The Honorable Warrior: Navy SEAL Romance Read online

  The Honorable Warrior

  Navy SEAL Romance

  Kimberly Krey

  The Honorable Warrior: Navy SEAL Romance

  Copyright © 2018 by Kimberly Krey

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  To those who serve to protect

  — and to their loved ones too—

  I sincerely thank you!

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Free Book

  About the Author

  Also by Kimberly Krey

  Chapter 1

  Blayze fixed his eyes on the copper casket. Spots of sunlight streamed through the branches of a nearby tree, an array of fluttering leaves creating a kaleidoscope effect over the surface. A solid rose-gold bar matched the clasps that sealed her final resting place. Mom had picked it out herself, paid for everything in advance. Which he guessed is how things went when the funeral director lived right next door. Even if she’d been a young fifty-eight years old.

  Of all the ways to lose someone… Blayze shook his head from the irony of it all. You live to protect your family and country and then this—something he couldn’t have prevented no matter how many years he’d served as a Navy SEAL.

  Stage four.

  Why couldn’t they have caught it sooner? Given her a chance to fight. Mom was strong. So incredibly strong…

  The sound of Sutton Smith’s voice in Blayze’s head reminded him—to a sobering degree—that he wasn’t the only one who’d lost someone before his or her time. At least his mother had lived a fairly full life. Married, had kids. Two sons and one daughter who was sure to have a harder time getting over Mom’s death than he and Chanze. The two were bonded in a way Blayze had never known. But Sutton… that man had lost a son in battle, the ultimate sacrifice, and still he stayed strong.

  Memories of Blayze’s Navy SEAL days flooded his mind. Not only had Sutton lost a son that ill-fated day, but Blayze had lost a military brother—something he still hadn’t been able to reconcile.

  “Mr. Brockton?”

  Blayze sniffed and straightened up. The female voice wasn’t familiar to him, a fact made more evident by the Spanish accent coating his name. He tore his gaze off the upturned dirt at the casket’s base and drifted it up to a slender woman in heels and a navy-blue dress suit.

  “My name is Sophia Vasco. I had the great privilege of hosting a charity gala in San Bernardino with your mother last year.”

  Blayze gave her a polite nod, but already his defenses were up. He’d met plenty of the women his mother rubbed shoulders with. While Linda Brockton was known for her balanced feminist platform, others had proven to be less… gracious where males were concerned.

  Sophia tilted her head, squinting against the sun as she continued. “Linda was an incredible inspiration to me, and it was a privilege to work with her.” The name Linda meant beautiful; Blayze had known that since he was a boy, but he’d never heard the name sound as lovely as it did in Sophia’s accent.

  He met her gaze. Gorgeous deep brown eyes filled with confidence, composure, and sympathy. He gulped. “Thank you.”

  “She’ll be missed by many, but none so much as her own children, I’m sure.” A soft smile tugged at the corners of her lips, transforming her face in a blink. Cheekbones lifting, teeth glistening as a spot of sun lit her up like an angel. “Your mother spoke so fondly of you. Said she was the proudest SEALs mama there ever was. Hooyah.” The woman surprised him by lifting a small fist in the air. Perhaps she wasn’t as polished as she came off. He cracked a smile.

  “That’s nice to hear, Sophia. I appreciate you coming.” He freed his right hand from his pocket and reached out to shake hers. She paused at the gesture, glancing at his hand before shaking it. Silky smooth, but firm all the same.

  “You’re welcome.” She turned from him then, taking long, aimless strides over the grass while lifting her chin to the breeze.

  Perhaps he’d been off-putting. Blayze had the tendency to be impersonal. But if any day called for allotted grace, this was it.

  Dad and Barbara stood comforting his sister, Jazmin, and her two small kids. Blayze’s brother, Chanze, waited along the outskirts nudging grass blades with the toe of his shoe. Moments from now, Blayze would attend a luncheon at the church and visit with his siblings and a few of Mom’s close friends. Then he’d be free to meet up with his more recent band of brothers—the group surrounding Sutton in the shade. Cannon stood silently next to Sutton, observing the other guys. Corbin, who’d wound through the graveyard on a Harley, was sporting a new tattoo. Looked like River and Zane were asking him about it. That, or razzing him over going under the needle yet again. You never could tell with this group.

  There wasn’t much Blayze missed about being on active duty, and he had no desire to go back. But one thing he’d always thank God for was the bond he’d made among the members of Team 7. Already he was looking forward to catching up with them.

  For now, it was time to say a final goodbye. A few steps took Blayze closer to the casket where he reached out and plucked a coral rose from the arrangement on top. He brought it to his nose, inhaled the sweet scent with his eyes shut tight. A breeze picked up, and he could picture Mom there with him. Dressed in her faded blue jeans, that yellow garden apron cinched around her waist while a smudge of dirt marked her flushed cheek.

  Thank you for loving me.

  Thank you for staying when Dad left.

  And thank you for teaching me to be strong.

  Blayze pressed the rose to his lips before lowering it to the dirt.

  “It’s a bitter loss.” Sutton came from behind. “Burying a loved one. I’m sorry.”

  Blayze turned in time to accept the man’s embrace and accompanying back pat. Bitter indeed. Blayze thought back on a time when, in a rare moment of vulnerability, Sutton had admitted to seeing days so dark he didn’t want to live. But instead of giving in to it, Doug’s father had assembled his son’s retired SEAL team, the Warrior Project, and hired them out for private protection positions to help those in a deadly pinch. He’d wave the Bat Signal, and the best man for the job would step in line.

  The timing had been just right for Blayze, having been honorably discharged and ready for something new when the initial job offer came. The private missions paid well—very well—and came with a whole lot of perks.

  Cannon stepped in behind Sutton, tossing an arm around Blayze as well.

  “Thank you,” Blayze said to each of the men. “And thanks for saying a few words, Cannon. Was awesome, man.” The former
Navy Chaplain turned SEAL always had a way of shedding light on the darkest places. And he’d done that very thing today.

  “It was my privilege,” Cannon said with a nod. He shot Sutton a look that made Blayze glance between the two.

  “What am I missing?” Blayze asked.

  Cannon shook his head. “Nothing. Sutton will wait and talk to you at the club tonight.”

  But it looked like Sutton had other plans. The man always did make his own rules. He planted his feet in place, arms folded over his chest. “I talked to you about accepting a private protection job here in California,” he said under his breath.

  Cannon shook his head. “Couldn’t have just waited…”

  “The woman in question is Ms. Vasco. She introduced herself to you a moment ago.”

  A bit of heat stirred low in his belly. “Okay,” Blayze said.

  “Her father wants you for the job, but you’ll have to start soon.”

  Blayze considered that. Since Mom’s prognosis, he’d been jumping from one item of business to the next. The funeral was the final thing on his list, and the last thing he needed was time on his hands. “How soon?”

  Sutton shot Cannon a look before settling his eyes back on Blayze. “Tomorrow.”

  Blayze nodded. Sutton never was one to beat around the bush.

  “If you want me to help out for a day or two…” Cannon started, but Blayze shook his head.

  “No. Thanks though, man.” He turned to Sutton. “It’s about time I get back to work. Tomorrow’s perfect.”

  “That’s my man,” Sutton said. “Heart of a warrior.”

  Cannon and Blayze nodded before returning the phrase. “Heart of a warrior.”

  Chapter 2

  “So, what do you think of him?”

  Sophia heard her father’s question, but it took a moment to process it. Her gaze was stuck on an angel statue along the grassy hillside. Ivory marble with gray veins, the contrast muted by the deeply tinted windows of the luxury town car.

  “Sophia?” he prodded.

  “Sorry, Papi.” She turned to look at him, her eyes adjusting to the cool lighting within the back seat. “I don’t really know what I thought of him.”

  “From what Sutton says, Mr. Brockton is perfect.” His expression changed into one he wore during his speeches. One that oozed passion before he even spoke a word. “The man’s a retired SEAL, mi bonita, do you not know what that means?”

  Sophia thought back on the short conversation she’d had with Blayze Brockton. Her face flushed with intense heat at the mere recollection. He’d made her feel like an idiot, shouting the Hooyah cheer and sticking her fist in the air while he stood there staring. He could have at least given her some sort of courtesy reply.

  Her father eyed Roman—retired detective turned driver and close family friend— pointedly before giving her that how-could-you-embarrass-me look. “The man was at his madre’s funeral, Sophia.”

  Sophia turned her face toward the window. A row of palm trees swayed against the blue sky. “You’re right.” Shame kicked in hard. It wasn’t fair to judge him based on that one meeting.

  “It’s possible you’re in danger, chiquita. Real danger. You refuse to cancel your speaking engagements—which I support,” he said, holding up a finger. “But only so long as you accept protection. Now, I didn’t have to let you meet the guy before I hired him. I was doing that to be nice—”

  “Nice?” Sophia hadn’t meant to shriek but she could hardly contain it. “Sorry, Roman,” she said before turning back to her father. “Of course, I should be able to have a say. You want the guy to be my shadow until further notice.”

  “You’re impossible,” he growled. Nicolas Vasco wasn’t known to take things lightly. In his years as a prosecutor he’d cracked down on crime with a heavy hand. Later, as an elected District Attorney, he’d maintained his tough reputation. “Listen, I trust Sutton Smith. And if he says Blayze Brockton is the best man for the job, then by dang that’s exactly who I’m going to get.”

  Sophia knew she was being difficult. The frustrating thing was, it was hard to know how seriously to take the situation. The situation being three ominous packages, delivered two weeks apart. The first two had been so… random she hadn’t known what to make of them. But then came that third package. The one that came to her door three days ago, right on schedule.

  This time, Papá insisted she wait and let Roman open it. Wrapped in shiny green paper, complete with ribbon curls and a fancy bow, it resembled the others.

  Sophia had stared at the package while Roman tore it open, a sick feeling growing in her gut. Papa had always suspected foul play in Mama’s accident. The rollover that took her life two-and-a-half years ago.

  Roman snatched the reflective glasses off his face, his expression like a stone. Angry. Hard. Cold. Sophia had never seen him like that. His wife, Tiffany, who’d come for moral support, scooted closer in and hovered over the open top, the look of horror pulling at her soft features.

  Sophia and her father stayed put, each nestled into single sofa chairs. He reached for her hand, squeezed it while Roman, a pair of rubber gloves in place, lifted a toy model of her mother’s car from the box. A note dangled from the car: I thought it would be enough. But it’s not.

  If there was one thing Sophia despised, it was living in fear. Better that she accept protection than make herself sick with worry. Checking over her shoulder. Counting down the days until the campaign was over. Something she should enjoy, not dread.

  Sophia would be disturbed no matter what circumstances surrounded the delivery of a package like that. But the timing made her suspect that someone was trying to silence her. One look at her planner showed more public appearances than there were days of the month. It was campaign time for Nicolas Vasco again, and this year Sophia would fill her mom’s shoes in speaking at the upcoming rallies, galas, and conventions.

  “Sophia?” Her father leaned into her periphery and waved a hand.

  Sophia snapped out of her daze, leaned over the space between them, and pulled him in for a hug. “I’m sorry, Papi.” She kissed his freshly shaven cheek. “Blayze Brockton it is.”

  “That’s my girl.” No one knew how to shift from zero to nine hundred like he did. All the passion of a true Spaniard, he’d always say. He might get worked up easily, but the man knew how to calm down quickly too. As if to prove that point, he reached an arm back, hoisted a bottle of champagne from the cooler. He tipped his head toward her. “Let’s say we put this to rest with a toast.”

  Sophia lifted a brow. “A toast to what?”

  He poured the smallest amount of champagne into each glass and handed one to her. “To your safety, mi bonita. May you remain unharmed while you go about your madre’s work, God rest her sweet soul.”

  Sophia grinned, clanked her gold-rimmed glass against his, and tipped it back. Bubbles danced on her tongue as she looked out the window once more. The poor guy had just buried his mom, and already he had a new job to bother with. A vision of those blue eyes floated to mind. Mr. Brockton was probably nice enough. He was handsome too, there was no denying it. Not with the kind of politician good looks her father boasted. Polished and clean-shaven. A wide grin at his lips. Mr. Brockton had more of that rugged look going on. Strong, muscular angles to go with that brooding expression. And a deep scar at the center of one brow. Which all made sense, considering he was a retired SEAL. It had to take more than grit and strength to achieve such a thing—a determination that superseded thoughts of self and comfort. Sophia admired that.

  Still, with a day like today, she couldn’t help but think back on her mom’s funeral. Sophia didn’t have to imagine the pain Blayze was going through; she’d lived it. Saying goodbye to the woman who birthed you, nursed you, loved and protected you. In Sophia’s case, it was also the woman who’d taught her to make the best Natillas de Leche in San Bernardino County. The woman who danced wildly to fiesta music with her as it blasted throughout the house. The role model
who’d educated Congress on the unique needs of immigrant families. But she hadn’t stopped there. In the spirit of a true humanitarian, her mother followed her father on the campaign trail, preaching the importance of balanced justice. Her passion had inspired Papa in his focus as District Attorney, which made her the perfect candidate to speak on his behalf during campaigning last time around.

  Sophia shook her head. “I miss her,” she said in a whisper.

  “I know, Sophia,” her father said from the other side of the car. “I miss her too. I’m so grateful that we had you. You keep her alive for me, you know?” The statement gave life to her father’s anxiety; he didn’t want to lose her too.

  “Well, then,” Sophia said, lifting her near-empty glass once more. “Here’s to making Mom proud.”

  “Yes,” her father said, “Here’s to that.

  She took the last sip from her glass, hoping she’d put on enough of a happy face. The truth was, she had her apprehensions. On one hand, she wondered if her father was making more of the packages than he ought to. In addition, she worried that—men being men—Papa, Roman, and Mr. Brockton would be tempted to keep things from Sophia. Let’s not bother her with this. Be sure not to tell Sophia that. The very idea was enough to make her shift with irritation in her seat.

  “Now,” her father said. “Let’s go see how things are going back on the campaign trail, shall we?” His eyes went brighter than his smile, and she’d be lying if she said his energy wasn’t contagious. Of course, he’d get reelected for District Attorney, even with the stiff competition. Nicolas Vasco was the best man for his job. She only hoped, as she considered the weeks ahead, that Blayze Brockton would be too.