MENDEZ SAT AT HIS DESK, studying the files an aide had brought, when his secure phone rang. He whipped it up with a clipped “Mendez.”

“Hello, John.” It was Samantha Spencer’s voice. He would know that soft, sultry tone anywhere, even if he rarely heard it. A mild electrical current sizzled through him at the sound. It was pleasant, not overwhelming, and maybe even somewhat fascinating.

“Sam. How did you get this number?”

She laughed. “Don’t ask, don’t tell. Suffice it to say I got it.”

The secure phone on his desk was known to only a few people. Very few. When it rang, he knew it was important. Perhaps even critical to the safety of the world.

But this was Sam, and she didn’t sound as if she had a pressing issue for him.

“What do you need from me?”

This time her laugh sent a prickle of arousal down his spine, tingling into his balls.

“Oh, Johnny. If we had but world enough and time.” She cleared her throat. “But no, this is about your situation in Acamar.”

His senses went on high alert. He hadn’t been told she was on this mission in any capacity, but apparently she was. And she definitely had his attention now.

“What do you have?”

“Nothing much, just some buzz—and it might not mean a thing. You know there’s a woman in charge now? Raja?”

“Yes.” He shouldn’t be surprised that Sam knew, but he was. “Do you have something on her?”

“Not exactly, but we’ve been listening for her name. It came up twice today… and so did Emily bin Yusuf’s.”

“What about Emily?”

“Raja wants to meet Emily.”

Fuck. “Any idea why?”

“No, not really. But I thought you should know.”

“I appreciate the tip.” He wasn’t certain what it meant, but there was no such thing as a useless piece of information in his world. Everything had a meaning—you just had to find it.

“I knew you would… If you want to thank me in person, you can come to the bar tomorrow night. I’ll be there.”

“With your date?”

“Not this time, Johnny. It’ll just be me… and you.”

---

Emily slipped the abaya over her clothing. The beauty of this particular garment was that it covered the messenger bag she’d draped crossways over her shoulder. It wasn’t everyday she walked around with a half a million in one-hundred-dollar bills strapped to her body. That was five thousand bills, each weighing a gram. Or approximately eleven pounds total.

It seemed like half a million dollars should weigh more, but it didn’t. It was like picking up a hand weight in the gym, or a Thanksgiving turkey for a small gathering. How many turkeys could she buy with this much dough anyway?

It wasn’t even all that bulky. Each stack of one thousand bills was 4.3 inches thick.

Ryan held a small square that looked like one of those breath strips that typically came in a hard plastic package. When she had the abaya situated and she’d fixed the hijab over her hair, he came over and took her arm, lifting it up and pushing the sleeve of the abaya back.

“A little present from HOT,” he said, pressing the square to her skin. It immediately stuck to her, fading as he rubbed it on.

“What is that?”

“A bio-tracker.”

She looked at the spot where he’d put the tracker. She couldn’t even tell it was there anymore. “Nice stuff if you can get it, 007.”

Ryan grinned. “HOT is the best of the best. Of course we have all the cool toys.”

Billy Blake looked up from where he hunkered over his laptop. “Got your signal loud and clear.”

Emily sighed as she looked at Ryan again. “I’m only going to the café, you guys. You’ll have a visual on me. This thing might just be overkill.”

She held her arm up and studied the spot. Not a trace of the bio-tracker was there. Knowing HOT, it was experimental technology—and probably pretty expensive at that. She didn’t think Mendez would appreciate them using up assets on her.

“Maybe, but it makes me feel better knowing you’re wearing it.”

Tenderness flooded her. Oh, this man made her insides flutter. And when she thought of that little speech he’d made about marrying her no matter what?

Yeah, total melted-panty moment. She’d been mad and turned on all at once. And she’d been about to tell him off, except that he’d suddenly gotten this look like he was lost in a vast forest and couldn’t remember how to find his way out again. She’d wanted to ask him about that look, but he’d dragged her into his arms and she’d loved being next to him so much that she’d gone without question.

She wished now that she’d asked, because they’d run out of time when Fiddler interrupted. Ryan had said they would talk, but she didn’t know when that would be now. After she got the hostages’ location from Mustafa, HOT was going to work. What if they went after the hostages immediately? She very likely wouldn’t see Ryan again until they were Stateside.

That thought made her shudder. There was something about knowing he might not be here tonight that didn’t feel right.

“We ready?” Nick asked, strolling into the room.

Nick, Ryan, Iceman, and Fiddler were going with her for this meeting. Billy would monitor her conversation and location from the compound while the other guys prepared for the mission to rescue the hostages. She prayed that Mustafa delivered so they could do their jobs. So Linda Cooper could be reunited with her husband in Italy.

“I’m ready,” Emily said.

“Let’s roll,” Iceman replied, swinging the strap of his assault rifle over his shoulder. The others were similarly armed. No half measures for them today. They wore Arab clothing, including the kaffiyeh with black igal cords to hold the head covering in place—but they also carried weapons openly, which wasn’t unusual for Acamar or Qu’rim these days. There was always fighting going on in the desert and the border areas. Before long, if it wasn’t contained in Qu’rim, it would reach all the way to Al-Izir. In fact, the presence of the Freedom Force in the city was already an ominous sign.

“Wait a minute,” Ryan said with a growl before turning back to Emily. “Your comm link still working?”

Emily touched the mic hidden in her clothing. “You hear me?”

“Loud and clear. You?”

She’d heard his voice being delivered in her ear as if he were standing right there and talking into it. “I hear you.”

“We’ve been over it a hundred times already,” Iceman grumbled. “Her shit works. Your shit works. All our shit works. Let’s go and find out where those hostages are. I want to get home to Grace by the weekend, so let’s stop talking and get moving.”

“We’ll be here waiting for your signal,” Matt said as they started for the street. “As soon as you can get us the location, we’ll start working on an extraction plan.”

When they reached the exterior door, Iceman and Nick went out first. She waited with Ryan until she could step out. He would follow when she’d been gone for thirty seconds.

He caught her hand and squeezed. “You be careful out there, honey. I need you to come back in one piece.”

His words warmed her. “Same here, Ry. This baby needs two parents in his life.”

“Yeah, I…”

Her heart thumped. “What, Ryan?”

His smile got her right in the pit of her stomach. “It can wait. You need to think about this meeting and Mustafa.”

She knew she did, and yet he was always front and center in her mind. Especially now. She lifted on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his. Then she slipped out the door and started the long walk to the market.

---

Mustafa wasn’t there when she arrived, but then she hadn’t expected him to be. The café was crowded this afternoon with men and women—though mostly men—having the strong, sweet Arab coffee flavored with cardamom that they preferred.

Acamar hadn’t gone so far as to prohibit men and women from frequenting the same establishments yet, but she feared it was coming if the Freedom Force had their way. She took a table in the back, not the usual one she sat at, but close to it, and waited.

She had the proprietor bring her water and coffee even though she knew she couldn’t drink the coffee now that she was pregnant. She sipped the water and let her gaze slide over the café and the market. It was crowded too, with people bargaining for vegetables, meats, and spices. There was a rug dealer hawking his wares, beautiful handwoven carpets made by the women of Acamarian villages. She’d bought one of those rugs, a small one, for her room when she first arrived two months ago.

There was also a copper seller whose hand-hammered pots would bring a fortune in a specialty store in a US mall, but here were perfectly ordinary and used by women as daily cooking vessels and not showpieces to hang over a kitchen island.

Emily scanned the area, seeking her HOT boys. She wouldn’t find them, but she knew they were there. She touched her mic while bending her head to blow on her coffee.

“Are you in position yet?”

“I can see you at the table in the back,” Ryan said. “You’re talking to your coffee.”

She wanted to laugh but she somehow managed to keep a straight face. “No, I’m talking to you.”

“Sure you are, honey.”

“Ry…? Can the others hear us?” She’d only talked to him during the setup, so she wasn’t sure. Maybe they could say a few things now while they were waiting.

“Oh yeah.”

“Oh… too bad.”

He snorted. “Yeah.”

“Jesus, enough with the flirting,” Nick grumbled. “She’s practically my baby sister. It’s creepy to listen in.”

“Better get used to it, Brandy,” Ryan said. “Because when we return Stateside, I’m marrying her. That’ll make us brothers or something. Won’t family picnics be a blast?”

Nick snorted. “Great, now I’ll have to hang out with you in our off time too. Just what I wanted.”

Emily couldn’t help but smile. These guys were already close, all of them, but they had to razz each other anyway. Neither one of them was going to be upset about family picnics or whatever it was they ended up doing together.

Wait… did that mean she was seriously going to marry him? Yeah, maybe it did. Maybe it would be okay after all. If Mustafa would just show up and give them the coordinates, then HOT could get to rescuing the hostages. And maybe that would be enough for Ian’s contacts to clear her name.

A tall man clad in desert robes made his way toward the café, and her insides squeezed tight. Hassan Mustafa walked with purpose, like always. And why wouldn’t he? If everything went well, he’d be leaving here with enough money to disappear into a part of the world where the Freedom Force couldn’t find him. It wouldn’t be enough for an American, but for a Qu’rimi man who’d lived a life of hardship and deprivation, it was enough to live like a king in the right location.

He glanced around before entering the café. Carefully, he made his way to her table and sat down. The proprietor was there immediately with a coffee. When he walked away, Mustafa’s dark eyes bored into her.

“Do you have it?”

“Yes. Do you?”

His gaze sharpened for a second before settling back into its usual gleam of mild irritation. “Yes.”

“Then tell me where to find them, and you’ll get your package.”

He followed her hand as she ran it over the lump beneath her robe. He sat back and took a sip of the coffee. “How do I know what that is?”

“You don’t. And I don’t know that what you’re about to tell me will be the truth.”

He leaned forward suddenly and her heartbeat kicked up. “I have risked my life to get this information,” he spat out. “I have no reason to lie.”

“That’s good,” she told him coolly. “Because if what you tell me is false, you will be hunted down and dealt with. It won’t be pretty, I promise you that.”

He sneered. “You will not find me once we are done here today. This is the end.”

“You aren’t inspiring my confidence.”

There was a disturbance of some sort in the market then, and her gaze went to it the same as his did. She couldn’t tell what the issue was, but her heart thumped at the chaos of bodies and yelling. Her first instinct was to run, but this wasn’t a bomb or anything. It was some sort of disagreement in the market, no doubt.

Mustafa turned to look at her again—and then he shot to his feet and she gasped. She started to tell him to sit back down, that they weren’t done yet, but he wasn’t looking at her at all. He was looking with wide eyes behind her. He started to fumble for his weapon, and Emily bolted up, whirling.

Two men with balaclavas over their faces rushed toward her and Mustafa. “Ryan,” she screamed as the men raised their weapons.

But whether he heard her or not, she didn’t know. A hot blast came from one of the guns at that moment, and people screamed. Tables scraped and turned over, and someone grabbed her and yanked her out of the way. She thought maybe it was Ryan, but when she turned, a dark hood slipped over her head. She was lifted, kicking and screaming, and thrown over a hard shoulder.

It knocked the breath out of her, made her choke. My baby! Her assailant’s shoulder had jammed into her abdomen, crashing right into where her precious tiny baby was living and growing. If something happened to her baby…

Emily moaned the word no, fighting for consciousness, gripping the man’s clothing and willing herself to let go and punch him. But the hood was stifling and breathing was difficult. Her limbs wouldn’t move. Her head bounced against his back as he ran. It was everything she could do to pull in air.

And then suddenly she couldn’t.