Two phones beeped in the dark of John’s bedroom.

The weight of Emily still on top of him barred his movement. He checked his watch. Four hours since he’d showered and she’d come to his room; four hours of the best sleep he’d had since leaving Idaho.

He tapped her rear. “Phone.”

“Mmm.”

“Come on, sleepyhead. Time to report in.”

“Sleep.”

“We’ll sleep when we’re dead.”

Emily nudged him, hard.

He grunted then rolled her to her side and gently bit at her ear. He could definitely get used to this. “I knew a priest who used to say that.”

“Probably didn’t worry about getting dead as much as we do.”

“He was an Army chaplain, so I don’t know.”

Emily levered herself up and pushed him back over, which pressed all her yummy body parts against his before she was up and out of bed. He frowned in disappointment.

“You want it this way,” she said, pointing a finger at him. “Change your mind anytime, Mr. Vega.”

“Oh yeah.” That turned him on. He sat up and ran his fingers through his hair. “Sorry. You’re right. Unfair.” She stepped up to him and messed with his hair, which really did feel better than when he was doing it in frustration. He hugged her around her waist. “Sorry.”

He didn’t want to let her go, but that was ass-ish of him, so he did.

They both grabbed their passports and tucked them into pockets. John donned the loose-fitted top over his Under Armour shirt. Emily covered her head and kept it down as they walked through the hall to the lobby.

Predawn timing, when the guards were tired and ready to quit for the night. Marcus would know standard operating procedure. He’d be ready for them when they came.

Quickly in and out, with the private plane waiting at Al Udeid. In through Hamad, out through Al Udeid would keep Hassan guessing for a while.

Emily was across the tactical operation center, looking at the maps one last time and speaking quietly with Hawk and Stacy. Her frown deepened and her poise took a nose dive. John started away from Craig.

“Hey,” Craig said, exasperated.

John waved him down.

He saw Emily’s hand shake before she clutched it behind her. “What’s up?” he asked when he reached them. Cold, calculating…no, banked panic stared at him through her eyes.

“Hawk couldn’t clear the school in the neighborhood. It’s two doors down from the location.”

“Okay.” John looked at the map, even though it was branded on his brain already. “We can deal. It’s a snag, and we’ll work around it.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “You can do this, Emily.”

She didn’t answer, and Stacy gave him the Hawk stare from across the table.

“Emily?” he asked.

When she looked back at him, there was determination…and a little bit of irritation. “I’ve got this.”

“Good,” Hawk said. “Let’s go.”

Their rendezvous spot was down and across the street from the house. They left in pairs, John going with Tancredo and watching as Emily took off with Hawk and Marie to the spotter’s nest in the warehouse to the west.

They’d be connected through their earpieces, but he hated that he couldn’t protect her.

She can take care of herself.

But that didn’t matter. She’d become his. He didn’t care that she wasn’t ready to say I love you. He said it for both of them.

He’d ask her to stay.

Maybe he’d finally quit the team.

There were so many options between being together and not being together.

“Focus.”

Tan’s voice drew him from his thoughts as they rounded the next corner.

“Sorry. I’m in.”

Tan lifted his brow.

“I swear.”

He noted Craig and Ranger coming down the street from the opposite direction an instant before he and Tancredo turned into the alleyway at the school the few blocks down. He slowed as they passed.

The sound of youthful voices filtered through the glass, and a quick glimpse showed classrooms full of little people. “I thought school was out today.”

“Bad intel?” Tancredo said. They were used to it. Every mission seemed to have its share, no matter how careful they were. This bit of bad intel was going to be worse for Emily. They had no idea what to expect. They’d been shot at, and things had exploded…

She’d be nervous, and more nervous, knowing there were children close by.

Tancredo help up two fingers.

Two guards. John nodded. And then it was time. As they moved, Tancredo pulled his sidearm, and John walked up to one of the guards and spoke in rapid Spanish—high school Spanish, but it confused the guard long enough for him to get close. John threw one punch, hoping to daze the guy. But apparently, his adrenaline was running a bit high, and the guy went down. “Shit.”

Duct tape over the mouth, zip ties around his feet and hands, and John was inside.

Tancredo was right behind him.

The stairwell rose to the second floor in a switchback motion. John pulled his M16 around the front of his body and went right at the top. Tancredo turned left, checking their six. “Clear.”

“I can see you.” Emily’s voice, low in his ear, sent warmth through his veins and confidence into his step. “Ranger and Craig went in through the west door.”

But it was the quiet inside the house that was setting his nerves on edge…a pregnant silence. Yesterday there were the guards, movement, chatting. Today—nothing.

John and Tancredo continued down the hallway. He knew from the visit yesterday that they’d reached the room. Tan moved in front of him as they neared the door. Ranger came up the back set of stairs, Craig at his back.

“Four in the room,” Emily whispered. “Two hostages, four tang—”

A pain-filled scream echoed through the door. John’s heart pounded and his hands shook. The sharp crack of breaking glass preceded Emily’s calm voice. “One tango dead. Marcus is down, John.”

Tancredo opened the door and swept the room with his gun, taking out the first guard, who stood over Marcus.

“Craig.” Her voice came through again, and John wondered—for an instant—what it was like to sit so far away with only a visual of what was going on.

And then everything in the room slowed as the second hostage rose, lifted a concealed Magnum, and pointed it directly at John. “Get me Emily Rogers.”

John raised his hands.

Emily’s gasp filled his ear with dread. And then she breathed one word: “Hassan.”

“Is that her, talking to you now in that fancy earpiece?”

“Move to the side, John,” she said. “I’ve got a clear shot. I will finish this.”

“Don’t move, John. I know she won’t shoot you…you’re too old, anyway, aren’t you? She likes her targets younger.” The man’s laugh rolled through the small room of the house, all the men frozen to their spots.

Hassan’s arm moved and he pulled the trigger, sending a bullet through Ranger’s shoulder.

“Stop,” John said sharply, and Hassan brought his aim back to John’s heart.

“Now I will do to her what she did to me. I will go through and kill everyone she loves. Thanks to your good friend here, I know I can start with you.”

“No,” Emily called. “Move, damn it, John.”

“No, Emily,” John said into his mic. “I can’t move.”

“So, you saw it.” Hassan remained in his protected position, his glance moving to the explosive in the third guard’s hand. The man shook, fear in his eyes. Not the self-righteous of an extreme believer. No, this was a man under duress, probably a family at home, waiting for him.

“I’m here for Emily,” Hassan said. “She will watch you die. And then I will hunt her down in that sniper’s nest you created in the tile factory on the border of the neighborhood.”

John blinked. The silence on his earpiece rocked his world. He wanted to reach out to her. How had Hassan known where they were? Could Marcus have anticipated so much?

Hassan moved backward, out of the strike zone, and into the hallway. And then he lifted the gun one last time and shot the man—a bullet right between his eyes.

John lunged for one of the fallen guards and threw him into the man with the grenade in the same instant Craig moved for the hallway, gun drawn and ready to take down Hassan.

“Out, out, out!” John called, reaching for the last of his men, and shoving them through the door before he hit the hallway. The detonation behind him blasted through his ears, knocked him into the wall, and rained down plaster on his head.

Hands were on him, dragging him down the stairs.

They’d barely gone through the front door when an explosion at the back of the house rocked the ground under their feet. And they all ran like hell, John bringing up the rear, keeping a close eye on Hassan.

The man moved quickly, and then he suddenly stopped. A motorcycle screamed through and came to a stop. Hassan jumped on.

“One o’clock,” John yelled as he ran to stop Hassan. Tancredo and Craig were on his tail. Craig pulled his weapon, but the streets were filling with people, and he didn’t fire.

“Damn it!”

A second explosion sent John flying, and the world became so clear, every color, every angle and shape. The landing was going to be…bad—oh so bad. He crashed, head slamming to the blacktop, another body landed on top of him, and his world went black.