“So, we’re looking for nuclear triggers, financed by North Korea, in the hands of a fanatic in a war-torn country where they hate Americans. Isn’t that just peachy,” Cowboy said to Kat who was sitting two seats over from Wicked in the transport. Brandon, that a-hole, had sat between them and turned his back to Wicked, pointedly blocking any conversation with her. He laughed to himself. If he wanted to converse with Kat, he would. No high school bullshit from a morally bankrupt, every-man-for-himself egomaniac would change that.

“Another fine day ruined by adulthood,” Hollywood chimed in, but when Wicked looked over at him, he didn’t see the guy that had the ego of the century anymore. Hollywood was like him, flying under the radar, putting out a façade that covered up churning emotions underneath. Not that Wicked would ever admit to those. Just like his teammate, he would keep his own counsel instead of sharing unnecessary shit.

He looked at Kat again, and as if she felt his scrutiny, she turned her head. He met her gaze, and it was clear she wanted to rehash what had happened with Susan on the hospital balcony. He looked away, and she went back to the conversation.

It was all old news to him. He wasn’t going to let it bother him that his own mother was ashamed of her sons, believed that their sacrifice—Phoenix’s sacrifice—had been wasted. It was no surprise that she wished Wicked had died in his brother’s place.

Susan’s bitterness was deep and would hurt her much more than it hurt him.

Blue was on the other side of him, talking to Dragon, who was a welcome fill-in for Kid although no one could replace Kid Chaos. The atmosphere was always much lighter with that knucklehead along. Wicked leaned back, and the conversation drifted over him as he tried to fall asleep.

“…wedding preparations are in full swing.”

“Nice. How are you doing?”

“Good, for the most part. Charlie and I support each other, but we’re still healing. We’re living the hell out of our present and looking forward to the future.”

“That’s all you can do, man. Life goes on, and we either go with it, or get caught in the undertow.”

“Too true.”

“Where are you getting married?”

“Hawaii. Charlie’s parents are gone and it’s just her. She fell in love with my parents, our family home, and we’re going to bohemian that shit right on the beach, simple and sweet. You should come, if you can make it.”

“When?”

“Hopefully next month as long as I’m not deployed. We have a contingency plan if I am.”

“Good idea, and thanks, man. I’d like that.”

The next thing Wicked knew, they were landing and exiting the transport to black SUVs that would take them to the CIA compound.

Kat slipped into the seat next to him in the SUV, and he looked at her. “I want to talk to you later, after you get settled.”

“Kat—”

“It’s important, Rion, please.”

How could he say no? This was the first time in their relationship that she had said please in a way that made his heart melt.

Dammit.

“For the love of…all right.”

The vehicles took off, and she jostled against him several times over rough parts in the road. He steadied her, and his hand lingered longer than he meant to, aching to touch her bare skin. But nothing could come of it. Could it? They’d lapsed back at his apartment, lost their heads for a moment. His mind had been made up. He was transferring off the team.

His heart tightened, but he refused to give in to the emotions. They did make him weak. He just couldn’t work with Kat anymore, and they both knew it.

After this mission, he would talk to LT.

He turned his head, the view out of the window full of rolling grassland dotted with acacia, jackalberry, and candelabra trees. The grasses were tall and tan as they were at the end of the dry season, but the rainy season a couple of months away would turn them all green.

This was a beautiful land, but they had to be more than just aware of humans toting automatic weapons, shouting their doctrine, and using violence to force it into existence. There were big, dangerous cats, deadly snakes, and crocs here.

And one beautiful, sultry redhead who was going to drive him out of his mind if he wasn’t careful.

As they approached the compound, a pride of lions crossed the road with a large male in front and seven females trailing him, adolescent cubs and young ones stuck close to the females, a few brave ones gamboling around their back legs.

The CIA compound was located on the outskirts of Tiabu, the capital city founded by Brits looking to keep the riches of the land from other foreign interests and to colonize and economically exploit south-central Africa. But the country rebelled, and the Brits left the people to govern on their own. Tiabu was the leading political, financial, and communications center of the small sovereign state. The country traded in tobacco, maize, cotton, and citrus fruits. Manufacturing included textiles, steel, and chemicals, and diamond and gold mining were also profitable resources of the country.

With the influence of Busa Hamid, the city’s infrastructure and government had worsened over the years. The compound was situated at the extreme edge of the metropolis to afford the members a quick exit if relations with the government shifted or they were overthrown.

They passed sprawling Tiabu, and Wicked noted the quiet of the city this close to dawn. The caravan rumbled on until they turned down an unused paved road to a gate and twelve-foot concrete walls. The lead SUV with LT, Brandon, Cowboy, and Blue stopped at the gate. A man in plain clothes and a tac vest emerged and spoke to the driver for several minutes, then the gate opened, and they were waved through.

They entered the CIA compound, a large building in front of them which used to be a cotton mill with pre-fabbed barracks to the left. It was called Baffle Cotton after the founder, but the building had been abandoned ten years ago and the business relocated to the city proper in an area that was now known as the Cotton Sector.

Kat’s cell phone rang, and she answered. “Yes, Michael?” She listened for a few minutes and said, “Okay, I’ll meet you inside.”

Wicked looked over at her as she tucked her phone into her back pocket. “You know sleep is required for optimum performance,” he said. “It’s not a sin, Kat.”

“I’m aware. Just going to go over a few things. I can’t stand the idea of sending you guys into danger until I’m completely sure what we’re getting ourselves into.”

He so wanted to touch her, kiss her mouth, undo that messy braid of richly colored hair and simply get undone. The way she had held his face in his apartment stayed with him. He could almost feel her soft palms cupping him, holding him for her deliberate and sizzling kiss. Damn, if he didn’t stop this, he was going to be able to knock on some wood.

Everyone began to spill out of the SUVs, Brandon heading directly inside. He slipped out of the SUV as Kat pinned him with a direct look through the open door, her brows cocked. She said, “Later, Wicked.”

He gave her a curt nod, and she closed the door with a satisfied look on her face before she went after Brandon. They were most likely heading for TOC, the Tactical Operations Center located in the central part of the complex.

But where in the hell were Wicked and Kat headed?

Many hours later, Kat sat slumped in her chair, the fatigue getting to her. When she felt Michael’s hands on her shoulders and he began to knead them, Kat shifted away from his touch. She had zero interest in reviving anything between them. It was long over. She’d taken solace in him during the hunt for her dad and briefly after Phoenix died, but she had to acknowledge to herself, he had been nothing but a substitute for Wicked. A pale comparison if she was being honest.

Kat pushed away from the table and stood. “I’d rather you not touch me, Michael.”

“What?” His hopeful expression went slack, then regretful. “I thought we were pretty good together. We could be again.”

“That was a long time ago when I was raw about my dad and you knew so much about him. I was young and naïve. My heart isn’t open to something between us. I hope you can understand that.”

He gave her an easy-going smile and nodded. “Of course. I’m very fond of you, but I’ll honor your wishes. We’ll work together and nothing more. Get some rest, Kat. We’ll get back at it in the morning.”

“Thank you.” She picked up her sweatshirt and wrapped it around her waist, tying it tight. Turning to go, she had a thought that she’d wanted to talk to him about since they’d deplaned. “Oh, by the way, I’d like to get Jason Tiazerat on this. He speaks Swahili and the local language. He’d be invaluable here.”

Michael’s face went blank, and Kat’s gut twisted. Michael put on that expression when operatives were in trouble or—

“Kat…I guess you didn’t hear.”

“Hear what?” She hoped her suspicion wasn’t right. It couldn’t be.

“Jason’s dead. He was killed on a mission two weeks ago.”

Her hopes sank, her eyes moistening as she worked to absorb the suddenness of losing someone who was close to her. Again. “Oh, God. No. I just talked to him. What happened?”

“Sniper got him on a mission. We’re still looking into it.”

Floored, Kat sat back down. “That’s how Amanda was killed. This couldn’t possibly be a coincidence. Especially in light of the fact that I was ambushed, too.”

“Amanda could have given you up.”

Amanda hadn’t. That Kat was sure of. But she didn’t share that information with Michael. “Have you thought about the fact that we might be compromised somewhere?”

“I have, and I’ve got feelers out, but nothing concrete. Two murdered operatives have the director concerned. Although, he’s on his way out—”

“Right, he’s retiring. Are you up for the position?”

“No. I’m actually thinking about running for Congress. I think my bullshit factor would work best there.”

Michael was right. He’d fit perfectly into politics.

She smiled, but the shock of Jason’s death made it wan. “Good luck with that.” She rose again, resolved to find out who had been responsible for killing her friends as soon as this mission to apprehend Eze, the warhead, and the triggers, was complete.

Kat rolled her shoulders as she came out of the building. It was dark out, but the security lights were beaming bright, illuminating everything, including the guards at the gate. She rubbed at her arms and snagged the sweatshirt from around her waist, pulling it over her head. They were at the tail end of Mobutu’s winter, which was the reverse of North America and just ahead of the wet season.

She crossed the compound and pulled out her cell. She pressed in Wicked’s number and he answered immediately. “Hey,” he said, his voice a bit rough.

“Did you get any sleep?” she asked.

“Some,” he said, “but LT wanted us settled in first, and he wants us to know this area like we were born here. It’s been a long day.”

She rubbed the back of her neck, not about to let him out of their talk just because they were tired. It wouldn’t take long for her to say what she had to say. “No wiggling out of our discussion. Meet me at my quarters. It’s to the right of where yours are. The second door.”

She reached the correct structure and climbed the two stairs that led up to a door, pressing in her code. Opening it, she found her bags on the floor, a desk under the window, and a wide bed in the opposite corner of the room. Room enough for two.

She turned away from imagining Rion in the bed with her and pulled off her sweatshirt. Damn, she wanted a shower, but it was getting late. It was more important to her to talk to Wicked and get some sleep than shower. She’d eaten something one of the aides had brought to TOC from the mess, so she wasn’t at all hungry. At least for food.

She opened her laptop bag and set her computer on the desk. Sitting down in the chair, she opened it up and accessed the CIA network. She looked up Jason’s file and downloaded it to her computer, but before she could open it, the expected knock sounded.

Her heart jumped. Rising, she ran her hands over her jean-clad thighs, her stomach fluttering. She hadn’t allowed herself to even think of Wicked as someone she would get involved with, but things had so changed, she now had to let him know that. She had to because she couldn’t stop thinking about him, about Phoenix, and about her dark secrets where they were concerned.

She opened the door and Wicked stood there. Good God. She had to take a deep breath because this was the first time she let herself really take him in. Yeah, a scruffy Rion was something to behold. Beard stubble darkened his jaw; his hair was ruffled and framing his face. The angles of his features were sharp and strong with a fine nose, firm, sensuous mouth, that top lip so damn lickable. And those eyes, amber brown under dark lashes, clear, unwavering…fiercely focused on hers.

She used to think of them as knee-melting five years ago when his mental burden hadn’t been as heavy, but now they were soulful, lost somehow. She wanted him to find what he’d lost, and she wanted him to see her as someone to help him look—wanted him to want her help to look.

Damn. Her heart tumbled, free of the constraints she’d used to tie it down. Those eyes were so far from where he’d been back then. Now his gaze was piercing, fierce, and unnerving the hell out of her.

For a minute they just stood there staring at each other. Then she caught movement behind Wicked’s broad shoulder. It was Michael. He must have the room next to hers. Wicked looked back to see what she was looking at. Before he could say anything, she reached out and grabbed his shirtfront and pulled him inside.

They were both breathing hard, and it had nothing to do with being winded. He’d changed and, from the scent of him, showered. He’d ditched the civvies, looking tough and unapproachable in his tan operator shirt and camouflage pants, combat boots on his feet. That shirt hid nothing as it hugged his shoulders and stretched around his biceps. His face was set—God he hated Michael, especially when it came to her—his jaw hard, his body showing the barely leashed power and grace of every big bad SEAL who’d ever come out of BUD/S, except Wicked was a battle-hardened veteran. “I don’t give a damn what Brandon—”

She cut him off with a kiss. Wicked shuddered and made a low sound, his mouth hot and urgent against hers. The bolt of pure raw sensation knocked the wind out of her even more. He widened his mouth against hers, feeding on her need as she fed on his. She clutched at him, the movement welding their bodies together, two lost and tortured souls finally finding their way to each other.

“I don’t either,” she said, her mouth only a hairsbreadth away from his.

He groaned softly. “Dammit, Kat, you keep freaking doing that to me.” His mouth brushed hers, and she opened her lips as he slipped his tongue inside. Grasping her head, he shifted her as he fully covered her mouth in a hot, deep kiss, and she met him fully, moving against his mouth with an urgent hunger. It was too much—and not nearly enough as Wicked pressed her back against the desk. With one twisting motion, his hard heat was flush with hers. Grasping her butt, he thrust against her with an incoherent rush of words.

He wrenched away. “This is moving faster than I can think, Kat.”

“I know. It’s why I need to talk to you about Phoenix. About—”

“That’s all in the past. Shouldn’t we leave it there?”

“No. We can’t. We have to talk about this if we want…to move forward. I want to move forward.”

He swore and paced away from her, hitting the side of the door with the heel of his hand. “What is there to talk about? You were engaged to my brother! If he hadn’t died, you’d be married to him, probably with some kids by now.” The harshness in his tone was only softened by the torment in his eyes.

Her chin came up, the truth galvanizing her. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“What?”

Rallied by his suffering, something she had the power to put a stop to, she hardened her resolve. He’d been willing to leave a team he loved…for her. He had tried over the years to have some form of a relationship with her. It was her turn to come clean, and it was past time. She had no idea what this would do to their relationship, but she hoped it would strengthen what was between them, once it was all out in the open.

“Rion, I needed someone back then who was easy, wouldn’t give me a hard time about my job and supported me. Phoenix was sweet and uncomplicated. Then I met you, and everything changed.”

Bracing his arm against the wall, he stared at her. “What the hell are you saying?”

She wanted to tell him how sorry she was for causing him such pain, but she knew he’d blow up if she did. She set her hand to her stomach to stall the ache that kept spreading with a truth she should have acknowledged a long time ago. “I loved him. I swear I did, and when he proposed, it was easy to say yes. But I know I wouldn’t have gone through with it.”

“Because of me?”

She folded her arms across her middle, trying to still the guilt and twist of regret in her belly. Then she was fortified by her own truth. No one, not even Phoenix, could take that away from her. “Partly. I considered my own happiness, too.”

He turned his head and gave her a caustic stare, his tone flat. “Do you know what that would have done to him?”

The hurt was deep and fast, and Kat stared at him, the hurt spreading. “Yes. Why do you think I dragged my feet?”

He flicked a glance at her. “This is too much, Kat.”

“I knew it was inevitable, and it would cause a rift between you. Then he died, and you promised to keep him alive.” She met his eyes through her shame. This was the hard part. “I was the one who called for the airstrike. It was premature because I was worried about…”

He ran his hand through his hair. The agonizing sound in his chest made her step forward and grab his arms.

“Kat, dammit. It was an impossible decision.”

“I didn’t care. I knew how I felt. I wanted…you.”

“Son of a bitch.” He broke her grip. “I thought you hated me all these years.”

“I hated myself, and you were a reminder. I just projected that hatred to you. I’m so sorry I wasn’t strong enough to handle it. I’m sorry he died, but I can’t be sorry that you didn’t. Knowing that you were alive somewhere on the planet gave me purpose. When the assignment came up to go to your team, I couldn’t resist. Even through the shame, guilt, and regret, I have never stopped wanting you.”

He slammed his fist against the wall, denting it. A horrible feeling broke in her, a feeling that threatened her emotional stability. She stared at him, pieces falling into place with numbing clarity, and she trembled from head to toe. Oh, God. Oh, God. Of course. She thrust her hands into her hair, trying to process the awful realization. The fury was only the result of what was really eating at him, and Phoenix was only the catalyst. Raking her hair back from her face, she tried to make her mind focus, shock draining the warmth from her.

It took a moment before she was able to frame the words. “You blame me?” she whispered. “Of course, you would. I called for the strike, got the coordinates from Michael—that’s why you almost killed him—but I called in the jets.”

A taut silence hung between them; then he finally said, “What difference does it make? It doesn’t change anything.”

It doesn’t change anything. She heard his agony, felt his pain, and something broke loose in her. Her vision blurred, and everything bore down on her. She ran to the door and pulled it open. Bolting out, she skipped the stairs and hit the ground, stumbling.

What kind of coward was she to run? But she couldn’t help it. The fact that he wouldn’t want her was all too real now that this had all come out. Maybe he had been right. Maybe they should have gone their separate ways.

When she fought with Wicked, it was easier to keep everything in perspective. But now they’d connected, they’d kissed and given into their base needs. Giving in to that insistent glow inside her to open up to him, let the past go, had it been a horrible mistake?

Oh, God, that kiss burned against her lips, deep inside her. No, she couldn’t accept that.

She ran, aware that there were footsteps behind her. She saw a door and opened it. It led to the gym, and the smell of old sweat and the rubbery scent of the mats assailed her as the door clunked closed. She stood in the dark, her heart beating, her breathing harsh.

At this time of night, it was empty, and the heavy shadows only added to her distress. It was she who needed Wicked’s forgiveness. Desperately. Her heart had been closed to him for so long.

Yet, what was even harder was forgiving herself.

Her sin of being attracted to him while she was supposedly in love with Phoenix was as heavy as a ten-ton load of bricks. But her mind shouted: It was honest! Her constant thoughts of him when she had pledged her life to Phoenix, as well, sat like a lead balloon in the pit of her stomach.

Love was so damned complicated.

She had loved Phoenix.

She bit her lip.

But not as much as she was sure she could love Wicked. That was a cop-out. She did love him, before she even realized it. It had always been there from the moment they met, but Phoenix had also been there. Phoenix had been a solid barrier between them—in life and in death.

He haunted them still.

And she had to give credence to what Wicked had said. What difference does it make? Phoenix was still dead.

This had been her fear, and it was what had held her back. Not her guilt about Phoenix, not her inability to forgive Wicked or herself. It was his forgiveness hanging in the balance.

Phoenix’s death had been tragic and had definitely affected her. She’d mourned his loss. But—the guilt mounted—it hadn’t been him she’d been searching for after the explosion. It had been Wicked. Her relief at seeing him walk out of that cloud of dust and death had made her knees weak. Her self-loathing only began when she realized he was carrying Phoenix’s still, battered body.

The door boomed behind her, and she turned to find Wicked standing in the dim light from the outside. Her breath caught. He was pissed. He was so damned pissed that every line of his devastating face showed his anger, his features slashes and angles in the shadows. He epitomized his very name. Something Wicked this way comes.

Everything about him turned her on. She couldn’t deny that fact anymore. He reverted to an acceptable emotion—anger. Her disappointment was thick. Wicked was not in a state of mind to be handled. He had a right to be mad as hell, but she needed more. This Navy SEAL was notorious. He’d stood up to the most elite of the elite. SEAL Team Six was ruthless on their best day, and this man had taken no flak from anyone. He was as confident, as solid, and as brave as they came.

She’d let her bitterness and her deep-seated guilt color her attitude toward him for so long. Did she even dare to plumb the depth of his emotions?

That thought galvanized her and made a wild, almost frantic energy filter through her. She wanted to flee into the night, run until she couldn’t breathe.

She couldn’t think, and when she couldn’t think, she was going to make mistakes. Terrible, life-altering mistakes. “Please tell me you don’t hate me,” she said, her voice harsh and echoing in the large room.