Brie managed to avoid Bastian for all of thirty-six hours, but with their mission to Morocco scheduled for three days from now, she had to meet with him. They had to plan.

He was going to play her boyfriend, and they had to discuss their roles and form a strategy. He had to learn his part.

She stepped into the conference room in full Gabriella Prime makeup and clothing. She wore a pantsuit now, and her limp was nearly invisible. She walked with regal poise, and Bastian ached for her. Physically. Mentally.

He loved her. He knew that now with certainty. Somewhere between the slave market and Camp Citron, he’d fallen hard for her, and if he couldn’t convince her to give him a second chance, he was pretty sure he would fall apart.

Was this how Cece had felt when he dumped her? He’d always assumed she’d loved the idea of them as a couple, and tolerated him as a partner, but maybe there really had been more to it for her. Maybe that was why she’d refused to let him go.

None of that mattered now, though.

Now they had a mission to plan. He was accompanying the woman he loved into the heart of a viper pit. There they’d face a Russian oligarch who’d planned to have her as a slave, a South Sudanese general who was selling out his people so he could profit from oil drilling, and her brothers who might have ordered a hit on the last man Brie had cared for.

Bastian would be her only protection, and right now, she hated him.

This might make South Sudan feel like a vacation.

Brie sat across from him at the table. “This is how we’re going to do things. When we first arrive in Morocco, I’m taking you shopping. You need to look the part of Gabriella Prime’s lover.” Her gaze flicked over him, as if Gabriella wouldn’t give him the time of day.

That was how she wanted to play this? He leaned back and smiled. Game on. “Gabriella gets off on my rugged good looks and the fact that I’m not a sadistic asshole like that oligarch guy.”

“Rugged, maybe. Good looks? You wish.”

He laughed.

“Children, please,” Savvy said. “Save your flirting for later. We’ve got an op to plan.”

“He’s going to need clothes,” Brie said flatly.

“I’ve ordered a dress uniform for him to wear to Drugov’s party. You’re going to need pick up a gown when you arrive.”

“I’ll get a few items, but I’ve got clothes, including gowns, there already from when I spent a month there last year.”

“Good, because the clothing budget is going to be smaller than Gabriella is used to,” Savvy said.

“Fortunately, Brie knows how to live on a budget,” Brie said. “Next up, sleeping arrangements. The villa has twenty-two bedroom and bathroom suites. Bastian will sleep in the suite next to mine.”

“Nope. I’m your boyfriend. I’m in your room.”

“No one will know you aren’t sleeping in my room. The house has over a hundred thousand square feet of living space. We’ll take connecting suites.”

“Still no,” Bastian said. “You have servants. They’ll know. They’ll report to your brothers. And you won’t be safe unless we’re together twenty-four/seven. We sleep in the same bed. If a maid sees I’ve been sleeping on the couch, we’re screwed. And when we’re in front of your family, there will be public displays of affection. If your brothers get any hint there’s something off between us, the game is over.”

“I hate you,” she said sweetly by way of agreeing.

“I know,” he said, aiming for Han Solo nonchalant. He wished to hell Savvy wasn’t in the room.

“Excellent,” Savvy said. “Next item: Drugov. We want you to make contact with him as soon as possible after you arrive. I need a full report. His demeanor. How he’s changed since you saw him last. Anything and everything you can tell me.”

Brie smiled wickedly. “I could probably get him alone. I’m sure he’ll be eager to talk to me without Bastian looming in the background.”

“Fuck no,” Bastian said. “The guy is a sadist, and his victims don’t consent.”

“Agreed,” Savvy said. “You are not to be alone with Drugov, ever.”

“And my brothers?”

“If you can avoid it. I don’t recommend being alone with them either, but I know that will be trickier. They’ll be eager to separate you from Bastian from the get-go. You’re going to have to stick to your guns and keep him firmly by your side.”

Savvy glanced at a metal briefcase on the table. “Which brings us to the next item. The CIA wants you both injected with subdermal trackers. Just in case you’re separated.”

He’d expected Brie to receive a tracker and fully supported taking that precaution, but wasn’t so thrilled at the idea of being chipped himself. “Why me? That’s a waste of expensive technology. I’m not the target here.”

“Don’t get your ego in a twist, Chief Ford, no one is casting aspersions on your badassness,” Savvy said in an even voice. “You met Senator Jackson, and he was told you were part of Brie’s rescue team.”

Bastian nodded.

“Then they know you’re a Green Beret and how you met. They will almost certainly want to separate you at the first opportunity and they might not keep it legal. Drugov’s been after her for years. He’s going to be pissed you’re accompanying her. You’re getting chipped, for Brie’s safety and your own.”

Savvy reached for the box and punched in the combination after swiping her thumb across the scanner. “You both know the drill, right? Once activated, the chip will transmit for up to four hours; however, it needs a working cell phone within ten feet. It hijacks the signal and transmits your location. If there is no cell coverage, no active phone, you’ll end up draining the battery for nothing.”

Bastian knew all the weaknesses of the trackers but also knew they were the best hope if Brie should be taken hostage. For himself, he had no intention of being taken but also wasn’t so full of himself that he believed it was impossible.

After they went over the details of how to initiate the trackers—massage the spot for five seconds, or sustained pressure on the spot for ten seconds—they then identified the best place to inject the tracker on each of them. Brie opted for her left arm above the elbow, while Bastian went for his right calf, because if they each had a wound in the same location, it might be noted.

The calf location would make it harder to trigger the tracker if Bastian’s hands were tied above his head, but they all agreed it was more important that Brie’s tracker be in the easiest-to-access spot.

Savvy glared at Bastian when he told Brie the story of Morgan Adler’s abduction and how the tracker had saved her life, but she didn’t stop him. As a CIA operator, she couldn’t tell the story because it was classified on her end. Probably on Bastian’s too, but he didn’t give a damn. He wanted Brie to know why it mattered. If she needed to use the tracker, it would be a last resort but could damn well be the one thing that would save her life.

“Jesus, I swear, that hurt worse than getting shot,” Brie said after the tracker was inserted and tested.

Bastian raised an eyebrow.

She pouted. “Fine, I’m exaggerating, but still, my arm hurts.”

“While you’re in residence at the villa, I expect you to be armed at all times, Chief Ford,” Savvy said.

“I’m going to wear my Sig concealed, and I’ll have backup on my ankle, plus a knife.”

“Good.”

He looked at Brie. “If you were better trained with firearms, I’d want you to wear one too, but at this point, you’d be in more danger if someone took it from you. This afternoon, we’re going to resume the fighting lessons we began in South Sudan. We’ll pick up where we left off.”

Brie’s face flushed, and he considered his words. Where they’d left off—they’d been damn close to screwing in the hot South Sudanese sun. “No,” she said.

“You need to be prepared to fight, Brie,” Savvy said. “I’d spar with you, but I don’t have the time. And it’s Bastian’s job to teach fighting skills. So stop acting like a spoiled child and buck up.”

Brie turned her glare on the other woman, and Bastian knew exactly which nerve Savvy had stepped on. If ever anyone was sensitive at being called spoiled, it was Brie. And he knew better than anyone that while Brie had grown up in wealth that ninety-nine percent of people could only dream of, she hadn’t exactly been spoiled.

Sure, she’d had luxury items, but she’d been expected to maintain her stake in the family business with her body. “Back off, Savvy.” He turned to Brie. “I’ll keep it professional. Your safety is the most important thing here.” Hell, he didn’t give a fuck about anything other than her safety. If he had a say, she wouldn’t be going to Casablanca at all.

But Brie had agreed to go, and he would take her. He’d protect her.

Hell, he’d die for her.

It was that simple.