Scarecrow slouched down in his seat. Sir Rodney was thanking them, and he wanted to pay attention, it was that he was tired. He glanced over at Scarlett; her heavy-lidded eyes told him she felt the same. They had been put through the ringer yesterday with the MBFF humps, and this debrief was droning on.

But he wasn’t off the hook yet. He had an embassy party to attend tonight. He just wanted it over and done with, so he could go back to her townhouse and get some more sleep before the upper crust bash. He’d have to wear a tux and mingle as if they hadn’t gotten all banged up and bloody trying to save a large chunk of western London along with Piccadilly Circus, Big Ben, Parliament, the palace, Westminster Abbey, and a good chunk of their shopping, a section of London that was one of the biggest tourist draws in the British Isles. He didn’t give a damn who was there, he wasn’t extending his damn pinky.

While Sir Rodney blah, blah, blahed his way through his gratitude, Scarecrow became acutely aware of Scarlett’s hand on his leg, and it was heading north at a good clip.

He looked over at her, but she was focused on Sir Rodney like a laser. Nothing registered on her face regarding the intimate position of her questing, seductive hand. He jerked a bit when she squeezed his thigh, and Ruckus glanced at him and frowned. He probably thought Scarecrow had fallen asleep and jerked awake. Thank God. If Ruckus knew what was going on under the table, he would use his ass for a chew toy.

She brushed his dick, and Scarecrow sucked in a breath. Wicked glanced in his direction, but Scarecrow didn’t dare look at him. He unfolded his arms, his hands going under the table, but he wasn’t quick enough. She cupped his thickening hard-on, and it took all his training not to react.

He clenched his jaw as she went boldly for his waistband. He was wearing sweats and boxer briefs beneath, keeping it loose and easy. Well, with this kind of goat fuck, he was heading for tight and hard.

He couldn’t bring himself to clasp her wrist to stop her, but just as she pulled on the ties to release the elastic waistband, Scarecrow was suddenly aware that the room was deathly quiet, and Sir Rodney had stopped talking.

Everyone, every single person in the room, was looking at him.

He had no fucking clue as to why.

Oh, shit. Had Sir Rodney asked him a question?

He glanced at Scarlett for some help, but the sly gleam in her eye told him she was enjoying every minute of this. He narrowed his eyes at her, promising retribution. Her expression said, Oooh, I’m so scared.

Ruckus cleared his throat as the silence turned awkward.

Oh, Christ, he wanted to laugh. Trying not to let that bubble of amusement get away from him, his attention shot to Sir Rodney. But he was looking at Scarlett, a warning on his face. Aha! He knew her game.

Sir Rodney’s mouth hiked up, and he said, “I’m sure you’re very spent, Mr. Porter. I will repeat what I said. The Queen has asked if you’d attend a private luncheon before the embassy party.”

She still had a hold of him and was working her way inside, her fingers brushing over the tip of his cock. It was really hard to think, let alone form a response to Sir Rodney.

“That’s a serious honor, sir. Isn’t it, Arlo?” Scarlett said.

He had his teeth gritted so he wouldn’t groan as she swiped her thumb over the head of his now fully erect dick. All he could do was nod.

“Quite,” Sir Rodney said. “Thank you again for all your assistance and especially to you, Mr. Porter and Ms. Kozlov, for going above and beyond the call of duty, risking life and limb for the good of Great Britain.”

He went to leave the room, and Scarecrow wanted to grab Scarlett, throw her down on the table, and fuck her until she cried out and he came hard.

“Ms. Kozlov.”

She jerked and looked at Sir Rodney. “Yes, sir,” she replied, her voice laced with amusement, her eyes glittering with barely suppressed laughter.

“You will school Mr. Porter on proper etiquette and deportment for his luncheon with Her Majesty?”

“You can count on me to school Mr. Porter.”

Her underlying meaning wasn’t lost on Scarecrow, and that urge to laugh at the absurdity of the situation made his throat ache.

When he could, he disentangled himself from her. He took her by the arm and hustled her out of the room before any of his teammates could follow through with questions or catch on to what had taken over the attention of one of the most focused men on the team.

He had her hand and she had stopped containing her laughter. He ducked into an empty conference room and swung her around. “You are such a bad girl.”

She pouted and said, “It’s your fault. If you weren’t so sexy, I wouldn’t want to have my hands on you constantly.”

“Okay, I’m damn sexy, but in meetings, use some imagery to curb that delicious appetite.”

She ran her thumb along his jaw. “Is that a Navy SEAL trick?”

“We have plenty of tricks. We’re goddamned magicians,” he growled. “But yeah, think of me with warts or boils on my body.”

“If I have to,” she whined. “You really are high maintenance, Porter.”

“But am I worth it?”

She placed one arm on his shoulder, then the other with a smirk. “Yes, you are.”

He smiled.

“So, we better get going.”

“Why is that?”

“I want some more sleep, and you’ll need to have enough energy to help me into my dress.”

“I can zip you up.”

She smiled. “Oh, love, there isn’t a zipper.”

“No zipper? How do you get in and out of it?”

“Let’s just say it’s going to require something slick.”

He grabbed her hand and they left Vauxhall. Back at her townhouse, she smiled as it came into view.

“You love this place. Why didn’t you use it?”

“Memories.”

“Bad ones?”

She turned to look at him, and her voice softened. “No, good ones.”

He cupped her face and rubbed his thumb along her cheekbone. She smiled, and it almost touched her eyes. In that one split second, he wanted nothing but happiness for Scarlett, the woman she had evolved into. “C’mon, sugar. Let’s go rest before the circus.”

“Be sure not to call meeting the Queen a circus.”

“I suppose dog and pony show is also off limits?”

“A-mericans. Such brash, cheeky devils,” she said, stopping and grabbing a garment bag from the coat rack by the front door. “Oh, forgot to tell you. Your team logistic specialist dropped off your tux. Did she go shopping for you for formal wear?”

“It’s her job to make sure we’re prepared for anything.”

She shoved the bag against his chest. “Sounds to me like you’re a bunch of spoiled elitist jerks.” She bolted to the stairs, laughing. “I get the right side of the bed.”

“No way.”

“Way. You snooze, you lose.”

He chased after her, her laughter echoing in the stairwell as he caught up to her.

“You want me to…what?”

“Help me get into my dress.”

“So where does the lube come in?”

She held up the shiny red retro dress, a throwback from the sixties with a tiny mock turtleneck collar, long sleeves, with a short skirt. “This is latex, and it’s impossible to get this dress on dry skin.” She leaned forward. “I have to be wet.” She gave him an amused Are you having fun? smile.

His interest was piqued. He was such a man, she thought.

“You’re wearing that to a lunch with your Queen?”

“Yes, it’s cheeky, but I’m after all a secret agent.” She smiled. “It’s so Emma Peel cool. I don’t think Her Majesty will mind.”

“Maybe you should put some clothes on until you actually have to get lubed up.”

She smiled, aware of what she looked like in a T-shirt and pink panties.

Scarecrow glanced up. She hadn’t moved and was a teasing invitation for sex standing there like she was. “Have mercy on me, sugar.”

“Not a chance, sailor.” With her back to him, she stripped to her skin, then looked over her shoulder at him.

“Nothing underneath…underneath,” he said, his voice hoarse and cracking the first time.

“Sorta, love, it’s going to be snug, just me, a thong and the rubber.”

“I don’t think I’m going to be able to walk, let alone dance.”

Her eyes gleamed. “Get yourself under control, mister. You wouldn’t want a boner when you meet the Queen. Don’t worry about messing up. I’ll be right there next to you to make sure everything goes easy.” She waggled her brows, and he groaned.

The night was full of pomp and circumstance, something that Scarlett had ducked most of her career, a career she felt was over.

When he’d met the Queen for lunch, he had been a proper gentleman, not under any obligation to bow, but he did, and that got her right in the heart. He was a noble warrior. He respected her queen and her country. He respected her. But there was no surprise there.

At lunch, he’d conversed with the Queen in that soft Southern accent, talking about his hometown under Her Majesty’s curious and lovely eye. The protocol was for her to talk to the guest on her right during the first course, then the guest on her left for the second. She noticed that even the Queen was royally charmed by a good ol’ boy from Louisiana, his brave acts aside. She sought him out between courses and all through dessert.

With that thought, she realized that it was time for them to go back to Bellise.

They went to bed and he held her, a smile forming when she remembered not only how much fun it had been to tease him when he was tugging that dress over her slippery body, but how much fun it had been to get it off. This house had been empty for so long and so had her heart. But now, she was at a loss. She was beginning to come alive, feel that not only was unconditional love possible, but she didn’t have to feel like a chump for wanting it. The scent of him was like warm cinnamon. She fell asleep against her warrior, and for the first time in her life, she felt truly safe.

But her nightmares wouldn’t leave her alone.

She got up and went to her old bedroom. Rummaging around in the closet, she found the box she was looking for. As she piled her childhood memories on the floor: an old stuffed gray hippo, frayed with age, a beat-up skateboard, mittens and a hat her mum had knitted, and…she closed her eyes as she touched the old leather-bound photo album.

It felt warm to the touch as if the memories locked inside had life and weight. She could feel the heaviness of them as she lifted it out and went back to the master bedroom and Scarecrow’s sleeping form. She set the photo album on the bedside table.

Her past was lost in time, and she settled on the mattress with her arms wrapped around her legs, her chin on her knees. Scarlett watched Scarecrow sleep, not really amazed at how contented she was to do just that. Being near him shaved away doubt and fear. Her lips curved, and she tucked the sheet a little higher on his chest. He looked so relaxed; the lines between his eyes that always showed when he was in deep thought were gone, yet there was nothing boyish or innocent about him, even asleep. Young in his years, he was wise in his experiences, now with a few new scars and bruises. He was effortlessly a man—strong, skilled, and sexy—and he made her more aware of herself as a woman.

She might have stars in her eyes, but she was a realist. It was a mess that couldn’t be fixed, and she felt as she had years ago…breakable. She didn’t like it and managed not to think about what would become of them if they weren’t together. This temporary affair meant more than she was willing to admit right now. What would they be apart?

Not the same people who had met at an airport.

She’d shed everything to go to Bellise and avenge her family. She wanted to do what needed to be done so she could go on without ghosts.

She eyed the plump old photo album no longer buried. But she felt the resistance in her to opening it. Those were her childhood memories, something her adoptive parents had preserved for her when they had brought her to the UK, yet she didn’t feel she could claim those memories until The Butcher was dead.

There would be comfort in being reborn, in starting fresh, just as there were supreme drawbacks. Like guilt over those she’d hurt.

Stop hiding and do something played in her head, and she pressed her forehead to her knees. She signed up for the intelligence field for all the wrong reasons, but yesterday was the most she’d ever cared about her adoptive city.

All because of him.

She lifted her head and found Scarecrow awake and wearing nothing but a badass smile.

It fell slowly, and he sat up frowning. “Talk to me, sugar.”

Scarlett’s mouth went dry, and she felt like the coward she was.

“Sometimes I wonder if I even know what I’m doing. I keep thinking. Maybe my answers aren’t in the future with a clean slate, but in the past where I lost myself.”

Scarecrow searched her upturned face. He grasped her hand, and she squeezed back. “Are you ready to talk about this?”

“I have to. I—” She started a couple of times, then closed her mouth.

“When you’re ready, sugar baby.”

She felt on the edge of a revelation that was just tantalizingly out of reach.

“I haven’t ever said this to myself, let alone out loud.” She swallowed. “Think about the worst thing you’ve ever seen in your entire life, Arlo. A scene that haunts you with the slightest provocation.”

“Not anything in combat… My dad’s death, not being there for my mom, and for him. The pain of him dying with something that he wanted to tell me. Now I’ll never know. The sense that I let him down.” He closed his eyes, and she was caught between guilt for making him remember and joy that he shared it with her.

Her eyes filled, and she leaned over and kissed him. “I’m sorry.”

She sat back, cross-legged, then pushed her hair off her shoulders. “The city of Timavir was small, but it was a prosperous and tight-knit community. We had the misfortune of an overall corrupt government, and as that tainted the country, discontent grew. The stage was ripe for a rebellion, but the rebels weren’t interested in building something. They were interested in taking what they could under the guise of a new regime,” she said, staring at her photo album, her fingers itching to reach out and touch it. “My father spoke out against both the government and the rebels.” Her throat constricted, thankful for her adoptive parents taking the time to find out this history for her so she knew where she had come from and what had happened. “It was summer, beautifully green, cool weather, a typical day.” Her eyes misted over. “He pushed me on the swing that day.” She smiled to herself. “It’d be the last time there was peace there.” She turned to look at him. “They never had a chance.”

Scarecrow didn’t interrupt, the torture of her emotions flowing in her words.

“They came in the night. We were caught off-guard. The noise woke me, and my mother came for me. They herded us into the living room. They gunned down my family, my father, my mother, and two older brothers. The only reason I survived is because she shielded me.”

She looked at him, quiet for a moment, and the hazy memory still had the ability to cause her horror and terror to return.

“It sounded like firecrackers.” She stared at nothing, the images flying through her mind—not like ghostly specters, but with a clarity she’d never allowed to materialize. “I can still remember the sound of a bullet hitting bone and flesh.” She huddled into herself and swallowed the bitterness in the back of her throat. “Then they swept through the town, firing at anyone that moved while I laid in a pool of my family’s blood.”

Scarecrow was up, cradling her against him, his warmth like a lifeline. She was crying as she pressed her face against his neck, the album beckoning to her.

“It was a massacre, and The Butcher of Timavir was born.” She sniffled, and he swiped his thumb across her cheeks. He laid back and took her with him.

“I’m sorry this happened to you.”

“The woman who came into the residence when I was crying, looked so sad. I’ll always be grateful to her. She gathered some keepsakes for me. That photo album was one of them. I haven’t opened it ever. Then my parents adopted me, and I grew up here in this beautiful house with beautiful people I couldn’t ever let in. They died too young and I was alone again.”

“You are a survivor, Scarlett. We always find our way.”

She nodded and looked up at him, smoothing her hand over his stubbled cheek. “You are a beautiful soul, Arlo.”

“So are you, sugar.”

New Orleans, Louisiana

They landed at Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport and went through the terminal to rent a car. As she moved beside Scarecrow, his touch on her spine was comforting and a reminder of last night. Though she didn’t need it. He was imprinted all over her body in such a profound way. For a breath, he met her gaze and understood where her mind went to play.

When Stone and Kessler had tracked her down, MI-6 had had a chopper waiting for them in Bellise and had flown them to the airport where they caught a plane to Heathrow. It was an hour and forty-five minutes back to Scarecrow’s hometown, but they had to stop in Palisades, the small town where Susan lived, to pick up his mum. She looked forward to seeing Rosemary.

This time he drove, his big hands steady on the wheel. She remembered the wild motorcycle ride with him holding onto her, his trust evident. He never questioned her once. Well, except for challenging her about that London Tube employee caught in the crossfire between them and the MBFF arses.

When they pulled into Susan’s driveway, they got out. She’d learned that no one went anywhere in the South without sitting a spell and visiting. She expected Susan and Rosemary would have lunch waiting.

Scarecrow knocked, and Susan opened the door with a startled expression. “Arlo? Hi.” Her confusion was evident.

“I came for my mom. I texted her that I’d be here to pick her up.” His expression tightened. “Is she all right?”

“Yes, but Hank picked her up this morning. He said it was time she went back home. Was that wrong?”

“No, that’s fine, Susan. I guess we must have gotten our wires crossed.” She didn’t look convinced.

“Would you like to rest for a bit? I have lunch cooking. I’d love to have you join me.”

“I’m sorry,” Scarlett said. “I’m so very tired. I hope that’s not rude.”

“No, I’m sure you must be after that quick trip overseas. I hope everything turned out okay.”

“Right as rain,” she said, well aware that there was no way in hell Scarecrow was going to spend even five more minutes here let alone a half an hour.

He got back in the car, and his once loose grip on the wheel was now a vise. He looked lethal and pissed. In her book, that was never a good combination. But their immediate concern was Rosemary.

She reached out and set her hand on his forearm. “Don’t let him bully you anymore, love. He’s doing this as a power play.”

“He probably shut off her phone. I tried calling her a couple times, left messages. I should have known he would do something like this.”

He drove just over the speed limit. His mom’s welfare heavy on his mind. There was something going with Hank and he was more determined than ever to take his mom away from his influence. Her assets would be safer that way.

When he pulled up to the house, Hank’s convertible was in the driveway. He didn’t bother with his luggage but strode up the walk and into the house with Scarlett right behind him. “Mom?”

Hank came out of the kitchen eating a sandwich. “She’s sleeping. Keep your voice down.”

Scarecrow barreled across the room and grabbed Hank by his lapels and slammed his back against the wall. He dropped his sandwich.

“Hey!” he said. “What the blue blazes—”

“Shut up. What is it you want with my mom? She’s my responsibility, not yours.”

“You could have fooled me. You’re never here, Arlo. Been on leave for a few days and then off you go.” He glared at Scarlett. “We barely know her. She’s not family, yet she’s the one you help instead of your own mother.”

“You have no idea what is going on with Scarlett, not that it’s any of your business. Don’t you ever go behind my back again where my mom is concerned. You’ve worn out your welcome. Get out.”

Scarecrow let go, and Hank straightened his light blue suit. He grinned smugly.

Scarecrow recognized it.

That smile was imprinted in his mind, and he felt a chill in his soul. He only smiled like that when he had something over Scarecrow. Hank knocked Scarecrow’s shoulder as he passed. He wasn’t going to let Hank push his buttons anymore. The door closed behind him.

Scarlett picked up the remnants of the sandwich and dumped it into the sink. She went to wipe off the counter and tenderness flooded him. She knew how tidy his mom liked things.

His mother came into the kitchen.

“I thought I heard your voice. How was the trip?”

“It was good, Mom. How are you doing?”

“I’m fine. Hank came to get me early. That was nice of him, wasn’t it?”

He plastered a smile on his face. “Sure.”

“You both must be starving. Let me get lunch started.”

Later on, after his mom went to sleep, he slipped out of the house and walked across the road to Scarlett’s porch. She opened the door as if she’d been watching for him.

When he closed the door, she moved into his arms, offering him a comforting smile as he cupped the back of her head, drawing her nearer. She went eagerly. His mouth covered hers, a brief, hot slide of lips and tongue that drove a thick spill of desire, and she clung to him, drinking in his kiss, her body soft against him.

“I can’t stay. I don’t want to leave her alone tonight. She was agitated when she went to bed like she has something heavy on her mind.”

“Rosemary is tougher than both of us,” she said.

Later on, alone in his bed, he missed the heat of her body, her larger-than-life presence. She’d had the courage to start her own change, yet The Butcher still dogged her steps. Was he hidden here in Bellise? Was a town’s legacy buried somewhere here like a pirate’s chest full of booty?

What would it do to her if she didn’t get closure? The fact she was planning murder didn’t faze him. He was a man who had done things for the good of others, no matter the cost. He was Uncle Sam’s boy, part of the brotherhood. He would defend the US with his last dying breath.

But he wanted Scarlett, wanted her like he wanted his next breath. There was no quarter there. All he had to do was reconcile with himself that impossible things were possible, even with complications, even with family messiness, family needs.

Even with the unresolved feelings about his dad’s death.

He’d opened that photo album after she’d fallen asleep, her tears still wet on her cheeks. He’d seen her as a child, studied the faces of her parents and siblings, absorbed the beauty of her as a little girl with a stubborn chin. He wanted her to let The Butcher go, stop punishing herself for being a survivor.

God help him. He wanted her to give them a chance.

He closed his eyes as his chest filled. He’d come home expecting to find conflict and regret.

He’d found both.

What he hadn’t expected was to find her and have her define for him the lie he’d lived with for so long. Violence didn’t define him; his own moral code was the master that ruled him. And until she’d stepped into his life with her cute accent and her jaded wisdom, he’d had no idea how much beauty there was. The blinders were off.

He had to find his own courage, come to terms with his mom’s decline, his dad’s death.

She’d lost two families, one to evil, the kind he fought every day, and the other to happenstance. Shit happened every goddamned day. He had one goal now. Protect his mother. He’d made one promise to her: find The Butcher.

He intended to make good on both.