Page 68 of Her Forever SEAL

His phone rang. Not Sophia's number.

Drake.

“She's at the FBI field office on Front Street,” Drake said the moment he answered. “Darius got it from Clint. You need to know⁠—”

“I'm already on my way.”

“They're going to come at you hard, Mase. They've got three dead bodies in a warehouse in National City that they may or may not have put together with a kidnapped fourteen-year-old, and a SEAL's wife. They’re not going to let her walk out.”

“Yes they will.”

A short pause. “You're not going to be able to tell them anything.”

“I know.”

“Lydia's already on it. She's managing what they find.” Another pause. “The girls are okay, Mase. They're staying dark.”

“Good.” He merged onto the 5. “How soon can you get home?”

“We're working it. Thirty-six hours. Maybe less.”

It wasn't the thirty-six hours that mattered. It was the next fifteen minutes. After that, the next hour. He was home, his team was not, and his daughter was in the hands of the Boko Haram.

He knew better than to let his mind go to the next thought. He'd been trained too long for that. You deal with what's in front of you. One thing at a time, until the thing is handled. Then you move onto the next.

“Talk to me when you've got a departure window,” Mason said.

“Roger that.”

He ended the call.

The FBI field office downtown was a nondescript federal building that gave away nothing from the outside. He found parking a block away, not wasting time looking for something closer, and covered the distance at a pace that wasn't quite running. He hit the lobby at 1328.

He identified himself to the officer at the desk and stated that he needed to see his wife, Sophia Gault, who had been brought in. The man told him to have a seat.

He didn't sit.

Three minutes later, a woman came out through the secured door. She was mid-forties, medium height, with a dark, short, practical haircut. Her ID badge read Special Agent Renata Cruz and her eyes, when they landed on him, did the same immediate assessment his had done on her.

She was good. He could see her running him in real time.

“Lieutenant Gault.” She extended her hand.

He shook it. “Where's my wife?”

“She's safe. She's⁠—”

“Where is she?”

Cruz looked at him with the steady patience of someone who was used to receiving pushback. “She's in a conference room. She's not under arrest. We're in the middle of a conversation that⁠—”

“She's been in a conversation for how long?”

A beat. “About two hours.”

“And have you found my daughter in those two hours?”

Something shifted in Cruz's expression. Not softness. Something more careful than that. “We have every available⁠—”