Crazy for Her (A K2 Team Novel) Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2014 Sandra Owens

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781477824788

  ISBN-10: 1477824782

  Cover design by Eileen Carey

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014904441

  This book is dedicated to my very own hero, my husband, Jim. In case you’ve not figured it out yet, babe, I’m keeping you.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  June 2011

  Afghanistan

  Ambush!”

  Hissed with urgency, the word crackled in the SEAL team’s headsets. At the front of the adobe house, Lieutenant Commander Logan Kincaid faded into the shadows along with two of his men. The other three members of his small band of brothers were hopefully slipping unnoticed into the back of the building made of mud bricks and timber. Supposedly abandoned, Intel had received information that the missing army captain was being held inside by the Taliban.

  Peering through night-vision goggles, Logan saw no movement in the watery green scene in front of him. “Dog, report in,” he whispered into his mouthpiece. Roberts didn’t answer.

  The distinctive rat-a-tat-tat of Russian-made machine guns filled the air. The sudden three-round bursts of Roberts’s M4 were quickly followed by the rapid firing of O’Connor’s and Prescott’s assault rifles.

  “Shit,” Romeo hissed from Logan’s left side. “Thought they didn’t know we were coming.”

  Logan glanced at Buchanan. “Fucking Intel.”

  Saint, pressed against Logan’s other side, crossed himself. “All aboard. Next stop, hell.”

  Logan agreed with Turner’s assessment. They had trained and trained and then trained again for this night. A piece of cake, the Intel officer had claimed. Slip in unnoticed, get the hostage, and be gone before even the dogs knew they were there. Logan had never been fond of cake, and judging by the furious barking, the fucking dogs definitely knew they were here. “Let’s go rescue our guys.” Logan pushed away from the wall.

  “Lead the way, Iceman,” Buchanan said.

  The more dangerous the situation, the calmer Logan became, his mind able to see and process everything around him at once, the reason his teammates called him Iceman. He didn’t know why it happened. It just did.

  Before they left the cover of the building’s shadowed doorway, six Tangos, AK-47s slung carelessly across their shoulders, turned the corner, coming straight at them.

  Stupid fools. If they were going to play with guns, they should learn how to hold them. Logan held up one finger, then two, then three. He and his two teammates stepped out of the doorway. Controlled fire from their M4s terminated the threat.

  Fierce gunfire continued from the back of the building. Logan raced down the alley, followed closely by Buchanan and Turner. At the end of the alley, he stopped and peered around the corner where he saw Roberts and O’Connor crouched in front of Prescott.

  Christ. Evan’s down.

  The second half of his team was trapped behind an ancient, rusted-out truck while the bad guys shot at them from two windows located at the first level of the building.

  Logan turned to Buchanan. “I’ll take the far window, Romeo, you take the other. Saint, you cover us.” He pulled out two fragmentation grenades and waited until Buchanan did the same. “Dog,” he whispered into the radio to Roberts. “We’re coming in. Keep firing, but aim high.”

  Hugging the side of the building, Logan made his way to the window and turned to make sure Buchanan was in place. Bullets whistled above his head as chunks of the mud wall bounced off his helmet. At his nod, he and Buchanan pulled the rings from their grenades and tossed them into the windows. Logan hurled himself facedown, Buchanan following suit—both hugging the filthy street.

  Panicked yelling in Farsi sounded from above in the seconds before the explosion. After the dust settled, Logan listened for any sound of life inside the building, and hearing none, he pushed to his feet. Within ten minutes, they had the building secured and had rescued Army Captain Bryce Davis.

  “They were expecting us,” Logan said.

  Davis nodded. “They were. They leaked word to known informants that they had me in this location. From what I could gather, they wanted to kill some SEALs in revenge for us killing bin Laden. Sorry about your man there.”

  Logan knelt and met the eyes of Doc, kneeling on the other side of Prescott. He didn’t like the message he saw in O’Connor’s eyes. “Call in and change our pickup to the rooftop ASAP,” he said to Buchanan. Every minute counted. Their scheduled pickup was three miles to the south. No fucking way he was waiting another two hours for the bird while watching Cowboy bleed to death. With O’Connor’s help, he picked up Prescott and hoisted him over his shoulder, Cowboy’s weight nothing compared to the heaviness in his heart.

  On top of the building, Logan lowered Prescott onto the timber rooftop, leaning back as Doc pulled gauze packs out of his medic’s bag. Although not a man who knew how to pray, he found himself pleading with God to save his friend.

  “You got an extra gun on you?” Davis asked.

  Doc handed the captain his gun, then ripped Prescott’s shirt open.

  Logan sucked in air when he saw the blood pouring from three bullet holes in Prescott’s chest. For the first time since becoming a SEAL commander, he questioned his orders. What had they accomplished on the mission but to possibly trade a life for a life? He didn’t know Davis, didn’t know if he was a good man, married, had children, and went to church every Sunday or if he worshiped the devil, but Evan was the most honorable and loyal man he knew. Evan had a wife who loved him. How could Logan face her if he failed to bring Evan safely home to her?

  The thump, thump of rotor blades in the distance gave him hope they might get Evan to triage in time. “Cowboy, hang on, man. Don’t you dare die.”

  Evan focused pain-filled eyes on Logan. “Take care of her, Kincaid.” He took a rasping breath as a trickle of blood rolled from his mouth and down his chin. “Promise.” He gulped for air, and the sound every battle-weary soldier recognized and dreaded resonated in the air. The sucking noise coming from Evan’
s chest declared there was no hope for the man who was closer to Logan than any brother could have been.

  “Damn you, Evan. If you won’t live for me, then do it for Dani.”

  A gurgle sounded in Evan’s throat. He grabbed Logan’s arm, his strength surprising. “Didn’t tell you. Dani’s pregnant. Take care of them. Promise.”

  Unshed tears burned Logan’s eyes. He put his hand over Evan’s and squeezed. “I promise.”

  The Black Hawk came in and hovered a few feet above the rooftop.

  “Go!” he yelled to his team. He and O’Connor picked up Evan and followed the others as they ran for the open door. After pushing Evan and O’Connor inside, Logan reached for the hand waiting to pull him in when pain exploded in the back of his head and everything went black.

  CHAPTER TWO

  August 2012

  South Carolina

  Logan twisted the throttle of the Harley-Davidson V-Rod to full open and raced recklessly up I-95. It was four in the morning, so the chances were slim a state trooper hid behind a tree pointing a radar gun at him. His speed was a dare to the gods, a challenge he’d made often since walking out of Bethesda Naval Hospital fourteen months earlier.

  He was on his way to keep a promise made to a dying friend and SEAL brother. He’d started on this journey more times than he cared to count but had never made it to his destination. The Harley’s headlights illuminated the road sign announcing I-26 two miles ahead. As he had each time before, he pulled onto the shoulder.

  He’d never taken the exit that would lead him to her, had come this far and each time turned around and gone home. Now she’d asked him to come. Stepping off the bike, he removed his helmet and walked the cramps out of his muscles. He stopped in front of the sign and stared hard at it. He was a coward who couldn’t face the woman he’d been in love with since he and Evan first met her in a bar near their home base of Little Creek, Virginia.

  They’d been enjoying a few beers at Sinner’s when the heated conversation at the next table intruded on their last few hours in the States. Logan tried to shut out the argument between the couple, but their voices grew louder. The asshole was pressuring the girl to go home with him.

  “For the last time, no,” she insisted.

  The man ran his fingers over her arm. Logan shared a look with Evan. If the dude didn’t back off, he would soon realize his bad luck that two SEALs had chosen that night to have a beer at Sinner’s.

  “I didn’t take you for a tease, babe.”

  Logan glanced at the girl to see her reaction to the man’s words. The air left his lungs. She was gorgeous. The auburn-haired beauty met his gaze, embarrassment in her eyes. She reached into her purse and fished out a cell phone.

  “Who’re you calling, babe?” the man asked.

  “A cab, and I’m not your babe.”

  Logan smothered a grin. If she’d looked at him like that, he would’ve called the cab for her. The jerk snatched the phone out of her hand.

  “You came with me, babe. You leave with me.” He wrapped his hand around her upper arm, his fingers digging deep.

  Logan rose from his seat, but before he could do more than that, Evan pushed away from the table, swiveled his chair around, and grabbed the man’s hand. Snatching the phone from the man’s grip, he handed it back to her.

  “Take a hike, dude,” Evan ordered. “My friend and I will see the lady safely home.”

  Logan eased back into his seat.

  The man narrowed his eyes. “Get lost, douche bag.”

  Evan flashed Logan a shit-eating grin. “Did you hear that, Kincaid? This piece of dog doo just called a SEAL a douche bag.”

  “I heard.”

  The girl’s eyes were wide and uncertain. She likely wished she could close those beautiful eyes and blink herself home.

  The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. Logan gave him an I’m-going-to-kill-you stare.

  “SEALs?” the dude squeaked.

  Logan sent him an evil smile and one slow nod. Being this close to Little Creek, and from the cut of his hair, Logan could tell he was navy, but the lack of muscle said he spent most of his time behind a desk. Even a desk jockey knew it was wise to fear a SEAL. Or two.

  Dickweed scurried off like a cockroach, and Evan took less than a second to slide into his seat, claiming the girl for his own.

  She peeked at Logan from under her lashes, her lips curving in a shy smile. That was the moment he lost his heart to a green-eyed stranger. That he had fallen for Dani MacKenna, now Dani Prescott, was a deep secret he held close.

  Shaking off the memory, Logan returned to his bike. He started the V-Rod, and for the first time turned onto I-26, the road that would take him to North Carolina, to her home in Asheville. He had no choice. She’d sent him a message asking for help. He should have called on her after he left the hospital, but he hadn’t been able to face her. She’d asked him to keep Evan safe, and he had failed her.

  But he had watched over her from afar.

  A low rumble announced the approach of a motorcycle. Dani stood and put Regan in her crib. She picked up the gun from the dresser and went to the front window. Lifting the blinds only enough to peek out, she watched the biker approach. He wore a full-faced helmet with a tinted shield so she couldn’t see his features, but it was him. Of that, she had no doubt.

  Logan Kincaid, the man Evan told her to turn to if something ever happened to him and she needed help. Knowing Logan had gone through a difficult time after being shot, she hadn’t wanted to ask him to come. Other than send her a text with his address and phone number, he hadn’t made any effort to keep in touch. That had hurt. A lot.

  He’d been Evan’s best friend. Her friend, too, or so she’d thought. She’d expected him to visit after he left the hospital, had imagined they would go out for a beer and share memories of Evan. Maybe even have a few laughs over their Evan stories. God, she’d needed that. But he’d stayed away.

  She’d hesitated to call him, partly from not wanting to burden him with her problem—whatever that was, exactly. The other part hated needing the help of a man who apparently didn’t give a damn about Evan’s wife and child.

  To keep Regan safe, however, she’d swallowed her pride and sent for the most dangerous man she knew. Sticking the gun into the waistband at the back of her jeans, she waited as he turned off the bike and put the kickstand down. The biker removed his helmet and glanced toward the cabin. Once she was sure it was Logan, she dropped the blinds and walked outside.

  Suddenly nervous about seeing him, she stayed on the porch. A slight lift of his chin acknowledged her presence; then he busied himself with removing a tote bag held down by bungee cords.

  While his attention was elsewhere, she studied him. His dark brown hair—now cut close in the military style—suited him. In their SEAL days, he and her husband had worn their hair longer to help them blend in with the Afghan people. His black leather jacket stretched over broad shoulders; his jeans encased long legs she was certain were rippled with muscles.

  Logan was still eye candy. That sure hadn’t changed. A little sigh escaped her lips. He must have heard because his dark brown eyes turned her way and he raised a questioning brow.

  Strangely, the arrogant gesture put her at ease. He was still the Logan she’d once known and liked. She walked down the steps. “Nice bike. What is it?”

  He moved next to her and eyed the motorcycle with a fond smile. “A Harley-Davidson V-Rod Muscle.” His gaze captured hers, and he grinned. “It’s very fast.”

  And dangerous. Like him. She remembered he’d always been like this. Intense and focused. When they’d met at Sinner’s, she’d been disappointed that his friend had been the one to make a move on her. At first. Until she fell for Evan.

  Standing close enough to feel the heat from Logan’s body, Dani fought the crazy urge to lean into his
protective warmth. Moving to put more space between them, she faced him.

  “Hello, Logan. Thanks for coming.” Once Evan had been their link—the friendship among the three of them had been easy and fun. Now that it was just the two of them, it was awkward. Eyes she’d always thought never missed a thing raked her from head to toe.

  “You’re not sleeping,” he said, proving her right.

  She laughed. “As usual, straight and to the point. I’m relieved to know you haven’t changed. I’m fine, thank you, and you?” she said, more to tease him than to remind him of social niceties.

  Her reward was a slight twitch of his lips. “Forgive me. How are you, Dani?”

  “I’ve been better. Come inside. Have you had lunch?”

  “Yeah, I didn’t want to inconvenience you.”

  Inconvenience her? She’d waited for him to get in touch with her after Evan’s death. One lousy phone call, was that asking too much? “Hi, Dani, you doing okay?” or “Hi, Dani, I miss my friend and I knew you’d understand.” But nothing. No call, no visit, no hint he cared.

  “Bloody hell, Logan. If you’re gonna treat me like a stranger, then you can get back on your bike and go find someone else to annoy.”

  “Bloody hell? Still writing those bodice rippers, are you?”

  “They’re Regency romances. And no, I’m writing children’s books now.”

  “I hope you’ve resisted inserting a ‘bloody hell’ here and there.”

  Dani punched him on the arm, and he poked her back, his eyes turning soft as he looked down at her. Her resentment faded as fast as it had arrived because . . . because? She gave a little shake of her head. There’d been something in his expression—sadness, maybe?—but it’d disappeared before she could be sure.

  “Come inside.” She climbed the steps ahead of him.

  “What’s this?” He grabbed the gun resting at the small of her back.

  She tossed him a look of mock astonishment. “Why, Logan, I would have thought you of all people would know that’s a gun.”