Free Her Marine Bodyguard by Heather Long

it had taken strength to be objective about it. He’d been so fucking proud of her.
    And then this happens .
    When he got his hands around this chicken-livered piece of shit, he planned to cut his fucking intestines out and feed them to him while the man was still alive.
    “Yeah,” Damon said, and judgment etched a hard line beneath the words. “Should have, would have, could have. We didn’t know , and we scared the ever-loving fuck out of her. Even keeping our distance isn’t helping because we can’t keep our distance.”
    Brody accepted the blame. Shannon had been in the States, safe at home. No one should have had anything in for her—least of all some sick fuck sending her nasty letters and trying to kidnap her. He wanted to know who, he didn’t really care why. The why didn’t matter. The who did. As someone who specialized in fast response, all he needed was a target. Eliminate the target, eliminate the problem, and make his girl safe again.
    That was his priority now, but to Damon all he said was, “Sorry, man.” From the corner of his eye, he caught Damon’s nod. They didn’t need a lot of words. “What about Bates?” He’d never met the woman, never heard of her before now, but he owed her. She’d taken a bullet for Shannon.
    “Gut wound. Ugly as fuck, but the docs all said she’ll pull through. She’s in ICU, and Morgan has two of his guys watching over her in case the asshole tries to take another shot. She might be able to ID him.” What he didn’t have to add was that she hadn’t woken up to confirm or deny the supposition. Finally, they were off the highway and the landscape gave way to the green vista he recalled from his last visit to the campus.
    Damon waved to a man at the gate, and it lifted while they were still approaching. The addition of a security gate was new. But the facility continued to grow. He’d received regular updates from all of his brothers here. They’d added new buildings, bought land across the street, and if the scuttlebutt was true, they were building single-family homes and more. Luke Dexter seemed to be taking over the town of Allen, one square mile at a time.
    What little amusement he found in the thought was fleeting as Damon drove up the long drive and then took the exit heading into a private parking area. As soon as he put the truck in a parking spot, Brody exited with his bag in hand. “Apartment number?”
    “307.” Brody was on the move when Damon called after him. “We’re here if you need us.”
    “Thanks,” he called back over his shoulder, but didn’t slow his pace. He spotted the guard easily enough, and a second one patrolling the green belt. Cameras were placed every thirty yards or so.
    Yes, Luke had beefed up his security, and it appeared too precise to be a recent thing. Taking the stairs two at a time, Brody made a mental note to talk to him about it later. The door to 305 opened, and a man stepped out to block his path—Special Forces babysitter number one. He had his cell phone to his ear, and he seemed to be listening for a moment, then he nodded to Brody and backed into his apartment.
    Damon called to let them know of his approach most likely, but he didn’t slow his pace. At 307, he paused. He needed to have his shit under control when he saw her. The last thing she needed was a caveman treatment or worse, the surge of predatory violence rolling through his blood. Thirty seconds, he counted off in his head before he knocked twice. “Shannon?” Because she didn’t need to be afraid for even a second about who waited on the other side the knock. “I’m here, babe.”
    The door locks tumbled—one, two, and finally a chain rattled before the door opened wide. She stood in front of him, her amber eyes wide and wild in the paleness of her face. Her long hair hung all around her, shining as though she’d brushed it over and over again—a habit she had when truly nervous or trying to work something through. Either sculpting