Bastian grinned at the three men who filled his small room in the aircraft carrier’s medical facility. “How the hell did you convince Captain Oswald to authorize this visit?” he asked Cal, Pax, and Espi.

“We told him we would do a rundown of every screwup you made on the mission,” Espi said with a wink.

Bastian grimaced but still managed a laugh. “Don’t worry, I’ve already compiled that list.”

Cal dropped into the visitor’s chair at his side. “Don’t be hard on yourself, Bas. The mission was fucked up from the moment she was taken to that market. I refuse to feel guilty for saving the kids.”

It was true that not rescuing the kids was pretty much the only thing they could have done differently. Well, he also could have not been engaged in a make-out session with Brie while six men took up positions around their camp, but Cal didn’t know about that fuckup. And the truth was, that had likely saved their asses, so he refused to feel guilty for that one.

Pax dropped a duffel bag at the foot of his hospital bed. “Rumor has it you’re going to be here for a few more days, so I grabbed your phone and a few other personal belongings we recovered from the hut.”

“Thanks, man.” He and Brie had been halfway through a Karen Rose thriller he’d had on his phone—by tacit agreement, they’d stopped reading aloud before they reached the sex scene—and it looked like he’d have plenty of reading time while he was stuck here.

A nice guy would give the phone with unfinished book to Brie, but he hadn’t seen her since they’d arrived on the USS Dahlgren three days ago. She’d been confined to her bed with her leg injury, and he…he hadn’t gone to see her because he was a chickenshit.

They were back in the real world now—or as real as it got on a Navy aircraft carrier—and soon she would go back to the US and he would return to Camp Citron. There was no place for her in his world, and vice versa.

He couldn’t even begin to imagine what his parents would think of her. Not that that mattered, because he didn’t do relationships.

“So, we hear your brains were scrambled by mercs,” Espi said with a grin. “Cheap-ass mercenaries? My hero worship of you is wavering, Chief.”

“They were badass, probably superhuman,” Bastian said. “I think Marvel is going to make them villains in the next Captain America movie. And there were at least two dozen of them.”

“Three dozen,” said a sexy, sweet voice he hadn’t heard in days.

Bastian’s gaze swung to the open door, and there was Brie, leaning on a cane. A real one, not the one he’d carved out of a branch eight days ago.

Holy fuck, but she was beautiful, even battered and wearing a garment that would steal another person’s dignity. On her, the hospital gown looked like a fashion choice. She’d donned a second gown, wearing it like a robe over the first and covering the open backside. She’d cinched the waist with a strip of gauze, which she’d tied in a big, flowery bow with at least half a dozen loops.

Medical ward chic.

She wasn’t Oil Company Barbie. She was Patient Barbie, and she made it look good, like being stuck in the medical ward on a Navy vessel was a desirable thing.

“Or at least, that’s what I’ll tell everyone, for the right price,” she added with a slight smile, her confidence seeming to falter when she met his gaze.

She probably wondered why the hell he hadn’t visited her. He smiled, covering the ache in his chest where his heart should be. He wasn’t entirely sure he could answer that question himself.

“Brie, you’re just in time to meet a few of the guys on my team.”

He introduced his friends, who attempted to convince her to stay, but she refused. “I don’t want to impose on your visit. The doc wanted me to start exercising my leg, and I heard your voice. Glad to see you’re okay, I was worried.” And then she left, moving fast enough to give him hope her injury was healing quickly.

“What the fuck, Bas? You haven’t seen her? It’s been three days.” Cal’s face was fierce. Angry. Pax mirrored the expression.

Espi’s gaze was still fixed on the hallway where she’d hobbled away. “Damn, I didn’t know a hospital gown could look so…hot.”

“Come closer and say that,” Bastian said, his fist clenched.

Pax had the nerve to laugh.

Then Espi flashed a grin.

Ahhh fuck. He was being taught a lesson.

Assholes.

But then, he had it coming. He’d been far worse with Morgan, Pax’s girlfriend. He cleared his throat. “Message received. I’m a bastard.”

Espi turned to him. “She’s pretty, but I was more interested in your reaction. Why the hell are you playing dumbass games?”

“What happened in South Sudan?” Pax asked.

Bastian closed his eyes and willed his visitors to leave. Why had he been happy to see them? “Nothing.”

Cal laughed. “You are so full of shit.”

“You could do worse than banging an heiress,” Espi said with a laugh. “No one would blame you.”

“Fuck all y’all. I was on duty. We didn’t screw.”

“Ahh. So that’s the problem,” Pax said. “You aren’t on duty now. You must’ve been hit extra hard if you’re ignoring this opportunity. Maybe we should take a look at your X-rays.”

“Captain Oswald is right, you do gossip like teenage girls.” But he was laughing. Shit. He’d missed these guys and was glad everyone on his team had returned to Camp Citron without injury. They’d freed the hostages, rescued Brie, saved a few dozen children from slavery, all without embroiling the US in South Sudan’s civil war.

By definition, it was a successful mission.

But it didn’t feel like a success.

Brie had been shot, and it was his fault they’d even been there. If he’d pulled over before the road disappeared. If he hadn’t lost the signal panels, if he hadn’t lost the radio, none of that would have happened.

“You going to Rome with Morgan?” he asked Pax.

“No. Missed the window. She’s coming here for a few days before heading back to the US. She needs to confer with her crew anyway and check a few new sites they found in the survey corridor.”

Their deployment had been extended by a few weeks to make up for lost training time after Morgan had been abducted, and now they’d lost another week. It was likely more time would be added. Their trainees weren’t ready for prime time, and another team wasn’t scheduled to arrive until late June. “I’m sorry, man,” Bastian said.

What else could he say?

Pax shrugged. “Saving the kids was more important.”

They all nodded. Thinking about the market still felt surreal. He’d been so focused on Brie, he’d never really had a chance to process it. He’d seen some bad shit as a soldier, but the kids in the slave market ranked up there with the worst atrocities.

“Chief Ford, this appears to be a bad time.” A woman’s voice drew his attention. His gaze—along with the gazes of the three other men—swung to the open doorway.

Savannah James.

“Sav,” Pax said, “we were just leaving. He’s all yours.”

Savvy’s gaze flicked to Cal and then back to Pax so fast, Bastian wouldn’t have noticed except he’d been looking for it. There was tension between those two, and Bastian had never been able to tell if it was the good kind or not.

Were they involved, or just circling like sharks, waiting for the other to break?

Either way, neither the CIA operator nor the soldier was happy with whatever it was that set them both on edge when they neared each other.

They should probably just screw and get it out of their systems, but he understood Cal’s reluctance. Spooks were cold and calculating. That Savvy was probably Special Activities Division only made her more frightening. Never trust a person whose job title included the acronym SAD.

Pax and Espi said their goodbyes and filed out of the room. Cal stayed rooted to his spot next to Bastian’s bed. He crossed his arms. “Where are the children?” he asked.

“That’s classified, Sergeant Callahan.”

“Considering my team got those kids out of the hellhole, you can make an exception.”

She crossed the small space and ran a finger down Cal’s chest, lowering her voice to a whisper. “It doesn’t work that way, Cal. You know that.”

“You two wanna be alone?” Bastian asked. “I mean, it’s my hospital room, but I can drag myself out of bed and leave you.”

Cal stood there, holding her gaze for several beats past normal. Finally, he said, “Get better, Bas,” then stepped out of the room.

Yeah, those two needed to fuck. Sooner rather than later.

Savvy closed the door and faced him. “I want a full report,” she said, dropping into the visitor’s chair.

“I already debriefed with SOCOM.”

She shrugged. “Pretend they didn’t share it with me.”

“Make them give it to you. My head hurts, and I’m sick of going over the details.”

“But I want to hear it all from you. The layout of the market, who was there, everything.”

“There isn’t much to tell. I was focused on Brie. My team can tell you more about the market.”

She leaned forward. “But that’s the thing. Brie is who I want to know about most of all. She’s the key to this fiasco. You’ve just spent a week cozying up to a woman who’s ninety percent porcupine, and yet you didn’t get jabbed. My guess is you know her better than most men. Her coworkers, Ezra and Alan, were useless. They didn’t even know she was a Prime.”

“Ask her,” Bastian said. Savvy’s take on Brie surprised him. Porcupine? She was anything but.

“I want the stories that are buried. The ones about her brothers. She never talks about Rafe and Jeff Junior, but I think she’ll talk to you.”

“Bullshit.”

“She will.”

“Why would you believe that?”

“You make her feel safe.”

“She was shot while she was with me. I doubt she’ll ever feel safe around me again,” Bastian said.

“Wrong. It’s a different kind of safe. She can be herself with you—both the Prime because you know about that part of her, and the Stewart. She wants to screw you and needs someone to confide in. Whatever happened with her family was bad. She has it locked down tight and doesn’t see the connection to South Sudan. The Russian merc mentioned the modeling she did when she was thirteen and implied his boss has been after her for some time. I think she knows who he is but doesn’t realize it.”

“You need to ask her. Not me.”

“I have asked her. She said there were a lot of creeps who mailed her and stalked her when she was thirteen. Too many to begin to guess who it could be. But given everything else, I think this was someone close to the family. Otherwise, how did he find her?”

Bastian had been eleven when the cosmetic ads had run and had paid zero attention at the time. When he looked up Princess Prime nearly six weeks ago, he’d seen references to the ads, but because they’d been banned in the US, he hadn’t crossed any firewalls for a refresher course.

“What’s the deal with the ads? I don’t remember them.”

“The photos were borderline child pornography. She was made up to look like a sex kitten and given suggestive items like a popsicle to suck on. In one, she wore nothing but a towel, and you could see side boob and bare back, all the way down to the crack in her ass as she looked over her shoulder at the camera, her expression blatantly seductive.”

Bastian grimaced. Brie had been a virgin then, so the photographer must’ve coaxed those looks out of her. Why the hell did her parents allow the shoot? And why hadn’t they stopped the release of the images?

“I’ve asked Brie about the photo shoot and fallout at length. She regrets it, naturally. It was a lark for her. She did it to please her mom, who’d been a model prior to marrying Jeff Senior in the early eighties. It wasn’t in the public documents related to the divorce, but Brie said she learned later the photographer was her mother’s lover. Which is pretty sick when you think about it. The guy was banging the mother, but from the photos, it was clear he wanted the daughter.”

“What happened to the photographer?”

“He’d done a series of ads for the same cosmetic company—all with underage girls. Brie’s were the most explicit, but the others weren’t much better. After the ads were banned, police got a warrant and raided his studio, where they found images that weren’t borderline but full-on child porn. He died weeks before his trial was set to begin. Poisoned by a toxin that was never identified. Probably a Russian concoction—the photographer was Russian.”

“Is there a connection between the Russian photographer and the Russian oil company?” The man Brie had seen in the market had worked for Prime Energy, but now he worked for Druneft. It was the only link that jumped out so far, but it was weak at best.

“None that I’ve uncovered, but the man died in the late nineties. Brie’s maternal grandmother is Ukrainian, and Tatiana visited both Ukraine and Russia often after the Soviet Union broke up. She probably met the photographer on one of those trips. He moved to the US about a year before he photographed Brie.”

Her story about losing her virginity had stuck with him, but this showed it wasn’t just the men in Brie’s life who were shits. Her mom hadn’t protected her either. “Her mother passed away a few years ago, right?”

“Yes. Breast cancer.”

“Were they close? Brie and her mother?”

“I have no idea. It’s one of the things I want you to find out.”

“Why the hell does this matter?” he asked.

“Because Brie is the catalyst for what happened in South Sudan.”

The idea had crossed his mind too, but Savvy sounded certain. “Why do you think that?”

“She saw a man from Druneft—who used to work for her father—and a man who might be one of exiled General Lawiri’s bodyguards in that market. If that indicates an alliance between Erfan Lawiri and the owner of Druneft, Nikolai Drugov, then we’ve got a serious problem. Brie is the connection between all these elements, and I don’t believe it was a mistake she ended up in that market. If either Lawiri or Drugov is running that market, why were they so determined to capture and sell her?

“This is about her, her family, and oil. My job is to gather intel. South Sudan is on our radar because of the oil reserves and the opportunities for enemy states to seize power in the destabilized democracy. To Brie, it might be small and personal, but there are worldwide implications.”

He closed his eyes, thinking of the woman who hid her vulnerabilities behind a dry, self-deprecating wit. “You want me to seduce her into opening up and telling me about her family.”

“Yes.”

“That’s a shitty thing to ask of me, and a horrible thing to do to Brie.”

Nary a ripple of remorse flickered across Savannah James’s face. “So? You want her. That’s been obvious from the start.”

“If you know anything about me, it’s that I don’t hang out for postcoital chitchat.” Shit. He never screwed around with anyone he might care about. Cece had taught him to avoid relationships, and he sure as hell couldn’t open the door to feelings between him and Brie. Something had happened in South Sudan. He wouldn’t be able to sleep with her and keep his heart locked down tight. It was why he’d avoided her from the moment they’d arrived on the aircraft carrier.

Using sex to get her to talk would be cruel to them both.

“You sleep around. She sleeps around. It’s not like I’m asking you to do anything either of you are averse to.”

“I don’t fuck for the Army.”

“Maybe it’s time to start. Put your dick to good use.”

“I’m Special Forces, not a spy. You can’t force this on me.”

Savvy leaned forward and held his gaze. “No. But if you don’t, I’ll find someone else. I’ve already got a list. Lieutenant Fallon would be perfect. Civilians just love Navy SEALs.”

Jealousy like he’d never imagined filled a void in his chest. “You really are a bitch, you know that?”

“No, Bastian. I’m a patriot.”

“Bullshit. You just like screwing with people’s heads.” No way would Fallon agree to her plan. This was manipulation, pure and simple.

Her eyes hardened, but she offered no excuses. “As long as Brie is on the Dahlgren recuperating, so are you. Your superiors at SOCOM know the situation and have agreed not to interfere. They don’t like it, but they see the big picture. The staff here have their orders to leave you alone. It’s why you’ve been given separate rooms instead of being assigned beds in the main ward. You’ll have unfettered access to Ms. Stewart while she’s here. The no-fraternization rules on an aircraft carrier won’t apply to you.” She gave him a tight smile. “Fuck her. Don’t fuck her. That’s up to you. The point is to get her talking, and report back to me once you learn anything that might be important.”

Brie fiddled with the bow she’d tied at her waist, embarrassed she’d sought Bastian out in a moment of weakness, that she’d wanted him to see the silly outfit she’d made, after a week of wearing improvised clothing that included rubber tire sandals.

Here she was on a massive Navy vessel, still improvising. It was meant to be a silly, shared joke. Better quality than ratty old-tarp underwear.

Once upon a time, she’d lived a life that required high fashion. In that world, the rubber-tire sandals would have been perfectly acceptable, as long as they had a thousand-dollar price tag.

She knew more than a few of her friends from that era now wore diamond-encrusted “ally” safety pins. They weren’t bad people, but they were clueless. White, shallow, and rich, they didn’t see how white privilege had shaped the world and their place in it.

Brie was no saint, and she was aware she benefited from a great deal of white privilege even without her family’s money—after all, an A-Team had been sent to rescue her in South Sudan. If that wasn’t privilege at work, nothing was. She tried to be thankful for the gifts she was granted and to use them to give back, to be a force for change, instead of being defensive and full of denial. She still failed, and it wasn’t like she’d renounced the house in Morocco once she’d learned she was one-third owner. But she tried to be aware and to correct her own actions when her unconscious exercise of privilege came to light.

Of course, she could do more good if she hadn’t gotten herself cut off from the family billions. The money could have done far more for others than the questionable donation of her time and attention, such as it was.

In the long run, wasn’t getting cut off the most selfish thing she could have done? Standing on principle had helped no one, least of all herself. Now her family operated without a conscience—not that they’d had one even when she was in the fold—and did more damage without her there to speak for the trees.

She was a shitty Lorax.

Selfish to the bitter end, she chose her pride over the trees. Her honor over environmental justice.

She’d left the money behind and helped no one.

When she looked back at her life, was there anything she could point to that she could be proud of? She’d thought that would be her work for USAID, but now it was likely her presence in South Sudan had only endangered the people she wanted to help.

She fiddled with her gauze belt. She’d been good at fashion. Clothing and makeup had been fun. She’d enjoyed the parties, the flash and glamour. It was why she’d wanted to model for that creep Grigory to begin with. The ultimate dress-up game where she got to be pretty and sexy, clueless that it would be a magnet for pedophiles.

Her mother had been a fashion model in her heyday and taught Brie tricks of the trade, like dressing up a boring outfit with a silly bow. Now the gauze flower felt pathetic. Like wearing a gaudy, diamond-encrusted safety pin.

No amount of accessories would make her an ally when her presence in South Sudan had brought pain and suffering.

Gabriella had been makeup, flowers, and diamonds. An accessory of Prime Energy, who could be had for the right price.

Brie was… She didn’t know exactly who Brie was. She’d been trying to be someone else. Someone worthy to make up for the work she’d done for Prime Energy. But that woman was a fraud too. She wasn’t selfless or magnanimous. She was merely seeking self-serving redemption.

A tear spilled down her cheek, and she realized she was in a self-pity spiral. The kind that once upon a time had led to drinking and drugs. The kind that could lead her there again if she wasn’t careful.

All because Bastian hadn’t come to see her in the three days they’d been in the medical ward together. She was pathetic, pinning her self-worth on a man.

Jesus. This was why she’d avoided relationships. Emotional attachment always led to this. The bleak spiral. The self-loathing. The desire to use.

A drink would soothe the ache. A pill would take away the pain. A needle would deliver her to bliss.

No.

Fuck. No.

I am better than this.

She stood and paced her small room, leaning on the cane. Dr. Crane wanted her to walk, to work her leg muscles. She’d get her wish, because walking was how Brie always faced the pull of craving. The ache for escape.

She preferred running, but she was days—weeks?—from being able to run any distance. So she paced her small room, not daring to leave the confined space because she might run into Bastian or the men on his team.

Men who’d risked their lives for her unworthy ass. The cane slipped on the floor, and her leg nearly buckled.

Pain shot up her hip.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Deep breath. Slow down. Plant the cane. Walk. One foot in front of the other.

“The kids escaped.”

The deep male voice came from the doorway. She turned to see one of the soldiers who’d been in Bastian’s room. He was tall with wide shoulders. Utterly imposing. “The ones in the market?” she asked.

“Yes.” He stepped into the room. “Master Sergeant Pax Blanchard,” he said, holding out a hand.

Her right hand gripped the cane, so she offered her left. “Brie Stewart.”

“Sorry,” he said, switching to his left.

“Are they still in South Sudan, the kids?”

“Most of them escaped into the White Nile or the Sudd—they told us that’s where their parents were, on the islands, hidden in the swamp. We got two out with Savvy’s help, but she’s being secretive about where they are.”

“She does enjoy keeping her secrets.”

Blanchard nodded. “The market—it was destroyed. I thought you’d want to know. No kids will ever be sold there again.”

Emotion swamped her. She covered her mouth as she sucked in a breath. “Thank you. It means a lot to know something good came out of…what happened.”

“Bastian insisted we save the kids. It was his plan.”

She understood what he didn’t say. Because they’d saved the kids, the rest of the A-Team hadn’t been there to back up her extraction, leaving her and Bastian stranded. They’d been on their own when the team could have swooped in, rescued her, and left.

As if she needed another reason to respect Chief Warrant Officer Sebastian Ford. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The soldier nodded. “Glad to see you’re recovering.”

“Thank you, Sergeant—and please share my thanks with everyone on your team.”

“If you visit Camp Citron before you leave, you can thank the team yourself.”

“I have no idea where I’ll go from here, but I hope I’ll get that chance.”

He nodded. “It was nice meeting you, Ms. Stewart.” With that he turned and left, and she was once again alone, waiting and wondering.

Waiting for the man who’d saved her in South Sudan. Wondering why he hadn’t visited her in the last three days. And hating herself for wanting to see him. For valuing his opinion of her more than she valued her own.

He was a coward, plain and simple. He should have gone to see Brie the moment Savvy left. But Bastian had stayed in his room like the chickenshit he was.

Now it was two a.m., and he couldn’t sleep. He wanted to see her. Read aloud to her. Talk to her. Play quarters with her. Do everything Savvy had ordered him to do with her.

But it was Savvy’s orders that also held him back. He couldn’t use her like that. He couldn’t get involved.

He also couldn’t walk away.

His head ached, and it had nothing to do with the concussion.

He tossed aside the bedcovers. No way was he sleeping tonight. His room was too small. He stepped out and nodded to the hospital corpsman who monitored the ward overnight. He was just going to pace. That was all.

He wasn’t going to see Brie.

Just because he stood outside her room didn’t mean he was going inside. But the same compulsion had him turning the knob on her door and silently entering her room. There were enough lights on the medical monitors that he could see her sleeping form on the bed.

There. He’d confirmed she was here. Time to go before he woke her.

He settled into her visitor’s chair, because clearly, his brain no longer controlled his body. He watched the rise and fall of her chest and tried to figure out why he was here.

“This is a little creepy,” she whispered.

He startled, bumping her rolling meal table and knocking it into the wall with a loud bang.

She laughed. “Smooth, Chief.”

He ran a hand down his face and shook his head. “That’s me. Smooth.”

“What are you doing here at…” Her voice trailed off as she looked at the clock. “Two in the morning?”

“I missed you,” he blurted, like the fool he was. “I wanted to see you.”

“Bullshit. You could’ve seen me any time in the last few days, but you waited until the dead of night.”

He reached out, took her hand, and cradled it in his. “It’s true. I’ve missed you. And true I could have come sooner. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

“Why didn’t you?”

He threaded his fingers through hers. Her hands were smooth but not soft, the fingers slender and warm. He’d forgotten the pleasure of simply holding hands. Forgotten how the touch could be laden with anticipation and trigger a spread of warmth.

Just as he’d entered her room without conscious thought, he pulled her fingers to his mouth and nipped at the tips. Then he sucked her index finger and enjoyed her soft gasp of surprise.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked.

“Holding your hand.”

“With your mouth?”

He smiled and moved to suck on her middle finger.

She touched his chin. “You look good without the beard.”

“Which do you like better? Bearded or without?”

“I don’t know. I only saw you without for a minute, and it’s dark in here. I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

He turned her hand palm up and began to massage, applying pressure to the muscle between thumb and index finger. “I need to thank this hand, for saving my life.”

“Just the hand?”

“And the brain it’s connected to.” He massaged up her arm. “How is the leg?”

“Getting better. It still hurts, but I can walk if I don’t put too much weight on it. The ankle sprain is almost gone too. How’s your head?”

“Better. Vision isn’t blurry anymore. Headache is mild. But I can’t sleep.”

“So you figured if you can’t sleep, I might as well be awake too?” Her voice was soft and sleepy but held humor.

“Scoot over.”

“What?”

He stood. “Scoot over. So I can lie down. I think I’ll be able to sleep if I’m with you.”

She did as instructed, and he settled in next to her, raising the railing at his back to keep himself from falling off the narrow bed. It was too small for two people.

“You might be able to sleep, but I don’t think I will,” she said.

He pulled up the railing on her side as well, trapping her in with him. “There. Now we can pretend this is a pillow fort.” He pulled her snug against him, so they were chest to chest, hip to hip. She smelled of a flowery soap, and he wanted to nibble on her neck to see if she tasted as sweet as she smelled.

“Aren’t you going to get in trouble for this?”

Savvy had cleared that path for him, but he couldn’t admit that to her. “I’ll sneak out early.”

“The person on duty at the desk might see you.”

“He did. He didn’t say anything. Honestly, I don’t think he cares.” That was certainly true.

“Why were you avoiding me, Bastian?”

He ran his fingers through her short hair. “Because I’m a bastard.” Also true. He leaned into her and kissed her nose. “I’m here now.” He traced her eyebrows and cheekbones with a fingertip. “Go to sleep, Brie. You’re safe. I promise, you’re safe.”

Far too late, but the truest thing he’d ever said.