Stripping at the base of the ladder leading up to the wire was probably not Wanda’s kindest act. Clayton and the others were there to help, and they were more than qualified to do the job. Jammer could probably do it alone. She’d seen him in action one horrifying weekend in Turkey. Based on what she knew of his reputation, so could Hank Patterson. Considering the company he kept, would Clayton be much different?

The bodysuit she wore below her clothes was hardly revealing or warm. They’d gotten most of the high wire equipment up. The line tension needed testing if nothing else, besides, she wanted to think and there were far too many people on the ground up to and including her new “protectors.”

Flipping open a bag hanging at the base of the ladder, she pulled out a pair of nylon slippers to protect her feet then began her ascent. At the top, she stretched. Practice would loosen her up. This high, the body needed discipline and focus to achieve balance and action across the narrow wire separating the two platforms.

Wanda had been walking wires since she was old enough to walk. Though she didn’t remember it precisely, her parents had dozens of pictures of her balancing in her father’s hand and her grandfather’s as they walked around. Closing her eyes, she reached her hands to the ceiling then brought them down. Her props had been in the chest she removed from the trailer-slash-crime scene. Without time to go through them, she’d left them secured.

Her first routines on the high wire hadn’t involved anything more than her own skill and some music. Today it would be she alone with her skill and the audience of two—man and canine—below. Inhaling slowly, she schooled her thoughts. Ruthlessly pruning away everything but the facts.

Ill elephant, not really suspicious.

Vandalized train cars—possibly, but just as likely a random act.

Bloody message of you’re all dead on the trailer door—definitely suspect.

Tent fires—possibly accidental, but in the face of everything else?

Wanda opened her eyes and took the measure of the wire strung between the platforms. As she breathed, she exhaled her frustrations and worries. She dispelled the nascent fears which cropped up thinking about her grandfather’s cancer. Eradicated the worry associated with an attack on her circus. Targeted or not, if someone came after her people they were coming after her.

With a step forward, she tested her weight on the wire and then stepped back. An elongation of her arms, stretching her muscles, then relaxing them again. Each move a part of the choreography that not only let her mind drop into the state she needed to walk the wire but also warm up her core and remind her muscles they knew what to do.

Fearless, she’d been labeled her whole life. Without trepidation or inhabitation, Whirling Wanda dazzled audiences from the moment she entered the ring.

What a pile of elephant manure.

Letting go of the fresh irritation, she chose a song from the playlist in her mind and timed her movements to the music. Six steps out in a straight dancing stride across the wire, she concentrated her center of gravity to maintain her balance. At the center point, she went with a series of three step kicks before turning, perfectly into a modified plié. The motion was graceful, but as the music built, so did her speed and the playful flap of her knees before she pivoted into a turn and came up, arms high.

The buzz of information aggravating her faded as she gave into the dance on the wire. Returning to base, she increased her speed, and from the safety of the platform did a full pirouette before racing onto the wire again. She mirrored her extensions into a leaping pattern, though in truth she only took longer steps and used her arms as a counter balance.

Her work on the high wire earned her invitations to circuses around the world. Recruitment by the CIA utilized her as an asset in more countries than she cared to count. Most of the time, she merely picked up information and delivered it—breezing across borders as a performer. Other times, she’d provided cover to agents who needed access, allowing them to travel as her lover. All of it, though exhilarating in the beginning, began to take its toll.

A skywalk in Dubai to obtain necessary plans once. Another stolen moment in a foreign embassy. The work only got dirtier and more dangerous from there. Mid-leap through her fourth pass on the wire and sweat dampened her arms, but she was barely aware of the chill. The body suit would wick away the worst.

On her next pause on the platform, she locked into position and held. Ned Wagner calling the same day as vandalism and accidents plague the circus? Coincidence? Evil plot? Annoying fact?

Granted, her handler had been disappointed by her decision to return to stateside. However, they hadn’t prevented her “retirement.” Not even when she refused to agree to return in the event of a special assignment. Part of her success on the wire came from her commitment to the dance, and the movement. Her success with the company came from her commitment.

Once that began to waver, she knew she had to get out.

Midwire, she slid into the splits and dared another glance below. Only Clayton and his dog continued to watch her attentively. Neither had moved from their positions.

Curling her legs as part of the balance and dance, she gave the illusion of twisting even as she held her torso in perfect position. He hadn’t tried to stop her, point to him. The dog was cute, another point. He hadn’t freaked once to her knowledge—of course she hadn’t gotten to her more challenging tricks yet. Still, three points wasn’t bad.

Still, he knew Ned. Subtract one point. She was out and staying out. Life in the field had come close to burning her, and stars burned brightest before they went dark. One too many close calls and failing desire to continue—no, she was better off where she was. Satisfied, she did a rollover. The maneuver required absolute concentration and the second one more so as she gained her feet once more.

The wire tension was near perfect, giving her just enough lift to add bounce in her dance moves, but without rocking her stability. Another split, and she curved her legs on the wire so only her feet kept their grip, and then she rolled herself, curving around it. Her muscles were soft, and liquid. This was the part of the wire she craved, the part where it was all motion and the dance.

Weaving in and around the wire, it was like controlled flying while gamboling not on earth, but not in the heavens either. She was in a fleeting purgatory between letting go and…the wire snapped.

The sound whiplashed around her, and only registered as an after thought. A burn lanced her arm and another her leg, and then she fell. Exhaling, she hit the net and bounced. The impact hurt, but the pain would be fleeting. Bouncing once, she twisted and turned to grip the net and slow her momentum.

Lying there, she exhaled and then dared a look up. The perfectly tense wire hung in two pieces, glittering like a deadly garrote, which failed its task. No way it snapped on its own.

Just…no.

A scuff of shoe warned her of Clayton’s approach, and she rolled off the net and onto quivering legs. A dribble of blood trailed down her arm. Meeting his gaze, she got her racing heart under control before saying, “Okay, maybe we do need you here.”

The shepherd rubbed against her leg and only Clayton’s hand cupping her elbow kept her from toppling. The adrenaline rush was wearing off and for all her fearlessness, the acrid taste of panic soured on her tongue.

They needed to double and triple check everything. And she needed to know who strung the wire. When she got her hands on the son of a bitch doing this, she might kill them herself.

It wasn’t the threat of harm, but the damage to her trust in her people she resented.

“You looked damn good up there,” Clayton said after a moment, and she locked gazes with those midnight blue eyes of his. “Impressed the shit out of me.”

“Yeah?” For some reason, that alleviated some of her worry. Some. Not all.

“Oh yeah.”

Needing her equilibrium like oxygen, she studied him. The hand on her arm was warm, the fingers firm against her flesh—but the grip was light, supporting and offering security. She didn’t doubt for a moment he would release her. “How many points would you give the landing?”

The question sparked a hint of a smile to crease his cheeks. “The Russians would take away two points for the hint of a flail there at the end.”

“Damn.”

“But you get a perfect ten from me. Any landing you can walk away from is a good landing.”

Wanda snorted. “I thought that was plane crashes.”

“Plane crashes. Wire snapping. You came down. You survived.” He dipped his chin and his gaze went to her arm. “You’re also bleeding.”

“And you were doing so well,” she said with a chuckle, and pulled away. The quivering in her muscles and the hammer of her heart told her she was alive. Limping over to her gear, she added, “We’re going to have to brainstorm a plan.”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Sure he had.

Time to play the game one more time. They had a problem, a real one. She was good at ferreting problems out. Checking her arm, she grimaced. Between the laceration on her biceps and the one on her thigh, she was also going to need some really big Band-Aids.

“Tell me something Clayton—do you have a nickname?” Then she glanced at the dog. “And does he have a name?”

“Hondo.”

Him or the dog?

Her confusion must have showed because Clayton grinned for real and her heart did an uncharacteristic twist. “My friends call me Brick.”

Brick Wall. “Seriously?”

A nod was his only answer. “You?”

What the hell… “Whirling Wanda the wild funambulist, at your service.” It was her turn to extend her arm first. When Brick clasped her hand, a jolt of electricity assaulted her system.

“I get where you got the name, partner.”

Weird. She’d never really had one of those before. “I’ll trust you can live up to yours, then.”

His wink eased her more than anything else he’d done or said. Of course, it helped he was still holding her hand—or was she holding his? Either way, the connection was there.

Of all the places in the world to meet someone that interesting and it was in Eagle Rock. Life was strange.

Hondo bumped her and broke the staring spell holding them captive. Brick frowned, and then chuckled at his dog. “Hondo’s right, let’s get you patched up and then we’ll get to work.”

Work. Right.

They had a saboteur to catch.

Three days later…

Wanda was a tough nut to crack, but Brick had to admire how she handled their current situation. After the high wire incident, she embraced the presence of Hank’s protectors. Oddly, Brick seemed to be the one she was most comfortable with, and thus he and Hondo took over her personal security.

After patching her wicked looking injuries, she went to work accompanied by Baz, and the gruff, cigar smoking dwarf Roger. Dwarf probably wasn’t the most politically correct term, but the man couldn’t be taller than four feet. Size, however, played little part in the thoroughness he applied to the task. They ordered a cease to all activities, and every item of equipment was to be gone over, checked for safety and then checked again by Wanda or the other two men. Their relentless safety checks netted two more damaged set pieces. Neither was critical, but their efforts redoubled at those discoveries.

The weather cooperated. A spring snowstorm struck, and gave them a rational reason to delay the opening. The sheriff also paid another visit. The blood on the trailer was human, and after an exhaustive search by all parties—no bodies turned up. Wanda kept her cool, to the point Brick had to wonder about her. No one was that calm.

Her circus friends were all on edge. The seemingly calm Baz’s temper frayed and the permanently in a bad mood Roger seemed one cigar chomp away from erupting. His language grew increasingly colorful, and he snarled at nearly everyone he came into contact with save Wanda. With her, he modulated his tone—more paternal.

One thing they all had in common, they worried about Wanda. In fact, everyone worried about her—except her. Even now, kicked back on the sofa in her trailer with Hondo sprawled next to him, Wanda worked. The woman was a force of nature, always on the move. Even when she was absolutely still, he found himself holding his breath in anticipation of her launching into the next activity and appreciating the strange irregularity of the rhythm they’d found.

Folding his arms across his chest, Brick let his eyes fall closed. Since she never stopped, he kept up with her. Sleeping in snatches of time here and there was bound to take its toll on both of them.

Between one breath and the next, he went from a restive moment to a sweaty field. Back damp, he lay on the ground, working his knife carefully around the claymore. Of all the places he’d ever been, the jungle was his least favorite particularly when on a mission of drug interdiction. The gang of thugs they tracked had access to antiquated munitions to spare. Those were bad enough, as evidenced by the field he and his team happened into, if not for the way the light had bounced, they might all be in this field in pieces.

Fucking claymores.

With steady nerves, he eased the dirt away from the edges. The whole area could be seeded with these…something stopped his knife and he shifted his weight to get a better look. Wires went off into the dirt.

Wires to a claymore.

Seeded and connected.

A click.

Time suspended. The sweat rolling down his face slowed, a drop hanging in mid-air. Disarming the device suddenly presented a fresh jeopardy if it were connected. Modified, buried in the jungle surrounded field, at the mercy of the humidity and the elements and the hope that whoever did it knew their job.

“Withdraw,” he ordered into the radio. “As swiftly as possible.”

He’d left Hondo with the team leader, and even as he issued the order, he was backtracking away from his location. A half dozen steps…it was as far as he made it when the clicking stopped and the exploding began.

Eyes jerking open, Brick became aware of Hondo’s weight at his side and the quiet regard of the woman still working at the makeshift desk next to her bed. The trailer was small, but for the first time, it seemed claustrophobic. Sweat soaked his shirt, and he sat up slowly. The dream too close to the surface of what happened, only he’d been smarter in the dream.

Instead of saying anything, Wanda rose and passed him to step into the makeshift kitchenette. She handed him a bottle of water and some aspirin, then poured two cups of coffee. After passing him one of the cups, she returned to her desk. Hondo remained pressed against his leg. It was still dark outside, but she didn’t look as if she’d even gone to sleep. At all.

Maybe he hadn’t slept that long. It was possible. He couldn’t control the dreams, or the reckoning with fear that followed. Crippling in the field where his brothers needed him to react swiftly and without prejudice. Impossible to overcome so far, and he wouldn’t risk their lives to his flaw. After taking the aspirin and a long gulp of the extremely black, and ragingly strong coffee—he glanced at Wanda again. “What are you doing?”

His voice came out rough and his throat raw, as if he’d swallowed sandpaper instead of coffee. Another mouthful helped, so he finished the cup then started on the water. At least his hands weren’t trembling…much.

“Waging war against the dark side.”

Sinking his fingers into Hondo’s coat, he batted her statement back and forth in his mind. “Darth Sidious dark side or Kylo Ren?” The difference being the former was cool, calm and deliberate in his madness while the latter was just batcrap crazy.

Leaning back in the chair, she focused her bloodshot eyes in his direction. “Damn, that’s an epic nerd level question even for me.” Then she squinted, as though giving the matter serious thought. “If I have to choose, I’d say Sidious. I’m not quite ready to smash everything around me.”

At least she got the reference, and it pulled a smile from him. Still damp with sweat from the nightmare, he appreciated the levity. “Not crazy enough for Ren. Good to know.”

Her laughter filled the room, the husky sound a sensual slap to his senses. The all to brief decadence ended before he could fully appreciate it, then she shook her head. “I don’t want to open the circus to a disaster, I don’t need to see any of my people get hurt. Thing is I can’t figure out why someone would be trying to hurt the circus, what’s the win?”

Crinkling the water bottle, Brick considered the question. “You don’t own the circus directly, right?” He waited a beat for her nod. “And the whole thing is a family operation?” Another nod. “Any other circuses want your…what do you call it?”

“The tour?” Skepticism filtered into her expression. “Maybe our Vegas operation, it’s pretty damn successful and we’ve got a permanent billet there. The mud shows? Those are just family tradition. We bring the Merry Circus to places that might not be a large enough draw for other shows. Hell, the last time I checked, we don’t make money on these tours. We do good to break even.”

Exhaustion wore at her, like it would with anyone trapped between a rock and a hard place. She rubbed the back of her beautiful, long neck. Everything about her was graceful; she’d dazzled him with the display on the high wire. Despite everything, she kept her head and focused on safety even above the investigation.

“Hard as it may be to think about, is there anyone in the circus itself that would want to see you fail?” He chose the phrasing carefully. No matter the circumstances, if someone challenged him with the idea it was one of his teammates behind any problems he had—well it wouldn’t end pretty. Loyalty was a valuable commodity and from what he’d seen, she had it in spades.

“Honestly? That’s what I’ve been sitting here trying not to think about for the last few hours.” Turning the laptop, she showed him a spreadsheet with a lot of data filling the screen. “I know every person working for this circus, some of them I grew up with and others I met on my trips home. There’s no one working with us on this trip who hasn’t been attached for at least five years.”

Draining the water bottle, he latched onto one of the facts she let slip. “Trips home? You don’t work for the circus full time?”

The shift in her expression was subtle, but still there. Her eyes seemed to shutter and she focused on the screen as she turned it back to her. Hondo rubbed his head against Brick’s knee before the shepherd crossed the room to bump his head to her side. She dropped a hand onto the dog almost automatically, and then scratched his head.

“Let’s take him for a walk,” he suggested, and stood. “We could probably both use a change of scenery.”

“And I can check on the animals.” As well as the rest of the camp, though she didn’t say it. She didn’t have to explain the restlessness. It was the calm before the storm, knowing a mission was coming and not being able to act until they had details. He totally got it.

Hondo seemed to appreciate the idea, waiting for the at the trailer door while they both pulled on boots and jackets. Then they were outside. Dark save for the strategically placed floodlights, the grounds were quiet. Light snow fell, the tiny flakes. The last gasp of winter’s breath as it were.

They walked in companionable silence, but Brick kept his head on a swivel. An uneasy feeling had settled at the base of his spine. It refused to be ignored, so he went with his gut. Hank, Jammer, and Bear were taking rotations, but he trusted one of them was out there, watching.

Hondo ranged out from them, but not far as they made their way through the snow. “Why the high wire?” The silence was fine, but something in her withdrawal stuck with him. He wanted to earn her trust.

Why? He wasn’t certain. Or at least not ready to admit it to himself.

“I’ve always had a thing for heights…and control.” The last word rode a rueful note. “I grew up performing. You know how some kids go to dance classes or play baseball?”

Even in the half-light, her calm expression betrayed not even a hint of wistfulness. “Sure. I was one of those. Baseball. Basketball. Hockey when we lived somewhere with a team. Bouncing from duty assignment to duty assignment meant sports was the fastest way to make new friends. Most of them were Navy brats just like me.” Make friends, hang out, play a few games—move on. It was the way of things.

“Well not me, I learned how to ride a show elephant when I was three. I participated in the shows by the time I was five. I did my first rope walk when I was ten, and high wire by the time I was thirteen.”

His gut clenched. “Your parents let you endanger yourself?”

They walked through the warehouse where the animals had been stabled. The tigers barely looked up from their sleep, curled together. It was warmer in the building, but even the pair of elephants were sleeping. How weird was it to spend day in and day out with trained show animals? He’d done some wild things over the years, but this was a new one for him.

The vet glanced at them and waved as they passed through, but he didn’t stop playing on his phone. Based on the way the light shifted on his face, it was probably some kind of game.

“Don’t think for a minute I was coerced. I’d have been on the high wire far sooner if Mom and Dad had let me. They do a trapeze act, or they did. They retired from that a few years ago, now they handle the day to day in Vegas and keep an eye on Grandpa. My brother worked with the animals, and he spent years perfecting his clown.”

Note to self, make sure to know which one of the creepy clowns is her brother. Did it have to be clowns?

“He’s got a tour right now or he’d be here. I love performing—there’s something freeing about dancing on the wire’s edge, and weaving in and around it.”

Some kids joke about running away with the circus. Wanda didn’t have to, she’d grown into the part. On the far side of the enclosure, she stopped and faced him.

“I spent the last few years touring in Europe with another circus. It was a different kind of exposure, new audiences, and a chance to work with different acts.” But she was still holding back, and he couldn’t put his finger on how he knew. Maybe it was just Wanda herself, she was so self-possessed and carried herself with aplomb. Yet, he didn’t think that was all there was to her, so how much was the act and how much was the woman? “I actually toyed with the idea of leaving the circus life all together, and I spent four years in college planning to do just that. I studied sociology and political science.”

Surprise flooded him. “It didn’t take?”

“Eh. Too well, maybe. But I had lots of skills and sometimes you just have to go with what you know.”

College. Whatever happened occurred then. Peeling back the layers was like studying the intricacy inside a bomb. There was an elegance to building an explosive device, even the crude ones.

Defusing and understanding Wanda would take every ounce of his patience. “I didn’t go to college,” he told her, and trusted his instincts to follow that track. “I thought about it, even made plans. Figured a four year stint in the Navy, pay for school and do some good at the same time…”

“Didn’t work out that way?”

No, he’d been tapped for the SEALs and the challenge had been too much to resist. “Ended up where I needed to be.”

Her gaze fixed on his and the connection he’d experienced when they shook hands that first day pulsed to life. “Me, too.”

The air around him seemed to grow heavy and the world took a step back, leaving the two of them in their quiet bubble watching a pair of zebras doze. Without realizing it, he took a step toward her and she narrowed the distance.

An alarm sounded, the frantic ring of a bell. It started the zebras, and Hondo spun and barked. Wanda was already in motion and Brick had to hurry to keep up. They raced across the grounds toward the ruckus and the spout of flames near the trailers.

It was Wanda’s trailer, and it was on fire.

They slid to a halt, and Brick grabbed her arm before she hurtled right into the flames. “I hate to say this, but I don’t think the circus is the target.”

Twisting to look at him and backlit by the flames, she blew out a breath. “Better me than them.”

On that point, he’d disagree.

His job just got a whole lot harder, because he’d be damned if anyone was going to come after her.

Not without going through him first.