“What’s a nice guy like you doing in a hole like Aleppo?”

Fox couldn’t make out any details inside the tent yet. It had been blindingly bright and hot outside, and in here it was dark and the air was cool. To save himself from looking even more out of place than he knew he already did, he took another step forward then shrugged like he knew exactly where the voice came from. “You know how it goes,” he answered with a huge grin. “There you are minding your own business and suddenly your government sends you to Syria to acquire intelligence—”

There was a deep, throaty laugh. “You mean steal it.”

Fox waved his hand and snorted. “Details, shmetails, man. So I land at your beautiful outpost, get told to hook up with the local SpecOps guys, and the quartermaster says that’s you. Captain Ford, right?”

“That’s right.” Boots thudded toward him, muffled by the tent flooring. They sounded way heavier than his own footsteps when he’d come inside. “There’s ten guys named Ford on base. Call me Axel.”

“Your parents actually named you Axel Ford?” Fox’s grin returned as a vast shadow loomed out of the fading darkness, but then his follow-up gag stuck in his throat.

Shit, Captain Ford was hot. And not in that baked in a Syrian desert for hours kind of hot. It was more like a moment in a movie where suddenly time stood still and the world turned from grit to pastels, like light poured down from the heavens and bathed Ford in its glow. Maybe there was even a little bit of lens twinkle in his bright blue eyes.

Get a fucking grip, Fox told himself.

“They did,” Ford smirked. He’d come in too close. Or was Fox swaying toward his orbit? “I got three brothers. They’re called Alternator, Camshaft, and Brakes.”

Fox was face to chest with a wall of muscle and he struggled to look away from the nipples which formed hard bumps in the surface of an olive-green t-shirt. The shirt itself was in distress, fighting to the end of its days to hold back the flesh beneath it.

His pulse rushed in his ears. He was trapped. He could either stare at that chest, or back up into the piercing eyes which would probably see right through him if he let them.

This wasn’t the time or place to get a fucking hard-on.

“They did?” His tongue felt numb.

Ford laughed and his meaty hand all but crushed Fox’s slender shoulder. “Man, you’re gullible. How the hell did the CIA let you out into the field?”

“They left the back door open and I went for it.” Fox managed to get his mouth working on auto-pilot. It was just that his version of auto-pilot was auto-sass, and there wasn’t any stopping it now.

Ford snorted in amusement. His hand lingered. “Agent Fox Walker,” he mused. “How’s your Arabic? Do you need an escort? Or are we just along for the extraction?”

“Atakalum biha jayid jidan, shrukran,” Fox said. I speak it very well, thanks. “Just the extraction.” He sucked his lip and forced himself to step back so that there was enough space between them for him to pull out his tablet. A flick of his fingers woke the device, and he brought up the map of his target site to show to Ford. “It should go okay, but there’s no internet connection out there. I’m gonna have to go in, penetrate the servers—” not for the first time did he wish it wasn’t called penetration “—and extract the data physically. Your team is there to get me out if my cover’s blown, which shouldn’t happen.”

Ford’s features were lit from below and he perused the tablet briefly. “We know this region like the backs of our own hands, Agent Walker.” His fingers squeezed Fox’s shoulder with surprising care. “One way or another you’re getting out alive, okay?”

Fox finally met Axel’s gaze, and found it was sincere.

More than that, Axel cared.

Fox nodded weakly. He hadn’t realized until that moment just how terrifying this mission was, how off-balance the whole thing had gotten him, but Axel seemed to have seen right through him, and there was something breathtakingly reassuring about that.

“Okay,” he agreed.

“Good. Briefing is at 0700, we roll out at 0800. How long do you need on site?”

“Four hours at most.”

“You got it. See you at the briefing.”

Fox took the cue and stepped back out into the Syrian oven, but the sweat had begun long before the heat hit him.

* * *

“I’m guessing,” Axel yelled over the roar of the Humvee’s engine, “they noticed you?”

Fox leaped into the back of the waiting vehicle as bullets kicked up the sand at his feet and landed face-first across the back seat. Hands grabbed him and kept him down as the Humvee jerked to life and sped along the uneven road.

More bullets hit the Humvee itself, loud cracks of metal on metal, each one more terrifying than the last.

“I get that impression,” Fox gasped, “yeah.”

“Here. Put this on.” One of Axel’s team—Rivera, if Fox remembered right—shoved a heavy, sand-colored helmet into his hands.

Fox shoved the helmet onto his head and fumbled with the chin strap as Rivera pulled him upright to strap a bulletproof vest onto him.

This wasn’t his usual work attire.

Axel looked toward him from the front seat and gave him a thumbs-up, then tore his attention back to the road ahead.

I’m gonna die, was the only thought rattling around inside Fox’s head. There was no way a fancy hat and a heavy vest could save his ass if they hit a roadside device or if their pursuers switched from bullets to RPGs.

Fieldwork was horrible.

He fixed his gaze on Axel’s huge shoulders. Richards was at the wheel, which meant the rest of Axel’s team were out there somewhere, in another vehicle, as per the morning’s briefing.

“You must’ve said something real bad about their mothers,” Richards snapped as he jerked the Humvee off the road.

Fox’s answer was lost in the explosion which sprayed dirt over their Humvee like it was suddenly raining desert. His ears rang. He slid across the back seat and thumped his head against the doorframe.

“Walker!” was the last thing he heard.

* * *

The first thing he felt was the hard piece of metal which dug against his ribs. The thumb drive, secured by tape, was pushing into him painfully.

The second thing he felt was the weight which was causing it.

Fox fought to open his eyes. His head rang. His ears were useless, like he had seashells strapped to them and all he could hear was the ocean. His breath was quick and strained, limited by the load that pressed down all over his body.

Any other day, he’d like that kind of feeling.

He gasped for air and what he got was hot and dry.

Syria. I’m in Syria.

“Walker? C’mon. Get up. Move.” The weight on him shifted. Eased off him slightly. Axel’s voice came from far away, through the ocean and ringing.

Fox’s mouth drifted into a dreamy smile. “Axel? If you wanted me under you, dude, all you gotta do is ask.”

“Sure. Next time I’ll buy you a beer first. C’mon, get your ass in gear.”

The stab of humiliation dragged Fox to full alertness.

Oh, shit. He’d said it out loud.

And Axel had heard him.

The unrelenting midday sun glared down at him. He finally heard more gunfire as he saw Axel push to his feet. He smelled fire and burned rubber, and saw the wreck of their Humvee as Axel hauled him up with brute strength.

Rivera backed toward them, gun rattling off another clip as he yelled to Axel. “We on the move?”

“Yep. Sleeping Beauty’s awake again. Get Richards, let’s go.”

Fox stumbled away from the gunfire with Axel’s hand firmly steering him to safety. “You think I’m beautiful, huh?”

“You get what you needed in there?” Axel used his entire body to shield Fox’s frame.

“Yeah.” Fox patted his chest. “I got it.”

Axel laughed warmly. “Then sure. You’re the most beautiful man I ever laid eyes on. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“Yessir!”

Was it weird to feel safe in a place like this just because of one guy he’d only met yesterday?

Maybe. But not as weird as the sinking in his gut at the realization that he’d never see Axel again.

Fox sucked in a breath and focused on getting away in one piece. He could mourn the relationship he’d never have once he was safe on a flight back to the USA.

Not even one beer.

Man, Syria was the worst!