“They’re probably eating lunch.”

She’d forgotten it was almost noon. “I guess we slept late.”

“Sleep had nothing to do with it.” Javier grinned.

Grandma Inga and Mamá Andreína sat side by side beneath a beach umbrella of palm fronds. Javier’s two sisters, Ana and Nayelis, were having an animated conversation while sunning themselves on beach towels. Sophie, Megan, Kat, Tessa, and Kara sat in the sunshine closer to the water, talking and watching their kids play together in the sand. Marc, Nate, Julian, and Kara’s husband, Reece, had taken on some of Javier’s former Team buddies in a game of beach volleyball—John LeBlanc, Brian Desprez, Chris Ross, and Steve Zimmerman.

“If you’re going to call it, Hunter, at least hit the damned ball.”

“If your foot hadn’t tripped me, Dickangelo, I would have.”

“You guys do know how to play this game, right?” Reece asked.

“They probably learned the rules by watching women in bikinis play,” Nate said.

John ended the bickering. “You ladies going to talk or play volleyball?”

Meanwhile, Holly sat in her bikini in the shade near the bar holding court with three of Javier’s male cousins—while sneaking covert glances at the shirtless SEALs in the volleyball pitch.

Natalie and Zach were nowhere to be seen. She had a good idea where they were. Having been married for almost two years now, they wanted a baby.

Laura glanced out over the waves, saw someone dangling a hundred feet in the air from a parasail that was being towed by a boat. “Oh, God! Is that Gabe up there?”

Javier glanced up. “Looks fun, doesn’t it?”

“Suicidal is more the word I was looking for.”

They settled into their beach chairs. Laura peeled off the short dress she’d worn as a cover-up, the sun warm on her skin, her body feeling languid from a morning of sleeping in, room service, and sex. She pulled a tube of sunscreen out of her beach tote, rubbed it into her exposed skin.

“Sure you don’t need help?” Javier watched her, his eyes hidden by sunglasses. “You’ve got a lot of skin, and I’ve got two big hands.”

“Can you put it on my back?” She turned away from him, drew her hair aside.

“You got it.” He took the tube from her, planting a kiss on her neck before he began to rub the cream into her shoulders.

They had arrived in Puerto Rico three days ago amid a whirlwind of nightlong parties and wedding preparations, men from Cobra International Solutions, Javier and Derek’s security company, having come to the island two days earlier to make certain the place was secure. Laura had left most of the planning to the resort—one of the best decisions she’d made in this entire process. She’d been able to join in the parties and get to know Javier’s parents, siblings, aunts and uncles, cousins, and nieces and nephews, rather than worrying about arrangements. And she’d been able to spend a little bit of each day with Klara, who had just turned three in December.

Many of their friends had flown in for the ceremony, and although some had already returned home, most saw this as their chance to have an all-expenses-paid vacation. True, Laura and Javier had spent a fortune, but it had been important to them to have the ceremony they wanted, one that brought together their far-flung families and friends for a once-in-a-lifetime celebration. They didn’t face the future expense of children—no strollers, no braces, no prom, no cars, no college to pay for—so why not make the most of their special day?

And it had been perfect.

The ceremony had been held amid palm trees and tropical flowers atop a cliff overlooking the ocean, far from the prying eyes of the media. Laura had felt at peace, a gentle breeze tugging on her veil as she and Javier had spoken their vows. She would never forget the look in his eyes as he’d slipped the wedding band on her finger—happiness, desire, and enough love to last a lifetime.

The reception had gone on through the night, with music, dancing, drinking, and singing. Laura and Javier had passed out capias—little tokens of the wedding that included the date and their names and were an old Puerto Rican tradition—and then sneaked away for a private celebration of their own.

Laura couldn’t have asked for a more wonderful wedding—or wedding night.

“You’re all greased.” Javier finished, handing Laura the sunscreen, and leaned back in his chair.

Laura tucked the tube back in her bag and settled in beside him.

Nearby, Grandma Inga and Mamá Andreína erupted into peals of laughter. They’d been inseparable since the wedding—a true odd couple. Laura’s grandmother was tall and spoke not a word of Spanish, and Mamá Andreína was petite and spoke no Swedish. The only thing they had in common was white hair and a tiny bit of conversational English—and the fact that their grandchildren had just gotten married.

“What do you think the two of them are talking about?”

“No clue. Can they even understand each other?”

“Have they been drinking again?”

“Your grandma is a bad influence on mine.”

Laura gave a laugh. “It’s the other way around. Look at the bottle they’ve tucked between their chairs. Isn’t that Mamá Andreína’s licor de chinas?”

Javier craned his neck. “What’s she doing with that? That shit is illegal, man.”

A homemade brew of rum and oranges, it was one of the most delicious liqueurs Laura had ever tasted, but it was strong.

And then Laura saw them.

Stella and Anette appeared first, bounding on foal-like legs across the sand, both wearing their red hair pulled back in ponytails. Klara ran after them on little legs that couldn’t quite keep up, the sight of her putting a bittersweet ache in Laura’s chest. She wore a little pink tankini, her dark hair drawn back in a long ponytail, a pink sun hat on her head, green plastic sunglasses covering her eyes. She was adorable.

Heidi called to the twins in Swedish, her hands full of beach toys. “Stella! Anette! Wait for your little sister!”

“She’s grown so much already.”

Javier rested his hand on Laura’s. “She’s going to be tall like her mother.”

Laura watched as the twins turned back for Klara, each of them taking her by one hand and leading her toward the water, Heidi behind them.

“Aw.” Javier grinned. “Now that was cute.

“Those girls really do love her.”

Javier chuckled. “Look at that poor bastard.”

Clearly the family’s beast of burden, Erik had appeared dragging a rolling cooler while carrying two beach bags and five folding beach chairs, two for adults and three little ones for the girls. Wearing a blue tropical shirt that he hadn’t bothered to button over a green pair of swim trunks, and a pair of loafers on his feet, he reminded Laura of every Swedish father she’d ever seen on the beach—indulgent of his family and not very fashionable.

Laura looked back toward the girls playing in the sand. Klara sat, legs splayed, digging with a plastic shovel and making dubious contributions to a sand castle that her two older sisters had begun. Heidi knelt beside them, a happy smile on her face. She looked up, saw Laura watching, and motioned for her to join them. “Would you girls like your aunt Laura to play with us?”

“Yes!” the twins answered, Stella looking over at Laura and waving.

“You go spend time with that sweet baby girl of yours.” Javier sat up, kissed Laura’s cheek, then called to Erik. “You look like a man who needs a hand.”

“Oh!” Erik laughed, two of the little beach chairs slipping from his fingers. “I suppose I do.”

Laura walked across the sand, her pulse picking up as she sat down beside Klara. “What are you all building?”

“A sand castle,” the twins answered.

Klara looked up at Laura with guileless blue eyes. Speaking in Swedish, she parroted Anette and Stella. “Sand castle.”

Laura met the gaze of the wonderful woman who was raising her child. “Thank you, Heidi, for letting me join in. Thank you for everything.”

Nineteen years later

Los Angeles, California


JAVIER STOOD AT the side of the stage, watching as Laura gave the commencement address at Klara’s college graduation at USC Annenberg’s School of Journalism. Earpiece discreetly in place, he listened as his men checked in with one another. Tower was directing this operation, but Javier had come strapped anyway, body armor and a concealed 9mm beneath his suit jacket. Although it was unlikely that anything would happen today, he wasn’t taking chances.

College officials had let slip that Laura would be addressing her goddaughter’s graduating class, and the media had picked up on that. One paper had even run a photograph of Klara. Though almost twenty years had gone by since Javier had carried Klara out of Pakistan, there was a possibility, however remote, that someone would put the pieces together. He, Tower, and a team from CIS were there to make sure no one got near her.

And then there was Laura’s safety to consider.

Her very presence here had caused a stir. As the face of the nation’s top prime-time news program—the network had fired Gary Chapin and brought her on board the moment they’d heard she was interested in returning to broadcast journalism—she was more of a celebrity than she’d ever been, her ordeal a matter of public knowledge. Although there hadn’t been a credible threat against her in a decade, the public nature of the event would give anyone who wanted to harm her an opportunity.

But so far, all had been quiet.

“It is true that reporters see both the best and the worst that human beings have to offer. Over time, it gets hard not to be cynical. It will take a lot of integrity on your part to keep your mind and heart open, to see beyond the brokenness and dysfunction of the people you meet, to be that voice for the voiceless.”