Her Next Breath (Uncharted SEALs Book 2) Read online

  Her Next Breath

  An Uncharted SEALs story

  Delilah Devlin

  Copyright © 2015 Delilah Devlin

  Kindle Edition

  Ex-SEAL Jackson Keller’s first mission with the Charter Group’s spec ops unit is a bust. Instead of capturing a drug lord in his Mexican compound, he finds a beautiful, naked woman. But she may have information they need to nail the narco-terrorist, so he takes her, sealing his fate. She’s his to watch, his to “manage” until the op’s done.

  Suri McAnally’s made some mistakes—mainly trusting her college roomie who just so happens to be the son of one of Mexico’s most dangerous drug lords. If Jackson can save her, she’ll do whatever he says, mirror his moves, and try to keep her insta-lust under control. Her next breath depends on it.

  From the Author

  As a retired member of the armed forces (Army Signal Corp and a veteran of the Gulf War), whose sister, brother and father also served, I’m well aware of the sacrifices our military members and their families make in defense of our country. To the men and women of the United States military—formerly and currently serving—thank you for your service. This book is dedicated to you.

  If you enjoy this story, please consider leaving a review on your favorite retail site or simply tell a friend.

  Sincerely,

  Delilah Devlin

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  About the Book

  From the Author

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Also from the Uncharted SEALs series

  About Delilah Devlin

  Excerpt from Through Her Eyes

  Chapter One

  ‡

  As the last man dropped to the ground inside the compound, Jackson Keller glanced around, confirming what the first man over the wall had whispered on the radio.

  This mission looked like a complete FUBAR—Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition.

  The compound deep in the Sierra Madres echoed like the hold of an empty ship. Scraps of paper whispering on the flagstones, and the whistling wind that pushed them along, made the only sounds inside the ten-foot-tall stucco walls as his team continued to stealthily infiltrate the drug lord’s family home.

  “Don’t get too comfortable,” he whispered into his mike. “Watch for tripwires, booby traps.” Not that he expected them. Diego Guzman wouldn’t like to come back to a shell of a home.

  The moon was blanketed by thick clouds. A security light on a tall pole provided the only illumination. Not a light shone in the windows of the mansion facing the deep valley. From the debris littering the ground and the fact satellite had shown that not two hours ago the cobblestone parking area had been filled with SUVs, Jackson knew the compound had been abandoned in a hurry. Still, his team would have to clear it room-by-room on the off-chance they scored any intel to give them Diego Guzman’s current whereabouts.

  The team spread out, taking up their predetermined positions around the main house. Along with Deke and the team members who’d penetrate the front entrance, Jackson ran up the steps of the veranda and pressed his back against the wall next to the massive, oaken front door and pointed at Deke, telling him silently he’d be the first to breach. He waited as Deke tried the door handle. The latch lowered.

  Deke took cover against the wall opposite Jackson, quickly pushed in the door, and ducked back a moment in case it had been booby-trapped. Nothing. He stepped inside.

  Jackson followed, his weapon raised, his gaze turning to the living room he passed, his night-vision goggles taking in the rich furnishings drugs, kidnappings, and extortion had bought. A plush sectional that would have filled his whole apartment, a large-screen television that covered an entire wall, a well-stocked bar. He continued through the foyer toward the stairs. Everyone had their task—he and Deke would search the upstairs bedrooms, the rest of the team would spread out to cover the ground floor.

  Following Deke, he climbed the staircase with its ornate, wrought-iron balustrade.

  Deke paused at the top of the stairs and headed to the right.

  Jackson took the left. In his ear, he heard his team announce, “Clear… Clear… Clear,” as they searched below stairs. He tried the first door, opening it, leaning away then peering around the corner before stepping inside. Quickly, he checked closets, the bathroom, then under the bed. “Clear.”

  He checked another room then went to the next door. Inside, moonlight filtered through gauzy curtains. Circling the room, he ducked into the bathroom to the right, checked the shower stall, the linen closet, and then quickly reentered the bedroom, heading toward a large, king-size bed with a canopy and more panels of thin lace. He pushed aside the curtain with the nozzle of his weapon and froze. A figure huddled with her back against the headboard, a sheet pulled up to cover her breasts. A manacle attached to a chain encircled one wrist.

  Jackson flipped up his goggles, pulled his flashlight from his utility belt, and shone the light over the woman.

  Wildly curly, matted blonde hair hung loose around her shoulders. Large eyes narrowed against the harsh beam, but even with her features scrunched as she moved as far from him as the chain would allow, he could tell she was beautiful.

  Into his mike, he said, “Second floor, bedroom on the east end; I’m gonna need a translator.”

  The woman frowned. “I speak English.”

  Accentless English. American. And in a voice that was slightly husky. “Cancel that. But we have a live one. Deke, you clear the rest of the bedrooms.”

  “Roger that.”

  Jackson kept the light on the woman. “Mac, check the junction box. Jave, bring in the dog. Make sure this place isn’t wired to blow. Then let’s light up the place. Search it.”

  “What about the prisoner?” Deke said, stepping into the room behind him. “Need help bringing him out?”

  “What about it, ma’am?” Jackson said, keeping his voice even. “Will you give me any trouble?”

  She swallowed, but lifted her chin. “Depends on who you are.”

  “Name’s Jackson Keller, and I’m with Charter Group.”

  Her eyebrows lifted in question.

  “I’m an ex-Navy SEAL, ma’am. So’s most of my team.”

  “And that just means you know more ways to kill someone than the average criminal.”

  Jackson grunted, surprised by her grit. “We’re a spec ops company, contracted by the U.S. government. Strictly legal.”

  “And I’m to take your word on it?”

  Jackson gave her a steady stare. “Seeing as you’re chained to a bed in Diego Guzman’s house, I’d say you don’t have much room to complain.”

  Her chin lifted higher. “I’m not here by my choice.”

  Her words bit like pellets. Her tone was bitter. Jackson’s heart stilled. “Were you kidnapped, ma’am?”

  She nodded. “Yes, out of my apartment in Austin three days ago.”

  Jackson kept his expression neutral although inside he seethed. “Were you molested? Do you need medical attention?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I need the handcuff gone and for someone to find me some clothes.” Her mouth trembled but her gaze remained level, if still squinting at the light.

  In his ear, he heard Mac. “No bombs, Jax. House is clear.”

  In the next moment, the lights went on in the bedroom.

  Deke came up beside him, staring at the disheveled woman cloaked by a pink satin sheet. The entire room looked like som
ething out of an old Hollywood movie: cream walls and furniture, pale pink carpet and a bedspread patterned with pink roses. Despite her nudity and the suspicion darkening her very blue eyes, she fit the surroundings—opulent, soft pearl skin, hair the color of light honey. Although now, he thought maybe she’d been cuffed straight out of the shower because the sun streaked blonde hair was matted and hadn’t been brushed.

  With her free hand, she pulled the edge of the sheet to just under her chin.

  Knowing he’d stared too long, Jackson cleared his throat. “Before I can approach the bed and unlock those cuffs, I’ll need you to lower the sheet.”

  Her fist tightened. “The hell I will.”

  “Ma’am, you’re in a narco-terrorist’s house. I have to be sure you aren’t wired to blow.”

  “I can assure you, I wouldn’t be this pissed-off if I were.”

  Deke coughed. A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

  Turning his head, Jackson gave him a deadly glare. “Deke, if you could go to the door and give her some privacy…”

  Deke grunted but did as ordered, facing the hallway.

  “It’s just me, now. Lower the sheet.”

  Her lower lip jutted and she drew a deep breath, her gaze locking militantly with his. But she lowered the sheet, slowly, like a tease if she only knew, past perfectly rounded breasts with delicate pink nipples, down a softly rounded belly with a deeply indented waistline.

  “That’s as far as I can reach,” she whispered.

  He raised his weapon and leaned over to tug the sheet off the rest of the way. And even though he knew instantly the pressure plate to a bomb wasn’t hidden beneath her, he couldn’t resist lingering. Her legs were long and rounded but pulled up and to the side.

  He knew he was pushing her, but as a soldier, he was never anything but thorough. Soft got you killed. “I’ll need you to spread your legs, ma’am.”

  Her eyes widened with indignation, but she straightened her legs and then slowly opened them.

  Jackson nearly groaned aloud at the sight of the soft blonde ruff and lovely pink pussy. He slung his weapon behind his back, satisfied she wasn’t booby-trapped or had a weapon hidden. But they had a problem. No one on the team had a key. They’d brought zip ties to restrain any prisoners. “Did you see if they left the key to the handcuffs in the room?”

  She nodded toward the dresser. “Alejandro left it in the ring tray.”

  “Alejandro?” he asked, walking to the dresser. Alejandro was Guzman’s youngest son, and the reason Guzman should have been there, for a celebration announcing his engagement. If this woman had been kidnapped, she couldn’t be the fiancée.

  The key lay in the midst of several pricey rings, encrusted with rubies, emeralds, and diamonds. He fished out the key and returned to the bed.

  She’d pulled up the sheet again.

  Not that he’d chastise her. Her pretty body was a distraction he didn’t need. He unlocked her manacle, noted the bruising around her wrist, and heard her sharp gasp as her arm dropped. Before he thought better of it, he reached out and kneaded her shoulder and arm. “It’ll take a few minutes for it to stop tingling.”

  Deke coughed again, and Jackson dropped his hands. “Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “I’ll let you know once we’re in the air.”

  Her eyebrows shot up, but she pulled the sheet from the bed and wrapped it around her, and then left the bed, padding to the closet to remove a long, printed dress and sandals.

  “You don’t have anything sturdier?”

  “Kidnapped, remember?” She shot him a glare. “No jeans or slacks in this closet. This at least covers me.” She strode to the dresser and extracted a lacy bra and panties. “Can I dress in the bathroom?”

  Because he hadn’t had a chance to check the cabinets inside the bathroom, he shook his head. “Dress where you’re standing.”

  Pink entered her cheeks, and, if possible, her chin lifted higher. But rather than dressing awkwardly under the sheet, she dropped it and began to draw on her underwear.

  Jackson kept his expression neutral. Whoever she was, she was strong. And had quite a temper. The mystery of who she was and what she was doing there would have to wait. “Throw some more clothes into a pillowcase if you don’t have a bag.”

  He turned to Deke as she scurried to pack. “Go on down. Have Wiley make contact and get the helo back to the drop site. Let them know we have one prisoner.” A huff sounded behind him, but he didn’t acknowledge it with even a pause. “Make sure the team has finished the search.”

  Deke nodded then cast a glance beyond Jackson. “Commander Martir’s not gonna be happy. He wanted to keep this simple.”

  Jackson shook his head. “She’s my headache.”

  “I’m not anyone’s problem,” the woman said, stepping in front of him with a bulging pillowcase.

  He glanced back at the dresser top. The rings were missing from the tray.

  “They’re mine,” she said, defiance flashing in her eyes. “They’re the least Alejandro owes me.”

  “I’ll take your word for it, ma’am.”

  “Stop with the ma’am. You’ve already seen me in my birthday suit. My name’s Suri McAnally. Now, are you getting me the hell out of here?”

  Suri wasn’t sure where the courage came from to bitch at her new captor. The moment she’d heard the stealthy footsteps enter her bedroom, she’d been terrified someone other than Alejandro had returned to molest her. Maybe an hour earlier, she’d known from the sounds of running footsteps and shouts coming from the courtyard followed by tires screeching away, that she’d been left behind to an uncertain fate.

  When Jackson Keller had parted the curtains around the bed, she’d nearly peed herself she’d been so scared. A large dark shadow with the even more ominous outline of a large gun, and she’d been sure she was toast. What had precipitated the evacuation of the estate was a mystery. That she’d been the guest of someone dangerous had been apparent from the moment Alejandro drove her through the guarded gate of the compound past a phalanx of armed guards.

  Although he’d kidnapped her, up to that moment, she hadn’t been afraid. Alejandro was her friend. And as he’d explained on the long drive from the private airport to the estate, he wouldn’t have kidnapped her at all if she’d just agreed to a little deception—a vacation posing as his fiancée to satisfy his father because his dad was suspicious about the fact Alejandro never brought around women or frequented the bordellos in the small town in the valley.

  As she’d discovered, Alejandro’s father wasn’t someone a son could confide in. Telling the imposing man he was gay would likely have ended his life.

  She understood why Alejandro had done what he had. But she’d lived the last few days in a state of heightened anxiety that Diego would learn the truth, and they’d both be shot and fed to the vultures that roosted in the sparse scrubby oaks dotting the hillsides around the compound. Automatic weapons and holstered pistols abounded. Cold, hard gazes followed her everywhere she went.

  Until the lights flickered on, she hadn’t let go of her fear. But one glance at Jackson’s stern expression, his steady stare, and she’d relaxed inside. Something about him made her feel instantly safe. Might have been his large frame or the dark military-style helmet. Might have been the steel-gray gaze above black-streaked cheeks.

  Didn’t make sense, but then, she’d been operating on instinct for so long, she didn’t question it. That she’d figured out he wasn’t a bigger bad than Diego Guzman didn’t mean she was ready to jump at his every command—just those that made sense. And right now, she agreed with the command to get the hell out of the Guzman family compound. If she never saw Alejandro’s odious father again, it would be too soon. At first sight, he’d given her the exact opposite impression as Jackson Keller.

  And while Diego had been dressed in expensive, but casual, clothing and wore a carefully crafted, urbane facade, he’d made every ha
ir on the back of her neck stand up. When he’d smiled through introductions over a civilized glass of wine, his dark eyes had been cold. Not a hint of emotion. She’d known in an instant she was facing someone who’d kill without blinking, without expression.

  Jackson glanced at her feet, and his jaw tightened.

  The skimpy sandals were the only shoes in the closet without a heel.

  But he didn’t comment. He simply gave the other man a nod and swept a hand to indicate she should follow his buddy.

  They made their way down the hallway to the staircase then out the front door into the waiting darkness.

  “Hold the back of his shirt in case you lose your footing.”

  She reached out and gripped the back of the uniform jacket, then took two steps for every one of the man’s as she followed him through the courtyard and out a side gate.

  The route they chose was rocky, and she had to concentrate hard on the way his body moved to know how to measure her steps. After what seemed an hour but was likely only minutes, they came to a halt on a mesa. She let go of the man’s jacket, flexed her hand, and dropped her pillow case. Enough moonlight broke through the cloud cover to illuminate the area. A dozen men were in the clearing, aiming weapons outward, scanning the nearby peaks. Only Jackson watched her.

  In the distance, she heard the rhythmic whomp-whomp of a helicopter drawing near. But it didn’t settle on the ground. Long rope ladders rolled out, and the team moved quickly to climb up into the belly of the helicopter.

  Suri stared then took a step backward. No way was she climbing, swinging over the rocky ground. She didn’t like heights, hadn’t climbed a ladder higher than one she needed to reach into her upper kitchen cabinet. Her mouth dried, and she took another backward step and bumped into a tall, hard body.

  He didn’t move away. Warm breath brushed her cheek. “You don’t have to climb. They’re dropping a basket for you. Now, move.”

  She shivered at the low growling texture of his voice. The man was a grade-A bastard. But she knew he wasn’t bluffing. She’d seen the movies. Dangling in a basket over a deep canyon was only slightly less terrifying than the thought of climbing the ladder.