Page 35 of The SEALs' Single Mom Baby Surprise

“Now, don’t hit me.”

My men slip in behind me, closing us all in the small space as we wait for her to rip us apart. It won’t stop us from sticking around, but maybe it’ll provide her with some much-needed relief.

16

RHETT

Stepping into Sloane’s apartment, I’m slapped with a familiar sense of deja vu because Sloane is glaring daggers at me. Although, it seems that the promise of death in her eyes is more centered on Shep than me.

He does tend to cause that kind of reaction in women. In Sloane especially. He can be charming when he wants, so that begs the question, what has he done now?

Shepard winks at her, licking his sly smile, and I imagine he hasn’t done anything worse than I was inclined to do this morning when I was here.

Or the things I’ve been thinking about doing to her all day. It’s not the time to let my thoughts slide in that direction.

Something wicked and violent flickers in her dark blue eyes. I’m glad she doesn’t have something sharp on her.

Shaking my head, I hand the bag with a new doorknob and high security deadbolt strike plate for the wall to the boss. It’s a massive upgrade to the flimsy door lock and deadbolt previously installed. But it’s not going to give her but a few extra seconds when someone wants in.

No match for people with underground networks through the US Navy.

No match for an angry ex with a smartphone full of how-to videos or who’s angry enough to put his boot to the door.

I already knew this place wasn’t safe when I pulled up outside it yesterday.

My hands clench before I look at Sloane again. Her arms are crossed, and her eyes are darker. Sadder. Overwhelmed. In shock. She needs some sleep.

Safety.

Shep approaches, sniffing the air like he’s a hound dog. “Are there any leftovers?”

I spot the takeout bag on the counter—from a local Mexican diner around the corner. Three sets of dishes are drying on a towel. There’s little left out of place, but she has fewer boxes than she did this morning.

“There’s some rice.” She follows him as he peeks in the empty bag.

He’s distracting her from the boss pulling prints from the door, from dismantling the lock, trying to keep his big body between her and the entrance, but it doesn’t fully work. Sloane eyes Cole, and I slip past them into the kitchen, checking the window above the sink. It’s painted closed. No surprise, but not an easy way inside.

It’s locked, but the glass would be easy enough to break.

The door’s easier. Even with the new upgrade.

“I don’t have enough food for the likes of you. If you’re hungry, go eat somewhere else.” A gentler version ofget out of my apartmentthan I expected from her.

Sloane follows my movements as I lean to check the window by the table. Painted closed. Locked. A good ladder would make it easy to breach, but the door remains the easiest way in or out.

“But I’m feeling left out. You’ve fed Hastings, and now, the boss. I’ll take a midnight snack later.” He lets his voice go low and rough. Not fooling anyone. Least of all, Sloane.

I swear, steam is escaping from her ears.

He’s grinning at her reaction, poking her on purpose. Anger is easier to deal with than tears.

Silently, I make it to her bedroom door and take a peek inside.

Reese blinks at me from under a bulky blanket on the full-sized bed. She gives me a small wave as I step inside. The glow from outside highlights the lighter tones in her hair and makes her look like a cherub—big eyes, chubby cheeks, a cupid’s bow mouth. Pure innocence.

I wave back at her, unable to help my small smile. Given what I’ve discovered about their lives, Reese seems pretty happy and well-adjusted. I put my finger to my lips, and she nods.

The room is as bare as the living room is. No dresser. Two open duffle bags with clothes, some toys and books for Reese on top of an upturned box beside the bed.

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