The ambulance took her to a hospital in Moscow. Mendez went with her right up until the moment the nurses pushed him away because she was going into surgery. He dropped into a chair in the waiting room, head in his hands, and tried to think of what the hell came next. He should know, but he couldn’t think.

He’d spent years commanding black-ops teams, years fighting shadow wars, and he was just fucking numb. Nothing made sense anymore. He’d gone balls to the wall trying to get to Sergei Turov—and Ian Black was already there. Why the fuck had he worked so hard when Ian could have waltzed in at any time?

It was all for nothing. And now Kat lay on a table in an operating room and he didn’t care about anything else. Antiseptic invaded his senses, but it wasn’t enough to wash away the smell of blood and spent gunpowder. Around him, the hospital went about its business—nurses and staff traversing the halls, shoes squeaking on the tile. Families of patients sat in the waiting room with varying degrees of worry on their faces.

And horror, he realized, as people shot him looks. It puzzled him until he caught a glimpse of his hands. They were covered in blood. He’d gotten a shirt from somewhere—Ian’s people—but it was stained where he’d dragged it on. His pants were spattered too.

He looked like something from a horror movie. Not that he cared. Not when Kat could be dying in there. He rocketed to his feet and went over to the desk. A nurse looked up, her eyes widening.

“Kat Kasharin—how is she?”

The woman blinked. He knew she was on the verge of refusing him any information, but she swallowed and looked down at her computer screen. “Er, I don’t have a Kat Kasharin in surgery.”

Mendez swore. What the hell name had she entered under? He didn’t know. He’d been so focused on her, on watching her pale gray form and holding her limp hand as the ambulance raced through the streets. He didn’t know what name Ian had given when the ambulance arrived, or even how he’d managed to climb into the ambulance with her though they weren’t related. He had a recollection of insisting and that was about it.

“The woman with the gunshot wound to her neck. Lost a lot of blood. Critical.”

“Are you a relative, sir?”

His fury levels shot through the roof. He placed two bloody hands on the counter and leaned in. His voice, when he spoke, was low and hard. “Tell me how she’s doing. Now.”

The woman took in the blood on his hands, his face, his clothing. Then her gaze dropped to the screen and she started tapping the keys. “Uh, Miss Svetlana Vlacic is still in surgery. There’s nothing more I can tell you.”

“Sir.” It was a woman’s voice from his right. He swiveled his gaze on her. She was dressed in scrubs, an older woman with a kindly face. She held a clipboard and had a stethoscope around her neck. “Why don’t you come with me to the private waiting area for trauma patients? You can clean up there, and someone will let you know as soon as Miss Vlacic is out of surgery.”

He followed her to a much quieter room. There was no one in it but him. The nurse pointed to a door. “You can clean up in there if you like.”

He stood in the middle of the room after she’d gone, feeling lost and alone. His eyes stung. He turned and yanked open the door to the bathroom. His appearance in the mirror shocked him. Blood streaked his face, his beard, ran down his neck, disappeared beneath the collar of his borrowed shirt.

He turned on the taps. Without waiting for the water to warm, he scrubbed his hands. The sink turned pink as blood washed away. When his hands and arms were clean, he scrubbed his face and then dried everything with paper towels.

His eyes were bloodshot and the lines around his mouth were more pronounced than usual. He put his hands on either side of the sink and dragged air in through his nose, let it out slowly through his mouth. Worked on finding his calm.

Except he didn’t think that was going to happen anytime soon. Not really. Eventually he straightened and tugged the door open.

He was no longer alone in the waiting room. Ian Black looked up from where he’d been sitting with his elbows on his knees and his hands hanging down between them. He straightened.

“I’m sorry,” Ian said, and Mendez’s guts dissolved. His heart throttled higher and the hot sting of grief punched the back of his throat.

“She didn’t make it,” Mendez said, trying the words on, forcing himself to speak them. He’d been here once before, after all. He could survive anything. He’d done it twenty-one years ago.

Only now he’d lost so much more than just Kat. He’s also lost Roman, a son he’d never known. Why did that make it hurt more?

Ian shot to his feet. “What? What do you mean she didn’t make it?”

Mendez lost his footing as his knees gave out. He dropped into the chair with a thud, grateful it was there to catch him.

“I thought… You said you were sorry.”

“Oh Jesus.” Ian closed his eyes for a long moment. “Sorry, no. I meant I was sorry for everything that had happened. Sorry she got shot. Sorry I couldn’t stop it.”

Mendez shook his head, leaning back until he touched the wall. Maybe it would hold him up and keep him from sliding formless to the floor.

It took him a long while to speak. “If you had access to Turov, why did you need me for anything?”

Ian’s eyes were bloodshot too. “I didn’t have access. Not really. For the past few years, I’ve billed myself as your enemy. Turov believed I hated you and your organization more than he did. He’s hired me for a couple of jobs, nothing big—but when you were in Russia and his people fucked up capturing you, he called me. I was already on my way because of DeWitt. I took the opportunity. I knew you’d infiltrate his house.”

“Are you the reason HOT was delayed?”

“No.”

Mendez closed his eyes. “So many fucking things going wrong.”

“Yep. Another reason I took the opportunity to be there when you infiltrated.”

He was tired and heartsick. “You’ve been involved with Turov and DeWitt from the beginning. Don’t tell me you couldn’t expose their connection without me or Kat.”

Ian sank onto a chair, hands clasped. “I really couldn’t. I know they talk. I know DeWitt is in debt to Sergei—but I wasn’t part of their inner circle. I’m a mercenary, remember? I do dirty jobs here and there, but I’m not part of the organization.”

“Yeah.” He frowned. “Where’s Turov? You let him walk out of the room before Dmitri shot Kat.”

“He’s in custody. And you were right about his plans for the Kremlin, by the way.”

He’d forgotten about that. Forgotten everything but her. “I don’t recall telling you my theory.”

“Ghost shared it with me. He thought I might be useful. Sergei owns a catering business, among others. His people were planning to set a bomb, and your men were going to be in a van nearby with another bomb. Dead before the explosion, of course. But their DNA would have been all over the scene.”

“How the hell was he going to get away with that?”

“Corruption. He’s paid off half the police force. Getting past security wasn’t going to be a problem. And Sergei would have been in Saint Petersburg when it happened, so…”

“DeWitt?”

“Don’t know if he intended for DeWitt to be there or not.”

Mendez’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He’d almost forgotten he had it. He took it out and hit the button when he saw it was Ghost.

“We’ve got Delta Squad.”

Relief rolled through him like an afternoon rain shower on a hot day. “How are they?”

“Dehydrated. Hungry. They’ve been in that cage for a week with little food or water.”

“Get them home, Ghost. And thanks.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Ghost said. He was silent for a moment. “You need anything, Viper?”

Mendez pulled a hand over his face, wishing there was something HOT could do for him. Some way to save Kat and bring her back too. “No. I got this. Get the hell out of here. I’ll see you Stateside.”

The door opened and a nurse entered. Mendez got to his feet. Ian did the same. His heart thundered and his palms were sweating. The nurse took them both in with a glance. They were big men, dressed for battle, and they looked like they’d fought one too. Or Mendez did. Ian looked refreshingly crisp in his tactical gear.

“Who’s here with Svetlana Vlacic?”

“I am.” They spoke at the same time. Mendez shot Ian a glare and the man shrugged.

The nurse’s gaze bounced between them. “The doctor will be in to speak with you shortly. Miss Vlacic is stable at the moment and the surgery was a success.”

His knees almost gave out again. He put a hand against the wall to steady himself. He didn’t care how it looked or what anyone thought.

“When can I see her?”

The nurse smiled gently. “Not just yet. But soon. Please wait for the doctor.”