As happy as she was to see Pen and Tara, the horrible feeling of missing Griffin stayed firmly planted in the middle of Aine’s chest. What was supposed to be the beginning of their relationship, had ended on Thanksgiving when he suddenly had to leave and couldn’t tell her where he was going.

That was the last time she’d seen him or heard his voice—outside of her dreams.

Every time Aine closed her eyes, she could see him. His blond hair was darker, and his eyes were a lighter shade of blue than hers were. Until he’d brought up their age difference, she hadn’t given it a second thought. His features were timeless, almost prince-like. It wasn’t just that his name sounded regal, like Ava had said; he looked it.

While he wasn’t as big muscle-wise as Gunner, Aine could attest that he was rock solid. With eight-pack abs, buff arms, and carved legs, he looked more like the special forces guy he was than a Prince Charming.

It was his vulnerability that had attracted her to him in the first place. When he’d walked down to the beach where her sister was marrying his teammate, he looked uncomfortable, unsure of himself. After spending time with Razor, Aine found the lack of arrogance refreshing.

She’d been more surprised than startled when he boldly approached her and started a conversation. She’d put her hand on her heart because it felt as though it would beat out of her chest from being so close to him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” he’d said and introduced himself as Striker. Eventually he’d told her his name was actually Griffin Ellis, and the other thing he’d said was that she was beautiful.

When he mentioned being hungry, she led him up to the kitchen, where they’d made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and spent enough time talking that her mother had come looking for her.

Aine put her arms around her waist and closed her eyes. “Where are you?” she whispered. “When will you come back to me?”

“Fuck,” Striker spat when he counted the number of Somali pirates holding whom they believed were journalists. They weren’t. Not even close. They were two of the best operatives who’d ever worked for the CIA. Both had been part of his team, and he’d die before he’d leave them there to meet the same fate.

He and Mantis were more than one hundred miles outside of Mogadishu, in Dinlave, a village on the Wabi Shebelle River.

The pirates hadn’t brought their captives out here where there wouldn’t be any means to communicate with the rest of the world; it was just where they’d run out of money.

Unfortunately, they weren’t strangers to the region, which meant their numbers had doubled.

He rolled to his back on the hillside and looked up at the star-filled night sky. He closed his eyes and thought of Aine, like he did most every time he began to wonder what the hell he was doing.

With no way to summon reinforcements, and lack of a trail for anyone to find them, he and Mantis had two options. They could leave, and likely never be able to locate the men again, or they could stay and craft a plan to rescue them.

“What day is it?” he asked Mantis.

“The twenty-first of December.”

Which meant tomorrow would be thirty days since he’d last seen the woman who graced his dreams as much as haunted them.

“I have an idea,” said Mantis.

“Yeah? Is it a good one?”

“I think it is.”

Striker sat up. “Let’s hear it.”

Aine’s face hurt from the fake smile she had plastered on it.

“I love this little house,” said Tara, rummaging around in the kitchen. “The main house is nice, but this is…cozy.”

Aine turned around and rolled her eyes. She loved Tara, but cozy had never been her style. She thought the woman was going to have a panic attack when Pen volunteered the two of them to share the bedroom with twin beds.

“It’s only fair. We’re crashing the party, so to speak.”

They’d all agreed that Alegria should take the master bedroom when she arrived since she was still recovering from surgery.

“The woman was shot,” Pen said to Tara when she protested. “When you get shot, you can take the big bedroom.”

The memory the three shared of being kidnapped and held hostage, sat far too close to the surface, although they never spoke of it. Aine wondered if Alegria had been part of the team that rescued them. Probably, which meant they should thank her, but she doubted any of them would bring it up—especially not Alegria herself.

“What time is dinner?” Tara asked.

Aine checked her phone. “Twenty minutes.”

“Should we walk over?”

“Sure,” she murmured, stealing a quick glance of the only photo she had of Griffin and then wishing she hadn’t. It only made the pain in her chest hurt worse.

“What is all that?” Pen asked, pointing to the pile of packages from their afternoon shopping spree.

“Most of it belongs to Zary. We took her shopping today so she could get Christmas gifts. She’s never done it before.”

“Given Christmas gifts or gone shopping?” asked Tara with a smirk.

“Celebrated Christmas.”

Aine told them Zary’s story, leaving out the part about her being the one who’d tracked her, Tara, and Pen to Washington where they were being held hostage by Armenians who wanted to lure her father out of hiding. She also left out the part about Zary being her and Ava’s half-sister—until Tara opened her big mouth again.

“She seems weird.”

“Tara,” admonished Pen.

“What? She’s—”

“She’s my sister, and she isn’t the slightest bit weird. She’s led a life none of us can imagine the horrors of, let alone ever be as badass as she is.”

“Wait. What?” said Pen. “She’s your sister?”

“That’s right, and the night we were rescued, she was kidnapped in our place.” That wasn’t exactly accurate, but it was close enough for her to make her point.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to touch on a nerve.”

In that moment, Aine hated Tara. She wasn’t apologizing for what she said about Zary; she was being sarcastic—one of her friend’s worst habits.

Every condescending thing that had ever come out of her mouth roared to the surface of her memory. “You’re such a bitch,” she said, storming out of the guest house’s front door. It wasn’t like her; Ava was usually the one to call people out on their shit. In the world of good twin, bad twin, it was Aine who soothed hurt feelings and helped mend fences.

It was cold outside, and in her haste, she hadn’t grabbed a jacket. Aine picked up her pace and was almost to the main house’s back door when she heard voices.

“No leads at all?” she heard Gunner ask.

“None. Which is why the team is going in.” That was Razor’s voice.

“I know I act like I can’t stand Striker, and sometimes he annoys the shit outta me, but he’s one of us and I respect him. Those Somali bastards can be worse than ISIS.”

“I agree. I respect him too. As far as the Somalis are concerned, they operate without a plan. They kidnap without realizing who they’ve got and then issue ludicrous ransom demands. Remember a few years ago when a group of them kidnapped that journalist along with an Asian fisherman? They demanded twenty mil each. The fisherman’s family couldn’t have had more than twenty bucks.”

“I remember it well. I was on the rescue team.”

“That’s right. How did you find them? And before you go into detail, understand that what I’m saying is you should brief Dutch as soon as you can.”

“Roger that.”

When Aine heard a door open and close, she crept around to the front of the house and rang the bell.

“Goodness, you’re practically frozen,” said Gunner’s mother when she opened the door and pulled her inside. “What were you doing out there?”

Aine’s eyes met Gunner’s.

“Eavesdropping,” he answered for her.

“I like your plan,” said Striker, “except I’m staying here. If you can’t make contact, keep going until you can, even if it means going as far as Mogadishu.”

Mantis shook his head. “I don’t want to leave you here.”

“We don’t have a choice. If the Somalis move, someone needs to be able to track them.”

“It isn’t necessary to state the obvious, but I have no way to track you, Striker.”

“We talked about this. I’ll leave a trail.”

Mantis had been gone two hours when Striker heard the roar of a low-flying Orion plane. It filled him with as much dread as hope because, as he could’ve predicted, it sent the Somali pirates into chaotic panic. There was no question they’d be on the move before daylight.

Aine followed Razor into the upstairs bedroom, feeling like a petulant child.

“Tell me what you heard,” he coaxed in a gentle tone.

“Everything.”

“What’s going on?” asked Ava, joining them.

“Aine overheard Gunner and I talking about Striker’s mission.” Razor turned to her. “Ask me whatever questions you have, and I’ll do my best to answer them.”

“Tell her everything, Tabon,” Ava pleaded.

“The call that Striker got on Thanksgiving was to let him know two of his former team members had been kidnapped by Somali pirates. Striker volunteered to go in after them. Originally, Mantis was only tasked with transportation, but once he knew what the mission was, he volunteered to go in as well.”

Aine nodded.

“It’s been over a week without contact, so Doc called earlier about putting a team together to go in and look for them. Dutch Miller had already volunteered. Once he drops Alegria off here, he and Onyx will meet up with two other CIA operatives. The four of them will leave for Mogadishu shortly thereafter.”

“Do the pirates have Griffin?”

Razor scrubbed his face with his hand. “We don’t know.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone for a few minutes.”

“Of course.” Razor left the room, but Ava didn’t.

“I’m so sorry this is happening, Aine, but Tabon believes they’ll be able to find Striker and Mantis.”

“You knew already?”

Ava nodded. “Not for very long, though. Tabon needed my help with Alegria. Her recovery is slow, and with Dutch deploying, she needs support from somewhere—somebody—else. He believes she’ll resist.”

“What kind of help?”

“Dutch has been forcing her to do her physical therapy, but he’s worried that without his insistence, she’ll give up.”

“Pen is a physicians’ assistant.”

Ava nodded. “You’re catching on.”

“It wasn’t a coincidence that they showed up.”

“No, but helping Alegria wasn’t the original intent.”

“What was?”

“Tabon asked them to come because he thought it might help cheer you up.”

Aine wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Should she be pissed at him or grateful? “Did you know?”

Ava shook her head. “No clue. I was as surprised as you were.”

“Razor is a good man.”

“The best,” agreed Ava. “So is Striker.”

“What can I do to help with Alegria?”

“What you always do, Aine. Be her friend and let her know you empathize in a way no one else can right now.”

Striker stayed low, doing his best to see whether the pirates were preparing to move, and if so, how many of them would leave the encampment. He didn’t see signs of mobilization, though, which puzzled him.

The biggest issue he had right now was that Mantis had taken their only vehicle. If the Somalis did move, he’d have to steal one of theirs in order to follow them.

He prayed his teammate had been successful in contacting Doc or someone else from K19 to give them the Somalians’ coordinates. If the kidnappers moved, he’d have to as well. He wouldn’t be able to wait for Mantis to return.