Not the welcome-to-your-vacation gift the management company had anticipated, not that Eve cared. Backing into the cold chill, she grasped the top edge of the open fridge door for balance and lifted her feet onto the bottom ledge, out of view, and waited.

Glass crunched under boot steps, and Eve tensed. When the tip of a rifle passed the edge of the open door, she shoved the door open hard with her shoulder, then swung out with the bottle.

Glass shattered against bone. The man grunted. Arms flailed out as his body weight pitched backward. Dragging her arm away, Eve shoved her fist into the man’s throat, collapsing his windpipe. He dropped to the ground with a thunk.

Eve stepped over him, shifted the first rifle to her back, and picked up the second.

Glass crackled from the living room, and Eve froze.

Her pulse shot up all over again. She ducked behind the edge of the wall and lifted the weapon.

“Don’t fucking shoot,” Archer announced. “It’s me.”

Eve released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and lowered her weapon. “Dammit, Archer,” she whispered. “There’s still another one lurking.”

“No there’s not.” He rounded the corner into the kitchen and glanced down at the two unmoving bodies lying among broken glass and splintered wood on the kitchen floor. “I got the other three.”

She wasn’t going to be impressed. She straightened and frowned. “Just had to show me up, didn’t you?”

His dark gaze lifted to hers. Blood splatters stained his cheek, sweat beaded his forehead, and his shirt was torn at the shoulder. And though he had two weapons slung over his shoulder, much like her, and was holding one assault rifle in his hand, his feet weren’t torn to pieces from the broken glass like hers. The man hadn’t just taken out three black ops assassins in the time it had taken her to drop two. He’d already snagged their combat boots. “It’s not a competition, Evie.”

“Everything’s a competition, Archer. Especially when you’re a woman.” Why was she so irritated? She’d worked with men on ops before. She’d even worked well with Archer—and not just in the bedroom. She didn’t have to prove herself to anyone. But the way he was looking at her set the fine hairs on her nape standing straight, and something uncomfortable rolled through her belly.

She shook off the strange feeling, slung the second rifle over her shoulder, then knelt and tugged the boots off the closest body, refusing to look at the soldier’s face. “That was a wet team. Not the same untrained thugs who chased us at the docks.”

“Yeah. But this insignia isn’t US government.”

She looked down at the patch on the sleeve of the man at her feet. A wolf encased in a circle, surrounded by stars. “I noticed that too. Hired mercenaries?”

“Could be. Or something else.”

The “something else” didn’t leave Eve feeling all rosy inside. “The Agency wouldn’t have sent a wet team just for you. They’d have sent the Feds in, along with the press to catch it all on camera so they could brag to the world they caught the mastermind behind the Seattle bombing.”

“I know.”

Eve’s stomach tightened as she pushed her feet into the boots. That meant someone besides the US government and a group of terrorist thugs was after them. She cringed at the pain in her left foot. There was still glass in there. She’d get it out later.

“They came in by boat,” Archer said. “There’s a Bayliner tied to the dock.”

Eve knelt to tie the laces. The boots were three sizes too big, but big was better than nothing. “That’s probably our easiest way out of here.”

“Yeah. Miller left his truck, but it’ll take us twice as long to get to Everett that way.”

Eve stood and ground her teeth against the pain. “What’s in Everett?”

“My car.” When she stared at him, he added, “Supplies.”

Money, ID, passports, fresh weapons. Eve knew the drill. “Fine. Let’s go.”

She turned for the back door, but Zane’s hand gripped her T-shirt and pulled her back. Before she could catch her footing, he pushed the weapon to his side, shoved her up against the wall, and closed in at her front. Then his mouth was on hers. Hot. Hard. Demanding.

He kissed her with those sensuous lips and pressed his muscular, sweaty body into hers until all thought slipped from her mind, then pulled back. “You’re not alone, and you don’t have to do everything on your own. I’m here with you in this. Try to remember that.”

He stepped past her, out into the morning light, and, dazed, Eve stayed right where she was, pulse racing and mind spinning.

He was offering help. Help for something she’d dragged him into. No, she corrected herself, for something he’d stumbled into all on his own. He could leave, take off and get his team at Aegis to help him clear his name, but he wasn’t. Her gaze strayed out the shattered window toward the dock. He was staying. Waiting for her to join him.

Her heart picked up speed, and pain gathered beneath her ribs, where it beat hard and fast. Their rendezvous—okay, fuck session—in the bedroom replayed in her mind, and her stomach and chest grew tight all over again, just like it had the moment she’d realized what she’d done and climbed off him.

Sweat broke out all along her forehead, and she swiped at it with a shaky hand. A pissed Archer she knew how to handle. One hell-bent on revenge and retribution? Way easier to deal with than the one currently standing out on that dock. Offering to help. Trying to protect her. Because he cared.

“Tell me I never mattered to you and it was all about the job. I’ll walk away and you’ll never have to see me again.”

She squeezed her eyes tight. Stupid, stupid—so fucking stupid. He’d given her an out, and she hadn’t taken it. And now he knew her biggest weakness.

She braced a hand against the wall and tried to settle her quaking stomach. But it didn’t work. Because what waited for her out there scared her more than anything the CIA could throw her way.


Metal scraped metal, and Olivia braced a hand against the cold, dingy floor as she pushed up from where she’d been trying to sleep.

Bright light blinded her as the door to her cell was pulled open. A silhouette blocked part of the light, and she blinked several times to see more clearly, but she couldn’t make out any distinguishing features. “Who—who’s there?”

Fresh, blessed air drifted to her nostrils, pushing aside all the stale filth she’d been wallowing in these last days, and she drew it in deeply, as much as she could before they closed her in again. Heavy footsteps crossed the dirty metal floor as she was filling her lungs, and then a firm, large hand wrapped around her biceps and hauled her to her feet. “Time to go, little lady. The powers that be have decided you just might be useful to us after all.”

Pain raced down her arm and back up again. She yelped as she was dragged across the grimy floor and tried to find her footing. This wasn’t the same man who’d brought her food before. It was someone else.

Bright sunlight washed over her, blinding her, bringing her limbs to a stop in the warmth, and halting all questions about who had her now.

Freedom. Her body shook with sweet relief. The sun was still there. It hadn’t disappeared. There was still hope. Her legs went out from under her.

“Son of a bitch,” the man holding her arm muttered in a thick accent. He tugged hard again, and pain spiraled through Olivia’s body, but she couldn’t move her legs. They weren’t working. And the sun felt so good. She didn’t want to leave it. Couldn’t . . .

“Get up.” He yanked hard again.

Olivia yelped. Tried to stand. But her legs felt like Jell-O, and the sun . . .

“Fucking bitch.” He hauled her up and tossed her over his shoulder like she was nothing more than a sack of potatoes.

Pain echoed all through her weak body, but Olivia braced her hands against his back and lifted her head, blinking into the sunshine as he moved, trying to see—see something, anything.

Large shapes closed in around her. Blocking out the sunlight. She blinked over and over, trying to get her eyes to work, and then, slowly, the shapes came into focus.

Large metal containers. Hundreds of them, all around her. And above, angry-looking claw-like hooks. Big ones.

A seagull cried somewhere overhead, and Olivia realized it wasn’t just sunlight she was drawing in; it was salt as well. From seawater. They were at a port of some kind. And around her . . . those were ConEx containers. The kind that were shipped on barges from one country to another.

Gravel crunched under the man’s feet below her. He spoke to someone nearby in a language she didn’t understand. Spanish? German? Arabic? She couldn’t tell.

Focus, Olivia. Focus on anything you can so you can remember.

She was a teacher. Nothing special. And she was too weak to try to overpower these two and still live. But she’d watched enough crime movies to know that when she got out of this—if she got out of it—she needed to pay attention to every detail if she wanted them to be caught.

The man carrying her stopped. Words were spoken—more she couldn’t make out—then a car door opened, and the man holding her set her down on her feet.

He let go of her for a split second, and her legs wobbled, but she braced a hand on the edge of the white van to steady herself.

Then she realized he’d let go of her.

The flight response kicked in without her even searching for it. She shoved her arms hard into the cargo door. It hit one of the men, knocking him off balance. She turned and pushed her legs forward as hard as she could.