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Cold-as-Ice SEAL Guilty of Murder?
Spencer Nixon adjusted his tie and stared at the headline of the trashy tabloid he carried everywhere these days. It was a reminder of the mission ahead, the reason he and his fellow SEALs of Team Ten were working day and night. They had to find the true killers of their beloved teammate Nick Matthews and clear their names from the implication that they were responsible for his death so they could get back to business as usual. He shoved the paper back into his pocket. Since the damned article had run a week prior, he’d used it to stoke his already soaring anger levels even higher.
Anger had become mixed with intrigue and suspicion when a little digging had revealed that theDC Times,the paper in question, was secretly owned by Coran Williams. The same Coran Williams whose publishing company put out the romance novels that Nick’s wife, Natalie, wrote under the pen name N.T. Smalls. Spencer and his team had recently discovered that those books included coded and highly classified information hidden within lines of purple prose.
Had Nick died because of some secret that his wife had let slip—or some deal she made with the shady people who were after those secrets? They still didn’t know for sure. What theydidknow was that Natalie had gone missing…not long after she’d been spotted passing information to Michael Becks, a former SEAL they had reason to believe might have been personally responsible for Nick’s assassination. Whatever was going on, classified information seemed to be the name of the game—and Natalie was up to her neck in it.
So was Coran Williams. Not only had he published Natalie’s stories—editing her workpersonallyin a way he did for very few authors—but there were reports that leaked information had made its way to suspected terrorists through e-readers supplied by the Williams family’s charity foundation, Williams Wishes. Those reports were vague and pretty sketchy—they were mostly theories being batted around on conspiracy blogs and hadn’t yet gotten any real attention from mainstream media—but Spencer and the others thought that this one time, those conspiracy theorists might be on to something. The team had decided they needed more information, which meant going to the source.
But tracking down Coran Williams was easier said than done. After an attack on his publishing house a few weeks back, the man had dropped off the map. He’d been held captive by Becks for a few days in the immediate aftermath—they knew that for sure, because he hadn’t been the only one Becks and his men had held. Along with Coran had been Anna, the girlfriend of Spencer’s teammate Gage. While they had rescued Anna, Becks had escaped with Coran in tow. The whole experience couldn’t have been easy for a man in his midseventies. After that? They weren’t sure. Coran had made a few public statements to quell the rumors that he'd gone missing—but was heactuallyat liberty, or was Becks keeping him on a tight leash? Had Coran made some kind of deal to buy his freedom? That seemed possible, especially with the way theDC Timeshad started spouting bullshit pointing the finger at Spencer as Nick’s killer. Why would Coran publish that unless he had an incentive to create a scapegoat and keep others from digging into therealreason Nick had been killed?
Williams’s role in this game wasn’t quite clear, but it did seem like his immediate aim was to protect his own skin. That was something Spencer could work with. It meant that if he and his team could capture Coran, he might be willing to cut a new deal with them to save himself. To do that, though, Spencer would have tofindthe man first. That’s what his upcoming meeting was all about.
Spencer scowled down at a tiny mark on his tie that messed up his otherwise immaculate appearance. The other guys on his team always gave him crap over his obsession with neatness, but there was nothing wrong with looking good, no matter how crappy the mission you might have been assigned. His grandparents, who’d raised him, had taught him that while you couldn’t control the world around you, youcouldcontrol yourself and how you dealt with it. It was his responsibility to make sure he put his best foot forward, always. He considered his attire just one more area that demanded perfection.
And today of all days, he needed to be perfect. His teammates had been the ones to take the most hands-on roles in the investigation up to now, but it was his turn. If he could land this position as bodyguard for Coran’s daughter, Toni, he’d finally be in position to move things forward. His objective, as assigned by Kyle, their SEAL team leader, was to get a firm location on Coran Williams, then apprehend and interrogate him about anything he might know regarding the secret information network known only as SHEEPSKIN. It was an organization that they now believed was directly tied to Nick’s death. If they could get Coran to cooperate, it could break everything wide open. That was worth playing babysitter to some prissy heiress who wanted to play Lady Bountiful.
He squared his shoulders in his tailor-made suit and headed into the elegant lobby, then took an elevator to the eighteenth floor.
When the doors slid open, Spencer strode out and took a left. Near the end of the corridor, he saw a plaque on the wall proclaiming in bold black letters that this was the office of Williams Wishes.Time to get this party started.Inside the offices, sunshine filtered in through the blind-covered windows against the far wall, and the sharp scents of fresh paint and drywall were noticeable. His preliminary reports on the foundation indicated the charity had moved into this new location just a month or so prior. The receptionist behind the plain oak desk gave him an appreciative once-over and a smile.
“May I help you?” she asked.
“Spencer Nixon. I have an appointment to interview with Ms. Williams for the bodyguard position.”
“One moment, please,” the woman said. “You’re a bit early.”
Spencer didn’t respond, just raised a brow and waited while she picked up her phone and dialed a number, then spoke in hushed tones. Of course he was early. Lateness was akin to sloppiness in his book.
He didn’t miss the way the receptionist kept sneaking looks at him, giving him a little smile every time she got caught. He thought about maybe flirting back. It was clear it would be welcome, and the receptionist was pretty enough, with her designer clothes and perfect makeup—but no, he was taking a break, trying to figure out what he actually wanted when it came to women. All he knew for sure was that he hadn’t found it yet. Every relationship he’d been in had been fine, but there had never been that spark. Thatsomethingmore. Deep down, he wanted what his grandparents had had—a genuine, enduring, old-fashioned love that was strong enough to weather any storm. But he’d never fallen for someone hard enough to be willing to overcome obstacles to be with her—and he’d certainly never met any woman he’d felt he could rely on to be there for him, no matter what.
“Please have a seat, Mr. Nixon. Ms. Williams will be right with you.” The receptionist gave Spencer a come-hither smile, which he ignored as he took a seat in the deserted waiting area.
The place was fixed up nicely, though the furnishings were a bit bland for his taste. Beige walls, beige carpet, a fish tank bubbling in the wall nearby. He grabbed a dog-eared copy ofPeoplefrom an end table and thumbed through it, nose scrunched. Nothing but socialites acting badly and celebrities compromising themselves in the pursuit of fame and fortune.
Definitely not his thing.
Spencer tossed it aside and sighed, checked his watch, then stared out the window.
If things went as planned and he landed the job, he’d be on a plane to the Middle East by the end of the week. Kyle had done the research—with some help from Hayley, their teammate Scotty’s FBI analyst girlfriend—and found the press releases announcing Toni Williams was about to embark on a new PR campaign to the tiny, affluent country of Jubail. Was that where Coran Williams had been hiding since dropping out of the public eye? Maybe. But if he thought he could hide there, he was mistaken. Spencer and the team had spent plenty of time in the small country during their wartime missions, so navigating the terrain and the language wouldn’t be a problem. Hell, he spoke four other languages fluently besides Arabic. A handy tool to have in his arsenal, given he never knew where he’d be stationed next.
“I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.” A woman stepped into the waiting area and approached, hand extended. She was the exact opposite of the cool blonde at the reception desk, with her long dark brown hair and dark doe eyes. For a moment, all Spencer could do was stare. Her features were too stark to be called classically beautiful—her nose a bit too long, her lips a bit too full—but there was something about her, something he found thoroughly intriguing.
Tamping down his strange reactions, Spencer cleared his throat and pushed to his feet, absently noting that he towered over her by the better part of a foot. He shook her hand, surprised at the electricity that zinged up his arm from their point of contact.
Her eyes widened as if she’d felt it, too, and her next words were a bit huskier. “Toni Williams. So nice to meet you, Mr. Nixon.”
“Thanks, same to you.” Spencer released her hand reluctantly and followed her down a short hall toward her office. She had nice curves, and he couldn’t help admiring the sway of her hips as she walked.
As if sensing his gaze, Toni stopped at her office door and gave him a wary look as she gestured him to the chair in front of her desk. Spencer took the seat, settling in as she closed the door behind them. She walked past him on her way to her desk, and he caught a whiff of her perfume—light, floral, with a hint of cinnamon spice.
Nice. Very nice.
He frowned. He was here on a mission, not to score a date.
“So, Mr. Nixon.” Ms. Williams picked up a copy of the bogus résumé Kyle had faxed over on his behalf. “Tell me why you think you’d be the ideal candidate for this job.”
