Page 11 of Single Mom's Navy Seals
“Because the agency’s not secure.” Morales’s voice tightens, clipped with frustration. “I’ve got reason to believe there’s a mole. I can’t trust anyone on this one—not even my own team. I trust you. I trust Jax and Cole. That’s it.”
A mole in Witness Protection. Fucking fantastic. I pinch the bridge of my nose, the dull ache behind my eyes growing sharper. “And the target?”
“Ava Haynes, previously Avalina Guerri, aged twenty-seven. She’s got a five-year-old son named Eli. She fled her ex-husband years ago. Name’s Randal Guerri.”
“As in the Capacelli Don’s reported right hand?”
“That’s the one,” he responds. “We’ve had her hidden for half a decade from him while he was serving for the small charge I could get that fucker on. But now Guerri’s out, and he’s already after her and the boy, according to my reports.”
“Where is she now?” I pull a notebook closer, flipping open a fresh page and jotting down the details he’d already given me. “And where am I taking her?”
“She’s headed to a small town on the edge of Pennsylvania,” Morales explains, rattling off an address. I jot it down meticulously, handwriting sharp and precise. “You’ll take her and the boy west, to a location I have secured in Nevada.”
I tap the pen against the desk once, twice, my mind calculating. Of course, we’re taking the job. If it weren’t for the innocent mom and kid, we still would have said so because Morales asked. I personally owe him too much to admit.
The memory crawls through my chest, an old ache still raw beneath layers of maintained control. That last mission had been mine to command, and my judgment call had spiraled into chaos. I’d chosen to rescue one civilian. One life I’d valued above protocol, above everything else. A life saved, but at the cost of many others, teammates who trusted my judgment and paid for it in blood. Morales was the only one among the wounded to survive extraction to a hospital. Still, his career as a SEAL abruptly ended by injuries that should have been mine.
Our SEAL careers had ended, too, just not with medals or ceremonies, but with scars no one could see. Mine the most. I’d carried that weight heavily, spiraling into a darkness I’d nearly drowned in. Jax and Cole had pulled me from the brink, refusing to let me succumb to the guilt and shame. And Morales—he’d never blamed me, not once, though I’d given him every reason.
“I mean, we’ll take the job. But, are you sure it should be us? We aren’t exactly the ideal escorts for a mom and her kid. There must be others. You have endless resources at your fingertips.”
“The second I officially involve anyone else, her location’s compromised again. You three operate off-grid, unofficially. You’re the only team I trust implicitly.”
“All right. Send me the contact number.”
Morales exhales, relief evident even through the phone line. “I’m sending it to you now. Keep communication brief. Check in only after you’ve secured her and the kid. This can’t be traced back to me.”
“Understood,” I reply shortly, already mentally mapping our next moves. Morales had earned this favor a thousand times over.
The line goes dead, leaving behind nothing but the press of silence. I stare at the phone, weighing every angle, every risk. My jaw tightens, tension settling deep in my muscles.
This isn’t just another job. Morales wouldn’t have called unless he had no other choice. And today, the irony hits harder. On the anniversary of my worst failure, Morales is trusting me to succeed where he can’t. To protect where others have failed.
I stand abruptly, slipping the phone into my pocket, shaking off the shadows clawing at the edges of my mind. Walking with purpose, it doesn’t take long before I find my brothers in all but blood. They’re both downstairs in the weapons room.
When I enter, Cole and Jax look up simultaneously from opposite ends of the room. Cole is sharpening knives meticulously at the long, steel table while Jax lounges back casually, one boot propped up, cleaning a handgun with practiced ease. Jax’s wavy chestnut hair falls just past his ears, tousled in a way that always looks unintentional but perfect. His smirk is familiar, cocky, and covers the sharpness in his cheekbones and the shadows under his eyes.
“Get up,” I order calmly, voice level but firm. “We have a job.”
Jax immediately straightens, dark blue eyes glittering with a combination of curiosity and readiness. “What’s going down?”
Cole, silent and watchful as ever, simply slides his knives back into their sheaths, rising fluidly. Both men await my instruction, their attention focused on me.
“Morales called in his favor,” I explain succinctly, grabbing a map and unrolling it on the table. “Witness Protection compromised. A woman and her kid need extraction, fast and secure, from Pennsylvania to Nevada.”
Jax whistles low, the seriousness sinking in. “Government fuck-up?”
“Seems so.” I glance between them, making sure the gravity of this mission registers clearly. “Morales says there’s a mole. No one else can be trusted. Just us.”
Cole nods, arms folded, the tension in his large frame controlled and deliberate. “Any intel on the opposition?”
“Powerful. Mafia-connected,” I say, leaning forward, tracing a deliberate line across the map. “Randal Guerri, the dude tied with the Capacelli Don.”
“Damn, who was dumb enough to get on their bad side?” Jax asks, letting out a whistle.
“The target is his ex-wife, Ava, and their five-year-old son, Eli.” All humor seeps out of the room. “Our job is to keep them alive and deliver them safely to Morales’s safe place in Nevada.”
Jax’s expression hardens, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “High-risk civilian extraction. Probably gonna be messy.”
