Page 31 of Covert Temptation (SEAL Team Blackout Charlie #4)

T he tires screamed as he took the turn too fast, but Dante didn’t ease off the gas. The narrow road snaked through a stretch of woods that broke open into frostbitten pastures.

On his screen, the tracker pulsed—one tiny dot surrounded by blank space. Whoever had taken Kennedy knew what they were doing. They’d selected the most remote spot in the valley.

He was nearly there.

The barn rose out of the valley like a ghost—gray and leaning hard to one side. Against the backdrop of bleak sky, it looked like something out of a horror movie.

His breath caught at the memory of her slipping that tracker into her boot, all to show him he could trust her.

Christ. Kennedy.

He didn’t know what he’d find. If she was alive…if she was already—

His fingers whitened on the wheel. Don’t think it. You don’t get to fall apart. Not now.

A half mile out, he killed the lights and let the vehicle roll to a quiet stop behind a row of leafless trees standing stark against the bleak sky.

Climbing out, he kept low, his weapon locked in his grip. The wind howled through the emptiness, but there were no other sounds—no voices, no movement. No vehicle was in sight, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t hidden behind the barn.

He approached the barn cautiously. Every breath he took felt too shallow, causing his heart rate to double. His muscles tightened with the anticipation of a gunshot or scream.

In a low crouch, he rushed to the structure and pitched up against the east side near a small, dirt-coated window. His heart thundered in his ears, but there was no quieting it, not when he had to look inside despite what he might see there.

Holding his breath, he pushed out of his crouch to peek through the window.

His breath slammed from his lungs.

Jesus, she was there. Kennedy.

She stood in the center of the room, bathed in a cone of yellow light from an overhead bulb. As he looked on, her captor pulled out a knife and slashed the zip-ties binding her wrists. Then he tore off her sweater in one sharp move.

Dante’s chest throbbed with fury. She was stripped to her underwear, bare feet on the rough wood floor, arms trembling at her sides.

Dante’s throat clogged when she twisted in her stiff dance to reveal tears streaking down her face. Her lips were quivering, not counting the steps she took.

But her eyes…they were what scared him shitless.

Her eyes were dead.

A man sat slouched on some low object against the wall. Once in a while, he reached into a can and tossed something that made a low clicking noise when it hit the wall.

He wasn’t watching Kennedy like she was desirable. In fact, he looked bored.

Rage detonated in Dante’s chest. His vision blurred, and he dropped into a crouch again, feeling like he’d just taken a hit to the heart. But it was still beating, hard and fast, drowning out the world.

He would kill that man.

He sucked in ice-cold air that tasted like rust…or blood.

His hands shook as he scanned the perimeter of the barn, searching desperately for a weak point—an entry that wouldn’t put Kennedy in the line of fire when he burst in with gun blazing.

But the barn was old and rotted. A stiff wind could probably blow it over. There were gaps between the wood siding, and as he stalked around the side, keeping to the wall, he heard the creak of the floorboards under Kennedy’s feet as she danced.

The main entry was a sliding metal sheet, partially rusted. No way to breach it quietly.

No way to avoid the storm.

He crept around to the back, finding nothing but hay and the stench of rot. Here, some of the boards had fallen off, leaving only the rusty nails left on the exposed post holding the structure upright.

He looked up, hoping for a loft that he might be able to slip into, but he couldn’t see any access that wouldn’t expose his position.

Curses ran through his mind in time with his blood pounding in his ears. He clenched his fingers tighter around the gun grip.

He had to find an entry point—now. He couldn’t wait.

He spotted a small pile of rocks near the base of a fence post. Dante scooped one up, gauging the weight in his palm. It wasn’t perfect, but it’d do.

He crept back to the same window and hurled the rock with every ounce of fury in his body.

The glass shattered like a gunshot, loud and sharp. Inside, the man leaped up, spinning toward the sound with his gun drawn.

This was his chance. Dante sprinted for the main door.

The groaning metal screamed as he shoved it open, and he dove through and came up on one knee. He swept to the left, his gaze barely registering Kennedy standing there in her bra and panties—just as the first shot rang out.

The flash came fast and bright.

Agony exploded in his side.

He went down hard, the breath punched from his lungs. Cold floorboards rushed up to meet him, and he rolled behind a feed bin. A grunt lodged behind his gritted teeth as he pressed his palm to the burn spreading beneath his ribs.

Missed the vest.

Fuck.

A second and third shot echoed through the wide, empty barn. Dust floated down like ash.

“Dante!” Kennedy’s scream tore through him with the same force as the bullet that laid him out.

He tried to speak but tasted copper.

He blinked up through the haze and found her hunched behind a stack of old crates, still trembling in her bra and panties, knees pulled to her chest. She was bleeding from a split lip. The purple bruise darkening on her arm filled Dante with fresh fury.

The bastard had hit her.

The sound that burst out of Dante was part snarl, part gasp.

Another shot pinged off the wall just inches from his head.

He ducked lower.

“Why don’t you come out and show me what you can do, SEAL!” the man shouted.

The piece of shit actually thought he had the advantage.

With his lips compressed in a grim line, he yanked a flash grenade from his belt.

He pulled the pin.

And waited.

Another shot rang out—closer. Goddammit, the bastard was moving.

No time like the present.

Dante rolled out from behind the bin and flung the flash-bang dead center.

The explosion of white light and sound stunned Dante as well, but he’d already turned away, using muscle memory to surge forward. He tackled the man low, knocking his gun flying.

The asshole recovered fast. Too fast.

They went down in a flurry of limbs, Dante’s strength fueled by sheer rage and the knowledge that Kennedy was watching. He could feel her sobs echoing through the air.

The man slammed a fist into Dante’s injured side. Pain flared, and he nearly blacked out.

But he didn’t stop.

He roared and wrapped both hands around the guy’s throat, squeezing.

“You. Will. Never. Touch. Her. Again.”

The man’s eyes bulged, his hands flailing for something—anything.

Dante shifted, rolled them, and grabbed the pistol from the ground. He aimed it squarely at the man’s head.

“I should kill you,” he growled.

“Do it,” the man rasped. “You’re already too late.”

Dante pressed the barrel harder into his skull.

But then he looked up and saw Kennedy, huddled and shaking. Her eyes locked on his.

He couldn’t do it. Not like this.

He slammed the butt of the pistol into the guy’s temple. Once. Twice. The man slumped to the floor, unconscious and bleeding.

Only then did Dante rise, panting and swaying. He holstered the gun with a shaking hand and stumbled toward her.

“Kennedy.”

She didn’t move at first.

He fell to his knees beside her and gently reached for her hand. “It’s me. You’re safe now.”

A sob cracked out of her throat. She lunged into his arms, burying her face against his chest.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” she whispered.

He wrapped her tight against him, despite the hot pain tearing through his side and the scent of his own blood in the air. “I swear to you, Kennedy. I’m never letting you go.”

Her fingers gripped his shirt like a lifeline.

And as they sat on that cold floor in the echo of violence, the only thing Dante could feel was the raw, blistering truth pounding through his veins.

He loved her.

And he would raze the world to the ground to keep her safe.

* * * * *

Dante’s body seemed to go slack in Kennedy’s arms.

“Dante!”

He slumped to the barn floor, blood drenching his side.

She stared at him with wide eyes, too stunned at first to move. Each breath he took was labored, each rise and fall feeling like a precious second slipping away.

Her fingers hovered uselessly over the crimson blooming under his palm.

“Oh my god. Dante—what do I do? Tell me what to do!” Her voice broke, and her heart hammered so hard she could barely hear the words she uttered.

His jaw tightened with pain. “Just…a…second.” He pushed off the floor and slumped against the wall. “It’s…not through anything major. Just hurts like a bitch.” His dark eyes raked over her.

“It’s bleeding like it’s major.” She gently tugged up the hem of his shirt to see the wound, ragged and raw, too close to all his vitals. Her hands shook. “I need to do something. I need to stop the—”

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught movement.

Her head snapped up, her heart plummeting as she realized her kidnapper was already recovering from Dante pistol-whipping him. The same captor who forced her to dance for him.

“No,” she snarled.

Time slowed. Kennedy rose to her feet. Her fingers closed on the wooden handle of a garden tool.

Rage sharpened her senses, and adrenaline surged like liquid fire through her veins. Instinct rose inside her, primal and deadly. She knew hockey, had seen someone get high-sticked on the ice more times than she could count.

She gripped the tool—it was a shovel, she realized from outside herself—and charged her captor, swinging with everything she had.

The metal bashed into the side of his head with a sickening thud. He toppled onto his back with a groan.

But it wasn’t over—he started crawling toward her like some creature that couldn’t be stopped. He shoved onto his knees, then lurched to his feet.

Her muscles screamed as she swung for him again, missing this time.

The blow from the shovel had broken his jaw, and it hung slack in a macabre, gaping grin.

Then a gunshot split the air.

Her kidnapper collapsed in a heap.

Kennedy whirled, shovel still in hand, to see Dante, arm raised, gun in hand. The weapon wavered in his grip, but his aim had been true.

She threw the shovel away and rushed back to him, dropping to her knees. “Dante!”

“Couldn’t let him touch you again.” He lifted his other hand to stroke his knuckle down the curve of her cheek.

Tears flooded her eyes. “Someone else is coming.”

“Cipher?”

“I don’t know if it’s Cipher, but the guy coming for me will kill me. We have to go!”

“Can’t yet.” He blinked slowly.

“What? Dante, no. We have to get you help. Call an ambulance. Call the team for backup!”

He gave a light shake of his head. Weaker. Too weak. “Team’s on an op. We’re on our own.”

The floor felt like it dropped out from underneath her, but she wasn’t giving up on Dante…or them.

“I’ll call for help.”

“We need to see this through. Wait for the other guy. Can’t leave this unfinished.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying. You’re going into shock.” She hurried over to the clothes she’d been forced to take off. She grabbed her top and ran back to Dante to press the cloth to his wound.

His eyes were trained on her face even when his head lolled to the side. “You should go.”

“No. I’m not leaving without you. I know it seems like I’m only out for myself, but nothing could be further from the truth. I didn’t run when I was accused of the security leak. I stayed, and I faced it. I’m not leaving, Dante. I’m not leaving without you…and it’s getting dark.”

He just blinked at her. Slow. Too slow. “Don’t be afraid of the dark. You’re stronger than you think.”

She let out a gasping wail.

“You really think I believe you’re only looking out for yourself?”

“Everyone else does,” she choked.

He reached to stroke his fingertip along her jaw. “I don’t believe that, sweetheart. Not anymore. I’m sorry I ever did.”

That broke her. Tears poured down her cheeks, unstoppable. “Where’s your phone? I’ll call for help.”

“Not yet. I have to say this. Kennedy, you’re my world.”

Her mind whirled, and her heart tumbled at the words. She leaned in, pressing her forehead against his. “You’re mine too. I love you, Dante.”

“Love you …”

She felt around his pocket and located his phone. When she pulled it free, she pressed her lips to his—hard.

She pulled up the keypad and dialed.

“9-1-1, what is your emergency?”