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Authors: Addison Avery

Mighty Men with Weapons

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MIGHTY MEN WITH WEAPONS

Addison Avery

MENAGE AND MORE

Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com

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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

IMPRINT: Ménage and More

MIGHTY MEN WITH WEAPONS

Copyright © 2010 by Addison Avery

E-book ISBN: 1-60601-703-9

First E-book Publication: January 2010

Cover design by Jinger Heaston

All cover art and logo copyright © 2010 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED:
This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

PUBLISHER

Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com

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Letter to Readers

Dear Readers,

If you have purchased this copy of
Mighty Men With Weapons
directly from the BookStrand.com website, thank you.

We have the deepest respect for our loyal, paying readers. You make it possible for us to publish another Addison Avery book.

Regarding E-book Piracy

This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book.

The author and the publisher work very hard to bring our paying readers high-quality reading entertainment. Please respect Addison Avery's right to earn a living from her work. It's fair and simple. If Ms. Avery can continue to provide for her family with her writing, she can create more books for your reading pleasure.

Sincerely,

Amanda Hilton, Publisher

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DEDICATION

For the people of Rarotonga. The Cook Islands changed who I am with the best of nature’s beauty. If the world is a perfect place, I’ll return there soon and if not, I’ll always dream of you.

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MIGHTY MEN WITH

WEAPONS

ADDISON AVERY

Copyright © 2010

Chapter One

“It’s called the best kept secret in the Pacific Ocean, but I imagine by the time you finish your job there, you won’t find The Cook Islands as palatable as the tourists visiting the South Pacific each year,” the admiral scoffed, narrowing his gaze.

Nate realized the man staring back at him did not like him. He matched the admiral with similar feelings.

Admiral Thomas F. Shoemaker’s resume unfolded like a career document for several officers from the
Who’s Who in the American
Military
. He’d served as a U.S. Navy Admiral. Early in his career, he also earned an appointment as Chief of Naval Operations from a former U.S. president, and he chaired more committees in Washington than most socialites in Palm Beach. A man with power and influence, Admiral Shoemaker held his head high and commanded respect.

Nate was fresh out.

He studied his commanding officer only because he trusted him about as far as he could throw him. Given the admiral’s six-foot-five stance and matching superior strength, Nate didn’t think he’d pick him up and toss him aside anytime soon. Turning his back on his equal offered little appeal.

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8

Addison Avery

Once a lieutenant in the Navy SEALs, Nate Francisco didn’t have a family, and what few recollections he had of a childhood he chose to forget. When several high-ranking government officials offered him a chance to become an independent special operative, he jumped at the honor to serve his country and fight for various causes.

Sometimes he gained a little insider knowledge and understood what he fought for, but when he didn’t, he seldom let the lack of details bother him.

Nate retained a true license to kill, and he used his carte blanche like a free pass. He reveled in unconditional authority and often left as much devastation in his wake as those truer criminals who had gone before him. Those were the men and women he often hunted like animals.

“I’ve been to the islands before. Any specific one holding your attention, or will I travel between all fifteen?”

“Everything you need to know is in this packet,” the admiral said, waving a folder. “Rarotonga is your first stop. If you exceed expectations, it may be the only one you’ll make in the islands. You’ll meet up with two other operatives, and they’ll fill you in on the particulars of their assignments as well.”

“Do they have names?”

“No. Right now they don’t. Like you, these soldiers don’t exist in modern day society. Instead, they traded in their lives to serve their country.”

Nate lifted the flap on the envelope. “I wonder if they feel as fortunate as I do.”

“You’ll have plenty of time to ask them once you meet them.

You’ll fly on a private jet as my guest to Tahiti. From there, you’ll travel to New Zealand and then on to Rarotonga International Airport.”

“Retirement looks good on you. A private jet means you’ve arrived, doesn’t it, admiral?”

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Mighty Men With Weapons

9

Sometimes Nate tasted the bitterness on his tongue. The only reason he chose this life was because men like Shoemaker convinced him of the greater good. He was once told of the better way of doing things, the longer life plan for those who underwent the kind of training he endured for the life of an invisible, if not invincible, soldier.

When he first signed up for the honor of living such an extraordinary lifestyle, he thought he had something solid. Of course a young gun in the military often believes he's ten feet tall and not only bulletproof but also better than any weapon used in the military.

He signed on for a lonely existence as a man without a home or a future. Soon, he became one of the best because he resented his choices. The displeasure transmitted into his core and made him into one hell of a survivor.

Admiral Shoemaker said, “I imagine this assignment will appeal to you on many levels.”

“Is that right?” Why ask direct questions? Why pretend he even cared when he didn’t? An assignment was an assignment.

The admiral’s wicked smile proved he wanted him to probe for more. Hell, no. Nate would not fish for information. When he wanted more data than he received, he searched for facts on his own.

Sometimes he killed for direct leads, and other times he paid for mere clues.

What he didn’t do was beg.

* * * *

Donovan Collier leisurely strolled through the cool airport with his navy blue duffle bag over his shoulder. He felt confident he’d spot Admiral Shoemaker without a problem. Even if he didn’t, Shoemaker would recognize him. He was the kind of commander who made it his business to study the fellows he led into battle, or, in his case, gave a final kick into the trenches.

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10

Addison Avery

Donovan grabbed a Wall Street Journal from a nearby newsstand.

A young woman with long, brown hair and big black eyes showed him immediate interest. He never had a problem catching a lady’s eye.

“Hello,” she said. “Are you an American?”

“Yes,” he stated flatly.

Great, just terrific, he thought. The admiral was late, and the woman in heat wanted his attention.

“Are you here on business or—”

“Business,” he growled. “And it’s none of yours.”

She narrowed her gaze and then winked. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that if I were you. Follow me, Donovan Collier. Your car is already outside and another one just like you—fabulous personality and all—is waiting there as well. I’m sure you’ll get along about as well as a mountain lion and a baby calf. For the record, you’re the calf.”

He snarled. “Is that right?”

“From what I can tell, one hundred percent accurate.” She took off at a sprint, well in the lead. He didn’t try to keep her pace. He didn’t chase women or subordinates, period.

Once he hit the heat, he saw a taxi waiting for him. She held the door open and said, “Get in.” Her tone changed drastically. The chick had grown some balls between batting her eyelashes at the newsstand and opening up the cab door, curbside.

He peered inside the car and locked gazes with the other passenger. He’d know a killer anywhere. He’d smelled enough of them. Besides, they all looked the same. They had stone cold faces and hard, empty eyes.

He sat down on the leather seat and tossed his bag behind his neck-rest.

Great, terrific, marvelous
.

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