Page 73 of The SEALs' Single Mom Baby Surprise

“Only once.” Reese’s voice has lowered so much that it amplifies all of the sick feelings I’m currently battling. The implications of that is a good distraction as Shep calls the babysitter and explains to her that we need an emergency overnight situation.

I start packing her things in her backpack and rub her back as Shep ends the call.

She’s on her feet, but she puts her fists on her hips the same way Sloane does. “My mommy is smart. She notices things. She’s good with messy things. She can keep herself alive. But you have to go now.”

What a strong little girl. I bend to plant my own kiss at her temple. “You’re smart and observant, too. Stay safe.”

Reese peers up at me with pride. “I know how, too.”

“I have no doubt.”

She lets me put her backpack on her shoulders before she takes Shep’s hand and pumps those little legs to keep up with him until he swings her in his arms.

Cole turns to me once they’re through the door. “Let’s go have a closer look.”

He flips the lights on, and my gut tells me the dark part of the warehouse where we turned around. Cole lets me take the lead back there.

We already know the boxes, crates, and equipment meant to be destroyed are in the back by the weapons cage.

And right away, I spot the disturbances. The gun cage is open. Signs of movement on the floor, chunks of gear and creates missing, like they were all moved at once.

How, with all of us just right here?

I grab the log to help me remember what they were keeping back here. Extra gun parts. Magazines of mislabeled bullets. Satellite equipment for long-range communication. All of the things Sloane has marked for return or destruction. Everything that’s been out of the ordinary is gone.

There’s only one way for that to happen. Kingswell.

So where is the traitor?

Cole advances, seeing something I don’t. He always does. But when he steps out of the back door, disappears, and comes back with the surliest frown I’ve seen in a while, it’s got to be bad.

“One of the planes is gone.”

I shake my head in disbelief, the shock of it freezing me in place before I march after him to look.

Fuck, he’s right. The small Short C-23 Sherpa that’s been waiting for parts is gone. There are wheel marks in the wet blacktop from where it turned around to get in the air.

It makes the distance they could have taken her much farther.

This is not good.

33

SLOANE

Iwake in the rocky cabin of the Short C-23 Sherpa we were rebuilding in the adjacent hangar. It needed parts the last time I talked to the mechanics. I don’t remember logging them in.

Seems they got them around me, anyway.

My head throbs and my vision is blurry, but I’m curled on the floor with my hands secured behind my back and my ankles grinding together.

Swallowing hard, my mouth is dry and slimy with a rag tied around the back of my head. Some of my hair is caught in the knot. A steady sting at the back of my head worsens when my head bobs with turbulence and pulls on it.

Taking a few slow, deep breaths through my nose, I will my sour guts to stop churning. It’s hard to swallow back the acid jostling up my throat. I can taste it.

Thrumming engines make most of the ride silent. Occasionally, two men up front murmur.

Half of my thoughts circle on,just settle down, no puking, just settle down.

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