Securing Brenae Read online

  Dag looked toward the entrance to the apartment complex—and his legs almost buckled when he saw the outline of a body lying near the front doors. “Who’s the victim?” he asked.

  “We aren’t sure. Looks to be a male in his mid-twenties though.”

  Ashamed at the relief that coursed through his body—the man was someone’s brother, son, or father—Dag nodded. He looked over at Rocco and saw the SEAL’s entire concentration was directed on the front doors.

  “Do you know who the hostages are yet?” Dag asked.

  “Not their names, but there’s two of them. Women. One older, one younger. The perp is a woman in her mid-twenties, and initial information states that she’s most likely on something.”

  “Sir—” Rocco said urgently next to him.

  Dag held up his hand, stopping the SEAL from saying anything. He needed as much information as he could get from the police captain before deciding on his next move. “Where are they?”

  “Apparently inside the mailroom just off the lobby.”

  Dag’s mind spun. He had no doubt now that his Brenae was inside that room. She always went down to check the mail around the same time every morning. She was a creature of habit, no matter how many times he’d warned her to change up her schedule for safety’s sake.

  “Here’s the deal,” he told the captain. “I’m eighty-five percent sure one of the hostages is my wife. I know this is your scene and your responsibility, but with all due respect, that’s my woman in there.”

  “And mine,” Rocco said in a low, deadly tone.

  “We need in on this op,” Dag said. “I’ve got fifteen years of SEAL experience under my belt and Rocco here is currently a SEAL himself. Let us help you. Too much time has passed as it is. Use our expertise to end this sooner rather than later.”

  The captain eyed Dag critically for a long moment. “How good are you at negotiations?”

  “I’m the best,” Dag said. And he wasn’t bragging.

  “Go see the sergeant over there and put on vests before you go near that building,” the captain said. When Dag and Rocco turned to head toward where he’d pointed, the captain said, “This isn’t Iraq. The American public doesn’t like hearing about public executions.”

  Dag nodded. He got it. The police were fighting an uphill battle in the court of public opinion and the last thing the city of Riverton—or the US Navy, for that matter—needed was to kill a young woman, even if she was a murderer and threatening the person he loved most in this world.

  Within minutes, Dag and Rocco had donned black bulletproof vests with the words SWAT on the back over their naval battle dress uniform.

  Dag was very aware of the knife in the sheath at the small of his back, and assumed Rocco was similarly armed. They had no guns, but didn’t need any. Their skills as SEALs would be a hell of a lot more effective. Besides, shooting a weapon inside the small mailroom meant possibly hitting Brenae or Caite.

  “How we going to play this?” Rocco asked as they strode toward the doors of the lobby.

  “Any fucking way we have to,” Dag told him grimly.

  Brenae stared at the woman pacing back and forth in front of her. It was obvious the woman was under the influence of something, and she didn’t think it was alcohol. Her movements were erratic and she hadn’t stopped mumbling to herself since her original threat toward Caite.

  Luckily, something in the lobby had distracted her before she’d tried to do anything about the alleged flirting she’d thought Caite had done with her now-deceased boyfriend, then it was as if she’d forgotten all about them. She’d started mumbling under her breath and pacing, seemingly oblivious to her boyfriend lying dead on the floor near the lobby doors.

  Brenae had forced Caite into the corner of the small room then positioned herself in front of the younger woman. She’d put her finger to her lips, indicating that Caite shouldn’t say a word and after she nodded, they both waited tensely to see what would happen next.

  Wishing she had her phone to let Dag know what was happening, Brenae didn’t take her eyes from the distraught woman pacing back and forth. They’d all heard the sirens and knew the building was most likely surrounded. Brenae was thankful now that the door to the small room didn’t lock. It would make it easier for the police to get inside.

  Brenae had the thought that maybe she should try to get to know their captor. Learn her name. Find out what the fight with her dead boyfriend was about. But the longer the standoff went on, the crazier the woman acted. Hitting herself in the head now and then, running the bloody knife over her forearm, and looking up at the ceiling as if something was written there. Brenae figured it was better to wait silently and hope the woman forgot they were there at all.

  A motion at the door caught her attention, and Brenae sucked in a breath when she saw Dag standing there. He had on a black vest that she’d never seen before and was holding his hands up, letting the woman pacing know he wasn’t armed.

  “Get back!” the woman screamed, pointing the knife at the door.

  “We just want to talk,” Dag said.

  “No! No talking!” She didn’t even let him say another word. She spun and reached over and grabbed Brenae’s arm, hauling her up in front of her. In seconds, the bloody knife was at her throat.

  Brenae managed not to scream as she kept her eyes locked on her husband’s. The tip of the knife pressed into her skin, and she did her best not to think about communicable diseases or the fact that she could die, feet from her husband.

  “Let her go.” Dag’s voice was no longer cajoling and easy. He’d gone from trying to be nice to a deadly Navy SEAL in a heartbeat.

  Brenae saw Rocco standing behind her husband, the same focused, lethal look on his face.

  Crazily, seeing them there, knowing they’d do whatever it took to make sure she got out of this alive, made her relax. Dag had never let her down. This is what he did. What he’d spent his life doing. She never thought she’d be a damsel in distress, but here she was.

  “Put the knife down,” she said softly and gently.

  “I can’t!” the woman moaned.

  “Yes, you can,” Brenae coaxed.

  The knife pricked her a bit harder, and Brenae felt a trickle of blood ooze from the nick and trail downward, stopped by the collar of the T-shirt she was wearing.

  Swallowing hard, she looked into Dag’s eyes once more. He didn’t blink, just met her gaze steadily.

  Why wasn’t he giving her some sort of signal? He should be telling her what to do telepathically.

  She mentally rolled her eyes. It wasn’t as if he could talk to her telepathically. She had to get her shit together. Did Dag want her to throw herself to the right? To the left? When? Before he did something? After? They hadn’t ever talked about this. About what to do if she was in a hostage situation and Dag had to rescue her.

  Brenae knew she was on the verge of freaking out, but she had no idea what to do.

  “They need to leave! Why won’t they leave?” the woman grumbled behind her.

  Then, with a clarity Brenae didn’t have a second ago, she knew what she had to do.

  The knife was probably going to dig into her skin when she moved, but then again, the woman might decide to just kill her anyway. Then she’d go after Caite. Brenae wasn’t a SEAL, or a soldier, or anything of the sort, but there was no way she was going to let the younger woman be put into another situation like she’d been in a week ago. She’d been through enough.

  Brenae met her husband’s eyes once more—but this time, she quickly glanced to her right. Then she did it again.

  When Dag’s chin dipped in acknowledgement, she relaxed.

  He’d take care of this. Of her.

  “I need to get out of here!” the woman wailed. “Why’d he have to dis me like that? It’s his fault. And yours! You made him cheat!”

  The woman was obviously delusional if she thought the young man lying in a puddle of blood on the other side of the door had ever flirted with B
renae. She was at least twice his age.

  Knowing it was now or never, Brenae took a deep breath, looked at Dag one final time—then threw herself as hard as she could to the right.

  Chapter Six

  Dag held back his fury by the skin of his teeth. He’d never been in a situation like this. Never had to stand by helplessly as his wife was in imminent danger. He now knew exactly how Rocco had felt when his woman had been in the hands of a madman the other week.

  He wanted to tell Brenae not to worry, that he’d get her out of this…but he couldn’t. Not with the obviously out-of-her-mind woman holding that knife to Brenae’s throat.

  Then he saw his brave-as-fuck wife look to her right. Then she did it again.

  He wanted to shake his head. To tell her not to do it. But honestly, he saw no other way out of this situation. He had to get inside the mailroom, and in the time it would take him, the drugged-out woman could shove the knife deeply into Brenae’s throat.

  She needed to do what Caite had done the week before. Take herself out of the equation and let him do what he did best.

  Tensing his muscles, he heard Rocco whisper from behind him, “Steady, Sir…”

  He moved just as he saw Brenae’s muscles bunch in preparation.

  The door flew open from his weight as his wife threw herself to the side.

  Before she’d even hit the floor, the knife that had been at her throat was thrown across the room and the woman who’d dared take his wife hostage was face-down on the floor with his knee in her back.

  The woman fought like she was possessed. It took all of Dag’s and Rocco’s combined strength to subdue her, and even then she refused to give up. It wasn’t until five more members of the San Diego SWAT team entered the small room and hogtied her that she finally sagged in surrender. One second she was fighting like a wildcat, and the next she was practically comatose.

  Not sparing a second thought for the deranged and drugged-out woman, Dag turned to where Brenae had thrown herself. She was crouched against the wall, her arms around Caite, comforting her.

  His woman had just had a knife to her throat and she was comforting Caite.

  Feeling as if he were a hundred years old, Dag shuffled over to where she was sitting. Rocco got there at the same time and pulled Caite to her feet and into his arms. Dag didn’t think he could even stand. His eyes locked on the blood staining Brenae’s collar. The mark on her neck was still bleeding and for a second, he couldn’t even think.

  The red on her skin was obscene in a way he couldn’t even describe. He’d seen a lot of blood and death in his lifetime, but never in this context. Never on his Brenae.

  “Good Lord, Caite! I moved you into my apartment because I thought you’d be safer,” Dag heard Rocco saying as he carried her out of the room.

  As if she knew exactly how off-kilter Dag was at the moment, Brenae opened her arms.

  One second he was staring at the blood on her neck, and the next he was burying his nose in her hair. She smelled like she always did, like flowers. She hardly ever used the same scented lotion two days in a row, but she always smelled fresh and clean. Today was no exception.

  “I’m okay,” she said softly into his ear as her arms closed around him.

  Dag’s breath hitched in his throat and he squeezed his eyes closed. He’d almost lost her.

  That had been too close. Way too close.

  He couldn’t speak, simply tightened his hold on her.

  “I’m okay,” she repeated. Then said it again. And again.

  Nothing else mattered in that moment. Not the police officers carrying the drugged-out woman out of the room. Not the captain entering the room and ordering the remaining officers to be careful of the knife.

  Brenae moved and took his face in her hands. He opened his eyes to look into her beautiful blue gaze. “You got here in time,” she told him softly.

  His eyes dropped to her neck once more…and just like that, the odd lethargy that had taken hold of him disappeared like a puff of smoke. He turned his head to look at the police captain. “My wife needs medical attention.”

  “Dag, no, I’m okay.”

  “Now,” Dag ordered the captain, ignoring his wife. He knew he was being a dick, but he’d be damned if Brenae waited a second longer than she already had to have someone look at her injury.

  Deciding Rocco had the right idea and the paramedics were taking too long, Dag got to his feet, leaned over and picked Brenae up. He might be half a century old, but he hoped he never got too old to carry his wife around.

  She looped her arms around his neck and relaxed into him.

  Thankful she wasn’t fighting him, Dag walked out of the mailroom, through the lobby, past the young man’s dead body on the floor and out into the bright sunlight. It was weird; it felt like hours had gone by since the time he’d learned about the situation at the apartment complex, but in reality, less than an hour had passed.

  He walked up to one of the ambulances parked in the lot and simply climbed inside with the woman who meant more to him than anything in the world. As he placed her down on the gurney, Brenae looked up at him and smiled. “My Hero.”

  Thirty minutes later, after telling the police captain that he was absolutely not going to come to the station to give his statement until the next day because he needed to see to his wife, and after the paramedics cleaned up Brenae’s neck and put a small bandage over the superficial cut, Dag opened their apartment door and followed his wife inside.

  His plan was to get her into her pajamas, put her on the couch under one of her favorite fluffy blankets, and make her a huge bowl of chicken noodle soup. But it seemed Brenae had different ideas.

  The second the door closed behind them, she pushed him backward until his back hit the door and went to her knees. Her fingers frantically worked at the belt around his waist.

  Dag covered her fingers with his own. “Hon—” he started, but she violently shook her head.

  “No. I need this. I need you”

  She got the belt undone and within seconds, his zipper was down and his cock was in her hand. Brenae licked her lips and pumped his shaft with her hand a few times, before engulfing him in her mouth.

  It had been a long time since Dag had seen his wife this desperate. But the longer he watched her pleasure him, the more her desperation transferred itself to him.

  He could’ve lost her today.

  She could’ve had her throat slit right in front of him.

  She could’ve fucking died.

  Growling, Dag reached down and grabbed Brenae under the arms and hauled her off his dick. He picked her up around the waist and shuffled toward their bedroom. His pants were around his ankles, but he didn’t give a shit.

  Brenae attacked his mouth as if she were a dying woman and his lips held the cure to her survival. Their teeth clashed together as their heads tilted back and forth, trying to get deeper inside one another.

  Feeling a primal need to fuck, to prove to himself, and her, that they were both alive and well, Dag dropped his arms when he felt the backs of her knees hit the edge of their bed. “Take your pants off,” he ordered, even as he reached for the drawer of their nightstand. He pulled out the small bottle of lube they kept there and waited impatiently for Brenae to get naked. The second she was, he turned her until she was bent over the mattress.

  She whimpered, but he knew it was an impatient sound, not one of distress. He didn’t have time to get her wet and ready for him the way he usually did. He’d worship her slowly in a while. For now, he needed to be inside her more than he’d needed anything in his life.

  He squirted a generous amount of lube onto his cock and grunted in pleasure when he wrapped his hand around himself to spread it around.

  “Hurry, Dag,” Brenae begged from her bent position.

  Looking down, he saw her fingers frantically playing with her clit. Smiling, he covered his fingers with more lube and pushed her hand out of the way. Without hesitation, he thrust his slipp
ery fingers inside her body, and she moaned, arching her back, giving him better access to where he most wanted to be.

  A minute later, when he was satisfied he’d lubricated her enough so she could take him without pain, Dag lined his weeping cock up with her slit and entered her with one hard thrust.

  He held himself still inside her, enjoying the connection and the feeling of her twitching around his dick.

  He almost lost this. Would’ve never felt her warm, wet body surround his again. Never heard her laughter. Never seen her smile. The thoughts were almost enough to make him lose his erection altogether.

  “Dag, stop thinking so damn hard and fuck me already!” Brenae complained impatiently.

  He smiled. Leave it to his wife to pull him out of his own head. “You can’t ever leave me,” he said as he pulled out and slammed back inside her. “Ever. Never. Hear me?” He punctuated each word with a flex of his hips, fucking her even as he scolded her for something he knew she had no control over.

  “I won’t,” she agreed. Her fingers flexed against the comforter under her and she stood on her tiptoes, trying to get closer to him as he fucked her.

  “I love you so much, Brenae. You’re my life. My reason for living. I can’t handle a world without you in it.” His words were gentle and tender, but his lovemaking was anything but. He held her hips still and slammed into her over and over again, showing her how much he loved fucking her. Making love to her.

  “I love you too,” she gasped. “Yes, God, Dag, yes. More. Harder!”

  He loved when she got so turned on she couldn’t even speak in full sentences. Deciding they’d done enough talking, Dag concentrated on making sure he pleasured his wife. Bending over her, his hips continuing their frenzied movement, he shoved a hand under her body. His fingers found his target and flicked against her clit, hard and fast, showing her no mercy.