Nikita still wasn’t sure what to do about Drake as they slid to a hover above the vast white ship. He gave no indication to Altman that they had kissed, which she was thankful for. He was doing a less than thorough job of not staring at her. Every time she turned from whatever merry chatter Zoe was carrying on, his eyes were riveted on her.

Was she so transformed? It was just clothes. Zoe had tried to apply lipstick and other makeup, but Nikita was having none of that no matter how Zoe alternately whined and cajoled.

At first, the direction of his attention had been thoroughly predictable. But as the flight continued, he’d taken to watching her face. He spoke almost as rarely as Altman and she couldn’t read what he was thinking.

Or was Drake still thinking about that same splendid kiss that she was?

She welcomed the distraction of their arrival and stared down at the ship. She’d trained on everything from a five-meter rubber boat to an aircraft carrier, but none of that had prepared her for boarding a cruise ship as an elite passenger.

The Oceanwide Whisperer cruise ship was halfway between an Arleigh Burke destroyer and a Nimitz-class aircraft carrier in length, but it rose for eight full decks above its tall freeboard. In a space that would house four thousand navy personnel, there would be six hundred passengers and four hundred crew to take care of their every whim. The minimum stateroom aboard would probably bunk four to six swabbies. By the degree of Zoe’s excitement about their suite, it was probably bigger than the admiral’s quarters on a carrier group.

“How is this real?”

From above she could see a small swimming pool that had an oversized circular hot tub off each corner. There was lounge seating, shuffleboard, and a miniature golf course all surrounded by a running track. The wood-planked bow of the ship, several stories lower, had been cleared and Rafe and Julian settled the Bell 429 into the relatively tiny space.

A line of people were waiting for them. Four stewards, two male and two female, in natty white uniforms, and a fifth, clearly in the lead, dressed in dark blue.

“Remember,” Zoe said just before she opened the door. “It’s all in the attitude. Drake, you’re in charge, flaunt it. Nikita, you’re his gal—you’re the most desirable woman around. Luke is the muscle. Sorry, that’s just the stereotype looks we have and when they’re expecting a cliché, I figure what the hell, let’s give it to them.”

“And what are you?” Altman grumbled at her, truly living his role.

“Me? I’m just the hanger-on, slave-to-fashion, good-time gal. Maybe if she’s lucky, moll to Mr. Senior Hunk Bodyguard Luke,” she teased Altman.

Nikita had never in her three years serving with Altman seen a woman tease him. By the surprise on his face, it was something he’d never seen either.

“Four stripes on her epaulettes,” Zoe whispered as the ship’s officer came over to greet them. “It means she’s one of the top people on the ship. We’ve done good.”

A customs official barely glanced at their passports, then left as the officer stepped in to greet them just past the edge of the slowing blades. She was a tall, handsome woman with neatly short blond hair.

“I am Norma, the hotel manager. Please allow me to welcome you aboard the Oceanwide Whisperer. I’m so glad that we were able to accommodate your late reservation changes.”

By the woman’s partially masked grimace, Nikita would guess that the former head of GSI may not have been the most welcome of guests.

“I don’t think that you’ll have any problems of that nature in the future,” Drake had picked up on the cues as well, but he shouldn’t be too polite. The team needed him to be the arrogant military contractor.

Out of sight, Nikita slipped a hand down onto his butt and pinched him hard.

He reached back and snagged her hand, “It seems that someone is eager to get to our suite after the long flight. If we may?” He made the statement appropriately lascivious, but he also kept her hand tightly clenched in his so that she couldn’t attack him again.

The stewards and luggage were already gone.

Over the side of the boat, Nikita could see the long lines of people just now working their way from dock to ship up a pair of ramps. Some simply walked aboard, others gawked and looked terribly like first timers (a good lesson for her in what not to do), and several strode up the ramp as if they owned the ship. However, she noticed that even they glanced up with curiosity as the helicopter climbed back aloft. Then their gazes slid to her and she stepped back so that the tall railing would block their sightlines.

Drake’s tug on her hand led her through a hatchway and into a narrow corridor. It was nicely appointed, the rug a pattern of a Victorian drawing room instead of the more expected nautical theme. The walls were actually wallpapered, not painted. It would have been homey if the hall hadn’t stretched apparently on to infinity. She suddenly had the creepy suspicion that she’d just stepped onto the hotel carpeting in The Shining and that a pair of identical twin ghost girls would appear at any moment farther along the corridor.

She didn’t hear a word that the hotel manager said, but she figured that was appropriate for her role. Zoe was right. Their method of arrival had sold them as worthy of the hotel manager’s—Nikita supposed that a floating luxury hotel was an apt description of the ship—direct attention in the middle of a busy boarding process.

Nikita started feeling less like a woman lost in a whirlwind of changes she couldn’t keep up with and more like a SEAL. DEVGRU operators were like the Bruce Lee quote: The superior warrior is a normal person, with a laser-like focus. This role was no different. They were—

She caught a glimpse of herself in a tinted mirror in the elevator lobby. Nikita did a double-take—what the hell had happened to her?

“I know,” Drake leaned in and kissed her lightly, then brushed his fingers through her hair. “I dragged you off your favorite beach on no notice. You can fix yourself up once we’re in our suite.”

Fix herself up? She’d never been a dress-up kind of girl. Not as co-captain of the volleyball team and captain of the decathlon team in high school, definitely not while working for the bastards at Curtis Contracting, and there’d never been a call for fancy attire as a SEAL.

But the woman in the elevator lobby mirror, with her tousled hair, bare midriff, and long legs, was positively stylish.

In the elevator, as they were whisked upward, her instincts checked for lines of attack or escape. Mirrored access panel directly overhead—hard to spot the seam unless you were looking for it. How open was the elevator shaft on a cruise ship and what places could it be used to access if clandestine motion was needed? Then she focused on what was reflected in the panel—a clear view down her own cleavage practically to her belly button. This shirt didn’t hide anyth—

“Here we go,” Norma announced as the doors whisked open.

Nikita tried to clamp Drake’s loose shirt to her chest, but he still held her hand. She went to clench the shirt closed with her other hand, but Zoe slapped it aside.

Altman held a palm across the gap, holding the elevator doors open to let her go first. He’d never done that for her. He’d always treated her as just another SEAL, except for when an assignment called for an undercover approach; then he treated her like just another female SEAL. Now he was standing all formally, waiting for her.

—Until Zoe pinched him!

Altman jolted, glared at her.

Nikita was hard-pressed to hide her laugh. Zoe winked at her.

“Check it out,” Drake snapped at Altman.

The lieutenant commander didn’t appear to appreciate being reminded of his role as bodyguard—especially not with a hard pinch to his butt. He stepped first out of the elevator and made a show of scanning up and down the hallways before signaling that it was okay to leave the elevator.

Drake was having fun with the role of chief mercenary. For one thing he got to order around a DEVGRU lieutenant commander like a hired gun. Wasn’t a merc in the world who could command that kind of clout. It also gave him an excuse to hang on to Nikita’s hand even when she kept trying to extract it. The arrogant merc is in control.

“Oh yes, this will do nicely.” He been on a couple of cruises with his family, but they were definitely on the inside stateroom budget. This suite would do more than nicely, it would do better than any hotel room he’d ever been in.

Coral and crystal motif—the suite wrapped around the front corner of one of the decks high above the bow. It offered a trio of floor-to-ceiling windows with views both forward and to the port side off their private verandah. He was definitely going to be spending time in those loungers. Inside, leather chairs clustered about a dining table. Another seating group included a couch and offered fine views of both the outdoors and the big screen television. A small marble service bar completed the scene.

Through one door was a connecting suite with bed, bath, and a small seating area. Through the other was a master bedroom en suite with its own access to the verandah, a writing nook, a bathroom to die for, and a big walk-in.

The air was pleasantly cool despite the hot, muggy Miami afternoon.

“Honey,” he pulled Nikita in and kissed her quickly, though not too quickly. It was a fine balance between playing the part and having Nikita or Altman pummel him to the thick mocha carpet. “I know I didn’t give you time to pack properly. Why don’t you run down to the boutique and get a couple of nice outfits?”

“Excuse me, Mr. Roman,” Norma the hotel manager was still with them. “The shops do not open until we are at sea.”

Drake blessed his habit of keeping a couple hundred dollars in his wallet emergency fund ever since he got stranded in Poughkeepsie, New York, once when a broken ATM machine had come between him and the last train out for the night. He drew them out hoping that Norma couldn’t see that smaller bills made up the rest of his cash.

“I’m sure you can fix that for a special guest like my Nikita,” he passed off the money in what he hoped was a properly discreet handshake.

The manager attempted to demur, but finally accepted that the problem could be solved.

“We simply won’t charge your account until we’re at sea, Mr. Roman.” Norma handed them each their boarding passes. “Use these to charge anything to your room. And you’ll need them to register your departure and return through security at any port, if you choose to leave the ship.”

Drake was impressed that they bore their names and likenesses though he’d only transferred the reservations five hours ago.

“Fine. Fine. Now go, honey. And get something filmy for…later. You know what I like.”

Nikita’s warm brown eyes were almost jet black in warning about exactly what line he was on the verge of crossing.

“And take Zoe with you,” because she was clearly enjoying the whole scene as much as he was. Drake slapped Nikita’s behind lightly, because he felt it was in character. It was only as his hand landed there that he remembered how it had felt to hold her last night, however briefly. His mouth went dry at the memory.

The three women exited the suite.

“Well,” he watched the door close. “That went better than I—”

A powerful hand grabbed him by the back of the neck. A moment later he was slammed face-first into the wall. The coral wallpaper didn’t look nearly as nice from a half inch away.

His “bodyguard” spun Drake around and pressed his forearm hard enough against Drake’s throat that he couldn’t speak. It was probably a few careful ounces from the pressure needed to crush his windpipe. He tried to swallow, but there was no getting his Adam’s apple past Altman’s forearm.

“What the fuck are you playing at, flyboy?” Altman’s face was only inches from his own and he looked beyond pissed.

Drake tried to breathe in but only managed a lame squeak.

Altman eased of a fraction of an inch.

“She kissed me,” he sounded like Elmer Fudd, or maybe Bruce Springsteen after a hard night of drinking. Either way it hurt like hell to manage the three words.

Altman blinked at him twice, then backed off enough that Drake slid down the wall until his feet hit the floor. It was such a surprise, his knees almost went out from under him as well. He hadn’t even known that Altman had lifted him up as easily as Perseus lifting up the Medusa’s head after chopping it off. For once Drake could sympathize with the mythic monster—it must have hurt even worse than this.

“Try explaining that one again,” Altman was still only inches away.

Drake wrapped his hand around his throat, impressed to find it wasn’t, in truth, severed. He didn’t risk the pain of repeating himself.

“When?”

“Last night,” maybe he sounded more like a frog. One that had been the subject of a roadkill accident. “This morning. Whatever it was when I helped her to bed after the meeting. She was too exhausted to even walk.”

Altman’s fists bunched hard and Drake wondered if he was about to die.

“And you—” Altman ground to halt. He looked even more dangerous than Major Pete Napier when he was angry, and that was saying something—the commander of the 5E didn’t take shit from anyone. “You kissed her back.”

“I’m not an idiot, Altman. A woman like that kisses me, damn straight I’m gonna kiss her back.” Now that his own expiration didn’t appear to be imminent, he was starting to get pissed. “What? Am I treading on ground you want for yourself and she won’t give you?”

Altman’s growl said that maybe confrontation wasn’t the best tactic to take with a DEVGRU SEAL. But…in for a penny, in for a pound.

“By the way, I don’t give a good goddamn what you think. If Nikita lets me, I’ll damned well kiss her again. Up to her, not you or me.”

Altman managed five stiff steps away until he was standing at one of the big windows. Beyond him lay the MacArthur Causeway and the sprawl of Miami Harbor.

“You got an issue with me, Altman, spit it out.”

“It’s not you. It’s— Shit!” Altman turned and dropped into one of the chairs.

Drake crossed to the bar. Crown Royal XR—the former head of GSI had expensive taste in whisky. He poured two fingers each into a pair of tumblers, decided that Altman wasn’t the ice or splash-of-water type, and then poured a third finger into each one. He walked over and handed one to Altman before sitting down across from him.

The whisky soothed Drake’s aching throat. The warmth slid down into his stomach.

“Okay, Lieutenant Commander. Better if we have it out now before the ladies get back.”

The SEAL stared at his glass a long time before knocking back half of it. “I’m just trying to protect her.”

“From who? Me?”

Altman shook his head and continued to study the thick brown carpet. “From herself.”

“Oh my gawd, girlfriend. You really don’t get it, do you?” Zoe’s wink asked forgiveness after the fact for the familiarity.

“What don’t I get?” Nikita looked helplessly about the small boutique. Not a black t-shirt or pair of camo pants in sight. She did most of her civilian clothes shopping at thrift stores because they were cheap and what the hell did she care. She almost swallowed her tongue when she glanced at the price tag on a simple white blouse.

The shopkeeper hovered in the background, doing a very credible job of not being irritated at being called to work early by the hotel manager.

“You’re with Drake Roman…the Drake Roman,” she said it loudly, with a tone of awe.

Nikita wanted to shush her, but Zoe didn’t leave her a moment to do so.

“I heard that when the military took out that al-Shabaab camp in Somalia, that it was actually Drake Roman and his boys. And that coup in—”

This time Nikita did shush her, with a hand over Zoe’s mouth. But Nikita could feel Zoe’s smile against her palm and finally caught on. “We aren’t supposed to talk about those things.”

Zoe looked properly chagrined and they both glanced guiltily toward the shopkeeper, who was listening avidly and doing her best to pretend she wasn’t. And so the rumor mill gets started. To what end, she wasn’t sure, but Zoe seemed to know what she was doing.

“So,” Nikita did her best to put her nose in the air. “If I’m with the Drake Roman, what should I get?”

“Oh, I’d start here,” Zoe’s grin was wicked as she reached for a lacy bit of nothing. The La Perla bodysuit didn’t even pretend to cover anything. In fact, it was designed to not cover anything. It also had a four-figure price tag.

“Not a chance!” Then to mask her out-of-character reaction, “I think that Mr. Roman needs to be much nicer to me before he deserves me in that.”

“How about for me and the luscious Luke then?”

Nikita couldn’t have heard that correctly. “You aren’t seriously thinking about…” Or was she?

Zoe put the bit of lingerie back on the rack and shook her head. “No. But it might be fun to shock him with it anyway.”

“Can we be serious about this?”

“Oh, Nikki,” Zoe shook her head. “Clothes shopping is never serious.”

The nickname from her past stopped Nikita’s protests by overwhelming her with memories she didn’t want.

Zoe began walking among the racks and pulling off item after item. When she had an armful, she guided Nikita back to the small changing room. “Start with these.”

“Start?” There were more fancy clothes here than she’d worn in an entire lifetime.

Zoe ignored her as she pushed her into the changing room. Thankfully, she didn’t stay after hanging up the items she’d grabbed. Nikita had been sufficiently mortified by the comment about her breasts on the helicopter.

At the threshold, Zoe looked back over her shoulder. “It’s obvious you haven’t slept together yet.” Thank god she kept her voice down this time.

Nikita resisted the urge to ask how she knew that.

“How good a kisser is Mr. Drake Roman?”

Nikita sighed, “Very good.” She could still remember the fire that had lashed between them as they’d held each other hard. Judging by that, sex with Drake would be very rough and tumble, and very good.

“Crap! I should have known. Sooo envious!” And she was gone.

Nikita picked up a flowing silk caftan of tropical colors with a plunging neckline; definitely no bra could be worn with this one, that would be barely long enough to cover her underwear. How was a woman supposed to sit in such a dress?

It turned out, that wasn’t the worst of the options Zoe had chosen. Behind the caftan hung the black La Perla bodysuit.

“It’s not my story to tell.”

“Bullshit!” Then Drake wished he’d spoken more softly. The whisky hadn’t numbed his sore throat nearly enough. “You try to kill me, then tell me I don’t get to know why. Spill it, Altman.”

“You this much of a pain in the ass to your commander, Roman?”

“Are you kidding? You’ve flown with Pete Napier. Do you think I’d be still walking around if I talked back to him?”

“But I get your shit?”

“He never tried to kill me either. So he gets a pass. You don’t.”

Altman stared down into his glass. He hadn’t touched it after that first big swallow.

Drake sat back and took another sip of his. Was this what it felt like to be Altman or Napier? Assured, calm, drinking a quiet whisky in a luxury suite? Well, maybe not the last. And looking at Altman, maybe not the first two either. But an odd contentment had come over him, as if for only the second time in his life he was in the right place at the right time.

The first time had gotten him into the Night Stalkers. He’d been a decent gunner for the 101st Airborne. Then the Night Stalkers had come up short a man when one of their crew chiefs stepped off his bird and onto a landmine in an area that had supposedly been cleared. They’d needed a new gunner for a mission that night and he’d been available. Once he’d had a taste of what it was like to fly with them, he’d fought like a madman to get in. They were the best people he’d ever flown with. It took him two more years before he flew with them again, but he’d made it.

He wondered where that feeling of rightness would lead this time. He’d only had it that once, so banking on it turning out well might be presumptuous, but he’d bet on a good hand until someone forced him to fold.

“Nikita comes from a shit past,” Altman finally ground out.

Drake’s contentment froze in that moment and the whisky suddenly churned in his guts. Someone touching her who wasn’t—

“Not like that,” Altman was looking right at him. “Though I like seeing that you’re the kind of man that would piss off.”

“Damn straight!”

Altman just nodded before continuing. “Got in with a merc outfit. A bad one. One that didn’t like spending the extra money on intel, even though she had the lead right in her hand but needed a payoff they wouldn’t give her. Got her dad and her fiancé killed in a single mission.”

“Oh, crap!” That sure explained her reaction to the GSI guys.

“They were a lean outfit, so lean that she was also on the comms when they went down. Talk about a lady who’s had a world of hurt…” Altman knocked back another big swallow of his drink.

“That’s what gave her the drive to take on ST6 selection.” Drake knew it was true even as he said it.

Altman nodded. “Volunteered Navy. SEAL track from day one. Before she made it through boot camp, someone gave me the heads-up to come watch her. I did. You know from making it into the Night Stalkers that it’s ninety percent mental.”

“And ninety percent brutal.” For the Special Operations teams, being motivated or excellent wasn’t enough—you had to be both.

“You got that right. She’s got it, that indefinable it. But I wasn’t kidding when I said to watch your goddamn step with her. There’s something inside that’s hurt and angry, and real goddamn dangerous. She’s got a hard control of the former and can use it to direct the latter where I need it. You crack that barrier and screw up one of my best people and you’ve got me to answer to. We clear?”

Drake considered the idea that Nikita wasn’t as tough as she looked. That wasn’t right. She was tougher. Her strength ran all the way to the core, or SEAL Team 6 wouldn’t have let her in to begin with.

“We’re clear. But she’s—”

And he heard the door open behind him. He glanced over his shoulder as sandals slapped across the suite’s marble foyer. Two women laughing together. At least someone had been having a good time.

They stepped into view and Drake jolted to his feet.

Nikita wore a…he didn’t know what to call it except amazing. Two sweeps of pleated white fabric swept around either side from behind her neck. They rode over her breasts and crisscrossed on her abdomen before disappearing around the back. A flirty black skirt barely reached mid-thigh. She was completely covered, but with deep cleavage, a bare midriff, and long legs.

“You were right, Zoe. Look at them.”

Drake couldn’t turn away to see Altman’s reaction.

“Do a spin,” Zoe instructed Nikita with an elfin laugh.

Nikita twirled about. The only thing covering her back was her hair, reaching only a few inches onto her shoulders. The two sweeps of fabric actually melded into the dark skirt at the base of her spine.

Drake strode up to her, “Remember how I said you were gorgeous?”

Nikita nodded uncertainly.

He slipped his hands around her waist and onto that beautiful bare back. He whispered for her alone, “I lied. You’re way beyond gorgeous.”

Nikita didn’t know what to do with him.

Drake had always been a pleasant enough, smooth-mover of a guy who had the added benefit of being an excellent gunner and crew chief. But the man confidently holding her in the cruise ship’s luxury suite was someone else entirely.

Without forethought or intent, she leaned into him. She’d never needed anyone to lean on, but somehow, leaning on Drake Roman felt…safe. Not that she’d ever needed safe.

When he kissed her, she eased into it. Unlike last night’s hot and heavy, there was a sweet tenderness to it.

“Yes!” Zoe’s whispered cheer, which she probably would have accompanied with a fist pump if her arms weren’t full, was enough to pull her back from it. But the warmth and peace stayed with her as she eased away.

Altman was watching her carefully. She couldn’t read his thoughts but his look made her want to hide her face against Drake’s shoulder, so instead she retreated another step.

“There’s more,” she said to fill the awkward silence and signaled to the shopkeeper, who had been thrilled to help Zoe carry the purchases. They’d probably made the shop’s quota for the whole trip in a single go. She’d finally thrown the last of her caution to the wind when Zoe had suggested they could just bill the whole shopping trip back to Titan and J-dawg wouldn’t dare argue. She’d liked the sound of that. Even better, he’d probably whine the whole way, and then they could sic Sugar on him to get him back in line. On that premise, they’d made a few purchases for Zoe as well.

“This way,” Zoe flashed a big smile, then led the shopkeeper into the master suite.

“I’ll take the top one,” Nikita snagged the first of several dress bags out of the shopkeeper’s hands. “I got this for you, Drake.”

She’d bought it as part of the role they were playing, but now it seemed more intimate and personal. Nikita slipped the white Armani jacket from the black plastic and held it out, open and ready for him.

Drake turned and slipped his arms in. She tugged it up onto his shoulders and ran her hand down the lines of the back. They’d guessed at his size and done well.

When he turned, he was dazzling. He still wore her tight black t-shirt and tan khakis. Combined with the white jacket, he looked both wealthy and dangerous. With the power of his light kiss still on her lips, she was having trouble meeting his eyes.

“Oh, the fit is perfect, I am so glad,” the shopkeeper inspected Drake with a professional eye as she came back into the room. “No need to take it to our tailor.” But it wasn’t only the jacket she was looking at. Whether it was because of how handsome he looked in the jacket or if she wanted to see the notorious Drake Roman was unclear. But he definitely made an impression.

Drake reached for his wallet.

“Oh, there is no need, Mr. Roman. Your lady-friend has been most generous already.” She’d signed a big tip on to the room charge just for J-dawg.

As she left the suite, there was a small gasp of surprise, then the shopkeeper spoke softly. “Good afternoon, Arthur.” Her tone, which had warmed up the instant Zoe had gathered a third of the shop into the dressing room and had remained cheerful and friendly throughout, went distinctly cool.

“Arthur” rapped his knuckles on the open door. “Good afternoon,” he stepped into the suite without so much as an invitation. He was a lean man in a sharp suit that looked inappropriate for the setting—as if he was trying too hard. His overly cheery smile faded as he inspected the four of them carefully, instantly dismissing everyone except Drake.

“Yes?” Drake managed a decent mix of arrogant and curious.

“I’m sorry. I was expecting someone else. I had understood that this was Global Security’s suite.” But he didn’t back out. Global Security International, GSI. Arthur had just said the magic pass phrase.

“Was is the operative word,” Drake replied without even an eyeblink of hesitation. His voice chilled like the haughty person he was supposed to be and Nikita wanted to warn him about doing too much.

She’d spent the night deep in GSI’s files, so she knew the source of Drake’s reaction. Not only mercs, but by the end they’d added kidnapping of women and children to their list as part of a blackmail attempt.

She slipped her hand around Drake’s arm to caution him, but decided that playing the dumb brunette was to her advantage at the moment.

Arthur blinked slowly though she could see his mind working quickly. “A…change in circumstances?”

“Let me just say that after our…acquisition of GSI, their people are no longer a factor. I’m now looking out for their business interests.” Who was this man she was holding on to? It certainly wasn’t Drake Roman the pleasantly thoughtful Night Stalker gunner. This was a dangerous man who could easily command an entourage and stage a lethal takeover of a competitor.

A part of her wanted to shove him away, disgusted with the merc attitude she knew all too well from her days at Curtis Contracting. But another part of her wanted to hold on tight and stay close to his unexpected power.

The ship’s horn blared to life somewhere above them, a muted roar through the closed windows.

“Excuse me. Departure is always an exciting time aboard a cruise ship and I should leave you to enjoy it. Especially as you are traveling,” he nodded toward Nikita, “with a friend. But perhaps I may interest you in attending an art auction during your cruise,” he produced a card. “The gallery is always open for viewing and the first auction will be tomorrow evening.”

Drake took the card, glanced at it, then dropped it on the bar counter instead of pocketing it.

“We’ll consider it,” then his dark and dangerous mood shifted. He kissed her lightly on the cheek. “I am completely at the mercy of whatever whim takes my lovely lady.”

“Of course, sir,” Arthur agreed smoothly and then withdrew.

Drake led them all out onto the wrap-around verandah. He leaned heavily on the forward railing, which offered a sweeping view of the dock and the many islands that dotted Miami’s harbor. Blue sky, shining water, islands packed with luxury homes, it was quite the scene. A glance down revealed dozens upon dozens of other passengers doing the same thing they were, leaning on their own suite’s verandah railings to watch the busy harbor.

“Did I do okay?” There was the Drake Roman she knew. She’d been right to hang on to him.

She kissed him on the cheek this time and whispered, “You did great!” It was an intimate moment, and one she rather enjoyed.

Altman’s slap on his back didn’t dislodge Nikita’s hold on his arm, which was good or it would have knocked him over the railing and into the ocean far below.

“Next time I need an undercover badass, you’re my boy,” Altman almost smiled.

“Amazing what three years in the Yale drama department can do for you.”

“If you went to Yale, why aren’t you an officer?” Zoe was standing on Altman’s other side.

“Because I never went back for year four. I enjoyed acting. I enjoyed actresses especially,” then he felt stupid for saying that aloud. He was going to need to negotiate an unlimited do-overs license with Nikita. “But I wasn’t anything special and I spent an entire summer getting cut at auditions in Seattle just to prove it. That’s a major theater town and I didn’t get a single casting—only got a handful of callbacks.”

“Theater to military?” Nikita’s voice had changed. It wasn’t just like she was continuing the role from the suite; it was warmer. As if she was genuinely interested.

“Granddad on my mom’s side flew Hueys in Vietnam. Was flying lumber in Seattle—picking hard-to-reach timber out of the deep forest with an Erickson Aircrane. While I was losing all those auditions, I stayed with him and Grandma. Every night he’d tell me stories over a beer. On the days I couldn’t line up a tryout, he’d take me aloft with him. Liked it better than a whole lot of stage doors slamming in my face.”

A trio of dockhands were gathered on the concrete dock in bright yellow vests and hardhats. Nearby was a massive bollard with a six-inch-diameter line run around it and back to the ship. The dockhands were just waiting. Finally one answered a radio call, then the three of them walked up to the heavy line and flipped it off the bollard and into the water. The ship began cranking it aboard.

Then with another horn blast and a low rumble that he could feel through the handrail, the dock began moving away. The cruise ship was so massive that it felt as if the island was gliding aside and not them. But he was. For better or worse, he was trapped in his new role.

“And now I’ve gone from military to mercenary.”

“Military contractor,” Nikita corrected him. “They never call themselves mercenaries.”

“You mean we never call ourselves that.”

In answer she continued to watch the dock moving away from the ship but squeezed his arm where she clasped it, either in friendly conspiracy or as if seeking strength against something she despised.

“What do you make of your new friend Arthur?” Zoe was clearly used to the departure process and didn’t spare it a glance.

“He’s hitting the Internet on us right now,” he and Nikita practically spoke in unison. “That’s why he pulled back and retreated,” Drake finished.

“Nope,” Zoe shook her head. “Not us. He’s researching you, the great Drake Roman. He doesn’t know the rest of us from a hole in the wall.”

“Or care,” Altman agreed. “You saw how he ignored us, which is good. Let’s keep it that way.”

“Perfect! Is it too late to get the helo back?” Drake searched the sky though they were probably halfway back to Rucker by now.

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? Arthur is going to run a search and it will go ping! Sergeant First Class Drake Roman, 160th SOAR, 5th Battalion—”

“Dishonorably discharged eleven months ago,” Altman cut off his rant. “Misappropriation of government property, to wit: four million in sanctioned military hardware including air-to-ground Hellfire missiles and Miniguns.”

“I did what?” Drake tried to breathe. “A dishonorable what? But I never—”

“Apparently you pulled a lot of high-end strings and called in favors so that you didn’t go to Leavenworth along with your fellow conspirators. He can check the back news articles, it actually did happen and there were parties unnamed who were ‘arrested and released’.”

“But—”

“Instead you formed DR, Inc. According to your hype, Drake Roman can doctor anything anywhere as long as it’s military. Parker, Titan’s data geek, has been planting wild and nefarious exploits for DR, Inc. in all of the wrong places. You also have a website. If Arthur knows where to look, he’ll find out that you can be very bad news.”

Nikita bumped his shoulder with hers, “It’s not our first rodeo, Drake. We know how to set up a cover fast.”

“Couldn’t you at least have changed my goddamn name?”

Altman shrugged, “Easier to work with your own name. Your civilian passport remains valid. Due to the short notice, there wasn’t time to change it anyway.”

Drake stared out at that the blinding waves of Government Cut and the Atlantic Ocean beyond.

Easier? If Granddad heard about this, he would stroke out.