Page 3 of Covert Temptation (SEAL Team Blackout Charlie #4)

D ante hunched over his desk, his eyes burning. On the monitor, security footage looped, showing him the same thing over and over again.

First thing he did was scan the immediate area where the shooting took place. It didn’t take long to come to the conclusion that the shooter could have been stationed within a mile of Shaw.

The skyscrapers all started to look the same—same steel, same glass. After the third hour of watching, Dante finally pinpointed the position of the sniper, then slowed down the footage to follow the bullet trail to its target…right between Shaw’s eyes.

What he was searching for, and had yet to find, was any person of suspicion entering the building where the bullet had come from.

Right now, FBI agents were combing the building from top to bottom. He’d be damn surprised if they found anything, though. This wasn’t the 1960s where spent rifle shells were left behind to be traced back to the shooter. Criminals were much savvier now.

Dante wasn’t going to find anything that the FBI couldn’t—he was doing this for personal reasons. Because he had to know.

Had to know if he could have prevented Alan Shaw’s death.

In an effort to eliminate the strain on his body, he shifted positions.

The government-issued desk had a warp in the top that dug into his forearms when he worked.

After long hours, his skin was grooved from the sharp edge, and his back ached from the unforgiving hunk of junk that had no business being called a chair.

Using furniture like this in the multimillion-dollar mansion the government seized and granted to Blackout Charlie for a base had to be the biggest joke of all.

Behind his desk, a set of beautiful French doors led outside to a billionaire’s dream yard, including a hundred-thousand-dollar swimming pool with an infinity edge and submerged lighting.

Not to mention the high-end outdoor kitchen that rocked a brick pizza oven.

The Charlie team baked pizzas after every op they returned from. They’d all discovered a love for tossing dough, trading insults and pretending for a few hours that life was normal for a group of dead men.

Dante leaned in closer, elbows digging into the edge of the desk. The footage from a street cam looped back to the courthouse steps. He slowed it to scan every face in the crowd.

The view switched to the side of the courthouse. Nobody lurked in the shrubbery. And finally, the screen flipped to the rear exit, the place where Shaw lost his life.

One second, everything was calm. The next, complete chaos. People screamed and ran in all directions, some away from danger and others toward it in an attempt to help.

But Shaw was dead before he hit the ground.

Dante paused the footage, studying lighting, angles and trajectory. Someone had taken a shot from the rooftop or the top floor. They knew exactly where Shaw would be and when.

But none of Shaw’s guards saw it coming.

Sitting back, Dante scrubbed a hand over his face. It wasn’t just the case eating at him.

There was a hole left in the team. He wished like hell he could consult Denver on this. Knowing that he couldn’t just go find his buddy and talk things through wore on him.

Everyone knew Denver had taken one too many hits to the head and stayed in the game far too long, but no one had seen his medical discharge coming. His presence hung in the air like a ghost that wouldn’t leave, nor be soon forgotten.

While everyone had clapped him on the back and wished him good luck in the real world, no one was really prepared for how much his absence screwed with the team’s balance.

Especially Dante.

Denver hadn’t just been his teammate—he’d been his mentor. He taught him everything he knew behind a desk, then dragged him out and taught him what it meant to support the team from the ground, in the middle of a firefight, under pressure.

Without Denver, Dante wouldn’t be half the asset he was.

He focused on the screen again, prepared to dig in for several more hours, when the thump of a boot sounded behind him.

Before he turned fully in his uncomfortable chair, he knew Con had come looking for him.

His commanding officer’s huge frame filled the doorway. When he stepped into the office, the fluorescent light shadowed the crease between his eyes.

Con raised his jaw toward the computer monitor. “Any new findings?”

Dante shook his head. “Nothing to report.”

In a few precise strides, Con crossed the room to the desk. “I need you to switch gears.”

“What do you got?”

“We have a new problem.”

A dozen possibilities zipped through Dante’s mind. “What’s the problem?”

“Kennedy.”

Of course it was Kennedy. Ever since Charlie team helped Alyssa, the word “problem” was synonymous with her name.

“What did she do now?”

“She left the safe house.”

He half launched out of his seat. “Fucking hell!”

“We got word from the undercover. When he performed the routine check, she wasn’t in the apartment.”

He bit off a growl. “I knew she’d never stay put. Dammit! I’ll pull footage from traffic cams in the area.”

As Dante set his fingers to the keys and his mind to the task, irritation rolled over him. He hunched over his desk, rifling through traffic cam feeds.

“Any guess what time she left?”

“I’d say it was right after news of Shaw’s death hit the news.”

His fingers slowed. “Why do you say that?”

“Because she contacted Alyssa.”

Dante swung his head to pierce Con in his stare, waiting for more.

His CO continued. “She told Alyssa she knows Shaw is dead and said I love you. It’s a goodbye.”

“Fuck.” He returned to scouring new footage, looking for the tall, leggy blonde. In a city of over a million people, a good percentage of them were blonde.

He didn’t need to tell Con—again—that they shouldn’t be wasting valuable resources—him—on the woman. He’d gone through it over and over again with Con, and yet his thoughts about being Kennedy’s main contact were always shot down.

Kennedy Bloom had been found with spyware on her phone that leaked the ambassador’s schedule—the same schedule that nearly got Alyssa killed, not to mention two special operators on Charlie team.

But here they were, keeping her in a safe house so they could find her and question her anytime they wanted. Only now that another person close to her had been actually killed, she was probably considered a target.

They soon learned Cipher’s true goal: eliminating what was left of SEAL Team Blackout Echo’s unit. Julian Chase, the last man standing, was the biggest target of all. If anyone should be guarded with every resource they had, it was him.

With a low huff of annoyance, Dante sifted through several minutes of footage around the time of the evening news. Within minutes, they had eyes on their escapee. Kennedy Bloom, wearing a dark trench coat, carrying a bag and walking briskly with the crowd, headed to the subway.

Con leaned over the desk, eyes fixed on the monitor. “Stay with her.”

Dante switched to subway cams. Kennedy stepped through the open doors.

“What’s the destination of that train?”

Dante had the subway lines memorized and spouted off several stops on the line…ending with Grand Central Station.

He and Con exchanged a look.

Dante threw himself into following Kennedy. Just as he predicted, she exited the subway and walked into Grand Central Station.

He lost her once, but picked out her thick golden hair glowing like a beacon. Dante studied her from two different camera angles.

She was carrying a big tote bag and wearing a designer coat. Probably every piece she wore had a designer price tag, he thought with a huff.

“She definitely has a plan,” he said.

He and Con tracked her through the busy station to a ticket kiosk. When she made a purchase with cash, he turned his head to look at Con.

“I thought someone searched her belongings to make sure she didn’t have any money?”

Con’s fierce expression told him that whoever had missed a wad of cash obviously hidden in Miss Bloom’s luggage was going to be cleaning toilets for a month.

He dived back in, tracking Kennedy to the train.

“Got her. Train headed northbound. I’ve got the number. Next stop’s Poughkeepsie.”

Con straightened, clapping him on the shoulder. “Good. Go after her.”

Dante froze. He had to be joking. But he didn’t look like it.

Con’s girlfriend might have lightened up their leader a lot since they met and fell in love, but Con was still a hard-ass.

“Why me?” Dante asked.

“Didn’t you say you wanted more field time?” He gave him a level look as if daring him to argue.

Dante didn’t have any reservations about arguing, not when it came to Kennedy Bloom.

“Not this.”

“You don’t get to pick and choose what orders to take, Mainframe. You know that. Now get out there.”

“Why can’t Steele go after her?”

“Because he’s guarding Chase and Alyssa.”

Dante bit back a curse as he pushed away from the desk. “Fine. I’ll grab my gear.”

“Chopper’s on standby.” Amusement seeped into Con’s tone.

“Copy.”

He barely had time to think before he was in the air, the blades spinning overhead in a rhythmic whir.

He landed five minutes ahead of the train’s arrival, giving him enough time to reach the platform and wait in the shadows just inside the shelter. The train hissed as it pulled up, the brakes squealing.

Then the doors slid open, and he boarded.

He picked her out immediately. Even if he didn’t know what she looked like, his gaze would automatically be drawn to Kennedy.

She sat about halfway back in a window seat. Her head was bowed as if she was reading something in her lap, but he knew she was probably just trying to avoid eye contact with the other passengers.

He started toward her.

Then she looked up.

Her eyes widened, and a glimmer of defiance crossed her pretty face.

Stopping in the aisle beside her, he looked down at her. “I need you to come with me.”

The twist of her lips and the sharp glint in her dark brown eyes—like poison-tipped darts aimed straight at him—made it clear she was anything but happy to see him.