Page 27 of Covert Temptation (SEAL Team Blackout Charlie #4)

T he safe house was dark, the only light the faint glow of the laptop screen and the occasional snowflake drifting past the window. The furnace hummed in the background, a steady, low thrum that did little to calm the storm in Dante’s chest.

Everything was a stark contrast to the knot twisting tighter inside him.

Kennedy lay asleep in the bed where they’d just… Well, the only term for what they just shared was “making love.”

When he left her, she was curled up in the sheets. Her golden hair fanned over the pillow, plump lips slightly parted in peaceful sleep.

She looked so damn serene, like she hadn’t dropped a verbal grenade on his soul a few hours ago.

“I’m falling in love with you,” she’d said, soft and uncertain, like maybe she didn’t believe it herself.

He hadn’t known what to say. Hell, he still didn’t. No one had ever said they loved him—not his parents, who were supposed to. Not his siblings, who were too young when they parted ways to vocalize something as elusive as feelings.

Definitely not any of the half-dozen foster families that passed him around like a broken object. The only things people had wanted from Dante King were silence, obedience and results. Love? That had never been in the damn equation.

But now it was. And it was wrecking him.

He let the weight of her words sink in, drifting in the strange warmth of it. Something about her saying it made him feel like he hadn’t entirely failed at life. Like maybe he was worth loving.

And then, because the universe never let him sit in one emotion too long, the laptop pinged.

The search he’d set to run in the background, the one of Kennedy’s photos, had a hit.

He stared at the screen, dread and shock swirling in the recesses of his brain and cutting off the blood to his fingers.

Setting his icy, wooden fingers to the keys, he tapped to open the response and saw a new file.

An encrypted file.

He filled his lungs with air, but it didn’t stop the searing sensation.

Dante straightened, all warmth of his afterglow—of hearing that Kennedy loved him—vanished.

The intel came through the back channel—the same one he used to communicate with his contacts when they didn’t want anyone else to see it. A box popped up, requesting a code.

The cursor blinked at him ten times, then twenty, before he made up his mind to open the file.

He entered the key code and watched with dread.

A picture filled the screen. At first, he thought it was a mistake.

Kennedy.

Onstage. Under red lights.

Dressed in next to nothing, the lingerie far too close to what she’d worn for him tonight.

Dante froze, breath stoppered in his throat. His first instinct was denial. It couldn’t be her. But then he looked again—the mouth he’d kissed raw, the eyes that softened with emotion every time she looked at him. Even the curve of her hips he knew too well.

It was her. No doubt.

Another file auto-loaded, revealing something that had been left off her government clearance application—her employment history.

In college, it seemed that Kennedy Bloom had been a dancer at a local club.

His mind blanked to his own feelings and went straight to intel specialist mode. Lying on a federal form was a felony, and she hadn’t disclosed this job. She’d lied her way into the embassy.

But how? The government checked every single detail of their hires.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

He rocked back in his seat, the chair creaking, his mind spinning.

What the hell was he supposed to do with this information? The thing they all suspected—that Kennedy was withholding something from them—was true.

All the trust he felt moments before wobbled. He felt like he stood on a precipice and uncertainty made him waver.

His phone was already in his hand, and Con’s low, grumbled voice filled his ear.

“She lied, Con.” His voice threatened to break, but he held it steady.

“You’re fucking kidding me. We just agreed she didn’t.”

“There’s a file,” he choked out. “With a background she didn’t include on her application. If she withheld this, what else is she keeping from us?”

“Where did the file come from?”

“I set up a search on one of the photos from her cloud of her and Alyssa. It didn’t pull anything immediately, but it just popped up with a hit. She was a dancer in college.”

“Hell. Anyone would want to bury that, Dante. It doesn’t mean she’s responsible for the attacks.”

“It came as an encrypted file. The hit was found on the dark web, Con. It didn’t come from a buried registry or old club server. This was planted, like bait—specifically where the right photo match could pick it up. Someone wanted me to find it.”

A beat of silence followed. Then Con let out a huff. “Who do you think dropped it?”

“I think whoever put that spyware on her phone sent the photo. They want us to know.”

“You think it’s Cipher.” The statement hung in the silence throbbing between Dante and his commanding officer.

“I do,” Dante said carefully. “I’ve suspected for a while that there was a link between him and Kennedy. Now I know it.”

And it was breaking him.

Con’s voice came into his ear again, more insistent this time. “We know Cipher doesn’t do anything without a reason. Why now? Why get the photo to you?”

Dante closed his eyes. “Because he knows I’ll turn this in. I’m clean. Always have been. I’m a good soldier who follows the damn rules.”

“And Cipher knows that.” Con’s tone was resigned.

As if he believed it too.

God, Dante did not want it to be.

He stood, walked to the window, tried to ground himself in the cold silence. “Maybe I would’ve turned her in…before. But now? Fuck. ”

“What are you going to do?”

“I just told you.”

“No,” Con said quietly. “You stated facts. What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. I need more information before I decide anything.”

“Not everything is black and white, Dante. You need to get her side of the story. Find the link between them.”

The thought of Kennedy—his sweet, soft Kennedy—involved with a terrorist responsible for killing hundreds of people tarnished everything Dante believed in.

He didn’t answer right away. He stared out the window, jaw clenched so tight it ached. “I don’t want to throw this away. Her. Us. Whatever the hell this is turning into.”

“Get the facts first. Don’t condemn her without knowing everything.”

He let out a breath that trembled a little. “This isn’t just about a lie to the team…or to me. Cipher knows I’m searching for her online.”

There was a stretch of silence. Then Con said, “So she lied to stay hidden. And now he’s using that lie to flush her out.”

Dante turned back to the desk. The photo still glared on the screen.

Christ, seeing her like that, exposed to the eyes of men paying to watch her, shattered everything he knew and believed about their relationship.

He thought he felt a shift in the air, the faintest breath stirring it.

The soft creak of a floorboard made his heart stop.

He looked up.

Kennedy stood in the doorway. Barefoot. Silent. And ashen.

His heart rocketed up his throat.

“Kennedy?”

She didn’t answer. She just stared. And then she turned and walked away, fast.

He reached out a hand as if he could yank her back to him. “Kennedy, wait!”

She rushed faster in a streak of blonde hair.

“Shit!” Dante cursed and looked at the phone still in his hand, live with Con. “I have to go.”

He took off after her. He had no idea how much she’d heard, but from the look on her face, it had been enough.

He needed the truth from her—every last word of it.

But he also knew if he didn’t fix this now, he might lose her before he ever really had the chance to hold on.

* * * * *

Kennedy slammed the bedroom door and backed away from it slowly, her mind spinning. She wrapped her arms around her middle because her guts were falling out.

He knows. He knows.

Every time Dante or the FBI received new intel, she feared this would happen. Now it had.

He knew her deepest, darkest secret. It wasn’t about her harmless lie of omission on a government job application. It was about being an exotic dancer to put herself through college.

Even as shivers claimed her, relief somersaulted through her mind. Now that Dante knew, she didn’t have to worry anymore.

The sound of a hand hitting the other side of the door made her back up another step.

“Kennedy.”

He didn’t wait for her answer, just pushed his way inside. He snapped on the light, making her blink.

“Kennedy, talk to me. This time I need to know everything.” His eyes were hard and carried a hint of the old ice she’d seen back when he didn’t trust her. When he didn’t like her.

She hugged herself tighter.

Tilting her jaw a notch, she snapped out, “Why bother? You already know my secret.”

“I want to hear your version.”

All the fight was sucked out of her. She felt her tendons turn to rubber and her body droop.

“I’ve been worried about you finding out.” She forced herself to meet his stare.

“Finding out what?”

“That I put myself through college by dancing.”

“You were a stripper.”

She jutted her jaw. “Not a stripper. I didn’t take off my clothes. I just wore skimpy costumes and danced on stage.”

His jaw worked as if he was grinding his teeth, but he didn’t seem capable of responding.

She went on. “Now you can go ahead and judge me. Tell me what a horrible person I am for leaving it off my job application, for avoiding it in every interrogation, and for not telling you.”

He cut furrows through his hair with his fingers. “It’s not against the law to be a dancer, Kennedy. You didn’t take off your clothes, and that probably wouldn’t have mattered much to the government.”

“My parents found out and told me that I’d never get my dream job if anyone ever found out. I just wanted to better myself.” She stared at her fingers locked in her lap.

He nodded slowly, processing it all. “That’s understandable. But Kennedy, you said you only slept with three people.”