Page 9 of Stealthy Seduction (SEAL Team Blackout Charlie #5)

T he war room had fallen into the kind of tense silence that preceded a breakthrough…or a catastrophe.

Steele sat rigid in his chair, phone clutched in his white-knuckled grip, staring at the blank screen that mocked him with its lack of response from Izzy.

Radio silence from all fronts was making Steele’s skin crawl with unease.

“Still nothing from Izzy?” Dante glanced up from his laptop where streams of data cascaded down the screen.

“Nothing.” Steele’s voice came out rougher than he intended.

Every minute that passed without word from her felt like he was counting down to disaster.

“I know she throws every ounce of energy into her work, but she should have texted back by now.”

She wouldn’t ghost him.

Steele jolted to his feet and crossed the room in stiff strides, his usual calm demeanor showing cracks around the edges. “Where the hell is she?”

Before anyone could answer, an alarm began blaring throughout the base—abrupt, insistent beeps that made every man in the room galvanize.

“Perimeter breach,” Dante announced, his fingers flying over the keyboard. “Someone’s at the main gate.”

The overhead monitors flickered to life, showing multiple camera angles of the entrance. At first, Steele saw nothing but empty pavement and the imposing steel gates that protected their unit.

Then a figure moved into frame.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed. “Izzy’s at the gate.”

Izzy stood before the call box, her chestnut hair disheveled and her professional composure nowhere to be found. Even through the grainy security footage, he could see the way she kept glancing over her shoulder.

Not Izzy’s tell.

But the sign of someone running scared.

Everyone moved at once, with Steele in the lead.

Dante yelled, “Wait! Just give me a minute! Give me a minute!” His hands danced over a secondary laptop, pulling up additional camera feeds that showed the streets leading to their location. “Checking to make sure she wasn’t followed.”

But Steele already reached the door. Every instinct he possessed was screaming at him to get to her, to bring her inside where she’d be safe.

The tactical part of his brain knew Dante was right—they needed to verify she was alone, needed to ensure this wasn’t some elaborate trap to pull Charlie team out of hiding.

The human part of his brain, the part that had been going slowly insane for the past two hours, didn’t give a damn about protocol.

“Steele, hold position!” Con’s bark seemed to come from very far away, drowned out by the thud of Steele’s boots. “Steele! Goddammit, that’s an order!”

His bellow brought Steele jerking to a halt with his hand already on the door handle. He twisted to meet his commanding officer’s stare. “If she was followed, I’ll deal with it. But I’m not leaving her out there.”

He was through the door and running for the gate before anyone could stop him. Behind him came shouts—Mason calling out camera positions, Con barking orders—but it all faded to background noise.

Too late for worrying about being followed. Izzy was in trouble or she wouldn’t be here.

The night air hit him like a slap. Suddenly, the security lights snapped on. He blinked but rushed faster over the harsh shadows cast across the pavement.

When he spotted her, adrenaline flooded his veins. In heartbeats, he closed the distance between them. Izzy stood before the call box still with that lost look that made his chest tighten from something he didn’t want to name.

“Izzy!”

She spun toward his voice, and he saw her usually calm facade crack completely. The mask of strength she wore so well shattered, revealing the fear underneath. Her thumb was tucked inside her palm in the gesture he knew she used to soothe herself when she was nervous.

“Hudson?” Her voice was smaller than he’d ever heard it, threaded with relief and something that might have been tears.

He reached the gate controls and punched in his access code, the heavy steel barriers beginning their slow creep open. The moment there was enough space, Izzy slipped through, and he caught her against his chest without thinking.

She melted into him, her body trembling with exhaustion and adrenaline. Then she seemed to remember herself and pulled back, but not before he felt the rapid flutter of her pulse against his throat.

The gates swung shut behind them as his teammates took over.

“What the hell happened?” He pulled her toward the building, scanning the darkness beyond the gates for any sign of pursuit. The street was as dark and still as ever in this wealthy neighborhood. “How did you even find this place? The blackout hood—”

“I’ll explain inside.” Her voice sounded steadier now but still carried that edge of barely controlled panic.

“You’re safe.” The words came out with more conviction than he’d felt about anything in years. “I’ve got you.”

When they reached the front door, one of his teammates whipped it open for them.

Steele heard the low undercurrent of questions no one asked him as he ushered her down the corridor toward the interrogation room—not because he suspected her of anything, but because it was the closest private space where they could talk.

He wanted to yank her back into his arms, but he only let his hand hover over her shoulder, not quite touching it, as he catalogued every detail of her appearance.

No obvious injuries. No blood. Her beige blouse was wrinkled like she’d been running, and her hands shook slightly when she reached up to push hair away from her face.

Mason attempted to follow them into the interrogation room, so Steele whipped out an arm to slam it in his face. As soon as it was closed, Steele turned to her.

“Izzy, what happened? You were supposed to be at the restaurant.”

She looked around the sparse room—the plain white walls, metal table, chairs that had seen better days—and fear flickered in her amber eyes.

He took a step toward her, as much to assure himself that she was real as to offer her comfort. “It’s okay, honey. This is just somewhere we can talk privately. You’re not—”

The door opened with a pronounced bang, and Con swept into the room like an avenging angel. His expression was all business, but Steele knew his leader. Concern caused the brackets around his mouth.

“How did you know the way here?” Con demanded without preamble. “Could you see through the hood we used on you before?”

“No.” Izzy’s response was immediate, automatic.

“How then?”

“Con—” Steele stepped forward, his protective instincts firing on all cylinders.

His leader rifled another question at her. “Did Alyssa tell you how to get here?”

“Definitely not.” Izzy’s voice carried absolute certainty. “She’d never compromise all of you, not even for a friend. I know that much about her.”

She ran her fingers through her hair, pushing the slightly frizzy strands away from her face, and Steele caught the slight tremor in her hands.

She was more shaken than she was letting on, and the sight of her trying to hold it together when she was clearly falling apart made something protective surge through his chest.

“Then how?” Con pressed.

Izzy’s shoulders shook. “I heard the changes in the road.”

Steele and Con went still. “What do you mean?” Steele asked.

“When I was taken hostage, they blindfolded me for the first two days.” Her voice was clinical now, detached in the way people got when they were discussing profound trauma.

“All I had was my sense of hearing, and that sense has been heightened ever since. I can hear the tires on different road surfaces. Feel which way we turn. I heard the bridge we crossed, felt the bump in the road right before we stopped at the gates...”

She broke off, her throat working convulsively. Steele took an involuntary step toward her, but stopped himself when she held up a hand.

“I heard the same sounds when my captor was coming to...” She didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t need to.

Steele felt his hands clench into fists. The idea of her lying in darkness, listening for footsteps that meant pain was coming—it made him want to hunt down every bastard who’d ever touched her and show them what real fucking fear looked like.

“I made an educated guess after the fourth time I visited Alyssa,” she continued. “Then I followed some logical inferences and looked it up on a satellite map. I saw the pool and the patio and the gazebo.”

Of course. He thought back to when he brought her home and how she’d argued about putting on the hood. Now he saw it for what it truly was—she was almost amused by their security precautions. The blindfold wasn’t doing any good for anyone. She’d already memorized the route.

Con’s radio crackled to life, and Chase’s voice filled the room with staticky urgency.

“Base, this is Charlie 3. We’ve got a situation at the restaurant.

It took us a while to cut through the red tape with the local authorities, but there was a man down.

Looks like our guy—the POA for the donor.

Shot outside the building about an hour ago.

Multiple witnesses, but the shooters are gone. ”

Steele felt the blood drain from his face. Slowly, he turned to look at Izzy.

Her expression confirmed what he already knew.

Con stepped toward the door, his voice grim. “Copy that. Steele, bring her to the war room.”

“War room?” Her voice broke, and she lifted her hands as if to bury her face in them, but dropped them abruptly.

He caught her hands and stepped closer. “It’s all right. You’re not in any trouble. We just need to discuss what happened.”

Con walked out of the room, his voice carrying from other parts of the house as he barked orders to the team.

The moment they were alone, Steele gently stroked her fingers. They were ice cold. The wind on the East Coast at this time of year could be harsh, but he recognized her cold skin for what it was—shock.

“Izzy, what happened at the restaurant? You were there.”