Page 48 of The SEALs' Single Mom Baby Surprise

My focus is on keeping her safe. Fuck, I’ve never had to remind myself of that with other cases. Other women.

What is it about you, Sloane, that has me so distracted?

I sip my own black coffee under her watchful eye.

Why do you seem drawn to men twice your age?

“Getting tired?”

“No.”

“Bored?”

“Mmm.” Sloane reaches out and pokes me in the shoulder, a smile curving on her mouth.

I raise a brow at her.

“I’ve always had a hard time sitting still. Reese and I have this poking game when it’s too quiet. When it’s too quiet, I fall back into lines of thought I’d rather not have. What-ifs and all that.” Her finger presses harder into my bicep, staying there until I huff out a laugh.

“I get that.”

Movement pulls her upright again, legs falling from her grasp. A loading dock door opens, and that middle man unloads crates.

“What is all that?”

“Could be anything. We’re just seeing if anyone else shows up.” And the idea is no further out of my mouth when a familiar figure steps into view.

That co-worker of hers—Kingswell.

21

SLOANE

What the hell is Edmund doing here?

I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. Leaning forward, my hands plant on the dashboard as I try to see him more clearly through the windshield. “That’s Edmund! What the hell is he doing here?”

Sterling puts a calming hand on my arm, bringing me back to the car and not the swirling curiosities and accusations. Edmund is in on this?

"Sit back. Don’t make yourself a target." He grounds me.

I settle back into the seat, scooting closer to Sterling to get a better view.

Edmund shakes the hand of the guy we’ve been watching, handing over an envelope of documents. I can’t believe it. What is he doing? And why?

The gentle momma’s boy I work with every day is leaking data? What kind? It’s not like we’re in the midst of anything covert or classified. Except for maybe shipping routes and destinations.

God almighty, Edmund. What the fuck?

Is that something behind him? I tip closer.

Sterling clears his throat, and I realize my hand is gripping his knee. I’m practically in his lap. Tension zaps me as we look at each other.

“Sorry. I just…” He holds up a camera with a long lens, and I retreat so that he can take some pictures.

Edmund pulls up a small crate, one that comes up to his knees.

“Zoom in on that.” I’m tipped against him as he snaps the shutter and brings up the shot. My heart sinks. I recognize that crate. My heart thuds too hard.

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