Page 85 of Her Forever SEAL

That was the thing that caught him off guard, standing in the doorway of Lydia's back bedroom watching the women gear up. He knew Angie and Lydia had conceal carry permits. He didn’t realize Rylie did. He wasn’t sure any of them really cared.

He definitely hadn't known about the gear.

Angie was already vested, moving efficiently through a weapons check that told him everything he needed to know about her background. Rylie was pulling comms out of a case that had no business being in a suburban home office and yet there it was, exactly where it needed to be. Lydia had produced a tactical vest for Sophia, where she'd gotten it, he didn't know, and he wasn't going to ask, and Sophia was calmly shrugging into it like she'd made a decision and was done second-guessing it.

He watched his wife accept a comm unit from Rylie, watched Rylie fit it and show her the channel, watched Sophia nod once and repeat it back without being asked.

Twenty-two years of being a SEAL's wife.

She'd been paying attention the whole time.

His phone buzzed.

Unknown number. Different from before.

He looked at the screen. Unknown number, different from before. The message started with an address in Temecula.

Come alone. I know exactly where you are. I know exactly how long it will take you to get here. You have sixty-seven minutes. I will be tracking your phone every minute you are on the road. If you are not alone when you arrive, she dies before you reach the door.

The clock starts now.

“Mason.” Lydia's voice. She was already reading it over his shoulder.

“He's got my cell tracked,” Mason said. The room had gone still. “Sixty-seven minutes. He knows my location.”

“That address....” Rylie was already typing. “That's the winery.”

Of course it was.

“I have to go.” He was already moving toward the front of the house. “Right now.”

“Wait.” Lydia was right behind him. She pressed a burner phone into his hand. It was small, already powered on, a number written in her handwriting on a strip of tape on the back. “Take it, since you can’t have a comm unit. Drake's number is in there. Clint will coordinate from here. Two separate comm systems, I'll bridge them.” She looked at him with the eyes of a woman who had spent two decades attached to a man who ran exactly these kinds of operations. “Go.”

He took the phone.

He turned.

Sophia was standing in the hallway. Tactical vest, comm unit, and her eyes on him. He had maybe fifteen seconds.

Mason crossed to her in three strides and put both hands on her face and kissed her hard. She kissed him back just as hard.

He pulled back and looked at her. Just for a second. Taking inventory the way he always did before an op, finding all the things he was coming back for.

“Be smart.”

The I-15 north was moving.

Mason pushed the truck hard and kept one eye on the clock and one eye on the road and used the burner to call Drake before he'd cleared Escondido.

Drake picked up on the first ring. “Talk to me.”

“1842 Rancho Cielo Road, Temecula. He's got my personal cell tracked, I'm running a burner. I've got sixty-four minutes from right now.”

“We're already on the Fifteen.” Drake's voice had that operational, locked-in edge. “Clint diverted us five minutes ago. There’s a wreck up ahead, Dare’s getting around it, figure forty minutes, forty-five.”

“That's not enough time,” Mason said.

“Then stall him. He's waited twelve years. He'll want to talk.”