Navy Seal Captive. Elle James

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      The ping of a cell phone sounded from the bathroom.

      “Whoops.” Carly raced out of the bathroom, fluffing her short, dark, damp hair. She threw on a powder-blue sundress and strappy stilettoes and grabbed her purse. “Quentin is waiting for me downstairs.”

      “Isn’t it early to go to dinner?” Jenna stared out at the beach.

      “He wants to take me driving around first. Then we’re going to walk on the beach. After that, we’ll do dinner and dancing.” She smiled. “He wants to get to know me.” Carly hugged Jenna and bussed her cheek. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t, and enjoy your hot tub and champagne.”

      “I will.” Jenna sighed as Carly hurried out, the door closing automatically behind her.

      As soon as the door closed, Jenna cursed. She’d meant to ask Carly to get the phone number for Quentin’s friend.

      She teetered on the balls of her feet, tempted to run after her friend, but didn’t. For a long moment Jenna stared at that door as if it were a barrier to her self-esteem.

      Why was she staying in her room, soaking in a tub, when she could be out, enjoying the sunshine and salty air? Wasn’t she there to be adventurous? What better way than to go outside and experience life?

      Scrapping the idea of a long soak in the hot tub, she stripped down to her underwear and slung her case up on the bed. She refused to hide in the honeymoon suite when she could be out having fun. With a determined flip of her hair, she flicked the latches. They didn’t open. Funny. She hadn’t locked them, knowing airport security would want to inspect for illegal or potentially dangerous items. Hell, she hadn’t thought to bring the key. And yet somehow, the locks had engaged.

      She fished in her purse for her metal file and went to work jimmying the locks one at a time until finally they each sprang open. Jenna straightened triumphantly. One more hurdle overcome. She could do anything when she set her mind to it. “Boring... Ha!”

      Jenna flung open the case, ready to pull out her sexy black dress.

      For a moment, she stared into the case, her mind slow to realize this wasn’t her case at all.

      “Oh no.” On top was a layer of clothing. Dark trousers, dark, long-sleeved T-shirts, a black ski mask. Things she would expect to see in a case bound for the ski slopes or a really cold climate, not the tropics.

      Jenna closed the case and stared down at it, wondering what to do with it. There was no luggage tag on the outside identifying the owner should the case be lost.

      Feeling guilty already about forcing the case open, she lifted the lid and glanced inside again. Maybe there was some form of identification buried inside.

      Carefully lifting the clothes, she set them aside on the bed. Beneath the clothing was nothing. Strangely, the case still seemed heavy, and it was deeper on the outside than the inside. Was there a false bottom? She ran her hand around the inside of the case, searching for a lever or button to push. Finally she found it, sliding the device to the left. The divider popped up enough that she could slip her fingers beneath it and lift.

      Jenna gasped.

      Parts of what appeared to be a rifle lay disassembled in a bed of foam, including the stock, butt, scope and bolt. A manila envelope lay on top of the weapon.

      Why would a man need to bring his gun to Cancún? Was he part of a marksman team?

      Her stomach knotting, Jenna refused to think past this being a competitive marksman’s prize rifle. With no other identification to be found, she lifted the envelope, hoping to find the owner’s name and cell phone number inside.

      Flipping up the prongs on the metal clasp, she opened it and spilled the contents onto the bed.

      Photographs, money and a note lay on the comforter.

      She examined the wad of cash secured by a rubber band and counted fifty one-hundred-dollar bills. Holy crap. Five thousand dollars. Her knees trembled. Who carried around five thousand dollars in cash?

      Jenna picked up the photographs, her eyes widening. The man in the picture had dark hair and dark eyes. He was nice-looking, dressed in dark jeans and a black T-shirt. The material of the shirt stretched over broad, muscular shoulders. Tattoos peeked from beneath the sleeves.

      Jenna peered closer, her breath catching in her throat. She recognized the man in the photo as the man she’d met on the zip-line platform not an hour earlier.

      Her hand shaking, she unfolded the note. Her pulse slowed and her blood turned cold.

      Bring him to the agreed-upon location by 9:00 p.m. Dead or alive.

      A lead weight sank to the pit of Jenna’s belly. She’d wanted adventure, but not this much. At that moment, she’d settle for being boring Jenna.

Chapter Two

      When Sawyer returned to the resort, he went to the bungalow he’d rented for his two-week stay, shed his jeans and pulled on a pair of swim trunks. After sweating in the humidity of the jungle, he could think of nothing he’d rather do than go for a dip in the ocean.

      Grabbing a towel, he headed out the door and nearly ran into Montana.

      “Hey, Sawyer!” Montana backed up a step. “You look like a man on a mission.”

      “I am. There’s a WaveRunner with my name on it out there somewhere.”

      Montana chuckled. “I take it the zip-lining wasn’t your style.”

      “Not particularly.” Though the woman he’d met was. Jenna. Damn, he could kick himself for not asking for her number. Oh, well. He eyed Montana in his swim trunks, T-shirt and flip-flops. “You heading for the beach?”

      “I am. Thought I’d improve on my tan.” He grinned. “Girls love a tan, right?”

      Sawyer turned on the boardwalk path, heading for the ocean. “No date for tonight?”

      Montana shook his head. “No. But then, I wasn’t really looking.”

      “Me, either.” He hadn’t been looking and hadn’t made an attempt when the opportunity bumped into him. He’d be smart to go ahead and ask Quentin to get her number, or he’d spend the rest of the vacation wishing he’d been quicker to seize the moment. “I’m going to rent a WaveRunner. Wanna go in half?”

      “Sure!” Montana flung his towel over his shoulder. “Been a while since I’ve ridden one.”

      “Can’t imagine the lakes getting warm enough in Montana for a WaveRunner.”

      “You’d be surprised. We have long days in the summer. Gives the water a chance to warm up.”

      “From snowmelt?” Sawyer snorted. “Not as warm as the water gets off Virginia Beach.”

      “Maybe not that warm, but a little warmer than the water off San Diego.”

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