Becky McGraw
Slow Ride
Sleeper SEALs, Book 2
Release Date Sept 26, 2017
Sleeper SEALs, Book 2
Release Date Sept 26, 2017
Blurb:
The
Sleeper SEALs are former U.S. Navy SEALs recruited by a new CIA counter-terror
division to handle solo dark ops missions to combat terrorism on US soil.
Lt.
Commander Keegan MacDonald has to face the fact his injury meant he was washed
up as a SEAL, but who was he without the teams as part of his life? Even though
he loved bikes, being a grease monkey at his uncle's motorcycle shop sure
wasn't providing that answer.
When
he gets a call for a special mission from the commander of a spec ops
government contractor group, Keegan grabs onto the lifeline with both hands.
Not only would he be helping find an intel leak which could jeopardize his
teammates in the field, he might be able to find his own purpose during the
mission too.
Keegan
goes undercover at the Lily Pad, an off-base strip club where the government
believes the special access intel is being passed, and quickly narrows down his
suspects. The list includes Jules Lawson, a sexy, mouthy waitress who seems to
have a hidden agenda.
When
that agenda meshes with his own, and he finds out they are on the same team,
but at opposite ends of the field, can they put together a partnership? Or will
her inexperience and thirst for vengeance get them both killed?
Better yet, when the mission creeps
into something much bigger than an intel leak, could he count on the beautiful
agent to have his six while they saved the world? Or would she redefine his
world in the process?
Goodreads:
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/34506317-slow-ride
Buy links:
Amazon Kindle: https://goo.gl/9pRGK2
B&N Nook: https://goo.gl/Kh4beh
Kobo: https://goo.gl/YKXjJJ
iBooks: https://goo.gl/yjxFKC
About the Author:
New
York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Becky McGraw writes
happily-ever-afters with heat, heart and humor. A Jill of many trades, Becky
knows just enough about a variety of subjects to make her contemporary cowboy
and romantic suspense novels diverse and entertaining. She resides in Florida
with her husband of thirty-plus years and is the mother of three and
grandmother of one. Becky is a member of the RWA, Sisters in Crime and
Novelists, Inc.
Author Links:
Website: www.beckymcgraw.com
Newsletter: http://authorbeckymcgraw.com/?page_id=148
Goodreads:
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6427599.Becky_McGraw
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Becky-McGraw/e/B008CQ8H04/
Facebook: www.facebook.com/beckymcgrawbooks
Twitter: www.twitter.com/beckymcgrawbook
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/beckymcgrawbooks/
The Sleeper SEALs series is a multi-author series, which launched
9/5/17. The standalone books, by some of your favorite romantic suspense
and military romance authors, will release every two weeks through 2/20/18 to
keep your e-readers smoking.
This is a different kind of
SEAL series, as all of our heroes have left the teams for one reason or another
and are now in different civilian careers. Upon their exit from the teams, they
were recruited for the Sleeper SEALs team by former U.S. Navy Commander Greg
Lambert to handle solo dark ops missions to combat terror threats on US soil.
Authors included in this
series are:
Susan Stoker – PROTECTING
DAKOTA – 9/5/17
Becky McGraw – SLOW RIDE –
9/26/17
Dale Mayer – MICHAELS’ MERCY
– 10/3/17
Becca Jameson – SAVING ZOLA –
10/17/17
Sharon Hamilton – BACHELOR
SEAL – 10/31/17
Elle James – MONTANA RESCUE –
11/14/17
Maryann Jordan – THIN ICE –
11/28/17
Donna Michaels – GRINCH
REAPER – 12/12/17
Lori Ryan – ALL IN – 1/9/18
Geri Foster – BROKEN SEAL –
1/23/18
Elaine Levine – FREEDOM CODE
– 2/6/18
J.m. Madden – FLAT LINE –
2/20/18
MY REVIEW:
A wild, action-packed ride, that was edgy, fun, had sparks just-a-poppin' romance and a heck of a entertaining plot twist! Becky McGraw is quickly becoming a MUST READ THIS RIGHT THIS MINUTE author for me with her books. And Slow Ride, had me GLUED to my ereader, devouring every word and every page until I found myself done with the book. I was elated to see such a spectacular ending, but sad at the same time because this read was truly a thrilling ride!
Keegan and Jules had the kind of chemistry that you knew would lead to a hell of a great time in the bedroom. One moment they were glaring at each other and the next neither one could keep their hands off each other. I am IN LOVE with These Sleeper SEALS stories! Slow Ride was a great time read with phenomenal characters and a keep-you-on-your-toes storyline that was alluring as all get out!
Slow Ride gets a WILDLY DELICIOUS FIVE SHOOTING STARS! Its an absolute MUST READ!
EXCERPT:
Slow
Ride: Sleeper SEALs Book 2 by Becky McGraw (c) Copyright 2017
PROLOGUE
Retired Navy Commander Greg Lambert
leaned forward to rake in the pile of chips his full house had netted him.
Tonight he would leave the weekly gathering not only with his pockets full, but
his pride intact.
The scowls he earned from his poker
buddies at his unusual good luck was an added bonus.
They’d become too accustomed to him
coming up on the losing side of five card stud. It was about time he taught
them to never underestimate him.
Vice President Warren Angelo downed the
rest of his bourbon and stubbed out his Cuban cigar. “Looks like Lady Luck is
on your side tonight, Commander.”
After he neatly stacked his chips in a
row at the rail in front of him, Greg glanced around at his friends. It
occurred to him right then, this weekly meeting wasn’t so different from the
joint sessions they used to have at the Pentagon during his last five years of
service.
The location was the Secretary of
State’s basement now, but the gathering still included top ranking military
brass, politicians, and the director of the CIA, who had been staring at him
strangely all night long.
“It’s about time the bitch smiled my
way, don’t you think? She usually just cleans out my pockets and gives you my
money,” Greg replied with a sharp laugh as his eyes roved over the spacious
man-cave with envy, before they snagged on the wall clock.
It was well past midnight, their normal
break-up time. He needed to get home, but what did he have to go home to? Four
walls, and Karen’s mean-as-hell Chihuahua who hated him. Greg stood, scooted
back his chair, and stretched his shoulders. The rest of his poker buddies
quickly left, except for Vice President Angelo, Benedict Hughes with the CIA,
and their host tonight, Percy Long, the Secretary of State.
He took the last swig of his bourbon,
then set the glass on the table. When he took a step to leave, they moved to
block his way to the door. “Something on your minds, gentleman?” he asked,
their cold, sober stares making the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
It wasn’t a comfortable feeling, but one
he was familiar with from his days as a Navy SEAL. That feeling usually didn’t
portend anything good was about to go down. But neither did the looks on these
men’s faces.
Warren cleared his throat and leaned against
the mahogany bar with its leather trimmings. “There’s been a significant amount
of chatter lately.” He glanced at Ben. “We’re concerned.”
Greg backed up a few steps, putting some
distance between himself and the men. “Why are you telling me this? I’ve been
out of the loop for a while now.” Greg was retired, and bored stiff, but not
stiff enough to tackle all that was wrong in the United States at the moment,
or fight the politics involved in fixing things.
Ben let out a harsh breath then gulped
down his glass of water. He set the empty glass down on the bar with a sigh and
met Greg’s eyes. “We need your help, and we’re not going to beat around the
bush,” he said, making Greg’s short hairs stand taller.
Greg put his hands in his pockets,
rattling the change in his right pocket and his car keys in the left while he
waited for the hammer. Nothing in Washington, D.C. was plain and simple
anymore. Not that it ever had been.
“Spit it out, Ben,” he said, eyeballing
the younger man. “I’m all ears.”
“Things have changed in the US.
Terrorists are everywhere now,” he started, and Greg bit back a laugh at the
understatement of the century.
He’d gotten out before the recent CONUS
attacks started, but he was still in service on 9/11 for the ultimate attack.
The day that replaced Pearl Harbor as the day that would go down in infamy.
“That’s not news, Ben,” Greg said, his
frustration mounting in his tone. “What does that have to do with me, other
than being a concerned citizen?”
“More cells are being identified every
day,” Ben replied, his five o’clock shadow standing in stark contrast to his
now paler face. “The chatter about imminent threats, big jihad events that are
in the works, is getting louder every day.”
“You do understand that I’m no longer
active service, right?” Greg shrugged. “I don’t see how I can be of much help
there.”
“We want you to head a new division at
the CIA,” Warren interjected. “Black Ops, a sleeper cell of SEALs to help us
combat the terrorist sleeper cells in the US…and whatever the hell else might
pop up later.”
Greg laughed. “And where do you think
I’ll find these SEALs to sign up? Most are deployed over—”
“We want retired SEALs like yourself.
We’ve spent millions training these men, and letting them sit idle stateside
while we fight this losing battle alone is just a waste.” Ben huffed a breath.
“I know they’d respect you when you ask them to join the contract team you’d be
heading up. You’d have a much better chance of convincing them to help.”
“Most of those guys are like me, worn
out to the bone or injured when they finally give up the teams. Otherwise,
they’d still be active. SEALs don’t just quit.” Unless their wives were taken
by cancer and their kids were off at college, leaving them alone in a rambling
house when they were supposed to be traveling together and enjoying life.
“What kind of threats are you talking
about?” Greg asked, wondering why he was even entertaining such a stupid idea.
“There are many. More every day. Too
many for us to fight alone,” Ben started, but Warren held up his palm.
“The president is taking a lot of heat.
He has three and a half years left in his term, and taking out these threats
was a campaign promise. He wants the cells identified and the terror threats
eradicated quickly.”
These three, and the president, sat
behind desks all day. They’d never been in a field op before, so they had no
idea the planning and training that took place before a team ever made it to
the field. Training a team of broken down SEALs to work together would take
double that time because each knew better than the rest how things should be
done, so there was no “quick” about it.
“That’s a tall order. I can’t possibly
get a team of twelve men on the same page in under a year. Even if I can find
them.” Why in the hell was he getting excited, then? “Most are probably out
enjoying life on a beach somewhere.” Exactly where he would be with Karen if
she hadn’t fucking died on him as soon as he retired four years ago.
“We don’t want a team, Greg,” Percy Long
corrected, unfolding his arms as he stepped toward him. “This has to be done
stealthily because we don’t want to panic the public. If word got out about the
severity of the threats, people wouldn’t leave their homes. The press would
pump it up until they created a frenzy. You know how that works.”
“So let me get this straight. You want
individual SEALs, sleeper guys who agree to be called up for special ops, to
perform solo missions?” Greg asked, his eyebrows lifting. “That’s not usually
how they work.”
“Unusual times call for unusual methods,
Greg. They have the skills to get it done quickly and quietly,” Warren replied,
and Greg couldn’t argue. That’s exactly the way SEALs operated—they did
whatever it took to get the job done.
Ben approached him, placed his hand on
his shoulder as if this was a tag-team effort, and Greg had no doubt that it
was just that. “Every terrorist or wanna-be terror organization has roots here
now. Al Qaeda, The Muslim Brotherhood, Isis, the Taliban—you name it. They’re
not here looking for asylum. They’re actively recruiting followers and planning
events to create a caliphate on our home turf. We can’t let that happen, Greg,
or the United States will never be the same.”
“You’ll be a contractor, so you can name
your price,” Warren inserted, and Greg’s eyes swung to him. “You’ll be on your
own in the decision making. We need to have plausible deniability if anything
goes wrong.”
“Of course,” Greg replied, shaking his
head. If anything went south, they needed a fall guy, and that would be him in
this scenario. Not much different from the dark ops his teams performed under
his command when he was active duty.
God, why did this stupid idea suddenly
sound so intriguing? Why did he think he might be able to make it work? And why
in the hell did he suddenly think it was just what he needed to break out of
the funk he’d been living in for four years?
“I can get you a list of potential
hires, newly retired SEALs, and the president says anything else you need,”
Warren continued quickly. “All we need is your commitment.”
The room went silent, and Greg looked
deeply into each man’s eyes as he pondered a decision. What the hell did he
have to lose? If he didn’t agree, he’d just die a slow, agonizing death in his
recliner at home. At only forty-seven and still fit, that could be a lot of
years spent in that chair.
“Get me the intel, the list, and the
contract,” he said, and a surge of adrenaline made his knees weak.
He was back in the game.
***
Keegan MacDonald knew now why the Navy
called it terminal leave, because he felt like he might indeed die of boredom
working at his uncle’s motorcycle shop. And it had only been eighty-nine
days since he officially left the teams. He had a whole lifetime to fill,
and nothing to fill it with except more of the same.
You have one more day to contest the
medical discharge and fight for a staff position so you can have the surgery.
Do it. Being in the Navy, but not on the teams, wouldn’t be that bad.
“It would be torture—that’s what
that would be,” he growled as he twisted the wrench hard.
But you were going to leave the teams
voluntarily not nine months ago for a woman. You got what you wanted bud,
just not the way you wanted it.
The wrench slipped off of the nut and
his knuckles rapped hard against the manifold. He cursed as he dropped it and
it clattered on the greasy concrete floor, then slid under the bike.
Damned shoulder, he thought, rubbing it as a muscle spasmed. He couldn’t
even hold a wrench tight enough to turn a damned nut. How in the hell did he
expect to do pull-ups or scale the wall? Even in a staff position,
instead of on the teams, he’d have PT standards he’d have to meet.
You’ll never have one-hundred percent
mobility again, even with surgery. The surgery could make it worse with the
scar tissue.
That’s what the doctor, physical
therapist and the surgeon he consulted with all concluded. That also
said, in that condition, if he stayed on the teams, he might be a danger to his
teammates—which meant Keegan was done.
Eighty percent mobility was good enough
for a normal life, what he’d managed with six months of rehab, but not enough
to be an elite athlete, someone his brothers could depend on.
But this was a normal life?
With a huffed breath, he slid off of the
creeper to his knees and reached for the wrench. His hand closed around
the shaft, but he stayed there and shut his eyes.
You worked your ass off to get
through BUD/S to get your trident, went to every hellhole on earth to get to
Lt. Commander—and you’re giving that up without a fight? Have the
surgery—the doctors might not know everything. They don’t know how hard you
will work when you’re determined to accomplish a goal.
Keegan groaned as his hand tightened
around the wrench and it cut into his palm. This was all Cee Cee Logan’s
fucking fault. He should’ve never gone to Texas to see her. He
should’ve never let his feelings for her go beyond their agreed upon terms, or
let his fantasies convince him she felt the same. But she sure acted like she
felt the same.
That stupidity cost him his career, but
he was fortunate, because it could’ve cost him or one of his teammates their
life. His mind had been on her, instead of the mission to Syria he was
deployed as soon as he got back from Texas. If it hadn’t been, he would have
double-checked that his grenade launcher module was properly attached to his
rifle before he fired.
“You okay, bud?” his uncle asked.
Keegan sighed and sat back on his
heels. “No, I’m not feeling right today, Uncle Bob. I think I’m
going to knock off early and ride to the beach. I’m pretty much caught
up.”
“Well, you better get right this weekend
because we have two new custom jobs coming in on Monday,” Bob replied, looking
concerned.
That didn’t surprise him at all because
Bob MacDonald was known as the best custom bike builder on the east
coast. Keegan should be thrilled to be here learning everything he could
from him, so he could open his own shop one day. That was the plan, but he just
couldn’t find the passion he thought he’d have for it.
They’d talked about him coming to work
at MacDonald Customs for years now. Keegan dreamed about it while he was
deployed. It kept him sane. But now that he was doing it, it just
didn’t give him the satisfaction he thought it would.
Being a SEAL was the only thing he ever
seemed to have a passion for in his life, and now that he wasn’t one, Keegan
had no idea what to do with himself. He had one more day to decide if he
could deal with civilian life.
This weekend, he was going to the beach
to surf and get his head right.
“A little surfing should do the
trick. No worries, Unk, I’ll be here on Monday in a better frame of
mind.” Keegan forced a smile as he stood.
“Find yourself a mermaid while you’re
down there. That’s what you need, son,” his uncle said with a wink and a
hearty laugh.
A woman was the last thing he needed
right now.
“You know it. That’s on the list
right under surfing.” And a lobotomy.
Blowing out a breath, Keegan walked to
the back of the shop and out the back door. He strode across the rear lot
to the trailer he temporarily called home. Ninety days and he was still
in the twenty-foot travel trailer.
“Stop it!” he shouted, as he
grabbed the door handle and yanked it hard. Ten years of his life given
to this country was enough. It was time for him to stop the pity party
and figure this shit out. He was going to do that this weekend.
After a quick shower, Keegan filled his
go bag with board shorts and tanks. He tossed his phone inside and zipped
it up, but as soon as he picked up the bag, his phone rang. With a growl,
he set it back down and fished it out. An unfamiliar number showed on the
display, but he recognized the DC area code, so he thought it might be
something to do with his forced retirement.
“This is MacDonald,” he grumbled.
“Lieutenant Commander Keegan MacDonald?”
a deep voice, repeated. The fact that he included Keegan’s soon to be
former title told him this was a related call.
“Yes, for now,” Keegan replied, pushing
it past the knot in his throat. Who the hell was he without that title
and SEAL behind his name?
“This is Commander Greg Lambert.
I’ve seen your medical report and believe you can still perform a service for
your county, so I have a proposition for you.”
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