“And this is Macy Chandler,” Tucker said, grinning at her and then turning back to the long conference-room table lined with military men and bureaucrats. Despite Tucker’s cheeriness, they all wore long faces. They hardly said a word to Macy. Evidently, the morning’s events weren’t going very well. Tucker kept up the false front. “She’s really surprised us in the last few days with her resourcefulness, and her courage. And we think that she’ll make a great addition to the assignment.”

“What can she do?” asked one of them.

“Excuse me?”

One of the generals, a tall man with the bald and shiny head, crossed his arms. “What can she do for us?

“Well, considering that she just saved my life an hour ago, I would say that the possibilities are . . . endless?”

“I’m sorry,” said Mr. Clarkson, the DARC Ops liaison. “But I should apologize for my associate’s tone. We just don’t like CIA very much.”

“Don’t apologize for my tone, Clarkson.”

Clarkson looked on and said, “We had a microchip facility down here that the CIA meddled with. It’s caused some hard feelings.”

“They did more than meddle,” the general said.

“Well,” Macy said with a forced smile, “I don’t like them very much, either.”

The two large double doors swung open and a man in a gray military uniform strolled in. He was holding a digital tablet in his hands and wearing a headset over his ears. He dropped both on the tabletop and said, “We have an update.”

“Well, go on with it, Grimsby. We’re on a bit of a time crunch,” the general said, waving his hand in a forward motion.

Grimsby cleared his throat. “Our initial findings suggest that both attacks had nothing to do with Browning or his associates, or in fact, anyone else in their party.”

“All of his associates? You know the terrorists are his associates, too, Mr. Grimsby?”

Macy could only assume that they were discussing the men that had just attacked Tucker and Jasper. How many more attacks had there been that morning? Guilt suddenly swamped over her. Had it all been her fault? If everything was locked down as tightly as this meeting had suggested, how had a couple of mercs for hire known where to find them? Instead, had these attackers just been the usual suspects trailing her for years? Had she dragged them all the way to Johannesburg with her, contaminating yet another country with her problems?

“If your government wants this shipment,” the general said, “then we’ll have to move on this immediately.” A general rumble of assent filled the room. The general looked directly at Tucker. “Is that understood?”

“It’s understood,” Tucker said.

The general’s face remained still and expressionless, hard as stone. “More importantly, is it possible?”

“I’m waiting on Jasper to be medically cleared,” Tucker said.

“He’s cleared,” Grimsby said.

The general turned to the liaison and said, “And you think you could have mentioned that earlier, Mr. Grimsby?”

“He’s on his way here,” Grimsby said looking down at his shoes now.

“I’ve played rugby,” the general said. “I know concussions. If he can still walk straight and see straight, then we should have no problems.”

“Sir,” said someone from the back. “Van Allen is in two hours.”

“What’s Van Allen?” Tucker asked.

“Browning and his top men are scheduled into a meeting with us,” the general said. “It’ll be a nice, long meeting.”

“Long enough to smuggle out some uranium?”

“We’re not smuggling, gentleman,” said general. “Let’s be clear on this. We are still the ruling party, and this is still a lawful act. Furthermore, it’s an act not only done as a favor to the United States, but for peace and safety around the world.” The general paused and smiled, posing for one more internal PR photograph. “So while they’re busy with us in the meeting, we expect you to be busy down at the storage facility.” He turned to Grimsby and said, “Do we have the truck ready?”

“You’re going to truck it?” Tucker said.

“Excuse me,” Macy said. “But could we fly it?” But out the corner of her eye, she saw Tucker’s wide eyes again. She suddenly felt foolish.

The general laughed and said, “You want to air transport 250 tons of uranium over the heads of 50 million people? Are you seriously asking me this?”

“No,” she said. “Maybe I’m not.”

Tucker stepped in and said, “We don’t need her for her brains, gentlemen.”

“Yes,” the general said, his eyes burning into her. “I can see that.”

“And not that either,” Tucker said. “She can break your neck with her bare hands.”

Macy wanted to wrap those hands around the general’s throat, but she kept them safely in her pockets instead.

“Sir,” Grimsby said. “Should we mobilize?”

Tucker turned to Macy. “Ready to mobilize?”

She was ready to get the hell out of that room and get on with whatever business they had in store for her. The assassins this morning were just warm-up. Breakfast.

“Good,” the general said. “I’m glad she’s so feisty. She might need it. I want her to do some counterintelligence tracking. Something with—”

Tucker cut him off. “With all due respect, sir, I was given orders to only assist in the transport. If you want to play cops and robbers, that’s up to you and your own resources.”

She didn’t want to play cops and robbers, period. It had been a long time since St. Louis, but the whole thing had left a sour taste in her mouth, a time when the cops became the robbers. She had crossed lines herself, too, big ones, and she was never going back there again. There was no way she was getting mixed up in someone else’s pissing match again. She was just interested in survival, and in getting the hell out of Africa.

* * *

Another decoy room, this time set up by someone else. Not her. Not even a fake name. She’d gotten used to the routine, the feeling of waiting, like a hunter in a blind. She’d gotten used to being a lure, attracting all sorts of journeymen assassins across the continent. Now, in the cramped operations building next to the uranium storage bay, she would be watching and waiting again. Only this time she herself was the decoy.

Tucker seemed to have forgotten to mention to the general that she had been attracting all manner of hit men from across Africa—as if their plan needed more attention. Macy pushed it out of her mind, like everything else. She’d gotten used to doing that, working with a clear mind regardless of how fucked up things were. The only problem, and perhaps a good problem, was Tucker.

When he returned to the room to check on her, the expression on his face had gone from sympathetic to what could only be described as annoyance. She knew Tucker wasn’t particularly a fan of her joining the mission. In his own words: the heat was already on her enough. As they’d walked out of the ops room, he’d asked her a question. “Don’t you want a vacation? Just one weekend off?”

But the truth of it was that Macy could never have any time off. She would never feel safe as long as she wasn’t in her country and surrounded by people she trusted. Hell, if she ever got there again, maybe that would be shot to shit now, too. Whatever happened, she was sure she’d never be completely safe again unless one of the people around her was Tucker. It was nice to have him back, despite the complications between them. Despite the odd shape of what could now be described as a smile when he said, “Want to take a walk?”

They trudged solemnly down an empty hallway, alone together for the first time since their romp back at the hotel. Alone, except for an array of security cameras set around every nook and cranny of the compound.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

“It’s a piece of cake.”

“Yeah, for now.”

She nodded and said, “How’s Jasper?”

“He’s back to work. No headaches or anything, or so he says. But I trust the doc.”

“He’s a doctor?”

“Medic. But he’s been through some serious shit, himself and helping others on the team. He knows what he’s doing.”

“How about you?”

His lips were pursed together. Macy held his hand briefly, hoping that the cameras hadn’t caught the gesture. Though it was well worth the risk, to feel him again.

“I’m good,” he said. “I’m more worried about you. After all you’ve been though, how the hell are you still so cool and collected? How can you not have PTSD?”

“Oh, I think I probably do,” Macy said. “It just hasn’t surfaced yet. I bet when I get home . . .” She thought of “home” for moment, not even knowing where that was. And then she imagined that she could never return there, wherever it was. The whole thing sometimes felt so hopeless, that even when she got to some sort of “home” situation in the United States—if she even made it there— that she’d still have that sick feeling inside . . . a sensation of being hunted. It clung to her like a foul odor. Something rotting. Something tainted.

Would she ever shake it?

Would it linger and fester and turn into her own type of cruel and unusual PTSD?

“Hey,” Tucker said, jarring Macy away from her increasingly depressing thoughts. He stopped her, holding his arm around her waist, spinning her around to face him. “Just remember,” he said. “We can do this.”

Macy looked into his fatigue-ridden face and said, “What’s your point?”

He smiled. “Don’t be so glum.”

She didn’t return the smile, but said, “Okay.”

Tucker looked down the hall, and then back at her. “I have this . . . feeling . . .”

Her hand was back onto him, up his arm again. She wanted to talk about anything that didn’t involve their mission, or their history. “What kind of feeling, exactly?”

“Like I want to kiss you.”

Unconsciously, her bottom lip sucked in, her mouth tasting it, wetting it for him. There were parts of her brain that would dwell and deliberate it too much if she let it, but she pushed the thoughts away. Her lips wanted it, wanted him. A simple want. A welcoming. But there were other areas of her brain that were still too aware of the bright lights of the hallway, the security cameras, or the deepening waters of confusion that she and Tucker had already taken steps to enter. They were in the wading pool now, staring off into the deep end, the ledge to the abyss.

“Sorry,” Tucker said, shaking his head as if trying to fling out some naughty impulse.

“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t be sorry.”

“My head’s been spinning all day, and it wasn’t just from the accident.”

“I’m sorry, then,” Macy said. “I think it was me. I think I was the one to . . . you know . . . start things.”

“No, it was me. They were started with me a long time before last night.”

Macy felt his words in her heart, sharp and warming, and a little scary. “Really?”

He nodded.

“For how long?”

“I don’t know. Maybe right away.”

“Right away?”

“From the Luandan hotel room.”

“Oh.” For just a moment she’d hoped he would have answered longer, from years ago. From St. Louis. But there was no way he’d had feelings for her back then, or that he’d carried them all the way to Iraq, harboring it there, waiting the whole time, planning, plotting, surviving, and then somehow making it all possible through DARC Ops. The idea was ludicrous.

“This is still a little crazy to me,” he said. “I mean, I didn’t know what to expect. I wasn’t even expecting to see you at all. And now, well, I certainly wasn’t expecting this.”

“And what do you think this is?”

“I don’t know.” He slipped his hand in hers, squeezing. “This is probably us behaving badly.”

She nodded.

“Very badly,” he said.

“And irresponsibly.”

“We’d be putting the world at risk . . .”

Macy felt a smile creeping along her lips. “I didn’t know we were so important. I went from slumming it in Luanda, to . . . being in charge of the free world.”

“Or at least watching over a shack.”

“A decoy shack.”

“Your decoy shack,” he said. “I should have left it twenty minutes ago.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

His eyes were devouring her now, his gaze almost hot on her skin.

“If you’re going to be late,” she said, “you should at least make it worth your while.”

Tucker smiled, and then pulled her around by her hand, leading Macy into a recess in the wall next to a vending machine. “What are you proposing?”

“Whatever you think is worth the risk.” She looked around for cameras. There were none that she could see.

“You left me high and dry last time,” Tucker said. “And so . . . frustrated.”

“That was your boss doing that.”

“He’s not my boss,” Tucker said, his voice a low growl. “And I’ve been feeling crazy all day.”

“Probably from all your near-death experiences.”

“I’ve almost forgotten them.”

She looked him up and down, starting with that cute smile of his, and then the length of his muscular body. She imagined him with his clothes off, how that body lay in her arms in the darkness of her hotel room. She imagined her mouth, and his tongue, running over bare skin. Macy reached out for his tie and pulled him close into her. Tucker stepped clumsily forward, his hips bouncing into hers as they giggled quietly. “You’re right,” she said. “This is crazy. Probably the craziest thing I’ve ever been involved in.”

“And you’ve been involved in some pretty amazing adventures.”

“Nothing like this,” she said, pulling him closer. “Nothing like you.” His head dipped so close to hers that she could smell his aftershave. He leaned forward and kissed her quickly, quietly.

“You’re gonna get me fired,” he said, pulling away with a smile.

“You’re gonna get me killed.”

He kissed her again, deeper this time, looking almost sad when he pulled away. “We’re a bad mix, me and you. Probably not what either of us needs right now.”

“I know what you need right now,” she said.

He chuckled. “It’s definitely what I want. But do I need it?”

She nodded for him, agreeing on his behalf. She knew what she could give him, and she knew that he most certainly needed it. There were other things, too. Macy’s hands felt against his hard chest, and then lower, wrapping around his hip, pulling him in even closer, warmer against her body.

Tucker’s head suddenly jerked back. He looked away, down the hall, then backed up and straightened his shirt, his chest still heaving with deep breaths. It was amusing, watching him trying to look proper as he checked again down the hall. Macy heard it, too: someone’s approaching footsteps. Tucker ran a hand through his hair, his face reddening.

He suddenly turned to her, and in a loud, commanding voice, said, “No, we have to remain mobile. And that means you have to be on time and keep your notes in order. Do you understand me?”

No. She didn’t understand him at all. She didn’t understate what he said or why he was looking the way he was. So just Macy laughed and said, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the . . . The T385 . . . Come on, we’ve been over this.”

She whispered, “Have we?”

Tucker continued, just as loudly: “I don’t even know why I’m trying to talk to you right now. I’ve told you how many times about the T285? Huh? How many times?”

“You mean the T385?” she said, playing along, enjoying how easy it was to toy with him.

“I’ve had it with this. I really have.” He took a deep breath, and then looked behind him.

Macy figured he’d had enough, too. She was done playing nice. Despite whoever was approaching them in the hall, and despite whatever charade Tucker had been trying to maintain about disciplining a coworker, she reached for his belt and began tugging it loose.

“Hey,” Tucker whisper-yelled. There was a look of fear on his face. And then through his teeth:

“Hey, no more of this. You hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, tugging his belt again and freeing one end from the buckle. “I hear you.”

His hand shot down to stop hers, but he wasn’t trying very hard. Tucker’s hand was almost limp, half allowing her fingers to graze through his pants against his hardening cock.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she whispered through a smile, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to turn around to face the men now. For either of two reasons, his belt half-unfastened, and the raging hard-on she’d just given him. Damn, he was so easily aroused. She loved that.

Tucker’s face looked strained now. More so than during any of their recent encounters with guns and killers. Panicked, Tucker grabbed a phone from his pocket and pretended to be typing onto it, meanwhile holding the device against his belt to keep fastened—and to keep Macy’s hands away from doing any more damage. When the men in the hallway walked by, Tucker stood up straight, cleared his throat, and said, “Well, then, is everything clear? Have we straightened it all out finally?”

“Yes, sir,” Macy said, her hands going back to his crotch after two men walked safely by. “I should say well straightened out.”

“Yeah,” Tucker said, his voice suddenly registering a little higher. He put the phone away and Macy’s fingers caressed the length of him. She was free to roam now, and to slip down to feel him.

But he started coughing, and backing away, his face more red than ever. “Okay, okay,” he said. “Please?”

“Please what?”

“You’re killing me.” Tucker pulled her hand away from him. “And I like it. But can you kill me a little later? We have some work to do.”

“I know. I’ve just been waiting around.”

“You should be used to that.”

“Well, before I didn’t have you to wait around with.”

“Which reminds me,” he said.

“No . . . Don’t go.”

“I have to.” Tucker looked down the hallway again. “Now I’m twenty-five minutes late.”

Macy pouted at him “Alright.”

“Just think,” he said, his hands at her hips, fingers rubbing slow circles against her. “After this, we’ll have all the time in the world. Crossing the Atlantic takes a few days, you know.”

“I’m definitely going to take a few days, too.”

“Of course,” Tucker said, going in for another kiss. “After this, you deserve it.”