Covertly Strong (The Strong Series Book 1) (12 page)

She appraises herself in the floor-length mirror.

Her brown eyes stand out behind the charcoal eye shadow and mascara. Her body looks svelte and fit in the black, satin, floor-length gown. Her strappy, black heels are the perfect accent to her long, toned legs. The dress has a plunging v-neckline and opened back. This is the kind of gown that would make any woman feel beautiful, and tonight, that’s exactly how she feels. Tonight is a rare occasion. It’s seldom that Sloan gets to take the time to style her hair and apply makeup, and she thoroughly loves this infrequent moment of being feminine. After another quick glance in the mirror, she grabs her black clutch and heads for the door.

Tonight, she is not armed. The only weapon she has is the small, silver knife that’s securely strapped inside her black, lace garter belt. She will be escorted by a fellow CIA agent playing the role of Dr. Felicia Santora’s driver, Frank. Agent Matthews will drive her to the San Diego Conference Center and patiently wait in the flanks—keeping an eye on her the entire night to ensure that she is safe. This has also become protocol. Since Dr. Felicia Santora has made a name for herself, it’s a given that the CIA must do everything within their power to keep her safe whenever she makes public appearances.

Once Sloan is comfortably seated inside the unmarked, black town car, Agent Matthews pulls away from her apartment complex and heads for the main road.

“Ready for your big speech tonight, Dr. Santora?” Matthews glances through the rearview mirror.

She smirks and nods her head. “I’m always ready, Frank,” she answers confidently.

“Of course you are,” he adds with amusement. “You look smashing tonight, by the way.” He shoots a wink in her direction.

“Thanks.” An appreciative smile forms at the corners of her lips.

Agent Matthews has become a close friend of hers over the years. Their relationship is mostly professional, but occasionally, they’ll grab dinner or coffee when they’re not busy playing covert dress-up with the CIA. He’s one of the most loyal men she’s ever known, and there is no doubt in her mind that she can trust him with anything—including her life. Their relationship has always been friendly in the most platonic form.

Matthews actually has a real life outside of his job with the CIA. He is married to a wonderful woman and has two small children who are his world. His family is his top priority, and that’s why he’s essentially retired from being involved with assignments that necessitate traveling all over the globe. His job duties for the CIA are less risky and keep his feet firmly placed on American soil. Sloan highly respects him for this. The fact that he has given up doing a job he loves because he loves his family more proves that he’s an upstanding, respectable kind of guy. He is the type of guy Sloan would go for if she didn’t lead the life she does. Loyal. Respectable. And a heart of gold.

The black town car pulls into the driveway that leads to the conference center. He promptly pulls up to the front doors and puts the car in park before getting out and opening her door.

“Enjoy your evening, Dr. Santora,” he offers as she steps out of the backseat.

“Thanks, Frank. I’ll see you later.” Her smile is small but full of awareness. She already knows she’ll be able to spot him discreetly watching over her during dinner tonight.

She follows the crowd inside the front entrance and is immediately stopped by a few reporters from a local newspaper with questions regarding future mission trips for Project Smiles.

Sloan easily slips into her role of Dr. Felicia Santora—answering questions with a professional smile and to-the-point answers. If there’s one thing Sloan has become an expert at, it’s being Dr. Santora.

“WE’RE GONNA HIT UP GALLAGHER’S after this. You game, West?” Slade inquires as he takes a swig from a bottle of Miller Lite.

“Don’t give him an option. He’s going,” Julian demands with a smirk.

Nix chuckles lightly and gestures for one of the servers dressed in black tuxes to bring him another Guinness. “I’m in, but I’m not closing the bar down this time.”

“Always such a pussy,” Slade goads beside him.

Julian chuckles and eyes Slade with amusement. “You’re calling him a pussy? You’re the one drinking that piss-poor domestic shit.”

Nix laughs loudly at his buddy’s expense, ignoring the initial jab towards his manhood. “You two need to knock it the fuck off,” he mutters under his breath once he overhears Slade and Julian tossing out more colorful insults to each other.

Goddamn Navy SEALs. You can’t take ‘em anywhere.

He shakes his head in exasperation as he sits down at one of the large, round tables centered in an impressive ballroom located inside the San Diego Conference Center. Tonight, he is attending the Navy Compassionate Warriors Dinner—a yearly event the Navy puts on in support of the SEAL of Honor Foundation, also known as SHF.

Normally, Nix avoids these kinds of events, but this foundation’s mission is important to him. The SHF stands behind all US Navy SEALs, Special Warfare Combatant-craft Crewmen, Naval Special Warfare support personnel, and their families. It’s a wonderful organization that also takes the time to reach out to other charities with a strong military focus.
Yeah, they’re not just a bunch of gun-toting, cocky assholes performing covert missions.
Most current and former Navy SEALs strive to donate and help out several charity organizations. They are a family—a brotherhood—and they are always there for each other no matter what.

Lieutenant Nixon West is, first and foremost, a Navy SEAL. He is the leader of his platoon. This job is his life—his sole purpose to get out of bed every day.

SEALs are named after the environments in which they operate—
the Sea, Air, and Land
. They are the foundation of Naval Special Warfare combat forces. They are organized, trained, and equipped to conduct special operations missions in every type of environment. SEALs operate on their own set of rules. They’re unmonitored and the funds to train and perform duties come directly from the president himself. Basically, they’re kind of a big fucking deal, and Nix doesn’t mind that they have access to the highest tech, most classified
toys
in the world.

They’re the best of the best—the brain surgeons of the military, the one Team that’s sent in to perform the most dangerous assignments. They make the impossible possible and always finish with the same result—
they win
. SEALs are naturally ingrained with an inability to fail
.

Nix is highly intelligent and can use, work, fix, and disarm any type of weapon in the world. Some might call him a cocky, confident killer, but like most frogs—a common nickname for SEALs—Nix only sees this as a compliment. He prefers to think that they’re essentially saying that SEALs are highly skilled warriors of the military. They’re the experts—the strongest critical thinkers in the United States military who can perform any time, anywhere, and any way.

Not only is Nix a Navy SEAL, he’s assigned to
the
most top-secret SEAL Team—
SEAL Team Six
. The Team that no one even knew existed until it was leaked to the press that SEAL Team Six took out Osama bin Laden. Everything is kept highly classified and confidential in relation to this Team. Even the President of The United States couldn’t get the names of the SEALs who took out bin Laden.

There are two platoons within SEAL Team Six: Nix’s platoon, Black Mamba, and Blue Krait. No one knows the names of the men on these platoons.

Nix—
codename Boss
—is the leader of his platoon. He received the nickname during BUD/S Training. Apparently, his outspoken, ambitious, and highly competitive nature stood out to his soon-to-be commander.

But see, he’s only competitive against the enemy.

The men on his platoon are his brothers and he would lay down his life for any of those guys any fucking day of the week. They’re a tight-knit brotherhood, and this is what makes them the best—their ability to work together in the most difficult situations. Their confidence, their cockiness, and ability to be experts at becoming experts in any challenge that’s set in their way—now that’s what gives them the undeniable edge over everything.

There are six other men in Black Mamba.

Smith—
Mac
—McNamara grew up just outside of Las Vegas and became a SEAL after graduating at the top of his class from the prestigious Naval Academy.

Slade—
Hawk
—Hammersmith joined the Team in his early thirties and was considered one of the most skilled Jiu-Jitsu fighters in the world.

Jack—
Ghost
—Verbeck is their number-one sniper and can outshoot anyone in the United States military.

Andrew—
Ace
—Barringer grew up dirt poor in Detroit and avoided a life of gangs and crime by enlisting in the Navy at the age of eighteen. He’s their medic.

Julian—
Bomber
—Knight is a smartass in his own right and one of the most fearless guys Nix has ever met. He joined the Navy when he was in his early twenties, and ever since then, his life’s sole focus has been fighting for his country.

And last but not least, Rob—
Irish
—Stratton. He’s the humblest of the group, and no one would know he’s a SEAL just by talking to him. He’s the only guy in Black Mamba who is married. He keeps a lock of his wife’s hair in his pocket on every mission. His fellow SEALs call him a pussy for this, but Irish doesn’t give a shit. He loves his wife Mary with every ounce of his soul.

These are Nix’s guys—his brothers.

They’ve had two months off since their last assignment, which had them dragging their asses all over the Hindu Kush, and his guys are itching to get
the call
. He let his Team take two weeks off to be with their families and relax before delving deep into training, and that’s all they’ve been doing for the past six weeks.

Slade, Julian, and Nix make their way towards one of the open bars and find the rest of their platoon standing around, drinking beer. This event was considered mandatory for them, but Nix still didn’t think it was the best decision for the Navy to put an entire platoon of SEAL Team Six in the same room.
At least they were smart enough not to put us all at the same table.

All of the members of Black Mamba are formal tonight—wearing their dress blues with confidence—but anyone who’s actually paying attention—anyone who really observes—would be able to notice that these men stand out. They’re not clean-cut with buzzed heads like the rest of the Navy. Nix and his teammates are definitely rougher around the edges.

Most of the guys of Black Mamba sport facial hair, and only one of them, Julian, keeps his head shaved. He says that he only does it because he’s old school—having put six years in the Navy as an engineer before he switched roles and became a SEAL—but his fellow frogs tell him that it’s because he can’t get laid with a receding hair line.

Most might see the guys of Black Mamba as appearing like the misfits of the Navy, but that’s how it is for SEALs. They play by their own set of rules, and the funny thing is, former and/or current SEALs are the only ones who can point out other SEALs. They’re ingrained that way—a completely different kind of male species. Consider SEALs the most exclusive fraternity in the world—a fraternity that spends the majority of their time skydiving out of planes and swimming six miles in swamps to covertly reach their targets.

“They better serve some good shit here tonight. That twelve-mile run in the sand Boss forced on us today has me fucking starving,” Jack states with a sly grin.

Rob laughs and chides, “What about the mile swim? That was completely fucked up.”

All six of Nix’s guys start chortling, and he can’t hide his own laughter.

“Someone needs to keep your pansy asses in shape. After two weeks off, Rob was starting to get a gut from all of the food-lovin’ his wife was giving him,” Nix jokes.

“Oh don’t worry. My baby wasn’t just loving me through food.” Rob flashes a devilish smile.

“You’re such an asshole, Rob. Just because you’ve got a cock warmer to go home to every night doesn’t mean you need to shove it in our faces,” Julian responds with amusement.