Nanny for the SEALs by Cassie Cole

40

Brady

I’ll be honest: Heather kind of hurt my feelings about the kids thing. Granted, she was right on the money. I shouldn’t have been rubbing in the fact that Asher’s girl had been the ringleader to the boys’ recent outbursts. It was a dick thing to do.

That didn’t mean I liked hearing it, though.

But Heather did her best to put a smile back on my face. And what a smile it was! Her blonde head bobbed up and down on my cock, gobbling me up like it was her job. The suction of her lips was so intense I couldn’t help but curl my toes inside my sneakers.

Don’t worry: I kept my eyes on the hotel across the courtyard. I was a professional, after all.

Normally, I try to last long. I figure all guys do the same thing. But tonight, I dropped all my barriers and savored every second of Heather’s blowjob. I couldn’t have lasted more than a minute. That’s how good she was.

I gave her a warning when I was about to come, groaning loudly and tapping on the back of her head, but she was a fucking goddess with her tongue. She kept her lips wrapped tightly around my shaft as I came, gushing into her mouth with each twitch, taking every ounce of my come until I was as dry as the fucken Sahara.

She swallowed it discretely, then rose up to kiss my neck. “Do you think that was too distracting?”

“I think I love you.”

The words just sort of spilled out. Guys have this strange sense of calm and clarity after blowing their load, and I love you was the clarity I felt then. Only when I heard them with my own ears did I give a start.

Oh shit. I just said that.

My pulse was already rapid from the toe-curling blowjob, but now my heart pounded in my temple. I lowered the binoculars and gave her an awkward little smile while waiting for her reaction.

“You’re just saying that because I just swallowed,” she said with a grin. “If I had spit it out, you would have said you only like me. Right?”

She was giving me an out. Allowing me to take it back, or to brush it off with a playful post-jizz joke. It would have been easy to do so.

But I had never said those words to a girl before, and now that I had done it, I sure as fuck didn’t want to take it back.

I twisted to face her. “I really mean it, Heather. I know it’s crazy. This isn’t supposed to mean anything. Just fucking around for six months until you parachute away into stardom. But… I can’t help how I feel, and I know I feel this. I’m a hundred percent serious.”

She smiled at me. “It’s tough to take you seriously while your dick is still flopped out of your jeans.”

I cursed and quickly pushed my junk back into my pants. She giggled as I did so, and I laughed too. That’s one of the things I loved about Heather, after all: she could make me laugh.

“I think I feel the same way,” she said after I had zipped up. “This is more than just physical. I feel that way about all of you—Asher and Rogan, too. But that word… I don’t know if I’m ready to say the L-word yet.”

I hadn’t really expected her to say it back. It had only been five weeks, and she had two other men dividing her physical and emotional attention. But what she had said was good enough. I slid a hand behind her neck and pulled her into a long, tender kiss.

“My breath probably smells like come,” she said when the kiss ended. She pulled a tin of breath mints from her pocket.

I smiled widely at her. “Your breath smells wonderful. And even if it didn’t, I’d still want to kiss you.”

“Glad one of us does.” She grinned wickedly and held out the tin of mints. “Because your breath reeks of too-sweet coffee.”

See what I said about her humor? This girl was perfect for me.

CRACK-POW.

A muted bang sounded outside.

I knew that sound. It was as familiar to me as my own son’s voice.

“Gunshot.” I held the binoculars up to my eyes and scanned. The actors at the party across the courtyard looked around in confusion. Nobody appeared to be hurt.

“Was that a gunshot?” Cooper asked on the radio.

“Affirmative,” I replied, still scanning. “Where’s Apple Pie?”

“In the ballroom. Ten feet from the door to the outside area.”

“Safe from balconies above,” I muttered, scanning up the hotel. “See anything?”

“Nothing,” Heather replied. “The smoker is still on the fifth floor, but he looks confused. He’s pointing… Toward us?”

I whipped my binoculars up to the target. Sure enough, he was pointing across the courtyard to our hotel. But not directly at us.

At a floor above us.

Before I could call it out, a second gunshot echoed through the courtyard. Screams drifted up from the ballroom party—a vase of flowers had been shattered by the bullet. A third gunshot sounded, but it hit the glass a good thirty feet away from the balcony of actors. By then the party was chaos—everyone was pushing and shoving to get back inside.

“The earthquake glass,” I said, jumping up from my chair. “It’s making the bullets tumble. Like Rogan said.”

“Ninth floor!” Cooper crackled into my earpiece. “I can see the bullet holes. They’re coming from a room on the ninth floor. Maybe eighth.”

I checked the pistol on my hip and went to the door. “In pursuit.”

“What should I do?” Heather demanded.

“Call the police! Tell them a gunman is on the eighth or ninth floor!”

I exited the hotel room at a jog and counted my steps. Guests were opening their doors and peering out into the hall. It was close to midnight, and many of them had been asleep.

“Stay inside,” I told them. “Keep your doors closed.”

I reached the alcove with the two elevators. It took me twenty seconds to reach them, at a jog. According to the lights above the doors, one elevator car was on the tenth floor, and the other was in the lobby. I called the one from the lobby. When it opened (empty, thankfully) I smashed the glass of a fire safety box, removed the ax from inside, and jammed it into the doorwell. Now the elevator wouldn’t close.

I called the second elevator. I made its descent from the tenth floor. That was close to where the gunshots had been spotted, so I drew my gun and clicked the safety off. The car slowed to a stop, and the doors opened.

Empty. I breathed a sigh of relief, then used the extinguisher from the fire safety box to jam this door too. Now both elevators were out of commission.

The shooter would have to take the stairs down from their nest.

I kept my gun in my hand as I opened the stairwell. Just a crack—I paused to listen for anyone inside. There was only silence.

Slowly, I slipped into the stairwell and closed the door behind me, ensuring that it didn’t make any noise as it shut. The stairwell had rubberized steps, which deadened my footsteps as I made my way up to the seventh floor, then the eighth. I kept my gun aimed in front of me, waiting for the first sign of movement.

“Apple Pie is secure,” Cooper said in my earpiece. “Brady, what’s going on?”

I didn’t dare answer. I was too focused on the first sign of movement on the floors above.

The eighth floor was relatively quiet. I peered through the window and saw people milling around, chatting about the gunshots they had heard. Then a scream sounded somewhere above.

The ninth floor.

“Brady. Come in.” Cooper asked. He was calm and professional, but I could hear the urgency hidden in his tone. “Confirm your status.”

I didn’t dare answer. I took the steps two at a time and reached the door to the ninth floor. Slowly, I stuck my head in front of the glass and pulled it back again. In that quick glance I saw dozens of hotel guests on the floor, many holding their hands over their heads. Only one man was standing. He was halfway down the hall and had a black ski mask over his face. He was jogging this way, but had turned his head to shout at someone on the ground when I looked. He hadn’t seen me.

The tactical part of my brain assessed the situation calmly. One hostile and lots of civilians. They were all on the ground, but anyone could appear from a door at any moment. If I confronted the guy now, he could take someone hostage.

“Brady?” came Heather’s voice on the radio. “Brady, please let me know you’re okay!”

I ignored her and examined the area. The stairwell door opened inward. And it was weighted. By the time I pulled it open and aimed my gun, the shooter would have had plenty of time to raise his own weapon at me. It wasn’t ideal.

This was why I had disabled the elevators. Unless he wanted to reach the ground from the window (Hans Gruber style!) he would need to take the stairwell. And he had no idea I was here. I had a tactical advantage.

I hurried up the stairs to the next landing and rested my gun on the railing. I had a perfect line-of-sight on the door, and plenty of cover. He was mine as soon as he came through the door.

I counted down in my head. Just like when I had stalked Rogan at the Four Seasons, I had counted off the distance from my room to the stairwell for a reason. If the shooter was moving as fast as I had, he would be here in seven, six, five…

A voice called out a few floors below. “Brady?”

My heart skipped a beat. Heather.

“Brady?” Footsteps, muted on the rubberized stairs. “Brady! Are you okay? You’re not answering…”

“Heather! Get out of—”

I cut off as the door to the ninth floor swung open. But instead of charging into the stairwell, the shooter hung back. I saw the barrel of a gun stick out, but nothing more.

He must have heard us.

“Who’s there!” the shooter called in an American accent. “Show yourself!”

I kept my gun trained on the open door. All I needed was for him to take another step forward. As soon as I saw the ski mask, I would know it’s him, and I could take the shot.

But then the shooter called out again. “Walk toward me slowly. Good. Drop whatever is in your hand.”

There was a loud THUMP. I heard it in my earpiece, too. The radio.

What the…

That’s when I realized what was happening. From his vantage inside the doorway, the shooter could see Heather. He had his gun aimed at her right now. She had brought the radio, and that’s what she had dropped.

Heather is in danger.

“Keep walking!” the voice commanded.

Everything happened very quickly. I left my hiding spot and leaped down the stairs. When I reached the corner, I planted my boot on the railing and hurled myself at the door to the ninth floor. I kicked forward while in mid-air, striking the door and swinging it closed.

I heard a crunch, and a scream as the door slammed on the shooter’s wrist.

The door bounced backward after hitting the shooter, catching me across the face as I landed awkwardly. I raised my gun but somehow the shooter was ready—he knocked it away and sent a second punch up into my nose. My vision flared white and I stepped back, avoiding another punch that hissed through the air.

“BRADY!” Heather shouted behind me.

I was dazed for only a second, but that was enough time for the shooter. He hurdled the railing and plummeted down the open section of the stairwell. I gazed over the edge and saw him grab the railing several floors below. He dangled for a moment, legs swinging over eighty feet of open air, and then pulled himself up and over the railing.

Heather was huddled against the wall, knees pulled up to her chin. I suppressed the urge to comfort her. She was my woman, and she was scared and alone. But I couldn’t stay with her. I had to focus on the mission.

“Stay here!” I commanded.

I grabbed my gun from the ground and whirled around the stairwell in pursuit. “Suspect is in the stairwell,” I said, touching my radio earpiece. I heard my own voice from the radio somewhere on the ground. “Jeans, polo shirt, black ski mask. Sixth floor. Now fifth.”

“Copy,” Cooper replied. “I’m relaying that to the—”

Suddenly, a shrill siren pierced my ears. White lights flashed in the stairwell. The fire alarm had been pulled. I couldn’t hear anything Cooper was saying in my ear—that’s how loud the alarm was.

I made it to the fifth floor before the stairwell doors started opening. Hotel guests poured into the stairs, walking down calmly. Within seconds, there were so many of them that I could hardly move. I could only go at their pace.

I let out a scream of frustration as the shooter got away.