Page 79 of Her Forever SEAL

If I could tip it.

If she could tip it and it hit the floor and rolled, preferably not on top of her, would anyone be out there to hear it?

She brought herself back down to the floor of the cellar, and began the slow process of rolling down the corridor toward the last barrel. At the rate she was going, it would take over an hour, but at least it was warming her up.

She kept going, concentrating on her goal, gasping for breath. Her head was pounding.

The door opened.

She froze.

The man walked in. He was carrying a phone and he looked at her, not anywhere near where he’d left her. He looked from her to the last barrel on the rack.

“Smart girl,” he said quietly. “You’re trying to be like your father.”

He didn't say it like a compliment.

He crossed the cellar toward her and she held very still because there was nothing else she could do. He stopped in front of her and looked at her for a moment, taking in the wet uniform, the shaking she couldn't control, and then he raised the phone.

She understood what was happening.

She looked directly into the camera. She held herself as still as she could despite the shivering. She kept her eyes open even though they were heavy and the cold had made everything slow. She thought about her mom seeing this photograph. She thought about what she wanted her to see when she looked at it.

I'm here. I'm thinking. Come find me.

She didn't look away.

And then the man hit her in the head and the world tipped on its axis. He took the photo while her head was still swimming, her eyes half-closed.

The man lowered the phone. He looked at the screen. He looked back at her.

“Your father has received your photograph,” he said. “Now we wait and see what kind of man he really is.”

What did he mean her dad had received the photograph? Dad was on a mission.

Was Dad back? Her head swam.

Another racking shiver encompassed her body, causing her head to bounce against the stone floor. When she could think again, she paused. A glimmer of satisfaction roared through her.

Come get me, Dad.

25

Trade. You for her.

Mason was typing as soon as he stopped reading.

When and where?

The text came back as undeliverable.

He stared down at his phone and typed again. Pressed send and willed it to go through.

Undeliverable.

“Motherfucker!” he shouted.

Angie jumped.