One wants justice, the other wants revenge. What they find is each other.
Dale MacIntyre has seen his share of death and betrayal. As a former Navy SEAL turned Sanctuary operative, he's chasing a dangerous lead that could finally expose the Bullen crime family's darkest secrets. But when a crucial witness ends up dead, and the case spirals into chaos, Dale’s mission collides head-on with a man just as deadly and twice as determined.
Joseph Kinnon, active-duty SEAL, is reeling after the murder of his stepsister—an innocent woman caught in a web of crime. He returns home to hunt down her killer and serve justice his way, only to find Dale standing in his path.
Forced to work together, their rivalry quickly ignites into something far more volatile. As bullets fly and bodies fall, trust is fragile, and emotions run deep. But when vengeance and love collide, will either make it out alive?
Summary:
A hostage crisis. A deadly betrayal. A love that refuses to die.
Dale thought escorting a key witness back to safety would be routine. But when the jet lands at a remote airstrip and gunfire erupts, he realizes just how wrong he was. Stranded in the snow with a terrified witness and a rising body count, Dale has only one hope: Joseph.
Joseph has faced warzones, but nothing prepared him for the possibility of losing the man he loves. Mobilizing his SEAL team, he dives headfirst into the chaos to save Dale.
As the danger escalates and the final showdown looms, Dale and Joseph must face their past, their fears, and the question neither of them can ignore—when the bullets stop flying, is love enough to build a future?
Summary:
A brilliant mind. A haunted protector. And a secret that could destroy them both.
Brandon Hoselton hides behind numbers and logic, using code to make sense of a world that’s spiraled out of control. When his family is threatened, he sees no way out—until Sanctuary steps in and offers him a lifeline.
Daniel Karnes is a former Navy SEAL, hardened by loss and determined to do good in a world that’s given him nothing but pain. Tasked with protecting Brandon, he expects a straightforward assignment. He doesn’t expect the quirky, brave, and heartbreaking man who stirs something deep inside him.
But Brandon is hiding more than fear. He’s keeping secrets that could end the mission—and their lives. As they dive into a high-stakes plan to dismantle a criminal empire, Daniel must decide whether love is worth the risk.
Because sometimes, the most dangerous lies are the ones we tell ourselves.
The Only Easy Day #2 & Worlds Collide #7
Original Series(#1-7) Review July 2015:
I'm doing an overall series review because in my opinion you can't just read one book, you must read the whole series to fully enjoy the tale. Yes, each book is a standalone in regards to the couple that is featured and that each book has a separate part of the mystery that begins and ends but the series is centered around the bringing down of the Bullens family.
Now, I will say that some people might be a little put off by the suddenness of each couple getting together but I found them perfectly acceptable for both the characters and the scenarios. Because of the possible life and death situations that the Sanctuary team members and their subsequent charges are placed in, I felt that it was very believable for each couple to realize grabbing life and love with everything they have when it's right in front of you, the right call. This might be a turnoff for some but it was not for me.
I found it to be a well written, character driven tale that is definitely worth reading. As I started out with, I think it should be read as one long story to get the sweeping effect of both the mystery and the love as well as the friendships that are explored.
Now, I will say that some people might be a little put off by the suddenness of each couple getting together but I found them perfectly acceptable for both the characters and the scenarios. Because of the possible life and death situations that the Sanctuary team members and their subsequent charges are placed in, I felt that it was very believable for each couple to realize grabbing life and love with everything they have when it's right in front of you, the right call. This might be a turnoff for some but it was not for me.
I found it to be a well written, character driven tale that is definitely worth reading. As I started out with, I think it should be read as one long story to get the sweeping effect of both the mystery and the love as well as the friendships that are explored.
By the Numbers #10
Original Review May 2017:
I can't believe it's over but what a way to go out! Sanctuary is an awesome series that has had a little bit of everything in every installment and By the Numbers is no different. Brandon's determination to protect his sisters is what fuels his actions even as the fear settles in. Daniel may only be doing his job as he protects Brandon but he can't help but be impressed with Brandon's resolve even if he has no clue to the man's true intention. As they butt heads at every turn they soon become more than protector and protectee.
It is very rare when you are able to love the final book in a series as much as the first, truth is I can probably count on one hand how many times that has happened and one of them is definitely Sanctuary. RJ Scott has created a world that successfully combines intrigue, mystery, and technology stitched together with drama and just the right amount of humor nestled in a cocoon of romance, love and yumminess.
I loved watching Brandon grow throughout the pages of By the Numbers, he may not see it but I could. One thing that really stood out for me was the stimming, which I'm not ashamed to admit I had to look up. For those like me who is unfamiliar with the term it is a self-stimulatory behavior, the repetition of physical movements, sounds, or repetitive movement of objects often used to calm and stimulate oneself. For Brandon, the stimming is in the form of counting numbers. Is it a huge part of the story? Not really but in my opinion it is another example of how RJ Scott doesn't just follow a winning pattern or formula when writing her series. It may or may not fit the term "outside the box" but it does show the human factor, the details that make us all different and it's just one of many reasons why RJ Scott is one of my all time favorite authors, not just in the M/M genre but across the board.
RATING:
I can't believe it's over but what a way to go out! Sanctuary is an awesome series that has had a little bit of everything in every installment and By the Numbers is no different. Brandon's determination to protect his sisters is what fuels his actions even as the fear settles in. Daniel may only be doing his job as he protects Brandon but he can't help but be impressed with Brandon's resolve even if he has no clue to the man's true intention. As they butt heads at every turn they soon become more than protector and protectee.
It is very rare when you are able to love the final book in a series as much as the first, truth is I can probably count on one hand how many times that has happened and one of them is definitely Sanctuary. RJ Scott has created a world that successfully combines intrigue, mystery, and technology stitched together with drama and just the right amount of humor nestled in a cocoon of romance, love and yumminess.
I loved watching Brandon grow throughout the pages of By the Numbers, he may not see it but I could. One thing that really stood out for me was the stimming, which I'm not ashamed to admit I had to look up. For those like me who is unfamiliar with the term it is a self-stimulatory behavior, the repetition of physical movements, sounds, or repetitive movement of objects often used to calm and stimulate oneself. For Brandon, the stimming is in the form of counting numbers. Is it a huge part of the story? Not really but in my opinion it is another example of how RJ Scott doesn't just follow a winning pattern or formula when writing her series. It may or may not fit the term "outside the box" but it does show the human factor, the details that make us all different and it's just one of many reasons why RJ Scott is one of my all time favorite authors, not just in the M/M genre but across the board.
RATING:
The Only Easy Day #2
Chapter 1
“Chief, locate for CAS.” The shout was passed down the line, barely audible over the gunfire, and into Chief Petty Officer Joseph Kinnon’s ear. The lieutenant was situated higher up the steep incline, pinned in that position. He was held down by the whine and thud of AK47 bullets that ripped and spat through the rocks of the mountain, but his message was loud and clear. They were trapped, and only close air support was going to solve this clusterfuck.
Joseph was by far the closest to the onslaught of Taliban forces and crawled on his belly to the viewpoint, only inches below an outcrop of rock and far too exposed for his liking. Gauging distance, he scrambled back to pass the intel.
“Danger close, five hundred,” he reported succinctly, and slid sideways as some random shot snagged the rock to his left and gouged a path in the blackness.
Information passed upwards was fast, and the decision passed back just as quick. Despite the team locked down this close to the target, there wasn’t another way out of this position. They had to call in close air support and chance getting decimated by friendly fire or killed by the large group of Taliban closing in. Joseph sent up a silent plea the pilot of the F-16 in this airspace was one hundred percent accurate. Bad timing had led a group of Taliban to the same path they traveled, and the small SEAL team was paying the price. No way back up the mountain, and no way forward, the journalist they were here to extract had pasted himself flat against the wall with horror across his face; they were stuck. One well-placed missile into the middle of the Taliban forces and it would be enough for the team of six and the journalist to make it the extraction point.
The terminal controller exchanged brief glances with Joseph. Dexter was his best friend, and their relationship went way back before SEAL training, commonly called BUD/s. Joseph nodded. He knew exactly what was going through his friend’s mind as he called in the ten-digit grid reference to command. Joseph lip read as Dexter added detail to the “danger close”, forces-speak for telling the F-16 pilot there was the potential to kill the good guys too. Dexter ducked as the Taliban concentrated their fire on the cluster of rocks behind him. They couldn’t know exactly where he was, but even random firing was sending bullets too close for comfort. Joseph rolled to his side and focused his fire on the flashes from the forces below them. He just hoped it was enough to give Dexter the space to complete the message on the UHF radio.
Finally Dexter passed a message up and down the team, the LT nodded and indicated heads down. The missile would be there in three. Joseph didn’t let up on his targeted shooting, and for a few minutes until “missile on target”, he and the rest of the team would be ensuring focus was on them.
The reporter had been an easy extraction. Taken hostage by the Taliban, they’d been keeping him in a safe house in the mountains of Afghanistan. Intelligence had led the US to his location, and they had watched to establish a pattern for his captors. Pattern established, Joseph and his team were inserted three miles away, on the other side of a mountain ridge. It had been, in SEAL terms, an easy extraction, and the journalist had not only still been alive but was able to walk out fairly unhurt.Then the shit hit the fan. With nothing more than bad timing, suddenly the team was pinned down by the sheer number of freaking Taliban coming at them with the barrage of small arms fire. They were fucked. Dexter signaled a “one” to Joseph and the others. This was it. This was win or fail spectacularly; what a way to go out. Fuentes sat on the journalist, their faces to the wall, hunkered down in a natural ditch formed by a crack in the earth between rocks. Dexter rolled and sheltered amongst the boulders strewn on the pathway. The LT and the rest of the team kept up fire until, one by one, they too took cover. There was no sense in letting the Taliban get any idea things were going down by giving out a ceasefire, and finally, it was only Joseph firing into the darkness in a random pattern. He glanced at Dexter, who held up a fist and then a five. Joseph counted down, and at one, he took final cover, curled in on himself with his head tucked low, every part of him sheltered by Afghan rock.
No noise indicated the targeting of a five-hundred-pound bomb, but when it hit the Taliban, it was deadly and quick. The pressure waves pressed Joseph’s eardrums, and he involuntary closed his eyes. The air rent about them, and the sound of violent roaring thunder shook the earth. As it threw debris high into the air, the low-end noise of the pressure wave rolled over the SEAL team, but there was no time to sit and wait to see if the hit had found target. Joseph was first, closest to the insurgents, and weapon high, he slid down the crumbling mountainside. The missile had done its work, but Joseph didn’t look for that. He wanted an all clear, and with only a few on target shots, he indicated back that the team could follow. There was still some small arms fire from the few remaining Taliban, but it was nothing the SEALs couldn’t handle, dodging forces and jogging with the journalist at the center. Dexter called in final extraction, and when Joseph slumped into the CH-47 Chinook, he closed his eyes. It would be days before his ears were back to normal. The helicopter dipped then took a wide low path over the Afghanistan flatlands.
“So,” Dexter started on a shout that broke through his team’s fractured hearing, “I’m thinking of asking Emily to marry me.”
And there it was. Normality after facing chaos and death. It was what SEALs did. They fought, they extracted, and they were the best. But, at the end of the day, they had survived and were alive. Listening as his best friend received advice from the team on how to propose, Joseph felt a twinge of something inside. The adrenaline inside him was trickling away and the reality of his life was replacing it in every single cell he had.
An empty apartment and a month of sleep. The sleep sounded good, but the empty part? That felt like shit.
* * * * *
The deck of the C-17 was freaking freezing, and not for the first time in eight hours of hell, Joseph wished he had two sleeping pads under him and not just one. Ramstein Air Base might be five hours in the past, but that meant at least another two or three until landing at Oceana Naval Air Station on the east coast. He was supposed to still be sleeping—that was the only way this enforced downtime worked for him. The Ambien had apparently long since lost its ability to send him back to sleep, and he was now way past wide awake. Everyone wanted to go home, but it was at moments like this, he wished for some magic way to blink and suddenly be in his own bed. The imposed cramped space was necessary if he wanted to get home, but he was a man of action, and all the clichés applied to him in spades. He wasn’t the man who sat still; he was the one who paced. He never walked; he always ran. Sucking it up until they landed was his only option. Still, he was tired enough to allow a small amount of self-indulgent misery at the cold and the smell and the aches that filtered through his determination to not complain.
His hip ached from lying on his right side as they crossed the ocean away from Basram to Germany and, with only a few hours break, onto the continental US. He was a SEAL, and his body had been through one hell of a lot, certainly more than the discomforts of sleeping in a C-17 cargo plane. The thought of what he normally put his body through and how much pain he could handle never failed to amuse him when all he could think of now was how freaking sore he felt all over. Thank goodness for small mercies that the vibration of the plane had lessened as soon as they hit cruising altitude. He hated the way the throbbing of the huge engines coursed through his body and rattled his bones. Twenty-six years old and his body felt like he was forty.
Cursing his inability to sleep, he half rolled to take the pressure off his hip and stopped only when he felt one of his team behind him. He couldn’t even recall who had grabbed the space there, but by the snoring, he assumed it was Dexter. His best friend was always watching his six and had done until they passed out the same week in BUD/s. Gritting his teeth, and with the comfort of his best friend’s breathing so obvious behind him, Joseph relaxed each muscle, resolutely ignoring the belt on his multi-cams digging into skin. He finally found the place inside him that allowed him to sleep perched on rocks or in caves with aerial assaults streaking the sky. He moved to that single and vital place where fighters in combat zones found themselves in, where they hoped they would be safe.
The changing quality of the engine noise was the first indication they were stateside, and he woke to a crouch in instant awareness. Clearly he had managed another few hours of shuteye, much to his shock. Expectation shot through him at the thought of standing on US soil again, and he stretched tall to work out some of the kinks. To sleep in a bed, eat food that wasn’t out of plastic, and to catch a breath was what the next thirty days were about. Lonely or not.
“N’thuck.” The words were mumbled in half sleep, and that was the first sign Dexter had pulled himself out of an Ambien and painkiller haze. Joseph moved as best he could to face his friend and blurted out a laugh at the sight before him. Dexter had taken a hit to the face by flying rocks, and the bruising was bad. The area around his friend’s nose was swollen so badly his eyes were squinting and only half open.
“You look worse than shit,” Joseph commented dryly.
“Thuck you,” Dexter replied.
“Emily’s gonna take one look at you and decide to marry me instead.”
“Not your gay ass,” Dexter countered.
Joseph laughed. His whole team knew about his preferences. It wasn’t that he was out to everyone in the service, but SEALs had trust. Your team was your life and held your life. Not one person in the team judged him for anything less than his skills or the SEAL acceptance that one day they might die for each other. Around him the rest of the team started pulling together sleeping bags and packs, and Joseph cast a brief look over at Adams, who remained in the green stage of post alcohol/Ambien mixing but who somehow managed to sport a broad and blinding grin. As the C-17 banked for final approach, Joseph took his seat. The landing was smooth, the rocking motion as the brakes engaged jarring, but the actual stopping itself was heaven. The plane rolled to journey’s end at just before zero one hundred, and then the small band of SEALs trudged tiredly from the plane.
When it came to disembarking, Joseph had never felt happier the SEALs never had to share a plane with anything other than a few combat support guys. Six guys getting off one plane made life a lot easier than a plane full of troops. As soon as his booted feet hit the blacktop, Joseph inhaled deeply of the fresh Virginia air. Everyone stood absolutely still for a few seconds, and Joseph glanced critically at each man. Apart from Dexter and his nose, the team of six men, by some luck and more than a little skill, had made it back largely unscathed. The way every man stood so utterly still meant he wasn’t the only one to be glad they’d made it back alive.
The team’s reactions to coming home varied from excited to resigned to way-too-exhausted-to-register. The night of landings was always the same. With unspoken agreement, the small group started the walk back to the main hanger where there would be some way of getting back to wherever the hell they all needed to go. Some, like him and Dexter, had apartments nearby; others had rooms in larger houses. All had to be within the one-hour recall when not on leave. He and Dexter walked side by side as the SEALs made their way from the immediate area to the regroup point.
“Fuck. Commander’s here.” The curse from Fuentes stopped him in his tracks.
Joseph startled at the pronouncement that spilled from the team’s newest recruit’s mouth. The words were tinged with newbie awe that the commanding officer was in attendance to their arrival home. Joseph was instantly watchful and tried to make out who the CO was looking at. The team usually had time to breathe before the official crap started, but the CO being here, standing silently and waiting for them to arrive, could mean only one thing. For one of the six in the team, there was bad news.
Something had happened while they were deployed, and for one of them, life had somehow changed when they were out of reach.
“Shit.” Even with the broken nose, Dexter uttered that single word very clearly and with an edge of fear. Dexter not only had the long-term girlfriend but two living parents and five siblings with associated partners and children. Jeez. Not Dexter.
The lieutenant held up a hand to stop his team and then walked swiftly ahead to stand toe-to-toe with the CO. They talked briefly, and the lieutenant turned to face his men with a look of resignation on his face.
“Chief Kinnon,” he started firmly. “Go with the CO.”
The entire bottom fell out of Joseph’s world, and he reached blindly to grip Dexter’s arm. Dexter took a step forward to go with Joseph, but he pulled him to a stop.
“It’s okay,” he reassured Dexter, and tugged his arm free. It wasn’t okay. It was far from being okay. He only had a few people outside his team that meant anything to him. Something had happened to his mom? It was the only thing he could think of, the only family he had, and that his CO was standing there waiting to tell him bad news was wrong.
He took the few short steps to the CO, a tall imposing man with a face carved from stone. Commander Finch hadn’t gotten to be a CO of elite SEAL teams by being the nice guy. He was tension and passion and loyalty all wrapped up in one commanding presence.
“Chief Kinnon.”
“Sir.”
“Walk with me, son.”
Only training and blind obedience kept Joseph from freezing in the middle of the freaking airfield refusing to move and demanding answers right the fuck now. They reached a door and passed through it into the shaded corner of a huge hangar. Dim lighting was enough to see compassion on the CO’s face.
“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, Joseph. While you were off radar, your stepsister passed away.”
Worlds Collide #7
Chapter 1
“It’s not too late, we can still get out of here,” Chief Petty Officer Joseph Kinnon said urgently. He pressed both hands to the glass and stared down at the street below. The city was a white, snowy landscape and at any other time would have been stunningly beautiful. They were ten stories up in a hotel in the heart of the historic district and the place had ledges at each level. As a team they’d dealt with worse. Assessing the situation, he considered the options. “Fuentes, talk to me.”
Luca Fuentes, young, tall, and built like the side of barn with muscles on muscles, was the team’s resident hacker but was also a tactical genius. He joined Joseph at the window. “Chief,” he said formally. His green-eyed gaze unerringly focused in on the view that Joseph had. He frowned as he looked out.
“Can you find egress here?” Joseph asked.
Luca tapped the glass. “Reinforced; we’d need some pretty heavy ordnance to get out—I can get Viktor on that—then zip wire. Get it hooked to the top of the plaza building.” Luca looked up and down, then turned to Joseph. “Forty degrees. We can get down to the roof and get out that way.”
“Assessment?”
“Fifty-fifty. I think most of us will be okay, but one of our team is scared of heights,” Fuentes said seriously.
Joseph nodded in agreement. “You’re talking about Mike Dexter.”
“He’s a liability, sir,” Luca answered. “I’m not sure his underwear would remain unstained and survive the fall.”
Joseph frowned. “So if we could get a change of underwear for after then we can probably get him down.”
“Yes, sir,” Luca answered immediately.
“I should kill you both,” Dexter deadpanned from behind them. He joined them at the window, looked down at the snowy street below, then shrugged. “Anyway, my mother-in-law-to-be will definitely have all exit points covered.”
Joseph and Luca snorted and suddenly all three men were leaning against the glass and laughing.
“She’d have you strung up by your balls,” Joseph choked out between laughing and trying to breathe.
“That wouldn’t be painful enough, Dexter.” Luca smirked. “She’d chop your dick off then hang you up by your balls for walking out on her daughter.”
Joseph clapped his best friend on the shoulder, a quick hug, then he pulled back. “Last chance to escape, Dex, I can get another team in as backup.”
Dexter thumped his shoulder. “Why would I give up the best thing I have?” Dexter said seriously. Everyone went silent. Then Joseph snorted another laugh and he had to step away from Dexter before his friend got a lot more physical.
“And you call yourself a best man, J.” Dexter sighed. He shook his head. “I knew I should have asked Viktor.” That set all three men off again. Viktor played loose and hard with life and the idea of him being best-anything outside of bombs and grenades was just plain weird.
“Speaking of best man and weddings, we’re at T minus twenty and I am out of here. I need to concentrate on my looking-good-in-my-uniform duty.” Fuentes walked to the door.
“Maybe when you grow up you’ll look good,” Joseph called after him.
“Face it, boys, you’re the wrong side of twenty-five and your wrinkled asses make your pants baggy.”
Joseph threw the nearest thing he could find, an apple from the fruit dish. Fuentes caught the fruit and took a bite out of it.
“Later,” he said as he left. Abruptly it was just Joseph and Dexter and one huge empty suite. Joseph’s only line of defense between himself and Dexter being all serious had gone. Joseph even considered calling Luca back at seeing the intense look on Dexter’s face. Joseph knew what he wanted to say but the words in his head just stayed there. He could be serious and focused, just, this was a huge occasion. He’d never been a best man before and he had to work hard to make it look like he knew what he was doing. Dexter crossed to the minibar and emptied the contents of a small bottle into a glass.
He handed the glass to Joseph. “Here, J, drink this.”
Joseph eyed the amber liquid. “Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?”
Dexter smiled. “Why do I need to drink? I’m not the one who’s nervous.”
“I’m not nervous,” Joseph defended immediately.
Dexter shook his head. “You remember that time in Iraq when we had to lie in goat shit for three hours and you were sick on yourself? You’re paler than that.”
Joseph sighed. Dexter knew more about him than he liked. “I don’t like giving speeches, alright? Give me a rifle and I can control a crowd. Make me talk and I fuck it up every time.” He perched on the edge of the sofa and downed the whisky in one. The burn was welcome, but he hoped to hell he didn’t throw the whole lot back up.
“What’s there to fuck up?” Dexter asked gently. He sat on the opposite sofa. “In ten minutes we’re going downstairs, then you tell me what is going to happen.”
Joseph considered the question and decided this wasn’t the time for teasing or his usual shit, this was serious. This was like the run-through for missions where the focus was decided beforehand. For a second he thought of Dale and remembered some of the more thoughtful conversations they had been having recently. He didn’t have to be next to his lover to know how he felt. Whenever he saw Dale’s name light up on his cell he got butterflies. Yes, they’d only managed to meet up once since that first time, but Dale filled every single one of his waking thoughts that weren’t taken up by SEAL business. Thinking of his lover had a smile twitching his lips.
“My best friend is getting married,” Joseph began, “to a beautiful woman who is way too good for him.” Whether it was that simple statement, the effects of the whisky, or even thinking of Dale, he felt himself relaxing. Yes, he was a duck out of water, but the man who had been his best friend since BUD/S was going into marriage with a smile on his face. Joseph could push past any concerns he had about SEALs marrying or about Dexter getting himself killed and leaving a widow.
“J, I wanted to talk to you,” Dexter said carefully. “I’ve been thinking of taking the medical discharge I was offered.”
Joseph’s chest tightened. This was what he had been expecting. Marriage and SEALs didn’t always mesh and he’d watched Dexter recently. The man was edgy and wary and being a SEAL didn’t allow for either. But to lose his best friend from the small expert team they were part of was a terrible blow. He didn’t say any of that. Instead he said, “I can understand that.”
Dexter nodded. “I’m twenty-nine. I found Em. My back is fucked, and I’ve been offered the magic bullet of discharge. I’d like to maybe at least stay stateside if I can, maybe go civilian?”
“The horror.” Joseph smirked. He knew about the medical discharge. Dex was in pain more often than not, and while he could push through it, the SEAL missions were hard on him. The bad back was courtesy of a fucked-up high altitude jump that Dexter was lucky to walk away from. He needed an operation to release nerves too close to scar tissue and he kind of needed it now before the damage became irreparable.
“Ass.”
“I’ve been offered a job with Sanctuary when I get out,” Joseph admitted. “But me leaving the Navy? That’s like ten years or more to retirement. Jake said if I knew anyone else that might be interested…” The comments had been serious but Joseph had dismissed them as something he could think about another day.
“Sanctuary, eh? Sounds like a cool idea. I was thinking about you and me, some kind of security team when you finally get out,” Dexter said thoughtfully.
“Me?” Joseph shook his head. “I’m only nine years in, I have eleven to go. I’m not that old yet.”
Dexter smiled. “Wait till you get to be nearly thirty like I am,” he said.
“Four years yet, old man.”
“And you have Dale now. He’s important to you, and J, aren’t you just a little bit tempted by working privately one day? If not that, then you could move sideways to a Navy posting, or into SEAL training?”
Joseph needed to change the subject. Spending time with Dale, building something with the sexy man, was way up on his to-do list, but to look that far into the future, leaving the SEALs…to leave the Navy after his twenty, even? To stop what he was damn good at? That was a hard one.
“I know what I’m good at,” he said finally. His usual defense.
“Look at it this way, buddy. Do you remember Garret Connor?” Joseph nodded. He recalled Lt Garret Connor, the tall, dark-haired guy with the serious expression. He knew what had happened to Garret. Every SEAL team was more than aware—being a SEAL made you part of a very small family. Garret had been MIA, separated from his entire team. Tortured, injured, his mind messed with, then left for dead. He was still suffering now.
PTSD. Joseph had seen too much of it, not just the Navy but in all the forces fighting in the theater of war.
“A good guy,” Joseph offered lamely. He knew exactly where this conversation was going.
“He’s thirty-one. He’s in a bad place. Every time you suit up, you put yourself in the firing line.”
“I get that, it’s what we do. Garret was unlucky.”
“And we’ve been lucky so far, Joseph.”
“We’re highly trained, we don’t rely on luck—”
“Then neither should Garret. He wasn’t unlucky—it was his time to get hit.”
“Sanctuary isn’t exactly safe either,” Joseph said. He sounded more than a little desperate to his own ears.
“Just think on it in ten years, and if the time is right, we can maybe talk again?”
Joseph relaxed. He liked conversations that could be put off to ‘another time’, particularly a conversation ten years in the future. “Okay,” he agreed. He’d just have to spend the next ten years or so avoiding a civilian Dexter and any mention of breaking up their team. Easy.
“Joseph, there’s one last thing. I need to ask you something.” Dexter sounded deadly serious.
“Anything.”
“Before I get out…hell, after I get out, if anything ever goes wrong and I don’t make it home? Look out for Em?”
Joseph opened his mouth to say what he’d instantly thought, the usual response that nothing was going to happen to Dexter. Instead he simply said, “Always.”
“Then shall we do this thing?” Dexter stood and extended a hand to Joseph, who grasped it and levered himself to stand. After a final hug they separated and with shared smiles, left the suite.
The whole team was here: him, Dexter, the Lieutenant, Fuentes, Freddy…even Viktor. The guy had somehow managed to time his arrival to exactly two minutes before the start, looking disheveled and with lipstick on his uniform. If the man wasn’t a damn genius with ordnance then he’d never get away with half the shit he did on his downtime. Joseph exchanged glances with the LT, Viktor had been slowly getting more and more on the ragged edge and something needed doing. The LT nodded in return and Joseph sighed. He liked Viktor and the man was good at his job, but he lacked control in his private life and something was messing with his head.
His attention moved back to the room. The family was lucky to get this room in the hotel in Albany on New Year’s Eve. It wasn’t the best or most exotic location for a wedding, but that wasn’t what Em and Dexter wanted. The team’s needing to fit it in their thirty-day downtime was tight but Em’s family had somehow managed to snag this room and a judge on this snowy holiday.
Em looked stunning. The slim redhead who had brought big, gruff Mike Dexter to his knees was smiling up at Joseph’s friend and teammate as if he hung the moon and the stars. It warmed Joseph to see it. Added to that she was a feisty partner who was in the Navy herself, based at Oceana with family in Albany and close by. Dexter and Em had been in love since they met at fourteen at school according to how Dexter told it, and today was perfect. The love that was in each vow was obvious.
Joseph remembered the rings and was even lulled into a false sense of security up until they sat for the wedding dinner and it was his turn to talk to the fifty people in the room. He stood and tapped a glass. The chatter stopped and every face in the room turned to him expectantly. Terror punched him like a bullet to a vest and stole his voice. He coughed. Then he saw Fuentes giving him a big thumbs up and that was enough to get his focus back on what he was doing
“When Mike Dexter asked me to be best man I thought he was an idiot,” he began. Great, that sounded better in his head than when he’d actually said the words. Fuentes nodded in encouragement. “Only because, while I can dismantle a gun and get it back together in record time and belch curse words with the best of them, I’m actually not good at standing up and talking.” Everyone laughed at that.
The laughter was welcome and he took a sip of his champagne. He was doing this speech on a mild alcohol buzz and he’d not drunk in so long that this was a very nice feeling, with the word ‘nice’ in capital letters. He continued, “In fact, there is only one person I would do this for and he is the man who got married today. Dexter is my best friend and I guess that allows me to say things about how I think Em and Dexter together are perfect.” He stopped again and glanced at Dexter and Em.
“Thank you,” Em said softly.
“Anyway, I could launch into many an embarrassing story about Dexter here, including the one with the mountain lion and the cheese, but I’ll save that for his sixtieth birthday party.” He smiled at Dexter, who grinned back. Joseph didn’t think he’d ever seen Dexter this happy. “I just wanted to say, congratulations to the best friend a man could wish for, on and off the field. Raise your glasses.” Joseph paused as everyone stood and raised the crystal champagne flutes.
“To Em and Dexter.”
The crowd repeated and finally Joseph sat down, his job done and a huge weight off his shoulders. Now perhaps he could relax. He reached for more champagne, his second glass, and on top of the small whisky from before he was really feeling relaxed. His thoughts immediately turned to Dale—wondering how the other man was doing. He was working an assignment to bring Emily Bullen back home from the West Coast where she had been laying low. But when he finished, they had an entire two weeks together planned at a resort, courtesy of Jake and Sanctuary, and he couldn’t believe how excited he was at the thought. He’d bought Dale a gift for his birthday—his lover was turning thirty in a few days—and he had plans for absolute honesty when they were together.
He fingered the piece of paper he kept with him in his pocket at all times. Not a picture of Dale, after all he did still have his balls. This was a print of a message Dale had sent him on his cell not long after they pulled Beckett from the Bullen Mansion. He’d been back at Oceana by then and only just got the message in time before he locked his cell away to be pulled out on his return from his next mission.
Stay safe, kick ass, come home. Love you.
Such a simple message, but the “Love you” didn’t have any kind of qualification. There was no I think I love you or I am falling in love with you, but a really simple, easy message.
I love you.
Just reading that message the first time had created feelings inside Joseph that he never thought he would feel. They’d been together such a short while but Dale just got him. He was funny, loving, strong, opinionate, good with a gun, tall, sexy, fantastic in bed, and a skilled kisser. All in all he was the perfect candidate for the post of Joseph’s forever-guy.
Just touching the note grounded Joseph in the here and now. Slowly, over the course of the last few months, the space in his life that had once been filled by the team he was with, by the job, by staying alive, had seen a full-frontal assault by the man he had fallen in love with.
The note wasn’t the last time that Dale had said those words. He’d never considered love at first sight—lust yes, love no—but this whole thing with Dale? That was love. A new love, one that was growing every day.
When the dinner ended and people drifted away to freshen up, Joseph determinedly walked through the lobby and out into the frigid air. He wanted to connect to Dale if he could—to check in on him. Just to hear his voice.
It was seven pm in Albany, earlier in LA, and he hoped he would get Dale on first try. He dialed the number he had in memory and Dale answered the phone immediately.
“Hey, sailor,” Dale said softly.
“Hey. Can you talk?” Joseph asked. He stamped his feet and settled back under the awning over the front door and as close to the wall as he could get without touching the icy brick. The snow had started and stopped a dozen times through the ceremony and the roads in Albany were covered in sparkling white. The snow covered any blemishes and left the area pristine and somewhat empty for a New Year’s Eve. Just for a second he debated returning to his room for a jacket but decided against it when he heard Dale’s voice.
“Hang on.” Joseph listened as noises indicated Dale was moving from one place to another. “Here,” he finally said.
“Tell me you’re not sitting in the bathroom,” Joseph said.
“Nope, back up against the front door facing inwards. Sitting between the target, who is currently in the bathroom, and any bad guys brandishing guns.” Dale chuckled as he said this.
Joseph could imagine his lover sitting, leaning back against the door. He’d done it himself at times when he needed time out but couldn’t leave the room. Stop the bad guys’ getting in the door.
“Are you expecting guns?” Joseph asked conversationally. He refused to let his voice carry any indication of the worry that pierced him at the thought. Dale meant too much to him to lose at the end of a bullet but they hadn’t exactly covered the emotions surrounding possible loss of each other in their brief chats. Anyway, how could he show he was worried about Dale when he himself wasn’t exactly working a nine to five in an office?
“Not really. Adam is running the op and there’s nothing indicating any shit near a proverbial fan. Emily Bullen is a low-rent witness now that she’s given access to records. This whole job is just a taxi service.” Dale didn’t sound impressed and Joseph smiled at the irritation in his voice.
“Adam’s running this? Not Manny?” Joseph liked Manny, the guy had an old head on his shoulders and he ran Ops like one of the best SEAL support teams.
“Manny and Josh are taking New Year’s off. Something about having to save Jake’s ass at Christmas.”
Joseph wrapped an arm around his middle. He was freaking cold but hearing Dale’s voice was too much to give up the peace and quiet of the outside. There were too many people inside pushing for attention and wanting to talk to him.
“When do you leave LA?”
“Wheels up in three hours. Big issue is that there’s no letup in that damn snow at your end. Hoping to move out this evening if they clear us for takeoff. Will you still make it to the resort?”
“If it kills me,” Joseph said without thinking. The thought of two weeks with just him and Dale and a Lake Placid Lodge had his cock half-hard and his heart swelling with affection. Realizing what he’d said, he went quiet and banged his head back against the wall. Idiot. Their relationship was still in its infant stage and as much as he wanted much more with the gorgeous blond who slammed into the middle of his life, he didn’t want to make himself look stupid by admitting it too early.
“I can’t wait to see you,” Dale confessed softly.
“Really?” Joseph said quickly. Jeez. His brain needed to focus better. That damn whisky added to two glasses of champagne was messing with his head.
“I missed your SEAL ass,” Dale admitted. “Especially when you didn’t make it back before Christmas.”
Joseph recalled exactly where he’d been on Christmas Day and grimaced at the memory. That particular date had been some particularly squirrely shit and the image of what he’d seen and felt was permanently etched into his thoughts. They were all fortunate to make it to Dexter’s wedding alive.
“I missed you too,” Joseph said. “I’ll see you when you make it to Albany,” he added. He needed to finish this call before his balls froze. They were already in danger of shriveling up and falling off with all this romantic sappy shit. The same shit he was loving to hear.
Joseph ended the call before he said anything else. Seeing Dale, wanting Dale, with all those love words thrown around whenever they met, was a deeply unsettling feeling.
By the Numbers #10
Brandon took down the drapes in his room as soon as he was able to. He could have asked his sisters, but they didn’t know just how badly looking at the geometric pattern in the fabric upset his equilibrium. They knew he was weird; most sisters thought their big brothers were weird. But he also had twitches and nervous tics about certain things, and they’d seen it all, even though his list of crazy was something he could manage now.
They didn’t need to know he’d spent three hours last night counting the squares on the drapes and being irritated to the point of stimming that they weren’t even and the stitching was wrong. And Jesus, stimming—having to move his fingers, loosen his muscles, anything to ground himself—he hadn’t done that in years.
And hell if he was going to ask Daniel into his room to help him, because Daniel was someone Brandon did not want in his space. Not taking down drapes, or talking to him, or even breathing near him. There was only so much of Daniel that Brandon could take, because when he was anywhere near him, he lost his ability to form coherent sentences. He didn’t have time to have these powerful feelings of lust that kept hitting him.
Like the time he and Daniel had met on the landing and Daniel had been in just a towel. They’d only been together a few days, but Daniel was funny, and sexy, and dangerous, and exactly everything Brandon should be avoiding in his life.
He had way too much to worry about, and a date written in his memory that he wouldn’t forget any time soon. The deal he had—to stay alive, to hide himself away, and then to present himself to Varga—was just about the only thing that filled his thoughts.
Varga thought that, on a given date, Brandon would join him in his huge mansion, pull together all the funds Varga had hidden in various places, and then join him in whatever country the US didn’t have an extradition treaty with.
Like hell he would. He was meeting with Varga, getting all his money, dispersing it to the right causes, and sending any intel he could get out to the authorities.
And then Varga would kill him for doing that.
Inevitable, really, and something he’d come to terms with. He’d blown his chance to do this when he’d worked for Varga, so he had to make up for it. He was doing the right thing.
He’d been biding his time in Hope, but had been unfortunate to be scooped up by Sanctuary. He just needed to work out a way to get away from them, and in particular Daniel, but he had about ten days to go yet until that magic date when Varga had decided he would be leaving the country.
For now, Sanctuary was safe for him and his sisters.
So yeah, choosing to avoid having Daniel in his room, with his probing questions and his distracting body, was an easy decision to make in among all that crap.
The only downside was that it meant he had to take the drapes down himself.
Trying to shoot himself hadn't gone so well; instead of being dead and gone, he had a through shot and muscle damage which hurt like knives in his skin. He waited until day four, when the pain in his shoulder had lessened to the point where he could at least manage to get out of bed and to the window but he couldn’t handle looking at those drapes any longer.
Today he actually felt capable of dealing with drapes he didn’t need anyway. There were blinds at the windows, and behind the blinds each window was coated so you could see out but no one could see in. He pushed the offending fabric under the bed and clambered back to a standing position, wincing in pain as he banged his shoulder, and sat on the edge of his bed.
The drapes were still there—he could picture them under the bed—and exasperated, he lay back on the mattress and attempted to think of something else. Blue skies, blue mugs, blue eyes. Anything blue, because it was a color that calmed him.
He lasted about a minute.
Huffing, he rolled up carefully and reached under the bed, pulling out the drapes and screwing them into a ball. Opening his door, he threw them out onto the landing, not even checking if anyone was standing there.
Daniel. Of course it would be Daniel, who reacted like a ninja and had the drapes under submission in seconds.
Once they were dead, or at least overpowered with some sort of karate move, Brandon felt like he should apologize.
“My bad,” he said, and shut the door in Daniel’s face.
He expected the knock, but hadn’t quite decided what he was going to say to Daniel when he came in. Maybe if he ignored the request to enter and said nothing, then Daniel might go away.
Daniel knocked again, and this time instead of waiting for Brandon to say he could come in, he pushed his way in, looking irritable. He was shirtless, his hair wet—evidence of a recent shower—his sweats hanging low on his hips and every muscle deliciously tight and toned.
“What the hell, Brandon?” he asked, his dark eyes angry, his lips in a set line. He wasn’t holding the drapes, so Brandon counted that as a win.
“I didn’t want them up at my window,” Brandon explained, and eased himself down into the chair by his bed. He was most comfortable there; he could see out the window and it was easier to keep the pressure off his injury.
“So you decided to throw them in my face?” Daniel sounded less pissed and more confused about getting fabric in his face.
Brandon indicated the door. “To be fair, I didn’t know you were there.” Then he couldn’t resist, “And you heroically subdued them so fast, I knew you could handle the danger.”
They didn’t need to know he’d spent three hours last night counting the squares on the drapes and being irritated to the point of stimming that they weren’t even and the stitching was wrong. And Jesus, stimming—having to move his fingers, loosen his muscles, anything to ground himself—he hadn’t done that in years.
And hell if he was going to ask Daniel into his room to help him, because Daniel was someone Brandon did not want in his space. Not taking down drapes, or talking to him, or even breathing near him. There was only so much of Daniel that Brandon could take, because when he was anywhere near him, he lost his ability to form coherent sentences. He didn’t have time to have these powerful feelings of lust that kept hitting him.
Like the time he and Daniel had met on the landing and Daniel had been in just a towel. They’d only been together a few days, but Daniel was funny, and sexy, and dangerous, and exactly everything Brandon should be avoiding in his life.
He had way too much to worry about, and a date written in his memory that he wouldn’t forget any time soon. The deal he had—to stay alive, to hide himself away, and then to present himself to Varga—was just about the only thing that filled his thoughts.
Varga thought that, on a given date, Brandon would join him in his huge mansion, pull together all the funds Varga had hidden in various places, and then join him in whatever country the US didn’t have an extradition treaty with.
Like hell he would. He was meeting with Varga, getting all his money, dispersing it to the right causes, and sending any intel he could get out to the authorities.
And then Varga would kill him for doing that.
Inevitable, really, and something he’d come to terms with. He’d blown his chance to do this when he’d worked for Varga, so he had to make up for it. He was doing the right thing.
He’d been biding his time in Hope, but had been unfortunate to be scooped up by Sanctuary. He just needed to work out a way to get away from them, and in particular Daniel, but he had about ten days to go yet until that magic date when Varga had decided he would be leaving the country.
For now, Sanctuary was safe for him and his sisters.
So yeah, choosing to avoid having Daniel in his room, with his probing questions and his distracting body, was an easy decision to make in among all that crap.
The only downside was that it meant he had to take the drapes down himself.
Trying to shoot himself hadn't gone so well; instead of being dead and gone, he had a through shot and muscle damage which hurt like knives in his skin. He waited until day four, when the pain in his shoulder had lessened to the point where he could at least manage to get out of bed and to the window but he couldn’t handle looking at those drapes any longer.
Today he actually felt capable of dealing with drapes he didn’t need anyway. There were blinds at the windows, and behind the blinds each window was coated so you could see out but no one could see in. He pushed the offending fabric under the bed and clambered back to a standing position, wincing in pain as he banged his shoulder, and sat on the edge of his bed.
The drapes were still there—he could picture them under the bed—and exasperated, he lay back on the mattress and attempted to think of something else. Blue skies, blue mugs, blue eyes. Anything blue, because it was a color that calmed him.
He lasted about a minute.
Huffing, he rolled up carefully and reached under the bed, pulling out the drapes and screwing them into a ball. Opening his door, he threw them out onto the landing, not even checking if anyone was standing there.
Daniel. Of course it would be Daniel, who reacted like a ninja and had the drapes under submission in seconds.
Once they were dead, or at least overpowered with some sort of karate move, Brandon felt like he should apologize.
“My bad,” he said, and shut the door in Daniel’s face.
He expected the knock, but hadn’t quite decided what he was going to say to Daniel when he came in. Maybe if he ignored the request to enter and said nothing, then Daniel might go away.
Daniel knocked again, and this time instead of waiting for Brandon to say he could come in, he pushed his way in, looking irritable. He was shirtless, his hair wet—evidence of a recent shower—his sweats hanging low on his hips and every muscle deliciously tight and toned.
“What the hell, Brandon?” he asked, his dark eyes angry, his lips in a set line. He wasn’t holding the drapes, so Brandon counted that as a win.
“I didn’t want them up at my window,” Brandon explained, and eased himself down into the chair by his bed. He was most comfortable there; he could see out the window and it was easier to keep the pressure off his injury.
“So you decided to throw them in my face?” Daniel sounded less pissed and more confused about getting fabric in his face.
Brandon indicated the door. “To be fair, I didn’t know you were there.” Then he couldn’t resist, “And you heroically subdued them so fast, I knew you could handle the danger.”
Writing love stories with a happy ever after – cowboys, heroes, family, hockey, single dads, bodyguards
USA Today bestselling author RJ Scott has written over one hundred romance books. Emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, single dads, hockey players, millionaires, princes, bodyguards, Navy SEALs, soldiers, doctors, paramedics, firefighters, cops, and the men who get mixed up in their lives, always with a happy ever after.
She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn’t with family either reading or writing. The last time she had a week’s break from writing, she didn’t like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a box of chocolates she couldn’t defeat.
BOOKBUB / KOBO / SMASHWORDS
EMAIL: rj@rjscott.co.uk
The Only Easy Day #2
Worlds Collide #7
By the Numbers #10
Sanctuary Series
