Bradley Welker scrawled his signature across the bottom of a form his assistant had left for him to sign, then reached for the next one, paying no attention to the words on the page. His thoughts, as they had been for weeks now, remained fixed on Alicia—and the fact that she’d gotten away.

No one had ever gotten away before.

It was bad enough that he’d had to live with the humiliation of being saved by a woman for seven years. Now, he had to accept the fact that he’d been beaten by one in a fight?

Scraping his pen across the next signature line, he thought about going after her again. He’d gotten his hands on some pills recently—pills that would ensure her submission. It would be easy enough to slip one into her drink, to finish what they’d started several weeks ago.

But if he asked her into his office again, even under the guise of an apology, she would probably suspect something. It might be better to lay low for a while, at least where she was concerned. In the meantime, he needed to find another target, an easier one—one who wouldn’t expect anything.

Turning the page, he spotted the next ‘sign here’ sticker, perfectly aligned with the blank above the signature line, and wondered why all women couldn’t be more like his assistant. Judy had a clear understanding of her role in society. She had no interest in advancing past an administrative support position at work.

It was her home life that mattered most.

She was a dutiful wife, married to her high school sweetheart for over thirteen years, and a devoted mother of three children. She was perpetually cheerful, impeccable in her appearance, and every morning she had a fresh cup of coffee waiting for him on his desk.

It was so obvious that this was the way the world was supposed to function. Why were so many women trying to change that? Why were they fighting for jobs that didn’t belong to them? Why couldn’t they see how happy everyone would be if things just stayed the same—or, better yet, went back to the way they’d been before?

At the sound of footsteps in the hallway, Bradley glanced up. He was surprised there was anyone else in the building. His assistant, and the rest of his colleagues, had left over two hours ago. He was planning to leave soon, too, once he got through this pile of paperwork.

When the footsteps turned toward him and a woman in fatigues appeared in his doorway, he frowned. Enlisted soldiers were expected to make a formal appointment to see him through his assistant, not stop by his office unannounced.

“Sergeant Rhee, sir,” the female soldier said, standing at attention. “Lieutenant Woods said you wanted to see me.”

Ah, yes. Sergeant Rhee. He had wanted to see her. They’d only been introduced once before, so he wasn’t surprised he hadn’t recognized her. “You’re here late, Sergeant.”

“Yes, sir,” she said. “I’m trying to get everything in order before I leave. Would you like me to come back tomorrow?”

Bradley sat back, assessing the petite Asian-American female in his doorway. It was a shame he couldn’t make out the shape of her body through her uniform. Her curves were clearly smaller than he preferred, but she had an appealing face. High cheekbones, full lips, exotic almond-shaped eyes that were so dark they were almost black. “No. This is fine.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He stood, gesturing toward the comfortable seating area in the corner. “I heard your orders came earlier this week.”

“They did, sir.”

“When do you leave?”

“Two weeks,” she said, taking a seat on the sofa.

Bradley settled into the chair beside her. “You think you’re ready to go back to school full time? It’ll be a big change from what you’ve been doing.”

“I am, sir,” she said. “I never thought I’d get the opportunity to go to medical school. This is a dream come true for me.”

Bradley nodded. In an effort to strengthen a shrinking workforce of doctors in the armed services, the military had launched a program to assist highly qualified enlisted service members in applying for medical school. The two-year program would give them a chance to complete all their pre-med courses and prepare for the MCATs. If they passed, they would be admitted to the Uniformed Services University of Health Sciences Medical School, where they would earn a fully funded graduate degree while maintaining their active duty status.

The program only admitted a handful of service members each year and it was a huge honor to be chosen.

“The program’s still fairly new,” Bradley said. “As one of the first female candidates, a lot of people will be watching to see how well you do. I hope you’re up for that kind of pressure.”

“I am, sir,” she said. “I won’t let you down.”

Bradley smiled. “I’m happy to hear that.” Especially since her name was connected to his now. As a favor to her platoon commander, Lieutenant Woods, he’d written a letter of recommendation to include with her application. Lieutenant Woods could have written it himself, but Bradley had a friend in the admissions department so it carried more weight coming from him.

Lieutenant Woods had filled him in on all of the particulars—her years of service as a combat medic, her two tours in Afghanistan, the medals she’d won for her bravery overseas. Whether or not that background had prepared her for a career as a doctor remained to be seen, but he hadn’t minded writing the letter. It had only added to his reputation as a champion of women’s advancement in the military. Plus, it meant that he had something over her.

“Do you have any idea what kind of doctor you want to be?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” she said, sitting up even taller than she had been before. “A neurosurgeon.”

“A neurosurgeon?” he asked, lifting a brow.

“That’s right, sir. Traumatic Brain Injury is one of the most common afflictions among service members now. I’ve seen the damage that IED explosions can do firsthand. I want to be able to do more to help my fellow soldiers.”

“I see,” he said. How noble of her.

And if she were a man, he might be impressed. But she wasn’t a man. She was a woman. And women did not become neurosurgeons.

He had assumed, when he’d written the letter, that Sergeant Rhee had planned to become a general practitioner, an emergency room doctor, or a pediatrician—specialties commonly occupied by women. He knew the Army needed doctors. He understood they would have to fill some of those positions with women, simply to meet their diversity quotas.

But this…?

This was taking it too far.

Everywhere he looked, the systems, the order, the structure; they were breaking down. He felt like a one-man Army, trying to make things right again.

What was wrong with everyone?

Why couldn’t they understand that the world needed order? That it depended on it? That these roles had been established for a reason?

He stood abruptly and walked to the table where he kept his decanter of scotch. “I didn’t realize how late it had gotten,” he said. “You don’t mind if I have a drink, do you?”

“No, sir. Of course not.”

“Would you like one?” he asked.

“Oh…no, thank you. My husband’s expecting me. I should probably be going soon.”

“It’s very good scotch,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “A friend of mine brought it back from Scotland. Maybe just a taste?” He smiled. “You know what they say about drinking alone.”

She laughed. “Okay. You twisted my arm.”

He dropped a few ice cubes into each of their glasses. “Would you mind grabbing the door for me? The cleaning crew usually comes through here around this time. It can get noisy when they run the vacuum.”

“Of course, sir.”

He heard her get up, walk to the door, and made a split-second decision to slip one of the pills into her drink. It wouldn’t carry quite the same level of satisfaction as physically overpowering her. But he might as well practice first—see how the pills worked before he used one on Alicia.

Carrying both glasses over to the seating area, he flicked his gaze over her body again. It really was a shame that those uniforms were so unflattering. “How does your husband feel about the move?”

Sergeant Rhee took the glass he handed her, sat down on the sofa again. “He’s a consultant for a defense contractor in Northern Virginia. He’s been working remotely for the past several years, following me from base to base. It’ll be good for both our careers to be in the D.C. area for a while.”

Interesting, Bradley thought, settling back into his chair. He wondered how her husband felt about being a trailing spouse, letting his wife’s career dictate where they lived. “Has he been supportive of your decision to go back to school? To become a neurosurgeon?”

She smiled. “He has. He’s been very supportive.”

Bradley smiled back, lifted his glass. “To your success.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said, taking a sip.

Bradley wondered how much of her husband’s support was an act, how much he secretly resented her decision. He would probably be doing them both a favor by putting her in her place.

“This is good scotch, isn’t it?” Sergeant Rhee asked, holding up her glass and studying the amber-colored liquor.

“It is,” he said, wondering how long it would take for the pill to kick in. When she took another sip—bigger this time—it occurred to him that he hadn’t really thought through what he was going to do with her afterwards. He had no interest in finding a way to transport a temporarily unconscious woman. And she couldn’t stay in his office all night.

“You said your friend brought it back from Scotland?” she asked, still looking at the glass.

Bradley nodded. “He and his wife took a vacation to the Highlands recently. It was an anniversary trip. They’d been planning it for years.”

“I hear it’s beautiful there,” she said. “Are you married?”

“No,” he said, forcing a note of wistfulness into his voice. “I came close a couple of times, but my career always got in the way.”

“I understand,” she said. “The military lifestyle can be tough on families. And you’ve done very well for yourself.”

Yes, Bradley thought. He had.

He watched her take another sip and decided that he probably shouldn’t wait for her to finish the entire drink. It might be better to send her on her way while she was still conscious, make sure she’d at least made it to her car first. Whatever happened afterwards wasn’t his problem.

“Have you found a place to live in D.C. yet?” he asked, making conversation to fill the time.

“We put an offer on a house in Falls Church yesterday,” she said. “I’ve been told the public school systems in Fairfax County are excellent.”

“Do you have children?”

“I do,” she said, smiling. “I have a son.”

“How old?”

“Six.”

“Have you told him about the move?”

“I have.” She took another sip, swayed a little in her seat. “I know he’ll be sad to leave his friends behind, but he’s still young. Kids are pretty resilient at that age—at least that’s what everyone tells me.”

Bradley nodded, watching her closely.

“It’ll be harder when he gets older, though,” she said, slurring her words. “I have friends whose children mope around for months after they move.”

If she were a good mother, Bradley thought, she’d stay home, help her children adjust to the moves.

Sergeant Rhee looked back down at her drink, blinked a few times, as if she were having trouble focusing. “Is this scotch…stronger than normal?”

Bradley’s lips curved. “Are you having trouble holding your liquor, Sergeant?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, opened them. Disoriented, she tried to set the glass down on the table in front of her, but her perception was off. The bottom cracked against the edge of the table, causing some of the liquor to slosh out.

She knelt, immediately, and began to mop up the spill on the floor with the sleeve of her uniform. “I’m sorry, sir,” she slurred. “I’m afraid I’m a bit of a lightweight.”

“Here,” Bradley said, handing her a cloth.

She took it, finished wiping up the mess, then tried to stand, but she couldn’t quite make it to her feet.

Bradley rose slowly, offered her a hand.

She let him help her to her feet, since her own legs wouldn’t cooperate. “Thank you,” she said, offering him a wobbly smile. “I should probably go before I make a fool of myself.”

“You don’t need to go yet,” he said, drawing her down to the sofa beside him.

Confused, she looked down at their joined hands. “Sir?”

“Relax,” he murmured, letting his gaze drop to her mouth.

She stiffened and tried to move away from him. “I don’t think I should be here anymore.”

He tightened his grip on her hand. “You haven’t thanked me properly yet.”

“Th-thanked you…?” she stammered. “For what?”

“For writing the letter.” He caught the flash of fear in her eyes and fed off it, started to feel things shifting back into place again. “You didn’t honestly think I’d write you a letter of recommendation and not expect anything in return?”

“Sir,” she said more firmly, struggling to pull her hand free. “I’m going to have to ask you to stop.”

“Stop what?” He reached for the zipper of her uniform jacket with his free hand and slid it down. “This?”

She tried to twist away from him. He shoved her down to the cushions so she was pinned beneath him. “Please,” she said, writhing against him. “Stop. I don’t understand what’s happening.”

“You’re not very bright, are you?” he asked, stripping her jacket off. “Most women aren’t.” His eyes raked over her breasts, the shape of them finally visible beneath the sand-colored T-shirt. “But sometimes you forget that, don’t you? You think you can do anything.” He jerked the hem of her shirt out of her belted fatigue pants. “That’s why I need to put you in your place sometimes. Make sure you know exactly where you belong.”

“Stop!” she shouted, struggling against him. “Get off me!”

He yanked her shirt up, over her breasts, and froze when he caught sight of the thin wire taped to her skin. “What the hell?”

Sergeant Rhee drove her knee up, hard, into his groin as three men wearing military police uniforms stormed into the office. “Hands on your head, where I can see them,” the closest officer shouted. “Now!”

Wheezing in pain, Bradley covered himself, his eyes darting back to the woman on the sofa. “What the hell is this?”

The woman stood, readjusted her shirt. “I’m not Jackie Rhee. I’m Special Agent Elena Kwan with CID.”

CID? The Army’s Criminal Investigation Division?

One of the officers grabbed Bradley, hauled him to his feet. Another seized his hands, cuffed them behind his back.

“Colonel Bradley Welker,” Elena said, looking straight at him, with clear eyes and perfectly clear speech, “pursuant to Article 120 of the Uniform Code you’re hereby apprehended to face charges for the attempted rape of Jackie Rhee and Alicia Booker. At this time, you are also facing charges for the rape of Isabella Rivera, Lisa Khan, Kendra Williams, Alexa Martinez, Chelsea Howe, Leslie Wright, Talia Turner, Renee Yi, Petra Capoor, Celia Jackson, Karen Hayes, Abigail Ruiz, and Laura Cole.”