SEAL Endgame: The Complete Series Read online

  SEAL Endgame

  The Complete Series

  Leslie North

  SEAL Endgame

  Guarding the Single Mother

  Guarding His Pretend Wife

  Guarding His Unexpected Twins

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  RELAY PUBLISHING EDITION, SEPTEMBER 2019

  Copyright © 2019 Relay Publishing Ltd.

  All rights reserved. Published in the United Kingdom by Relay Publishing. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Leslie North is a pen name created by Relay Publishing for co-authored Romance projects. Relay Publishing works with incredible teams of writers and editors to collaboratively create the very best stories for our readers.

  Cover design by LJ Mayhem Cover Creations

  www.relaypub.com

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  (The Complete Series)

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  Contents

  Guarding the Single Mother

  Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  End of Guarding the Single Mother

  Guarding His Pretend Wife

  Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  End of Guarding His Pretend Wife

  Guarding His Unexpected Twins

  Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  End of Guarding His Unexpected Twins

  Thank you!

  About Leslie

  Also by Leslie: Ride With the SEAL

  Blurb

  Retired Navy SEAL, Clint Backwater, enjoys his solitary life as owner of the Ask Questions Later gun range. It’s the kind of place you find because you know a guy. So when Leila Ortiz, a petite woman with a “baby on board” sticker on the back of her car—and an 18-month-old boy in her arms—shows up at the range, panicked and desperate for a gun, he knows something is wrong. Having grown up in the foster system, Clint has seen what happens when you let yourself get too invested—things get messy, people leave. He made himself a promise to never get emotionally involved again, but the former SEAL in him feels the tug to help this woman and her child.

  Leila’s ex-husband is being released from prison early on good behavior and she found out too late. He was supposed to serve five years, not two, and Leila is unprepared to protect herself and her son. She promised him they’d never run again—they’ve made a nice life for themselves and the last thing she wants to do is leave it all behind.

  When Clint refuses to give Leila a gun without lessons, she agrees to return to the range to learn. At first, Leila won’t say why she’s so desperate for protection, but when the threats from her ex escalate, it becomes clear what she’s afraid of.

  Clint is a loner. Always has been, always will be. So when Leila and her little son enter his life, it hits him—hard— maybe being alone isn’t what he needs. Still, having his solitary life disrupted when he invites the little family into his home is a bit tougher to take than he thought. With Leila and her son in danger, though, he’ll do whatever it takes to keep them safe—even putting up with stray toys and changing a nappy or two.

  But the biggest danger might be to his heart, when it starts to look like the safest thing for Leila and her baby might be to leave her problems—and her budding relationship with Clint—behind.

  1

  A quiet day on the gun range was a good day on the gun range.

  At least that was usually Clint Backwater’s philosophy. Today, though, as he wandered around the small showroom of his business, Ask Questions Later Firearms and Training, he couldn’t seem to shake the restlessness inside him.

  If he was truthful with himself, he’d have to admit that his skittishness had nothing to do with the slow day at the range and everything to do with the approach of the one-year anniversary of his retirement from the military. Since joining the Navy right out of high school and undergoing training to become a SEAL, he’d always been a busy guy. Busy, but solitary. Relationships weren’t really his thing, platonic or otherwise. Loved ones, in Clint’s experience, had a tendency to disappear. When he’d been in the military, surrounded by his team and other colleagues every day with privacy at a minimum, he’d thought he’d appreciate the quiet peace of being alone.

  Now, though, he was lucky if he talked to six people a day, and sometimes things were a bit too… silent. Not that he was a recluse or anything. It was just living by himself out in the Nevada desert meant his penchant for self-sufficiency came in handy, even if it was lonely at times.

  Today, his buddy, Devin, was there to talk to as he checked the inventory of ammunition and firearms and accessories for the umpteenth time. Ask Questions Later provided him with a livable income between the sales of stock and the fees he charged locals for using the gun range and for shooting lessons, but he wouldn’t be making the Forbes 500 list any time soon. That was okay. After seeing the worst humanity had to offer during his stint in the SEALs, and prior to that as a kid growing up in the foster care system, Clint was fine with making enough to get by. He didn’t need to be rich. He didn’t need much of anything—and he liked it that way.

  Clint moved from display case to display case, noting the stock in each, while doing his best to ignore Devin chatting loudly on his cell phone. To call the other man a “buddy” was probably being generous. Devin was more like a guy who Clint talked to when he came in to shoot. They sometimes shared a meal at Ritzi’s Diner in town. That was about it. Still, it was more than Clint did with most folks these days.

  He finished up marking down the sixteen boxes of .45 caliber bullets in front of him, then moved to the next glass-topped case, giving Devin some serious side-eye as he did so.

  “What do you mean she won’t go out with me?” Devin whined into his phone. The guy was pretty typical of the sort who came into the gun range. A wannabe cowboy with a Stetson on his head and a holster strapped around his waist. Nevada tended to be a haven for Mavericks and outlaws, due to the wide-open spaces and the mind-your-own-business attitude of the local law enforcement and residents. It’s what led to things like Las Vegas and the Mustang Ranch and dudes like Devin who fancied themselves Billy the Kid reborn.
“I’m everything she said she wanted in her online dating profile.”

  Clint gave a snort and shook his head. Devin was harmless enough. Clint had run into lots of guys like him in the military. Gungho to preserve life, liberty, and the American way—as long as it didn’t push them too far out of their comfort zone. But everyone had their own comfort zone, Clint supposed. As a SEAL, he’d been accustomed to facing danger the likes of which most people couldn’t imagine. But internet dating, like Devin? Not a chance.

  He shuddered at the thought of connecting with a total stranger and trying to make small talk.

  The sound of a car door slamming echoed through the quiet store and Clint peered through the sunlight streaming through the glass front door. Outside, a dust-covered black SUV had pulled up. Or backed up, would be more accurate. Through the hazy glass he saw a “Baby on Board” sticker in the back window.

  Probably another local dad wanting some away time from his wife and kids.

  Clint turned to head back behind the counter. He’d just about made it when he heard Devin behind him saying, “Uh, I think my dream girl just pulled into my life.”

  Cringing, Clint gave his buddy a disgusted look over the corny line and was just about to rib him about it when the bells above the door jingled and in walked said girl.

  Or woman, to be more accurate. A woman with a baby.

  Huh. Okay. Clint narrowed his gaze a bit, focusing on her as she stepped closer and moved out of the stream of light that silhouetted her from behind. Twenty-five, he’d guess, so about ten years younger than him. Wavy dark hair, golden bronzed skin. Large dark eyes that were scanning the shop nervously.

  She’s scared.

  The thought hit Clint out of nowhere, considering he’d never seen her before in his life, but he’d bet his business and everything he owned that he was right. His instincts had been honed on the battlefield, and retirement hadn’t dulled them. After all, you couldn’t afford to get careless when you owned a gun shop.

  His conclusions were only confirmed as she moved closer to the front counter and met his gaze. There were shadows in those pretty brown eyes of hers, deep and dark and dangerous. Then there was the fact her nails looked chewed to the quick and her hands shook slightly as she bounced her cute baby in one arm. A boy, from what he could tell from the blue jeans and baseball hat on the kid’s head. Maybe a year, year and a half old, Clint guessed.

  “Welcome to Ask Questions Later Firearms and Training,” he said, his words emerging a bit rougher than usual because of the odd constriction in this throat. Not nervousness. Not adrenaline. Attraction. Clint swallowed hard and crossed his arms. “How can I help you today?”

  The woman took a deep breath and checked behind her once more before saying quietly, “I need to buy a gun.”

  * * *

  Oh God.

  The last place Leila Ortiz ever thought she’d find herself was in a gun store. She wasn’t an aggressive or confrontational person by nature. Just the opposite in fact. But circumstances—and the fact that the Federal Bureau of Prisons had screwed up her contact information—meant that she and her son needed protection in a major way, and they needed it ASAP.

  She eyed the man behind the counter and did her best to look as confident as possible. She couldn’t match his defensive posture, not with Thomas in her arms, but she could mimic that blank, closed-off stare he was giving her. “I’ve heard that Glocks are good for women to use. I’d like to see one of those, please.”

  “A Glock, huh?” The guy narrowed his gaze on her then stepped forward. Leila stepped back automatically before she stopped herself. Years of abuse had taught her it was easier to retreat than to stand her ground, but that had all changed the day Thomas had been born. Now she had more than herself to think about. Now she had her son to protect. He looked her up and down. Not in a sexual way, more in a what-the-heck-are-you-doing-in-here way. She checked him out too, again out of habit. If attacked it was best to have a good description for the cops. Short, light brown hair. Blue eyes. Maybe five-ten, five-eleven max, with a muscular build. A hint of a tattoo on his left bicep peeked out from beneath the sleeve of his dark blue T-shirt—a snake perhaps, wrapped around a knife? Weird.

  Leila shook off her errant thoughts about the man. She didn’t care if this dude had Daffy Duck and Wily Coyote inked all over himself. She needed a gun and fast. Her ex was coming back to town and no way would she allow him anywhere near her or their son. He’d lost his parental privileges the day he’d beat her up so badly she’d ended up in the ER with two broken ribs and a bruised collarbone. That had been the same night she’d discovered she was pregnant with Thomas. Talk about the good with the bad. She stepped up to the counter once more and set Thomas atop of it. He was eighteen-months old now and weighed nearly twenty-five pounds. Good for Thomas, not so good for her when she had to hold him for extended lengths of time. Leila was strong, but her usual workouts had not prepared her for handling a squirming kid in her arms for hours at a time.

  “Unless you think there’s another firearm that might work better for me,” she said, doing her best to focus on the important conversation at hand and not the fact that her baby was currently grinning and cooing at the man behind the counter. “I don’t really care as long as it works.”

  The guy placed the heels of his hands against the glass topped case and rested his weight on them. His movement caused his muscles to ripple beneath his T-shirt. Not that she was noticing. Nope. After a lifetime of bad experiences with men, Leila was done with them. Well, except for Thomas. But she’d raise him right. Raise him to respect women and not yell at them or hit them. She’d had quite enough of that from her father growing up and later from her ex. If only she’d known he’d been involved with a gang—running drugs and worse— she’d never have married him. But she’d been young and stupid, and she’d given him her heart and her virginity at twenty-two thinking he’d take her away to a better life. He’d taken her away all right. Straight to hell. Now, three years later, she was alone and raising her son as best she could.

  No way would Mike ever get near them again. No. Way.

  “You ever used a gun before?” the guy asked, his tone dripping with suspicion.

  “No.” Leila raised her chin. “But it can’t be that hard, right? Point and shoot.”

  “Not exactly.” The guy glanced over her shoulder and the hair on the back of her neck prickled. Shit. Someone else was in the store. She’d vaguely registered another person when she’d entered but had been so focused on getting a weapon she hadn’t paid much attention. Stupid, Leila. So stupid. The first thing they’d taught her in those self-defense classes she’d taken last year had been to be aware of your surroundings at all times.

  She turned fast, one hand on Thomas on the counter, the other clutching her keys between her fingers, ready to lash out at whoever tried to hurt her.

  “Whoa there, little lady,” a skinny guy in a cowboy hat said, holding up his hands in surrender. “Didn’t mean to startle you. I was just going to ask you if you wanted to get a cup of coffee.”

  “She doesn’t want coffee, Dev,” the guy behind the counter answered for her.

  “How do you know what I want?” Leila frowned at him and squinted at the name embroidered on the man’s T-shirt. “Clint.”

  “Do you want coffee?” He raised a brow at her.

  No, she didn’t. But it was none of his business and she didn’t need him talking over her and answering her questions. “What I want is a gun. You going to sell me one or not?”

  “Not without a background check and proof you’ve had the proper training.”

  Damn. It wasn’t that she couldn’t pass the check, but she had no training. Nor did she have a license for that matter. Leila shook her head. She’d not really thought things through before racing down here. She’d always been a bit impulsive that way, as her mother would attest. It’s what had gotten her in trouble with her father growing up, always doing things without considering the cons
equences. It was how she’d ended up married to an abusive asshole like her ex. It was the main thing that kept her up at night wondering how in the world she’d ever be a fit mother for poor Thomas. If she couldn’t make good choices for herself, how would she ever be able to do that for her child?

  “Dev, go away,” the guy behind the counter said, his voice authoritative. “Go find yourself another online girlfriend and leave this lady alone.” Surprisingly, the other man did as he was told, the bells over the door jangling merrily at his departure. That left her alone with Mr. Intense, Cute, and Brooding. He focused those bright blue eyes of his on her again and squinted. “Perhaps if you tell me what you need the gun for, I can figure out what would work best for you.”

  “Oh.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and pulled a leather key chain from a nearby display away from Thomas before he drooled all over it. “Just the usual. Can’t be too careful these days.”