Rogue (SEAL Team: Disavowed Book 1)
Read Rogue (SEAL Team: Disavowed Book 1) Online
Authors: Laura Marie Altom
ROGUE
Laura Marie Altom
To become a United States Navy SEAL, a man must be physically forged in steel and able to mentally compute life or death situations with laser accuracy and speed. Our country trusts these men with the most sensitive military operations—many so covert that once they are successfully completed, they are never spoken of again.
This series celebrates one particularly fierce band of brothers who valiantly battled terrorists whose crimes against nature and humanity were far too great to chance escape. On a dark night, on foreign soil, SEAL Team Alpha witnessed acts so unspeakably cruel against women, infants and small children that their consciences would not allow anything other than their own brand of justice for the scum terrorist cell.
A trial would have been too good for these pigs, and so, one-by-one they were taken out, and the women and children they’d used were freed. By dawn, an entire region breathed easier. The men of Alpha found themselves heroes to those whose lives they had saved, but virtual criminals in the eyes of the organization they served. After a lengthy investigation, their elite, covert team was formally disbanded.
They now spend their lives deep undercover, still serving—no longer their country, but individuals who find themselves in need of not only their own personal warrior, but a particular brand of justice.
While honorably discharged, these men and their actions will forever be
disavowed
. . .
ONE WRONG MOVE
.
That’s all it would take for Maisey and her unborn child to die.
For disavowed Navy SEAL Nash Adamson, Maisey represented his first crush, his first kiss. His first
everything
. They could have had it all—until she’d dumped him. Now that fate had forced their reunion, they not only had years between them, but his dead wife and son.
The irony of the situation hadn’t escaped him.
In and out
, he chanted in his head with each breath. He’d make this an in-and-out mission, then never see her again.
Through his NVG’s alien-green light, Nash counted ten of her husband’s thugs guarding the south Florida compound’s west border. The Everglades were isolated, but this place was located on a remote island among hundreds of islands. Even with satellite maps and photos and state of the art GPS, it had taken Nash hours by boat to reach it.
As a SEAL—make that
ex
-SEAL—he might have been trained to deal with all manner of chaos, but he was also smart enough not to rely on miracles. Rather than fighting what was sure to be an overwhelming show of force, he realized his best course of action was stealth.
The single-story, sprawling Spanish style home might be remote, but a fortress it was not. The stucco exterior featured plenty of easily accessible windows and balconies with handy-dandy, climbable trellises. The roof was tile, and sloped low enough to run across in a pinch.
In short, Maisey’s hubby, drug kingpin Vicente Rodriguez, was a dumbass.
Still—even a dumbass could get Maisey or Nash’s ass killed.
Above Nash’s steady pulse sang the nighttime swamp. The hum of insects. The bellow of bullfrogs and the occasional grunt of a gator. The place had more bio-danger per square inch than anywhere else he’d recently traveled. Sure, the Amazon basin had the
Sunshine State
beat, but not by much. Escaping Maisey’s sicko hubby was only half the battle. He’d then have plenty of slimy, hissing, biting obstacles to circumvent to ensure their safety.
Once he’d established a rhythm to the perimeter guards’ flow, Nash eased through shadows to the compound’s weakest link—its electrical box that was linked to a generator. The security system was surprisingly rudimentary. Took mere moments to rewire.
The early August day had been a scorcher.
Crouched against a still-warm brick wall, he flipped up his goggles, giving his eyes time to adjust before using a retractable mirror to peer into the window above. Three goons lounged around a kitchen table, M16s resting alongside steaming coffee and Danish.
Nice domestic scene.
Research told Nash that Vicente was one of the region’s most lucrative dealers. Miami authorities had had him on their radar for years, but when it came to maintaining his squeaky clean image, the guy was a master. Not only was he suspected of buying off every local police force within a hundred miles, he’d wooed locals with perks like college scholarships for underprivileged youth and new public pools, clinics and baseball fields. Did Maisey know he already had a nice, Catholic
wifey
tucked away in his Columbian palace? The fact that Nash could possibly be the one telling her made him sick. Her mom had been the one to alert him that she was in trouble.
Satellite photos had given Nash a blueprint to follow. A quick check of the laminated diagram he’d stashed in a pocket reminded him to hug this wall to a ninety degree turn, at which point he’d find a courtyard with a pool framed by six bedrooms. The trick would be finding the one housing Maisey.
Lucky him, lights were out behind all but one set of French doors.
The lone illuminated room had open curtains.
Lying on a floral spread, looking fourteen-months pregnant was Maisey. If she hadn’t sported tear-stained cheeks and cuffed hands clasped over her belly, he might have thought her at peace. Her blond curls were as unruly as ever and her petite frame made her appear all the more vulnerable.
Throat unexpectedly tight, he fought a nostalgic rush—not only memories of good times shared, but the agonizing finality of learning his pregnant wife’s fate.
Thirty yards behind him, a twig snapped.
He froze, then ducked behind the pool equipment shed to wait for a two-man guard team to pass. The guy nearest him smoked. The acrid scent warred with the swamp’s mossy, fungal smells.
The pool pump kicked on.
Once the men passed, Nash used the noise to his advantage, masking his steps across the pea gravel pool surround.
With Maisey’s room exposed, he entered the house through one of the darkened rooms. She’d understandably be happy to see him, but he couldn’t risk that scene being played out in front of her guards.
The French door’s lock was easy enough to pick.
Inside, the artificially-cooled air hit him like a wall. It took a moment to adjust after the swamp’s stifling heat. Nash assumed the dark space would be empty—wrong. The courtyard’s dim lights showed an off-duty goon stretched across the bed, his black fatigues and boots out of place on the floral spread.
Holding his breath, Nash crept to the door, eking it open. Once his vision adjusted to the brightly lit hall, he searched for signs of life.
Finding no one, he turned left, reining in his hammering pulse. He’d been on far more dicey missions, yet this was personal. In an odd twist of fate, he’d been given the opportunity to save his wife and unborn child all over again and he wouldn’t let them down.
Only, you already did
.
Nash squashed the negative voice in his head to focus on how to best approach Maisey without inducing an emotional show. He had to keep her cool. He couldn’t risk her alerting guards within her view.
Holding his breath, he entered what for all practical purposes was Maisey’s
cell
.
She appeared to be sleeping, but taking no chances, he kept to the room’s edge. If he shut the curtains before she woke, he could privately brief her on the escape plan. Otherwise, to assure they had no audience, he’d duck behind her bed.
Three feet from his goal, she bolted upright. “Who are you?”
“Mais,” he whispered, removing his combat helmet, “it’s me—Nash.”
“Who?” Narrowed pale blue eyes spoke of her confusion. “
Nash
? From high school? You work for Vicente?”
“No. Your mom asked me to find you.”
His peripheral vision caught a glint from outside. If Vicente’s men caught him now, he’d be in a shitstorm. Ducking beside a dresser, he put his finger to his lips. “Don’t look at me. I’m not here.”
Not only did she not follow his instructions, she waved toward whoever was outside.
“Knock it off,” he ground from between clenched teeth. “What’s wrong with you?”
“You have to leave or Vicente will kill us both.”
“
Leave
?” He shook his head. “Woman, I’m here to rescue you.”
A knock sounded on the French door. A muffled voice asked from outside, “Miss Maisey, you okay?”
Mouth dry, Nash readied his Glock for action.
“I-I’m fine,” she called. In an awkward scoot from the bed, she approached the drapery, then jerked it shut. “Thanks for checking in.”
Nash took the luxury of exhaling, then lit into her. “What the hell’s wrong with you? You’re treating your jailers like friends.”
“I have no choice.” Seated on an upholstered side chair, she hugged her hands to her belly, whispering, “Vicente made it clear. Either I play by his rules, or he’ll kill me.” Voice trembling, she said, “I-I saw him shoot a supposed friend—a man we’d shared meals with—in the head. For my baby’s sake, I have to do as he says. More than anything, he wants a son. He won’t hurt me as long as I’m carrying his child.”