Faded Cotton (Erotic Romance) (4 page)

Jen Delaney found herself in need of a drink,
a soft bed—and a man. How could she be thinking about her personal
life at a time like this? She was always focused; that's how she’d
arrived at this position. Focus.

She picked up a couple of files, pausing to
grab a particular cold case and shoved them in her already full
brief case. Pulling the MacClain file back out, Delaney opened it
across her desk. “One more review, Mrs. MacClain.” She took a deep
breath and pored over the report.

Later, preparing to leave, she peered into
the cell that held the woman who was such a mystery. Laurel
MacClain had on jeans, faded cotton t-shirt from a country music
concert, and boots. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she
wore just enough make-up. She didn’t look like someone who was
involved in prostitution and money laundering.

Delaney’s gut told her she was right. As if
she didn’t have enough to do, now she was obligated to play
detective on this one. She drew a deep breath as she turned to lock
her office. It was quiet now—too quiet, something told her. She
caught the familiar vibration of helicopter blades and turned to
check the lock once more. Touch-and-go’s with the new pilot, no
problem.

Suddenly, she felt a rush of heightened
awareness that her martial arts training had taught her. She
dropped her briefcase to reach for her gun. It was too late.

Umph.
Blackness drizzled down through
her senses.

The entire floor went pitch black as Laurel
roused from her exhaustion induced semi-slumber, rising from the
less than comfortable cot. She knew things were about ready to get
weird once again. For a farm widow from mid-Missouri, she had sure
gotten herself into a big mess without even trying.

She heard the cell door slide open, but
barely felt the presence creep in behind her. Laurel sucked in a
breath and tried not to scream as she felt a familiar hand graze
along her neck moving quickly to cover her mouth, quieting her.

“Shhhhh. Let’s go.” Laurel smiled in the
dark. The large male frame guided her out of the cell, straight
past a large plate glass wall that overlooked the city, to the
stairs, and up to the roof.

The large slicing blades belonged to a
SH-60 Seahawk
that had landed in place of
the detained police helicopter. The blades now woofed through the
air in steady four-four time it seemed. Her dark clad captor tossed
her into the waiting bird and she shivered a little. The adrenalin
coursing through her veins caused time to suspend its steady march
and the events seemed to unfolded in slow motion. His large frame
grasped hers, hugging her as she looked into familiar eyes. With
everyone in, he touched his headset, “Morrison, get us out of
here.”

They moved off the building and rushed into
the night. Breezing by the ballpark, she looked down and wished she
could have been at the stadium to watch her favorite baseball team.
She would rather have been watching the birds on the bat than
flying through the sky any day.

Reeling like fish on strong line, Laurel
fought a mental battle of fatigue. She sat, stunned, in the cabin
of the Seahawk. Dumb semi-grin on her face, she looked like a
teenager who had just ridden the newest roller coaster at the park.
They were over the Mississippi before she realized there was a body
slumped beside her. She jumped. Her captor shook his head and
yelled over the noise, “She’s okay.” Laurel looked around and
recognized, one by one, each of the men in the helicopter. Each had
earned her trust.

Void of sleep, weary from continual stress
and adrenalin rushes, Laurel eventually drifted into a fitful sleep
leaning on her man in black. The
SH-60
would
soon transfer its precious cargo.

Brian Tanner grinned at the pilot and bent
his head to plant a face-black-laced kiss on Laurel’s forehead.
Morrison turned back to chuckle to himself. He checked gauges and
pushed the ‘Hawk through the din. The sun would soon make them very
visible.

__________________________

The next day, Detective Bradley Johnson
watched the proceedings knowingly. He shook the Commissioner’s hand
and accepted the temporary position with grace. He wasn’t sure what
the connection between the Captain and Laurel was, but he was going
to find out. He hadn’t been shocked to find out that the Captain
had been removed as Laurel had.

“Captain Jennifer Delaney is on personal
leave due to a death in the family. The female suspect brought into
custody yesterday evening was released to federal custody in an
ongoing investigation. Detective Johnson will assume command until
further notice.” It wasn’t hard to get a commissioner on the take
to cooperate so he could cover his ass. “Everyone back to work,”
was Johnson’s first order. The hubbub resumed and no one questioned
the change in command or the missing prisoner. Why would they?
Nothing was out of place, nothing. Bradley Johnson smiled as he
entered his new office. He mused to himself, “Those SEALs are good,
damn good.” He was joined by his friend and partner Detective
Hoffson.

“How are Alena and your new baby girl?”
Johnson grinned at his partner sitting across from him.

“Wonderful!” He beamed as any new father
would. “I came to ask for some time off.” Johnson nodded and then
watched his friend hang his head for a moment, his face dropping as
his thoughts wondered back to Laurel.

“What does she know?” Johnson knew who his
friend was talking about.

“I dunno, G. I dunno.”

Feeling a sudden jolt, Laurel roused from her
exhausted haze. The jet had finally touched down at their
destination. She barely remembered the last transfer. They’d landed
somewhere not far from the Gulf, and had been moved very
quickly.

Judging from their hopscotch transfers and
the placing of the sun, she surmised they were probably on a
private island somewhere in the middle of Caribbean Sea. Engines
whining in reverse thrust strained to bring the plane to a halt
before the runway disappeared.

Disembarking, she blinked at the bright sun
and surveyed her new surroundings. Laurel turned her face into the
island breeze, closed her eyes, and breathed in deep.

“Not bad boys, not bad!” After a pregnant
pause, she finished her announcement. “Now, I need a shower, a
margarita, and a swimming suit!” The group relaxed, chuckling.
Their mission had been accomplished, their
cargo
delivered.

“Is that all?”

Laurel turned to face the laughing voice
behind her. There he stood. Several years older and as ripped as
ever. Pick an adjective. Dashing, sexy, and extraordinarily
handsome, Jake LeGrande would make any woman weak in the knees. The
combat boots and blue, green, and sand colored camo fatigues served
him well. It was obvious that he was in command by the snaps to
attention that came from the uniformed personnel in the group. He
pushed his aviators back over his head, revealing sparkling blue
eyes.

“At ease, men,” he commanded easily. Shaking
the awe out of her head, Laurel’s face went from shock to a furious
scowl. She made a beeline for him, fists clenched. A strong arm
snaked around her waist after a couple of steps. Stopping her
progress, Brian scooped Laurel off her path.

“Laurel, hun, I think we can come up with
what you need. Come on, you and I’ll go get a drink.” Brian towered
over her, flashing his trademark grin as he handled her easily.
Laurel was not getting out of his grip.

Finally, she planted her feet in the
direction everyone else was headed. She stomped forward and looked
over her shoulder, fuming. Jake LeGrande was bent over in peals of
laughter as he watched his team direct her into a waiting Escalade.
She hadn’t changed a bit; swing first and ask questions later—that
was Laurel.

__________________________

Forty-five minutes later, the pilot, Robert
Morrison, and Laurel’s escort, Brian Tanner, were sitting on the
beach with Laurel watching the sun go down. In island print shirts
and cut offs, faces no longer blacked, the young men looked more
like they were on spring break instead of a SEAL mission. Finally,
she broached the subject that was still an elephant in the room—or
on the beach.

“So, would either of you two clowns like to
tell me why I am sitting on the beach of a private island, in the
middle of the Caribbean?”

The two looked at each other like two little
boys trying to figure out how they could blame the other. Laurel
was not supposed to have any idea where she was.

Sipping their drinks, they peered over their
sunglasses at her and then at each other. “Uh..., umm...,” neither
had an answer.

“Do I at least get dinner on this date?” She
put her hand on her stomach, which had been grumbling loudly. She
realized she’d had nothing since her lunch at City Creek over
twenty-four hours ago. The camouflaged cabana top fluttered in the
breeze.

“But of course, mi amour!” Strong hands came
up behind her in the cabana, ridding her shoulders of the day’s
tensions. “What can I make for you Laurel?” Seth Stater smiled as
he massaged her shoulders.

“Seth! Oh my gosh!” She twisted around to
pull him into a hug. It was starting to look like a Siddy Creek
Farm family reunion.

The men had formed a strong network, based on
a common brotherhood bonded by the same woman. Little did she know
just how important she was to them. Each man stood with the other
when it came to Laurel. They thought of each other as brothers,
they shared common values, and an appropriate respect for the
opposite sex. Most of the Siddy Creek Farm brotherhood were Navy
SEALs or law enforcement of some sort. It made her smile, knowing
they were together because of her.

Seth escorted Laurel back to the main house
of the island compound. They strode easily off the beach together,
arm-in-arm, through the large scrolled iron gates of the tropical
garden to the dining room.

A wide lanai circled the house, giving the
occupants a sense of security. The path to the house was lined with
sculpted greens, which defined the immaculate grounds. Old World
Spanish architecture was combined in brilliant marriage with local
island style. Guards were at every turn.

Laurel’s thoughts wondered. It was the
vacation she always wanted, and there was no one to share it with.
She and Jahn hadn’t taken an island vacation, although they had
talked about it. Laurel shook her head a little and looked at Seth,
her eyes misting over. She had to let go, but how could she? How do
you find a way to hold on and let go at the same time?

“Laurel, are you okay,” Seth asked. “I know
the last few days have been crazy for you. We are goin’ to take
care of y’all. The Captain will fill you in. Try to relax until
they get to the bottom of things.” She nodded and focused on the
pathway, listening to Seth talk about the evening menu.

“Laurel, I know you. Other than you not being
here of your own accord, there is somethin’ goin’ ‘round in circles
in that wonderful head of yours. What are you thinkin’?” The Texan
chef was always thoughtful when it came to her.

“I was just thinking this would be the
honeymoon I never had. Here I am in paradise and I have no one.
I’ll be okay. ‘Just feeling a little sorry for myself.” She gave
Seth a half grin, breathed in deep and sighed with regret.

“Hey, what am I, chopped liver?” He feigned a
look of offense.

“No, sweetheart you’ll do just fine—for the
woman who wears your ring.” They smiled at each other. “She’s a
lucky girl, Seth.”

“Thanks Laurel. That means more coming from
you than anyone, ever.”

After a moment of silence, punctured only by
the snap of their flip-flops, he turned to her. “Ya know, Laurel,
there are a lot of eligible men on this island. And honey, I think
y’all are going to be here for a while.”

She bit her lip, “Seth, if you are referring
to who I think you are—you’re crazy.” Seth flashed a mischievous
grin.

Opening large French doors, Seth ushered
Laurel in. The dining room, meant for large gatherings, glowed
beautifully, with custom lighting and a hint of candlelight. The
Spanish style table was made of long timbers worn in a
well-appreciated way and accompanied by intricately carved chairs
padded with plush royal blue velvet coverings. Potted Hibiscus rose
on either side of the long buffet. Its carvings matched the chairs.
It was easy to imagine the table seating a pirate captain and his
trusted crew or a wealthy rumrunner.

The atrium style gave the room a warm glow as
the hues of the fading sun turned orange. A crystal and iron
chandelier hung over the center of the table. At the back of the
room, a service door opened to the left, and double French doors to
a large study, opened to the right.

Looking at the faces seated at the table, she
smiled and fell into the adventure. The group rose when she entered
as if she were an honored guest. Blushing, she took time to hug and
kiss everyone before settling at her post, at the end of the
table.

Laurel was impressed with the gathering.
Included at the table were the very best of men, and women, she
knew, both in character and of stature. To her left were the two
who had followed her in, Lieutenant Tanner and beyond him,
Lieutenant Morrison. Her beautiful daughter, Shannon, was smiling
at her as well. Seth was seated with his wife Rachel.

The faces warmed her. Jess LeGrande—Jakes
son, Adam MacClain—her son, and the restrained Captain Jennifer
Delaney were to her right. Ben Pisano and his wife Ellia were there
as well. There were others, all familiar faces. She noticed the
only open seat was at the other end of the table.