Becca re-secured the dressing on Redd’s leg. His skin had regained a healthier pinkish bloom and he was sedated, his body temperature slowly climbing. He was out of the danger zone. If this continued, she expected him to make a full recovery.

She finished taking a blood sample and inserted the small vial of blood into Aimee’s console for analysis. She glanced around at her team still in the room, taking some downtime to reboot in companionable silence. No one wanted to be alone right now. Everyone was on their last strands of strength. She just had to hold them all together long enough to get them home.

The console hummed as the blood analysis processed. Finally, Aimee chimed. “Analysis completed.”

A media screen above Redd’s head blinked into life, displaying his blood chemistry as well as microscopic images of his blood composition. Where there should’ve only been serum between the red and white blood cells, there were spiked ovals of deep green, their jagged points stabbed deep into the convex roundness of the red blood cells. Becca narrowed her eyes, perplexed at what she was seeing.

“Dr. Johnson.”

“Yes, Aimee. What is it?” Becca adjusted the focus to get a clearer image of the blood cells.

“A team from Triton Core has arrived in the docking bay. They’re making their way to the infirmary now.”

Becca straightened. Shaw was resting on the bed next to Redd, but his eyes snapped open at Aimee’s announcement. Betty stiffened next to him on a worn office chair and fumbled for her glasses resting on the bedside unit.

“They’re already in the habitat, Aimee?” Becca asked.

“That is correct, Dr. Johnson.”

Em straightened from the far corner of the room where she’d been nursing a lukewarm coke next to Tom. “The relief team isn’t due for another four days.”

“I know. Aimee, why wasn’t I notified of their approach and arrival?” Becca tapped her foot, impatient. “Aimee?”

“You were busy, Dr. Johnson.”

What on earth was that supposed to mean? Since when did Aimee worry about interrupting her?

Em fired a worried glance across the room, her arms hugging her waist as if she were cold.

A band of tension constricted around Becca’s forehead. She needed a hot bath and a good night’s sleep, not more interruptions and situations to deal with. “There’s no scheduled contact for the next four days.” Becca snapped off her surgical gloves and washed her hands in the sink. “Aimee, explain, please.”

“The team was sent to collect and escort all collated research from Ceto habitat and deliver it to Triton Core.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Tom asked, his voice escalating. He stared at the ceiling, his hands fisted at his sides. “We’ll be taking the research up in five days anyway. Becca?” He stared at her.

Becca took his elbow. “Tom, C’mon. We’re all exhausted from dealing with Chase and…”

Deep masculine voices were loud outside the infirmary. Tom snatched his arm away. Clearly, her soothing skills required work. She’d worry about that later.

“Dr. Johnson. The men are here now.” The infirmary door unlatched. “Welcome, gentleman,” Aimee intoned.

The door swung open, and a group of military-looking men dressed head to toe in black entered the room. Becca counted five heads. All held sleek weapons aimed at the floor. The fact that they weren’t pointed at her did little to ease her rapidly escalating blood pressure.

They halted as a small group in the middle of her infirmary, an impenetrable wall of hard muscle and well-oiled metal at odds with the soft lighting and white cleanliness of her workspace.

A muscle ticked at the side of Becca’s temple. This was a research station, not a military installation. What the hell was going on?

She stepped forward and extended her hand in greeting, willing her arm not to tremble while her pulse skittered in her throat.

At the front, an older man led the group, his face heavyset and lined but his eyes bright blue and gentle. Behind him, a blond soldier with sleeked back hair swayed on the balls of his feet, his gaze darting from one dark corner to another. He looked ready to spray them all with bullets at a moment’s notice. Next to him, a tall man with an exotic angular face studied her, his face devoid of emotion and beside him was a younger man, ear buds hanging loose around his neck. Finally at the rear, still in the corridor, the last man faced away from her in the shadowy light.

Were they mercenaries?

The older man spoke first. His hair was shaggy, too long to be military. “Who’s in charge?”

Becca’s stomach lurched. With Redd out of action, she was next in seniority. “I am. I’m Dr. Becca Johnson. I’m the scientific officer in charge.”

The shaggy man gave her a long look up and down. Becca was slight, her hair long and messy after the events in the Dora. She was well aware she looked younger than her thirty-two years. Finally, he grasped her hand, warm paw like palms enveloping hers in a reassuring handshake.

“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am. I’m Chief Haynes. We also work for Triton Core. We’ve been sent to compile and escort your research data topside.”

They are from Triton. Since when had Triton acquired a military section?

Em gasped, and she craned her neck to make eye contact with Becca. “Our data? What do you want with our data?”

Becca drew back so Chief could see Em. “This is Dr. Emily Vincent, our engineer.” She gestured at her other team members. “Dr. Owen Shaw, geologist. Dr. Betty Soh, marine biologist. Dr. Tom Preacher, biological oceanographer. Dr. Chase Redd, our chief science officer is injured.” Becca inclined her head in the direction of Redd’s prostrate form.

Chief Haynes acknowledged the introductions with a curt nod but made no attempt to explain the shadowy men standing with him. Becca suppressed a wave of irritation and continued. “I don’t understand. We sent an emergency message to Triton only two hours ago after Dr. Redd’s hard suit was compromised on the dig.”

“He never should’ve been out there,” Em added. “He went over his time log and was being an ass about coming in.”

Becca fired her a stern glance. “Em. That doesn’t help.”

Em folded her arms but stopped talking. She tapped her foot and stared at the men.

Realization flooded Becca. God, tiredness was making her slow. “There’s no way your team can have been sent in response to our message.”

“Our team isn’t responding to any emergency message, Dr. Johnson. We’re just here for the research.”

Betty stepped forward. “This doesn’t make any sense. Why are you here for our research? We log summary reports to Triton daily and the hard copies of our research will be taken to the surface in five days when our mission slot ends.”

Chief held up a placatory hand. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation. I’m unaware of any previous arrangements. Just that we have to escort hard copies of the research topside.”

“Why would Triton need an armed escort for geological samples?” Tom edged nearer to Becca, his voice laced with irritation. Tom had a short temper at the best of times, and right now he looked like he was going to kick off any second. That wasn’t going to help at all. Becca flexed her hands, willing her racing heart to slow down and give her the opportunity to think.

Chief ignored Tom and kept his attention on Becca. “We have our orders, ma’am. What more can I say?”

Debating his orders was going to get them nowhere. Becca changed tack. She pulled herself up to her full five-foot-five-inches, desperately controlling the fear and doubt spiraling inside her. “We’ve had no instructions from Triton about anything and Dr. Redd must be evacuated immediately. That’s our priority.”

Chief glanced over his shoulder. “Cade. Anything I’m missing?”

The youngest man stepped forward. “No, Chief. Our orders are quite specific on research collection and return.”

Chief rolled his eyes. “Figures.” He extended an arm to Becca. “I’m sure we can get this sorted out, Dr. Johnson. My comms man, Cade will speak to Triton and clarify everything to your satisfaction. Once you have the appropriate permissions from Triton, we can collect the necessary and be out of your hair, so to speak. I’m sure they’re arranging evacuation for your colleague right now.” He turned to scan the room. “Perhaps there’s somewhere Cade can access your hardware?”

Tom grunted softly at her side, tendons on his neck straining. Becca touched his elbow in a gesture of solidarity.

“I’ll take him to the comms suite in Operations, Becca.” Tom nudged past the small group of men, his face set. Cade followed, tracking Tom out into the corridor.

As they left, the man who’d been in the corridor entered. For Becca, all the sound in the room fell away and suddenly the infirmary was stiflingly small.

His tall, powerfully muscled body, strong jaw and intelligent gaze demanded all of her attention. He had a sensuous mouth marred by a white scar that rose in a twist of damaged tissue to just under his nose. The forever memory of the cleft palate he’d been born with.

Her breath froze in her lungs and her knees rocked. The scar was familiar. One she’d traced many times with her fingertips.

Ethan.