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  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

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  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  BODYGUARD SEAL

  SEALs of Coronado

  Paige Tyler

  Copyright © 2021 by Paige Tyler

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission from the author.

  Editing by Jennifer Jakes / The Killion Group, Inc.

  Copyediting by RVP Editing

  With special thanks to my extremely patient and understanding husband, without whose help and support I couldn’t have pursued my dream job of becoming a writer. You’re my sounding board, my idea man, my critique partner, and the absolute best research assistant any girl could ask for!

  Thank you.

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  PROLOGUE

  Sana’a, Yemen

  EVERYTHING LOOKS GOOD on this side,” Petty Officer First Class, Noah Bradley, murmured into his mic as he surveyed the industrial building across the street through his night vision scope, noting the three people moving around the enclosed compound. “No indication they’re aware we’re here.”

  Half a dozen different voices called out confirmation over the radio, but fellow SEAL Teammate Chief Chasen Ward was the only one he recognized. Another indication of how big of a goat rope this damn operation had turned into over the course of the past two days. Talk about too many cooks spoiling the broth. He just prayed things went smoothly.

  Noah ignored the background chatter of other people calling out their location as they moved into support positions around the large square building he and everyone else would be entering in a few minutes. He couldn’t help but notice the ridiculous amount of unnecessary babble. As far as radio communication went, Noah and his Teammates only spoke to each other once to start the entry and then not again until the shit hit the fan. Clearly, all the nonstandard players involved in this operation didn’t like to do the same.

  He let out a snort as he flipped his night vision goggles back down.

  Nonstandard players was a good way to describe Interpol and the U.S. Department of Treasury. Okay, maybe that wasn’t fair. Interpol did occasionally take part in various international law enforcement operations, but the Treasury Department? Hell, he didn’t even realize their agents owned tactical equipment. Then again, everything about this operation was unusual, so why not the people involved?

  This mission was merely one part of a bigger world-wide effort with fourteen raids going off around the globe, all synchronized to happen at the exact same moment, so the bad guys wouldn’t be able to warn each other what was coming. The objective? Taking down the largest terrorist funding organization in existence. The location they were at here in Yemen was supposedly pumping somewhere in the neighborhood of a hundred million dollars a year into various terrorist operations around the globe. Toss in the other ones throughout Eastern Europe, Asian, Africa, and South America and you were talking billions. With a capital “B.”

  The crazy thing was that according to the intel they’d gotten, Noah and his Teammates weren’t likely to find the two things terrorists liked to fund their operations with—drugs and human trafficking—in this raid. Instead, these bad guys made their money through pirating bootleg downloads of music, movies, and books, along with mountains of knockoff Air Jordans, Gucci handbags, and iPhones.

  Noah had to admit that books and purses weren’t exactly the first things that popped into his head when he thought of piracy, but apparently both were huge in the world of terrorism.

  “No sign of Magpie,” someone announced over the radio in his earpiece.

  Magpie was the code name for the financier who allegedly led the world-wide piracy operation. No one knew the guy’s real name, or even where he was from. Just that he was some kind of international businessman, rich in his own right, and apparently in the habit of collecting pretty, shiny things. Hence the bizarre nickname.

  Magpie was supposed to be here tonight, which was part of the reason they’d waited to raid the place until now and not gone in when they’d gotten into the country three days ago. The possibility of capturing the man pulling the strings would be a huge win for the good guys, not only taking billions out of the terrorist coffers, but also giving them the person who’d practically written the book on funding terrorist operations around the world.

  “Entry team, this is Alpha Lead,” a voice said over the radio, intruding on his thoughts. “We’re not waiting any longer for Magpie and have gotten the clearance to move. World-wide go is in two minutes.”

  Noah bit his tongue to stop himself from cursing out loud. Glenn Woods was the senior Treasury Department agent on this operation. Sometimes, he came across as okay, but other times— like now—he seemed pompous as all hell. Alpha Lead? WTF?

  He was still thinking about that when he heard Chasen call out that the entry team was on the move. Noah immediately pushed the button on the mic, signaling he heard the command. Four more clicks quickly followed as Sam Travers, Wes Marshall, and Lane Robbins, the recent transfer from one of the other platoons in SEAL Team 5, all responded.

  Noah slipped over the parapet that encircled the roof he�
��d been perched atop for the past few fours, sliding down the rope he’d left hanging there earlier. Sticking to the shadows, he swiftly moved across the street to the mud and brick wall that surrounded the compound, heading toward the low section along the back that he’d identified as his entry point when the mission had first gotten the green light.

  As he ran along the base of the rough stone wall, Noah found himself subconsciously paying attention to his left knee, mindful of even the slightest twinge of pain or weakness. He let out a little sigh of relief as he realized it felt good…solid. Not that it shouldn’t have. It’d been nearly two months since the mission in Nigeria when he’d gotten slightly blown up and failed to stick the landing properly, ending up with a grade 2 ligament sprain to both the MCL and ACL. Nothing too serious, but nothing to laugh at, either.

  Truthfully, his messed-up knee was the reason there were five SEALs on this mission instead of the four they would have normally sent. Headquarters wanted another person on the mission in case things didn’t go as planned. It wasn’t merely concern that his knee would give out at the wrong moment. Noah was smart enough to know HQ was nervous about how he’d respond under fire after almost getting killed. He couldn’t blame them. Hell, he hadn’t done anything more than low intensity training in two months. They needed a back-up plan if he mentally checked out.

  Noah was over the wall and pulling the silenced M4 off his back in one smooth motion. Dropping to a knee, he locked and loaded a round in the chamber, then clicked his mic one time. When four other clicks followed, he was up and moving for his designated entry point—a window on the southeast corner of the building.

  There were more guards patrolling the compound than he’d seen from the rooftop across the street a few minutes ago, but he only had to engage with one of them as he transversed the shadowy space between the wall and the building. He and the bad guy spotted each other at exactly the same time, but Noah was faster getting his weapon up and the guard hit the ground with little more than a grunt and a thud.

  M4 in hand, Noah ran the rest of the way to the building. The window squeaked a little when he opened it and he held his breath, sure more guards would come running. But when nothing but silence continued to fill the thick night air, he hopped up on the window ledge and slipped inside.

  He scanned the place with his NVGs, realizing he was in a storage room. The large space was lined with heavy steel shelving loaded to the ceiling with hundreds of boxes. The writing on the side of the boxes didn’t mean anything to him. Shoes, maybe?

  Noah quickly moved over to the door, opening it a fraction of an inch and peeking out. He cursed when the lenses of his NVGs flared so brightly it nearly blinded him thanks to the light in the room on the other side of it saturating them. Reaching up, he flipped them up so they locked back against his tactical helmet.

  Making sure the coast was clear, he stepped out of the storage room and into the main part of the building. It was stuffed with more shelving units and while he could hear voices all around him, the heavily loaded shelves blocked his view and made it impossible to know for sure exactly how many bad guys they were going to have to deal with.

  Plans for these types of operations tended to be basic. No need to get too complicated when everything went to shit once the shooting started. But the concept he and Chasen had worked out was that Noah would get inside the building first and find a position that’d allow him to see as much of the building as possible—preferably from someplace high up—where he could cover his Teammates when they came in.

  Noah scanned the room for options, locking in on the rough metal stairs leading to the second level. It overlooked the main floor and would give him a great vantage point to keep an eye on things. He carefully headed in that direction, praying no one saw him. Luckily, no one did.

  The second floor was dark and while there were a few crates and pallets of cardboard boxes here and there, there weren’t any bad guys in sight. He slipped between two of the crates near the railing overlooking the first floor, wedging himself forward on his stomach until he had a good view of the area below him.

  From here, Noah could see that the lower level was the size of a basketball court with half a dozen long tables lined up down the middle surrounded by all those shelves. Computers covered two of the tables while electronic gear he couldn’t hope to identify occupied two more, and a mountain of pristine looking smart phones took up the rest. Ten men packaged up the phones in boxes that didn’t look much different than something you’d find at an Apple store. Damn, the whole operation was way more high-tech than he’d envisioned, that was for sure.

  Nearly fifteen additional people moved amongst the shelves, some pulling boxes down, others loading them on. Most of them were armed with guns, which was a hell of a lot more than Interpol and the Treasury intel had implied would be here.

  Why was he not really shocked?

  “I’m in overwatch position on the second floor, south end,” Noah murmured into his mic. “Approximately twenty-five people in all, ten carrying pistols and four with AK-47s. I’ll take the guys with the rifles when the shooting starts.”

  Chasen, Sam, Wes, and Lane all confirmed with single clicks.

  “Any sign of Magpie?” Agent Woods murmured.

  “Negative,” Noah replied.

  True, he didn’t know what the guy looked like, but seriously, no one down there looked like a rich, powerful terrorist financier.

  Thirty seconds later, he caught sight of movement in the far reaches of the warehouse. His Teammates were moving into position. Lane took the first armed man down without firing a shot, slipping up behind the guy among the shelves and dragging him down without a sound. But then the shooting started, and Noah didn’t have time to think about anything other than lining up his weapon’s optical sights on targets and pulling the trigger.

  He focused on dealing with the four men armed with assault rifles first, then kept an eye out for anyone sneaking through the shelving units. He was so intent on that he didn’t notice someone coming at him from the right until he heard the sound of boots on the wood floor.

  Rolling over onto his back was impossible in the narrow space between the two crates. Getting his M4 around was even less of an option. But he got flipped over far enough onto his side to reach for the SIG 9mm holstered on his right thigh just as a man carrying an AK-47 came into view, the barrel of the weapon already pointing at Noah’s face.

  Knowing he wouldn’t have time to draw his gun, he kicked out with his right leg, catching the man in the knee with the heel of his boot as the guy pulled the trigger.

  The man wailed in pain and tumbled forward, a hail of bullets hitting the crates on either side of Noah, one into the floor a mere inch from his right ear, and another into the center of his tactical vest. Even with the ceramic plate to protect him, at this range, the heavy 7.62mm round impacted with the force of a mule kick and it felt like something had stomped his chest flat.

  He was still wondering if his lungs would ever work again when the man landed on top of him. Noah decided that breathing could wait.

  As they fought over control of the assault rifle, Noah tried to reach down with one hand for his SIG. That nearly got his face shot off as the damn AK-47 went off twice scant inches from his head. Ears ringing like crazy, he gave up going for his pistol and instead focused on getting a hand around the still warm barrel of the man’s weapon. Getting a good grip, he slammed it into the guy’s face half a down times, breaking his nose.

  He’d hoped the blows would knock the man senseless—or at least rattle him enough so that Noah could end the fight—but the asshole kept fighting. They were both kicking and punching so hard that the crates to either side almost toppled over on them. The man simply wouldn’t go down.

  A vicious punch in the throat had Noah reeling back, choking and fighting once again for air. The man slammed into Noah, driving him back toward the railing overlooking the lower level, going for the SIG holstered on Noah’s thigh at the sa
me time.

  Shit.

  Knowing he had about half a second before the guy put holes through all his important parts, Noah did the only thing he could. He latched onto the other man’s shoulders, dragging the guy with him as he felt himself go over the railing.

  Noah twisted his body as he fell, hoping he’d be able to use the other man’s body to absorb the impact. The bad guy’s back slammed into the top of a metal shelf, but the relief was short lived as they both bounced off and started to tumble again. For a moment, Noah was sure he was going to hit the floor head first, but somehow, he landed on his feet. He had a split second to silently cheer before the man landed on his left leg. Pain spiked through the side of Noah’s knee like a red-hot poker and he immediately went down, biting his tongue to keep from screaming in agony.

  Gritting his teeth, he drew his pistol and rolled over, expecting to see the guy who’d fallen on him climbing to his feet, ready to charge at him again. But one look confirmed that wasn’t going to be a problem. Somehow, the man ended up in even worse shape than Noah. He was lying on the floor unmoving, his head bent sideways at a weird angle, blood coming out of his ears and nose.

  Noah winced as he clambered to his feet, forcing himself to ignore the throbbing in his leg as he stumbled through the aisle between the other shelving units, looking for the next threat.

  He reached the center of the big warehouse and the long lines of tables when he realized the shooting had stopped. A few seconds later, Chasen calling out, All Clear over the radio. Noah’s earpiece immediately filled with chatter as the Interpol and Treasury agents moved in. Leaning against one of the shelves, he took the weight off his left leg and breathed in one long sigh of relief as the throbbing eased a little. The loose, floppy feeling in the knee joint was even worse than the pain. He’d torn the ligaments for sure.