Shunned (SEAL Team: Disavowed Book 3) Read online

  “By myself?” She looked confused.

  “Sure. Go ahead and try everything out. I’ll stay out here with Baby Joe. Call me if you need back-up.”

  Since the baby was sleeping, Everett flipped through a tourism brochure he’d found near the TV. Oddly enough, every picture featured one of his imagined images of his angel.

  “Everett?” she called from the bathroom.

  “Yeah?” He loved hearing her say his name. What was wrong with him that he found the sound so pleasurable passing her lips?

  “I think I already messed this up. Would you mind helping?”

  “Not at all.” He stood ramrod straight, willing away his erection. He took a few deep breaths, thinking of that time way back in basic training when he’d accidentally seen his chubby drill sergeant wearing only his skivvies. There. That worked. At least until he entered the cramped bathroom to find his angel perched on the side of the tub.

  At his angle, the mounds of her perfect, creamy breasts were all too visible. The kissable back of her neck. The womanly swell of her hips that he’d hold while sinking himself—no.

  Clinical, man. This is a clinical operation.

  He saw right away what her problem was, and he knelt on the cold tile floor beside the tub. The pose hurt like the devil, but in this case, physical pain was exactly what he needed to get his mind off of other more pressing regions. She’d spread at least half the can of mango-scented shaving cream over her calf and shin, meaning the foam was so thick that the razor stood zero chance of landing on any hair.

  “What did I do wrong?” she asked, eyebrows knitting with concern.

  “I’m no expert, but . . .” Using the edge of his palm as a spatula, he wiped away most of the foam. “I’m guessing you used a little too much of this.” He took the razor from her, gliding it over her shin. Once the blade was filled, he leaned to the sink, notched up the single lever faucet, then rinsed the razor beneath the water’s flow. Might not be environmentally cool, but he left the tap running, repeating the process again and again until her right leg was irresistibly smooth. He couldn’t help himself from skimming his palm along the curve of her slender calf, greedily wanting to glide higher.

  He’d worked up to about mid-thigh on that leg before she covered his hand with hers. Her breathing fell in soft, breathy hitches. Her pupils were wide.

  She licked her lips. “I-I think I can handle it from here.”

  “Sure?” He couldn’t move his hand from her inner thigh. Didn’t want to.

  She shook her head, then nodded.

  He somehow found the strength to release her, then pass the razor. “Need anything else?”

  “No, thank you.” She pressed her free hand to her chest. “I’m good.”

  “I’m glad.” He pushed himself up, gritting through knee pain so as not to look like a weaker man than she deserved. He found himself wanting to be everything for her. Her knight in shining armor. Might sound corny, but he didn’t care. Something about her attracted him like a magnet. When push came to shove, her softness was contrasted by an equally capable tough side. Part of him wanted to say, screw his no-commitment rule and downright woo her with every trick in his pathetic playbook. On the other hand, he feared she was too good for him, so why even try? “Sure you won’t hurt yourself?”

  “Positive.” She held her hand over the spot on her inner thigh where his hand had just been. Could she still feel his touch the way he felt her?

  He forced himself to turn away, then closed the bathroom door behind him.

  Once Everett left the perilously small space, Mary Margaret missed him almost as much as she feared him—not in a safety sort of way. More like the crazy, topsy-turvy way he made her feel. The way her heart uncomfortably thumped. Not from fright, but heightened awareness.

  She now fully understood why Sister Agnes had believed that it was a sin for a woman to shave her legs. Because of how good a man’s hands felt skimming across that smooth skin.

  Mary Margaret finished her task, then rinsed the tub, dried off, and luxuriated in coating herself with the hotel-provided lotion. It smelled of gardenias. And it too was most likely a sin. But Mary Margaret had stopped caring. What the sisters had done to her in keeping the señora’s dark secrets had also been a sin. A sin much worse than the supposed wickedness of touch.

  She slipped on her new lacy panties and bra, only to discover more frustration. The unfamiliar fabric kissed her most private places in a provocative way. Much different from her standard-issue white cotton. Next, she pulled on a full-skirted dress constructed of a soft fabric that matched her eyes.

  When she peered in the mirror, she didn’t know the woman staring back at her. The image of herself she remembered was that of a frightened child. She was now a woman. Her cheeks superheated at the mere thought of all the things secular women were allowed to do.

  Would she ever feel comfortable in her own skin? For now, the answer eluded her. But maybe someday soon, Everett might be so kind as to help her figure it out?

  Ten minutes later, with Everett carrying the baby, the three of them walked to a restaurant near the hotel. Night had fallen. Heat rose from the dirty pavement. The streets were packed with what she could only call partiers. Men and women in all manner of dress and levels of intoxication. Neon lights blinked and glared. Smells accosted her—some pleasant, like grilled meat. Some not, like stale urine. As optimistic as she’d been in her room’s relative safety, she now felt out of her element and unsure.

  She found herself practically clinging to Everett, and when they stopped on a corner to wait for traffic to stop long enough for them to cross, he asked, “You okay?”

  “I’m sorry, but no. Would you mind finding something to eat closer to the hotel?”

  “All you had to do was ask.” He hailed a taxi, and five minutes later, paid the driver, then helped her into their hotel’s air-conditioned, marble-floored lobby.

  Baby Joe had grown fussy.

  She jiggled him in an attempt to calm him.

  Everett placed his hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward a long hall crowned by glittering crystal chandeliers. Their footfalls were silent on a creamy confection of carpet spun with gold fibers. At the hall’s end were double doors flanked by enormous potted palms.

  “My apologies, but this is a private party.” A bearded man dressed in a dark suit blocked their path. He carried a clipboard.

  “Wait here,” Everett whispered into her ear. The warmth of his breath made her shiver.

  He approached the man, exchanged words, passed him a wad of bills, and then gestured for her to approach.

  Moments later, they shared a cozy booth. One waiter brought Baby Joe a high chair. Another waiter brought garlic butter and French bread, still warm from the oven.

  A pianist played classical music on a low stage.

  Elegantly dressed diners filling the room reminded Mary Margaret of some of the señora’s formal affairs.

  “What did you say to that man?” Mary Margaret was almost afraid to ask.

  “I told him my wife and child were exhausted from traveling all day, and that if he’d kindly allow us to share a quick meal, he would be well compensated. I handed him an obscene amount of cash and voila—here we sit.”

  “Your wife? Your child?” Despite her heart having skipped a delicious beat at the mere notion, she raised her eyebrows.

  “Would that be so horrible? Not right away, but maybe sometime down the road? After we get to know each other a little better?”

  “Would you want kids?”

  “Very much.” He skimmed his hand over the crown of Baby Joe’s downy-covered head. “But I guess I’ve never thought much about it till now. You?”

  Gaze blurred with tears, she said, “I don’t know. All of this is so new. I feel reborn. I’m afraid it’s going to take me a while to adjust. Caring for myself is overwhelming enough. I can’t imagine having my own child to look after as well.”

  She looked to Everett t
o find his expression strangely sad. Why?

  How long would it be until she understood his moods as well as those of her fellow sisters’? Would she ever? What if once they returned to the States, they never saw each other again? What if he’d rather be with a woman who knew how to shave her legs and kiss and wear normal clothes? What if he tired of having to teach her everything from scratch?

  That very real possibility stole her appetite.

  The first waiter reappeared and Everett ordered a steak, while she made do with a bowl of steaming minestrone.

  The simple dish reminded her of the last time she’d helped Sister Catherine in her kitchen. Would she ever see her again? A fierce, unexpected pang to hug her old friend caught her off guard. In leaving the convent, what had she done? Of course, helping Everett had been the right thing, but at what cost?

  Was she fooling herself to ever believe she’d forge a new life that was even half as satisfying as what she’d had at the convent? Maybe she’d liked being naïve. It was certainly a whole lot easier than dealing with this new constant barrage of sights and sounds and smells and, most especially, emotions.

  There was one thing that terrified Mary Margaret far more than Señora Rodriguez’s guards…

  Her budding feelings for Everett.

  Her fear that those feelings might never be returned.

  What if Everett thought her pathetic? Too afraid of her own shadow to walk down a crowded nighttime street. Moreover, how would she cope with not only never seeing her fellow beloved sisters again, but possibly him, too?

  “You’re awfully quiet,” he said.

  She cast him a faint smile. “It’s been a long day.”

  “True.” He bowed his head. “But are you sure that’s it?”

  Was this her perfect chance to at least try explaining emotions she didn’t yet fully understand?

  He reached toward her, almost as if he intended to hold her hands, but then the baby fussed, and she turned her attentions to the cranky munchkin beside her.

  “He’s probably exhausted.”

  “Sure.” After slapping his napkin on the table, he asked, “Ready to head up?”

  Mary Margaret nodded and opened her mouth to speak when the waiter appeared.

  Without a sound, he handed Everett a note.

  While reading, Everett’s eyebrows furrowed. His formerly pleasant expression turned into a thin-lipped frown. How odd. What could the note say?

  She didn’t have long to wait. A moment later, he passed it to her.

  YOU ARE SURROUNDED.

  DO NOT TRY TO RUN OR CREATE A SCENE.

  COME WITH ME PEACEABLY, AND NO ONE WILL BE HURT.

  Mary Margaret dropped the note as if it had caught fire. Her heart rate surged while cupping her hand protectively to the back of the baby’s head. She’d known this momentary lull was too good to be true. The señora had found them. There was nowhere left to hide.

  She looked up, only to wish she hadn’t.

  Beneath a silver tray the waiter carried, he’d concealed a gun that was now aimed at her head.

  17

  SHIT . . .

  For Everett, seeing a gun aimed at the woman who trusted him to protect her evoked a visceral, even primal rage. No. On his watch, no harm would come to her or the baby. It was a no-brainer that eventually, Camilla’s thugs would catch up with them, but Everett had hoped for at least a little more time. But no worries.

  He forced a deep breath, calming his erratic pulse and fury.

  While shopping for Mary Margaret’s shaving supplies, he’d scouted the hotel’s exits. From the booth, their safest bet would be ditching the gunman, then hustling through the kitchen to the loading dock. It would take thirty seconds tops. Only problem with that plan? Odds were that this guy’s friends waited for him just beyond the kitchen door. No bueno. Which meant going for Option B, which was essentially banking on the fact that by using a note, Camilla had tipped her hand that she was no more interested in making a scene than Everett was.

  All he had to do was ditch Camilla’s thug, then calmly guide Mary Margaret and the baby through the restaurant’s main door and right back out to the lobby. Sounded easy enough in his head. But with both plans, there were too many variables.

  The longer the gun stayed on Mary Margaret, the more Everett knew he was out of time. His heart hammered loud enough for him to hear in his ears.

  Keep it cool, man. Pretend this is like any other mission.

  Only it wasn’t, because from out of nowhere, whatever it was he felt for the former nun, slugged him in his gut. He had to save her and the baby. Selfishly, he couldn’t imagine his life without either of them.

  Which was why he had to act now.

  “Kindly tell your boss,” Everett cleared his throat before setting the note back onto the waiter’s tray, “that I prefer doing business face to face.”

  With the waiter momentarily distracted by looking at his tray, Everett grabbed his steak knife, then rammed it deep into the guy’s family jewels.

  The waiter cried out, dropping his tray and weapon.

  The woman at the next table screamed.

  “Come on,” Everett knelt for the gun, ignoring the pain in his knee. “I’ll take the baby. Let’s head for the lobby.”

  “But that man can’t have been alone.” She struggled to her feet. “What if we run into his friends?”

  “It’s a chance we’ll have to take.” Everett scooped the baby from his high chair, then realized he couldn’t very well provide cover while cradling an infant. “On second thought, you take Baby Joe. I need my hands free to shoot bad guys.”

  She took the baby.

  Everett planted his hand against the small of her back, propelling her past panicked diners. In seconds the mood in the elegant room had gone from calm to chaos, with everyone now charging for the door.

  Everett held Mary Margaret behind. “Let’s let this mob work in our favor.”

  “How?” She was crying, hugging the baby to her chest.

  “See that door just past the gift shop?”

  She nodded.

  “It leads to the—”

  “Not so fast,” a man said from behind them in broken English. “Give me the infant and I will let you and the woman go.”

  “Look away,” Everett said to Mary Margaret.

  He didn’t have time to check if she’d complied. This was more of a shoot first, ask questions later, situation. Without a second thought, he shot the man in the chest and kept on walking.

  The direct hit to his heart dropped the guy to the wood floor.

  “Is he dead?” Mary Margaret’s voice was barely audible over the restaurant patrons’ screams.

  “Hope so.” He took her hand, dragging her in a zigzag pattern through the crowd.

  Upon reaching the door opposite the gift shop, he pushed through first, checking that the coast was clear.

  A short jog down a narrow corridor led them into a barely lit courtyard. Darkness sweetened by unseen flowers. The pool glowed like a sapphire. Crickets chirped.

  “Think we’re alone?” Mary Margaret asked.

  “I wouldn’t bet my life on it. Let’s hurry to that access door on the other side.” He pointed to an entrance flanked by towel carts. He’d have missed it were it not for the single bulb wall sconce mounted alongside it. “I don’t want us exposed a second longer than necessary.”

  “Are we going back to our room?”

  “No.”

  “Why? What about our stuff?”

  “I’ve got a safe house not too far from here. It’s already stocked.”

  “But how—”

  “Look—” When the door they’d just come through opened, he pushed her into the shadows between two tall bushes. “If you could hold all questions for later, and trust that I’ve got this handled, we’d get you and the baby to safety a whole lot faster.”

  “W-what about you?”

  “What do you mean?” His gaze narrowed. In the low light, it was t
ough making out her features. But it didn’t matter, his heart knew every nuance from the tip of her slim nose to the blush of her high-boned cheeks.

  “You need to be safe, too. I—we—need you.”

  His spirits soared. She needed him? Nice.

  From out of the darkness came the sound of casual whistling, then a male voice calling, “Little mouse, little mouse, why won’t you come out of your house?”

  “Why won’t they leave us alone?” Mary Margaret whispered.

  “Stay here. No matter what happens, don’t move.”

  “But—” Before she launched a protest, he was gone.

  Keeping to the shadows, Everett crept around the courtyard’s edge. The pool was rimmed with lounge chairs, which he stayed behind.

  The whistling man was bold enough to now stand alongside the diving board. Shimmering light bathed his face in eerie blue. “You know I’ll find you. Why not do us both a favor and hand over the infant?”

  Everett pushed himself faster, while maintaining his stealth.

  The courtyard was a long rectangle, and he was now in the cover of a small tiki-style bar. He took a moment to exhale the breath he’d been holding. He could shoot the whistling man, but not knowing how many more of Camilla’s guys were in the hotel, he couldn’t risk drawing attention.

  Laughter sounded at the courtyard’s opposite end.

  Emerging from the door near Mary Margaret’s hiding spot were a group of six twenty-somethings. Four guys and two girls. Swell. Just what he needed—more possibility of collateral damage.

  Everett waited, hoping they were just passing through, but then they stopped by an umbrella-covered table. Two men sat, removing cigarettes from their shirt pockets. Their faces glowed while sharing a lighter. The acrid smell of smoke drifted on the calm night air.

  The whistling man backed into a chair behind the diving board. Cloaked in shadows, no one besides Everett and Mary Margaret knew he was there.

  The girls giggled while stripping down to their birthday suits.

  Their companions did the same.

  The naked foursome joined hands while running to the pool. They jumped in tandem, raising an epic splash.