“How— Is anyone hurt?” Her voice broke, and John’s heart starting pounding in anticipation of bad news. Her hand at her ear, the one holding the phone, shook. “Are you sure? Where did it start? Was Callie there? Is she okay? Eddie—”

John placed a hand on her shoulder, and her dazed gaze flew to his, reminding him of the day he’d first seen her. He cupped her hand with the phone and took it. “Eddie, talk to me.”

“Vega?”

“Yeah.”

“Bad shit, man. Fire marshal says a gas leak. Upstairs apartment is pretty toasty. Won’t know how bad until the inspector gets in there.”

Emily tugged on his arm. “What is he saying? Is anyone hurt?”

“Everyone is fine,” Eddie answered as if he could hear. “Callie was working the café. She got everyone out.”

“What is he saying?” she asked in John’s other ear.

“Everyone’s fine,” he answered. Her sob, short and relieved, made a funny kind of grief blossom in his chest. She was supposed to be so strong. “I’ll call you back, Eddie.”

She jerked out of his hold and turned away from him to lean against the barn wall, hands braced in front of her. John rubbed circles over her back. “Hey, hey.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” he said as he massaged up her spine and then found her neck.

“The shooting, which the police still have no leads on, and now this.” She visibly shook off the shock and straightened. “Is it him?”

John frowned. “Who?”

“Hassan.” There was resignation in her voice.

“I don’t know.”

“I need to go home. I need to take care of my place.”

He knew it but didn’t like it. In his gut, he had to believe it was a trap. They’d disappeared and someone was drawing her back.

“It doesn’t matter if you agree.” Sadness coated her words. “I have to go. I’ll understand if you need to stay here—”

“Do I look like a coward? A fair-weather friend?”

She stared at him intently. “Are we friends?”

“Yes, darn it. Why wouldn’t we be friends?”

“We have nothing in common.”

“I don’t agree. We could have lots in common that we haven’t even discovered yet.”

She hugged herself.

“Come on.” He had been ready to escape to the barn, in order to get away, to show her one of the reasons why he loved this place—and maybe to kiss her some more. Instead, putting his arm around her shoulder, he turned her back to the house. “Besides,” he continued as he gave in to the temptation to kiss her temple. “Where does it say friends have to like all of the same things? From what I know of you—you’re strong; you’re kind to others. I’ve seen you working with the team. You’ve got patience. And I’m a nurse, so I also have patients.” He grinned.

A short burst of laughter gave him hope that she would pull through any funk this setback had brought on.

“I should have been there. Leaving feels like I abandoned them.”

“That’s ridiculous, and you know it.”

Her elbow found his side, sharp and hard. He grunted with a laugh and moved away.

“Hard to ignore feelings even when my head tells me something different.”

As they walked over the hill to the house, clouds covered the sun and sent a chill wind through John’s shirt. He blew out a breath. “I hate leaving.”

Emily reached for him and gave his hand a squeeze. “You’ll be back.”

He nodded. “Will you come with me next time?”

He held his breath as he waited for an answer.

“I’d like that.”

Relief flooded through him. “Good.”

* * *

The juggling and negotiating left him feeling like a hunted dog—worn and skittish.

He’d had eyes on his back for a week now, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that those eyes were looking through crosshairs. He had everything in place to get Emily Rogers to Hassan within the next week. She’d come back from wherever Hawk Elite was hiding her because of the gas leak.

He snickered as he sipped the whiskey from his glass.

Too easy to create a gas leak. Child’s play as far as making things go boom.

And she was on her way now.

With two offers in his back pocket, he was about to become very rich, and very wanted.

He’d have to take his money and go somewhere out off the radar.

Luckily, he’d always wanted to see the world. See it without the hindrance of a forty-pound rucksack.

Making sure one deal didn’t mess up the other was going to take some maneuvering. But it was all in the timing. And he was very good at timing things.

He was an explosives expert, after all.

* * *

“Oh.” The agonized sound accompanying that one word sent goosebumps over his skin. They’d only been in North Carolina for two days. Her silence had been close to disturbing for him. Years of caring for people weren’t enough to know what to do for her. He felt helpless.

Emily walked into the now-accessible burned-out apartment above her coffee shop in Harbor View. It was declared safe that morning, and they’d driven from Raleigh to the coast in record time. But it was still late.

When John’s phone buzzed in his hand, he looked down at the text.

“Hawk?”

He quickly texted back.

“Malcolm.” John glanced back and out to the street where Bobby and Marcus parked the SUV they’d driven. “Let’s take a quick look and get out of here. We can come back in the morning.”

Emily nodded and continued through the entryway, which had been spared. John couldn’t help but run a hand over the old, dark pine paneling. Beyond, the living room was covered in soot. And then there was the kitchen. The corners of the doorframe were curled from the heat. And the kitchen was pretty much off-limits as far as he was concerned, even if the building inspector had given the all-clear.

The little table was black spindles. Most of the cabinets had lost their doors. The countertops of melted Formica gave the entire room a creepy, abused feeling. The room was…deformed.

“This was my favorite,” Emily said, her voice quiet and sad as she flipped the switch, and surprisingly, the light above them came on. “It had yellow walls and the cabinets were the same dark wood from the entryway, giving it that turn-of-the-century feel.” She stepped into the room. “But the window let in enough light, especially in the late afternoon. And I liked seeing the library through that sycamore tree. There’s something peaceful about that small-town view.”

“Emily!” Callie’s voice matched her rapid footsteps as she came up the steps and through the apartment, almost running John over to get to her friend. “Emily.” her smaller, youthful arms clung to Emily.

The shock on Emily’s face was the proof he needed. She’d stopped here on her journey, but she hadn’t quite put down roots, not intentionally.

Emily relaxed and hugged Callie. “Hey sweetie. How are you?”

“I was so scared,” Her dramatic sob made John think of his younger sister. Pegged her at about sixteen or seventeen. “What if you’d been up here?”

“I wasn’t.”

“Thank goodness.” Callie pulled back and gripped Emily’s arms.

“Uh, ladies. Do you think we could—”

“Get down.” Emily dove with Callie as the familiar sound of bullets—again—had him diving as well. “What in hell—” She cut herself off and looked to him and then to Callie. “Library rooftop.”

He had his phone out when she started barking orders.

* * *

“Back alley,” she commanded as she got up with Callie and hurried toward the back of the apartment. “Shit.” When she crossed into the hallway to the bedrooms, she stood straight and pulled her phone from her pocket. “Eddie, are you watching Hassan?”

“Had him in Turkey yesterday. He’s on the move, but hasn’t left the Middle East.”

“You’re sure?” She nodded to the spare bedroom door in a signal to John. “Arsenal.”

He was on her turf now. She was in charge. He moved, opening the door.

“Yes. What’s wrong?”

“Emily?” Callie said.

“Trouble in Harbor View. We’re headed your way. Thanks, Eddie.” Emily hung up and knelt before the safe in the closet. “It’s going to be okay, Callie. Come on.”

The screen on the front panel read her palm and then a click sounded, and she pulled on the lever and opened the door. At the very bottom was a black duffel bag. She pulled it out and set it on the green felt-covered table.

This room was her truth. It had stayed here, mocking her for two years.

With shaking hands, she lifted her Dakota Longbow from the gun rack. The weight of it felt good in her hands, and she quickly disassembled it. Scope, barrel, bi-pod, stock. It all went into the bag. Kneeling down in front of the safe, she opened a drawer at the bottom and collected her ammo.

Above her head, John pulled one of her handguns and tucked it into his jeans, and an ammo clip into his pocket. “Way out?”

A crash of glass had anger racing through her. “I really love this place.” She’d spent her entire time here, finding pieces for her 1940s-revival beachside apartment, damn it. She’d be lucky if there was anything left when this was over.

The flash-bang of a smoke bomb had her ducking. “Callie,” she said, as she grabbed the girl and ran for the doorway. John held up his hand, and she slowed as he poked his head around the corner. She drew up and did the same. “Stay behind us,” she said to Callie, who made a scared little squeaking noise.

A man came around the corner into the hallway from the kitchen, leading with his gun. John shot first, and the man crumpled. Emily stared for a moment, her breath caught in her throat.

“Move,” John growled.

“Fu—dge,” Emily said with a quick glance at Callie. “This way.”

Her heart broke a little at the sound of the front door being broken in. She shook it off.

There wasn’t time for regret—not yet, anyway.