Page 13 of Stealthy Seduction
Having women on base with them meant they needed to ensure they were safe, especially when each of them had been targeted by Cipher in their own way.
After the guys cleared out, he stayed behind, burning himself out on pull-ups until his shoulders screamed. Cipher’s name gnawed at him. The terrorist was too damn quiet. A man like that didn’t vanish—he waited.
Steele’s grip tightened on the bar until his knuckles popped like gunfire.
His phone buzzed. He released the bar and dropped to the floor. The pulse of hope in his chest that it might be the same person he was mystery-texting at midnight—the sexy woman he couldn’t forget the taste of—faded when he spotted the text from Dante.
Steele blew air from his nostrils.
The message was short.
Chatter. Money moving. Can’t pin it.
Particulars?he fired back.
Nothing solid. Just whispers.
Need help?
Not yet. But stay close.
Henner, who they called Chickie, entered the gym, stopping in his tracks when he saw Steele. “You look distracted today, Steele. Chase told me you’ve been texting a lot lately. Got your head in the game, or somewhere else?”
“Texting Dante.”
Chickie’s grin faded. “Everything good?”
“Nothing to report. Yet.” He slung a towel around his neck and brushed past Chickie, hating that he was rising to any of the guys’ taunts about Izzy.
Truth was, he was pissed off at himself…because his head wasfullof Izzy.
Back in his room, he set the towel aside and went straight for his go-bag. His hand lingered in the inner pocket where the foil square of a condom caught the light. He counted them. Too many for “just protocol.”
Too many not to think of using every last one with Izzy.
He told himself it was readiness.
He emptied the bag and reloaded it, double-checking every piece. Sidearm cleaned and oiled, mags topped off.
He told himself it was just professionalism.
But his gut said Cipher was stirring again, building up to something big. And when it blew, none of them would be safe from the fire.
* * * * *
The lobby of the medical center buzzed with quiet efficiency, but Izzy knew beneath it all was controlled chaos. She clutched her leather bag that held her recorder and her notepad. When she slipped her fingers inside to check her equipment one more time, her fingers trembled just slightly.
First day back. First real interview since…
She pushed the thought away before it could fully surface.
“You’ve got this,” she whispered to herself, straightening her shoulders. The crystal pendant at her throat felt warm against her skin, a tangible reminder that she was safe. Here. Now. Not there.
She’d bought the amethyst from a healer during her retreat in South America—a woman with weathered hands and knowing eyes who’d pressed it into Izzy’s palm without explanation. Whether it was the stone itself or simply having something concrete to hold on to, it had become her tether in moments when the world felt too sharp around the edges.
In quick steps, she made her way to the hospital café to meet with the man she was here to interview. As she approached the café doors, Dr. Samuel Webb emerged from the elevator, his salt-and-pepper hair slightly mussed and his scrubs bearing the telltale signs of a long shift. But his eyes were bright, alert, just like the photos of him she’d found during her research.
When he spotted her, his smile was genuine.
