New York Times Bestselling Author

One mistake almost led to her death…instead it led her to love.
​​​​​​​
Josie England couldn’t even fathom being a prisoner of war—but that’s what she’s become. Not that she was in the military, and her country wasn’t even currently at war, but she’s been thrown into a cell in Iran all the same, beaten, forgotten. And now she’s going to die. Of that she is certain. Until a real-life hero is thrown into the next cell.

Navy SEAL Nate “Blink” Davis can’t believe he ended up on another mission that’s gone sideways. At least this time no one has died—yet. He has no doubt his team will break him out, he just has to be patient, and strong enough to withstand his captors’ seemingly endless rounds of torture. Then he realizes he isn’t alone in the dark, dank prison…and he has an even greater reason to live.

Despite barely surviving herself, his cellmate makes a sacrifice for Blink that shifts his entire world. Leaving her behind is NOT an option. However, like the SEAL motto, The Only Easy Day Was Yesterday, Blink and Josie find out exactly how true that is when they get back to the “real world”…and realize their troubles are just starting.

**Protecting Josie is the 3rd book in the SEAL of Protection: Alliance Series. Each book is a stand-alone, with no cliffhanger endings.

CHAPTER ONE 

Nate “Blink” Davis swore as he lay on the floor right where his captors had dumped him, kicked the crap out of him, then, thankfully, left him alone.

It was safe to say his second mission to Iran had been just as much of a shitshow as the first one, when his teammates had been killed and injured.

No, that wasn’t true. This time, the team had completed their objective of finding and taking out the terrorists they’d been sent to eliminate. And strangely, Blink wasn’t pissed that he’d been taken captive. Probably because he’d done what he’d failed to do the last time he was here.

Save his SEAL teammates.

At least he hoped. They’d been surrounded with no way out. It was déjà vu. But he’d determined this time wasn’t going to be like the last. Even knowing exactly what would happen—he’d either be caught or killed—Blink took off running.

He only prayed the SEALs had honored his sacrifice and done what they needed to do to get away.

So no, Blink wasn’t freaking out that he was now a “guest” of the Iranian Armed Forces. He’d come to terms with his decision because it hopefully meant good men would live. But his actions hadn’t been a suicide mission. He wanted to live too. Thanks to a lot of introspection after his last mission to Iran, and with help from his therapist, he’d realized that just because his friends had died, that didn’t mean his life was over as well.

Saving Remi also had a hand in that realization. If he hadn’t been in the right place at the right time, she’d be dead. And seeing his team leader, Kevlar, so happy with Remi, the love of his life, renewed Blink’s determination to use his experience and abilities to help others.

Now, like then, some sixth sense deep inside him screamed that what he’d done was meant to happen. It seemed corny as hell…but Blink couldn’t dismiss the feeling that he was right where he needed to be at the moment.

Which was ridiculous. Who in their right mind thought that being locked in a cell, with torture definitely on the schedule by those who’d dragged him in here, was fate or some such stupid shit?

A noise had Blink turning his head, but it was dark in the cell and he saw nothing. It hurt to turn his neck, he noted. His ribs also ached, but he didn’t think they were broken…yet. Blood was dripping down his arm and his temple, places where he’d been struck, and he was thirsty. So damn thirsty. But he was alive. That was all that mattered.

A SEAL never left a SEAL behind, and he had no doubt someone would be coming for him. He just had to endure whatever these assholes dished out in the meantime. Which he had no doubt he could do. He’d trained for this. To be a POW. Sort of fucked up, but that was just how the world, his world of special forces, worked.

At first, Blink wasn’t thrilled to learn he’d be expected to wear a damn tracker, like he was a fucking dog or something, when he’d joined his new SEAL team. But now? His lips tilted upward in a satisfied grin. A man named Tex was out there watching, probably planning his rescue already. Blink hated that someone else would have to put their lives on the line to save his damn hide, but he couldn’t help but feel grateful.

He heard something again, and Blink realized he’d gotten lost in his head for a moment. It was something he did a lot now. It was the only thing that kept him sane when he’d been processing what happened to his previous friends and teammates.

Forcing himself to stay in the moment, he squinted, trying again to see through the darkness. There was a small bit of light coming in through the bottom of the door that entered into this makeshift prison. He hadn’t noted much when he’d been dragged inside…a couple of cells, no windows, the smell of mold, mildew, and maybe not surprising, body odor. There was one door to the room, and when his captors left, it slammed shut with a finality that would strike fear into most prisoners.

The rustling sound happened again, and Blink called out, “Is someone there?”

He got no response.

But he hadn’t imagined the sound. Groaning, he did his best to sit up. His wrists were shackled to a chain around his ankles. Thankful that he hadn’t been hogtied with his hands behind his back, Blink swayed as he tried to identify what he’d heard in the cell next to his.

Using his shoulder to wipe away some of the blood trickling down his temple, he waited for his eyes to adjust more fully to the darkness. A couple minutes passed before something finally started to come into focus.

Blink wasn’t sure what he was looking at. An animal? A child? Whatever was in the cell next to his wasn’t speaking. Wasn’t moving at all. It was huddled in the far back corner, wearing something…maybe brown or black.

“Hello? Do you understand English?”

Still no response. Blink asked the same question in Spanish, French, German, and then in Arabic. He didn’t speak any of those languages, but had studied enough to be able to ask the simple question.

Whatever it was, it didn’t utter a word. Or even move.

Blink sighed and lay back down on the concrete floor. His head throbbed with pain. He’d probably imagined whatever he thought he saw. Lord knew he’d been up for forty-eight hours with no sleep, and with the beating he’d received, along with the lack of water—or food, for that matter—he was nearing the end of his rope.

Besides, it didn’t really matter what, or who, was in that other cell. They were as fucked as he was.

Closing his eyes, Blink let himself relax for the first time in a week. Maybe he should stay awake, explore his cell, see what weaknesses he could find, try to figure out a plan of escape. But being shackled as he was, and with his reserves as low as they were, he wasn’t going anywhere. Not right now.

Getting some sleep so he could be as prepared as possible when rescue came was the best thing he could do at the moment. And if the torture he knew was imminent began before his rescue, he’d need to be ready. And that meant letting his body recharge as much as it could by sleeping.

* * *

Josie England stared at the man in the cell next to hers. It had been so long—how long exactly, she had no idea—since she’d heard anyone speak English. Or even heard someone talk to her who wasn’t yelling or ordering her around.

The first thing out of his mouth was the F-word, after their captors had left him alone in the cell. Which amused her as much as it surprised her. Then, when he’d asked if anyone was there, she wanted to answer him. But she couldn’t. She’d even opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. It was as if her vocal cords were frozen.

When she’d first been taken captive, she’d screamed. Then begged and pleaded. But nothing she’d said or done had made a lick of difference to the men who’d taken her.

Memories flooded back as she watched the man in the next cell lay back down and close his eyes.

Ayden, her boyfriend, was in the military. Had been on R&R in Kuwait, and he’d begged her to fly over to see him. Things between them hadn’t been great for a long while, but Josie didn’t want to send him a “Dear John” letter while he was deployed. Didn’t want to break up with him when he needed to concentrate on what he was doing.

She’d told him no; it was crazy for her to fly halfway across the world to see him during a short break, but he’d been extremely insistent. He’d even talked his sister and mother into trying to convince her. Genevieve—or Gen, as she liked to be called—and Millie had succeeded where Ayden hadn’t. Gen, his sister, had told her all about her own trip to visit her brother a few months prior. She’d made it sound wonderful…and perfectly safe. And Josie agreed that seeing a part of the world she’d probably never have a reason to visit ever again sounded kind of fun.

So, she’d agreed.

Even though her gut screamed not to, she’d taken time off work and gotten on a plane.

Even knowing Ayden was sleeping with a woman in his platoon, she’d still gone.

At first, things between them were good. She’d even briefly reconsidered breaking up with him. But after a few days, he’d turned back into the guy she’d come to know throughout their relationship. Selfish, derogatory, vain.

When he suggested they go on a boat ride so he could show her the area, Josie was already over the “vacation.” Even if that hadn’t been the case, she didn’t think a boat ride was a good idea. She knew enough about the area to know the waters around Kuwait weren’t exactly safe. Of course, Ayden just scoffed and talked down to her. Told her she didn’t know what she was talking about. Said she was a homebody who hadn’t ever been anywhere, who didn’t know anything about the world.

In the end, she’d let him pressure her into it. She’d gotten on the boat he’d rented for the day in her bikini and cover-up, pretending that everything was fine. Except it wasn’t. Ayden had driven recklessly, showing off, and wanting to see how close he could get to Iran.

Stupid. So damn stupid.

The boat motor died, he hadn’t been able to restart it…and the next thing they knew, a boat was coming at them, fast. Josie had been frozen in fear. The men in the boat didn’t give them a chance to say or do much of anything.

Ayden held his hands up to show them he was unarmed—and was shot on the spot.

Two men boarded the boat, threw Ayden’s body overboard, and hauled her onto their boat before heading back the way they came.

Josie had been terrified she was about to be assaulted, was reeling from what happened to Ayden. She’d begged them to take her back. Told them she knew nothing, was nobody, but all the men did was laugh. When they arrived at a ramshackle dock, they’d hauled her onshore, not caring that they were hurting her as they half carried, half dragged her through the city streets. She’d lost her flip-flops along the way and the stones under her feet left bruises and cuts that had taken weeks to heal.

They’d brought her to the cell where she still resided, and threw her in, seemingly amused by the terror on her face. A few men entered and beat her, yelling all the while. Josie had screamed and begged, to no avail.

The only positive throughout her entire ordeal was that she hadn’t been raped. She didn’t know why. Supposed it didn’t matter. The men left her on the concrete floor, much as they had the man now in the cell next to hers, bleeding and hurting.

Someone came back the next day, threw a little metal cup at her, along with a piece of bread. He returned off and on for the next few weeks or so, but then the visits to her cell stopped entirely. Josie didn’t know why. It was a relief…but no visits also meant no food.

At four foot nine, Josie had never been a big person. Now with no food for who knew how long, and only water dripping ever so slowly down the wall into her cup to sustain her, she was nothing but skin and bones.

The bikini, which had fit so perfectly back in Vegas when she’d bought it, hung off her gaunt frame. The cute little pink cover-up that made her feel so pretty was tattered and torn. It was also a muddy brown color now, the spaghetti straps constantly slipping off her bony shoulders.

And her hair…Josie didn’t even want to think about what it looked like. The blonde strands were caked with dirt and who knew what else from the floor of her prison. She’d done her best to comb through it with her fingers to try to keep it from clumping together, but the longer she was here, the less she cared. Her finger and toenails were cracked and had black gunk caked underneath.

She was a shell of the woman she used to be.

More animal than human.

She was going to die here. One day, her captors would come in and be surprised to find a dead body lying in the cell. Or maybe they wouldn’t be. Maybe that was their goal all along. It wasn’t as if they could get any money for her. Or use her to exchange for someone the United States was holding captive. She was simply a stupid tourist who’d made the colossal mistake of getting on a damn boat with a cocky soldier.

She’d wondered more than once what Millie and Gen were going through. They had to have been notified by now that Ayden had disappeared. Had his friends told their superior officers that he and Josie had gone out for a boat ride? Did they even know? Had the boat floated back into Kuwaiti waters? Had Ayden’s mom told anyone that Josie was visiting her son?

She had no idea. Millie had never liked Josie much, though she had no idea why. Josie worked hard, minded her business, and was polite to everyone she met. And yet, Millie just hadn’t taken to her. Maybe she thought no one was good enough for her son. It made sense, she supposed, considering the fact that Ayden had always been a mama’s boy.

The sound of the man in the next cell snoring slightly brought Josie back to the present. She had a tendency to get lost in memories and her thoughts…because what else did she have to do? Time crawled here. She had no idea if it was night or day. She could hear life going on as usual outside the walls of her prison. In the early days of her incarceration, she’d yelled and screamed, trying to get someone’s attention, but all that did was make one of her captors come in and scream at her…and one time, enter her cell and beat the hell out of her. That had ended any desire she’d had to bring attention to herself.

Her eyes had adjusted to the low light long ago, and Josie could see the man fairly clearly. She figured she was part mole now, living in the darkness and filth as she did.

The man had a beard that wasn’t bushy enough to have been growing more than a few weeks, a mustache, and fairly full lips. His fingers were long, and he had large biceps. He was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of camouflage pants, and that was it.

Her attention was drawn to his toes. It was silly, but his skin seemed to glow. He wasn’t covered in dirt, as she was. He looked…clean. And looking at his clean feet made Josie’s heart clench. It wouldn’t be long before he was just as dirty as her.

He looked like he was someone important. And he was in handcuffs. So the men who’d brought him here had to be a little scared of him. Of what he could do.

As she watched, he licked his lips in his sleep and moaned a little as he shifted on the concrete floor.

The drip drip drip of the water into her little cup made Josie glance at it. It was almost full. It took two days to get a full cup. She usually tried to wait until then, so she could drink it all at once and trick her belly into thinking she’d given it food.

This man had no leak on his side. No cup to collect water.

But surely he’d be given food and water. If he was as important as she figured he might be, their captors would have to take care of him if they wanted to exchange him for a political prisoner or hold him for ransom.

Still…unease sat in her gut like a lead ball. What if they didn’t? What if they left him there like they did her? With his hands cuffed to his ankles, he wouldn’t be able to move very well. And a man as big as he was would need a lot more sustenance to stay alive than she did.

It wasn’t fair.

That she was here. That she’d been left to rot. That this man had been captured. Nothing about what happened to either of them was fair. And Josie felt anger rising up within her. She’d suppressed that emotion over the weeks. Suppressed all emotions. Because being mad, or scared, or feeling any heightened emotions wouldn’t help her situation. Being desperate and angry and terrified had only earned her beatings. So she’d learned to feel nothing. Think about nothing. She counted how many drips of water fell into her cup for entertainment.

But now this man’s arrival made her emotions well up once more. It was uncomfortable and scary. Josie didn’t like it. She wanted this man to go. Leave. Be taken away and never returned. She knew what to expect in this hellhole when it was just her. But with his arrival, she had a gut feeling everything would change.

She just didn’t know if it would be for better or worse.

Time passed, and Josie kept her gaze locked on the man. She memorized the shape of his face, how one ear stuck out just a tiny bit more than the other; the fact his beard was full, not patchy like some men’s; the pattern of the blood rolling down his temple into his hair. The way his big toe canted in slightly on his left foot, but was straight on his right.

She had no idea how long she stared at the man, but it was long enough that she’d know him anywhere. She could meet him on the street years from now, and she’d immediately recognize him. Her mind catalogued every detail, tucking them all away. Why? She had no idea. But it felt…important.

Suddenly, the door to their prison slammed against the wall, making the man’s eyes pop open.

And for some reason, they locked right onto her.

Blue. His eyes were light blue. His hair was reddish-brown. And with light pouring in, she saw that he had freckles. Lots of them. Over every inch of skin that wasn’t covered by his beard. The captors heading for his cell were talking, saying words Josie couldn’t understand. Still, the man didn’t look at them. His gaze remained on her. Studying Josie as carefully as she’d examined him while he was sleeping.

Neither spoke out loud, and yet, it felt as if he could see down to her soul. Her black, withered, completely damaged soul.

The door to his cell opened and then their captors were there. Hauling the man to his feet, manhandling him, shoving him as they dragged him toward the door.

Josie lost eye contact with the man briefly, but as they dragged him past her cell, his head turned and he looked right at her once more. She was still huddled in the corner, doing her best to stay out of sight, to not draw the attention of men she had no doubt could end her struggle to live with ease.

“Showtime,” he said—and winked.

The man actually winked. As if he was having fun! But the blood on his face was real. The pain his captors had inflicted was easy to see in his eyes, at least for her, because she’d experienced the same thing.

Then he was gone. The door was shut and she was in the dark once more. Josie opened her mouth to yell, to tell the man to be strong, to say something…she wasn’t sure what. But once again, nothing came out. Only a faint growl.

Feeling as if she’d failed the man somehow, Josie curled into herself once more. She had no idea if he’d be back or not. She realized his being there had likely been her only chance to talk to another English-speaking human being before her death. To tell someone who she was, to be a person one last time. And she’d blown it.

Sorrow swamped her, and Josie tried to tamp it down but it was no use. Emotions sucked. Being numb made this hell easier to handle. Lifting her head, she stared at the place where the man had lain in his cell. Could see a dark spot on the floor where his blood had dripped.

Be strong, she thought. Don’t let them win.

Then she closed her eyes and did her best to count water drops once more. Doing so was better than thinking about what the man might be going through.

Protecting Josie

March 4, 2025