“Yeah, but I have no regrets.”
“Same here.” He’d grown up in a wealthy household. Everything he’d wanted, he could have by just asking. BUD/S training had been a real culture shock and an assault on his body, physically and mentally. But he’d be damned if he failed and went home to hear his father say “I told you so.”
Everything Sawyer did was to prove to himself he could do anything he set his mind to. Not because his father could get him the position or smooth his way. He didn’t want his father’s help. Hell, he didn’t want anything to do with his father.
The man had given him anything money could buy, but he hadn’t been much of a parent. He’d never played ball with him. Never made one of his parent-teacher conferences at school. When Sawyer crashed his motorcycle and broke his arm, his father was in Paris with his fiancée. He didn’t bother to come home and check that Sawyer was all right.
He never once showed up at one of his football games. Hell, he didn’t want him to play football. He’d said the sport was too hard on a man’s body. It wrecked the knees. Not that he cared if his son was injured. His advice was from a practical viewpoint. Why destroy your body when you needed it to get you through to old age?
Being raised in a mansion with formal living areas and white carpets had been stifling to Sawyer. He’d never thought he could be himself. He was always the politician’s son. On display in his best clothes. Sawyer felt more at ease near the sea, with sand between his toes and the sun warming his skin, wearing nothing but a swimsuit.
“There.” Montana pointed down the beach, where a number of WaveRunners rested on the sand. A small tent stood nearby with a menu of prices listed on a chalkboard.
They wove their way between families playing with their children in the sand and bikini-clad beach babes slathered in oil and baking in the sun. Sawyer didn’t slow to stare at the beautiful bodies. He wanted to be racing across the water, crashing through the waves, letting the wind and ocean wash thoughts of his lonely childhood from his mind. He had his SEAL brothers now. They were the best family a man could have. They’d be there for him, no matter what.
Sawyer slapped a wad of bills in the attendant’s hand. “We’ll take one for an hour.”
The man pocketed the cash, instructed them on the use of the equipment and helped push a WaveRunner out to the water’s edge.
Sawyer nodded to Montana. “You can go first.”
“You sure? This was your idea.”
“I can wait. Just don’t wreck it before I get a chance to ride.” He twisted his lips into a wry grin. “It’s not like riding a horse.”
Montana laughed, hitched his shorts as if he were a real cowboy dressed in jeans and cowboy boots, and then swung his leg over the seat as if he was mounting a horse. “It’s more like riding a horse than you think. But then, riding a horse can be a lot more difficult for you city slickers.”
“Keep it up, Montana, and I’ll show you a real rodeo on the water.”
“Only thing that’ll convince me is if you rope a shark, hog-tie him and bring him in to roast on a spit. Montana-style.” Montana gunned the throttle and shot out into the water. He hit a small wave head-on, crashing through the crest to emerge on the other side. “Yee-haw!” he yelled and raced out to sea.
Sawyer sat in the wet sand, adjusting the cell phone in his pocket, glad he’d thought to slip it into a waterproof bag before he’d left the bungalow. He let the water lap over his feet and legs, enjoying the sun on his back, the fresh air and the taste of salt on his lips.
The first few days in Cancún had been a lot more than any of them had bargained for. Looking for relaxation, fun and maybe some female companionship, they’d come to Cancún ready for a much-deserved vacation.
Duff had been the first of the men to find a female companion. And boy, did he know how to pick one. Natalie, a former government secret agent, had come to find her sister, who’d disappeared on a diving excursion.
When Duff offered to help, all four members of SEAL Boat Team 22 who’d come to Cancún were engaged to find and liberate women who’d been kidnapped and readied for auction in a human trafficking ring.
Rest and relaxation. Ha!
Since when did getting shot at count as recreation?
Quentin, Montana and Sawyer could have told Duff where he could go with his plan to help, but that was not what friends did—not what SEAL brothers did. They stuck together and helped each other through good times and bad. And if there were guns and bad guys involved, that was when they did their best work.
Sawyer leaned back in the surf and let the warm, clear ocean water ebb and flow over his skin. Now that they’d retrieved the women and sent most of them to their respective homes, the team could finish their vacation in peace.
Montana hopped across several more waves, shouting like a fool and laughing in the sun. A wave hit him broadside and knocked the big cowboy into the water.
Laughing, Sawyer stood, brushing sand off his shorts.
Montana dragged himself up the back of the craft, mounted the WaveRunner and powered into the shore, pulling up on the sand beside Sawyer. Grinning, he shook the water from his hair. “You’re gonna love it.”
“Great.”
Montana climbed off and stood to the side.
Finally Sawyer had his turn. He and Montana turned the vehicle in the sand to aim it outward.
Sawyer swung his leg over the body of the craft and settled onto the cushioned seat. As he twisted the throttle, a shout sounded behind him.
* * *
AS SOON AS Jenna realized who the man in the photographs was, she’d grabbed her cell phone and called Carly.
Her friend didn’t answer. Instead, she texted.
What do you need? We’re in a convertible. I can’t hear over the wind.
Get Quentin to give you the number for his friend.
Carly responded with a smiley face and a note.
His name is Sawyer.
Her heart racing, Jenna paced the floor. Every time she passed the case on the bed, her stomach clenched and she muttered, “Holy crap.”
Someone had been paid to deliver Sawyer dead or alive to some undisclosed location. Armed with that information, Jenna couldn’t stand by and let the would-be assassin succeed in his mission. She had to warn Sawyer. The sooner the better. The assassin might have more than this rifle at his disposal. And he had a deadline to meet.
Her first thought was to call the police. But no crime had been committed at that point. And hell, what if they thought she was the owner of the weapons? They’d throw her in a Mexican jail to rot. All the reports she’d heard about the Mexican government being owned by the drug cartels didn’t give her much faith in their ability to stop this kidnapping or assassination from occurring.
Jenna glanced at the
