Code Name: War of Stones: A Warrior's Challenge series, #7

Dedication

For you, Dad.

On the day I write this, I don’t know what the future holds for you, but I hope each day, you grow a little stronger.

Acknowledgment

A big thank you to Carolyn owner of Write Right Edits. Did I spell that right?

Captain Kimberly, for you and your family, thank you for approaching me at the conference after I’d written Code Name: Ghost. It’s more than a reader/writer relationship. It’s friendship.

To Waters’ Warriors for sharing my books with other readers and dropping by the site to post and brighten our days.

Dawné Dominique, your ESP skills are still spot on.

Thomas Gunter, you make a fine hero and you brought Lt. Damon Stone to life. I hope you find your true love and a happily-ever-after.

For everyone who’s come along for the ride on this series, I thank you. There’s more adventures ahead.

When a man is denied the right to live the life he believes in, he has no choice but to become an outlaw.

Nelson Mandela

Prologue

YEARS AGO, ADMIRAL Thane (Ghost) Austen and Kayla (Snow White) Austen walked through the smoke and mirrors of battle...and survived. They had two children. Sloane is their daughter. Like her father, she’s stubborn, resilient and loyal. It’s June of 2038. Twenty-three-years old and assigned to N.A.B Coronado, Seaman Sloane Austen serves her country like her parents once did.

Code Name: War of Stones

A Warrior’s Challenge Series

Book Seven

Chapter One

June 20 th , 2038

Sloane rubbed the pinch out of her temple after disconnecting the caller. Tearing the sheet from her message pad, she swiveled in her chair, searching out the Administrations Lieutenant. Ma’am, do you know a Lieutenant Damon Stone?

Sarah popped her head up like a gopher from a hole. Sure. Why?

She pulled her sweater from the back of the chair and covered her shoulders, suddenly cold. I have to deliver this message.

Email him, the Lieutenant suggested, and turned her attention back to the computer.

Not this kind of message, she said, catching her lieutenant’s attention and attracting interest from a couple other women working in the department.

Glancing at the scribbled note, Sloane shook her head. Considering her duties on the base, she’d dodged a bullet not having to deal with this before now. Absentmindedly, she tucked a stray wisp of hair from her bundled ‘doo to adhere to Navy standards.

Six months had passed since enlisting. Basic training ate a few weeks, and then she was briefly posted at another Naval base in northern California in the logistics department, a fancy name for paper pusher. She’d immediately requested a transfer to Coronado.

She hated to admit nepotism had played a role in getting her request approved to come back to San Diego so quickly. Her Godfather, Greg LaPierre, and probably her dad, had a heavy hand in making it happen, although both had denied it.

She liked the fast pace and the stressors of the demanding workload involved in a base the size of Coronado. Varied responsibilities kept the humdrum away with the intake of new personnel, preparing and posting the Plan of the Week, preparing awards, writing directives, and the enlisted evaluations, which were piling up on her desk. She tracked personnel leave, reviewed and disseminated correspondence and the file logs, but she was also responsible for incoming message routing.

She wasn’t prepared to leave the message she held in her hand like a grenade in Lieutenant Stone’s mailbox. He needed to know.

Sarah stepped over to her desk and quickly scanned the note. Oh, dear, she murmured. He’s one of the BUD/s instructors. They could be anywhere right now, but check the Grinder first. The recruits are probably being thrashed on the pavement.

Sloane adjusted her cap and straightened her navy blue uniform skirt. I’m going to deliver this in person.

Sarah crossed her arms over a plentiful chest. If I were you, I’d leave it at his office. I wouldn’t interrupt them.

Sloane nodded, but wasn’t going to let the poor man open this message without some kind of warning. This was a hand delivery. Not a pleasant one, either.

What does he look like?

Sarah arched a brow. Bloody gorgeous, actually. He’s a big guy, and easy to spot. Blond hair, shoulders about a mile wide and eyes the color of tropical water. Single, I think, she added, pinching down on a smile.

Shoulders a mile wide described half the men on the Coronado Amphibious Base, the West Coast headquarters for the Naval Warfare Special Command and the Navy SEALs. The single part didn’t interest her. Her policy on dating SEALs was strict and unwavering—never again.

Besides, she had enough SEALs in her life.

Sloane Austen left the administrations building and headed for the Grinder, likely the most hated piece of pavement in California, if not the planet. At least by any man accepted into the Basic Underwater Demolitions program known as BUD/s. The instructors propelled the recruits through grueling exercises during the hottest part of the day. It was just one of the challenges you faced if you wanted to become a Special Warfare Operator. Most didn’t make it, but that was the point—only the best did. Every man was thrust to his limits. Those who didn’t ring the infamous bell signaling his own retraction from the program, went on to receive about a million dollars’ worth of training, and became a warrior for Uncle Sam.

She rounded the team’s main building to find the pavement littered with lean, sweating bodies. Most girls would swoon seeing the strained muscles roping down the men’s ripped torsos.

Not her.

SEALs were a no-go-zone in her books. All of them wore an invisible placard across their foreheads that said, Man Whore. There wasn’t a SEAL alive who would change her mind, although plenty tried.

The cement square known as the Grinder sweltered under the scorching sun’s relentless barrage. Half the men lay flat on their stomachs, with their hands laced behind their necks and feet crossed.

A whistle blew, and the other men standing on the sidelines dove to the ground, covered the backs of their heads with their hands and opened their mouths, crossing their legs at the same time. This was a simulation position, one they took with an incoming artillery round or risk their innards exploding like apples.

Two more blows on a whistle, and they crawled toward their instructor. Three more whistle blows, and they jumped to their feet.

Watching them, she thanked the lord she’d been born a girl. With the ban on women in Spec Ops lifted many years ago, some tried, but most didn’t make the cut. Living on the edge of a well-trained blade every time the teams were tasked on a mission wasn’t her idea of a good time.

Clutching the message in her fist, Sloane headed across the Grinder toward the man with the whistle. He fit the description Sarah had given.

The instructor turned his attention to her as she aimed for her target. When she was about twenty feet away, the whistle dropped from his lips and bounced once on a very broad chest rolling with defined muscle. With his t-shirt strained tight around his biceps, the man could probably curl a small building. Narrow hips and strong legs spread two feet apart towered him to at least six-feet-three. He reminded her of a statue of an Olympic god.

What the hell are you doing, Seaman?

For an instant her steps became heavily laden, seeing his features tighten with disapproval, but she pushed on until she stood a few feet away. Blue eyes cut into her, the look on his face pure annoyance at the intrusion. Her heart drummed, but she maintained eye contact.

Sarah was right for a change—this man was uber-hot, and she was about to make him uber-sad.

Are you deaf? he shouted at her.

No, sir.

What makes you think you can saunter your little ass through my exercise? What the hell is the matter with you? Would you walk through a bloody minefield that way?

Not unless you were chasing me, but kept the retort to herself. This guy was hardcore and pissed, not something she was totally unfamiliar or uncomfortable with.

She glanced quickly to see the entire squad of recruits watched her dressing down. Lieutenant Damon Stone?

The Grinder had gone very quiet, even the other instructors stopped blasting the recruits with insults and watched while the lieutenant grilled her with a glare hotter than the San Diego sun.

Are you blind, too? What the hell does this say on my shirt?

True, but she wasn’t looking at his shirt. Instead, Sloane marveled at the invisible aura of strength wavering around him.

She took another step toward him, and let out a breath. I’m sorry to interrupt, sir, but I just received a call—

And it can’t wait or be delivered by something called email? Ever heard of that? It’s an old friggin’ invention. Works wonders, he roared, loud enough to reach the other side of the base.

She glanced down at the message in her hand and then stared up at him. Removing her cap, she took one more step closer. Wanting him to take a breath and listen, she waited. That’s what she’d always done when her dad shot into the stratosphere.

Thrusting his arms across his chest he leaned over her. Am I supposed to use ESP? You’re wasting my frigging time. Do you have something to tell me or not?

Although he was riled, her gaze lingered on his amazing eyes, a brilliant blue color, not quite like her father’s, but close. Normally, she’d fire a smart-ass remark his way, but not under these circumstances.

She was about to ruin his day, probably his week, if not longer.

The lieutenant stilled, and his gaze ran over her—slowly—but it might as well have been his fingers because it had the same affect. He tilted his head a little and his lips parted, but he pressed them closed. This man noticed everything in a single glance, including her name tag.

Finally, he deflated as he pulled his ball cap and ran a hand through his hair, eyeing her. What is it, Seaman Austen?

Sir, your sister called. I’m sorry to have to inform you, your mother passed away a few minutes ago. When you can, please call your family. She says they need you.

It was the oddest moment she’d ever experienced. Lieutenant Stone’s gaze and hers met somewhere in the space between them, tangled up with no urgency to untangle the invisible connection. Then like a spring thaw, she saw, or sensed his pain, and had the overwhelming yearning to hug him.

His jaw tightened and he nodded sharply, releasing his hold on her by dropping his gaze to the ground.

I’m so sorry, sir. She held the note out to him. And I apologize for interrupting.

Without looking at her, he gently grasped the note, and Sloane turned and walked away. Tears welled in her eyes. One day, someone would tell her the same thing and she would be thrashed to ribbons. She loved her parents, and by the look of the lieutenant, he loved his mom too.

Chapter Two

DRIPPING WET, SLOANE snagged the fluffy, white bathroom towel to dry herself. A glance in the mirror rewarded her with the reflection of Randy’s taut buns, a broad back tapering to narrow hips—all tanned to toasted brown marshmallow perfection. God, she was one lucky woman.

He strolled across the bedroom and gripped the top of the bathroom door frame. Oh yes, and let’s not forget the thick perfection hanging between his thighs, a work of art in her estimation.

With one sleek move, he tilted his head, giving her a long, warm kiss. Pulling away with that fiery, self-assured smile he always sported as if he had a secret no one else knew, he said, Do you mind if I grab a quick shower, sweetheart?

Bathroom’s all yours. I’m going to go put on some coffee.

Wish I could stay for round four! He grinned.

The man had one helluva rigid jawline, a jaw begging to be traced with a feather touch and sensual kisses. And she’d kissed it—all night—until the San Diego sun rose to reveal a beautiful June morning.

Do I look like a wealthy woman? She grinned back, toweling her hair.

One strong shoulder lifted in a shrug. You’ll always have customer satisfaction with me, no matter when you call.

Uh-huh!

Sloane gave him a light smack on his ass as she passed him, then went in search of her negligee, lost between tussled sheets. She flung the see-through, red silk fabric over her head and turned for one last glance at his miraculous ass before Randy disappeared behind the shower curtain. He must have sensed her gawking approval because he cranked his head around and stilled.

The cocky grin slipped away, and the look in his eyes changed to thoughtful. You’re something else, you know that, Sloane?

The heat in her cheeks told her she was blushing. Bet you say that to all your customers. She winked at him.

Randy gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. Actually, I don’t. Then he stepped out of view.

Maybe if he wasn’t a businessman, he might fall head over heels for her. Then again, what gal would want to boast that her boyfriend used to be a male escort? Her inner Hoochi-Mama leaped up and down saying, Me! Me! I would. I would.

Down girl. More important issues were at hand—such as her stomach, which growled with need, a desire that didn’t require a big bank account.

Kitchen. Coffee. Breakfast. That order.

A knock landed on her front door as she pressed the button on her coffeemaker to perk. She took the few steps to cross the living room, then leaned in to listen. Can I help you?

Uh—yeah, Sloane? It’s—

The in-your-face, barking instructor from the base. What did he want?

There was a pause before he said, Damon Stone.

She pulled the door open enough to see around it but kept the rest of her barely covered body hidden. Yup, that’s who it was all right. The last man she’d ever expect to see standing on her threshold.

Hi. The handsome SEAL tipped his head then glanced toward the green Berber carpeting of the hallway.

The question of why he was here must have been slathered all over her face. Although he’d minced, diced, and ground her in front of the BUD/s recruits working out on the Grinder the other day, she still couldn’t help having a little empathy for him. Even a hard-ass like him had a soft spot for his mom.

Holding the door in front of her to block her attire—or lack of it, she asked, How are you doing?

Pretty good. The man’s eyes shone with a laser cerulean beam, but he kept studying the outer hallway carpet instead of looking at her. Could I—um—come in for a second?

Err, not a good plan, but her curiosity bubbled, and although it usually got her into trouble, she said, Sure. I’ll go change. Help yourself to a chair. Although she put a little gallop into her step to get behind the kitchen counter, she didn’t quite make it, and she knew it when she heard a low chuckle. Be right back.

NICE APARTMENT, DAMON thought, looking around. Nicer ass, though. One sweet, beautiful ass, by the looks of it, and he wouldn’t be dismissing it from his mind any time soon.

Sloane disappeared down the hallway, calling out, I just put on some coffee.

The sound of voices met his finely tuned ears. A woman and a man’s. Was he interrupting? Shit. He’d checked with a couple of the team guys who’d told him she was single.

Within a blink, she was back, dressed in a white tank and a pair of thigh-hugging beige leggings.

So—coffee, or I could make tea, if you prefer? Sloane asked reappearing.

The woman radiated some kind of heady energy, one that had him sitting at her kitchen table, not really knowing what he wanted to say other than sorry, but he didn’t have to come in for that. Coffee’s good. Haven’t had one yet today.

He watched her move around the kitchen with efficiency, pulling a mug first and a cup and saucer from her cupboard. She didn’t stop there, drawing open the door to her fridge.

The view was pretty nice from where he sat. He had to be nuts, thinking she would even accept his apology after the way he went at her the other day. He’d been in trainer mode, but it was no excuse for thrashing her like he had. When she’d stared up at him, seemingly unaffected by his rant, with those huge, brown eyes and long dark lashes, it mollified him instantly.

So here he was, about to make an ass out of himself again, but in another way.

Have you had breakfast? she asked, crouched over the fridge’s lower bin, giving him an inquisitive smile across her shoulder.

No, but—

A guy appeared from the hallway, pulling a shirt over his head.

Hey, baby. I gotta run. Got a lunch appointment, the tall blond said, drawing Sloane into his arms.

Damon only saw the guy from the back, but something rang familiar about him.

I’m sure you do. Sloane turned a cheek to him instead of allowing a full-on lip-lock, which the guy obviously wanted.

The blond gave her cheek a big, smacking kiss. How about fifty percent off next time? he teased.

She snorted and turned away. Yeah, right. I think you should be paying me.

The guy laughed and gave her a quick squeeze. Think you’re right, he growled into her ear. How about a two for one sale, and you’re already anted-up? Call me—soon.

The guy gave her another kiss and then stopped, finally seeing Damon. Oh, hey. The guy blinked. Hell, Lieutenant Stone?

A SEAL. Figured! Ex-SEAL. Randy Washington. Where the hell did you get to?

Damon knew the answer already, which perked his interest even more. What was he doing with Sloane? Unless—nah.

Been around, Randy said, thrusting out a hand to shake.

Looks like you’re keeping well, he acknowledged. Still—in business for yourself? Christ, business? Rumor was the guy had turned into a high-priced escort for rich women.

Avoiding a direct answer, Randy said, I gotta run. Nice seeing you again, Lieutenant. The SEAL turned boy toy turned to give Sloane a wink but must have decided it wasn’t good enough and strolled back to her. Seriously. Call me. He nuzzled her ear, whispering something.

Get going, she ordered and broke into a sweet laugh.

A whimsical smile tightened her lips as she watched Randy leave her apartment.

When the door closed, she put her attention back on him. This way, Lieutenant, she said, carrying a tray in her hands. Let’s have coffee on the balcony. It’s such a beautiful morning.

I bet. The woman looked well-loved, and an unfamiliar pang pinched his gut.

Damon followed her out to a reasonably big balcony. Most were the size of a postage stamp in San Diego. How long have you lived here?

About a month, since I transferred here. It belongs to my parents. My mom bought it when she first arrived in Coronado, and they kept it for an investment. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.

She came and went, setting more food on the table with each trip. The third time she disappeared for a little longer then returned, carrying two plates with a mouthwatering quesadilla on each, filled with eggs, cheese, and peppers, sprinkled with salsa and sour cream.

Wow, and I didn’t even earn it, he muttered still pondering what Washington had been doing here.

I’m starving, she said, sitting across from him.

He cleared his throat and his mind as to what had made her hungry. She was a little spit of a woman, no more than five-five to his six-four. A silky mop of long, dark brunette hair framed her face and dropped to just past her shoulders. Seeing Sloane close-up for the second time confirmed how gorgeous she was, not that Damon had missed it the first time he’d laid eyes on her.

He and his family had a lot to deal with this week, but Sloane often strolled into his thoughts enough to know he had to do something about it.

It had taken him all of five minutes to find out who she was, after he’d gathered up his senses, which had been shattered to bits when she’d slipped the note into his hand. He’d felt like a total fucking heel when she abruptly turned away from him that morning, but not quick enough, because he’d seen the tears well in her eyes. He wasn’t sure if it had been the stripping down he’d given her or empathy for him. He guessed the latter.

You’re the last guy I’d expect on my doorstep. Her fork stopped halfway to her mouth. You’re not going to bullhorn me again, are you? I think I got the message last time. She grinned to show she wasn’t all that concerned.

Setting his mug down, relieved she hadn’t given him the fine ceramic cup and saucer set she drank from, he said, I wanted to apologize. I was way out of line. It kept bothering me, and—

A SEAL with a conscience. No worries, Lieutenant. I’m used to it. She leaned forward. You were just doing your job, correct?

She was used to an overbearing, idiotic asshole yelling in her face? Yes, ma’am.

Oh, don’t start with the ma’am stuff. I’m not an officer—yet. Sloane settled back and cocked her head at him. Thank you, but an apology isn’t necessary. How’s your breakfast?

Fantastic. He hated cooking and would never refuse a home cooked meal. Nor did he miss his roommate’s lousy talents in the kitchen. Kevin was a great guy, his swim buddy from BUD/s, but he was no Wolfgang Puck.

He and Kevin leased a house, which was party central most weekends. Damon cleared out early this morning, not able to stomach the shrill cries and moans coming from Kevin’s conquest from last night. The woman was a screamer, and it grated his nerves.

Cutting into the quesadilla for another bite, he closed his eyes while his taste buds savored the flavor. Think I should drop by at this time more often. The thought of making Sloane eggs benny in the morning—after spending the night—crossed his mind. Jesus, stand down SEAL. When did you enlist?

She nodded, chewing a mouthful of brie and grapes. Six months ago. I couldn’t stand the harassment any more. I have a business degree, but when I didn’t know what to do with it, I started getting the gears from my family and my extended family.

Why’s that? he asked, watching her pink lips slide over a slice of peach. The succulent juice coating her mouth forced him into some harsh inner dialogue with his dick.

My entire family’s Navy. My mom worked at Base Command before she married my dad. My brother’s a SEAL in Little Creek, and my dad is retired Navy. Then I’ve got an entire squad of pseudo uncles and aunts who kept needling me. I caved.

The wheels began to grind together in his brain. Her last name was Austen. Adam Austen was a SEAL stationed in Little Creek. Could that be her brother? On Damon’s last mission, they’d teamed up with DEVGRU from the east coast. He’d met the young man on his first mission after qaul training.

And there was also a...hell! You’re not related to Admiral Thane Austen, are you?

Retired, Admiral Austen, she corrected. That’s my father.

Damon watched as she brought the cup to her lips and took a leisurely sip, but those eyes of hers kept him in a daze, the depth of them mesmerizing him.

I met your father once, he said. He’s an icon with the SEALs. I know your brother, too, if his name’s Adam?

Correct, Lieutenant, and Dad is just... She shrugged. Dad, to us. He blusters a lot, but he’s calming down with age. She shook her delicious head of hair. How are you doing? You just lost your mom.

Not an easy thing to see. She battled cancer for over a year. Dad’s in shock, even though he knew it was coming. My siblings and I take turns checking up on him.

Without a second’s pause, Sloane reached across the table and covered his hand. It wasn’t a come-on, just a gesture of warmth. I’m sorry you had to go through that, but it sounds like you have lots of family support.

An odd twinge in his stomach and the concern in her eyes made him want to stop her hand from retreating. I don’t understand why you didn’t ram that note in my hand and hightail it out of there. I’ve seen those messages delivered before. No one ever takes the time to...well, you know, say anything.

Sloane lifted her brows in surprise. It’s not the kind of message that deserves to be delivered on a piece of paper. I don’t work that way.

She truly was a sweetheart. Sloane didn’t hold a grudge, and he deserved one. Instead, she invited him into her home and fed him.

His mind flitted back to the boy toy. Can I ask how you know Randy? It’s none of my business, but—

Her gaze fluttered past the patio glass doors toward the living room as she bit down on a smile. I hired him.

Damon choked on his coffee, sucking half the cup into his lungs.

You’re shocked. Don’t be. Men don’t ask me out on dates. At least, not the ones I want to ask me. I gave up bringing men home because Dad scares the shit out of them, and the gutless turds are halfway down the road before I close the front door.

His eyes were still watering when he stammered—yeah, he actually stammered he was so stunned. Hard to believe men don’t ask you out.

They’re either knuckleheads, weirdoes, creepers, or nerds. At least I get to choose this way.

Does your family know? he blurted. Fuck, had he really said that?

No, Lieutenant. I don’t usually share my sexual encounters with my parents. Do you?

A vibrant fire burned in this beautiful woman. Considering whether he should keep talking or play it safe and glue his lips together, he gazed at her.

You’re looking at me like I’m the swamp thing. I’m sorry if it’s distasteful to you. Masturbating is great in a crunch, but—

He held his hand up to stop her. Something was about to pop, and he was pretty sure it was his fly. His wicked mind jumped to conclusions he had no business mapping out in his mind.

Obviously, his sexual recess was an issue. He’d cut himself off from women because of the last crazy bitch he’d picked up on a guys’ night out four months ago.

After their quick and barely satisfying fling between the sheets, the woman started hanging around the gates of the base, waiting for him to get off work, or popping up on the beach when he had recruits out for PT and small boat exercises.

Women had suddenly become the mortal enemy to him. It pissed Damon off, because he caught himself looking over his shoulder like he was on a sneak and peek mission all the time.

Maybe that’s why he’d let loose on Sloane when she’d approached on the Grinder in the middle of the exercise. He’d had it with that crazy bitch stalking him, but