a bell?”
Marco shook his head at the unfamiliar name while his teammates and their women waited for details. “Millicent? I have no idea who that is.” But something niggled his brain.
Over the phone, he could hear the squawks of police radios and the voices of other officers working the scene. “Hang on a sec. There’s a diploma on the wall here in the home office. Her full name is Millicent Harper Williams—she’s an attorney.”
The blood drained from Marco’s face, and his gut clenched as he finally made the connection to his deceased sister’s best friend—the woman who invaded his dreams since their one night together thirteen months ago. “Harper? Harper Williams was assaulted?”
Around him, the men and Kristen’s eyes flashed wide as they also recognized the name, but Marco held up his hand to stop anyone from asking questions he didn’t have any answers to yet. “Fuck. Is she all right?”
“She got knocked on the head pretty bad. The paramedics are on their way with her to Largo Medical Center. She’s still unconscious. And DeAngelis… the main reason I’m calling is… her baby is missing.”
A roar equivalent to a jet engine surged through his head, and a wave of shock and confusion struck him hard. “Baby? What fucking baby?”
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