A high velocity round hit Sean dead center of his forehead. He dropped to the pavement, his face only inches from hers.

Thank God for the good guys.

Bure shouted, and men ran for cover, a hail of bullets above them. She and Kat were out in the open and exposed.

“Move, ladies. Covering fire incoming.” It was the sound of Scarecrow’s LT, Cooper.

“Evacuate Parliament and everyone in a five-block radius. There’s a bomb somewhere in one of the disused tunnels.”

“Copy that,” came the reply. “In the works, now stop jawing and move your asses.”

“Copy that loud and clear. Moving our asses,” Kat said as she started to crawl toward the motorcycles and the corner of the warehouse. She had her weapon in her hand, and she took out two gun-toting smugglers.

All Scarlett could think about was the number of people that had to be moved. The devastation of a bomb. She had to get to it in time.

She flipped to her stomach and crawled after Kat. She inched closer and closer. Kat looked back and shouted. Bullets chipped the pavement near her. Kat squeezed off a succession of shots. “Move!” she shouted.

“To hell with this crab walking,” Scarlett muttered under her breath.

She got to her knees, then her feet and sprinted for the bike. She scooped up the helmet and slammed it on her head. A hail of bullets peppered Kat’s bike.

The whooshing sound was all she heard before the explosion hit, shaking the ground and shattering glass and wood. Something solid hit her and drove her to the pavement. She landed hard on the ground, pain driving up through her hip.

“Got you, darlin’,” he said just as the motorcycle’s gas tank exploded, sending out fragments of metal. It shot straight up in the air, spewing fire, and came down in a huge chunk of burning, twisted metal. She felt the burst of hot air on her exposed skin and turned to look. Chunks of concrete, dirt, and debris burst around her, the visor of the helmet protecting her eyes.

She immediately looked for Kat, but she had already sprinted beyond the kill zone and was safe.

She rolled out from underneath Scarecrow and straddled the bike while bullets continued to fly around her. “Get on!”

He complied without hesitation, his arms wrapping around her waist. “We’re going for the bomb,” she said into her mic. “Hold on.”

She leaned the bike into her right hip and found the balance point. She gunned the throttle and popped the clutch. The back wheel spun and rotated the bike around her in a tight one-eighty. She clutched, opened the throttle, and took off.

“We’ve got company,” he shouted, and she heard his sidearm discharging as she raced the bike across the dock going around slow-moving vehicles and obstacles.

“They’re still on us!” Scarecrow said, the sound of bullets mixing in with the roar of the engine.

This was a high-performance machine, and by God it was going to perform. She glanced back to see a black SUV gaining on them. She opened the throttle and blew through the gates, braking hard to spin the wheels onto the road. Scarecrow held onto her like a limpet.

“To the right,” she barked. She braked hard and threw her body to the right, the motorcycle burning rubber and sliding like it was on butter. She reached back and grabbed her firearm.

She could feel every muscle as he flexed his big body and open fired. She aimed for the SUV’s right front tire, and it exploded. At the high rate of speed, it was all over. The vehicle flipped.

It landed on its side and kept skidding. Windows shattered with a pop, the sparks of metal to asphalt spraying like fireworks till it stopped sliding and smashed into the guard rail a good forty feet from the impact. She set the stand with the heel of her black boot and swung off the bike. The men in the truck had no intentions of giving up. A shooter kicked out the windshield, weapon first, and another one of them crawled through the back like a worm, blood from a gash at his temple rolling down his face.

Scarlett ejected the magazine, jammed in a fully loaded one, and racked the slide as she strode toward the hunk of useless metal.

They had picked on the wrong double-o. She put several bullets in each. Scarecrow double tapped them, headshots for extra insurance.

She ran back to the bike with him right behind her. Adrenaline was pumping, and the admiration that was clear on his face made her feel reckless. She grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him, the taste of him only making her heart spike. She pulled away.

“Ready to go take care of this bomb?”

“Yeah, ma’am,” he said with a grin.

She holstered her weapon and was once again on the black padded seat. He climbed on.

Behind them, she heard a huge explosion as she did another one-eighty and was again racing toward London. Risking a glance over her shoulder she saw that the black SUV that had been dogging them was now steaming slag.

It was pretty much open road until she reached the outskirts of London, then she leaned right and left as she angled around cars, squeezed the motorcycle places she shouldn’t, angry motorists laying on their horns, all the while going at top speed.

The smell of exhaust and gasoline was ripe on the air as she crossed London Bridge into the city, weaving her way toward Westminster.

She angled the bike up the street, threading around pedestrians and cars and generally pissing off the locals. Buildings were emptying for the day, people hailing cabs and boarding buses.

“Code Seven, report.”

“Almost to Westminster. It’s getting congested, damn rush hour. The evacuations are starting to clog the street. Clear me for the bobbies. They’re up ahead.”

“Copy.”

She bent over the handlebars, shooting between two trucks and jetting ahead.

Scarecrow’s muscles clamped as Scarlett maneuvered the bike, speeding between oncoming traffic, then through alleys. Riding with her had been a test of his nerves of steel as she raced at spine numbing speed.

He’d been to London maybe three times, and all of those times he had been working. He hadn’t had much time for sightseeing. She rode down a street, onto the sidewalk, then cut through yards and alleys. They popped out between buildings and around Piccadilly Circus. The crowds were thinning out as police herded people away from Parliament. He saw the sign for Piccadilly Circus Tube, London’s underground. Tapping her, he pointed. They burned rubber at the entrance, people hurrying away from the subway.

Scarecrow hopped off the bike and ran toward the entrance. “Ruckus, be advised. Heading into underground. Communication could be spotty.”

“Copy that. Don’t be a freaking hero, Scarecrow. Cover your six.”

“I’ve got his very fine six covered, LT.”

He turned to look at her as she grinned. “Oh, my bad. That going to get you into trouble, maybe some ribbing?”

“Behave, woman.”

“Now where’s the fun in that?” She reached out and touched his arm as they cautiously entered the lower level of the station. Both of them drew their weapons. Out of nowhere, five men, all armed, spotted them. They ducked behind the concrete post.

“That’s a nice little party,” she said, checking her pockets and pulling out two mags. He nodded.

“I have four.” Pulling one from his vest, he tossed it to her, setting off a spurt of gunfire. She caught it deftly and slipped it into the pocket of the liquid black leather jacket she wore. Damn if those pants weren’t mouth-watering tight. “Ruckus, we’re pinned down by five tangos. They must be guarding the bomb. We’re going to take them out.”

“Copy that.”

“Stop dicking around,” Wicked said. “This is much bigger than a grenade.”

“Grenade,” she whispered.

He shook his head. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

Gunshots peppered around him, keeping him pinned. “Trigger happy fuckers,” he growled. He gestured, keeping his voice low. “I’ll draw them out, you pick them off.”

“Why do you get all the fun?”

“Sweetheart, you could give a priest a heart attack in that body-hugging-give-a-man-a-fever outfit, but I’m the one wearing the body armor.”

“You make a good point, and talk about sexy,” she said. “You look good, handsome.”

He chuckled. “Ready?”

She grinned. “And willing.” She pressed her shoulder into the concrete pillar and slid down into a crouch. Bringing her weapon up, she cupped one hand over the other on the grip. She took a breath, looked at him, and nodded.

He ducked out, and all five of the shooters responded. They sure wanted them dead and out of the way.

Scarlett squeezed off ten rounds, her accuracy deadly. One man reeled as two slugs hit his chest. He pitched forward, the gun in his hand sliding across the polished floor. The other unlucky MBFF flunky jerked as the bullets pushed him back. He hit the wall and slid down.

“Two down, three to go.”

Her eyes widened, and she turned to Scarecrow, gesturing wildly. He went to the other side of the concrete pillar and saw a young woman huddled against the turnstile, wedged between two silver bumpers.

She turned terrified eyes to him. He put his finger to his lips. She swallowed hard, tear tracks trailing down her cheeks. She nodded.

He made hand gestures that told Scarlett he was going for the woman. She needed to cover his back. She shook her head and mouthed I’m closer.

“Be careful,” he said. He was scared for her, he admitted, and had to get a handle on his need to protect and take her away from danger. Hell, he was the one who had talked her into this mission.

She was completely up to the task.

“Get the woman out,” he said. Then he came out from behind the pillar, plugged the one to his right between the eyes and downed the one to his left, the sound of the headshots loud in the tunnel.

Scarlett moved at a clip, slid across the floor to get to the turnstile. The woman grasped her arm, she was so terrified. “Go!” he shouted firing a shot that impacted, but the last gunman kept moving, fleeing deeper into the station.

Scarlett pulled her up, and the she and the woman headed for the escalator while Scarecrow headed for the downed bodies.

He released his mag and shoved in another one. He kicked the guns away from the bodies.

He raised his gun, elbows slightly bent. Several minutes passed as he checked around the area and made sure it was clear before proceeding. Scarlett and the woman had disappeared up above him. “I’m going in.”

“I’ve turned her over to the bobbies. Wait for me.”

“Better double step it, sugar.”

He was literally walking on a powder keg. No one went to these lengths for a bomb without big plans for it. They wanted to see the seat of government toppled. It would be a physical and mental triumph.

He started through the station, at a trot, the shops and eateries blurring by. He followed the trail of blood.

The scuff of a shoe signaled someone was ahead. Scarecrow stopped, already poised, his senses alert as adrenaline drop-loaded into his system. His skin buzzed, everything heightened.

At the movement, Scarecrow fired first, the bullet chipping the already wounded gunman’s shoulder. The man staggered, losing the gun, but kept coming, pulling a knife. Scarecrow braced himself for the attack. He moved aside as the man charged. He sailed past and stumbled, and Scarecrow threw a roundhouse kick to his kneecaps, clipping him off his feet. The guy hit the ground and bounced.

Scarecrow rushed, grabbed his shirt, relieved him of the knife, then dragged him back toward the entrance. The man fought, rolling fast three times, and broke Scarecrow’s hold.

“You’ll never stop it in time,” he said, popping up.

“Wanna bet,” Scarecrow drawled. “We can do this the hard way or the easy way. Why don’t you be a good little terrorist and take me to the bomb?” He smirked and raised his weapon. The man ducked to the side, and Scarecrow followed, trailing him with the muzzle of his gun, firing. It met its mark, upper thigh, but it was just a graze. He disappeared through a door.

Someone came barreling out of a side corridor and hit him like a running back. Scarecrow lost the grip on his weapon, and it slid to the end of the platform.

He got the guy in a headlock, but something razor sharp scored his forearm. He let the guy go and reached for his tactical knife. Gaining his feet, he flipped it into fighting steel.

Blood ran down his wrist. The man eyed him. “Don’t look at me like that, asshole. You started it. I’m going to finish it.”

Back in the underground, Scarlett ran full out after Scarecrow. Please let him be okay, she thought and increased her speed. She bolted past shops and a shoeshine, then rode the escalator down to the train platform.

She spotted Scarecrow as he circled a man, a different guy than the one from the entrance. How many terrorists were there down here? He charged at Scarecrow. The man jumped back, but quick as lightning, he slashed at Scarecrow, who blocked, his leg swinging high and knocking the man in the head. He landed in a crouch, ready to spring again. He never let go of the knife.

The freedom fighter wobbled on his feet and shook his head like a dog. Scarlett saw the cuts staining his clothes. The attacker threw his fist, and Scarecrow blocked with an upward swipe and opened the other man’s cheek, then a swipe downward cut his stomach. Scarecrow’s execution was cool, controlled, skilled. But his opponent was filled with desperation, which made him dangerous. He pushed Scarecrow back until they were grappling.

She raised her weapon, but there was just too much of a risk that she’d hit Scarecrow. She rushed to the edge of the platform and tripped. She hit nothing but air, crashing down on the track as the sound of an approaching train rattled the tunnel and a steady wind blew over her prone body. It didn’t sound like it was going to stop.

“Scarlett!”

She lay there dazed, her head reeling. She tried to move, knew she was going to die a horrible death if she didn’t, but her head spun.

Then he was there, dragging her farther onto the tracks. He looked up, his face going white as he dropped on top of her and covered her body with his.

“I got you, sugar,” he whispered as the train entered the station, not stopping. It whooshed over them going sixty, the clack of the metal wheels grinding against the rails.

Then it was over. The train had passed right over them.

They lay there for a moment, then Scarecrow raised his head. “You are much softer, but as dangerous as a grenade. Are you all right?”

She stared up into his oh-so-handsome face. Brave to a fault, he hadn’t hesitated to pull her to safety at the risk of his own life. He’d killed to protect her.

But he was also willing to die for her.

The realization of that shocked through her.

“I’m here, darlin’,” he whispered.

She met his gaze.

His smile softened, and something in his eyes scared her.

She floated her hands up his arms, clasped them behind his neck. He’d entered her life with a big bang, and she was shocked at how well she knew him. It had nothing to do with the lives they’d led, but he was now ingrained in her heart. She could feel it quicken, skipping faster as he lowered his head.

He paused his lips a breath from hers. “I still got you.”

“Arlo,” she murmured. Curling her hand behind his neck, she pulled him down. She kissed him longingly, a mold of lips and tongue that grounded her more than anything in her life.

He broke the kiss and said, “Come on. Let’s get off this death trap before a house falls on us.”

He helped her stand, and they straddled the tracks. He reached down and retrieved his firearm, then hers. He stepped close and wrapped her hand around her weapon. “Let’s go kick ass and take names. While we’re at it, we’ll defuse a bomb and save the day.”

He climbed up to the platform and reached down for her. She clasped his hand, and he hauled her up like she didn’t weigh an ounce. There was no body up here.

“You let him go?”

“Yes. I was more interested in saving your life.”

“Point taken. They went through here. There’s a lot of blood.” She pointed toward the half open maintenance door.

He took up a defensive stance, then he headed through the maintenance door. They found themselves in the utilities section of the station.

Scarecrow discovered blood on one of the railings as they descended a few stairs. They moved around equipment, following the blood trail until they came to a hole cut into a wall.

It was dark inside.

He opened his mouth, and she said, “Don’t you dare say, ‘Ladies first.’”

He chuckled. “You afraid of the dark and rats, sweetheart?”

“Rats,” she squeaked. “As the big, burly SEAL, why don’t you forge ahead.”

He pulled a small flashlight off his vest and shone it through the opening. The light barely pierced the gloom. “Keep hold of my vest,” he said, then he stepped through.

It was a narrow tunnel, and indeed there were rats. She stayed close to Scarecrow, her skin crawling. The floor underneath their feet was dirt. It went on for a long time. The air was cool, stale, and water dripped from somewhere, forming the small puddles they stepped through. His flashlight flickered, illuminating the way ahead.

Suddenly the tunnel ended, and they emerged into a large cavern. There was debris, tracks that had once been used now broken, some places covered in dirt. Up ahead there was a broken, rusted hand cart.

Scarecrow crouched down and shone the flashlight. “They went this way.”

“What the hell are we supposed to do?” The sound of the terrorist’s voice echoed.

“When they get here, we kill them.” The reply came with the same desperation the other terrorist showed in their knife fight.

“Hello, boys,” Scarlett said as they came around the bend. Between dumb and dumber was the device. It was on a cart, the warhead in the middle, sitting on a metal container with wires coming out of it leading to two intimidating black boxes with displays. She needed to get to it before she could diffuse it.

Then the one Scarecrow had winged at the standoff at the entrance to the station held up the dead man’s switch.

“Son of a bitch,” Scarecrow growled.

“Don’t move. There’s nothing you can do. When I get the call, the bomb gets detonated.”

There was no way it was going to end like this. She wasn’t just an elite operative in Her Majesty’s service. She still had her own personal mission to accomplish.

She brought her weapon up, relying on Scarecrow’s quick reflexes to keep the man from detonating the bomb.

She fired, the bullet knocking his head back. Scarecrow was reaching out as the man started to fall. Without waiting to see what happened, she took out the other terrorist, then spun back. Scarecrow was kneeling, his back blocking her view.

They were still breathing. He turned, clearing her obstructed view. He had the switch in his hand.

She walked over and knelt down, as he studied the device. With one pull, he disconnected the hand switch from the bomb.

They breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived. The bomb made a clicking sound, and they both turned in horror.

The dual timers had flashed on, and there was five minutes on the right timer, and seven minutes on the other, digital readouts in red. As they watched, one dropped down to 4:59 and the other to 6:59.

“Fuck,” Scarecrow said, and Scarlett grabbed his arm.

“Do you have a screwdriver in your Mary Poppins vest?” she asked.

He nodded and solemnly pulled it out.

She rose and went over to the device and unscrewed the faceplate, setting it aside. She studied it. So many ways to set off a device that was homemade.

“Can you defuse it? ”I hope so.” Her gut twisted, and she glanced at Scarecrow. “I’m not going to sugarcoat it for you. This is a fuel-air explosive. This container is most likely full of either ethylene oxide or propylene oxide. One charge breaks open the container, dispersing the liquid inside. It goes everywhere in a cloud. The second detonation ignites the fuel. This is large. The blast will be immense.”

“Scarecrow,” Ruckus said. “Update.”

“Is everyone evacuated?” he asked, his voice strained.

“Yes.”

“Good.” He gave his CO a rundown as Scarlett continued to study the bomb.

He focused on her when the conversation was over. “I’m no expert, but if you stop the connection, it stops the explosion, right?”

She kissed him hard. “Brilliant!” She got up and ran over to the broken hand cart. She used her knife to pry off a piece of wood. Running back to the bomb, she whittled down two pieces, then he gently set the pieces between the sensor and the receiver. He’d been right. If they couldn’t connect, there would be no explosion.

“That’s all I can do. We won’t know if it will go off until it counts down.” She went into his open arms. As they closed around her, she said softly, “I’m glad I moved in across the road from you.” She’d been in some tight spots before and had learned to push her fear into a place where it couldn’t cloud her judgment, but now it flowed out of that place for the first time in her life. It was because she didn’t want to lose this man or lose her own life. If this was love, she wanted to explore it to the maximum. If she survived this, could she survive admitting that to herself? Could she survive admitting that she wanted her own happily ever after?

He kissed the top of her head, her temple. “Me, too.” He sighed. “Sugar…you mean a great deal to me.” He pulled away from her to look her in the eyes. “We may have said it was temporary, but nothing about us feels temporary at all.”

She kissed him as the numbers counted down until the first timer hit zero. Nothing happened, but Scarlett didn’t release his lips until the second timer clicked to zero. She pulled away from him, pressing her forehead against his. “You mean a great deal to me, too.”

“Good job,” he said softly. “LT,” Scarecrow said. “Scarlett did it. The threat is over. You’ll want to send someone down here to move this out of here. There’s still flammable liquid inside.”

“On the way. Good job you two. You make a pretty good team.”

Hours later, dirty, grimy and so tired, they dragged themselves up the stairs of a beautiful townhouse. “Who lives here?”

“It’s mine,” she said and opened the door. “My parents left it to me.” They were still clasping hands. She looked up at him, the strain gone from her face, a sparkle of anticipation in her eyes, and Scarecrow’s heart did a barrel roll in his chest. Like he’d said in the tunnel, this woman had come to mean more to him in such a short time than any relationship he’d ever had. She’d not only saved his life several times today, but she saved almost the whole of Westminster. This woman was amazing—the kind that loved speed and taking chances, the one who rode a motorcycle like a stunt rider, full out throttled, but the very same one who with two simple pieces of wood had averted a disaster.

Something sweet and sharp unfolded in his chest, closely followed by another more sobering emotion. Feeling exposed, he shifted his gaze and tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.

He now had the time to examine why she was so deep under his skin. He’d liked his casual, no-strings relationship with Sarah, and he’d never really had much trouble with women. He attributed it to his mom. She’d taught him how to be a gentleman and that pleasing a woman was simple. He was sure that Scarlett wasn’t an easy woman to read, but there was something…some connection between them that gave him x-ray vision into her. Right now, he was experiencing emotions that were so caveman primitive it scared him. The last time he felt this way was when he was fighting for his freedom from Hank. He had the strongest urge to shelter and protect her as he did with his mom. He realized he’d indulged her because ripping her away from her home, from everything she loved, tore him up inside. But she’d also shown him strong women were resilient, often a damn sight more than men.

When the teams had been opened up to women, many of the guys had scoffed that not one female had the stones to sign up for BUD/S, go through Hell Week, and not ring out.

He’d like to introduce them to Scarlett. Orphan, spy, loner who cared deeply about what she did for a living, no matter what she’d said back in Bellise.

“I’m going to take a shower. Join me?”

He did, where they washed each other. Paramedics had already cleaned and bandaged their more serious cuts.

She dried her hair while he pulled down the bedsheets and fluffed the pillows. When she came out of the bathroom, she shut off the lights, illuminated only by the wan moonlight. She dropped her robe, stark naked beneath the silk that lovingly fell from her shoulders. She was so damned beautiful.

The minute he reached for her, she choked out his name and came into his arms. His heart laboring against the bittersweet ache in his chest, he caught her against him, her body molding to his. Dragging in a ragged breath, he closed his eyes in a grimace of raw pleasure as she shifted beneath him and opened to him. On a ragged groan, he settled himself in the hot cradle of her thighs and lost himself in her tight, wet heat.