Cash sat in the van with his teammates, M4 slung over his chest, Glock at his side, extra magazines stashed in his belt. The SEALs were dressed for combat in tactical suits and armed to the teeth.

“This is Delta Whiskey. What’s our ETA?” Viking asked Black via radio back to his HQ. “Over.”

They’d been crawling through a traffic jam for the past half an hour. Black was tracking their progress via satellite and trying to give them alternate routes. Waze wasn’t a thing in Qu’rim yet, and Google Maps hadn’t caught up with all the changes now that the city was a war zone much of the time.

Cash was about to lose his frigging mind. Ella had been in Qu’rim for about six hours now. She hadn’t moved from Fahd’s palace, but what was going on in there? What had they done to her by now? The possibilities killed him, but his team hadn’t been able to move until they had a plan and good intel. Rushing the op was bad juju, and they weren’t about to do that.

The mood in the van was somber, and the guys didn’t say much. Ella was fifteen minutes away from Black’s HQ on a good day. Fahd’s palace in Baq was a recent acquisition that he hadn’t managed to completely modernize yet. That was good for the SEALs when it came to Fahd’s security measures—meaning they were still rudimentary, which Black’s schematic of the buildings had confirmed.

There were cameras and alarms, but nothing state of the art. More like what you’d get for typical home security in the suburbs back home. Adequate against thieves but a joke for experienced operators.

Black’s voice came over the line. “India Bravo copies. ETA twenty-eighteen. Unless you get a miracle and someone parts the traffic for you. I’m still looking for a route. Over.”

“Shit,” Viking said before lifting the receiver again. “Copy that, India Bravo. Let us know. Over and out.”

“We could run faster than this,” Camel grumbled.

Cash started for the sliding door. Someone grabbed him and slammed him down again. “No, not happening.” It was Cage who’d growled in his ear. “This is fucking Qu’rim, and you’d stand out like a sore thumb. We all would.”

They would. They were a badass Special Ops team on a mission. They weren’t in civvies, they were in full-on spec ops gear. Yeah, they’d stand out. They’d be a target too. There were Freedom Fighters in the streets these days, and they didn’t give a shit about civilians. If a SEAL team appeared in full gear on the streets of Baq, people would panic that they’d be in the line of fire.

The van crawled along for another fifteen minutes—and then, just when Cash was ready to blow his top, they shot forward and started to move. Dirty Harry, or DH for short, was behind the wheel, and he mashed the accelerator to the floor. Ten more minutes and they were swinging into position on a side street near Fahd’s compound. It was full dark now, which was good. They’d originally planned to go at sunset, but the traffic had changed that plan.

Now they piled out of the van and headed for their insertion point, a part of the razor-wired wall that butted up against a nearby house. They scaled the wall, cut the wire, and dropped into the compound. Voices came from the courtyard. Glasses clinked together as if there was a celebration happening.

Viking stood at the head of the group and frowned. “Fan out. Find Ella. Let’s avoid the gathering if we can. If not, no shooting unless someone shoots first. Sounds like a party.”

He called back to Ian Black at HQ and reported what they’d found.

“Let me dial in the coordinates.”

They exchanged surprised gazes. Black had access to an infrared satellite camera apparently, because he was back in a few moments with the news. Dude was dialed into the intelligence community at levels they could only guess at.

“Twenty people in the courtyard. More inside, probably servants. Fahd appears to be having a party.”

“You could have warned us about this earlier,” Cage grumbled.

“Didn’t know. It wasn’t on his schedule. Unless it’s a celebratory gathering. He might have married the princess already.”

“It’s not legitimate,” Cash said coldly. “She’s married to me.”

“Wouldn’t stop him. This is Qu’rim. And he’ll never take her back to the US, so there’s that. It’s a minor diplomatic issue to him, nothing more. He will also, very likely, file an official annulment of your marriage with the Qu’rimi government just to cover his bases.”

“Not if I can help it,” Cash growled.

Black chuckled. “Go get your princess bride, tiger.”

The rest of his team was staring at him. Not that he could see their eyes in the helmets and NVGs, but he could feel it.

“Pussy whipped,” Cowboy said with a more than a hint of amusement.

Cash’s skin flooded with heat. He’d teased these guys relentlessly about their wives and girlfriends. Swore up and down that there wasn’t one single woman in this world that could make him want only her.

Well, he’d been wrong. Seriously wrong. Right now, he wanted Ella back in his arms. Back in his bed. Back in his life.

Was that love? Maybe it was. And if it was, he was in it. Because he couldn’t imagine his life without her now. For the past few days, he’d missed her charm and wit, the way she got lost in her books, the faraway look in her eyes when she closed something she’d been reading. He missed how she lost herself in their lovemaking, how she shocked him and teased him and made him so hard it physically hurt. Mostly he missed her sweetness and the way she smiled at him when she looked up and caught him staring at her.

He missed Ella—and he was going to get her back. She’d said he had no guts because he couldn’t admit he cared. She’d been right. He hoped like hell she hadn’t changed her mind about him because he’d fight to change it back again.

“Yeah,” he said to Cowboy. “I guess I am.” He pulled the Glock from its holster. “Let’s go get my woman, fellas. You can laugh at me all you want after she’s safe.”

Cage clapped him on the back. “Welcome to the club, sailor.”

“What club?”

“The club where men like us have figured out that we’re nothing without the special women in our lives.”

“Lock and load, boys,” Viking said. “We’ve got a princess to rescue.”

---

Ella politely refused the glass of juice someone offered her and stood quietly by Sheikh Fahd’s side. They had married in a brief civil ceremony overseen by the man she’d assumed was a secretary at first.

And she had not signed any paperwork. Fahd had seemed to conveniently forget he’d intended for her to sign a thing. Her aunt and uncle were utterly furious. They’d hissed at her when Fahd left her side to attend to some things, but she only smiled at them. That angered them further.

Her aunt might have hit her if not for Fahd’s bodyguards standing nearby. They had watched and listened, and Ella’s relatives had controlled their tempers.

Now she looked out on a crowd of business associates and friends. Fahd had planned a party to show her off, it seemed. People had come to congratulate them. One couple turned out to be Capriolan. She’d found that out when they dropped to their knees in front of her.

“Your Majesty,” they’d said.

Ella had been horrified. “Please, don’t kneel. I don’t want you to do that.”

They’d stood, looking at her in awe. After a few moments, they’d moved on.

Ella could see her aunt’s stiff form out of the corner of her eye and knew that the woman was livid. She clearly hated the idea of Ella being queen of Capriolo—and anyone acknowledging her as such—when her husband was second in line. Not for the first time, Ella considered it truly a miracle that she’d not been smothered in her sleep years ago.

She was standing and staring off in the distance when someone screamed. Instantly, her attention was jerked back to the moment. A group of black-clad men rushed into the gathering, rifles slung low and aimed menacingly at the crowd. Fahd’s bodyguards were swiftly disarmed and made to lie on the ground, hands behind their heads.

“The rest of you do the same,” one of the men said in a rough voice. “Except you, Princess,” he added when Ella started to drop to her knees.

Her heart slammed her rib cage, but she obeyed. As the rest of the guests dropped to the ground and lay down, she stood and watched. Fahd’s face twisted in fury as he lay in his white robes on the tile of the courtyard patio.

“Who are you? What right do you have to enter my home and treat my guests this way?”

The man who’d spoken stalked toward them. He was tall, big, but she couldn’t see his face behind the balaclava he wore beneath a helmet. There was a microphone that curved from his ear to his lips and a visor was over his eyes. He lifted the visor slowly, and Ella’s heart began to race so fast it skipped over a couple of beats.

“I’m Ella’s husband, asshole,” Cash snarled. “And I’m here to take her back.”

He reached for her fingers with a black-gloved hand, tugged her against his side. She went willingly, her body melting in that way it did only for Cash.

He was here. He’d come for her.

She couldn’t seem to form any words as she stared at his profile. He was big and menacing and so gorgeous to her eyes that she could cry for joy. Once more, Cash McQuaid was standing up for her. Rescuing her.

God, she loved him.

The sound of a helicopter in the distance began to grow louder. She ignored it at first, but the helicopter was soon directly overhead, the wind gentle at the beginning and then beating the palm trees like a hurricane as the craft lowered itself onto the helipad Fahd had built for his personal use.

“That’s our ride, honey,” Cash said. “You ready to go?”

She nodded.

“Run as fast as you can, okay?”

“Okay, Cash.”

He gave her a quick kiss on the mouth and pushed her toward the helipad. Something flashed off to her side, drawing her attention. Her aunt had something shiny in her hand, something she’d dragged from her purse. It only took Ella a split second to realize it was a gun.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion then. “Look out,” she cried, though the weapon was pointed at her.

Cash’s head turned—and then he leaped in front of her as a flash erupted from the gun. A second later, Cash grunted and dropped with a groan. Ella screamed. She reached for the gun strapped at his side as he rolled toward her—

And then she lifted and fired at the woman standing on her feet now, gun pointed, another flash exploding from the barrel as she fired at them again.

Ella’s hands shook as adrenaline flooded her system. She emptied the magazine—and her aunt dropped like a stone. A moment later, someone dragged Ella into his arms and lifted her over his shoulder while she screamed at him to let her go.

But he didn’t. Instead, he ran toward the helicopter. She bounced on his back, trying to see behind her. Trying to see Cash.

She was flung into the helicopter and her rescuer climbed up beside her. The helicopter was a blur of bodies as men jumped into the craft.

And then they were lifting off and Ella was trying to be heard above the impossible din of the rotors. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she frantically tried to communicate that she wanted Cash.

The men were removing visors so that she could get a look at them. Viking, Cage, Camel, Blade. She knew these men.

It was Camel who took her by the shoulders. His mouth moved, but she couldn’t make out the words. The guns had been so loud, and the helicopter drowned out everything. Her ears rang and everything was dull.

Finally Camel turned her forcefully toward where a man lay against the rear bulkhead. Cash’s eyes were closed and his face was pale. Ella’s heart stopped.

And then she flung herself at him.