***NEW RELEASE*** Becky McGraw’s Deep Six Security Badasses are mixing it up with Cat Johnson’s Hot SEALs in SEALed Fate (A Deep Six Security/Hot SEALs Crossover Novella). It’s LIVE in Cat Johnson’s new Hot SEALs Kindle World! One-click here: http://amzn.to/1gF2ykb
SEALed FATE BLURB:
Former Navy SEAL Jaxson Thomas left the teams in disgrace to save his squad from being dragged through the mud with a JAG investigation. He never thought he’d have to leave the civilian job he got after the teams in the same way, but that’s exactly what happened. To keep his friends at Deep Six Security from losing their biggest contract, he takes the blame for an assignment gone bad. The SEAL mentality drilled into him for years won’t let Jaxson give up though, so he goes to work for Guardian Angel Protective Services, a new security firm started by his former SEAL teammates, hoping yesterday would be his last bad day.
His first GAPS assignment tells him more bad days are coming however, when he is charged with protecting the woman directly responsible for his exit from the teams. Frumpy Fallon Sharpe is now a federal judge, and the big-mouthed redhead has taken on an East Coast mafia family who wants her dead. She will only accept a SEAL to protect her and his new boss insists that he’s the man for the job, but Jaxson isn’t so sure since he’d been dreaming of killing her himself for five years.
He takes the job, because he has no choice, but the last thing Jax expects to feel for Fallon Sharpe when he sees her again is attraction. Even though her waspish mouth is the same, the thick glasses and frizzy red hair are gone and those damned spindly legs that reminded him of a flamingo before have toned up and end somewhere near her ears now.
Dealing with his old hatred and this new attraction while trying to protect her was going to make the assignment the perfect storm that could lead to a Charlie Tango Foxtrot of epic proportions if Jax wasn’t careful. Maybe the last one of his life.
EXCERPT from SEALed Fate (c) Becky McGraw August 2015:
The doorbell rang, and Fallon Sharpe almost jumped out of her skin. Her gaze flew to the door and her hand shook, her heart raced as she fumbled under the couch cushion for her gun. When she finally found it, her hands were shaking so badly she juggled the gun before getting a good hold on the grip. Lessons learned in her concealed carry class the week before ran through her mind like a movie on fast forward as she crept toward the door.
If I shoot him, I have to render aid. That could be as simple as dropping a Kleenex over the bullet wound, before calling 9-1-1. But that was putting the cart before the horse. Fallon had to shoot him first and not miss.
Oh, God—was it the center of the chest or the head she was supposed to aim at?
By the time she reached the long window beside the front door, Fallon’s heart was a mere quiver in her chest. She streaked by the window to press her back against the wall, and a bead of sweat streaked down between her breasts. Swallowing hard as the bell rang again, she reached across her body with her left hand to lift the sheers to see who was there. The man’s body froze, and Fallon whimpered as she dropped the curtain back in place.
He’d seen her—and this guy was definitely not a Navy SEAL. No camo or war paint, no big guns strapped across his chest. He wore pressed khaki pants, and a red polo shirt. His hair was too long, and the sunglasses too dark. And her protector from that security firm in Virginia wasn’t supposed to arrive in Washington until tomorrow. That’s what Senator Greenwood told her yesterday when she spoke to him.
It had to be one of East Coast Willie’s goombahs.
Fear sliced through her as Fallon ran like a bat out of hell for her bedroom. Her leg caught the sharp corner of the coffee table, but the pain didn’t register in her frozen brain and neither did the fact that her cell phone was on the tabletop.
Fallon didn’t stop until she was inside her bedroom and the door was locked. She leaned against the door for a second to gather herself, but when her brain finally kicked into gear, she realized she had no phone. Next, she realized that leaning on this door meant she was right in the line of fire if the thug shot through the thin wood door.
Running to the far side of the bed, Fallon crouched down, her body shaking like she was freezing to death, and she probably was, with fear. That assassin on her doorstep wore death like a dark cloud over his head. He might as well have been wearing a black cloak and have a sickle in his hand like in the movies. It was obvious to Fallon from the deep grooves in his unsmiling face, the tenseness in his hard body he was a trained killer. He’d been sent here by Willie to kill her for having the gall to bring him to justice and give him the jail time he deserved.
If she didn’t, who else would? Not her estranged father, who was only estranged because she refused to heed his cowardly advice to take a dive and let the bastard off.
Not without a fight, bucko.
Kneeling, Fallon balanced the shaking pistol on the bed to steady it so she could take better aim at the door. If that man walked through her bedroom door, she was going to shoot him. Even if he turned and ran when he saw her gun. Screw the instructor in that handgun class. This bastard was in her house and the instructor was not.
Fallon knew he was in the house too because she’d heard the front doorknob rattle, the scraping on the deadbolt and the squeaky tumble as it released as she ran for the bedroom. Further proof this man was a professional assassin.
Gripping the pistol tighter with every second she waited, Fallon’s finger got closer to the well of the trigger. She knew she was supposed to keep it flush with the body of the semi-automatic pistol, above the trigger well, but she wanted to be ready.
More than ready.
Shoving her finger into the circle, she rested it on the curve of the trigger and tensed. The doorknob barely turned before the bedroom door swung inward, and even though no one filled the doorway, Fallon closed her eyes and pulled the trigger. When it didn’t squeeze and no explosion came, her heart stopped.
Fallon’s eyes flew open in time to see a blur as someone dove inside the bedroom door, as she fought frantically to release the safety latch. It finally clicked off, and Fallon tried to raise the pistol again, but a large hand snatched it from her before her back slammed hard into the carpet and a hard body covered her. Wide shoulders pinned her to the floor and hands like vises held her hands above her head.
“Who else is in this house?” her assassin growled, breathing hard near her ear.
Buddy, if you think I’m going to tell you that I’m alone you have another think coming.
“My Navy SEAL boyfriend is in the bathroom and is going to kick your ass in about thirty seconds,” Fallon forced past her fear-frozen vocal cords. She was pleased when his big body tensed, so she decided to press her point. “His whole damned platoon is coming over for a barbecue in ten minutes.” Three quick, hot breaths in her ear raised every hair on her body.
“Platoon?” he replied with what sounded like a chuckle, as he released her wrists to push up to his feet. He reached a hand down to help her up. “Well, I guess I better be on my way then before the Army gets here.”
Was he leaving? Relief flowed through Fallon and her confidence built as she ignored his hand to get to her feet by herself. But she wasn’t out of the woods yet. She tried to squeeze past him to run for her cell phone, but he blocked her as he bent to pick up her pistol. When he stood with it in his hand, a whimper slipped past her lips, but he didn’t point it at her, he reached behind him to stuff it into the waistband of his slacks.
One corner of his firm lips kicked up. “I’ll just take this with me to make sure you don’t shoot yourself, or your boyfriend. If I were your Navy SEAL boyfriend, Judge Sharpe, I’d teach you how to handle a pistol before I put one in your hand. Do you know how many people get killed by criminals using their incompetent victim’s own gun against them?”
This man—this criminal—was giving her a lecture on gun safety? “East Coast Willie must be short on Goodfellas if you’re the best he had to send to kill me.”
“East Coast Willie?” the man asked with a laugh.
“The gangster who put a hit out on me. Your boss?”
The man’s clean-shaven jaw tightened, deepening the dimple in his cheek. “Zane Alexander is my boss, but I may just kill him.” He huffed a breath. “He didn’t tell you who was coming to protect you did he?”
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