Fatal Vision: SEALs of Shadow Force, Book 5 Read online

  Fatal Vision

  SEALs of Shadow Force Series

  Book 5

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  Misty Evans

  Fatal Vision, SEALs of Shadow Force, Book 5

  Copyright © 2017 Misty Evans

  ISBN: 978-0-9979895-4-0

  Cover Art by Sweet & Spicy Designs

  Formatting by Author E.M.S.

  Editing by Patricia Essex, Elizabeth Neal, Marcie Gately

  By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this eBook. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of copyright owner.

  Please Note

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

  The reverse engineering, uploading, and/or distributing of this eBook via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Table of Contents

  FATAL VISION

  Copyright

  FREE Short Stories

  Shadow Force International

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  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

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Books by Misty Evans

  About the Author

  *** Get 3 FREE Stories from USA Bestselling Author Misty Evans! ***

  To get your free stories, including a TOP SECRET Super Agent Story, as well as Misty’s newsletter, click here!

  Shadow Force International: A group of former SEALs, abandoned by the United States and labeled as rogue operatives, who now work as a black ops team performing private intelligence, security, and paramilitary missions for those who have nowhere else to turn.

  * * *

  “…a person’s best friend or his worst enemy is none other than his own self.”

  ~ Bhagavad Gita

  For Mark, my own personal lethal weapon.

  Acknowledgements

  To all the fans of my romantic suspense, I thank you.

  To my editors, cover artist, author assistants, book bloggers, and formatter, I couldn’t do this without you!

  To my friend and cowriter, Adrienne Giordano, I’m ever so grateful for our brainstorming sessions! My plots and characters are so much better because of you.

  To my friend and fellow author, JB Lynn, who keeps me motivated and on task with our quarterly planning sessions, my everlasting thanks. I’ve accomplished so much more since we started our manifesting talks!

  To Linda Quick, the Rockin’ Reader, who suggested the perfect song for Beatrice’s ringtone…rock on!

  Chapter One

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  COLTON BELLS WOKE at 3 a.m. to a blaring television and one hell of a hangover.

  His mouth was as dry as an Oklahoma cotton field and he had to pee, but his brain was fuzzy with the remnants of another dream about Shelby. While his bladder told him to get moving, it took him a minute to remember where he was and why he felt like shit.

  Because of Shelby? Check. She’d been laughing in the dream. Calling his name and waving at him to follow as she danced through the tall wheat grass of a field behind her childhood home. He knew that place all too well.

  His blurry eyes caught on a mostly empty bottle on the coffee table, his cell phone and keys tossed next to it. The dragon in his chest laughed. Bourbon? Yeah, that might be the cause too.

  On the TV screen, his latest Netflix marathon played on, and it looked like he’d missed at least two episodes of the space drama.

  Science fiction was so much more satisfying than real life.

  Shoving himself into a fully sitting position, he wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth and looked around. Outside of the couch, coffee table, and TV, there was a mini kitchen and a bathroom. No curtains, no pictures on the walls, nothing to differentiate this place from any of the others he’d been in recently.

  Except…

  Oh, yeah. There it was. The hole in the wall his fist had made the last time he’d been in DC when his dragon had raised its head. He’d had to help with a little incident involving his boss—she’d given birth during an ambush at her home by a black market antiquities dealer and her goons. Colton had beat ass over there to help a couple of other Shadow Force members stop the woman from killing Beatrice, her husband, Cal, and their baby, Sloane.

  The Reeses had all survived. The antiquities dealer, not so much.

  Colton attended an impromptu baby shower for the family a few weeks ago and Beatrice and Cal had been so happy. Afterwards, his dragon would not leave him alone. He’d had so much pent up frustration over the fact he wasn’t married to Shel anymore, and the kids they’d always talked about having were nothing but a pipe dream, he’d punched the wall of his apartment and drowned his sorry self in bourbon.

  It was becoming a habit.

  A habit Beatrice Reese wasn’t going to tolerate for much longer.

  Thank God she understood his neuroses. His inability to stay in one place worked for her and Shadow Force International. The dragon kept him on the move, never able to settle in one place without lashing out, so B sent him on regular missions and floated him between the three SFI headquarters—one on each coast and the latest in Chicago.

  Chicago had been a blast, working with Jaxon Sloan and taking down a couple of no-good terrorists. But now he was back in DC.

  Alone.

  Colton pushed off the shabby couch and plodded into the bathroom to relieve himself. He was washing up when he heard his phone.

  Good. Maybe SFI had a new mission for him. He needed something other than Shelby, bourbon, and Dark Matter marathons to focus on.

  Shelby. God. Every. Fucking. Moment. He couldn’t get her out of his mind. Ever.

  Honest truth was, he didn’t want to.

  The phone barked again, and he realized it wasn’t his work cell. The ringing was coming from the couch—inside the couch.

  Digging between two cushions, he felt around, and yep, there it was. The ringing phone he never answered.

  Because his personal cell never rang.

  His one friend, Connor McKenzie, worked at SFI as well. He had no mother, father, or other family to ever check on him. Hence, the phone had managed to go AWOL into the couch without him even noticing.

  Unknown Number. Hmm. A telemarketer or some scammer in a foreign country, no doubt, oblivious to the fact it was the witching hour along the Eastern US seaboard.


  Colton hit the decline button and tossed the phone back onto the couch cushion. Tipping back, he closed his eyes, only to hear a soft knock on his door.

  He peeked open one eye. Who would be at his door at this hour?

  The knock came again, a little more urgent this time.

  Shel?

  He smacked an open hand against his forehead. What is wrong with me?

  Hundreds of miles and a set of divorce papers separated them. Regardless of those two minor things, there was no way Shelby Claiborne was on his doorstep.

  Colton hauled himself off the sofa and grabbed his sidearm from the coffee table. Nobody showed up at your door at 3 a.m. unless there was trouble.

  His dragon stirred. The damn thing loved trouble.

  Slowly, quietly, he made his way to the door and listened.

  No sound came from the hallway. He eased over to peek through the peephole.

  His brows crashed together when he recognized the scrawny kid standing there. Three flicks of his wrist and the door locks gave way.

  He holstered his gun and threw open the door. “Marcelo?” His thirteen-year-old downstairs neighbor looked ashy under his dark skin. His eyes were wide saucers. “What is it, buddy?”

  “Grandma’s going to the hospital. She’s not feelin’ good.” A dog behind Marcelo’s leg wagged its tail. “I need to go with her. Can you take care of Salisbury for me?”

  Colton’s neighbor, Paulina, was eighty-some years old with a heart condition, and Marcelo’s parents were out of the picture. The only person Marcelo had was his Grandma P.

  And the stray dog he’d picked up off the streets last winter.

  “What’s wrong with Paulina?” Colton asked, eyeing the dog.

  The dog eyed him back, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. Salisbury had lost a few teeth during his time on the streets, creating a gap that his tongue gravitated to. With his scruffy hair and jagged ears, he was about the ugliest dog Colton had ever seen.

  And Colton had seen a lot of ugly dogs.

  “Her chest hurt and she told me to call 911.” Marcelo wiped at his nose and blinked hard as he hurriedly looked away from Colton and focused on a dim overhead light in the hallway. “The ambulance guy said she needs to go to the hospital.”

  Ah, hell. The poor kid looked like the Grim Reaper might jump out from around the corner.

  His scared eyes came back to meet Colton’s. “Can you watch Salisbury? Please? I don’t know when I’m going to be back, and I can’t leave him alone.”

  Being scared and alone at thirteen was all too familiar to Colton. His throat tightened and there was too little air in his lungs. “Sure.” He cleared his throat and forced his arms to hang loose. What am I doing? “Don’t worry about the mutt. He’ll be fine. You just take care of your grandma, y’hear?”

  The kid stuck out a hand. “Thank you.”

  Colton shook it, allowing the kid a brief moment to feel like a man and not a scared teenager with no one to turn to.

  “You’ve got my number, right? It’s programmed into Paulina’s cell phone. You need anything, you call me.”

  Marcelo nodded, but he was already bending down to ruffle the dog’s ears and kiss the top of Salisbury’s head. “You be a good boy, Sal. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” One more hug and he told the dog to stay.

  The overhead light was dim, but Colton saw the dampness on Marcelo’s cheeks as he turned and ran down the hallway.

  Once he was out of sight, Colton glanced down at the dog, still sitting in the same spot with his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth as he looked back with expectant eyes.

  Wonderful.

  Crossing his arms over his chest, Colton gave the dog the stink-eye. “Rule One, no peeing on my furniture. Rule Two, no sleeping in my bed. I’m the alpha male here, and what I say goes. Got it? You follow the rules, we’ll get along just fine.”

  The dog thumped his tail against the floor in what Colton took as agreement. He stepped back and motioned the mutt inside.

  Salisbury peered into the living room as if considering whether to accept the offer or take his chance once more on the streets.

  Colton couldn’t say he blamed him.

  His phone went off again. He left the door open. “S’up to you, pal.”

  Snatching the phone from the couch, he saw it was the same unknown number. Didn’t this asshole know normal people were sleeping right now?

  The click-click-click of the dog’s nails sounded behind him as Colton slumped onto the couch. On the TV screen, a spaceship was being shot at by the enemy.

  Colton knew the feeling.

  Might as well have some fun. He had nothing else to do but aggravate whoever was calling.

  “Hello, gorgeous!” He tipped back and ran his tongue over his teeth. “Where have you been? Y’know I’ve been waiting for you to call. What are you wearing?”

  A slight, uncomfortable pause met his ears and he grinned. Yep, this was going to be fun.

  The dog jumped up on the sofa and sniffed the cushion, then made three turns in a circle and harrumphed down, his dark eyes settling on the TV.

  “Colton?” a woman’s shaky voice asked.

  A lightning rod shot down his spine and he straightened. The dog’s hairy brows danced as his gaze shifted to Colton.

  “Martha?”

  Her voice was low and slightly muffled, as if she were covering the receiver. “Yes, it’s me. I’m sorry to call so early in the morning, but it’s the only time I could sneak away from Jack.”

  “What is it? What’s going on?”

  But he knew before the words came out of her mouth—the one and only reason anyone from Oklahoma, from his past, would be calling him. “It’s Shelby,” Martha said. “She’s awake.”

  The bolt hit both of his legs and he stood. “She’s out of the coma?”

  “She’s asking for you.”

  My God. “Is she okay?”

  “She’s…” Martha’s voice hiccupped. “She’s still my daughter, Colton. Tough, bullheaded, and opinionated, but she’s not the girl she used to be.”

  Three months in a coma could do that to you. “How bad is it? The brain damage?”

  “The doctors believe she’ll make a full recovery. For now, her vision comes and goes and she has trouble forming the correct word sometimes. Jack put her in Premiere Therapy in Tulsa, and yesterday, she walked all on her own. It’s a miracle, but…”

  She was walking already? “How long has she been awake, Martha?”

  Another hesitation. “Six weeks.”

  “Six weeks! And you’re only calling me now?”

  Salisbury sat upright, fully on alert.

  Martha’s voice rose. “You know I couldn’t call you. Jack would kill me. I’m only contacting you now because Shelby begged me to.”

  Jack could go to hell. “This isn’t about the reverend. This is about Shelby.”

  “Oh, Lord, my angina…” Colton could almost see Martha rubbing her chest. Grandma P might not be the only one in need of an ambulance tonight.

  His own heart wasn’t beating all that normally either.

  He rubbed his gritty eyes, images of Shelby lying on the steps of their house, bleeding from the bullet wound in her head, flashed behind his lids. “How much does she remember? About that night?”

  “Nothing. The doctors say her memory may never come back fully, but…”

  “But what?”

  “She won’t say why, but she’s adamant that she needs to speak to you. It’s possible she doesn’t remember that you’re…you know.”

  Yeah, he knew. Shelby might not remember that he was a douchebag. That she’d divorced his ass.

  But why had she insisted on talking to him in person that night? Why had she asked him to fly to Good Hope to meet her?

  The cops had found nothing on the shooter. Colton had undertaken his own investigation, but came up with zip as well. He’d even broken the rules at SFI and used their resources. Not that it had he
lped. Beatrice, thankfully, had let it slide. “I’ll be there in a few hours.”

  “No! You can’t come here. I thought maybe you could just call her. If you show up, Jack will—”

  “Just let Shel know I’m on my way.”

  He hung up before his former mother-in-law could argue. The dog sat, wagging his tail, tongue out. Colton eyed him for a moment. He had no business taking care of a dog. Hell, he could barely take care of himself, but he couldn’t leave the dog alone in his apartment. There was no telling when Paulina and Marcelo would get back.

  If Paulina got to come home at all. What would happen to Marcelo if his grandmother died?

  Colton shook off the all-too-familiar feeling of dread. He’d take care of the old woman and her grandson somehow—and the damn dog—but first, he needed to grab his overnight bag and buy a plane ticket.

  Five minutes later, he was at the door, work phone in hand. “Yeah, thanks, Beatrice.” She’d given him a 72-hour ‘vacation.’ She needed him back at the office for an assignment by Friday, but hadn’t offered up the private jet, and the next plane out of Dulles and headed for Tulsa was hours away from takeoff and required a three-hour layover. His dragon couldn’t stand that, so he was going to drive. “I owe you.”

  Again.

  She made a comment to that effect and they disconnected. Colton once again found himself staring at the ugly mutt, now perched in front of the door.