Hot Pursuit - A Marooned with the SEAL Romance Read online

  Hot Pursuit

  Layla Valentine

  Contents

  Hot Pursuit

  1. Delaney

  2. Delaney

  3. Justin

  4. Justin

  5. Delaney

  6. Delaney

  7. Delaney

  8. Delaney

  9. Delaney

  10. Justin

  11. Justin

  12. Delaney

  13. Delaney

  14. Delaney

  15. Justin

  16. Justin

  17. Delaney

  18. Delaney

  19. Justin

  20. Delaney

  Epilogue

  His Baby Secret

  Introduction

  1. Hannah

  Also by Layla Valentine

  Hot Pursuit

  Copyright 2018 by Layla Valentine

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written permission of the author.

  All characters depicted in this fictional work are consenting adults, of at least eighteen years of age. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular businesses, events, or exact locations are entirely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  Delaney

  The tinny alarm on my phone blared. Part of me wanted to grab the damn thing and launch it across my hotel room. Instead, my eyes still closed, I dropped my hand repeatedly on the nightstand until I felt the smooth plastic of my phone case under my palm. A few swipes later and the alarm was silenced, the shrill beeping replaced by the low hum of the air conditioner.

  Forcing my eyelids open, I held the phone in front of my face and saw that it was a little after seven in the morning. I was relieved—after the international flight from Dallas to Sydney, followed by a connecting flight to Alice Springs, I’d been prepared for the jet lag to wreak its usual havoc, either preventing me from getting a wink or causing me to sleep until some ungodly hour late into the afternoon.

  But this wasn’t my first rodeo. After all, when you’re an oil company executive for whom globe-trotting is just part of the job description, international flights are to you what rush-hour traffic is to any other commuter.

  I heaved myself out of bed and plopped my feet onto the plush carpet of my hotel room. Forcing my body to stand spear-straight, I stretched my willowy frame and reached my hands up toward the ceiling, my muscles crying out in relief. I knew I needed to do my usual post-flight yoga routine, but I was too eager to start the day for any of that.

  Not to mention that my traveling was far from over. I still had an eight-hour drive ahead of me to my ultimate destination of Longbridge, a former mining town in the middle of the outback in Australia’s Northern Territory, a dusty little place home to fewer than a thousand souls.

  After a quick shower, I stepped back into the hotel room and threw open the shades, the sunlight that poured into the room overwhelming me. My arm shot up in front of my face so quickly that I felt for a moment like a vampire recoiling from her one weakness.

  After acclimating to the light, I adjusted the towel around my breasts and opened the closet. Being used to the rigors of international travel, I’d unpacked my suitcase and ironed my clothes the night before. I picked out my clothes for the day. Once I was dressed, I stepped in front of the room’s full-length mirror, scrunching up my face as I looked myself over.

  My chestnut brown hair was slicked back and tucked behind my ears, and this combined with the bright light of the morning sun caused my grass-green eyes to shine even brighter than they normally did. I nodded approvingly at my outfit of black slacks, a trim white blouse, and stylish but comfortable flats that were the same deep, coal black as my pants. If it were up to me, I’d be dressed in sweats and a T-shirt for the drive ahead, but I needed to look professional for the meeting with the miners that awaited me at my final destination.

  Once I had my things gathered, I checked out and made my way to the car rental business next to the hotel. Once inside, I slipped off my sunglasses and stepped up to the counter.

  “You say you’re going to Longbridge? What for?”

  The college-aged girl behind the counter in the car rental shop spoke in a cheerful Australian accent, and with her bleached-blond hair and guileless demeanor, she reminded me of the sorts of small-towners I’d encounter back in rural Texas.

  “It’s for a business meeting,” I said.

  The girl raised her dark eyebrows at me.

  “A business meeting? Can’t imagine what kind of business they’d be getting to up there. The roos out of control or something?”

  She snickered, pleased with her comment.

  “Anyway,” I said, hoping to get the girl back on track. “I’m going to need something that’ll be suitable for the drive up there. Something that can handle the outback.”

  “We’ve got a few utes that’d be all right for the trek.”

  “Utes?” I asked.

  “Utility trucks. Any price you’re looking for?”

  “Price isn’t a problem,” I said.

  With that, I reached into my purse and pulled out the prestigious, platinum credit card that my company gave me for expenses. The girl’s face lit up, knowing just what this meant.

  “Well, then,” she said. “Let’s get you sorted out, Miss, ah—”

  “Delaney Fenn,” I said, my voice its usual clear and professional tone. “But you can call me Miss Fenn.”

  “Well then, Miss Fenn, let’s get you mobile!”

  An hour later, I was behind the wheel of a chrome-colored 4Runner on the road up to Longbridge, the huge tires of the SUV kicking up orange dust all around me. I watched Alice Springs disappear in the rearview mirror. If the pictures of the city that my boss, Roger Noah, had shown me were any indication, the city behind me was the closest thing to civilization that I was going to be around in a long while.

  As if on cue, my cellphone rang on the seat beside me. Sure enough, it was Roger.

  “What’s the word, Del?” he asked, his voice as gruff and booming as ever.

  “The word,” I said, looking around at the desert flats that were slowly taking up more and more of my surroundings, “is ‘desolate.’”

  “Well, I didn’t send you up there for sightseeing,” he said. “I sent you up there to get some names on some dotted lines so we can quit screwing around and get at that oil.”

  “Right to the heart of the matter, as always,” I said.

  My job with Horizon Oil was as a surveyor and negotiator of sorts. Whenever a new deposit was discovered in some far-flung part of the world, I was the girl sent down to speak with the owners of the land and do whatever it took to get them to sign over drilling rights to us.

  “That’s what I pay you the big bucks for, kid,” said Roger. “What’s the drive looking like?”

  I reached over to my purse and pulled out my tablet, keeping my phone cradled on my neck as I looked over my schedule.

  “Should be pulling into town around five, just in time for the meeting.”

  “Damn,” said Roger. “Cutting it close, huh?”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem,” I said. “The drive isn’t the most scenic route in the world, but it’s a straight shot.”

  “If you say so,” said Roger. “Just keep in mind these prospectors you’re meeting with aren’t the most, ah, flexible guys in the world—we just about had to move heaven and earth to get them to even agree to m
eet with us. And that was a damn lucky break considering how many of our competitors have been chomping at the damn bit to get at this crude.”

  “I know, I know,” I said. “But isn’t that why you send me? Because I’m the best?”

  A small smile formed on my lips.

  “Let’s hold off on the praises until after we get this deal inked. Oh, and one more thing, kid—you need to make sure to—”

  No words followed, instead the “beep-beep-beep” of the line going dead. I held my phone out in front of my face and saw that the call had been dropped and my reception was nil. I glanced around and saw that I was the only car on the road, the outback stretching endlessly around me. I realized that I was lucky to even get reception this far out.

  I tossed my phone, now a useless hunk of plastic and metal, onto the passenger seat and focused on the road ahead. I flipped through the radio, but all I found was static. My stomach tightened at the idea of spending the next seven or so hours driving in silence through about the bleakest landscape imaginable.

  It’d only been the second day of my trip, but I was already wishing that I was back home, plopped on the couch of my trendy loft apartment in downtown Dallas. But I was about as far imaginable from those creature comforts, and Longbridge wasn’t exactly a vacation paradise. As I glanced around, I tried to imagine how anyone could live out here, this far from civilization.

  I spent the next two hours driving straight, not a single curve in the road or interesting bit of landscape to break up the monotony. Every now and then, I’d check my phone to see if I’d chanced upon any reception, but there wasn’t a single bar to be found.

  A bang sounded, cutting through the din of the engine’s rumble. The SUV swerved out of control, and it took every bit of strength I had to keep my grip on the steering wheel and not send the vehicle barreling off the road. The horrible screech of metal howled, and I slammed hard on the breaks and brought the SUV to a stop.

  My heart pounded as I gripped white-knuckled onto the steering wheel. The sharp stop kicked up dust all around the vehicle, making the air look odd and alien. Once my nerves settled, I popped open the driver’s-side door and got out to assess the damage.

  My flats crunched on the dirt as I landed, the air oven-hot on my skin the second I stepped out of the SUV’s air-conditioned interior. I took a moment to survey the landscape around me, noting how eerily quiet it was. The sky was a bluish orange, and the earth was flat and rust-colored, the endless expanse broken up by handfuls of scrubby plants here and there, with some dark mountains far off in the distance. I’d been to some remote places during my career, but this one was easily one of the most desolate.

  I turned my attention to the SUV, my heart sinking as I laid eyes upon the cause of my mishap: one of the tires had popped. The rubber was ragged and ripped; whatever had cut through the thing did a hell of a number. I checked my phone and did the mental calculations of how much time I could afford to spend fixing the tire. Roger was right—I was cutting it close.

  I made my way around to the back and popped open the trunk. Thankfully, a spare tire and all the necessary tools to swap it were there. I tied my hair into a loose ponytail and went to work.

  An hour or so later, the tire was fixed. Sweat sheened my brow, and my clothes were smattered with dust. I wasn’t looking the most professional that I ever had, but I didn’t have time to worry about that now.

  I tossed everything into the back of the SUV, rushed over to the driver’s seat, and jumped in. I gunned the engine and took off, knowing that there was now a very, very good chance that I was going to be running late for the meeting. Checking my phone again, I let out a squeal of frustration as I saw that the reception was still non-existent.

  About halfway through the drive, I realized there was no two ways about it—I was going to be late. With the reception still poor, however, there was no way for me to let the clients know that I was going to be running behind. For all they knew, I was going to be a no-show.

  The next few hours rushed by. By the time I passed a sign letting me know that Longbridge was only a handful more kilometers off, I was already more than an hour past when I was supposed to arrive. I gripped the steering wheel hard, a sick feeling spreading through my stomach as it began to dawn on me how screwed I was. And the scenery was wearing me down.

  The endless outback made me feel like I was some forgotten astronaut on a faraway planet, doomed to wander the interminable alien landscape forever, never to see another human again. I couldn’t believe it, but it was only a day into my trip, and I was already beginning to feel homesick.

  When I reached about two kilometers outside of the city, my phone began buzzing incessantly where it lay on the seat. I snatched it up and saw that I’d received more than a dozen texts and emails over the last few hours, nearly all of them from people wondering where the hell I was.

  I didn’t have any time to waste. I pulled up the address of the prospecting company in my map app and started off. I soon reached the center of town, which was nothing more than a smattering of buildings clustered around an intersection. I spotted a run-down bar, a little grocery store, and a two-story building with the words “City Hall” on a marquee sign out front. I didn’t spot a single person, and I soon found myself wondering if there actually was anyone living in this city.

  When I reached the prospecting company, which was located in a small industrial building that sat in the middle of a large stretch of sand, I attempted to open the front door only to find that it was locked.

  “Hello?” I called out as I looked into the windows, trying to catch sight of someone, anyone.

  Eventually, the door opened, revealing a middle-aged man dressed in overalls and a faded orange T-shirt underneath, his skin deeply tanned and craggy.

  “We’re closed for the day,” he said in just about the thickest Australian accent I’d ever heard in my life.

  Planting a big smile on my face, I stepped toward the man and shot my hand out.

  “Hi!” I said, using every bit of professionalism I had to make my voice both chipper and business-like. “My name’s Delaney Fenn. I’m with Horizon Oil.”

  He regarded my hand with skepticism, as though this were some kind of trick. After another moment or two, he took it and shook it slowly.

  “Peter Waller,” he said. “That mean you’re the rep we were supposed to meet with hours ago?”

  “That’s me,” I said, feeling ashamed. “My apologies for showing up so late. I had some car trouble on the road, and my reception was poor, so I wasn’t able to call you.”

  It was the God’s-honest truth, but something about the way the man looked at me made me feel as though I was about to be caught in a lie.

  “I’m real sorry to hear that,” he said. “But after you didn’t show up, we figured that you’d canceled on us. We tried to give your rep out in Dallas a call, but I guess they’re all in bed.”

  “Again,” I said. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. But if you’re still interested in working with Horizon, I’d be more than happy to speak with you. We can have the contract worked out in less than an hour.”

  Peter slipped his hands into his pockets and leaned against the door frame.

  “’Fraid that’s not going to be necessary,” he said. “See, a representative from Johnson and, ah, Harford was in town—we’d planned to have our meetings with you both back-to-back. And when we realized you weren’t gonna make it, well, they gave us a deal that we couldn’t say no to.”

  My stomach sank. I had no idea that Johnson-Harford was going to be in town. They’d stolen the deal right out from under me.

  “Are you sure I can’t at least show you our offer?” I asked. “I promise it’ll be worth your time.”

  Peter held up his hand.

  “Now miss, when I say they gave us a deal, I mean it’s inked and everything. We’re working with them, and that’s that, I’m afraid.”

  Goddamn, they worked fast. But I couldn’t blame them
for swooping in and taking advantage of the situation. I would have done the same.

  “I see,” I said, doing my best to not let my frustration show. “Well, sorry to have kept you waiting. And thanks for your time.”

  “Not a problem,” he said. “Say, where are you planning on staying tonight?”

  “Hadn’t figured that out yet,” I said. “I suppose I was planning on checking into a place somewhere in town.”

  Peter pointed off in the distance, down the direction of the road I’d come in on.

  “Head on down back the way you came and take a right at your first turn. That’ll put you on Wilshire Road. Keep on down that way, and you’ll end up at the Charming Chateau. Probably the best joint we have here in Longbridge. Give ’em my name and they’ll treat you right.”

  I gave Peter one last thank-you before heading off. Only when I was back in the car did I let out the frustrated squeal that had been building in me since he gave me the bad news. I was sunk—the deal was ruined, and it was all the fault of whatever piece of junk on the road had destroyed my tire and put me behind schedule.

  Behind the wheel I called up Roger, planning on breaking the bad news. But the call went right to voicemail, and I remembered that the time difference meant he was likely in bed. Tossing my phone onto the seat, I realized that I’d have to wait until tomorrow morning to put my head on the chopping block.

  I followed Peter’s directions and soon ended up in a small business district. Various small shops lined the roads, and I spotted my first few actual city dwellers. And sure enough, down a little further was a two-story hotel done up in a French style. I figured this had to be the place.

  The hotel wasn’t the classiest affair, but it had a bed and a shower, and at that moment that was all I needed. Plopping down onto the bed, I stared up at the ceiling, thinking about how sideways everything had gone for what was supposed to be a simple meeting.