Sam stared down at the Thira Airport landing strip on the Greek island of Santorini, his fingers biting into the armrest of his airline seat.

In the air, he preferred to be the pilot, and that the aircraft be the Blackhawk he flew for the Army. In fact, he’d rather be with his unit, the 160^th Night Stalkers, ferrying Special Operations teams to the hot spots of Afghanistan, Iraq and Syria, than at the mercy of an island-hopping, fixed-wing pilot who got his flight status from a cereal box. Based on the hard landing, Sam wondered how many hours the pilot had under his belt, or if he’d ever been in the Navy performing landings on an aircraft carrier.

The thought of spending two weeks staring at the crystal-clear waters of the Mediterranean Sea and the shockingly white buildings of his vacation location made his teeth grind. What the hell was he going to do for the entire time? The inactivity would make him batshit crazy. He lived for his team, for the Army, and for the next mission.

His commander called him an adrenaline junkie, always looking for his next high. Maybe Colonel Cooley was right. So what? Someone had to pilot the helicopters into and out of war-torn areas.

Sam didn’t have a wife and kids to go home to. Why not let him ferry in the real bad-asses to complete their missions?

His commander’s response had been, “Magnus, you’re pushing the limits, getting too close and scaring the crap out of your passengers.”

“And the fact they’re going into firefights isn’t frightening enough?”

The CO pointed a stiff finger at him. “Exactly. Those Spec Ops dudes have enough on their minds. They don’t need some rotor-head making them upchuck before they have to sling bullets at the enemy.”

“That SEAL shouldn’t have been on my bird. He had the flu.”

“The flu, hell. You were popping in and out of those hills like a prairie dog in heat. What did you expect those guys to do? Half of them were hurling chunks. The point is, you’re taking risks and not keeping the souls on board in mind while you’re doing it.” Colonel Cooley pushed back from his desk and stood. “Flying is not all about you. It’s about the goddamn mission.”

Sam stood in front of the CO at attention, taking his chewing out. Yeah, he probably deserved it. But hell, he was the best pilot in the unit. He could fly circles inside the circles around the other Black Hawk pilots. He tried to calm his commander by stating, “Sir, I promise to do better.”

“Damn right, you will. But that’s not enough. Other members of the unit, and I, have noticed you’re wound entirely too tight. If you don’t learn to relax, you’ll explode like forty pounds of C4.”

“Sir, I’ll take it easy.”

The colonel’s lips formed a thin, tight line. “Yeah.” The CO resumed his seat behind the metal desk. “You’re scheduled for leave starting tomorrow, correct?”

“Yes, sir,” he said. “I’m attending my brother’s wedding in Ireland. I’ll be gone four days, max.”

“Wrong.”

Sam’s head jerked back. “Sir?” He stared at his commander, a frown narrowing his eyes. “I had this leave approved months ago. But if you can’t spare me, I’ll call and tell Wyatt I can’t make it.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t getting your leave. You’re attending your brother’s wedding, and then you’re taking an additional two weeks of leave to chill out, wind down and fucking get a grip on your nerves, your attitude and your life.”

His stomach lurched as if he’d been sucker punched. “But, sir, I’m needed here. I’m the best damn pilot you’ve got.”

Colonel Cooley shook his head, his lips twisting into a frown. “You might have the best skills, but right now, you’re a loose cannon, and a danger to yourself and the people you’re supposed to be helping.”

“You can’t be serious,” Sam raised both hands. “I haven’t taken that much time off in years. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”

The CO glanced up at him without speaking for a full thirty seconds.

Sam began to sweat. Even he knew he’d crossed the line, questioning his superior officer’s judgment. He clamped his lips tight and waited for the additional ass-chewing to come.

“I’m as serious as a heart attack. And, if I’d been in the chopper on your last flight, I might have had a heart attack.”

When Sam opened his mouth, the CO held up his hand to stop him.

“If two weeks’ leave isn’t enough to get your head on straight, I’ll have to ground your ass. Don’t make me to it.”

Sam’s gut clenched. Ground him? That would be a fate worse than death. What would he do if he couldn’t fly? Flying was his life. Flying defined him.

Too shocked to say another word, Sam stood like a stone statue.

“Get out of my sight for two weeks and four days. When you return, I’ll determine whether or not you’re ready to fly again. I suggest you take the time to get your shit together. Go for a walk, find a beach, get laid, meditate…whatever you need to do to figure out how to calm down.” He waved toward the door. “Now, get the hell out of my office.”

Sam popped a salute, executed a sharp about-face and marched out of the office.

That had been five days ago. He’d been to Ireland for his brother Wyatt’s wedding, which had ended up being more stressful than flying into enemy territory. His brother Mack’s girl had been targeted by Irish gypsies after she witnessed one of them murder another guest in the wedding hotel.

The visit turned into a nightmare. For a while there, Mack and his sweetheart had been touch-and-go in a ploy to flush out the Travelers and squelch their attempt to kill them.

What had happened in Ireland had not made for a good start to his enforced R&R.

The pilot taxied the airplane to the terminal and stopped.

As soon as the seatbelt sign blinked off, Sam punched the release on the metal buckle, stood and grabbed his go bag from the overhead bin.

And waited, tapping his fingers on the back of the chair in front of him. The sooner he was off the plane and on terra firma, the quicker this nuisance of a vacation could begin. Today was D minus fourteen.

The ground crew took what felt like forever to push a flight of stairs up to the fuselage, but finally, the cabin door was open and the passengers filed out.

The setting sun glared into Sam’s eyes and a salt breeze ruffled his hair. He blinked and shaded his face until he entered the terminal. Again, time dragged until he cleared customs. He kept his military ID tucked away in his wallet. No use alerting anyone to American military in the area. Terrorists existed in every corner of the world. As the crow flew, Santorini wasn’t that far from the troubles plaguing the Middle East.

He’d booked a bed and breakfast room on a hilltop overlooking the whitewashed city. From looking at the map, he gauged the distance was a good walk, mostly uphill, from the airport. He could use the exercise and decided to skip a taxi and stretch his legs.

The sun slipped into the ocean as he slung his bag over his shoulder and set off at a quick pace, inhaling the salty air and wondering what activities were available on a dinky-shit island.

He should have stayed on the mainland of Europe where he could hop a train to anywhere he wanted. But no, the dart had to land on Santorini. Perhaps his method of picking destinations was flawed.

Maybe he’d find a bar and drink himself into oblivion for the next two weeks. What else was there to do?

Kinsey Phillips had spent her day off snorkeling in one of the many picturesque coves Santorini had to offer. The au pair gig she’d landed came at the perfect time and, so far, the job wasn’t hard at all.

The Martins had been nice, if a little stand-offish, and their two children were well-behaved and quiet. Kinsey tried to get them to open up, but she figured she was still too much of a stranger for the kids to trust her.

She wasn’t too worried. The family was supposed to be on Santorini for a full month. That would give them time to get to know her. By the end of the month, they’d love her and beg to keep her on as their permanent nanny.

And, if a month was all she had, at least she’d earn enough money to purchase her plane ticket back to the States.

Her first time in Europe had been nothing if not fraught with drama, but everything seemed to be working out. Finally.

She’d sold all her furniture, emptied her bank account, pulled up all her stakes and moved to Greece to take a job as an assistant manager of a hotel in Athens. With a one-way ticket, she’d boarded a 777 and left her crappy love life behind.

Her heart full of dreams and hope for the future, she’d landed, eager to start her new job and try her skills at speaking Greek.

The job had fallen through upon arrival. The hotel had been bought out by a competitor, and she’d been let go before she even started. Not too deterred, she’d decided to spend a couple weeks in Athens, maybe find another job or just enjoy a short vacation. Two days into her stay, she was mugged. Thieves had taken her backpack with everything inside—her money, laptop, cellphone, passport and credit cards.

She had no parents to call and bail her out, or friends she could count on back in Virginia. In her last job, she’d been the secretary to an elderly gentleman who had retired and moved to Cabo San Lucas. Kinsey had no backup.

Broke, with no way to pay for her room, food, a plane ticket home or even a phone call, she’d sat on a bus bench and cried.

That’s when Lois Martin sat beside her and quietly asked what was wrong.

Kinsey had been so happy to hear someone speak English, she’d poured out her troubles to the stranger.

An hour later, she had a job offer, a plane ticket to Santorini and a taxi ride to the U.S. Embassy to get a replacement passport. In just that short amount of time, her life was back on track.

Now that she’d been in Santorini for a week, she was beginning to feel downright optimistic. She smiled as she climbed the hill to the hotel where she and the Martins were staying and where she occupied the adjoining room next to their suite.

The concierge nodded as Kinsey entered the hotel. “Good evening, Miss Phillips. I have a message for you.” He handed her a sealed envelope.

The Martins often left notes for her at the concierge, informing her of their dinner plans and whether she should join them. “Thank you, Giorgio.” She tore open the envelope and slipped free the note card. “Did you get to see that sunset? It was beautiful.”

“Haven’t been outside the hotel since I got here this morning.”

“Such a shame. But then, I imagine all the sunsets are as pretty here on Santorini.” She glanced down at the card. Meet us at the Naousso Café at eight. “What time is it?” she asked.

“Fifteen minutes to eight o’clock,” he replied.

Her heart skipped a beat. She didn’t have much time to change and get to the restaurant. “I’d better get going.”

“I’m glad you’ve enjoyed your stay,” Giorgio said. “Will you be leaving soon, as well?”

Why would he ask if she was leaving? When she’d told him a week ago that she’d be there for a month. “No, I’ll be here for another three weeks.”

The concierge frowned and opened his mouth to say something, but a woman approached him with questions about nearby restaurants.

Kinsey smiled, waved and stepped into the elevator, wondering if Giorgio had misunderstood her when she’d first said she would be there for an extended stay.

She got off on the third floor, ran her key card over the lock and pushed through the door into her room.

She dropped her beach bag on the floor and stepped out of her skirt cover up before heading for the bathroom. Her bed had been made in her absence. An envelope lay on the pillow with a wrapped chocolate resting on it. The staff had been wonderful, treating her just as well as they did the Martins, even though she was the au pair.

Kinsey stripped and entered the shower. Using the shampoo provided by the hotel, she washed the salt out of her hair and off her skin, and applied a liberal amount of conditioner.

Five minutes later, she was dry. Dressed in a short black dress with a matching shawl and low heels, she strode past the empty concierge’s desk. By now, Giorgio must have gone home to be with his family.

With only a few minutes to spare, Kinsey headed out of the hotel, hurrying through the winding streets to the café they’d frequented on several occasions. Though it had decent food, Kinsey didn’t think the restaurant was quite up to par with the Martins’ luxurious lifestyle. But they seemed to like it and were friendly with the owners.

Darkness settled around the Greek island, and lights lit many of the corners. Kinsey usually walked with the Martins to the restaurants. This trip was the first time she’d ventured out at night on her own. The children usually didn’t go to sleep until after ten, and Kinsey didn’t know anyone else on the island, so she hadn’t been interested in exploring the nightlife.

Gathering the light shawl around her shoulders, she tucked her purse beneath her arm and stepped out smartly. She was careful not to let her heels get caught in the cobblestones as she wove through the streets and corridors between the buildings.

She hurried past the shadowy corners and alleyways, a creepy feeling spreading through her senses. Several times, she slowed her pace and glanced over her shoulder, swearing she’d heard an echoing set of footsteps. But when she paused and listened hard, she didn’t hear anything but the sounds of voices from nearby homes and buildings.

Shrugging, she moved on.

Almost at the top of the terraced hillside, she heard the footsteps again. This time, they were real, and they came fast from behind her.

Kinsey stepped to the side, to allow whoever was in such a hurry to move past her on the narrow stairs. She glanced over her shoulder and waited for the owner of the footsteps to pass.

Two men in dark clothing appeared from around the corner below, wearing dark hats pulled down over their foreheads which shadowed their faces.

A trickle of fear pulsed through Kinsey. She was a lone female in a strange land. Two of them had appeared, and they were big and burly. But they appeared to be in a hurry, as if they were late for something.

They came at her, taking the steps two at a time.

Kinsey thought better of waiting for them to pass and continued her ascent, hoping to reach a better-lit area with more people around in case she ran into trouble.

But the more she climbed the twisting stairs, the closer the men came, until they almost overtook her.

She’d just decided to move aside again when she was hit in the back hard enough to send her sprawling onto her hands and knees, sliding down several steps before she stopped. “Hey, watch it!” she yelled. Her heart banging hard in her chest. No. This can’t be another mugging.

Before she could rise to her feet and face the man who’d knocked her down, a meaty hand wrapped around her arm and yanked her to her feet. “Let go of me,” she demanded and fought to break the hold on her arm.

The other man clamped a hand over her mouth, pressing a cloth over her nose with a sickly-sweet scent.

Kinsey twisted in an attempt to free herself of the man’s iron grip and the cloth making it hard to breathe. But her muscles weren’t cooperating, and her vision blurred. No. She couldn’t pass out. She had to stay awake and find a way to escape her attackers. This outrage was not happening to her.

But it was.

As the darkness crept in around her senses, the cloth was removed. Once she could breathe fresh air, she tried to call out, but the feeble attempt at a scream came out as a pathetic murmur. “Help…me.” She was lifted and thrown over the man’s shoulder. Kinsey couldn’t even raise her head or kick her legs.

All the self-defense training she’d taken before leaving the States did her no good when she couldn’t control a single muscle. She flopped like a ragdoll as her captor ran up the steps to the main road.