Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
The shooting range called to Mason like a siren, and damn did he needed to shoot something.
Targets didn’t argue with him about whether he was going to protect the only woman who ever meant a goddamn thing to him. The repetitive act of pulling the trigger would give him some even ground to stand on again too.
For the second time, he was going to watch Elin walk into danger. And he wasn’t any more prepared for it now than he had been two years ago.
Two years ago, the intel had been solid and the area cleared of threat—or so they’d thought. Could they say the same this time around? That had only been a simple exchange of intel, the op planned for days. They knew the moves inside and out.
This was happening too fast. He felt too out of control.
Goddamn the forever ticking countdown.
Elin could be walking into Kent’s trap, and ultimately Cipher’s.
If things went sideways…
Because they would go sideways. They always did.
Then he’d be there, goddammit.
His boots ate up the length of the hallway leading to the mansion’s lower level, his fingers twitching to pull the trigger and fire into the target, to feel the recoil slamming into him again and again.
His fingers ached from clenching them into tight fists, and he forced them to straighten at his sides. His jaw was so tight it ached, but target practice would take care of that.
“Mason. A word.”
Fuck. He could no sooner walk away from Con’s commanding voice than he could stop his feelings for Elin from growing by the minute.
His feet dragged to a halt and turned.
His CO was braced in the doorway of his personal office, arms crossed. He didn’t say anything else, just flicked two fingers in a clear directive for Mason to follow.
Mason’s gut clenched. He already knew what was coming. Con was about to pull him off the op, tell him he was too close, too emotionally invested to be there.
And maybe he was right.
But Mason couldn’t—wouldn’t—let Elin walk into this without him.
He followed Con into the office.
The space was one of the more impressive ones.
High ceilings made the room feel larger than it was.
Bookshelves lined the walls, floor to ceiling.
Where they had once stood empty, they were now filled with volumes on everything from military strategy to classic literature.
Sophie’s influence, of course. The woman had taken Con’s spartan workspace and made it charming.
Some of Con’s medals sat on shelves too, mounted on velvet and framed. A Silver Star. Two Bronze Stars. A Purple Heart.
Reminders of what each and every member of Charlie team was. A fucking hero.
“Shut the door,” Con said.
Mason did, then stood at attention in front of his desk.
His CO didn’t sit, just leaned against the desk, arms still crossed.
Here it comes.
Con opened his mouth, but a knock stopped the words before he could speak. “Yeah?” he called out.
The door swung inward, and Sophie and Dante stood in the opening.
“Can we interrupt?” Sophie asked, but she was already walking in. Dante followed, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.
Sophie took the chair near the window and Dante perched on the arm of the leather sofa.
Mason’s hairline beaded with perspiration, and his unease tripled. As in triple the people teaming up on him.
“You’re too close to this.” Con didn’t bother with a warmup—he got straight to the gut punch.
He forced himself not to bristle, shoving any emotions he had on the topic off his face. Any look could be construed as disrespect. And that was the last thing he felt.
“I can do my job. Sir.” He steeled his muscles to ward off the cramp in his gut. But if Con threw him off the op, he’d blatantly disobey an order.
Con’s stare drilled into him. “Can you?” His voice was level and calm. Which somehow made everything worse. “Where I’m sitting, you’re about to walk into a hostile meeting with a woman you have feelings for. That’s a problem.”
Mason’s jaw popped from clenching it so hard. The tendon was screaming from strain. “I won’t let it be a problem.”
It never had been a problem for him to do his duty. Two years before, Mason’s CO didn’t have a clue what was going on between him and Elin. Therefore, he never got the opportunity to sideline him.
Con had already guessed how Mason felt even though he’d never said it aloud. Hell, he’d never spoken the words to Elin either.
He needed to say it. As soon as possible. Today. Now.
Tomorrow was too late. Time was running out, the clock ticking.
Con studied him for a long beat of silence that seemed to echo in Mason’s bones.
Sophie shifted in her chair. “You wouldn’t have let anyone else watch out for me.” Sophie’s soft tone was layered with an argument and amusement.
Con shot her a sideways glance. “I’m the team leader. What I say is final.”
Mason locked his gaze on his leader’s. “Dante. Back me up here.”
Dante held up both hands. “Oh no. I’m staying out of this.”
“Then send Dante in Elin’s place.”
Dante leaned back, casual as hell despite the tension crackling through the room. “I’m more than willing. But Elin’s better than me when it comes to hacking. I’m not ashamed to admit she’s the best I’ve ever seen. She can get in and out faster than I—”
“When it comes to codes and backdoors and firewalls,” he bit across him with a slash of his hand. “Not in the field.”
Dante raised his hands again. “You want to be there watching over her. I get it. Can you keep a clear head? I’m not sure.”
Mason issued a low growl. “Did you when it came to Kennedy?”
“I plead the fifth. I’m not saying anything that might land me on bathroom duty again. I still haven’t gotten the smell of bleach off my hands.” Not long ago, Steele dragged Dante into assisting him with a plot to save Izzy, landing them both on bathroom duty for a month.
“Cover your own ass, then,” he tossed out. “I don’t need you to have my six on this because I already know I can keep my emotions out of it.” He shifted his gaze from Dante to Sophie, who looked sympathetic, to finally fix on Con. “I’m going with her.”
No one spoke. What felt like an eternity passed. Voices drifted to them, the low tone of teasing followed by a laugh. In another part of the base, Elin was preparing herself to meet with the cohort of one of the most renowned terrorists the world had ever seen.
No matter what Kent’s role, Cipher was calling the shots. And if he came at Elin, Mason would be there to stop him.
Holding Con’s stare, he narrowed his eyes a fraction. “I’m the best man you’ve got for this op and you know it.”
Dante rested his elbows on his knees. “He’s got you there, Con.”
One supporter in his corner. Mason eyed Sophie. “Sophie? You back me?”
“No one can argue you’re the best at getting in and out like a ghost. But…”
Con jerked his stare to her. “But?”
Her tone came out soft. “The last op you two were on ended differently than you could have imagined. Could you be trying to prove something to yourself?”
Mason didn’t answer—couldn’t answer.
Because maybe she was right. Maybe this was about proving he could keep Elin safe this time…to prove to them both that he wouldn’t fail her again.
He drew his shoulders back and fixed his stare on his commanding officer. “I will ensure Elin gets the intel from Kent’s system. I will ensure she can get the names of the eleven handlers. And I will get her home. Safe.”
He almost winced. Home. Fuck. He’d all but mentally moved her into the mansion because he long ago moved her into his heart.
Con studied him long enough that Mason’s pulse kicked up.
“Fine.”
Mason’s relief was short-lived.
“But if this goes sideways, if she’s in danger and you freeze—”
“I won’t.”
“You can’t afford to be distracted.” Con’s voice dropped, hard and cold. “Because if you do, people die. Not just Elin.”
“I won’t be.”
Con straightened, a sure sign that his decision was made, and now they were moving on to the details. “Chopper arrives in three hours. That gives you three hours to prep.”
Three hours before they flew to Washington, DC. Before they met Kent.
Three hours to get his head straight and lock down his feelings.
He loved Elin so damn much he couldn’t see straight, but where the mission was concerned, emotions didn’t exist.
Con was watching him with something that might have been understanding. After all, he’d die for Sophie.
“Before you go talk to Elin, I need you to do a supply check. Make sure we have everything we need for the op. Comms, backup weapons, extraction gear.”
His jaw tightened. Any other SEAL on the team could do it, but Con was making sure he remained distanced from his emotions until this was over.
“Yes, sir,” Mason bit out even when it felt like his chest was caving in.
In three hours, they’d be in the air. In four, they’d be face-to-face with a man who was desperate to save himself.
Burning with frustration, he walked out of the office. His feet carried him toward the armory. He moved on autopilot, checking equipment and counting magazines. His hands knew the work, but his mind was on a woman with intelligent green eyes, who had trusted him once and paid for it.
A woman who was walking into danger in three hours, goddammit.
Mason slammed a magazine onto the counter. The sound echoed through the empty armory.
He braced his hands on the edge, dropping his head.
Focus. Mission first. Get the job done.
Keep her alive.
Somewhere between then and now, the answer had come to him.
She needed his words. He kept giving her actions.
He knew better than to bring emotions into an op, though. He’d tell her after.
He just had to hope there was an after.
* * * * *
The dining room hummed with conversation, the large space bigger than most of the apartments she’d had. Big enough to hold an enormous family dinner—if you considered a SEAL team and their significant others a family.