Rogue (SEAL Team:Disavowed Book 1)

By: Laura Marie Altom
SEAL Team: Disavowed




To become a United States Navy SEAL, a man must be physically forged in steel and able to mentally compute life or death situations with laser accuracy and speed. Our country trusts these men with the most sensitive military operations—many so covert that once they are successfully completed, they are never spoken of again.

This series celebrates one particularly fierce band of brothers who valiantly battled terrorists whose crimes against nature and humanity were far too great to chance escape. On a dark night, on foreign soil, SEAL Team Alpha witnessed acts so unspeakably cruel against women, infants and small children that their consciences would not allow anything other than their own brand of justice for the scum terrorist cell.

A trial would have been too good for these pigs, and so, one-by-one they were taken out, and the women and children they’d used were freed. By dawn, an entire region breathed easier. The men of Alpha found themselves heroes to those whose lives they had saved, but virtual criminals in the eyes of the organization they served. After a lengthy investigation, their elite, covert team was formally disbanded.

They now spend their lives deep undercover, still serving—no longer their country, but individuals who find themselves in need of not only their own personal warrior, but a particular brand of justice.

While honorably discharged, these men and their actions will forever be disavowed . . .





1





ONE WRONG MOVE.

That’s all it would take for Maisey and her unborn child to die.

For disavowed Navy SEAL Nash Adamson, Maisey represented his first crush, his first kiss. His first everything. They could have had it all—until she’d dumped him. Now that fate had forced their reunion  , they not only had years between them, but his dead wife and son.

The irony of the situation hadn’t escaped him.

In and out, he chanted in his head with each breath. He’d make this an in-and-out mission, then never see her again.

Through his NVG’s alien-green light, Nash counted ten of her husband’s thugs guarding the south Florida compound’s west border. The Everglades were isolated, but this place was located on a remote island among hundreds of islands. Even with satellite maps and photos and state of the art GPS, it had taken Nash hours by boat to reach it.

As a SEAL—make that ex-SEAL—he might have been trained to deal with all manner of chaos, but he was also smart enough not to rely on miracles. Rather than fighting what was sure to be an overwhelming show of force, he realized his best course of action was stealth.

The single-story, sprawling Spanish style home might be remote, but a fortress it was not. The stucco exterior featured plenty of easily accessible windows and balconies with handy-dandy, climbable trellises. The roof was tile, and sloped low enough to run across in a pinch.

In short, Maisey’s hubby, drug kingpin Vicente Rodriguez, was a dumbass.

Still—even a dumbass could get Maisey or Nash’s ass killed.

Above Nash’s steady pulse sang the nighttime swamp. The hum of insects. The bellow of bullfrogs and the occasional grunt of a gator. The place had more bio-danger per square inch than anywhere else he’d recently traveled. Sure, the Amazon basin had the Sunshine State beat, but not by much. Escaping Maisey’s sicko hubby was only half the battle. He’d then have plenty of slimy, hissing, biting obstacles to circumvent to ensure their safety.

Once he’d established a rhythm to the perimeter guards’ flow, Nash eased through shadows to the compound’s weakest link—its electrical box that was linked to a generator. The security system was surprisingly rudimentary. Took mere moments to rewire.

The early August day had been a scorcher.

Crouched against a still-warm brick wall, he flipped up his goggles, giving his eyes time to adjust before using a retractable mirror to peer into the window above. Three goons lounged around a kitchen table, M16s resting alongside steaming coffee and Danish.

Nice domestic scene.

Research told Nash that Vicente was one of the region’s most lucrative dealers. Miami authorities had had him on their radar for years, but when it came to maintaining his squeaky clean image, the guy was a master. Not only was he suspected of buying off every local police force within a hundred miles, he’d wooed locals with perks like college scholarships for underprivileged youth and new public pools, clinics and baseball fields. Did Maisey know he already had a nice, Catholic wifey tucked away in his Columbian palace? The fact that Nash could possibly be the one telling her made him sick. Her mom had been the one to alert him that she was in trouble.

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