“No, don’t,” she moaned. “Zane, they’re taking her . . . Have to get them to let her go . . .”

A tightness took up space in the middle of his chest. He knew a thing or two about nightmares, and from the looks of it, she was smack-dab in the middle of a doozy.

Quietly, he moved into the room and tried to decide what to do while she thrashed from side to side. She definitely didn’t deserve any of his sympathy, but the last thing he wanted her to do was fall off that couch and hurt herself. Then she’d just be an even bigger pain in his ass than she already was.

Except . . . she hadn’t been. Not the way he’d expected. She’d tended his wound and gotten them somewhere quiet so he could rest. In the state he’d been last night, she could have overpowered him at any point, but she hadn’t. And she obviously could have run when she cut those zip ties. Yet she was still here. She was still with him.

His palms grew sweaty, and his pulse ticked up. He swiped his hands against his jeans and knelt on the ground in front of her. “Eve.”

“No . . .” She tossed her head again, all that light-blonde hair falling over her cheeks and eyes and lips. “Zane. Need help . . .”

He didn’t know what she was dreaming about, but unease lodged itself in his chest. Carefully, he placed a hand on her arm. “Eve. Wake up.”

She jolted, but he tightened his grip. Then her eyes flew open. Wide, fear-filled eyes that sent a tingle straight down his spine. Slowly, those eyes narrowed and focused on his face. “Ar-Archer?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said, loosening his grip but still keeping his arm on hers, just in case. “You were having a bad dream.”

She looked up and around the dark living room like she’d never seen it before, then slowly shifted up to sitting.

He eased back on his heels and let go of her, waiting for . . . hell, he didn’t know what. Whatever she’d been dreaming about had rattled him in a way he didn’t expect. Especially because she’d called his name. “Wanna tell me about it?”

“I . . .” She placed a hand against her forehead and closed her eyes, still obviously rattled herself. “I don’t remember.”

Bullshit. He fought back the frustration. “Do you have dreams like this all the time?”

“No. I mean, yes. I mean . . . I dream about the past, like they told us might happen, but not like this. I . . . I don’t know.”

PTSD. Yeah, he knew about it. Working for the CIA, they’d both been educated heavily in the aftereffects of an op. He still had plenty that kept him up at night. He just couldn’t help but wonder which one was tormenting her.

He ground his teeth at the pain in his leg as he pushed up, then sat on the couch next to her. He held up his wrist so she could see the one lone zip tie. “Should I even ask how you managed this?”

Her gaze flicked his direction, and something uneasy flashed in her eyes before she glanced quickly away again. “Oh . . . I . . . um . . . found a pocketknife.”

Where the hell would she have gotten a pocketkni—?

Zane patted his pocket and found it empty. A frown tugged at his mouth just before a memory flashed.

Heat—everywhere—grinding against his cock. Rubbing against his chest. Licking into his mouth in a sinful, suggestive way. And Eve’s breathy voice in the throes of passion, saying his name again and again. Warning—no, begging.

“Hold on.” His eyes widened. “That happened last night?”

Eve quickly pushed to her feet. “Nothing happened. Get your head out of the gutter. I snagged your pocketknife and cut the zip tie. Big deal.”

She moved into the kitchen, whatever PTSD she’d been experiencing long gone, but he saw the flash of pink in her cheeks. Confused, he followed and stared at her as she pulled the fridge open and warm light cascaded over her body. “Right. Nothing happened. Which explains why I woke up with a hard-on.”

She frowned his way, a sexy turn of her lips that only heated his blood all over again. “How you wake up and with what is not my concern.”

Understanding dawned, and his eyes grew wider. “You seduced me to get that damn pocketknife.”

“I did no such thing.” She slammed the fridge door shut and turned to face him. “I was simply looking for something in the nightstand so I could get the hell away from you. You’re the one who grabbed me and started getting all hot and bothered. You made it perfectly clear you don’t like me anymore, so why the hell would I not try to get free from you?”

“I’m the one who . . . ? How . . . ? What the hell does that . . . ?” Words sputtered from his mouth, and then his memory flashed again. Hot, sexy, erotic memories of her body grinding down against his erection, making him ache. Her gasps. Her moans. The way she pushed her tongue past his lips and kissed him—like she couldn’t get enough. Like a woman starved.

He glared at her. “You sure didn’t put up too much of a protest.”

“I’m not having this conversation with you.” She brushed past him for the living room again. “Nothing happened. End of story. Let it go, Archer.”

No, it wasn’t the end of things, and he wasn’t letting it go. Because between her calling for him this morning and what had happened last night, he needed to know just what kind of angle she was working now.

“Stop, Eve.” He grasped her arm and whipped her back to face him.

“Let me go, you jackass.” She pulled back from his grip.

“For once in your life don’t fucking lie.” He tightened his grip on her arm. “Why didn’t you run last night after you got free?”

She slowed her frantic fighting. Her chest rose and fell with her deep breaths, but she didn’t answer.

“Tell me the truth. Why are you still here?”

Her amber eyes slowly lifted to his and held. And something like remorse trickled through those pretty gems.

The tightness lodged in his chest felt like it expanded, cinching down his lungs, making it hard to get air.

“I . . .” Her gaze slid from his and searched the room, searching, he knew, for another lie.

He squeezed her arm. “The truth.”

“I . . .” She exhaled a long breath. “I was planning to run, you jackass. Then I came out here to flip on the news and make sure there was nothing linking me to the bombing when I saw . . .”

“Saw what?”

She scowled. “Your face. On the news. The FBI’s issued an arrest warrant for you in connection with the bombing.”

“Me?” Disbelief had the blood draining from Zane’s face.

“I don’t know how they connected you. Someone must have caught video or stills of you leaving the blast site. It’s no big deal, though. I mean, we’ll call Carter today like you were planning to do, and I’ll tell him everything. He’ll be able to help. I . . .” Eve’s brow dropped low, and she hesitated, as if thinking through something. But before Zane could ask what she was plotting next, her eyes flew wide. “Oh my God.”

“What now?” What could be worse than the FBI being after him? Fucking fantastic. His shitty luck was turning to pure crap right before his eyes.

“No. Oh my God.” She swayed and gripped the back of a chair.

“Eve?” Something wasn’t right. Her face had gone ashen. “What?”

“Oh my God. Olivia. They have Olivia.”

“Who the hell is Olivia?” Zane raked a hand through his hair. He’d had enough. It was time she spilled the beans. About everything. “Start at the beginning, and don’t leave anything out.”

“Olivia is”—Eve dropped into a chair, crossed her arms over her stomach, and began rocking back and forth—“my sister. Oh God, they have her.”

Wood splintered, and the front door crashed in. Zane and Eve both gasped and jerked that direction. And looked straight into the barrel of a SIG.


“Son of a bitch, Archer,” the man in the doorway said. “You’re in so much fucking trouble right now.”

Every muscle in Eve’s body tensed, but she was still in too much shock over what she’d just remembered to react. The man dressed in black pants, combat boots, and a black T-shirt dropped his gun to his side and glared Zane’s way. He was taller than Zane, his arms and thighs as thick as tree trunks, and every inch of his demeanor screamed military. “Ryder’s ready to blacklist you, and the Feds just issued an APB for your sorry ass.”

“Tell me something I don’t already know, Miller.” Zane strode to the door and shoved it closed. “You nearly gave me a heart attack. You didn’t have to come in all Rambo-like. You could have fucking knocked.”

Surprise flicked over Miller’s rugged face, and he straightened. “I didn’t know what kind of scene I’d find.”

He wasn’t a threat. He knew Zane. Not that that helped Eve’s queasy stomach. Memories bombarded her. Ones she’d obviously blacked out after the explosion. The image of the purple butterfly on Olivia’s ankle in the window of that cell phone. The van across the street from the café. The smug look of victory in her contact’s eyes when he’d said, “Very nice doing business with you, Ms. Wolfe.”

The explosion.

Eve groaned on a wave of pain so intense it stole her breath. She dropped her head into her hands.

“Shit, Archer. What the hell did you do to her?”

“Nothing,” Zane muttered. “I didn’t do anything to her. Eve?” Panic filled his voice. A panic she didn’t need right now. “Eve? Tell me what’s going on.”

His hands slid against her arms, and he tried to lift her out of the chair, but the pain caused her to kick out and push against him. “They killed her. Oh God, she was in the van when it exploded, and they killed her.” Tears burned the backs of her eyes and turned to fury as they slid down her throat. “And I could have gone after them, but you fucking drugged me, you asshole, and I didn’t remember until just now!”