Her uncle wasn’t apologizing for giving in to the terrorists. He was apologizing because he wasn’t giving in to them. He was apologizing because he knew they were both going to die here today. And he was apologizing for the pain they were both going to suffer beforehand.

She’d never been prouder of the man than she was in that moment. It took everything she had to hold back the sob burning like a bonfire in her throat. And she couldn’t hold back the tears continuing to stream down her face, soaking into the salty gag and stinging her split lip. But she raked in a deep breath and managed around the gag, “Love you.”

His chest quaking, his face crumpling as he sobbed uncontrollably, her uncle nodded. And then, three precious words… “Love you, too.”

Qasim threw back his head and bellowed his fury to the ceiling. He’d been watching the exchange. He knew what’d just passed between them. He understood the pact they’d made. Delilah’s entire being, body, spirit, and mind, trembled at the terrible sound of rage as it echoed around the cavern. She’d never heard anything like it. It was awful. Obscene. She closed her eyes against it. Wished she could close her ears against it.

And then, as quickly as it began, it ended. Like a switch had been flipped.

She swallowed, glancing up to find Qasim staring at her.

Evil… Again, the word whispered through her head. Then Qasim snarled something to the men holding her. She didn’t understand it, but then he translated, “I told them to throw you to the ground so I can fuck you bloody.”

Her uncle howled and struggled against his captor. She kicked and bucked as two sets of hard, bruising hands pushed her to the floor. The bones in her tied arms cried out as the appendages were smashed between her back and the rock. A knee landed on her chest, digging into her breastbone, making it impossible to breathe. Cruel fingers bit into the skin of her thighs, wrenching them wide. The tart smell of unwashed male bodies tunneled up her nose, causing her to gag.

She crushed the cloth between her teeth with such force her jaws popped. But she didn’t make a peep. She refused to—

BOOOOOMMMM!

The explosion was tremendous. Thunderous. It shook the earth.

A split second later, the knee was gone, the hands were gone. Bodies fell around her, slamming into the cavern floor with disgusting-sounding thumps and crunches. Confused, disoriented, she dragged in a shuddering breath, staring up at the ceiling, at the golden light playing with the shadows.

Wha—

And then she could hear the hollow thud of boots against stone, the steady beat of running feet. The sound was distant, empty, competing with the ringing in her ears. She turned her chin, blinking, trying to make sense of the scene laid out before her. The four terrorists were sprawled around, dead to a man, blood pooling beneath their heads.

And then she knew. It hadn’t been one massive explosion; it’d been four simultaneous ones. Four shots from four guns that had instantly taken out the threat. And, sweet Jesus! Was it over? Could it really be over?

The sobs shuddering in her chest broke free as she finally allowed the shock and the terror and the pain to pour from her.

“Delilah!” She heard her name. Heard his voice.

“Mac!” she tried to yell, but the only sound to issue from her throat was a pitiful, hiccupping wail.

“Delilah!” And he was there, beside her, gathering her up in his arms, peppering her face with kisses, reaching around to undo the gag. He crushed her to him, burying his nose in her neck—God, he smelled good. Like Mac—and that’s when she saw it.

Movement…

The terrorist closest to them, the one who’d had his fist in hair. He was reaching for the pistol tucked in his waistband, the deep bloody furrow along his temple proof he’d only been grazed.

“Mac!” she screamed, bucking in his embrace, her hands still tied behind her back.

Later she would marvel at Mac’s speed, at the battle-honed reflexes that allowed him to raise his gun, aim, and fire all in a split second. But right then she was too busy wincing at the deafening roar of his Glock, at the bright flash as the bullet left the muzzle, at the hot spray of blood that landed on her arm and leg when the terrorist’s skull exploded like an overripe melon.

No one moved for a beat. The shock of it all overwhelming. Then Mac recovered and yelled over his shoulder, “Somebody bring in a stretcher!” before gathering her shaking form close once again, murmuring, “Shh, now, darlin’. I gotcha. It’s all over…”

* * *

Northwestern Memorial Hospital

Chicago, Illinois

Delilah turned from her uncle’s bedside and gifted Mac with an ear-to-ear smile. He felt the jaws of a trap—one that was both deadly and strangely alluring—closing around him.

In the forty-eight hours since the spooks choppered them to a farmer’s field just outside the city, then loaded them into an SUV for a quick ride to the hospital, Mac had had to tell the story of the “backwoods car wreck” that caused Theo and Delilah’s injuries a total of one time…to the attending ER physician when they first arrived. That’s it. Just the once. Explanation…swallowed whole. It was almost as if he heard an audible gulp.

And even though he was a bona fide covert operator, living all that cloak and dagger stuff day-in and day-out, there were times, like this one, that even he felt the need to shake his head at the…uh…surreal-ness? Was that even a word?…of it all. Because, no one, not the nurses or the doctors or, hell, even the night janitor had the first clue that the real reason Delilah had a concussion, bruising, and scrapes, and Theo had a broken leg, lacerations, and contusions, was because a group of terrorists bent on securing nuclear warheads had kidnapped and interrogated the pair inside of a…wait for it…freakin’ cave.

But, seriously, why would they suspect it? Even for Mac it was damn near unbelievable. The stuff of poorly written, overly dramatic spy novels, and—

“Mac?” Delilah jerked him from his thoughts. “Are you okay?”

Okay? No. Hell, no, he was not okay. Not even close to being okay. Because in the last forty-eight hours, as he watched her stoically suffer pokes and prods from the medical staff, as he watched her answer a gazillion questions from the civilian-clad CIA agent sent in to debrief her, as he watched her refuse to leave her uncle’s bedside, he’d come to the awful conclusion that he’d not only fallen a little bit…but a lot in love with her. As in, all the way. Ass-over-tea-kettle.

Delilah Fairchild, with her smile and charm, with her bravery and grit, had stolen his goddamned heart. Like a thief in the night. Or maybe it was more like a thief in the day. Because she’d made no bones about her pursuit of him. Not even at the very beginning. So, yessir, the fact that he’d reneged on his pledge to himself was nobody’s fault but his own.

Which pissed him off. And…scared him to death.

Goddamn history…why did it have to go and repeat itself?

“Mac?” Delilah said again. “You’re starting to scare me. What is it? Is Fido—”

“No, no,” he assured her, shaking himself out of his own head. “Fido’s fine. In fact, Steady said the vet will release him tomorrow mornin’. We can make sure someone transports him up here. If you’d like, he can be at the bar waitin’ when you bring Theo home.” He motioned with his chin toward the softly snoring old man.

And there it was again. That goddamn smile. The one that said he hung the moon and had the ability to jump over it. It was a problem, that smile. It made him want to throw caution to the wind.

“I’d like that very much,” she said, pushing to a stand.

He gulped as she strolled toward him. She was wearing her standard daily get-up of painted-on jeans and a soft, body-hugging T-shirt. And that sensual, hip-swaying gait of hers? Well, there should be some kind of law against it. It was just too mesmerizing, reminding him of all they’d done together not so very long ago, taunting him with the things he’d never allow himself to do again. And it was no surprise when Little Mac, the prick—ha!—took notice of her approach. He had to adjust his stance.

“Were you able to get the bikes transported up?” she asked, stopping barely a foot from him. Close enough so that he could smell the spicy sweetness of her. Close enough so that he could see the golden flecks in the centers of her pretty green eyes. He loved those little bits of yellow, like the first autumn leaves turning on a tree.

Oh, for the love of… And now what am I? A freakin’ poet?

He nodded. It was all he could manage with his tongue threatening to hang out like a dog’s. She was so beautiful. Too beautiful.

“Good.” She nodded. “Thank you for that.”

“No problem,” he somehow managed to say while keeping his tongue clamped firmly between his teeth.

“Mac?” She tilted her head, her sleek auburn brows angling down. He loved it when they did that. The smooth arches curling at the innermost edges, a delightful little wrinkle forming between them. Good God, and now you’re going on about her eyebrows? He really was in sad, sad shape. And that…well…he wasn’t too proud to say, made him feel the need to vamoose himself, like, yesterday. The soles of his feet were actually itching to send him running far and fast and…farther away from her. “Are you sure you’re okay?”