Page 65 of Hidden Attraction

Alyssa was gone.

They got her.

That van—the screeching tires. It was all too close to the attempted kidnapping in New York City. He rushed into the bedroom and grabbed his phone, stabbing a finger at the screen to get his commanding officer on the line.

“Con,” he gritted out.

The sheets were tangled from their night of passion, still holding the warmth of Alyssa’s body.

The SEAL in him wanted blood. The man in him wanted to fall to his knees and scream.

“Cobra, what’s going on?”

“She’s gone. Snatched off the street.”

“Fuck! You weren’t with her?”

“No. She left our bed while I was sleeping.” He passed a shaking hand over his face. Hehadto get it together.

Silence crackled for a beat. Then Con said, “I’ll get Dante on this.”

He put the phone on speaker and set it on the bed so he had his hands free to dress. He yanked on each garment with total mindlessness.

Dante’s voice came over the line, sharp, focused. “Stay put, Cobra. I’m getting eyes now.”

He knew Dante would be tapping into any feeds from street cameras or even possible drones in the area.

“Con, I need an assist. I don’t care if you find me a mercenary to help me get her back.” Even as he said it, he knew what Con would say.

“I can’t run an unsanctioned op on foreign ground.”

“The kidnapping wasn’t sanctioned either, goddammit!”

Dante broke in. “I have a satellite image.”

Adrenaline surging through his body, Chase’s request sounded as an order. “Tell me what you see!”

“Black van.”

“Yes.”

“Two men in black.”

“Fuck!”

“They snatched her off the street and tossed her in the van. I’m getting local authorities on the hunt for the vehicle now.”

“Jesus Christ,” he moaned. His stomach bottomed out, lower than low. The heavy weight of despair—one he knew very well after losing Echo—dragged down his heart too.

“Why wasn’t I protecting her? It was my goddamn job to protect her, and I failed.” The shame in his gut burned hotter than any anger.

Con was the voice of calm reason. “This was coordinated. Professional.”

“They must have been watching the house, just waiting to take her. I need to get her back. Find me a team!”

“Cobra, we’ll get her back. But you can’t go vigilante on me.”

Too late. He was halfway to fury, checking his ammo in the clip and stuffing more in his pockets, enough to take out a platoon of men when he really only needed three bullets—one for each man who grabbed her and one for the driver.

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