Rogue (SEAL Team: Disavowed Book 1) Read Online Free Page A

for their newborn son hit from nowhere. She’d been a space buff and ordered a shuttle mobile to hang over the crib. He hadn’t been able to find the right screwdriver to assemble it, and scoured the house in his search. Turned out she’d had it in her back pocket the whole time. He’d razzed her about it for weeks. Now, the pain of losing her was so great, he had to look away. He could literally stand anything other than feeling. Remembering all he’d once had and lost.
    Ten minutes later, Maisey drifted off.
    Accustomed to going long spells without sleep, Nash wasn’t especially tired. He’d planned on dousing the fire. Instead, he repaired the hole in his CamelBak, then set about boiling enough water to see them through the next day.
    Humidity and a gunshot had his GPS wonky. Not a major worry as he’d been well trained in old-school compass reading. To prep this mission, he’d plotted escape routes using satellite photos. In a perfect world, calculating a travel time of thirty minutes a mile, come morning they’d make it well before nightfall to the secondary jon boat he’d brought and concealed. From there, it was a four-hour ride to where he’d parked his truck.
    Finished with chores, he had two hours till dawn.
    Maisey lightly snored.
    The heat was still oppressive, but bearable.
    Spying a patch of saw palmettos, he filled his free time keeping busy. He wove Maisey a frond mat that might make her rest stops more comfortable and bug free. He also made her a fan with a smooth cypress handle. Crude sandals to reinforce her slippers. It had been a screw-up, not packing her a change of clothes and shoes—just like not anticipating that she wouldn’t want to be rescued. He hadn’t seen that coming.
    He should have anticipated that potential. Like the fire that had taken his wife and unborn child, though he’d been told the faulty wiring in their fixer-upper sparking a flame had been a fluke, it had been preventable. If only he’d had an electrician replace every inch of wiring. If only he’d insured nothing flammable had been anywhere near the master bedroom or that Hope had worn flame retardant PJs to bed instead of one of his T-shirts.
    He dropped the palm fronds to press his fingers to his throbbing forehead.
    Having reached the expert level on the If Only game, he knew the drill. A killer headache typically set in, followed by hours of nausea-inducing guilt. He’d down a half-dozen beers, sleep it off, then wake to a new day.
    Here, with Maisey’s safety his responsibility, he didn’t have the luxury of nursing his pain. He needed to snap out of it and get his head back in the game. But that was kind of hard, considering Maisey’s baby bump constantly reminded him of all he’d lost.
    Was he jealous that her son was still alive? Hell, yeah. But he was also that much more determined to keep him that way. He’d already lost one woman and child he had promised to protect, and it would never happen again.
    As for the personal history between Maisey and him? Old news never to be revisited.
    Nash forced himself to focus on his projects.
    The insect chatter had a rise and fall rhythm to which he matched his inhalations. Slow breathing helped get his runaway emotions in check. Hope and their unborn son were in a better place, being looked after by a power far more capable than him. As for Maisey, she’d soon be back with her mother—although not in their hometown of Jacksonville as she’d planned. Until Vicente was dead or locked behind bars, Nash feared Maisey and her son might never be truly safe.
    But then realistically, could anyone ever be one hundred percent safe?
    Lord knew, he’d been a fool for thinking they could.
     
     

6

     
     
    “I’VE GOT TO rest.” Maisey hated being physically weak, but two hours into their trek to the backup boat Nash had hidden, every inch of her body ached. Muscles she hadn’t even known existed screamed for relief—even better, a soak in a nice, hot