Hot Combat. Elle James

training and having just completed his first deployment in his new role, Ghost was on a path to being exactly what he wanted—the best Navy SEAL he could be. A month on leave in Grizzly Pass reminded him why he couldn’t live there anymore. At the same time, it reminded him of why he’d loved it so much.

      He’d been home for two weeks when he’d run into a girl he’d known since grade school, one who’d been his friend through high school, whom he’d lost touch with when he’d joined the Navy. She’d been the tagalong friend he couldn’t quite get rid of, who’d listened to all of his dreams and jokes. She was as quirky and lovable as her name, never asking anything of him but a chance to hang around.

      With no intention of starting a lasting relationship, he’d asked her out. He’d told her up front he wasn’t there to stay and he wouldn’t be calling her after he left. She’d been okay with that, stating she had no intention of leaving Wyoming and she wouldn’t be happy with a man who would be gone for eleven months of the year. But she wouldn’t mind having someone to go out with while he was there.

      No strings attached. No hearts broken.

      Her words.

      Looking back, Ghost realized those two weeks had been the best of his life. He’d recaptured the beauty of his home and his love of the mountains and prairies.

      Charlie had taken him back to his old haunts in her Jeep, on horseback and on foot. They’d hiked, camped and explored everywhere they’d been as kids, topping it off by skinny-dipping in Bear Paw Creek.

      That was when the magic multiplied exponentially. Their fun-loving romp as friends changed in an instant. Gone was the gangly girl with the braid hanging down her back. Naked, with nothing but the sun touching her pale skin, she’d walked into the water and changed his life forever.

      He wondered if she still lived in Grizzly Pass. Hell, for the past seven years, he’d wanted to call her and ask her how she was doing and if she still thought about that incredible summer.

      He supposed in the past seven years, she’d gone on to marry a local rancher and had two or three kids by now.

      Ghost sighed. Since they’d made love in the fresh mountain air, he’d thought of her often. He still carried a picture of the two of them together. A shot his father had taken of them riding double on horseback at the ranch. He remembered that day the most. That was the day they’d gone to the creek. The day they’d first made love. The first day of the last week of his leave.

      Having just graduated from college, she’d started work with a small business in town. She worked half days and spent every hour she wasn’t working with Ghost. When he worried about her lack of sleep, she’d laughed and said she could sleep when he was gone. She wanted to enjoy every minute she could with him. Again, no strings attached. No hearts broken.

      Now, back in the same town, Ghost glanced around the early morning streets. A couple of trucks rumbled past the grocery parking lot and stopped at the local diner, pulling in between several other weathered ranch trucks.

      Apparently the food was still good there.

      A Jeep zipped into the diner’s parking lot and parked between two of the trucks.

      As his gaze fixed on the driver’s door as it opened, Ghost’s heartbeat stuttered, stopped and raced on.

      A man in dark jeans and a dark polo shirt climbed out and entered the diner.

      His pulse slowing, Ghost let out a sigh, squared his shoulders and twisted the key in the ignition. He was there to work, not rekindle an old flame, not when he was going to meet a man about his new assignment and promptly ask to be released to go back to his unit. The diner was the designated meeting place and it was nearing seven o’clock—the hour they’d agreed on.

      Feeling grungy and road-weary, Ghost promised himself he’d find a hotel for a shower, catch some real sleep and then drive back to Virginia over the next couple of days.

      He drove out of the parking lot and onto Main Street. He could have walked to the diner, but he wanted to leave straight from there to find that hotel and the shower he so desperately needed. Thirty minutes max before he could leave and get some rest.

      Ghost parked in an empty space in the lot, cut the engine, climbed out of his truck and nearly crumpled to the ground before he got his leg straight. Pain shot through his thigh and kneecap. The therapist said that would happen if he didn’t keep it moving. After his marathon drive from Virginia to Wyoming in under two days, what did he expect? He held on to the door until the pain subsided and his leg straightened to the point it could hold his weight.

      Once he was confident he wouldn’t fall flat on his face, he closed the truck door and walked slowly into the diner, trying hard not to limp. Even the DHS wouldn’t want a man who couldn’t go the distance because of an injury. Not that he wanted to keep the job with DHS. No. He wanted to be back with his unit. The sooner the better. They’d get him in shape better than any physical therapist. The competition and camaraderie kept them going and made them better, stronger men.

      Once inside the diner, he glanced around at the men seated at the tables. Most wore jeans and cowboy boots. Their faces were deeply tanned and leathery from years of riding the range in all sorts of weather.

      One man stood out among the others. He was tall and broad-shouldered, certainly capable of hard work, but his jeans and cowboy boots appeared new. His face, though tanned, wasn’t rugged or hardened by the elements. He sat in a corner booth, his gaze narrowing on Ghost.

      Figuring the guy was the one who didn’t belong, Ghost ambled toward him. “DHS?” he asked, his tone low, barely carrying to the next booth.

      The man stood and held out his hand. “Kevin Garner. You must be Jon Caspar.”

      Ghost shook the man’s hand. “Most folks call me Ghost.”

      “Nice to meet you, Ghost.” Garner had a firm grip, belying his fresh-from-the-Western-store look. “Have a seat.”

      Not really wanting to stay, Ghost took the chair indicated.

      The DHS man remained standing long enough to wave to a waitress. Once he got her attention, he sat opposite Ghost.

      On close inspection, his contact appeared to be in his early thirties, trim and fit. “I was expecting someone older,” Ghost commented.

      Garner snorted. “Trust me, I get a lot of push-back for what I’m attempting. Most think I’m too young and inexperienced to lead this effort.”

      Ghost leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. “And just what effort is that?”

      Before the DHS representative could respond, the waitress arrived bearing a pot of coffee and an empty mug. She poured a cup and slapped a laminated menu on the table. “I’ll be back.”

      As soon as she left, Garner leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Safe Haven Task Force was my idea. If it works, great. If it fails, I’ll be looking for another job. I’m just lucky they gave me a chance to experiment.”

      “Frankly, I’m not much on experiments, but I’ll give you the benefit of a doubt. What’s the experiment?”

      “The team you will be part of will consist of some of the best of the best from whatever branch of service. They will be the best tacticians, the most skilled snipers and the smartest men our military has produced.”

      “Sorry.” Ghost shook his head. “How do I fit into that team?”

      Garner slid a file across the table and opened it to display a dossier on Ghost.

      Ghost frowned. SEALs kept a low profile, their records available to only a very few. “How did you get that file?”

      He sat back, his lips forming a hint of a smile. “I asked for it.”

      “Who the hell are you? Better still, what politician is in your pocket to pull me out of my unit for this boondoggle gig?” Ghost leaned toward Garner, anger