His Only Weakness Read online

  Contents

  Contents

  Copyright

  Appreciation

  Dedication

  Newsletter and More

  Introduction

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Personal Note from the Author

  Newsletter

  Leave a Review, Please

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are all products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblances to persons, organizations, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

  The book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. All rights are reserved with the exceptions of quotes used in reviews. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage system without express written permission from the author.

  Facing the Legacy Series

  ©2019 Felicia Breneé

  Cover Design by Cupcakes & Covers

  Editing by Mary Wiles

  Appreciation

  Thank you readers for buying this book. You make it possible for me to do what I love and that is to write stories like this for you. You have a special place in my heart.

  Thank you to my husband, who is my lover, partner, sounding board, and confidant. Without whom I could not imagine true love.

  Dedication

  To Paul.

  Newsletter and More

  Felicia Breneé invites you to join with her fabulous fans and subscribe to her newsletter. You’ll be the first to know about upcoming book releases, series plans, give aways, and more. Email her at [email protected] and let her know you want to subscribe to her newsletter.

  In the mean time, visit with Felicia on Facebook. Felicia Breneé Author Page, and Author Felicia Breneé and her Fabulous Readers Group.

  Introduction

  The man.

  The monster.

  The legacy.

  When Navy Seal Master Chief, Brady Armstrong’s life is threatened, the family legacy emerges in a shape-shifting beast that can withstand bullets, shrapnel, and crushing debris. Love is the only weakness the monster cannot shield Brady from. But he is determined to end the legacy by denying himself the one true love of his life, Heather Richards. Never will he mate with her… again.

  Secrets

  Broken hearts

  Destiny prevails

  Heather Richards has spent the past two decades mending her broken heart. The only man she every truly loved crushed it the day he disappeared, leaving her to bury their miscarried son. Trying to move on she finished college, moved to Colorado, and started a career. The desires of her heart were never fulfilled… until Brady rode into that campsite with her lost niece in front of his saddle.

  Can Heather finally get answers? Will Brady keep his vow to end the legacy? Or will they face the legacy together? Can he face that she is his only weakness.

  Chapter One

  Brady Armstrong’s pulse quickened as her scent filled his flared nostrils. A predawn chill erected goosebumps across his taut, bronzed skin, lifting every hair follicle like a thousand pinpricks. A shiver quaked his body like long sharp fingernails had been dragged down his back. He drew in a deep, quick breath. With a groan he turned over, anticipating… her. His eyes opened. Thin cotton curtains lifted against a demanding breeze.

  It was her.

  She stood there, in front of the window, among the flailing curtains. A pinkish-orange hue washed the horizon behind her and filled his bedroom with an odd iridescence. Her beautiful hour-glass figure silhouetted by the budding first light. A gauzy nightgown covered her body, but the morning glow exposed every curve underneath.

  “How did you get in here?” he growled.

  “You summoned me.” Her voice penetrated his mind, bathing his thoughts with warm pleasure-filled memories of her in his arms.

  “How? I can’t summon you.”

  “It was him.”

  Brady paused. Had the monster summoned her? Could she hear its demands?

  Despite his better judgement, he reached out to take her hand, craving her body, her nearness.

  She moved willingly. Gliding into his bed, she pressed against him, warm and wanting. Wrapping his arm around her waist, feeling the swell of her hip, he slid her under him as he rolled over onto her. She kissed his neck, his jaw, his ear lobe.

  He knew better, but her desire pulled him to where he knew he shouldn’t go.

  “Who summoned who?” He devoured her mouth. Tasting her, loving her, teasing her.

  And she loved him back. Her fingers tangled in his long black hair, pulling him deeper, harder into the kiss that sent his mind tumbling like driftwood in white water rapids.

  A shrill ring broke the rhythm of their love making, drawing them apart. He leapt from her, landing in a sitting position on his hip.

  He was alone.

  The sheet billowed with his sudden movement, landing gently over his legs. Covering the still swollen remnant of his explicit dream. He turned, dropping his legs over the side of the bed. He rubbed the sleep from his face and the ache from his member, then stood. The cobwebs of the dream clinging to his consciousness.

  The shrill sounded again.

  His phone! It lit the dark room with the odd light that had infiltrated his dream that plagued him ever since he put his Seal-Trident pin in a jewelry box. He yanked the phone off his nightstand. A large 5:00 overlaid the picture of himself and a whopper trout he’d caught last month. His buddy John Brockman had taken the picture. Seemed good enough for a scene saver.

  It was John who called now. At five o’clock in the morning, that only meant one thing. The Auxiliary Deputy team was needed. He slid his thumb across the screen and cleared his throat.

  “Hello,” he croaked. Hudson, his black and white Great Dane lifted his head, then lowered it. It was too early for him to get terribly excited, too.

  “Brady, man. I’m sorry to wake you, but we got a four-year-old, lost out at Phantom Canyon. The county sheriff and auxiliary rescue team are being summoned.”

  “Summoned?” The cobwebs in his brain inter-tangled with her disturbing words from his dream. You summoned me. “Okay. Hoof or foot?”

  “Better bring the horse. You can probably cover more ground in a saddle.”

  “Right.” He dug his fingers in his hair. “Where are we meeting?”

  “Ground zero is Little Grouse Mountain Trail camp area.”

  “Right. I’ll be there soon as I can, John.”

  “K, The sooner the better. The mother’s not sure when she went missing, but you never know with a kid that young, if not the bears or the creek, the cold of night could take her. Either way, we need to find her and get her back to her mom.”

  “Got ya. On my way.”

  “Thanks man.” John disconnected.

  Brady staggered to his feet. The vision of a four-year-old mauled by a bear or drowned in the creek took care of his burgeoning condition. He pressed his fists into his lower back, giving it a good stretch. Hudson opened one eye but didn’t move.

  “No, no. Stay here, boy. This one requires a horse hunt not a dog hunt.” Brady chucked. He knew if he signaled Hudson to come, he’d be up on his feet. But it wasn’t necessary.

  Jeans and a white t-shirt, socks and boots.
He needed a shower, but there wasn’t time. He smeared Axis antiperspirant under his shirt and grabbed his hat as he trudged out the back door.

  He whistled toward the barn.

  A whinny answered.

  “Dick, ol’ boy. We got a job!” He grabbed his saddle and blanket off a pony wall. With the gelding saddled and bridled, Brady left the barn to pull the trailer around. He’d load his horse and head to the ground zero camp site.

  A sickening ember burned in his gut like an unattended fire reigniting, as visceral haunting images flashed in his mind. He just hoped he didn’t have to bring a dead little girl’s body to her mother. His teeth clenched hard in an effort to squeeze the memories out of his mind.

  They were too late to save them. An al-Qaeda gang had already slaughtered the small Iraqi village. He threw the Led Zeppelin CD on the ground and smashed it with his boot. The young girl he had promised it to lay across her sister in a bloody heap, along with all the others. Her isharb only partially covered her cold dead eyes.

  Those eyes!

  He could still see them vividly behind his eyelids.

  His boot stomped the gas pedal. The speedometer rolled over to 60, 65. The trailer swerved with his horse’s weight. He needed to slow down. Sharp curves forced him to heed the speed limit, but he sped right back as soon as the road straightened. “The sooner the better.” John’s words coaxed him to hurry. This little girl had to be found in time!

  The distance from his place north of Penrose, Colorado and Phantom Canyon wasn’t far, but it was long, and difficult. The road through Phantom Canyon was rain washed, winding, and narrow. Brady chewed his cheek vigorously and did his best to get his equine partner to the meeting place safely.

  Once there, all he’d have to do was receive a briefing and mount his horse. Then he’d turn to his inner creature’s astute tracking skills. This curse that kept him alive in Iraq also put him at an advantage over other rescue personnel. It disgusted him to turn to the monster he loathed.

  But who cared? If it brought a lost little girl back home, no one needed to know why his success record was so high. Just like in the Seals. Only his immediate comrades knew. But none of them would tell. He had their unconditional silence. None of them would be alive today if it weren’t for the monster. Besides, who would honestly believe their stories?

  Ground zero just ahead. Brady eased his truck and trailer off the road. Three women and one man clustered around five small girls. John Brockman paced ten yards from them, coordinating via radio. He looked up when Brady slammed his truck door. A smile and a tilt of his head greeted his arrival. Brady strode to his buddy. “What’s the situation?”

  Chapter Two

  “It’s a Daffodil troop overnight camping, Master Chief.” John spoke softly but clearly with his back to the adults clustered by a water-soaked fire pit. “They were earning several badges. The missing girl belongs to the leader. The other parents are volunteers who help—”

  “What’s a Daffodil troop?”

  John paused. A slight smile quivered on his lips. “It’s the younger version of Girl Scouts, Brady. All four through six-year-old girls.”

  “Oh.” Brady lifted his gaze to the adults and girls. “Go on.”

  “Okay. So, they arrived at thirteen hundred, yesterday. They bedded down at twenty-one hundred. The girls slept in the tents with their respective parent. They’re only four-, five-, and six. It’s understandable.” John pierced Brady with a look, checking for understanding.

  Brady shrugged and shook his head. How did this relate to the missing girl?

  John went on. “Our lost girl is four. Her name’s Mable. Her older sister, Marla is there with the mom.” He shoved a thumb toward the cluster.

  Brady had no idea which child clinging to her mother was which, after all there were two women holding a girl. One woman had two girls. They stood the same height and were dressed identically. Twins, maybe. A wimpy, philosophy-professor-looking man stood with them also clinging to what Brady could only assumed was his daughter. He must be a single dad, or it was his weekend. Either way, none of the adults were together as a couple. Brady assessed how things stood.

  He nodded. “Any chance this is a parental dispute?”

  John shook his head. “No. Mom says dad’s on his way here to help with the other girl.”

  Brady nodded again. “Which tent was our vi—… uh, the lost girl sleeping in?”

  “Come here, I’ll show you.” John led the way to the adults. They looked up. Tear-filled, worried eyes perused him. Hope evident for a miracle. No pressure.

  Brady swallowed. “Hello, folks.”

  John introduced them, saving the mother for last. “And this is Mrs. Fields and her older daughter Marla.”

  Brady shook Mrs. Fields’ hand, nodded to the girl, who clung to her mother’s hip, and returned his attention to John. “How many men we got already out on foot?”

  “All that we could spare— ten.”

  “Okay. So, let me take a look around and then I’ll head out.”

  John nodded and turned to the adults, speaking in a calming voice, he explained what would happen next. Brady turned his back on Mrs. Fields. Something nagged at his brain, but he couldn’t isolate it right now. He honed his attention on the camp site, the tent, the empty sleeping bags, and zeroed in with the monster’s acute sense of smell. He needed to identify which was Mable’s scent. “Excuse me.” He turned back to John.

  John approached Brady. “Got anything of the girl’s?”

  John didn’t even hesitate. He reached over to a log-bench and handed Brady a pink stuffed cat with a tartan bow. “Here, she slept with this.”

  “It’s her Hello Kitty doll.” Mrs. Fields added, tears roughened her voice.

  Brady took it and turned back to his investigation, all the while drawing Mable’s scent from the toy. Heat seared his skin with a prickly sensation, as the monster awakened inside him. A phosphorescent orange splattering of the scent speckled the ground as if a blacklight had been turned on, but only in Brady’s vision. He knew which way to go.

  Spinning in place, he handed the cat-toy to John without making eye contact and headed for his trailer. He had pulled in behind the ambulance which was parked behind the first-responder fire truck. The gelding nickered as Brady unlatched the door. He didn’t even have to coax his horse out. He was anxious to do the job he knew so well. Brady vaulted into the saddle, gave John a two-finger salute, and clicked his tongue to signal his horse to go.

  “Come on Dick, let’s find this child.”

  Dick whinnied and nodded vigorously, then leapt into a trot, headed toward the small creek. Brady watched the orange glow and steered his horse with his knees more than the reins. He heard John speaking to the anxious parents. “Listen, folks, this guy was my Master Chief in the Navy. He’s good, real good. If anybody can find her, he’s the…”

  His voice faded as Brady focused on the hunt. What had drawn her from the tent? Brady didn’t smell fear, other than the fact that a child was lost. It couldn’t have been a kidnapper. Could the child have simply woken and wondered away from camp? Thinking she was going to the bathroom? Got disoriented? That seemed odd, considering how much emphasis John put on explaining the sleeping arrangement and how coherent that was with the girls’ ages. So, why did Mable decide to get up and walk away. And why hadn’t the mother been woken by her daughter’s movements.

  Behind him, at the camp site, Brady heard a car pull in.

  Maybe Dad had arrived. Good. That would keep Mom calm. Assuming everything was truly alright on that front. She wouldn’t be the first wife who lied about her relationship with her husband. He wished Brockman had sent a team to track down the dad. More than one of these hunts had turned out the kid was safe with dad, except against mom’s wishes or knowledge.

  Brady drew his thoughts back to in front of him. He straightened his aching back with a wince and shifted his weight, as Dick traversed the difficult rocky embankment of the creek. The pain w
asn’t too bad this morning, yet. Catching a glimpse or two of the glowing scent. It was like following little glow-in-the-dark drips of orange paint. He moved farther away from ground zero and the elevated voices, maybe crying, faded.

  His eyes darted up the rock wall along the creek. Her trail followed the creek bank, so why hadn’t she just followed it back? Four-years-old. Middle of the night. She probably got scared. Didn’t know what to do. He drew in a deep breath. “Let’s find her, boy.”

  He eased his heels against the horse’s sides, urging him along. The rock wall drew his attention, as if something was calling him to look at it. What was it? The creature’s instinctive warning roiled in his gut.

  Was the rock wall unstable? A raindrop plopped in his eye. “Oh great.” He pulled his hat down further on his head and urged Dick onward. If a rainstorm was coming, he really needed to find this kid.

  Chapter Three

  Heather Richards laid in her sleeping bag alone. In fact— her eyes darted across the camp site— she was alone. Why had she gone camping alone? The hissing sound of the fire shushed her mind, cradled her anxiety, comforted her, lulled her like the sleep-inducing sounds that played on her HoMedic box at home. It was soothing to lay here, far from the hustle of her work. No dead bodies to autopsy, no meetings to attend, no traffic. Simple, relaxing—

  She laid perfectly still, listening to the campfire pop and crackle. The crisp chill of night passed over her skin like the soft touch of a lover, sending a shudder in its wake. She tucked deeper inside the sleeping bag, just opening one eye.

  The campground looked distorted by the orange flickering fire. Even the grass and tree line encircling the campsite had an odd wavy appearance. An eerie feeling chilled her blood.

  A snap rent the air. It came from the trees. She stiffened. Was it a bear? Her eyes darted in the direction of the sound, but her head wouldn’t turn. She couldn’t move! Terror filled her. With each breath, she breathed harder, deeper. Her heart pounded. Too fast. Slow down, don’t hyperventilate. But she couldn’t stop her own panting.