Hollywood froze in mid-motion when she said, “Stop.”

He straightened, and she walked over, motioning with the gun for him to move away. “Kneel, hands on your head.” She cleaned up the blood on her face and favored her right side, but she was still quite a threat with that gun pointed at him.

He complied with her demand. She used her boot to stamp on his pants, then his shirt and jacket, looking for weapons. After she was satisfied, she turned to him and simply stared. She took a moment to run her eyes over his body with slow admiration. Then she looked him directly in the eyes and gave him a wistful smile.

“Okay, get dressed.”

He laughed and bent down, grabbed his jeans and T-shirt. “Girlfriend or sister?”

“Klara Borkov. Wife.”

His eyebrows rose. He zipped up his jeans, his arms and chest flexing. That was information Kat could use in her interrogation. When he met her eyes, there was no mistaking that she was impressed by his body. He wondered if he could work that angle. Maybe Mr. Borkov was terrible in the sack. “Just because you look at the menu…”

“What is this menu?”

“It’s an idiom.”

“An American saying, da?”

“Da. What now, Mrs. Burkov?” He intentionally got the name wrong. It was a good distraction strategy.

“Borkov. I will trade you for my husband. He better be alive or you will die.”

“Duly noted.”

“Earpiece?”

He gave her a pure-as-the-driven-snow look. “I came here for a hookup. No earpiece.”

“Hookup?”

He thrust his hips a couple of times, and her eyes narrowed. “Sex, fucking. Yeblya.

She strode over to him, jammed the gun in his ribs, and the sharp pain made him grunt. Grabbing his lobe, she pulled his head down and peered in his ear, then the other one.

Satisfied, she shoved him toward the door. “All you have to do is ask, lady. No need for all the shoving.”

“Let’s move.” Her voice resonated with steel.

“Where are we going?”

“You see when we get there.”

He walked out of the apartment as she tucked the gun in her pocket, holding her right side. Outside at the curb was a black Mercedes. She pulled keys from her pocket, and the sound of the doors unlocking and the car’s horn sounded for a brief instant. “You drive,” she said and went to the passenger’s side and got in. There was a car seat behind the passenger side.

He pushed the start button and pulled away from the curb. “You got a kid?”

“Eyes on the road and take a right turn at the light.”

“You from Kumma?”

“No.”

“I’m from Vermont. Lived there all my life until I enlisted in the SEALs.”

“Good skiing.”

He glanced at her and smiled. “Yeah, right. Stowe, Killington, Sugarbush.”

She sighed. “Luka and I went there…before we were secretly married, before the revolution, before all the killing and death. The snow was pristine, beautiful.” Her voice dropped into a reminiscent softness. “Peaceful.”

“How do you think you can protect your child with what you’re involved in?”

“Shut up and drive,” she snapped.

That was a sore spot, and poor Mrs. Borkov was tired of the rebel way of life. He wondered if she regretted the tattoo on her arm that would always brand her as one. She was the enemy, and he rarely felt sorry for the enemy. He could understand their motivations, but he would double-tap her in an instant without hesitation. Her husband was a thug. He had to wonder if she realized that, and as a mother, he suspected her child would be her highest priority. He could use that.

“If you cooperate with me, I’ll do everything I can to keep you and your child safe. Maybe asylum is something that interests you?”

She set her hand over her stomach. He saw the gesture. Dammit. She was pregnant? The thought he might have injured the baby she carried made him regret the circumstances.

“You have no position to bargain.”

Dozer popped up from the back seat and set a gun against her temple. “You so much as twitch, woman, and your kid is going to lose his momma.”

Hollywood pulled the car over and took her gun. “For future reference, always check the back seat.” He tucked the gun in the small of his back and opened the door. “You drive.” He went around the car and opened the door for her. “Move, Klara. You have no choice.” She scowled at him but swung her shapely legs out of the car and stood up.

“You are an impressive man, Hollywood.”

“Now you’re going to show your appreciation for being bullet-free and take us to your base. Da.”

“Da.”

He took the earpiece from Dozer. “Thanks, man.”

“You bet.”

She drove to the outskirts of Kumma, the city disappearing behind them, mountains in the distance tall, majestic with snow capping their peaks. She glanced over and saw where he was looking. Tian-Shen and Glissar ranges. “Skiing is very good.”

He looked at the craggy peaks and thought about extreme snowboard gliding, and excitement infused him. “I might have to try it.”

In the distance he saw a structure, metal gleaming in the sun. “That is it,” she said.

“A salvage yard?”

She shrugged. “We need legitimate business to hide in plain sight.”

“Right. Drive to within two miles and then park.” The terrain was hilly, and when a good sheltered area came up, he said, “Park here.”

She pulled off the road into a stand of trees sheltered by a rocky hill with shrubs. The car was out of sight of the road. “Out of the car.”

She complied, and Dozer immediately flex cuffed her. “I’m going to take a peek. You keep an eye on her.”

Dozer nodded, and Klara said, “Please don’t hurt my son. He’s only three.”

“We don’t kill children,” Hollywood said. He went to go, then turned back, crouching down. “If you’re carrying a baby, please don’t do anything to jeopardize that unborn life. Dozer and I will do what’s necessary to protect our people. Do you understand?”

Her eyes welled with tears, and she nodded.

He grabbed the pack Dozer had pulled out of the car with him. Trekking up the hill, he took caution where he placed his feet, keeping low. Once he got closer to the structures, he went to his belly and crawled the rest of the way. He would radio in as soon as he did the recon. LT would be mad enough, but if he had his little ducks in a row, it would go much easier on him.

Pulling a set of binoculars out of his pack, he set them to his eyes and scanned the complex. Tall chain-link fencing, tipped with barbed wire, ran the perimeter with a large section of gate with two attendants at the entrance. The wind kicked up dust from the hard-packed earth. He scanned through tiered racks of scavenged tires and rims, rows of broken-down vehicles with dirty windows and raised hoods, wires and hoses bleeding out engines. The ground was littered with loose screws, sparkplugs, pieces of broken plastic and metal, doors missing handles, rusted paint. There were three structures. An office area and two large warehouses. Somewhere inside was Amanda Mack.

He had to give it to them. This looked like a legitimate business. They probably even did business on the side to keep up pretenses.

Faintly, on the wind, he heard hammering, metal squealing, scaping, the sounds of voices along with the constant rumbling and revving motors from heavy equipment. He moved back the way he came. It was time to contact Ruckus.

As he was scrabbling down the last hill, his earpiece went live. “Be advised, team report to ready room immediately.”

He got back to Dozer who straightened as Hollywood approached. “Right place?”

“Looks like it. She had better not be lying.”

“I’m not,” she said sullenly, glaring at him from beneath her dark bangs.

He crouched down again. “Where is the CIA officer’s body?”

“Body?”

“Yes, body. We had a report from your husband that she was tortured and killed.”

“Tortured, yes,” she said, squeezing her eyes closed, but when I left, she was still alive.”

Hollywood keyed his mic. “LT?”

“Hollywood? Where the hell are you? I issued an order and your ass isn’t here.”

“I’m about two klicks outside the rebel base.”

“I’m assuming you aren’t talking about Star Wars,” Scarecrow said.

Hollywood chuckled. “No, but The Force is with me.”

“Clear the fucking channel,” Ruckus said. “I’ll expect a full briefing later. What is the situation?”

“I have intel that the package is still in route.”

“What?” Kat’s voice was hard and hopeful. “Are you sure?”

“No, ma’am. I haven’t seen her, but my intel is from Borkov’s wife, Klara.”

“Wife? We weren’t aware he was married.”

“She claims to be married to him and…ah…she’s pregnant. There’s also a son who is on location.”

“That’s good work. Where are you?”

He looked at the GPS coordinates on his phone and gave them to Kat.

“Sit tight. We’re on the way.”

“Copy that, sir.” He heard barking and glanced at Dozer. “Fuck. How many?” he asked Klara.

“Five.”

“Breed?”

She told him, her voice catching. “Are you going to kill them?”

He ignored her. “LT?”

“Yes?”

“Two Dobermans, two German shepherds and one pit bull.”

“You get that, Tank?”

“Copy, LT. I’ll take care of them.”

“It’s like herding fucking tigers,” Ruckus said under his breath.

Wicked shook his head and he couldn’t help a wry smile as it kicked up the corner of his mouth. Hollywood was something else all right as was the rest of this motley crew. Tigers for sure. “Hollywood. Force of One.”

“Luckiest bastard on the planet,” Scarecrow drawled.

“Big brass ones,” Kid said. “I wish we had some unicorn doughnuts to celebrate.”

Everyone burst out laughing, but Kat just sat still. Wicked reached out instinctively, covered her hand, and squeezed it briefly. She turned to look at him, her face stark. She inhaled, pulling herself together.

“Let’s go get her,” he said.

They geared up and loaded into the vehicles. As they moved through Kumma, people went about their business unaware a rebel base full of dissidents was only kilometers down the road, soon to be assaulted by U.S. Navy SEALs.

Old men in turbans, long maksi boots, made out of leather and brightly embroidered with paisley and florals and flowing, colorful robes called hupans, walked along the street mixing with tourists and natives. The marketplace was noisy, filled with craftsmen and artists. Kumma had been part of the legendary Silk Road and was founded by an iron-fisted general who established a dynasty.

The tall roofs of the mosque were glazed blue melon-shaped domes. They were decorated with colorfully elaborate mosaic tile. The buildings stood tall over narrow streets of stone giving it such an exotic and otherworldly appeal. The thick, heavy scent of yeast drifted through the vents in the car. These people made bread into an art form, and Wicked heard Blue’s stomach grumble.

After another ten minutes, they turned off the road, Hollywood waving them in. They came to a stop next to a black Mercedes, and everyone exited the vehicle locked and loaded.

Ruckus looked at the imposing bald man who as standing next to the bound woman on the ground and said, “Who is this?”

“Joe Colson, DIA, former SEAL. Hollywood and I served together. Just call me Dozer.”

“And he roped you into this?”

“Yeah, I’ll let him tell you why,” Dozer said flashing a set of white teeth.

“I can’t wait,” Ruckus said, giving Hollywood a hard stare.

“Where’s Brandon?” Hollywood asked.

“We left him out of the loop,” Ruckus growled. “What’s the situation?”

“They’re holed up in a salvage yard just over that rise. There’s cover.”

“Kid,” Ruckus said, and the boy wonder eagerly took off. He would find a good place to cover them and snipe the enemy.

He looked over at Kat. Her face was grim and set. He suspected she was dreading the moment when they breached to find out for sure if Amanda was dead or alive. He felt sorry for her, remembering how he’d felt when they had gone in for Blue. He had expected the worse, but it had been so much more devastating than he’d been prepared for.

“This is Klara Borkov.” Hollywood said, indicating the pretty brunette. “She’s been cooperative. She has a three-year-old kid in the compound, and like I said, she’s pregnant.”

Ruckus crouched down. “You keep cooperating with us, Mrs. Borkov, and no harm will come to you or your boy,” he said.

“Thank you.”

Ruckus rose. “Crow,” he said as he took the phone Scarecrow had been talking on for the last five minutes. “You got those schematics for me?” Ruckus listened, then watched Scarecrow’s screen. “Yeah, I got them.”

He hung up and everyone gathered around. The salvage yard, office, and two warehouses were mapped out, doors and windows marked. They spent the next hour discussing the flow of the operation, who would be in key places and key roles at various points of movement, and most importantly, what they would do when the shit hit the fan and things got complicated. Their motto was: plan the dive, dive the plan.

The meaning was clear. Do the best they could to keep to the plan.

Then it was a waiting game for night to fall. Wicked sat close to Kat and he accepted her body weight as she leaned slightly into him. He had to wonder if things were shifting for them. If maybe they could get beyond their past. He didn’t want to go so far as to hope, that would be foolish, but he was definitely getting a different vibe from her. The compound quieted, except for the occasional barking of a dog.

As soon as it was pitch dark, Ruckus said, “Tank.”

Tank rose and headed out with Blue on his tail. They would neutralize the dogs so there would be no barking to alert the rebels their stronghold had been breached.

“Kid?”

“Snug as a bug in a rug, LT. Ready when you are.”

“Copy that.”

Ruckus handed Dozer a radio. “Let us know if you need assistance. Otherwise, keep the channel open.”

“Will do, sir.”

Ruckus crouched down to the terrified mother. “Where is your boy?” LT’s voice was soft, and Wicked was aware that anything could go wrong. To have a kid mixed up in this was criminal, but he guessed the rebels tried to maintain some kind of life while they fought back against an oppressive government. It was too bad their cause had been compromised by Natasha and Boris Golovkin, the twisted rebel leaders who had bought stolen military weapons and warheads from a corrupt CIA officer. There were only two warheads left to retrieve, and his team was determined to find them and defuse that threat.

“In the far warehouse, there is a barracks. He’s in the bed in the back.”

“Who is watching him?”

“Luka’s best friend and second-in-command. She won’t be very cooperative.”

He nodded curtly. “Where is the CIA officer?”

“The first warehouse in the back left of building.”

“This is for all our safety,” he said. Scarecrow covered her mouth with a piece of duct tape.

Ruckus, Cowboy, Scarecrow, Wicked, and Hollywood pulled their night vision goggles over their eyes. Kat brought up the rear.

“Dogs neutralized,” Tank said. “They’re sleeping like babies.”

“Copy that. You two take out the guards at the entrance and anyone in the office. After that area is secure, we will be heading to warehouse number one.”

“Copy, LT. Moving out.”

Wicked heard a soft whimpering, and he turned to find Klara Borkov crying, tears streaming down her cheeks. Kat was the closest to her, and she knelt and whispered something. The woman nodded, bowing her head.

Kat rose and brushed past him hard on Hollywood’s tail. Wicked followed her, his focus going to the mission at hand. They reached the high chain-link fence and severed the metal with cutters that Cowboy took out of his vest. Once through, they formed up. Even after studying the schematics, it was still difficult to get his bearings.

“Put your hand on my shoulder and keep it there unless we are in combat,” Wicked said to Kat.

She nodded and moved behind him, dressed all in black including her tac vest, a black stocking cap on her head to hide her bright hair.

Together the six of them started walking toward the closest large structure, the tall stacks of tires and rims giving them cover.

“Gatehouse and office clear,” Tank said.

“Head to two and retrieve little boy blue,” Ruckus said. “We’ll breach simultaneously on my mark.”

“Copy. Heading to two.”

“Crow, go with them.”

Scarecrow turned and left.

They worked toward the warehouse, the weight of Kat’s hand on his shoulder made him so aware of her. She’d only recently been in danger, only recently out of the hospital, stitches in her shoulder. It was macho and unrealistic to think he wanted to protect her, but that was exactly how he felt. He wanted to keep her safe. A man materialized on their left, and Kid took him down soundlessly. Wicked stepped over the body, and they proceeded on the direct path to the warehouse door.

“Tank.”

“Copy. In position.”

He looked at Wicked, and he felt the warmth of Kat’s hand slip off his shoulder, so he could pull his shotgun from its resting place on his back. He would keep an eye on her. If Amanda was in there, he hoped she was still alive for Kat’s sake. He nodded at Ruckus. “Ready, LT.”

“Three, two, one. Breach.”

Wicked discharged the shotgun and plaster and debris flew from the lock mechanism. He cocked the gun again and blew the door open. They entered the warehouse, spreading out, and took fire from four rebels. Wicked discharged his weapon, taking down one while his teammates took down the remaining three. They pressed on into the interior, clearing the way of enemies.

As they made their way to the back of the building toward the area where Klara had said Amanda was being held, several more rebels blocked the way. Wicked and the rest of the assault team took cover and exchanged a barrage of gunfire before the rebels were all down.

They reached the door in the back of the warehouse, and Ruckus gave him a quick nod as he once again held the shotgun, cocked the slide, and let it rip. Then one more pull and the door blew inward.

There was only one man in the room and Amanda, a petite blonde with bruises and blood on her face. He had his arm around her throat and her back flush to his body.

“I will kill her.” The rebel grasped Amanda closer and she cried out.

“Kid,” Ruckus’ voice sounded in Wicked’s earpiece.

In answer, the sound of breaking glass and the man falling was almost split second. As he dropped away from Amanda, she closed her eyes in relief. “Kat,” she said. Kat rushed forward and threw her arms around Amanda. “Thank you.” She held onto Kat strongly. Her gaze went over them, and Wicked could feel her gratitude. “Thank you all.”

He was close enough to hear Kat whisper, “Did you tell them about me?”

“What? You mean give you up? Burn you?” Amanda whispered back.

“Yes.”

“No, I would never do that. You’re like a sister to me. I’d die first.”

“That’s what I thought.”

They parted, and Amanda said, “I need to talk to you.”

Then Wicked and the rest of them watched as blood sprayed into Kat’s face and a bullet ripped into Amanda. Everyone scrambled for cover, except Kat. She caught Amanda as she fell. Wicked crouched and rushed over, and he could hear Ruckus’s inquiry through the radio.

“Kid, what the hell? Did you see where that shot came from?”

Kat held her in her lap as Amanda looked up at her, her face tight, her eyes wide. She tried to talk, and Kat bent over her. Wicked knelt, but when he saw the wound, he knew there was no saving her.

“Friendly…fire…” Her labored breath slowed, then air escaped her lungs, but she didn’t draw breath as she quietly died.

“Amanda?” Kat’s stricken voice echoed in the warehouse as the team absorbed this event, all of them aching for Kat, sorrow for Amanda. Kat fought her emotions valiantly. She leaned forward and very gently pushed her hair off her face. Her shoulders stiff, she swept her hand over Amanda’s eyes, closing them in finality. She was struggling, working so hard not to break down and cry, and he was rooting for her. Damn, he was rooting for her.

After a couple of tense seconds, she dragged in a shaky breath, rallying, pulling herself together. She was amazing. He knew how tough the night had been on him, and he knew it had been a hundred times tougher on her.

Then Tank’s voice came over the radio. “LT, we have the kid. Rebels down. Area clear. But we shouldn’t linger. Who knows if there will be reinforcements?”

That was a small victory. Wicked was aware that Kat was already under stress. She had already gone through Amanda’s death once, but now she had to relive it all over again in real time. He watched her, knowing that keeping his attention on her was the only way to make sure she was going to weather this. He had been taught from a young age that emotion made people weak. He had denied his own for a long time, especially after he’d met Kat. But here he saw her war with her shock and grief and it humbled him. This wasn’t weakness. It was strength. Kat would hold it together. She was a professional.

Tough physical and emotional times made them even more sensitive to life and living. She’d have to sort through what happened in their past and deal with it in her own time. What he worried about was her track record was so good at keeping her distance, and he was often the punching bag. He decided he’d be all right with that.

Blue and Tank materialized with a small boy in tow. Tank shielded his view as Blue walked over and knelt.

“She took a high-velocity round.” He looked over at LT. “Sniper.”

“LT,” Kid said. “I followed the muzzle flash. There was someone lying in wait here. But whoever it was is gone now.”

Kat looked at Wicked, sorrow, loss, and frustration crowding her eyes. “Rion, she said softly.

Blue pulled out a lightweight white body bag and gently placed Amanda’s body inside. As soon as she was ready, Wicked picked her up, then slung her over his shoulder.

They were quiet as they moved out.

They walked back to Dozer and Klara. Klara’s face was grim when she saw the bag, but the sound of “Momma!” broke the silence. Dozer removed the duct tape from her mouth.

“My babushka,” she said with a sob.

They loaded back into the vehicles and drove solemnly back to the compound.

As soon as the vehicles pulled up, Brandon was out of the administrative building, striding at a quick pace across the area that separated them.

His anger snapped in his eyes, his expression set. “You have no regard for orders, Kat. I told you not to go after her!” he shouted. Several people turned to look.

“We had an opportunity with someone on the inside. I wasn’t going to sit on my hands and let her die!” Her anger was quick and sharp as she faced off with him, not backing down an inch.

“That wasn’t your call.”

Wicked knew what she was feeling, thinking. Grief, definitely anger, betrayal, and guilt. Someone had killed Amanda for a reason. Maybe some of these animals were hunting their own. Even more reason to keep Kat in his field of vision.

Brandon blinked a couple of times. “Wait. Die? I thought she was already dead?”

“We didn’t make it in time,” she said. The pain in her voice said it all.

“You fuckers hung her out to dry,” Wicked said, slipping between Brandon and Kat as she gave him a sharp look. Wicked’s sheer physical presence made the man step back. He put on his best intimidating face. “That’s not the way we work. You want to take issue with us?” He got into Brandon’s space, and everything in him wished the man would take a swing at him. “Fucking run it up the chain. Otherwise, get out of her face.” He stepped forward and poked Brandon in the chest. “We don’t leave our dead behind, you son of a bitch.”

It was as if a light went off, and Brandon looked around at the team, but Wicked didn’t even have to look to know there was nothing but steely-eyed stares. His mouth tightened. He took a step back and glared at Kat. “I get it. The whole never-leave-a-man-behind pact.”

“It’s not a damned pact,” Ruckus said. “It’s a fucking promise and we honor it.” Wicked had seen his LT pissed, but he was livid. “That woman deserved to be honored both in life and in death,” he said through gritted teeth. “If you think for one moment we were going to sit around when we had the intel to go in and get her, one way or another, you might want to pull your head out of your ass.”

Brandon held up his hands and nodded. “Look. I get it. But I had my orders. I follow them.”

“That’s as fucked up as you are,” Kid said.

“I’m going to get some sleep,” Kat said as she took a step back, and with a bruised expression, she glanced at the vehicle that still held Amanda’s body.

Wicked set his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll make sure she’s looked after.”

“We all will, Kat. Get some rest,” Blue said.

Her eyes glistened, and she went to each one of them and hugged them. When she reached Ruckus, she kissed him on the cheek. She walked past Wicked and stopped. Without looking at him, she reached out and squeezed his forearm.

He had to go to the debrief. But he didn’t want to leave her alone. Luckily Ruckus made it short. A lot of time was spent grumbling about what the hell was going on with the CIA. Who had gunned Amanda Mack down in cold blood?

Wicked walked briskly to the barracks. He went inside and expected to find Kat fast asleep, but she wasn’t there. He panicked for a moment, then realized where she was.

He went to the morgue. Opening the door to where they had put Amanda’s body, he saw her standing by the table. Kat had unzipped the bag and was staring at her face.

The light overhead bounced off her auburn hair, revealing deep copper highlights.

She raised her hand and pushed the hair back.

“You here to pay your respects?” She turned her head to look at him. Wicked held her gaze for an instant, then looked back down at Amanda. He’d never been good at pulling punches or sugar-coating what he had to say. He stared at her for a moment, then said, “I’m more interested in the living.”

She turned to face him. Her features carefully arranged into a non-expression, she said, “It’s really not a SEAL problem.”

“That’s a good poker face, but I’m not buying it no matter how big a bow you put on it.”

Her gaze narrowed on his face, and she folded her arms across her chest, her lashes dropping, hiding the pure green of her eyes.

“What the hell is going on, Kat?”

Her expression froze, and she went so still, it was as if she wasn’t even breathing. There was a long electric silence, her agitation almost palpable. Then she abruptly crossed the room. She gave him a bland expression. She was far too calm for a woman in deep trouble.

“Just stop asking questions. It’s dangerous to be near me.”

“I don’t give a damn about that.” His hands clasped into fists. He might not show his emotion in his expression, but it was clear she felt it radiate from his body. Everything in him was locked, screaming with anger.

“I do,” she whispered, her arms clasping tighter.

Dammit. He almost believed she did care about him. He wasn’t amused by the way she was maneuvering away from his question, but he wasn’t that easy to lose. Setting his hands on his hips, he leaned toward her and considered her for a moment. He could almost feel her squirm. He was also very good at maneuvering.

She lifted her chin and gave him one of her cool looks.

He didn’t like the awful tension he sensed in her. He decided then that their game was over. “Doesn’t matter. You have eight shadows.”

She went very still again, and he caught a glimmer of alarm in her eyes. Satisfied that he had gotten her full attention, he continued, “Do you have an idea who might be behind all this? Who shot Amanda? Compromised the two of you?”

“No. I don’t know. It could be anyone and it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a CIA operative. The rebels could have hired an assassin for all I know. They could have inside intel from someone as well.”

“What about Brandon?”

“Michael? He wasn’t even in the loop on this and if he did, what is his motive?” Sometimes I think he’s been out of the field much too long.”

“It could be I want him to be guilty because I can’t stand him.”

“Maybe. I’m not discounting anyone at this point. We can’t just accuse someone without proof, no matter how much we dislike him.”

She brushed past him, and he stood there until the door slammed behind her. Looks like her opinion of Brandon had dropped a few degrees. That was progress.

He didn’t want her to be alone. He went after her across the compound but stopped dead at the barracks door. She was crying, and this time it was in earnest. The sound coming through the door tore him to shreds inside. But there was nothing he could do. At least not without crossing a line he’d sworn he would never cross.

Then it was more than he could bear when she made a deep low sound.

He wrenched open the door and strode inside. She was standing by the window, and she turned at the sound of the door.

She tipped her head back and closed her eyes, tears gathering in her lashes. Her despair cut him to the quick. “Rion, please,” she said. But he wasn’t sure if it was to leave or to stay. He took the decision out of her hands.

He strode to her, and something gave way inside him. Knowing he was crossing a very dangerous line, he reached out and grasped her hands. “No more questions tonight. We’ll talk about this again. Go wash your face and get into bed. You need some rest. It’s been a three-day goat fuck.”

Her expression softened, and her hands tightened in his. Then she said very softly, “Thank you, Rion. Thank you so much for what you did.”

She walked off and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He had let himself get far too close. But it wasn’t nearly close enough.