Watching From The Shadows: Trident Security Book 5

Watching From the Shadows




Watching From the Shadows

Copyright © 2016 Samantha A. Cole

All Rights Reserved.

Watching From the Shadows
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.


Front Cover Designed by Samantha A. Cole

Editing by Eve Arroyo

Foreword Written and Copyrighted © by Deborah Green


No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.


The story within these pages is completely fictional, but the concepts of BDSM are real. If you do choose to participate in the BDSM lifestyle, please research it carefully and take all precautions to protect yourself. Fiction is based on real life, but real life is not based on fiction. Remember—Safe, Sane and Consensual!


Any information regarding persons or places has been used with creative literary license so there may be discrepancies between fiction and reality. The Navy SEALs missions and personal qualities within have been created to enhance the story and, again, may be exaggerated and not coincide with reality.

The author has full respect for the members of the United States Military and the varied members of law enforcement and thanks them for their continuing service to making this country as safe and free as possible.



To my family and friends for all their support.


Table of Contents





Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23


Coming Soon

About the Author

Other Books By Samantha A. Cole

Connect With Me



To my editor, Eve Arroyo, thanks for putting up with my comma handicap and all my little quirks.

To my PA, Maria, thanks for helping with all my events.

To my Beta Readers, Abby, Charla, Debbie, Felisha, Jessica, and Julie – without all of you, I would be lost. Thanks for being there every step of the way!

And to the Sexy-Six-Pack Sirens! You're the best group of readers and supporters I could ever ask for!




I Never Knew


Before you I felt so all alone,

Imprisoned by myself.

Secluded from the drag of time,

Un-needed and un-helped.


I'd sit and stare, I'd look at sights,

But nothing would I see.

A printed page not understood,

A beach without a sea.


But when I think of you,

It's like a gentle rain on land.

My thoughts become a symphony,

Played by a maestro's hand.


I see your figure clear and bold,

On canvas in my mind.

I dream your arms around me tight,

Embracing for all time.


When I'm with you time stands still,

Or ceases to exist.

You and I are all alone,

Enveloped in a mist.


And I can linger in your arms,

To store up memories.

For times when you're not with me, Babe,

When you're not here with me.


©Deborah Green – February, 2016




Well past midnight, the headlights to the target’s truck appeared and lit up the street as he drove toward his home in a residential neighborhood of Tampa. After he passed the blue Honda Civic parked a block and a half away from his destination, the area was plunged into darkness once again. But the vehicle wasn’t occupied. Its driver had crept through several backyards to the trees on the west side of the man’s property. The spot had been used several times before.

Observant eyes zeroed in on the private security operative as he climbed out of his truck, dressed in black leather pants, biker boots, and a button-down, white shirt with its sleeves rolled up to the elbows. With a zoom lens, several photos were taken as the man strode to his mailbox and then his front door, unaware of the other person’s presence. Or was he? The dark-haired former Navy SEAL paused with the key in the door lock and scanned the area surrounding his property. Sinking deeper behind the shrub coverage, the observer prayed discovery wasn’t imminent. It wasn’t time…soon, but not yet.

A deep breath was exhaled when the man finally entered the house and shut the door behind him. Several lights came on as he made his way through the rooms. He lived alone…had since his beloved sister passed away months before. Such a shame, but it was one less person who stood in the observer’s way.

When the last light went out, the observer counted to one thousand then slowly crept out of hiding, sticking to the shadows. There were closed-circuit cameras pointed at both the front and back doors, which were expected from a man with a military and security background. But since there were none pointed at the truck, it wasn’t an issue.

Last time the observer had left something on the vehicle, it had been an unobtrusive tracking device which had been placed on the undercarriage closest to the front passenger door. Tonight’s objects, though, would be left in plain sight where the homeowner was sure to see them when he left for work in the morning.

After tucking the two objects under the windshield wiper on the driver’s side so they wouldn’t blow away, the observer hurried back into the shadows and returned to the waiting Honda. All that was left to do tonight was print out the photos…and then wait until the time was right.



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 had come 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, among other things, over the past sixteen months. This 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 there was nothing pressing that 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 on a camping trip 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—he just didn’t have the greatest childhood and didn’t know how to relate to them like Bannerman did. And he also had no desire to have children of his own—a decision he’d made a long time 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. Next trip, he would invest in some thermal underwear because the 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 and pulled one of the axes out of the old tree stump they’d used, then 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 and it had resulted 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. 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?”

Finding amusement in the other man’s fast change in attitude, Marco shrugged. “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.

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