Navy SEAL Seduction (4 page)

The thinly disguised anger in his deep voice fueled her own anger. “My compound is respected by locals. They know the farm provides jobs and teaches skills to women.”

Jarrett snorted. “You call a dead chicken respect?”

“It was probably a prank.” Lacey’s stomach tightened. If he found out about the other incidents, she’d never shake him loose. She couldn’t be certain it was locals causing trouble, or worse.

Jarrett drove into the loose gravel drive, flanked by tall mango trees and colorful hibiscus bushes. He parked before a turquoise two-story house. The white, one-story guesthouse was a short walk away down a gravel pathway.

Lacey jumped out, relieved to see everything looked normal.

He nodded at the solid concrete building. “At least your personal living space looks secure. From a distance, anyway.”

Fumbling in her backpack for her key, she walked up the steps to the front door. “Thanks to Paul. He helped me find the right construction team to expand the house and put in a water system. He’s well connected.”

The compound held acres of corn and a clearing near the cornfield. Construction equipment and stacks of concrete blocks sat in the clearing. Jarrett adjusted his sunglasses and pointed to them. “What’s going on there?”

“Houses. I’m going to build them for twenty-five single moms helped by my charity. I’m in the process of subdividing the land so each woman will have the land and the house in her name and never have to worry about hooking up with a man just to have a place to stay for her and her children. Paul thinks I’m crazy for building homes, though he agreed to try to find funding.”

Jarrett peered over the top of his shades. “Pity the man. He doesn’t know your stubborn streak.”

She smiled and pushed back a stray lock of hair. “I had a lot of opposition. Some of my friends said the women would bolt soon as they found a man. It was tough at first. I couldn’t find funding, so I used alternative sources.”

“You used your trust fund.”

Heat suffused her face. “I needed start-up capital.”

Jarrett reached out and stroked a knuckle down her cheek. The bare caress filled her with yearning. “You have a real heart. Always knew you’d use that fund for something other than designer bags and shoes.”

Lacey turned away, her emotions churning. How could she even share with him that she’d wanted to make some kind of contribution? Jarrett chose the Navy and dedicated his life to serving his country. Her father had entered the diplomatic corps and then became a US senator to serve, as well. And all she’d done was contribute to the United States economy with her shopping sprees, which left her feeling cold and empty afterward.

If she hadn’t lost the baby, maybe then her life would have taken a different turn. But no use agonizing over the past...

“Come inside. I’ll get us some cold water.”

Jarrett followed her into the living room. She flicked the light switch, but nothing happened. Sighing, she dumped her backpack on the orange sofa.

“The electric’s out. One of the biggest drawbacks to living here outside the capital. I’ll have to use the generator to power the water pump if you need to use the bathroom until the inverter kicks in tonight. I have solar-powered batteries as a backup power system.”

“I’m fine.” He removed his sunglasses and placed them on his shirt.

She grabbed two bottles of cold water from the fridge and gulped down half of one. Jarrett didn’t touch his, but rubbed his bristled jaw. He looked so sexy with the dark beard shadowing his face, but the sexiness was tamped down by his grim expression.

“Why are you so determined to remain here, Lace? Why not return to the States and work with wealthy donors to fund your project?”

She gave him a calm, assessing look as she set down her bottle. “There’s a certain satisfaction in personally cultivating hope among people who have little of it. I don’t grow mangoes, Jarrett. I grow lives. I give a hand up to women who want a better life for their children, and all they need is a fresh start. They need someone to believe in them before they can begin to believe in themselves. But because some nasty ass of a man decided to kick them or beat them, they don’t think they’re worth much. They have no real job skills and I give them the chance to learn self-worth.”

Jarrett’s gaze softened. “You’re something else, Lace.”

She didn’t know what to make of his comment, but knew it was important to show him she was safe and had no intentions of leaving.

“Let me give you the ten-cent tour. This is where I live. The real action is in the outbuildings where the women work.”

Tugging his hand, feeling his calloused fingers beneath hers, she felt a thrill of excitement. Jarrett was the first person from her past to see what she’d done. As they walked down the dirt pathway to a large concrete building, she talked about the coffee company she half owned.

“Paul is my dad’s old friend from the days when we lived on the island, and the CEO of Coffee from the Heart. I got a contract to sell the beans to Dad’s competitors, the local upscale cafés in Washington. They love the fact they’re getting a good deal from the daughter of the man who is their biggest competition.”

“I bet that hurts the old man’s pride.”

“A little.”

At his understanding grin, she remembered the old times, when she and Jarrett boldly made their own way, refusing to take money from her wealthy parents. It was only after his assignments as a SEAL took him away from her so much that she turned to her trust fund for shopping and other empty pursuits to pass the time.

Sometimes she wondered if the extreme measures she’d taken after the divorce—moving here and starting her own nonprofit, had been to prove herself. Prove she was capable of being successful on her own. Prove she wasn’t a failure, like her marriage had been.

They reached the building and she couldn’t help a tinge of pride. Solar cells powered the lights, and the hot water heater was a black plastic tank. Efficient and economical. Jarrett looked impressed as she took him into the processing room. The women washed mangoes at a long sink and looked up and said a shy hello. A tall woman with dark-colored skin in her late thirties came over. She wore low heels, a blue dress and had a white apron tied around her waist.

Lacey introduced Jarrett to Collette March, the manager of the mango marmalade project. Educated in the States and extremely efficient, Collette was a hard worker and good at motivating the women.

“Are those jars of jam ready for shipping yet?” she asked.

Collette nodded. “Yes, Miss Lacey. And the two you want shipped to the US to your father, as well. They’re all in the storehouse.”

As Collette hurried back over to supervise the women cutting the fruit, Lacey tossed Jarrett a mango. He bit into it, juice running down his chin. She grinned at his surprised look.

“It’s better than the mangoes I’ve had in the States. Tastes like a tropical drink without the alcohol.”

“That’s the special appeal of these mangoes, and what makes the jam so tasty. We buy from local farmers, though we grow our own, as well, on the property.”

As he finished the fruit, she took him into a room where women sat at long tables, hand-peeling the fruit and then slicing it into sections.

“It’s pretty easy to convert this into a large-scale operation because I have the labor. I hire women from the community and I pay them more than they’d make at the local sweat shops. I employ mainly women, and as a condition of employment, they have to attend classes here on Saturdays in reading and writing if they are illiterate.”

At another table women were putting the mango slices into big pots with pectin, the main ingredient needed to make the jelly. Jarrett gave a friendly nod to the women as she showed him the area where the fruit was prepared and cooked.

“The pectin keeps the jam from getting too runny. Next we cook the fruit with the sugar. And we boil the jars to sanitize them before they’re filled and then after they’re filled. Boiling after keeps the fruit from spoiling. We have to set the jars overnight to cool them and then in about ten days the mixture is ready to eat. We ship it out immediately because it lasts a little over a year.”

“How the hell did you learn so much about making jam?” he asked. “You could barely cook.”

“I wasn’t that bad!”

“Sweetheart, you made eggs so hard-boiled they could pound nails.”

At his wicked grin, heat suffused her face. Lace wasn’t certain if the blush was from his teasing or the endearing
sweetheart
.

“I’m learning, though I have Rose. She’s the best cook in the region. She’s the one who gave me the recipe for the marmalade. The local women I employ have given me new ideas, too. They wanted jobs and they had skills. I learned a lot from them.”

“And I’m sure they’re learning a lot from you,” he murmured.

She shrugged, embarrassed at the praise as they moved outside to the sunshine.

“It’s a lot of work and I can’t do it all, so I appointed one of the women as the manager. Collette is good at motivating the staff. I’m the director who tries to let them alone and give guidance as they need it.”

“This is real nice, Lace. You’ve done a lot.”

Pride filled her at his acknowledgment. She had taken an abandoned farm and turned it into a thriving charity. Jarrett gazed around the compound, but she could tell his mind was working. Quiet, efficient. The man never stopped working, either at home or on the job. Always looking out for threats.

She glanced at her watch. “School’s out and the compound’s children will be home soon. I want to be here to greet them.”

Lacey hurried down the stairs of the building, back to her house and the porch with its pots of colorful tropical flowers. The sun burned bright overhead in the brilliant blue sky. Even though it was February, it was warm.

She only hoped the heat would remain with the weather, and not with the people growing tired of a president who ignored their plight.

Jarrett followed her and stood on the porch. “You always greet the children when they come home?”

Her chest tightened with emotion. “I try to, if I’m not working.”

A door beside the compound gate opened, admitting three little girls, all dressed in red-checked uniforms and carrying backpacks. Two waved at Lacey and called greetings, skipping past them to the mango processing building. But the third child headed for them.

She was tiny, her skin the color of coffee with cream poured into it. Lemon-yellow ribbons were tied into her braided hair. Her bright yellow jumper and white short-sleeved shirt with its Peter Pan collar seemed almost too big on her small frame. The pink backpack she carried was nearly as big as her body. Her black shoes were patent leather and her white socks were cuffed.

She was so tiny and sweet, with a heart-shaped face. But she did not smile.

Lacey put a hand on the girl’s thin shoulders. “This is Fleur.”

Jarrett squatted down and smiled. “Hello, Fleur,” he said in French.

The child’s large, dark eyes regarded him. She said nothing. Jarrett glanced up.

“One of your charges here on the compound?”

Her insides squeezed tight at his words. “Fleur isn’t one of my charges. She’s the reason I can’t leave St. Marc. She’s my daughter.”

CHAPTER 4

I
f his ex-wife had punched him in the stomach, Jarrett knew he couldn’t have felt more shocked. He stared at the little girl, her solemn dark eyes too big for her face. His throat tightened and his chest hurt.

He’d always wanted a little girl. A daughter in pigtails, with a cheeky smile who’d giggle when he tickled her stomach or swung her around. A little girl who looked like Lace. When Lacey lost the baby, part of him died, as well. But he had learned to hide his emotions.

Get a grip, he told himself. Jarrett forced a smile, sensing the child’s unease. “It is very nice to meet you,” he said in French.

She said nothing, only kept staring at him. Lacey wrapped her arms around the child, holding her tight. Jarrett straightened, anger surfacing at his ex. Had to control it, didn’t want to frighten the child. There was a story here in the little girl’s dark eyes and solemn expression.

He’d seen the same ancient weariness in the eyes of children he’d met overseas. Adults with a kid’s skin, a kid’s body and the experiences no human being should ever endure...

Lacey hugged the child. “Fleur, this is Mr. Jarrett Adler. He’s an American. I used to be married to him.”

Her expression wary, the little girl looked up at Lacey. Lacey smiled and spoke in French. “It’s okay. He’s a good guy.”

Jarrett felt his throat tighten more. At least the child had a safe place to live, and he could tell from the way Lacey hugged her that Fleur meant everything to Lace.

“That’s a pretty name. Fleur. It means flower,” he said in French.

Still, the child said nothing.

“Fleur, go into the house and change into your play clothing. You can play for an hour before starting on your homework,” she said in French.

The little girl nodded, took another look at Jarret and ran inside as if the hounds of hell pursued her. Lacey sighed. “I think she’s afraid of you. You’re a big guy, like the man we suspect killed her mother. It may take a little while for her to get used to you.”

Okay, more surprises. He was used to surprises; hell, it was his job to be prepared and adapt on the turn of a dime, but from his ex-wife?

He could easily handle an enemy tossing unexpected small arms fire, but a bombshell like this? His temper rose.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me about Fleur?” he snapped.

Lace didn’t even blink. “You’ve been out of my life for a long time now, Jarrett. You don’t know anything about me. And I certainly wasn’t expecting you to drop by for afternoon coffee.”

Dragging in a deep breath, he struggled to leash his temper. “Your daughter. You’re adopting her.”

“If we’re going to talk, let’s work. I have to get these crates ready for shipping the marmalade.”

Lacey went over to a stack of crates and began packing them. He picked up a hammer and helped.
Bang, bang
. Felt good to slam the hammer down against the nail, get his emotions under control.

After a few minutes he wiped the sweat off his forehead. “Talk to me.”

Lacey stopped stacking large empty sacks near the crates. “Fleur is five years old. She’s lived with me for the past year. I already adopted her in this country. What happened to Fleur’s mother is one reason Marlee’s Mangoes is important to me. I met Jacqueline about a year ago. She was a single mother, only nineteen, trying to sell Fleur to me because I was a wealthy American.”

Jarrett’s jaw clenched. “I’ve heard of that happening.”

“Her mother had kicked her out of the house because Jackie had an illegitimate child. Jackie was staying at a friend’s guesthouse, but it was only temporary. She begged me to take her daughter because Fleur’s father refused to give Jacqueline child support. He was a wealthy man and they had a brief affair.

“I gave her a job. I tried to find out who the father was, so I could pressure him, but Jackie refused to tell me. One day she showed up with terrible bruises on her face. She told me Fleur’s father had shown up the previous night, drunk, and then beat her because she refused to have sex with him.”

The hammer trembled in her hands as she picked it up and turned it over. “I was renovating my guesthouse and promised to give her a safe place to live, but I didn’t act soon enough. When Jacqueline didn’t arrive for work the following morning, I had this terrible feeling. I went to her home. Fleur was sitting on the floor by her mother’s body. Fleur’s bastard father had beaten Jackie to death...and Fleur saw everything.”

Jarrett’s stomach pitched and roiled as he imagined the horror witnessed by the little girl. “What about the cops?”

Lacey shook her head. “No one knew the name of the father, because Jackie kept the affair secret. All we know is he was a very big man and Jackie called him
Chou Chou
. Fleur was too traumatized to say anything other than she saw
Chou Chou
kill her mother.”

French for “my favorite.” Not much to go on.

“I wanted to take Fleur home with me, but she got embroiled in a mass of red tape. The police took her to an orphanage. I spent two months trying to find her because the admission paperwork was misfiled. When I finally found her, she refused to speak. I legally adopted her here. I have her passport and I’m just waiting on the damn visa to get her into the States.”

She threw down the hammer. “I want to go back home to my parents and give Fleur the opportunity to heal and receive a quality education. Get her far away from the memories that give her nightmares each night. Only in the States can I find her a psychologist who will help her recover.”

“And you’re stuck here until the visa comes through.”

“This is why I can’t leave with you, Jarrett. Can’t leave and won’t. I am not leaving my little girl behind.”

Her lush lower lip wobbled a little. “I’ve already lost one child. I’m not losing another.”

“I’m sorry, Lace,” he said gently. And he was sorry, for many things. He pushed aside the surging guilt. Now was not the time to examine how he’d screwed up in their marriage.

He had run into unexpected trouble before, and gotten his team out of a royal goat fluster when they’d been pinned down by enemy fire. Nearly lost one of the guys, too. He could figure out a way around this.

“Did State give you an ETA?”

“No. You know bureaucracy, and now with the unrest, it’s not looking great. Even my father can’t pull that many strings. I have to wait until after elections.”

Assess and then action. “What else do you need to tell me, Lace? If there are any other surprises, I need to know. Now.”

Disclosure would allow him to plan and strategize. And action was a hell of a lot better than the guilt squeezing his guts right now.
I’ve already lost one child.

The ghost words that weren’t uttered hovered in the air all the same.
Lost one child and you ran off, away to some foreign country, leaving me to deal with the loss on my own.

He had a job to do. Jarrett kept telling himself that over and over, a soothing balm that assuaged his conscience. But this time, faced with his ex-wife and old hurts, the balm wasn’t as effective. Deep inside, he found a tiny sign flashing over and over, taunting him:

All your fault she left you. All your fault. You failed.

He was not failing her this time. Not leaving her here with her little girl to face a country toppling around her like a house of cards and a terrorist who wanted access to her NGO.

And that dead chicken on the gate...

“Why do you need to know about my life, Jarrett? You’re not part of it anymore. I can handle myself. Unless you have a way of pushing the adoption papers through faster.”

“I can’t. But your father could.”

She shook her head. “He’s already tried. He wants me to come home as much as you do. I’m here until the papers come through, Jarrett.”

A breeze lifted stray locks that escaped her ponytail. Jarrett folded his arms across his chest and looked over the compound. It seemed peaceful, and the broken glass atop the tall wall would deter trespassers, the ordinary type. But he’d witnessed what kind of damage a grenade lobbed at a wall could do, and worse, what a grenade thrown at a person could do to a human being.

Why was Augustin interested in her compound? He held up a finger. “Give me a minute.”

Jarrett walked away as she kept working on the crates. When Ace answered on the first ring, he lowered his voice. “Ace man, got a problem. I’m here at Lacey’s house. She has a daughter she’s adopting and wants to bring to the States. But her visa is stalled.”

His friend groaned. “She never told me and neither did Aimee. Your ex plays it close to the chest, Ice.”

“Yeah, don’t I know it. If that visa comes through soon, I can hustle her out of here. She won’t budge until then.” He gripped the phone. “Any word on what Augustin wants with her farm and the donation?”

“Dude, the man’s an octopus, not a snake. He has tentacles all over the island with NGOs and parades around as a do-gooder. But word is he’s supplying guns to the drug gangs that are causing all this
bang
bang
before elections. He’s a quiet supporter of the current regime, although the president would never admit to controlling these gangs. He just throws up his hands and says the police can handle it.

“They’ve burned homes in the slum in the capital and executed two people. One was a radio journalist who talked extensively about ousting the current president. The guy kept advocating a candidate who is gaining more popularity, a candidate the US supports.”

Ace paused. “A candidate that Congressman Alexander H. Stewart himself backs.”

Jarrett’s blood ran cold. “I didn’t know Stewart was involved in supporting political parties here.”

“His daughter’s living here, and he still maintains business interests in St. Marc. He wants her home as soon as possible.”

Quickly he told his friend about the threats at Lacey’s compound.

“Maybe the threats are politically motivated. Lacey is well connected. But back in the States, not here.”

“Or maybe Monsieur Augustin doesn’t want to build homes. Maybe he wants to kidnap your ex and wave that over her dad’s head as a threat.”

Ace had vocalized the deep fear Jarrett harbored. Still, his gut warned it was something else the man wanted. “Kidnapping is too messy.”

“I’ll say. Two weeks ago the gangs kidnapped a local and held him for ransom, and his family paid the money, but it was no use. They found his head in the local garbage dump. These guys are slick, Ice. And someone is funding them. Augustin may have the money, but someone else is directing them. Someone very quiet, a real shadow.”

“Let me know what else you find out.” He clicked off the phone and shoved it into his pocket then felt in the back of his jeans for his sidearm. Damn, life had just got a whole lot more complicated.

He knew how to maneuver around complicated. But not with a woman and a child’s lives at risk.

As he joined Lacey at the crates, she straightened. Despite the relative coolness of the day and the refreshing mountain breeze, sweat dampened her temples. It partly soaked her shirt, making the white fabric stick to her torso and breasts. She’d unbuttoned the shirt, and he could clearly see the tempting valley between her breasts.

Male interest surged, but he grimly ignored it. Sex would only complicate things a lot more.

“If you’re ready to leave, you can go now. I’m staying.”

The past was behind them. No going back. But he’d be damned if he got into the SUV and turned around and hopped a plane for home. He was a SEAL and the only easy day was yesterday.

Even when it came to dragging his ex-wife back to the States.

“Got a spare room? I don’t take up much space.”

Lacey’s eyes widened. “No, Jarrett.”

“I can sleep on the floor.”

“You’re not staying. You saw my compound, met my daughter. Goodbye.”

He walked over to her, stroked a finger down her cheek. Lacey quivered. They still had it. The chemistry between them was combustible.

He dropped his hand with a grimace. Nearly as flammable as this country.

“I’ll camp by a mango tree if I must.”

Lacey shook her head. “No. We’re not married anymore, Jarrett. You have no authority over me.”

“Dead chickens on the gate and a known arms dealer showing interest in your charity give me the authority. I’m staying until I find out who’s behind it, whether I sleep on the floor, in a bed or on the ground. Get used to the idea.”

“Jarrett...”

“Try to drag me out of here, Lace. There’s a child involved now and what threatens you also threatens her. That changes everything. I’m not budging. Not until I know you’re safe back in the States with Fleur.”

Or without her, but that option was too terrible to entertain.

He softened his tone. “If not for your sake, then think of Fleur. She’s already lost one mother.”

Her lower lip trembled. “Damn you, Jarrett. That’s a sucker punch and you know it.”

“Show me where I’ll bunk. My gear is in the back of the truck.”

After he grabbed his duffel bag, she led him upstairs to a small hallway. Four bedrooms and a bathroom were at the landing. Lacey unlocked the bedroom door on the left corner and stepped inside.

The room had a double bed with a plain white bedspread, a small desk and chair, scuffed wood bureau and a closet. Jarrett opened the closet, walked over to the window and tested the lock.

At his inquiring look, she sighed. “I haven’t had time to fix it yet. It’s safe out here in the country.”

“Safe as dead chickens with their guts ripped out.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “If you’re staying here, you work. No one gets a free ride.”

“I like hard work.” If he had to camp out by that damn gate, he would.

“Fresh towels are in the bathroom. Unpack and be downstairs and ready to work. You have twenty minutes.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

At his lazy grin, she frowned. “And Jarrett? We’re all women here, so remember to shut the bathroom door and for goodness’ sake, leave the toilet seat down.”

His deep chuckle followed her out of the room.

Jarrett stopped laughing and slung his duffel bag onto the bed, then he checked his weapon and then his wallet. He had no idea why Lacey was being threatened or what Augustin wanted with her charity.