The combination of being completely relaxed and enjoying herself, along with this crazy nervous flutter in her stomach, tired her brain. By dinner, she’d checked out mentally. Panic began to build at the base of her skull until she had a full-blown headache pounding at her temples.

They were all so nice. No, that wasn’t right. Nice was too tame. Kind. They were kind and loving and caring. And they all hugged and touched—a lot.

Emily never thought of herself as a recluse or a hermit before, but after an afternoon with John’s family, she would have given anything to climb to her upstairs apartment by the sea and curl into her big bed and listen as the waves crashed along the shore. Alone. By herself.

There were nine siblings, she knew now, from Rachel, the surprise, all the way up to Michael, who was a priest. Jesus, a priest. If there were signs she didn’t belong here, it started with the fact that John could very possibly be a virgin and ended with the fact that his brother was a priest.

“Will you be headed overseas again soon?” That was Veronica, a sister who lived in town and worked at the elementary school. She was gorgeous as well, darker blond with the most amazing tan. The genes in this family. Ugh.

“Can’t be sure. But I doubt it.” John’s answer made Emily wonder how often they ended up overseas.

“I’ve got a book signing in DC next month. You should come up for it.”

His grin made Veronica blush, which was so damn sweet. “I’ll do that.”

“What do you write?” Emily asked, ignoring the pain that now stabbed at the back of her eyes.

“I write historical fiction set in the old west. Do you like to read?”

She couldn’t remember the last book she’d read. But it had probably been more along the lines of a how-to. “I pick up a book every now and then. Usually a biography here and there. Sometimes a how-to, if I’m desperate. I—” Her vision blacked out, cutting off her words.

John moved first. “Emily?”

She blinked, looking for him through the blur. Passing out into her plate was not going to happen, and she fought the tug of unconsciousness. It was embarrassing enough she was a killer of small children, wasn’t it? She pushed her chair back. Every limb moved as if it wasn’t even connected to her body.

Strong, familiar hands were on her shoulders, and there seemed to be a hum of activity.

“Down you go,” came a soft, deep, sexy voice, then faded… “Emily, breathe,” John demanded.

She took a deep breath and her world came back into sharp focus, except she was on the floor behind her chair. John laid a cool, damp washcloth on her forehead. “There you go.”

“Girl needs more meat on her bones, if you ask me.”

“Hush, Miguel,” Donna said. “She’s tired from all the travel and excitement, that’s all.”

“It’s probably the altitude,” Rachel added matter-of-factly.

Emily moaned. Was it possible for the floor to open up and swallow her? Then she wouldn’t have to stand up and face his family. John must have seen the look in her eye, because he smiled, tucked an arm under her shoulders and another under her knees, and picked her up so she could tuck her face into his neck. “Be right back.”

He carried her to the stairs, yet when she would have gotten down, he kept going to her bedroom in the guest wing. The suite could have been part of an expensive bed and breakfast. There was a bedroom, sitting room, bathroom, and even a porch that looked over the lake at the back of the house.

John set her on the little blue sofa and then crouched in front of her with his hands on her knees. “You okay?”

Emily leaned back and closed her eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how tired I was.”

“Rachel’s right. The altitude will slam you in the first two days you are here. I should have been more careful with you.”

“You’re not responsible for me.”

“I am now.”

“Now? Why?” she asked, unsure of what he meant but getting the feeling she was headed down a slippery slide to truly needing this man in her life.

“For one, I brought you here to the mountains, and I should know better than to let a guest overdo it on the first day here.” He sighed, nudged her over, and sat. “And because I heard from Hawk.”

She stilled, like in those moments before getting orders, anticipation racing through her nerves. “And?”

“The NSA has been tracking any mention of Hassan.”

“He’s not dead.” She didn’t have to guess. Hadn’t she kind of known? In a very weird gut-feeling kind of way, she’d known.

“Right.” John’s voice was hard. “There’s been chatter.”

“Ah, yes. The chatter. My favorite.” She smirked, but it quickly disappeared when he took her hand.

Even as he crossed his long legs out in front of him, he radiated the heavy weight of culpability. “You were fine in Harbor View, saying no to the offers. Why me? I should never have convinced you to come to Hawk Elite. Never should have involved you with Tyler’s mess and put your face on the news. It’s why we’re here—”

She got up before he could finish, tearing her hand from his and feeling the loss like the pain of ripping a Band-Aid from her skin. “No. No.” The room spun a little, but she gripped at consciousness and forced herself to focus on his face. “We’re here because I played God. Because I wanted revenge. Because I shot to kill, and killed an innocent child.”

“You did what you were ordered to do.”

His words set her back, slapped at her. “I should have pulled back. I was too eager.”

“You’re not the only one who’s lost a loved one, who uses loss to motivate.”

“Richard should have pulled me out. He knew. Why didn’t he?”

He didn’t answer right away.

She considered that her words could sound like she was shifting blame.

“He needed you.”

Emily turned her back and found herself looking out a window through lace curtains. “I only wanted revenge. That’s the wrong reason to follow an order—no matter what. It takes cold, hard facts and adds emotion.”

“Have you considered the fact that he wanted you to have the closure finishing that job would give you?”

Her brow furrowed.

“You’re right about one thing, Em. Revenge is tough on the mental ability to keep going. He saw that and wanted what was best for you. How many times had you transferred?”

“Five. Six. No, seven.” She bit at her lip. Could John be right? “Do they think Hassan was in the States this week?”

“No.”

“Then who took the shot?”

“Still not sure, but…” He ran a hand through his hair.

“But?”

“That was the day a message came up on one of the watched social media accounts. Whether it was him or not, looks like Hassan might be interested in getting you back.”

The thought of Hassan looking for her settled something inside of her. And she realized it was that insecurity, the need for closure. Her blood raced a bit, as if she wanted him to come after her. A fair fight this time.

He’d killed Sandra and Tim.

She’d killed his child.

They weren’t even.

And if she really thought about it, she figured she had it coming...

* * *

Syria

“I can get her there.”

Silence met the man’s claim, and doubt rested heavy on Hassan’s heart.

“Get me fifty thousand dollars in the account, and she’s all yours.”

The very fiber of Hassan’s being shook, and his hand barely held the phone to his ear. He wanted this so badly. He’d been waiting. The waiting, the anticipation had kept him alive, kept him from giving in to despair.

Now, the end was within reach. He was going to kill her. No, he was going to make her suffer, like he’d suffered, stripping her of her humanity—inch by fucking inch, with a blade to her pale skin.

Fifty grand was nothing. He would pay ten times that to get his hands on her.

Hassan clasped his hands in front of him. Nothing could go wrong. Nothing. “You will help, infidel. And I will pay you. You will bring her to me. Or I will fucking kill you myself for toying with me.”

The man hung up without a reply…

And a plan began to form.