Broken SEAL

By Laura Harner

When former Navy SEAL Draco Kincaid is cut down in a hail of gunfire, he thinks he’s lost everything: his friend, his club, his legs. Strapped to a chair and unable to separate the nightmares of his past from those of his present, Draco must learn to depend on others before the crack in his iron will plays into a killer’s hand and he loses more that he ever thought possible.

With the arrogance of youth, Noah Middlebrooks believes time can heal old wounds, until his missing brother turns up dead at a sex club in California. Now the sick bastard whose games were responsible for his brother’s untimely death needs to explain what happened—then pay for his crime. Burning his final bridge at work, Noah heads to San Diego. With no job and no more family, there isn’t anything left to lose.

Regret and retribution put them on a collision course of self-destruction, but nothing can prepare either man for the life-altering impact of their first meeting. As a slow simmer of attraction builds in spite of their best intentions, both men must come to terms with the past or risk any chance of a future.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Laura Harner
• Release date: Jul 24, 2016
• ISBN: 9781941841440

Laura Harner

Laura lives on waterfront property in Arizona because she's always wanted to be an oxymoron. She once enjoyed hobbies such as gardening and travel—now the characters in her head compel her to tell their stories, so she writes. (It doesn't actually help quiet the voices—but it keeps the folks in the white jackets at bay.)She shares her home with an ever-revolving cast of characters—some of whom are actually real—and is living her dream of building her own version of the Willow Springs Ranch.With over fifty published novels and novellas, Laura is an international bestselling author of erotic romances, romantic suspense, urban fantasy, and Highland romances. Her books can be found at all major online retailers.Connect with her online at:http://lauraharner.com

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Copyright

Broken SEAL is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2016 by Laura Harner

Cover Art & Formatting by Author.Services

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Hot Corner Press.

ISBN: 978-1-941841-44-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission, except for brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Contact the publisher for further information: [e-mail]

Acknowledgements

Thank you to my wonderful readers—you give me the courage to keep trying.

Contents

Copyright

Acknowledgements

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Also Available

About the Author

Chapter One

Noah Middlebrooks reached for the chicken grip, his hands squeezing hard enough that his knuckles whitened as they rounded the corner on Jaspen Boulevard. As soon as the ambulance straightened he released his grip and hunched over the non-responsive patient. "Breathe baby. Breathe," he whispered, despite the fact his every word would be recorded and could potentially become fodder for a wrongful death lawsuit.

Five minutes out, Kerry called from the front seat, as she slowed for another major intersection that lay between them and their destination at Mercy Hospital in downtown Cardwell, a fast-growing suburb of Cincinnati, Ohio.

Noah’s gaze flicked to the monitors, the patient’s blue lips and slack face, then met Kerry’s glance in the rearview mirror. They weren’t going to make it.

Out of time and out of options, Noah quickly prepped the area at the base of the two-year-old boy’s throat, then reached for the kit. Totally focused on his task, Noah lost track of every other detail. The child’s neck was so thin he could have encircled it with one hand. Kerry must have been tracking his movements because the ambulance slowed just as he palpated the area between the cricoid and the thyroid. Finding what he needed, he punctured the skin, angled the needle and suctioned. Within seconds he had the pediatric endotracheal tube adapter connected and oxygen flowing. As relief at completing the procedure in a moving vehicle washed through him, he realized Kerry had stepped hard on the accelerator, and the ambulance raced toward the ER.

The siren growled to a stop as they finally pulled under the portico of the emergency room, and the staff raced out to meet them. Noah stayed with the gurney as they pushed the child into Trauma One.

What do you know? Doc Robinson asked, her eyes scanning the child as she snapped on a fresh pair of gloves.

Jimmy Trujillo. Two-year old male, reported unconscious by his mother, who claims he was playing alone in the backyard when a neighbor found him. She doesn’t know what happened or why he would be outside alone at this time of night. Noah rattled off the vital signs, watching as the doc’s hands lingered for a moment on the boy’s thin arm. Finger-shaped purple marks stood out clearly against his pale skin. The bruising is extensive, Noah said. Mom claims the child falls a lot. He was breathing when we got there, but unresponsive. I sent the data—

Yes, I’ve got it. It gives a clear picture of what we’re dealing with. Do I have to worry about the parents tonight? She raised the boy’s paper thin lids and flashed a light, looking for any sign of responsiveness.

No father in the picture. Mother is on her way downtown—on a variety of charges, Kerry snapped, her anger boiling over.

Good to know. What about the field needle cricothyroidotomy?

The child seized and stopped breathing about five minutes out. I followed the airway management protocol. Noah hadn’t meant to sound defensive, but he wished he hadn’t had to perform the procedure while they were driving.

Good work. Olivia Robinson’s gaze met his, and she gave a brief smile before turning to her team. Okay everyone—Kerry and Noah got little Jimmy to us in as good a shape as possible—let’s do our part. You know what I need. She began to snap the orders anyway, following ER procedure and leaving nothing to chance.

Noah turned away from the trauma room to let the doctor and her staff take over.

I really hate when it’s kids, Kerry said, following him toward the nursing station.

Noah nodded. Yeah. When he stopped breathing… He blew out a breath and stretched his neck, trying to relieve some of the tension.

I know. A shiver shook Kerry’s broad shoulders. No doubt she was thinking of her own two children at home with her husband, Dave. Parent or not, it was hard for anyone to look at a child like Jimmy and remain unaffected. Barely two, obviously undernourished. Battered, bruised, and alone outside in the middle of the night. Thank god the neighbor found him when she did.

Yeah—for all the good it’s going to do. Buy me a cup of coffee and I’ll get started on the paperwork, he suggested.

Works for me, Kerry agreed. She hurried off toward the vending area, already reaching for her cell. She’d want a few minutes to talk with Dave—just to reassure herself that everything was okay in her world. Noah would give just about anything to have someone of his own to call.

Hey Darla, hey Matt, he called to the two nurses behind the counter. Mind if I pull up a chair? Kerry and I need to fill out our paperwork before we can call it a shift.

You got it sugar, said Darla. Her skin was the color of rich dark coffee, and her thick head of snow white hair gave the woman the appearance of a grandmother—an impression she cultivated. Everyone was sugar or honey, and subject to her intrusive personal questions. Since she considered all the people who came into the ER at night part of her extended family, she claimed a need-to-know regarding all aspects of their lives.

How did your date go the other night, honey? Did he treat you right? Darla shuffled closer, the crepe soles of her shoes sounding squishy on the linoleum floor. When are you seeing him again?

I’m not. The man drooled and picked his boogers at the table, Noah said, keeping his face in a mournful mask. And ate them right along with the creme brûlée. I swear, it almost turned my stomach…

Oh you hush, Noah Middlebrooks. I’m serious. She wagged a finger at him. Spill.

Noah laughed. The CIA should hire you as an interrogator.

I know, right? Matt said, stepping closer, his gaze lingering on Noah’s uniform belt…and lower. I swear, I’m going to start bringing my prospective dates by to meet Darla, just so she can give them the third degree.

Putting her hands on her ample hips, Darla lowered her chin and studied Matt from under furrowed brows. Sweetheart, there’s only one question you need to ask: Do you have a condom? Because we all know you don’t do repeats.

Matt grinned. True. No leftovers for me. But I am still waiting for my first taste of Noah—

No—you don’t go there Matthew Fredrickson, Darla admonished. She shook her head from side-to-side so vigorously that her shoulders got in on the action as well. She glared at the other nurse. The only business you have with a man like Noah can be conducted right here at the nursing station.

With a grin, Matt started to turn away. Well if you’re sure you wouldn’t mind watching—

With a snort, Darla smacked him on the back of his head.

Oww! Matt rubbed his head, grinning.

You get back to work. Go on. Give Angela a break at the triage desk, she said, her expression stern, even though Noah was sure she was fighting a laugh.

Still grinning, Matt sauntered away, tossing a wink back at Noah before pushing through the double doors.

That boy…it’ll be a wonder if he makes it through this phase without catching something. I hope to goodness he uses proper precautions.

Noah smiled at Darla. Give him a break. It’s only been a year since he graduated. And I don’t think he took even a minute for fun while he was in school.

He did work hard, Darla beamed. Too bad his own family can’t see him for what he is. She glanced toward the trauma room where Doctor Robinson still worked on Jimmy.

I don’t understand people who give birth to a child only to abandon or abuse them. Someone like that ought to be shot. Nothing should count more than family.

Yeah, I know what you mean, Noah said softly. All right, let me get to work here so Kerry and I can go home. He turned away and pretended not to notice Darla’s speculative gaze. He really didn’t want to be grilled about his own failed attempts at family relationships. How long had it been since he’d last seen Nick? Seven years?

With a promise to himself to revisit the subject once he got home, he pushed away thoughts of his brother and pulled the latest record up on the computer. As soon as he and Kerry finished their report and restocked the bus, they could start their version of a weekend.

Working seventy-two on, forty-eight off sounded good in theory. Who wouldn’t want a two-day weekend every three work days? He discovered the reality didn’t meet the expectation not long after he finished his first level of training as an EMT. He’d been on a five-day rotation then, but EMTs and paramedics, like firefighters and cops, were usually on the front lines when it came to holidays and weekends. Overtime was mandatory, and shifts often ran over into scheduled time off.

The all-nighters, the missed family celebrations, the lack of a regular schedule…none of that mattered. At a time in his life when the others around him were experimenting with alcohol and mind-altering substances, Noah’s drug of choice became helping people. He’d finished one level of first responder training and turned right around and enrolled to become a paramedic. Maybe he was a little bit of the adrenaline junkie his brother had once accused him of being…but there were worse addictions.

****

Six hours later, Noah stood outside the the craftsman-style building set in the historic area of Cardwell and frowned at the sign. Carstairs, McKindle, and James, Attorneys at Law. He hadn’t been looking for a lawyer. The ad clearly stated this address belonged to Turner Phelps, Private Investigator. Obviously the man must be affiliated with the legal practice. Which probably explained the free initial consultation—and the higher than expected hourly price quote if Phelps accepted the case.

Noah tugged at the hem of his Cincinnati Reds polo shirt and clutched the manila folder a little tighter in his other hand. Wishing he’d dressed a little differently, Noah strode up the walk, climbed the three stone steps, and let himself inside the cool interior. The historic home had been redesigned to preserve some of the Craftsman era feel, while opening up the front of the old home to create a large entry and reception area. The polished wood floor and soft yellow paint gave a warm, comforting glow to the room, the dark wood furniture and trim added elegance. Noah could feel his wallet getting lighter with each step he took.

May I help you? asked the distinguished woman behind an oak desk as big as his car.

Resisting the urge to fidget and look at his shoes, Noah nodded and stepped closer. I have an appointment with Mr. Phelps. His voice rose at the end, half in question.

I’ve got it, boomed a voice from an open doorway to the left of the reception area. Come right this way. Noah, right? I’m Turner Phelps. Come on in.

Noah turned and got his first look at a man who closely resembled his too-good-to-be-true onscreen photo. In his mid-thirties, taller by three inches than Noah’s own five-ten and outweighing him by a good eighty pounds, Turner looked like he might have played football for the NFL. He dressed classy, too—perfect for the upscale office. The gray suit looked custom fitted to the big man. Add in the shoes, shirt and tie, the whole outfit probably cost more than Noah made in a month. Maybe two months.

Accepting the outstretched hand, his knees practically buckled when the investigator pulled him close and draped an arm over his shoulders, guiding him into an office that might once have been a dining room. The furniture was all wood, and fit the era of the office too, so that probably meant antiques. This was the sort of place that wouldn’t have skimped with reproductions.

Look, Mr. Phelps—I think I’ve made a mistake, Noah said, squirming out from under the heavy arm. He hated when big men tried to use their size to intimidate or control.

Why’s that? And please, call me Turner. Come on, have a seat, Noah…I can call you Noah, right?

I think this whole thing is more than I’m prepared to pay…

The initial consultation is free. Why don’t you tell me more about your brother—his eyes barely flicked toward the yellow legal pad on his desk—Nick. I’ll hear you out and give you a reasonable estimate. If you still think it’s too much, I’ll point you in another direction. Fair enough?

It seemed churlish to decline the offer, especially since he was here, but damn…all the money he had—which barely hit five figures—was in his saving-for-a-rainy-day fund.

All right, he said at last. But I hate to waste your time. I seriously don’t think I’m going to have enough to pay—

Noted. Turner reached for a pen and pulled the pad closer. Start with the basics—pretend you didn’t tell me anything on the phone.

Uhm…okay. That was an easy request, because he really hadn’t told him much beyond his brother’s name. His name is Nick Middlebrooks. He’s twenty-seven and the last time we spoke—he swallowed hard—was September twenty-third, seven years ago…

That’s a pretty specific date… Turner made a note.

It was the day we buried our grandmother…and…I’d never forget my twentieth birthday, so it isn’t hard to remember.

Okay. How about you start at the beginning?

Noah sighed. We never knew our mom. Dad raised us, but our grandmother lived with us to help out with child care because Dad was a firefighter. You know shift work and all that. When we were both in high school, Dad was killed in a fire, but Grams hung in there. Nick…he didn’t deal well. He started acting out. Drinking, drugs, tats and piercings…I don’t know what else. It’s probably what drove Grams to have a heart attack.

A white hot heat poured through him at the memory. The day of her funeral…Nick showed up with a mohawk dyed in a rainbow. We fought over that. Apparently he thought announcing he was gay to all Grams’s friends was more important than giving her a respectful funeral. I really hated him for that.

Turner made a few more notes, then sat back. You have a problem with him being gay?

Noah snorted. Hardly. And neither did Grams. But it sure as hell wasn’t a necessary display at her funeral. Anyway, back at the house, after all the guests left, we got into a shouting match. Nick took off and I haven’t seen…or heard from him since.

Turner jerked his head once, pointing his chin in the direction of the folder Noah still gripped in his lap. What’s in there?

Putting the folder on the desk, Noah opened it…his gaze lingering for a second on the photo of Nick. Not with the rainbow colored hair…but the shade before that. Neon blue.

It’s everything I could find—just like you asked. He traced his fingers over the photo, wishing there was such a thing as a psychic connection. I know it’s not much. His last known address and cell number. A birth certificate. School report cards. A few photos. I tried calling the number a few times over the years, but the wireless company says it’s not his number anymore. There’s nothing I could find on Google, except those paid locator services—and the two I tried came up empty. I just don’t know where else to look.

Turner reached for the folder and slid it across his desk. He tapped his pen against his lip while he shuffled through the contents. Twice. Finally, he leaned back and studied Noah through narrowed eyes. So tell me why you want to find Nick after all this time?

Noah thought about little Jimmy’s battered and bruised body. Despite opening the child’s airway in the ambulance, and the efforts of Doc Robinson and her team, the boy had died without regaining consciousness. His mother was in jail, but no amount of criminal justice would ever bring that child back, or give him the opportunity to know what a family could be. Noah’s partner—the always unflappable Kerry—had been nearly inconsolable at the news. This one had hit her hard. She’d raced home to her own children. Darla had cried a little too—there was just something about losing a kid that made them all reflect on just how fragile life could be.

Looking up to meet Turner’s steady gaze, Noah shrugged one shoulder and tried a smile. He could feel his lips tremble and his eyes were hot. He’s family. I want to tell Nick I love him.

All right, Turner said after a long moment. I won’t lie. Your initial suspicion that this could get expensive is correct—but given the circumstances, it will cost a lot with any decent investigator. I might catch a break and find him quickly, but most likely, if you didn’t find Nick after the steps you’ve taken, it’s because he doesn’t want to be found. Or…you should prepare yourself for the possibility that he could be dead. You mentioned drugs and alcohol. Jail is a possibility, too—but not as likely because those online paid searches should have come up with something.

Each scenario was like a punch to the gut and Noah lost his breath. He nodded to show he understood. He’d expected the words, but hearing this stranger give voice to the unwelcome thoughts made everything more real.

At this point, with what you’ve given me and without conducting any preliminary checks, there’s no guarantee your brother is going to be found. If you had more leads, I might be able to suggest a couple of lower priced options. But I promise you—if anyone can find him, I can. If you go anywhere else, you’ll always be left wondering if you’d done all you could. My reports will include every step I take, in case you want to follow up on your own once we’ve concluded our business. Turner named a retainer that would cut into his savings by more than half, and the hourly rate left Noah a little light-headed.

On the other hand, if this guy was as good as he said, this might be the only chance to find Nick, so they could start to mend. What were the options? The Google search for detectives turned up several—nearly all of them Cincinnati bail bondsmen doing double duty as investigators. What would they really know about locating someone who didn’t want to be found?

Decision made, Noah nodded, tried to speak, then cleared his throat. Yes. Okay. But you need to tell me when you get close to tapping out the retainer, because…

I’ll keep you informed. Give me seventy-two hours to get things rolling, then I’ll give you the plan and the results of my preliminary inquiries. Turner rose from his chair and held out his hand and Noah once again allowed the big mitt to engulf him. Then he was out the door and walking on unsteady feet toward his car—and hopeful for the first time in years.

Chapter Two

Hey, what are you doing? Gentry shouted, his voice a muffled blur over the quiet thrum of the club’s background music. Draco’s focus shifted immediately, his threat assessment training kicking into high gear.

Hard Labour was busy enough tonight. The main area was full of players—they even had the member’s favorite St Andrews cross set up in the middle of the floor. That usually kept everyone happy. The last time he’d looked out over the balcony outside his office, the bar had been packed shoulder to shoulder—Gentry should have been busy. Not running up the stairs and shouting.

Every one of Draco’s internal alarms shot to high alert. Cold fingers of fear trickled along his spine, raising the hair on the back of his neck and bringing him to his feet.

Let me up, the man cuffed to the bed hissed, his arms jerking at the restraints while his feet kicked uselessly at the spread.

Already moving toward the outer office, Draco responded. No time. Closing the partition. Adrenaline rushed through his veins, lighting him up from the inside, speeding his reflexes while eliminating