Sunday, July 25. 11:05 a.m. Newlands, a northern suburb in Wellington, New Zealand.

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Daniel didn’t want her apology. Dammit.

Ana had nothing to apologize for and he shouldn’t have thought of kissing her. Except she was in pain and he’d wanted to comfort her. Daniel hopped over a low chain guard that marked the end of the trail and the beginning of suburbia.

You’re such a liar, Calder. Giving comfort had been the last item on his mental list, because all he could think about was her. That mass of silky curls, the way her eye tooth worried her lower lip as she’d looked at him, the curve of her jaw. He’d been caught off guard with the mixture of tenderness and hunger that swirled inside him.

“Doesn’t look too bad up here.” He uncapped his water bottle as Ana stepped methodically over the same chain to join him. The water tasted flat. He screwed the lid back on again with a grimace. “If we stick to the road on areas less affected by the quake, we can make good time.”

Houses lined both sides of the street that stretched beyond their limited view into more and more houses in the distance. People pushed wheelbarrows and wielded brooms, sweeping up and shifting debris from their front lawns and the road. Ana and Daniel walked briskly, smiling and greeting people as they moved past, but never slowing their pace to encourage the start of conversation. Using the map from the car, they cut a direct path into the hilly suburbs that stretched along the spine of the hills running behind the two cities.

Nearing midday, Ana pointed out a green area on the map that served as a local park and kids’ playground. “Let’s aim for this and stop for lunch.”

“Sore legs?” He kept his tone light, in line with the easy banter that had crossed back and forth between them once the awkwardness of the morning had faded a little.

Her ponytail flicked huffily. “Not at all—though I’ve done twice as many steps as you, keeping up with your long giraffe legs.”

He grinned, reaching out to give her ponytail a quick tug. “Whiner.”

Still tossing gentle insults at each other, they strolled through the stone archway and into the park. The rain had passed them by, and weak sunshine crept between the cloud clusters and cast dappled shadows beneath the mature trees that ringed the park’s circumference. Birds darted among the deserted swings and wooden climbing frame, searching for any scrap of food in the grass.

Ana paced beside him as they walked. He caught her face tilted up to his in a rare unguarded smile, her words drowned out by a sudden gust of wind that soughed through the tree branches, whipping the leaves into a rustling frenzy.

He was distracted and dazzled by her, but it was a lame excuse for not paying attention to his surroundings. By the time he heard the men’s voices, they had stepped around the side of the climbing frame and into a cluster of picnic tables.

Occupying one of the wooden tables was a group of four men, cigarettes smoldering and fists clenched around dark brown beer bottles. At their sudden appearance, eight belligerent eyes zeroed in on them, the last dregs of conversation vanishing from both parties.

Ana lurched to a halt beside him. He could feel the tension spiking out from her like tiny electric shocks. A bullet of adrenaline slammed into Daniel’s system as his eyes met those of the man perched with feigned casualness on the end of the table. He had the stocky build of a laborer, and the metal-capped work boots and T-shirt with Jonno’s Builders in letters stretching over his barrel-like chest seemed to confirm this first impression.

The man blew out a steady torrent of smoke then flicked the butt toward them with latent hostility.

One of the men with greasy hair and a scraggly soul patch sprouting from his chin swung his legs out from under the picnic table. “Come and join the party, mate,” he said. “Or better yet, just your hot little friend there.”

Beside him Ana inhaled sharply, but Daniel kept his gaze on the other two men across from Soul Patch and behind Jonno the Builder. One looked like an advertisement for drug addiction, all skinny limbs in black denim with a ring of sad-looking barbed wire tattoos encircling his scrawny arm. Though you couldn’t judge an opponent from their appearance. Some skinny guys could kick your ass as thoroughly as a guy who resembled a puffed-up steroid-fueled weight lifter. Like the one sitting next to Tatt Boy, for instance.

He had a lethal buzz cut which only served to emphasize the crimson stain of sunburn that covered the back of his chunky neck. Bulging shoulders and swollen biceps poked out of a grubby white tank top. It looked like someone had poked a bicycle pump in each of his upper body muscles and then overinflated them.

Daniel could smell them from where he stood; a feral mix of rank, unwashed bodies, stale smoke, and beer fumes. A dangerous combination of rampant testosterone and edgy desperation. He calculated the odds of this unexpected confrontation getting physical. Pretty high.

Muscles and Tatt Boy eased their legs from under the table, but his gaze froze on Jonno the Builder. Gut feeling told Daniel he was the leader, and it would be he who would signal the others to strike.

“We’d offer you a beer.” Jonno lazily folded his arms. “But we’re all out of spares. Maybe you’ve got more in those packs of yours.” It was a flat statement, not a question.

“No beer,” Daniel said.

His heart rate sped up but his breathing deepened in preparation as years of combat training switched his reflexes into action mode. The army had turned the boy raised on a farm into a soldier, disciplined and cool-headed in combat. Turned him from the quiet teenager who’d presented a target to every local thug because of his height, to a man who could and would take care of business with force, if force was the only option open to him.

He’d just never been in a situation where a woman that he was beginning to care for immensely was in danger of being caught in the crossfire. If they put their filthy hands on her…he smothered the thought with glacial ruthlessness.

Jonno’s dark brows rose in a parody of surprise. “Really? Well you’ve sure got a lot of something in those bags, so hand ’em over.”

“Give them the bags.” Ana whispered the words behind him.

If he thought handing the bags over would end it there and then, he’d release them without blinking. But he’d known men like this. Had seen firsthand the switch from guys having a friendly drink to an antagonistic pack mentality that was destined to explode like a Molotov cocktail with little or no provocation. These guys were already loaded and ready to burn when he and Ana had struck the match by stumbling into their midst. So he’d get her out of their reach before he called their bluff.

He didn’t look at her but said, “Give me your bag.”

No way would she be able to run fast enough or far enough with the weight of the backpack dragging her down.

Nylon straps rustled as she removed the bag. There was a pause and the sound of a zipper opening before it nudged against his hip. His eyes locked with the other man’s, Daniel slid the straps off his shoulder one at a time in slow motion.

“Ana, back away slowly.” He spoke quietly, hoping the wind would whip the words away.

He sensed her taking a tentative step backward.

“Where do you think you’re going, bitch?” Jonno pushed himself off the table. “Think we invited you to party. You wouldn’t want to be fucking rude now, would ya?”

Catcalls and sniggers of agreement rumbled from the others. Muscles stood up, crossing his ridiculously enlarged forearms to appear more intimidating.

“You can have the bags.” Daniel sidestepped in front of Ana, hoping his bulk would block her from Jonno’s view. “Then we’re leaving. The lady is coming with me.”

“I’m trying to find my kids. Please leave us alone.”

At the sound of Ana’s voice something snapped inside him like the handle breaking off a fragile china teacup. Jonno took another step forward. He smiled, exposing a tobacco-stained overbite. The three other men moved away from the table, flanking his rear.

“We’re gonna have your bags, mate, and you’ll be leaving—”

“Not in one piece,” one of the others muttered as they advanced steadily.

“—but your lady will be staying here and having some fun. I don’t give a flying fuck about her brats or anyone else’s. They’re probably dead.”

The sound that came behind him was part sob and part snarl. Ana, don’t listen to this asshole, he wanted to say, but before the words could form on his lips, a stream of curses that would’ve made even his army buddies blink erupted in a loud continuous roll behind him.

It was the distraction he needed.

“Ana, run!” He dropped the lighter of the two bags and launched himself at Jonno— who was still staring over his shoulder with an amused expression—wielding the backpack as a battering ram.