Shell Game

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2014 Christine Baena

Excerpt from Aloha Texas copyright 2013 Christine Baena

Cover Design: The Killion Group

Editor: Megan McKeever

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, redistributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, print, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of Author.

ISBN-10: 0989360881

ISBN-13: 978-0-9893608-8-3

Indie House Publishing

Books by Chris Keniston

The Champagne Sisterhood

Hope’s Corner

The Homecoming

Honeymoon for One

Live Laugh Love

Aloha Series

Aloha Texas

Almost Paradise

Mai Tai Marriage

Dive Into You

See all available on Kindle

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Acknowledgments

No matter how much I love playing with friends at the Big Island Dive shop, Brooklyn and Sharla’s story could not have come about without a great deal of help from many friends, both old and new. The list of people to who I owe my thanks grows ever longer.

There are not enough words to thank Kale Rogers for giving up valuable vacation time and sharing countless stories of his early Navy days as well as patiently explaining the workings of a submarine. I have oodles of inspiring notes and hope to do them justice on these pages and future books.

For showing me the proper way to use a treadmill for a five mile run in the sand, letting me snap photo after photo so I wouldn’t forget, and patiently helping me learn Aussie speak, Ships Personal Trainer Tyler Dickson.

Cheryl Lucas once again came up with the perfect title, the right songs and a myriad of indispensable suggestions. No matter what her own publishing schedule is I can always count on Molly Cannon to read in a hurry and smooth out the rough edges. Liz Lipperman keeps me from completely botching the medical profession. Kathy Ivan who comes to my aid at any time of day when I can’t think my way out of a paper bag.

I owe a special thank you to my friends Jim and Diane Borgia for taking me on relaxing rides along the Long Island shore, letting me linger in the calm breezes of their backyard for as long as I wanted and keeping me honest with daily word count. You guys define long lasting friendship. And to David Pohle not only do I say thank you for your willing and helpful input, but write that book!

Lastly, my family who defended my Aloha world by telling everyone, “Don’t bother her now she’s writing.” And my editor and gatekeeper Megan McKeever for allowing me to invade her vacation to make Shell Game a better story.

Any mistakes are all mine and no reflection on these wonderful people!

Reminder to Readers

Though published after Mai Tai Marriage, Shell Game is a prequel to the Aloha Series.

The prologue takes place around five years before Nick’s story in Aloha Texas, and the main body of Shell Game takes place two years later. So the epilogue happens around three years before Aloha Texas.

For those of you who have already read the Aloha books, I know it can be jarring to find Nick and Billy still single and in the Navy, but I hope you enjoy the friends’ history nonetheless.

And pretty please take the time to leave a review to let me and others know how you liked Shell Game and the other books in the series if you haven’t yet done so!

Thank you so much for reading Shell Game!

Prologue

Somewhere near the Afghan border

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot—WTF
. From his rooftop perch Luke “Brooklyn” Chapman had a clear shot at the last barrier between his team and the American journalist they’d been assigned to bring home. Only two things stood in his way. Enough C4 to blow not only the entire compound but also every member of his SEAL team and Nick Harper’s Explosive Ordnance Disposal team to kingdom come. And the woman wearing the damn explosives.

Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.
Shit
.

Intel had screwed with them again. Brooklyn had gotten wind on his own of possible mines and other booby traps along the target compound that official channels had discarded as unreliable. That was why Brooklyn was once again working with EOD. He’d requested Nick’s team for this mission, and, pissed as hell with the increased stream of failed missions, his CO had approved it. Nick and his team were good. Damn good. And Brooklyn trusted them as much as his own men. Which was something rare for a frogger to admit.

“Team Bravo reporting, target spotted. We have confirmation on explosives. C4. Over.”

“Can you take him out? Over.”

“Her,” Brooklyn corrected.

“Shit,” Nick mumbled on the other side.

Tell me about it
. Protecting women and children was etched in bold caps on the unwritten list of what military men were fighting for—right above Mom’s apple pie and just under the American Way. Over time Brooklyn had grown used to dealing with hostiles of varied ages and sizes—but he’d never get used to fighting women. And the key question at hand was whether or not this particular female was in harm’s way of her own free will or by order of some male family member.

Too often there was not enough time to determine if the explosive-wearing fashionistas were the former or the latter. In this case, Brent Callahan, one of the EOD team, was on the surveillance systems. Thanks to his Persian heritage on his mother’s side and having spent over a year at the Defense Language Institute, Brent could eavesdrop in five languages spoken within a one-mile radius. If the female in question would only say something in the next few seconds allotted to determine friendly or enemy, Brooklyn’s last kill for Uncle Sam’s Navy might not have to be a woman.

Across the way on Team Alpha, Billy “King Kona” Everrett and Doug Hamilton, rappelled down the south wall. Nick and Kenny Yates, Team Charlie, were nowhere to be seen. Which meant the hostiles couldn’t see them either. The difference being Brooklyn knew his buddies were positioned to have Team Alpha’s six.

Damn, he wished Brent would speak up. In about fifteen seconds Billy would be in place, and Brooklyn would have to take the woman out.
Ten
…
Five
.

“Hold your fire,” Brent said in Brooklyn’s earpiece. “Make that two hostages.”

Whoever the woman was, Brent must have heard enough to know wearing this season’s dynamite trend was not her idea. Brooklyn spoke into his mic. “Affirmative.”

“Copy,” Nick replied, followed by Billy’s echo of the confirmation.

This unlucky woman would live to see another day. All the team had to do was diffuse the jacket, subdue the enemy and haul everyone’s ass out of hell.

* * *

“Nice place you got here.” Brooklyn filed in last and dropped his gear beside the other duffels on the living room floor of EOD team member Billy Everrett’s Kona, Hawaii, home. After getting everyone’s ass out of the Afghan compound and safely returning to base with both hostages—the American journalist and the now bomb-free woman, Brooklyn was damn glad the timing had worked out for him to join some of the guys on leave here on the Big Island. A last chance to be among his Navy brothers that he didn’t want to miss.

“The house is still a work in progress, but it’s home.” Billy pointed down the hall. “You’ve got four bedrooms to choose from. Mom always comes by to clean up the place for me when I’m back in Kona on leave. She texted that she changed the sheets for you guys, and I’m guessing there’ll be a fridge full of food.”

Nick, the EOD team leader, grabbed his bag to claim his room, then flashed his pearly whites. “And beer?”

“I said
my mother
.” Billy rolled his eyes. “This isn’t Australia. No locals leaving beer for sailors on this pier.”

Kenny Yates, one of Brooklyn’s SEAL team members, hefted his duffel and headed down the hallway. “How about women?”

Two steps behind him Brooklyn reached forward and slapped Kenny on the back. “Doubt his mom put those in the fridge either.”

“Comedian.” Kenny, originally from the Northeast, hip-checked Brooklyn as he walked by. In a blink, duffels were dropped, and the two men were on the ground.

“I swear, Brooklyn.” Making his way across the room and down the hall in a heartbeat, Billy towered over the two tussling men. “One dent in my new walls and I’ll have both your asses on a platter.”

“Sorry, man,” Kenny mumbled, catching Brooklyn’s eye as he pushed to his feet. Having been on the same SEAL team for the last few years, words weren’t required for communication. A turn, a lunge and a tackle later, all three were on the ground.

Nick emerged from the front bedroom and nearly got pulled into the fray. “I can think of better ways to work up a sweat, guys.”

“He’s right.” Kenny eased back, and Billy took advantage of the shift in leverage to dump both SEALs on their sixes.

“Never mess with King Kona.” Brushing his hands together, Billy spun about. “Clean up, and we’ll hit the strip. It’s no Gauntlet, but even you ugly frogs should be able to find a girl to take pity on you.”

Showered, shaved and once again looking like a clean-cut sailor instead of a rebel insurgent, Brooklyn and his buddies walked into one of Billy’s favorite local haunts. A splattering of pretty tourists decorated the place. Not near as many options as Honolulu and nothing at all like walking the famed foreign street known to sailors worldwide as The Gauntlet. But then again, few places were.

Brooklyn’s introduction to The Gauntlet hadn’t been long after earning his Trident and graduating from Coronado. The memory was still vivid. His team had gone in country on a reconnaissance mission and caught a ride offshore back to base on a Fast-Attack submarine. A fortuitous choice for transportation. En route, the sub had port call, and Brooklyn was introduced to The Gauntlet’s hairpin strip of clubs and bars.

There, women of all shapes and sizes spilled onto the streets vying for their shot at an American sailor. Every few yards one of his group would be yanked aside and disappear into the open bars. A few would survive the barrage of women pawing and kissing to make it to the next one, usually sans a shirt, belt or some other article of clothing, and always bathed in lipstick and perfume.