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PROLOGUE

Emma peered over the ledge at the street below. A lump of fear rose in her throat, and she swayed backward, dizzy. A strong arm caught her around the waist.

“Emma.”

She looked up at the man beside her, at those impossibly green eyes that just hours ago had stared straight into her soul and made her feel like she was the only woman in the universe.

“You hesitate, you die. It’s that simple.”

Her stomach clenched because she knew he was right. And yet—

“Do you trust me?” he demanded.

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her heart hammered inside her chest, and from the tension in his face she knew his was hammering, too. Four stories down, the streets hummed and honked with traffic.

“Do you?”

His eyes were intense now, almost desperate, and she couldn’t believe he had the nerve to ask.

She pulled away and glared at him. “Hell, no, I don’t trust you. Are you crazy?”

He sighed heavily and shook his head. “Emma, honey.”

“Don’t honey me, you—”

Whatever she’d planned to call him was lost the next instant as he grabbed her hand and jumped.

ONE

Of all the postings in all the world, Emma Wright had somehow ended up in a country made up of more than seven thousand islands. She chalked it up to fate, which she’d learned by age twelve had an extremely twisted sense of humor.

Emma forced her shoulders to relax as she strode across the airstrip. She approached the pilot, and the glimpse of her reflection in his mirrored aviators stopped her short. Her brown hair was an unruly mane of curls, and her cheeks were sunburned. Emma had grown up in cold, cloudy Seattle, and she hardly recognized herself in this tropical climate. The past two years had changed her, both inside and out.

“We ready?” she asked the pilot.

“Affirmative,” Mick said in his typical military-speak. “Just finished the preflight. We’re looking at an on-time departure at 1600.”

Emma’s brief glance at the Cessna didn’t escape his notice. Mick knew she’d been less than thrilled to learn that the plane had undergone some mechanical work shortly before takeoff yesterday. Something about replacement fuel lines.

Emma didn’t trust replacement fuel lines. Or airplanes, for that matter. But she trusted Mick. A former Marine with decades of experience in the cockpit, he was a top-notch pilot and a stickler for safety, and he wouldn’t fly the ambassador’s wife and her staff around in a questionable aircraft.

“Want me to take that?” Mick nodded at her bag.

“Thanks, I got it.”

They reached the plane, and he held her arm as she climbed aboard.

Dr. Juan Delgado and Renee Conner were already seated facing each other. The doctor was hunched over his computer filling out reports and didn’t spare Emma a look as she stowed her backpack and took the seat across the aisle from him.

The ambassador’s wife wore her darkest Chanel sunglasses and her Do Not Disturb look. In her hand was an insulated coffee cup that Emma knew from experience contained vodka and a splash of orange juice. When she wasn’t sipping from the cup, Renee’s lips remained pressed in a tight line, reminding everyone that she hadn’t slept a wink. The town they’d been visiting had only one “inn,” and the accommodations had been admittedly lacking, even for Emma, who could fall asleep anywhere.

Emma buckled herself into the plush leather seat and glanced out the window as Mick loaded Renee’s luggage. Two rolling suitcases for a two-day trip, down from her usual three. Besides an array of clothes and cosmetics, the luggage contained a bottle of Grey Goose and a curling iron, which Renee never left home without, even though the countryside was known to have spotty electricity.

Mick climbed into the cockpit and slid into his seat, arranging his headset on top of his silver buzz cut. The engine caught and settled into a low hum. The plane idled for a few seconds before starting down the runway for a short taxi. This landing strip was twenty-six hundred feet, longer than the twenty-four hundred feet needed for takeoff in a Cessna Caravan. Mick had given Emma all the plane’s stats on her first trip up, probably thinking that if she had more information, she’d be less of a wuss.

The Cessna gained speed. Emma’s stomach dropped as the plane lifted improbably into the air, barely clearing a wall of trees. She gripped the armrests and gazed out at the dense jungle below. Miles and miles of green abruptly ended at a strip of sugary white sand, and then they were soaring above the sparkling turquoise ocean.

Emma took a deep breath and glanced over her shoulder at Mick, whose hands looked relaxed on the controls. She nestled her head against the side of the cabin, letting the drone of the engine soothe her nerves. The turquoise water grew cobalt, then indigo, then cobalt again as they neared another island. They passed over another sandy strip of beach and then more undulating hills covered by verdant green.

From the sky, the Philippines was a tropical paradise. But anything closer than a bird’s-eye view revealed impoverished villages, typhoon-lashed ports, and provinces beset by political strife. Ambassador Conner was tackling the last problem, while enlisting his wife’s help with the first two.

Emma didn’t like everything about her boss, but she did appreciate the fact that when she wasn’t stateside, Renee Conner spent the majority of her time carrying out goodwill missions on her husband’s behalf. As part of her delegation, Emma, Dr. Delgado, and Mick had spent the last ten months hopping from island to island to deliver vaccines, educational supplies, and sanitation training to the country’s most remote provinces. They received a positive reception wherever they went, mostly because of Renee. The ambassador’s wife was blond and beautiful and spoke fluent Tagalog, and when she turned on her smile, everyone loved her.

But the movie-star smile wasn’t up and operating today.

Emma glanced at her boss and noticed her chunky diamond ring winking in the sunlight. Emma didn’t wear jewelry on goodwill missions—just a small silver toe ring that she’d picked up at a surf shop in Santa Cruz. It reminded her of the road trip she’d taken right after graduation, back when her life had seemed bright and shimmery and filled with possibilities. That was before her first desk job. Before her first layoff.

Before Hunter.

She’d been trying to get back that feeling of optimism ever since, and the Philippines had helped. Yeah, sometimes she’d stare out the window of her high-rise Manila apartment with a lonely ache in her chest. But at least she had a purpose now, something she’d been lacking back in Seattle.

A loud pop, and the plane lurched sideways.

“What was that?” Renee sat forward.

The plane pitched down, then back up again. Renee’s sunglasses sailed across the cabin.

Emma whirled around. “Mick?”

But he was too busy barking jargon into his headset, first in English, then in Tagalog. His hands were white on the yoke, and the dashboard was a sea of flashing lights.

The plane took another dip. Emma’s stomach plummeted. The numbers on the dashboard were changing at mind-numbing speed. The cabin rattled and shook.

We’re going down.

Panic seized her as she looked out the window and saw the jungle coming up fast.

“Mick!” she shrieked.

“Mayday, Mayday, Mayday!” He turned around. “Crash positions! I’m going to land her.”

“But—what? Where?” Renee’s voice was shrill as the jungle kept coming.

I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die.

Emma’s chest tightened as her brain fought against the prospect of impending death. This couldn’t be happening. Her stomach cramped, and she gripped the armrests so hard her fingers hurt.

No, no, no!

The plane rolled sideways, and her stomach did a sickening roll with it. Bile rose in the back of her throat, and she clamped her eyes shut, thinking a prayer she hadn’t said in ages.

Hail Mary, full of grace . . .

Delgado shouted in Tagalog. Renee screamed. Emma cast a look at Mick, who was fighting with the controls. Never before had he been anything besides calm, but at this moment his entire body signaled desperation.

Emma’s heart convulsed with terror. She ducked her head and tried to will herself away to Manila or Seattle or the middle of the Mojave Desert, anywhere but this doomed plane hurtling toward the ground.

Another nauseating drop. She looked up and caught sight of wispy white clouds against a backdrop of blue—and then an orange flash of fire.

The plane shuddered and roared around her. She covered her head with her arms and leaned forward, tucking her chin against her chest. She thought of her father, of all people. And she realized she loved him. She had the overwhelming urge to tell him so, but now she’d never have the chance.

A loud pop. Another violent jolt. And then an ear-splitting shriek of metal as they smacked into the jungle.

TWO

Emma hurt.

Everywhere.

Her head hurt. Her neck. Her shoulder. She shifted, and suddenly her ankle was on fire.

She blinked into the darkness. No, dimness. There was a faint gray band coming from . . . from . . .

Where the hell was she?

The realization spurted through her like ice water, and she jerked forward, only to yelp at the flash of pain in her head.

She closed her eyes and tried to breathe. In. And out. In. And out. Hoping the horror would go away, but it didn’t. She’d crashed. They’d all crashed.

She turned her head, panicking now as her eyes tried to penetrate the gloom. She groped around, attempting to make some sense out of her shadowy world. Her hands encountered armrests, something metal, and then something smooth and curved that had to be the wall of the cabin.

So she was still in the plane, whatever was left of it. It was dark but not totally. She turned toward the light, and a stunning bolt of pain in her ankle made her gasp out loud.

She closed her eyes and waited for it to subside. When the fiery darts became a dull throb, she tried again, slowly pivoting her body toward the dim glow. The plane’s windshield was cracked but intact. Beyond it was a mass of black with pale gray patches.

Leaves. Trees. They’d plunged into the jungle, and it had swallowed them up.

We crashed. I can’t believe we crashed. Her brain still resisted what every one of her senses told her. We crashed, but I’m still alive.

Emma’s eyes began to adjust, and she looked around, now making out shadows in the seats nearby. Delgado slumped forward in his chair in a limp version of the crash-landing position, presumably still strapped in by his seat belt.

Seat belt.

Emma fumbled with hers. Her hands were so clumsy it took her three tries to unlatch the buckle. She lurched forward and quickly fell back, and only then did she realize the plane was tilted sideways at a sharp angle. Gripping the armrest for support, she crawled forward on her knees.

“Juan. Juan?”

He didn’t answer. She reached for his head, and her stomach clenched as she lifted his chin to check his face. In the dimness she could see the whites of his eyes, which were open and unblinking.

“Juan.” She touched his neck, looking for a pulse.

Nothing.

He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead.

The words hammered her brain as she turned to Renee, who sat crumpled against the side of her seat. Emma blinked into the dimness, not sure exactly what she was seeing. The shape of Renee’s head was all wrong. It was . . . dented. Bashed in. As if it were made of clay and someone had come along with a big mallet and whacked it.

With a trembling hand, Emma reached for Renee’s neck, hoping to get a pulse. But she couldn’t. Her body was like Delgado’s, totally inert.

How long had they been here? How long had Emma been unconscious?

Her heart pounded. She gripped Renee’s armrest, trying to get a grip on her emotions. Something hard jutted into her knee, and she looked down to see a rectangular shape.

Delgado’s computer. It had careened through the cabin, hitting God only knew what. Or whom.

Emma closed her eyes, hoping to shut out the unbearable reality, but it didn’t go away. She was stuck inside a wrecked plane, without even a light to guide her. She pressed a trembling hand to her forehead and rubbed it, trying to make herself think. She was injured. The air smelled like . . . something singed or burned. Burned rubber? That wasn’t quite right, but she didn’t have the mental capacity to analyze it right now.

She glanced at Renee again and felt another surge of panic. She turned toward the front of the aircraft, the place she somehow knew was going to be worst of all. With a heavy ball of dread in her stomach, she forced herself to feel her way between the passenger seats and lean into the cockpit.

Mick was slumped against the side of the windshield, his head in direct contact with the glass. Emma’s heart squeezed.

“Please, no,” she whispered, reaching out for him.

She touched his neck, and her heart skittered. His skin felt warm.

“Mick?”

She clambered forward, squeezing herself into the copilot’s seat, ignoring the arrows of fire shooting up her ankle as she slid into the cramped space. She gently pulled Mick’s body away from the windshield and settled him back in his seat.

He didn’t move. He didn’t flinch or resist or make a sound. But he wasn’t like the others. He wasn’t dead, he couldn’t be.

She clung to the thought as she felt his wrist for a pulse but didn’t find one. She bit her lip, cursing her inability to accomplish something so simple. He had to be alive. Had to be.

She checked his neck and detected a faint pulse. A rush of hope filled her. Her gaze fell on the headset in his lap, and she snatched it up and arranged it on her head. She flipped the nearest switches, but the controls remained dark and silent.

“Come on, come on,” she muttered, turning knobs and jabbing buttons. She touched everything she could get her hands on but didn’t manage to bring up even a flicker of light or a hiss of static.

She looked at Mick again. Lines of red crisscrossed his face like countless paper cuts. She reached out and touched a gash on his cheek. The blood felt sticky.

Sticky was good. He’d survived the impact, and his body was responding. He was unconscious, though, probably with a concussion.

She hoped.

She replaced the headset in his lap and glanced around for a first-aid kit, then chided herself. First aid. Right. They were way beyond anything that could be fixed with some ointment and an ACE bandage. But a kit might have some sort of other emergency supplies, maybe an extra radio.

She climbed from the seat and bumped her ankle against something hard, sending pain shooting up her leg.

Something was wrong with her ankle. She’d sprained or fractured it, but she couldn’t think about that right now. She felt around the cabin, searching for the few interior compartments where supplies were stored—juice boxes, water bottles, and she’d even seen Mick pull a flask of whiskey from a cabinet once.

Some of the doors were blocked by twisted metal that hung down from the ceiling. Emma got her fingers under a latch and managed to jerk one of the upper doors open. The contents clattered to the floor. She picked up something firm but lightweight. A life jacket? Her hand bumped against something hard and rectangular, and she prayed it was a first-aid kit. She tried to pick it up, but it was heavy. She’d been lucky it hadn’t fallen on her foot. She lifted the box and dumped it onto the empty copilot seat, where the light was slightly better than in the cabin.

She stared down at the object until her overloaded brain identified it: a satellite phone. Emma’s heart lurched. She’d never used one before, but she’d seen Mick do it. The more remote islands didn’t have cell towers. She unlatched the box and flipped a few switches but failed to bring the thing to life.

She bit her lip again until she tasted blood. It had to work. Had to. Mick was gravely injured, and she had to get help.

She looked at him, still slumped and lifeless. Then she looked at the door. She crawled over to it and tried the latch. It didn’t budge. She tried it again. And again. On the fourth attempt, it opened, and a sliver of light pierced the darkness. She pushed the door open.

Green.

They’d crashed into a thicket, but at least they were on land. She could hike out of here and maybe get a call out.

Stay with the plane.

The thought popped into her head out of nowhere. Where had it come from? Maybe a movie or a television show? She didn’t know. It seemed like sound advice, but just the thought of following it made her chest squeeze. She couldn’t stay here. What little light she had was fading. It had to be nearing dusk. And she couldn’t just sit here with two dead bodies and a man who might be sliding into a coma. Mick needed medical attention now, and she had a means of getting it.

She made her decision and felt oddly calmed by it.

Emma closed up the satellite phone case. She hefted it over the seat and slid it beside the door, then glanced around.

Daylight was fading. She needed to move. Her gaze fell on a water bottle that had rolled against the side of the cabin. She unscrewed the top and took a long gulp. The liquid soothed her throat and made her feel somewhat human again. Like an actual person, not a character in some B-grade horror movie. She crawled over to Mick and nestled the water bottle beside his leg, where he’d be able to reach it when he woke up.

When, not if.

She spotted the leather holster at his side where he kept the pistol he always carried.

She stared at the gun. She didn’t know anything about weapons. And what would she use it for? Besides, it seemed wrong to take an injured man’s gun.

She eyed his sand-colored cargo pants and noticed a bulge in one of the side pockets. She dug out a key ring with several keys attached, including one to a Jeep. Also on the ring was a small pocketknife. Emma slipped the key ring into the front pocket of her capri pants and pulled herself to her feet.

She touched the top of Mick’s head. “I’ll be back,” she whispered. “I promise.”

Then she moved toward the door and used her good foot to give it a strong push.

Emma held onto the side of the plane as she looked around outside. Leaves and branches blocked her view. But she spied a patch of dirt, maybe five feet down. Before she could second-guess her decision, she grabbed the satellite phone and swung her legs over the side. She jumped, careful to land on her uninjured foot, but her leg didn’t hold her, and she crumpled to her knees in the dirt.

Air.

Warm and humid, all around her. The freshness of it came as an immense relief . . . until she tipped her head back and looked up.

Emma’s heart sank.

The plane had plummeted nose-first into the trees, knocking several over but hardly making a dent in the dense jungle. One of the wings was entirely gone, and the other tilted up from the fuselage at a sharp angle. Only the tail remained intact.

Emma turned around and found herself surrounded on all sides by tall trees and leafy vines. She was alone out here. Through a gap in the canopy, she glimpsed the fading light of day. Panic bubbled up inside her as her situation sank in.

Who on earth could ever find her in this wilderness?

———

It was jungle and more jungle as far as the eye could see. Lieutenant Ryan Owen gazed from the Black Hawk at the vast wilderness below. Everything looked silver in the moonlight. He saw no sign of a wreckage, but it was down there somewhere. He and his team just had to find it.

Ryan glanced across the helo at Jake Heath. The roar of the rotor blades made it impossible to talk, but he and Jake had been together since BUD/S training, and he knew what his teammate was thinking. It was the same thing they’d all been thinking since the briefing when they’d learned that an American ambassador’s plane had gone down in the southern Philippines: Had anyone survived the crash?

Because of a last-minute schedule change, the ambassador himself hadn’t been on the flight. But his wife had, along with her personal assistant and a Dr. Juan Delgado. The fourth person on board was retired Marine pilot Walter McInerny, a man with twenty thousand flying hours under his belt, not to mention survival training. McInerny’s last Mayday call had been followed by seven minutes of silence. And then a brief garbled message had gone out. Since then, nothing.

Seven minutes. Plenty of time for the plane to crash, and yet there had been one last transmission, which likely meant someone had lived through the impact. The question was who.

“My money’s on the jarhead,” Jake had said after the briefing.

Ryan’s brother was a former Marine, and that had been his first thought, too. But now his money was on the girl, Emma Wright.

They’d been shown the passengers’ photos at the briefing, and Emma had caught Ryan’s attention immediately, along with that of every other man on the team. Emma Wright was young—only twenty-six—with pretty dark eyes and shiny brown hair that looked like it belonged in a shampoo ad. And then there was that lush mouth . . . Damn. Ryan knew he wasn’t the only man who’d taken a glance at that mouth and had to fend off some extremely distracting thoughts.

But what really stuck with him? Her eyes. Emma’s eyes showed spirit. There was a glint in them that seemed to say, Don’t you dare underestimate me. It was that look, even more than her mouth, that had come back to Ryan as they geared up for the mission. It was that look that made him wonder if it was Emma and not the Marine who’d been responsible for the last radio transmission. It was that look that gave Ryan a gut-deep feeling that maybe she stood a chance.

Which meant exactly nothing.

Ryan’s gut-deep feeling was worth shit, because no amount of spirit or determination could alter the laws of physics. In all probability, Emma’s survival depended on the plane’s speed of descent and its angle of impact.

But who the hell knew?

It wasn’t always about probability, or Ryan never would have made it through BUD/S training. There were guys who’d started out stronger and faster than he was, guys he’d felt sure would make it, but they’d rung out. And meanwhile Ryan had hung in there as his muscles seized and his joints burned and his brain was so scrambled he didn’t even know his own name. Sometimes what mattered most was tenacity, and Ryan had a deep well of it. It had seen him through SEAL training and every harrowing mission since.

“Three minutes,” came the crew chief’s voice over the radio. Ryan watched his CO, Matt Hewitt, as he skimmed his gaze over his men to make sure everyone was ready.

The crew chief kicked out the rope. Ryan removed his headset and edged closer to the door. He made eye contact with Jake, who gave him a look that said, Fuckin’ tear it up, bro.

It was go time. Time to focus. Time to put Emma Wright’s pretty brown eyes and her luscious mouth out of his mind so he could think about his mission, which was to find four missing Americans and get them home.

The helo’s rotors thundered as Ryan stared out at the rain forest, a place he knew from personal experience was teeming with deadly reptiles and plants and insects—not to mention people, the most lethal threat of all. The ambassador’s plane had gone down over an island that was rumored to be controlled by a ragtag group of heavily armed militants who may or may not have had anything to do with the crash. This was no run-of-the-mill search-and-rescue mission—not by a long shot. Depending on what the SEALs found, the mission could have widespread repercussions.

Hewitt made the signal: two minutes.

Ryan snugged his gloves on his hands. His fingers tingled with anticipation as he grabbed the rope. They were going in light and quiet, only a four-man element, with Ryan leading the way. It was a balls-out operation over unknown terrain put together on too-short notice, and Ryan felt lucky to be a part of it. Every man on Alpha Crew lived and breathed for moments like these, and whatever fear Ryan felt at all the unknowns awaiting him he kept locked away, deep inside him.

Another signal from Hewitt: one minute.

A cool calm settled over him. Time to get it done. One more glance at his teammates before the CO gave him the nod.

Ryan gripped the rope. His palms burned and smoked as he jumped into the void.

THREE

Night came swiftly in the jungle.

One moment she’d been looking at scraps of daylight peeking through the treetops, and then everything had taken on a purplish hue. Minutes later, the world around her had gone ink-black, and every phobia in her deepest, darkest subconscious had come to life.

Emma had gone to her knees and crawled to a tree, where she’d huddled against the massive trunk and stared into the night, wide-eyed and terrified, sure her heart would pound right out of her chest. In the ensuing hours, every bloodcurdling possibility invaded her mind. She could be stung by a deadly insect or bitten by a rat. Or she might fall asleep and a tree boa would wind its way around her neck and slowly squeeze the life out of her.

After what seemed like an eternity, she’d managed to quell her imagination. Maybe it was exhaustion or the adrenaline of the crash wearing off, but gradually her thoughts and her heart had calmed, and the shrieking panic in her mind had become a soft whimper.

She’d started playing games in her head, a sort of mental Scrabble in which she’d create intricate crossword puzzles and give herself points. It was probably an odd way to pass the time, but she’d never been in the wilderness at night. She hadn’t grown up camping. By age twelve, it had been just her and her dad, and he spent half the year in Washington, D.C. Emma had been on a few adventure trips with her boarding school, but those had been day trips—hiking or rafting or rock climbing. She’d never even built a campfire.

Gradually, her mind had tired, and she’d settled into less strenuous pursuits. She’d turned inward, focusing on her gnawing hunger and imagining herself in the produce section of her Seattle grocery store, surrounded by apples and bananas and juicy oranges.

But then the howler monkeys had started up, piercing the night with their shrill screams, leaping and swinging in the trees above her, and the strangling anxiety returned, stealing her breath until she felt light-headed with fear.

Nothing in her life had prepared her for being on her own in the rain forest. And she’d realized for the first time that darkness was a tangible thing. It was thick and pungent and inky. And it pulsed with the lifeblood of a million watchful animals, creatures that surely viewed her as prey—she had the insect bites on her arms and legs to prove it. Sometime deep in the night she’d dug her fingers into the loamy soil and covered every inch of skin she could reach with a protective layer of mud.

When the forest lightened at last, Emma hadn’t slept a moment. She hadn’t even dozed.

Now the sunlight beamed down through holes in the canopy, and Emma’s limbs felt heavy with fatigue. Even heavier was the burden on her heart.

She’d failed to get the satellite phone working on the ridge. Now she was hobbling back down the hillside to the wreckage, and she feared she’d discover that Mick hadn’t awakened during the night.

She also feared she was lost.

She’d tried to take a straight route up and down the slope, but the trees and plants around her seemed different today. She was headed down, yes, but nothing at all looked familiar. Maybe she’d gotten turned around.

Stay positive.

She plowed through the leafy branches, determinedly pulling her shoes out of the sucking mud. She had to keep going, both mentally and physically.

She focused her attention on Mick. If he showed any sign of consciousness, she’d try to get some water into him, then some food. It was a modest goal, and she felt sure she could accomplish it. She had to. There was no choice. Dr. Delgado had given her some rudimentary medical training, and she’d just been accepted into nursing school, for heaven’s sake. She should be able to feed and hydrate an injured man.

Emma had a granola bar in her backpack—the one she’d stupidly left on the plane yesterday when she hadn’t been thinking clearly. She’d craved it all through the night, but now she was glad she hadn’t taken it with her, because she surely would have eaten it. If she could get Mick to take just a few bites and wake up a little, if he could just get a few words out and tell her how to operate the radio . . .

Assuming it wasn’t fried. She’d been thinking about the singed smell from yesterday. Maybe the plane’s electrical system had shorted out after the crash. Even if it had, she still had the satellite phone.

She adjusted it on her shoulder now, trying to keep it from digging into her skin. She’d pulled the leather belt from her pants and used it as a strap for the phone, which made it easier to carry, but now her pants kept slipping down her hips, and she kept having to tug them up.

Emma picked her way down the slope, favoring her bad foot and taking care to avoid vines and tree roots. It was slow going. Besides being hungry and tired and having a throbbing ankle, she now felt frustrated, too. She hadn’t found a way to get the satellite phone working, and it was possible the fall from the upper cabinet had broken it.

Positive thoughts.

Mick wasn’t dead. He would show her how to call for help.

He wasn’t dead.

Wasn’t wasn’t wasn’t.

But what if he was?

Tears burned her eyes.

“Stop it!” she hissed.

She had to stay positive. If she let negativity seep into her thoughts, she was done for. She’d be swallowed by the jungle, and no one would even find her remains. She hadn’t stayed with the plane, despite her inner warning to herself. And now she was lost and hungry and—

Something glinted in the sunlight. Was that—?

She plowed forward, swiping the branches away. A wing!

The big silver wing that had been shorn off the airplane was lodged at an angle between two trees. It wasn’t the fuselage, but that had to be close. She plunged through the branches, heart racing as she studied the thick trees for any sign of metal.

She spotted the wreck, and relief washed over her. She moved faster, as fast as she could on her sprained ankle.

A noise from the trees. Emma halted and listened. She turned to look but didn’t see anything moving in the dense forest. She waited a few moments, but nothing made a sound. A butterfly flitted through a sunbeam and alighted on a purple orchid.

Emma trudged toward the fuselage. It looked smaller than she remembered, and the door was still open, but now she had to climb up, which would require arm strength.

Arm strength wasn’t her thing. Neither was exercise, as her too-curvy body clearly showed. She did yoga occasionally, but her upper-body strength was a joke. Her calf muscles were good, but given her ankle injury, jumping up to hoist herself into the plane probably wasn’t a smart idea. She neared the door and reached up to shove the satellite phone into the plane, then grabbed hold of the strut and managed to kick her good leg up. She grabbed the doorframe and used her foot for leverage as she pushed herself up and into the plane.

She ended up on the littered floor of the cabin, panting and sweating and holding her nose against the stench. She averted her gaze from the grisly scene in back and pushed to her knees.

“Mick?”

He wasn’t moving, but he seemed to be in a different position from before.

“Mick? Sorry I was gone so long, but I’m going to get you some water.” She peered into the cockpit.

Emma’s heart stuttered. Her mouth dropped open, and out came a primal scream.

———

A thorough recon of the area yielded plenty of intel, none of it good.

Ryan and his teammates found the plane—no surprise there. They’d had a fairly good idea of the location based on radio transmissions. And Jake had brought a metal detector, which had enabled them to quickly locate the debris field, which in turn led them straight to the aircraft.

Straight, as in the debris was scattered along a fairly straight line. But the trek had been far from easy—four solid hours of humping gear up and down hills, through gorges and canyons, until the plane came into view. It was pretty intact, too, with the one wing bent but attached and the tail unscathed.

The aircraft’s interior wasn’t at all what they’d expected. A quick check of it had left them alarmed and then rushing to form a new plan. The logistical details were still coming together as Ryan stared at the wreckage with a thousand grim thoughts whirring through his head.

Jake emerged from the trees, followed by Lucas Ortiz.

“Anything?” Jake asked Ryan.

“No.”

For the past three hours, they’d been searching for Emma Wright. She wasn’t in the plane or the surrounding woods. But woman-sized shoeprints in the dirt around the aircraft—in particular, the door—indicated she’d left on her own two feet.

“Any sign of anyone else?” Lucas asked.

“No.”

The bodies of Renee Conner and Juan Delgado were still inside the plane, along with that of Walter McInerny, who was strapped into the cockpit with a bullet hole between his eyes. From the looks of it, he’d been shot with his own gun.

They had yet to find that gun, though—only an empty holster. Just like they had yet to find the crash’s only possible survivor.

Jake took out his canteen and swilled water. “What kind of sick fuck would shoot an injured man with his own pistol?”

“Same sick fuck who’d drag a woman off into the jungle to rape and torture her,” Lucas said.

Ryan clenched his teeth and looked into the forest as Ethan Dunn stepped from the shadows. With his greasepaint and jungle cammies, he blended right in with the trees.

“What’s the word?” Ryan asked him. Ethan had been up on the ridge for a radio transmission.

“Extract is at 0200, with or without survivors. And that comes from the top.”

“I’m not leaving without her,” Ryan said.

“A weather system’s in the works.” Ethan wiped his forehead with the back of his arm. “They want us out beforehand so we can regroup, maybe come back with a larger team.”

Jake sneered. “What kind of shitty-ass plan is that?”

Not Hewitt’s, Ryan could be sure of that. No way his CO would support a plan to end the mission before they’d accomplished their primary object, which was to locate and rescue the fucking passengers.

This plan had probably come from the head shed—the central planners, who sat off in some air-conditioned conference room in Washington or Langley, dreaming up battle plans with more regard for politics than for tactical considerations. They had been concerned about an international incident from the get-go, and they’d probably already whipped up some story to feed the media to explain how a plane carrying an American ambassador’s wife had gone missing without any foul play involved whatsoever.

Ryan checked his watch. “Okay, we’re burning daylight. I want this girl found before nightfall. We’ve got footprints around the aircraft and a trail that disappears into the forest due east of here.”

Ethan pulled out his GPS unit. “If we’ve got any hostiles on the island, they’re most likely camped out on the west side, near the natural harbor. From up on the ridge I spotted a couple of boats moored there.”

Ryan leaned over Ethan’s shoulder to look. He’d definitely describe the island’s inhabitants as “hostile,” since they’d apparently shot the pilot. From the footprints, it looked like Emma Wright had headed toward the opposite side of the island. It was the best scrap of news they’d had in hours.

Ryan looked at his men.

“We’ll cover more ground if we search separately. Everyone goes in a different direction.”

“I’ll head west toward that harbor,” Ethan said. “I got a bird’s-eye view already, so I have a feel for it.”

“Jake, head north,” Ryan said. “Lucas, south. I’ll move east toward the shoreline there.”

“We should stay off the radio,” Jake put in. “If we’re dealing with any kind of paramilitaries, they’ve probably got comms.”

Ryan nodded. “We’ll reconnect at 1700 hours, regardless of what we find.”

Jake frowned. “Here by the plane?”

“No.”

The plane was a beacon for looters and other troublemakers. Ryan nodded at a ridge over his shoulder just a few hundred feet below a hilltop that was the planned extraction point. “Top of that first ridge there. That gives us three hours of daylight. We clear?” He looked at the faces.

“Check.”

“Check.”

“Roger that.”

They slipped into the forest, instantly becoming invisible among the leaves and tree trunks. Ryan moved quietly but swiftly. This was no time for slow, deliberate steps. He had to work fast.

Ryan pointed his footsteps downward and paralleled a rushing creek. Even dazed and confused, Emma Wright probably would have turned toward the sound of water. It was a survival instinct. And when people were tired or injured, they tended to move down, not up, letting gravity help them.

So was this girl tired and injured? Ryan didn’t know. He only knew that she wasn’t on that plane, and the footprints in the dirt indicated that she’d survived the crash and jumped down from the fuselage. Maybe she was off somewhere hiding. He hoped to hell she hadn’t been grabbed.

Ryan followed the stream, scanning the ground for any trace of human passage. The brush grew weedy and thick, and several times he had to backtrack to find a route. It wasn’t like he could whip out a machete and chop his way through, not if he wanted to keep his tracks covered.

Within half an hour, he was soaked to the skin. Within ninety minutes, his socks were like sponges. Ryan glanced up at the canopy of leaves. He was losing daylight, and night came quickly in the rain forest. He should have turned around by now, but he had a better chance than anyone of finding Emma, and he couldn’t shake the certainty that she was out here somewhere.

He stopped to drink. In this environment, his body was burning through at least two liters an hour.

Ryan tipped his head back and guzzled water. He scanned the muddy banks of the stream, checking for footprints or handprints among the giant tree roots. A thick green pit viper slithered under a tree and disappeared.

Another deep swig. Ryan glanced around. He slung his rifle onto his back, then crouched to refill his canteen and pop in an iodine tablet.

The back of Ryan’s neck prickled.

He eased his hand toward his pistol, but a low, raspy voice behind him made him go still. The words were in Tagalog, so he didn’t understand.

But he understood the hard muzzle pressed between his shoulder blades.

“Hands up,” the voice croaked in English now. “Slowly.”

Slowly, Ryan lifted his hands.

The muzzle dug into his back. “Who are you?”

“Ryan Owen, United States Navy.” He paused. “And you’re Emma Wright.”

FOUR

Her breath whooshed out behind him.

Slowly, he turned around, and his heart damn near stopped beating.

Holy hell.

Her hair was a wild tangle. She was covered head to toe with mud, and only her lush pink mouth was recognizable.

And the lethal weapon in her hand turned out to be a stick of bamboo.

Fuck. When Ryan’s team found out, he’d never hear the end of it.

“United States Navy?” She stepped back, wide-eyed. “I don’t—you’re American?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her gaze darted to the pistol in his thigh holster. He lifted his hands higher. She was definitely in shock, and he needed to quickly establish trust. He didn’t want her to bolt, and if she put up a fight, he’d be forced to restrain her.

She stumbled back against a tree and slid to the ground. Tears glistened in her eyes as she blinked up at him. Tears of relief? Pain? He looked her over for any sign of injury, but it was hard to see past all the grime. He slowly lowered his arms as she stared up at him.

She was unbelievably pretty, despite all the dirt. Or maybe because of it. She wore a V-neck T-shirt, and the mud in her cleavage had his thoughts zinging in some very hot directions.

“How do you know my name?”

He nodded as if it were a perfectly logical question for the moment. “They sent me here to get you.”

———

“Sent you when?” she asked. Her head was still spinning. “I never even managed to get a call out.”

“When your plane went missing.”

Emma’s stomach clenched. She felt dizzy. “They’re dead,” she said. “All of them.”

“I know.”

He crouched in front of her then, getting much closer to eye level. She could tell he was trying to look nonthreatening, but everything about him looked the exact opposite. He had green and black greasepaint up to his dark hairline, and his shoulders were impossibly wide. He rested his muscular forearms on his knees in another attempt to be casual.

“But who . . .” She still couldn’t get her thoughts straight. He’d been sent for her. “Is it just you or—”

“Me and my team.”

“How many—”

“Ma’am, we’re going to have to postpone this conversation. We need to move now.” His gaze bored into hers, and his eyes were as green as the paint covering his face. She took a second to study it now, noting the harshly angled cheekbones, the strong chin. Everything about him screamed warrior, down to the nasty-looking machine gun slung over his shoulder.

She pushed to her feet. He stood, too, towering over her. Good God, he was tall. Crouching beside the creek, he’d looked big, but now he seemed like a giant, and the stern look on his face made her nerves flutter.

“Are you injured?” he asked.

“I can walk on it.”

“That’s not what I asked.” He knelt at her feet and tugged up the cuff of her pants. He studied her ankle and gave a low whistle. “That’s a beaut.” He glanced up.

“It’s okay, really.”

“Sit down.”

It was an order, not a request. Emma sat down.

He took out an olive-colored pouch from one of the many pockets on his vest. Then he pulled out a canteen—different from the one he’d been drinking from by the stream—and handed it to her.

“When’s the last time you ate?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Yesterday?” Or maybe the day before. Everything was a blur.

She guzzled water as his big hands moved gently over her foot. She blinked down at his long, capable fingers touching her skin. A rush of heat went through her.

“Definitely sprained. Probably not broken, though.” He tore open a pouch and held out two white tablets that practically glowed against his grimy palm. “Aspirin. It’ll help with the swelling.”

“Thank you,” she said with ridiculous formality. Her clothes were torn, and she was covered in jungle muck. She swallowed the pills down with a swig of water.

“We’ll elevate it when we get to the meet point. Our corpsman will have something better for the pain.”

She handed back the canteen. “Where’s the meet point?”

“’Bout two clicks west, top of that ridge.” He nodded behind him. “Don’t worry, I’ll carry you.”

She snorted. “I’m fine. I can walk on it, really.”

His gaze met hers again. “Ma’am, we need to establish some ground rules. For your safety, I have to insist that you do what I tell you, when I tell you, without argument. Understood?”

She stared at him.

“We need to accomplish our objective as quickly as possible. Which means I will carry you.”

She pursed her lips. He wanted to carry her two clicks? She didn’t know what a click was, exactly, but it sounded like a long way. And she was more than a little self-conscious about her weight.

“Listen, I appreciate the chivalry.” She forced a smile. “But I can walk on it. Really. I’ve been doing it all day.”

As if she hadn’t spoken, he picked up her hands and settled them on his shoulders, and she felt a flash of alarm. “Hold on to me. On three. One, two—”

“Wait! I’m heavier than I look!”

“—three.”

He lifted her like she weighed nothing and heaved her over his shoulder, then clamped a forearm over the backs of her knees.

“We good?”

Emma couldn’t breathe. Shock had rendered her speechless, and his shoulder dug into her stomach. She blinked down from her new vantage point. His wide torso tapered into narrow hips, and she had a perfect view of his firm butt. His triceps rippled under a sheen of sweat, and Emma’s heart started to pound. His entire body was hard, sculpted muscle, and hers most definitely wasn’t.

He adjusted her weight, and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but thank God he couldn’t see. How far was a click?

“Ma’am?”

“We’re good,” she gasped. “And stop calling me ma’am.”

———

He cut through the forest with a sure-footed stride, so quickly that Emma started to feel woozy. Or maybe it was the blood rushing to her head making her feel that way. She trained her gaze on the ground, trying to make sense of everything. Of the fact that this man had been sent for her. For them. A whole team of some sort of search-and-rescue badasses that had just . . . what? Magically appeared in the rain forest? How had they gotten here? And, more important, how were they getting out? The mere thought of any kind of flight nauseated her. She got a sour taste in the back of her throat and prayed she wasn’t going to puke all over him.

Emma squeezed her eyes shut until the moment passed. She was being carried through the jungle. Carried. It was surreal. She was acutely aware of the hard knot of his shoulder pressing into her abdomen and the anchoring weight of his forearm against the backs of her knees. His breathing was rhythmic but not labored. He sounded like a distance runner keeping a steady pace.

She hazarded a glimpse up at the back of his head. He had dark hair, longer than she would have expected for a military guy. Beneath the greasepaint covering his neck, she saw a strip of tanned skin. He darted a look over his shoulder.

“You okay?”

She managed an affirmative grunt and looked at the ground again. God, he wasn’t even winded. And they were moving fast. Much faster than she’d been going. This was definitely a more efficient way to travel, and it had the added benefit of giving her ankle a rest.

He made a short jump and landed on a new surface, some kind of rock-covered path. And suddenly they were moving even faster, skirting between trees and branches in what looked like a dried-up creek bed. He took a long stride, almost a leap, and she grabbed the back of his vest. She gripped the pockets there and tried to lift her chest away from his back. There was no chance he could feel her nipples through the layers, but the friction was driving her crazy.

Ryan Owen, U.S. Navy.

Her government had sent him. A tiny aircraft had gone down in a remote rain forest, and her government had sent an entire team of people to find it. That couldn’t be a usual occurrence. Of course, the tiny aircraft had been carrying some unusual cargo—the wife of a sitting U.S. ambassador.

And suddenly it hit her. He was a SEAL.

She didn’t know where the thought had come from, but she somehow knew she was right. Her government had sent a team of SEALs to find her. Or, more accurately, to find Renee Conner.

But Renee was dead.

Emma squeezed her eyes shut again, battling another wave of nausea as the memories tumbled into her mind—Renee’s high-pitched screams, her sunglasses flying off her face, her look of stark terror as the plane went down.

The grip on her legs tightened.

“Hold on,” he said, and his low voice was almost a growl.

Emma clutched his vest tighter as he grabbed hold of something and hauled them out of the creek bed. And then they were on damp soil once again, thick with leaves and vines and rotting wood. His pace slowed as he picked his way over and around the obstacles.

Emma closed her eyes and let herself drift. She was suddenly tired, so tired it felt impossible to keep her eyes open. She let herself loosen against him and focused on his rhythmic movements, on every stride, on every ripple of muscle in his strong body. He smelled good, like man and sweat and earth, and a warm sexual awareness spread through her. She was draped over him, and with each step she could feel his muscles bunch. And that breathing . . . there was something hypnotic about it. Something strong and disciplined, and she realized with a sense of awe that he’d spent thousands and thousands of hours training and working his body to be capable of this mission.

She inhaled his scent again and felt a surge of giddiness. She wasn’t lost anymore. She wasn’t alone and hopeless with the impenetrable darkness closing in on her.

Ryan Owen, U.S. Navy.

Ryan.

How on earth had he ended up in the shadowy patch of rain forest where her plane had gone down? She tried to think about the man holding her, tried to think about him only, about this present moment, instead of all the events that lay behind her and ahead of her. But her mind was stuck on replay, and her thoughts kept circling back to that first jolt and all the terrifying seconds just before impact.

Breathe, she told herself, gripping his jacket.

She focused on the reassuring rhythm of his movements, his breath. She tried to think about his easy strength and confident stride. He seemed to know the way, as though he’d been here many times before, although that seemed impossible. And yet he powered forward without hesitation, locked in on some unseen goal. She didn’t fully understand how he’d gotten here, but she wouldn’t let herself question it right now. She needed to focus on survival.

A long stride, and then he stopped. Emma lifted her head.

“What—”

He gave the back of her leg a pat. “We’re here.”

FIVE

Ryan got her settled against a tree with her injured foot propped on the sat-phone case. The others hadn’t shown up yet, so he got started on some first aid. He didn’t have Jake’s training, but he could handle the basics.

He took her hand, and she looked up, startled. “You didn’t tell me about this,” he said.

She didn’t say anything as he spread open her fingers. The cut at the base of her thumb was oozing pus. “It’s not deep, really,” she said.

“Deep doesn’t matter.” He doused water over it. “It could get infected out here, and then you have a problem.” He handed her the canteen, and she took a long sip.

She froze, and Ryan went on instant alert. “Oh my God,” she gasped.

He followed her gaze to a nearby tree. “Giant tarantula.” He returned his attention to her cut, squeezing some antiseptic ointment on it. “Don’t worry. They’re venomous but not aggressive.”

She bit her lip, and he tried not to think about those perfect white teeth against that pretty pink mouth. He rummaged through his kit, and she let out another gasp.

“Is that a wet wipe?” She snatched up the package.

“Antiseptic towelette.”

She tore into it and made a soft, breathy sound as she closed her eyes and rubbed it over her nose and cheeks, a blissed-out expression on her face.

“Oh my God, this is heaven.”

Heaven. Right.

“I haven’t been clean in days.”

She got some of the dirt off, but nothing short of a full-on shower was going to get her clean. And great. Now he had that image to deal with, Emma Wright standing naked under a steamy spray. What the hell was he doing picturing her naked?

He tried a different image, but the problem was that her clothes were good, too. She wore a V-neck T-shirt that had once been blue, tan-colored cargo pants, and canvas tennis shoes. The clothes made sense for the climate, but they were much too sexy to be called sensible. The cargo pants were definitely a woman’s style, stopping below the knee, and the back pockets accentuated a very shapely ass that he’d been trying hard to ignore ever since he’d heaved her over his shoulder.

Ryan had hauled plenty of guys around in a fireman’s carry, but this was different. Just slightly. Having Emma Wright’s world-class breasts pressed against him was a little distracting.

He hazarded a glance at her as he took out a bandage. Luckily, she still seemed intent on the spider. She hadn’t complained, though. He had to give her points for that.

“Jake has the MREs.” Ryan dug around in his vest until he found a packet of sports gel. He held it out. “But this might tide you over.”

She hesitated. “What about you?”

“I’m good.”

She bit her lip again.

“Go ahead.”

She took the packet. Ryan busied himself zipping up the first-aid kit, then stood up and looked around. Time to get started on the hide before it got too dark to see. He pulled out his Ka-Bar knife and started sawing away at some vines. When he had some good-length pieces cut, he began lashing them together.

“What are you making?” She glanced up at him, a little worry line between her eyebrows.

“A shelter.”

“But . . . aren’t we leaving soon?”

The fear in her voice tugged at him. “We might be getting some rain first.”

She sucked at the sports gel, and a bolt of lust went straight to his groin. Ryan looked away. Beads of sweat popped up along his forehead, and it had nothing to do with the sweltering climate. This girl was scorching hot, and she didn’t even know it.

He stepped away from their little encampment and started looking for the kind of leaves he needed.

The air shifted. Ryan swung his rifle up and went still. He listened until he heard a familiar birdcall, then lowered his weapon. A second later, Jake and Ethan stepped from the forest.

Emma gasped, clutching her hand to her chest. Her eyes widened as she stared up at his two large teammates. She had absolutely no idea how glad they were to see her.

“Hey, hey. Lookie here.” Jake flashed Ryan a grin. “I knew this was our lucky day.”

———

“She’s not like I expected,” Ethan said.

His voice was loaded with admiration, and Ryan darted a glance at Emma. She was seated with her back against a tree while Jake knelt beside her, giving her a field check.

Everyone liked her, Ryan could tell. Part of it was that she was female and she came in a very nice—although dirty—little package. But that wasn’t the only reason. She was resourceful, too, which any SEAL could appreciate. Despite an injured ankle, she’d hiked to the top of a ridge and tried to get the sat phone up and running. And then she’d spent the night alone in the jungle, sheltering under a tree root and using mud as insect repellent.

Ryan glanced at Jake again. He was wrapping her ankle, and although his movements were purely professional, his gaze kept darting to Emma’s breasts. Ryan felt a surge of irritation, which he decided to ignore. For now.

“We sure she’s not a spook?” Lucas asked.

A lot of embassy employees were but not this one.

“Not according to her file,” Ryan said, lashing more branches together. “Weren’t you listening in the briefing? Her dad’s a congressman. She probably got her job through his connections.”

“I don’t know,” Lucas said. “To me, she seems trained. I’m thinking she’s CIA.”

“Are you kidding?” Ethan said. “She’s a freaking art major from USC. The University of Spoiled Children. No way she’s a spook.”

But they continued to gawk at her as they debated in low voices. Emma was oblivious, at least, but Ryan was running low on patience.

“Hey, anyone want to shut the fuck up and gimme a hand here? We’re losing daylight.”

They moved over to help with the shelter, even though it was almost finished. It was a good one, too. One of Ryan’s better hides.

Finally, Jake completed his little checkup and trudged over. He crouched beside the gear and zipped his medical kit back into his pack.

Ryan folded his arms over his chest. “How is she?”

“Sprained, not broken.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Swelling’s down. I wrapped it good and tight, so . . .” Jake glanced over his shoulder. “Mostly she’s just tired. Said she didn’t sleep last night. She’s dehydrated, too. She was sucking down fluids pretty well, but I couldn’t get her to eat anything besides sports gel. Said she feels nauseous. I’m guessing from anxiety.”

“Ya think? After her plane dropped out of the sky?”

Jake shot him a look.

“Yeah, that, and maybe she got a look at the pilot,” Ethan added. “That right there’ll cause you some anxiety. That was no crash injury, that bullet to the brain.”

Ryan looked toward Emma again. Did she even know her pilot had been murdered and not killed in the crash? Ryan wasn’t sure. He’d spent more time with her than anyone, but their conversation hadn’t gone that far.

He also didn’t know if she’d seen the wing, the one that had been shorn off the aircraft.

“We need to check out the LZ,” Ryan said. Their planned extraction point was at the top of the hill, but they needed more intel on the landing zone. The U.S. military hadn’t set foot on this island since World War II, and Ryan’s team was using outdated maps.

“When do you want to go?” Ethan asked.

“Now.” Ryan checked his watch. “The hide’s finished. We’ll get her moved, let her get some sleep. I figure we’re looking at ninety minutes there and back.”

“I’m coming with you.”

Everyone turned around. Emma still had her head resting against the tree trunk, but her eyes were open.

“My ankle’s much better now.”

Jake shot him a pointed look.

Ryan walked over and dropped into a crouch in front of her.

“We need to do some quick recon before the moon comes up,” he said. “You should stay here, get some rest.”

“I’m going.”

Ryan bit back a curse. She was crazy to think she could keep up with them, even without an injury. But he knew better than to tell her that.

“The shelter I built—”

“I’m going.” She sat forward. “Just help me up.”

“Ma’am.” He rested a firm hand on her shoulder. “Remember our conversation earlier? You said you’d do what I needed you to do, when I needed you to do it, no arguments.”

“No, you said that.” She removed his hand. “I said don’t call me ma’am.”

Ryan heard a snicker behind him. He gritted his teeth. They were on a clock here, and he didn’t have time to argue with her. But she had that determined glint in her eyes, the one he’d seen in her passport photo.

Fuck.

“Emma.” He held her gaze to make sure he had her attention. “I need you to listen to me. The route we’re taking is a sixty-degree incline in some places, and in other places it’s a straight-up climb. You can’t do it on that bad ankle.” She couldn’t do it period, but he’d stick with the ankle argument.

“But my swelling’s down. Your paramedic said so himself.”

“Jake,” the corpsman said, stepping over. “And I also said it needs to stay elevated.”

Emma glared up at him. Then her eyes found Ryan’s, and he saw the glimmer of fear there. “I’m not staying here by myself,” she said tightly.

“We’re talking ninety minutes, probably less if we move out soon.”

“Ryan . . . please? I’ll keep up, I promise. I’m stronger than I look.”

God damn it.

It was the “please” that did it. And the pleading look on her face. She did not want to be left alone in the dark again.

He glanced over his shoulder at his teammates. It wouldn’t take four men to scout out the landing zone. He looked at Jake, and a silent understanding passed between them.

“You guys go on,” Ryan said. “I’ll stay here.”

“Roger that.”

Jake walked away, and Emma’s shoulders slumped.

Thank you, she mouthed, and Ryan felt his stomach tighten. She looked intensely relieved. And grateful.

And Ryan’s sick mind was already dreaming up ways for her to repay him.

SIX

Ryan helped sort the gear and then watched as the rest of his team disappeared into the trees.

“How much longer until, you know, lights out?”

He looked at Emma.

“It happens fast,” she added.

“You noticed that, huh?” He glanced up at the trees. “I’d say about . . . eight minutes.”

“Eight?”

“It’s an estimate.”

She cast a nervous look at the shelter. She started to get to her feet, and Ryan helped her. “I, um . . .” She looked around.

“You’re afraid of the dark?”

She blinked up at him.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Plenty of guys I know don’t like sleeping in the jungle.”

She looked around again, and realization dawned.

“You need to relieve yourself.”

She nodded.

“We’d better make it quick.”

“I got it.” She shook his hand off.

“You don’t need to be shy around me, Emma. I’ve pretty much seen it all.”

She glared up at him now. Even with all the dirt, he could see that her cheeks were pink with embarrassment.

“Fine, suit yourself,” he said, stepping away.

She hobbled off, and Ryan turned his attention to the shelter. He’d built it for one, so he made a few adjustments before spreading an olive-green poncho on the ground.

“Looks like we’re going to get some rain tonight,” he told her when she came back. She didn’t say anything as he helped her into the shelter. She arranged her ankle on top of a rock and leaned back against the tree, not looking at him.

She seemed quiet, but he didn’t know whether that was her usual state or whether she was in some kind of mental lockdown, maybe brought on by their rapidly darkening surroundings.

He combed through his pack until he managed to find a flattened granola bar.

“Chocolate chip.” He handed it to her.

“No, thank you.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” She cleared her throat. “It’s weird, I’m just . . . I don’t think I could keep anything down.”

He set the granola bar aside for later and glanced through the foliage of the hide he’d made. They were situated in a stand of trees that backed up to an outcropping of rock, which made a natural shelter. They were in for some weather, but he hoped it wouldn’t be anything bad enough to delay the extract.

Around them the forest started to take on a purple hue. Emma remained silent and tense, and he found himself in the unusual position of trying to think up ways to get a woman to talk to him.

“So.” He cleared his throat. “What exactly were you doing out here?”

She turned to look at him. “You mean . . . here here? Like, this particular trip or—”

“Yeah.” He figured if he could get her talking, he’d be better able to dodge a looming anxiety attack.

“Our basic aid mission,” she said. “We go to the most remote provinces and administer vaccines, bring medical supplies. We help with sanitation—you know, water purification, building latrines, stuff like that.”

“So this is a regular thing?”

“It’s been almost a year, so I guess it’s still sort of new. Renee wants—” She paused. “Wanted to reach some of the overlooked areas in the countryside.”

“The ambassador ever go on these things?”

“Sometimes. He’s away a lot, so . . .” She looked away. “He’d planned to go on this one, but he got tied up in Singapore. Some kind of economic forum.” She turned to face him. “Does he even know yet? About Renee?”

He heard the distress in her voice and felt a stab of sympathy for her. “I don’t know what he knows,” Ryan said. And that was the truth. This entire op had been thrown together at the last minute, and he’d barely been briefed on the logistics, much less the broader circumstances.

And then it happened. Everything went black.

“Lights out,” he said softly.

Emma didn’t respond. He looked at her, but of course he couldn’t see a damn thing, not even an outline of her. He could feel her tension, though, almost as thick as the darkness. “Ryan?” Her voice was soft and tentative.

“I’m right here.”

She scooted closer to him on the poncho, and he felt an odd sense of satisfaction. His presence steadied her, made her feel safer. She hadn’t wanted him to go on the recon mission, and now she wanted him practically glued to her side. He knew it was just a natural response to everything she’d been through, but still he liked it. Maybe a little too much.

“What’s an LZ?” she asked.

He thought back to the conversation earlier, trying to come up with what else she’d overheard.

“A landing zone,” he said. “Our extraction point tonight is at the top of a hill.”

He heard her quick intake of breath. “So we’re going by air, then.”

“Helo,” he said. “That’s Navy-speak for helicopter.”

And suddenly he understood. It wasn’t the darkness that was freaking her out, it was the extraction. Shit, why hadn’t he realized it sooner? Her plane had crashed, and he was about to take her right back up in the air.

“It’ll be a breeze,” he said. “We’re looking at a quick hop up to Clark. That’s the air base in Manila.”

“I know what Clark is.” Her voice sounded tight.

Ryan sat there, listening to her breathing. He had this crazy urge to put his arm around her. His instincts told him she’d like that, that it would soothe her. But he held off. “You okay?” Which was definitely a dumb-ass thing to ask her. What would he do if she said no?

“I’m fine. I guess . . . You guys are SEALs, right? I guess I was hoping for maybe a boat.”

He smiled in the darkness. “Who told you we’re SEALs?”

“I figured it out.”

Good for her. She was smart, but she hadn’t figured out all of it. She had no way of knowing he was with Alpha Crew, an elite fighting force within an already-elite fighting force. Alpha was a secret unit, so secret few people even knew of its existence. Ryan hadn’t even known of it until he’d been tapped to join.

“Yes, we’re SEALs. But no, I’m afraid a boat’s not in the plans tonight. Not unless something goes wrong.”

She tensed beside him, and he realized that had been an even dumber-ass thing to say. He needed to get his shit together, but he was distracted by a few things. Her scent, for one. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been hunkered down on a mission with a woman’s coconut-scented shampoo a few inches from his nose.

And her body, for another. He couldn’t stop picturing that smear of dirt between her breasts. He’d never given mud wrestling much thought, but his brain had been busy all afternoon with images of Emma Wright straddling him in the mud.

And he had to remind himself that she was completely off-limits. She was his mission, period. Not someone he should be dreaming about.

She was a crash survivor. A congressman’s daughter, no less. His job was to rescue her, not make her the star of his personal sex fantasy. But damn, why did she have to have that mouth on her?

Ryan needed to get home. Soon. This was always a danger at the end of a tour. Guys would start getting distracted, lose focus. It was the reason so many people died in combat when they were mere days away from going home.

And wasn’t that a sobering thought?

Nobody was fucking dying tonight. He needed to stop thinking about sex and focus his full attention on the task at hand.

Emma had gotten quiet again. Definitely not a good sign.

———

“So how’d a nice girl like you end up building latrines?”

Emma looked at the man beside her. Not that she could see his face any more than he could see hers.

A nice girl like her . . . She’d gone from “ma’am” to “girl,” and she didn’t like either.

“Uh, girl? I’m twenty-six years old, thank you very much.”

“I know.”

He knew. Of course he did.

He’d probably seen the State Department’s file on her, which meant he knew not only her age but plenty of even more personal details, such as her height and her weight and her medical history. He probably knew that her mother was dead and that her father was a famous politician. He probably knew that her fiancé had dumped her three weeks before their wedding day.

Emma closed her eyes. She was being a bitch here. Touchy and difficult wasn’t her normal style. But right now she was sleep-deprived and thirsty. And deathly afraid of whatever was going to happen later tonight.

Don’t think about it.

“Are you going to tell me, or is it some top-secret story?”

She sighed. “I guess you could say it was luck.”

“Luck, huh?” His voice was low and deep, and again she tried to place his accent. Something Southern but not twangy. Florida, maybe?

“More or less. I had kind of an abrupt career change that put me on a different course,” she said. “I had taken the Foreign Service exam after college, and then later, when an opening in the Philippines came up, they asked if I wanted it, and . . . I ended up here.”

“An abrupt career change. So you got fired, huh?”

So much for euphemisms. “Yup,” she said. “Ever happen to you?”

“Nope, never.” He shifted beside her. “Wait, that’s a lie. I got fired when I was sixteen.”

“What happened?” She blinked at him in the darkness, wishing she could see his face as he gave her this glimpse of who he was underneath all the camouflage paint.

“It was my first real job.” His voice sounded relaxed now, and she felt herself relax some, too. “I was a lifeguard down on the beach in Jacksonville. I got to work by the water, meet girls. It was an excellent gig, until one afternoon I told my supervisor to eff off. He canned me on the spot.”

“Why’d you tell your supervisor to eff off?”

“Ah, I don’t even remember now. Something stupid, I’m sure. I had a temper then.”

“And now?”

“Navy pretty much whipped it out of me. I’m a little more levelheaded.”

She smiled.

“Why’d you get fired?” he asked.

“Well, it’s kind of a long story. Pretty boring, actually.”

“I want to hear it.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.”

She sighed. “It was my first job out of college. I was working for this law firm in Seattle.”

“I thought you were an art major?”

Damn, he had read her file. She felt a flutter of nerves. She’d only known him a few hours, but somehow his opinion mattered. “I was just an assistant to someone’s assistant,” she said. “Total entry-level stuff. I didn’t exactly need a law degree. Anyway, we were representing this tech company that was having an IPO, and I dropped the ball on something important with the paperwork, so they fired me. Which was a blessing, actually, because I realized I wasn’t cut out for office work.”

“What are you cut out for?”

She paused. “I’m not sure yet.”

It seemed like a strange question. The whole conversation was strange, but he was just trying to distract her. It was all part of his mission, probably.

Locate survivors, check.

Administer first aid, check.

Hide survivors safely in the jungle and provide conversational distractions until time for extraction . . .

A soft drizzle started coming down on the leaves over their heads. He’d said it would rain tonight, and now it was. So far, he’d been right about everything.

She thought of his buddies out there scouting the landing zone. A shudder rippled through her.

“You cold?” he asked, and the concern in his voice gave her a little buzz.

“No.” But she scooted closer anyway. Maybe he wouldn’t notice because it was so dark. She sat with him in the inky blackness, listening to the rain and trying to summon her courage.

———

“Ryan?”

Her voice was a whisper now, and it seemed to wrap around him in the dark. This was the goddamn strangest mission of his life. “Yeah?”

“Tell me what happens later.”

He’d been waiting for her to ask. He’d hoped it would be in a few hours, though, so she wouldn’t have so much time to fixate on it.

“It’s a straightforward op. Basically, we get up to the top of a hill and catch a ride home.”

She scoffed. “Right.”

“I’m serious. You don’t need to do anything but follow directions, let us do all the work.”

He felt her tense beside him, then let out a breath.

“You want more?” he asked.

“Yes.”

She was one of those people who wanted to know more about the thing that scared them, and he respected the hell out of her for that.

“Okay, first we get you to the LZ.”

“The landing zone,” she said.

“Right. It’s about two clicks north. But I’ll be honest with you, it’s a tough hike.”

“There’s no way you can carry me. I’ll just have to walk it.”

“Nope. I absolutely will carry you. That’s the fastest way.”

“But what about the climbing part? You said—”

“That’s where teamwork comes in. Jake and Lucas and Ethan are all part of this, too. We’ve got ropes and climbing gear, whatever we need. And we will get you safely aboard that helo, I can promise you that.”

“And . . . all this is happening in the pitch dark while it’s raining?”

“Yeah.”

She sighed, and he sensed her frustration.

“You have to trust us, Emma. We train for this stuff. We know what we’re doing.”

Another sigh, but this one was quieter. “Ouch!”

“What?”

She swatted at something on the ground. “These damn bugs. I swear they made a meal out of me last night.”

“Ants,” he said.

“You’re getting them, too?”

“They don’t bother me.”

“I forgot. You’re Superman.”

“Really, they don’t. Sit on my lap if you want. Get yourself up off the jungle floor.”

Silence.

Shit, now he’d done it. She probably thought he was a pervert.

“I’m okay,” she said.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“You should lie down, try to get some rest.”

“I’m not tired.”

Ryan didn’t believe that for a second. He did believe she was wound up. He turned to face her, trying to read her expression in the darkness, which was impossible. But even though he couldn’t see her face, she was giving off some other kind of body language that he picked up on. “Will you tell me something, Emma?”

“Huh?”

“What happened up there?”

SEVEN

She turned to look at him. He wasn’t sure why he’d asked. Maybe because he sensed she needed to talk about it.

Ryan felt a surge of protectiveness. He was naturally protective, but everything about this girl kicked it up to a whole new level.

“I don’t know,” she said quietly. “One minute it was normal. And then there was a sudden jolt, and then we were falling.”

He waited.

“Mick was always so calm before. Always.”

“Walter McInerny?”

“Yeah, he was just such a pro. Nothing ever rattled him before, not weather or turbulence. But the look on his face . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she turned away. “Did you see his body?”

“Yes.”

“He was alive after the impact. And then I left him there in the wreck, and when I came back . . .”

“You did the right thing.”

“I should have stayed with the plane.”

“Hey.” He found her hand on the ground and squeezed it. “You did the right thing. You were trying to get help.”

She just sat there, holding his hand. He could tell she didn’t believe him.

“Emma, look at me.”

He couldn’t see her, but he felt her shift in the darkness, and he knew he had her complete attention.

“You work at the embassy,” he said. “I know you’re aware that some of these islands have a dangerous element, especially here in the south.”

He couldn’t discuss the details of his mission with her. He couldn’t say the words “Al Qaeda” or “terrorist” or “Asian Crescent Brotherhood,” but he didn’t have to. She was hearing him; he could tell by the way her grip tightened on his fingers.

“You know what’s happened to tourists and reporters and missionaries who were in the wrong place at the wrong time,” he continued. Everyone in the embassy knew the stories, even the ones that didn’t make the press. “And I’m telling you, if you had been in that airplane, if you’d stayed with the plane like you’re talking about, you’d be dead, too, just like McInerny.”

Actually, she might not be dead. And that was the worst part. Ryan knew all too well the kind of twisted shit these motherfuckers were capable of if they captured an American woman.

The rain drummed down on them, getting heavier by the minute. Ryan wanted to check his watch, but he didn’t want to let go of Emma’s hand. She was clinging to him. She was holding on to his fingers and his words, as though somehow he could make it all better, even though he couldn’t. Not really. When all this was over, she was going to have a severe case of survivor’s guilt and probably need a shitload of therapy.

Another shudder moved through her, and he cursed silently. He’d stayed back here to calm her, to help her rest before the op, and now she was more worked up than ever.

“You should sleep, Emma.”

“I don’t want to sleep. I’m just . . . cold.”

“Come here.” Before he could really think it through, he pulled her onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her. She was cold—shivering, in fact, despite the mild temperatures. Her clothes were damp from the rain.

“You don’t have to—”

“Here.” He grabbed his pack and slipped it between his chest and her back, giving her something to lean on, like a pillow. It also spared him the agony of having her sweet ass nestled right on top of his cock.

He rubbed his hands up and down her arms to get rid of the chill, and it didn’t take her long to lean back against him.

“I’m going to make your legs sore.”

His legs? No. “I’m fine,” he said.

She actually relaxed, sliding lower on his body and folding her hands in her lap. She rested her head against his pack and breathed deeply.

He continued to rub her, even though the friction was doing more than staving off the chill. She had smooth, feminine arms that felt delicate under his fingers, and he hoped he wasn’t hurting her. But she seemed to like it.

“How much longer?” she whispered.

“Until they’re back?”

“Until we go to the meet point.”

“We need to be there at 0200. Plenty of time for you to sleep.”

———

No way on earth would she be able to sleep with those hands moving over her. She bit her lip, grateful for once that it was absolutely pitch dark and he couldn’t see her. Emma’s skin tingled. Her cheeks felt flushed. And the tips of her breasts were suddenly tight and achy.

She closed her eyes and focused on the rain. She tried to imagine them somewhere other than the jungle. She imagined him in her old apartment in Seattle, with a winter drizzle thrumming outside. She imagined him in her bed, keeping the cold away with his big, warm hands. She’d never had a man like Ryan in her bed before. Her ex-fiancé was an accountant, for heaven’s sake. She’d never even been near a man like Ryan—not close enough to touch, anyway.

And he was definitely touching her. His hands were spreading heat through her, sending her mind careening in dangerous directions.

She had to stop. She was making it worse. Now not only her cheeks felt flushed, but her whole body.

His hands moved up. And down. And up. And down . . . Molding gently over her arms and wrists as he massaged away the chill. His thighs under her bottom felt solid and powerful, and she remembered the way he’d cut through the forest, carrying her so effortlessly, as though she weighed nothing at all.

Good God. She couldn’t seriously be having fantasies about the SEAL they’d sent to rescue her.

But she could. She was. And if he kept touching her with those strong, capable hands, she was going to melt into a puddle right here on his lap. Or flip herself over and attack him. She should tell him to stop.

Thanks, I’m fine now. No more chill! I’m about to burst into flames, actually, so you can stop—

He stopped.

“Better?”

“Yeah.” Her voice sounded hoarse, and she got another warm flush.

His fingers rested on her forearms, and she felt a tug of disappointment. Just the stroke of his palms had given her a warm buzz that made her feel intoxicated.

Maybe it was fatigue or hunger or dehydration.

But it wasn’t any of those things, she knew. Even in her shocked and disheveled state, she understood that he was doing this to her. From the moment he’d crouched in front of her by the stream and pinned her with those intense green eyes, she’d felt this overload of hormones rushing through her body. She was in survival mode, running on instincts. And her instincts were telling her to get close to this man, as close as humanly possible.

She wished he hadn’t stopped stroking her. She didn’t want him to move his hands away, so she rested hers right on top in a way that seemed natural.

But then it seemed much too quiet, and she wondered if she’d made a mistake.

She cleared her throat. “So . . . how’d a nice boy like you end up a SEAL?”

She heard a low rumble in his chest. Was it the “nice” or the “boy” part he found amusing?

“Is it some top-secret story or—”

“I went to college on an ROTC scholarship,” he said. “Served four years and then got into BUD/S. That’s the SEAL training program in Coronado.”

“I’ve heard of it,” she said. “Was it hard?”

“Yes.”

The quick reply surprised her. She’d expected him to give her some macho line about it being a cakewalk or something, but the one-word answer sounded so honest. It made him seem human, despite his fearsome-looking exterior.

And a thought suddenly occurred to her, making her cold all over. She shuddered, and his hands tightened on her forearms.

“So Ryan . . .” Damn it. How could she put this? “I guess you guys travel a lot.”

He didn’t say anything.

“I guess you spend a lot of time away from home?”

“Yeah.”

“Does your wife worry about you?”

She closed her eyes and cringed. Talk about clunky. But now that the thought had occurred to her, she had to know.

“I’m not married.”

“Oh.”

The word fell flat. He didn’t return the question, because he didn’t have to. He’d read her file. She was an open book, which seemed unfair now.

And . . . that was it. End of topic. Nothing about a girlfriend or an ex or anything else about his personal life.

She shifted slightly. The muscles in his thighs flexed, and she felt another shot of lust. It was ridiculous, and he was probably laughing his butt off at her. But at least she didn’t have to feel guilty that she was snuggled up with some woman’s husband.

“So you didn’t like sleeping in the jungle with all the bugs, huh?” His voice was low in the dark.

“Well, it wasn’t fun. But it wasn’t the worst thing I’ve ever experienced.”

“No?” He sounded amused again. “And what would that be?”

My mom dying.

It was the truth, but she wouldn’t say it. This conversation was lighthearted. He was trying to distract her.

“Hmm . . . let’s see. There was the time I got a flat tire on the Pacific Coast Highway in the middle of the night. That sucked. There was the time I came down with tourista in Mexico. Also not fun. There was the time my fiancé dumped me three weeks before our wedding.”

His body shifted under her. “No way. Someone seriously did that to you?”

So he hadn’t known. And here she’d gone and told him.

“He waited until after the invitations were mailed. Impeccable timing, as always.”

“What’s his name?”

She paused. “Hunter Bevins.”

“Why’d he do it?”

She couldn’t believe they were talking about this, and she was annoyed with herself for bringing it up. But it was definitely distracting her from their looming adventure. “I think he was scared. You know, of making a long-term commitment like that.”

He grunted. “You’re better off without him. Life’s hard enough without going around saddled with some loser who’s not up to the challenge.”

She giggled.

“What?”

“How can you call him a loser? You’ve never even met him.”

“Don’t need to.”

She smiled in the darkness. Most women wouldn’t consider Hunter a loser by any stretch of the imagination. He was smart and nice-looking and had a well-paying job. Everything about their relationship had been so easy and drama-free, right until he’d broken up with her. He’d even been low-key about that, too, as though he were canceling a prom date and not the rest of their lives together. It was his mother who had flipped out.

Ryan shifted under her, and she felt the hard lump of the pistol holstered at his thigh, which quickly snapped her back to the present.

“What about you?” she asked, wanting to continue with the distractions. “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever experienced?”

He got very still. “Losing my sister.”

Emma’s heart clenched. She didn’t need to ask if he was serious; she could hear it in his voice. “What happened?” she asked, because no matter what people thought, changing the subject didn’t make it easier.

“Leukemia.”

So much bitterness loaded into that one word.

Emma’s heart was beating faster now. She hurt for him. She knew that kind of pain, and it never went away. It just became a steady ache.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Thanks.”

She shivered, but it was from emotion this time instead of chill.

“You still cold?” His hands moved up her arms again.

“A little.”

She rested her head on his pack. It smelled like him—masculine and earthy. She inhaled deeply and felt his thighs shift beneath her. She was going to put his legs to sleep. But he’d dragged her up here, hadn’t he? So he’d just have to put up with it.

She liked being with him. Liked talking to him. So many awful things had happened, so many unspeakable, horrible things in the last twenty-four hours. And she hadn’t even really absorbed them all. She felt this dizzying churn of emotions inside her, and even the simplest things—like peeing in the woods—seemed terrifying. But when he touched her, she felt shielded from all of it.

He continued his movements, stroking heat into her body. His palms felt warm and firm, and his steady breathing was like a drug to her system. She should really move away and let him get some rest, too. But her eyelids were impossibly heavy, and she didn’t want to move onto the cold, hard ground again.

She took in a long, deep breath of him and closed her eyes.

———

Ryan knew the instant she fell asleep. Her breathing steadied, her body went lax, and the heat of her skin seeped into his bones.

He couldn’t believe he’d done this to himself. He’d hauled her onto his lap, and now he was going to have to spend the next hour in hell.

He tipped his head back against the tree trunk and tried to think about the rain and the ants and the burning hunger in his belly—anything besides that barely-there scent of coconut that was driving him crazy. He wanted to scoop a fistful of her hair into his face, but she’d probably reach up and slap him, and he wouldn’t blame her a damn bit.

Fuck.

The thought of her slapping him didn’t help at all. It was actually kind of hot.

He closed his eyes. He went back over the operation and through the list of boneheaded decisions that had gotten him to this point.

For starters, he’d assigned himself the eastern search quadrant, knowing that gave him the highest probability of finding her. When he had found her, he’d disregarded all mission discipline and allowed himself to look at her as a woman and not some crash survivor he needed to rescue. And then he’d compounded that mistake by letting her sweet-talk him into staying here alone with her.

And if all that weren’t bad enough? He’d started getting personal with her until their entire conversation was reduced to whispers in the dark.

She shifted on his legs, and Ryan’s gut clenched. Jesus, he’d had knife wounds less painful than this. All her squeezable curves were right within reach, and if she didn’t stop wiggling around on him, he was going to lose his mind.

He gritted his teeth and zeroed in on what she’d said early on.

There was a sudden jolt.

Her account fit with what he knew from looking at the wing. And the wing fit with what he knew from the briefing: that there was the distinct possibility that the plane crash hadn’t been caused by some mechanical problem.

Emma sighed deeply and slid farther down his body with a soft murmur. She’d been right; his legs were falling asleep. But he welcomed the numbness. He had to stop thinking about her body. He had to stop thinking about rolling her under him and tasting that mouth.

The back of Ryan’s neck prickled. He tightened his grip on her arms and sat forward, listening. Rain drummed against the leaves over his head, and he strained to hear past it.

Again he heard the noise.

He slid his hands up Emma’s body, cupping the side of her face with one hand and sealing the other one over her mouth. She jolted awake and gasped against his palm.

———

“Don’t move.”

Ryan’s voice was taut with warning.

Emma’s heart pounded against her chest as she blinked into the darkness and listened. But all she saw was blackness. All she heard was the steady pitter-patter of rain against the shelter. And all she felt was two-hundred fifty pounds of rock-hard muscle surrounding her in a protective hold, keeping her from moving or talking or even breathing a sound.

“Stay quiet.” The words were little more than a vibration against her ear.

She nodded.

He moved his hand away from her mouth then, slipping it down to his thigh. He adjusted her on his lap, and she heard the soft rasp of the pistol sliding from his holster.

Emma’s heart thundered, so loud now she knew he could hear it. Maybe whoever was out there could hear it, too.

Maybe it was Jake or Lucas or Ethan.

But he’d know the sound of his teammates’ approach. Whatever was approaching now was a threat; she could tell from the tension in his body as he wrapped his left arm around her waist and slowly eased her onto the ground. And then he was crouched next to her. She couldn’t see him, but she could feel his coiled energy as he hovered beside her like a panther waiting to strike.

And then she heard it above the rain. Softly at first, then louder, until there was no ignoring the faint rattling noise as it drew near.

“What is it?” she whispered.

He pulled her close, and his breath was hot against her temple. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back.”

Go anywhere? Was he out of his freaking mind? Where on earth would she go?

But more important, where was he going?

He wouldn’t leave her here. She knew that.

Except he just had. A sour lump of fear clogged her throat. She forced it down. He would come back. But the noise was getting louder—the persistent, metallic noise that was augmented now by rustling in the trees.

It was getting closer. Much too close. Emma squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath and wished herself invisible, as if wishing would make it so.

Where had he gone?

She took a deep, silent breath and tried to calm down. And she understood now that this shelter wasn’t just about keeping her out of the rain. It was about hiding her here in the jungle, keeping her safely secreted away until the extract time.

Who was out there?

The metallic sound was louder now, accompanied by a crunching noise. She hunched under the branches with her knees pulled tight against her chest. Her stomach churned, and she felt like she had in the plane when she’d first started to grasp the reality of what was happening. She began to feel panicked, claustrophobic, and she had the insane urge to jump from the shelter and scream her terror at the top of her lungs just to break the silence.

She took a deep breath and whisked herself away to a yoga class. She wasn’t hiding in the jungle surrounded by unknown people and hazards and venomous-but-not-aggressive spiders. Instead, she was on a foam mat surrounded by soft music and sandalwood incense.

Breathe deeply, all the way to your spine. The melodic voice of her instructor floated over her, and she felt her shoulders soften. She was calm. She was relaxed. She was not hysterical, and she would not endanger the lives of four brave men who had risked everything to help her.

It could have been five minutes or fifty, but at last the noise receded, and she was left alone in the shelter with only the quiet tapping of rain over her head.

A faint sound had her head snapping up. She stared into the darkness, not even blinking.

“Emma.”

The low murmur near her ear brought a flood of relief. A strong hand encircled her upper arm and gently pulled her to her feet.

“Emma, it’s me.”

“I know.” She clutched his vest.

“Honey, we need to move.”

EIGHT

Move where?” she whispered. “It’s not time yet, is it?”

“Change of plan.”

A shadow shifted closer in the dark, and Emma suddenly realized she was surrounded by the rest of Ryan’s team—big, silent shadows that had materialized out of nowhere. They spoke to one another in low voices using jargon she didn’t understand. But she got the definite impression that something was wrong.

Ryan knelt at her feet and started stuffing gear into his pack.

“What was that noise?” she whispered.

“What noise?”

“The rustling noise before you left the shelter?”

“That was the sound of two dozen heavily armed but poorly trained men trying to sneak up the creek bed.” He stood up and shouldered his pack. “The noise you heard is called a battle rattle.”

“But why—”

“Hold on to me again,” he said, settling his hands on her waist. There was no counting this time as he lifted her up and over his shoulder, and before she could even catch her breath, they were sprinting through the forest. It was pitch-dark, and how he knew where he was going she had no idea.

They were moving faster than ever, and they were heading down the hill, not up. What had happened to the hilltop extraction point? Was this the new plan?

She gripped his vest for dear life, suddenly sweating all over—and she wasn’t even the one moving. But she could sense their urgency, and she knew something had gone very wrong.

Rain continued to come down, soaking through her clothes and making her cling to his slick vest until her fingers felt sore. This island was covered with dense forest. They weren’t just going to run down some hill and magically come upon a helicopter landing pad. The only clearing would be the beach, most likely, and that might be far away, much farther than two clicks.

His arm tightened on her legs, and he leaped over something. Emma made a little yelp and held tighter.

Maybe there would be a boat. Was that too much to hope for?

Yes.

It was absolutely too much to hope for. The last few days had been one disaster after another, with the notable exception of finding Ryan beside the stream. Or Ryan finding her. His presence there had been no accident. His purpose in coming here had been to locate and rescue any survivors, and she was beginning to understand why her government had sent a SEAL team to do it.

Another leap, but Emma managed to stifle a yelp. She gripped Ryan’s vest so hard she felt her fingernails breaking. She had to calm down. She had to be a help, not a hindrance. Whatever this new plan was, she had to suck it up and do her part. She closed her eyes and tried not to focus on the queasy feeling in her stomach as the journey dragged on.

After endless monotonous minutes, he halted and muttered something she couldn’t hear. Was he talking to his teammates? The rain had let up, at least, but still she couldn’t really hear what he was saying.

He lifted her off his shoulder and set her down gently.

“Lean against the tree,” he said, placing her hand against it.

He crouched at her feet again, and she could hear the zippers on his pack. Then he stood up and rested a hand on her shoulder.

“To our east is a tree line. You see it?” His voice sounded only slightly strained, as though he’d just taken a brisk walk instead of a long run through a forest carrying a hundred-thirty-pound weight.

She was about to tell him she couldn’t see a damn thing, but then she squinted into the dimness and noticed a dark shadow against a slightly lighter sky. There had to be a break in the clouds somewhere to allow the hint of moonlight.

He shifted her around until she was directly facing the trees. “See it?”

“Yes.”

“Just beyond that tree line is the beach. The land dips in and makes a small cove. That’s our new extract point.”

She tried to make sense of that. “The cove.”

“We’re going to swim out and wait for the helo.”

She turned to face him, sure she’d misheard him. “We’re going to swim—”

“They’ll drop down the rescue basket, we’ll load you in, get you up in the bird.”

Emma’s heart skittered. He couldn’t be serious.

“Don’t worry, I’m a good swimmer.”

She actually laughed at him. It was that or cry.

A good swimmer? That was probably something of an understatement given his profession. But his swimming ability did nothing to alleviate the cold, slimy ball of fear forming in her stomach.

Someone eased up beside them in the dark.

“We ready?” he asked, and she recognized Jake’s voice.

“Almost.” Ryan handed him his pack.

Of course. Ryan couldn’t swim with a pack on his back because he was going to be swimming with her instead.

This plan was insane.

“Ryan, this is impossible. You guys go without me.”

He chuckled softly.

“I’m totally serious.”

“This time, I’ll carry you in front,” he said. “The beach is narrow here. We’ll cross the sand and enter the water, and at about a meter deep, we’ll shift to a lifesaving carry. Got it?”

Another shadow appeared, either Ethan or Lucas. “We got four hostiles on the south end of the beach. Looks like we might be in for a hot extract.”

“Fuck.”

“Time to move, bro.”

The other men disappeared, and Emma looked at Ryan. “What’s that mean? Hot extract?”

“Means we might be getting a friendly send-off. You ready?”

“No. Ryan, listen to me.” She found his hand and clutched it. “If I die tonight—”

“You’re not going to die tonight.”

“If I fall—”

“I won’t let you fall.”

“Listen to me!” She dug her nails into his palm. “If anything happens, I need you to find my father. Tell him I’m sorry for what I said at Christmas. Tell him I love him.”

“You can tell him yourself.”

“Ryan, promise me you’ll tell him.”

He settled his hands on her shoulders. “I know you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared, I’m just . . . realistic. This will never work. It’s raining, and my ankle’s injured, and I can’t swim fast—”

“You don’t have to swim at all. I’ve got you.”

She gazed up at him. Where did he get this absurd confidence? Men with guns might be waiting out there to shoot them, and it was a very real possibility that after they’d come all this way to find her and rescue her, they might not make it out of here alive.

“Just hold on to me, okay?”

She stared up at his dark silhouette, wishing she could see his eyes. Maybe it was adrenaline or the prospect of death. She put her hands on his neck, but she didn’t stop there. She slid her fingers into the thick softness of his hair and did what she’d been dying to do all night.

She kissed him.

He was rigid as a statue. He didn’t move. She fused her mouth against his and curled her fingers into his scalp, and suddenly he was pulling her against him, splaying his hands against her back and dragging her up onto her tiptoes. He pulled her tightly against the layer of weapons and bullets and whatever he had packed into his vest, and he was all hard angles and planes. Except for his mouth. His mouth was hot and seeking and moving hungrily against hers, and she felt a rush of pleasure at the pure rightness of it as she tangled her tongue with his and tasted him for the first time. She didn’t just taste, she devoured him, like she could never get enough. It was better than she’d imagined—hotter and more dangerous than any kiss could ever be, and it thrilled her down to her toes.

He jerked away, breathing hard, and she felt a wave of disbelief that she’d finally, finally managed to get him winded.

“Holy shit,” he gasped.

“Ryan, bro, come on!” Jake’s voice was urgent now.

“Let’s try this again.” Ryan clamped her hands over his shoulders. “Hold on to me,” he ordered. Then he scooped her off her feet and ran.

Emma clung to his vest, and mere seconds later they burst onto the beach. The sudden sense of space and air was dizzying after days in the smothering jungle. Her eyes adjusted to the grays, and she saw a glimmer of water in the distance, the cove he’d told her about. The strip of beach was narrow, and they were only on it for a few brief moments before he waded into the water. Emma spotted the dark shadows of his teammates—one, two, three, entering the water alongside them.

An orange flash on the beach caught her eye, and she gripped Ryan’s shoulders.

“They’re shooting!” she said, but her words were muffled against his chest.

They’re shooting, they’re shooting. Those are machine guns! Panic surged through her system, and she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the muzzle flashes.

“Head down,” Ryan ordered, tucking her head against him as cool water enveloped them. They were in the water. The water. It would be like shooting fish in a barrel. They couldn’t outswim bullets.

“Don’t be scared. I’ve got you,” he said, and the deep confidence in his voice gave her a flicker of hope.

He shifted her to his side. She held on to his shoulders, afraid she was going to drown him with her weight, but the thought quickly disappeared as he gave a mighty kick and they took off like a torpedo. She gasped for breath, amazed that her head was somehow above the surface as they cruised through the water. Salt stung her eyes. She squeezed them shut and focused on the cool water all around her and Ryan’s warm, powerful body propelling them forward.

The wind picked up. Waves pelted her face. She tried to speak and got a mouthful of salt water. The wind whipped up again, making the spray feel like needles against her face as a loud thrumming noise surrounded them, so loud she couldn’t even hear her own thoughts. She tipped her head back, and through the stinging brine she saw the dark shadow of the hovering helicopter as it displaced the ocean with its strong downdrafts.

Ryan was yelling instructions, but she couldn’t hear him. He pulled her arms from him, and she realized the rescue basket was already there dangling beside them. One of the men reached up and grabbed it, and then two strong sets of arms were loading her inside. Spray kicked into her face, and she couldn’t see or hear, but she gripped Ryan’s arm like a lifeline.

Her breath caught as the basket jerked up, tossed by the churning waves.

“Ryan!”

He was suddenly right there, right in front of her, so close she could see the water streaming over his face and the intense look in his eyes.

“Emma, let go,” he commanded, peeling her fingers from his arm. “I’ll be right behind you.”

He slipped through her hands as the basket pulled her up and away.

NINE

FIVE WEEKS LATER

There was nothing remarkable at all about the place except that it was the favorite hangout of some of the world’s most remarkable men.

Or so she’d heard.

Emma pulled into the parking lot crammed with trucks and SUVs and searched the rows until she passed—and almost missed—the perfect space for her tiny rental car. Maybe it was a sign.

She backed into the spot and checked out the enormous pickups on either side of her and decided, yes, it was. She was supposed to be here. Even though here was way the hell out of her comfort zone. But if there was anything she’d learned about life over the past two years, it was that comfort had nothing to do with it. Comfort was overrated, really, as a reason to do or not do anything. And her objective tonight was far too important for her to give comfort a thought.

Emma got out of her car, careful not to ding the truck beside her, and crossed the parking lot. Her heels made little crunching noises on the gravel, but the sound was drowned out as she neared the door to O’Malley’s Pub.

Emma had spent some long evenings at a pub in Seattle. But it was the type of place with dark wooden paneling and fox-hunting pictures on the walls, the sort of place well-heeled attorneys went to drink twelve-year-old Scotch after winning a big case.

Emma eyed the neon beer signs in the window as she reached the entrance. Her hand hesitated on the handle. She squared her shoulders, then pulled open the door and found herself confronted by a pair of boobs that defied gravity. They were spilling out of a thin pink tank top, and their owner was a long-legged blonde in cutoff shorts. She was being ushered out the door by a man with a buzz haircut and a smug grin on his face.

“Ma’am.” He nodded at Emma and held the door for her, too, and she felt a flutter of nerves as she stepped inside.

The bar practically vibrated with music and testosterone. Everywhere she looked she saw jacked-up military men and their smiling admirers. Emma stepped out of the traffic flow and craned her neck to look around, studying the faces and the bodies.

She sighed with dismay. What had she thought? That she’d just waltz in here and find him? Nothing about this week had been easy, so why should tonight be any better?

She glanced around the room to get her bearings. Throngs of people surrounded the main bar. A row of booths lined the far wall. A loud whoop went up from a room in back where she glimpsed a cluster of men crowded around a dartboard.

Emma squeezed her way through all the hot male bodies that created a cloud of pheromone-infused humidity. She ignored the mildly curious looks as she elbowed her way through the crowd to the bar. Behind the counter, two bartenders were busy pulling taps and mixing drinks.

The couple in front of Emma vacated their stools, and she pounced on one. She didn’t see a good place for her purse, so she rested it on her lap.

Emma’s gaze landed on the female bartender. She wore a low-cut black T-shirt, along with a short black apron that was longer than her frayed cutoffs. Her hands were busily clearing empties as her gaze scanned the customers. She was both pretty and observant, and Emma pinned her hopes on her immediately.

Icy liquid drizzled down Emma’s shirt. She gave a startled yelp and glanced up to see an oversized man lifting a pair of beers over her head.

“Sorry, my bad.” He gave her a crooked smile as he eyed her now-transparent white blouse. Emma bit back a curse and turned away from him. The bartender was watching her now and shot the customer a reproachful look as she handed Emma a stack of napkins.

“What can I get you?” she yelled over the din.

“Um . . .” Emma glanced at the taps. In the Philippines, she’d grown accustomed to San Miguel, but she’d never seen it in the States. “Corona, please.”

The woman grabbed a bottle from a bin of ice and popped off the top, then tucked a wedge of lime into the neck. She slid a coaster in front of Emma and placed the beer on top.

“I’m looking for someone,” Emma said. “Ryan Owen. Have you seen him tonight?” The bartender leaned closer and cupped a hand around her ear. “Lieutenant Ryan Owen?” Emma tried again.

Recognition flickered. And something else, too. The corner of the woman’s mouth lifted, and she nodded toward the back.

Emma turned her attention to the room filled with pool tables. A loud crack split the air, and several muscle-bound bodies shifted around a table.

Emma’s breath caught.

She’d thought he looked intimidating in the jungle, armed to the teeth and covered in greasepaint. But he looked even more dangerous in his natural habitat—a rowdy bar, surrounded by overly made-up, underdressed women. Even from a distance, Emma could see that every female in his vicinity was riveted by the sight of his wide shoulders and narrow hips as he pressed against the pool table and leaned over for a shot.

“Hey, hey! It’s Emma.”

She turned to see a huge man grinning down at her. He had sun-streaked brown hair and bulging arms that strained the sleeves of his T-shirt. She hardly recognized his face without paint, but she knew his voice.

“Jake Heath,” he said, offering her a handshake and a wider smile.

She accepted his firm grip and felt a flurry of nerves in her stomach. The last time she’d seen him, she’d been flat on a gurney on the tarmac of Clark Air Base.

“Fancy meeting you here.” He stepped closer and leaned against the bar, deftly blocking a similar move by a man who was at least half a foot taller.

“I’m visiting town . . .” Her voice trailed off as she cast another look at the pool table.

“Oh, yeah? Family?” Jake smiled again, and she noticed the ocean-blue eyes for the first time.

She hadn’t really registered them before, but she’d been a little preoccupied. She remembered his voice, though, and the easygoing tone he’d used to soothe her as he’d bandaged her ankle and tended her cuts.

He lifted an eyebrow, and she realized she hadn’t answered his question.

“No. Friends,” she said, and it was pretty much true. She’d spent the day at the office of a congressman who’d gone to college with her father. He might loosely be considered a friend of her family.

Jake was still watching her with that smile. For some reason, he seemed delighted to see her, and she felt a warm blush creep over her face.

She sipped her beer and glanced around.

“How’s the ankle?”

She glanced down. “All better.”

His eyebrows tipped up.

“Almost completely. Still no jogging on it.”

Ha. Like that was a hardship.

Jake smiled as if he caught the joke, and she wanted to feel offended, but she couldn’t, not with those blue eyes twinkling down at her. He had the sort of looks that made women swoon, and Emma noticed a few resentful gazes aimed in her direction.

“So how long you in town?” Jake tipped back his beer.

“I’m not sure.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, what’s on the itinerary?”

“Itinerary?”

“You want to see the sights, don’t you? I could show you around. Make sure you don’t miss anything good.”

Emma nodded. “Thanks, but—” She felt a warm tingle in her chest and glanced across the bar.

Ryan’s gaze locked on hers, and Emma’s heart lurched. The tingle became hotter and spread from her chest to the tips of her toes. Still watching her, he took a pair of beers off the bar and handed one to someone beside him.

She was tall and blond and pretty. Emma could only see her from the side, but she had toned, tanned arms, and her hand rested against Ryan’s chest as she leaned close and whispered something in his ear.

Emma looked away. Her throat felt tight. And she was struck by what a truly bad idea this was. She should have waited for him at home.

“But . . . what? You don’t need a guide?” Jake smiled and shook his head. “See, that’s where you’re wrong, Emma. Trust me on this. San Diego’s one of those cities where you need a local to truly appreciate it.”

She studied Jake’s face but didn’t grasp what he was saying. She was thinking about how she was going to duck out of here. And how she was going to have to change her travel plans now, because it looked like Ryan was tied up for the night, and if she was going to catch him at home, it was going to have to be tomorrow, probably no earlier than mid-morning.

Jake arched his eyebrows.

Damn it, he’d asked her a question.

“I’m sorry. What?” She leaned closer as if she hadn’t heard him.

Jake’s gaze darted over her shoulder. She got a warm tickle on the back of her neck and turned around.

Her stomach dropped as she stared up into those intense green eyes she’d been thinking of for weeks. Ryan leaned a hand on the bar and gazed down at her.

“What are you doing here?”

Emma’s stomach clenched. She studied his tight jaw and his furrowed forehead. He had thick, dark brows, she saw now, brows that went perfectly with all that thick, dark hair that curled slightly at the nape of his neck. How did these two get away with hair like that when everyone else in this place had military cuts?

He leaned closer, and she caught his scent, that musky male smell she’d been trying to conjure up for weeks.

“Well?” His voice had an edge, and her stomach clenched tighter. Of all the reactions she’d considered—surprise, annoyance, maybe even gladness at seeing her—she hadn’t expected hostility.

She forced a smile and quickly turned it on Jake. “I was just telling Jake here, I’m in town visiting friends.”

“I offered to take her sightseeing.” Jake reached out and patted her arm. “I’m free all day tomorrow, Emma. You name the time.”

She glanced at Ryan, who was shooting Jake a look that went way beyond hostile—although Jake didn’t seem to mind. He winked at Emma and took a swig of beer.

Ryan eased closer until he was towering over her. “What are you doing here? At O’Malley’s?”

Time to come clean. She took a deep breath. “I was looking for you, actually.” She forced herself to smile up at him. “You have a minute to talk?”

He gazed down at her for a long moment. Then he looked at his teammate, and something passed between them, some meaningful exchange that went straight over Emma’s head.

“Not here.” Ryan clamped his hand over hers. “Come on.”

———

She trailed behind him as he towed her toward the exit.

“Ryan, wait.”

He ignored her and pushed through the door.

“Ryan, I haven’t paid for my drink.”

“Jake will cover it.”

He pulled her down the sidewalk until they were out of the flow of traffic. She looked at the ocean across the highway. It was much cooler out here, and she pulled her blouse away from her body to vent it, giving Ryan a whiff of beer and a glimpse of cream-colored lace. He swallowed a curse.

“You shouldn’t go in there dressed like that.”

Confusion flitted over her face as she gazed up at him with those chocolate-brown eyes. “Dressed like what?”

He nodded at her shirt. “Like that.”

She laughed. “What, you mean in actual clothes?”

Those were not just clothes, not by O’Malley’s standards. She wore a gray pinstriped skirt that went to her knees. It was tight and straight, and Ryan’s sisters would definitely have a specific word for it, but damned if he knew what it was. Her shoes he knew. Kitten heels. He’d heard that once, and it had stuck in his head.

And he was staring at her legs now—smooth and silky-looking. She might be wearing panty hose, but he’d have to touch her legs to find out, which was definitely not happening. He snapped his gaze back to her face, but she wasn’t looking at him. She was casting nervous glances at the parking lot.

Ryan went on alert. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said, obviously lying. One more glance at the parking lot, and she hooked her purse on her shoulder. “Listen, there are a couple of things I need to talk to you about. Can we go somewhere quieter?”

My place.

The words jumped into his head. But that also was not happening. He didn’t trust himself anywhere near his apartment with her. And anyway, it wasn’t exactly Park Avenue. More like Baltic.

They could go to her hotel to talk. But again, bad idea. Even the hotel bar would be way too close to temptation.

God damn it, he wanted her. Every urge he’d been struggling to ignore for weeks now was back again, stronger than ever, and it was all he could do not to reach out and drag her against him.

“Could we walk on the beach?” she asked.

He instantly relaxed. The beach he could handle.

They crossed the highway without talking. When they hit the sand, she slipped off her kitten heels and hooked her fingers through the little straps at the back.

He noticed her hair, too. It was smooth and wavy now, nothing at all like the wild curls he remembered from before.

“Why are you all dressed up?” he asked.

She shot him a look as they trudged across the sand. “I spent the afternoon in Patrick Harrick’s office.”

The name rang a bell. “The congressman from Laguna Beach,” Ryan said. He’d pulled that out of his ass. Ryan didn’t keep up with politics or politicians.

Or politicians’ daughters.

“Huntington Beach,” she corrected. “But yeah, he’s from Orange County. He’s on the House Intelligence Committee, actually.” She stopped and turned to face him. “They’re pulling together a report on Renee Conner’s plane crash.”

Shit.

Ryan should have seen this coming. He should have seen it the moment he’d spied her sitting next to Jake at the bar. But something strange had come over him, a powerful surge of protectiveness, and his only thought had been to get her out of there.

“You’re aware of the investigation, right?” She brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes.

He knew all about the investigation, which involved a whole host of government agencies—FBI, CIA, NTSB. He also knew there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell he was going to discuss it with her in any meaningful way.

She arched her eyebrows at him. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Did you know they’re doing an investigation?” she asked.

“Of course they are. They investigate everything. Gives them a reason to hold news conferences.”

“Okay, well, are you aware that the crash investigators’ preliminary findings were just released to the committee?”

“We can’t talk about our missions.”

Her mouth dropped open. “I was there, Ryan.”

He didn’t say anything.

She folded her arms over her breasts. “Did you know their preliminary findings are that the crash was caused by pilot error?”

Ryan didn’t say anything. He wasn’t surprised.

Her eyes widened. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

He didn’t respond, and she stepped closer.

“Walter McInerny was an exemplary pilot.” Her voice quivered with emotion. “He was a decorated Marine with a long and distinguished career, and now his reputation’s being unfairly tarnished.” She paused. “That doesn’t bother you at all?”

Ryan tensed. Of course it bothered him, but he couldn’t talk about this with her. She stared up at him expectantly, and he didn’t say a word. She stepped away and looked out at the water. The ocean breeze lifted her hair off her neck.

“It’s wrong, Ryan.” Her eyes glistened, and he felt an uncomfortable pinch in his chest. “He was a good man. He deserves better than this.”

Ryan pulled her against him. Which he knew was a bad, bad idea when he caught that coconut scent he’d been trying to get out of his head for weeks. He’d been freaking dreaming about it, and now it was back again, right under his nose.

He eased her away, half expecting her to be crying by now, but she wasn’t. Her chin tipped up defiantly, and she looked angry.

“You guys had debriefings, like I did,” she said. “You filed reports.”

He sighed. “Emma—”

“Someone needs to set the record straight!”

She sounded like a Girl Scout. Obviously, she knew nothing about black ops and less than nothing about Alpha Crew. Almost no one knew about it, not even the people who’d approved it. The ultraelite unit took sensitive missions that rarely saw the light of day.

So she could ask all she wanted and look at him with those pleading eyes, but he couldn’t reveal details of the op.

“What was the second thing?” he asked.

Her brow furrowed.

“You said you had several things you wanted to talk about.”

Her face softened, and he waited, folding his arms over his chest so he wouldn’t be tempted to reach for her again. She gazed up at him and bit her lip, and Ryan’s imagination went into overdrive as he remembered the taste of her mouth. He’d been thinking about that mouth of hers for weeks.

He needed to shut this down. Pronto. Emma Wright was the last girl in the world he should be fantasizing about. They lived totally different lives. She was going to walk away, and he’d probably never see her again. Why would he?

“I wanted to thank you.” She cleared her throat. “Jake, too. And Lucas and Ethan. You put yourselves in grave danger over there, and you don’t even know me, and it’s very humbling.” She paused. “I’m impressed.”

A lock of hair blew against her cheek, and Ryan reached out and tucked it behind her ear. He was impressed with her, too, but he couldn’t tell her that. “You don’t have to thank me,” he told her. “It’s my job.”

Her mouth tightened, and he knew he’d said something wrong. “Well.” She looked away. “I should go.” She moved to leave, and he caught her arm.

“Wait.”

He kissed her, dragging her against him and melding her soft body to his. She didn’t move for a moment, but he coaxed her lips apart and was rewarded with that sweet taste he’d been craving. And then her fingers were in his hair and her tongue tangled with his. It was like before, and she was kissing him again like she’d never get enough, and the force of it slammed into him and damn near knocked him on his ass. He slid his fingers up to touch her perfect breast that, Jesus God, filled his whole hand.

He had to stop. But she tasted so good and felt so damn perfect, and he couldn’t pull away. He just needed to touch her and taste her for a few more seconds, a few more minutes, just enough to satisfy that thirst that had been dogging him since she’d kissed him on the beach. Her kiss was hot, even hotter than he remembered, and he couldn’t get enough of her warm, lush body.

Her hands slid down, and her fingertips dipped into the back of his jeans, and holy hell, what was she doing? Lust shot through him. He wanted her. He wanted to pull her behind a dune and drag her down into the sand with him and hike up that tight little skirt so she could wrap her legs around him.

He rubbed his thumb over her nipple, and she made a low moan and rolled her hips against him, and before he knew what he was doing, his hands were on the buttons of her shirt, flicking them open and pushing the silk aside. He stroked his hand over the lace of her bra and felt all that soft flesh underneath while he continued to feed on her mouth.

A honk and a squeal of tires made her jump. She cast a glance back at the highway, then looked at him, panting. He was panting, too. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips were swollen, and the look in her eyes was pure confusion.

“My bad.” He eased back.

She blinked up at him.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he added, dropping his hand from her waist.

Her shirt was open in front, and the sight of her lace bra sent a spear of disappointment through him, because that glimpse was as close as he was ever going to get to seeing her naked. She glanced down, and her cheeks flushed even deeper as she hurried to fasten the buttons. “Oh my God,” she mumbled.

Ryan glanced around. Sure enough, they were attracting stares from people walking on the beach.

He sent her a guilty look. “Sorry.”

“Forget it.”

She turned, and they started walking back toward the pub, and Ryan felt like he should say something. She picked up her pace, hugging her arms close to her chest. She seemed pissed, and he didn’t blame her. He shoved his hands safely into the pockets of his jeans. What the hell was he thinking making out with her on a public beach? In front of O’Malley’s, no less.

“Emma—”

“I said forget it.” She shot a look at him. It was an angry look, with maybe some hurt mixed in.

Damn it, he should have let her walk away, but instead he’d gone and messed things up. And now she was leaving. It was for the better, definitely, but still it sucked.

They didn’t talk any more as they neared the noisy highway. Ryan took a big gulp of ocean air and tried to settle himself down. When they hit the sidewalk, she slipped back into her shoes.

“So.” He cleared his throat. “Are you staying at the Del?”

The Hotel del Coronado was the nicest place around, so it would be perfect for her.

“The Cambridge,” she said. “You know it?”

It was a boutique hotel only slightly less expensive. “I’ve heard of it.”

“The Del was booked, so I had to call around.”

They reached the parking lot, and she turned down the first row of vehicles, mostly trucks. She darted a nervous look around, and Ryan’s instincts fired to life again. She felt threatened by something. But she was with him. What did she think could happen?

“What’s wrong?” he asked point-blank. He wouldn’t play games with her safety.

“Nothing.”

“Emma.” He stopped. “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

She turned and strode down the row a little farther, stopping at a tiny white rental car.

Which was parked right beside his Ford F-250.

Coincidence? No way. She’d found him at his favorite bar, and he had no doubt she knew his vehicle and where he lived, too. This woman was resourceful.

She gazed up at him with a challenge in her eyes, and he realized she wanted him to know that she’d tracked him down, a trained operator who was unlisted and took pains to stay off the grid as much as possible.

“You gonna tell me or make me guess?” he asked.

“Guess what?” She had that innocent look on her face.

“What’s got you worried?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Nothing, it’s just late.” She shrugged. “I’m always careful in parking lots.”

“You should be.”

He studied her closely. She was a woman traveling alone, so maybe she was just being cautious. But he sensed there was more to it. He was trained in interrogation, and he could sniff out a lie in a heartbeat, even when it was delivered by a skilled manipulator—which Emma definitely was not.

And yet she stood there gazing up at him, trying to erase the tension from her face. When he’d first seen her tonight, he’d been surprised and then intrigued. But now he felt obligated, too, and he needed to figure out what had her worried.

He eased closer and felt her tension kick up, but she continued to look at him with those bottomless brown eyes. And he goddamn knew she was keeping secrets from him.

“Sorry to interrupt your night.” She glanced at the bar, as if he might be going back inside.

“You didn’t.”

She lifted an eyebrow as she opened the door and slid inside the car. He put his hand on top of the door, suddenly grasping for a way to prolong the conversation.

“So when are you going back?” he asked.

“Back where?”

“Manila. The embassy.”

A shadow came over her face, and she looked down. “I’m not.”

“You’re not?”

She met his eyes, and the truth hit him. She had no job to go back to.

Because her boss was dead.

TEN

Hey, Hewitt needs to see you.”

Ryan hung his fins in his locker and turned to see Ethan walking over, still in his dive suit.

“When?”

“Now.” His teammate shot him a look. “And I’d double-time it, bro. He doesn’t look happy.”

Ryan slung his pack over his shoulder and headed for the CO’s office, still buttoning up the shirt of his BDUs as he passed a fresh crop of trainees getting hammered on the grinder. Ryan took a sort of twisted pleasure in seeing them wet and sandy and grunting through their umpteenth set of cherry pickers. They were hating it now, but Hell Week was only in its second day, and they didn’t have a clue what they were in for.

Ryan found his CO in his office surrounded by stacks of files. He glanced up and motioned Ryan inside.

“Close the door, will you?”

Ryan stood at ease as Hewitt leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. He had a casual way with his men, which Ryan appreciated. At the moment, though, his frown didn’t look casual.

“I signed your papers this morning. Headed to Florida?”

“Yes, sir.”

He waved away the formality and rested his elbows on his desk as he looked up at Ryan, still frowning. Hewitt was smaller than most of his men, only six feet tall. But he was a legend in the teams, and his experience gave him a commanding presence.

“You’ve probably got packing to do, so I’ll get straight to the point,” the CO said. “We’ve got a problem. Emma Wright.”

Ryan practiced the SEAL art of keeping his face expressionless as his brain raced ahead.

“You care to guess what I’m going to tell you?” Hewitt asked.

“No, sir.”

He waved off the “sir” again. “Since Renee Conner’s funeral, she’s been poking around everywhere, asking a lot of questions. I had a call today with Sy Warner from the FBI’s Los Angeles field office.”

Ryan frowned. “What have they got to do with anything?”

“Deep background. The Conners are from there, and the LA field office conducted the original background check when Richard Conner was nominated. Anyway, Emma Wright’s been calling around trying to get people to talk to her about the investigation.” He smiled. “Hell, the girl’s ballsy, I’ll give her that. She even called Admiral Chomsky.” The smile faded. “And Chomsky in turn passed her off to me. I just got off the phone with her, as a matter of fact.”

Ryan cleared his throat. “What’d you tell her?”

“I explained that we have a process to determine what happened, and it’s not over yet. Basically, the same bullshit she’s been getting everywhere else. Frankly, the only reason anyone’s even taking her calls is because her dad’s a congressman.”

Ryan waited. It sounded like Emma was being a pain in the ass, but he didn’t know what Hewitt expected him to do about it. The CO was watching him closely.

“I understand you spent the most time with her during the rescue op.”

“That’s correct.”

“And what’s your take?”

His CO wanted his honest assessment, not the crap Ryan had put in his report. “She held up pretty good, sir. She’s stronger than she looks.”

“I read her statement. She remembered very little about the crash itself. Sounds like she might have been in shock for a lot of it. She said nothing about the plane taking a hit.”

“She was definitely in shock,” Ryan said. “That was my take when I found her, and same with Jake when he checked her over. Could be she’s remembering more now than she did when they debriefed her.”

Hewitt nodded grimly. The room was silent for a moment, and then he checked his watch and stood up, grabbing a file folder off the stack.

“Things are going well for you, Owen.” He walked around the desk. “You’re one of this team’s top officers because you know how to focus and you think on your feet. So I know I don’t have to remind you of your obligation.”

His obligation . . . To refrain from sharing classified intel? To refrain from screwing the congressman’s daughter?

Probably both.

Hewitt clapped him on the shoulder. “Enjoy your leave, Lieutenant. I’ll see you Friday at 0600.”

———

The streets of San Diego were slick from a recent shower as Emma wended her way back to her hotel. It had been a long, frustrating day, and she’d made little progress. Even with her shameless name-dropping, it was getting harder and harder to get people to return her calls and e-mails. The dot-gov world was tighter than most people knew, and once word got around, it hadn’t taken long for Emma to ascend to the top of everyone’s Do Not Call Back list.

She cruised along, watching the sailors making their way between bars. She tried to imagine Ryan in one of those crisp white uniforms, but she could only picture him in camo and greasepaint.

A warm shiver moved through her as she remembered him crouched in front of her by that rain-forest stream, doing his damnedest not to spook her. He must have thought she was crazy, all filthy and wild-eyed and babbling incoherently. At that moment, she had felt crazy. Not just crazy but scared out of her mind. And yet Ryan had talked to her like she was a perfectly rational person and calmly proceeded to pluck her off her feet and whisk her to safety.

The entire experience had changed her. Fundamentally. Since coming home, she’d felt a constant buzz of anxiety, along with a gnawing certainty that something was off-balance. Or just plain off. The sensation was relentless, and nothing she did would make it go away.

But seeing Ryan again—and yes, kissing him—had made her feel abundantly better, if only for that fleeting time on the beach when he’d pulled her into his arms. Everything about it had felt so good, so inevitable.

It seemed odd to have such a strong tie to a man she barely knew. But then again, maybe it wasn’t. She’d been through something she never could have imagined she would experience, and Ryan had been part of it. He understood her in a way that other people didn’t and couldn’t. Even though she’d only known him a short time, she felt a deep connection to him, deeper than with almost anyone in her life. The question that kept nagging her was . . . did he feel it, too?

It’s my job.

His words stung. Even now, days later.

His words had been harsh, but at least they’d been truthful. Locating her and rescuing her was his job, and he’d accomplished it successfully, end of story.

But she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

She’d definitely noticed his protectiveness at O’Malley’s. He hadn’t wanted anyone hitting on her, least of all his teammate.

And yet he hadn’t invited her back to his place or suggested they go to hers, even though he’d seemed like he wanted to. In fact, for a minute, she’d thought they might not even make it off the beach. But then he’d totally backed off and shut her down.

It was for the better. If she told herself that enough, maybe she’d believe it.

She hadn’t come here for Ryan—at least not completely. She’d come here to unravel the truth about what happened up in that plane and to clear the name of an honorable man who had spent his last moments on earth trying to save the lives of his passengers.

Tears filled her eyes, but she blinked them back as she swung into the driveway of her hotel. Ahead of her was a minivan where a bedraggled mom was unloading a tote bag filled with beach towels and dolphin toys. Two little boys in Sea World caps piled out of the van, and their mother hustled them to the door as her husband lingered behind to unbuckle another car seat. He scooped a sleeping little girl onto his shoulder, and she slumped against him like a rag doll.

Emma watched the family and felt a pang of loneliness so strong it took her breath away.

“Miss? Will you be staying with us this evening?”

She blinked up at the valet. “What? Oh, yes. I’m already registered.” She grabbed her purse and got out, but suddenly she had no desire whatsoever to spend another night holed up in her hotel room, flipping channels and waiting for e-mails that never came through.

She walked across the cobblestone driveway and looked out onto a boulevard landscaped with palm trees and bougainvillea. She glanced up and down the block, and her gaze came to rest on a green neon sign: Thai Garden. She set out at a brisk pace, and with every step she grew hungrier. She hadn’t eaten all day, and Thai was her go-to comfort food. Her phone chimed from her purse, and she dug it out. The caller ID said US GOV.

Emma’s pulse picked up as she answered.

“This is Special Agent Alexa Mays returning your call.”

It wasn’t a question but a statement, and it was followed by a strategic silence.

Emma smiled. She’d never met an FBI agent in a hurry to volunteer information. But she wasn’t intimidated. On the contrary, the fact that this woman had called her at all was a huge victory. It meant someone in the Los Angeles field office had instructed Mays to handle her.

“I assume you got my message,” Emma said. “I’m in town only briefly, and I’d really appreciate the chance to talk to you concerning the Renee Conner investigation.”

A faint sound, maybe a sigh. “I have ten thirty tomorrow open, but then I’ve got a hard stop at eleven,” the agent said.

A ten-thirty meeting would mean getting up early to fight Monday-morning traffic up the coast, but Emma would take it. It would be her first face-to-face with an actual person on the multiagency task force investigating the plane crash.

“Perfect,” Emma said. “Should I call when I arrive or—”

“Check in with security. I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

“Got it.”

“And I don’t know if you’re familiar with our procedures, but no cell phones.”

“I know.”

Emma felt a surge of happiness as she clicked off. Most of her day had been a flop, but things were improving. Her spirits were buoyed as she neared the restaurant, and the aroma of coconut curry shrimp made her mouth water.

A sharp squeal of brakes had her whirling around as a giant gray pickup truck zoomed down the street. It jumped the curb and roared straight toward her.

She leaped into a doorway, crashing to her knees. A wall of gray metal flew past, missing her by inches and making her heart nearly burst out of her chest.

Another squeal of rubber was followed by a loud pop like a car backfiring. Emma clutched her chest. She tried to breathe, but her lungs felt paralyzed. Another roar, another squeal. The noise faded. She leaned forward, hazarding a peek from the doorway just in time to see a pair of glowing red taillights disappearing around the corner.

She heard hysterical little hiccups and realized they were coming from her own body. She clamped her mouth shut and watched the crowd converging on the busted fire hydrant, ducking to the side to avoid the drenching spray.

Emma pulled herself up on wobbly legs and stepped from the doorway.

“Hey, lady, you okay?” A man rushed toward her.

Another engine growled nearby. Emma jumped back into the doorway as a black pickup screeched to a halt in front of her.

A black F-250. Ryan at the wheel. The passenger window was down, and he was leaning toward it, yelling at her, but she had absolutely no idea what he was saying.

He reached across and shoved open the passenger door.

“Get in!”

She stared at him, slack-jawed.

“Get in, Emma!”

She stumbled to the truck and jumped inside.

ELEVEN

Are you hurt?” he demanded.

She was still pulling the door shut as he peeled away from the curb.

“Answer me!”

“I’m—” She looked down at herself. Her knee was bleeding beneath the hem of her skirt. “I’m fine. What—”

“Seat belt,” he snapped, gunning the engine and racing for the intersection. He halted inches away from an SUV’s bumper.

She looked at him. “What just happened?”

He reached over and dragged the seat belt across her lap. The light turned green, and he punched the gas. They sped around the corner, and Emma tipped sideways, gripping the dashboard for support. He sped up again, swerving around a delivery truck as he raced to catch up with the pickup.

Emma looked ahead but didn’t see it.

“Hold on,” he ordered, careening around another corner. They skidded onto a wider road with a median down the middle. Emma looked ahead at the sea of taillights but didn’t see the pickup.

“Fuck.” Ryan pounded the steering wheel.

“Stop! What the hell just happened?”

But he didn’t stop, and he didn’t say anything. He sped through another intersection, then swerved into a gas station and whipped into a parking space near the convenience store.

He shoved the truck into park and turned to her. He reached over and clutched the side of her head. “Are you all right?”

“I’m . . . yes, I’m okay.”

He dropped his hand and stared at her, his eyes flashing with intensity. “How long has someone been tailing you?”

She tried to process the words, but her heart was still racing a million miles an hour. “Tailing me?”

“How long?”

“I don’t—”

“Cut the bullshit, Emma. Someone’s been following you, and you damn well know it. How long?”

She gulped and looked down. The pads of her palms were bleeding, and her hands were shaking uncontrollably. She folded them in her lap and looked up through the windshield at the convenience store.

“I think . . . Thursday.” She looked at him. “That’s the first time I noticed it.”

“Where?”

She stared at him.

“Where, Emma?”

“Palmeda Road.”

His eyebrows arched with surprise.

“I swung by your apartment,” she explained. “Just to see whether you were in town. I circled your block twice, and on the second pass, I noticed a car in my rearview mirror. I thought I’d seen it earlier.”

“A car, not a pickup?”

She nodded. “Then I noticed someone again Friday. A pickup truck this time. Gray. Maybe that same one from just now.” She glanced over her shoulder at the street behind them but failed to see a gray pickup. “It was parked outside my hotel, which wasn’t really a big deal. The windows were tinted, but I could tell someone was sitting in the truck, and I felt like . . .” She looked down.

“You felt like what?”

“I don’t know. Like he was watching. Not just people watching, but watching me specifically.” She’d been anxious ever since, jumping at shadows and checking over her shoulder.

“This was before I saw you?” His eyes were intense, his jaw tight. He was dressed much like the other night, in a black T-shirt that clung to his muscular chest, faded jeans, and scuffed leather work boots. But this was no pool-shooting playboy now. He was in warrior mode.

She nodded. “Yes, before. But I haven’t noticed anyone since. Not until just now.”

He muttered a curse.

“We need to go back there, Ryan.”

“Why?” He threw the truck into gear and shot backward out of the space.

“We need to call the police. Report what happened. Maybe a witness saw a license plate.”

“There was no plate. I looked.” He pulled out of the parking lot and cast a glance at her.

“You looked,” she repeated.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“When I followed him from your hotel.”

———

“When you followed him?”

He didn’t answer. He figured she needed some time to digest that.

“Why were you at my hotel?” She looked wide-eyed and shocked.

“You were spooked about something at the bar the other night,” he told her. “I needed to see what it was. You didn’t have a tail from O’Malley’s, though.” He glanced at her. “And believe me, I checked.”

Silence fell over the truck as he let that sink in.

No, he hadn’t gone back inside the bar.

Yes, he’d followed her home.

He took a turn, and she looked around like she was trying to get her bearings.

“We need to go back, Ryan.”

“No, we don’t.”

“We have to report it!”

Maybe. But they could do it from a police station, not from some street corner where she would be standing there talking to a cop with a target on her back.

“Ryan, please.”

He sighed. “You really want to file a report? Because I’ll tell you right now, it’s going to be a pain in the ass.”

“We have to! Maybe there’s surveillance footage that shows the front license plate. Or maybe someone saw the driver.”

It was a decent point, and as much as he dreaded the thought of wasting the next several hours of his life, he let her win this particular battle.

Because there was a bigger one coming, and she was going to fight him tooth and nail.

———

Ryan watched her walk out of the police station. She had a Band-Aid on her knee, a slip of paper in her hand, and her head bent over her cell phone. He muttered a curse.

“What’s that?” Jake asked over the phone.

“She’s done now. I have to go.”

“Okay, keep me in the loop, man.” Jake laughed. “And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Ryan hung up on him and intercepted Emma as she reached the sidewalk.

“Who are you texting?” he asked.

“No one. I’m just getting down my case number.”

They walked to his truck and got in. She didn’t seem shaken anymore, but she was definitely wired. She folded her arms over her chest and glowered at the windshield.

“They blew you off?”

She sneered. “Some patrol cop told me it was probably a drunk teenager.”

“Did you tell him who your father is?”

She looked at him. “What would that help?”

Ryan shook his head.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing.” It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. San Diego PD wasn’t going to fix this problem for her. Ryan pulled out of the lot and hung a right.

“Aren’t we going back to my hotel?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Think that through, Emma. Someone’s been following you for four days. Whoever it is tried to hurt you tonight.” Actually, he’d tried to kill her, but she knew that already. Ryan had seen the look on her face just seconds after it happened.

She stared through the windshield. “They know my hotel,” she said softly.

“Yes.”

“And thanks to me, they know your apartment on Palmeda.”

“Yes.”

“Then where are we going?”

“I know a safe place you can stay.”

“How long?”

“Depends.” He looked at her. “When’s your flight leave?”

“My flight?” She hesitated. “I have an open ticket.”

It was a lie. He knew it the instant the words were out, just from the look on her face. What he didn’t know was why she would lie to him about that particular detail.

They drove in silence for a while, and he felt her agitation growing. His was growing, too, but probably for different reasons. She was a mess again, with wild hair and skinned palms and makeup smudged under her eyes, and everything about her made him want to pull his truck over and haul her into his lap.

Instead, he pulled into a burger joint and reversed into a parking space that backed up to a brick building. He had a clear view of the parking lot and the road so he could keep an eye on things.

“Emma.” He looked at her, forcing himself to concentrate on her wide brown eyes and not her mouth or her breasts. “We need to talk.”

A shadow came over her face, and he knew she felt cornered.

“Why is someone trying to kill you?”

She glanced down.

“Look at me.”

She met his gaze and cleared her throat. “I think my questions have been making people . . . nervous.”

“Nervous doesn’t explain a two-ton truck trying to mow you down.”

“I’ve been asking about the plane crash.”

“What about it?”

“We both know what happened, Ryan. You saw the wreckage. We took a hit.” She held his look. “I’m the sole survivor of that incident, and I’m not going to pretend I don’t know what happened, not when I was there.”

Ryan heaved a sigh.

She refused to play it safe, and nothing he said was going to change her mind, at least for now.

And damned if he didn’t admire her. Hewitt was right. She had balls.

He shoved his truck into gear and pulled around to the drive-through window. He ordered two cheeseburgers and turned to look at her. “Fries or rings?”

“Fries.”

“Chocolate or vanilla?”

She gave him a baleful look.

“Two fries, two chocolate shakes, and extra ketchup,” he told the speaker, and pulled forward to the window. “You call your dad yet?” he asked Emma.

“From the police station. Why?”

“Let me see your phone.”

She dug it from her purse and handed it over. It was in a stylish purple case with some designer’s name on it. Ryan popped off the case.

“What are you doing?”

He opened his door and dropped the phone onto the cement.

“Ryan!”

He smashed it with the heel of his boot, and Emma gasped. Then he dug his own phone from his pocket and smashed it, too.

“Why did you do that?” Her cheeks were flushed now, and her eyes blazed.

He scooped up the pieces and examined them. When he was satisfied, he reached back and dumped them into the trash can near the pickup window.

The food was ready, and Ryan handed her a bag. She snatched it from his hands and stashed it on the floor by her feet.

“Your phone’s a tracking device. So is mine.” He looked at her. “For the foreseeable future, that’s something we can do without.”

———

Next stop was a dog park, where they pulled into a small parking lot and abandoned Ryan’s truck for a white Toyota Tundra. Ryan reached under the floor mat and grabbed the key as Emma stashed the food bag and buckled herself in.

“Is this—”

“Jake’s.”

“Where is he?”

“Around.”

Ryan adjusted the mirrors. Silence settled over them as he snaked his way through the city, taking side street after side street to make sure they didn’t have a tail. When he was one-hundred-percent certain they were clear, he turned north and made his way through the hills of La Jolla. Emma stared out the window as he drove.

“Ryan.”

Her voice was low and serious, and he knew he wasn’t going to like whatever she had to say.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

“If what is?” he asked.

“This. You being here, helping me. It’s dangerous for you to get involved.”

He smiled and shook his head. It would have been funny if it wasn’t so insulting.

“Ryan?”

He looked at her. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

She didn’t say anything else the rest of the way, and he felt grateful for the quiet. It gave him a chance to go over his plan. And steel himself for what was going to be a painful night, even worse than the one in the jungle, because he wasn’t going to have weapons and helicopter extractions to distract him from what he wanted to do, what he’d been freaking burning to do since he’d first laid eyes on her.

They reached the top of a hill where every street was lined with narrow houses that had big windows facing the ocean. Ryan swung into a driveway and stopped at a solid black gate. He tapped a code into the keypad, and the gate slid open to reveal a driveway that sloped down steeply. The garage door was already lifting as he rolled through.

Emma shot him a baffled look.

Ryan smiled. “We’re here.”

TWELVE

They stepped into the dark house, and Ryan silenced the beeping alarm with another code he somehow knew. Emma could hardly see, but the smell of dryer sheets told her they were in a laundry room.

“Is this Jake’s place?”

“No. Different friend. Kyle’s Crew, too, though.”

“Kyle? Does he know we’re here?”

“He’s OCONUS. Out of the Continental United States.”

Which she took to mean no.

Ryan switched on a hall light and led her into a darkened living room that had a huge bay window with a sweeping view of the water. Emma was drawn toward the glass. She gazed out at the twinkling lights of the boats.

“Amazing,” she breathed.

“I know.”

He was standing close behind her, so close she could feel the heat of his body even though the room was warm, too.

She turned around, and the intense look on his face sent a warm shiver through her. He eased closer, holding her gaze, and she couldn’t believe they were standing in the dark together like this. She hadn’t even expected to see him tonight.

Or ever again.

“What is it?” His voice was low.

“Nothing, just . . .” She looked out at the view again. “Kyle won’t mind us staying here?”

“No.”

“How can you be sure?”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “He owes me.”

She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. She didn’t bother with the other questions tumbling through her mind. What was Crew? And how did a military guy afford a place like this?

But Ryan was being tight-lipped, as usual. He walked into the kitchen and flipped on a light. Emma followed, checking out their surroundings. Her primary impression was bachelor. The narrow living room was stuffed with black leather furniture—a sofa and two big recliners—all centered around a huge TV mounted on the wall. There were few personal touches beyond a couple of pairs of running shoes near a back door. Emma walked over and peered through the glass to see a small patio with a raised deck and a hot tub.

“Quite the party house.”

Ryan lifted an eyebrow but didn’t comment, and she tried to picture him hanging out here with his teammates and a keg of beer, the hot tub brimming with beautiful women in tiny bikinis. Or not. Just the thought of it made her slightly queasy.

“You hungry yet?” Ryan asked. He’d eaten his burger during their meandering drive, but Emma had tried one french fry and lost her appetite.

“Maybe later. There’s something I need to ask you.”

He stashed the bag in the fridge and put her shake in the freezer. Then he turned to face her, leaning back against the counter and folding his arms over his big chest.

She took a deep breath and walked over, leaning her hip against the counter. The question had been stuck in her mind the whole way here, but she hadn’t had the nerve to ask him.

“Why did you follow me home from O’Malley’s?”

He watched her for a long moment, his gaze unreadable. “You were spooked about something.”

“So?”

“So that’s not the kind of thing I can let go.”

What kind of thing could he let go? Not a lot, she guessed. He was extremely protective of the people in his life.

Did those people include her now?

Emma’s heartbeat quickened. She didn’t dare hope. It was a fantasy, just as it had been back in the rain forest. But the fantasy was even more dangerous now, because they were home and she was no longer part of his mission.

Home.

What did that even mean to him? Or to her, for that matter? She was at loose ends right now, between a job and graduate school. But even so, she was more grounded than he was, always leaving the country at a moment’s notice to jump out of airplanes and dodge bullets. Emma stifled a shudder. She didn’t want to even think about the risks he took in his job. No way could she have a relationship with this man. Or even a fling. It would be too intense. She’d get too attached.

And yet she couldn’t stop thinking about the possibility.

He held her gaze, not moving. The way he stood with his arms crossed made his muscles bulge, and he reminded her of a bouncer. Except for his eyes. The look in them was far too intelligent, and at the moment he looked like he was trying to figure her out.

Yeah, good luck with that. She hadn’t figured herself out. She felt like she was being drawn toward something hot and bright that she knew was going to burn her. But she couldn’t move away.

She cleared her throat. “So . . . do you think Kyle would mind if I borrowed his shower?”

Heat flared in his eyes, but he didn’t move a muscle. “Down the hall on the right.”

———

Ryan was staring at the pathetic contents of Kyle’s fridge when he heard the bathroom door open at last. A few minutes later, she stepped into the kitchen with flushed cheeks and dewy skin, her hair in damp waves around her shoulders.

He grabbed a beer and leaned back against the counter to look at her as he popped the top. Her businesslike clothes were gone now, replaced by the oversized gray sweatshirt and cutoff shorts he’d found for her and left on Kyle’s bed. It had been a supreme act of willpower not to step into that bathroom and leave them on the sink. But this night was going to be painful enough without the added visual of Emma’s naked body in a steamy shower.

“Thanks for the clothes.” She opened the fridge and selected a bottle of water.

“No problem.”

“I guess Kyle has his share of female visitors.”

“You must have noticed the bedroom.” He smiled, wishing he’d seen her reaction to the handcuffs dangling from the headboard. He only hoped she hadn’t opened any drawers. “There’s a futon in the office if you’d rather sleep there.”

“I’ll probably just crash on the sofa. I’m too wired to sleep anyway.” She twisted the top off the water and glanced around. Kyle didn’t have any furniture in the kitchen, not even a bar stool. She hitched herself up onto the counter and let her legs dangle.

God help him, she had a toe ring.

“I heard you on the phone while I was in there,” she said.

He dragged his gaze up to her face. “Landline.”

“Who were you talking to?”

“Jake. He’s bringing over a rental car in the morning.”

Her brow furrowed. “Really?”

“Really.” He nodded at the phone on the counter. “And that reminds me, it’s probably a good idea if you call your dad.”

She stiffened. “Why?”

“Because he’s your dad.”

“So?”

“So he’s probably worried about you. You should call him with an update. Or I can.”

“No.”

He arched his brows at her sharp tone.

“Look, just . . . drop it. Please? My dad’s a difficult person. Promise me you’ll let me handle him.”

He nodded, and her shoulders relaxed.

“Thank you.”

Ryan took a swig of beer, watching her. She obviously had some hang-up with her father, but she didn’t want to talk about it. At least, not with him.

She took a long sip of water and looked at him. “Tell me something. Why is Jake going to all this trouble?”

Ryan sighed. She still didn’t get it. It wasn’t trouble, not from their perspective. Jake was Crew. Kyle was Crew. If anyone asked for something, it was done, no question.

Not that there wouldn’t be fallout from this. Ryan was going to catch endless shit from Jake for spending the night with Emma.

“It’s not trouble,” he said.

She eyed him skeptically as she tipped back the bottle. “You guys are interesting.”

“How?”

“The way you work together, even when you aren’t working.”

She rested the bottle on her knee, and Ryan noticed the swelling there beside her bandage. She was trying to ice her injury with the damn water bottle.

He set his beer down and opened a few drawers until he found some plastic bags. He filled one with ice and made a pack for her.

“Thanks.”

They were at eye level now, and those dark brown eyes drew him closer until he was standing between her knees, which was about the dead last place he should be.

He put his hand over hers and moved the ice pack to the inside of her knee. Her skin was still warm from the shower.

“Ryan.”

He glanced up. Her mouth was lush and full, and he liked the way it looked whenever she said his name. Her whole body was lush and full, and his hands itched to slide over those creamy thighs. Instead, he rested them on the counter on either side of her hips. “This is a bad idea.”

She tipped her chin up. “Why?”

He kissed her. He had to. But she must not have really expected it, because she gave a startled gasp as his mouth took hers. She slid her fingers into his hair and pulled him close. She tasted so fucking good, and he felt himself sliding down the slippery slope to hell.

He couldn’t do this.

He’d brought her here to protect her. Just like in the jungle, she’d been through a trauma, and she was shaken and scared and looking for something to hold on to—he knew that. But still he was kissing her, taking advantage of her, gliding his hands over the smooth skin of her legs, and he groaned with need as they parted for him. Her heels pressed into his back, pulling him closer as her fingernails dug into his scalp.

Her mouth was hot and sweet, and he knew he’d never get enough. He’d go away hungry like last time and spend the next days and weeks obsessed with her all over again. But he had to do it. He had to kiss her, just like he had to slide his hand under her sweatshirt and touch all that soft skin.

He glided his hand up to her breast, and the little moan she made sent a shot of lust straight to his groin. Her hands slid down his back to his jeans, and all he could think about was how long it would take to get her naked and under him so he could pound himself into her until he lost his mind. She arched her breast against his palm, and he felt like he was losing it already.

Jesus, he had to slow down. He couldn’t nail this girl, as much as he wanted to. But he could make her feel good. That he could do.

———

Emma’s heart lurched as he picked her up. Her legs clenched around him, and yet again he was carrying her, only this time their mouths were fused together. She’d thought he’d take her to the bedroom, but he went for the sofa instead, lowering her onto it and then dropping down on top of her. Her breath whooshed out. He pinned her with his hips, and the steely pressure of his erection sent hot tingles through her body as his thumb scraped over her nipple.

She pulled her sweatshirt over her head. Without missing a beat, he reached around and unclasped her bra, and when it was gone, she felt a sudden chill over her skin. She drew her arms over her breasts, but he took her wrists.

“No.”

He pinned her hands beside her head. He dipped his head down and took her nipple in his mouth, and the searing heat went straight to her core. The stubble on his chin rasped against her sensitive skin, sending delicious little shivers through her as he lavished attention on her breasts. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back, unable to believe this was happening, that she was taking her clothes off with a man she barely knew.

But the thing was, she did know him. They’d skipped right over all the phony small talk. She’d told him embarrassing things, silly things, important things. She’d told him what to tell her father if she died—the last words she’d wanted anyone on earth to know she’d entrusted to him—and that was mere seconds before he’d sprinted her through gunfire and saved her life. And he’d saved it again tonight.

It was truly bizarre how he kept showing up in the right place at the right time. Maybe it was fate.

Or maybe she was using all of it as a rationalization to cave into temptation, temptation in the form of this huge, beautiful man who could make her do anything in the world if only he’d keep kissing her like that, pulling and suckling and teasing her until need expanded inside her and she thought she’d burst. She combed her fingers into his hair and gazed down at him, and he slid up to take her mouth again, even more fiercely than before, and Emma’s insides started to throb.

They were doing this. It seemed so unlikely, but the hard pressure of him between her legs was amazingly real. He wanted her, and this was happening now, finally, after all her fantasizing.

She glided her hands down his back, then tugged up the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it over his head to reveal all those hard muscles she’d been dreaming about.

“My God,” she breathed, tracing her finger over his chest.

He smiled slightly and bent back over her breasts. His kisses moved lower, and she felt a flutter of nerves as they neared her waist. She heard the snap of her shorts and felt a jolt of heat as his tongue dipped into her navel.

“Ryan.” She combed her fingers into his hair and tried to pull him up, and then his warm hand was sliding up her thigh and between her legs, and she instinctively arched into him.

“Oh my God.” It was good, too good. It shouldn’t be this good yet, but it was, and she bucked and moaned beneath him. She heard the rasp of a zipper, and then he hooked his fingers into her shorts and panties and pulled them down her legs, and she was completely bare to him now. She watched his gaze move slowly over her body as that hungry look came into his eyes and his hands glided over her. He pressed his palm between her legs and took her mouth again, and the raw possessiveness of it sent a shock wave through her.

She wanted him to possess her, needed him to. She wanted all of him, not just his hand. But then he was teasing her, exploring her, making her dizzy with need.

“Ryan.”

“I’ve got you.” His kiss was deep and relentless as his hands stroked fire into her body.

“Please.” She tugged at his jeans. God, why was he still wearing them? She needed them off, now, but he was touching her, making her forget everything except the hot friction of his fingers, and she arched against him, clutching his shoulders as he found that perfect spot.

“Ryan.”

She exploded. Stars burst behind her eyelids as she pressed against him and her body quaked and burned. He held her through it, murmuring against her ear and soothing her with his touch as her body reeled.

Finally, the tremors subsided and she went lax.

She blinked up at him, dazed. His eyes glittered down at her. He slid his arms under her body and hauled her into his lap, and then she was straddling him. She felt limp, boneless. She rested her forehead against his shoulder and stared down at his beautifully sculpted chest. A sheen of sweat covered him, and she buried her face against his neck and kissed him. His skin tasted salty and delicious and she kissed it again.

———

She ground her hips against him, and every cell in his body caught fire. She popped the snap of his jeans, and he took her wrist.

“Emma, honey—”

“What?”

Her hand slid beneath his waistband, and every thought emptied from his mind as she stroked him. She licked his neck under his ear, and he jerked his head back.

“Emma. Wait.”

But her sweet hand kept moving, and her tongue was hot against his skin.

“I love your body,” she whispered, and he clasped her slender wrist. But he didn’t mean it. Not really. If he’d wanted her to stop, he’d have gotten out of here a long time ago, before she started making those breathy little noises that drove him wild. He wanted much more than her hand in his jeans. He wanted her underneath him, begging him.

He kissed her neck, her jaw, the soft spot just beneath her collarbone. He inhaled her deeply, and she smelled so good he couldn’t get enough of her. She shifted on his lap, rubbing herself against him as her sweet breasts pressed against his chest. He cupped one in his palm and stroked that perfect pink nipple under his thumb.

He kissed her and rolled her onto her back, and she closed her eyes and tipped her head back in silent invitation. She didn’t have to tell him. He knew exactly what she wanted, what she needed. How to please this woman was somehow written into his DNA, and he felt a hot rush of joy because he knew he could make her come for him again.

She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him against her, and it was fucking heaven.

Almost.

“Ryan, please.”

Her fingers were on his zipper, and she was pulling at his jeans. He gently pushed her hands away and slid down her body, kissing her, and everything about her was so fucking amazing he never wanted to stop. And the little sounds she was making told him she didn’t want him to stop, either.

“Ryan,” she squeaked. “Oh my God, Ryan!”

———

It was happening again. It couldn’t be. But the world around her grew dim, and the only thing she could feel was the electrifying heat of his mouth against her. She clutched his shoulders, lifting her hips while at the same time she fought against him.

She wanted all of him. She wanted him deep inside her, where he could pound away this relentless ache and shatter it into a million pieces. But he was moving too fast, kissing her and touching her, and she felt the heat building unbearably until she couldn’t take another second.

She screamed his name and broke apart again.

Tremors shook her for seconds, or minutes, until her limbs seemed to melt. She dropped her head back against the cushion as he kissed his way up her body. She blinked up at him, dazed once more. Those green eyes glinted down at her, and she slid her hand to his zipper, but he clasped her wrist.

“Don’t.”

She gazed up at him, still breathless from everything he’d just done. But now she felt confused, too. “But what about you?”

“I’m good.”

She smiled and traced her fingers over the huge bulge in his jeans. “I don’t think so.”

He dropped a kiss on her forehead and sat up, pulling her legs into his lap.

A chill swept over her. She propped herself up on her elbows and stared at him. “You’re good,” she repeated. Like she’d offered him a cup of coffee he didn’t want.

She looked down at herself. She was sprawled across him naked, every inch of her body flushed and tingling. And with the exception of the T-shirt she’d yanked off him, he was still dressed, right down to his damn boots.

Heat flooded her cheeks as understanding dawned. That was really it. He was finished. She pulled her legs off his lap and grabbed her sweatshirt. “I can’t believe you.”

He watched her as she wrestled the sweatshirt over her head. She snatched her shorts off the floor and stood up.

He tipped his head back against the wall, but he didn’t say a word, confirming her fears. A cold, slimy feeling settled in her stomach.

She’d misread everything. He didn’t want her, not really. That raging hard-on she’d felt was just the natural result of having a moaning, writhing female under him. He didn’t really want her.

He sat forward, scrubbing his hand over his face. “Emma—”

“Don’t.”

She snatched her bra off the back of the sofa and looked around, turning away from him because she didn’t want him to see the mortification on her face. Damn it, where were the rest of her clothes?

She spotted a scrap of white lace on the floor beside his boot. He sighed, then scooped up her panties and held them out to her.

She grabbed them and stalked away.

THIRTEEN

Ryan’s gaze kept darting to the hallway as he listened to the water running. If she thought she could intimidate him with an angry glare and a slammed door, she was wrong.

He yanked off his boots and propped his feet on the coffee table. He laced his hands behind his head and stared at the TV, doing his best to ignore the frustration simmering inside him. But it wasn’t possible.

Finally, she emerged from the hallway, fully dressed again and looking perfectly calm. She clattered around in the kitchen for a few minutes before coming to join him on the couch with the remainder of her milkshake. She wedged herself into the corner and tucked her legs up under her.

Ryan was impressed. She’d seemed pretty embarrassed, and he’d half expected her to hole up in the bedroom for the rest of the night. But maybe Kyle’s little sex den freaked her out.

“What’s on?” she asked, sliding the spoon into her mouth.

“I don’t know.” He hadn’t even noticed. “Looks like Dodgers versus Diamondbacks, Chase Field.”

They watched in silence for a few minutes as the D-backs hit a double.

“You gonna share that?”

She slid a look at him. “Get your own.”

He watched her stir the shake, gauging her mood. He nudged her hip with his foot.

“Don’t touch me.”

Ryan sighed. He reached over and clamped his hand around her ankle and dragged her across the sofa.

“Hey!”

He pinned her under him and took the cup out of her hand, resting it on the table as she bucked beneath him. He kissed her. She tasted cold and chocolatey, and after a few long moments, she stopped resisting.

When he finally pulled away, she blinked up at him. The tears glistening in her eyes put a sharp pang in his chest.

Damn it, he’d fucked this up.

He rolled off her onto his side and rested his palm on her stomach so he could catch her if she tried to leave.

“Why did you do it?” she asked.

He brushed a curl off her forehead. “Because I wanted to.”

“Why?”

He stroked his hand through her soft hair, fanning it back on the cushion. It was something he’d been yearning to do, dying to do, since he’d first met her. “Did it feel good?”

She rolled her eyes and punched his chest, which he took as a yes.

“Do you feel relaxed?”

She huffed out a breath. “I did, but now I feel wired. And pissed at you. And I have to get up in the morning and deal with reality, and it would have been a lot easier if you’d just dropped me off at my hotel.”

“Not for me.”

She rolled away from him to face the TV, even though he knew she couldn’t care less about the game. He propped himself up on his elbow and pulled her back snugly against his chest.

They watched another play. And then she reached back and clamped her hand over his rock-hard dick.

She looked over her shoulder at him. “I don’t understand you.”

He kissed her forehead. Then he took her hand and tucked it safely in front of her. “I know.”

———

His mistake was falling asleep.

Awake, he had control. Discipline. He was trained to endure the most brutal conditions. But asleep, his body knew what it wanted, and it wanted Emma.

He woke up in the dark of Kyle’s apartment with Emma’s breast in his hand and her nipple hardening under his stroking fingers. With a soft moan, she rolled toward him, nestling her head under his chin. She pressed a warm kiss against his chest, and her hand traced a featherlight path down his body to his jeans. He caught her wrist and kissed the top of her head. But when his hand moved to her breast again, her warm fingers dipped into his jeans and curled around him, and every nerve in his body snapped awake.

She was watching him, her brown-black eyes luminous in the darkness as her hand stroked over him. She shifted closer and kissed him, and he heard the rasp of his zipper as she freed him from his jeans. She shifted her weight until she was straddling his lap, then lifted the sweatshirt over her head, and she was naked, completely, and he knew she’d planned this while he’d been asleep. He also knew he was a goner. No matter how much self-control he thought he had, no matter how much discipline, he was no match for this woman.

She planted her palm on his shoulder and leaned forward, and he filled his hands with her breasts as the warm, womanly scent of her surrounded him in an erotic haze. She leaned over him in the dark and kissed him.

“Ryan.” Her breath was hot against the side of his neck. “Please.”

———

Emma held her breath, waiting. For an endless moment, he didn’t move.

He sat up and kissed her, and there was nothing tentative about it as he rolled her onto her back and pinned her beneath him. She felt a rush of giddiness and nerves as the hard length of him pressed between her thighs.

He hadn’t been asleep, not completely. He’d been thinking about her, wanting her, the same way she’d been lying there in the dark and thinking about him. She tangled her fingers in his hair as he kissed her hungrily. There was something different now, something rough and raw, and she knew this was her chance. She’d flat-out beg him if she had to, but she wouldn’t let him reject her this time.

She pushed his jeans down his hips, and he helped her, shucking his clothes with lightning speed, until there was nothing between them.

He propped his weight on his arms and kissed her as she wrapped her legs around him and glided her hands over his strong back. She loved his shoulders, his arms, the deep ridge down his spine. She loved everything about him, and she wanted him so much she ached from it.

He eased down her body, sliding kisses over her skin until he reached her breasts, and the hot pull of his mouth sent a jolt of lust through her. She tried to shimmy down to line up their bodies, but he held her in place.

“Ryan.”

He ignored her and lingered over her breasts, kissing and teasing her. She reached over and groped for the condom she’d placed on the coffee table after he’d fallen asleep. He stopped what he was doing and looked at her, and the dark glint in his eyes gave her a shiver of anticipation as he tore open the condom and quickly covered himself. Nerves flitted in her stomach as he shifted over her and pressed her legs apart with his thighs. He was so big, so beautiful. She’d dreamed about this since that first night together in the jungle, but the reality felt awkward.

“Hold on to me,” he said, and she slid her fingers around his neck and held her breath. “I’ve got you.”

He shifted her hips and pushed into her, not gently but hard. She gasped at the pain. And the thrill of it, too, but it was mostly pain. She clutched his shoulders and moved under him, and a little squeak escaped.

He tensed. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” she said, knowing it was a lie and that everything about this was going to hurt. But she wanted him anyway, so much she burned with it.

He eased back and sank into her again, deeper this time, and she shifted to take him completely. For a moment, he went still, his body rigid as stone.

But then he started moving, a slow, tantalizing cadence that somehow made everything better and worse at the same time. The feel of him inside her was a shock, a milestone event that felt like it could change her forever. She opened her eyes and looked at him, and the utter concentration on his face made her heart squeeze. They fit together. Perfectly. But as their bodies moved, she felt a swelling sense of need, a yearning for something way out of reach. He moved faster and faster, and she strove to keep up with him.

His shoulders were tense under her hands, and she could tell he was keeping his weight off her. Even with all that power thrusting into her, she could tell he was holding back, trying not to hurt her. Like back in the rain forest, he was intent on protecting her. But she didn’t want to be protected. She wanted him, everything.

“More.” She gasped, digging her fingernails into his skin.

His muscles bunched beneath her hands as he pounded into her again and again, and she started to feel dizzy with need and clenched herself around him. Everything she wanted was so close, just a breath away.

“Oh, yes.” She clutched him tighter. “Ryan, please.”

The next thrust was harder, fiercer, and she felt the full force of his body as she clung to his slick shoulders. She held on to him desperately as they moved together and the world started to blur.

“Tell me when.” He touched his forehead to hers, and she felt the sweat on his brow.

“Ryan.”

She exploded—a bright burst of stars and light and shimmering pleasure. She clamped down on him with everything she had, and he drove himself into her again until finally his shoulders sagged and he collapsed against her.

She lay under him, crushed by the weight of him and the magnitude of what they’d done.

She hadn’t known.

Her heart thundered. Her entire body tingled, down to the very last nerve. All her life, she’d had no idea such pleasure was out there. She felt dazed by the revelation.

He pushed up and stared down at her in the darkness, and she tried to read his expression. She was breathing hard. They both were. But they didn’t talk as he pulled out of her and rolled onto his side. She shifted back against the sofa cushions to make room for him, but he got up and disappeared into the hallway.

Emma lay there on her side, her heart drumming inside her chest as she listened to the water run. Was he stalling? Doubts flooded her. She’d caught him off guard. She’d waited until his defenses were down and taken what she wanted, and he’d definitely been with her in the moment, but now he was having regrets. She closed her eyes, and a ball of dread formed in her stomach as she waited.

She found her sweatshirt on the ground and pulled it on, then turned onto her side facing the cushions and pretended to be asleep. A few moments later, she felt him standing beside the sofa, looming over her, although she hadn’t heard a single footstep. One of his SEAL tricks, probably, sneaking up on people in the dark.

He sank down onto the couch but didn’t stretch out beside her, and her heart sank.

“Emma?”

Regret. Apology. She could hear it in his voice. She squeezed her eyes tighter and pretended not to hear.

He stroked her arm and took her hand. Maybe she was being childish, but she didn’t want to talk about this now. She’d just had the best sex of her life, and she wanted to savor the moment.

The cushions sank as he stretched out next to her and pulled her back against his warm chest. The apartment was silent except for the steady rhythm of his breathing. Seconds stretched into minutes as she lay still beside him.

And then everything started to catch up to her—the frustrating day, the attempt on her life, the police station. She felt drained, exhausted. Her muscles were lax and heavy, too heavy even to move.

Ryan pulled her closer. “I know you’re awake,” he murmured. “You’re a terrible faker.”

She found his hand in the dark and squeezed it, not opening her eyes. “Let’s sleep,” she whispered.

———

Emma woke up alone.

She was groggy, disoriented. But her body felt unusually happy today, like it was thanking her for giving it a sip of water after a long drought. She looked at the sunlight streaming through the bay window and swung her legs off the sofa. She checked the clock in the kitchen. Eight fifteen.

Damn it, she needed to move.

The patio door stood ajar, and she heard Ryan outside talking on the phone as she grabbed her purse off the counter and rushed to the bathroom. She cleaned up quickly and threw on her clothes from yesterday. Her white silk blouse was hopelessly rumpled, and she looked like she’d just stepped off an international flight. But she did some quick makeup and hurried into the kitchen.

She noticed a black cell phone on the counter beside a Dodge key fob with a rental-car tag attached to it.

Ryan stepped inside with a cell phone in his hand. He wore the same clothes as last night, and his feet were bare. His gaze met hers, and a wave of memories crashed over her.

She looked away and cleared her throat. “I take it Jake was here already?”

“You just missed him.” He tucked the phone into his pocket. “He picked up his truck and dropped off a Dodge Charger, along with a couple of burner phones. The car’s parked down the block.”

“Oh.”

She stared at him, and the room fell silent. He stepped closer and leaned his palm on the counter beside her, so close she had to tip her head back to meet his gaze. He was trying to intimidate her, and she tried to look unaffected.

“We need to talk,” he said.

“About what?”

He stared down at her, his expression much too serious. “Last night—”

“Don’t say it.” She looked away.

“I will. Look at me.”

She did. She met his gaze and struggled to keep the insecurity out of her expression.

“Everything got out of hand,” he said. “I shouldn’t have let it happen.”

“You shouldn’t have? I think there were two of us involved.”

He raked his hand through his hair. “I’m here to protect you. Not to . . . do what I did.”

“What we did?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “You’re the one in a vulnerable situation. You turned to me for help, and I took advantage.”

She scoffed. “No, you didn’t.”

“I know what I did, Emma.”

She ducked around him and walked to the other side of the kitchen, struggling to get her emotions under control.

Anger. She definitely felt anger. But she felt hurt, too, and that was the part that threatened to spill over in the form of tears right now. I’m here to protect you. He considered her a mission, the same as he had in the Philippines. Her entire world had been turned upside-down by the time they’d spent together, and yet in his mind she was still a tactical objective.

She closed her eyes and counted to three mentally. When she’d locked her emotions away, she turned around.

“Who were you talking to?” she asked.

“What?” He seemed startled by the change of subject.

“Just now. Who was on the phone?”

“Your dad.”

She stared at him.

“Hard man to get a hold of. Lot of gatekeepers.”

Emma’s chest squeezed. Little darts of anger zinged through her. “You contacted my father?”

“Somebody had to.”

“No, somebody did not have to.”

He leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms. “Funny thing, he said he didn’t hear from you last night. Had no idea someone almost managed to kill you.”

“My relationship with my father is none of your business. Don’t meddle in things you don’t understand.”

His gaze darkened. “This isn’t about your relationship, Emma. It’s about protecting you from harm. Your dad’s pretty keen on that, as a matter of fact. He’s coming into town today to see about setting up a security detail for you for the foreseeable future.”

“How could you do this?” she sputtered. “You promised me.”

“I promised to let you handle it. But you didn’t, did you?”

Emma’s vision blurred. She couldn’t remember when she’d felt so pissed off. So manipulated.

Did he actually believe Mitchell Wright would fly all the way across the country for this? He hadn’t even bothered to come see her after her plane had been shot down. She’d spent a mere hour with him following Renee’s funeral, and then he’d had to jet off to some fund-raising thing in Seattle.

And Ryan had called him. Behind her back, while she’d been crashed on the sofa in a state of blissed-out slumber. It was an outright betrayal.

White-hot anger filled her. Her throat tightened, and she had to take a deep breath before she could talk.

“He’s not coming,” she told Ryan.

“He said he was.”

“He’s sending one of his people, trust me.”

“That’s not what he said.”

She rolled her eyes. “Believe whatever you want. I don’t have time to explain my father to you. I have to be in Los Angeles in two hours.”

Ryan’s gaze narrowed. “Why?”

“I’m meeting with Special Agent Alexa Mays at ten thirty. She’s on the task force investigating the plane crash, and I’ve been trying to get this meeting for a full week. She has a hard stop at eleven o’clock, so I can’t be late.”

“Fine, I’ll take you.” Ryan glanced at the clock. “Just give me ten minutes to shower.”

She gritted her teeth. She was fed up. She was sick of being handled and guarded and freaking babysat. But she knew that look in his eye, and it would be pointless to argue. She looked at the clock. “Five minutes.”

He disappeared down the hallway. Emma picked up the cell phone on the counter and powered it on. She fiddled with the buttons until she heard the shower running.

She glanced over her shoulder. She grabbed the car keys and crept to the door.

———

Ryan pulled his shirt over his head and walked into the kitchen, zipping his jeans. He glanced into the living room and stopped cold. He looked at the counter.

“Fuck.”

He dug the phone from his pocket and hit redial as he strode to the patio door and looked out.

“Fuck!”

“Yo,” Jake said.

“She’s gone.” Ryan rushed to the back door, but of course the garage was empty. “Where are you?” he demanded.

“What do you mean, gone?” Jake asked.

“She fucking took off while I was in the shower.”

“You took a shower?”

Ryan jogged down the driveway and shoved through the gate that was already ajar. “Turn around,” he said. “You can’t be that far away. See if you can intercept her.”

“I’m on my way.”

Ryan scanned the sidewalk for a royal-blue Charger. He spotted it parked near the corner in the shade of an oak tree. He halted and looked around.

A lead weight settled in his stomach. Then he broke into a run.

Emma wasn’t in the car. Or near it. He looked up and down the block but only saw an elderly woman walking her Chihuahua and a guy with a garden hose watering his roses.

Ryan tried the car doors. Still locked. His gaze fell on a black key fob tucked up against the curb.

His blood ran cold. He snatched up the car key, which had been sitting on the kitchen counter just minutes ago. Panic gripped him as he looked up and down the street.

“Hey!” He jogged up to the dog-walking lady. “Excuse me, ma’am? I’m looking for a young woman. Wavy brown hair. About this tall—” He held his hand up to his chest. “She’s wearing a gray skirt?”

The woman must have seen the desperation in his eyes because she pulled off her sunglasses. “White blouse?”

“Yes!”

“I saw her just a minute ago.” She looked down the street. “She was with the big guy.”

“Big guy?” Ryan’s world tilted.

“Yes, in a black SUV. They took off.”

Don’t miss the thrilling conclusion of Emma and Ryan’s story in

EDGE OF

SURRENDER

ALPHA CREW, PART 2

Don't miss what happens next in the next At the Edge installment from New York Times bestselling author Laura Griffin!

Edge of Surrender

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author LAURA GRIFFIN started her career in journalism before venturing into the world of romantic suspense. She is a two-time RITA Award winner (for the books Scorched and Whisper of Warning) as well as the recipient of the Daphne du Maurier Award (for Untraceable). Laura currently lives in Austin, where she is working on her next book. Visit her website at LauraGriffin.com and on Facebook at Facebook.com/LauraGriffinAuthor.

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ALSO BY LAURA GRIFFIN

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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Pocket Star Books

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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 © 2016 by Laura Griffin

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First Pocket Star Books ebook edition March 2016

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Interior design by Carly Loman

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ISBN 978-1-5011-3095-3

Contents

Prologue

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

About the Author