Her arms tightened around his neck in a fierce hold. “Rion,” she said softly, rubbing her downy cheek against his. The husky sound to her voice was something he’d craved for so long. He reveled in the intimacy. Closing his eyes, he slowly massaged her back, a deep tranquilizing contentment spreading through him. He didn’t want to think about anything right now. Not about where they were going, not about how sick with worry he was about Hollywood, and not about his guilt still buried inside him.

Wicked smiled to himself when, moments later, he felt her go slack in his arms, and her breathing settled into a slow, even cadence. He gathered her hair and pulled it free, then tightened his arm around her back. Taking a deep, uneven breath, he rested his head against hers, wishing he knew how to say all the things that needed to be said.

Twilight infiltrated the room in soft increments, and the western horizon slowly sucked the color from the sky, leaving the mountains a ragged purple silhouette. He could hear lions roaring, the deep, edgy sound making him restless. With Kat asleep in his arms, Wicked watched the changing landscape.

Her breath feathered against his neck, and she said, “So, I don’t suppose we can get room service.”

Smiling at her ability to come awake without any warning, Wicked turned his head and kissed her temple. “Yeah, Club Med it ain’t.”

Kat stirred in his arms, turning her head so their mouths connected. “I’ll pay you top dollar to go get us food,” she negotiated, her tone still husky with sleep.

“You have anything to trade?”

“I’ll show you my tits.”

“I’ve seen them. Anything else?”

She dug in his side, and he jerked to the left, unseating her. She flopped onto her back. “I was lying.” He covered a pert nipple with his mouth, sucking her hard, and she made a soft groan. “They’re pretty damn beautiful, Kitty Kat.”

She went stock-still in his arms. When he met her eyes, her expression was brimming with a host of emotions. Wicked took her face between his hands, her expression strained as he held her gaze. “What did I say? What happened?”

Kat stared at him, unmoving, pain flashing across her face. Tightening his hold on her face, he took a deep breath and gave her a little shake, then said firmly, “Tell me.”

“That was my dad’s nickname for me.”

She stared at him for an instant, her eyes filling with tears, and she hugged him like there was no tomorrow. His throat closed up, and Wicked shut his eyes and turned his face against her, hugging her back. “I’m sorry, babe. I didn’t mean—”

She released him and cupped his face. “I know that. It just caught me off guard. Grief is a tricky thing.”

He nodded, thinking about Phoenix. Trying like hell to get rid of the lump in his throat, he ran his hands over her shoulders. “What happened to your dad?”

“When I was twelve, my dad didn’t come home. We were given very little information and never was told he was in the CIA. But I knew already that he was. I overheard him talking about a mission when I was hidden in his study. He never knew I was there, and I never told anyone.”

“That’s a hard burden to carry, hard to keep that from your mom.”

“Yes, she was fragile after she got the news of his disappearance. She had a complete breakdown and was hospitalized.”

Wrapping his arms around her torso, he totally enveloped her and turned his face against the soft skin of her neck. He gave her a tight squeeze and whispered against her skin, “Did his disappearance have anything to do with you joining the CIA?”

She nodded. Her eyes shone with tears when she looked at him. “I feel like I have to find him, Rion. I’ve been looking for clues ever since I started working. Michael helped me as much as he could. My father mentored him, and they worked together often.”

“Do you know what his last assignment was?”

“Africa, specifically Tanzania. I don’t know all the details because most of it is classified, but my dad was there due to rumors of a new terrorist group forming. He was doing intel. The report said the group was neutralized, but several million of their cache went missing. That’s about all I know, but I think he’s dead. He has to be. He would have never left us.”

His heart contracted hard. Now he knew why getting Amanda back had been so important to her. She’d been on the heartbreaking search to find her dad. He buried his fingers in her hair, cupping her face, his touch soft. “I will help you find him.” Hooking his knuckles under her chin, he lifted her face and coaxed her with a gentle smile. “I promise,” he murmured.

She tried to swallow; then tears appeared, and she looked at him, her heart in her eyes. She drew a shaky breath, then said, “Thank you, Rion.” With tears glistening in her long lashes, she touched his face with infinite gentleness, then leaned forward and kissed him. “That means so much to me,” she whispered against his mouth.

His throat thick and his chest chock-full of emotion, Wicked’s fingers tangled in her hair as he opened his mouth beneath hers, taking all that she offered. She gave him what he wanted; then she pressed her hand against his face.

“How about that food?” he murmured.

“How about it can wait?” Kat smiled, and he sank into her.

Hollywood flinched, wet stone scraping his skin. Leftover energy tingled through his body. He rested against the floor as he tried to regain his balance, waiting for it to pass and fighting to stay conscious. He pried his eyes open and saw nothing but a rectangular cell that looked like something out of the dark ages. There was nothing but a cot with a threadbare blanket and a bucket in the corner.

Gingerly, he inched back on his hands and knees, then sat on the floor, his back against the stone wall. He was drained, chills wracked him, his limbs quivering violently, and he hung on until it passed. His heartbeat jumped in rhythm, but the numbness was fading from his mouth.

He pushed his hands into his hair and held his throbbing skull. “I fucking hate tasers.”

His wrists still ached from where they had suspended him off the floor and used those cattle prods to try to make him give up Dozer’s name. That was never going to happen.

He leaned back, relaxing his arms, knowing without a shadow of doubt that they would come for him.

He looked up, calculating the high window on the opposite wall, figuring his shoulders were too broad to get through it. He took in the area and noted there were two empty cells, but the blood stains on the hay in one told him someone had recently occupied it.

There was one small metal door and it was most likely locked.

He heard movement and braced himself as the door opened and the taser-happy bastards walked through. One had very dark skin, a scar down his face. Hollywood remembered him. Toward the end in the battle against Eze’s horde, hand-to-hand combat had gotten intense. The other one was just as imposing but much uglier, and he was the one who moved to his cell door and opened it.

“Round two, guys? I’m afraid I’m a little busy.”

“Get up,” Scarface said.

He pushed his back against the wall and rose to his feet.

“What is the name of your friend?”

Hollywood grinned and said, “Mickey Mouse.”

The man with him reared back and punched Hollywood in the gut. The blow bent him over as nausea formed, air escaping. “Wait, wait, maybe it was Goofy. I have so many friends.”

The man’s face twisted in rage, and he hit Hollywood’s jaw so hard, he fell across the chair to the floor. For a moment, he absorbed the pain exploding in his gut and face.

“You will give us the name.”

He worked his jaw and glared, arching a brow. Both men scowled. Scarface motioned to Ugly, and they each grabbed one of his arms. They dragged him from the cell and into an open room, forcing him into a chair, tying his hands behind him. “Geez, guys, I’m partied out. Can I take a raincheck?”

Ugly hit him dead-center in the solar plexus, and he buckled over, gasping for air, fighting the pain flowing out to his limbs.

Hollywood gripped his hands behind his back. His bruised abdomen throbbed, his body tightening in reaction to the promise in Ugly’s eyes that more was coming.

“Fucking American bastard. Name!”

Ugly grabbed Hollywood’s shoulder and knotted his fist. He plowed it full force into Hollywood’s belly.

The world splintered into blackness and one white-hot focus of agony. His lungs froze; his heart exploded; the chair hit the wall, and something came at him and smashed into his cheekbone like an anvil, pain on top of pain, layers of it, so that he couldn’t breathe or think or see.

The hurt gripped him, tore and twisted him, and then slowly, slowly began to let go. At first it was distant sounds that tried to organize themselves into syllables, then shape and color and the ability to put air into his punished lungs.

“He won’t give it up,” he heard Scarface say.

“Do something to encourage him,” Eze said. “They killed my brother, and I want the other one, too.”

“Yes, sir.”

He sat blinking at the blur in his eyes, taking a long time to find some sense in the words. His body throbbed. He remembered Sage Eze. The man had been trying to kill him and Dozer all damn night. Chasing them through the darkness like they were hunted animals. Dozer and Hollywood had been wounded, everyone in their squad killed. They were running on adrenaline and sheer guts. They’d had no choice in killing the enemy who was hellbent on killing them. But Eze didn’t care about that. He wanted revenge. He may exact it on Hollywood, but he sure as hell would never get Dozer’s name out of him.

“Never. Going. To. Happen,” Hollywood said hoarsely.

Eze put the full driving power into his blow. It sent Hollywood forward, doubled, his shattered senses closing to bright, burning darkness and his muscles contracting, his tied hands clutching for support that wasn’t there until a third smash sent him back upright like a puppet jerked on broken strings.

Hollywood panted and wet his dry, cracked lips. His tongue stung where he’d bitten it. Blood tainted his mouth. He felt vaguely floating, like his brain was being separated from his body.

“Damn, I’m running out of Disney characters.” He was already tensing his aching body when the pain smashed into him. He hung forward in the chair, trying to find himself amid the black agony. There were noises in his ears—the sound of his own throat struggling for air. His heart pounded, clouding his brain and his vision with waves of dark and light.

At the sound of footsteps, he looked up to find four men entering the room. One was carrying a plank of wood, another one a barrel full of water. The other two a tripod, a large monitor, and camera.

Water boarding and candid camera. Oh, fucking joy.

He knew who would watch him die. He closed his eyes, knowing his team would take this hard. So damn hard. But he also knew they wouldn’t leave him here, dead or alive. He would find his way home, one way or another.

“Water park games. You do know I’m a SEAL?” There was no way he was betraying any of his brothers. Not Dozer, not Ruckus, not any of them. He would die here if that was what it meant. He’d die here with honor and duty fulfilled, so help him God.

Scarface laughed. “Even SEALs drown without air.” He grabbed Hollywood’s hair and pulled his head back, shouting, “Name!”

“Go. Fuck. Yourself!” He looked at the camera men. “Hey, make sure you get my good side.”

Ugly tied his hands to the chair rails and tipped the chair back until he was balanced on the board. One of the men set a towel over his face.

Water hit the cloth with wet splats, soaking it until the cloth was saturated.

The cold water felt good for a moment against his battered face.

Then he tried to inhale.

The wet cloth sucked against his mouth and nose, a horrifying struggle as it blocked his attempts to get air. Water flooded his mouth when he opened it to try to take a breath, more water following in a stream, flooding his mouth. He swallowed, closing his lips, trying to breathe through his nose. His efforts were futile as they tilted his chair back, someone grasped his hair, and more water slid across his face and eyes and glued the towel to his skin. He sucked for air and got nothing but liquid.

He began to suffocate, gagging on his own efforts to save himself. His body jerked, fighting for air, flexing in an uncontrollable spasm against the men who held him down, slowly drowning him.

There was no sound in the room except the sounds he made in his struggle to breathe. Suddenly the chair rose up, and the towel slid from his face, and he was bending over and coughing in between great drafts of air and life.

Hollywood couldn’t lift his head, but he looked under his dripping lashes toward the corner of the room where the monitor sat. It was on, and he could see Michael Brandon, only him.

The slosh of water told him they were going for more.

In his supine position, he had no control and the water went up his nose. He blew out, but he eventually had to breathe. He fought against the water pouring down his throat. He couldn’t breathe, gasping and harsh gurgling noises were all that sounded in the room.

They righted his chair, and he coughed and pulled in tufts of air, vomiting. He’d barely cleared his lungs before Scarface said, “Name!”

“Donald Duck,” Hollywood gasped. His eyes met Brandon’s for a brief moment. The man had absolutely no reaction. Then they leaned him back and kept repeating the torture until their questions were no more than words scattered in the room, random and angry.

Even SEALs drown without air.

“Stop!” It was Ruckus’s voice. His chair came upright, and this time the screen was filled with his LT. His commander met Hollywood’s gaze, nothing but deep respect, cold intention for the enemy, and a scowl that would scare the fucking boogeyman. Pride washed through him.

Hollywood looked up at Scarface. He wanted fear, terror. He wouldn’t get it.

See me, he thought. I’m Jude “Hollywood” Lock. Fucking Navy SEAL! Hoo-yah! For the Brotherhood. For America. Always for my country. This is who we are! This is who I am.

“Now you’re in trouble,” he said.

Kat jerked awake, Wicked wrapped around her. There was a pounding on the door, and she stumbled out of bed. Wicked was upright, the sheet across his lap. She grabbed her robe and put it on and went and opened the door. Ruckus barreled through.

She hastily tied the belt. Wicked, looking deliciously rumpled and completely naked, stared at his boss. Michael was behind him, and she flushed.

“Eze made contact,” Ruckus said. “They’re torturing him right in front of us for God sake. Get dressed and get over to TOC. I think they’re going to kill him.”

She grabbed for her clothes. Wicked got out of bed, unabashedly grabbing his underwear and pulling it on. Ruckus and Michael took one last look at her and retreated out the door.

She dropped the robe and pulled on anything that was within reach. Gathering her hair into her hands, she did a quick and messy topknot. She took a breath and glanced over at Wicked. He was fully dressed, his face telling her he was ready for anything.

“Let’s go throw a big-assed monkey wrench into Eze’s murderous plans. Shall we?”

He strode toward the door and opened it. “Ladies first.”

“There’s no lady here right now. There’s only a CIA operative locked and loaded.”

“Hoo-yah,” Wicked murmured.

Outside, Ruckus and Michael waited. Ruckus had a fixed and impatient look on his face; Michael looked petulant and jealous. Great. That’s all she needed in this crucial moment. A boss who couldn’t get it through his head she wasn’t interested. Not only because he was half the man Rion was, but because he was a damn wuss when it mattered the most. How could she have ever been interested in such a man? God, talk about poor judgment and a battered heart. Probably the weakest point in her life.

What she had just shared with Wicked told her that they were meant to be together. He was changing before her eyes, expanding himself in ways that she had only dreamed he would. Communicating, holding her so tenderly, making her feel whole and full. Giving her hope that with his help, she would find her dad.

She took off at a run for TOC, the three men jogging behind her. As soon as she entered, the intense looks on the faces of Ruckus’s team told her what they had witnessed had been bad. She looked at Scarecrow and said, “Get Rafiq, now. Hurry.”

He ran out of the room, and she turned toward the monitors. She swallowed hard and hardened her heart. There could be nothing gentle inside her.

Hollywood was tied to a chair, and Eze stood behind him. As she came into view, Eze’s eyes narrowed. The last person he’d expected was her. Good.

He said, “Who are you, woman?”

“The person who holds all the cards,” she said softly.

He pulled out a handgun and placed it at the base of Hollywood’s head. His life could be measured in milliseconds right now.

Scarecrow came into the room with a bound Rafiq. She held him off with the palm of her hand. She could feel the tension in his team as they watched their brother’s life tick down.

“Tell me the name of the man who was with him when he killed my brother, and I will make this quick. Otherwise, he will die a slow, torturous death.”

Out of camera shot, Dozer shifted.

It was clear now why they were torturing him. They wanted Dozer’s name. Hollywood was slumped forward against the rope that bound him to the chair. Water dripped from his hair down his slack form.

His body tightened and shook. He opened his eyes and met Kat’s. They were fixed and determined. Her blood ran cold for him. He flashed her a look, lethal and dangerous—like the warrior he was, ready for battle against all the odds.

His handsome face was bruised, tinges of blue over both temples and down the side of his jaw, the rest darkened by beard shadow, his bottom lip cut and swollen. His ribs were mottled, sporting large bruises. She gritted her teeth.

“That isn’t going to happen. Like I said. I hold the cards.”

“What are you mewling about, woman? I want to speak to whoever is in charge.”

The fact that Eze was exposing himself this way, using Hollywood as a chip to get information about his Dozer and impatient about it didn’t bode well. Would his need for revenge override his current plans? If he abandoned the nuclear triggers and Rafiq, Hollywood would die.

She knew how she felt about her mom and her dad. She would do anything to find out information about her dad. She knew the kind of love that bound families.

“I am the person you have to deal with right now.”

“Give me the name and you ease his suffering. Your people will see a hero die for my cause. It’s all you have.”

“It’s not all I have,” she said and nodded to Scarecrow who crowded Rafiq into camera range.

Eze’s eyes bulged and his mouth tightened. “You bitch!” He pushed the handgun against Hollywood’s head so hard, he bowed forward, his face wincing in pain. She said nothing. She didn’t have to. She held all the cards in Eze’s deck. Without Rafiq, his agenda was dead in the water, and he knew it.

“Pull that trigger and you will never get those codes you need. At least with Rafiq, you can rebuild.” She stepped closer to the camera, her eyes narrowed, her voice a glacier. “You will remove that gun from his head now.”

Eze stared at her, but she never gave an inch, didn’t flinch, didn’t ease up one iota.

Eze’s face flushed with anger. His eyes flashed a hard, dangerous black, and for a second, Kat feared he might do something horribly violent, and they would all lose.

With a shove against the base of Hollywood’s head, he pulled back, and internally she breathed a sigh of relief just as every person in the room breathed easier. “You will take care of him like your life depends on him surviving.”

“What is it you want?” he said, holding up his hand when a man with a scar on his face protested.

“I will trade Rafiq for Hollywood and the triggers. If you harm him, Rafiq will disappear and the codes with him. You will have useless hardware that you can use for baseballs and that’s about it.”

“One hour. We’ll be in touch.”

“If you cross me, if you harm him in any way, I will make it my life’s work to track you down and put a bullet in you myself. That’s a promise.”

They cut the connection. The only visual left in her head, bright behind her eyes, was Hollywood looking tough and battered. She meant what she’d said. If they harmed him, she would make it her mission to find Eze and end him.