Free Navy SEAL to Die For by Elle James Page A

the nightstand. It teetered on the edge as Becca reached for it.
    As soon as she recognized Royce’s number, she hit the talk button. “Yeah,” she said, breathing hard after her mad dash.
    “Becca? Are you okay?”
    “I’m fine.” She tucked the cell phone between her shoulder and ear and wrapped the towel around her body.
    “I touch down in fifteen.”
    “Just don’t run into any missiles on your way in,” she quipped, but really meant it. She liked her boss and didn’t want anything bad to happen to him.
    “We’re not flying into the airport. I’ll shoot the coordinates to you,” Royce said.
    Her phone beeped, a text message coming through. She checked. “Got it.”
    “Be there. I’ll brief you then.”
    Becca glanced across the room at Quentin buttoning his jeans, a towel slung across his shoulders, his hair still dripping. “That’s our cue.” She handed him the cell phone and grabbed her clothing.
    He entered the coordinates on the map application and studied the screen. “I know where that is. It looks like a race horse farm from the road. I didn’t know it was a landing strip.”
    “Royce has contacts all over.” She jammed her feet into the baggy sweats and pulled them up over her hips. Then she dragged the T-shirt over her head, letting the towel drop to the floor. “Ready?”
    He’d slipped on his shirt and pushed his feet into his shoes. Quentin straightened and headed for the door. “Wait for my signal.”
    “We don’t have time.”
    “You need to take the few extra seconds to play it safe.” He shook his head. “Otherwise, you’ll have all the time in the world if you’re dead.” He narrowed his eyes and pointed at her. “Stay.”
    Becca bristled. “I’m not a dog that can be trained.”
    He tsked. “More’s the pity.”
    Her lips pressing together, Becca crossed her arms over chest. “Fine. But get a move on. We have,” she glanced at the clock on the nightstand, “twelve minutes to get there, and I’ll be damned if I stand by and let someone take out Royce’s plane with a rocket launcher.” She followed Quentin to the door, but hung back.
    Quentin poked his head out. A second later, he slipped through the opening.
    Becca closed and locked the door behind him. She ran to the window and nudged the curtain wide enough to peer between its thick folds. For a second she couldn’t see Quentin, then she noticed movement in the shadows. Quentin hunkered behind an old Ford Bronco with peeling paint and unmatched bald tires. He glanced around the vehicle to the open parking lot at the center of the two motel buildings.
    Becca prayed he wouldn’t run into anyone eager to put a bullet in his chest.

Chapter Six
    Quentin worked his way through the parking lot, scanning vehicles, windows and doorways for possible gunmen. When he was reasonably certain the coast was clear, he slipped to the alley in back of the buildings where he’d left the SUV parked. After a quick check over the vehicle for any hidden explosive devices, he climbed in and jammed the key into the ignition. So far so good.
    Careful to check for any suspicious cars before he left the alley, he eased out and around the building and pulled up beside the room he and Becca had shared the night before. She yanked open the door and jumped into the passenger seat.
    “I feel like this is overkill,” she said, buckling her seatbelt.
    Quentin pulled into the street and turned the direction the coordinates had indicated. “Better overkill than to be killed.”
    “True.” Becca shook her head. “What I don’t get is why my father’s killers are now after me.”
    “Did he pass any secrets to you before they got to him?”
    Becca shook her head. “Not that I know of. Hell, I haven’t been home since I started searching for his killer.” Her eyes widened. “I wonder if he sent something to my apartment or to my post office box in Virginia. I didn’t think of that.”
    “That might be the first place we head