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ONE

“How’s it going in paradise?”

Karly Bonham smiled at the sound of her sister’s voice over the phone. She hadn’t talked to Rachel in almost a week.

“And before you answer, I should mention that I just came off a double shift at the hospital,” Rachel added.

“Then I won’t tell you that I’m working on my laptop while sipping a mango daiquiri and gazing out over turquoise water.”

“God, it sounds heavenly.”

“It is,” Karly said, taking in the view. Set amid tall coconut palms on a secluded island, the Sapphire was one of the most beautiful resorts in all of Thailand. “I’m going out on a boat later, and I’ll send you a picture from the water.”

“I should have been a reporter.” Rachel sighed wistfully. “So how is the story coming?”

“I’m almost finished with the draft.”

“Is he as hot as they say?”

He was Anthony Mancuso, the newly appointed U.S. ambassador to Thailand. Besides being drool-inducingly handsome, he was one of the wealthiest men in Southern California, and he was a widower. Karly’s magazine had sent her overseas to write a cover story about him.

“Hotter, actually.”

Rachel laughed. “Now I really hate you. What’s he like, besides hot?”

“Much nicer than I expected,” Karly said, as a young woman entered the restaurant. “But listen, can I call you back later to talk about it?”

“Oh my God, is he there?”

“No, but his daughter just walked in. We’re having lunch together.”

“Seriously? Look at you working that connection.”

The ambassador’s daughter was trailed by a man Karly didn’t recognize, along with one of her muscle-bound security guards, who was trying—and failing—to blend in with the tourists in a blue Hawaiian shirt.

“We’ve gotten to be friends,” Karly said. “I interviewed her for the piece, and then we started hanging out.”

“What is she like?”

“Sweet. Funny. And she’s kind of at loose ends, too. Reminds me of me when I was nineteen.”

“Well, call me back, because I’m dying to hear everything. Including all the juicy details you don’t put in your story.”

“What do you mean? I put everything in my stories.”

“You do not, which is why people talk to you. I’ll let you go. Have fun, okay?”

Karly hung up just as Natalie approached the table, laughing with her new male friend. She smiled down at Karly and peeled off her sunglasses.

“I hope you don’t mind. I ordered us drinks and conch fritters,” Karly said.

“Perfect! I love their daiquiris here. Karly, have you met Tom? He just arrived last night.”

They traded introductions, and Karly shook hands with the man, who wore silver Ray-Bans and looked athletically handsome in a snug-fitting T-shirt and board shorts.

“Nice to meet you,” Karly said.

“Likewise.” He nodded at the press pass on the table beside her laptop. “So you’re a reporter?”

“That’s right.”

“I saw you with that photographer this morning, and I figured you were a model.” He picked up the pass. “You do print or TV?”

Karly caught Natalie’s smirk. “Print. I’m with Pacifica magazine.”

“Nice. Hey, I was just telling Natalie about the reef on the west side of the island. You like to dive? We’ve got a trip leaving at two, and there’s room on the boat.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got plans,” Karly said.

Natalie smiled at Tom as she pulled out a chair. “Maybe tomorrow?”

“Sure, sounds good. I’ll find you.”

He walked off, and Natalie took a seat. She gave her security guard a look, and he stepped away to give them some space.

“Who was that guy?” Karly asked.

Natalie rolled her eyes. “Some travel writer who was chatting me up in the gift shop.”

“He’s cute.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Too old for me.” She picked up her drink. “You should definitely go for him, though.”

Karly smiled. She supposed twenty-eight sounded ancient to a nineteen-year-old.

“Thanks, but I’m off men right now. And since when do you have a thing about age? You flirt with your bodyguards, and they’ve got to be pushing forty.”

Natalie waved her off. “Oh, that’s nothing. I just do it to drive my dad crazy.”

Karly had figured as much. Natalie had a rebellious streak. Besides flirting with her security detail, she’d been turning heads all week by walking around the resort in a teeny black bikini that was more string than fabric.

Karly had a bikini on, too, but her hot-pink halter covered a bit more skin, and she’d thrown a gauzy black cover-up on before coming to lunch.

“So why are you off men? Is that even possible?” Natalie plucked an orange slice from her drink and nibbled on it.

“Long story.”

“Great. I’ve got time.”

Karly watched her, debating how much to say. “My boyfriend moved to the East Coast and talked me into trying a long-distance relationship with him.”

“How did that work?”

“It didn’t. He cheated on me.”

The waiter returned with a steaming plate of conch fritters. Natalie smiled and thanked him in Thai, demonstrating some of the Mancuso charm her father was known for.

“I’m guessing this guy’s an ex now, right?” Natalie asked.

“Right.”

“Then you’re free to move on! What’s stopping you?” Natalie popped a fritter into her mouth.

“Trust me, you get cheated on enough times, you need a break from the whole scene.”

Natalie eyed her skeptically. “I think what you need is a scorching-hot fling.”

“You sound like my sister.”

“She’s right.”

“Enough about me. Let’s finish our conversation from yesterday. You were telling me about school? UCSD, right?”

Natalie rolled her eyes. “It’s just a hypothetical at this point.”

“How come?”

“I got into the five-year business program. It was my mom’s alma mater, and my dad really wants me to go, but I don’t know. I’m torn.” She sighed and twisted her long dark hair into a knot at the top of her head. “I’m thinking I should take a year off. You know, travel some, figure out if it’s really what I want to do before I waste a lot of time and money.”

“Sounds logical.”

“Thank you. Can you tell him that, please? He keeps telling me I’m being immature. I swear to God, he treats me like a kid.”

“Well, you are his kid.”

A woman walked up to their table and smiled. Malai wore a pink sarong and a floppy hat, and you would never know from looking at her that she was one of the country’s most successful businesswomen.

“We still on for snorkeling?” she asked Karly.

“Wouldn’t miss it. I haven’t been out there yet.”

“You haven’t?” Natalie’s mouth dropped open. “This is your last day!”

“See?” Malai looked at Natalie. “I told her she works too hard. Aren’t blond girls supposed to have more fun?”

“That’s why I’m taking the afternoon off as soon as I finish this draft,” Karly said. “You want to come with us, Natalie?”

“No, thanks. I was out there this morning. But you guys enjoy.”

“Boat leaves at three,” Malai reminded Karly. “See you at the pier.”

Natalie shook her head as Malai walked off. “No men, no snorkeling. What the heck have you been doing this whole time?”

“I’ve been stuck in my room working.”

“Well, time for some R and R.” Natalie lifted her drink and clinked glasses with her. “Better late than never.”

Karly envied the newlyweds.

She watched from the dive boat as they strolled hand in hand along the white sand beach, their heads tipped together—probably sharing an inside joke.

Sure, looks could be deceiving, but Karly couldn’t help but think they seemed like the perfect couple, spending a perfectly blissful holiday at one of the most exclusive resorts in Asia. Named for the glittering water surrounding it, the Sapphire was every bit as dazzling and luxurious as the name implied, and Karly was grateful to be here. She only wished it were for pleasure instead of business.

“Karly? Did I lose you?” Her editor’s voice on the phone jerked her back to reality.

“I’m here,” Karly told her.

“Can you confirm you’ll make the deadline?”

“Absolutely. I just finished the draft.”

Just was a bit of an overstatement. Karly had finished the draft hours ago and shut down her computer in time to enjoy her last afternoon. Before leaving on this assignment, she had promised her sister that she’d (1) flirt with an attractive man at the hotel bar, and (2) take the time to go snorkeling. At least she’d managed to keep one of her promises.

Karly tossed her snorkel into her beach bag and squeezed the seawater from her long ponytail.

“Any chance you’ve seen Drew’s photos?” Jana asked, and Karly pictured her editor gazing out the window of her condominium overlooking San Diego Bay. It was nighttime in California, and Jana had stayed up late to make this phone call.

“Not yet,” Karly reported. “But he told me he got some great shots. Mancuso reeling in a fish, kayaking. Drew was especially excited about some shots of him and his daughter.”

“Good. The whole point is to humanize him. Readers want to see the man behind the mystery.”

Karly had heard all this at the staff meeting. Mancuso was one of the most eligible bachelors in Southern California, and Pacifica readers—many of whom were female—were hungry for information about him.

Karly was beyond excited to be tapped to write this cover article. It was her first overseas political assignment. It was her first overseas assignment period, and she was determined to prove herself to all the higher-ups at the magazine. Just because she covered the celebrity beat, that didn’t mean she couldn’t write an article with some meat on the bone.

“I’m almost finished,” she told Jana now. “I’ll have something to you by eight A.M. your time.”

“Not a minute later. And will you remind Drew? He’s not answering his phone. I’m guessing he’s working?”

Playing, more likely. He’d been all over the ambassador’s assistant, Raina, since the moment they’d set foot on the island—which was hardly surprising, given that the woman looked like a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model. Drew was a shameless flirt, but he never failed to produce stunning pictures.

“I’ll remind him,” Karly said.

“Thanks. And hey, be sure to enjoy your last day!”

“I will.”

Karly ended the call and tossed her phone into her beach bag as Malai climbed the ladder onto the boat.

“Did you see that reef shark?” Malai asked her.

“No.” Thank God.

“Right beside that giant brain coral.” Malai sat on the bench beside Karly and pulled off her mask. “It was huge. At least as big as me.”

Karly shuddered. Her fear of sharks was even worse than her fear of heights.

Malai pulled off her fins and stowed them under the bench. Then she spoke to the captain in Thai. The boat’s engine sputtered to life, and they started moving toward shore as Malai checked her dive watch. “Drink time. I’m ready for a rum punch. Want to join me?”

“Sure.”

Malai was a private person, but over several cocktail hours, Karly had managed to learn that she was an executive at one of Thailand’s biggest telecom companies. She was vacationing alone, and Karly had taken a liking to her on the first day.

They motored toward shore, and Karly tipped her face to the sun. She loved the balmy island breeze and the briny smell of the ocean. She’d spent most of the trip holed up indoors, interviewing the ambassador and members of his entourage. Now it felt good to play hooky for a few hours.

As they neared the beach, she watched the honeymooners again. Brad and Brianna. Even their names sounded perfect together. They were Australian. Karly had met them on the ferry ride out here. They were friendly and easygoing, and their happiness had been infectious—reminding Karly that not everyone on the planet had her back luck with relationships.

Brad dropped to his knees in the sand. Karly watched curiously. Was he doing an engagement reenactment? He fell facedown onto the ground, and Brianna collapsed beside him.

“What the—” Malai stood up.

A man ran onto the beach, and Karly recognized Drew’s bright green swim trunks. He raced to the end of the fishing pier, waving his arms at the dive boat.

Karly’s stomach plummeted. “What—”

Something exploded beside her. The captain pitched to the floor. Malai’s shrill screams reverberated through the air, and Karly stared in disbelief at the expanding red puddle under the captain’s body.

He’s been shot.

Karly scrambled over to the captain, clumsy in her fins as she crouched beside him and tried to turn him over, but he wouldn’t budge. She blinked down at her blood-covered hands and realized he was dead. Dead.

Malai’s screams intensified.

Karly glanced at the beach, where a man wearing head-to-toe black stood pointing a machine gun at the boat. Fire blazed from the muzzle. The side of the boat burst into splinters near Karly’s head. The screams ceased as Malai fell back into the water with a splash.

Oh my God oh my God.

Karly flattened herself on the floor of the boat. She pressed her cheek against the hard surface, staring at water and blood and bits of flesh. Her vision blurred. Her heart thundered. She realized the high-pitched shrieks she was hearing now were coming from her own mouth.

She reached for her beach bag and grabbed her phone. 911. Call 911. But this was Thailand. She got to her knees and jabbed at the phone with shaking fingers. She pressed a number and prayed for a connection, then waited through the surreal sound of her editor’s voice-mail greeting followed by an endless beep.

“We’re under attack! We’re—”

An explosion beside her head. Karly ducked down. Chunks of plastic and fiberglass flew everywhere as the helm of the boat was hosed down by gunfire.

Rat-tat-tat-tat. Rat-tat-tat-tat.

She peeked over the side and saw more black-clad men swarming the beach. Where was Drew? Where were the ambassador’s guards? Where was anyone?

“Help us!” she screamed into the phone. “We’re under attack! Three, four . . . six men with machine guns!”

She watched with stunned horror as two of them started wading out toward the boat. Karly reached for the steering wheel as another barrage of gunfire sent splinters flying.

She lunged for the side. Bullets hissed past her ears as she leaped into the water.

Beach insertions were tricky. Especially under a full moon and over a strip of sand guarded by half a dozen heavily armed men. The team’s other option was rock portage along the island’s northern side, followed by a short trek through the jungle. That route had been left open, and with good reason. Why waste the manpower? The tangos no doubt knew that trying to land a boat along a mile-long pileup of razor-sharp rocks was essentially suicide, which meant a beach insertion—as tricky as it was—was the easier option for any rescue team.

Ethan’s team had opted for the rocks.

In the three years since Ethan had joined Alpha Crew, his team had never chosen ease over surprise, and tonight was no exception. Once they made it over the jagged rocks, they’d have a clear tactical advantage. Surprise was key, always, as any SEAL would tell you. In fact, given the choice between going up against the enemy armed and expected or unarmed and unexpected, Ethan would choose the second option any day of the week.

So rock portage it was. But what had sounded good in the briefing room was now turning into a challenge, as the wind suddenly picked up and the surf pummeled his team’s rubber vessel.

Ethan glanced over at Jake and signaled the count. On three, Ethan and his teammates wrenched the boat from the sucking waves and heaved it over the rocks. Careful not to lose footing on the slick terrain, they hauled the boat behind a massive boulder and stashed it for later. They were planning an air extraction, but it never hurt to have options.

Ethan and his team moved swiftly over the craggy shoreline, scaling rocks and driftwood as they made their way toward higher ground. The pinnacle of the island was a densely covered hill, where the enemy had likely stationed at least a couple of guards.

Under cover of darkness—or as dark as they were going to get tonight with a big-ass moon shining down on them—they darted from the rocky shoreline into the jungle.

Ethan adjusted his night-vision goggles and scanned his surroundings. Palm trees mostly, with a tangle of vines and other vegetation close to the ground. The team moved through the brush, searching as they went. NVGs were great for spotting predators—especially the human kind—but depth perception was shitty, so moving around required skill. About twenty feet into the jungle, the team split apart: two men headed for higher elevation, two men headed for sea level.

Tonight was an SR mission, search and recon. Ethan’s four-man element was here to get the dope on the enemy before a larger team mounted a full-scale assault.

He agreed with the plan, mostly. Intel was important, but they needed to be quick. Everyone was dogged by the memory of the last SEAL rescue op in this particular corner of the world. It had been a goatfuck. A bunch of bureaucrats sitting in some conference room had decided to make it a “joint mission,” meaning that Ethan’s spec ops brethren had ended up mucking around with a bunch of local commandos. Tactical decisions were made from afar and by too many people, and the result was wasted time and three dead hostages.

Never again.

Tonight’s mission was SEALs only, from start to finish. And not just any SEALs. Alpha Crew was a secret, ultra-elite unit trained to get in and get out with ruthless efficiency. But the key was intel. Right now, they had precious little, and most of what they did have came from an eight-second SOS call made by a reporter traveling with the ambassador’s entourage.

We’re under attack . . .

The reporter’s words had been echoing through Ethan’s head since the briefing. He’d recognized the panicked hitch in her voice as she realized what was happening. Three, four . . . six men with machine guns! The call had ended in a barrage of gunfire.

Karly Bonham was one of twenty-two civilians known to be at the resort when the terrorists launched their attack. Their presumed target was American ambassador Anthony Mancuso and possibly his daughter, Natalie, who was vacationing with him. From what the SEALs knew so far, it looked like the other resort guests and staffers were merely extras, potentially collateral damage in a targeted strike against a United States diplomat.

Had the reporter been killed? Captured? If she was still alive, she hadn’t managed to reach out again since that eight-second phone call.

Jake stopped and held up a closed fist. Ethan halted beside him, every sense on alert. The air was dank and still but filled with the sounds of the jungle—the low drone of insects, the faint croak of bullfrogs, the distant rush of water. All sounds you’d expect in this tropical environment . . . plus. Ethan couldn’t pinpoint the plus, but his ears registered it, same as Jake’s had.

There it was again.

Ethan tipped his head left, toward a barely audible rustling in the trees. It came from the direction of the resort, which was only half a klick south of them.

Slowly, silently, Jake peered around a tree trunk. After a few moments, he held up two fingers. Ethan nodded. They waited several minutes until the rustling noise faded to nothing. Then they waited several minutes more.

Finally, Jake crouched at the base of a tree and spoke softly into his radio. “Bravo, this is Charlie. You copy?”

“Copy, Charlie. What’s your twenty?”

“We’re about half a klick south,” Jake said quietly. “A pair of tangos just passed us en route to the resort. What’s the word up there?”

“We’re in position.” The voice belonged to Ryan Owen, who had gone with Lucas Ortiz to the high point of the island to get a view using high-powered night-vision binoculars. “We’ve got two enemy west of us, looks like an overwatch detail.”

“Think they know they’ve got company?” Jake asked.

“Negative. These guys are clueless. They’re smoking cigs and kicking back.”

“Copy that. So we’re looking at a total of sixteen tangos,” Jake said. “I repeat, sixteen tangos.”

“Roger. We can confirm six guards spread out along the beach and two around the pool right in front of the lobby. That seems to be where all the action is.”

Ethan wasn’t surprised. Their team had hitched a ride over here on a frigate, which was serving as their base of operations tonight. Just before sundown, they’d sent a surveillance drone to get a bird’s-eye view of the island. The first things they’d noticed were the lifeless bodies on the beach. Three in total, which left nineteen potential survivors of the initial attack—although Ethan wasn’t optimistic. Any number of people might have been killed indoors or under the tree cover where the drone couldn’t see.

The second thing they’d noticed was that most of the activity was centered around a large thatched-roof building, the resort’s restaurant, suggesting that the surviving hostages were being held there. That structure was heavily guarded, while the thatched-roof cabins were not.

Except for one.

Drone footage showed that the largest guest cabin was surrounded by four armed men, so possibly Mancuso and his daughter were being held there.

“You got eyes on the compound?”

“Negative,” Jake answered. “We’ll get back when we do.”

“Okay, over and out.”

For a moment, Jake and Ethan said nothing. But Ethan knew what his teammate was thinking. They needed to know exactly who, or what, was in that VIP cabin. If Mancuso’s nineteen-year-old daughter was in there, it was very possible she was being tortured as a way to put pressure on the ambassador and convince him that his captors were serious. The terrorists hadn’t made their demands clear yet, but they’d been in touch with the U.S. embassy in Bangkok, so it was only a matter of time.

“I can take the cabin, if you want the restaurant,” Jake said.

“Better if we both take the cabin and then the restaurant so we know what we’re dealing with. But let’s approach from different sides. I’ll take east, you take west.”

They split apart, drifting through the trees as silently as smoke. They were in jungle cammies and greasepaint, but more important, they knew how to move without disturbing anything, not even the air.

Ethan neared the glow of the resort. He shoved his NVGs up to his forehead, preferring to go without them when he was this close to people. He didn’t want to run the risk of being rendered temporarily blind by a sudden flashlight beam.

Ethan remained still as his eyes adjusted. He went over his plan in his head. He visualized the layout of the resort, recalling that the VIP cabin was at the north end of the pool.

He slipped through the foliage, taking care not to leave footprints. His lightweight boots were still soaked from hauling the boat ashore, but he ignored the blisters forming on his feet, just like he ignored the very real possibility that an innocent civilian might get hurt tonight when this whole thing went down. Ethan couldn’t think that way. He’d been trained to think positively, to visualize success instead of failure, because visualizing the desired outcome increased its odds of happening. He visualized each step of the mission going exactly as planned, and so far, it had. But the problem was, the plan was based on sketchy intel, which meant they couldn’t visualize all of it, and they were making some of it up as they went.

Which was pretty much standard operating procedure for this team. Every man in Alpha Crew had a talent for making decisions on the fly.

Ethan’s eyes had adjusted completely now, and he took in every detail as he neared the resort. He wasn’t following a path, but the vegetation had thinned here. The ground felt hard-packed beneath his boots. He was reaching the inhabited part of the island, and visibility increased as he neared the first cluster of cabins.

The first two buildings were almost completely dark. Ethan caught a strip of light through a window, probably coming from a bathroom. The attack had happened in the late afternoon, so the lights had been off in many of the cabins when the hostages were rounded up and herded into the restaurant. Ethan figured even amateur terrorists would have the foresight to clear all the buildings and make sure no one was hiding out.

Easing through the trees, Ethan spotted the VIP cabin, the resort’s most luxurious suite, with its steep, Thai-style roof taller than the rest. The cabin included two bedrooms, two bathrooms, plus a sitting area, and the whole thing was surrounded by a wide deck.

Which was being patrolled by four guards, one at each corner.

Ethan’s pulse picked up as he crept around the cabin and stood in the shadows to study the enemy. The two guards he could see wore black pants and long-sleeved shirts made of the thin cotton fabric popular throughout the region. Both men were bearded, but neither wore a mask, which concerned him. Whatever their plan was, they weren’t worried about being ID’d after everything went down.

Not good news.

On the other hand, they weren’t wearing suicide vests, as far as Ethan could tell. Each man held an AK-47 at the ready and had a pistol in a holster on his hip. Another bit of good news: the guard nearest Ethan had a telltale bulge in his shirt pocket, suggesting that he was communicating by cell phone and not any kind of radio receiver clipped to his ear. Not a very high-tech operation.

The back of Ethan’s neck prickled. He eased deeper into the trees and scanned the surrounding area.

What had caught his attention? Something. He had that itchy feeling that had saved his ass more times than he could count. Slowly, silently, Ethan slipped his Ka-Bar knife from its sheath so he could confront the threat without making a sound.

Karly crept into the cabin ever so slowly, praying the door wouldn’t squeak. Her heart was racing. Her breath was shallow. Her legs felt like Jell-O, but she forced herself to move cautiously into the room as she scanned the dark space.

She didn’t dare turn on a light. She hadn’t seen any of the attackers near this building, but she didn’t want to attract attention. She was here because she desperately needed to find something useful to help her out of this mess.

As her eyes adjusted, she spied a dark heap atop what was probably an armchair in the corner of the room, assuming this cabin was laid out like her own on the other side of the resort.

Karly tiptoed toward the heap and was relieved to see it was a duffel bag with clothes spilling out of it, and she wasted no time rummaging through it. The fabrics were thin and filmy. She held something up. A black lace thong. She found a lace bra, another thong, and then a T-shirt. The T-shirt had a sailboat on the front, and Karly’s stomach twisted as she recalled seeing the same shirt at breakfast yesterday, worn by Brianna.

Beautiful, happy Brianna, who now lay dead on the beach, alongside her husband.

Don’t think about it.

Karly kept rummaging, praying her trembling hands would encounter the smooth, hard surface of a cell phone or a tablet or maybe a laptop. But she felt only fabric. She found a pair of denim shorts and pulled them on over her bikini, refusing to think about how she was stealing a dead woman’s clothes. She found socks, too, and tugged them on over her ravaged feet. The socks hurt her cuts, but she needed something to minimize the blood trail she surely was leaving behind everywhere she went.

Giving up on the duffel bag, Karly crept to the dresser, which was cluttered with makeup and sunblock. She spied a phone charger plugged into the wall. Hope surged through her as she followed the cord, but to her bitter disappointment, she didn’t find a phone plugged into the other end. She spotted a corkscrew and snatched it up. No blade was attached, but at least it could be used as a weapon. She slipped it into her pocket and turned her attention to the nightstand.

They wouldn’t have brought a laptop. Not on their honeymoon. And their phones were probably with them. But Karly had to check anyway—that was the whole reason she’d risked exposure to come back here instead of cowering in the jungle. She tiptoed to the nightstand and slowly opened the drawer. She found a bottle of something slippery—massage oil? And something flat and smooth.

An iPad!

Adrenaline spurted through her as she tapped a button and brought the screen to life.

Immediately, she dropped into a crouch, fearful. Had anyone seen the light? Grabbing a pillow from the bed, she shielded the glow from the view of anyone passing by and then touched the screen.

Password protected.

Karly’s heart pounded as she stared at the screen. She was four digits away from being able to send a plea for help to the outside world. On impulse, she tapped the first numbers that popped into her mind: 1-2-3-4.

Nothing.

1-1-1-1.

Nothing.

0-0-0-0.

Tears burned her eyes as she held the device in her hands, desperate for inspiration. If she guessed wrong again, the thing would probably lock her out for good, and then where would she be?

She’d be right where she was now, stranded on a tiny island overrun by terrorists, with the bodies of her fellow tourists strewn around like garbage.

Don’t think about it, she ordered herself again. If she thought too much, she’d have another anxiety attack like the one she’d had hours ago, after she’d stumbled ashore and darted into the trees. She’d huddled there, shaking and shivering and heaving up ocean water until she felt like she’d turned herself inside out.

Footsteps nearby.

Karly froze. She glanced down at the tablet in her hands and tucked it beneath the pillow, praying it wouldn’t make a noise. She ran her fingers over the side until she found the mute button.

Silence. Whoever it was had stopped just outside the window. Had they seen the glow of the tablet? Or maybe she’d left the cabin door ajar. She glanced across the room and saw that she had.

Panic flooded her, and she debated whether to dive under the bed.

The footsteps resumed, the heavy crunch of shoes on gravel. The guard was continuing his patrol, and Karly released the breath she’d been holding.

She stood up and tiptoed to the door to peer out at the curved path. The entire resort was beautifully landscaped—lush flower beds brimming with bougainvillea and brightly colored orchids and birds-of-paradise.

Paradise.

A hysterical bubble of laughter clogged her throat. More like hell. She pictured the bullet-riddled body she’d tripped over on her way here. Her stomach clenched, and her inappropriate laughter turned into bile in the back of her throat.

Don’t think about it. No fear, no tears.

She tucked the iPad into the back of her shorts. It seemed silly to take it with her on the off chance that she might figure out the password. But it was her only link to the outside world, and she couldn’t bear to leave it behind, at least until she found something else. Maybe the next cabin she tried would have a cell phone.

Karly opened the corkscrew. She gripped it in her hand with the metal part jutting between her fingers. It wasn’t much compared with a machine gun, but at least she was no longer weaponless.

She scanned the moonlit path in both directions. No terrorists. No noise. Summoning her courage, she eased from the cabin and crept across the gravel. Then she slipped into the woods, even though the leafy canopy blocked out the moon and made it harder to see. She couldn’t risk someone spotting her on the path.

What next? She still needed a phone. Or some other means of communication. Her own phone, which was now tucked into her swimsuit top, was water-soaked and dead. She had a laptop in her cabin, but that was right beside the restaurant, which was the epicenter of all the activity.

Could she risk going there?

Maybe her plan to place an SOS call was foolish and she should duck into the jungle and take cover. But then she remembered the sobs coming from Mancuso’s cabin. They were doing something horrible to Natalie. And Karly couldn’t slink away and hide. She had to call for help.

She headed toward the next-closest cabin, Malai’s. She pushed away thoughts of Malai’s smiling face and the excited sparkle in her eyes as she’d told Karly about the reef shark. Malai hadn’t had a phone with her on the boat, so maybe she’d left it charging in her cabin. Setting her sights on the thatched roof, Karly picked her way through the forest.

Find a phone. Call for help. Find a phone. Call for help. Repeating the plan calmed her nerves and made her feel like she was doing something useful, even if—

A hand clamped over her face. Karly’s heart lurched as a powerful force lifted her off her feet and hauled her backward. She flailed and kicked. She tried to scream, but the giant hand made it impossible. She tried to bite, to scratch. She remembered the corkscrew in her hand and swung her fist back at her attacker. Pain zinged up her arm as her wrist was clutched in a viselike grip and the corkscrew disappeared. The powerful arm tightened around her waist.

“Don’t say a word.” The male voice was hot against her ear. He spoke with an American accent. “I won’t hurt you. Nod if you understand.”

Her heart hammered, pounding adrenaline through her veins, and she felt the press of an impossibly strong body surrounding her. She couldn’t move her arms, her hips, not even her mouth. In the dimness, she couldn’t see much, mostly a black glove smashed against her face.

“Nod.”

She nodded. And then she felt herself being lowered. She felt firm ground under her sock-clad feet, and the hand over her mouth dropped away.

She turned her head and found herself staring up at a face. It was dark and shadowy, and she didn’t understand at first. And then she did. She understood the helmet, the camo paint.

The lethal look in those pale eyes.

He held a finger to his mouth, telling her to stay quiet.

She nodded again.

Then he took her hand and pulled her deep into the woods.

TWO

Karly’s heart raced as he towed her through the trees. He seemed to have a destination in mind. He ducked under limbs and dodged around tree trunks, holding her hand in a firm grip as he pulled her behind him. He moved briskly, seeming to know precisely where he was taking her, despite the darkness.

They ducked under another low branch and stopped.

Karly tried to catch her breath as she glanced around. They stood beside a flat rock wall, the other three sides hemmed in by trees. She looked up to see the small hole in the leafy canopy, accounting for the patch of moonlight where they stood.

“You’re injured.”

She turned to look at the man staring down at her. His voice was quiet but firm.

“No, I—”

He took her head in his hands, and Karly flinched back, hitting the rock behind her.

“It’s just a bump,” she said.

His hands dropped away, and he stared down at her.

Karly’s heart was still pounding. She felt weak and woozy, but she forced herself to talk.

“You’re with the military?”

“United States Navy SEALs.”

A breath of relief whooshed from her lungs, and her legs almost collapsed.

“Oh, thank God.” She gripped his vest, which was packed with all sorts of weapons and equipment. She wanted to throw her arms around him. She wanted to hug him, to kiss him. Which was wildly inappropriate.

But what was an appropriate response when someone magically appeared out of nowhere to rescue her?

United States Navy SEALs.

The words penetrated her brain as he stared down at her in the dimness, his expression unreadable. He wasn’t that much taller than she was, maybe five-ten. But he was bigger. Wider. He exuded power just standing there. And then there were his eyes. They were alert and determined, not even a trace of the abject fear that had been smothering her for hours.

He dug something out of his pocket. “How’d you get the bump?” He switched on a small flashlight and shone it in her eyes. “Look at my finger. Now follow it.”

She did as he asked. “I—” She cleared her throat. How had she gotten the bump? Everything was a blur since she’d jumped off the dive boat. “I slipped somewhere. I must have hit my head.”

He put the flashlight away and pulled the glove off his hand. Then he held her wrist in his fingers, and it took her a moment to realize he was checking her pulse.

She tugged her hand away. “I’m fine. Really. But the others—”

“We’ll take care of the others.”

She laughed. She couldn’t help it—the statement was preposterous. Not to mention the calm way he delivered it.

He seemed unfazed by her reaction as he dug into his vest again. She heard the tear of paper and smelled antiseptic. He took her head in his hands and dabbed the cut at her temple, and she tried not to wince at the sting.

“So . . . you’re really a SEAL?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What’s your name?”

“Lieutenant Junior Grade Ethan Dunn. Anything else that needs cleaning?”

“I’m good.”

“You sure? You can’t mess around out here. Even the smallest cut’s liable to get infected.”

“I’m fine. How many of you are there?”

He tucked the alcohol wipe away and pulled his glove back on. “Four.”

“Four?”

“That’s my team. Search and recon.”

“Recon, like . . . reconnaissance?”

“Yes, ma’am. Hold on to me.” He dropped into a crouch and lifted one of her feet as she grabbed his shoulder to steady herself. “What happened here?” he asked, removing a bloody sock.

“I don’t know. Rocks, I guess. They were sharp when I came in.”

“Came in?”

“From the water. I was on a dive boat near the pier when the attack started.”

He stared up at her for a long moment. Then he shook his head as he ripped open another alcohol pad and wiped the soles of her feet. They didn’t even sting anymore, which probably showed how numb they were. He started digging around in his vest again and came up with a roll of something. She thought it might be duct tape, but it made no noise as he unrolled it and started wrapping. A bandage? He wrapped each foot, secured the bandages in place, and then stood up.

“What—”

“We can’t have you walking around leaving a blood trail. Here,” he said, shifting her body so that she was concealed in the shadows.

Karly stared up at him. Four men, he’d said. Four. There had to be at least twenty civilians to rescue, and the attackers outnumbered the SEALs probably three to one. The relief Karly had felt mere moments ago evaporated.

“You’re going to need reinforcements,” she told him.

“Yes, ma’am, we know. The rescue platoon comes later.”

Her heart lurched. “When later?”

“In about . . .” He checked his watch, and she noticed even his muscular forearms were covered in camo paint. “Four hours. That’s oh-three-hundred.”

“What?”

“Three A.M.”

“No, I know. I mean, why on earth wait? People are dead. Natalie Mancuso’s being abused as we speak—”

“You know where she is?”

“She’s in her cabin. I heard her crying just a few minutes ago. I can’t imagine what they must be doing to her—”

“Shh.” He held his finger to her lips, commanding silence.

Karly stared up at him and held her breath. His face had gone hard. His entire body. Every muscle seemed tense and alert as they stood in the shadows, listening for whatever had caught his attention.

Karly’s chest tightened with dread. What now? Had someone heard their low talking? Ethan Dunn was armed, yes, but he was also outnumbered, and Karly wouldn’t feel completely safe until and unless they somehow made it out of this hellhole. She pictured Brad and Brianna sprawled dead on the beach, and bile rose in her throat again. Her grip tightened on Ethan’s vest. She hadn’t realized she’d been clutching it. She held on to him, waiting, squeezing her eyes shut and praying they weren’t about to be ambushed.

Ethan relaxed suddenly, and a man stepped through the trees. He was tall and broad-shouldered and dressed the same as Ethan, right down to the army-green vest bulging with equipment.

“Well, well. Who’s this?” The man’s low voice surrounded them as he stepped into their tight space.

“Karly Bonham, the reporter,” Ethan said.

She turned to look at him. “How did you—”

“We got your SOS call.”

“Ms. Bonham, I’m Jake Heath. It’s a pleasure to see you alive and in one piece.”

He stuck out a hand, and Karly shook it, still dumbstruck that Ethan knew her name and had somehow gotten her phone call.

“We sure appreciate the heads-up,” Jake said. “You helped us get a jump on the tangos. We’ve been planning this op for hours now, ever since word of your call made it up the chain.”

She looked from Jake to Ethan and back to Jake again. “So . . . are you part of the rescue platoon?”

“Search and recon. Rescue’s coming at oh-three-hundred.”

“We can’t wait that long. They need to come now.”

“This mission hinges on good intel,” Ethan said. “Minimizes the risk for everyone, particularly the hostages.”

“We need to know how many tangos—or terrorists—and where they are,” Jake said. “We need to know how they’re armed, where they’re stationed. We need to know where they patrol, nap, and take a leak. We need every detail we can get before we launch our assault.”

Karly’s head was spinning. She’d gone from being alone and defenseless to having two trained warriors at her side. And yet at this moment, she felt more freaked-out than ever.

Jake stepped away and started talking quietly into a handheld radio.

Karly turned to look at Ethan, who was watching her in the dimness with those piercing blue eyes. The heat she saw there gave her a sudden flush of sexual awareness. Which was insane, given the circumstances. What the hell was wrong with her?

“Ethan.” She squeezed his gloved hand. “Please listen to me. You guys can’t wait until oh-three-hundred. You need to call in that platoon, and you need to go now.”

Ethan’s gaze held hers, and she wondered what he was thinking. She had a feeling she knew. She was terrified and bleeding and had seaweed tangled in her hair. She must look like a lunatic standing here in the jungle in her swimsuit and cutoffs with her feet wrapped in bandages. She didn’t have training or intel, but what she did have was intuition, and she’d learned to listen to it over the years. And at this moment, her intuition was telling her their timing was all wrong. They couldn’t wait four more hours. Or even four more minutes.

“That was Bravo,” Jake said, joining their conversation again.

“What’s the sitrep?”

“They’ve got a hide scoped out. It’s an outcropping of rock near the top of the hill. There’s a small cave there. She should be safe until we’re ready to move.”

“I can get her there, then meet up with Owen and Ortiz.”

Jake nodded. “I’ll scope out this sector, see what’s what, and then we’ll go from there.”

“Wait. Wait,” Karly said. “They’ve scoped out a hide? As in, to hide me?”

Ethan nodded. “I’ll take you up and get you squared away. You’ll be safe there until we’re ready to exfil.”

“No.”

His eyebrows tipped up. “Come again?”

“I’m not going.”

Ethan stared down at her.

Of all the problems he’d expected on this op, getting the hostages to cooperate hadn’t been one of them.

“Ms. Bonham—”

“It’s Karly.” She tossed her head.

Ethan’s jaw tightened. “All right. Karly. Listen closely. What we need right now is your full and total cooperation.”

“I’m not going.”

Ethan darted a look at Jake, who lifted an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Ethan countered, “you are. We need you out of the way so we can do our job. You can either go willingly, or we can take you. But either way—”

“It’s all about intel. Isn’t that what you said?” She crossed her arms, and he forced himself to ignore the swell of her breasts in that bikini. “You said this whole op hinges on good intel. Well, I have some and you don’t.”

Ethan rested his hands on his hips.

“Seriously, where are you getting your information about this place?”

“Surveillance drone,” he told her. “And the resort website.”

“A bird’s-eye view, then. That’s all you have?”

Ethan didn’t respond, but he looked at Jake.

“And you guys have been here, what, an hour?” She glanced at Jake, then back to Ethan. “I’ve been here for five days. I know my way around. I’ve been inside the buildings.”

“Which buildings?” Jake asked.

“All of them.” Her arms dropped. “Well, not all. But most of them. I’ve been in the ambassador’s cabin, which is where he and Natalie are being held right now. Why waste time taking me up the hill to some cave when I could stay right here and help you?”

Ethan gazed down at her. Not much surprised him, but Karly Bonham had managed to. For starters, she looked nothing like her passport photo, which showed a fashionably dressed woman with sleek blond hair. Right now, her tangled ponytail was caked with blood and dirt. Mud smudges covered her neck and arms. She brushed her hair from her eyes, drawing his attention to the golf-ball-size bump on her head, which she’d dismissed as nothing.

She was defiant. Determined. Strategic. Not at all what he’d expected from a twenty-eight-year-old magazine reporter.

But even more surprising were all the things she wasn’t. She wasn’t cowering in fear, even though she had to be terrified. And she wasn’t crying.

That, more than anything, made Ethan like her, because if there was anything that made him antsy, it was a woman’s tears. And he was relieved as hell not to be dealing with any in the middle of an op.

She moved closer, as if she knew her nearness was getting to him, and he stared down at those big brown eyes. Bedroom eyes. That’s what they were. And Ethan suddenly imagined her on her knees on a bed, gazing up at him with a pleading look, a look that made him want to give her any damn thing she wanted.

“Ethan, I know these people.” She took his hand, and he felt a shot of lust. “Some of them are my friends. You can’t expect me to run off and hide in a cave when I could be doing something to help.”

Ethan pulled his hand loose. He didn’t need her help. He needed her pretty little ass away from here, as far away as possible. He knew exactly what those terrorist scumbags were capable of, and he didn’t want them anywhere near Karly.

“She has a point.”

He shot a look at Jake. “She’s injured.”

“I’m fine.”

“She says she’s fine.”

Ethan glared at his teammate, who was watching calmly with his arms folded over his chest. Jake picked up on everything, and he’d no doubt picked up on this weird hold Karly seemed to have over him. Ethan didn’t understand it, but he couldn’t deny it was there. And he also couldn’t deny it was messing with his judgment.

Ethan and his team were here to gather intel. Karly had some. If they didn’t use it, they might be putting innocent lives at risk.

She eased closer. He eased back.

“Fine.” Ethan reached into his vest.

He took out the laminated drawing of the compound and unfolded it, even though every protective instinct in his body told him he was making a mistake.

He looked at Karly. “Tell us what you know.”

The waiting was unbearable.

Karly leaned back against the rock with her knees tucked against her chest as she stared into the darkness. Her eyes had adjusted, and she could make out a few dim shapes—mostly trees and vines—and everything took on an ominous quality the more she stared. Each little noise made her pulse lurch, and there were a lot of noises in this hidden patch of jungle. Her nerves were going haywire, and she kept having the strangest feeling she was trapped in a closet and the walls were closing in on her.

She rubbed her sweaty palms over her knees. Where was he? Twenty minutes, he’d told her. Thirty, tops.

She’d won the argument. Ethan hadn’t whisked her away and stashed her in some cave while he and his SEAL friends roamed around spying on the tangos, as they called them. Instead, he’d handed her a schematic drawing and a Sharpie and then watched as she’d added details wherever she could. She’d flipped the drawing over and sketched the floor plans of key buildings while Ethan and Jake pumped her for information. They wanted to know about entry points, hallways, windows. Even building materials seemed to interest them. And when her knowledge of the buildings was exhausted, they’d asked questions about the island itself. Her tidbit about the secondary dock behind the resort’s kitchen seemed to grab their attention. She’d seen workers unloading crates of food and wine from a boat there earlier in the week. Ethan had wanted to know everything about the dock, and Karly had felt proud to have something potentially important to offer them that they didn’t already know.

But then what had they done? Exactly what they’d planned originally, which was to whisk her away to some hiding place while they rushed off to carry out their mission.

Twenty minutes. Thirty, tops, he’d said. Karly didn’t have a watch, and her phone still wasn’t working, but she knew it had been much, much longer.

She glanced up through the palm leaves as the full moon peeked out from behind the clouds. Some sort of front was moving in. The moonlight was getting sporadic. Was that why they were waiting? She didn’t know all the factors that played into a decision like that, but it seemed wrong to her.

She closed her eyes and thought about Ethan Dunn. She pictured his face covered in camouflage paint. There was something fierce about him. Something primitive. Something completely outside her realm of experience.

He was strong. Trained. Lethal. The brutality of his mission gleamed in his eyes, and yet he seemed completely comfortable. He was here to kill people. And to save people. And his utter confidence that he would do both before this night ended took her breath away.

Karly, on the other hand, was here to get a story and further her career. She’d even hoped to get some R and R out of the deal. It all seemed so selfish now.

Try as she might, Karly couldn’t get her head around the idea that Ethan was putting his life on the line for a bunch of people he didn’t even know, people he likely would never see after this was over. Assuming they got out of here alive.

Karly leaned her forehead on her knees and flinched at the pain. She touched her fingers to her cut. It had stopped bleeding, at least, but the bump had grown bigger. And the weird part was, she didn’t remember when she’d gotten it. Either on the boat when she’d ducked for cover or maybe on the rocks when she’d slipped and fallen. But she didn’t know for sure, because her memories were all a blur.

A slight shift in the air made her jerk her head up.

“Relax, it’s me.”

THREE

Relief swamped her. Tears flooded her eyes, and she blinked them back as Ethan knelt in front of her. She wanted to throw her arms around him, but she gripped her knees instead. No fear, no tears.

“You okay?” He rested his hand on her shoulder.

“Yes. Where’s Jake?”

“Still working.”

His hand on her shoulder made her ridiculously grateful, because it meant he was really here. In the flesh. He hadn’t been hurt or killed. The bleak possibility had been lurking in her mind this whole time.

“I passed along your intel to Owen and Ortiz,” he told her. “They’re stationed up top with a sat phone, relaying everything we’ve got to the assault team.”

He pulled a bottle of water from one of his pockets and held it out to her, but she shook her head.

“Was it useful? The information?”

“Definitely.” He tipped the water back and guzzled it. “With this many civilians potentially in the middle of a firefight, accuracy is critical. We need every advantage we can get to strike hard and fast. Zero civilian casualties—that’s the only acceptable outcome.”

He rummaged through his pockets some more as Karly digested his words. She pictured a whole platoon of SEALs geared up for battle, poring over a photograph or some other version of the diagram she’d drawn for them, memorizing doors and hallways and windows. What if she’d gotten something wrong? The weighty responsibility felt like a brick in her stomach.

On the other hand, without her input, they’d have been relying on guesswork for a lot of things.

Ethan was still kneeling beside her, but his hand was no longer on her shoulder. He dug a pouch from his vest and unzipped it.

“What now?” she asked.

“Now we wait.”

Wait. Just the word made her cringe. All this waiting around was making her crazy.

He pulled something from the pouch, and she smelled antiseptic again.

“Are you hurt?”

“No, you are.” He took her face in his hands and wiped her cut again. He’d removed his gloves, and his fingers felt warm against her skin. “How’s the bump?”

“Fine.”

He touched it softly, and she jerked back.

“Any dizziness? Double vision?”

“No.”

“Any nausea?”

“No.” Not like he meant. She’d been nauseated when she’d first made it to land with a belly full of seawater. And then again when she’d stumbled over the body of one of the resort workers—the waiter from lunch. The man had been shot through the neck, and his throat had burst out and spewed all over the sidewalk. Karly had run into the woods to retch, and she’d stayed there, shaking uncontrollably and trying to get her courage back.

She pushed the memory away as she looked at Ethan poking through his kit. “So . . . are you a medic?”

“No, but I’ve had some training. Look up.”

She did. He gently tipped her head back so he could see her injury in the moonlight.

“You really banged it on something.”

“A rock, I think.”

“Coming ashore, you said?”

“Yeah.” She bit her lip as he dabbed ointment over the cut.

“Damn, you must have swum a long way. Maybe a mile.”

“Maybe.”

He took something from his kit, and she drew back again.

“What’s that?”

“Butterfly bandage. You should have sutures, but this is the best we can do right now.”

His fingers felt good against her cheekbones. Not just the warmth of them but the way he touched her, as though he knew exactly what he was doing. As though providing first aid to hostages in the jungle was no big deal, something he did all the time.

And maybe it was.

She watched his face while he applied the bandage. His eyes, specifically. She felt slightly dizzy around him, but it had nothing to do with her injury. The touch of his hands threw her equilibrium off.

How long since she’d been touched by a man this way? Way, way too long. Obviously. All her hormones were kicking into gear, and he was merely giving her first aid.

She cleared her throat. “So, Ethan, the thing I don’t understand is, why are they waiting? Why don’t they assault now?”

He eased back from her. He watched her for a moment and then zipped his pouch shut.

“How much do you know about these terrorists?” he asked.

“I’m not sure.” He kept calling them terrorists, which told her a lot. “Are they ACB?”

He nodded. “Asian Crescent Brotherhood. They’ve been active throughout the region lately.”

“They’re responsible for the nightclub bombing in Bangkok.” Karly’s stomach roiled as she recalled the carnage she’d seen on the news. Blood on the sidewalk. Shrapnel. Broken glass. She’d never dreamed she’d see their handiwork up close.

“One of their leaders was arrested recently.”

“In the Manila airport,” she said. “I saw that on the news.”

“Right. We don’t know their demands yet. They’ve set up a phone call with the U.S. embassy in Bangkok in the morning. But the working assumption is that they want their leader back. America’s involved, so they think putting pressure on one of our diplomats is the way to go. It’s a flawed assumption. But the thing is, these guys are well trained and well funded, and they’re deadly serious. Rape, torture, murder . . . there’s nothing they won’t do.”

Ethan’s easygoing voice had been replaced with a steely tone.

“Worst-case scenario is a suicide bomb if we attempt to thwart their plan here. So we have to be very careful and very accurate when we strike tonight. We’re relying on the element of surprise, which depends on darkness, cloud cover, and sleepy guards, who won’t know we’re coming until it’s too late. That’s why oh-three-hundred is the optimal time.”

Karly didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. Who was she to second-guess military tactics? But the prospect of waiting another two hours made her sick to her stomach. So much could happen in that time.

Malai’s screams echoed in her mind. She closed her eyes and saw her panicked face as the boat captain crumpled in front of them. And then all that blood in the water, a cloud of red as Malai’s body sank like a stone.

Could Karly have saved her? She would never know, because she hadn’t tried. Instead, she’d fled. Under a hail of bullets, she’d swum hard and fast, her arms and legs propelling her through the water, taking her farther and farther away from that beach. She’d pulled and kicked for all she was worth until her lungs felt like they’d explode, and then she’d kept going, paralleling the shore. Going, going, going, as far away from the resort as she could get.

“Karly.”

Ethan’s voice pulled her back. He was watching her carefully. He rested his hand on her shoulder again.

“You all right?”

“Fine.”

She could tell he didn’t believe her, but he went back to zipping supplies into his vest.

“So you’re a reporter, huh? What’s that like?” His voice had a casual tone now. He was trying to distract her, but she couldn’t think how to respond. “Is it pretty exciting?”

She laughed. “Um, no. Not compared to being a SEAL. It’s pretty boring, actually.”

“I doubt that.”

“Yeah, well . . . our magazine’s based in California, so I mostly write about actors and film types. I cover the celebrity beat.” She didn’t mention that she was known as one of the best interviewers in the business. She had a knack for getting people to talk to her, and she took pride in not writing gotcha pieces that ruined people’s lives for the sake of headlines. It was one reason people let down their guard with her.

Ethan settled on the ground beside her, leaning back against the rock, and she tried not to think about how his closeness sent her pulse into overdrive.

“Movie premieres and Oscar parties, huh?”

“Sometimes. I also write straight news when they ask me to. This spring, for instance. There was this big bribery scandal up in Sacramento. It made national headlines.”

“Must have missed it.” He looked at her. “We’re gone a lot.”

“Right. Well . . . anyway, there were these state officials taking kickbacks. I was one of the reporters who broke the story, so I guess I’m proud of that.”

“You should be.”

“Doesn’t compare to saving people’s lives, though.”

“You did a public service. It’s a hell of a lot more than some people do.”

She glanced at him, picking up on something in his tone. Some people . . . meaning journalists? Lots of people hated reporters. She’d learned to ignore their disdain. But for some reason, Ethan’s opinion mattered.

“Do you have a problem with reporters?”

“Not all of them,” he said, which just confirmed her suspicion.

“Why?”

Seconds ticked by, and he didn’t say anything. He must really have a beef with them, she thought.

“Reporters—especially TV people—they can be a problem for us. We’re called silent professionals for a reason. What we do, it works best when people don’t see us coming. When they don’t know how we operate. When they don’t know our tactics. People go blabbing to the press after something happens, and then they come and put a spotlight on our ops? That’s never good.” He shifted beside her, resting his forearms on his knees. “I’d just as soon avoid the media. They can be a real pain in the ass. No offense.”

She shrugged. “I’ve heard it before.” But it had never stung quite like it did coming from Ethan.

“And it’s not just us affected—it’s the victims, too, the people we pull out of bad situations. I’ve seen more than a few lives messed up when people are suddenly thrust into the limelight. It can be brutal.”

He was watching her now with those vivid blue eyes. She’d never known a man with eyes like that.

“So what are you covering right now?” he asked.

“The ambassador. He’s from Los Angeles, and I’m doing a cover feature about him. He has a degree in economics, and he’s actually a pretty serious guy. I was surprised. I’m sure our readers will be surprised, too.”

“Why?”

She smiled. “Have you seen Anthony Mancuso?”

“Just his passport picture.”

“Well, he’s . . .” She paused, trying to think of a way to phrase it that wouldn’t make her sound like a groupie. “He’s attractive. He was voted one of L.A.’s best-dressed men, which is saying a lot. And he’s got a reputation for being a playboy.”

She hazarded a glance at Ethan. She couldn’t read the look on his face, but she felt ridiculous having this conversation. She was talking about fashion, and he was sitting beside her in his commando gear, armed to the teeth and covered in greasepaint.

Everything about him got to her. The way he looked and talked. The way his muscles rippled whenever he moved. The manly way he smelled, like sweat and dirt. Beside him, she felt protected. Safe. Like no matter what had happened, no matter what horrors she’d witnessed, she actually had a shot at getting out of this, and all because he and his teammates were willing to risk their lives for her.

A lump of fear rose in her throat. She swallowed it down.

“This plan tonight,” she said.

“What about it?”

“I need to know what it is. The basics.”

He just looked at her.

“I do better when I can picture things.”

He nodded. “I get that.”

“So will you tell me?”

He sighed, and she thought he was going to dodge the question.

“It’s complicated. But basically, in about two hours, the rest of my platoon is going to meet up on the north side of the island.”

“Are they coming by helicopter?”

“Water. A helo’s too noisy. Remember what I said about surprise?”

She nodded.

“Our men will sneak ashore, completely invisible. We’ll surround the resort, neutralize the bad guys, and then get the hostages to the beach for an air evac. That’s the basic plan.”

Neutralize the bad guys.

“Somehow I think that sounds easier than it is,” she said. “What if you don’t manage to neutralize everyone?”

“There’s always the chance of squirters, bad guys who flee out the back. We’ve got a plan for that, too.” He settled against the rock, brushing her shoulder with his, and she felt another rush of awareness. “The biggest challenge is timing. We have to come at them fast and hard and gain control of the situation before they realize we’re there. It’s about shock and awe. Otherwise, we could be looking at civilian casualties. Or someone detonates something. Both of those are unacceptable outcomes.”

“Unacceptable outcomes. But not impossible.”

He didn’t say anything.

“What are the odds everything will go as planned?”

He didn’t respond. Karly put her hand on his knee, and he glanced down at it.

“Be honest with me.”

His gaze locked with hers, and for a long moment, he said nothing. And then, “Honestly, I’d give it one chance in ten.”

Her blood turned cold. “Ten percent odds?”

“That everything goes to plan,” he said. “But that’s okay. SEALs are trained to adapt, to improvise. Especially this crew. These guys are pros, I promise you. No matter what goes down on an op, you can count on our team to get the job done.”

Karly bit her lip and looked away. He sounded so calm. So determined. As though every one of their lives didn’t hang in the balance.

“Hey.”

She turned to him.

“You wanted honesty.”

“I know.” She cleared her throat. “Thanks. I mean that.”

They got quiet then, and the only sounds were those of the island around them—the distant crashing of waves against the beach, the palms rustling. She could hear her heart thudding inside her chest. His gaze held hers, and she wondered if he could hear it, too.

A one-in-ten chance. She felt dizzy again. Her chest got tight, but she refused to think about crying or falling apart. She could do that later, when she made it home.

If she made it home.

She thought of Rachel. Had her sister heard about the attack on the news? It was just the two of them now that their parents were gone, and they tended to worry about each other. The thought of leaving Rachel alone in the world without any immediate family made Karly’s stomach hurt.

And then she thought about Colin. Which was bizarre. Why was she thinking about her cheating ex at a time like this? He was a reporter himself and a news junkie, so there was a good chance he was following this story from the Washington bureau where he now worked.

Ethan was still watching her. “Did I scare you?” he asked.

“No.”

He smiled slightly, as though he knew she was lying. Karly just looked at him. Focusing on his eyes steadied her. He seemed so confident they were going to get out of this. She’d never known anyone—man or woman—who exuded such confidence in the face of disaster. Just his presence beside her kept the hysteria away.

“You’re going to have a scar.” He reached up and stroked his finger over her temple, and a shot of heat went through her.

“You think?”

“Yeah.”

He had a scar. It bisected his left eyebrow, and she almost couldn’t see it under all the camo paint. He eased closer. Was he going to kiss her? Her stomach fluttered with nerves at the thought. And then his gaze drifted to her mouth, and her pulse sped up.

Why was she doing this? Why was she thinking about kissing this man when she should be focused on survival? Maybe it was her brain’s way of distracting her from the paralyzing reality that she might not see another sunrise.

“Ethan . . .”

It was a whisper. Barely that. She leaned closer and looked at his mouth.

And then he was on his feet, gun out, stance wide.

Karly lurched sideways as a trio of men stepped through the trees.

“Dunn, we need you.”

Jake was one of them. He glanced down at Karly but didn’t bother with a greeting as he stepped into the brush, followed by Ethan and the others.

Karly got to her feet. Her heart was racing now for an entirely different reason. She watched the men huddle together. They were big. Enormous. They all wore vests like Ethan’s and had machine guns slung over their shoulders. The tallest one wore night-vision goggles and had a mean-looking knife strapped to his thigh. He carried a device in his hand that emitted a greenish glow.

Together, they looked terrifying, but what alarmed Karly most was their body language. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the tension was ratcheted way up.

Ethan broke away from the group and stepped over. He pulled her around the tree and looked down at her, his expression grim.

“You said you wanted me to be honest. Can you handle it?”

“Yes.”

He rested his hand on her shoulder. “Okay, Karly, here’s the deal. We have a problem.”

FOUR

Ethan stared through the night-vision binoculars, weighing the severity of the problem. The goatfuck factor, which had been manageable so far, had just shot into the stratosphere.

A boat was now arriving at the east dock. That boat was filled with tangos. Sixteen new guys, bringing the total number of terrorists to thirty-two.

But that wasn’t the worst news. There seemed to be a leader in this batch. Jake had pointed it out, and observing the tangos’ behavior now, Ethan had to agree. The man was taller than the rest, which didn’t necessarily mean anything. He wore all black, but instead of carrying an AK like everyone else, he had a hefty-looking pistol holstered at his hip. Ethan couldn’t see the weapon clearly, but it was probably a Makarov, Russian-made, same as the AKs. The man was giving orders, and everyone around him treated him with deference.

“Looks like the chief showed up,” Lucas Ortiz said beside him.

“Yep.”

And that wasn’t even the worst news. This new group of men included a film crew. Ethan had seen them unloading a shoulder-mounted video camera. It was a serious piece of equipment, like a TV news team might use, and the instant Ethan spotted it, he knew these terrorists weren’t planning to pass the night milling around and biding time until their scheduled phone call with the American embassy at 0600. No, they had plans to film something. And if this organization’s history was any indication, it would be something horrific. Something shocking. Something they wouldn’t hesitate to blast into cyberspace for maximum exposure.

Whatever this sick production was, Ethan had no doubt Mancuso and his daughter were expected to play a starring role.

Ethan cast a glance over his shoulder at Karly. She looked scared and uncertain. But not scared enough. He’d outlined the basics—honestly, no bullshit—but she clearly didn’t understand the implications this new development had for the mission.

“We’re fucked,” Jake said with his usual talent for summing things up.

Ethan handed the binocs to Lucas, who lifted them to his face for another look. He gave a low whistle. “Damn. I don’t like these numbers.”

“Me, neither,” Ethan said. “Hey, Owen, what’s the ETA?”

For the assault team, he meant. Ryan Owen had just gotten off the radio with their commanding officer, who was stationed on a frigate offshore.

“Twenty-five minutes for them to spin up and get here,” Ryan said.

Ethan shot a grim look at Jake.

“We need to go now,” Ethan stated.

No one looked surprised. No one except Karly. Her mouth dropped open, and she stepped closer to their huddle.

“But what about your team?”

“They’re not here. We are. And we need to strike hard and fast, no warning.”

“But . . . there are only four of you!”

“Three.” Ethan glanced at Jake.

“What?” She looked baffled. And Ethan saw the moment when understanding hit. “Wait, no way. Don’t even think about leaving someone back here to guard me.”

Ethan didn’t say anything.

“Give me a damn gun, and I can guard myself!”

Jake looked at Ethan and lifted an eyebrow. No one liked the idea of being a man down, but the moment they launched their attack, at least some of the terrorists were sure to flee, most likely into the jungle, where there was a chance they’d cross paths with Karly, creating yet another potential hostage situation. Or worse.

“No one’s guarding me. I’m fine by myself.” Karly folded her arms and lifted her chin defiantly. If it weren’t for the pink bikini and bandaged feet, she might actually look capable. But instead, she looked like what she was: an untrained, extremely vulnerable, extremely female civilian.

“Dunn, can we have a word?” Jake jerked his head toward the trees, and Ethan and his teammates stepped away from Karly to hash out the plan.

“We have to leave her here,” Jake said. “No choice. We can’t spare a man.”

“I know.” Ethan gritted his teeth. Meanwhile Ryan grabbed the binoculars and took another look at the situation unfolding down the hill.

This wasn’t their plan A. Or their plan B. Or even their plan C. But they had considered this contingency. They had plotted out what would happen if for some crazy reason the SR team had to go in and get the hostages out. Of course, even that plan hadn’t involved quite the shitty tango-to-SEAL ratio they were currently facing.

Ryan lowered the binoculars. “The leader and the film crew just entered the ambo’s cabin.”

Jake muttered a curse.

“We need to move now,” Lucas said.

“I want to help with the op.”

All four of them turned to see Karly standing behind them. Ethan would have laughed if she hadn’t looked so deadly serious. Her posture was ramrod-straight, and she had a determined fire in her eyes.

“You’ve only got four people,” she pointed out. “I’m able-bodied. Give me a job.”

“We appreciate your offer,” Ethan said. “But it’s not possible.”

“I insist.”

“Ma’am.” Jake reached out and touched her arm. “It’s not in the cards.”

She shook off Jake’s hand, and Ethan suppressed a smile.

“There’s got to be something I can do.” Her gaze locked with Ethan’s. “Come on, Ethan. Give me the binoculars. I can watch from up here and give you guys the play-by-play.”

Everyone’s eyes turned to Ethan. He could read his teammates’ thoughts. It wasn’t a bad idea. In fact, it was pretty good. Under normal circumstances, they definitely would have had a man on that task, but right now, they were severely manpower-constrained.

Ethan gave a brisk nod, hoping he wouldn’t regret the decision.

He already regretted it.

“I’ll show her the radio,” Ryan said, and then took Karly aside to do just that.

Meanwhile, Ethan, Jake, and Lucas reviewed the plan they’d gone over ages ago in the briefing room, the plan they’d never truly expected to have to put into action.

Then everyone geared up. They arranged equipment, weapons, ammo. Ethan checked his pistol and slid an extra magazine from his vest.

“Just talked to the CO,” Ryan said, handing off the radio to Karly. “The helos are ready. We need to move.”

Ethan pulled Karly aside. “You understand the comms?”

She nodded. “And when I hear the all-clear over the radio, I’m to meet you at the fishing pier, near where the helicopters will be landing on the beach to evacuate people.”

“Wait for the all-clear.”

“I know.”

Ethan took the handheld radio from her and clipped it to the waist of her cutoff shorts. “You ever fired a pistol?”

She glanced down at the gun in his hand. “At a friend’s ranch once.”

Once. Jesus.

Ethan demonstrated how to release the mag, then shove it back in. “It’s ready to go. Ten rounds. All you have to do is pull the trigger.” He took her hand and folded her slender fingers around the grip.

She took a deep breath and nodded.

He tucked the extra mag into her back pocket. “Extra magazine.”

“Dunn, go time,” Jake said.

Ethan stared down at Karly. “Stay hidden,” he commanded. “If anyone threatens you, do not hesitate to shoot, you understand?”

She nodded.

“Aim for center body mass. Just make sure it’s not one of us.”

She nodded again.

Dread filled his gut as he stared down at her. He’d never felt this way before an op. He did not feel good about this. And she must have read his expression, because the brave look on her face faltered.

“We’ll be fine.” He put his hand on her shoulder, because he knew it reassured her. “In twenty minutes, it’ll all be over.”

Her eyebrows tipped up at the word over. Maybe that sounded too ominous.

She stepped closer and clutched his vest with her free hand. “Will you be careful?”

Careful? No. Careful was not in the plan, and he couldn’t lie to her. She seemed to read his look again, and her grip tightened.

Ethan kissed her.

He had to. Anything to get that look off her face. Her hands were gripping his vest and his gun, so it was all him, tipping her face back with his fingers and licking into her sweet mouth. She tasted so damn good. And desperate. A voice in the back of his brain told him this was a bad move, for way too many reasons. He was kissing a woman he was supposed to protect with his life, a woman totally dependent on him for survival. Everything about it was wrong, but it felt completely right.

She kissed him back, sliding her tongue against his. It was hot and potent, and he could have spent hours tasting every inch of her. He wanted to. He would, provided he managed to get out of here in one piece.

“Dunn, let’s go.”

He pulled back.

She blinked up at him, dazed now. But the worry was gone.

“Don’t forget to wait for the all-clear.”

She nodded.

He touched her cheek. “I’ll see you soon.”

It was like watching an action movie—with the bone-chilling knowledge that the good guys could actually get killed.

There was no guaranteed outcome here, and Ethan had given this a one-in-ten chance of going to plan.

Well, that was the original plan, which was already blown to pieces. Instead of a whole platoon, they had only four men. Versus more than thirty.

It was impossible. But Ethan and his team seemed bizarrely hopeful, because they still had the all-important element of surprise.

Karly watched through the binoculars as the two pairs of SEALs slipped closer to the target buildings—the restaurant and the ambassador’s cabin. Only two men per building, two guys with the impossible task of neutralizing all the terrorists while making sure not a single hostage got caught in the cross fire.

Karly’s heart thrummed as she trained her gaze on Jake and Ethan. Shock and awe, he’d said.

She waited, holding her breath. Ethan crept closer and closer to the restaurant, and with every step, her fear intensified, until she could hardly think. Or watch. He was so close to the terrorists now he could practically reach out and touch two of them. And yet he was invisible, just part of the shadows.

“T minus ten,” a voice said over the radio. She recognized Ryan Owen, the tallest one, who was approaching the ambassador’s cabin on the opposite side of the resort. She swallowed nervously and shifted her focus to the restaurant.

“T minus five.”

Karly’s chest squeezed.

T minus four . . . three . . . two . . .

Boom!

A sudden flash made her see stars. She’d forgotten to lower the binoculars for initial assault.

Boom! Boom!

More stun grenades as the two teams of SEALs stormed the buildings, and then the rat-tat-tat of machine-gun fire as they took aim at the terrorists.

Pandemonium broke out across the resort. More gunfire. More muffled explosions. Karly watched through the binoculars, on alert for any dangers she could report.

“Dining room secure!”

It was Jake’s voice over the radio. His words were followed by a loud burst of gunfire, and Karly’s shoulders tensed. What was going on? Who was shooting?

“Kitchen clear!”

Ethan. The sound of his voice sent a rush of relief through her system. But the relief turned to dread as a renewed barrage of gunfire came over the radio.

Two black-clad men darted from the back of the restaurant and raced past the pool.

“Two tangos running from the restaurant!” Karly said over the radio. “I repeat, two men running north into the jungle.”

A SEAL sprinted after them. Was it Jake? Ethan? She couldn’t tell, but the idea of only one of them being left alone with the surviving terrorists made her heart flip-flop.

“Ambo’s cabin secure!”

She veered her binoculars toward Mancuso’s cabin and watched for any fleeing bad guys.

“Ambo and his daughter secure. I repeat, the ambassador and his daughter are both secure.”

Karly’s knees went weak with relief, and she wanted to slip to the ground. But she had to keep watching. She scanned the resort for any more fleeing terrorists.

“Squirters neutralized.”

She recognized Jake’s voice. The SEAL emerged from the trees and ran back toward the restaurant, where Ethan was alone with civilians and the bulk of the terrorist fighting force.

Movement near the pool caught her eye.

“There’s a man on the patio. A tango moving from—”

The man dropped to the ground before Karly could even finish her sentence. She didn’t know where the bullet had come from, but the guy was clearly dead.

“Charlie, report.”

“We are clear in the restaurant. What about the cabin? Over.”

“This is Bravo. The cabin is clear. Over.”

“That’s an all-clear,” Ethan said over the radio. “Karly, are you listening? I repeat, all clear.”

“I heard you!”

“Let’s get the hostages to the beach.”

Karly’s heart hammered inside her chest. All clear. She couldn’t believe it. The terrorists were neutralized, and everyone was about to get taken out of here. For a long moment, she couldn’t even move. She simply watched through the binoculars as a line of hostages filed out of the restaurant, led by Jake. With Ethan’s help, he guided them past the pool and onto the beach.

A distant sound caught Karly’s attention. She glanced up, searching for the pair of helicopters she’d been told to expect. She couldn’t see them yet, but the ever-increasing noise told her they were getting closer.

“Karly, it’s Ethan. Can you hear me?”

“I hear you. I’m heading for the beach now.”

“Get to the pier, and we’ll get you aboard the bird.”

Karly scanned the resort through the binoculars. She spotted him on the beach, facing her position on the hillside. He raised his hand to signal her, and she waved back, even though she knew he couldn’t see.

One of the helicopters came into view. Ethan and his team jumped into action, getting the hostages in position as the chopper hovered over the beach.

A flash of light caught Karly’s eye. Something near the docks. She skimmed the area and spotted it again. Someone was in one of the boats. Karly watched in shock as the boat began to move.

“Ethan, wait! There’s a boat taking off! One of the tangos is escaping!”

Karly stared, horrified, as the boat exited the little cove and turned toward the beach.

“Ethan! The boat . . . it’s coming back. It’s headed for the beach!”

Static over the radio.

“Ethan? Can you hear me?”

More static. “—repeat? Over.”

“Ethan, the boat is moving toward the beach. There’s at least one tango on it, and it’s coming your way!”

Karly lowered the binoculars, pulse pounding. She fought her way through branches and vines until she reached the path, and then she took off running, desperately trying not to trip in the darkness with only the moon to guide her. But it was a straight shot down to the beach and the fishing pier where Ethan planned to meet her.

The helicopters thundered louder and louder as she neared the shore. The path disappeared when her feet reached sand, and she ran through the last row of palm trees onto the open beach.

Grit stung her face as the powerful downdrafts swirled around her. She squinted and tried to find Ethan or one of his teammates.

“Ethan!”

He was running for the fishing pier. Karly rushed toward him, trying to shield her eyes from the sandstorm.

He reached her side and took her arm. “What is it? I couldn’t hear—”

“A boat!” she yelled over the noise. “One of the tangos is in a boat, and he’s coming this way!”

Ethan grabbed her hand and ran, pulling her with him in a flat-out sprint for the nearest helicopter. The second chopper was already filled with hostages and lifting off from the beach.

Rat-tat-tat.

Karly’s heart lurched at the sound of gunfire. She didn’t know where it was coming from, and as she turned to look, she tripped to the ground. Ethan grabbed her and hauled her to her feet.

Their helicopter was right there on the beach, maybe fifty yards away. Someone was strapped to a stretcher and being loaded onto it now by a pair of commandos. Karly caught a glimpse of long dark hair.

Natalie.

Karly couldn’t tell if she was conscious or not, but she had to be alive. Had to. She also caught a glimpse of Drew in his bright green swim trunks, climbing into the chopper.

“Faster!” Ethan yelled, pulling her along beside him.

And then Karly saw it.

The motorboat was stopped now, not far off the beach. She could see the shadowy silhouette of a man as he lifted a giant gun to his shoulder and aimed it at the helicopter.

“Now, now, now!”

Rat-tat-tat. Rat-tat-tat.

A SEAL leaned out of the helicopter, yelling at Ethan and motioning frantically. Karly couldn’t understand what he was saying, but then the helicopter’s engine changed pitch.

Ethan grabbed Karly around the waist and swung her into his arms. Several SEALs reached for them as Ethan lifted her up. She felt her arms and legs being seized by strong hands as she was hoisted aboard and deposited on the floor.

“Ethan!”

He grabbed a teammate’s arm and hauled himself inside the helicopter just as they surged into the air.

A loud hiss.

The floor tilted.

“Son of a bitch!”

Several men rushed to the other side and aimed their guns down at the boat.

Rat-tat-tat. Rat-tat-tat-tat.

“He’s got an RPG!” Ethan shouted.

RPG. What the—?

Rocket-propelled grenade. The words registered in Karly’s brain just as another loud hiss filled her ears. The helicopter tipped sideways, and Karly slid. She screamed and grasped for a hand as she careened toward the opening. Ethan lunged, grabbing her arm just as her legs slipped out the door.

“Help!” she shrieked. Terror flooded her as her legs dangled in thin air.

“I got you!” Ethan yelled. “Grab my arm!”

Ethan held one of her arms with both his hands in a death grip. Karly reached up and grabbed his forearm, clutching desperately as he tried to pull her back inside. But the floor was still tilted, and gravity was working against him. He was on his knees now, held inside the chopper by several big SEALs. Others were reaching for Karly, trying to get hold of her as most of her body dangled from the helicopter.

“Ethan!”

She tried to swing her leg up, but the force of the air was too much. She glanced down at the open water below.

Oh my God! It was way, way too far down. She was going to fall to her death.

“Karly, look at me!”

She looked at Ethan, his eyes intense, his face tight with strain as he gripped her arm. Shouts surrounded them as dozens of hands reached down. Finally, someone managed to snag the waist of her shorts, and she felt her body swing up.

Ethan gave a mighty groan and hauled her against him, and they landed in a heap on the floor. Noise surrounded them, and Ethan held her tightly as someone dragged them both deep inside the safety of the chopper.

Karly clutched at his body, gasping for breath, unable to pry her hands loose as she looked up at him in shock. He was grinning. Grinning like a crazy man as he gripped her in his arms.

“Hoo-yah!” He kissed the top of her head. “We made it!”

FIVE

THIRTY-SIX HOURS LATER

MANILA

Karly hated crowds.

She hated cameras.

She’d never had a problem with reporters, but after this morning’s press conference, she could go the rest of her life without seeing another microphone.

Did you think you were going to die? How did it feel watching your friends get gunned down in front of you?

Karly adjusted her oversize sunglasses as she scanned the hotel lobby. In a tangerine-colored sundress and sandals, she was dressed like a tourist en route to a beach vacation, just in case any reporters might still be hanging around. But she didn’t see any. They’d all gone off to file their stories after being dismissed by the ambassador’s press liaison.

Karly ducked into the restaurant. The hostess stand was empty, so she grabbed a menu for herself and found a table in a quiet corner of the room, far away from any guests who might recognize her.

She used the menu as a screen. It was risky coming down here for lunch, but she couldn’t spend another minute in her hotel room. For hours, the phone had been ringing off the hook with calls from her sister, her coworkers, her editor. Even the publisher had called her. Karly didn’t want to talk to anyone right now, not even Rachel. And if she had to assure one more person that she was “doing fine,” she was going to puke.

She hadn’t cried yet. And there was something deeply wrong with that. It was as though her body was still in survival mode, even now, in the safety of the hotel. Her continued lack of response made her feel like a soulless robot.

She’d seen Malai die. And Brad. And Brianna. She’d almost died herself, taking Ethan with her. She recalled her legs dangling from the helicopter, and an icy wave of fear washed over her.

A smiling waitress appeared. “Good afternoon, ma’am. Something to drink?”

“Um . . . a Coke, please. And I’ll have a hamburger with french fries.”

Comfort food, fully loaded with sugar and fat. Maybe it would make her feel human again.

The waitress left, and Karly scanned her surroundings. The place was busy, but no one seemed to notice her. It was mostly business travelers from the looks of them, and many were Japanese. A guy seated near the hostess stand looked American, but he had his nose in a Wall Street Journal.

Karly watched the restaurant patrons and decided to remove her sunglasses. No one spared her so much as a glance, and after a few minutes, she felt her shoulders relax. She leaned back in her chair, grateful for the anonymity.

“Karly?”

She jerked her head around to see Ethan standing beside her table.

“Thought it was you.”

He smiled, and she gazed up at him, speechless. She hadn’t seen him approach. And she barely recognized him without all the gear and face paint. In cargo shorts and sandals, he looked perfectly normal.

“You mind?” he asked.

Mind?

He’d asked her a question, she realized. Can I join you?

“No, not at all,” she stammered. “I mean, yes. Sit down.”

Her cheeks heated as he pulled out a chair and sank into it, making it creak under his weight. And she realized he didn’t look normal at all, not even close. His muscles bulged under his gray T-shirt, and without all the paint on his face, she got the full effect of his prominent cheekbones. Not to mention his vivid blue eyes.

“How’s the head?” His tone was casual, but his expression was serious.

“Fine.”

“They do a CT scan?”

“Yes.” She cleared her throat. “No sign of concussion.”

He leaned back in his chair and looked at her.

She darted a glance around the restaurant. The SEALs hadn’t been at the press conference, but Ethan was the sort of man who would attract attention anywhere.

And he did. Several of the waitresses were eyeing him from the hostess stand.

Karly looked at him again, and a warm flush crept over her skin. His gaze was intent. Was he in SEAL mode, or was there some other reason he was watching her closely?

Her gaze dropped, and she noted the red claw marks on his forearm. I did that. And suddenly, she was back in the helicopter, clutching his arm for dear life.

“Karly?”

She glanced up.

“You okay?”

“Fine. I’m fine. So what brings you to Manila?”

“It’s on our way home.” He smiled slightly. “Our CO had some things to take care of here, so we’ve got shore leave.”

“Shore leave?”

“Twenty-four hours off.”

“Oh.”

She stared at him, not sure what to say to that. Not sure what to think of any of this. She’d assumed she’d never see him again, and suddenly, he was sitting right across from her in a swanky hotel restaurant that served twenty-dollar hamburgers.

The calm look in his eyes was completely familiar—she’d memorized it and used it to help her through her most terrifying moments. And yet everything else about him seemed out of place. Even dressed as an ordinary civilian, his appearance screamed that he was something else, something much more formidable.

He pulled an object from the pocket of his cargo shorts and set it on the table. Karly’s jaw dropped.

“Oh my God.” She glanced up at him. “Where did you get that?”

“Our crew chief found it. Floor of the helo.” He smiled. “It’s dead as a doornail, but you might take it to the Genius Bar when you get home, see what they can do.”

She stared down at the sleek little phone in its sparkly gold case. It looked alien to her, something from another lifetime.

In a way, it was. She picked it up and felt her throat tighten. He’d brought her phone to her. What a sweet and thoughtful and completely inconvenient thing for him to do.

“How’d you find me here?” she blurted, and immediately felt rude.

He shrugged. “I saw your press conference. The logo was on the podium.”

The hotel logo. Damn, she hadn’t thought about that.

“I tried to call, but I’m guessing you’re registered under an assumed name?”

“Yeah, actually. That was Tony’s idea.”

Listen to her, talking like she was on a first-name basis with the ambassador. Although she was. He’d insisted she call him Tony. Right before he’d insisted she sit beside him at the press conference in front of a horde of reporters.

I owe a debt of gratitude to Karly Bonham, the journalist whose quick thinking saved my life and my daughter’s, along with so many others. And I want to express my heartfelt thanks to the brave American servicemen who risked everything . . .

Karly had just sat there, numb, blinded by all the camera lights. Servicemen, he’d called them. He hadn’t mentioned SEALs or even the Navy, although rumors were already surfacing that some ultraelite unit had carried out the rescue mission.

Ethan leaned forward now, and she could smell his scent again, that earthy, masculine scent she’d been so tuned into in the jungle. And she realized she’d missed him. Less than two days apart, and she’d missed him desperately.

But he was here now. The man who’d saved her ass, then kissed her senseless, and then saved her ass again. Just looking at him made her throat tighten. She’d truly believed she’d never see him again.

“Is something wrong?” he asked in a low voice.

“The press.” She glanced around. “They’ve been hounding me. I’m worried they might spot me here.”

The waitress was back now. She set a plate of food in front of Karly, along with a soft drink.

“You want something?” Karly asked Ethan.

“No, thanks. I ate.”

The waitress smiled and left. Karly stared down at the giant hamburger, and suddenly, her stomach started to do that flip-flop thing again. She looked anxiously around the restaurant.

Karly didn’t want to eat anymore. Even the Coke looked unappealing. She needed something much stronger.

She pushed her plate away, and Ethan gave her a puzzled smile.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“Actually . . . no. To tell you the truth, I really don’t want to be here.” She took a deep breath and summoned her courage. “Would you like to get a drink with me?”

Ethan stared at her, sure he’d heard her wrong. Would he like to get a drink with her? Hell, yeah. He’d like to get rip-roaring drunk with her and then get her naked, too. But he’d settle for a drink.

“You mean here?”

She leaned closer, and he got a whiff of sweet-smelling perfume or shampoo or whatever it was. She’d obviously had a chance to clean up since he’d last seen her standing outside the ship’s infirmary.

“They have a bar on the mezzanine,” she said in a low voice. “If we can get up there without being seen . . .”

“No problem.” He could get anywhere without being seen.

“It’s got an outdoor terrace with a pool. And it’s elevated above street level, so the view’s really not bad.”

Ethan didn’t give a damn about the view. He just wanted to be near her. Ever since that explosive kiss in the jungle, he’d been thinking about her nonstop. He’d been thinking about her lips, her taste. Her beautiful, dark, fuck-me eyes. He’d been thinking about the way she’d looked at him after that kiss, which wasn’t much different from the way she was looking at him right this second.

Ethan darted a look over Karly’s shoulder as a pair of casually dressed Americans stepped up to the hostess stand. Shit, what timing.

“Hey, don’t look now,” he said, “but a CNN correspondent just walked in here.”

“What? Where?”

“Don’t look.” He covered her hand with his. “He’s at two o’clock. Right by the hostess stand. Crap, he sees you.”

“He does?”

“He may not recognize you, but he’s looking this way. Don’t turn around.”

A look of panic came over her face, and he felt his friendly drink invitation evaporating.

“They’re getting a table,” he said. “It’s right near the door, though.”

“Damn it, I should never have come down here. And I don’t want to lead them up to my room. I should have slipped out of the hotel earlier when I had the chance. Now I’m stranded here with my back to them. Even if I manage to sneak up to my room, I’ll be stuck there all day.”

“You’re not stranded. They haven’t recognized you yet. Just walk out.”

“Walk out?” She laughed. “They’ll see me. And I haven’t paid.”

“I’ll pay.”

“What? You can’t—”

“I’ll take care of it. You slip off like you’re headed to the bathroom, but keep going. The hotel has a side exit right past the courtyard on your left.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know.” He paid attention to stuff like that. It was ingrained.

“But—”

“Do you trust me?”

“Well . . . yes. Of course.”

Of course, because he’d saved her life not even two days ago. Ethan felt a stab of guilt. He shouldn’t be messing with this girl. Not now. Not ever, if he had any decency.

He knew this was wrong. Tracking her down like this was a bad idea for so many reasons. She had PTSD, for starters. He’d be taking advantage of her vulnerable state. And he’d never see her again, which was sure to mess with her head.

But the minute he saw that press conference and realized they were in the same country, in the same damn city, overlapping for a few short hours, Ethan knew he had to find her. He couldn’t help himself. He had to go. Even the brutal ribbing from his buddies hadn’t slowed him down. If anything, it had made him more determined to see her.

“Are they looking this way?” she whispered.

“Nah, they’re looking at menus.”

“Should I go?”

She gazed up at him with those beautiful brown eyes, and that was it. Decision made.

“Go now,” he said. “Meet me outside by the exit, and be ready to move fast.”

SIX

Karly slipped out of the restaurant and hurried down the hallway. She passed the gift shop and then a row of windows looking out on a courtyard filled with tropical plants. Reaching the side door, she pushed it open and stepped into the blinding sunlight.

She blinked up at the sky. The air was hot and heavy with car exhaust. She glanced around at all the trucks and motorcycles and Jeepneys—that uniquely Filipino vehicle covered with kitschy decorations and brightly colored slogans. A blue one roared past with a mind-boggling number of people crammed inside and still more clinging to the back. Karly stepped closer to the hotel, worriedly glancing at the door as she realized she probably couldn’t get back in from the street. She had a small purse draped over her shoulder and a room key inside, but she didn’t see any place to swipe the card. If Ethan didn’t come, she’d have to walk all the way around the building and stroll right through the front door.

A motorcycle zoomed up to her and stopped at the curb, making her heart lurch. Ethan. He wore a baseball cap and mirrored aviators, and he was smiling.

“What—where on earth did you get this?”

“Rented it for the day. Hop on.”

Hop?

Karly was in a long dress. And sandals. And she didn’t hop onto the backs of motorcycles to go zipping around with men she barely knew.

He looked at her over the tops of his sunglasses, and those vivid blue eyes sent a ripple of heat through her. “Karly?”

She bunched up her dress and climbed on.

“You ready?”

“Wait!” She looped the strap of her purse over her head so it crossed her body and swept her hair into a ponytail, securing it with a band from her wrist. Then she slid her arms around him and held on tight. “Okay, I’m ready.”

He lurched forward, and in an instant, she knew she wasn’t ready at all. Not for this. Or him. His body was big and hard and warm, and she pressed her cheek against his shoulder as he swerved through traffic, weaving in and out.

“Oh my God!” She squeezed her eyes shut as they narrowly missed a taxi.

“Relax.”

Right. Sure. She kept her eyes closed and wrapped her arms tighter around his waist as the bike tipped left, then right again. He picked up speed, and they sailed through an intersection and turned onto a wide boulevard with a row of trees up the center. Karly had no idea where they were going, but Ethan seemed to know, and she tried to let that be enough.

No fear, no tears.

The mantra was in her head again, and she choked back a laugh at the absurdity of it. She’d survived a terrorist attack. What was scary about a motorcycle ride through Manila?

She tightened her hold on Ethan and scooted herself closer, and his muscles tensed in response.

“You all right?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Yeah.”

Except that now she realized he wasn’t wearing a helmet. Neither was she. Was that even legal? She glanced around at the ten-lane boulevard filled with traffic and saw there weren’t a lot of laws being strictly enforced here. Cars changed lanes willy-nilly. People ignored traffic signs. Pedestrians clogged the narrow sidewalks, fighting for space with street vendors and storefronts and lean-to huts made of cardboard and corrugated metal. The scene whisked by at a dizzying speed. Wisps of hair blew around Karly’s face as she tried to take it all in.

Ethan’s body felt solid, and she rested her cheek against his strong back, breathing in the scent of him. He smelled so amazingly good, and for the first time since she’d disentangled herself from his arms and climbed off that helicopter, she felt safe again. The knot of anxiety in her chest started to loosen.

They glided to a stop at an intersection, and Ethan touched her forearm, snugging it against his waist. That was all—no words, just a gesture of reassurance, and then they were moving again, weaving through vehicles as he navigated the busy streets. The vibrations of the bike soothed her, and she closed her eyes and let herself enjoy the feel of her arms around his warm body.

They turned onto another wide boulevard, and Karly spotted a glimpse of ocean between two buildings. He’d taken them to the waterfront, and for some reason, that came as a relief.

Ethan turned onto a side street and slowed beside a neat row of mopeds and motorcycles. He rolled to a stop at an opening.

“Climb off,” he said.

Karly did, then stepped onto the sidewalk as Ethan expertly pulled the bike into the narrow space.

Karly looked herself over. She smoothed her dress and adjusted the straps of the halter top, suddenly self-conscious about her windblown appearance. She touched her hair and tried to tuck a few wayward strands back into her ponytail.

Ethan stepped onto the sidewalk and repositioned his baseball cap, which sported a San Diego Padres logo. “What’d you think?” he asked with a smile.

“Fun.” Although that wasn’t quite the right word. “You seem to know what you’re doing. Do you have a bike back home?”

“Not anymore.”

He caught her hand and tugged her through the clusters of people milling near the corner. They were in a pedestrian zone now. Karly couldn’t see the water, but from the damp air, she knew they had to be a short distance from Manila Bay.

They reached a long line of booths and tables. People moved slowly down the rows, some carrying shopping bags, some carrying children, some carrying colorful umbrellas to shield them from the blazing sun. Ethan kept her hand in his, and it felt natural there.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“The wet market. You ever seen one?”

“No. What do they sell?”

“Everything.” He glanced at her. “It’s a good place to get lost in a crowd.”

She let him take the lead, relieved not to have to choose a direction amid the kaleidoscope of offerings. The first section had giant tables heaped with seafood—fish, eels, prawns, oysters. The fish smell was overpowering. Other booths displayed pyramids of mangos and avocados. Everywhere she looked, baskets overflowed with coconuts and pineapples and red, fuzzy, softball-size fruits she couldn’t begin to identify. They reached another block with a vast selection of rices in big wooden trays. The meat booths offered ropes of sausages, along with chains of garlic and peppers.

Ethan stopped at a long seafood table. He spoke to the vendor and pointed at the rows of fish arranged neatly on ice.

“You speak Filipino?” Karly asked when he joined her again.

“Tagalog. And only enough to get by.” He nodded at a giant heap of snails. “You ever eaten snails?” he asked with a smirk.

“Is that a dare?”

“Yep.”

“You’re on.”

Ethan gave the vendor some pesos. The man made a cone with newspaper, loaded half a dozen snails into it, and gave it to Ethan.

“Are they cooked?” Karly asked.

“Boiled.”

“Okay, what do I do?”

Instead of answering, he showed her, tipping his head back and sucking out the meat. Then he handed her one.

She did the same, trying not to wrinkle her nose at the pungent taste.

“Pretty good, aren’t they?”

“Great.” But her eyes started watering, and he grinned at her. He sucked down a few more, sparing her, then dropped the shells and the paper cone into a nearby bin.

“You actually like them?” she asked.

“I lived on them for a week when we were doing survival training in the South Pacific. Snails, plantains, grubs.”

“Grubs? Eww.”

He rested his hand on her waist and steered her down the row of booths. “They’re not bad. Nothing is if you’re hungry enough. The snails were my favorite.”

Karly watched him beside her as they moved through the crowd. It was hard to imagine two people whose lives were more different. Ethan had a talent for covert jungle survival. Karly had a talent for interviewing pop stars.

“How about a chaser?” he asked, stopping at a fruit booth.

“Sure.”

He traded some pesos for a yellow star fruit and then pulled out a pocketknife and cut it open. He handed her a piece, and the juice ran down her arm as she chomped into it. An explosion of sweet and tart filled her mouth.

She glanced up at Ethan, and he was staring down at her, his blue eyes intent.

Karly’s heart skittered. Was he going to—

He kissed her, cupping the side of her face with his hand. His lips were firm and warm against hers, and he pulled her body snugly against him. Their tongues mingled—sweet and sour—but only for a moment, and then he eased back.

She gazed up at him, and a smile spread over his face.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Why?”

“For trusting me enough to eat snails.”

She laughed. That made him want to kiss her?

“And for coming with me in the first place.” He caught her hand and kept walking, as though he hadn’t turned her thoughts upside down with that kiss. “I take it you haven’t been on a bike before.”

“You could tell?”

“You held on pretty tight.”

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s good. You thirsty?”

“Very.”

Ethan dropped her hand as they reached a wooden pushcart loaded with coconuts. The man behind it looked about a thousand years old. Ethan spoke to him in rapid Tagalog and handed over some money. The man nodded, selected a coconut from the pile, and gave it a tap with his gnarled knuckles, then put it down and selected another one.

“What’s he doing?” Karly asked.

“Picking a full one.”

The man set the green coconut on a chopping block, then picked up a machete and started hacking away at it, lopping off the husk until it looked like a six-sided block. He chopped off the top, plucked a bendy straw from a cup, and dropped it into the opening. With a nod, he handed it to Ethan and quickly went to work on another one.

Ethan passed Karly the coconut, and she waited until his was finished to take a sip.

“Umm.” She closed her eyes as liquid cooled her parched throat.

“You like?”

“It’s refreshing.” She smiled and nodded at the old man. “Thank you.”

He grinned and said something to Ethan. Ethan laughed and said something back.

They strolled down the street, sipping their drinks.

“What did he say?”

“That my wife has a pretty smile.”

“Did you tell him I’m not your wife?”

“He knows. He was just messing with me.”

They finished the juice and tossed the husks into a bin. They’d reached the waterfront, and Karly surveyed the row of low concrete buildings. She spied an American flag flying above one.

“That’s the embassy?”

“Yep. And beyond it is Intramuros. It’s the original walled city that’s, like, four hundred years old.” He stopped and gazed down at her, and those intense blue eyes did something funny to her heart again.

What was she doing here? Why had he tracked her down? She didn’t really want to think about the answer, but she was glad that he had.

“Want to see it?” he asked.

She looked off in the distance. “It looks pretty far.”

“Not on the bike.”

“Okay, why not?”

They spent the next several hours exploring the crumbling ruins of the old colonial city, and Karly savored the distraction. She probably had a ton of messages waiting for her back at the hotel—including several from Rachel—but she couldn’t bring herself to think about it. She didn’t want to think about anything besides Ethan and the reassuring feel of his hand wrapped around hers as they wandered the city together. After the ruins were exhausted, they strolled down the street, and their shadows were long in the late-afternoon sun. Karly stopped beside a narrow little church with a colonial facade. She glanced up, and a statue of an angel stared down at her.

A pair of old ladies exited the church, and Karly caught the door.

She looked at Ethan. “Mind if we . . . ?”

“Sure.”

Karly stepped inside, immediately relieved by the cool darkness after hours in the relentless heat. The musky smell of incense hung in the air. She paused in the center aisle as her eyes adjusted and was surprised when Ethan dipped his fingers in water and crossed himself.

She walked down the aisle and slid into a pew. A few moments later, he joined her, and they simply sat there in silence for several minutes, letting the quiet surround them. When her eyes had completely adjusted, she looked up and admired the intricate stonework, dark and sooty from centuries of candlelit rituals.

“It’s peaceful,” she whispered.

Ethan covered her hand with his.

She scanned the dark space, grateful for the cool air and the break from the churning city. Flickering votives were clustered at several niches. Karly’s gaze settled on a nearby alcove where a woman was lighting a candle. She knelt to pray at the base of a statue—a Madonna and child.

Malai’s smiling face flashed into Karly’s mind. She was climbing the ladder to the boat, water dripping down her smooth cheeks.

Karly’s throat closed. Her chest tightened. She sucked in air, but her lungs wouldn’t expand. She stood up.

“You okay?”

“I need some air.”

She hurried from the church, pushing through the heavy door and into the heat. Noise and light surrounded her, and she glanced up and down the street.

“Karly?”

She turned around. “Sorry. It was just . . . stuffy in there.”

He gazed down at her.

“You know, I should get back to my hotel.”

“Have dinner with me.”

Her eyebrows tipped up. “Don’t you have to head back soon?”

“No.”

“Okay, well . . .” She looked up and down the block, then back up at him, torn over what to do. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Come on.”

Dusk had settled over the city by the time they finished eating. They’d decided on a pizza café in the business district, but Karly had picked at her food and hardly said a word during the meal, and with every passing minute, the knot of dread in Ethan’s stomach grew.

Karly insisted on paying for dinner because Ethan had paid for everything else. When they left the restaurant, she stopped on the sidewalk and glanced around. “Did you park . . . ?”

“Your hotel’s right there.” He nodded at the tall glass building directly across the boulevard.

She shook her head. “Guess I’m turned around. I haven’t really been out here at night.”

Ethan figured she’d checked in at oh-dark-hundred and gone straight to bed. Or tried to. She showed all the signs of someone who hadn’t slept in a while—disorientation, mood shifts, forgetfulness. Ethan knew the symptoms well.

She didn’t talk as they crossed the intersection, and the dread that had been hounding him increased as they walked up the sloping driveway to the hotel’s opulent glass doors. He had two minutes—three at most—to talk her out of saying good-bye right now. She’d been pulling away from him since the church, and if he didn’t come up with something soon, she was going to send him on his way, and he might never see her again.

Karly cleared her throat. “I was thinking . . . we never got to have that drink on the mezzanine.”

Ethan’s heart skipped a beat, and he looked at her.

“Unless you’d rather be with your buddies tonight.”

“No.” Hell, no. She was inviting him back to her hotel, and the very last place he wanted to be was with his teammates.

“So is that a yes?”

A uniformed attendant greeted them and opened the door. Ethan halted. He took Karly’s arm and pulled her behind the valet stand.

“What is it?” she asked.

“That news guy—he’s there in the lobby. Armchair by the fountain.”

She whirled around. “Still? Unbelievable!”

“Not really. They could be staked out here in shifts, waiting for you or Mancuso, hoping to get a sound bite.”

Her expression darkened with a combination of worry and outrage, and he could tell she didn’t know what to do.

“This was a bad plan,” she muttered. “I never should have left in the first place.”

Ethan watched her, hoping she wasn’t about to take back her drink invitation.

“Forget the mezzanine bar.” She bit her lip. “But . . . there’s a minibar in my room.”

Her gaze locked on his, and a lightning bolt of lust shot through him. Did she really just invite him . . . ?

She gazed up at him, and once again, Ethan knew this was wrong. He should have left her alone. She had PTSD, and seeing him again—much less spending the day with him—had to be messing with her head.

What did she expect from this? Ethan didn’t do relationships, even short ones. He’d been burned way too many times by women who swore they were fine with casual but then got all needy and clingy on him. He didn’t want that with Karly. He liked her too much to put that disappointed look in her eyes. Way, way too much.

But he’d come here anyway. He’d had to see her. And now that he had, he couldn’t bring himself to leave, not when she was offering him more, even if it was only a few hours together or—please, God—an entire night.

He didn’t dare hope. For her sake, he should forget this whole thing and politely tell her good-bye, so long, hope you recover and have a nice life.

But he didn’t say any of that.

“Sounds good.”

Relief filled her eyes. “Okay, but we still have to get to the elevators without them seeing me. Or seeing us together.”

“Put your hair up.”

She gave him a puzzled look, but then he took off his baseball cap and arranged it on her head, and she picked up on his plan. She tucked her long blond ponytail underneath, making it appear like she had short hair, and she looked so damn cute in his hat that he wanted to kiss her, but he held off.

“We’ll go through the back entrance, by the parking garage,” he said. “You go in first and cut through the gift shop. I’ll come in a few minutes later, and we’ll meet at the service elevator by the restaurant. That way, you don’t have to cross the entire lobby.”

“You think that will work?”

“Yes.”

She bit her lip again. “But what if they see me?”

“If they do, leave them to me.”

SEVEN

Karly didn’t do things like this. She was rational. Clearheaded. Responsible. She didn’t invite strange men up to her hotel room for drinks.

Damn, was she really doing this? The butterflies invading her stomach told her that she was.

The doors parted, and Karly swallowed the lump of fear in her throat as they stepped off the service elevator. Ethan hadn’t said a word all the way up, and he didn’t say a word now, but Karly was acutely aware of his hand at the small of her back.

The carpeted hallway felt endless, giving her time to think. Maybe this was a mistake. He was absolutely bound to get the wrong idea here. There was no way to invite a man to her hotel room for drinks and have him not think she wanted sex. And she didn’t. Not really.

Well, maybe she did, but not right now, not when she’d just had a near-death experience and could barely think straight.

On the other hand, maybe that was part of it. Maybe what had happened was precisely the reason she’d asked him up here. Maybe it was her traumatized brain’s way of telling her she wanted to feel something, anything besides this awful numbness that had plagued her since the attack.

They reached her door. Karly dug her key card from her purse, trying not to think about Ethan’s solid presence beside her. Her hands trembled as she slid the card into the slot. The light blinked red. Another try, and it blinked red again.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, feeling her cheeks flush.

Ethan put his hand over hers, and she looked up at him. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Of course. Why?”

He gazed down at her—his worried look, the look he’d given her when she first met him.

She tugged her hand away and jammed the key card into the slot, and this time, the light turned green.

She stepped inside and flipped on the light, illuminating a messy room. The bed was still unmade from her failed attempt to take a nap earlier. Shopping bags littered the floor, reminding her of her whirlwind outing after Rachel had wired her money to replace the clothes she’d left behind at the Sapphire—which was now being swarmed by FBI agents and Thai officials. Karly’s gaze landed on the phone beside the bed, and the flashing red light told her she had another batch of messages to deal with.

She strode over to the nightstand and jerked the cord from the wall. She walked to the desk and unplugged the phone there, too.

Ethan watched from beside the door, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his cargo shorts. The expression on his face was anything but casual, though. He had the dark, assessing look that made her nerves flutter. She noticed his T-shirt again and how it was stretched taut over his pecs. She noticed his wide shoulders and lean waist, and she imagined how those shoulders would feel under her fingertips.

Hard. And hot. Just thinking about touching him made her skin flush all over again.

The numbness was going away now. She could do this.

“So.” She forced a smile and tried to sound confident. “I promised you a drink. What would you like?”

For a long moment, he just looked at her. “You have any bourbon?”

“I don’t know.” She walked over to the minibar, taking his hat off and tossing it onto the dresser. She reached down and tried to open the mini fridge, but it wouldn’t budge. She tried again, with the same result. She looked around but didn’t see a key.

Ethan walked over. “Here,” he said, smoothly crouching down and opening the door. “There’s a button.”

She stared down at him, once again embarrassed. It was probably beyond obvious that she was out of her league here.

“Looks like you’ve got everything.” He glanced up at her. “What do you want?”

She cleared her throat. “Rum and Coke.”

He took out a little bottle of rum for her and one of bourbon for himself. He plunked the bottles and a can of Coke on the dresser.

She grabbed two glasses and flipped them over. There was some watery ice left in the bucket from earlier, and she dropped a few pieces into his glass before adding bourbon. Then she twisted the cap off the rum and poured it.

The smell wafted up, and a wave of dizziness hit her. Suddenly, she was back at the thatched-roof bar, drinking rum punches with Malai and laughing. Malai had her head tipped back, and her dark hair caught the sunlight.

Don’t think about it, Karly told herself. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t. But she couldn’t help it, and tears burned her eyes as she popped open the Coke.

“Karly.”

She glanced up, and her stomach clenched. Ethan had that look again.

“Honey, you look like you’re about to faint.”

“This is a bad idea,” she said. “I can’t sleep with you. I’m sorry.”

His brow furrowed. “Why are you sorry?”

“I know I gave you the impression I wanted to. I thought we could talk, and then . . . I don’t know. I don’t know what I thought.”

“It’s okay.”

She stared at him.

“Really. We can hang out and talk or drink or do whatever you want.” He smiled. “Or not. You can tell me to take a hike if you’d rather be alone.”

“No.”

His eyebrows tipped up.

“I mean . . . that’s not it. I don’t want to be alone.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. I really want to talk to you. You’re the only person I can stand to even look at right now. I just feel like, I don’t know, I’m wasting your shore leave or something.” She huffed out a breath. “If you want to go, I totally understand.”

“I don’t.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

She gazed at him for a long moment, trying to read his expression. Was he really okay with this?

He picked up the ice tongs and dropped several chunks into her glass. Then he filled the rest with Coke and handed it to her.

“Thank you,” she said.

He walked to the balcony and peered out. “Wow, nice view.” He looked back over his shoulder at her. “Your company is paying for all this?”

She huffed out a breath, part laughter and part relief at the change of subject. “Um, no. This is all Tony. Ambassador Mancuso. He insisted.”

Ethan opened the sliding glass door and stepped onto the balcony. The city lights sparkled, and the traffic noise six floors down was a distant hum.

He set his drink on a short wooden table and leaned his forearms on the railing. Karly felt a pang of unease as she stared through the plexiglass wall separating him from the abyss.

He turned to look at her. “Uh-oh. You look green again.”

She stepped over the threshold. “I can’t get that close. I’m not a fan of heights.”

“Really?”

“Really.” She sank into a chair beside the door. “From here, it’s okay. Looking straight out. But looking down? No, thanks.”

He smiled and took the chair beside her. “I’m guessing you haven’t been out here before now?”

“No.”

Karly sipped her drink and gazed out at the skyline. Beyond all the buildings, the bay shimmered under another big moon. She recalled how the moon had looked peeking through the palm trees on the island. Had it really been less than two days ago?

She saw that Ethan was watching her closely.

“You want to go inside?” he asked.

“No, it’s nice out here. I like the breeze.” She crossed her ankles and looked out. “And the view.” And not being so close to that king-size bed.

She felt his gaze on her, but she pretended to be absorbed with the scenery.

“See that cluster of lights, due north of us?” he asked.

“Where?”

He leaned closer and pointed, and she followed the line of his arm.

“There’s the tower and then all those smaller dots of light? That’s the airport. Then this way”—he moved his arm—“that’s Intramuros, where we were. And southeast of us is the American Cemetery. Largest number of U.S. World War II graves in the world.”

“How far is that?”

“A couple of miles. It’s worth a visit, if you like history.”

She looked at him. “You really know your way around. You spend a lot of time here?”

“Some,” he said vaguely, and she remembered she’d read about renewed cooperation between American and Philippine military forces. Maybe that was how he’d picked up the language.

They leaned back in their chairs and gazed up at the sky. He didn’t want to talk about his work, evidently. Fair enough. His missions were probably top secret, or at least classified. But she was burning to know more about him.

“So . . . I guess you’re overseas pretty often, huh?”

He shrugged. “We move around.”

Quiet settled over them as she looked up at the moon. It felt nice to sit beside him in the dimness, even if he didn’t want to talk. She could understand his reluctance to answer questions. If the other night was any indication, his work was extreme. Most outsiders probably wouldn’t understand. Unless they’d seen it for themselves, as she had.

She was once again struck by his strong features. In profile, his face looked like a sculpture. And then there were those broad shoulders. She’d always had a thing for shoulders.

“What?” he asked.

“Just thinking.”

He lifted an eyebrow at her, and she felt a rush of heat as he took a sip of his drink.

“Lately, it’s been more mountains,” he said, setting the drink down. “As opposed to islands.”

So he was going to share after all. It wasn’t much. In fact, it was pretty damn vague, but she’d take it. She didn’t want to let this opportunity go by without learning everything she could about Ethan Dunn. He’d saved her life, and she somehow knew that she was going to be thinking about him for years to come.

She’d been sure she’d never see him again. Why would she? And she’d told herself it was for the best, that she needed to put this experience behind her, along with this weird attachment she had for him. She’d been prepared to do that, or at least to try.

And now here he was, beside her on her hotel balcony, and the rush of being near him was making her feel buzzed. He smiled slightly, as though they had a shared secret.

“Which do you like better?” she asked.

“Islands, definitely. We train for everything. SEAL stands for Sea Air Land, but water’s my preference.”

“So . . . you became a SEAL because you like water?”

“That was one reason.”

She waited for more, but he clammed up again.

She studied him in the dimness, taking in the confident way he talked, the so very male way he leaned back in his chair. There was something about his shape, his build . . . And then it hit her.

“Oh my God, you’re a swimmer.”

He looked at her.

“You are, aren’t you? I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.”

“See what?”

“You’re a competitive swimmer. I can tell just by looking at you.”

He picked up his drink again with a hint of self-consciousness that told her she was right on the money.

“How far did you go?”

“I swam for NC State,” he told her. “Our relay team was all-American. But I tore a hamstring my junior year, decided to set my sights on some new goals. After graduation, I joined the Navy.”

She smiled at him, pleased with herself to have guessed something about him.

He cut a glance at her. “How’d you know?”

“It’s obvious.”

“How?”

She shrugged. “Takes one to know one.”

“What, you too?”

“UCLA. All four years.”

“Damn. That explains the two kilometers.”

“The what?”

“I mapped it,” he said. “From the fishing pier to the leeward side of the island where you came ashore is two kilometers, minimum. You swam all that way and then came in over volcanic rocks. I’m surprised your feet weren’t cut to pieces.”

“They were.”

“It’s impressive.”

“Right.”

“It’s true.” He nodded. “I told Jake, and he didn’t believe me at first. Every last one of my teammates thought I was making it up.”

He’d been talking to his teammates about her? She supposed it wasn’t surprising, given that she was part of their mission. What did surprise her was that she’d managed to impress a team of SEALs.

She settled back against her chair and stared up at the moon. She took a deep breath and felt the knot in her chest loosening. The tension that had gripped her since the moment she’d watched Brad and Brianna being mowed down by gunfire was starting to dissipate.

She squeezed her eyes shut and said a silent prayer for them.

“Karly?”

She looked at him.

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “When you get back home, you need to see someone.”

“Someone?”

“About what happened to you.”

“Oh.” She looked away.

“Hey,” he said, and she met his gaze again. “Don’t blow me off. It’s important that you talk to someone.”

“I’m talking to you.”

“You know what I mean. Someone professional.”

She looked out at the skyline, battling emotions she hadn’t expected to feel tonight. She felt anger bubbling up, which wasn’t fair. He was trying to help.

“Do you talk to someone professional when you get back from a mission?”

He tensed. “That’s different.”

“Why?”

“I have my team. And we’re trained for . . . the job we do.”

She turned to look at him, and for the first time since he’d lifted her off her feet and pulled her into the woods and promised to rescue her, she felt like she was talking to a real man and not a superhero. Did he ever have nightmares? Insomnia? Did he ever remember people dying and feel utterly numb, like he was recalling a video game and not something that had happened in real life?

There was something wrong with her, she knew. And the fact that she still hadn’t shed a single tear disturbed her.

Ethan took her hand, and she felt a jolt of heat as he squeezed her fingers. His palm was big and warm, and his touch steadied her, as it had back on the island.

“I know how you’re feeling,” he said.

Her throat tightened, and she choked on a laugh. “How?”

“I get that way, too, sometimes. It sucks. But the thing is . . . it gets better over time.”

She swallowed and glanced down at their hands. What was he talking about? PTSD? She knew all about it—she’d even written an article once about how it affected firefighters in California. But it wasn’t something she’d dealt with in her own life.

“Talk to someone.”

The genuine concern in his eyes melted her heart.

“Promise me.”

“Fine, okay.” She turned to face the view again, but she didn’t tug her hand away. It felt too nice wrapped in his. He rested her hand on his thigh, which should have seemed like some kind of opening move. But it didn’t. It seemed natural. She closed her eyes and let the night breeze surround her.

It was okay now.

She was alive.

Ethan’s hand around hers had a calming effect, and again she felt the anxiety draining away. She wanted to stay here all night.

“I should go.”

She looked at him, alarmed. “Why?”

“You need to sleep.” He paused. “I’m guessing you didn’t get much last night?”

“I was too wound up.”

He nodded. “Me, too.”

“Don’t go.” She turned to face him, brushing his knees with hers. Even through her dress, she could feel his heat.

“I shouldn’t—”

She cut him off with a kiss. He pulled back, startled, but then she took his face in her hands and brought him back.

He tasted better than she remembered, all tangy and masculine. As she slid into his lap, he moaned against her mouth.

That was all the encouragement she needed to glide her hands around his neck and comb her fingers into his short hair and kiss him like she never wanted to stop. He didn’t, either—she could tell from his mouth. And from the way he gripped her hips, digging his fingertips into her soft flesh. She shifted to straddle him, letting her dress slide up, and he groaned in protest even as he moved to help her get her balance.

God, she was on his lap, pressing against him as he kissed her deeply. His lips and his tongue and his hands were setting her on fire, bringing heat and need and emotion roaring back to life inside her.

He slid his hands to her breasts, and she sat up taller, not caring that her knees were digging into the chair. He rubbed his thumbs over her nipples through the fabric and said something against her neck as she kissed his cheek, his jaw, his chin. The rasp of stubble against her skin made her feel even more alive.

Karly eased back, watching him, encouraged by the heated look in his eyes as she reached up to untie her halter. She let the fabric fall.

“Jesus.” He sat back, holding her hips as his gaze dropped to her bare breasts. “Karly—”

She didn’t let him finish. She kissed him. He’d been about to make some excuse to leave—she could tell from his tone. And it was probably her fault for giving him so many mixed signals. She’d confused everything that should have been simple, and now he felt some obligation to back off. But she wouldn’t let him.

There was nothing confusing about how she felt now. She wanted him. Desperately. And the hot slide of his mouth over her neck told her he wanted her, too. And then his hands were on her breasts, his thumbs stroking her nipples as she ground herself against him.

He let out a curse, his breath warm against her skin. But then he gently pushed her back, and his eyes were swimming with conflict.

“Let’s go inside,” she said.

He stared at her.

“Please?”

He darted a look over his shoulder at the glass door and beyond, where a lamp glowed beside the rumpled bed. He looked at her again.

“Are you sure? Because if we go in there together, it’s going to be damn near impossible for me to—”

“I’m sure.” She kissed him to make her point, and for an endless moment, it was only her kissing him as she waited for him to decide. She pressed against his erection, and he pulled back from her again. The hunger in his eyes was unmistakable.

“Hold on,” he said, and before she knew what he was doing, she was up and out of the chair. She wrapped her legs around his waist and caught a heart-stopping glimpse over the balcony as he pulled the door open and stepped inside, clutching her against him with only one arm. He slid the door shut and carried her to the bed, where he gently laid her down.

She reached up to stroke her fingers over his stubble. He kicked off his sandals and leaned over her, resting his weight on his elbow, and his muscles rippled. She reached for the hem of his T-shirt. He helped her pull it over his head and flung it away.

Holy . . . wow. She bit her lip, speechless. She’d known he was muscular, but this . . . She stroked her hands over his shoulders and let her gaze linger on the rock-hard abs she’d felt earlier as she’d clung to him and ridden around the city on the motorcycle.

“Damn, you’re beautiful,” he said.

She smiled. “I was going to say the same about you.”

He gave her a wary look as he leaned over to kiss her forehead. He found the spot just below the bump where he’d said she’d have a scar, and she felt an unexpected surge of tenderness. Then he reached behind her and gently tugged the rubber band loose from her ponytail. He spread her hair across the pillow, and it looked gold in the lamplight.

His gaze moved over her, and she loved the fire in his eyes as he cupped her breast and dipped his head down. He pulled her nipple into his mouth, and a bolt of need shot through her. His mouth was hot and avid, and she closed her eyes to enjoy it as his hand slid over her abdomen.

“I’ve been dying to do this,” he said against her skin.

“You have?”

He looked up at her. “Since the second I saw you.”

She smiled at him, and a sweet, warm tingle filled her as he teased her with his tongue. But the sweetness turned to nerves as his hands glided over her, pushing the dress down her hips and legs until all she had left was a scrap of pink silk. Then he moved back up and kissed her mouth again, resting his palm on her thigh, and the heavy warmth of it drove her crazy. She shifted and squirmed until he finally slid his hand between her legs. It felt wonderful there. So good. And she kissed him deeper to let him know how much she liked it as he touched her through the silk, teasing her and tormenting her as she moved her hips. Then he slid her panties off, baring her completely.

The burning look in his eyes made her both shy and eager, and she went up on her knees to reach for his zipper. He backed away, and she knelt there, naked and watching as he shucked his clothes and stood in front of her, and the raw desire on his face made her feel giddy.

“Come here,” he said, pulling her up so she was closer to eye level.

He kissed her again, pressing her into him, flattening her breasts against the wall of his chest, his erection heavy against her. His hands skimmed over her, sending shivers along her skin, and she tried to get her head around the fact that she was here, in her hotel room with him, in her bed with him, doing all the things she’d fantasized about since they’d first met. He’d appeared here so suddenly and would disappear just as suddenly—and the thought sent a cold trickle down her spine.

But then his hand slid between her legs, and she held on to his shoulders and let her head fall back as he explored her body. And she didn’t want to think, only to feel. She loved this moment. She loved the decadence of being touched by him and desired by him, and she let him unleash all the pent-up needs she’d kept locked deep inside her for so long.

“So hot,” he said, kissing her neck.

She brought his head up to kiss him, and before she knew it, she was on her back, looking up at him as he settled between her legs.

He brushed her hair from her face and gazed down at her, and the look in his eyes made her heart race. He leaned his head down to kiss her, and she rolled her hips against him as the steely length of him pressed against her.

“Do you have any—”

“Yeah,” he said, and he was up off the bed before she could finish the thought. He flipped through his wallet as she propped herself on her elbows and watched him.

He was beautiful. He might not like the word, but there was no other way to describe his body, with all those hard, tanned muscles, and again she could hardly believe he was here with her.

“What?” he asked, smiling slightly as he stretched out above her.

“You came prepared.”

His eyes darkened, and before he could say anything, she pulled him down for a kiss.

And then he shifted her thighs. His gaze locked on hers as he pushed himself inside her. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back, focusing on the sharp heat as he thrust into her. She gripped his shoulders, hanging on to him as he pulled back slowly and did it again, deeper this time.

“Oh . . .”

“Karly.” His voice was tight. “Damn, that’s good.”

She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him as close as she could as she hung on to his strong shoulders and he set a pace she tried to match.

It was breathtaking, and the sheer power of his body seemed to be pulsing through her with every stroke. She could hardly keep up, could hardly do anything besides clutch him against her and hang on for the ride, like earlier when they’d been speeding through the city. And it went on and on and on, all that heat and power, until her vision blurred and the room started to spin around her.

“Baby, come on.”

“Yes.” She dug her nails into his shoulders. “Yes, please, yes.”

With a blinding flash, she arched and climaxed. A final plunge, and he came, too. Then she collapsed back against the bed, taking him with her.

He lay sprawled over her, not quite giving into the moment as he rested his weight on his elbows and tried to catch his breath.

She smiled up at him, proud of herself for making him sweat. He didn’t smile back, though, and she wondered what he was thinking.

Karly closed her eyes, letting the moment stretch out as her heart rate came down and her body hummed with pleasure. The mattress shifted as he rolled onto his side, and she turned to face him.

He was watching her again, with those eyes she loved, but she couldn’t read the look in them. He smiled slightly, and she felt an unexpected rush of joy.

“You all right?” His voice sounded gruff.

“I’m happy,” she said, before she could catch herself.

His eyebrows tipped up.

“That you decided to stay.” She nestled her head against him, hoping she hadn’t freaked him out. His chest was warm and solid against her cheek, and the strong thrum of his heart made her feel safer than she’d ever felt in her life.

She felt . . . perfect.

It was temporary. Worse than temporary, it was fleeting. She knew it, and she was incredibly reckless for letting it happen, as if she didn’t have enough emotional wounds to deal with right now. The last thing she could do was get attached to this man. This whole fling or hookup or whatever it was would be over in a blink, and she’d wake up in the morning and be back on her own, dealing with the aftermath of everything that had happened all by herself. And this man who’d helped her, who’d been her lifeline through all of it, would be nothing more than a memory, distant but indelible, and she’d probably never see him again.

The thought put a sharp pang in her chest. But she ignored it. She couldn’t think about it right now. Right now, Ethan’s strong arms were wrapped around her. She felt blissed out and safe. Reality would be back tomorrow, but for now, she clung to his body and let herself drift.

EIGHT

FIVE WEEKS LATER

SAN DIEGO

Karly was going to be late. Again.

She eyed the digital clock on her microwave as she jerked open a cabinet and reached for the coffee filters.

Damn.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

Frustration swelled inside her as she rummaged through the cabinet and realized she’d forgotten to stop at the store last night. It had completely slipped her mind, like so many other things these days. She’d been so consumed with work and interviews and dodging phone calls. Even the most routine task—like picking up groceries—was tough to remember.

She sighed and combed her hand through her still-damp hair. So much for that tumbler of coffee she desperately needed. And there was no time to stop at Starbucks. She could always skip the caffeine, but with barely two hours of sleep last night, that wasn’t really an option.

She grabbed a paper towel and stuffed it into the coffeepot in some semblance of a cone shape. She dumped in several scoops of coffee, added water, and shot a glance at the clock again. How had she managed to do this to herself twice in one week? She’d gone to bed so tired, so completely beat, and yet sleep hadn’t come. She’d spent hours channel surfing, only to drift off around dawn and sleep straight through her alarm.

With another glance at the clock, she rushed into the living room to pack up her laptop. She unplugged the cord and darted a look at the TV.

The face she saw there stopped her cold. It was the CNN correspondent from Manila. The one who’d camped out in the hotel lobby waiting for her. The one Ethan had given the slip to before meeting her at the service elevator and taking her up to her room and . . .

A wave of heat crashed over her. She stood there, breathless and unable to move as the memories flooded back. Every time, they took her off guard, and every time, she tried to push them away, to stuff them into the far corners of her memory banks with everything else.

The CNN guy was talking now, giving an update on the latest terror attack that had left ten people dead and four injured. It had a tagline, of course: Terror in Paradise. The story—along with pictures of the victims—had been dominating the news for weeks.

Karly snatched up the controller and switched off the television. The coffeepot beeped, and she went back into the kitchen just as her phone chimed.

“Hey, where are you?”

Drew. She caught the urgency in his voice as she reached for her travel cup.

“On my way in. Why?”

“Didn’t you get the message?”

“No. What is it?”

“The interview’s been moved,” he said. “We’re meeting at Shayla’s house instead of the studio. You need to be there at eight.”

“Eight? But—”

“Just get there, okay? It’s in La Jolla. I’ll text you the address.”

“There’s no way—”

“I’ll shoot the pictures first, and you can do the interview afterward. Just get your ass up there.”

He clicked off, and Karly stared down at her phone. She dialed into her office voice mail and discovered she had four new messages awaiting her, all since last night. She’d been avoiding her work phone ever since Ethan had called her there. He’d left three messages in three days, and Karly’s resistance was beginning to crumble.

She braced herself for his voice. But instead, it was her editor telling her just what Drew already had, that her interview had been moved and she needed to hightail it up to La Jolla. In rush-hour traffic, no less. To interview a spoiled twenty-two-year-old who was the new diva of reality TV.

Karly grabbed the carafe and filled her cup. The liquid swirled with coffee grounds, and she muttered a curse before pouring it down the sink.

She hated this day, and it had barely started. She grabbed a can of Coke from the fridge, snagged her car keys off the table, and shouldered her computer bag as she headed for the door.

One solid night. Was that too much to hope for? Just a few hours to pull her out of this constant state of sleep-deprived bitchery that had become her new normal.

She stuffed her phone into her bag, thinking of Ethan. She needed to call him back. She should. If she didn’t, he’d just keep calling her. SEALs were tenacious, she was learning, and if she didn’t have it out with him, then sooner or later, she’d give into temptation.

Karly paused beside her door. She knew his number. She’d memorized it days ago when he first called. She’d memorized his number, along with every word he’d said.

Karly, it’s Ethan. I’ve got some time off, and I’d really like to see you. I’m in San Diego, but I guess you know that. Call me.

The message the second day hadn’t been any easier to hear.

Karly, it’s Ethan. Pause. You’re probably busy with work, but I’m on leave this week and was hoping we could get together.

Those first few messages had come late in the day, and she figured he’d started thinking about her as he was gearing up for a night out with his buddies. Maybe wanting to set up a late-night hookup in case things didn’t pan out at the bars. The prospect was enough to motivate Karly to ignore him.

But yesterday’s call had come in the morning. Hi, Karly, it’s me again. I’m thinking about you. I have a couple more days off, so . . . call me. I want to see how you are.

That last part had almost done her in. I want to see how you are. Like he had some need to check in on her. As opposed to a much more basic need to get laid again while he had shore leave.

I’ve got some time off . . . a couple more days . . .

The man was a sailor. He probably had a woman in every port.

And she was so not doing this. She refused to be one of those women. In his home port, too, which would make it even worse. He’d probably be calling her for a hookup every time he got leave, unless she put a stop to it right now.

But the thing was, she missed him. Way more than she’d thought was possible after only one night together. Well, two, if she counted the night on the island. And she counted it, because it formed the basis of the bond she’d felt with him ever since he’d kissed her with so much intensity that she’d never be able to kiss another man without comparing it. And as intense as that kiss was, it paled in comparison to the life-altering sex they’d had later. She pictured his eyes as he’d lowered her onto the bed. She pictured the look on his face as he’d held her beneath him and made her world come apart.

Stop it!

She had to stop doing this. He had to stop doing this to her.

Karly took a deep breath and called his number. It was seven fifteen. With any luck, he’d be asleep, and she wouldn’t have to talk to him live—she could simply leave a message. But he was in the Navy. So he was probably an early riser.

Her nerves fluttered as the call connected. She started to hang up, but then she heard his voice.

Dunn here. Leave a message.

She closed her eyes. Just the sound of him made her heart speed up. And she realized she didn’t know what to say. Not yet. She wasn’t ready to have this conversation.

A sharp rap on the front door made her jump. She ended the call and stared at it.

Who would be here this early? Surely not Drew. He was sitting in traffic right now, where she should be if she wanted to keep her job.

Karly peered through the peephole. Her stomach sank as she recognized the man and the woman on the other side.

“Who is it?” she asked, stalling for time. Damn it, she should have gotten out of here when she had the chance. Now her morning was toast.

The woman flipped open an ID and held it up.

“Alexa Mays, FBI.”

Karly folded her hands in her lap and forced herself not to fidget as Special Agent Alexa Mays checked out her apartment. Even from the agent’s limited vantage point on the sofa, she was clearly taking in every detail.

“Of course, I’m glad to help,” Karly said to her, “but I’m not sure what more I can tell you. I went over everything already.”

Karly had been through three separate debriefings with investigators—one in Manila and two in the FBI’s field office here in San Diego. Each had lasted more than two hours.

Mays flipped her long dark hair over her shoulder and opened her notepad. “We’re sorry for the inconvenience,” she said, giving Karly a sympathetic smile. “But we have a few follow-up questions.”

Karly glanced at Special Agent Hull, who was pulling several file folders from his briefcase. It looked like he was prepping for more than a “few” questions.

“Any chance we can make this quick?” Karly smiled at the man, hoping she could win him over with a little flirting. “I’m late for work already, so . . .”

Hull’s gaze was stony. He didn’t talk much, she recalled. And his name seemed to suit him—the man was enormous. Mays looked petite beside him, and she was nearly six feet tall.

“There have been some developments,” Mays informed her, “that have made it necessary for us to reinterview several key people.”

Key people? Karly took a deep breath and resisted the urge to look at her watch. “Okay, well . . . whatever I can do.”

Mays nodded. “As you know, the attack on Ambassador Mancuso was the work of a terrorist organization known as ACB. After reviewing our intelligence and sifting through evidence, we have reason to believe that an insider helped carry out the attack.”

“An insider?” She looked from Mays to Hull. “You mean, at the resort or—”

“Possibly. Or possibly someone in the ambassador’s entourage,” Mays said.

“But . . . most of them were killed, right? All four of his security guards.”

“His assistant survived,” Mays said.

“Raina? The swimsuit model?” Karly laughed. “You can’t seriously think—”

“Swimsuit model?” Hull looked at Mays. “I don’t have that in the file.”

“No, I mean she looks like a swimsuit model,” Karly said. “It’s an inside joke between me and Drew, my photographer. Anyway, forget it. What I mean is, Raina doesn’t strike me as a terrorist mastermind.”

“We’re not saying this insider is a mastermind,” Mays said, “but we believe this person played a critical role in the attack.”

“Why?”

“The timing, for one,” Mays said. “The ambassador’s travel plans were changed at the last minute. You may recall the trip was bumped up by a week just days before he departed on vacation.”

Karly definitely recalled that. She’d had to scramble to rebook her plane ticket, and the fee she’d incurred had cost the magazine a fortune.

“Very few people—only the ambassador and his closest aides—were aware of the change and knew he was at the Sapphire that week. He wanted privacy with his daughter and insisted on keeping the vacation under wraps. Which indicates someone was able to inform ACB about the ambassador’s plans.”

“Another thing,” Hull said. “The initial assault happened at precisely five P.M., which is when his bodyguards were in the middle of a shift change. That timing enabled the attackers to infiltrate the resort and take out all four guards at once, giving them immediate control of the compound.”

Karly shook her head. “So you’re saying you think one of the ambassador’s people tipped them off? But none of those people survived the attack besides Raina. And his daughter, Natalie.”

“We believe it was someone on the island,” Mays said. “We’re looking at resort employees as well as the other tourists. What we need from you is information. You spent five days at the resort, and you were interviewing people and taking note of details for your article. We’re hoping you might have noticed something suspicious.”

“Suspicious?”

“Or someone acting oddly.”

Karly stared at her. “You want me to implicate—”

“We’re not asking you to implicate anyone,” Mays said. “We just want your impressions. Were there any hotel guests or staffers whose behavior might have seemed in any way . . . unusual?”

“No. I mean, I don’t think so. I haven’t really given it any thought.”

Hull opened the file folder in front of him and slid a paper across the coffee table. Karly found herself staring at a page full of photographs—passport photos, they looked like. She recognized her fellow Sapphire guests, along with the staffers. Her gaze landed on Malai’s picture.

Karly’s stomach knotted. She pulled the paper closer. She looked at Brad. And Brianna. And the waiter whose body she’d stumbled over on the trail.

Ten victims total. Ten lives destroyed. Countless more, if you added all the loved ones they’d left behind. She noticed the face of the Thai businessman who’d been traveling with his wife. Karly had met him in the gift shop, and he’d let her buy the last bottle of sunscreen.

“Karly?”

“Sorry. What?”

“I said, does anything come to mind about anyone?”

She looked at the faces again, lingering on her own passport photo. How many of these people were being interviewed right now, possibly trying to come up with something suspicious about her?

“I don’t know. Is this everyone?”

“That’s correct.”

She skimmed the page again. “What about the travel writer?”

“Who?” Mays leaned closer.

“What’s his name? Tim Green? Tom? The guy who does the travel blog.”

Hull’s brow furrowed. “There’s no Green here. You’re talking about a guest at the resort?”

“I think so.” Karly looked at Mays. “I mean, why else would he be there if he wasn’t a guest? The whole island is private property. And it’s an hour-long ferry ride. You don’t just drop by for lunch.”

Mays looked at Hull.

“You say his name was Tim Green?” Hull asked.

“No, it was Tom. I remember now.”

“Did he spell Green the normal way or with an ‘e’ at the end?”

“I don’t know. It’s not like he gave me a business card. We were just chatting.”

Karly pictured him standing beside her table at the restaurant. He’d had an easygoing way about him and a friendly smile. He’d only spoken with her and Natalie for a few moments before heading off to the beach.

Mays and Hull were watching her intently.

“I only talked to him for a minute,” Karly said. “I don’t remember that much about him. It’s not like he was there the whole time.”

“When did he show up?” Mays asked.

“Wednesday.” Karly’s blood chilled a few degrees. That was the day before the attack. “At least, that’s what Natalie said.”

Mays looked surprised. “Natalie met him?”

“Yeah. She met him in the gift shop. She had a longer conversation with him than I did, so she might know more.”

Mays and Hull exchanged glances.

“Her father’s prohibited any further interviews,” Hull said. “Also, we understand she’s having memory issues with the time frame surrounding the attack.”

Karly felt a sharp pang. She couldn’t even imagine what Natalie must be going through right now.

“Getting back to Tom Green,” Mays said. “What did he talk to you about?”

“Nothing, really. I had my laptop and my press pass out, and he asked about my work.” Karly’s pulse was racing now as the conversation came back to her. “He asked if I was a TV or print reporter.”

Mays looked at Hull. “Maybe he wanted to know if she had a cameraman with her.”

“What did he look like?” Hull asked.

Karly took a deep breath. “Average, really. Medium height. Medium build. He had dark hair cut really short. Almost military-length.”

Mays was scribbling in her notepad now. “Race?”

“White, although he was tan. And he seemed like he spent a lot of time outdoors.”

Mays glanced up from her notes. “Why do you say that?”

“He seemed pretty built. You know, athletic.”

“Nationality? Accent?”

“American, I think. At least, he sounded American.”

Another look between Mays and Hull. Then Hull reached into his briefcase and started poking through another file.

“Could this be him?” The agent slid a paper in front of her. On it was a black-and-white photo of a man on a crowded city sidewalk. He wore a baseball cap and sunglasses, and it was nearly impossible to see his face.

“Who is this?” Karly looked at Hull.

“I’m asking you. Could this be the man you met as Tom Green?”

Karly studied the picture again. She couldn’t tell much from the grainy photo. The low-res image looked like it might have come from surveillance footage. “I don’t know.” She pushed the paper away. “There’s so little detail here. I can’t even see his face, really.”

“Could it be the man you met at the resort?” Hull persisted.

“I guess it could. It could be a lot of people.” She looked at Mays. “That photograph was taken in Thailand. I can tell from the street signs.”

She waited for Mays to respond, but the agent just stared at her.

“Who is this guy?” Karly asked again.

“We don’t know,” Mays said. “We wish we did.”

“Several of our sources told us about him,” Hull said. “We don’t know who he is, only what he does.”

“And what does he do?”

Mays hesitated, as if deciding how much she wanted to reveal. “We believe he’s an American who may have traveled to Syria and trained with ISIS. Now he’s working with the ACB.” She paused. “We think he coordinated the nightclub bombing in Bangkok.”

“And he’s American?”

“We believe so. But we don’t have an ID,” Hull said. “He’s known to us only as Mr. X.”

Karly looked down at the picture again, trying to reconcile the laid-back travel writer with this man who might have helped blow up dozens of innocent people at a club. She tried to imagine how the man who’d invited her to go diving could have helped orchestrate ten ruthless killings the very same day. She thought of Brad and Brianna being mowed down by gunfire, and she started to feel queasy.

“You say he sounded American,” Mays continued. “Any accent you noticed? Southern? Midwestern? Anything?”

Karly shook her head.

Mays checked her watch, and Karly realized the interview had lasted quite a while.

“We need you to come into the office with us,” Mays said.

“What, you mean now?”

“That’s right. We’re going to need you to look at mug shots, see if we might get an ID on this guy.”

“But—”

“It’s important.” Mays stood up, followed by Hull.

“Does it have to be right this minute? I’ve got an appointment at eight, and I’m already running late.”

“Definitely by noon.” Mays checked her watch again. “It will take us some time to get the photos lined up for you to go through, so late morning should work. Say, eleven o’clock?”

Karly was on her feet now, feeling like her head was going to explode. “I’ll do my best.”

“Please do.” Mays flipped shut her notepad and looked Karly in the eye. “This is high priority.”

“I get that.”

Karly led them to the door and opened it. Hull stepped out.

“Give us a minute,” Mays told him. She eased the door shut and turned to Karly. “How are you doing? Are you okay?”

“No.”

“Right. Bad question.” Mays looked at her with concern. “Did you call that counselor I recommended?”

“Actually, I did.” Karly cleared her throat. “Thank you.”

Despite her tough demeanor, Agent Mays had a heart, and after their initial interview, she’d pulled Karly aside to recommend a therapist.

“I really hate to bring you back into this,” Mays said now, “and we wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.”

“I appreciate that.”

The agent nodded and pulled the door open again, then stepped outside to join her partner.

“If this man you met is our Mr. X, then he’s been involved in multiple deadly attacks, and what our sources have told us about him is proving true,” Mays said. “Which means the rest of what we’ve heard about him could also be true—namely, that he has an American passport. It’s imperative that we ID him.”

Karly stared at her, absorbing the implications. “You’re worried he’s planning something more?”

“Based on the intel we have, yes.”

A chill snaked down Karly’s spine.

“We think he’s planning something big,” Hull told her.

“Not only that,” Mays said. “We think he’s planning something here.”

NINE

Crack.

The balls shot apart, careening against the sides of the table. Ethan’s game was usually more about finesse than power, but tonight he was on edge.

“Stripes,” he said, then proceeded to sink another two before turning things over to Lucas.

Four times Ethan had called Karly since he’d come home Saturday. She’d ignored all four calls.

He wasn’t used to getting the brush-off. He could handle it, but it sure as hell wasn’t the norm. Not that every woman he ever picked up on spent the night with him. But when he did sleep with someone, she tended to return his calls.

Not just tended to—it always happened. It was a point of pride with him. Women called him back, without exception.

Except for Karly.

Ethan swigged his beer as Lucas lined up a combination shot. Jake was watching him closely from the other side of the table, but Ethan ignored him. Jake knew he was having a bad night. And he knew why. Jake had been there on base Saturday when Ethan pulled up the Pacifica website on his phone.

“Son of a bitch,” he’d said.

“What?”

“They’re in San Diego.”

“Who’s in San Diego?” Jake had stowed his gear in his locker and walked over to look at Ethan’s phone.

“Karly’s magazine. They’re in San Diego, not Los Angeles.”

Which meant Karly was in San Diego, not Los Angeles. Which meant she was just across the bridge from the naval base. She had to know the West Coast SEALs were stationed on Coronado. It was common knowledge. And she lived right here. They’d spent an entire night together, so why hadn’t she mentioned it?

Probably because they’d been too busy having the hottest sex of his life. Her life, too, he’d be willing to bet. It had been mind-blowing, and there hadn’t been a lot of energy left over for conversation.

But what about later?

He remembered slowly waking in the cocoon of her hotel sheets with his arms wrapped around her. He remembered holding her against him as the room went from black to gray. And when he hadn’t been able to put it off a minute longer, he’d slipped out of bed and pulled his clothes on and kissed her, and she’d told him good-bye. Not here’s my number, call me. Not look me up if you’re in town. Just . . . good-bye.

Ethan blasted a ball across the table but failed to sink anything.

Lucas grinned. “Nice, bro.”

Jake sipped his beer, eyeing Ethan over the bottle. “So where’s Karly tonight?” he asked.

Ethan shrugged.

“That’s it? Aren’t you going to see her?”

Ethan picked up his beer.

“She shut him down.”

Ethan glared at Lucas. “How the fuck would you know?”

“Because I know you called her earlier. And now you’re here with us.”

Lucas missed his shot, and Ethan took over, making an effort this time so he wouldn’t completely embarrass himself.

Lucas had a point.

Four ignored messages was pretty much a shutdown. She didn’t want him. Yeah, she’d wanted him in that hotel room as they’d burned through his supply of condoms. But that was a one-off thing, never to be repeated. It was all about circumstance. Adrenaline. That utter fear that came over you when you were inches from death. And the overwhelming relief that came afterward.

Ethan had saved her life. She’d been shocked and grateful and hyped up on adrenaline, so she’d slept with him because she thought she owed him.

Guilt needled him. Maybe he’d manipulated her into doing something she never would have done otherwise. Maybe he’d taken advantage.

No, he had taken advantage. He’d known it at the time, and he knew it right now. And now that she was back on her feet and no longer vulnerable, she wanted to stay away from him.

Ethan missed another shot. Frustration churned in his gut as he stood back and watched Lucas clean up the table.

She was definitely giving him the brush-off.

And he shouldn’t be surprised.

Karly was smart. Successful. Because of her job, she hung out with artists and celebrities and political hotshots like Anthony Mancuso. Tony. What did she want with someone like Ethan besides what they’d already done?

As subtly as possible, he checked his phone, as if a message might randomly appear without his noticing. Nope. Still no messages. Which was sending him a message loud and clear.

Okay, but what about this morning? What about that random hang-up call from a San Diego area code?

It was Karly. He knew it in his bones. She’d reached out to him and then changed her mind. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Ethan pictured her in that hotel bed and felt a warm shot of lust. He pictured her sleepy eyes as she’d gazed up at him and said good-bye. She’d traced her finger over his scratches, the ones she’d made when she was clinging to him. Then she’d kissed them. She’d kissed her way over his arm, his palm, his fingertips, all the while looking at him with those beautiful brown eyes. Who had ever looked at him that way, or kissed him like that? She’d kissed him like she felt something. Something more than lust and temporary attraction. Something real.

Lucas tapped in a solid. Ethan drained his beer.

Two nights left. And he was wasting one of them at a dive bar with a bunch of guys he saw every day.

Ethan plunked his bottle on the table. “I’m out, man.”

“I knew it,” Jake said with a smile.

“What? Where you going?” Lucas asked. “We said best two out of three.”

“Sorry.” Ethan headed for the door without looking back.

He needed to see her. He needed to look her in the eye and make sure she meant it, make sure she hadn’t spent the last five weeks in hell, as he had, dreaming about everything they’d done together and agonizing over the thought of it being a onetime thing. He wanted more. He wanted her.

Ethan pushed through the door and stood outside the bar. He checked his watch. Glancing up at the moon, he thought of the same moon shining down on him and Karly on that balcony.

God, he missed her. And she was here somewhere, only minutes away from him right now. The thought of gearing up and getting on a plane without seeing her again made it hard for him to breathe.

He had to find her. Tonight. He could take no for an answer, as much as it pained him. But she was going to have to tell him to his face.

Karly felt someone reading over her shoulder.

“That’s my pet peeve,” she said, “and I’ve been known to bite.”

“Hey, chill out.”

She turned to see Drew standing behind her. He had his press pass around his neck and his camera bag slung over his shoulder.

“You coming or going?” she asked.

“Going. I’ve got that club opening in Beverly Hills.”

“That’s tonight?”

“Yep. It’s going to be big. You wouldn’t believe the guest list.”

“I saw it.”

“You can come as my date if you want.”

“Thanks, but I’m still working on this article.” She returned her attention to her computer screen, where the paragraph she’d rewritten six times was still taunting her.

“You know, they called me back in today.”

“Who called you?” Karly looked at him, and the answer was written all over his face.

“Mays and Hull. They wanted me to bring in my camera.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah, sure. It’s not like I’m going to refuse to help the FBI hunt down some dirtbag terrorist.”

Karly glanced around the bullpen, but it was almost empty. Most everyone had gone home for the day. “And? Did they find anything? Or anyone?”

“I don’t think so. They were hoping I might have gotten a photo of this guy they’re looking for, maybe just in the background of one of my shots. They didn’t tell me what they found, but they seemed disappointed.”

Karly sighed.

“Hey, I need to get going. Sure you don’t want to take the night off and come with me?” He looked her over. “You look hot in those skintight jeans.”

Karly considered the offer. Her black silk cami and jeans would definitely work, and her jewelry was trendy. But the thought of spending the night schmoozing with people put a knot in her stomach. “I’ll pass.”

Drew stared at her.

“What?”

“It’s not like you to miss a good party. This thing’s A-list. You might land your next cover story.”

“Thanks, but I’m tired tonight.”

A beat of understanding passed between them. He knew.

“Don’t stay too late.” He squeezed her shoulder. “You should head home and take it easy.”

“I was just about to pack up.”

Karly returned her attention to her screen, pretending to be engrossed in her work when really she was thinking about Drew. And Jana. And basically everyone who had been treating her differently since she’d returned home. Drew, in particular, was being way too nice, which didn’t make sense, because he’d survived the same thing she had. Well, almost. Being rounded up at gunpoint and spending seven hours as a hostage was a bit different from what she’d experienced, but still. It had been harrowing for both of them, and yet Drew had come right home and gotten back into his groove.

Karly logged off her computer and packed up for the night. She’d take her laptop home, and maybe it would be easier to work there. Maybe if she wasn’t surrounded by the trappings of the job she no longer cared about, she wouldn’t feel so much pressure.

She zipped her notes into her computer bag and grabbed her blazer off the back of the chair. She noticed the light on in her publisher’s office, so she went the long way around the bullpen to avoid passing directly in front of the door.

Jana leaned her head out. “Hey, don’t leave yet. We need to talk to you a sec.”

Nerves fluttered in Karly’s stomach as she approached the publisher’s office. Jana smiled and ushered her inside.

“Long afternoon?” Jana asked.

Her editor knew she’d spent most of it at the FBI field office, although Karly hadn’t told her anything about what she’d been doing there. Jana was a newshound, and she’d definitely smell a scoop.

“Karly, have a seat,” Josh said, nodding at an empty chair opposite his desk.

Karly sat down, settling her computer bag on her lap. She didn’t want to be here long.

As opposed to Jana’s desk, Josh’s was devoid of newspapers and notepads and empty coffee cups. It was the desk of an executive, not a writer. Karly darted a glance at the wall beside her, where she saw a framed photo of Josh standing alongside a former California governor.

She looked at Josh and forced a smile, although her stomach was quickly filling with dread. “So. How are you?” she said. Great. What an original lead.

“How are you?” Josh leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. “It’s been, what, three weeks now?”

“Five.”

He winced. “Wow. Doesn’t seem like that long, does it?”

Karly bit her tongue. It was that or tell him to screw himself. She didn’t know what he wanted, but she knew she wasn’t going to like it.

“We understand Natalie Mancuso was released from the hospital today.”

Karly didn’t say anything. Natalie had spent the past four weeks in Palm Springs at a combination rehab and mental hospital for the über-rich. It was a place where movie stars went to recover from drug or sex addiction, a place where young pop singers went after they collapsed from “exhaustion” and canceled their concert tours.

Natalie was being treated for a host of physical and mental issues, and Karly had no doubt Tony had chosen the place because it was known for its discretion.

And yet Josh had found out that Natalie Mancuso had not only stayed there but had been released.

“She’s had some time to recover,” Josh said. “We’re thinking things might be more favorable now.”

“Favorable?” Karly looked at Jana.

“In terms of approaching her,” Josh said.

“Approaching her?”

Jana smiled, knowing Karly was being intentionally obtuse. But she couldn’t help it. She could not believe they were having this conversation.

“We think now would be a good time to approach her about an interview,” Jana said.

“An exclusive for Pacifica,” Josh added, as if Karly needed clarification.

She looked down at her lap, trying to choose her words wisely. The words she wanted to use would definitely get her fired.

“I very much doubt she’d be interested,” Karly said. “Now or ever.”

Josh tipped his head to the side. “What about Mancuso, then? He could probably talk her into it. From what I hear, he feels like he owes you one. He might be amenable to a request, if it came from you.”

Karly leaned forward and met Josh’s gaze. “Anthony Mancuso’s daughter was beaten and gang-raped. I don’t think he’ll be amenable to anyone putting her in the spotlight to talk about that.”

“Yes, but we’re print,” Josh said, “so we’ve got a better shot than TV.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Karly told him. “I’m sure he won’t hear of it.”

Karly was sure he wouldn’t hear of it because there was no way on earth she would ever ask him such a thing. And that probably made her a crappy reporter, but still. She wouldn’t do it.

“Well, then . . .” Josh shot a look at Jana. “We’ll have to move on to our runner-up idea. You can ask your SEALs for an interview.”

Her SEALs? Karly managed not to snort. She wasn’t sure what was more laughable, that the SEALs who’d rescued her would agree to be interviewed or that they in some way belonged to her.

Karly stood up. She knew better than to refuse two assignments in one meeting, so she forced a smile. “They might be reluctant, but I can certainly ask them.”

“Good.” Josh nodded. “Let me know when you’ve set it up.”

She darted a look at Jana, who was suspiciously quiet. Maybe she knew Karly had no intention of setting up anything.

“Absolutely,” Karly said. “Good night.”

She took the elevator down, fuming the whole way. The anger that had been on a low simmer ever since she’d returned to the States was beginning to boil. For years, she’d been her magazine’s go-to girl. She always delivered, never disappointed. Now her boss was definitely going to be disappointed, and Karly couldn’t bring herself to give a shit.

She crossed the lobby and pushed through the revolving door of the sleek downtown building. She remembered how excited she’d felt arriving here for her first day of work. Now every time she came in, she couldn’t wait to leave.

Karly was starting to hate her job. Not just the job itself but the entire profession. She was starting to loathe all of it. How much longer could she do this? Why didn’t she just quit and go look for a job as some congressman’s PR flack?

She hurried down the steps, stopping short on the final one as she noticed the man standing on the sidewalk in front of her. He was leaning against a dusty black Jeep, watching her, and even from a distance, Karly could see the gleam in his eye.

The breath backed up in her lungs. She couldn’t move. He moved instead, pushing off the Jeep and walking toward her, those impossibly blue eyes locked on her face.

She should have called him. She could have avoided this whole face-to-face encounter with only a conversation. But she’d been too much of a wimp. She hadn’t wanted to hear his voice. She hadn’t wanted to hear that low, masculine tone that was so good at getting her to do things.

Come on, baby. Now. Now.

He stopped right in front of her. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Good God, he was really here. “How did you find me?”

He smiled slightly. “Bumped into Drew a few minutes ago. He said you were packing up.”

“Why did you find me?”

The smile flickered but stayed in place. “I wanted to ask you to dinner.”

“Dinner.”

“That’s right.”

Only dinner? No way. Karly looked into his eyes and knew dinner was the least of what he wanted.

“I know a good Italian place,” he said.

She stepped onto the sidewalk, then realized her mistake when she had to tip her head back to look at him. He was so much more . . . everything than she remembered. More masculine. More commanding. More impossible to resist.

His smile kicked up a notch, as if he knew what she was thinking. “Don’t worry, it’s casual. They’ve got the best calzones you ever put in your mouth.”

Laughter bubbled up in her throat. Calzones? So maybe he did want dinner.

She gazed up at those blue eyes that had swept over every inch of her skin when she’d been naked, and she felt a hot pull of desire.

He eased closer. “Will you have dinner with me, Karly?”

There were so many reasons to say no. Dozens. She’d spent days coming up with a very long list, but now that she was with him, every one of those reasons deserted her.

“I don’t have much time left,” he said.

Not much time left. That was one of the reasons.

He reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Please?”

She took a deep breath. “Yes.”

A look of relief came over his face, as though her answer had ever been in doubt.

Dear Lord, what was she doing?

“You mind riding in the Jeep?” he asked. “I’ve got the top down.”

“That’s fine.” She spotted her car in the parking lot. “As long as you don’t mind dropping me off here after dinner. I’ve got some work to do tonight.”

“Sure, no problem.”

“Let me just put this in my car.”

She led him to her Audi in the second row. She fished her wallet from her computer bag. It had a wrist strap, which made it easy to carry. Then she stashed her computer in the trunk so she wouldn’t have to schlep it around, along with the blazer she’d worn to her interview this morning. Ethan was in jeans and a T-shirt, so it had to be casual.

She cast a sidelong glance at him as she locked her car. He didn’t seem at all bothered by her mention of working later. Maybe he really did only want dinner.

“It’s not a bad night to have the top down,” he said as they walked to his Jeep.

He helped her inside, holding her elbow. A little easier than when he’d helped her inside the helo.

Then he closed the door and stared at her for a long moment.

“What?” she asked, smoothing her hair.

“Nothing.” He shook his head. “I’m just so freaking glad you said yes.”

TEN

They drove without talking, and the noise of the wind kept it from being awkward. He glanced at her in his passenger seat, and she pretended not to notice. He wended his way through downtown and then headed north up the coast.

Ethan downshifted as he eased around a curve and came out on a bluff overlooking the ocean. They passed an Italian restaurant where valet attendants were parking Porsches and Mercedes-Benzes, and Karly had a moment of worry over her attire. But they sailed right past the fancy restaurant and continued along the road until the pavement petered out at a wooden fence. Ethan pulled into a gravel lot and parked.

“This is it?” She glanced around.

“Yep.” He hopped out and went around to her door, but she’d already climbed out.

Luciano’s Café was located on the north side of a shack overlooking the beach. The other side was a surf shop that advertised everything from Sex Wax to wakeboards.

Ethan hadn’t been exaggerating when he said it was casual. The place didn’t even have a door. People were ordering at a counter and eating their food at picnic tables facing the water.

“What’s good here?” she asked.

“Everything. I always get the meat lovers’.”

“Hmm . . .” She gazed up at the menu board. “I’ll have a three-cheese calzone.” She pulled an icy Corona from the cooler beside her and plunked it on the counter.

Had he bought her story about having to work later? It wasn’t an excuse—she really did have a deadline in the morning. But drinking a beer now probably wasn’t helping her credibility.

I’m so freaking glad you said yes. The words burned in her mind as he paid the bill and led her to an empty picnic table.

She sat down, and he took the bench across from her.

“Great view,” she said, looking around nervously. The surfers were long gone, but plenty of people were still out strolling along the shore.

She looked directly into Ethan’s vivid blue eyes and forced herself to hold his gaze.

“I meant to call you back, but . . .”

“It’s okay.”

“No, I should have called back. It was rude. I—”

“Forget it.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, and she looked down at those muscular arms. The claw marks she’d left there had healed.

“I’ve been wondering how you are,” he said.

Something in his expression made her skin flush. “I’m okay.”

He watched her steadily. She remembered the look from their conversation on the balcony.

“Did you go see someone?”

A therapist, he meant. He’d made her promise to talk to someone, and she’d fully intended to blow him off. But to her surprise, she couldn’t. He’d done so much for her. He’d saved her life, and blowing off the one thing she’d promised him felt like a betrayal.

“I did,” she said.

He watched her closely, but he didn’t pry. Maybe he was trying to read whether she was telling the truth.

“Really, I did. The FBI agent who debriefed me here gave me a referral. Some doctor she knows . . .” Karly trailed off, not really wanting to go into it.

“Is it helping?” he asked.

“Some.”

His expression sharpened, and she could see he knew she was lying.

She looked down at his arms again. She thought about him hauling her into that helicopter and how she’d never been so shocked in her life. She’d found herself surrounded by jacked-up warriors, with Ethan’s arms so tight around her she could hardly breathe.

She gazed into his eyes now, and the heated look there reminded her of their night together and how she’d been breathless then for an entirely different reason. How weird that the worst moments of her life and the best moments of her life were so closely intertwined.

Karly realized he’d picked up her hand, and she hadn’t even noticed. That was how scrambled her brain was around him.

“Karly—” His name came over the speaker, and he closed his eyes briefly. “Be right back.”

He got up to get their order, and Karly watched him go. She took a deep breath.

Whoa.

She’d had no idea how hard it would be to see him and not cave into everything he wanted. And she knew exactly what he wanted, because she wanted it, too. But she couldn’t do that to herself. She had to be strong. One night alone together, and she’d gotten so attached. Anything more, and she’d be an emotional wreck.

Sleeping with him was a onetime thing. As much as she might have secretly wished otherwise, the realist inside her knew better. He’d rescued her from a hostage situation. They’d shared a connection. A night together. The end.

But the words turned her stomach. Why couldn’t it be more? Why couldn’t it be a beginning?

No! It was a fling. Accept reality, and move on.

The problem with accepting reality? Her feelings. The way her heart had turned over when she heard his phone message. I want to see how you are. And the way her blood heated whenever he looked at her with those intense blue eyes.

Of course, SEALs were intense by nature. They were that way with everyone, weren’t they? Nothing special about her.

Karly watched him pick up their baskets. Then a pretty brunette waylaid him on his way back to the table. And wasn’t that interesting? From the way the woman smiled and touched his arm, Karly could tell they knew each other as more than passing acquaintances.

She turned to look at the beach, ignoring the pinch of jealousy.

Okay, it was more than a pinch.

Which made no sense, because she had absolutely zero claim on this man.

Which brought her back to her original point: she wasn’t going to do this to herself. The last thing she needed was some long-distance relationship. Or worse, some arrangement where she felt like she was strapped into a relationship and he felt free to move about the cabin.

Nope. Been there, done that. Never again.

Ethan set their baskets on the table, and Karly smiled up at him. He had a wary look in his eyes, as though he’d noticed her noticing the brunette.

Perfect time to change the subject.

“So.” She sipped her beer. “The FBI stopped by to see me today.”

That got his attention. “Why?”

She took a deep breath. “Evidently, they’re reinterviewing some of the hostages. They seem to think at least one ACB guy might have evaded capture.”

“One did.” Ethan’s jaw tensed. “We think he got out by boat during our initial strike.” He shook his head.

“It’s not your fault. There were only four of you. It’s not like any of you could be in two places at once.”

But Ethan seemed unmoved by her words. “What about the guy?”

“Agent Mays seems to think—”

“Alexa?” His brows tipped up.

“You know her?”

He nodded. “I met her during an investigation last summer. Ryan’s fiancée was kidnapped.”

“Ryan . . . as in the Ryan I met?”

“Ryan Owen, yeah. It was all part of this op that went sideways.” He shook his head. “Long story.”

He picked up his beer, and Karly watched him, trying to picture his big, tough SEAL teammate actually proposing to someone. It was even harder to picture him married. She wanted to know more about the op that went sideways, but she knew he wouldn’t tell her the details.

“So what did Mays say?” Ethan asked.

“She seems to think the one who got away is someone who came to the island posing as a tourist to scope things out just before the attack. She thinks he’s some key figure in the organization. They believe he has an American passport and that maybe he’s planning another attack.”

Ethan’s brow furrowed. “What does Mays want with you?”

“A description, mostly. I talked to this guy, so they think I can help ID him.”

Ethan’s mouth dropped open. He leaned forward. “You talked to Tango X?”

A chill skated over her skin. “She called him Mr. X.”

“Same thing. You’re telling me you actually fucking met the guy?”

“Well . . . yeah. At least if he’s the one they’re thinking of.”

Ethan stared at her, wishing she’d shake her head or tell him no, that he had it all wrong.

But she didn’t. Karly was sitting here telling him she’d met face-to-face with one of the most notorious terrorists on the planet.

“How the hell did you cross paths—”

“He walked over and struck up a conversation,” she said. “He was posing as a tourist, and he was very convincing. I didn’t think anything of it.”

Ethan’s gut clenched. “And they’re sure this is the guy? Tango X? The FBI is certain?”

“Well, not certain. But everything lines up. He called himself Tom Green, and there’s no record of anyone by that name at the resort. And I was at the FBI field office today looking at mug shots. Apparently, investigators have been talking to people, and I’m not the only one who saw a tourist fitting this description at the Sapphire the day of the attack.”

“Tom Green? That’s really what he called himself?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“It’s generic. Totally forgettable. It’s the perfect alias.”

Ethan raked his hand through his hair. He couldn’t believe this. Karly had met the man. Actually had a conversation with him.

Tango X, aka Mr. X, one of the most wanted terrorists in the world. Ethan had been hearing about him for years, but he’d never personally met anyone who’d so much as laid eyes on the man. Some SEALs believed he didn’t really exist, that he was some composite bad guy invented by the intelligence community to explain a bunch of dead-end leads.

And Karly had talked to the man.

She leaned forward. “You know him?”

“I’ve heard of him. Word is, he’s brutal. But I don’t know anyone who’s actually met him or worked for him and lived to tell about it.”

There was no longer a shred of doubt in Ethan’s mind that Karly and the other hostages were never supposed to leave that island alive. They were all supposed to die, probably not long after U.S. officials refused to help secure the release of that ACB leader who had been arrested at the airport. Right after Mancuso and his daughter were supposed to be decapitated on live webcam. Death for everyone had been the plan from the beginning.

But Ethan’s team had swooped in and fucked up the plan.

Because of Alpha Crew, Karly and the hostages had been rescued. Because of Alpha Crew, a sizable terrorist cell had been not only decimated but also humiliated, and news of the incident had been splashed across newspapers around the world.

Along with Karly’s name.

If these guys weren’t already motivated to carry out the “something big” that had been rumored for more than a year, then they sure as hell were motivated now. This group was out for revenge, and they didn’t do anything small.

Ethan took Karly’s hand. “Karly, listen to me. If there is anything—anything—you can tell the feds that might help them get a bead on this guy, you have to give it to them.”

“I know, but I really don’t have anything. I mean, besides the description.”

“That’s a lot. You’d be surprised. With facial-recognition software these days, you’d be amazed how they can ID people, especially if they have a front-view image.”

She laughed, although her eyes looked panicked. “But that’s the thing. I don’t have an image. I checked the photos on my phone, just in case. And they combed through Drew’s camera. The only image I have of this guy is in my head.”

“What about a voice recording?” he asked. “You used your tape recorder for interviews at the resort, right?”

“Yes, but I only interviewed Mancuso and his people, and it was inside the cabins.”

Ethan sat back, watching her, hating that even stateside, Karly was still involved in this mess. And here he was about to leave town.

He didn’t like it. In fact, he hated it.

“If there’s anything you remember, Karly, you have to turn it over to the feds ASAP so we can track down this guy and take him out.”

She drew back. “We?”

Yes. It was an Alpha Crew mission, no question. But he couldn’t tell her that.

“Somebody,” he said. “This threat needs to be eliminated before it comes to our shores.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed. Damn it, he was scaring the hell out of her. But he needed to. It was important that she understand how serious this was.

She glanced down at her food. She’d barely put a dent in it. Her beer was gone, though. His was, too.

Karly looked at her watch. “It’s getting late.”

It was only nine.

“I should probably get home.” She smiled faintly, and Ethan knew he’d blown it.

They got up and pitched their trash, and Ethan rested his hand at the small of her back as he led her to his Jeep. He cast a glance at her as they walked.

Again, she felt vulnerable. He could see it in her eyes. And again, he was right here ready to take advantage. He was ready to wrap his arms around her and let her cry on his shoulder.

But she hadn’t cried. Not once. She was tougher than she looked, tougher than he ever would have guessed when he’d first spotted her creeping around that moonlit path in her cutoff shorts.

She looked up at him. “So two days left, huh? You plan to see your family?”

“They’re in Tacoma.”

“Really? And you didn’t want to go see them?”

They reached the Jeep, and he opened her door. “I wanted to stay here and see you.”

Her eyes widened.

“You know, I did this all wrong,” he said. “I never should have used the phone.”

Ethan had looked her up online. Her address was listed. But he’d thought it would be too pushy if he just showed up at her place.

“What’s wrong with the phone?” she asked.

“It goes against my upbringing.” He took a lock of her hair and brushed it over her shoulder, and she kept staring up at him with that look in her eyes, the one he remembered from the balcony. “My dad always said when you want something, you should go in person, look someone in the eye, and lay out your case.”

“Your case for what?”

God damn, she was pretty. He took her face in his hands and kissed her. Her lips were lush and warm, just like he remembered, and he pulled her against him and coaxed her mouth open. It didn’t take much. She melted into him, and her hands slid up to comb through his hair.

She felt good. Perfect. Every curve of her body was made for him, and he wanted to sink into her.

She pulled back and blinked up at him.

“Come home with me.” There. He’d said it. Just put it right out there.

“Ethan . . .”

“Please?” Jesus, he was begging. “I want to spend more time with you. We can just talk if you want. We don’t even have to go back to my apartment. We could go for a walk.”

She shook her head and looked away. “I think we both know that’s not happening.”

Okay, she was right. He didn’t want to go for a walk with her. He wanted her home, in his bed, where he could give her his undivided attention for the next forty-eight hours.

Less now. The clock was ticking.

Karly stared up at him. She couldn’t believe she was doing it. She was actually turning him down after that heart-stopping kiss.

“It isn’t a good idea,” she said.

“Why not?”

“Because. Because that night . . . when everything happened . . .”

His hands slid to her waist. “When we had amazing sex all night? Yeah, I remember.”

She huffed out a breath. “I remember, too. That’s the problem.”

“What problem?”

“You really need me to spell it out for you?”

“I think I might, yeah.”

“The sex was . . .”

“Disappointing? Sweaty? What?”

She rolled her eyes. “I was going to say incredible, okay? But that’s not a real relationship. That was just adrenaline and desperation, and that’s not a basis for anything.”

“It’s a good start. At least, I think so.” He took her hand and lifted it to his mouth and kissed it, and the gesture was so sweet it made her heart melt.

She felt her resolve melting, too.

“The thing is, I can’t stop thinking about you, Karly. I’ve been thinking about you all the time, ever since that night.” He eased her against him—not for a kiss but to wrap his arms around her. They were strong and warm, and she’d missed them so much it hurt just being there again.

Maybe she was the problem here. Maybe her expectations were wacked. Maybe she should just let this be what it was and stop worrying about all the things it would never be, like something real or lasting.

It could still be fun. Exciting. It could still be an escape from all the craziness going on in her life. Ethan made her feel sheltered from everything—he was really good at that. And the bond she felt with him was undeniable. She didn’t know how or why it had happened so fast, but she felt a deep connection with him.

He kissed the top of her head. She drew back and looked up at him, and he didn’t have to ask again, because the question was there in his eyes. She leaned in and kissed his chest and slipped her arms around his waist. “Okay.”

“Okay . . . is that a yes?”

She closed her eyes and prayed she wasn’t making a mistake. “Yes, it’s a yes.”

ELEVEN

The vise around his heart loosened the instant she said yes. But she didn’t say much else as they drove to his place.

He didn’t let the quiet bother him. No, he used the time to plan everything he was going to do to show her just how much he’d missed her. The incredible night they’d spent together hadn’t been a fluke. Only a few hours with her again had convinced him of that. They had many, many more nights to come if only she’d give him a chance.

He pulled into the parking lot beside his building and watched her take in the view. He lived in a vintage walk-up, with turn-of-the-century brickwork and no elevator. It wasn’t exactly a luxury high-rise, but it was twenty minutes from base and had everything he needed when he happened to be at home.

Which wasn’t a lot.

And he knew that was something weighing on Karly’s mind. One of many things, probably, but it was a challenge they could handle. He’d seen people do it. Ryan and Emma were a case in point. They were making it work, despite the obstacles, and Ethan had never seen his teammate so happy.

But he was getting ahead of himself here.

Ethan took her hand as they crossed the parking lot. He entered the key code and opened the door, ushering her into the foyer. As the door whisked shut, he looked down at her and brushed a wisp of hair from her face. She seemed uneasy, and he wanted her to relax.

“What?” she asked.

He dropped a kiss on her forehead, then took her hand and led her up the stairs. His unit was on the third floor at the end of a hallway. He felt her tension building and remembered their night at the hotel, when she could barely get the door open.

He got his door open just fine and let her go in ahead of him. He dropped his keys on the breakfast bar. He didn’t turn on the overhead light. Instead, he stepped into the living room and switched on a lamp, which gave the room a soft glow.

She crossed to the bay window and glanced over her shoulder. “You have a view of the bridge?”

“Yeah. Big selling point.”

He was being sarcastic. You could barely see the Coronado Bridge from here, but she seemed impressed.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“I’m good.” She turned and smiled, and he could tell she was nervous.

Nervous. Karly.

A woman who’d helped rescue herself and everyone else on that island from a band of terrorists. She’d fallen out of a helicopter, and barely a day later, she’d had the balls to jump on the back of his motorcycle and cruise around an unfamiliar city, eating snails and touring ruins. And then she’d taken him back to her hotel room and rocked his world.

She was brave. Strong. Resilient.

Yet somehow visiting his home for the first time made her nervous.

“I like your place,” she said.

“Good.”

She turned to look at some pictures on the wall. Three large photos, all in matching black frames. She stepped closer to them.

“Don’t tell me you took these.”

“Okay, I won’t.”

One by one, she studied each of the pictures, all close-ups of brightly colored coral. If not for the fish, they might have looked like abstract designs.

“You’re really good with a camera.”

He eased up behind her and rested his hands on her hips. “Karly.” He ran his hands up her arms. “Why are you nervous?”

“I don’t know.” She leaned back against him, and he felt a wave of relief as he slid his arms around her waist.

“I guess . . . I thought our night together was a onetime thing.” She turned in his arms to face him. “And now here I am.”

He eased her closer, gazing down into those sexy dark eyes he’d been dreaming about for weeks. He kissed her, pulling her against him so she could feel what she did to him. He loved her taste, her smell, the softness of her body pressed against him. He burrowed his fingers into her hair and tipped her head back, and she made a low moan that sent a shot of lust through him.

She slid her hands around his neck, and everything went from zero to sixty in no time at all.

She’d missed him.

So much more than she’d let herself admit. Every cell in her body had been craving his touch since he’d slipped out of her hotel room five weeks ago.

She’d truly believed she’d never see him again. And now here she was in his home, in his arms.

Still kissing her, he guided her backward until she bumped against something. The breakfast bar. He lifted her onto it and pushed her knees apart, and a hot pulse of desire went straight to her core.

His hands slid over her thighs, setting her on fire. She loved the way he touched her, the way he knew just what she wanted. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him as close as she could. His warm hands glided under her shirt and found her breasts as his mouth slid over her lips, her jaw, her neck.

“Damn, I missed you.”

She pulled back. “You did?”

His gaze heated, and he dragged her to the very edge of the counter. “Yes.”

He slid her silk cami up and over her head, revealing a black lace bra, and his gaze heated even more. He tossed the shirt away and dipped his head to fasten his mouth on her nipple, pulling hard.

“Oh, God. Yes.”

He moved the lace aside and did it again, harder, and she squeaked as she tipped her head back. She kicked her sandals off and pulled him closer as he lavished attention on her breasts. She combed her fingers into his hair, loving the softness of it when every other thing about him was so hard.

She heard the rasp of her zipper. He lifted her up, and there was a whoosh of fabric as her jeans disappeared. And then his hands were on her bare skin, touching her, sliding against her, lighting a fire inside her that got hotter and hotter until she thought she’d explode. How did he turn her into this molten puddle in no time at all? Only one night together, and he somehow remembered everything she loved, everything that drove her crazy. Closing her eyes, she moaned and pressed against him, loving his scent, his touch, the clever magic of his hands.

“Karly.”

“Yes.”

“Baby, look at me. I want to see you.”

She managed to open her eyes, and his blue-eyed gaze was so powerful, so intent on her pleasure.

“Ethan . . .”

It was too hot, too good, too everything, and she clenched herself around his fingers and came apart.

Heat and pleasure flooded her. She slumped against him, resting her face against his shoulder. Dear God. She hadn’t. But she had. He still had on every stitch of clothing, and she was naked on his bar. Even her bra had somehow disappeared.

“Hold on to me.”

He lifted her up, holding her tight against him, which was good, because her arms felt like noodles draped over his shoulders. He carried her down a hallway and into the bedroom and eased her down on the bed, and she thought of him doing the same thing in her hotel room.

“Oh my God.” She covered her eyes with her hand. “That happened so fast. I can’t believe—”

“Shh.” He kissed her, settling on top of her and going after her mouth, and she felt the steely ridge of him between her legs.

She twined herself around him and kissed him, loving his mouth and the sharp desire she tasted there. He was turned on, completely, and a thrill went through her.

“Hey.” She pushed at his shoulder until he pulled away. “On your back.”

Heat sparked in his eyes as she pushed him over and straddled him. She lifted his T-shirt, and he leaned forward, pulling it over his head. For a moment, she sat back on her heels to enjoy the sight of him propped up on his elbows, eyeing her with that simmering look.

She went to work on his jeans, watching his face closely as she slid down the zipper and freed him from his clothes. Trailing her fingers over his abs, she scooted back on the bed and dipped her head to kiss him.

His body went rigid. He tunneled his fingers into her hair as she kissed him and stroked him, savoring the hot hardness of his body. She wanted to show him how much she loved it, how much she loved everything about him, everything he did to her and how it made her feel.

His burning gaze locked on hers, and he brushed her hair from her eyes.

With a low groan, he tipped his head back, and the rush of power was intoxicating. This big, strong warrior was totally at her mercy, and she freaking loved it. She stroked her hand over his chest and his six-pack abs as she glided her mouth over him, teasing him, taunting him, driving him crazy. He gripped her hair, and she sensed him losing control, second by second. Then he sat up and pulled her arm.

“Come here.”

But she didn’t. For the first time in weeks, she felt confident. In control. Not helpless but bold and fearless and desirable.

“You’re killing me,” he groaned.

“Good.”

He moved fast, lifting her up, and she suddenly found herself flat on her back, staring up at his blue eyes, more intense than she’d ever seen them. He pushed her thighs apart with his knees.

“We do this together.”

She nodded, shocked that it seemed so important to him. Watching her closely, he rested his weight on his arms and pushed into her, a sweet spear of pleasure that made her gasp.

“Shit—condom!” He jerked back and reached for the nightstand. “Sorry.” He covered himself with lightning speed, and she barely had time to brace herself before he was back. “Damn, I’m sorry.”

“Just come here,” she said as he thrust into her again. She swept her hands up to touch his face. He pushed up on his palms and gazed down at her and then laced their fingers together. The serious look in his eyes made her heart ache.

She didn’t want to think about serious things—or anything. She only wanted to feel the sensation of their bodies fused together, moving in sync. With every breath, she felt the heat spiraling inside her as the tension built and built.

“Oh, God. Ethan.”

“Good?”

“Yes.”

She loved it. This. Him.

They were together again—perfectly together—and it was better than anything she’d ever felt in her life. Everything inside her tightened and tightened, until finally it snapped, and she cried out. He smothered the sound with a kiss as a wave of pleasure crashed over them, taking them both down together in a sweaty heap.

She couldn’t think. For seconds or minutes, she could only lie there, listening to their breathing. Then he rolled onto his back.

She sat up on her elbows to see him, and he looked as blown away as she felt.

“You okay?” he asked.

She didn’t answer, just stared at him as he got up and got rid of the condom. Then he was back beside her, and she felt a twinge of panic. She needed to think. She needed to try to make some sense of what she’d allowed herself to do. Again.

But then he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close.

She wanted to stay. But that would only make the morning so much harder, and he was leaving soon.

“I should—”

He kissed her forehead. “Stay.”

In the darkness, a familiar ping.

Karly opened her eyes. She waited. It came again, and she felt the mattress shift.

She sat up groggily. She’d fallen asleep. No, more like she’d fallen into a coma. She looked around the room, surprised by the gray band of light beside the window. She hadn’t meant to stay the whole night.

Ethan walked back into the bedroom and handed her phone to her. She sat there, gaping at his naked silhouette. Then she looked at the device in her hand.

Text messages. Three of them. She didn’t recognize the number until she skimmed through the words.

“What’s the problem?” Ethan asked, his voice much too alert for—

“What time is it?”

“Oh-six-hundred. What’s the problem, Karly?”

“It’s Agent Mays. She needs—damn it.” Karly swung her legs out of bed. “She wants me to come into the office at seven thirty. They’ve brought a forensic artist in from headquarters. Oh my God, does she mean Quantico?”

“Or D.C.”

Ethan was pulling on his jeans. Karly’s gaze went to his hands, and she remembered boldly unzipping him last night after pushing him onto his back.

“Karly?”

She jerked her attention to his face and then looked away. “Where . . .”

But he was already out the door. He returned a few seconds later and handed her the clothes he’d stripped off her last night. She pulled them on, avoiding his gaze, and he set her shoes beside the bed.

Karly swiped at her phone. “I have to go.”

“What are you doing?”

“Calling an Uber.”

His eyebrows shot up. “An Uber?”

“There’s no need for you to get up. You can go back to sleep.”

“Are you kidding? I’m driving you home.”

He grabbed a shirt and walked out as she slipped her feet into sandals. She met him at his front door, and he had keys and a leather jacket in hand.

“Thanks for this,” she said, following him down the stairs.

When they got outside, he draped the jacket over her shoulders.

“I’m fine,” she said.

“Take it. You’ll be cold on the drive.”

She was already cold, and she hadn’t reached the Jeep yet. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and tucked her wallet into the pocket as she followed him to his parking space.

The sky had lightened to a dull gray. Fog surrounded them, and a thick layer of dew covered everything. Ethan opened the door for her, and she climbed into the Jeep. She couldn’t read his mood as he slid behind the wheel and started the engine.

The drive was slow with the fog. The noise saved her from having to talk, and she tried to process what had happened yesterday, from the moment Mays had knocked on her door to the moment she’d fallen asleep in Ethan’s arms.

She cast a glance at his hand resting on the gearshift, and she remembered those skillful hands all over her body last night. He’d been insatiable, like he couldn’t get enough of her. And she’d been that way, too, because she knew he was leaving. Something twisted inside her, and she had to look away.

They sailed through intersections on a wave of green lights as he made his way through downtown and toward the magazine office, where she’d left her car. Traffic was practically nonexistent right now, but that wouldn’t be the case by the time she got home, showered, and headed to the FBI office. She wished she could go straight there, but she needed to shower and she was wearing the same clothes she’d had on yesterday morning, a little detail Mays and Hull might just notice, being investigators and all.

Ethan swung into the parking lot. It was nearly empty, only two other cars besides her red Audi. He pulled up alongside it and cut the engine.

He turned to face her, and she noticed the thick stubble covering his chin. Her throat tightened as she thought of kissing him good-bye.

“Can I see you later?” he asked.

“When later?”

“Whenever you get free.”

She hesitated. “Why?”

“I’d like to talk to you.” He reached over and took her hand. “I’ve had some stuff on my mind.”

He wanted to see her later. Later. After she finished meeting with the FBI again. After she finished the article that was going to be late and possibly get her fired—except for the fact that her boss still needed her to help land an exclusive interview with a traumatized nineteen-year-old. Karly’s life was spinning, and Ethan wanted to see her later.

Acid churned in her stomach, and she looked away. She was so bad at this. Especially face-to-face, with his warm hand folded around hers.

“It’s probably better if we just . . . leave things here.” She turned to look him straight in the eye and saw the flare of hurt there.

For an excruciating moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, “Is that honestly what you want?”

Honestly? No. And she couldn’t lie to him. She looked down at their hands.

“I feel a connection with you, Karly. I don’t want to walk away from that.”

She bit her lip. Her chest felt tight. She didn’t know what to say, and when she opened her mouth, the words just came out. “When is your next leave?”

“I don’t know.” He watched her, searching her face. “I’ll probably be back in six to eight weeks.”

Her stomach knotted. Eight weeks? She’d been miserable with five.

She cleared her throat. “Where are you going?”

He shook his head. He couldn’t tell her.

He was going away for an unspecified amount of time to an unspecified place to do God only knew what. She wouldn’t know when or even if he was coming home. Her mind flashed back to that terrorist aiming the rocket-propelled grenade at their helicopter, and her stomach did a nosedive.

“I can’t do this,” she blurted. “I can’t handle some long-distance relationship with you. I did that once before, and it ended badly. He met someone else. Actually, several someone elses.” God, was she really telling Ethan all this? He was watching her closely. “I won’t do that again.”

“You won’t have to. I would never cheat. Or lie to you.”

“You say that now.”

“Hey.” He squeezed her hand. “I think we respect each other enough that if there’s a problem, we’ll put it out there and deal with it.”

Those blue eyes that had haunted her for weeks would be haunting her all over again. She shook her head and glanced down.

“Karly, look at me.”

She did.

“You think I can’t commit to you? That I can’t be honest? I’ve always been honest with you, from the moment we met.”

“I think you’re being honest now, but . . . eyes wander. Interest fades. I don’t want to be back here waiting for you and missing you, and meanwhile you’re off on some rescue mission sweeping some woman off her feet.”

His eyebrows shot up. “You think I go around doing this? You think I’m going to pull some woman out of harm’s way again and fall for her?”

She stared at him. “You’ve . . . fallen for me?”

“Yes, I have. No, I didn’t mean for it to happen. Shit.” He raked his hand through his hair. “This isn’t normal for me, Karly. I feel like I’ve been struck by lightning here.”

Her heart raced inside her chest. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to at least try. But she was scared. Terrified.

He took a deep breath. “You don’t have to decide now. Just . . . promise to call me when you finish with the FBI.”

“I don’t want to promise that.”

His gaze held hers, and she knew he could read her mind. He could see all the conflict swirling in her eyes.

He reached out and touched her cheek. Slowly, he leaned in and tipped her chin up to kiss her. It was soft and sweet and so heartbreakingly gentle she felt like the world would stop.

He eased away. “Promise to think about it.”

She couldn’t think about it. Not yet. Not with her mind and her body still reeling from everything he’d done and said.

She pushed it away for later and focused on the FBI. On what they wanted from her. They needed her to sit down with the artist they’d flown in and help them identify Tango X.

Ethan’s reaction to the name had shaken her. Brutal, he’d said. But it was the grim look in his eyes when he’d said it that chilled her to the bone.

As Karly made her way home, she tried to picture the friendly man beside her lunch table building a bomb or plotting an attack. Tom Green. What an innocuous name. She pictured the easy smile on his face as he’d picked up her press pass and looked at it. You do print or TV?

A shiver of fear went down her spine. She could picture it now that she knew what his casual questions were all about.

She turned into her parking lot and slid her car into its covered space. She got out and pocketed the keys, and only then did she realize she was still wearing Ethan’s jacket.

Warmth flooded her. His backup plan. As if that kiss weren’t enough. He was clever. And persistent.

But long-distance relationships were tough. She didn’t want to think of all the endless weeks she’d be here worried about him, while he was off on some top-secret op, fighting terrorists and dodging bullets. She didn’t know a lot about what he did, but she’d gathered enough to understand that he was part of an elite unit. Ethan and Ryan and Jake and Lucas—all those guys she’d met took on the most dangerous missions, and there were no guarantees.

Karly didn’t want to think about it. But the prospect of turning Ethan down and never seeing him again? She didn’t want to think about that, either.

Promise to call me.

Again, she put off the decision as she climbed the stairs to her second-floor apartment. She had a jam-packed day ahead of her, and she couldn’t believe the FBI was counting on her to identify one of the most wanted men in the world, especially after she’d failed to find him in their vast array of photos.

How could a sketch artist possibly help? A photograph would be so much better. As Ethan had pointed out, it was something they could run through a database, possibly using facial-recognition software to get a match. And then they could circulate his name and picture at every border checkpoint, hoping to prevent him from ever setting foot in this country to carry out an attack. Karly wished her phone camera had yielded a picture. Or better yet, Drew’s camera. Or even better yet, she wished she had a fingerprint or a voice recording.

She froze on the stairs. Her fingers curled around the banister. She did have a fingerprint. He’d picked up her press pass.

She dug into the pocket of Ethan’s jacket and pulled out her phone. Heart thudding, she scrolled through to find the number for Mays. She called her and waited.

Voice mail, damn it.

She disconnected, then switched to the text screen to type Mays an urgent message.

After sending it, she stared down at her phone. She had a fingerprint for Tango X. She pulled up Ethan’s number and bit her lip, debating whether to tell him. He would want to know, but maybe she shouldn’t involve him. He had a protective streak, and it would only make him worry.

Karly tucked the phone into her pocket and unlocked her door. She stepped into her apartment and froze, trying to make sense of the scene before her.

To her right, a noise. She lunged away, but an arm clamped around her neck, dragging her back and cutting off her scream. Karly’s heart skittered as something cold and hard pressed against her cheekbone. She looked down to see a big black gun.

TWELVE

“Where is it?”

Karly’s heart hammered. The arm around her throat tightened, and she tried to crane her neck back to breathe.

“The feds were here yesterday. I know they asked about me.” The voice was a low growl in her ear, but she recognized it. “Now, tell me where your press pass is, the one you had with you, or”—he smacked the pistol against her cheek—“you’re going to eat this gun.”

Karly struggled for air. Her vision dimmed. The arm around her neck loosened, and she slumped backward.

“Where is it?”

“I don’t know.”

A blast of pain as he punched her cheek. Stars danced before her eyes, and she was on the ground, staring at the sofa cushions that had been tossed on the floor.

She blinked up at him, her vision blurring. It was him. Green. X. He’d ransacked her apartment. He’d waited here for her. He was ready to kill her.

He would kill her as soon as he got what he wanted.

He grabbed her by the hair, and fire tore up her scalp as he yanked her to her feet. The pistol pressed against her cheek again, and he hauled her against him.

“Where. Is. That. Press pass.”

Her heart thundered. “It’s in—” It was in the computer bag in her trunk, but she couldn’t tell him that. “It’s in my desk at work. With the camera.”

He went still. The grip on her hair tightened, and tears burned her eyes.

“What camera?”

“We got a picture of you. It’s from a distance, but . . . the FBI wants to see it.”

Pain pulsed through Karly’s skull. The metallic taste of blood pooled in her mouth. She stared into his angry dark eyes and tried to hold back tears.

“We’re going for a ride.”

He swung her toward the door. She caught herself against the wall, and the pistol was back against her cheek.

“Don’t run or scream or say a fucking word to anyone. Got me?”

He jerked the door open and pushed her into the hallway. He followed her, and she somehow knew his gun was aimed at her back through the pocket of his black canvas jacket. He wore a baseball cap, too, pulled low to shield his face.

They reached the stairs, and Karly heard the high-pitched chatter of her neighbor’s daughter at the bottom of the stairwell.

“Goldfish, Mommy.”

“Not for breakfast, sweetheart. Eat your toast.”

Karly tripped on the stairs, catching herself against the banister. Green grabbed the collar of her jacket and pushed her forward. She rounded the corner on the landing and held her breath as they passed her neighbors in the foyer at the base of the stairs.

Don’t say anything. Don’t say anything. Please don’t say anything.

Karly avoided eye contact as she pushed through the door of her building and calmly crossed the sidewalk to the parking lot. Another neighbor was out with his dachshund, and Karly avoided eye contact with him, too.

Was she cut? Bleeding? She swished the blood in her mouth and swallowed it down as she made her way to her car.

Ethan’s jacket.

She was still wearing it, and her phone was tucked inside. He hadn’t checked her pockets, but any minute now, Agent Mays might call her back, drawing his attention to the phone.

“You drive. I’ll watch.” He tossed keys at her, and she caught them against her chest.

Her keys. He must have scooped them off her floor when she’d dropped them.

She popped the locks for her car. He walked her to the driver’s side, making sure she saw the bulge of the gun inside his pocket as he opened the door and waited for her to get behind the wheel.

Karly slid inside the car. He shut the door. Panic surged through her as he kept his gaze on her while he moved around the front. She didn’t have time, but—

She dug her hand into her pocket and fumbled with the phone. She hazarded a glimpse at it and made a few frantic taps at the screen.

The passenger door jerked open, and then he was inside.

“Go!”

She started the car and rocketed back from the space.

“Stop!”

She slammed on the brakes just in time to avoid hitting another car backing out. The driver tapped his horn and gave her a scowl.

Deep breath. She could do this.

As calmly as she could manage with her heart about to pound out of her chest, Karly exited the parking lot and headed for work.

Ethan’s phone vibrated again. He waited until he hit a red light and pulled it out to check the number.

Karly.

Her message was simple: XXX.

Ethan’s heart gave a kick. Triple X? Not exactly what he’d expected, but okay. He waited for more. Maybe a selfie of her just out of the shower or . . .

He stared down at his phone. XXX. The skin at the back of his neck prickled. No way. Impossible. But . . .

“Come on, Karly.”

No sexy photos, nothing. Ethan tapped the phone and started to call her, but then he stopped himself. What if she was sending him a message? Maybe she’d seen the man somewhere. Maybe he was with her right now.

A horn blast behind him. Ethan glanced up at the green light.

Cursing, he moved the gearshift and shot through the intersection. He eased into the right lane and slowed down to look at his phone again.

“Come on, come on.”

But there was nothing more. Just the Xs.

Ethan’s chest constricted. He was crazy. Paranoid. No doubt, she’d think he was obsessed, but he needed to check.

“Fuck it.”

He careened across traffic and pulled a U-turn.

She’d made a mistake. A big one.

Instead of confronting him in her apartment—for better or for worse—she was leading him to a public place with innocent people around. Karly’s stomach roiled as she imagined what might happen if she took him into her office.

She glanced at him in the passenger seat. The gun was out now. He gripped it in his right hand, resting it on his thigh, and his gaze kept darting to the side mirror.

“Here’s what you’re going to do. You listening?”

She nodded.

“We get there, you call your assistant.”

“I don’t have—”

“Your coworker. Whatever. Make sure it’s a woman, and have her bring down the pass and the camera. Got it?”

She nodded.

“No surprises. Or she’s dead.”

She cut a glance at him. His accent. It was faint, but he had one. It reminded her of a reporter she’d once known from Wisconsin.

He was definitely American. And he had to have ties here. Accomplices. People in place to help him carry out his plot, whatever it was. Otherwise, why care so much about the FBI identifying him through a fingerprint or a photo when he was already inside the country?

“Hey!” he snapped. “You got me?”

“Yes.”

Karly’s hands were sweaty. She kept them on the steering wheel, her knuckles white, as she rolled to a stop.

What could she do? How could she get out of this? Maybe if she spotted a police car, she could jump the curb and get their attention. Or she could do that anyway. She could smash into a lamppost or a parked car. She darted her eyes around looking for an opportunity. The sidewalks were filled with pedestrians, but up ahead was a parking lot.

“Eyes forward.” He jabbed the pistol against her ribs. “No bullshit, or you’re fucking dead.”

The light turned green.

Karly tightened her hands on the wheel. Dread filled her as she pressed the gas.

Ethan was about to lose it. Traffic was a bitch, and he was catching every red light on the way to her place. He’d never been there before, but he knew where she lived. He’d resisted the urge to drive by in the days since he’d been back because he wasn’t some creepy stalker. He felt like one right now, though, racing across town to catch her getting dressed for work so he could demand an explanation for her triple-X text message.

It was crazy. Probably.

But if it wasn’t crazy . . .

Ethan’s pulse was racing. He felt like a maniac. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself, but the green light ahead of him turned yellow, the car in front of him slammed on the brakes, and Ethan skidded to a halt, cursing. He cast a desperate look at his phone.

Nothing. Still. And it had been eight minutes.

He looked around, trying to come up with an alternative route with less traffic.

And then he spotted her.

The red Audi sitting in the turn lane opposite him, waiting for the light to change. It was her. Had to be. It looked like her car and her shape behind the wheel.

And there was someone in the seat beside her. Tall. Ballcap.

No way. No fucking way.

But Ethan wasn’t seeing things. It was Karly sitting in that turn lane. And there was some random man in the seat beside her.

Ethan’s throat went dry. What the hell was he doing? Where was he taking her?

He was taking her somewhere. No way she was riding with him willingly. Ethan pictured a gun pointed at her, and his gut clenched.

Karly’s head turned in his direction, and Ethan waited, heart pounding. Did she see him?

Her light changed to green, and she made the turn. It was her. It was. She had her hand resting on the steering wheel in a closed fist.

Ethan’s blood turned icy. A closed fist, the signal for stop. His team had used that signal during the op, and Karly had been there. She knew.

That signal was meant for him.

As Karly neared her building, she was sweating all over. Her back, her front, her palms, her neck. Her heart was galloping so fast she could hardly breathe.

Six more blocks. Three stoplights. Hadn’t Ethan seen her? Hadn’t he understood?

But they were minutes away from the destination, and Ethan was nowhere in sight. Not in front of her, not behind her, nowhere. And she hadn’t heard the faintest hint of a siren, so he hadn’t called for help.

“Get in the right lane.”

Karly gulped down her fear and did as directed. X obviously knew where they were going. He knew the building was just up ahead, so there was no taking a detour to stall for time. Still, she eased her foot off the gas to slow things down.

Something smashed into her from behind. The car lurched forward. She slammed on the brakes as both she and X pitched forward into the dashboard.

“What the—” He jerked around.

Karly checked the rearview mirror.

A black Jeep sat behind her car. It was empty.

Karly shoved her Audi into park just as the passenger door jerked open.

The terrorist turned with his gun, but a big arm reached in and dragged him out.

“Ethan!”

Pop! Pop!

Karly screamed at the gunshots. She shoved open her door and lunged out, barely missing a car in the neighboring lane.

Pop!

She scrambled behind the Jeep, using it for cover as she peered over the hood to see what was happening.

Her passenger door was open. But Ethan and X were gone.

Ethan sprinted down the alley. The tango darted around a corner. Ethan pulled to a stop to take a look before following so he wouldn’t get his head blown off as he went around the building.

Tango X was at the end of the alley, scaling a wooden fence. Ethan took off after him. He reached him just in time to grab the guy’s foot, but X jerked free, and Ethan heard him land with a grunt on the other side.

Ethan scaled the fence in less than a second, then took a leap onto the tango. The guy lunged sideways, and Ethan caught his shoulder.

Pop!

The noise reverberated through Ethan’s brain as he rolled to the side. That had been close. He jumped to his feet again and raced after X, who was turning another corner.

Ethan ran flat out. He ducked low as he rounded the building and saw the tango sprinting toward a busy street.

A brown delivery truck, no doors, pulled to a stop at the curb. X raced straight for it.

Pop!

The driver’s face exploded in a burst of red. X leaped inside the truck, kicked the dead man out, and jumped into the driver’s seat. He threw the truck into gear and swerved into traffic.

Ethan sprinted after him. He leaped onto the back bumper, grasping for a hold, but there was nothing, and he was clinging to the roof and the side of the truck by his fingertips. He crouched down and grabbed the handle of the rear cargo door.

Suddenly, the truck swerved left, then right, and Ethan strained to hold on. The tango knew he was back there and was trying to lose him as they sped through an intersection, horns blaring from every direction.

Ethan pulled the cargo door, but it wouldn’t budge.

Pop! Pop!

Twin bullet holes appeared beside his head. Ethan gave the door a mighty yank, pulling it open a few feet. He dove inside, rolled across the cargo space, and collided with a tower of boxes.

Pop!

Ethan sprang to his feet and lunged for the tango’s gun, elbow-jabbing him in the face as he tried to get the weapon. The truck swerved. Ethan yanked the wheel just in time to miss crashing into the back of a bus.

Pop!

The windshield exploded. X punched his jaw, and Ethan’s head snapped back. He shook it off and reached for the gun again, smashing the tango’s wrist against the steering wheel, but the guy held on to the weapon.

Another sharp swerve, then a deafening crunch of metal as they plowed into a lamppost with bone-rattling impact.

Everything went gray, and Ethan found himself on his knees by the gearshift, X slumped over the wheel. Ethan reached up and grabbed the guy’s neck, and they were locked in a struggle as X tried to aim the pistol at him. With Ethan on his knees and X in the driver’s seat, the terrorist had the advantage.

Ethan grabbed the seat-belt strap and hauled himself up, then hit X with a brutal head-butt. X grabbed him, and they fell together through the door, crashing to the pavement. The pistol skidded across the street into traffic.

The tango got to his feet, but Ethan lunged for him, bringing him back down, grabbing him by the neck to pummel his face again and again. Sirens screamed around them as they wrestled and punched. X managed to roll out from under Ethan and land a sharp blow to his temple. Ethan throat-punched him, immobilizing him for an instant. Heaving himself up, Ethan grabbed X by the arm, flipped him onto his stomach, and gave a fierce yank, dislocating his shoulder. The tango bellowed and kicked Ethan’s knee. Ethan pulled harder.

“Freeze!”

Ethan looked up to see half a dozen cops around him, guns drawn. More sirens sounded nearby.

“Drop the weapon! Hands up!”

Ethan didn’t budge. He didn’t have a weapon, but he had no doubt that if he so much as moved, his captive would make a run for it.

“Hands up! Now!”

“Wait! Stop!”

Ethan glanced to his left, where a tall brunette in a suit was pushing her way through the crowd that had gathered. Alexa Mays. The agent was holding up a badge, and she was trailed by a refrigerator-size man in a suit. Just behind the man was Karly.

Ethan’s gaze locked on Karly’s, and relief flooded him.

Until he noticed all the guns still pointed at him.

“Special Agent Mays, FBI,” the woman announced, stopping beside the police officers. Her gaze landed on Ethan, and he could see she recognized him. Either that or Karly had filled her in.

“Mays.” Ethan nodded. “Think this is your guy.”

“Thank you.” She whipped out a pair of handcuffs. “We’ll take it from here.”

THIRTEEN

Karly lay with her head against Ethan’s chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart as he sifted his fingers through her hair. Nothing in the world had ever felt so peaceful.

Their day had been a marathon. The arrest. The interviews. The endless afternoon at the FBI office, answering questions about Tom Green, whose real name Karly still didn’t know.

He was in custody now, being interrogated by federal agents. And from what Karly gathered, the man wasn’t cooperating. From the news tonight, they’d learned that the terror threat level had been elevated, and Karly had a hunch it was related to today’s events.

But it was out of her hands now. And Ethan’s.

After hours of interviews, they’d finally gone home to Ethan’s apartment. And they’d spent the entire night filling up on each other.

“Karly?”

“Hmm.”

“You ready to talk yet?”

She tensed but didn’t answer. It was after midnight. Soon they’d probably fall asleep, and then he had to be up early to report to base.

“Honey, we can’t put it off any longer.”

She gave a heavy sigh, then lifted her head. Light from the hallway spilled into the bedroom, and the serious look on his face made her chest tighten.

No fear, no tears.

Karly propped herself up on her elbow and looked at him. “I’m ready.”

He combed his fingers through her hair. “I report at oh-eight-hundred. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

She took a deep breath. “I know.”

He watched her eyes carefully, as if trying to read her reaction. “My schedule is unpredictable. That’s just the way it is for me.”

She nodded and stroked her finger over his chest.

“I’m gone a lot.”

“Ten months a year, right?” She looked up at him. “I’ve been doing some research.”

It was the closest she’d come to admitting she had feelings for him, that she’d been thinking about a future with him after they parted ways last time.

Why couldn’t she just tell him? She felt like such a wimp, and meanwhile he’d been so up-front about his feelings.

I feel like I’ve been struck by lightning here.

She looked at him, and those serious blue eyes made her heart hurt.

“You told me once you do better when you can picture things,” he said.

She’d said that on the island, in the middle of the rescue operation. How on earth did he remember that?

“What? I pay attention.” He smiled. “Especially when it comes to you.” He pulled her against his chest and wrapped his arms around her. “I want you to picture something, okay? Close your eyes.”

“Ethan—”

“Please?”

She rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. “Okay.”

“Picture me in a helo all geared up and ready to jump.”

“God. No.”

“Picture it.”

She shuddered and felt his arms tighten around her.

“All right, fine.”

“I’m a hundred percent focused on the mission. It’s always like that, okay? I’m not distracted. But in the back of my mind, I know you’re home waiting for me, and I know the moment I get back, I’m going to come straight over to see you. Because you’re the only woman I can think about. And you trust me completely, because you know I would never do anything to hurt you.”

She sighed.

“Now picture yourself. You’re driving to work. You’re doing your job all day, kicking ass and showing everybody up.”

“Right.”

“And maybe later, you’re hanging out with your friends at a bar.”

“We don’t hang out at bars.”

“No?”

“No. I hate the bar scene.”

“Okay, well . . . good. That’s good. Picture yourself with your friends somewhere else, maybe a restaurant. You’re having fun, right? And you’re not worried. You’re not stressed about anything.”

“But I will be. That’s the problem. I’ll miss you like crazy.”

“But you don’t have to worry, because you know however much you’re missing me? I’m missing you, like, a hundred times more. And every time I come home to you, I’m going to do everything I can to show you how amazing things can be with us.”

She looked up at him and bit her lip. Every time I come home to you. It sounded like he was in this for the long haul.

“You really think we can do this?”

“Yes.”

“But why?”

“Because we’re determined,” he said. “And when you visualize something enough—even something that seems impossible—it can happen.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I do.”

She just looked at him.

“And because I love you.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You love me?”

“Yes.”

A calm settled over her. Her heart was beating too fast. She felt flushed all over. But it was a good feeling. A happy feeling, because she knew he was right.

It had been fast, and crazy, and unexpected.

But it had happened.

She sat up and smiled at him, gazing into those loving eyes, which had been in her dreams for weeks, or maybe forever.

“Same,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss him. “I love you, too.”

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Turn the page for a taste of

TOUCH OF RED

the latest in Laura Griffin’s Tracers series.

Available November 2017 from Pocket Books!

CHAPTER 1

It was like any other Wednesday night. Until it wasn’t.

Samantha Bonner had just finished sweeping up. She’d emptied the dustpan and sanitized the sink and wiped down the pastry case. The burnt smell of coffee beans hung thick in the air, overpowering the vinegar solution she’d run through the machines. But it was quiet. She stood for a moment and let the silence surround her, glad to be free of the acoustic guitar music that had been looping through her head all day.

Sam grabbed her purse and locked up. Crossing the rain-slicked parking lot to her car, she darted a look into all the dark corners. It was a safe neighborhood, but you never knew.

She pulled out of the lot, relieved to be on her way home after pulling a double shift. Raindrops pitter-patted on her windshield as she made her way through downtown. She switched the wipers to low, and her phone lit up with an incoming call. Amy.

Sam stared down at the phone a moment. Then she put the call on speaker.

“Sam? Can you talk?”

“What’s up?”

Amy sounded undone. More than usual. “It’s Jared. He wants to move back in.”

“He called you?” Sam asked.

“He came by to drop off Aiden. I didn’t let him in or anything.”

Sam didn’t respond as she pulled up to a stoplight. In most areas, Amy wasn’t a pushover. But her two-year-old boy missed his daddy, and his daddy knew it. He used the kid as leverage.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Amy said now. “And I just want to talk through it, figure out what I’m going to tell him. Can you come over for a bit? I can make us some coffee.”

The mere thought of coffee made Sam want to retch. “Sure,” she said anyway. Amy was sniffling now, and Sam didn’t have the heart to say no.

“Or we could talk on the phone,” Amy said. “You’re probably busy. Tonight’s your night off, isn’t it?”

“No, I closed up.”

Sam slowed for a bend in the road. Stately oak trees and manicured lawns soon gave way to weeds and chain-link fences. Then came the railroad tracks. White collar to blue in less than a mile. The people in Sam’s neighborhood commuted to work at all hours and didn’t stop for lattes on the way.

“I’ll be over in a little,” Sam said, turning onto her street. “Give me twenty minutes.”

“Are you sure?” Another sniffle.

“I’m sure.”

She pulled into her driveway and rolled to a stop in the glow of her back porch light.

“Thanks, Sam. I mean it. I just need to hash this out. I mean, what if he’s legit this time? I owe it to Aiden to at least think about it.”

Sam kept her skepticism to herself. For now. She slid from her car and noticed the white bike propped against her back deck as she walked up the driveway.

“Sam? You there?” Amy asked.

“I’m here.”

She mounted the steps and spotted a blur of movement. Pain exploded at the base of her skull.

She dropped to her knees and pitched forward. A big arm wrapped around her neck, hauling her back. The smell of tobacco registered in her brain, filling her with bone-deep fear as the arm clamped around her windpipe.

“Sam?” Amy’s voice was far away.

Pain roared through Sam’s skull. She struggled to move, to breathe. A glove-covered hand tipped her head back, exposing her neck.

No!

Sam clawed at the arm, trying desperately to buck, to kick, to scream for help. No, no, no! From the corner of her eye, she spied her phone on the ground. She tried to call out, but the cries died in her throat.

“Sam, are you there?”

Fear became panic as she saw the glint of a blade.

“Samantha?”

•   •   •

Brooke Porter beat the detectives, which surprised her. But then again, she’d made good time. When the message had come in coded 911, she’d dropped what she was doing and rushed straight over.

She parked beside a police unit and grabbed her evidence kit from the trunk as she surveyed the location. It was a small bungalow, like every other house on the block. In contrast to its neighbors, this particular home had a fresh coat of paint and looked to be in decent repair. Potted chrysanthemums lined the front stoop, where a uniformed officer stood taking shelter from the cold drizzle.

Brooke darted up the sidewalk and ducked under the overhang. The officer was big. Huge. Brooke had met him before, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember his name.

“Jasper Miller,” he provided, handing her a clipboard. “Your photographer just got here.”

So he knew she was with the Delphi Center. The San Marcos Police Department typically called Brooke’s lab in to help with their big cases.

Brooke scribbled her name into the scene log. “You the first responder?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded at the driveway. “Victim’s around back. Looks like she was coming home from someplace, and he surprised her at the door.”

Brooke eyed the little white Kia parked in the driveway. She wanted to see things for herself and draw her own conclusions.

“Medical examiner’s people got here about five minutes ago,” Jasper added.

“And the detectives?”

“On their way.”

She handed back the clipboard. “Thanks.”

Brooke picked her way across the stepping-stones in the grass, trying not to mar anything useful—although the rain had already done a pretty good job of that. At the top of the driveway, several uniforms stood under a blue Delphi Center tent that had been erected beside the back porch.

Brooke’s stomach tightened with nerves as she lifted the crime-scene tape and walked up the drive. She noted the chain-link fence, the thick shrubbery, the trash cans tucked against the one-car garage. Plenty of places for someone to hide.

A camera flashed as she reached the tent. The Delphi Center photographer had already set up lights and started documenting the scene. Brooke unloaded some supplies from her kit. She zipped into coveralls and pulled booties over her shoes, then tugged on thick purple gloves, as the uniforms looked on silently.

Beat cops thought she was an oddity. She showed up at death scenes with her tweezers and her flashlights and her big orange goggles. She plucked bits of evidence from obscure places and then scuttled back to the lab to do her thing . . . whatever that was.

The detectives got her. Well, maybe not totally. But they’d at least learned to appreciate what she could do for them. Which ones had been assigned to this case? And where the hell were they?

Brooke pulled her long dark hair into a ponytail. She picked up her evidence kit and sucked in a deep breath to brace herself before ducking under the tent to take her first look.

Blood was everywhere.

“Holy God,” she murmured.

A woman lay crumpled at the back door, her neck slashed open to the bone. Her hair, her clothes, even the wooden decking beneath her were saturated. Dark rivulets had dripped down the stairs and were now coagulating in little pools on the lower slats.

“Watch your step.”

She glanced up at the ME’s assistant crouched beside the body. He was reading a thermometer and making notes on a pad.

“It’s slippery,” he added.

Brooked walked up the stairs and eased around him, taking care not to step in any puddles. Maddie Callahan stood beside the door, photographing a scarlet arc against the white siding.

Arterial spray.

She lowered her camera and glanced at Brooke. “The detectives here?”

“Not yet.”

The breeze shifted, and Brooke got a whiff of blood, strong and metallic. She glanced again at the gaping wound and stepped back to grab the wooden railing.

Maddie looked at her. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

Brooke should be immune to this stuff by now. But that neck.

She steadied herself and looked around. A set of blood-spattered car keys lay near the victim’s hand. Brooke glanced at the woman’s face, partially visible beneath blond, blood-matted hair. Brooke didn’t see a weapon near the body. And any trail the killer might have left as he’d fled the scene had likely been obscured by rain at this point. The back door stood ajar. Had he fled through the house?

She turned to the ME’s assistant. “Was this door open like this when you arrived?”

He glanced up, looking annoyed. “Yes. We haven’t been inside.”

Brooke turned to the victim again. Her head lolled weirdly to the side, and flies were already hovering despite the cool temperature. Brooke stepped past the ME’s assistant and slipped into the house.

She found herself in a dark utility room that smelled of fabric softener. The room was small but clean, without so much as a scrap of laundry on the floor. She switched on her flashlight and swept it around. No footprints.

She stepped into the kitchen, maneuvering around an open pantry door.

“Was this open, too?” she asked Maddie.

“That’s right. And I haven’t shot the kitchen yet, so don’t move anything.”

Brooke stood still, giving herself a few moments to absorb the scene. She always tried to put herself in the perpetrator’s shoes. Had he been in here? If so, what had he touched?

The kitchen was dim except for a light above the sink. Using the end of her flashlight, Brooke flipped a switch beside the door, and an overhead fixture came on.

No dirty dishes on the counter or food sitting out. Eighties-era appliances. A drying rack beside the sink contained a glass, a plate, and a fork. On the counter next to a microwave was a loose key and a stack of mail. She stepped over to read the name on the top envelope. Samantha Bonner.

Brooke zeroed in on the key. It was bronze. Shiny. Unremarkable, except that it was sitting there all by itself.

In the breakfast nook, a small wooden table was pushed up against a window. A brown bottle of root beer sat on the table unopened. Just below room temperature, judging from the condensation.

Brooke returned her attention to the pantry. Soup, soup, and more soup, all Campbell’s brand. It was like looking at an Andy Warhol painting. Chicken. Tomato. Cream of mushroom. The shelf above the soup was stocked with paper goods. The bottom shelf was filled with healthy cereals and gluten-free crackers and a package of those pink and white animal cookies with the colored sprinkles.

“Brooke?”

“Yeah?” She leaned her head out to look at Maddie.

“Just finished shooting the back door if you want it.”

“I definitely want it,” she said, returning to the utility room. She put on her orange goggles and switched her flashlight to ultraviolet, searching the floor for any fluids that might not be visible to the naked eye.

Nothing.

She examined the knob a moment and then selected a powder from her kit. On the porch outside, the ME’s assistant was busy covering the victim’s hands with paper bags for the body’s transport to the morgue.

Brooke glanced back at the kitchen, her attention drawn to the key again. It looked like a house key, and she wanted to know if it fit this door. But she couldn’t touch it until Maddie finished her photos.

Brooke opened the jar of powder and tapped some into a plastic tray. Using her softest brush, she loaded the bristles and then gently dusted the knob. She worked slowly, methodically. When she finished dusting, she cast her light over the fluorescent powder and was pleased to see a pristine thumbprint on the side of the knob.

“Maddie, can you get this for me?”

“Sure.”

Maddie stepped over and photographed the knob from several angles. When she finished, she moved into the kitchen with her camera.

Brooked took out a strip of clear polyethylene tape and carefully lifted the thumbprint off the curved surface, taking care not to smudge it. She picked out a black card for contrast and gently placed the tape against the card.

One lift done, probably a hundred to go. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. When she got laser-focused, she sometimes forgot to breathe.

Brooke heard the detectives before she saw them—two low male voices at the front of the house exchanging clipped police jargon.

Sean Byrne and Ric Santos. She’d know them anywhere.

Brooke labeled the card and tucked it into her evidence kit. So Sean and Ric on this one. They were experienced and observant. Sean noticed everything she did, even when he seemed to be interviewing witnesses or talking to other cops. He observed where she spent her time and how, and if she lingered in a particular spot, he always asked about it later.

Brooke noticed him, too. With his athletic build and sly smile, it was hard not to. But mostly she noticed his attitude. He had an easygoing confidence she found attractive. Nothing ever seemed to rattle him.

Of course, being a cop, he also had an ego.

The voices grew louder as the detectives neared the kitchen. Brooke didn’t look up, but she felt a jolt of awareness as Sean stepped into the room. His conversation stalled, and she could practically feel his gaze on her.

•   •   •

Sean watched Brooke for a moment and then turned to Jasper.

“You say the neighbor found her?”

“That’s right,” the officer said. “Lady let her dog out, and he started barking like crazy, so she went outside to see what was going on and spotted the victim in a pool of blood there on the porch. Name’s Samantha Bonner. She works at a coffee shop.”

Sean raked his hand through his damp hair, scattering water on the floor. “Married? Kids?”

Jasper shook his head. “Neighbor says she lives alone.”

Sean unzipped his SMPD windbreaker and glanced at Brooke again. She was on her knees by the back door, lifting fingerprints. Just beyond her was the victim, and the ME’s people were already unzipping the body bag.

Damn.

Sean was accustomed to seeing Brooke surrounded by blood and gore, but this was bad. He studied the victim, noting the position of the body, the clothing.

Brooke closed her evidence kit and got to her feet as Sean approached.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” she said, looking him up and down. “Where were you guys?”

“Got stuck behind an accident near the tracks. Tow truck’s blocking the road, so we had to hoof it.” He ran his hand through his hair again.

“Don’t drip water all over my crime scene.”

He smiled. “Yours?”

“That’s right.”

For a moment, they just looked at each other, and Sean tried to read her expression.

“Detective? Can we bag her?”

Brooke shot a blistering look at the ME’s assistant, clearly not liking his glib tone.

Sean stepped into the utility room to take a look at the back porch. The whole area was a bloodbath.

“Jesus,” Ric said, coming up beside him. “You get all this, Maddie?”

“Yes, I’m finished with the porch,” the photographer called from the kitchen.

The ME’s guy looked at Sean again. “Detective?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Sean turned around. Brooke was watching him now, her evidence kit clutched at her side. He motioned for her to follow him into the living room.

Brooke was short and slender, with pale skin and a plump pink mouth he’d always wondered about. As she looked up at him, he noticed the worry line between her brows.

“What’s wrong?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You mean besides the fact that this woman was practically decapitated on her doorstep?”

“Yes.”

She took a deep breath and glanced around. “This crime scene bugs me.”

“Why?”

“Look at it. See for yourself.”

Without another word, she stepped around him and went back into the kitchen to crouch beside the pantry door.

Sean pulled some latex gloves from his pocket and tugged them on as he surveyed the kitchen. It was clean and uncluttered, except for a stack of mail on the counter beside a key. He studied the key for a moment but resisted the urge to pick it up.

He opened the fridge. Yogurt, salad kit, pomegranate juice. On the lower shelf was a six-pack of root beer with a bottle missing from the carton. That was the bottle Maddie was snapping a picture of now as it sat on the breakfast table.

Sean glanced through the open back door as the ME’s people started loading the body bag onto a gurney. The victim’s clothes had been intact, and she’d shown no obvious sign of sexual assault. At first glance, it looked like the killer had grabbed her from behind and slit her throat. Given the lack of blood inside the house, Sean figured the attacker had fled down the driveway to the street or maybe hopped the back fence.

Ric stepped into the kitchen again. “Her purse is on the back porch. Wallet’s inside but no cell phone.”

“You check the car?” Sean asked.

“Not yet. Let’s walk through the house first.”

“Don’t move anything,” Maddie said. “I haven’t been back there yet.”

After another look at Brooke, Sean led the way. It was a simple layout, with rooms off a central hallway. Sean flipped on a light in the first room. It had a wooden desk and a metal folding chair. On the desk was a notebook computer, closed and powered off. On the far side of the room stood a shelving unit crammed with books.

“Looks like a home office,” Sean said, moving on to the bathroom. He paid close attention to the floor as he went but saw no blood or footprints or even dust bunnies.

The bathroom smelled like ammonia. Sean switched on the light.

“House is squeaky clean,” Ric observed.

“Yep.”

The pedestal sink gleamed. Sean opened the medicine cabinet. Toothpaste, cough drops, tampons. Ric eased back the shower curtain to reveal a shiny tub with several bottles of hair products lined up on the side.

They moved on to the bedroom, where they found a neatly made queen bed with a light blue comforter and two pillows in standard pink pillowcases that matched the sheets.

“Not a lot of pillows,” Sean said.

“What’s that?”

“Pillows. Most women put a lot on the bed, don’t they?”

“I don’t know,” Ric said. “My wife does.”

Sean studied the room. It smelled like vanilla. On the dresser were several plastic trays of makeup and one of those bottles of liquid air freshener with the sticks poking up. Sean spied a sticky note attached to the mirror and leaned closer to read the feminine handwriting: One day, one breath.

Was it a poem? A song lyric? Maybe Samantha’s own words?

The closet door was ajar, and Sean nudged it open. Six pairs of jeans, all on hangers. A couple dozen T-shirts, also hanging.

Ric whistled. “Damn. You know anyone who arranges their T-shirts by color?”

“Nope.”

Sean looked around the bedroom again. “Pretty basic,” he said. “Not a lot here.”

He walked back through the house, noting a conspicuous absence of anything that would indicate a male presence. No razors on the sink or man-size shoes kicking around. No beer in the fridge. The living room was simply furnished with a sofa, a coffee table, and a smallish TV.

“Looks to me like she lives alone,” Ric said, turning to Jasper. “You say she works at a restaurant?”

“Coffee shop, according to the neighbor lady.” Jasper took out a spiral pad and consulted his notes. “Java House over on Elm Street.”

“I’ve never been in there.” Ric looked at Sean. “You?”

“Nope.”

Sean glanced around the living room, which was devoid of clutter. Maybe the victim didn’t have a lot of money for extras, but even so, most women tended to decorate their homes more than this. Sean hadn’t spotted a single framed photo in the entire place.

The strobe of a camera flash drew his attention into the kitchen again. Brooke was right. This scene seemed odd. Sean had worked a lot of homicides over the years, and most boiled down to money, drugs, or sex.

Sean had seen no sign of sexual assault. No drugs or drug paraphernalia or even alcohol. No hint of illegal activity. No evidence of a boyfriend.

A remote control sat on the coffee table. Sean had watched Brooke in action enough to know it would be one of the first items she collected to dust for prints.

“I don’t see any blood trails or signs of struggle inside,” Ric said. “Doesn’t feel like the assailant was in the house.”

“I’m not getting a read on motive.”

“I know.” Ric shook his head. “Doesn’t look like a rape or a robbery. No cash or drugs around.”

“We need her phone. I want to search her car and the surrounding area.”

“I’ll go check the car,” Ric said.

He exited the front, and Sean returned to the kitchen. Brooke wasn’t there. Maddie knelt in the pantry with her camera, and Sean noticed the pantry door was missing.

“What happened to the door?”

She glanced at him. “Brooke took it.”

“Took it where?”

“Back to the lab.”

Sean stared at her. “You mean she’s gone?”

“She needed to test something. She said it was urgent.”

“Yo, Sean, come here,” Ric called from outside.

Sean walked out the front, glancing at his watch. Why had she left already? This scene would take hours to process, and they were just getting started.

Ric was in the driveway near the Kia. Another Delphi CSI in gray coveralls crouched beside the car.

Ric looked up at Sean. “Jackpot.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

New York Times bestselling author LAURA GRIFFIN is the author of the Tracers series, the Alpha Crew series, the Moreno & Hart series, and several other novels. A two-time RITA Award winner and a recipient of the Daphne du Maurier Award, she lives in Austin, Texas, where she is working on her next book. Visit her at LauraGriffin.com and Facebook.com/LauraGriffinAuthor.

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ALSO BY LAURA GRIFFIN

Alpha Crew: The Mission Begins

At Close Range

Deep Dark

Shadow Fall

Beyond Limits

Far Gone

Exposed

Scorched

Twisted

Unstoppable

Snapped

Unforgivable

Deadly Promises

Unspeakable

Untraceable

Whisper of Warning

Thread of Fear

One Wrong Step

One Last Breath

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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2017 by Laura Griffin

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First Pocket Star Books ebook edition September 2017

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Cover art by Shutterstock

ISBN 978-1-5011-6245-9

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

‘Touch of Red’ Excerpt

About the Author

Copyright