Brie wasn’t certain why she was called to a meeting in the Special Operations Command headquarters. She’d been debriefed several times by Savvy and SOCOM personnel. She dressed carefully for the meeting, applying makeup with the diligence of a former heiress.

The makeup was a kind of armor. It would show Bastian who she really was. She wanted him to see the world she could never escape. Not even in South Sudan. Not even in Djibouti.

Prime Energy would always find her. It terrified her to think the senator might already have told her father about meeting the Green Beret who’d saved her, that it might already be too late.

She entered the meeting room wearing the mantle of professionalism she’d always mentally donned before entering a business meeting. She wasn’t intimidated by these men and women. She was a Prime, and as horrible as that was, it meant she’d grown up in a world where she’d learned how to work a room from age five. She knew when to be pretty and vacant, and when to twist balls.

Today, she’d crush some nuts if she had to. She was getting the hell out of here. She’d go to Morocco and present the vacant heiress to the world. She’d sleep with a half-dozen men and make it clear Chief Warrant Officer Sebastian Ford meant nothing to her.

She dropped into a seat near the head of the table as if it were her right. She avoided Bastian’s gaze but met Savvy’s, who nodded at her in approval. Apparently, the CIA wanted her to look the heiress part.

This world was as fucked up as her own.

Someone with stars on his chest entered the room, and everyone was called to stand. She did and nodded to the general before resuming her seat.

She rather liked the hierarchy of the military. It was spelled out and attainable. It wasn’t like the hierarchy of her world, where a woman could be born into it, or fuck her way in, but there were few other entry points and no equality no matter how you got there.

The meeting began without ceremony or preamble. Brie wasn’t introduced nor was she told who else was at the table. She’d met Bastian’s CO and XO the day before, and the captain who was leader of his A-Team was also present, but no one else from the team was there.

Brie and Savvy were the only women in the room, and after a few minutes, it was clear Savannah James had called this meeting.

Savvy rapidly outlined the major players in South Sudan’s ongoing civil war, starting with the president and opposing vice president, then moving on to describe other players who’d stepped in, finally coming to Lawiri.

His picture was projected on the big screen. He wore a military uniform and had dark skin with facial scarring indicative of one of the smaller tribes. “Erfan Lawiri split with the rebels over a year ago and is currently raising his own forces,” Savvy said. “His main encampment was attacked six months ago, and we thought Lawiri had been taken until he showed up at Ms. Stewart’s USAID facility demanding food for his soldiers about two months ago.” She paused. “We have reason to believe he’s backed by oil money.”

More than just Savvy’s eyes drifted in Brie’s direction.

“Intel indicates it’s highly probable the attack on the USAID facility was done to destabilize both sides and leave an opening for Lawiri to seize power in the vacuum. He’s likely to have made deals—offering drilling rights in exchange for weapons to support his bid for power. HUMINT obtained after the market destruction indicates Lawiri’s men provided security for the market.”

Savvy clicked her mouse, and the slide changed. The next image caused Brie’s stomach to churn. “Nikolai Drugov. As most of you are aware, he’s a Russian oligarch with deep Mafia ties. He’s in the Russian president’s deepest inner circle and by all accounts is a sick motherfucker. We think Drugov is backing Lawiri, and the market was a joint venture between the two to fund Lawiri’s bid for power. Drugov’s oil company, Druneft, stands to gain a fortune in oil rights, while Prime Energy is in line to build a pipeline to transport the oil out of South Sudan. This would remove the current pipeline from operation, saving South Sudan from paying high transit fees charged by Sudan for using their pipeline—which South Sudan’s Petroleum and Mining ministry says has led to the Upper Nile oil fields operating at a loss. Prime Energy has concessions with the Central African Republic and Cameroon ensuring that the transit fees will be much lower with the new pipeline.”

Brie wasn’t surprised to hear her family was in deep with Druneft. They’d been working toward this kind of partnership since she was a teen.

Savvy fixed her gaze on Brie. “Ms. Stewart, it’s my understanding that you’re familiar with Nikolai Drugov and at one point he surfaced as a potential fiancé to cement your family’s business dealings. What can you tell us about the man?”

Brie felt the blood drain from her face at Savvy’s words. She couldn’t stop herself and turned to Bastian. “You utter bastard.”

His face was a hard stone mask, reminding her of the man she’d met that night in Barely North. Now she knew why his enemies called him Bastian the Bastard.

“That is irrelevant to this meeting, Ms. Stewart,” Savvy said without a hint of remorse in her voice. “Please tell us what you know.”

“Why? The last time I had any interaction with Nikolai was years ago. Your intel is far more accurate than my first-hand knowledge.”

“But you have first-hand knowledge. We don’t.”

Brie flattened her hands on the table, to keep them from curling into fists. Finally she said, “He’s ten years older than I am. Like me, he was raised in the business. Unlike some of the other oil company babies I grew up with, he knew the ins and outs of the actual work. He was also raised to be ruthless and has a nasty streak a mile deep. I was friends with his little sister, and she told me stories. Let’s just say there was a reason she didn’t have any pets. I was forced to date him when I was eighteen with the expectation that we’d marry at some point to join Druneft and PE in an unholy alliance. I refused to screw him or marry him. Later, when I was disinherited, my father told me I could have my trust fund back if I married Nikolai. Again I refused. That’s pretty much all I know.”

“Did you know several small companies have formed in the past five years that have both the Prime and Drugov names in the tax filings?” Savvy asked.

“No. It sounds like my father managed to secure the deals without using my vagina. Good for him.”

Savvy’s face remained blank, yet Brie picked up on her amusement at the frank word. “I’m sorry to say it appears Drugov’s interest in you didn’t stop when you refused his suit.”

Suit. She hadn’t heard archaic language like that since her dad tried to sell her to Drugov and called it an alliance.

“What do you mean?”

“Intel indicates Drugov intended to purchase you from the slave market. He was the ‘special buyer’—after all, it was his market. He was just going to go through the motions of the auction to obscure the trail should the US discover what had happened to you. I agree with Mr. Ford’s initial assessment that the slaver only sold Ms. Stewart to him because he intended to have her recaptured and resold to Drugov, thus doubling his take. Furthermore, intel indicates the Russian mercenary who found you in the abandoned village was one of Drugov’s men.”

“How can you know this?” Brie asked.

“Multiple sources collected from HUMINT and SIGINT.”

Brie knew Savvy was referring to human intelligence—intelligence gathered through human contact, and signal intelligence—intercepted radio communications.

“That combined with intelligence provided by the children liberated by the A-Team, and we’ve had a lot of threads to connect.”

It occurred to Brie that Bastian had provided some of the HUMINT—after getting her to talk in bed. Savvy’s text message to Bastian came to mind: Need answers, ASAP.

Well. Now Brie understood what that had meant. Bastian was on a mission for the CIA. Tears burned behind her eyes, but she held them at bay with a deep breath. She called up her inner Gabriella. Gabriella had ice in her soul and had screwed a reporter so she could feed him intel.

Savvy clicked the mouse again, and again Brie recognized the image that appeared on the screen. Dread surfaced, only to be tamped down with icy reserve.

“This,” Savvy said, “is the Prime siblings’ estate in Casablanca, Morocco. Jeffery Prime divested the asset to his children to keep it from being lost to Ms. Stewart’s mother in the divorce. Because it was not part of Ms. Stewart’s trust fund, it was not taken away when the trust was dissolved. Apparently, even Ms. Stewart didn’t know she was partial owner until several months before she arrived in South Sudan.”

How the hell did Savvy know that? The details of trusts were confidential. But then, the woman was CIA, and had probably employed illegal methods to obtain information.

Sometimes she even convinced Special Forces operators to fuck unsuspecting women to get them to talk.

“As the rainy season intensifies, the famine is getting worse in South Sudan. With the destruction of the USAID food reserves, residents in the east of the country are either fleeing into Ethiopia or dying. Every major city outside Juba is on the verge of collapse, and Juba could follow soon after. We believe Lawiri is currently residing at Drugov’s estate in Morocco as he waits for both factions in South Sudan to fall.”

Brie came to attention.

“Drugov’s estate borders the Prime property, and Drugov is currently in residence. We know he’s there because six days from now he’s hosting a black tie party at his estate, which will be attended by Jeffery, Jr. and Rafe Prime.”

Well, there went her plans of escaping to Morocco for a nice quiet recovery. Brie cleared her throat. “What is it you want from me, Savvy?”

“I want you to go to Morocco, find Lawiri, and expose Drugov.”

“No!” The sharp word came from Bastian, who rose to his feet.

Brie glared at him and turned back to Savvy. “Bullshit. You want me to be bait for Drugov.”

“That too. And sit down, Mr. Ford. You have a role in this op too.”

Op?

Savvy nodded to Bastian’s CO, Major Haverfeld, and resumed her seat.

“Mr. Ford,” Major Haverfeld said, “we’ve gone over the logistics with Ms. James and believe this mission has the best chance of success if it’s conducted as a covert operation.”

“What?” Brie said. “I’m not exactly a trained spy. And I’m pretty sure Nikolai will recognize me.”

“You aren’t the one who will be covert, Ms. Stewart. We would like to send Mr. Ford with you to Casablanca. He will pose as your boyfriend, but act as your bodyguard. All we need for you to do is locate Lawiri. Once we have proof he’s in Morocco with Drugov, we can send in a team to seize him. Lawiri is wanted by authorities in South Sudan and Ethiopia.”

“Plus, if we can get Lawiri to roll on Drugov,” Savvy said, “we can expose the Russian for aiding the overthrow of a government to secure oil rights.”

“And they’re just going to magically accept me showing up out of the blue with my Special Forces boyfriend in tow?” She’d avoided her family for years—hadn’t even wanted them to know where USAID sent her—and now the CIA and US military wanted her to visit her brothers as if nothing had happened?

“We believe Drugov’s source—Senator Jackson—has informed the oligarch that Mr. Ford is the soldier who saved you in South Sudan,” Savvy said. “I’m sure no one would find it hard to believe a relationship has developed, and after everything you’ve been through, you’re due a break at your luxury estate. Officially, Mr. Ford is being granted R and R after a stressful week in South Sudan, which culminated in you both being injured.”

“If Drugov was hoping to buy me for his sex slave, he won’t be pleased to meet a boyfriend. Even a fake one.” Because sure as hell their relationship was now in fictional territory.

“All the more reason to have him there,” Major Haverfeld said. “You need protection, Ms. Prime.”

“Stewart,” she corrected. “And why should I go at all? Just send in a team and storm Nikolai’s house.”

“You know we can’t do that. Not without risking war with Russia,” Savvy said. She held Brie’s gaze. “We believe these men are responsible for the destruction of the food in South Sudan. Food that would have fed thousands of starving people. People who very well may die now.”

“We also believe,” Haverfeld piled on, “they’re responsible for the slave market. The one in which you were stripped naked, forced to wear a metal collar, and were to be auctioned off. The one where all those children were lined up, waiting to be sold. I think you have a lot of reasons to want to chase down this lead, Ms. Stewart. And there is no one in this room who has legal access to your family estate but you.”

Goddamn, it sucked how they’d lined up their ammunition to corner her. She could deflect, but in the end, she’d be refusing to fight for a cause she believed in. “Fine. But I’ll go alone.”

“Hell no!” Bastian said.

At last, after avoiding him the entire meeting, she met his gaze. But she didn’t see the man she’d made love with, the man she’d been falling for, the man she’d pushed away because it was the only way she could protect him. No. She saw the man who didn’t do relationships. The one who’d seduced her on orders from the CIA.

She slowly rose from the table. “Make your plans, then. Let me know what you decide. For myself, I need a drink.” She left the room without looking back.