Faceless (Sinister Secrets Book 2) by Candle Sutton (best motivational novels txt) 📕

He waited until the door closed behind her before pulling his Ruger and sliding toward the alley.

Scuffling. A grunt. A muted whimper.

He slowed his breathing. Each sense heightened. The salty air seemed saltier. The traffic two blocks over seemed louder. The weapon in his hand seemed heavier.

At the corner, he eased around.

A man, dressed in black, had a woman pinned between a dumpster and the brick wall.

She whimpered.

Not a romantic tryst.

He whipped around the corner. “Let her go.”

The man jerked, freezing at the sight of the gun pointed at his head. For a second, no one moved. Then the man yanked the woman in front of him. “I’ll slit her throat!”

“I’ll put you down first. Now let her go.”

The man stared at him for a second, before slowly releasing the woman.

Sobbing, she raced toward him. Her dress was ripped, her hair disheveled. “Thank you, thank you!”

Jon didn’t remove his eyes from the target. “Turn around and put your hands against the building. The cops–”

Pain exploded in the back of his head. Light pinpricked his vision.

Another burst of pain.

A dark figure loomed in front of him as blackness invaded.

One

Smoke burned his nostrils. The constant rat-a-tat-tat of automatic gunfire battered his eardrums. Gunfire illuminated the black night with sparks of orange.

Dakarai Lakes held his weapon steady, laying down a heavy layer of cover for the team of SEALs navigating across the lawn.

Just a little further.

Bullets slammed into the shield in front of him, thudded into the boat beneath him.

In his peripheral, he saw a SEAL go down. Then another.

Then the ambassador.

A dark shape appeared beside him and swung a machine gun around.

Dak jerked awake, a cry lodged in his chest. His sheets clung to his body and the room felt hotter than South Africa in February.

Throbbing thrummed through his head.

He swung his legs out of bed and cradled his head in his hands, forcing his breathing to even out.

In one week, it would be exactly fifteen years since the mission that changed his life.

A glance at the clock showed it was only four a.m., but there was no way he would be getting any more sleep.

He pushed up from the mattress and headed for the shower.

As the water purged the sweat from his skin, memories pounded him, stronger than ever.

The fear. The anguish. The second-guessing.

The accusations.

His hands fisted at the memory of Winters blaming him. The investigation had quickly exonerated him, but he’d always felt like doubts lingered in the minds of the SEALs involved, as well as all those who hadn’t been there.

It had been the beginning of the end of his career as a Navy Special Warfare Combatant-Craft Crewman. The SWCC had been his life. He’d fought hard to get there and in one instant, everything had been ripped away.

Forgiving Winters had taken years. Even now, the anger surged through him like fire.

God, help me.

He let the prayers invade his mind, focusing on the God who knew the truth, the God who had used that incident to lead him here.

Why the memories were so vivid today he wasn’t certain. Maybe it was the approaching anniversary. Maybe it was exacerbated by his upcoming breakfast meeting with Cap. Whatever the cause, he couldn’t do this alone.

He’d spend some extra time in prayer this morning so he was ready for the day. And whatever it might bring.

₪   ₪   ₪

“Cap.” Dak clapped Harley Green on the shoulder as he rounded the table. Even after all these years, the nickname stuck. “Tried, tested…”

“And dedicated.” Harley finished the beginning of the SWCC code as he rose and clasped Dak’s hand.

“Good to see you, man.”

Harley’s bushy eyebrows lifted. “You, too, Dak. You got no idea how much I look forward to this.”

“Probably almost as much as I do.” Ever since Harley retired from the Navy three years ago and moved back to Seattle, the two of them had a standing breakfast meeting the first Monday of every month.

Harley’s gray eyes, sharp as ever, studied his face. “Don’t the FBI let you sleep?”

“They’re a softer task-master than the SWCC, let me tell you.”

Harley snorted. “We don’t train ‘em to be soft. You know that.”

Boy did he ever. SWCC bootcamp had nearly killed him.

Or so it had felt at the time.

In spite of it being only six-thirty a.m., the waterfront diner bustled around them.

Dak glanced around briefly. No one sat too close.

Still, he leaned in slightly. “It’s not the bureau that has me losing sleep.”

A shadow crossed Harley’s face and his eyes hardened. “The date ain’t lost on me, neither.”

While Harley hadn’t actually admitted to being haunted by the mission, something about his tone told Dak they both struggled. “It shouldn’t have gone down like that.”

“Not disagreein’ with you, but things happen. You know that well as I do.” Harley rubbed his bushy beard, something he’d really embraced after leaving the Navy. “Wish you hadn’t let ‘im run you off, though.”

“Once those kinds of accusations are out there…” Dak lifted his shoulders in a half shrug. “I would’ve always been trying to prove myself.”

“Not to me. Or the rest of our team.”

A waitress came over to take their order, disrupting the somber conversation.

Good. He was done talking about it anyway.

The past was the past. Nothing that could be done about it now.

As the waitress walked away, Dak shifted the conversation. “Where are you sailing today?”

“Got a private charter to B.C.”

British Columbia, huh? “Charting in International Waters?”

Harley guffawed. “Least this time there won’t be bullets flyin’.”

“Let’s hope not.”

The sea was in Harley’s blood. Once he’d gotten out of the Navy, he’d used some of the