Declan listened to his spotter’s orders and took cover at the bottom of a dry ditch as the explosions rocked the ground. It seemed to follow him around all evening, mortars and car bombs and pot shots from hip-held AK-47s. Why was he so damned special? The special attention had followed him from the market fiasco to the other side of Kabul, where the mountains began to rise up. Where the locals suddenly seemed less inviting to foreigners. The DARC Ops reception had certainly been icy, if not murderous. Declan hunkered down against the rocky bottom of the ditch as more explosions blew over him. He didn’t want the reception to turn murderous.

And neither did his spotter. Or Jackson. And neither did this missing woman.

The sudden eruption of small explosions—grenades—and weapons fire couldn’t be a coincidence. Something in the sudden attention told Declan that he and his partner were close to finding the poor woman. And finding her still alive. She was likely being ushered away to a new location under the cloud of mortar explosions and gunfire at that very moment. A perfect distraction. He could barely open his eyes through the dust and the smoke. He choked on it, coughing into the crook of his arm while squinting to find a sense of direction. How was he supposed to find anyone in this chaos, let alone actually look for some beautiful, intelligent, sophisticated American woman? In this condition, he’d likely mistake her for a goat.

He hunched down again and waited for the smoke to clear, cursing the nearly full moon as he popped his head up to look out across the urban battlefield. It was deserted, save for a woman scurrying along the shadows of a second-floor complex. What the hell? He watched in dismay as she ran, hunched over, a headscarf flapping behind her. At first it looked as if she was holding something. Then Declan saw that she was merely holding herself, arms wrapped around her torso as she struggled to run over the uneven ground. Struggling to run away from the explosions. What in God’s name was the woman doing running out through all this chaos? Could she be the woman he’d been sent to look for?

No, he wouldn’t get that lucky. The missing piece of the puzzle wouldn’t just suddenly rush out of a cloud of smoke. Rush right out onto his lap . . . She was heading in that direction, toward him, leaving the safety of the shadowy wall and out into the open, lurching through the air off an embankment of dirt and rubble, tumbling down into his hiding spot. His ditch.

He grappled with the mad scrambling force of woman, covered her shrieking mouth until her teeth bit into his hand, eliciting a dark yet quiet curse. Until he pushed her back down against the dirt as another shell exploded behind him. The blast and the light and the ferocity paled in comparison to what he saw in this woman’s eyes. The pain, the insanity, the outrage. Everything directed at him.

Declan dropped his weight onto her, pinning her in place as another wave of debris washed over their hiding place, him feeling her body under him, every soft angle of her through her thin pajamas. Her curves. Her warmth. Her knee rising up fast and swift, aiming for his balls. He blocked the thrust with his forearm at the last second. Damn it! Declan blocked her attack and held her down again, harder, groaning with the struggle. She was going to get herself, or both of them, killed. It was like trying to grasp a wet snake. He hissed at her to relax and stay quiet and stop moving. Her hand again jutted up between his legs and tried again to squeeze his balls, but she only managed to grab a handful of his pants, just barely grazing over where she likely had intended to do the most damage.

Jesus . . . 

She had fight in her. That was for damn sure. He had no idea who she was, where she came from, or where she as headed, but explosions, gunfire, and a strange man on top of her were not going to stop her. After another half minute of slippery fumbling around with her, trying to keep her still, he reached the end of his patience. If she messed this up, they’d both be dead.

Declan held her down flat by her shoulders, and growled in her ear. “I’m trying to fucking help you, but I can’t do that if you kill me first.”

There was a sound that came from her, a quick, quiet fleeting sound that Declan first thought was a laugh. Could she really be laughing? He squinted through the darkness until a white flare trailed upward and then burst, casting a silver-white glow over them. In that instant, he saw the tears in her eyes. Her body went limp as she cried quietly in the ditch. She had heard his voice, his American voice. Seen his face. Felt him try to steady her, hold her in place, grip on to her sanity right when she was ready to let go. He knew that she could see now, and hoped that she realized that he was there for her. And Declan could see that he’d somehow found his American woman.

She reached up for him, her arms wrapping around his back into a tight hug. A crying, shuddering hug. Then she quickly clasped his face, her face against his, kissing him with a desperation he’d never felt in his life. A kiss on the mouth, still animalistic, still perhaps scared. He felt it, too, a dizzying combination of relief, adrenaline, the impulse to survive. He closed his eyes and gave in to the kiss, tasting her, needing her somehow just as badly. Until that part of his brain clicked on, his better judgment, his duty, everything telling him to let her go.

He let her fall back, Declan racing for a breath. He needed to get his mind right, and in a hurry. He needed to find some sanity, and it wasn’t in their kiss. He shook off the idea, amazed that she’d had this effect on him. He’d never held someone like this . . .

Declan pulled away from her, then pulling her up by her wrists, said, “Are you okay to walk?” He’d already tugged her up and got her onto her feet before she could answer. “Can you run?”

He had watched her run to get to the ditch, but she seemed so confused. She seemed wounded and still very scared.

He wondered if she could really speak English.

Until she said, clearly, “Let’s go.”

It seemed to not matter so much where they were running as who they were running from. She stuck by him, tight at his side as they raced, hunched over, away from the ditch and away from the light and the heat and horrible clamor of battle. They made their way over the half-fallen outside wall of an adjacent compound, racing for cover in the shadows. Together there, his hand wrapped back around her wrist to move her faster, his voice urging the same. “Come on!”

He knew if they could make it to the next ditch, they could follow it to the outskirts of the city, and to the outskirts of battle where DARC Ops manned an operations headquarters. He knew they there they could at least say hello to each other. The mystery of that hello and of her name and her story propelled him faster, him wanting to unlock this little secret that stumbled upon him. A gift, perhaps.

And perhaps a curse.

But the only thing he wanted now was to have a chance for both of them to find out.