“John!” The flash of the explosion hit her lens, whiting out her vision, and she crouched behind the wall two stories above the street, blinking rapidly and waiting for the brightness to recede and her world to right.

It will never be right again. Not if John is dead.

She dismantled her gun—sloppy work—and slid the barrel into the sleeve down her side. The stock went into the pocket of her pants on the left, and she wrapped her scope into the scarf, nestling it against her spine and tying it off in front in a crisscross pattern.

“You can’t leave—” Marie began.

“Try to stop me,” Emily growled.

“We go in pairs,” Marie demanded, stepping up to her again. And Emily remembered why she liked the woman so much.

“Get a move on, then. I’m not waiting.”

Marie grabbed a bag and spoke into her comm unit to alert Hawk where they were headed.

After slipping her hood over her head, Emily moved faster than she’d moved in her whole life. A quick glance right, and she spotted Malcolm, who jutted a chin her way, letting her know she’d been seen. She turned left, going straight into the stream of people coming out of the little residential neighborhood that minutes ago had been mostly sleeping. Only the earliest of risers were about, including the children at the school who were now out in the street.

She would get to ground zero. She would find John.

Sweaty bodies pressed against her, pushing her back. She shouldered through as memories from Brussels surfaced. The madness. The heat. The screaming. The bloody screaming of that day.

No. She forced her thoughts back to the present, back to John. Her throat closed and her stomach turned. And then that anger flared up. Why had he denied them? A tear streaked her cheek—guilt for even thinking the horrible thought, much less feeling the loss of something she never had.

“The blast wasn’t large, Emily.” Marie was doing her best to keep up. She was seriously a strong little woman.

Emily figured her to drop off and stop following in the first block. “Maybe,” she said. The closer she got to the place she’d last seen him, the harder her heart pounded, the more frantic her thoughts became.

A small voice called out, and she stilled, following it. There it was again…a soft mewling. Almost like a kitten. She rolled away a piece of rubble out of the way. The noise grew louder. She found an old wooden desk and then a chair—shattered by the explosion.

“Shit.” It was a cat. An old, mangy-looking tabby cat. “Come here, baby.” Carefully she lifted it from the dust and dirt and snuggled it into her shirt. “Poor thing.” The cat purred under her chin, giving that pitiful little mewl again, and then jumped away. With empty arms, she watched the cat disappear around a pile of rubble. “Nine lives,” she whispered.

Reorienting herself, she looked back to the way she’d come, making sure she wasn’t off course, and then continued. She saw Tancredo first, pulling himself off the ground, blood running down his face.

She scanned the road and the people. The house the guys had been inside was gone but for a few leaning timbers, desecrated by the explosive device. And then she saw him, and her stomach dropped. “There,” she called to Marie, and hurried toward his prostrate body. “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus,” she said, over and over. She wasn’t a praying kind of person, but she would do anything right now to fix this clusterfuck happening in her name. Fuck Hassan. Fuck Marcus, for unwittingly bringing this on all their heads. He’d had no idea who he was dealing with.

Tancredo got to John at the same time as Emily was feeling for a pulse. “There’s a pulse. It’s strong. John, can you hear me?” Her hands shook, and she wanted to turn him over, but she was afraid to move him.

“Let’s get his neck braced. Emily, give me your scarf. Marie?” Tancredo’s calm penetrated through her hysterics, and she did as she was told.

“Watch out there. Give me a little room,” Marie said, putting a comforting hand on Emily’s shoulder and gently moving her aside. “Stay by his head. Talk to him. He’ll come around.”

Emily moved and bit at her lip as she watched. John’s eyes were opening, blinking against the light. And that was when she realized the sun was coming up. She looked around. Emergency vehicles were pulling in. The few injured people were being looked at. Surrounding homes and buildings were being doused with water.

And the man, the same one from the airport. The curly hair.

“Tim?” Her shock gripped her. “I thought— How did you—? You’re dead.”

“Excuse me, can I help you?” Marie walked toward them, and the jolt back to reality had Emily seeing the gun in his hand.

Marie took another step, as if to protect her.

Her heart fell. “Stop,” Emily said, this time with even more force, and Marie stopped, mere feet from crossing in front of her.

Emily would die before letting Marie get between her and this man’s gun.

“Oh, Tim,” she said, sadness ripping through her.

He’d survived. And she hadn’t known.

“Please, don’t,” she said.

* * *

The explosion had knocked him back, but there’d been something at his back, blocking the force of the blast from doing more damage. As he blinked, he took account of his person. The headache was expected, and there was an ache in his side. But he’d felt worse after going a round in the ring with Hawk.

Hands were on him, and he couldn’t move his head. He blinked again and saw Tan bracing him. Lack of sound created a bubble, an unreal world of silence. He reached for the scarves and brace at his neck to pull them off.

Tan leaned over his face. “Don’t move.” A movement in his peripheral vision stopped his efforts. His gaze moved up to the woman standing a few yards away. “Emily.”

John managed to break Tan’s hold and turn over. Dizziness ensued, but he squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. Tan wanted to stop him. John shook him off.

The second man. The second hostage. Marcus and the unknown.

Marcus was dead. Nausea built against John’s breastbone as he came to his knees.

The unknown.

Tan grabbed him and forced him to look into his eyes. His frown spoke volumes of his displeasure at John’s determination. “Fuck off, Tan!”

He shoved Tan aside to get to Emily.

The man pistol-whipped her, splitting her head open.

“No,” John yelled, and lunged.

The man shouldered Emily and sent a bullet through the air at Marie, who was standing to the side, pistol aimed, trying to get a shot without hitting Emily. The man was covered, protected by his captive as he ran down the street.

“Tan.” He needed to hear, damn it!

Tan ran for Marie and picked her up off the ground. John pressed the comm unit in his ear. “In pursuit,” he reported. If there was a reply or directive, he heard nothing. And then he ran, following through the crowds, after the man.

John wasn’t going to let her out of his sight. Fucking blurred sight. Fucking tunnel vision. “Shit,” he said as he stopped. He’d already lost track of her. “Tan!” he called, hoping he wasn’t too far behind.

Tan showed up at his side, but he didn’t look ready to help. He was yelling into John’s face. The words were coming too fast for him to read.

He blinked and looked around for a glimpse of the pair, ignoring what he couldn’t hear.

Tan grabbed his face, the pain of his fingers digging into John’s jaw, sharpening his consciousness. “We’ll find her. We move, now.” The anger in Tan’s eyes had his brain clearing the rest of the way.

He was putting the entire team at risk. And Marie. Where was she?

Tan led the way, and they moved back through the streets to regroup.

John never stopped scanning the area around him. He’d been feet from her. She’d been standing over him. “Damn it,” he said, the frustration burning through his gut.

As they walked, John held his nose and gently released the pressure in his ears.

The pain of it had him slowing, had the feel of wetness running down his neck. He wiped at it. Blood. Probably busted his eardrum. But he could sorta hear again, so that helped.

At the sniper’s nest, John tugged on Tan’s arm and nodded up the stairs.

“Hawk wants us at the hotel.”

“Thirty seconds,” John replied, and went up the stairwell. He grabbed binoculars from his cargo pocket.

His gaze caught on a flash of silver in the corner where Emily had been. He reached down and picked up the little bracelet with a charm on it. A scope that looked old and worn. Another charm of a lighthouse.

He stood and began an outward spiral search that started at ground zero and reached as far in the distance as the binoculars would allow. “They could be anywhere,” he muttered, adjusting the magnification until the image was clearer.

“They’re gone, John, and we’re not going to find her standing around up here. It’s time to regroup, so we can find her.”

A feeling of defeat crushed him as he followed Tan back across the city.

He’d waited and searched too long to lose her now.