Page 22 of Boomer (SEAL Team Tier 1, #7)

The sun burned brighter than she expected when she stepped onto the concrete pad outside MAOC headquarters. The light hit her square between the eyes, slicing through the shadows of her thoughts like a blade.

She blinked against it and forced herself to focus.

A small crowd had gathered near the demo zone.

Operators stood in loose formations, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

Iceman was off to one side, impassive as a mountain.

Lockhart stood opposite, surrounded by his SBS cohort, smug and taut with anticipation.

These guys lived for CQC and for door-kicking.

Taylor scanned the pad and then she saw him.

Boomer was crouched low in front of the reinforced steel door, laying a charge with the reverence of ritual.

He moved like he always did, quiet, contained, unbothered by the noise around him.

Precision was written into the line of his shoulders, his focus narrowed to the wire in his hand and the metal beneath his fingers. He didn’t grandstand. He didn’t pose.

He just was .

Suddenly, everything she had been trying to bury rose again like floodwater.

A life with him. Not just in fleeting hours, not just in the lulls between danger and duty, but real .

Her hand in his. His body beside hers. A child in their arms. A life lived with mutual respect, shared weight, and passion.

Oh, Gott . The passion. She had no idea it could burn like this, feel like this, or that she could want like this. Could what she felt burn out?

The thought struck her in the sternum.

She swallowed it down hard.

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Her life was compartmentalized by design, duty first, always. Love was a luxury. Passion was a flame destined to burn out. The idea of someone like him staying, someone like him choosing her, choosing to build …it was impossible.

But why did it feel so attainable?

She could almost taste it. That alternate life. One where she didn’t have to fight to be heard or diminish herself to be understood. One where desire wasn’t a threat to stability. One where she didn’t have to surrender her soul to serve her country.

The longing coiled tight in her chest.

She set her jaw.

No. That wasn’t for her. She wouldn’t fall for daydreams. She wouldn’t chase what she was never meant to catch.

She moved closer to the crowd, file still clutched in her arms like armor.

Lockhart’s voice cut through the haze. “You can’t make a breach that tight with a charge that small. No one can do that without blowing the bloody wall with it.”

Taylor froze, the weight of the moment pulling her breath taut.

Iceman’s reply came cool and without hesitation. “ My Boomer can. You tell him the radius and stand back.”

She watched.

Boomer rose, the charge in place. He stepped back, gave the signal.

The blast came like punctuation, sharp, decisive, and perfectly controlled. The door folded forward in a single motion, landing with a clean metallic thud. No splintering. No chaos. Just geometry and grace.

The Brits went silent. Even Lockhart.

Boomer didn’t look at them. He looked straight ahead, then his gaze found her .

A flicker passed across his face, something unspoken, something she felt like a touch.

Her stomach twisted. Her pulse stumbled. She looked away too quickly. This wasn’t hers to feel. Not here. Not now. But the ache settled into her ribcage anyway, and it stayed.

Taylor schooled her features into neutrality as she approached the gathering, her file still held tight against her chest, like the mission itself could keep her heart from breaking rhythm.

Iceman acknowledged her with a brief nod. “You look like a woman who’s got something for us to do.”

She gave a clipped reply, voice steady. “I do. Precursor movement confirmed. Trucks routed through Setúbal for temporary hold. They’ll load onto M/V Rovika , a vessel out of Leix?es, likely tonight.”

Lockhart raised an eyebrow. “You’re certain?”

Her gaze was stone. “I wouldn’t be standing here if I weren’t.”

Boomer stood to the side, near the wreckage of the door, silent and still, but present in that way that made the air feel heavier.

He hadn’t moved since the blast. She felt his eyes on her.

She didn’t look. She couldn’t. The moment her gaze touched his, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep her face from fracturing.

“Let’s reconvene inside,” she said briskly, turning toward Iceman. “We’ll need to coordinate naval and land intercept options with command and MAOC.”

Lockhart muttered something under his breath, but it didn’t matter. The chain of authority had already shifted, and they all felt it.

Taylor turned and walked away, boots clicking against the concrete, spine held straight with the kind of force that only fear could forge, fear not of the op, or the threat, or the politics swirling around their shoulders.

No, this fear lived in her chest where it pulsed like a secret.

She made it ten steps before she let her breath out slowly.

Even then, even then, she still felt him behind her, a man worth time, energy, her body, her heart, and anything else he wanted.

She closed her eyes with the strength of her emotions, tangled, unsettling, and all for him. How could she want that when she was committed? That was the most impossible thing of all.

Boomer leaned against the doorframe of the tech bay, arms folded across his chest, one boot crossed over the other.

Iceman had told him to get eyes on the breach point and prep demo specs for the debrief, but first he needed answers.

He also wanted to know what was up with Taylor.

She had avoided his gaze, and he wanted to know what was spooking her.

He vowed he would slow this down, but he didn’t want her to disappear on him.

He swallowed hard. He didn’t want a repeat performance of coming home to an empty house with nothing but a set of divorce papers on the dining room table.

Taylor stood at the mission board, organizing printouts, her brow furrowed, one hand propped on her hip, her mouth as tight as her shoulders.

She hadn’t noticed him yet. He studied her, a woman who was planning a mission would be locked in, would be anxious, especially with sending in two teams of elite operators, and her own guys.

That was a lot of responsibility on her beautiful redheaded shoulders.

Damn, her hair was like fire, and his body burned, fuck it burned.

But he had to get his priorities straight.

He didn’t clear his throat. Just said, quiet but pointed, “You got time for five minutes of hard questions?”

She looked up, startled, her eyes snapping with anger. Like she’d been expecting this. “What kind of hard questions?”

Her voice was clipped, her accent a little more pronounced. Was it bad that it turned him on? He stepped inside, closed the door with a soft click behind him. “You aiming that fire at me, Red?”

Her face softened, and that snap in her eyes sparkled as she shook her head. “You call me red again, and you’ll need to make sure your back armor plates are in good working order.”

He chuckled. “Who says Germans don’t have a sense of humor?”

“You know I’m always armed.”

“Yet somehow that only makes you hotter, sugar.”

She let out a low groan and shook her head, half turning away like she needed distance. “Please, I beg you. Stop being you again. I can’t handle an op and your damn charm. Have mercy.”

“Since you asked so nicely. I’ll give it a damn good try, darlin’.”

She cut him a dry look over her shoulder. “That was pathetic, but you can’t help it.” She blew out a breath. “It’s not you. I was overruled by my boss, Comandante Raul Esteves, Maritime Operations Coordinator, Portuguese Navy Liaison to MAOC.”

“What did he do or say to piss you off. You know I have assassin ninja skills. I could take him out and no one would find the body.”

That broke the tension and she laughed. “You really can’t help yourself… devastating bastard ,” she murmured under her breath.

“Ask your questions before I lose my mind and cross a line we’ll both pretend we didn’t want.”

“Damn…okay. They’re twofold. First the op.”

When he stepped close, she took in a soft breath, nodding. “Ask away. I know you by now, and I know what you need.”

Her words slammed into him as he nodded at the warehouse schematic. If she knew what he needed right now, she’d be running in the other direction. The craving for her was overwhelming, and he had to focus hard to keep from getting closer.

“This mezzanine. Original construction?”

Taylor shook her head. “No.” Damn, did she have to look at his mouth like that?

Take in the breadth of his shoulders with heated Nordic blue in her eyes?

She licked her lips, and his gaze went there.

It shouldn’t have, but he was helpless. She slipped her index finger under his chin, bringing his eyes back to hers.

He wasn’t sorry, and the corner of her mouth kicked up.

“Added in 2017 by a private holding company. For dry storage. The permits list it as temporary scaffolding, but aerial confirms steel beam supports.”

Boomer’s eyes narrowed. “So not rated for weight?”

“Depends on the load,” she said, handing him a file. “But we’re assuming reconstitution gear, not pallets. Nothing heavy enough to drop the floor.”

“We don’t really know what they’re keeping up there. I don’t like unknowns, but we’re trained to deal with them.” He flipped through the file, gaze scanning for floor integrity and column locations. “What’s under the mezzanine?”

“Nothing on record. Open floor. Possibly where the compression vats are placed.”

Boomer tapped the corner of the map. “This access route here? Any chance the service corridor behind the utility grid has been retrofitted?”

“We don’t know. Satellite didn’t catch heat signatures. No active secondary power source.”

“But there’s been movement.”