Shunned (SEAL Team: Disavowed Book 3) Read online

  Wide-eyed, from his perch in a makeshift carrier, Baby Joe sucked on a mustache-style pacifier. The kid looked adorable, and Everett couldn’t wait to tell Nash and Maisey the great news—that he was bringing their son safely home. Unfortunately, the black widow had long since taken his sat phone, so until reaching civilization, he had no way of letting them know.

  “Thanks,” Everett said when his angel buckled his seat belt, then checked the baby in his makeshift carrier before rounding the Jeep to climb behind the wheel. “For everything. There’s no way I could have pulled this off without you.”

  “While I appreciate your gratitude, I owe you thanks, as well.” She put the vehicle in drive, then once again tucked her long skirt before carefully proceeding down the mountain. “You opened my eyes to an entire world I’d never seen.”

  “How so?” He angled to better face her.

  “In every way possible. Remember how I told you I’d been repeatedly denied the privilege of taking my final vows?”

  “Yeah . . .”

  “One of my favorite sisters basically accused me of being naïve, and she was right. I have no proof, but I think in an indirect way, Señora Rodriguez was responsible for killing my parents. And yet all this time, I stayed at the convent, helping in her ministry. Yet what kind of good deeds are funded by cocaine’s evil? It’s sick. And I blindly, stupidly lived my life believing everything anyone ever said. I’m an idiot.” Taking one hand off the wheel, she tore at the pins holding her wimple and veil in place.

  “Stop beating yourself up. From what you told me, you were basically still a kid when your folks were killed. How could you have possibly known what was going on? From the outside, it seemed like a pretty nice place.”

  She snorted, then pitched one, two, three, four bobby pins to the floorboard.

  Everett held his breath, anticipating his first sight of her long blond hair. How odd was it that he felt as if he knew her on an intimate level, yet he’d never even seen her hair? Had only imagined it?

  Hand at the top of her head, she removed her fabric crown.

  He’d expected to be blown away by her ethereal beauty, but the reality of her full appearance must have registered as shock.

  She took one look at him, stupidly gaping at her, then burst into tears. “Not only am I stupid, but ugly, right? Sister Agnes said long hair is a vanity. A sin. Each month, we took turns cutting each other’s hair with kitchen scissors.”

  “You’re stunning.” And now that he’d had a minute to work through his initial surprise, he reached out, stroking her dark pixie cut, loving its softness against his rock-roughened fingertips and palms.

  Both hands back on the wheel, she leaned into his touch. Tears still shone in her big blue eyes. If there was no urgent need to put as many miles as possible between themselves and Camilla, he’d have told his angel to pull over. He had the craziest urge to draw her onto his lap and kiss her until she actually believed how lovely she truly was—inside and out.

  They drove in silence for hours, eventually stopping at a shack that had an enormous fuel tank alongside it that sat on stilts. Everett had stashed a couple million in Colombian pesos in various hidey holes throughout the Jeep. A fact that came in handy with gasoline costing a whopping nine thousand pesos per gallon. After paying the clerk an extra couple thousand to let them use a water hose to wash their hands and faces, Everett also shelled out another three thousand for bread and local goat cheese.

  He added another wad of bills to bribe the owner to forget they were there.

  They’d made so many twists and turns on their journey, paying off locals along the way, that by the time Camilla realized she’d been duped, Everett prayed they had at least several hours of lead time on her thugs. He was under no illusion that they’d escaped home free. It was only a matter of time before they encountered the señora and her hired guns again.

  “Your hands look horrible,” his angel noted. She held the baby, bouncing him while he grabbed for an iridescent blue butterfly. “I’m guessing we’ll reach Medellin within a few hours. We’ll be able to buy medical supplies there.”

  He waved off her concern. “As soon as we find a phone, we’re golden. I’ll get in touch with my team lead, and he’ll send help. In fact, since I was supposed to have called in a couple days ago, I wouldn’t be surprised if guys from my company are already in country.”

  “Your team? Company?” She’d arched her head back as if drinking in sun. Light perspiration coated her pale skin, making her look every bit the angel he’d imagined her to be. Since she was no longer an official nun, once he got her safely back on US soil, he’d ask her out on an official date. “Does that mean there are more of you crazy commando types, roaming the Colombian jungle?”

  “I guess you could say that. We work for a security team. It’s based out of Denver, but we have guys set up all over the US.”

  “Like bodyguards?”

  “Sure—only usually more intense. High-profile cases pay the bills, but we still have time to help people who have nowhere else to turn.”

  She nodded, and side-by-side, they walked as fast as his bum knee allowed back to the Jeep.

  “If this is too personal,” he said, “feel free to tell me to mind my own business, but when was the last time the top of your bare head felt sun?”

  “Too long . . .” She rolled up her voluminous sleeves, but by the time they reached their ride, they’d fallen.

  “Are you hot?” he asked. According to the Jeep’s dash, the temp was only ninety-three, but the humidity wasn’t doing them any favors. The gasoline’s smell hung heavy in the still air.

  “Very.”

  He opened the glove box for a pocket knife. “If you’re sure about giving up on the church, it would just take a sec for me to modify your habit. Might make you more comfortable in this heat.”

  She glanced at the hardscrabble ground, then back to him. Worrying her full lower lip, she nodded. “Please, have your way with me.”

  Clearly, she had no clue what she’d just said. Or maybe he just had a dirty mind. Either way, he opened his knife, then grabbed hold of the seam between her shoulder and the sleeve. “You’re sure?”

  Her faint smile and nod did the funniest things to his normally calm stomach, and when he worked the knife into the seam, prying the threads apart, baring her creamy white skin, he was forced to shift his weight to hide his erection. The innocent had no idea what she did to him. Probably just as well, considering his no-commitment rule.

  With one sleeve worked free, he handed her the fabric, then started on the other side.

  A happy sigh escaped her lips. “Sister Agnes would have a cow if she caught me like this.” She waved her freed limb as if she were a butterfly emerging from her cocoon. “But I guess it doesn’t matter now.”

  “Once we get back to the States, what are you going to do?” He was trying to play it cool. Not to act as if he’d never seen a woman’s bared arms before. But the funny thing was, he’d never seen any of her. No one had. Which made her shiny and new.

  “I have no idea.”

  When the gas pump attendant appreciatively eyed her, Everett practically growled.

  “Ready?” he asked upon completing his task.

  “Yes.” She cast a worried glance over her shoulder. “But I can’t shake the feeling that things have been going a little too smoothly ever since we got off of that mountain.”

  “True.”

  She tucked Baby Joe back into his pack, then asked, “Do you think there’s a chance Señora Rodriguez really thinks we’re all dead?”

  He shrugged. “My gut says no. But if that is the case, why not send an army of her goons out after us?”

  “Great question.

  14

  Jacksonville, Florida

  “THE DOCTOR SAID you can go home soon.” Nash set Maisey’s favorite cashew chicken takeout on her hospital tray. Her color was almost back to normal. Her bruised arms only sported one IV. Her forehead and ch
eeks were still swollen and green from her beating, but her indomitable resolve to get back their son had her in rare fighting form.

  “I want to go now.” She pushed the tray away. “I can’t stand not knowing where my baby is.”

  “I told you, Briggs and Jasper learned without a doubt that two coffee farmers helped a man up from a rock ledge. A nun with a baby waved them down for help. As soon as Everett is able, he’ll check in, and then Briggs and Jasper will bring all three of them home.”

  “Who is this nun? What if she can’t be trusted?”

  “Hon . . .” Nash crossed his arms. “If you don’t relax, I’m going to call for Nurse Olivia to come in here and give you a shot of something that makes you a little less salty to the man who loves you.” He leaned across the bed to steal a kiss, starting off casual, but then deepening it for a bit of tongue. Knowing for an absolute certainty that their son and friend were safe, that his wife was on her way to a full recovery, had changed everything.

  For the first time since this madness started, Nash felt as if he could finally exhale. Which led to one question—if he felt so good, why was his wife still feeling bad? Was his gut missing something?

  Was Camilla Rodriguez only quiet, because she was already planning her next move?

  15

  Medellin, Colombia

  WHEN A KNOCK sounded on the hotel room’s door—they’d checked in under assumed names—Mary Margaret’s pulse took off on the same runaway gallop it had when escaping the convent. The longer she and Everett had gone without incident, though, the more she dared hope their fear of being chased by bad guys was well and truly behind them.

  A quick peek through the peephole showed Everett making a silly face.

  She laughed, surprising even herself by her uncharacteristically high spirits.

  After turning the deadbolt and unhooking a chain lock, she opened the door to him. “I was starting to worry.”

  “Sorry. I wanted to find just the right things—for both of you.” He brushed past her with several bags, overwhelming her with his delicious citrus and leather scent. He’d not only showered and shaved, but apparently found aftershave, as well. He’d called his teammates who were flying in from Bogotá, and would be there in the morning to chopper them back to the capital city where they’d then board a private jet. Everett had explained that reentering the States would be less messy for her that way.

  Once they’d returned Baby Joe to his parents, Everett promised to help her reestablish her citizenship and forge a new life. He’d even been to a doctor for steroid shots to his knee. The wounds on his fingertips were already healing and for the first time in her entire life, Mary Margaret was looking forward to sharing dinner with a man. “How is the little bugger?”

  “See for yourself . . .” She pointed toward the room’s king-sized bed where she’d made a pen for him with pillows. The cherub had drank a full bottle and was now napping. “My fingers are crossed for him to be just as peaceful during our dinner.”

  “Me, too.” Everett set the bags atop a low dresser. “Well . . .” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his new khakis. “If you want to go ahead and shower and change, I’ll watch the baby.”

  “O-okay.” Call her a prude, but Mary Margaret felt they didn’t know each other well enough to share a room. But for safety, Everett had insisted. She should have stood her moral ground, but what was the point when she’d have only added to her sins of new lust by lying? “Thank you, Mr. Garcia.”

  “You’re welcome, Mrs. Garcia.” The thrill of being with him, pretending to be his wife, in this relatively large city had excitement bubbling through her as if her blood had somehow turned to champagne. All of her worry and fear dissolved, making way for the intoxicating thrill of her first crush—something she’d never in a million years planned, yet here she was, loving every minute of it.

  Sister Catherine had been right.

  Mary Margaret had been naïve. Had she taken her final vows to God, she wouldn’t now be poised on the brink of a sparkly new life—which would officially start with her first bath in nearly two decades.

  Before she went and did something stupid like actually giggling, she snatched up the bags Everett had brought her, then scurried into the restroom. After closing and locking the door, she leaned hard against it, dropping the bags to press her palms to her fevered cheeks. The notion that she’d soon be naked mere feet from where Everett had stretched across the bed . . .

  She fanned herself, then crossed the room to turn on the bathtub’s faucets.

  The convent didn’t have a tub—showers were seen as luxuries and only allowed twice a week for a strict five minutes.

  Mary Margaret recalled her mother buying her bubble bath for birthdays and Christmas, so she poured some of the rose-scented hotel shampoo into her running water.

  While waiting for the tub to fill, she dove into Everett’s packages. There were capri pants and silky blouses in a rainbow of colors. Dresses and headscarves and even lacy undergarments.

  The thought of him selecting, let alone touching such private things had more heat rising on her cheeks. He’d thought of everything—even light cotton pajamas and strappy sandals in white, silver, and pink.

  The last bag contained clothes for the baby. Adorable onesies in blue, red, and green. Also, tiny blue plaid pants and a white shirt. The outfit would be perfect for when Baby Joe was reunited with his mother and father. Everett had even found itty bitty socks and shoes. The man really had thought of everything.

  A splashing sound sent her gaze skittering in that direction. She laughed to find bubbles having overflowed onto the floor.

  “Sister Agnes would not be amused,” she said in an exaggerated harsh tone before laughing while turning off the water, then removing her habit for what would be the last time.

  There were no mirrors in the convent—vanity was a sin.

  Appraising herself for the first time as a woman, let alone a fully nude woman, in the floor-to-ceiling mirror came as a shock. So much had changed. She gingerly touched her breasts, surprised when her nipples hardened.

  Ashamed, she covered them with her palms, but that only worsened her condition. Was there something wrong? And what was that strange hum between her legs? She squeezed her thighs tighter, but that only worsened the problem.

  Sex was never discussed at the convent.

  Mary Margaret’s parents had passed long before it would have even been appropriate for them to have given her the talk.

  She never thought sex would be an issue, so she’d never given it much thought. But now, after spending so much time with Everett, maybe she should? Not have sex. But at least try finding out more about it? Once she returned to America, surely any library would have books about it?

  She skimmed her hand across her flat abdomen, lower to pat the springy hair crowning the vee between her legs. And then her gaze dropped to the hair growing on her thighs and calves. On the drive into town—even on market days with the sisters—she’d noted that secular women shaved their legs and armpits. Sister Agnes categorized shaving as a sin, so that had also been forbidden. Since Mary Margaret had never bared her legs or armpits, the issue had never mattered, but considering the clothes Everett had brought, her hairiness was now a huge issue.

  Thankfully, she recalled her mother shaving, but since Everett wouldn’t let her leave the room, and even if she did, she had no money, then how would she get her hands on shaving cream and a razor?

  Did she dare ask Everett to bring both items?

  Depends.

  Which would be a bigger embarrassment? Admitting to him she needed help? Or showing up with him at a restaurant while looking like a hairy freak?

  Worrying her lower lip, she eyed a fluffy white robe hanging from the back of the bathroom door, then made a risqué decision . . .

  16

  EVERETT STOOD OUTSIDE of the hotel room’s bathroom door, sweating as if he were drenched in midday sun. His angel had asked for help, and he’d gi
ve it. After what they’d been through, he’d give her anything—do anything to help her transition into her new life.

  But doing so might just be the death of him.

  He’d never met anyone quite like her.

  It was as if she’d stepped out of another time. She was unspoiled in every way, and because of this, he felt honor-bound to respect her in every way.

  Upon finally summoning the courage to knock, she answered in a breathless rush—almost as if she was as apprehensive about this seemingly simple act as he was. “You’re back. Thank you.”

  She’d changed into one of the hotel’s white robes. It showed the pale vee of her throat, as well as the calves she was so concerned about.

  “I, ah, grabbed everything I thought you may need, plus a bathing suit.” Determined to handle this in a clinical manner, Everett cleared his throat and held out another bag, this one from the lobby gift shop. “That way, if you need help, I can be in the bathroom with you, but you’re still . . .” he gestured up and down his chest, hoping he wasn’t as red-faced as he feared, “. . . you know.”

  She nodded and snatched the bag from him. “Thank you. Please watch Baby Joe while I change.”

  Everett perched on the foot of the bed and gulped.

  He was in way over his head on this one. His body craved things he had no right to ask—things his angel might never feel ready to give. And that was okay—probably even for the best. He had that rule about no-commitment and this saint deserved a ring, white picket fence, and the kind of lifelong promise he might never be able to give.

  It was with all of that in mind that when she opened the bathroom door and stepped out in the most chaste, white one-piece he’d been able to find, that he gulped, then rapidly looked away. “Great. I’m glad it fits. Now, you can get started.”