Savannah James paced the main room of the temporary building that housed SOCOM headquarters at Camp Citron. The mission had gone to shit the moment Bastian got Brie out of the market. Now they’d lost Bastian and the oil tycoon’s daughter, and it looked like an entire A-Team had gone rogue and opted to save the children in the market. At least, she assumed that was why they’d missed their rendezvous and they’d been cryptic about the reason.

She couldn’t blame the men for showing their humanity, but it seriously messed up the State Department’s publicly stated position that they would not get involved in South Sudan’s civil war. If it turned out government or rebel forces controlled that swath of land, then the US had just taken sides in the conflict.

Savvy’s ass was the one on the line if the intel she’d been gathering was bad. She didn’t give a fuck about her ass over the safety of children, but she’d been hoping to get assets in place in the market to determine the leadership structure and take covert action to destroy the people who were behind the operation, ending the practice for good. As it was, the market would probably spring up again elsewhere and more children would face the auction block.

It was a choice between saving fifty children or thousands. Now, if this market had been destroyed, they might never know who was behind it.

Special Forces Operational Detachment Bravo, better known as the B-Team, was the headquarters element of the Operational Detachment Alpha—A-Team—currently deployed in South Sudan. Savvy watched as the B-Team worked frantically to coordinate with the A-Team to establish a new exfiltration point. But the team was scattered and claimed to be hampered by yesterday’s storm.

Ripley had reported that weapons being auctioned in the arms hut had exploded, and in the ensuing chaos, the children had made a break for freedom. No one on the B-Team believed any weapons had miraculously exploded without aid from someone on the A-Team. Savvy’s money was on Espinosa. He was the demolitions guy. But Cal was a weapons sergeant.

The team’s silence in the aftermath had lasted several hours, likely because they couldn’t be expected to follow orders they never received. But where the hell was Chief Ford? Savvy knew he wouldn’t risk the primary objective of rescuing Brie Stewart. Aside from being a hundred percent team player, Bastian was wound tight when it came to the oil heiress.

Savvy had observed the two of them in Barely North, and she’d followed him outside the club and witnessed him kissing the woman in the dark. Two days ago, Savvy had watched his face as the identities of the USAID workers were revealed. For one instant, she’d seen stark fear in the Green Beret’s eyes.

Bastian Ford might not have a clue how he felt about Brie Stewart, but Savvy was damn certain it wasn’t anything approaching hate.

She had no doubt he’d give his all to rescue Brie, and had told his captain as much before they deployed. The man had given her the same disgusted, slightly appalled look she often received when she meddled in military affairs, but she’d been right on the money. Captain Durant had even admitted that Bastian had requested to lead the search mission.

She was damn good at reading people, and SOCOM loved the intel she provided, but hated it when she applied her insight to their soldiers and SEALs.

Tough shit.

She was here to do her job, no matter how uncomfortable it made the big boys with fancy and explosive toys.

Now she stared at one of those toys—a large screen filled with the satellite image map of the market and surrounding area. She willed it to reveal Bastian and Brie’s location, but try as she might, sheer will had never produced intel on the spot like that.

They’d lost hours of surveillance yesterday in the rain, and today the landscape was different after the network of roads surrounding the market had flooded.

Where had Bastian and Brie gone? Were they on foot, or had they made it out of the marshland in time?

How long had Brie been in the market? What had she witnessed in the time she was there? If what Savvy suspected was true, Brie may have recognized people. Either locals she’d interacted with in her work for USAID, or the long-shot hope that she’d seen someone affiliated with Kemet Oil or Prime Energy.

But if Brie had recognized anyone, certain players would be all the more anxious to take her out before she could return to Camp Citron and share what she knew.

Savannah’s cell phone rang, and she glanced at the ID.

What the hell?

Why was the A-Team satellite phone calling her number?

She glanced around the room. Given SOCOM’s general distrust of her and her methods, this call wasn’t a mistake. The A-Team wanted to talk to her, and they didn’t want their B-Team to know.

She stepped out of SOCOM headquarters and into the heat of the Djibouti morning to answer the call. “Why the hell are you calling me and not SOCOM?” she said without preamble.

Sergeant Cassius Callahan’s deep, rich voice triggered a reaction she neither wanted nor would admit to. “We need your help, Savvy.”

A slight jolt spread through her at hearing him use the nickname she’d been given by Morgan Adler a month ago. Pax and Bastian had started using the nickname, but this was Cal’s first time calling her Savvy. It made no sense that Cal was under her skin. She didn’t understand it. He disliked her as much as the rest of SOCOM. The only man who was friendly to her was Pax, and that was because of her role in aiding the search for Morgan last month.

The very fact that she felt any sort of reaction to Cal’s voice was not good. She prided herself on maintaining a cold distance. Given her job, she didn’t have friends. Sure, she created a false sense of security to get people to talk to her, but she kept her heart locked down tight so she didn’t have to feel bad if—when—people got hurt.

People like Brie, who seemed nice enough but who was doing a risky job in a risky place and who had agreed to feed Savvy intel, making her job that much riskier.

“What’s going on, Cal?”

“We managed to get most of the kids to the river, where they were lucky and found some boats they could take to islands in the swampland. But we’ve also got an orphaned girl and boy, both around fourteen. You need to find a way to get them out. Fast. They’re starving and won’t survive the swamp.”

“The CIA isn’t in the business of humanitarian aid.” God, she sounded like the coldhearted bitch everyone believed her to be. But what he asked was impossible.

“They have intel you’ll want to hear. They weren’t up for auction; they’re market slaves. They worked there—and have been there for months. They speak English, Arabic, and a few of the local languages.”

Excitement trilled through her. “That changes things.”

“Yeah. We figured.”

His judgmental tone cut to the core. “I caught hell with my superiors and the American embassy because of the girls you saved from Desta last month. And not only did I not complain, I managed to find every one of those girls’ families and came up with the budget to send them home. It’s easy to make a decision to save someone in the moment when you don’t have to deal with the fallout, Sergeant. Without my help, those girls would have been dumped back in Somalia to be preyed upon again.”

Cal cleared his throat. “That’s why we took most of the kids to the river. There were nearly fifty. The youngest couldn’t have been more than eight.”

Her eyes teared. She was glad she was outside and facing the building, where no one could see her reaction.

Not that anyone would believe her tears even if they saw them with their own eyes. No one believed she had a heart. Hell, everyone but Pax and Morgan would probably assume she’d taken the call in the midst of chopping onions.

She kept her reaction out of her voice. “You’re sure the kids can provide actionable intel? You aren’t lying to force my hand?”

“Of the two of us, Savvy”—he said the name with an emphasis that bordered on sarcastic—“I’m the one who never lies.”

It’s my job to lie. She wanted to say the words aloud but didn’t. If he couldn’t see it, it was his problem. Hell, half the time, she figured he didn’t believe they were on the same side.

“Can you help us and get these kids out of here?” he asked.

“I’ll see what I can do. Send me photos, names, tribe and clan affiliation. I’ll also need dates—as near as they can guess—estimating how long they’ve been in the market.” She could probably get them priority clearance so they could fly to Camp Citron with the team. “But Cal, we need Brie Stewart. Where are Brie and Bastian?”

“We don’t know. They got out of the market. That’s all I’m certain of.”

“Could they be dead?” She had to ask the question.

“Hell no.” Cal grunted with annoyance. “Bastian’s a damn tough soldier. There’s a reason he’s second-in-command. He won’t fail.”

“Then why the hell hasn’t he checked in?”

“Fuck if I know. Something must’ve happened to his radio. But don’t worry. We’ll find him.”

“Where would he go? Where would he take her?”

“Brie’ll know how to find allies in the smaller villages. They’ll aim for one of those and probably try to hitch a ride to Juba.”

“We’ll focus the satellites on the smaller villages and look for activity.” They’d already been doing that, but still it was nice to have the theory confirmed.

“What about the kids?” Cal pressed.

“I need to make some calls. Send me the info, and I’ll get back to you.”

The sun burned through the clouds and turned the water from yesterday’s rain into vapor, making the air thick and unbearably humid. In the heat, rain would be a welcome relief, no matter what it did to the roads. In spite of the cane, Brie’s limp became more pronounced as she walked, but there was no helping it. She had to walk, and it had to hurt.

It was noon by the time they reached the outskirts of a small village Brie was familiar with. The population had averaged about fifty people, but if word had filtered south about the food stores being burned, it might have been abandoned. Locals, especially along this corridor, had counted on being able to receive food from USAID during the rainy season.

“I need to do reconnaissance to make sure the village is safe,” Bastian said. “I don’t like leaving you alone, but with your ankle—”

“I’ll find a place to burrow in and hide.” It was the only solution.

The village abutted a thick forest of trees that flourished in the flooded grassland. It wasn’t hard to find a spot for her to tuck herself into viney roots and hide. It reminded her of yesterday when Bastian had gone off to shoot the men who’d tracked them through the woods. In spite of the completely groundless optimism she’d felt since waking that morning, she began to shake. She pulled her knees to her chest in her small well in the muck and met Bastian’s gaze.

What if this was the last time she’d look into his eyes? What if something happened to him as he was trying to protect her? South Sudan was the kind of place where people were randomly shot simply for being in the wrong place.

Anything could happen, at any time. But having Bastian by her side had been a comfort, a relief. One she didn’t want to give up. Ever.

“I’m coming back for you, Brie.”

He said it with such conviction, she believed him. She had to believe him.

If she didn’t, she’d slide into a panic attack, and frankly, it was a little late for that.