Shattered Ties (SEAL Team Blackout), page 1
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Shattered Ties
SEAL Team Blackout
Book 1
Copyright Em Petrova 2022
Ebook Edition
Electronic book publication 2022
Cover Art by Bookin’ It Designs
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SEAL Team Blackout
SHATTERED TIES
RUTHLESS PROTECTION
SHATTERED TIES
A SEAL Team Blackout Novella
by
Em Petrova
She’s everything he wasn’t looking for—and exactly what he never knew he needed…
After a mission gone wrong cost him one of his brothers-in-arms, Navy SEAL Rob Bishop needed space. Living the reclusive life of a mountain man gave him more than enough of that. But just as he starts settling into a comfortable routine, he runs across a damsel in distress who turns his world—and his heart—upside down.
Taliyah Trent is not having a good day. Instead of getting married, she’s fleeing to the California wilderness from a fiancé who might’ve put her father in prison…and might be trying to kill her. Luckily, her sexy-as-sin neighbor steps in to help. She can only hope his good deed doesn’t get him killed.
Now, Taliyah and Bishop must search for a way to clear her name—and her father’s—while their enemies circle like vultures. And if they’re not careful, they could lose a lot more than their potential happily ever after on this mission…
Table of Contents
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
ONE
The cemetery was packed. Before him extended a sea of black among tombstones and limestone angels.
When Rob Bishop became a Navy SEAL, he knew he’d watch good men die.
He just didn’t expect it to happen to his buddy, and so soon.
Within the shield of trees surrounding the cemetery, he didn’t have to act a certain way. Keep that stiff upper lip. If he wanted, he could rage and let the tears fall in a way most of the SEALs clustered around Whitlock’s casket couldn’t.
Except Bishop was dry-eyed. His mouth grim. Stiff upper lip in place.
From this distance, he couldn’t make out all the words the preacher said, but he’d been to enough funerals for his fallen teammates to know the words by heart. Sunlight glittered in and out of the trees as they fanned in the California breeze. Bishop squinted unblinkingly at the coffin containing his best friend, the guy who always had his six.
Well, Bishop didn’t have his, did he? He’d been too late to stop that mercenary from sneaking up on Whitlock and slicing his throat.
Bishop closed his eyes against the image that had been playing on repeat since the event. Awake, asleep, eyes closed or open, it fucking hurt. And he couldn’t unsee it.
When he opened his eyes, the coffin was gone—already lowered into the ground. He’d missed it.
“Goodbye, Lock ’n Load.” The nickname stuck in his throat. “Godspeed.”
He rubbed a hand over his face, the rasp of his heavy beard growth mingling with the whisper of the wind through the trees. Was it his imagination that the notes created by branches and breeze became words?
Take care, Bishop. Never lose your way.
Except he had lost his way. He’d left SEAL Team 1 behind. Through deserts and jungles, he lived, breathed and laid down his life for his duty. Now, instead of his dress uniform, he wore a T-shirt, faded jeans and work boots. He’d only ventured into civilization twice since holing up in his remote cabin, and Whitlock’s funeral was one.
He needed time to regroup and figure shit out. Watching your best friend fall took its toll on a man.
The lump was back in his throat as a thin wail of mourning reached him. It had to be Whitlock’s mother. Bishop should go to her, give his condolences, but he was a damn coward and clung to the shadows of the trees.
One by one, people stepped up to the headstone. Many reached out to touch it in farewell. Only one man remained, and after he paid his respects to the dead, he turned and looked straight at Bishop.
Of course the former SEAL knew he was there. As Sparrow crossed the grassy cemetery in long strides, Bishop stepped out to meet him.
Sparrow saluted him.
“Asshole,” Bishop scoffed.
Being part of a special reconnaissance team out here meant jack shit, but seeing Sparrow brought it all back to Bishop—the guts, drive and balls-to-the-wall determination it took to keep the world safe.
Sparrow clamped his hand on Bishop’s shoulder and squeezed. “You’ll always be one of us, man.”
“No, I won’t.”
“You can’t live in the past. Lock ’n Load would want you to move on.”
Bishop’s chest burned, but he met Sparrow’s steady gaze. “I’ve made my choice.”
“Minds can be changed. Take some time for yourself. Regroup. Then join us in SEAL Team Blackout.”
Sparrow had been bugging him ever since the day he caught wind of Bishop’s resignation to join them. Only Blackout wasn’t just any special forces team. They were underground. The most undercover and elite unit.
In order to keep their families and loved ones safe from the dangers they battled every day, they became ghosts. To the outside world, they didn’t exist anymore. Joining SEAL Team Blackout meant being handed your own death certificate and the login to a foreign bank account to collect your earnings.
Bishop gave a shake of his head. “Thanks, man, but I’m good where I’m at.”
Sparrow eyed him as if his appearance reflected his state of mind. Hell, it might, but what did Bishop care? He just wanted to pay his respects to his friend, jump back in his truck and head to the solitude of his cabin.
Bishop extended a fist. Sparrow looked down at it and then bumped knuckles with him.
They exchanged a chin lift in lieu of goodbye, and Sparrow strode across the cemetery to the parking lot. After a while, Bishop crossed the lawn to the headstone.
The pristine white marble bore Whitlock’s name, nickname and dates of birth and death. The sight of the coins placed along the ledge of the stone closed off Bishop’s throat again.
He fished in his pocket and ran his thumbnail along the ridges of a coin.
Leaving a penny on the grave of a man who served his country meant the person visited. A nickel meant he and the deceased served at boot camp together. A dime implied the two served in some capacity.
There weren’t any quarters there until Bishop pulled one out of his pocket and set it heads up on the ledge.
A quarter meant he’d been there when Whitlock was killed. He’d watched him draw his last breath.
Memories bombarded him like flashes of light from an air raid. He squeezed his eyes shut, digging his hands deep into his pockets. Long moments of silence ticked by.
I’m doing this. I’m moving on.
He opened his eyes. A bruised cloud passed in front of the sun, casting him in the shadow shed by Whitlock’s headstone.
He issued a grunt that might have once been a chuckle. “If you think you can bully me from the grave into joining up again, you’re wrong, Lock ’n Load.” He gave the stone and his friend’s memory one last nod. “See ya ’round.”
* * *
Johann Sebastian Bach’s “Air on the G String” filtered through the speakers of the bridal suite, and Taliyah’s hands shook.
Not because this song signaled the big countdown to the moment the white doors were thrown open wide and she started up the aisle to meet her groom—because of the call she’d just received from the infirmary nurse in the California prison where her father was locked up.
“Taliyah? Are you all right?” Her maid of honor Juliet released her grip on the long gown Taliyah no longer saw, letting the hem drop to the hardwood floor.
Unable to respond, she held up a hand. “Give me a minute.”
“You want me to step out?”
She must have nodded a little too vehemently, because her twisted and curled updo wobbled, and a rhinestone set amidst the curls dropped to the floor.
What was she supposed to do after that call? She was angry with her father for the criminal activities that landed him in prison. Embezzling retirement funds from innocent seniors was horrific and disgusting.
But the nurse told her that he’d been shanked by an inmate in the side. Punctured lung. Taken to hospital for treatment.
Taliyah had listened to the nurse convey this in a calm tone, as if she said it every day to someone’s next of kin.
It was impossible to remain h
Then the nurse said something more—a special message from her daddy.
He said to tell you not to forget about the cabin.
What did that mean? Taliyah hadn’t given a thought to the fishing cabin in the wilderness in years. Hadn’t visited since she was a kid. Maybe her father was deprived of oxygen at the time, and he was spouting things about the past that didn’t make sense or matter.
Except what if it really was a message to her? And of all the times to say it…on her wedding day.
The song was nearly finished. The clock ticked down.
She snatched her phone from the polished marble table and stared blindly at the bridal suite, barely taking in the dozens of white roses her wedding planner scattered around the room. Even the flowers and personal note saying, Best wishes to you and your family, from E. and H. VG, faded away.
Her undergarments squeezed and pinched her in so tight that she could scarcely draw a full breath. The corset back of her gown didn’t help matters. She couldn’t see the reason for all this ceremony with her attire. As appearances went, there wasn’t much there to work with. But Richard was marrying her for her business sense anyway.
With a press of a button, her video call went through to the room down the hall where her groom was getting ready too.
Richard’s face loomed on the screen, a wide smile creasing the corners of his eyes. “I love that you can’t wait a few more minutes to see me. I feel the same, Taliyah.”
She shook her head. In the upper corner, her own tiny picture revealed a curl had indeed fallen and was drooping on the side of her skull. “That isn’t it, Richard. I just got a call from the prison about Dad.”
The smile wiped off his face like she’d taken an eraser to the chalkboard containing their scrolling, script-style names at the front of the reception hall.
“What about him?” His flat tone did nothing for her nerves. Was she really about to marry a man who would speak this way about the man who’d raised her? Her father might have been convicted of embezzling retirement funds from innocent seniors, but he was still her blood, and he was injured.
Spine stiffening, Taliyah pivoted on her rhinestone-bedazzled strappy shoes toward the closed door. “He’s got a collapsed lung. They took him by ambulance to the hospital.”
“So? We’re getting married in”—he glanced at his expensive watch—“eleven minutes.”
“Richard! This is my father we’re talking about.” Useless tears pricked behind her eyes. She held them wide to dry them out and keep from ruining the triple coat of mascara.
“I know, sweetheart.”
“I think I should go see him after we say our vows.”
His brown eyes took on a hard gleam. “That’s a bad idea.”
“I can make it to the hospital and back in an hour. It isn’t far.”
“No, Taliyah.” His firm tone edged under her skin.
“He’s my dad.”
“Who stole money from old people.”
“Yes, but—”
“And he ran through all his money hiring lawyers trying to get him out of the mess he made for himself. Now what are you supposed to inherit?”
Her spine snapped even stiffer. “Who cares about my inheritance?”
Realization struck her.
Richard did.
As her father’s top accountant in Trent Financial, Richard knew better than anyone what their bank accounts looked like. He’d been the one to alert shareholders—then authorities—that her father was siphoning money from retirement accounts.
He said to tell you not to forget about the cabin.
It had to be code. Growing up, she and her dad would leave silly notes to each other on the kitchen counter as they crossed paths. “Bottom-feeder and Irish gold” meant he’d bring home fish and chips for supper. “Hoopin’ with nearby resident” meant she was playing basketball with the neighbor after school.
Her father wanted her to remember the cabin. On her wedding day, after he could have been killed by that inmate…
She stared at Richard’s face on the screen. The cabin was the only asset he didn’t know about. Her uncle Jeff who was supposed to walk her down the aisle in…tick, tick, tick…ten minutes had technically inherited the place on the shores of a small lake. But only because her father refused to keep the holding in his name. In the event of a bankruptcy, the fishing cabin that generations of Trents had used couldn’t be touched.
Her insides wobbled. This code from her father meant she should be wary of her fiancé.
“Taliyah. Listen to me. We are going to forget about your father. He’ll survive the stabbing. You’re going to fix your hair and walk down the aisle in a few minutes.”
She stopped listening after the word stabbing.
She hadn’t told Richard her father had been stabbed.
“O-okay. Bye, Richard.” She ended the video call, staring at nothing, her mind racing far ahead.
She was a math nerd. She knew interest and commodities. She wasn’t trained to be an investigator, but it didn’t take a degree or experience to see that the only way her fiancé knew about the stabbing was if he had something to do with it.
Juliet cracked the door and poked her head in. “Taliyah? I’m checking to see if you need anything before—”
Taliyah reached up and yanked the fallen curl all the way out. Hairpins scattered across the floor along with a few more rhinestones.
“Taliyah! What’s going on?” Juliet hurriedly shut the door behind her.
“I can’t marry Richard. I’ve gotta get out of here, Juliet. Please help me!”
Her only friend also happened to be her coworker at Trent Financial. From the start, she hadn’t kept it a secret that she disliked Taliyah’s relationship with Richard, but she kept her lips sealed and agreed to stand up with her on her wedding day.
Taliyah closed the gap between them, heels clacking on the hardwood. She grabbed Juliet’s hands in a desperate grip and looked into her eyes. “Help me sneak out! I can’t do this!”
“But you’re getting married in minutes!”
The next song indicated the groom and his best man were heading to the front of the ceremony hall. Friends, family and business partners would be dressed up and seated in the perfectly arranged chairs decorated with white satin bows.
She shook her head hard, feeling her hair topple even more. “I can’t!”
Her hands were slick with sweat and she released her hold on Juliet to swipe them down the satin to the full skirt of her gown.
Juliet gave her a frantic look. “You can’t be serious about running away.”
She didn’t usually follow her gut. She took orders. Did as she was told. But right now, her gut told her to get as far away from Richard as possible so she could figure out what he was hiding from her.
“Taliyah? Taliyah? Are you all right?” Juliet waved a hand in front of her face, and she realized she’d blanked out and stared into space again.
“I’ve made a terrible mistake.”
On her four-inch heels, she made a break for the door of the suite. She yanked it open and nearly knocked the wedding planner who was standing there flat.
“Taliyah!”
She kept running, sprinting past a few guests who were coming in last-minute. They watched her rush by, their brows shooting up.
She hit the exit door with both hands, shoving it wide and blasting into the open air.
“The bride’s running!” someone cried just before the door slammed shut behind her.
Without pausing to get her bearings, she took off toward the parking lot. She didn’t have a car in the lot today, because Juliet drove. Throwing a wild glance around, she set eyes on the white limo.
Please let the driver be inside.
Her heels pounded the pavement. Relief surged all the way to her fingertips as she spotted the driver at the wheel, scrolling through his phone. She rapped on the window, and his head snapped up.
Behind her, the hall doors slammed open. She shot a look over her shoulder to see the wedding planner hurrying toward her.
