Page 12 of The SEALs' Single Mom Baby Surprise

The serial numbers aren’t the only thing that’s wrong. The weight is off by more than a couple of pounds, too. How did no one catch that before? Sloane certainly would have. She did. And she’s not just covering for her own lack of attention.

I grab a forklift and bring the crate down.

When I lift the first layer of hand radios and satellite phone kits for overseas deployments, we find six precision barrels nestled between the boxes. They’re not weapons, directly, but they’re pointing toward more than just a little mismanaged inventory.

This points to a serious operation.

And then, Sloane smiles at me when I compliment her on her find. It’s a sucker punch right to my gut. Air almost puffs out of me from the blow.

She pulls her lip between her teeth, pink creeping into her cheeks, and I want to kiss her. It’s not a temptation that hits me often. And not in a long while since my wife left me.

Her slow blinks have me turning back to the work. This isn’t enough of a win for her.

I can’t help but watch her for another minute before I grab my own inventory list, checking over the marks I’ve made—the small weight differences, the mislabeled supplies, the double barcodes. It seems like more than Sloane would allow. So, who’s being sloppy, and why?

Are they simply being sloppy?

Sloane mentioned a coworker who’s not in today, someone we will look into after hours—if Shepard or Cole aren’t already digging into his life. Is this his lack of care, or has he been compromised?

I tap the pages and look around at the potential this place holds specifically. Every military base has its weaknesses. Every building has its exploit points, its personnel, blind spots, and routines to maneuver around.

The variables create some unwelcome scenarios, like a network that wouldn’t hesitate to plug a squeaky wheel. I wipe a hand down my chin and hope that it’s just sloppy work, but my instincts are telling me otherwise.

Sloane’s are, too.

She appears again, hovering as I check through the last couple of notes I’ve made that coincide with Sloane’s. When I look up at her, she holds her clipboard out to me.

“I finished another page.”

I take the clipboard as she presents it to me. This time, I smile at her, and I see her own reflecting back in her eyes more than on her mouth.

I bask in it for a few too many seconds. Her list has more mismarked inventory, and that instinct rings again of something being at play here.

Cole appears opposite the open crate of comms. He leans over them, brow twitching at the uncovered precision barrels. Assessing. Approving. He aims it at Sloane, knowing full well who found this. She’s the linchpin in uncovering this.

Cole nods and crosses his arms over his chest. “I found scopes inside a delayed cargo labeledOffice Chairs.”

I share a look with Cole. He’s stone-faced, but the worry is there. As much as Boone didn’t want anything to come of this, it’s more serious than we anticipated. The call from SECNAV should have been a tip-off, but what does he know and isn’t sharing with us?

Why get involved at all? Is there a pattern?

I’ll dig into the reasons when I get back to the computers.

Sloane must be reading our faces—she’s far more adept at it than she should be at her age—because her frown has transformed into something darker.

Sloane shakes her head, rubbing her temples in agitation. “We process two to three hundred delivered items a day. How much stuff like this has gotten through? And how have I not noticed?”

She looks sick to her stomach. Guilty for not noticing it sooner. But she is the one who found it.

I have the uncharacteristic urge to physically reach out and soothe her. Not that she’d be receptive to it. Sloane seems like a very hands-off kind of woman.

Again, the potential of what’s happened to her to make her this way spins in my mind. My protective instincts flare.

But it’s Cole who reassures her. “We’ll figure it out.”

Sloane bristles, like she doesn’t believe she’ll be included in that process. It’s clear in the narrowing of her eyes and the pulse in her jaw. We’re still intruders on her territory.

Does she know we’re not here to merely audit the deliveries? She has to. Sloane is too smart not to. Passing off the three of us as an audit team is a bit far-fetched.

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