“What about here, Max? It will change things here.”

Max shrugged. “I don’t see how.”

“It’s my fault Carmody went after you.”

“How so?” Max narrowed her gaze. “Are you a secret CIA agent?”

“Would that be a deal breaker?”

“I’d rather you be FBI.”

Rachel laughed again and pressed a kiss to Max’s throat. “Sorry. I don’t have any other secret lives.”

“So how is it you’re responsible for Carmody?”

“That would be because I’m my father’s daughter. My being at the aid camp brought your whole operation to the attention of a lot of important people.”

“Important, or powerful?”

“Yes. Well. People who could send Carmody to Wichita apparently, or so my father explained it.”

“Your being at the aid camp was why we were there at all,” Max said.

“I hope that’s not true,” Rachel said, her voice uncertain. “I hope you would have been sent to help no matter who was out there.”

“Do you know what happened?”

“Some.” Rachel snorted softly. “I browbeat my father into telling me what he could. Or what he wanted. I told him I wouldn’t go with him on his tour if he didn’t explain what was going on.”

“Is Carmody his man?”

“He says no. The two he sent to accompany me—Kennedy and Smith—were, though. Part of his advance team from State. That’s how they got to me so fast.”

“Did you know your father was coming?”

“No. His visit really was supposed to be a surprise trip.” Rachel sat up against the pillows. Max shifted and slid an arm around her shoulders.

“Advance intelligence got wind of a pending raid on the camp, and he was advised. He called me—he wanted to be sure I didn’t resist leaving.”

Max rubbed her arm. “He seems to know you.”

“Ha-ha.” Rachel nuzzled Max’s neck. “I probably would have argued against leaving, especially if you just showed up the way you did and couldn’t take everyone.”

“Why were you—or the camp—a target to begin with? I don’t get it. You’re a humanitarian group.”

“Enter Carmody.” Rachel made a disgusted sound. “He was running an operative in our camp, one of our Somali guards who had infiltrated the rebel organization. As part of the guard’s cover, he was arranging for weapons to be smuggled in along with the supplies we were receiving.”

“The transport trucks,” Max said.

“Yes.”

Rage simmered in Max’s belly. “Carmody was helping to arm the rebels so his operative could gather intelligence?”

“Yes. I guess he figured the trade-off was worth it.”

Max thought of Grif nearly dying from a bullet Carmody might have put into the hands of the enemy. If she’d known, she would have gone through with her fantasy of choking Carmody to death. “Prick.”

“Comes with the territory.”

“Yeah,” Max said. “So when the operation went south, Carmody had to answer to someone, and he was looking to shift the blame.”

“Getting anything out of my father was not easy, but apparently Carmody’s operative was compromised somehow and Carmody either didn’t know or didn’t act fast enough to pull him out. He lost his man, his link to the rebels, and I was almost killed or captured. His ass was on the line.”

“I wish I could have seen his face when Benedict’s story hit the wire.”

Rachel grinned. “Me too.”

“What made you call Benedict?”

“I had to do something,” Rachel said. “I had to get Carmody away from you, and I couldn’t shoot him.”

Max kissed her. “Thank you for that. For not shooting him, and for getting him off my back.”

“I knew Tommy was embedded, and I thought if the public knew what you and the others did out there, Carmody couldn’t railroad you into anything.”

“You got me fast-tracked home because Carmody didn’t want Tommy or someone else digging around.”

“I hadn’t planned on them shipping you out so soon.” Rachel took Max’s hand. “I didn’t want…”

“What?”

“I didn’t want to lose you.”

Max’s throat closed. She hadn’t been afraid of dying in the jungle. She hadn’t thought she’d had all that much to lose. Now she did. “You couldn’t have.”

Rachel braced her hands on Max’s shoulders. Her face was very near, so near Max got lost in the green of her eyes. “I don’t want this afternoon to be the end.”

“Neither do I.”

“I wouldn’t mind if we never left this room, if we never saw anyone else again.” Rachel sighed. “But I don’t think either one of us can walk away from our lives.”

“No, and I don’t think you want to.” Max let herself imagine a life with Rachel in it. The possibility was almost as terrifying as the idea of endless days without her. “You know where I live. There’s no one in my life. There won’t be.”

Rachel studied her, a small frown line appearing between her brows. “Is that what you think? That I want to stop in from time to time, between trips?”

“I don’t think anything. I think I want to see you again.”

“Our relationship won’t be completely private,” Rachel warned.

“Because the Benedicts of the world are always looking for a story?”

“Worse, I’m afraid. Tommy is a serious journalist who was willing to put his life in danger to tell the truth. I respect him for that.”

“Yes, so do I.”

“There are reporters, a lot of them, who would rather sell copy that’s a little more popular, and celebrity sells.”

“Listen,” Max said, “there’s nothing reporters can do or say that would mean anything to me after the places I’ve been and the things I’ve seen. The things I’ve done.”

“You’re sure?”

“Totally.”

Rachel smiled. “Then how do you feel about a trip to DC? My father mentioned he wants to meet you, and I’d like the rest of my family to meet you too.”

Max stared. “Is that because of Somalia? Or something else?”

Rachel’s smile faded. “Everyone loves good press—including the State Department. I can’t promise there won’t be a reporter or two around.”

Max swung out of bed and crossed to the kitchen to give herself time to regroup. Everything was coming at her so fast. Rachel couldn’t know what she was getting into. “I’m not relationship material, Rachel—not the meet-the-family kind.”

“Oh?” Rachel said from close behind her. “What kind of relationship material are you, then? Just good for sex now and then?”

“I’m not…I’m not what you’re looking for.”

“You were perfectly willing to keep seeing me a few minutes ago.”

“I thought—”

“You thought we’d just bump into each other now and then and fuck?” Rachel’s voice was calm. “I understand.”

Max spun around. Rachel was searching on the floor for her clothes. “Where are you going?”

“You must have things to do.”

“Damn it.” Max had fucked up.

Chapter Thirty

Rachel picked up her suitcase from where Max had left it just inside the door and let herself out, being careful not to slam the door. She wasn’t angry, at least not at Max. None of this was Max’s fault. She’d shown up with no warning, had made assumptions, or maybe just wishes, that Max felt what she felt. Max had every right to want nothing more than an as-long-as-we’re-having-fun relationship. She’d had more than a few of those herself.

But not this time. She knew how she felt about Max, and for the first time in her life, she knew what she wanted with a woman, what she wanted for herself beyond her job and obligations. She couldn’t have the kind of affair with Max she’d had with every other woman she’d been with. She couldn’t pretend that being with Max didn’t touch her on every level, that she didn’t want Max in every part of her life. In every part of her. If Max didn’t feel the same, at least she was honest enough to say so.

The pain would come later, she knew, but for now, she needed distance. She couldn’t be in the same room with Max and not want her. And if she stayed too long, she might let herself believe she could do with less. She pulled her suitcase to the curb and stepped out into the street, searching for a cab.

A window creaked up behind her.

“Rachel, we should talk,” Max called down.

Rachel turned and shielded her eyes as she looked up. Max leaned out the window, her hands curled around the stone sill. She’d pulled on a T-shirt and it stretched across her chest the way Rachel remembered her camo shirt doing when Max had taken off her jacket in the jungle to dig in the dry, hard earth. She couldn’t look at her without remembering so many moments, every one of them leading her here. “It’s all right, Max.”

“No, it isn’t.” Even from three stories up, Max’s eyes burned fiercely. “I don’t want this.”

“What do you want, Max?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never let myself think about it.” Max leaned out farther, looking as if she might jump down. “I never imagined you.”

“You need to think about it now,” Rachel said. “I’m not going to settle. I can’t, not where you’re concerned.”

Max’s smile was crooked. “You shouldn’t settle for anything with anyone.”

“So. I’ll be waiting.” Rachel had to turn away. Max was so beautiful it hurt to look at her.

A cab slid to the curb and Rachel picked up her suitcase. She slid into the back and gave him the address. He pulled away, and she closed her eyes. Walking away from what she wanted with every breath was worse than a nightmare. She’d feared losing Max so many times as they’d fought enemies who attacked with guns and power, but she’d never imagined letting her go.

Chapter Thirty-one

With the same care that she usually reserved for inspecting her equipment before a mission, Max fastened the last stud on her pleated white shirt and checked to see that her black tie was straight. Details mattered, and tonight more than ever.

She’d thought at first there’d been a mistake. The invitation—really, more like an order couched in fancy language embossed on pretty stationery—had arrived just hours before the phone call from the CO of her naval reserve unit. She was to appear at a State Department function to meet with members of the press, DOS officials, and other dignitaries to honor her service in the remarkable rescue of Rachel Winslow Harriman and other members of the Red Cross team.