Saving the Seal: A BWWM Navy Seal Interracial Romance Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Bonus Book

  Chapter One: Genny

  Chapter Two: Stubborn Soldier

  Chapter Three: Chemistry

  Chapter Four: Smoking Gun

  Chapter Five: Backfire

  Chapter Six: Revelations

  Chapter Seven: Betrayal

  Chapter Eight: The Last Mission

  About the Author

  Publisher's Notes

  Saving the Seal

  By: Cristina Grenier

  Want to receive a FREE copy of this

  full length BWWM Romance by bestselling author Cristina Grenier?

  Click the cover below.

  Chapter One: Genny

  “You did what?”

  Disbelieving, Genevieve Thomas stared at the man seated across from her. When she’d been called in early for work this morning, she’d thought it might be to deal with a medication problem from a patient who had expressed a concern to her the previous day.

  But this…this was too much.

  She needed answers. She demanded them. Somehow, she had to assuage the churning sickness of guilt that currently plagued her stomach.

  One of her patients was dead. He’d taken his life the previous night, while his wife and two children were away on a family trip. Genevieve needed to know why. When she’d seen Spencer McAvoy the previous month, he’d been smiling and laughing – with one of the best outlooks on life she’d seen since the man had returned from Iraq three years before. He’d been a shell of himself then – a haunted soul nearly destroyed by the things he’d seen; and then, slowly – patiently – Genevieve had worked with him to banish his nightmares and help him regain his confidence.

  She had been so sure that he would recover…she had reveled in his triumph.

  And now he was gone. Leaving behind a grieving wife and kids who would never understand why their loved one had taken his own life.

  Now, she was faced with the Director of Psychiatry at the veteran’s hospital. Genevieve had recently taken a month’s leave to clear her mind. After seven years of solid work, she needed a break. As much as she loved to see her patients do well, watching them suffer could also break her down more than she’d like to admit.

  And in her absence, Dr. Kant had done something she could never have imagined.

  “I gave him the medication he requested.”

  Genevieve’s eyes widened as she absorbed what he was telling her. “Why?” She demanded, the question faint.

  “He begged me for it, Genevieve. He said that he needed it to make the pain go away and nothing I could tell him could dissuade him from thinking so. He threatened to check into another hospital to get the medication if I denied him. I felt that without it he might do something to endanger himself.”

  “Daniel, if you’d looked into Spencer’s history at all, you might have found that he frequently has these episodes! He’ll be fine for months and then someone will get into his head with the notion that pills will make everything better and he’ll demand them. I never gave them to him because I knew he didn’t need them. Because I knew the side effects of even a low dose would be counterproductive.”

  Such side effects often included depression, mild paranoia, and in extreme cases, suicidal thoughts.

  Dr. Kant met her gaze levelly, his expression calm. “Genevieve, you know the nature of our profession. Who’s to say that it was even the medication that caused this unfortunate event? Mr. McAvoy could have been contemplating this for months-”

  “Except he wasn’t!” Genevieve burst. “I’ve been his psychiatrist for three years and he’s never displayed suicidal tendencies during a session!” She knew that it was the medication that had done this to him. There couldn’t be any doubt. It was the reason she so seldom recommended medication for the veterans she treated, as there were few instances when she thought it might be more effective than cognitive behavioral therapy – that was: teaching the patient to solve their own problems.

  “Genny, I know you’re upset.” The lack of emotion on Daniel’s face was maddening. He was head of the psychiatry department and yet the most heartless person Genevieve thought she might have encountered in all her thirty years. How the man had risen to the position he had was a mystery to her – and she and he often bumped heads. “You have to give this time…accept that you couldn’t have changed this outcome. I know how much you feel for your patients-”

  “No.” Standing from her chair, Genny glared down at the man before her, shaking her head slowly. “I can’t hear this right now. Not from you. I just…I can’t.” With that, she turned on her heel to leave the man’s office, striding down the hall as the sound of her heels echoed throughout the corridor.

  There were few who could get away with such an outburst towards the head of their department, but at this juncture, Genevieve didn’t care if Dr. Kant fired her. She felt both angry and helpless – blinking back the tears that rose to her eyes as she headed towards her office. Daniel Kant didn’t understand how much trust these men put in them. They came back from wars and border patrols broken and beaten, and put their lives in the hands of the psych staff at Riperton Medical.

  It was their responsibility – their inherent duty – to give these men their lives back. It was the least they could do, after all they’d given up for their country. Genevieve was completely devoted to the task – so much so that she’d known she wanted to be a Veteran psychiatrist even before she’d gone to university.

  Her father had been a veteran of the Vietnam war – one who hadn’t gotten the help he needed for his PTSD, and so, when she’d been ten years old, she’d come home to find that he’d hung himself in his bedroom closet. It had been one of the most traumatizing moments of her existence, and when she understood why he’d killed himself, she’d sworn she’d do everything in her power to keep any soldier she knew from doing the same.

  They never stopped being soldiers – she understood that now. Even when all the fighting stopped and they’d returned to the States. When the danger had gone and they were free to live their lives without the threat of violence and bloodshed.

  Some of them never came home; they needed help to extricate themselves from the hell they’d been sent to through their experiences.

  And that was what she lived for.

  Genevieve was what some would call a prodigy. She’d graduated high school at the age of sixteen and had been accepted to Brown on a full scholarship – something her mother had cried with joy over. From the moment she’d gone to university, she’d made it her mission to get through her courses as quickly as possible. There were men that needed her – soldiers just like her father - who were hurting and in need of help; and there were too few qualified people to aid them.

  She’d sped through her undergraduate degree in a mere two years and had immediately dived into medical school, steering her concentration towards recovery from PTSD, Paranoia disorder, and Suicide Analysis.

  Those years had been some of the hardest of her life. More often than not, she’d stayed up all night studying, had worked with patients’ whose stories wrenched her heart, and had learned what it meant to let someone else’s problems become her own. When she’d finally earned her MD, she’d been so elated that she’d smiled for a week straight, unable to believe that she’d finally achieved her goal. Perhaps the only person prouder than she herself had been her mother. The woman had suffered from her own depression ever since her husband had died, and with Genevieve’s help, she’d slowly eased her way back to mental health and even remarried when the young woman was twenty eight.

&n
bsp; There had never been any question of where she would go. Riperton had one of the most lauded psychiatric programs for veterans and was only an hour’s commute from her house. Of course, it had only been after she was hired and worked at the hospital for a year that she had discovered that the program carried its reputation in spite of its department head, and not because of him. There were a number of truly gifted psychiatrists and psychologists at the hospital, and Genevieve considered herself very lucky to be able to call them colleagues.

  However, there was not a single one amongst their number that would call Dr. Kant out for his lack of empathy concerning his patients. No one would touch the man with a ten foot pole, and even after seven years of working under him, Genny had yet to find out why. So, she simply swallowed her anger and frustration and vented when she could. But this…this was beyond anything she could fathom.

  One of her patients was dead, and as far as she was concerned, his death was on Daniel Kant’s hands.

  “Genny.” As she entered the office, she looked up to see the anxious face of Stella – one of her fellow doctors and closest friends. The redhead’s face was pale, her green eyes large in her slim face. “I heard what happened. Everyone is really upset. Are you alright?” She made her way out of her cubicle and closed the distance between the two of them to take her friend gently by the arms.

  Genny allowed herself a deep, centering breath before she spoke. “No…I’m not alright. But I’m going to have to be, aren’t I?” She tried, trying to swallow the desolation she felt. Spencer was dead. After all the progress they had made, he was gone, and there was nothing she could do to bring him back.

  She’d learned in school – and through years of experience – that you couldn’t always blame yourself for the decisions your patients made…but she knew this one could have been prevented. “Stella…Kant allowed him to have medication…knowing what it might do to him, he let it happen. Are we supposed to let that stand?”

  Stella’s eyes immediately darkened. She was one of the few doctors in the office willing to speak frankly to Genevieve about what she thought of their department head, but she wouldn’t do it while in the office proper. “Let’s talk about it later, Gen. The cops are here now…everyone’s in a mood…trust me, all of us know no one could be more upset over this than you… but let’s not pick our battles now.”

  She was right.

  For all the times Genevieve had tried to drum up the support to launch a formal inquest about her boss, she’d always been disappointed. She’d learned that the office was not the place from which to start an investigation into a man beyond reproach. She was only frustrated, and she wanted, more than anything, for Kant to at least admit he’d made a mistake.

  But there was little chance of that.

  Glancing over to the front entryway of the office, where four officers in uniform were taking aside doctors to question them one by one, Genevieve frowned. She would be willing to bet money that they never got around to questioning her supervisor.

  At a gentle hand on her shoulder, she tried to force herself to relax. “Genny, let it go. I can’t imagine how you must feel about Spencer, but there are others who need us too.”

  Stella was right. Genevieve had a list of patients she was supposed to see that day, and as much as she felt for Spencer, she owed them her complete and undivided attention. Straightening her spine, the young woman merely nodded, turning back towards her desk in the corner. Upon it were stacked the folders of patients she had marked for the day – and she knew that her first appointment was in less than an hour.

  Running a hand through her rampant, messy dark curls, she sank down at her desk, trying to find her Zen. Anyone who looked upon her at that moment would have seen the lush curves of a woman who took care of herself – who made it to the gym at least three times a week and tried to watch what she ate. At the age of thirty, she had not yet been assaulted with fine lines or dark circles, but her honey eyes spoke of the fatigue that came from enduring taxing situations. Her toffee colored skin contrasted starkly with the rampant, dark curls that framed her face, drawing gazes to her almost regal features – long, aquiline nose, full mouth, and eyes slanted in an exotic fashion. Genevieve was one of the only people of color working in the office, but once they laid eyes on her, her patients rarely forgot her.

  Some of her coworkers suggested that her success rate – especially with her male patients – was because so many of them fell in love with her. It was not the kind of love that led to illicit affairs and broken families, but rather the love that came from both attraction and being enthralled with Genevieve’s honest nature. She had a way of speaking to her clients as if they were the only people in the world.

  As if they were special – and needed.

  She believed with true conviction in the rights of all of the armed forces, and was one of their fiercest advocates – a calling that tended to steal away any and all opportunities for a social life. As much as her coworkers tried to tempt her from the office for parties and private get-togethers, more often than not, she declined, choosing to spend time buried in her work at the office over excitement and revelry. She was unmarried, with little interest in dating – despite the fact that several doctors who worked with her had tried to persuade her – and while she was one of the most devoted psychiatrists at the hospital, she was also the loneliest.

  Genevieve declined to buy a pet because she was scared she’d neglect it. She didn’t date men because she knew her patients were far more important to her – and when it came to her intimate life…well, it was practically nonexistent. On the few occasions when she did manage to arrange a relationship of mutual benefit with someone, they quickly learned that her work came first and foremost, and quickly tired of her putting off rendezvous in lieu of pulling long hours.

  Her mother called her a workaholic, and if there was anyone who understood Genevieve’s conviction to her position, it was Martha Thomas. The woman both appreciated and worried about her daughter’s dedication to her cause. Once she had been pulled far enough from the depths of her depression to realize how quickly her daughter had blossomed, she’d hoped the young woman would find a man she could settle down with. With her capacity for love, Martha saw Genevieve as a wonderful mother.

  However, she quickly discovered that Genny was married to her profession. It was her most beloved child, and trying to pull her away from it was like squeezing blood from a turnip. It was Genny’s mother who had been most surprised when she’d taken her vacation, shocked that her daughter could separate herself from her obsession for long enough to take a breather.

  But now, Genny was back.

  And as she looked through the patients she was slated to meet with for that day, she pursed her lips in thought. Most of them suffered from PTSD. Thomas Shaeffer was a particularly difficult case who still liked to sleep under his bed with his rifle in his hands, and he came right after lunch. Rachel Manson was having post-partum depression, searching for a way to deal with the fact that her fellow soldiers were still fighting in the war while she got to live a bliss-filled life with her loving husband. Elmer Hicks was one of the few patients she did have on a low dose of anti-depressants. The man had already attempted suicide once, and she felt more comfortable having him on meds as long as he was under strict supervision for side effects.

  A courtesy not paid to Spencer.

  She forced herself to bury the thought deep under her current workload. She would go out for drinks with Stella later, and they would speak then. There would be plenty of time to express her leagues of dissatisfaction with her boss and the pain she felt knowing what the McAvoy family had lost.

  She flipped to her file for the last appointment of the day and arched a brow in surprise. It was a new intake form. Genevieve hadn’t had a new patient in a very long while. She usually liked to work with the same people until she got results; and so even though she was very highly requested, there wasn’t enough time in the day for her to take as many patients
as she wanted. She swallowed thickly when she realized that she must only be getting a new patient in the wake of Spencer’s death, and blinked back tears before urging herself to open the file.

  The moment she did, Genevieve paused as she was faced with the most arresting pair of emerald green eyes she’d ever seen. For a good minute, she could do little more but stare at the picture clipped to the front of the paperwork as a flush crept up her neck. When she came back to herself, the young woman quickly glanced around the office to make sure no one else had caught her reaction before she looked back to the photo.

  He was her patient – which meant that he had to be a Vet – so it would be her job to view him objectively. Unfortunately, Genevieve could instantly sense that this was going to pose a bit of a problem.

  The man was absolutely breathtaking.

  His facial structure was all masculine angles, from a strong, jutting chin with a pronounced cleft to high cheekbones and a wide brow. Dark hair beginning to grow out from a military cut curled about his ears and forehead, and a few days’ worth of stubble grew over the southern half of his face, giving him a roguishly rugged appearance that was softened by his full mouth. The only thing to mar the man’s startling attractiveness were three gleaming lines of scar tissue that zigzagged over the left half of his face, close to his ear. Though Genevieve wasn’t a medical doctor, she thought the wounds looked to be about a year old.

  His name was Owen Sinclair, and he was a recently retired Navy SEAL. At his title, Genevieve’s eyes widened. She’d never worked with Special Forces before. Because of the classified nature of many of their missions, they often had their own specialist psychiatrists – government officials that they could divulge to without any fear of repercussions. Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline when she saw that the man had been specially referred to her, and, reluctantly putting his image aside, she opened the envelope beneath it.

  It was a letter addressed to her - and the moment her eyes fell on the name of the sender, her mouth curved into a wide smile.