Malcolm pulled Marie into the little alcove off the street, both of them breathing hard after running the last mile to avoid their pursuers. White spots flashed in his vision. The ache in his chest mocked him, forcing him to admit—at least to himself—that he wasn’t at one hundred percent.

He hated being weak. He’d fought against weakness his entire life.

Getting shot last year. Not in the plan.

Trailing around after Marie. Also not in the plan.

Blacking out when she was around, definitely not only not in the plan, but a bad idea altogether.

He stumbled against the stone wall, as the heat of midday sapped his remaining strength.

Marie’s small body braced him.

He blinked, trying to maintain a semblance of consciousness, but the world around him sort of zoomed in and out. He would hurt her. “Don’t want to hurt you,” he slurred, as he pulled away from her.

“Jesus, Malcolm. What the fuck is wrong with you?” The anger in her voice gave him a focal point, and he forced himself to slow his breathing. “Fucking put a target on my back, then slow us down so we’re sitting ducks.”

She was right, of course, and he was completely guilty of putting her life in danger.

He’d hated her from the get-go, but causing harm…

“Go on without me,” he wheezed as a pain shot through his sternum.

“Fuck you,” she replied.

He took another breath, and the sharp jab against the scar subsided. He leaned over onto his knees, knowing that if he sat down, he might not be able to get back up. “I’m okay.”

“You better be,” she said, then glanced at her watch as she continued to mutter to herself. He kind of liked the way she talked to herself. He wouldn’t admit it. She was a thief, plain and simple. Why Hawk had taken the little scrapper on was beyond him.

But she was hot.

If they’d met in a bar instead of on a street in Germany, he might have taken her to bed.

When a canteen appeared in front of his face, he took it, stood all the way up, and gulped the cool water down.

“We need to get to the hotel. Right now.”

He nodded and started moving.

“Not that way, asshole.”

Malcolm tugged on her hand, pulling her back, and brought her in so close that he could feel her heart beat against his chest. “We’re going to work together because Hawk Elite demands it, because it will keep us both alive. We don’t have to like it.”

Her pupils narrowed to pinpoints, and she gave a quick nod.

“Good. Now, quit it with the name-calling. It’s unfair, and a bit sexist, since I can’t do the same without bringing the wrath of Hawk and Father John on my head.”

A flash of guilt crossed her face.

“Okay, then. Lead the way,” he said.

Her surprise turned to concern. “Do I—”

“Just get us to the hotel as quickly as possible,” he said, and then added, “Please.”

Marie led them straight to the street and into a cab. He wanted to argue—getting in an unknown vehicle, in the Middle East, was not on his list of safe options for travel. As the driver moved forward, she began speaking in the local dialect. He frowned, picking up bits…something about peppers? No. Not peppers. Gold.

Malcolm grabbed Marie’s wrist. She twisted her arm and sent her elbow straight into his side.

He leaned over and moaned, “Fuck.”

She might have pulled her punch, but the slam still knocked the wind from him and made the ache in chest flare back to life. He coughed air back into his lungs then opened his mouth and demanded the driver pull over. He pulled his wallet and tossed enough money to the driver to feed his family for a week—or more.

With her wrist trapped in his grip, he wound through traffic and ducked into a restaurant on the corner.

Past tables and crowds eating a late meal, he finally found a quiet spot at the back of the building, between what looked like a laundry room and a pantry. Ignoring the pain in his chest, he pressed her back to the wall, leaned in, and took her chin in his hand. “What do you know about Hassan?”

Fear sliced through her eyes, but she blinked and it was gone, replaced with molten indignation. “Let go of me.”

“We’ve been chasing our tails trying to figure out who leaked Emily’s whereabouts to the media, who would have connections to the Middle East.” He banged a hand against the wall behind her, making her blink, making his own head start to pound. “You. You know the language. You’ve been here. Hell, you’re practically in your own backyard, aren’t you, my little Romanian thief?”

My little Romanian thief. The words stopped his tirade.

Or was that a power outage?

“Malcolm,” Marie said sharply.

Not power. Shit.

Like a blown light bulb, the world went black around him.

* * *

A baseball cap hid John’s blond hair, and he’d changed into looser clothing to help him fit in with the locals and the tourists. Thankfully, Doha wasn’t completely devoid of western culture. Craig had done the same, and with his dark beard grown in, was a far better match than John. No one would look twice, and hopefully that would include John as well.

They walked quickly and in silence, each one knowing where to go without saying a word. The predetermined route landed them on a residential street about five miles from the hotel. Built to house factory workers during the fifties, the houses were dated, a bit worn, but in decent shape.

The abandoned tile factory stood sentinel over the neighborhood, mere blocks away. The perfect sniper’s nest. An apartment building to the east would give another bird’s-eye view. And then there was a school as well. But the primo spot was two doors down from Marcus. The three-story home had a rooftop veranda and access from the side yard.

John and Craig made a pass of Marcus’ location.

“Two guards out front.”

“One in the window upstairs.”

They continued around the block, avoided the alley that would put them at the back door, and when they reached the congruent point of location on the next block over, they quietly slipped between the houses to use the back fence as a blind.

“Three more at the back; one walking the alley.”

“Not all of them are armed,” John said. He’d been watching the house next door. It looked empty. “Checking out the neighbors. Stay here and see if those guys make a move.”

Craig nodded, and John watched through the crack in the fence until the guard moved beyond him and stopped about twenty yards down.

He slipped out, holding the gate so it didn’t bang shut, and kept his eye on the guard on the second floor with his back to the window. He got in through the adjacent gate, and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. No lights went on. No alarm sounded.

Thankfully, the neighborhood was as deserted as it looked.

His earpiece came to life. “Situation report.”

John touched his ear. “Guards on all sides, most of them armed. Settling in to watch.”

“Sunset at 1832. Report back at 1930. Team two.”

John waited for the familiar sound of Malcolm’s voice to come over communications.

Nothing.

“Team two, report in.”

“ETA three minutes.”

“Marie,” John whispered into the silence of the deserted home. The walls were bare, but had nail holes in them. The kitchen hadn’t been updated in at least forty years. Lots of oranges and greens. “You need a medic?” he asked as he made a quick assessment.

“Negative. We’re both good.”

“Fucker,” he heard Malcolm say. The man was really hating the recovery and rehab of being shot last year, and John was keeping a close eye on him. He hadn’t said outright, but this assignment was a test.

The house with the rooftop garden was a mere five yards from where Marcus was being held. The terrace on the top floor where he was looked down onto the flat roof next door. They could use the second floor as the entry point.

When night fell, they’d have another look. Malcolm would be able to use his programs and devices to get a read on who was in the building.

“Car coming up the alley.” Craig’s voice came through. “Three guards from the back got in the vehicle. That leaves four behind.”

It was what John would have done as night fell. Hell, standard operating procedure for Hawk Elite. Two-hour shifts with four guards. “Getting visual now.”

As soon as the words came through his earpiece, the crackle of public speakers broke over the air, and the call to prayer began. That small distraction would be enough, especially if the men they were dealing with held to the Islam beliefs and were praying.

Thankful for the timing, John pulled his scope from his leg pocket and crawled up to the crow’s nest, even further up from the garden terrace. There he was able to look down into the house next door. The big window on the side of the house offered him a clear view of two men, both bound with zip ties, and roped to a bed.

Marcus, his face a bloody mess, sat on the floor at the head of the bed with his back to the mattress and metal frame. The second man had his back to the window. Tight brown curls covered his head. Even with the limited visual, John guessed him to be late thirties, maybe forties. Skinny guy.

John lowered the scope, checked his surroundings, and lifted it again.

And he caught the skinny guy with his head turned, saw a profile of an angry scowl before it was gone again. Marcus looked angry as well. He looked beat to hell, blood running down his face.

“We’ve got two men, Hawk. Marcus and another.”

“Can you get an image?”

John took out his phone and moved back into the shadows. He zoomed in, grunting a little when the image didn’t focus. He clicked off a round of photos anyway. They’d come this far for Marcus, all the while knowing that Marcus was a pawn in a game for Emily’s life.

Part of him wanted to punch Marcus right in the face for getting caught and leading them here. If they’d stopped this in Harbor View, this trip to Qatar might have been avoided completely.

Before evening prayer was over, John had climbed down off the roof and hurried back over to Craig’s location. “Time to report. Let’s go.”

They took a different route back, getting them to the hotel in less than ten minutes.

Craig came in behind him. “Mother— You could slow down.”

The agitation of finding an unknown variable within the mission had John antsy. They were supposed to be extracting one man—Marcus. Who was this other guy? Why was he there?

“Take a break,” Stacy said from her spot at the table. “Curfew is in seventy-five minutes. After your discovery, we’ll regroup in the morning.”

“Hurry up and wait? I thought we left that to the military.”

“Safety first.”

John nodded and tossed his phone to her at the same time. “Photo’s on there. Maybe Malcolm can run his recognition software on it.”

“Hey, John.”

He turned back to Hawk.

“Nice work tonight. We’re going to get Marcus out of there.”

Wasn’t that the twist, though? It wasn’t Marcus he was thinking about…

It was a tall, blond, sexy sharpshooter.